Californication (2007–2014): Season 6, Episode 8 - Everybody's a Fucking Critic - full transcript

Previously
on Californication...

It's time, Becca,
time you stopped

this funny business
and went back to school.

No, I'm not doing that.

There's a lot more,
little missy,

to being an artist

than just altering
your consciousness

on a daily basis.

Which is why I'm writing.

How many pages you got?

I'm closing in
on three hundy.



I hate you.

If I'm gonna do this thing,

get me the guy
who wrote the fucking book.

- Do what?
- God hates us all.

I fucking loved it, man.

They're turning it
into a Broadway musical.

You write the script,
I write the music and lyrics.

Let's make
a fucking masterpiece.

Congratulations.

You have made it
to the next round.

I'll give you one of daddy's
long, slow tongue baths.

[Flutters tongue]

Men are the enemy.

I advocate the use
of a cock cage.



Ophelia's gonna be
so pissed at me.

We have sex
for the first time in years,

and this is the first thing
to cross your mind?

So how was
the fucking fun zone?

There was this one mom--

- Did you do something with her?
- No!

I'd know that bent
fucking chode anywhere.

[Moaning on laptop]

- Is that what I think it is?
- Sure is.

Would you mind
taking a look?

Of course.
I'd be honored.

What are you doing?
I'm studying your face.

For the truth.

You hate it.

That's not true.

Why would you say that?

No.
No, no, no.

I can see it
on your face.

Have you met me, Becca?
I could be hating

on a million other things
right now.

Wow.
Thanks.

Is it perfect?

No, it's not,

but first drafts
rarely are, sweetheart.

Okay.
So what are your notes?

Okay, this
is what I would do.

I would take this draft,
and I would put it in a drawer--

it doesn't have
to be a real drawer,

it could be
a virtual drawer--

and then go out tonight
and celebrate its birth.

You know, hoist
an alcoholic beverage or two.

I will join you.

And then, in the morning,

you shut that drawer
and forget about it.

And then you start
on the next one.

- The next one?
- Yeah.

Well, what kind
of note is that?

A big one?

- So it's a disaster.
- No, I didn't--

no, not at all.
Not at all.

You don't even think
I'm a writer, do you?

I think you're a writer
if you keep on writing, Becca.

Am I a writer?

Well, I know that, when I saw
you read your pages here

in the coffeehouse, I was--
I was proud of you.

You saw me?

Yeah.
Yeah, I snuck in

and then out again unseen.

I asked you
not to come.

I know,
but you didn't really mean it.

Yes, I did.

Well, aren't you secretly
touched that I cared enough

to disobey
your wishes?

Thanks for the destructive
criticism, Dad.

To be continued,
sweetheart.

One page at a time.

I'm an asshole.

[Upbeat music]

♪ Elementary 6x08 ♪
Everybody's a Fucking Critic
Original Air Date on March 10, 2013

== sync, corrected by elderman ==

[Hums]

[Knocks rhythmically]

Ow.

Hey.
Hi, Charlie.

What's up?

How come you haven't been
returning my calls,

my texts?
Yeah, well, I think

that I really took
a major step backward,

and I disrespected
my sheness.

Your wait.
Whoa, whoa, your what?

I don't--
your--your "sheness"?

I-I don't know
what the fuck that is.

Is this--is this about
the Housewife Hannah thing?

Because I'm sorry,

but come on, you've been
to the fun zone, right?

I mean, if somebody,
you know, offered you

an ice cream cone in hell,
wouldn't you take it?

- [Laughs]
- You know you would.

You know what I'm saying?

Wow. His pictures
don't do him justice.

- Oh, thank you.
- What a worm.

I'm sorry?

Yeah, you should be,
you fucking creep.

Okay, who is she,

and why is she being
so mean to me?

Well, this
is Ophelia Robins.

Oh, this is Ophelia,
the author.

I'm--
hey, congratulations.

'Cause you've really created
quite a cult for yourself

with those books
out there, right?

I'm Charlie Runkle,
formerly of UTK.

Very nice to meet you.

How dare you offer me
that diseased appendage?

She's very hostile.

[Clears throat]

Well, I just--I can't see you
anymore, Charlie.

- Why?
- Why?

You've disrespected
this woman

time and time again.

You've had your chance.
You blew it.

Go away.
Okay, wait.

I don't know who the fuck
you are, lady, okay,

but you have no business

telling me what to do--
how dare you raise

your voice to me?
Uhoh.

And I bet you're probably
one of those guys

who likes to raise his hand
to women too.

No!

I mean,
unless she wants it.

'Cause, you know,
there are some women

who sometimes want to be,
you know,

a little light slapping
now and again.

