Documentary Now! (2015–…): Season 2, Episode 3 - Parker Gail's Location Is Everything - full transcript

Good evening.

I'm Helen Mirren,

and you're watching
"Documentary Now!" season 51.

Acclaimed monologist Parker Gail

made memoir into theater
for over 30 years.

But when he teamed up with
director Harrison Renzi in 1987,

memoir, theater,
and documentary merged

to produce a classic.

We now proudly present
Parker Gail's.

"Location is Everything."

I learned we were being forced
out of our loft on Broome Street



when my girlfriend Ramona
and I were lying in bed

one Sunday morning in January.

It was 10 degrees outside

and the radiator pipes
were clanging...

Bing! Bing!

Like there were little Dutchmen
inside them with hammers,

swinging as they pivot
left to right

like some sort of pre-war
SoHo heat pipe cuckoo clock.

And I started to free-associate
about the little Dutchmen

living in my pipes.

What do they do
during the summer

when the heat was off?

Whether they summered
in the kitchen faucet

to make it sputter...
tch, tch, tch, tch.



Like the sprinkler
we had growing up

in Foster-Glocester,
Rhode Island,

the summer my father left.

And I would sit on the lawn
with my brother, Chipper,

and we would watch the sprinkler
have this kind of

schizophrenic argument
with itself.

You know, it would spray one way...
tch, tch, tch, tch.

And then its head would shake
the other way...

Tat, tat, tat, tat, tat.

And meanwhile,
my parents were inside

figuring out
how to tell the kids.

And then I realized
I'm not just free-associating.

I'm actually...
I'm actually talking out loud.

And Ramona says, "Cool it with
the sprinkler sounds, Parker!"

"Look at this!

They're building
a Stereo City here."

And I say, "What's so surprising
about that?"

"The neighborhood's
turning over.

"The flophouses now sell
designer jeans

and the discotheques
are now selling froyo."

And Ramona says, "No, Parker",

"they're not building a
Stereo City in our neighborhood,

"they're building one here!

59 Broome Street!"

And she shows me
the "New York Daily News"

and there it is
in black and white!

Approved plans for our building
to be torn down

and for a temple of speakers
and CD towers

and cassette tapes and earphones

to be built on the very site
where we were just making love.

And I should tell you,

I-it had been my loft at first.

Okay?

And when I met Ramona,
she sort of...

she sort of colonized the place,
you know,

like a...
like a feminine Neil Armstrong.

She came in and said,
"I think a flower pot

would look nice by the window."
Thunk!

Then suddenly, her blouses
and cold cream

and Sucret Tins
and mohair throws

were all over the apartment,

until one day she said, "Parker!"

"If you insist
I sleep here every night,

"and if I have to keep
all my stuff here,

"then I should stop paying rent
on my apartment

and just move in, right?"

And that is how I asked Ramona
to live with me.

No. No. No, no, no.

That is not what happened.

Okay, hi, I'm Ramona,

and that is not what happened.

He begged me
to move in with him.

He begged me.

For starters,
I never liked sleeping there.

It's a seven-story walk-up.

It smelled like yogurt.

He would eat plain yogurt
in the bed

and then chuck the containers
over the dresser

and yell, "Bye-bye, yogurt!"

So I say, "Parker, I don't think
I can sleep here anymore."

He starts crying.

He says he's terrified
to sleep there alone

because there are tiny Dutchmen
that live in the heat pipes.

And I say, "Okay, Parker,
that's very clever."

You're free-associating."

And then he said,
"I'm not free-associating

"I truly believe
that there are tiny Dutchmen

"banging hammers
in my heat pipes.

They summer in the kitchen
and they're going to kill me."

I was like...

I mean, you know, being single
in New York, it's like...

I mean, he was kind of cute,
you know,

and he liked dancing, so...

I didn't want to break up.

The next day,

we get a letter
from our landlord.

"59 Broome Street's being turned
into a Stereo City.

Our building is being
demolished."

The plans for the construction
are these.

The building next door starts
being torn down that day.

And that's when Ramona's
environmental illness kicks in.

