M*A*S*H (1972–1983): Season 6, Episode 6 - The Light That Failed - full transcript
B.J. receives a mystery novel that everyone in camp reads in turn. When they discover the last page is missing, the solution to the mystery has become a mystery in itself, until B.J. calls the author long distance; In post-op, thanks to faulty lighting and an incompetent nurse, Charles accidentally injects his patient with the wrong hypodermic and nearly kills him.
♪♪ [theme]
If it gets
any darker in here,
we won't have to go
to your place.
CHARLES:
Now this one's going.
POTTER: Klinger,
a light bulb, on the double.
If I can find my way
outta here, sir.
-Ouch!
-Gelfoam.
Easy on the Gelfoam, troops.
We're running low.
We're running low on
everything but customers.
Colonel, did those buffoons
at headquarters give you
any reason why
the supplies are late?
Yes, they said
there's a war on.
There is?
I can't see it.
I think they should call it
on account of darkness.
That's subtracting
some light from the subject.
Somebody must have shut
the refrigerator door.
These are the most deplorable
conditions I have ever seen.
I would operate in Braille
if my fingers weren't frozen.
Sorry, Charles, we're all out
of fur-lined rubber gloves.
Not to mention
the chinchilla shorts.
A pity we are not
out of juvenile prattle.
[imitating Charles]
Sorry, I got carried away.
HAWKEYE: I'd like to get
carried away to somplace warm.
-Got one, sir! Ow!
-[clatter]
Klinger, in this light,
you look just like
Boris Karloff's sister.
[imitating Karloff]
Thank you, sir.
Where'd you get
the bulb, Klinger?
From one of the tents,
Colonel.
Good man. Somebody
will just have to skip
writing home tonight.
Hope Mrs. Potter
doesn't mind.
Oh, swell! What happened
to rank has its privilege?
It went out
with the bulb, sir.
-4.0 silk.
-We're out.
-3.0 silk.
-Out.
Well, what have you got?
Klinger's sewing kit.
All right,
let me have some thread.
Anything in white.
Hold the sequins.
[wind howling]
Sorry, sir, the lab
needs a bulb in a hurry.
Just a moment, Klinger.
Haven't I exhausted
my quota of sacrifices
for the day?
-Take his bulb.
-Oh, of course.
We wouldn't want to
inconvenience you.
After all, a man
of your delicate
sensibilities
can't be expected to function
under deplorable conditions.
Please,
take this one. Yes.
-Just a moment, Klinger.
-Make up your mind, sir.
This climbing
is murder on my hose.
Pierce, I hope you're not
suggesting for a moment
that you're a better
doctor than I am
under deplorable conditions.
No, just that your
attitude is deplorable
under any conditions.
If that is a gauntlet
you have just thrown down,
I take it up with relish.
One gauntlet
with relish,
hold the mustard
and onions.
Klinger, take my bulb.
-Do I hear a rebuttal?
-Klinger.
He's captain, I'm a major,
that's an order.
I'm a corporal,
this is a ladder...
and that's the bulb.
MAN [on P.A.]:
Attention, all personnel.
Attention. Supply truck
now in the compound.
[horn beeping]
-The supplies have
arrived, Colonel.
-Glory be!
I don't claim to know
much about fashion, Klinger
but you look like
the dog's dinner.
You try and color coordinate
in the dark.
Ah. You, madam, if you
can guess what this is
you win a lifetime supply
of anchovy sherbet.
That's an ice cream churn.
Please, no prompting
from the studio audience.
Those bird-brains.
Talk about coals to Newcastle.
MULCAHY: At least
coal we could burn.
Where are the light bulbs?
No light bulbs,
also no bandages, no Gelfoam,
no sutures,
and no heating oil.
-No kidding.
-What's in all the crates?
Salt tablets,
mosquito netting,
insect repellent,
probably a thousand gallons
of suntan lotion.
Peachy. You realize
somewhere in the tropics,
an outfit has just opened
several crates of parkas,
snow boots, and light bulbs.
Ship me there, sir.
I'll get to the bottom of it.
-Freeze.
-That's what I'm doing.
Driver, what ignoramus
is responsible for this?
Any one of a dozen, sir.
Would you mind signing
this, please?
Sign nothing. We can't use
any of this, Sergeant.
-It's all yours now.
-Mule fritters!
You've got to haul it
back to H.Q.
I'm sorry, Colonel.
I'm not authorized for returns.
Would you sign this, please?
I'm overdue at the 8063.
Let them get
their inflatable pool
and swim fins an hour later.
Didn't you wonder why you were
delivering ice cream churns
to a MASH unit
in the middle of winter?
Yeah, I used to wonder
about stuff like that,
but it was keeping me
up nights,
giving me worry lines,
so I cut it out.
-Very wise.
-You know, Colonel,
if I was you,
I would try and look
on the bright side.
-There's a bright side?
-Oh, yeah.
Summer is just six months away.
Ah, there's something we
can use-- an empty mailbag.
Wrong, sir.
There's a package in it.
-It's for you.
-For me?
-Finally, an air conditioner.
-No, it's a book.
-A book?
-Yeah.
You mean a real book,
between covers, with
words and everything?
I wonder if I
still know how to read.
It's a mystery. The Rooster
Crowed at Midnight.
"Another brain-teasing,
spine-chilling whodunit
from the prize-winning pen
of Abigail Porterfield."
-Dibs! Me next!
-Come on, B.J.!
-Finally!
-I beg your pardon?
It took you six minutes
and three decks of cards
to read that page.
Two pages, one on this side,
one on that side.
