Frasier (1993–2004): Season 4, Episode 3 - The Impossible Dream - full transcript

[SHOWER RUNNING]

Whoa.

Well, look who's up.

BO Y: It's my parents. I don't know,
they're just, like, really stupid.

- May I ask how old you are?
- Fourteen.

Well, hang on, Jimmy.
Your parents are gonna be stupid

for another seven years.

Whoa, seven years?

That's, like, longer than
I'll be in high school.

I salute your optimism.

We'll be right back after this.



Oh, God, Roz. A teenager
who's embarrassed by his parents?

Can't you come up with something
a little more challenging for me?

It was either him or our
old pal Rudy, the crier.

Rudy, the crier. He's been on
three times in the last month.

You put him on again, he won't
be the only one who's crying.

God, I'm in a dry spell.

Where are the souls
of genuine torment?

The people teetering on the brink
of genuine despair?

Oh, they'll be back. The holidays
are just around the corner.

Well, perhaps you're right.

Oh, Roz.

- I've a question I'd like to ask you.
- Shoot.

Have you ever had a recurring dream
of an intimate nature about someone...

Well, a coworker?



- Oh, no, why'd you tell me?
- Oh, Roz.

Now it's gonna be creepy every time
you look at me through the glass.

Roz, not you!

- Who was it then?
- I'm not gonna go into specifics.

- Gina in accounting?
- I'm not gonna do this.

- Oh, Sheila, the slow intern?
- Forget I even mentioned it.

Knock, knock.

Gil.

Frasier, I've come to tempt you.

Really?

I am reviewing the new pastry chef
at Chez Shea. And I quote:

"His amaretto ?clair is so sinful,

it will send you scurrying to your
local padre for absolution."

No, thank you, Gil.
I'm on a diet, you see.

- Oh, come now, you know you want it.
- No, no, no, I really don't.

Off you go. Bye-bye.

- Oh, my God!
- What?

- It was Gil!
- I never said that.

- Then why are you blushing?
- Don't be ridiculous!

- Your ears are turning red.
- I am not.

You are.

Still not blushing.

MAN [CRYING]:
Just lying there in the hospital bed,

she lifted her head off the pillow,

looked up and said, "I love you."
And then she was gone.

Rudy, stop crying.

Now, we've gone over this before.

What was our agreement
about sad movies?

- I shouldn't watch them.
- Exactly.

Now, go get a cool washcloth

to try to bring down
the puffiness around your eyes,

and please stay away
from sad or depressing things.

Which, at this moment, includes
listening to the Frasier Crane Show.

Well, let's shoot it to the news.

That's it for today.
This is Dr Frasier Crane.

Oh, my God!
Well, close the record books.

That was just the dullest three hours in
the history of the Frasier Crane Show.

Oh, come on, it wasn't so bad.

What about the woman who was so
concerned about her appearance

- she wouldn't leave the house?
- That was a commercial!

I believe Miss Clairol
solved the problem.

Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Roz.
Oh, Roz.

About that dream I mentioned
to you earlier...

It goes without saying,
I'd rather you didn't share that.

- Oh, sure.
- Hi, dream boy.

I hate you.

Couldn't keep
your mouth shut, could you?

Just when did you find
the time to spread the news?

You don't think I was listening
to your show, do you?

BULLDOG:
Coming through!

Oh, doc, I gotta rub
this one in a little.

All right, Bulldog, before
you start to ridicule me,

yes, yes, I had a dream about Gil,

and, yes, it did have some
erotic elements, but...

You have no idea what
I'm talking about, do you?

I do now. Whoa!

Look, let's just forget it.

What delightful jibe did you
have prepared for me?

Oh, I was gonna tell you your show
today just broke the snooze-o-meter,

but now I wanna hear about you
greasing Gil's cookie sheet.

I'm on a bus to hell.

So I returned to the dry cleaners
yet a third time.

I hardly need to tell you
how the story ends.

Just tell me when the story ends.

Fine. They realigned
my pleats. The end.

I'm sorry, Niles.
I'm just a bit distracted today.

See, this morning a man
from my building,

approached me with
an intriguing problem.

