Northern Exposure (1990–1995): Season 3, Episode 11 - Dateline: Cicely - full transcript
In an effort to sell more issues of his newspaper, Maurice hires pathological liar Adam to write for it.
He's here.
Wonderful. I've been counting
the minutes, Marilyn.
Who's here? Morning, Joel.
Holling. Hey, you look terrible.
Have a seat. Let's take
a peek under the hood.
What's this?
- Ooh, I.R.S.
- Read it.
"It has come to our attention
our investigators have determined...
- ...you owe the government $9,000."
- Keep goin'.
Holling, it says here you haven't
paid your taxes since 1959.
- Correct.
- 1959?
Statehood. I voted against it.
And what? You've been withholding
taxes as a form of political protest?
Well, not exactly. I figured they'd
let me know if they really needed it.
You never filed a tax return?
No.
I mean, I've been delinquent
once or twice myself,
but, um, I don't think
you can get a 32-year extension.
Well, I figured something
more like a note.
- A note?
- From you.
- You mean like a medical excuse?
- There you go.
You want me to write
to the Internal Revenue Service,
saying you can't pay your taxes
because you aren't feeling well?
Well, don't get me wrong.
I mean, I fully
intend to pay it, but not right now.
It'll take me a little while
to get up that kind of cash.
What do you say?
Good morning, Cicely. It's 7:02.
A soggy 34 degrees outside.
It's time to reach
into the K-Bear mailbag.
Dave from Mosquito Lake writes:
"Dear Chris in the Morning,
I loved your series on Islam.
How about a transcript?"
Well, sorry, Dave. There isn't one.
I work without a net, you know.
I'm glad you liked the series.
On a personal note, my brother Bernard
drops a note from the Dark Continent:
"Dear Chris, Africa is all
I dreamed it would be.
I trekked up the Usambara Range"-
that's in Tanzania, folks-
"where I watched the
sunrise and felt the
blood of my ancestors
pulse through my veins.
Best to all. Kwaheri, Bernard."
Well, that's something, huh?
Bernard's out there in the motherland,
hugging the curves down life's highways,
and yours truly creeps along here...
at his petty pace, day to day,
full of sound and fury,
lots of unnecessary commercial messages.
Truth is, folks, I've been dragging
my psychic feet lately,
and it's probably nothing more than your
usual biorhythmic peaks and valleys,
but there's no getting around the fact
that we all need a pump, you know?
Something to make us jump up
out of bed in the morning...
and greet the dawn
with a big old cosmic "Howdy."
- Morning, Dr. Fleischman.
- Hey, wait, wait. Hold it right there.
- What is that?
- This is eggs Florentine,
and this is a seven-grain waffle
with gooseberry syrup.
- Hey, Dr. Fleischman.
- Don't talk with your mouth full, Ed.
That appears to be cheese blintzes
with blueberry sauce?
- He's back?
- Mm-hmm.
No, no, no. You can't drown it!
It's gotta float.
It's gotta-It's gotta breathe.
Look, you're not ready for crepes, Dave.
Just go boil some water or something.
Hey, Adam. - Please. Okay.
That's it. I'm outta here.
- Wait. Wait. What did I say?
- What did you say?
- Yeah. I came in to-
- To what?
To idly interrupt?
To annoy beyond reason?
- No. I thought that may-
- What?
I- I suppose you let
uninvited guests barge
into your operating
room all the time, huh?
Mushrooms. I love shiitakes.
Those are chanterelles, you moron. Hey!
- Do you want to die?
- Okay. Okay.
So what brings you back to Cicely?
You're right. Let's try an
easier one. Um, how's Eve?
- She's sick.
- Oh, what a surprise.
- Hey, just watch it, okay?
- She doesn't want to see me, does she?
Why? Do you have a problem
with that, Doctor?
Dave. Dave.
Presentation.
Hopeless.
No. Eve's sciatic nerve
was acting up again.
Then before you could say "Boo," she
comes down with a case of thyroiditis.
She try a vitamin "B" supplement?
What a brilliant idea.
Yeah, of course we did.
With amazing results. Nothing happened.
So now she's at Dr. Chang's clinic.
Dr. Chang? Dr. M. Chang?
Well, I'm glad to see you keep up
with the literature, Fleischman.
I mean, he's only the seminal force
in the field of acupuncture.
And spare me the A.M.A. Party line,
okay? I know all about it.
If it isn't in the New England
Journal of Medicine,
it never happened for you guys, right?
I was just gonna ask where he practices.
- Hunan, if you must know.
- Hunan as in China?
- No, Hunan as in North Dakota.
- So Eve is in China?
What, am I talking to myself?
Yes, Eve is in China.
I wish I was there with her.
I could be translating cookbooks...
instead of being interrogated
by some gastronomic pygmy.
- You read Chinese?
- Cantonese like a native.
- Mandarin still gives me a fit.
- Come on.
- What does that mean?
- Loosely translated, it means,
um, "Quick and painless
or slow and lingering?"
Hey! You! Hold it! What the hell
do you think you're doing?
Me? Yeah. What have you
got in your hand there?
Newspaper. That's not just a newspaper.
That's my newspaper.
The Cicely News & World Telegram.
I'm sorry.
Where I come from, people
respect their local newspapers.
They read 'em. They clip stories.
They discuss 'em.
They do not use 'em to clean up after
their pets. Do I make myself clear?
- Yeah, but-
- You want clean sidewalks?
Here.
Dr. Fleischman gonna
write you that note, hon?
Says it's creaky. I suppose he's right.
Don't worry.
We'll come up with the money.
How?
I don't know. I was just
sayin' it to be nice.
Just hate seeing you drag
that cute nose on the floor, babe.
Anyway, what's the worst
thing that can happen?
Well, they could seize the bar,
sell the property, put me in jail.
- Huh.
- Oh, really?
All right, listen up. All of you. Hey!
Yeah, you.
Something's been festering under the
skin of this town like an angry boil,
and I think it's time
we gave it a scratch.
- How about a clue, Maurice?
- Case in point.
Ruth-Anne, what is that
you're reading, dear?
The Christian Science Monitor.
Uh-huh. Well, you know
we have a paper in this town.
But rather than support
our local news organ,
some people would prefer to use it
as a sponge to mop up spilled decaf.
We've got a problem here, people.
The problem, Maurice, is that
your paper is a major snooze.
You think the New York Times
is a joyride?
You think people read the New York Times
because they like to?
No, no. People read the New York Times
because they feel like they ought to.
- Isn't that right, Fleischman?
- Oh, phooey.
There's nothing to write about
around here, and you know it.
Oh, you think things are
too uneventful here
in the borough of Arrowhead County, huh?
Well, yes, I do.
Well, let me tell you about a little
item in the New York Times today.
It's about the Village Sentinel
in Duxbury, Vermont,
a thriving metropolis of 900 souls.
They have been nominated
for a Pulitzer prize. Why?
Ticks.
My paper has ticks.
My paper has bugs of all kinds.
Show of hands.
How many of you read the article...
on mosquito abatement program
in Loon Lake?
See? That's just my point.
A great newspaper
needs a great reading public.
We've all got to pull
our own weight here, people.
End of story.
Hey there, Chris.
Hey, Holling. Come on in.
Another postcard from Bernard?
Yeah. He's in Sierra Leone now.
Northwest coast, below Guinea.
- That's an adventure.
- Got a rash. Nothing serious.
Uh, maybe this is not a good time.
No, no, no. I'm sorry, Holling.
What's up, buddy?
Well, not too much.
I owe Uncle Sam, uh, $9,000.
Ooh. Back taxes?
I have never asked anyone
for cash before, Chris,
but, uh, those government
boys can be rough.
- How much you need?
- Well, it's no secret.
With your inheritance,
you're the only fella
around who's liquid, other than Maurice.
Now, there was a time
when I could've asked him-
No, no, no. Full amount,
five percent interest, Holling.
No. Hold on a minute.
I'm not talking about a loan.
- You're not?
- No. I don't believe in debt.
What a man can't pay for, he can't own.
No, this is a business investment.
One-half interest in The Brick
for $9,000.