That still comes out
to 78 cards a page.
Nobody reads that slow.
I'm not reading,
I'm savoring.
Savor faster. I'm desperate.
I'd trade my soul
for a laundry list.
Go over to the mess tent,
read the alphabet soup.
How would you like a club
in the mouth?
Relax, I'll be finished
with this, Tuesday latest.
-Tuesday?
-Wednesday?
Look, I'm sitting here
reading your shoe size--
and not believing it,
I might add.
I'll never make it
till Tuesday.
Hunnicut, what page you on?
-21.
-21?
At the rate you read,
the murderer would have
escaped to Venezuela by now.
Give him a break.
It doesn't have pictures.
I could let Charles
read it first, you know.
Beej, I'm begging you.
Here, chapter one.
Ho, ho, ho!
Reading!
[chuckles]
This just might be better
than sex.
Certainly takes longer
around here.
How would you know?
Charles, please,
I'm savoring.
Here, read a shoe.
Thank you.
"A sleepy spaniel
ambled across the lawn
past the gardener
dozing on his rake."
This is so exciting.
You don't understand!
We're running
out of everything!
Somebody cut up my best
petticoat to make bandages!
The colonel wants to know
when do we get our supplies.
That's not good enough,
bimbo.
Oh, yeah? Well, don't be
surprised if you wake up
at the bottom of the Yalu River
wearing a cement kimono.
Same to you, fish bait!
[mutters]
♪ When the lights
go out again ♪
♪ All over the world
-[clatter]
-Ow! Wow!
Open-toed shoes! Oh! Oh!
[knocking]
-Who's there?
-It's Charles.
Oh, I'm busy, Major.
What is it?
Are you too busy
for chapter three of
The Rooster Crowed
at Midnight?
No, no! Come in!
[chuckle] Whew.
Brought this over just
as soon as I was finished.
-How sweet. Thank you.
-Not at all.
It's going to difficult
to read in this light.
Would you like me
to read aloud to you?
-No, no.
-No trouble at all, Margaret.
The Winchesters have always
had extraordinary eyesight.
Particularly at night.
I can see a cat before
he sees me.
-[laughs]
-I'll be happy to.
Of course. Here.
Well, all right.
Here.
"Chapter three, The Rooster
Crowed at Midnight,
Abigail Porterfield."
Yes.
"As the wind howled
through the stately old elms,
"Jessica's heart
ached with longing
for the young Randolph.
"She could best be described
as a prize thoroughbred--
"swift, hot-blooded,
and highly responsive
to the whip."
[both giggle]
"And yet Randolph was her
equal and a raging stallion.
"To call him merely virile
"would be to damn
with faint praise.
"Jessica remembered
that exciting interlude
in his garden
"when he suddenly appeared
through the hedge.
"'Wench, you make my blood
boil', he whispered--
[whispering]
"He whispered passionately.
"'Ever since I first laid
eyes on your silken limbs
"'and your ripe, golden bosom,
I vowed to make you mine'.
"Jessica knew in her woman's
heart that if it weren't
"for Lord Cheevers'
cold-blooded murder
"she would at this very
moment be standing before
the panting Randolph,
"her flimsy black negligee
in tatters,
"her nakedness
a golden tinted paradise,
illuminated only
by flickering candlelight."
[wind blowing]
That's just amazing
How much heat one of
those things can give off.
Yes, it's amazing.
"Rendering unto
this towering Caesar
of the maiden's boudoir,
-that which is
rightfully Caesar's--"
-Major!
"in her mind's eye,
Jessica saw him aflame
with passion."
-Major!
-"Unable to bridle
his all-consuming lust,
he moved toward her
nearer and nearer--"
-Major, stop!
-What?
I'll read the rest myself.
But I'm not finished.
Oh, yes, you are.
But, Major, she's unbridled.
I think you'd better
get dressed and leave.
-Dressed?
-Your scarf, Major.
Hmm?
Oh.
Of course.
Good night, Charles.
Good night, Jessica.
Margaret.
Margaret.
What bozo got
beet juice on page 42?
Are you sure
it's beet juice?
What else could it be?
Well, since we don't
get borscht,
even on Misha Auer's
birthday, my guess is blood.
-No!
-Guess isn't blood?
Oh, this is horrible.
The last page is missing.
-You better be kidding, fella.
-No, I'm not kidding.
Here. Look for yourself.
"A hush fell over
the drawing room
"as Inspector Langley
casually lit his pipe
"and announced, 'I can now
disclose the identity
"'of the murderer.
The killer's name is--'"
It's that blasted
Langley's fault.
If he didn't stop to light
his pipe, we'd know who did it.
[all talking at once]
Okay, okay, hold it.
Don't panic. I've read
hundreds of these things.
I had it figured out
40 pages ago.
Okay, Sherlock, who done it?
Elementary, Watson.
The murderer is...
the Reverend
Homer Butterfield.
Holy Toledo!
How are we going
to tell Father Mulcahy?
I gotta have proof, gumshoe.
He's not a real reverend.
Don't you remember
how confused
he became on Scriptures
the day of the fox hunt?
That was after he
fell off the horse.
-Besides, he's nearly 90.
-[laughs]
-He says he's nearly 90.
-Aha!
But can you expect
the truth from a madman
who's already killed 11 people,
two pigs, and a canary?
Nurse?
I've a man in pain here.
I'll be there
in a minute.
She'll be here in a minute.
It's a miracle any of you
patients survive here.
I have to do it myself.
[mutters]
The nurses are insubordinate.
The doctors are lunatics.
It was never like this
at Boston general.
Nurse?