Some even like to have
their breasts slapped

a little bit--
ugh, God, he's even more

of a monster
than I ever imagined, Marcy.

Let's go.
Even you asked one time.

- Don't!
- You asked me to!

Marcy! Marcy!

I'll call you.

[Lock clicks]
Je-sus.

I have to schedule
the deprogramming.

[Typing]

How's the next Broadway smash
coming, buddy?

Is it whiskey, weed,
and Zevon time yet?

Almost.
Just hold your bald horses.

You're way past deadline,
you know?

Stu and Atticus were expecting
a draft weeks ago.

Yes, I'm well aware,
but I've been busy,

you know,
putting 'em off.

You're not helping.

Sorry.

Jeez.

How do you feel about it?
Is it any good?

How the fuck
should I know?

I do like writing musicals,
though.

You just write a few pages,
and then somebody

suddenly breaks into song,

and I don't have
to worry about that part.

Winning!

I love musicals.

Really?

Since when?

High school production
of Guys and Dolls.

The time of my young life.

[Chuckles]

I fingered a girl
for the first time

at the opening night party.
Ooh.

She was incredibly dry,
Hank.

I think
I was hurting her.

She cried.

Oh.

Nothing like a sweet, little
Chuck Runkle coming-of-age story

to make you want
to stab yourself in the dick.

Done.
Hit it!

Whoohoo-hoo!

[A Warren Zevon song plays]

Where's my weed?

- We're out.
- Well, you can't

really have whiskey, weed,
and Warren Zevon

without the weed.

I know.

I'll pick some up
on the way back.

I'm making copies,
and I'm hand-delivering

to Atticus and Stu.

Yeah,
because that's just the kind

of simple-minded lackey
you are.

Oh, oh, Hank?

Karen is here,
and she does not look happy.

Mm, what else is new?

Hey.

Peace out, bitches.

What did you say to her?

What did she say I said?

She said that you said
it was a piece of shit

and that she should throw it out
and start again.

That is not
what I said...

Exactly.

Why would you do that?

Why would you be
so blunt?

Why do you want
to hurt her feelings?

I didn't want to.
I didn't mean to.

She kind of ambushed me.

And she does need
to throw that out

and start again.

It's a good lesson
for a young scribe.

You know, get all the bad shit
out of your system.

She's way ahead of where I was
at that age.

Oh, okay, good.
So did you tell her that?

No, I didn't get
a chance.

She stormed off
into a silent treatment.

Just like her mom.
She gets that from you.

Very effective.
Works every time.

She stormed off

because you don't know
how to talk to her.

I think I know how to talk
to my own daughter, Karen.

I don't think you do,
because if you did,

she wouldn't be
so depressed right now.

She's talking
about going to law school.

Really?
Awesome.

- That's awesome?
- Yeah.

Because if I can talk her
out of being a writer,

then she shouldn't be
a writer.

Oh, why?
Because there's only room

for one writer
in this family?

- Aww, you called us a family.
- Shut up.

No, because people
who aren't writers

should not be writers,
Karen.

Does that make any sense?
I can understand that.

What I don't understand
is how you can be so harsh

and so mean
to someone you love.

You could save that shit

for when you have to go back
to teaching.

Ooh, who's being mean
and harsh now?

There it is!
Storm off into silent treatment!

[Door slams]

Must be me.

[Rock music]

♪

Say, have you met
this Ophelia character?

Oh, she is
a fucking fruitcake.

I know.
She slapped me.

Oh, you think
that's bad?

She had me
in a fucking cock cage.

What is a cock cage?

It traps your penis
in its flaccid sta--

Ladies, enough
of your jibber-jabber.

You haven't said anything
about the script.

Have you even read it?

I have.

Okay.
What'd you think?

It...
was...

very you.

What the fuck
does that mean?

It's a little dark,
Hank.

Dark is what I do.
That's what you hired me for.

It's a Broadway musical,
Hank.

It's a rock opera,
and it's true to the book,

which is
what Atticus wanted.

Thank you for coming,
everybody.

Unfortunately, I have
to go in a moment.

I'm flying to London

to sit down with Eddie Nero
and sir Bob Geldoff.

We're talking about doing this
global relief concert thing.

It's, you know--

speaking of relief,

this is
a fucking disaster.

- What?
- It's shit, Hank.

It's a fucking shambles.

It's--

it's bollocks.

Um, I agree.

Hank, I'm sorry.
It needs work.

Yeah,
we're really gonna have

to roll up our sleeves
on this one.

What the fuck
are you guys talking about?

It's a rock opera
with the tone of my book.

