The Addams Family (1964–1966): Season 2, Episode 8 - Morticia, the Writer - full transcript
Appalled by the children's school reading assignments, Morticia throws herself into the task of writing proper stories for children, Addams-style of course, but Gomez fears success will take her away. Though it pains him to tamper with obvious masterpieces such as The Good Giant Slays Sir Lancelot, he enlists Uncle Fester's aid in sabotaging her stories, but to his horror, the tampered tales get published. How can he explain himself to Morticia?
(FINGERS SNAPPING RHYTHMICALLY)
♪ They're creepy
and they're kooky
♪ Mysterious and spooky
♪ They're altogether ooky
♪ The Addams family
♪ The house is a museum
♪ When people come to see 'em
♪ They really are a scream
♪ The Addams family
MAN: Neat.
Sweet.
Petite.
♪ So get a witch's shawl on
♪ A broomstick you can crawl on
♪ We're gonna pay a call on
♪ The Addams family ♪
My dear, the hot
coals are ready.
MORTICIA: Uncle
Fester, are you ready?
Well...
Make sure they're good and hot.
(GROANING)
Thank you, Lurch. Good man.
Uncle Fester, are you sure
you want to go through with this?
Well...
You said you'd go
through fire for me, old man.
But not in my bare feet.
It's nothing to fear.
Purely a question
of mind over matter.
Well, in that case...
(SIZZLING)
Oh, this is hot!
Bravo, bravo!
By golly, you did it!
After only one lesson
of Zen-Yogi. Yeah.
Oh, darling, with such an
inspired instructor as you,
anything is possible.
(SPEAKING SPANISH)
While they're still hot, I might as
well take a stroll through myself.
(SIZZLING)
Nothing to it, once you've
mastered concentration.
How true, darling, how true.
But next time, why don't
you try it with your shoes off?
A mere technicality.
You're spoiling me, Morticia.
An Indian for each length.
Well, darling, you've always
said I was an Indian giver.
Now I've proved it.
Good cigar.
Hello, Father.
Ah, children, home from...
Where are you home from?
Oh, yes, you're
home from school.
How are things down
at the old brain factory?
Are you sure you wanna know?
Certainly. We're your parents.
Aren't we?
Of course we are, darling.
Look at the family resemblance.
Now, what seems
to be the difficulty?
A little problem
in trigonometry?
Calculus? Nuclear fission?
Anything I can't
handle, your mother can.
It's not that at all.
It's these books
they make us read.
Oh.
Oh, I do hope they're not teaching
you about the birds and the bees?
Yes, plenty of
time for that later.
On the other hand...
Gomez! Run along, children.
Oh, darling, it's even
worse than we thought.
Look at this. The Wicked Goblin.
That's ridiculous.
I never met a
goblin I didn't like.
Oh, dear, I don't think I can even
bear to read the title of this one.
You must. If the children
can stand it, so can I.
How Sir Lancelot
Slew the Evil Giant.
It's outrageous.
Who ever heard of an evil giant?
Of course, a giant is
simply an oversized pygmy.
Read the title of the other one.
Oh, dear.
How Pamela Escaped
from the Wicked Witch.
Oh, I wish I hadn't asked.
Imagine, poisoning a child's
mind with all this terrible literature.
Children, have you protested?
Sure.
We told Miss Doubleday
that us Addamses like giants,
goblins and witches.
But she just muttered
something about nuts.
"Nuts"? That does it.
We'll march to the
board of education.
We'll picket the PTA.
Darling, we've complained
before. It doesn't do any good.
The abuses just continue.
What can we do?
Besides, the poor educators are
probably doing the best they can.
If they had better books,
I'm sure they'd use them.
Probably.
The point is, someone
has to write them.
But who?
Querida.
You?
Oh, no, I couldn't.
But then again, why not?
With your busy schedule,
you'd dedicate yourself
to the task of creating a
new literature for children?
Darling, this is very
important. It must be done.
What a sacrifice!
This is a red-letter
day for book-lovers.
Querida.
(ECHOING)
You have to work
down here in the cave?
The closest thing we
have to a lonely garret.
(ECHOING)
Then why not use the garret?