Ramona
has environmental illness,

which means she's allergic
to the environment,

which is all groovy if you live
above the ozone layer,

but if you're stuck down here,
sorry, Sally.

Ramona says her head hurts.

Ramona says her stomach hurts.

Ramona says
the room is spinning.

Ramona goes for the door

and runs down to
the urgent care clinic

on Sixth Avenue.

She has that Jewish thing

of when in doubt, hospital!

Uh-uh. I don't have
environmental illness,

okay?

I keep getting food poisoning

constantly because Parker
refuses to eat at anywhere

that doesn't have a $4 entree.

Also, I walked to the hospital

because Parker refused
to pay for a cab.

Also, not everything that I do
is because I'm Jewish,

and he may want to watch it
with that.

Anyway, I'm being kicked out
of my home.

Home.

Home going away.

Father's moving out,

and suddenly,
I'm back in that summer

in Foster-Glocester,
Rhode Island,

when my father sat us
on the wicker furniture

on the front porch and told us

he was going to live
somewhere else

with another woman,

and that Mother and Father
would not be together anymore.

He was 30
when his parents got divorced.

And I want my mother
and father to be together,

and... and my brother, Chipper,
he takes me by the hand

and... and...
and we leave the house

and we head to the...
the Foster Fair,

a big summer fair
with a Tilt-A-Whirl

and cotton candy and...
and tears are stinging my cheeks

and I hear the hot dog vendor.

The hot dog vendor,
he's yelling,

"Hot dogs! Hot dogs!"

And Chipper's telling me
everything's gonna be okay.

"Parker, don't you worry."

And "Hot dogs! Hot dogs!"

"Don't worry," Chipper says.

"It'll be like
having two homes."

"Hot dogs! Hot dogs!

Hot dogs!"

And even though we were never
allowed food between meals,

my brother bought me
two frankfurters.

With mustard.

And... I ate them up.

I ate them up.

I guzzled up a cream soda

and, oh, I'm in bliss.

And then I realize that...
the table is wobbling!

The table is wobbling!
This is very distracting!

This is not part
of the monologue.

This is a real problem for me.

Guys?

Someone come in here
and fix the table

or I won't be able
to concentrate on my monologue

or be able to free-associate

or recall the time I made oral
love to my Russian roommate.

And the table is fixed,

order's restored,

and I can now move on
with the monologue.

Actually, too much water.

I have to go to the bathroom.

I need to go to the bathroom.

We have to move.

Ramona wanted to move to
one of these elevator buildings

with the green awnings.

You know, the kind that always
have a neo-Greek name

like "The Promethean"?

But where to move?

York Avenue?

First Avenue?

Second Avenue?

Third Avenue?

Park?

Madison? Fifth Avenue?

Avenue of the Americas?

Broadway?

And... I'm overwhelmed by this.

I'm overwhelmed.

I have to... I have to...
I have to get out.

I have to move. I have to...

I have to ground myself.

So I go to the park
and I begin to practice tai chi.

I'm focusing on my breath.

The fluid movement
while I do the water sign.

And a little boy, he...
comes up to me.

And he says,

"What are you doing, mister?"

I'm practicing tai chi.

"Is that like fighting, mister?"

It's sort of like fighting,

but it's... fighting yourself;

Fighting your own inner voice.

"Inner voice? You mean, like...

like... like a Walkman
with stereo headphones?"

I say, "No,
it's a moving meditation."

"Wow, mister.

T-They don't teach that
in the fifth grade."

They sure don't.

And he walked away,
rolling a tire.

Yeah, dude,

I'm not in fifth grade.

I'm in high school.

I've had, like, full sex.

And I-I don't call people
"mister"

'cause I'm an idiot
from some black-and-white movie.

So me, Robbie, and AJ
were skateboarding

near the public stairs

and then there's this
old lady-looking dork-ass

standing there
doing slow karate.

And we're like, "Move."

And he's like,
"This is tai chi."

And we're like,
"No one gives a shit."

So he... he was eating his lunch
in this Tupperware.

He said it was his special meal.

And so we took it and just,
like, chucked it at this statue.

So...
So that's how that went down.

