Archer (2009–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - Training Day - full transcript

Suave, skillful prowess in the arts of counter-espionage, Krav Maga and dumb luck form the recipe for Archer's success. At a gala in the British Embassy, a drunken Archer single-handedly thwarts a Sein Finn attack. His manly exploits churn the loins of the female guests... including those of Lana, whose date is Mr. Saran Wrap. Malory would do anything to prevent her son from getting involved with Lana again. She hatches a scheme to turn Cyril into a dashing Jr. James Bond. Unfortunately, Archer is the one who has to train Cyril. Add ice cubes, a hooker in the trunk, and then shake, do not stir.

Malory Archer. Ho.

You get more beautiful
every time I see you.

- Oh-ho-ho, Gussy.
- Minx.

You'll be the death of me yet.
But if I die...

let it be with the name of this
dusky jewel upon my lips.

Lord Feltchley,
may I present Miss Lana Kane?

Yes, you bloody well may.

So nice to, uh... Wow.

Okay, that's kidskin
you're slobbering on, so...


Wouldn't want to offend
that boyfriend of yours, eh, wot?

No offense taken, Your Lordship.

Glad to hear it. Whoever you are.

Cyril Figgis, ISIS Comptroller.

- And also my...
- Boyfriend.

- Person I'm dating.
- No, he isn't.

- We date.
- No, you don't.

- Ha.
- No, no, no.

Your man's a rakish chap.
Air of mystery, chiseled good looks?

- Oh, I think maybe you mean my ex?
- Oh.

- Archer.
- Archer, exactly just.

And if memory serves,
not only handsome, but also...

A secret agent.

That's what I am.
And I shouldn't even be saying that...

but you have a certain
thickness about you...

that I very find appealing...

I find
your drunkenness very unappealing...

I am drunk
or I wouldn't be talking to you.

- So if you'll please excuse me.
- Hey, come on. Don't be like that.

- Whoops.
- Sterling, look out.

Feltchley, you dirty Sassenach.

Free Irishmen will never bow down
before the English crown.

Oh là là, Sterling Archer.

That was totally ninja.

Yeah, if you're...

- into that. Hmm?
- Lana?

- Hon? Hello?
- Huh? Hey.

- What's up, buddy?
- Ugh. Nothing.

Oh, dear.

Good show, Archer.
Really saved my bacon there.

Hey, come on. You know I'd never
let anything happen to your bacon.

- I love you, Santa Claus.
- What?

I do.

Cyril, we've got big problems.

Well, it may seem
daunting now...

but in the long run the HSA
makes a lot more sense than flex accounts.

I don't mean the health plan.

Unless it covers
Wandering Eye Syndrome.

That depends on if that's a real thing.

Oh, it's very real. And Lana has it.

- Wait, what?
- Cyril, I know...

you saw how she looked
at Sterling last night.

Well, I think she was
just shaken up...

Stirred up, Cyril.

- In the loins.
- You think her loins were stirring?

- If not frothing.
- Frothing? Great. What should I do?

We should make you into someone for
whom Lana's loins get equally frothy.

And how exactly would we do that?

She's obviously attracted
to men of danger.

- Like Archer.
- Exactly.

- The perfect field agent.
- Who better to train you to become one?

Archer train me? To be a field agent?

He's already been briefed.

But only on the "what,"
mind you, not the "why."

No sense telling him it's about Lana...

- Boy, wait till I tell her.
- No.

Cyril. Under no circumstance
is Lana to know about our little...

- plan.
- Right. I think. Oh.

- Health plan switchover?
- Cyril.

I'll take care of whatever that is.

You just concentrate on your training.

- And Archer's really okay with this?
- Oh, not at all.

Which is just gravy.

No, I just let mother think that
because I know what she's up to...

vis-à-vis Cyril and Lana and me.

And it's not broadening Cyril's horizons.

Trust me, Mother's idea
of horizon-broadening...

is a lot of fights...

walking home from a lot
of jazz-tap lessons.

I so enjoy our talks. You got them?

They're loaded and ready to go?

Seriously, Krieger, you are my Oprah.

So obviously I'm not happy
about this whole arrangement, but...

But your mother is, so...