Me? Own half of your bar?
Well, it's a good offer. I had the
barstools upholstered
last year only and-
Whoa, Holling. You and me,
partners in The Brick?
- Is that what you're saying?
- Well, yeah.
Oh, man. Holling, this was meant to be.
This was meant to happen.
Holling, ever since I inherited
that money,
my karma has been all dressed up
with nowhere to go, man.
I love bars. You know that.
Holling, I dream about bars.
Best talk I ever had with my dad-in a
bar, man. I patched
him up after a fight.
Holling, I know the layout
of every bar I ever been in.
I know the bartender's name.
I know what they charge me for a drink.
I was made for this, Holling.
I was made to own a bar.
I- I take it you're interested.
Yeah.
And we're comin' on down.
All right, who's next, huh? Joel?
- No, none for me, Chris.
- Come on now. Maggie? Ruth-Anne?
- On the house.
- Why not?
- Hey, that okay with you, huh?
- It's your bar, partner.
Hey, this is interesting.
We're 14% ahead
of last year's precipitation count.
Whoo, doggy!
Uh, here's a little something
I'm trying with, uh, polenta.
- Fabulous.
- Fabulous.
Delicious. What is this?
This is, um, cilantro?
Why? You want to try this at home?
I devote my life
to creating culinary masterpieces.
You think I'd reduce that
to a shopping list?
I- I just-
I suppose every passenger
thinks they can fly your plane, huh?
"What's that, hot lips,
a little left rudder? Slide over."
But any jerk with a hot plate
can cook, right?
A little cilantro, you're a chef.
What's this, Ed?
Well, I thought about
what you said, Maurice.
About initiative. And
this is my new column.
"Ed Goes to the Movies"?
Yeah. Four bear claws
means instant classic,
and one bear claw
means stay home and read.
I think it's time people knew the truth.
Shelly! Oh, Shelly!
- Mmm. What are these?
- I don't know what you call 'em,
but I've been scarfing 'em down
like beer nuts.
- Oh, my God!
- God, Adam, this is amazing!
Mmm. What are these? These, um-
- Diego's maize azul supreme.
- Diego?
A friend.
Had a way with blue corn flour.
Yeah, he would've been
one of the greats if only...
If only what?
Ah, if only he hadn't been blown to bits
along with his Deux
Chevaux outside of Lima.
Faulty detonator. Yeah.
Give that guy a few charcoal briquettes,
some hickory chips and a goat,
he'd work miracles.
Ah, too bad. Nice kid.
Should've been me.
- Wow.
- Lima, Peru?
Well, the outskirts
of the city, actually.
- What were you doing in Peru?
- You think I'm gonna tell you, lady?
Hey, folks, come on.
I mean, his food is great.
It's better than great.
But this is Adam we're talking about.
The man is a walking pathology.
He cannot tell the time without lying.
I mean, one can only guess
at the unique circumstances...
that rendered him incapable
of distinguishing
Rocky and Bullwinkle
from the evening news.
Don't you think
you're being a little harsh, Joel?
Oh, no, no. Please, please continue.
I'm sure everyone here is fascinated
to hear more pop psychology...
from number 54
in his class at Columbia Med.
- Fifty-fourth?
- Well, out of 140.
It happened to be a very tough school,
O'Connell. How did you know that?
- What are you starin' at?
- Good rumaki.
How did he know that?
Whoo! What a night!
What an unbelievable night! Whoo!
Yes, I don't ever recall having
given away quite that much free beer.
Oh, man, this is fantastic.
I feel like Bogie in Casablanca.
This free food and drink, Chris-
This is strictly a one-shot deal, right?
Oh, right, right. Absolutely.
You know, I got a few ideas, though,
I want to fly by you, Holling.
- Ideas?
- Yeah, just some little things.
You know, changes. The place
has been getting kinda stale lately.
It has?
Yeah, but we can talk about that later.
- How about breakfast tomorrow morning?
- Whatever you say.
- Partner.
- Partner.
- Good night, Dave.
- Good night.
Hey, Adam. I think
we should have a talk.
I loathe talks.
If you wanna talk, call Oprah.
I could use a man of your ability.
Get lost.
You haven't heard me out.
Twenty seconds, then I'm outta here.
You've got a gift. I've got a paper.
I'm willing to pay.
- Not interested.
- Oh, come on, son.
- Everybody's interested in money.
- Fifteen seconds.
All right. I need a special
correspondent to, uh, stir things up.
I'll give you front page,
your own byline, the works.
My own byline?
I'll throw in your picture too. We'll
have to do something about that hair.
- Are you insane?
- What?
You want people to know where I am?
Why don't you just paint
crosshairs on my back?
Then forget the byline.
Why should I write for your
pissant paper, Minnifield?
I'm giving you carte blanche here, Adam.
You've got the opportunity
to write anything you want.
- Within reason.
- Time's up.
Plausibility!
That's a better word for it.
Look, blow the lid off this borough.
Be my Deep Throat.
- Deep Throat?
- Yeah, whatever.
That guy always did piss me off.
All right, I'm in.
But get out your checkbook, Minnifield.
- This is gonna cost.
- I'm listening.
- I'm gonna need cashews.
- That's no problem.
- And a dozen pencils.
- Number twos?
Eberhard Faber. Blackwings.
Yes, who would have thought
our sleepy little hamlet...
borders the most unusual
botanical find of the century?
"But don't take my word for it.
"Pick up your own copy of the
Cicely News & World Telegram today...
"and read about bizarre
but true discoveries
in a forest primeval that time forgot.
"It's all in the
Cicely News & World Telegram,
the pride and pulse
of the borough of Arrowhead County."
And to swap stories
about our loquacious lodgepoles,
why not stop in
at Cicely's favorite watering hole,
The Brick, home
of the new ptarmigan pizza.
You know, you can enjoy
your state bird with mozzarella,
fresh basil and tomato,
all on a corn flour crust.
Don't forget tonight's
T.S. Eliot night at The Brick.
Your truly, Chris Stevens,
is gonna be manning the pumps.
Free nickel beers
for the first 50 customers...
who can recite the opening lines of
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."
- No crib sheets now.
- Good morning, Ed.
You look a little peaked.
You didn't get any sleep?
Been delivering papers all night, huh?
Go home and get some chow, stand by.
We got a bulldog edition
coming out tomorrow.
Sure thing, Maurice.
Hey, hey, Maurice.
Maurice, this is fantastic.
- You don't say.
- No, what I mean is it's ridiculous.
I know you're desperate
for readers, but talking trees?
Fleischman, read the story.
They don't speak in complete sentences.
They make vowel sounds like...
and can only be detected
with scientific instruments.
Well, what's this? I mean, I've heard of
unnamed sources, but
an unnamed reporter?
Just say it's my contribution
to the field.
I've read fairy tales
with better documentation.
No one's gonna buy it, Maurice.
Hello?
I'm telling you, Fleischman.
I could swear I heard the tree talk.
Oh, not you too, O'Connell. What?
Maurice prints a story on talking trees.
Suddenly everyone in the woods
is on a first-name basis.
- I'm not making this up.
- No, it's not conscious.
- It's called power of suggestion.
- Don't patronize me, Fleischman.
And besides, wh-what's to think
that Maurice's story couldn't be true?
What, that certain pine trees around
here are having animated conversations?
Sure. In fact, I was just discussing
that very point with the tooth fairy.
Fleischman, plants
are living organisms, right?
You put electrodes on 'em,
they respond to stimuli.
Look, I can put electrodes on a frog leg
and make it dance around a table.
It doesn't mean it wants an audition.
It's called an electrochemical reaction.
- Well, what about sunflowers, huh?
- Sunflowers?
Yeah. Why do they turn towards the sun?
That's what plants do.
It's called heliotropism.
- But why do they do it?
- Because they need the sunlight.
Aha. Aha, what?
They need, Fleischman,
just like we need.
- And they act to satisfy those needs.
- I don't believe this.
O'Connell, you are so much more
academically impaired
than I had imagined.
Oh, really? Well, who tells
a plant that it needs the sun?
- How does it bend towards the light?