Seems he's been having
a recurring dream.

Please, that little gambit didn't work
when we were in knee socks.

- What was your dream, Frasier?
- Oh, all right.

It's been tormenting me. I haven't
been able to sleep in weeks now.

It's a bit hazy, but it starts out
in a seedy motel room.

- I'm naked.
- Interesting.

Yes, well, I roll over
and discover on my forearm

a tattoo with the word "chesty."

- Interesting.
- Yes. And then the shower turns off.

Out from the bathroom steps...

...a man.

All right, go ahead, let me have it.

Are you saying that now,
or is that a quote from the dream?

Please.

We're too intelligent to waste time
on the obvious interpretation.

Yes. But you must admit
it's rather intriguing.

Would you stop?

It's obviously screaming for
a Jungian interpretation.

The sexuality in the dream
is surely symbolic

of some deeper non-sexual conflict.

- All right.
- Good afternoon, Frasier.

- Gil.
- A little birdie tells me,

I was featured in your midnight movie.

Very clever. Off you go.

Very well. See you tomorrow,

or should I say,
see you in your dreams.

In this dream of yours,
were there any cigars,

bananas or short, blunt swords?

Would you stop it?
I'm 43, a little late for latency.

- You guys okay over here?
- We're fine.

Well, you must be new here.

I would've remembered such
a pretty face as yours.

- You're overcompensating.
- Right.

We're fine. Bye-bye.

I'm just baffled by it. Gil Chesterton
explains "chesty," but little else.

You should tackle this from
a free-association standpoint.

- Oh, God. Must we?
- Focus on a detail in the motel room.

What's the first thing
that pops into your mind?

A crescent-shaped lamp.

Perfect. A crescent-shaped lamp.
Run with that.

Crescent. Moon.

Daphne Moon. French maid.

- Brass bed. Satin rope.
- Niles!

- This is my dream.
- I was just showing you the process.

You were three words away
from a cigarette.

- Your turn.
- All right.

- Crescent lamp.
- Crescent.

Croissant.

Butter. Apricot jam.

Hunger. Food. Diet.

My God, I've been on a diet.
Do you think that's useful?

You could stand to lose a few pounds.

Just wait a minute.

All right, Gil is a restaurant critic.
He's a gourmet.

Perhaps he's symbolic of the food
I've been denying myself.

That would explain why you're naked.

It's when we're most
self-conscious about our bodies.

Yes, and most vulnerable
to the way society tattoos us,

with labels about our appearance.
Oh, my God, that's it, Niles.

The dream is simply telling me that
I've been too rigid about my diet.

You'll know tonight.
If this is the correct interpretation,

the conflict will have passed from your
unconscious to your conscious mind.

Yes. The dream will have
served its purpose.

- And you'll no longer be plagued by it.
- Oh, God. I've nailed it. I really have.

Finally, for the first time in weeks,

there'll be no tequila bottles, no tattoo,
no half-naked man in my bed.

So then the rabbi says...

[SHOWER RUNNING]

[SHOWER STOPS RUNNING]

Oh, I'm sorry.

Wrong room.

That does it.
We're finding another motel.

Oh, God.

[ELEVATOR DINGS]

Hello.

Someone followed me again
last night.

You're just being paranoid.

I'm telling you, they're on to me.

Come on, nobody could recognize
you after all that plastic surgery.

That's what Marlena thought.

Marlena got sloppy. She never
should've gone back to Z?rich.

I just don't want
any more bloodshed.

[WHISPERS]
Relax, you're home-free.

You don't know
the Woodchuck and his ways.

[ELEVATOR DINGS]

- Oh, we're terrible.
- We are? You are.

"The Woodchuck and his ways"?

You know, we really should stop
doing this. It's not nice.

Yeah, you're right.
We won't do it anymore.

How'd you get the stuff
through customs?

They never check the wooden leg.

The answer has got to be
in there somewhere.

Here's something. "Dreams
as an expression of wish-fulfilment."

Moving on.

Goodness, are you two still here?

- What are you working on?
- Nothing.

I'm helping Frasier interpret
a dream he's been having.