But I wonder what Lana thinks?

Oh, Lana's not need-to-know on this.

Wow, "open purse, remove balls" huh?

I'm sure it's not the first time
you kept a secret from Lana.

Uh... Hello. Herpes?

- You gave Lana herpes?
- Ahem.

- Hello, Cheryl.
- It's Carol.

What? Since when?

Since I had it legally changed
because you always call me Carol.

Wow, that's...

- Excuse us.
- Ugh.

Okay, now what is this herpes business?

Sorry, bad joke. And a false alarm.

- Lesson one, get used to that.
- Should I be writing this down?

No. Never leave a paper trail.
That's lesson one.

- So ditch this.
- Hey, that's...

- Ow! Jesus.
- My dead mom's pen.

Cyril did that.
This is what a real field agent uses.

Huh. Point's a lot finer than I prefer.

- That's because it's a hypodermic needle...
- What?

And the cartridge is full
of a deadly super-toxin called...


- Here. Keep it in here.
- Uh... Hey, whoa.

- Wait a minute.
- But be careful.

The cap slips off for, like, no reason.

Beep, beep, beep.

Oh, you giving me the truck noise...

- Karen Carpenter's stunt double?
- I thought you were walking backwards.

It's all the HSA switchover crap.

I'm so over that lame flex account.
When does the HSA start?

When Cyril e-files these DD-14s.

- Oh, Ms. Archer's taking care of those.
- What?

Cyril's off somewhere with Mr. Archer.

I'm sorry, Cyril's off what?
With whom?

I think "somewhere"
was the "what" there.

- "Mr. Archer" was the "whom."
- Worlds collide, huh?

Inevitable for a serial workplace-dater.

- Oh. Yeah. Call the kettle black.
- Ugh.

Did she just race-card me,
or are you totally just gay for her?

I'm the Human Resources Director,
Little Miss Hostile Work Environment.

She is riddled with herpes.

Inappropriate workplace topic.

And also a dealbreaker.

- Human Intel...
- Oh, shoot.

- I forgot about the DD-14s.
- Screw them.

That's Mother's headache.

You tell me,
does it look like I'm allergic?

- Jesus Jones, yes.
- So when I asked for cucumber slices...

which one of you idiots
sent up zucchini?

- That, well, that would be...
- That would be Jane who did that.

- Scatterbrain Jane?
- I know, she's just a mess.

- Because this is obviously zucchini.
- Oh.

You'd recognize a vegetable that wasn't
wrapped in a Monte Cristo sandwich.

What's that supposed to mean?

That is Pam, isn't it?

Okay, so, human intelligence entails?

Well, there's false flags,
dead-drops, drop-outs, cut-outs...

active doubles, passive doubles,
dangled moles...

the often under-appreciated honeypot?

- Wow.
- One of my favorites.

- That sounds like a lot to cover.
- Yeah, so we may have to gloss over...

almost all of it, but...

- Aah!
- Weapon.


- Oh, hey hon.
- Hey back.

- Hello.
- What's...

- What's this?
- Well, see...

here's the thing...

Under no circumstance is Lana
to know about our little...


- Here's what thing?
- Okay.

- Archer's DD-14.
- Yeah.

That we're on our way down
to clear up with Jane.

- Really?
- Well...

you know Scatterbrain Jane.

- You're cooking dinner later?
- Yes, I am.

- Yeah.
- Yeah.


- Oh. I can't believe I just did that.
- Yeah, dunce.

Now Jane's a loose end.

Hey, Jane.

You getting a snack?

Keep your story vague.
That's lesson one.

But, I mean, morality aside, how
do you keep track of all these lies?

Practice, Cyril.
Lying is, like, 95 percent of what I do.

- In your job.
- Sure.

It was pretty cool how
you handled that speargun.

- Yeah, it was pretty cool.
- Will I get to learn karate?

The Dane Cook of martial arts?

- No. ISIS agents use Krav Maga.
- Krav?

We've got an ex-Mossad guy,
he comes in Thursdays.

- Neat.
- Yeah. Tuesdays he does a spin class.

- So will I need sweatpants?
- Cyril. You need all new clothes.

What's wrong with these?



I was laughing at your clothes.