- Who cares?
Plant cells communicate, Fleischman.
They do. They communicate.
You know, if you knew
anything about horticulture,
if you had empathy
for any living thing at all,
you would know that every plant
is a minor miracle of interdependence-
that they're a self-regulating network
that-that manufactures
and transfers food,
collects and conducts water-
does basically everything that we do,
only more efficiently and
without screwing up the environment.
- And how, Fleischman?
- How?
They talk. They communicate. That's how.
Every successful gardener
talks to his plants, Joel.
What's a green thumb,
after all, except an ability...
to communicate positively
with our friends in the plant kingdom?
- What's your point, O'Connell?
- My point, Fleischman,
is that there is more between heaven and
earth than your philosophy
ever dreamed of.
It's true that plants are actually
out there talking all the time.
We're just not smart enough or sensitive
enough or whatever enough
to understand them.
Hey, how about some ptarmigan pizza
on the house?
You are delirious.
Well, it's a scientific fact
that women's ears are more sensitive.
You're just jealous that
I can hear it and you can't.
My ears are every bit as good as
your ears. I have great ears.
If there was a tree out there talking,
believe me, I would hear it.
Richard, how are you guys doing?
Everything all right?
Fine.
Excuse me. Mike, do me a favor.
Use a coaster. Okay, buddy? Thanks.
Eddie?
What, man? You write
on the walls at home?
Yeah.
Well, this isn't your home, all right?
A little consideration.
Joint's jumping, huh, partner?
- Yep.
- Good eats, Adam.
What would you know?
Dave.
Grill, Dave. Not cremate.
Grill.
Adam.
What do you want?
We need to talk.
Do we really have to hide
in the freezer?
No! And I don't have to talk
to you either, Minnifield.
- We sold out four editions today.
- Yeah. So? Now what do you want?
More. I'm gettin' calls from Homer,
from Sitka, from Sleetmute.
You want more? Right now? Tonight?
Yeah. Do you realize
the risk that I'm taking?
Not to mention the stress that I feel as
my loved one lies half a world away...
being subjected to the pins and needles
of some Oriental lunatic.
- We'll fly Eve here.
- Yeah, right.
If only it were that simple.
Beat it! We're busy here.
Okay.
Take this down.
You're gonna put my voice on tape?
I'll destroy the tape as soon as
I'm done with it. I'll burn it.
If you don't, I'll have to kill you.
Hold it. Hold it.
Batteries are freezing up.
Okay. Good. Go.
Dateline: Cicely.
As teams of government
scientists scour the tundra,
a deepening cover-up
is spreading its dark cloud...
over the borough of Arrowhead County.
You with me so far?
Ed. Oh, hi, Maurice.
Come on in.
What do you take in your coffee?
Lots of cream and lots of sugar.
- You're a wreck, son.
- I didn't get any sleep.
No? Why not? Burnin' it at both ends?
- I was delivering newspapers.
- Well, good.
- I rented a truck.
- That's good thinking.
- I put it on a credit card.
- Well, I'll reimburse you.
Oh, no. You don't have to do that.
I put it on your card. I don't have one.
Ed, that would normally be considered
larceny, but under the circumstances-
Oh, excuse me.
Hold on a sec!
This is 10 inches
of precision-made Wüsthof steel,
currently poised
between your brisket and prime rib.
Floor's yours, Adam.
What is this?
- That's our story-your story.
- This is not my story.
You butchered my copy!
It's unrecognizable.
You talked for 20 minutes, Adam.
I had to edit somewhere.
You call this editing? You walked
all over my prose in hobnailed boots!
Why don't you put up the pigsticker,
and we'll discuss this over brioche
and coffee, like civilized men.
Who is that? That's just Ed.
Don't worry about him.
He's out like a light.
Do you think this is a game?
Has this place been swept recently?
I have a girl come in every Thursday.
I'm talking about bugs.
You don't have a clue, do you?
Microchips. Fiber optics.
It's a whole new ball game, Minnifield.
I have seen transmitters
disguised as nasal hairs!
- Really?
- They have listening devices now...
that can pick up a caterpillar
sneezing two miles away.
They know what you had
for breakfast two days ago.
They know what car you're gonna
be buying three years from now.
Every square inch of your existence...
is being recorded,
analyzed, monitored...
and stored in a facility underground
right outside of Omaha.
I think you're carrying
this a little far, aren't you?
Oh, really? Maurice Minnifield. Age: 53.
Two-inch birthmark in the shape of
Madagascar, upper right trapezius.
Enamel replacement,
left lateral incisor.
Average rate of respiration
while engaged in sexual intercourse-
- All right, hold it right there!
- Satisfied?
- Let's just say I'm impressed.
- One phone call. One.
My God.
Botany is the next battlefield.
What's going on out there
is just the beginning.
What are you talking about?
Picture this.
Secure safe house.
Clandestine operatives meet.
Later on, the opposition
breaks into the room,
debriefs the potted palm.
Three days later, a plane
goes down outside of Düsseldorf.
- Oh, come on!
- It happened!
It's not a pretty picture.
Never mind the ethical implications.
I mean, acorns
removed from their parents.
Pleasure-pain experiments
performed on rhododendrons.
Let's get this down
on floppy disk, shall we?
What about the brioche?
All I'm saying is
Leon's Roadhouse in Sweetwater...
charges $3.50 for a bowl of chili half
this size, and theirs comes in a can.
- I don't know.
- Oh, come on.
Nobody's gonna squawk if we
bump the price to a buck, 75.
What do you say?
- Cool! Let's do it.
- All right. Yes.
Order up.
- Hmm.
- Hmm, what?
Hmm, just hmm.
You don't like the head? No, no. I do.
I mean, I did. I don't know.
- We'll move it.
- No, no. It's fine.
- We'll change it.
- No, Holling. It's-It's fine.
- You want to borrow my stethoscope?
- I'll give it right back.
Are you experiencing
pain, O'Connell, in a
geographically sensitive
region, perhaps?
Because, despite a relationship
that can best be described...
as an allergic reaction,
I'm still your doctor.
- So if there's something wrong-
- It's not for me, Fleischman.
Well, you're a little old to be
playing doctor, aren't you?
Just forget it. Just forget it!
Wait. If I'm gonna lend an expensive
piece of diagnostic equipment,
I think I deserve to know the reason.
Well, you'll just laugh.
- No, I won't.
- Yes, you will.
No, I won't. I'm a doctor.
There isn't much I haven't seen.
I don't know what's
going on here, Maurice.
There's more involved here
than dollars and cents.
There's the small matter
of the public trust.
I just left my office
where Maggie O'Connell-
someone whose personality
I won't comment on,
but whose grasp of reality
I'd rate above average-
is concerned that a log she cut down
is suffering from separation anxiety.
Joel, my only obligation
is to print the truth.
Oh, right. You're a regular pillar
of the First Amendment.
Hey, a joke's a joke, Maurice.
Get out while you can.
- This is no joke, Fleischman.
- What? You've talked to the trees?
You've seen government agents
skulking around in the woods?
- No, I haven't, but my source has.
- What source? Come on.
You and I both know you invented this
unnamed reporter to boost circulation.
Joel, do you think I
have the imagination
to invent something like this?
No, I know for a fact that you don't.
No. You didn't.
You did! You made a deal with Adam?
Oh, my God. Calm down, Joel.
You let the genie out of the bottle. The
man is a certifiable paranoid psychotic.
Maybe so, but he does spin
one heck of a yarn, doesn't he?
You can't believe a word he says.
You know that, don't you?
It doesn't matter what I believe.
It matters what the public believes.
- Meaning what?
- Meaning you give 'em what they want.
That's the role of journalism.
No, Maurice, that's the role
of professional wrestling.
No guts, no glory.
Uh, got a little weather
advisory for anybody
out there conversing
with the local flora.
Big ol' storm front
due in from the northeast.
Hey, why don't you
come in from the cold,
warm yourselves with a big old bowl
of homemade chili at The Brick.
Big ol' heaping bowl
for a measly buck, 75.
Chili there.
Maybe you got something else to do.
What's happening tonight?