Lurch likes to use it
for his clay-modeling.
Darling, why don't
you turn off the echo?
Thing.
Thank you, Thing.
Now then, I'll just bring in
a cot, and sleep over there.
Oh, no, darling, you'll
interfere with my work.
That's the idea.
All work and no play...
All work and no
play gets books done.
But you'll need literary advice.
I'll ask Cousin Cackle.
(CACKLE CACKLING)
You see? He's just
dying to give advice.
Cackle's been in
this cave for 30 years.
What does he know
about the world?
Darling, a man who's
lived in a cave for 30 years
certainly has had
a lot of time to think.
Well, I guess the first
thing I'll need is a title.
(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
Why, thank you, Thing.
That's a lovely title.
The Good Giant Slays
Wicked Sir Lancelot.
Thank you.
Will I see you at dinner?
Oh, I doubt it, dear.
I'll probably just munch
some jimsonweed,
and work right
through the night.
Well, in that case...
Aloha.
Aloha, bubele.
You know what that
name does to me.
Darling, please.
Book, now. Bubele, later.
Sorry.
This is how Louisa May
Alcott must have looked,
when she started Little Women.
Well, I've started.
Only 300 more pages to go.
We've cleared out
at least three shelves.
Aren't you going
a bit overboard?
Morticia's only
started her first book.
You have to look ahead.
Once Morticia gets rolling,
we'll have to clear out
every shelf in the house.
Dickens, too?
I'm afraid so, Lurch.
Everyone has to do his part.
How long has
Morticia been on this?
Exactly two days, 13
hours and 41 minutes.
But every one, well worth it.
(TYPEWRITER DINGS)
Oh, thank you, Thing.
I can see it all now.
"Morticia Addams, the
new literary sensation."
Traveling all over the world,
drinking it up at
those literary teas.
Making speeches, signing
autographs, telling off the critics.
We might not even see
her for six months at a time.
Six months?
Oh, maybe even six years.
But as long as
it's for humanity,
who cares? I care.
If the girl travels,
I'm going with her.
Oh, you can't do that.
Somebody's gotta stay at
home and take care of the kids.
What about you?
Oh, I can take care of myself.
Can't you look
after the children?
Oh, sorry, I'll be too busy
answering Morticia's fan letters.
And besides, they're your kids.
Gadzooks! I may have
created a Frankenstein.
The Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire.
(GROANING)
Morticia.
Querida, I must talk to you.
Oh, of course, that's it.
That's what comes next.
"The... (TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
"End."
Thank you so much, Thing.
My fingers were getting numb.
Oh, darling,
you're just in time.
My first book, all
ready for publication.
Wonderful.
And just think, it only took
me two days, 10 hours and...
37 minutes.
Don't you realize we've hardly
had a word together for days?
Well, let's talk now, dear.
I'm taking a 10-minute
break between books.
In that case, let's
not waste a second.
Gomez, darling, don't you
want to talk about my book?
Oh, yes.
The book.
My first story,
Cinderella the
Teenage Delinquent.
Cinderella... (EXCLAIMS)
My blood boils when I
think of that little minx.
Gomez, can you imagine?
Those two Good Samaritans take her
in off the street, and what does she do?
The night they need her the
most, she runs off in a pumpkin.
How did you right that wrong?
Simple.
Ah, here. "As the
clock struck 12:00,
"the police summoned
by the kindly stepmother
"found Cinderella cowering in the
ashes, with a stolen glass slipper,
"and yanked her
off to the pokey."
Cara mia! You've done it.
This'll open the eyes of
school librarians everywhere.
Oh, darling, I'm sorry.
Your 10 minutes
are up. Back to work.
Dear, would you please proofread
that and send it off to a publisher?
Which one?
Uh, try Demon Press.
They sound just perfect
for children's books.
Thank you, Thing.
Thanks again, Thing.
What's the matter, Gomez?
Fester, you've caught me
on the horns of a dilemma.
Well, why don't
you hop off of it,
and just tell me all about it?
I'm supposed to
mail this manuscript
to Morticia's publisher,
but I don't dare.
Oh, it's that bad,
huh? It's that good.
Once he sees this,
I've lost her forever.