Wow, Archer, you were right.
A tailored suit hangs so much better.

That's because Woodhouse is a genius.

Like so many other geniuses,
unappreciated in his life...

Shut up and hem, you old fruit.

- Speaking of fruit, sir.
- Oh, sorry. Heh-heh.

- Cyril, check this out.
- Watch yourself.

- Really?
- Don't make it weird. It's your friend.

- And so's this baby.
- Jeezy Petes.

It's a Chekhov. Russian-made.

- .25 caliber.
- When would you use an underwear-gun?

Hopefully never. But say you're...

in a Caribbean bungalow
and you're kind of high.

An exotic woman on the bed...

now is she just the high-priced
whore you asked for?

- Or is she an assassin?
- I don't know. I...

Here's room service.
Who ordered champagne?

- How should I know.
- Exactly.

You're baked, can't remember.

Since when does it take three
huge, surly Jamaican guys...

- to deliver one bottle of champagne?
- Oh.

- Because they're assassins too.
- Or...

Maybe one guy's a new waiter,
the second one's training him...

and the third's from maintenance,
finally off his lazy ass to fix the AC.

Oh. Yeah, I guess that could happen.

Point is, you come out
of the john waving this around...

nobody's gonna bug you
for a tip. Here.

- It's a gift.
- Thanks, wow, that's slippery.

And the safety's off
so be careful, it could go off for, like...

no reason.

Now what're these pills?

Oh, just antihistamines mostly.

You just rest, Ms. Archer.
We'll take care of these DD-14s for you.

Damn right you will. Idiot.

Pam, look at this.

- Holy shitsnacks.
- We have snacks?

Everybody's personal medical records.

- No, we can't be looking at this.
- Are there snacks?

It's totally confidential.

It totally should be. Look at this.

- Oh, my God.
- Yeah.

Cyril tried to get his plan
to cover a penis ensmallment?

- Who'd have thunk it?
- I bet Agent Kane thunks it plenty.

- You bet she does what?
- Oh!

I bet she, uh... Oh.

- I got nothing.
- That's what I thought.

- You seen Cyril?
- Is that Lana?

Wow. What happened to you?

Scatterbrain Jane,
but let me just tell you, okay?

You should be thankful you have Cyril.

- Well...
- For about 12 reasons.

Well, thank you, Malory.

But if you don't mind,
I'd prefer to keep...

- my personal affairs out of the office.
- Oh, please.

She's had more pens
in that company ink than...

- a pen store.
- And yet...

does not have herpes.

- Dealunbreaker.
- Ugh.

What's the matter, baby?
Afraid you'll catch something?

No, it's not that. I've just
never been this close to a...

Call girl. It's not an insult, Cyril.

Trinette takes pride in her work.

- I really do.
- Okay.

- So come on budge in.
- Uhn.

- Gosh, yeah.
- Now that's not so bad, is it?

- Ha-ha-ha.
- No. That feels pretty good.

- I can tell. You are gifted.
- Okay.

- God, it's just his gun, Trinette.
- Sorry.

Bet this seems pretty weird.

Oh, please.
The sick shit I've done in this apartment?

- Okay.
- And that wasn't all gun, neither.

Ha-ha. No, ma'am.

Hey, can you two focus? Please?
Woodhouse. Are you ready, or what?

Yes, quite ready sir.
Though not entirely willing.

- Yeah, and I don't know if I am, either...
- Could have fooled me.

- Hey.
- Oh, Trinette.

It's perfectly safe. You're tangoing...

then your trained field agent eyes
spot two threats.

But they're not trained.
We haven't done this yet.

This is how you train them. So.

- You spot your first threat. Woodhouse.
- Ooh. Hoo.

- My knees aren't...
- Bam, bam, bam.

You put him down. But just shoot
the pad, not Woodhouse.

- Like, actually shoot the gun?
- Then.

How else are you gonna learn?
Okay, he's down...

just the pad.
Then you see the second threat.

Oh, no, you're out of ammo.
What are you gonna do?

Oh, that's where the turn comes in?

Duh. Woodhouse. Get in position.

I really need a better health plan.

Shut up. Weapon is hot
and live fire exercise...

in five, six, seven, eight.