Anglo-Saxon night at The Brick.
Our salute to our soggy forebears
from the Sceptred Isle.
And, uh, we're featuring
the first annual
Arrowhead tag team dart championship.
Seemed like a good idea at the time.
I guess we'll give it a try.
Um, hey, how about- how about a tune?
Can't sleep, babe?
I built this bar. Me and Joe Bernardi.
Wonder how many beers I've served here.
A hundred thousand? Millions?
Come back to bed, hon.
I'll rub your temples.
I always enjoyed seeing Chris
come through the door.
He's a good customer.
Never ran off at the mouth.
Paid his tabs.
Eat anything you'd put in front of him.
But lately I just get this urge
to punch his lights out.
I think that might be bad
for business, Holling.
It's nothing he's done.
Heck, we're makin' more money
than we did before.
I'm not a partner man. I just-
Either it's my bar or it isn't.
What do you wanna do?
There's only one thing I can do.
Sell out to Chris.
But it's your bar, Holling.
It was my bar. That crowd tonight-
Those weren't my customers.
They were his.
So give Chris his money back.
We'll find another way to pay our taxes.
I can't do that, Shelly.
I asked Chris to help out.
No, I'm not gonna stand
in the way of progress.
Change comes to all things.
Guess we'll just have to change with it.
Okay.
That's all right with you?
Shelly, it'll turn your life
upside down.
Well, yeah. We'll find some other gig.
- Can we go back to bed now?
- Yeah.
Rain usually makes me feel mellow.
Curl-up-in-the-corner time.
Slow down. Smell the furniture.
Today it just... makes me feel wet.
What is it about possessing things?
Why do we feel the need
to own what we love?
And why do we become
such jerks when we do?
We've all been there, you know.
You want something. You possess it.
And by possessing it, we lose it.
When you finally
win the girl of your dreams,
first thing you do,
you try to change her.
That little thing she'd
do with her hair,
the way she wears her clothes,
the way she chews her gum.
Pretty soon, what you liked,
what you've changed
and what you don't like,
it all... blends together...
like a watercolor in the rain.
- Where is he?
- I dunno.
You seen him, Fleischman?
Hey, be glad he's gone, Maurice.
The only loss is to our appetites.
You know where he lives. You've
been there. How do you get there?
Got me. I was blindfolded
when I was there.
Um, I do remember trees though.
- Holling-
- Chris-
Look, I- Me first.
No, me. Chris.
Look, Holling, I know what you're
gonna say. I can save us some time.
All right.
Well, since we've become partners,
you know, the bar's changed.
I mean, we both know that. It's become
more popular, more - more efficient.
More profitable. More profitable.
It's, uh-
It's what?
I hate it.
Holling, last night I couldn't breathe.
I had to leave a bar
for the first time in my life.
It's weird. I love your bar,
but when it became my bar,
all I could see were things
I wanted to change, you know?
And then last night,
I stepped back and I took a look,
and... I got this awful feeling
in the pit of my stomach.
You know, like
when you fall out of love,
and it's over, but you're
still trying to hang on.
I can't enjoy myself
in The Brick anymore.
And what it's done to my head,
Holling-It's-It's really strange.
I mean, it's got me thinking
about profit margin...
and-and return on investment
and coasters.
I'm making people use coasters.
Where'd that come from?
I really thought owning a bar
was gonna be it for me.
I guess there's two kind
of people in the world:
Owners and renters.
And I'm a renter, and I gotta get out.
You'll want your money back then.
Well, uh, the way I see it,
I must've blown 1,500 bucks
on free drinks that first night.
So we'll take that off the top, and
then you just pay me whenever you can.
That's very generous of you.
Hey, Holling, I'd rather have
my money helping a friend...
than breeding in some bank somewhere.
Hmm. Want a beer?
You buying?
You bet. Well, all right.
You're not the only foot soldier
to go through jungle school.
- You found me.
- Of course.
- I knew you would.
- Slowly!
- It's all over, Minnifield.
- It's not over until I say it's over.
You don't leave the field
with the ball on the five-yard line.
- You've gotta go ahead and punch it in.
- Do you think this is a game?
Oh, I see.
A little leverage at "H" hour, huh?
All right. What do you want?
You want a restaurant?
I'll buy you a restaurant.
Why would I possibly want
a restaurant? I hate people!
Two more articles, Adam. Two more.
You've got to find an ending
to this story.
You, Ben Bradlee, Arthur Sulzberger-
You're all alike!
You squeeze and you squeeze,
and when there's nothing left, you
squeeze a little bit more, don't you?
- Agh.
- Hold it! You're not going anywhere.
Who's gonna stop me?
I think I'd better warn you...
I'm an expert at hand-to-hand.
I would rip out your heart and show it
to you before it stopped beating.
Your neck would be snapped
like a dry twig...
before your hand reached my chest.
What?
Company. Two men and a woman...
or a very small man.
Maurice, this is unhealthy.
It's been a week.
I mean, look at you.
You're not sleeping. You're not eating.
I mean, I admit the cuisine is
a major comedown since Adam left,
but you've gotta get on with your life.
Go buy more property. Or go hunting.
Yeah, why don't you go kill something?
I should've played him
differently, Joel.
A thoroughbred like Adam
is a different breed.
Requires special handling, more room.
Maurice, it was gonna collapse
sooner or later. You're obsessing.
I mean, if you date a Vegas showgirl,
you can't be surprised when
she runs off with the magician.
Look at the bright side.
You're not being sued.
You still have your reputation.
The outside world has forgotten that the
Cicely News & World
Telegram even exists.
- There's a lot to be thankful for.
- What?
Maurice-
What is it, Ed?
Well, I thought about whether
I should show you this.
On one hand, there are
your feelings to protect.
Well, and on the other
hand, you probably
would have found out about it anyway.
The two hands fought, and for a while I-
Chemical spill?
"Residual biochemical imbalance.
Uniquely sensitive ecosystem."
What-This is a joke, right?
The trees were screaming for help.
Forget about it, Maurice.
Hey, this is-this is a coincidence,
a-a one-in-a-million shot.
I mean, statistically,
if Adam talks enough, he
has to hit on some truth
every now and again.
I mean, even a broken clock
is accurate twice a day.
I dreamed of hooking the big one.
Oh, I hooked that fish deep.
Then he sounded.
I ran out of line.
Morning, Cicely.
You'll be pleased to know that
that corps of army engineers...
is arriving this morning to restore
our fragile tundra, bloody but unbowed.
Godspeed, boys, and tell the army...
no more high jinks in our
fair woods, understand?
I understand that our trees
have quit their howling.
End of a crowd-pleasing
phenomenon for us, perhaps,
but resumption
of business as usual for them.
Ah, yes, life in the slow lane,
as it should be.
You know, if our timber
were to speak again,
I got a feeling it would probably say
something like, "Hey, people, enough."
You know, some things
we're not meant to tamper with.
Some things... better left alone.
And that's okay, because happiness
doesn't come from having things, right?
It comes from being part of things.
My thanks to Shelly and Holling for
giving me the space
to work that one out.
Okay. I think this is the place.
I'm telling you, O'Connell.
This whole thing
was dreamed up by some
White House flack...
to divert attention
from domestic policy debate.
There were never any talking trees.
Quiet.
What? You didn't hear that?
Hear what? You're hallucinating.
I mean, if-if you can hallucinate
with your ears.
You know what, Fleischman?
You just don't want to listen.
I don't even know what
I'm supposed to be listening for.
Do they speak English? Esperanto? What?
Sounds, Fleischman.
I mean, they speak sounds.
I mean, I just can't explain it. It's-
You're right. I'm an idiot.
No, come on. Wait. Wait.
You know, I have a very meaningful
experience in the woods,
and for some stupid reason
I choose to share it with you,
and you just can't resist
trashing it, can you?
Okay, okay. Don't take it so personally.
Look, I'm sorry. All right?
I'm just-I am not a child of nature.
I am a child of asphalt and toxic fumes,
and I have never listened
to trees before, all right?
I mean-
- What? What am I supposed to do?
- Just listen.
Okay.