You know, maybe Dad can help.

No, no, no. No, no, no.

Don't want to bore Dad with the
details of this particular dream.

Dreams can be rooted
in childhood experience.

Maybe Dad remembers
something you repressed.

Gee, I don't know.
If it's about when you were a kid,

I've repressed a lot of that myself.

This is not a dream I wish to share
with Dad, thank you very much.

We've exhausted every
other interpretation,

so I guess it's back
to dreams as wish-fulfilment.

Oh, Dad, would you mind
listening to my dream

to see if it conjures up
any memories from my childhood?

Oh, come on, you're making
too much out of this.

It's a dream. Dreams are weird.

Okay, please, Dad, I wouldn't ask
if it weren't really bothering me.

- Oh, all right. Go on.
- All right now.

It starts out in a little motel room.

I have a tattoo on my arm, "chesty."

See? That's weird.

Yes, but then out
from the bathroom steps a...

All right, now before I continue,

just let me remind you that this is a
dream, not to be confused with reality.

Out from the bathroom steps a...

...man...

...eating lion.

Oh, see?

There again, weird.

Look, dreams come, they go.
They don't mean anything.

Except if you're lucky once in a while,
you might have one that's fun.

Like, you know, you're hitting
a home run in the World Series,

or you're in the jungle
with Jayne Mansfield

- and she gets bit by a snake.
- Thank you, Dad.

- You know who Jayne Mansfield is?
- Yes, Dad.

- Know what they do when you're bit?
- Yes, Dad.

Wish I knew what I had
for dinner that night.

Oh, I get it.
"Chesty" refers to Gil Chesterton.

Niles, you gossipy fishwife.

There's no reason to feel
self-conscious, Dr Crane.

We've all had dreams like that.

I had one about a girl I shared
a flat with once. A gymnast.

Go on, Daphne.
This could be significant.

Well, I remember we were doing
stretches in the gymnasium,

when suddenly we decided
to take off all our clothes

and go for a bounce
on the trampoline.

The next thing you know, I'm chasing
her around the pommel horse and...

Oh, never mind.

Don't stop now.

This could help us.

Well, actually, I do have a theory
of me own about your dream,

- if you'd like to hear it.
- What the hell.

Well, in your dream,
who was in the shower? Gil.

What is a shower? Running water.

Who needs water? Fish.

What do fish have? Gills.

Do you see where I'm going?

Insane.

It could be a dream about the loss
of a beloved childhood pet.

Thanks a lot, Eddie. Forty-five minutes
in the park, you don't have to go.

I get one bite into my sandwich,
and you give me the look.

Mr Crane, did Dr Crane
ever have a goldfish growing up?

- A fish?
- Yes, as a pet.

How would I know?
That was Hester's department.

Come on, let's go.

Frasier, are you thinking
what I'm thinking?

That Dad can interpret
the looks from his dog

and has only the spottiest
recollections of our childhood?

No, no, no. Hester.

Hesty. The tattoo. That's only
one letter away from chesty.

Then are you saying that the dream
could have been about Mother?

Well?

I suppose I could've
misread the tattoo.

Yes, this freckle pattern here on my
arm could be mistaken for a C.

And what swims in the sea? Fish.

All right, all right. I'll go.

Well, so, the tattoo
could've said "Hesty."

But the problem is I don't ever
remember Dad calling Mom that.

But who's to say he didn't?

[GASPS]

NILES & FRASIER: Dad, Dad, Dad.
- What?

Did you ever have a
nickname for Mother?

Oh, for God's sakes,
this to do with that stupid dream?

- Dad, this is really important.
- Any pet name?

A term of endearment?

Well, when we were first married,
I used to call her "honey."

And then there was a time after that
that I started calling her "sweetie."

I'm sure there's a delicious anecdote
behind each one of those,

but did you ever call her Hesty?

- Hesty?
- Oh, come on! Think, man!

Even once. Once in all the years
you lived together?

Well, I don't know.
I mean, I guess.

- Maybe once, you know.
- Oh, thank you, Dad.

Well, there it is.

I must have heard him
call her Hesty once,

and neatly tucked it away
into my subconscious.