So Ramona and I checked
the real estate listings

and there are five apartments
we want to see.

The... No.

This is something else.

Five apartments we want to see.

One, two, three, four, five.

Now, I have to meet Ramona,
but first,

I want to see my analyst.

You know, I d...
I don't feel centered, you know.

I'm about to face these...
these new apartments

and I... I can't make
any kind of rational decision

with this monkey-mind thinking
in my brain, and...

my analyst, you know,
he's one of these great

elderly Freudian types,
you know.

He has a very authoritative
manner and he says...

"Parker,

"moving isn't your problem

"because wherever you go,

your brain will follow."

I'm not a psychiatrist.

I work at a walk-in clinic.

Parker came in for a flu shot
like nine years ago

and now he shows up once a week.

We normally have him lie down
and let him use the bathroom.

Now, I have meet Ramona,
so I wandered down the subway

and I'm descending the stairs
like I'm going into a great womb

and... and I'm back in the womb
and I discover I have no tokens.

I have no tokens!

Because this is a womb
you pay to get into,

whereas in birth,
you pay when you leave.

No refunds.

I say to the woman
in the booth...

her name's Darlene...

I...
I see a kindness in her eyes

and I say,
"I don't have a token,

"but I...
I need to get on the train.

"I need to... I need to escape.

I need to escape my life."

And she says,

"I... I can't let you do that
or I'll lose my job,

"but... there's a bodega
just up the stairs.

"Get change.

"I'll be here, Parker.

You'll get where
you need to go."

Hold up.

Attention:

This old George Washington
lookin' ass

tried to jump the turnstile.

I had to get out of my booth
and put down my puzzle.

I had to grab him and pull him
back over the turnstile,

and then he starts crying.

I say, "What is wrong with you
as a person?"

And he says, "I have to move
from one loft to another loft."

Well, I'm like,
"God, give me strength

to deal with these people,
'cause I cannot."

I'm gonna just not show up
one day to this job.

You think I'm lying,

but one day,
I'm not gonna be there

and everyone can run their own
goddamn subway.

Gettin' yelled at all the time.

And then I'm in a monologue? No.

So I rush out
of the subway station

and I duck into a bodega
to get some change.

I need to break a $5 bill,

so I buy some of those big
orange circus peanuts.

And just as I'm about to
free-associate about the circus,

I see the bodega has
a little cat living there.

And he stares into my eyes.

And I stare into his eyes.

And from his perch on top of
a can of Goya beans,

telepathically, he says to me,

"Why are you here?"

I'm here for change.

And the cat says to me,
"Change comes from within."

Finally, I get to the apartment.

Ramona's waiting for me outside.

She's upset because she thinks
she's about to have her period

and Mercury's in...
retrograde, or something.

No, I had a cyst burst.

I called Parker,
but he was getting beat up

by some skater kids.

And it's a large apartment
on Allen Street

in Chinatown...

a whole floor of this building,

and... the super lets us in,

and he... you know,
he's one of these great African characters

out of a Kipling story,
you know.

And he says,

"These apartments going fast.

"Nothing stays open
in this city for long.

"But before I show you around,

here, smoke this spliff."

And he hands me one of these

big kahuna,
blast-you-to-the-Milky Way

joints, you know.

And I know I shouldn't do it.

All my mental problems get
highly exacerbated by grass,

but I figure... When in Rome.

Or in this case,

when in Chinatown
with a Nigerian super,

right?

So I take a puff and zoom!

I am off!

I'm at warp speed, baby!

Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto...
see ya, fellas!

I'm in the nether regions
of space

and it's like being back
in the womb again.

All my Oedipal themes
come back to me.

I'm in the mother of space
and I see these green dots.

These green dots
are coming to me.

But they're not green dots.

They're little aliens.

And they say, "Who are you?"

And I say, "I'm Parker Gail.
I do monologues."

"Oh, like plays?"

Not really.

"Oh, so like stand-up comedy?"

You know, I... it... you...

"Well, that doesn't sound
very good."

And they put me
in this giant space cannon,

and they shoot me back to Earth
and zoom!

And voom!

I'm back.