You hear anything?
No.
Well, we'll just stay here
for a few minutes,
and we'll move on to another place.
Right.
Wonderful. I've been counting
the minutes, Marilyn.
Who's here? Morning, Joel.
Holling. Hey, you look terrible.
Have a seat. Let's take
a peek under the hood.
What's this?
- Ooh, I.R.S.
- Read it.
"It has come to our attention
our investigators have determined...
- ...you owe the government $9,000."
- Keep goin'.
Holling, it says here you haven't
paid your taxes since 1959.
- Correct.
- 1959?
Statehood. I voted against it.
And what? You've been withholding
taxes as a form of political protest?
Well, not exactly. I figured they'd
let me know if they really needed it.
You never filed a tax return?
No.
I mean, I've been delinquent
once or twice myself,
but, um, I don't think
you can get a 32-year extension.
Well, I figured something
more like a note.
- A note?
- From you.
- You mean like a medical excuse?
- There you go.
You want me to write
to the Internal Revenue Service,
saying you can't pay your taxes
because you aren't feeling well?
Well, don't get me wrong.
I mean, I fully
intend to pay it, but not right now.
It'll take me a little while
to get up that kind of cash.
What do you say?
Good morning, Cicely. It's 7:02.
A soggy 34 degrees outside.
It's time to reach
into the K-Bear mailbag.
Dave from Mosquito Lake writes:
"Dear Chris in the Morning,
I loved your series on Islam.
How about a transcript?"
Well, sorry, Dave. There isn't one.
I work without a net, you know.
I'm glad you liked the series.
On a personal note, my brother Bernard
drops a note from the Dark Continent:
"Dear Chris, Africa is all
I dreamed it would be.
I trekked up the Usambara Range"-
that's in Tanzania, folks-
"where I watched the
sunrise and felt the
blood of my ancestors
pulse through my veins.
Best to all. Kwaheri, Bernard."
Well, that's something, huh?
Bernard's out there in the motherland,
hugging the curves down life's highways,
and yours truly creeps along here...
at his petty pace, day to day,
full of sound and fury,
lots of unnecessary commercial messages.
Truth is, folks, I've been dragging
my psychic feet lately,
and it's probably nothing more than your
usual biorhythmic peaks and valleys,
but there's no getting around the fact
that we all need a pump, you know?
Something to make us jump up
out of bed in the morning...
and greet the dawn
with a big old cosmic "Howdy."
- Morning, Dr. Fleischman.
- Hey, wait, wait. Hold it right there.
- What is that?
- This is eggs Florentine,
and this is a seven-grain waffle
with gooseberry syrup.
- Hey, Dr. Fleischman.
- Don't talk with your mouth full, Ed.
That appears to be cheese blintzes
with blueberry sauce?
- He's back?
- Mm-hmm.
No, no, no. You can't drown it!
It's gotta float.
It's gotta-It's gotta breathe.
Look, you're not ready for crepes, Dave.
Just go boil some water or something.
Hey, Adam. - Please. Okay.
That's it. I'm outta here.
- Wait. Wait. What did I say?
- What did you say?
- Yeah. I came in to-
- To what?
To idly interrupt?
To annoy beyond reason?
- No. I thought that may-
- What?
I- I suppose you let
uninvited guests barge
into your operating
room all the time, huh?
Mushrooms. I love shiitakes.
Those are chanterelles, you moron. Hey!
- Do you want to die?
- Okay. Okay.
So what brings you back to Cicely?
You're right. Let's try an
easier one. Um, how's Eve?
- She's sick.
- Oh, what a surprise.
- Hey, just watch it, okay?
- She doesn't want to see me, does she?
Why? Do you have a problem
with that, Doctor?
Dave. Dave.
Presentation.
Hopeless.
No. Eve's sciatic nerve
was acting up again.
Then before you could say "Boo," she
comes down with a case of thyroiditis.
She try a vitamin "B" supplement?
What a brilliant idea.
Yeah, of course we did.
With amazing results. Nothing happened.
So now she's at Dr. Chang's clinic.
Dr. Chang? Dr. M. Chang?
Well, I'm glad to see you keep up
with the literature, Fleischman.
I mean, he's only the seminal force
in the field of acupuncture.
And spare me the A.M.A. Party line,
okay? I know all about it.
If it isn't in the New England
Journal of Medicine,
it never happened for you guys, right?
I was just gonna ask where he practices.
- Hunan, if you must know.
- Hunan as in China?
- No, Hunan as in North Dakota.
- So Eve is in China?
What, am I talking to myself?
Yes, Eve is in China.
I wish I was there with her.
I could be translating cookbooks...
instead of being interrogated
by some gastronomic pygmy.
- You read Chinese?
- Cantonese like a native.
- Mandarin still gives me a fit.
- Come on.
- What does that mean?
- Loosely translated, it means,
um, "Quick and painless
or slow and lingering?"
Hey! You! Hold it! What the hell
do you think you're doing?
Me? Yeah. What have you
got in your hand there?
Newspaper. That's not just a newspaper.
That's my newspaper.
The Cicely News & World Telegram.
I'm sorry.
Where I come from, people
respect their local newspapers.
They read 'em. They clip stories.
They discuss 'em.
They do not use 'em to clean up after
their pets. Do I make myself clear?
- Yeah, but-
- You want clean sidewalks?
Here.
Dr. Fleischman gonna
write you that note, hon?
Says it's creaky. I suppose he's right.
Don't worry.
We'll come up with the money.
How?
I don't know. I was just
sayin' it to be nice.
Just hate seeing you drag
that cute nose on the floor, babe.
Anyway, what's the worst
thing that can happen?
Well, they could seize the bar,
sell the property, put me in jail.
- Huh.
- Oh, really?
All right, listen up. All of you. Hey!
Yeah, you.
Something's been festering under the
skin of this town like an angry boil,
and I think it's time
we gave it a scratch.
- How about a clue, Maurice?
- Case in point.
Ruth-Anne, what is that
you're reading, dear?
The Christian Science Monitor.
Uh-huh. Well, you know
we have a paper in this town.
But rather than support
our local news organ,
some people would prefer to use it
as a sponge to mop up spilled decaf.
We've got a problem here, people.
The problem, Maurice, is that
your paper is a major snooze.
You think the New York Times
is a joyride?
You think people read the New York Times
because they like to?
No, no. People read the New York Times
because they feel like they ought to.
- Isn't that right, Fleischman?
- Oh, phooey.
There's nothing to write about
around here, and you know it.
Oh, you think things are
too uneventful here
in the borough of Arrowhead County, huh?
Well, yes, I do.
Well, let me tell you about a little
item in the New York Times today.
It's about the Village Sentinel
in Duxbury, Vermont,
a thriving metropolis of 900 souls.
They have been nominated
for a Pulitzer prize. Why?
Ticks.
My paper has ticks.
My paper has bugs of all kinds.
Show of hands.
How many of you read the article...
on mosquito abatement program
in Loon Lake?
See? That's just my point.
A great newspaper
needs a great reading public.
We've all got to pull
our own weight here, people.
End of story.
Hey there, Chris.
Hey, Holling. Come on in.
Another postcard from Bernard?
Yeah. He's in Sierra Leone now.
Northwest coast, below Guinea.
- That's an adventure.
- Got a rash. Nothing serious.
Uh, maybe this is not a good time.
No, no, no. I'm sorry, Holling.
What's up, buddy?
Well, not too much.
I owe Uncle Sam, uh, $9,000.
Ooh. Back taxes?
I have never asked anyone
for cash before, Chris,
but, uh, those government
boys can be rough.
- How much you need?
- Well, it's no secret.
With your inheritance,
you're the only fella
around who's liquid, other than Maurice.
Now, there was a time
when I could've asked him-
No, no, no. Full amount,
five percent interest, Holling.
No. Hold on a minute.
I'm not talking about a loan.
- You're not?
- No. I don't believe in debt.
What a man can't pay for, he can't own.
No, this is a business investment.
One-half interest in The Brick
for $9,000.
Me? Own half of your bar?