Tango, tango, tango. Scan
the ballroom of the Cuban embassy...

for the agent
you're supposed to meet.

You're just some Canadian dude
down here on business...

- and threat. Woodhouse.
- Yes.

- Cyril. Shoot.
- Oh, oh.

- Aah!
- Shoot, bitch. Democracy's at stake.

- Oh! Take that, forces of evil.
- Heh. Ooh.

- Whoa.
- Way to go, baby. You hit it.

Yeah. I did, didn't I?

- Second threat.
- Oh. Right, I forgot about...

- Second threat.
- Jesus.

- Ow! Christ on sale.
- Jesus.

Yeah, Cyril. That was totally ninja.

No, Archer. That was totally uncool.

Sorry, Trinette, did that hurt?

Yeah, it fricking hurt, idiot.
It's ice.

- Okay, we'll use grapes.
- We've only lingonberries, sir.

Ballistically similar to grapes?

Screw your grapes and screw your
whatever-berries, I am out of here.

- No, wait. Trinette, please, I...
- Spying ass bastards.

- Please my fat Irish ass. Ow!
- Ooh.

What the hell's
in your freaking pocket?


- Ha.
- Oh. Oh.

I don't feel so good.

Me neither.

And voicemail again. Huh.

So, it's me. Duh. And did you say
you'd cook, or did I mishear that?

I know I misheard you about Jane,
because turns out, I ran into her.

Hey, Jane.

You getting a tampon?

Yeah. Loose end.

But I'm sure you had a good reason
to lie to me...

so can't wait to hear what it was.

- Oh, my God, you killed a hooker.
- Call girl.

- She was a...
- No, Cyril.

When they're dead they're just hookers.

God, I said the cap slips
off the poison pen for no reason.

I know, but I just assumed...

that if anything bad happened...

No. Do not say the Chekhov gun, Cyril.
That, sir, is a facile argument.

And also woefully esoteric.

- Woodhouse.
- Fetching a rug, sir.

Now he's fetching a rug. Happy, Cyril?

No. No, I'm not happy.

Well, guess what. Me neither.

I mean, big picture,
I wouldn't say I'm a happy person.

Sir. I have fetched the rug.

Plus now I'm out a rug.

Oh, God.
I should never have agreed to this.

You and your stupid mother
and her stupid frothing loins.

Hey. I know you're upset, but if you
ever mention my mother's loins...

or their frothiness, to me again...

I don't know what I'll do,
but it will be bad.

Now let's go bury this dead hooker.

Shirt tails. We need a password.

- Hang on a second.
- Ha-ha-ha.

How you doing, Ms. Archer?

I am good.

- Okay, try... Okay, try "guest."
- Real good.

Well, that's just idi... Oh, my God.

I know, right? So here let's make
the co-pay zero, and the deductible...

- Super high, right?
- No, low.

You want the lowest deductible.

But don't you deduct it
on your taxes or something?

- Wow.
- So you want more?

And people think Jane's stupid.

Speaking of, it's probably better...

if Jane was the last one to log in.

You are a bitch.

I am not. What?

Because I don't want Sterling to end up
with a woman like Lana Kane?

My God, a black...

ops field agent?

Thought she was going in a whole
other direction with that.

Because let me tell you,
I was black ops.

And that does not for a young boy
a very merry Christmas make.

Ajax a success, Teheran is ours, stop.

Merry X-mas from Mommy
and Uncle Kermit, stop.

Also, be nicer to Woodhouse, stop.

- You made up the last part, didn't you?
- I did, sir.


- Oh, my God.
- I know, right?

This is the most kickass health plan ever.

And I think I just had a flashback, so...

these antihistamines are insane.

Oh, I'm crazy? Cyril, you're the one
who killed a perfectly good hooker.

By accident. We could explain.

To who, Cyril? The cops? Lana?

She'd never forgive me.
Archer, my life is ruined.

And all because Mother cooked up...

- this stupid plan...
- But I just...

to make you an agent
just to impress Lana. Ironic, isn't it?

I'm not sure that's technically irony.

What? This is like O. Henry
and Alanis Morissette had a baby...

and named it this exact situation.