-Nurse!
-What's the matter?
Well, uh, this man
was in pain.
I just gave him
an injection of morphine.
Now he's hardly breathing.
There's a pulse,
just barely.
-This is what you gave him?
-Yes.
This is curare.
Didn't you read the bottle?
Well, uh...
Oh, God. Bigelow,
give me an ambu bag.
Kellye, prostigmin
and entropine fast.
How was I supposed to know
that was pure curare?
He's completely paralyzed.
Move.
It's dark over there.
This could happen to anyone.
Damn it. Charles.
Will you stop worrying
about yourself
and think about your patients?
I am, for heaven's sake.
You think I want
this poor man to die?
It would be the worst thing
that ever happened to me.
He's starting to breathe
on his own.
His pulse is stronger.
He's going to make it.
Nice going, Hawk.
-Beautiful job.
-Anytime you need a masseur,
you bring the towels,
I'll bring the rubbing alcohol.
All right,
the excitement's over.
Let's get back to work.
I guess we're
being dismissed.
Major Disaster has
it under control.
Winchester,
does your immense vocabulary
include the words
"Thank you"?
Hunnicut,
let's not get maudlin.
Bringing a dead man back
to life is a class act.
Deserves some appreciation.
What makes you think
that would have died?
Well, for openers,
he was paralyzed
and couldn't breathe.
Hunnicut, a few facts--
A: any first-year
medical student
knows how to resuscitate
a patient,
B: I know what you're thinking,
and C: it wasn't
even my fault.
Who speared this guy
with curare,
a passing pygmy?
Hunnicut, I was goaded into
relinquishing that light bulb.
If you'd only open your eyes,
you'd see how dark it is here.
A: Less light is no excuse,
B: I know what
you're going to say,
and C: if you say it,
you'll wake up
in fat lip, Arizona.
I still don't buy
your solution to the murder.
Reverend Butterfield
was like a father to me.
Is anybody interested
in a woman's opinion?
Interested?
I could bite one in half.
The murderer has to be
Lady Penelope.
The woman's scorned.
I knew a lady
named Penelope once.
Everybody called her Penny.
Actually, I thought
she was worth a lot more.
I agree with B.J.--
Reverend Butterfield did it.
-No, he didn't.
-No, he didn't.
I completely forgot about
Lord Armbruster's nephew
Randolph.
I knew an Armbruster once.
She had a--
Will you shut up?
Go on, B.J.
It couldn't have been
Reverend Butterfield.
You recall,
he set sail from Australia
and didn't dock in Southampton
until two days
after the murder.
Maybe he jumped ship.
And swam the last 500 miles?
Therefore, it had to be
the nephew Randolph.
He had motive.
He was in love
with Cheevers' mistress.
But how did Randolph get
into the locked library?
Ah, back to you, Sherlock.
Through the secret panel
behind the bookcase.
-Come on.
-You're just not used
to deductive reasoning.
Randolph played
in Huntley manor as a child.
Therefore, if there had been
a secret panel in the bookcase,
he'd have known about it.
Plus there was insanity
in the family.
That's the part I like best.
-Case closed.
-That's using the old brainpan.
Now if you could only solve
the case of the short supplies.
Yeah, but hurry. The electric
light bulb is becoming
a filament of my imagination.
-B.J.?
-Yo.
It couldn't have been
the nephew Randolph.
Why not?
Randolph suffered
from vertigo.
He got dizzy if he
stood on his toes.
So?
So he never could have
climbed out on the roof
and dropped the gargoyle
on Sir Winslow.
-You're right.
-HAWKEYE: I told you
it wasn't Randolph.
It had to be Maurice,
the French accountant.
How you feeling?
Alive, they tell me,
thanks to you.
My press agent gets
ten percent of all of this.
What military madness
brought you here?
I was out on patrol.
On the way back to my company,
I found another man's
footprints in the snow.
That's good, you know.
You walk in his tracks,
and you're safe from the mines.
Then the footprints stopped.
Stopped? What do you mean?
Where the snow turned to slush.
I stood there a while
in his last clear step.
I was afraid to move.
But it was so cold,
anything had to be better
than standing there
freezing to death.
I was wrong.
I took one, maybe two steps.
That was it.
Better get some sleep.
Thanks, Doc.
Well, Pierce?
Not one witticism
about the criminal
returning to the scene
of the crime?
Not that, uh...
not that you wouldn't
be somewhat justified.
Look, I admit that
what I did to that boy
-is totally inexcusable.
-Uh-huh.
Well, perhaps not totally.
After all, I had been in
surgery for 14 straight hours,
and it was dark in there,
but is that any excuse
for misreading a label?
I said, is that any excuse
for misreading a label?
Not really.
Look,
if that man had died,
his blood would be
on my hands.
But at least acknowledge
that it takes a courageous man
to admit it when he's wrong.
You might at least say
something.
What do you want from me?
At the moment,
simple acknowledgement.
Look, Winchester,
if you want to vacuum
your conscience,
why don't you go see
Father Mulcahy?
He's offering absolution
right around the corner.
Why are you so unfeeling
about my feelings?
I don't give a damn
about your feelings.
A man almost dies,
and all you can think about
is how it affects you.
-Only you!
-Now just a minute.
You know why you can't
work in the dark?
There's no limelight.
Without an audience,
a patient means
nothing to you.
You just don't care.
Care enough to be
brilliant at what I do.
Okay, yeah, fine.
Technically,
you're among the best around.
Ah! Now we're
getting somewhere.
But if I were hurt,
I'd want Hunnicut
or Potter to work on me.