Well, it's a good offer. I had the
barstools upholstered
last year only and-
Whoa, Holling. You and me,
partners in The Brick?
- Is that what you're saying?
- Well, yeah.
Oh, man. Holling, this was meant to be.
This was meant to happen.
Holling, ever since I inherited
that money,
my karma has been all dressed up
with nowhere to go, man.
I love bars. You know that.
Holling, I dream about bars.
Best talk I ever had with my dad-in a
bar, man. I patched
him up after a fight.
Holling, I know the layout
of every bar I ever been in.
I know the bartender's name.
I know what they charge me for a drink.
I was made for this, Holling.
I was made to own a bar.
I- I take it you're interested.
Yeah.
And we're comin' on down.
All right, who's next, huh? Joel?
- No, none for me, Chris.
- Come on now. Maggie? Ruth-Anne?
- On the house.
- Why not?
- Hey, that okay with you, huh?
- It's your bar, partner.
Hey, this is interesting.
We're 14% ahead
of last year's precipitation count.
Whoo, doggy!
Uh, here's a little something
I'm trying with, uh, polenta.
- Fabulous.
- Fabulous.
Delicious. What is this?
This is, um, cilantro?
Why? You want to try this at home?
I devote my life
to creating culinary masterpieces.
You think I'd reduce that
to a shopping list?
I- I just-
I suppose every passenger
thinks they can fly your plane, huh?
"What's that, hot lips,
a little left rudder? Slide over."
But any jerk with a hot plate
can cook, right?
A little cilantro, you're a chef.
What's this, Ed?
Well, I thought about
what you said, Maurice.
About initiative. And
this is my new column.
"Ed Goes to the Movies"?
Yeah. Four bear claws
means instant classic,
and one bear claw
means stay home and read.
I think it's time people knew the truth.
Shelly! Oh, Shelly!
- Mmm. What are these?
- I don't know what you call 'em,
but I've been scarfing 'em down
like beer nuts.
- Oh, my God!
- God, Adam, this is amazing!
Mmm. What are these? These, um-
- Diego's maize azul supreme.
- Diego?
A friend.
Had a way with blue corn flour.
Yeah, he would've been
one of the greats if only...
If only what?
Ah, if only he hadn't been blown to bits
along with his Deux
Chevaux outside of Lima.
Faulty detonator. Yeah.
Give that guy a few charcoal briquettes,
some hickory chips and a goat,
he'd work miracles.
Ah, too bad. Nice kid.
Should've been me.
- Wow.
- Lima, Peru?
Well, the outskirts
of the city, actually.
- What were you doing in Peru?
- You think I'm gonna tell you, lady?
Hey, folks, come on.
I mean, his food is great.
It's better than great.
But this is Adam we're talking about.
The man is a walking pathology.
He cannot tell the time without lying.
I mean, one can only guess
at the unique circumstances...
that rendered him incapable
of distinguishing
Rocky and Bullwinkle
from the evening news.
Don't you think
you're being a little harsh, Joel?
Oh, no, no. Please, please continue.
I'm sure everyone here is fascinated
to hear more pop psychology...
from number 54
in his class at Columbia Med.
- Fifty-fourth?
- Well, out of 140.
It happened to be a very tough school,
O'Connell. How did you know that?
- What are you starin' at?
- Good rumaki.
How did he know that?
Whoo! What a night!
What an unbelievable night! Whoo!
Yes, I don't ever recall having
given away quite that much free beer.
Oh, man, this is fantastic.
I feel like Bogie in Casablanca.
This free food and drink, Chris-
This is strictly a one-shot deal, right?
Oh, right, right. Absolutely.
You know, I got a few ideas, though,
I want to fly by you, Holling.
- Ideas?
- Yeah, just some little things.
You know, changes. The place
has been getting kinda stale lately.
It has?
Yeah, but we can talk about that later.
- How about breakfast tomorrow morning?
- Whatever you say.
- Partner.
- Partner.
- Good night, Dave.
- Good night.
Hey, Adam. I think
we should have a talk.
I loathe talks.
If you wanna talk, call Oprah.
I could use a man of your ability.
Get lost.
You haven't heard me out.
Twenty seconds, then I'm outta here.
You've got a gift. I've got a paper.
I'm willing to pay.
- Not interested.
- Oh, come on, son.
- Everybody's interested in money.
- Fifteen seconds.
All right. I need a special
correspondent to, uh, stir things up.
I'll give you front page,
your own byline, the works.
My own byline?
I'll throw in your picture too. We'll
have to do something about that hair.
- Are you insane?
- What?
You want people to know where I am?
Why don't you just paint
crosshairs on my back?
Then forget the byline.
Why should I write for your
pissant paper, Minnifield?
I'm giving you carte blanche here, Adam.
You've got the opportunity
to write anything you want.
- Within reason.
- Time's up.
Plausibility!
That's a better word for it.
Look, blow the lid off this borough.
Be my Deep Throat.
- Deep Throat?
- Yeah, whatever.
That guy always did piss me off.
All right, I'm in.
But get out your checkbook, Minnifield.
- This is gonna cost.
- I'm listening.
- I'm gonna need cashews.
- That's no problem.
- And a dozen pencils.
- Number twos?
Eberhard Faber. Blackwings.
Yes, who would have thought
our sleepy little hamlet...
borders the most unusual
botanical find of the century?
"But don't take my word for it.
"Pick up your own copy of the
Cicely News & World Telegram today...
"and read about bizarre
but true discoveries
in a forest primeval that time forgot.
"It's all in the
Cicely News & World Telegram,
the pride and pulse
of the borough of Arrowhead County."
And to swap stories
about our loquacious lodgepoles,
why not stop in
at Cicely's favorite watering hole,
The Brick, home
of the new ptarmigan pizza.
You know, you can enjoy
your state bird with mozzarella,
fresh basil and tomato,
all on a corn flour crust.
Don't forget tonight's
T.S. Eliot night at The Brick.
Your truly, Chris Stevens,
is gonna be manning the pumps.
Free nickel beers
for the first 50 customers...
who can recite the opening lines of
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."
- No crib sheets now.
- Good morning, Ed.
You look a little peaked.
You didn't get any sleep?
Been delivering papers all night, huh?
Go home and get some chow, stand by.
We got a bulldog edition
coming out tomorrow.
Sure thing, Maurice.
Hey, hey, Maurice.
Maurice, this is fantastic.
- You don't say.
- No, what I mean is it's ridiculous.
I know you're desperate
for readers, but talking trees?
Fleischman, read the story.
They don't speak in complete sentences.
They make vowel sounds like...
and can only be detected
with scientific instruments.
Well, what's this? I mean, I've heard of
unnamed sources, but
an unnamed reporter?
Just say it's my contribution
to the field.
I've read fairy tales
with better documentation.
No one's gonna buy it, Maurice.
Hello?
I'm telling you, Fleischman.
I could swear I heard the tree talk.
Oh, not you too, O'Connell. What?
Maurice prints a story on talking trees.
Suddenly everyone in the woods
is on a first-name basis.
- I'm not making this up.
- No, it's not conscious.
- It's called power of suggestion.
- Don't patronize me, Fleischman.
And besides, wh-what's to think
that Maurice's story couldn't be true?
What, that certain pine trees around
here are having animated conversations?
Sure. In fact, I was just discussing
that very point with the tooth fairy.
Fleischman, plants
are living organisms, right?
You put electrodes on 'em,
they respond to stimuli.
Look, I can put electrodes on a frog leg
and make it dance around a table.
It doesn't mean it wants an audition.
It's called an electrochemical reaction.
- Well, what about sunflowers, huh?
- Sunflowers?
Yeah. Why do they turn towards the sun?
That's what plants do.
It's called heliotropism.
- But why do they do it?
- Because they need the sunlight.
Aha. Aha, what?
They need, Fleischman,
just like we need.
- And they act to satisfy those needs.
- I don't believe this.
O'Connell, you are so much more
academically impaired
than I had imagined.
Oh, really? Well, who tells
a plant that it needs the sun?
- How does it bend towards the light?
- Who cares?
Plant cells communicate, Fleischman.
They do. They communicate.
