Cheers (1982–1993): Season 5, Episode 10 - Everyone Imitates Art - full transcript

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Of all the stinkin',
dirty, rotten,

maggot-sucking,
vermin-infested stinkweeds!

Practicing for that Mother of
the Year speech again, Carla?

Shut up!

What seems to be the problem?

I've been planning
my Elvis pilgrimage

to Memphis for weeks,
and now Nick is backing out

of taking care of the kids.

He says his appendix burst.

Well, that seems serious to me.

His appendix bursts
every time I need a favor.

Boy, if he was smart,
he'd have that removed.

Hello, one and all.

Hello.

How are you, love
of my life? Just fine,

pain in my neck.

The most exciting
thing has happened.

You'll never guess.

I got a letter

from Syzygy.

Stop it! Yeah!

All right, all right,
who's Syzygy?

It's not a who... it's
a new literary review,

dedicated to publishing
the prose and poetry

that's right on
the cutting edge.

Well, I, for one, am
excited for you, Diane.

Ah, there, it passed.

Oh... let-let me
have a look at it.

What does the letter say?

Well, I submitted
one of my poems

for publication,
and quite honestly,

I was overwhelmed
by the response.

It was more than I could
ever have hoped for.

But I blush. Read it.

It speaks for itself.

Oh, uh...

this is a rejection letter.

It's not a rejection
letter per se.

It's a "soon and inevitably
to be accepted" letter.

Listen to this.

"Your work is not
entirely without promise."

They're almost begging
for another submission.

Boy, you know, I...

I hope you don't get your
hopes up there too high,

because that looks
like a form letter to me.

Poor Sam.

This really threatens
you, doesn't it?

Let me assure
you that I can heed

my man as well as my muse.

Syzygy would not even have
bothered to respond to my letter

if they hadn't perceived me as
an up-and-coming literary talent.

You know, this is just like you.

You-you turn every
defeat into a victory.

It's like the time when I said

that I didn't want
to see you anymore,

and you all of a sudden
start making wedding plans.

Sam, we can talk about the
wedding later... I have work to do.

You know, I bet I could, uh,
send a poem to that magazine

and get the same
letter back that you did.

Oh, Sam, you don't
want to write a poem.

Poetry is very, very difficult.

What's the big deal? All
you got to do is rhyme.

Most great modern poetry

doesn't necessarily
have to rhyme.

Well, that's even
easier, isn't it?

Fine. Fine, fine, fine.

Go ahead, write
your little poem.

You don't think I can
even write a stupid poem.

Of course you can.

Don't forget to
capitalize the first letter.

I'm gonna do this.

I'm gonna show you that I can
be as much of a reject as you.

I told you, I was not rejected.

Whatever. Now,
if you'll excuse me,

I have a little creating to do.

Coffee...

Any of you guys know
how to write poetry?

Uh, I know how
to make fun of 'em.

No.

Great, Nick. That's wonderful.

You're not as much of a scum
bucket as I thought you were.

No, that's not an
attempt at reconciliation.

Hey, Nick's gonna
take care of the kids.

Graceland, here I come.

Hey, all right. Hey, all right.

Didn't you go to
Graceland last year?

Yeah, but this is special...
I mean, how many times

does the tenth anniversary
of Elvis's death roll around?

Don't ask me. I wasn't a fan.

Hi, Sam.

Hello.

Sam, have you received
that rejection letter

for your poem yet?

No, I haven't.

Hmm.

The letter I received
arrived within two weeks

of my submission,
and here it is,

three weeks, and
nothing for you.

Isn't that odd?

Odd.

What's this?

It's that magazine you
couldn't get your poetry into.

Thank you, Woody.

I mean, what is it doing here?

Well, I decided if
I'm gonna try to write,

I might as well read
some of that poetry stuff.

Sam, that's very commendable.

I didn't realize

the new issue was out.
Yeah, it's not bad, either.

They got one I really like.

Page 37, I believe.

Yeah, read it out loud.

It'd be good for me to hear.

All right.

"Nocturne" by Sam Mal... oh!

Now... ooh, Diane,
come on, please,

books are our friends.

The page is 37 there.

Yes, thank you. Yeah.

Well...

Diane Chambers is
nothing if not open-minded.

Perhaps you...

you do have some

spark of talent.

They published your poem, huh?

All right!

Hey, don't let it
get out, though,

that I'm a sensitive guy.

Oh, yeah, yeah!

Hey, Sammy!

Very well, I've arrived
at my objective opinion.