Of course. It's so obvious.

Gil is a food critic. Food. Criticism.

[IN UNISON]
Mother!

It's the classic Oedipal dream.

Yes. Only I was so frightened by my
sexual urges to be with my mother

that I transformed her into a man.

Oh, what a relief. I've been
wringing my hands over nothing.

I mean it's okay. All I want to do
is have sex with my dead mother.

[SHOWER RUNNING]

[SHOWER STOPS RUNNING]

Mom?

Mommy?

Patience, Daddy.

[MARTIN GRUNTS]

You'd think by now I'd know better
than to have that third Slim Jim

before going to bed.

- You couldn't sleep either, huh?
- No.

Frankly, I'm sort of afraid to go back
to sleep. It's that damn dream again.

Oh, what are you worried about?
It's just a dream.

Worst case scenario:

The man-eating lion leaps
on top of you and mauls you.

I'm sorry, Dad. I wasn't completely
truthful with you before.

The dream is really about me in
a motel room with a male companion,

Gil Chesterton.

You don't care if I ever
sleep again, do you?

Dad, please.
I'd really like to discuss this.

MARTIN: No, Frasier, please.
This makes me very uncomfortable.

FRASIER: Dad, please?
- I know, I know.

In your generation,
men talk about everything.

Everything's out in the open.

You know, what really drives me crazy
is the way you all touch each other.

Everybody hugs, you know.

In my generation,
it was a handshake.

That was good enough,

and maybe if you felt
especially close to someone,

you could touch them on the shoulder,
but never for more than two seconds.

And don't talk to me
about football players

patting people's butts and everything
because that's different. That's sports.

- That's like war. Now, good night, son.
- Dad!

If you wanna tell me something,
write it on a Post-it,

- and stick it on the fridge.
- Look, I really want to talk about this.

I've exhausted every other
interpretation of this dream.

Is it possible my subconscious
is trying to tell me

something about my sexuality?

- Oh, that's ridiculous!
- Is it?

I was sensitive as a child.

I didn't go in for sports.

God, it's every clich? in the book.

Surely it must have occurred
to you at some point.

You refused to take me to see
West Side Story on my birthday.

Well, because of the gangs.

- That's scary for kids.
- Even gangs that dance?

Especially gangs that dance.

All right, yeah, okay.
Yeah, I thought about it,

but, no, Frasier, no.
I don't believe that.

And you know why? Because
you would've known by now.

Your unconscious or whatever
the hell you call it

could no more have kept its
yap shut than the rest of you.

- I suppose you're right.
- Yeah.

Now, come on, it's after 3.

You're gonna be worn out
before the show tomorrow.

- What a tragedy that would be.
- Now what're you complaining about?

Oh, no, just...

I haven't had any
really interesting calls lately.

I'm beginning to question
whether I'm bored with psychiatry.

You'd never know it the way you got
your nose stuck in all those books.

That's true.

The one saving grace about this dream

is it's given me a chance to flex
my analytical muscle a bit.

So maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

Wait a minute.

Could that be what this
has been all about?

I've been so intellectually
unchallenged lately by my show

that my mind had to create
a dream that defies interpretation

- just to give me a challenge?
- I don't know, keep talking.

You're making me sleepy.

Dad, no, that's got to be it!

My show hasn't provided me with
a single patient worthy of my skills.

And I had to invent one myself. Me.

Oh, God, what a relief.

At last, finally, to bed.
Dad, you witnessed an epiphany.

MARTIN: Yeah, God, I gotta
get you to put this on tape.

FRASIER:
Well, off we go.

To sleep, perchance not to dream.

[MOANS]

[SHOWER NOT RUNNING]

[KNOCKING ON DOOR]

Come in.

Dr Crane? Dr Sigmund Freud.

- My goodness, this is quite an honour.
- The honour is all mine.

I gave you a complex psychological
problem, and you solved it.

- Thank you...
- You're a brilliant psychiatrist.

Oh, that's very flattering, but there are
so many things I'd like to ask you.

In good time, my boy, in good time.

Right now we have
more important matters.