But if you say I'm that good--
They'd bust a gut
to save a life.
You wouldn't even
work up a good sweat.
I was sweating when I saved
that boy's life with my scalpel.
You didn't start to sweat
until after you'd used
the hypodermic.
Envy, isn't it, Pierce?
[laughs] Envy, huh?
It's envy.
I saw it at the beginning.
You envy my skill,
my expertise...
All I envy is your chutzpa.
Don't you spit at me!
You sanctimonious,
back bait--
That's enough! Do you deny
calling me a superior surgeon?
Not quite. I called you
a superior sturgeon.
You're the biggest lox
in Korea.
Will you forget about him?
I finally found the solution
to The Rooster Crowed
at Midnight.
-Charles did it.
-Stop already.
This time
I've really solved it.
I've had enough of
your deductive reasoning.
All right, I admit some
of my deduces were wild,
but no more guesses.
This time we go
straight to the source.
We're being transferred
to Huntley Manor?
I'll need new boots
for the moors.
All we have to do
is call the author.
According
to the jacket blurb,
Abigail Porterfield
has been living
in Sydney, Australia,
for the past 60 years.
60 years? How old is she?
-97.
-We better hurry.
Miss Porterfield?
She's alive!
Miss Porterfield,
my name is B.J. Hunnicut.
I'm a doctor serving
with the U.S. Army in Korea.
No, no, I've never met
Dr. Sun Yat-Sen.
Well, because he's Chinese,
and he died over 30 years ago.
Yes, ma'am,
it's a tragedy.
Oh, Miss Po...
No, I wouldn't know
where to send flowers.
She's not getting any younger.
Don't keep us in suspenders.
Ask her who did it.
Miss Porterfield, we've all
been enjoying your book,
The Rooster Crowed
at Midnightvery much.
Who's the murderer?
Yes, ma'am, your book,
The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.
But our copy of the book
is missing the last page,
and we were wondering if you'd
pass on the solution to us.
-Don't say "pass on."
-Quiet.
The American dentist?
-Oh, right.
-Hallelujah.
Ma'am, there's no American
dentist in the book.
Oh, not so right.
Yes, I'm sure of it.
This one takes place
at Huntley Manor, remember?
11 people are murdered,
starting with old man Cheevers?
Yes, yes, yes,
that's the one.
The Rooster Crowed
at Midnight,right.
Uh-huh.
Oh, really?
Really? Why?
Who? Who?
-Really?
-Who is it?
-Why did he do it?
-Come on.
Uh-huh.
I get-- oh, that's terr--
Thank you very much.
Thank you very much,
Miss Porterfield.
It's been terrific talk--
No, no, ma'am.
No, ma'am, I've never
met Pearl Buck, either.
Thank you,
Miss Porterfield.
Listen, you take care
of yourself.
Yeah, please. Bye.
Who? Who? Who?
Mr. Cheevers' stepson
Avery Updike.
I knew he wasn't
the loving offspring
he pretended to be.
You're right, sir.
His eyes were
too close together.
-That's a good motive.
-It was the will.
He was going to eliminate
everyone that stood
between him
and the inheritance.
How was he going
to kill 35 people?
-Easy-- send them to Korea.
-Okay, we got that settled.
Now, if you can find your way
to the door, scram.
And, Hunnicut, next time
you get a book,
rip out all the pages.
Avery Updike, huh?
KLINGER:
Hey, we know who done it!
The winning murderer is...
Avery Updike.
[cheering]
-Who's Avery Updike?
-The evil stepson.
What was his motive?
I'll come over later
and explain it in detail.
I know your motive.
What was his?
[horn honks]
MAN [on P.A.]:
Attention, all personnel.
Here we go again, folks.
Supply truck in the compound.
What will it be this time?
Pith helmets
and Bermuda shorts?
Or the latest
in submarine wear?
Your guess
is as good as theirs.
I'm sorry, fellas.
There's been
a terrible mistake.
You got everything
you asked for.
KLINGER:
Gauze pads, rubber gloves,
boxes and boxes of sutures.
-We're a hospital again!
-[cheering]
No light bulbs?
Let there be light bulbs.
You want light bulbs?
You got 600 of them.
You know, there's a broken heart
for every one of these.
[on P.A.]: Attention.
Colonel Potter speaking.
I hate to put a damper
on your supply party,
but I've got bad news for you.
Avery Updike couldn't possibly
have killed Sir Winslow.
-What?
-He was locked in
the linen closet with Jessica
when Winslow was beaned
with the gargoyle.
Sorry, troops.
You know something?
He's right.
Who did do it, then?
All right, I confess.
I did it and I'm glad.
I hated Sir Winslow.
I hated them all.
I don't even remember
their names,
but I hated them anyway.
What about the two pigs?
I killed the pigs
because they were
going to squeal.
-And the canary?
-He was going to sing.
He's mad, you know?
Yes, mad, mad,
mad, mad, mad!
Yeah, you want
to sign this, sir?
Yeah, sure. Thank you.
Bye-bye.
Now, where was I?
Oh, yes-- Mad!
I got Sir Winslow first,
and now you're next.
I'm going to nosh
on your neck,
strangle your lips,
chew on your ears,
and then we'll have
some fun.
Would you like me
to finish that, sir?
Thank you.
No, I can manage.
How's that feel?
Well, it's still in one piece.
-Pierce?
-Uh-huh?
Pierce, I've been thinking
about what you said yesterday,
and I must agree...
You do have a point.
Perhaps I am more involved
with my own problems
than with those
of my patients,
but I assure you,
from here on out
they will receive my constant
and undivided attention.