All right. This is
one of the most...

amateurish, hackneyed,
odious pieces of effluvium

ever to wash down the pike.

Listen to this drivel.

"I fly through a puckish arena,

"where echoes dance,
where echoes dance,

where echoes dance..."

This sounds familiar.

Well, you said it three times.

This poem is plagiarized.

Oh, now I stole it?

And a minute ago,
you said it stunk.

It does stink.

Leave it to you to
not have the sense

to steal something worthwhile.

Aw, you know, I realize

that it's tough to have
somebody come along

and swipe your dreams of glory,

so I will not take
offense at that remark.

That poem is fraudulent,

and I intend to
find its true source,

even if I have to search through
every greeting card to do so.

Believe me, Sam Malone,
I will not rest until today,

the blackest day in
the history of literature,

is blotted out for all eternity.

Diane, I think you're
getting overexcited.

Uh, why don't you
just calm down?

I tell you, I've just come

from my Coping
With Anxiety Group,

and I have just the trick.

Now, here.

Put this over your
head and breathe.

I assure you, I am
in complete control.

I think the bag's a
good idea anyhow.

It's been proven
time and time again

that reincarnation breaks no
physical laws as we know 'em.

You know, I was thinking
about this the other day,

and, uh, I think in my next life

I'd like to come back as
the president of France.

Why is that, Wood?

Well, I think it'd attract a
lot of business to the bar.

Coffee, Woody.

Oh, sure thing, Miss Chambers.

I'll take the pot.

Say, what's with Diane there?

She's still searching
for Sam's poem.

Dr. Crane, I think you
ought to talk to her.

I mean, all she does
is read, read, read.

I bet she goes
through a book a week.

Uh...

Diane, uh,

Diane, you don't smoke.

What's your point?

Hey, there!

Still looking for
that poem, huh?

I'm sure it's a post-war piece.

It's not British. The
syntax is wrong.

I have a hunch it
might be regional.

You may not
believe this, but, uh,

I do sympathize with you.

It's not easy

to watch those
people you scoffed at

run past you while you
remain stuck in the mud

like a weighted-down elephant.

Made that up.

Does this mean that
you've stopped trying

to get your poetry published?

Not at all.

Oh...

I'm diligently
producing new work.

Well, that-that's good.

Uh, I'd love to
talk to you about it.

Uh, how's it goin', Diane?

Would you like to
know how it's going?

Yeah.

This is how it's going.

I'm totally blocked.

I can't write another word.

Hmm.

"Hurricane of
Wills," unfinished.

"The Death of a
Shallow Man," unfinished.

"A Bartender Dismembered,"

unfinished.

I suffer failure after failure
while you, a despoiler

of the English language

are lionized in
front of the world.

That's how it's going.

Well, maybe this
little literary chat

wasn't such a good idea.

Wanna make out?

Well...

Make out?

Diane, now listen, uh, listen,

I think the joke's gone
far enough, don't you?

You haven't eaten a
decent meal in a week.

You're living off of
cigarettes and coffee.

I mean, for God's sake,

this little literary magazine's
circulation must be what, 600.

That's just the beginning.

You see,

the original 600 readers
drop their copies on buses,

in taxicabs and
doctors' offices.

And another 600
people pick them up

and take them to the airport,

where they go all
over the country.

And then they get taken
on international flights.

Tierra del Fuego, Sierra Leone;

all the remotest
parts of the world.

And soon, I defy you
to find me a house,

a hut, an igloo or a wickiup

that doesn't have a
copy on the coffee table.

Diane...

And then, then, then

everyone in the world,

every living thing
will be laughing at me!

Because he got
published, and I did not!

Hi, everybody, I'm back!

Hey, Carla!

How was the trip?

Greatest vacation I
have ever taken in my life.

Graceland does not disappoint.

And to commemorate
the special anniversary,

I had this picture
taken of me and Elvis.

Oh, look at that.

How do they do that?

They use cardboard cutouts.

Wow, you know, you
look almost lifelike here.

So do you, Woody.

Woody, more coffee.

Okay, Miss Chambers.

I've got something
to cheer ya up.

I sent in a poem to
that magazine of yours.

Oh, my God, don't tell me
that they published yours, too?

No, I got one of your

"soon and inevitably
to be accepted" letters.

Huh? That's pretty exciting.

Oh, my God.

Sam was right.

Sam the Bard.

It was a form letter all along.

We two were sent a
condescending form letter.

I'm framing mine.