You know, if you knew
anything about horticulture,
if you had empathy
for any living thing at all,
you would know that every plant
is a minor miracle of interdependence-
that they're a self-regulating network
that-that manufactures
and transfers food,
collects and conducts water-
does basically everything that we do,
only more efficiently and
without screwing up the environment.
- And how, Fleischman?
- How?
They talk. They communicate. That's how.
Every successful gardener
talks to his plants, Joel.
What's a green thumb,
after all, except an ability...
to communicate positively
with our friends in the plant kingdom?
- What's your point, O'Connell?
- My point, Fleischman,
is that there is more between heaven and
earth than your philosophy
ever dreamed of.
It's true that plants are actually
out there talking all the time.
We're just not smart enough or sensitive
enough or whatever enough
to understand them.
Hey, how about some ptarmigan pizza
on the house?
You are delirious.
Well, it's a scientific fact
that women's ears are more sensitive.
You're just jealous that
I can hear it and you can't.
My ears are every bit as good as
your ears. I have great ears.
If there was a tree out there talking,
believe me, I would hear it.
Richard, how are you guys doing?
Everything all right?
Fine.
Excuse me. Mike, do me a favor.
Use a coaster. Okay, buddy? Thanks.
Eddie?
What, man? You write
on the walls at home?
Yeah.
Well, this isn't your home, all right?
A little consideration.
Joint's jumping, huh, partner?
- Yep.
- Good eats, Adam.
What would you know?
Dave.
Grill, Dave. Not cremate.
Grill.
Adam.
What do you want?
We need to talk.
Do we really have to hide
in the freezer?
No! And I don't have to talk
to you either, Minnifield.
- We sold out four editions today.
- Yeah. So? Now what do you want?
More. I'm gettin' calls from Homer,
from Sitka, from Sleetmute.
You want more? Right now? Tonight?
Yeah. Do you realize
the risk that I'm taking?
Not to mention the stress that I feel as
my loved one lies half a world away...
being subjected to the pins and needles
of some Oriental lunatic.
- We'll fly Eve here.
- Yeah, right.
If only it were that simple.
Beat it! We're busy here.
Okay.
Take this down.
You're gonna put my voice on tape?
I'll destroy the tape as soon as
I'm done with it. I'll burn it.
If you don't, I'll have to kill you.
Hold it. Hold it.
Batteries are freezing up.
Okay. Good. Go.
Dateline: Cicely.
As teams of government
scientists scour the tundra,
a deepening cover-up
is spreading its dark cloud...
over the borough of Arrowhead County.
You with me so far?
Ed. Oh, hi, Maurice.
Come on in.
What do you take in your coffee?
Lots of cream and lots of sugar.
- You're a wreck, son.
- I didn't get any sleep.
No? Why not? Burnin' it at both ends?
- I was delivering newspapers.
- Well, good.
- I rented a truck.
- That's good thinking.
- I put it on a credit card.
- Well, I'll reimburse you.
Oh, no. You don't have to do that.
I put it on your card. I don't have one.
Ed, that would normally be considered
larceny, but under the circumstances-
Oh, excuse me.
Hold on a sec!
This is 10 inches
of precision-made Wüsthof steel,
currently poised
between your brisket and prime rib.
Floor's yours, Adam.
What is this?
- That's our story-your story.
- This is not my story.
You butchered my copy!
It's unrecognizable.
You talked for 20 minutes, Adam.
I had to edit somewhere.
You call this editing? You walked
all over my prose in hobnailed boots!
Why don't you put up the pigsticker,
and we'll discuss this over brioche
and coffee, like civilized men.
Who is that? That's just Ed.
Don't worry about him.
He's out like a light.
Do you think this is a game?
Has this place been swept recently?
I have a girl come in every Thursday.
I'm talking about bugs.
You don't have a clue, do you?
Microchips. Fiber optics.
It's a whole new ball game, Minnifield.
I have seen transmitters
disguised as nasal hairs!
- Really?
- They have listening devices now...
that can pick up a caterpillar
sneezing two miles away.
They know what you had
for breakfast two days ago.
They know what car you're gonna
be buying three years from now.
Every square inch of your existence...
is being recorded,
analyzed, monitored...
and stored in a facility underground
right outside of Omaha.
I think you're carrying
this a little far, aren't you?
Oh, really? Maurice Minnifield. Age: 53.
Two-inch birthmark in the shape of
Madagascar, upper right trapezius.
Enamel replacement,
left lateral incisor.
Average rate of respiration
while engaged in sexual intercourse-
- All right, hold it right there!
- Satisfied?
- Let's just say I'm impressed.
- One phone call. One.
My God.
Botany is the next battlefield.
What's going on out there
is just the beginning.
What are you talking about?
Picture this.
Secure safe house.
Clandestine operatives meet.
Later on, the opposition
breaks into the room,
debriefs the potted palm.
Three days later, a plane
goes down outside of Düsseldorf.
- Oh, come on!
- It happened!
It's not a pretty picture.
Never mind the ethical implications.
I mean, acorns
removed from their parents.
Pleasure-pain experiments
performed on rhododendrons.
Let's get this down
on floppy disk, shall we?
What about the brioche?
All I'm saying is
Leon's Roadhouse in Sweetwater...
charges $3.50 for a bowl of chili half
this size, and theirs comes in a can.
- I don't know.
- Oh, come on.
Nobody's gonna squawk if we
bump the price to a buck, 75.
What do you say?
- Cool! Let's do it.
- All right. Yes.
Order up.
- Hmm.
- Hmm, what?
Hmm, just hmm.
You don't like the head? No, no. I do.
I mean, I did. I don't know.
- We'll move it.
- No, no. It's fine.
- We'll change it.
- No, Holling. It's-It's fine.
- You want to borrow my stethoscope?
- I'll give it right back.
Are you experiencing
pain, O'Connell, in a
geographically sensitive
region, perhaps?
Because, despite a relationship
that can best be described...
as an allergic reaction,
I'm still your doctor.
- So if there's something wrong-
- It's not for me, Fleischman.
Well, you're a little old to be
playing doctor, aren't you?
Just forget it. Just forget it!
Wait. If I'm gonna lend an expensive
piece of diagnostic equipment,
I think I deserve to know the reason.
Well, you'll just laugh.
- No, I won't.
- Yes, you will.
No, I won't. I'm a doctor.
There isn't much I haven't seen.
I don't know what's
going on here, Maurice.
There's more involved here
than dollars and cents.
There's the small matter
of the public trust.
I just left my office
where Maggie O'Connell-
someone whose personality
I won't comment on,
but whose grasp of reality
I'd rate above average-
is concerned that a log she cut down
is suffering from separation anxiety.
Joel, my only obligation
is to print the truth.
Oh, right. You're a regular pillar
of the First Amendment.
Hey, a joke's a joke, Maurice.
Get out while you can.
- This is no joke, Fleischman.
- What? You've talked to the trees?
You've seen government agents
skulking around in the woods?
- No, I haven't, but my source has.
- What source? Come on.
You and I both know you invented this
unnamed reporter to boost circulation.
Joel, do you think I
have the imagination
to invent something like this?
No, I know for a fact that you don't.
No. You didn't.
You did! You made a deal with Adam?
Oh, my God. Calm down, Joel.
You let the genie out of the bottle. The
man is a certifiable paranoid psychotic.
Maybe so, but he does spin
one heck of a yarn, doesn't he?
You can't believe a word he says.
You know that, don't you?
It doesn't matter what I believe.
It matters what the public believes.
- Meaning what?
- Meaning you give 'em what they want.
That's the role of journalism.
No, Maurice, that's the role
of professional wrestling.
No guts, no glory.
Uh, got a little weather
advisory for anybody
out there conversing
with the local flora.
Big ol' storm front
due in from the northeast.
Hey, why don't you
come in from the cold,
warm yourselves with a big old bowl
of homemade chili at The Brick.
Big ol' heaping bowl
for a measly buck, 75.
Chili there.
Maybe you got something else to do.
What's happening tonight?
Anglo-Saxon night at The Brick.
Our salute to our soggy forebears
from the Sceptred Isle.