- No, it's...
- Yes, it is.

Because a man like you, Cyril,
doesn't deserve a woman like Lana.


You butthole. You set this all up,
just to drive me and Lana apart.

- Well?
- Screw you, Archer.

Hey. Hostile work environment.

Exactly. And I'm gonna file
a hostile work environment lawsuit...

against you, and your mother,
and ISIS, and...

What? Who the hell is that?

- Your confederates in Operation Butthole.
- Cyril.

- Those aren't my confederates.
- Well, nice try...

but Cyril Figgis ain't buying it.

- You hear that? I ain't buying it.
- Cyril.

- Oh, my God.
- How about now, Cyril?

Are you feeling ready to buy?

To Scatterbrain Jane.

And to plan-covered elective surgery.

And the boob job. That you so need.

And the ass-reduction you so need.

And the skinny-bitch-ectomy you need.

- Oh, my God, did you hear that?
- What do you think it is?

That's how they do, you know?

Just drive around, listening to raps
and shooting all the jobs.

- Then who are those guys?
- How should I know?

KGB, the Stasi, Shining Path,
this guy I know named Popeye?

I have enemies, okay?

- That's because no one likes you.
- What?

Seriously, do you not sense that?

I am a product of my upbringing, Cyril.

Well, I was a single mother.

And it's a big dangerous world out there.

Are you idiots still even here?

So why aren't you better at this?

I am the best at this, Rain Man,
okay? I'm like...

Who? James Bond?

Well, I don't like
to invite that comparison.

- But yeah, basically.
- So do something.

I'm doing all kinds of stuff, Cyril.
I'm shooting the gun, see?

- I'm driving the car.
- I could drive better than that.

So knock yourself out. I'm ejecting.

- No, you are not.
- Yes, I am totally am.

- Stop it. No.
- No.

- Grenades in the glove box.
- Drive me and the hooker to safety or...

- Excuse me.
- Lana?

Yeah, I'm looking for two guys.

They're on their way to the morgue?

- Great.
- Archer, what am I gonna tell her?

Well, if you learned anything today,
it won't be the truth.

I don't care if you have
50 dead hookers in the trunk...

you lied to me.

Did not learn anything.

- Well, you shot a machine gun at me.
- Around you.

- Because my feelings were hurt.
- Well...

Why on earth would you lie to me?

I just wanted to show you
I could be...

a supercool ISIS field agent
like Archer, but...

But baby, don't you know I...

like you so much...

because you're exactly the opposite
of Archer?

- Well, yeah, but...
- Not to mention your other qualities.

Oh, you are such a naughty Nelly.

- He just gets a pass? Like Milton Berle?
- Yep.

Hey, so how did you know where I was?

When we first started going out...

I may have injected
a tracking device into your body.

In my body? No, no.
Now, that is a breach of trust, Lana.

Do you really wanna open
this can of trust-breachy worms...

right after I caught you and my
ex-boyfriend with a hooker in the trunk?

- I do not.
- You do not.

Oh, and Archer, how's this for ironic?

You know what? I don't have a "one to
some other number of douche-bags" scale.

So, six? Oh, my God, Trinette.

Yeah, Trinette, you shitass.

- So you know you have to be punished.
- Yes.

You're gonna walk into our video store...

With the sweet old Korean lady.

And buy the nastiest, barebackinest,
hard dickinest, ball splapiest...

interracial porno in there.

From the sweet old Korean lady?

Yep. How you feel about that?

- Like I got off pretty easy.
- Night ain't over yet.

- Throw me in a trunk?
- Not part of the plan.

Inject me with some crazy spy poison?

- It was just a harmless tranquilizer.
- You shitass.

I mean, let's be honest, I doubt
that's the first needle you ever...

- Ow!
- I never. Give me your wallet.

I already paid you.

File a customer service complaint.
I'm sure Popeye'd love to hear it.

Hey, come on, you wouldn't tell Popeye.

Oh, watch me.

- Oh. Give me your watch.
- You know how much this thing costs?

Probably less
than a new set of kneecaps.

- There. Happy?
- Almost.

You know, I bet there's a lesson
to be learned from all this.

But I... Oh, shit, my rug.