Hi.

You okay?

You win, Sam.

I've struggled so
hard for so long

to keep my dreams alive,

and I haven't fooled
anyone but myself.

I know all along you
all considered me

a pretentious,
self-deluded windbag

and apparently,
you've all been right.

I'm never going to be Diane
Chambers, the great poet,

the world-famous novelist,

the revered artist.

I've gone as high
as I'm going to go.

I'm a waitress in a beer hall...

and not a very good one.

A waitress.

A waitress.

A waitress.

Miss,

could you take our order?

Come on. Let's go
have a talk in my office.

Come on.

Sweetheart?

Okay, come on,
sweetheart. Come on.

Sit in the big chair there.

Okay, I have something,
uh, I have to say here.

And, uh, I just
want you to promise

before I say it

that you, uh, won't go crazy.

Don't worry.

I've hit rock bottom.

I have no emotions left.

Oh, all right. Um...

I, uh, I did copy that poem.

You are scum.

I tried to make one up
myself, but I-I just couldn't,

and so I-I copied one.

I never thought it would
be published, I promise.

What could you possibly
have been thinking of, Sam?

It obviously had been
published to begin with.

No, no, no, it hadn't.

Well, then please tell me.

I think you owe me that much.

Where did it come from?

Well, actually, it,
uh, came from a letter

that you wrote to me.

One of my letters?

Mm-hmm.

And when you didn't
recognize it out there,

I decided to play it out,

and rub your
smug little nose in it.

I'm sorry. I probably
went too far.

Oh, my God, it's one of mine.

How could I not recognize
this exquisite fluidity?

The characteristic
Chambers' grace

in the face of hard imagery?

Come on. You
told me that it stunk.

Sam, I'm a poet, not a critic.

Oh...

I'm published!

Yeah!

I'm published!

Oh, this is so exciting!

This is like... like
the first time I ever...

rode a bicycle.

Oh, this is great.

You're-you're not mad.

Mad? I'm elated.

Hey, all... I'm elated, too.

Oh, what a glorious day.

I'm going to go
do what poets do...

drink myself stinky.

Wait a minute.

This always happens.

You always squirm out
of these things unscathed.

You did a terrible thing!

I know it.

No, you don't.

You put me through hell.

This time it's going
to be different.

I'm going to make you suffer.

What-what're you going to do?

I don't know.

Yes, I do.

You're going out there
and admit to everyone

that you stole this
poem from me.

Oh, come on, you
mean I have to go out

and tell the whole
bar that I'm not a poet?

You sure do, mister.

Let's go.

What? What? What?
What? What? Mm...

What are you doin'?

Oh, yeah, I've heard about this.

Mm-mm.

You wanna go back to
my place and ride a bike?

Don't you ever, ever
again try to tell me

that you don't love me.

Oh, God, every
time I think I'm about

to get my hedge clipped,

you start talkin' about love,

and it's just not fair.

You saved my love letters.

I was so excited about
being a published poet,

it didn't sink in at first.

This proves it.

You love me now
as you always did,

madly and completely.

Hey, wait, listen to me.

I did not save your letters.

Where did this come from?

I found it in my apartment.

I got pizza boxes that old

that have more meaning. Come on.

Sam Malone, look me in the eyes

and tell me you don't love me.

If you can do that,

then I have no choice
but to believe you.

Oh, boy, I'm sorry, but...

I don't love you, Diane.

Uh, I thought I did once,

but I was wrong.

There's nothin' goin'
on between us here.

I mean, it's all over.

Very well.

That was in the eyes, wasn't it?

I guess I'll go

before I make a
bigger fool of myself.

Aha!

What the hell are you doing?

I came to catch
you in a lie, and I did.

Don't I know my darling
better than anyone else?

Okay, so I kept some
of your letters. Big deal.

I mean, that doesn't
prove anything.

I mean, I got lots
of junk in here.

Look at this.

I save all sorts of things.

Look-look at that. Where is it?

A warranty for my toaster.

Look at that, huh?

My letters.

A ticket... here-here it is...

A ticket to, uh, 1980 boat show.

Your protests only
prove my point.

There, poker chips.
Three poker chips.

You know, Sam, Each
one of these poker chips

I was thinking. means
more to me than your letters.

You know when we finally
do get married, A key.

We could move to
the country. A whistle.

Not too far away
Look at that... a whistle.

Because I couldn't
be far from the theater.

A double-C battery. And I know
how much you love the ocean.

Sam...

Four paper clips.