Charles, you convinced me.
You certainly are attached
to your patients.
You think you can find
your way back?
Hmm?
Nurse, would you take care
of this, please?
[chuckles]
♪♪ [theme]
If it gets
any darker in here,
we won't have to go
to your place.
CHARLES:
Now this one's going.
POTTER: Klinger,
a light bulb, on the double.
If I can find my way
outta here, sir.
-Ouch!
-Gelfoam.
Easy on the Gelfoam, troops.
We're running low.
We're running low on
everything but customers.
Colonel, did those buffoons
at headquarters give you
any reason why
the supplies are late?
Yes, they said
there's a war on.
There is?
I can't see it.
I think they should call it
on account of darkness.
That's subtracting
some light from the subject.
Somebody must have shut
the refrigerator door.
These are the most deplorable
conditions I have ever seen.
I would operate in Braille
if my fingers weren't frozen.
Sorry, Charles, we're all out
of fur-lined rubber gloves.
Not to mention
the chinchilla shorts.
A pity we are not
out of juvenile prattle.
[imitating Charles]
Sorry, I got carried away.
HAWKEYE: I'd like to get
carried away to somplace warm.
-Got one, sir! Ow!
-[clatter]
Klinger, in this light,
you look just like
Boris Karloff's sister.
[imitating Karloff]
Thank you, sir.
Where'd you get
the bulb, Klinger?
From one of the tents,
Colonel.
Good man. Somebody
will just have to skip
writing home tonight.
Hope Mrs. Potter
doesn't mind.
Oh, swell! What happened
to rank has its privilege?
It went out
with the bulb, sir.
-4.0 silk.
-We're out.
-3.0 silk.
-Out.
Well, what have you got?
Klinger's sewing kit.
All right,
let me have some thread.
Anything in white.
Hold the sequins.
[wind howling]
Sorry, sir, the lab
needs a bulb in a hurry.
Just a moment, Klinger.
Haven't I exhausted
my quota of sacrifices
for the day?
-Take his bulb.
-Oh, of course.
We wouldn't want to
inconvenience you.
After all, a man
of your delicate
sensibilities
can't be expected to function
under deplorable conditions.
Please,
take this one. Yes.
-Just a moment, Klinger.
-Make up your mind, sir.
This climbing
is murder on my hose.
Pierce, I hope you're not
suggesting for a moment
that you're a better
doctor than I am
under deplorable conditions.
No, just that your
attitude is deplorable
under any conditions.
If that is a gauntlet
you have just thrown down,
I take it up with relish.
One gauntlet
with relish,
hold the mustard
and onions.
Klinger, take my bulb.
-Do I hear a rebuttal?
-Klinger.
He's captain, I'm a major,
that's an order.
I'm a corporal,
this is a ladder...
and that's the bulb.
MAN [on P.A.]:
Attention, all personnel.
Attention. Supply truck
now in the compound.
[horn beeping]
-The supplies have
arrived, Colonel.
-Glory be!
I don't claim to know
much about fashion, Klinger
but you look like
the dog's dinner.
You try and color coordinate
in the dark.
Ah. You, madam, if you
can guess what this is
you win a lifetime supply
of anchovy sherbet.
That's an ice cream churn.
Please, no prompting
from the studio audience.
Those bird-brains.
Talk about coals to Newcastle.
MULCAHY: At least
coal we could burn.
Where are the light bulbs?
No light bulbs,
also no bandages, no Gelfoam,
no sutures,
and no heating oil.
-No kidding.
-What's in all the crates?
Salt tablets,
mosquito netting,
insect repellent,
probably a thousand gallons
of suntan lotion.
Peachy. You realize
somewhere in the tropics,
an outfit has just opened
several crates of parkas,
snow boots, and light bulbs.
Ship me there, sir.
I'll get to the bottom of it.
-Freeze.
-That's what I'm doing.
Driver, what ignoramus
is responsible for this?
Any one of a dozen, sir.
Would you mind signing
this, please?
Sign nothing. We can't use
any of this, Sergeant.
-It's all yours now.
-Mule fritters!
You've got to haul it
back to H.Q.
I'm sorry, Colonel.
I'm not authorized for returns.
Would you sign this, please?
I'm overdue at the 8063.
Let them get
their inflatable pool
and swim fins an hour later.
Didn't you wonder why you were
delivering ice cream churns
to a MASH unit
in the middle of winter?
Yeah, I used to wonder
about stuff like that,
but it was keeping me
up nights,
giving me worry lines,
so I cut it out.
-Very wise.
-You know, Colonel,
if I was you,
I would try and look
on the bright side.
-There's a bright side?
-Oh, yeah.
Summer is just six months away.
Ah, there's something we
can use-- an empty mailbag.
Wrong, sir.
There's a package in it.
-It's for you.
-For me?
-Finally, an air conditioner.
-No, it's a book.
-A book?
-Yeah.
You mean a real book,
between covers, with
words and everything?
I wonder if I
still know how to read.
It's a mystery. The Rooster
Crowed at Midnight.
"Another brain-teasing,
spine-chilling whodunit
from the prize-winning pen
of Abigail Porterfield."
-Dibs! Me next!
-Come on, B.J.!
-Finally!
-I beg your pardon?
It took you six minutes
and three decks of cards
to read that page.
Two pages, one on this side,
one on that side.
That still comes out
to 78 cards a page.
Nobody reads that slow.
I'm not reading,
I'm savoring.
Savor faster. I'm desperate.
I'd trade my soul
for a laundry list.
Go over to the mess tent,
read the alphabet soup.