And, uh, we're featuring
the first annual
Arrowhead tag team dart championship.
Seemed like a good idea at the time.
I guess we'll give it a try.
Um, hey, how about- how about a tune?
Can't sleep, babe?
I built this bar. Me and Joe Bernardi.
Wonder how many beers I've served here.
A hundred thousand? Millions?
Come back to bed, hon.
I'll rub your temples.
I always enjoyed seeing Chris
come through the door.
He's a good customer.
Never ran off at the mouth.
Paid his tabs.
Eat anything you'd put in front of him.
But lately I just get this urge
to punch his lights out.
I think that might be bad
for business, Holling.
It's nothing he's done.
Heck, we're makin' more money
than we did before.
I'm not a partner man. I just-
Either it's my bar or it isn't.
What do you wanna do?
There's only one thing I can do.
Sell out to Chris.
But it's your bar, Holling.
It was my bar. That crowd tonight-
Those weren't my customers.
They were his.
So give Chris his money back.
We'll find another way to pay our taxes.
I can't do that, Shelly.
I asked Chris to help out.
No, I'm not gonna stand
in the way of progress.
Change comes to all things.
Guess we'll just have to change with it.
Okay.
That's all right with you?
Shelly, it'll turn your life
upside down.
Well, yeah. We'll find some other gig.
- Can we go back to bed now?
- Yeah.
Rain usually makes me feel mellow.
Curl-up-in-the-corner time.
Slow down. Smell the furniture.
Today it just... makes me feel wet.
What is it about possessing things?
Why do we feel the need
to own what we love?
And why do we become
such jerks when we do?
We've all been there, you know.
You want something. You possess it.
And by possessing it, we lose it.
When you finally
win the girl of your dreams,
first thing you do,
you try to change her.
That little thing she'd
do with her hair,
the way she wears her clothes,
the way she chews her gum.
Pretty soon, what you liked,
what you've changed
and what you don't like,
it all... blends together...
like a watercolor in the rain.
- Where is he?
- I dunno.
You seen him, Fleischman?
Hey, be glad he's gone, Maurice.
The only loss is to our appetites.
You know where he lives. You've
been there. How do you get there?
Got me. I was blindfolded
when I was there.
Um, I do remember trees though.
- Holling-
- Chris-
Look, I- Me first.
No, me. Chris.
Look, Holling, I know what you're
gonna say. I can save us some time.
All right.
Well, since we've become partners,
you know, the bar's changed.
I mean, we both know that. It's become
more popular, more - more efficient.
More profitable. More profitable.
It's, uh-
It's what?
I hate it.
Holling, last night I couldn't breathe.
I had to leave a bar
for the first time in my life.
It's weird. I love your bar,
but when it became my bar,
all I could see were things
I wanted to change, you know?
And then last night,
I stepped back and I took a look,
and... I got this awful feeling
in the pit of my stomach.
You know, like
when you fall out of love,
and it's over, but you're
still trying to hang on.
I can't enjoy myself
in The Brick anymore.
And what it's done to my head,
Holling-It's-It's really strange.
I mean, it's got me thinking
about profit margin...
and-and return on investment
and coasters.
I'm making people use coasters.
Where'd that come from?
I really thought owning a bar
was gonna be it for me.
I guess there's two kind
of people in the world:
Owners and renters.
And I'm a renter, and I gotta get out.
You'll want your money back then.
Well, uh, the way I see it,
I must've blown 1,500 bucks
on free drinks that first night.
So we'll take that off the top, and
then you just pay me whenever you can.
That's very generous of you.
Hey, Holling, I'd rather have
my money helping a friend...
than breeding in some bank somewhere.
Hmm. Want a beer?
You buying?
You bet. Well, all right.
You're not the only foot soldier
to go through jungle school.
- You found me.
- Of course.
- I knew you would.
- Slowly!
- It's all over, Minnifield.
- It's not over until I say it's over.
You don't leave the field
with the ball on the five-yard line.
- You've gotta go ahead and punch it in.
- Do you think this is a game?
Oh, I see.
A little leverage at "H" hour, huh?
All right. What do you want?
You want a restaurant?
I'll buy you a restaurant.
Why would I possibly want
a restaurant? I hate people!
Two more articles, Adam. Two more.
You've got to find an ending
to this story.
You, Ben Bradlee, Arthur Sulzberger-
You're all alike!
You squeeze and you squeeze,
and when there's nothing left, you
squeeze a little bit more, don't you?
- Agh.
- Hold it! You're not going anywhere.
Who's gonna stop me?
I think I'd better warn you...
I'm an expert at hand-to-hand.
I would rip out your heart and show it
to you before it stopped beating.
Your neck would be snapped
like a dry twig...
before your hand reached my chest.
What?
Company. Two men and a woman...
or a very small man.
Maurice, this is unhealthy.
It's been a week.
I mean, look at you.
You're not sleeping. You're not eating.
I mean, I admit the cuisine is
a major comedown since Adam left,
but you've gotta get on with your life.
Go buy more property. Or go hunting.
Yeah, why don't you go kill something?
I should've played him
differently, Joel.
A thoroughbred like Adam
is a different breed.
Requires special handling, more room.
Maurice, it was gonna collapse
sooner or later. You're obsessing.
I mean, if you date a Vegas showgirl,
you can't be surprised when
she runs off with the magician.
Look at the bright side.
You're not being sued.
You still have your reputation.
The outside world has forgotten that the
Cicely News & World
Telegram even exists.
- There's a lot to be thankful for.
- What?
Maurice-
What is it, Ed?
Well, I thought about whether
I should show you this.
On one hand, there are
your feelings to protect.
Well, and on the other
hand, you probably
would have found out about it anyway.
The two hands fought, and for a while I-
Chemical spill?
"Residual biochemical imbalance.
Uniquely sensitive ecosystem."
What-This is a joke, right?
The trees were screaming for help.
Forget about it, Maurice.
Hey, this is-this is a coincidence,
a-a one-in-a-million shot.
I mean, statistically,
if Adam talks enough, he
has to hit on some truth
every now and again.
I mean, even a broken clock
is accurate twice a day.
I dreamed of hooking the big one.
Oh, I hooked that fish deep.
Then he sounded.
I ran out of line.
Morning, Cicely.
You'll be pleased to know that
that corps of army engineers...
is arriving this morning to restore
our fragile tundra, bloody but unbowed.
Godspeed, boys, and tell the army...
no more high jinks in our
fair woods, understand?
I understand that our trees
have quit their howling.
End of a crowd-pleasing
phenomenon for us, perhaps,
but resumption
of business as usual for them.
Ah, yes, life in the slow lane,
as it should be.
You know, if our timber
were to speak again,
I got a feeling it would probably say
something like, "Hey, people, enough."
You know, some things
we're not meant to tamper with.
Some things... better left alone.
And that's okay, because happiness
doesn't come from having things, right?
It comes from being part of things.
My thanks to Shelly and Holling for
giving me the space
to work that one out.
Okay. I think this is the place.
I'm telling you, O'Connell.
This whole thing
was dreamed up by some
White House flack...
to divert attention
from domestic policy debate.
There were never any talking trees.
Quiet.
What? You didn't hear that?
Hear what? You're hallucinating.
I mean, if-if you can hallucinate
with your ears.
You know what, Fleischman?
You just don't want to listen.
I don't even know what
I'm supposed to be listening for.
Do they speak English? Esperanto? What?
Sounds, Fleischman.
I mean, they speak sounds.
I mean, I just can't explain it. It's-
You're right. I'm an idiot.
No, come on. Wait. Wait.
You know, I have a very meaningful
experience in the woods,
and for some stupid reason
I choose to share it with you,
and you just can't resist
trashing it, can you?
Okay, okay. Don't take it so personally.
Look, I'm sorry. All right?
I'm just-I am not a child of nature.
I am a child of asphalt and toxic fumes,
and I have never listened
to trees before, all right?
I mean-
- What? What am I supposed to do?
- Just listen.
Okay.
You hear anything?
No.
Well, we'll just stay here
for a few minutes,
and we'll move on to another place.
Right.