- [Sniffs]
- That's what you wanted.

I don't even like
the fucking book.

You said
you loved it.

Remember?
On your flying whorehouse?

Yeah, I remember,
but when I said that,

I hadn't read it.
So you lied?

I wouldn't look at it
like that.

I liked the title.

It was quite striking.

Titles mean a lot to me,

but when I got around
to reading the fucking book,

oh, my God,
it's so depressing.

It's like it's Dickensian
but not in a good way.

The working classes
want to leave

a Broadway theater
feeling the way they feel

when they leave
one of my concerts.

- With tinnitus?
- Happy, uplifted, inspired,

preferably
a little bit horny.

Yeah, well,
that's very funny

'cause I'm not feeling
very horny right now.

Just homicidal maybe.

Hank, we're gonna need you
to burn this draft,

just forget
all about it.

Chalk it up
to a creative miscarriage.

But when you
get up tomorrow,

you take a fresh page,

you put it
in your typer,

and you start
a new one,

one that hues closer
to the tone of the movie.

Can you do that?

Otherwise, Aaron Sorkin
has expressed interest

in working with Atticus.

I hear he's quite good,
isn't he?

He's the best
in the business.

Just ask him.

And he is a big admirer
of your work.

As I am of his.

This is bullshit.

You know why, Hank?

No, why?

Because you can't handle
the truth!

[Laughter]

[Sarcastic laugh]

That's so good.

[Indistinct chatter]

[Rock music]

♪

You think Hank'll be able
to pull a decent draft

out of his ass?
Sure, sure.

Look, it's just--
it's his process, Stu, okay?

He brings in
something underwhelming,

and then he knocks it
out of the park.

It's a classic bait-and-switch,
that's all.

Right, right.

And when has he ever
done that exactly?

You know what?
Enough about Hank.

Look, I got
a confession to make.

Look, look, Runkle,
I know you are broke.

I'm not going to lend you
any money.

Don't be a fucking beggar.
It's unbecoming.

I don't want
your fucking money, Stu.

Oh, okay.
Cool.

What is it then?

I slept with Marcy
the other night.

[Coughs]

You did?

You fucking dog.

Now I am jealous.

Well, good for you, bro.
Up high.

I'm still in love
with her, Stu.

- Me too.
- So what are we gonna do?

Well, I don't know
what you're going to do,

but I am prepared
to write you a check

right this very instant.
What?

You just said
you would never give me--

I will not lend you
a fucking dime,

but I will pay you
not to pursue Marcy any longer.

So how much you want?

Give me a number.

I don't want your--

how much are you
willing to pay?

I would sign over
my entire fortune

if it meant I could have
that sweet and sour

little firecracker
back in my life.

Seriously?

This is crazy, Stu.

No, no, no.
It ain't over till it's over.

May the best man win,

and by "best"
I mean the richest

and the most well-hung.

Okay, how do you propose
we get past

this Ophelia broad, huh?

She seems determined
to cock-block us

at every turn.

- We could have her killed.
- You think?

Well, it's just
a matter of money.

Now I don't know a guy,

but I probably know a guy
who knows a guy.

Solid plan,
but perhaps a little extreme.

You know, maybe we talk
to Marcy first.

You're right,
Runkle.

And if I know my favorite
pint-sized stoner chick,

I bet she is running low
on weed.

[Rock music playing]

[Strumming]

Hank Moody.

Long time no see.

He's been working.

Good.
Good to hear.

Yeah, well, you had a lot
to do with it, lady.

After our weekend
in New York,

I banged out a draft
of that thing

I'm doing with Atticus.

- It's what I do.
- Yeah.

How'd it go?

I like it.
Others, not so much.

They're--

well, they're calling it
a creative miscarriage.

- Oh, God, no.
- Yeah.

That is no way to talk
about our love baby.

It isn't.
And I wanted to ask you

if you might take a read,

give me your notes.

I don't know
if you muse types

do that sort of thing,
but I'd appreciate it.

Of course I do that.

But only if you can handle
the truth.

No, don't use
that phrase.

[Laughs]
Okay.

All right.
Yeah.

Grab a drink.
I'll read it.

- Thanks.
- Take a swim.

That that sounds
pretty relaxing.

Yeah. Or...

We could have sex.

You seem
a little mopey.

[Laughs]
Aw, baby!

Poor you.

Maybe we should combine
the two.

[Rock music]

♪

[Whistles]

Where is it?

Hand it over.
Oh, sit.

Marcy, please.

I don't want
to sit, Stu.

I just want you
to give me my weed,

so I can go home
and smoke it.

Sit down, Marcy.
Just hear us out.