How would you like a club
in the mouth?
Relax, I'll be finished
with this, Tuesday latest.
-Tuesday?
-Wednesday?
Look, I'm sitting here
reading your shoe size--
and not believing it,
I might add.
I'll never make it
till Tuesday.
Hunnicut, what page you on?
-21.
-21?
At the rate you read,
the murderer would have
escaped to Venezuela by now.
Give him a break.
It doesn't have pictures.
I could let Charles
read it first, you know.
Beej, I'm begging you.
Here, chapter one.
Ho, ho, ho!
Reading!
[chuckles]
This just might be better
than sex.
Certainly takes longer
around here.
How would you know?
Charles, please,
I'm savoring.
Here, read a shoe.
Thank you.
"A sleepy spaniel
ambled across the lawn
past the gardener
dozing on his rake."
This is so exciting.
You don't understand!
We're running
out of everything!
Somebody cut up my best
petticoat to make bandages!
The colonel wants to know
when do we get our supplies.
That's not good enough,
bimbo.
Oh, yeah? Well, don't be
surprised if you wake up
at the bottom of the Yalu River
wearing a cement kimono.
Same to you, fish bait!
[mutters]
♪ When the lights
go out again ♪
♪ All over the world
-[clatter]
-Ow! Wow!
Open-toed shoes! Oh! Oh!
[knocking]
-Who's there?
-It's Charles.
Oh, I'm busy, Major.
What is it?
Are you too busy
for chapter three of
The Rooster Crowed
at Midnight?
No, no! Come in!
[chuckle] Whew.
Brought this over just
as soon as I was finished.
-How sweet. Thank you.
-Not at all.
It's going to difficult
to read in this light.
Would you like me
to read aloud to you?
-No, no.
-No trouble at all, Margaret.
The Winchesters have always
had extraordinary eyesight.
Particularly at night.
I can see a cat before
he sees me.
-[laughs]
-I'll be happy to.
Of course. Here.
Well, all right.
Here.
"Chapter three, The Rooster
Crowed at Midnight,
Abigail Porterfield."
Yes.
"As the wind howled
through the stately old elms,
"Jessica's heart
ached with longing
for the young Randolph.
"She could best be described
as a prize thoroughbred--
"swift, hot-blooded,
and highly responsive
to the whip."
[both giggle]
"And yet Randolph was her
equal and a raging stallion.
"To call him merely virile
"would be to damn
with faint praise.
"Jessica remembered
that exciting interlude
in his garden
"when he suddenly appeared
through the hedge.
"'Wench, you make my blood
boil', he whispered--
[whispering]
"He whispered passionately.
"'Ever since I first laid
eyes on your silken limbs
"'and your ripe, golden bosom,
I vowed to make you mine'.
"Jessica knew in her woman's
heart that if it weren't
"for Lord Cheevers'
cold-blooded murder
"she would at this very
moment be standing before
the panting Randolph,
"her flimsy black negligee
in tatters,
"her nakedness
a golden tinted paradise,
illuminated only
by flickering candlelight."
[wind blowing]
That's just amazing
How much heat one of
those things can give off.
Yes, it's amazing.
"Rendering unto
this towering Caesar
of the maiden's boudoir,
-that which is
rightfully Caesar's--"
-Major!
"in her mind's eye,
Jessica saw him aflame
with passion."
-Major!
-"Unable to bridle
his all-consuming lust,
he moved toward her
nearer and nearer--"
-Major, stop!
-What?
I'll read the rest myself.
But I'm not finished.
Oh, yes, you are.
But, Major, she's unbridled.
I think you'd better
get dressed and leave.
-Dressed?
-Your scarf, Major.
Hmm?
Oh.
Of course.
Good night, Charles.
Good night, Jessica.
Margaret.
Margaret.
What bozo got
beet juice on page 42?
Are you sure
it's beet juice?
What else could it be?
Well, since we don't
get borscht,
even on Misha Auer's
birthday, my guess is blood.
-No!
-Guess isn't blood?
Oh, this is horrible.
The last page is missing.
-You better be kidding, fella.
-No, I'm not kidding.
Here. Look for yourself.
"A hush fell over
the drawing room
"as Inspector Langley
casually lit his pipe
"and announced, 'I can now
disclose the identity
"'of the murderer.
The killer's name is--'"
It's that blasted
Langley's fault.
If he didn't stop to light
his pipe, we'd know who did it.
[all talking at once]
Okay, okay, hold it.
Don't panic. I've read
hundreds of these things.
I had it figured out
40 pages ago.
Okay, Sherlock, who done it?
Elementary, Watson.
The murderer is...
the Reverend
Homer Butterfield.
Holy Toledo!
How are we going
to tell Father Mulcahy?
I gotta have proof, gumshoe.
He's not a real reverend.
Don't you remember
how confused
he became on Scriptures
the day of the fox hunt?
That was after he
fell off the horse.
-Besides, he's nearly 90.
-[laughs]
-He says he's nearly 90.
-Aha!
But can you expect
the truth from a madman
who's already killed 11 people,
two pigs, and a canary?
Nurse?
I've a man in pain here.
I'll be there
in a minute.
She'll be here in a minute.
It's a miracle any of you
patients survive here.
I have to do it myself.
[mutters]
The nurses are insubordinate.
The doctors are lunatics.
It was never like this
at Boston general.
Nurse?
-Nurse!
-What's the matter?
Well, uh, this man
was in pain.
I just gave him
an injection of morphine.
Now he's hardly breathing.
There's a pulse,
just barely.
-This is what you gave him?
-Yes.