Nine hours have passed.

I've been curled up on the floor
the entire time.

A whole open house has happened.

Different couples had to
step over me on the floor.

And the superintendent, he...

he looked down at me
and he said,

"Parker,

"this is not your home.

Go. Find where you belong."

Hi.

I'm not African.

But it's fine.

I'm happy to be included
in your little show.

I did show him the apartment

and...

there was no big kahuna joint.

He went into the bathroom
and got high,

then lied about it.

And I wander back to our loft.

The building next to it's
already been torn down.

Signs for Stereo City
already up.

And I realize I'm not mourning
the loss of the loft.

I'm... I'm mourning the loss of
the first home I ever had

on Runyon Road in
Foster-Glocester, Rhode Island,

the home with
the wicker furniture

where my parents sat us down
and said,

"If there's one reason
we're splitting up,

it's your brother Parker."

And I enter my apartment
and I...

and I not only find Ramona,

but my brother and my sister,
and...

and they're sitting in a circle,
and I say...

I... I say, "What is this?"

And Ramona said,

"Sit down, mate.

What we got here
is an intervention."

Dude, I'm not from the Outback.

What are these accents?

Why were you even surprised?

I plan an intervention for you,

like, once, maybe twice a year.

I should have my own
intervention planning business.

So they're all there

and they tell me, "Parker",

"you need to stop spinning out

"into these anxiety attacks.

"We want you to go 60 seconds

without free-associating
yourself into a panic!"

60 seconds.

Okay.

I can do that.

But I have no concept
of 60 seconds, you see,

so...
so I picture an enormous clock.

And I'm...

And I'm watching
the hands of the clock move

and the... and the hour hand
is moving slow and steady

like the tortoise,
and the minute hand is running

and running and running
like the hare.

But really,
when I think about it,

the minute hand isn't running...
it's winding.

It's winding up like Sandy
Koufax at Ebbets Field and...

shit, I'm definitely
free-associating,

but I don't care, baby.

There's the roar of the crowd
because someone hits a home run!

And it's a home run!

It's a home run
and I'm running home!

I'm running home!

Down the road
to Foster-Glocester,

and the headlights
are coming towards me.

They're coming toward me.
I can't find home!

I can't find home because
my home is a Stereo City!

Now my former home,
it's speakers thumping,

and now it's a discotheque,
and someone passes me something.

I know I shouldn't smoke it,

but what's bad for the brain
is good for the hips.

And now I'm dancing, baby!

I'm dancing, baby!

And I just remembered
there's a camera on the ceiling!

Hi, buddy boy! How's it going?

And I'm movin' and I'm groovin'
and I collapse of perspiration

because I'm home.

I'm home.

I'm home. I'm home.

And I come to.

And my brother is laughing.

He's laughing because
only 15 seconds have passed

and I free-associated so hard
that I shit my pants.

And Ramona is crying.

Nuh-uh. No.

And I look up and I see...

I see my mother and father
are there.

They've come together
so long after their divorce to...

to be with their son.

Not true.

Not true.

We were never divorced,
god damn it.

In my life, I never bought
wicker furniture.

It creaks and...

Parker,
get it through your head.

We've been married 55 years

and this little jerk

tells people we divorced
so he can have attention.

He's creative.

The man's 45 years old

and eats yogurt all day.

And we should get in the car now

if we're gonna make it back
out of the city

at a reasonable hour.

My family, my home

is here, I realize.

It's here.

And I hug Ramona,

then try to go down on her.

Worst moment of my life.

And the next day,
I take Ramona by the hand...

He had shit in his pants.

And we sign a lease
on that apartment in Chinatown,

'cause as they say,

location...

is everything.

And yeah.

So...

that's all I have to say.

Okay.

Mr. Gail, it says here
you have served seven years

of a ten-year sentence
for burning down Stereo City.

Parole is not granted
at this time.

Uh-huh.

Though, could you name

all the different avenues
again, please?

- What?
- I'm kidding.

Mr. Gail, you will be remanded
until such a time

as you are eligible again
in 15 months.

Okay. Can I...
Can I go to the bathroom again?

No.

Okay.