Oh, fuck, I knew that this
was a fucking setup!

We are worried
about you.

This Ophelia broad
has you acting all loopy.

Look, I know she comes off
a little intense...

Oh!

But her heart is
in the right place,

and she speaks
the fucking truth.

Marcy, the woman
put me in a cock cage.

- Yeesh!
- You deserved it, Stu.

You betrayed our love.

I did, and I will
forever be sorry,

but at what point can I take
the damn thing off?

- You're still wearing it?
- Yes.

I'm trying to prove
that I'm deserving

of this woman's love.
Doesn't it hurt?

It's excruciating!

Do you have
the key, Marcy?

No.
Only Ophelia has it,

and she's the one who decides
when it comes off.

This is ridiculous.

I'm still in love
with you, Marcy.

I'm still in love
with you.

Yes, but we have
a child together.

True, but I am far more
capable of taking care of you,

both financially
and sexually,

and I know
what you are thinking

at all times.

I mean, okay,

look at that pool table
over there.

See, I know
you are thinking,

"Maybe we could play
Jodie Foster in The Accused."

We had such fun together,
Marcy.

Our bedroom games
were so delightful.

See, there you go.

Now, I find that revolting.

But it proves that you're
still in there somewhere.

- I'm going.
- Wait!

- Stay, Marcy!
- One drink, one drink.

One drink.
One drink, one drink.

Just hear
a couple brothers out.

Some appletini
to start?

What do you think?
You hate it, you hate it.

I can tell you hate it.
That's all right.

- I don't hate it.
- And that totally bums me out,

but then you could--
I don't hate it.

You could have pool sex
with me again,

and I'll maybe feel
a little better.

What do you think?

What do I think?
Um...

It's very dark.
Uhhuh.

Dark. Funny.

Funny-dark.
Mm.

And I do really get
what you're trying to do

as far as...

You're doing something
really different with it.

I get that.

But...

[Laughs]
But...

It doesn't have any heart.

And if there
is one thing

that I know about you,
Hank Moody,

it's that
you have a huge...

heart.

[Laughs]

I think that maybe
you were posturing a little bit.

- Eww.
- You know, you were trying

to show the world
that you are not gonna write

some fluffy
Broadway musical.

And I think, in the process
of doing that,

maybe you forgot
that it's still a story

of boy meets girl.

You know?
It's simple.

I think I get that.
I do, I get it.

Anyone can be cynical,
Hank.

Dare to be an optimist.

[Sighs]

You know it's all just a big can
of karmic whoop-ass anyway,

you know?
Mmhmm.

'Cause my daughter,

she just wrote
her first novel,

and I was really
fucking hard on her.

Oh, you have
to be really gentle

with those little girls,
Hank.

God, my parents,

they hit me pretty hard
once upon a time.

I'm still smarting.

About what?
What happened?

Do you know
Big Yellow Taxi?

- No.
- By Joni Mitchell?

No, I don't know
any Joni Mitchell songs.

No? None?

What self-respecting guy
knows any?

[Playing Big Yellow Taxi]
♪ Don't it alw-

♪ Don't it always
seem to go ♪

♪ that you don't know
what you've got ♪

♪ till it's gone

♪ paved paradise and put up
a parking lot ♪

[Both scatting]

♪

I played that song

at this stupid,
little church social.

Mm.

I was obsessed
with Joni Mitchell

when I was a teenager.

I wanted to be a lady
of the Canyon when I grew up.

Me too.
[Laughter]

We have so much
in common.

And so I got together
with this cute boy

who played the guitar,

and we practiced
every day after school.

And finally,
the big day came,

and we played
our little hearts out,

and, you know,
he forgot a few chords,

and I forgot
a few words,

and my voice cracked and--
mmhmm.

But people clapped.

And I was so thrilled. Ah!
Ah!

They kind of loved us.
Yeah.

And I went looking
for my parents,

and of course,
all my mom had to say

was that I looked
like a slut up there.

- [Groans]
- And my father said,

"Don't quit your day job,
kid."

- Mm.
- Nice, huh?

The whole thing
was not a bust, however.

I lost my virginity
to that cute guitarist.

- Oh.
- Yeah.

I think it's becoming
a pattern.

- Mm-hmm.
- Mm-hmm.

Mm.

♪

♪ I heard
that screen door slam ♪

♪ and a big yellow taxi

♪ took away my old man

- Oh!
- Oh-ho-ho!

Ha.
Oh, take that, bitches.

Mm.

Marcy.

Oh, my.

I'm so disappointed
in you.

I mean,
I'm not surprised.

The road to sheness
is long,

and it's paved
with potholes.