This is curare.
Didn't you read the bottle?
Well, uh...
Oh, God. Bigelow,
give me an ambu bag.
Kellye, prostigmin
and entropine fast.
How was I supposed to know
that was pure curare?
He's completely paralyzed.
Move.
It's dark over there.
This could happen to anyone.
Damn it. Charles.
Will you stop worrying
about yourself
and think about your patients?
I am, for heaven's sake.
You think I want
this poor man to die?
It would be the worst thing
that ever happened to me.
He's starting to breathe
on his own.
His pulse is stronger.
He's going to make it.
Nice going, Hawk.
-Beautiful job.
-Anytime you need a masseur,
you bring the towels,
I'll bring the rubbing alcohol.
All right,
the excitement's over.
Let's get back to work.
I guess we're
being dismissed.
Major Disaster has
it under control.
Winchester,
does your immense vocabulary
include the words
"Thank you"?
Hunnicut,
let's not get maudlin.
Bringing a dead man back
to life is a class act.
Deserves some appreciation.
What makes you think
that would have died?
Well, for openers,
he was paralyzed
and couldn't breathe.
Hunnicut, a few facts--
A: any first-year
medical student
knows how to resuscitate
a patient,
B: I know what you're thinking,
and C: it wasn't
even my fault.
Who speared this guy
with curare,
a passing pygmy?
Hunnicut, I was goaded into
relinquishing that light bulb.
If you'd only open your eyes,
you'd see how dark it is here.
A: Less light is no excuse,
B: I know what
you're going to say,
and C: if you say it,
you'll wake up
in fat lip, Arizona.
I still don't buy
your solution to the murder.
Reverend Butterfield
was like a father to me.
Is anybody interested
in a woman's opinion?
Interested?
I could bite one in half.
The murderer has to be
Lady Penelope.
The woman's scorned.
I knew a lady
named Penelope once.
Everybody called her Penny.
Actually, I thought
she was worth a lot more.
I agree with B.J.--
Reverend Butterfield did it.
-No, he didn't.
-No, he didn't.
I completely forgot about
Lord Armbruster's nephew
Randolph.
I knew an Armbruster once.
She had a--
Will you shut up?
Go on, B.J.
It couldn't have been
Reverend Butterfield.
You recall,
he set sail from Australia
and didn't dock in Southampton
until two days
after the murder.
Maybe he jumped ship.
And swam the last 500 miles?
Therefore, it had to be
the nephew Randolph.
He had motive.
He was in love
with Cheevers' mistress.
But how did Randolph get
into the locked library?
Ah, back to you, Sherlock.
Through the secret panel
behind the bookcase.
-Come on.
-You're just not used
to deductive reasoning.
Randolph played
in Huntley manor as a child.
Therefore, if there had been
a secret panel in the bookcase,
he'd have known about it.
Plus there was insanity
in the family.
That's the part I like best.
-Case closed.
-That's using the old brainpan.
Now if you could only solve
the case of the short supplies.
Yeah, but hurry. The electric
light bulb is becoming
a filament of my imagination.
-B.J.?
-Yo.
It couldn't have been
the nephew Randolph.
Why not?
Randolph suffered
from vertigo.
He got dizzy if he
stood on his toes.
So?
So he never could have
climbed out on the roof
and dropped the gargoyle
on Sir Winslow.
-You're right.
-HAWKEYE: I told you
it wasn't Randolph.
It had to be Maurice,
the French accountant.
How you feeling?
Alive, they tell me,
thanks to you.
My press agent gets
ten percent of all of this.
What military madness
brought you here?
I was out on patrol.
On the way back to my company,
I found another man's
footprints in the snow.
That's good, you know.
You walk in his tracks,
and you're safe from the mines.
Then the footprints stopped.
Stopped? What do you mean?
Where the snow turned to slush.
I stood there a while
in his last clear step.
I was afraid to move.
But it was so cold,
anything had to be better
than standing there
freezing to death.
I was wrong.
I took one, maybe two steps.
That was it.
Better get some sleep.
Thanks, Doc.
Well, Pierce?
Not one witticism
about the criminal
returning to the scene
of the crime?
Not that, uh...
not that you wouldn't
be somewhat justified.
Look, I admit that
what I did to that boy
-is totally inexcusable.
-Uh-huh.
Well, perhaps not totally.
After all, I had been in
surgery for 14 straight hours,
and it was dark in there,
but is that any excuse
for misreading a label?
I said, is that any excuse
for misreading a label?
Not really.
Look,
if that man had died,
his blood would be
on my hands.
But at least acknowledge
that it takes a courageous man
to admit it when he's wrong.
You might at least say
something.
What do you want from me?
At the moment,
simple acknowledgement.
Look, Winchester,
if you want to vacuum
your conscience,
why don't you go see
Father Mulcahy?
He's offering absolution
right around the corner.
Why are you so unfeeling
about my feelings?
I don't give a damn
about your feelings.
A man almost dies,
and all you can think about
is how it affects you.
-Only you!
-Now just a minute.
You know why you can't
work in the dark?
There's no limelight.
Without an audience,
a patient means
nothing to you.
You just don't care.
Care enough to be
brilliant at what I do.
Okay, yeah, fine.
Technically,
you're among the best around.
Ah! Now we're
getting somewhere.
But if I were hurt,
I'd want Hunnicut
or Potter to work on me.
But if you say I'm that good--
They'd bust a gut
to save a life.
You wouldn't even
work up a good sweat.
I was sweating when I saved
that boy's life with my scalpel.
You didn't start to sweat
until after you'd used
the hypodermic.
Envy, isn't it, Pierce?
[laughs] Envy, huh?
It's envy.
I saw it at the beginning.
You envy my skill,
my expertise...
All I envy is your chutzpa.
Don't you spit at me!
You sanctimonious,
back bait--
That's enough! Do you deny
calling me a superior surgeon?
Not quite. I called you
a superior sturgeon.
You're the biggest lox
in Korea.
Will you forget about him?
I finally found the solution
to The Rooster Crowed
at Midnight.
-Charles did it.
-Stop already.
This time
I've really solved it.
I've had enough of
your deductive reasoning.
All right, I admit some
of my deduces were wild,
but no more guesses.
This time we go
straight to the source.
We're being transferred
to Huntley Manor?
I'll need new boots
for the moors.
All we have to do
is call the author.
According
to the jacket blurb,
Abigail Porterfield
has been living
in Sydney, Australia,
for the past 60 years.
60 years? How old is she?
-97.
-We better hurry.
Miss Porterfield?
She's alive!
Miss Porterfield,
my name is B.J. Hunnicut.
I'm a doctor serving
with the U.S. Army in Korea.
No, no, I've never met
Dr. Sun Yat-Sen.
Well, because he's Chinese,
and he died over 30 years ago.
Yes, ma'am,
it's a tragedy.
Oh, Miss Po...
No, I wouldn't know
where to send flowers.
She's not getting any younger.
Don't keep us in suspenders.
Ask her who did it.
Miss Porterfield, we've all
been enjoying your book,
The Rooster Crowed
at Midnightvery much.
Who's the murderer?
Yes, ma'am, your book,
The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.
But our copy of the book
is missing the last page,
and we were wondering if you'd
pass on the solution to us.
-Don't say "pass on."
-Quiet.
The American dentist?
-Oh, right.
-Hallelujah.
Ma'am, there's no American
dentist in the book.
Oh, not so right.
Yes, I'm sure of it.
This one takes place
at Huntley Manor, remember?
11 people are murdered,
starting with old man Cheevers?
Yes, yes, yes,
that's the one.
The Rooster Crowed
at Midnight,right.
Uh-huh.
Oh, really?
Really? Why?
Who? Who?
-Really?
-Who is it?
-Why did he do it?
-Come on.
Uh-huh.
I get-- oh, that's terr--
Thank you very much.
Thank you very much,
Miss Porterfield.
It's been terrific talk--
No, no, ma'am.
No, ma'am, I've never
met Pearl Buck, either.
Thank you,
Miss Porterfield.
Listen, you take care
of yourself.
Yeah, please. Bye.
Who? Who? Who?
Mr. Cheevers' stepson
Avery Updike.
I knew he wasn't
the loving offspring
he pretended to be.
You're right, sir.
His eyes were
too close together.
-That's a good motive.
-It was the will.
He was going to eliminate
everyone that stood
between him
and the inheritance.
How was he going
to kill 35 people?
-Easy-- send them to Korea.
-Okay, we got that settled.
Now, if you can find your way
to the door, scram.
And, Hunnicut, next time
you get a book,
rip out all the pages.
Avery Updike, huh?
KLINGER:
Hey, we know who done it!
The winning murderer is...
Avery Updike.
[cheering]
-Who's Avery Updike?
-The evil stepson.
What was his motive?
I'll come over later
and explain it in detail.
I know your motive.
What was his?
[horn honks]
MAN [on P.A.]:
Attention, all personnel.
Here we go again, folks.
Supply truck in the compound.
What will it be this time?
Pith helmets
and Bermuda shorts?
Or the latest
in submarine wear?
Your guess
is as good as theirs.
I'm sorry, fellas.
There's been
a terrible mistake.
You got everything
you asked for.
KLINGER:
Gauze pads, rubber gloves,
boxes and boxes of sutures.
-We're a hospital again!
-[cheering]
No light bulbs?
Let there be light bulbs.
You want light bulbs?
You got 600 of them.
You know, there's a broken heart
for every one of these.
[on P.A.]: Attention.
Colonel Potter speaking.
I hate to put a damper
on your supply party,
but I've got bad news for you.
Avery Updike couldn't possibly
have killed Sir Winslow.
-What?
-He was locked in
the linen closet with Jessica
when Winslow was beaned
with the gargoyle.
Sorry, troops.
You know something?
He's right.
Who did do it, then?
All right, I confess.
I did it and I'm glad.
I hated Sir Winslow.
I hated them all.
I don't even remember
their names,
but I hated them anyway.
What about the two pigs?
I killed the pigs
because they were
going to squeal.
-And the canary?
-He was going to sing.
He's mad, you know?
Yes, mad, mad,
mad, mad, mad!
Yeah, you want
to sign this, sir?
Yeah, sure. Thank you.
Bye-bye.
Now, where was I?
Oh, yes-- Mad!
I got Sir Winslow first,
and now you're next.
I'm going to nosh
on your neck,
strangle your lips,
chew on your ears,
and then we'll have
some fun.
Would you like me
to finish that, sir?
Thank you.
No, I can manage.
How's that feel?
Well, it's still in one piece.
-Pierce?
-Uh-huh?
Pierce, I've been thinking
about what you said yesterday,
and I must agree...
You do have a point.
Perhaps I am more involved
with my own problems
than with those
of my patients,
but I assure you,
from here on out
they will receive my constant
and undivided attention.
Charles, you convinced me.
You certainly are attached
to your patients.
You think you can find
your way back?
Hmm?
Nurse, would you take care
of this, please?
[chuckles]
♪♪ [theme]