Okay, that just makes
no sense at all.

You don't pave
with potholes.

You pave over potholes.

It absolutely
makes sense.

It's in my third book,
Menis to Society.

M-e-n-i-s.

Oh, catchy title.
And subtle.

And what have you written
that's changed lives,

you pathetic,
little simian?

Marcy, let's go.
I'll drive you home.

Wait one second,
Ophelia.

How did you even know
where I was just now?

Oh, I tracked
your iPhone.

Oh.

Okay, that's just--
what?

That's so fucking weird.

It's not that weird.
I mean, I've seen you

check your email,
like, several times,

and I happen to be very good
at recognizing keystrokes.

And your password
is distinctive

and disgusting,
and, you know,

that's when I really realized
that we had a problem

that was just much bigger
than I ever imagined.

Oh, y-you're kidding.
It's not still...

Oh, "I love my hubby's
big, fat cock," all one word.

Yes, it is.
You must be so proud.

Oh, I am,
and you still care.

Oh, I was too lazy
to change it!

Yeah, well,
either way,

I am thrilled.
And I'm nauseous.

Marcy, are you ready
to come home?

You can spend the night
at my house.

Okay, you know what?

I think that you
should let Marcy

embrace her sheness
and make up her own mind

where she wants
to spend the night.

You know,
I heartily concur.

Need I remind you,
Stu,

that I hold the key
to your cock cage.

Do you have it
on your person?

I'll write you a check
right this very instant.

This is
just ridiculous.

Look, Marcy, you know what?
Don't worry.

We will make sure
you get home.

Oh, are you gonna lay
your hands on her now?

You want worse
than you got yesterday,

you slimy,
little sea otter?

What are you gonna do?

You gonna slap me again,
is that it,

in front
of all these people?

[Screams]

[Taser buzzes]
Oh!

Woman, you are
a fucking fruitcake!

[Taser buzzes]

Oh, my God!
Ophelia!

What the fuck
is the matter with you?

What? It's fine.
I stunned them, you know?

Marcy, every woman should have
one of these puppies.

It just totally neutralizes
the height-weight advantage.

I'll get you one.
Let's go.

No, man.

This is too fucking weird.
You just go.

You get out of here.
Go.

Marcy.

You're gonna regret this.

Jesus.
Are you okay?

What did that feel like?

This table is all wet.

Oh, gross.
You pissed your pants, Charlie.

What?
No!

Who pissed on my pants?

[Screaming]
Who pissed on my pants?

[Rock music]

♪

Wow. I didn't take you
for a book burner.

What else
am I gonna do?

It's a piece of shit.

Ah. You might as well
throw another one on the pyre.

- ♪ What's your story?
- What's that?

It's the play
I was writing with Atticus.

Apparently,
it's not very good.

They don't like it
very much.

- Really?
- Yeah.

It happens
to us literary lions too.

How does that feel?

Like getting shanked
in prison.

I would imagine.

You know, maybe you
could read it for me

and give me
your thoughts?

Why would you want
my thoughts?

I'm not a writer.

Becca, you wrote
a fucking novel.

Do you know
how amazing that is?

Nobody your age
is doing that.

They're too busy texting,

tweeting,
and facebooking

and feeling entitled
to a life

they don't want
to work for.

Way to slam
an entire generation, dad.

Thank you.

And I'm sorry
that you stormed off

before I could give you
my notes, you know?

You know what I really dug
about your work

was the relationship
between the daughter

and the asshole father.

I mean, obviously you took
a lot of creative license there,

but it felt authentic
to me.

And I think,
if you flesh it out,

you could maybe turn it
into a novella.

- You think so?
- I do.

And I'm sorry
that you walked away from me,

thinking that I didn't think
you were special,

Becca, 'cause I do.

I think you're so special.

And I hope you don't go
to law school

'cause I don't think
that's you,

and I-I don't think
the world needs another lawyer.

I'm not sure it needs
another writer either.

Yeah, maybe not,
but if you're doing

what you were born to do,
then that's a good thing.

You know?

- I guess.
- Yeah.

Anybody
can be cynical.

Dare to be
an optimist.

Who are you
right now?

Just your asshole father.
Who else?

Okay.

I'll think
about my next move.

In the meantime,
I'll read this.

But I'm going to be brutal
with my thoughts, Dad.

I think you need some help
reaching a younger demographic.

Fuck the younger generation.

I just like you.

♪ What's going on
in your mind? ♪

♪ What's the story
that you're leaving behind? ♪

♪ And now you're nowhere

♪ so what you gonna do?

♪ While the world
appears too small ♪

== sync, corrected by elderman ==