There'll be nothing
but abject misery
for both of us and the children.
So just don't mail it.
I can't do that, she trusts me.
That makes it easier.
Out of the question.
Oh, I got a better
idea. What's that?
Why don't you just
change it a little bit,
so the publisher won't like it?
Tamper with this masterpiece?
Fester, that's like asking me to
put a moustache on the Mona Lisa.
Or put plastic arms on Venus.
Or finger-paint on the
ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Okay, it was just a suggestion.
And a great one.
I'll do it.
A more miserable man
never roamed this earth.
You can be miserable, all right.
But for now, will you relax?
How can I?
Please.
I'll try.
Much better.
It's no use, Fester.
Even Zen-Yogi doesn't help.
I'm a seething volcano inside.
All you're doing is changing
a few of Morticia's words,
just enough so the
publisher will turn it down,
and you've got your wife back.
But at what price?
How can a man of honor
tamper with her beautiful lines?
Who needs a man
of honor? You do it.
Well, better to preserve a
marriage than a masterpiece.
I'll dictate the changes,
you write them down.
Okay, take it from the top.
(CLEARS THROAT)
"Out of the sweet-scented swamp,
"Lucifer, the kindly
wolf, minced dandily."
All right, change that to
"Across a daisy-covered meadow,
"the snarling, sniveling,
slathering wolf slunk."
That's great.
But isn't that "slank"?
No, I think it's "slinked."
How about "slunk"?
Very well, make it "slunk."
I can't go on. You've got to.
You convinced me.
Ah, thank you, Thing.
I don't know what I would
have done without you.
I better sharpen this quill.
All right.
Boy, they're not making
quills like they used to.
I feel so guilty, being
away from my writing.
You've got to relax. If Keats
had had a ping-pong table
he'd have lived longer.
How can I relax?
It's been three days and
no word from my publisher.
Don't worry, the rejection slip
ought to be here any minute.
Rejection slip?
Gomez, what does he mean?
Querida, we must be realistic.
Genius often goes unrecognized.
After all, Dostoyevsky wasn't
discovered until he was 56.
No wonder.
With a name like that, the reviewers
probably couldn't even spell it.
Whose point was that, Fester?
(FOGHORN SOUNDING)
Who could that be?
Oh, wouldn't it be lovely
if it was my publisher, telling
me he was going to print my book?
You writers, you
live in a dream world.
Mr. Boswell, publisher.
For a minute there,
I thought you said...
Mr. Boswell? Publisher?
Ah, Morticia Addams.
Let me look at you.
Incredible.
How do you do?
Look, Boswell, if you're
here with a rejection slip,
be quick about it
and on your way.
Rejection slip?
Really, my dear fellow!
Why, this little
lady is a genius.
And I'm here to
publish her work.
What do you have to
say to that, Mrs. Addams?
Thank you.
Now, as to the finances,
at present we're a little
tight with working capital.
However, if you could see
fit to put up, let's say, $5,000,
I'll publish your book,
and we'll make a fortune.
That sounds intriguing.
Just as I thought, a bunko
artist, out for the money.
I'll shoot him in the back.
I've got a better idea.
In the front?
Boswell.
I've decided to
accept your offer,
but we'll make it $10,000
and use a higher-grade paper.
You better let me shoot him
in the back. It's much cheaper.
No.
10,000.
This is most generous of you.
Without my husband's help,
none of this would be possible.
You can say that again.
I've got to get the
presses rolling.
I'll see you out.
I suppose you'll want some
snapshots and some biographical notes?
Uh, just the snapshots.
Let's forget the
biographical notes.
You gave that
faker 10,000 bucks?
And with good reason.
With that much, the
scoundrel will skip to Brazil
and that'll be the end of it.
And to think, some
people call you a nut.
No wonder!
Please, I'm too upset!
In-laws.
Lunch.
Oh, Lurch. Just in time.
Yes, midnight.
Did Mr. Addams go to bed?
Sound asleep.
(SPEAKS FRENCH)
Tish, you spoke French!
Darling, now, now, now.
You repose while
I compose, dear.
Lurch, a very interesting
technical question has arisen.
And both Thing and Cousin Cackle
seemed a little vague about it.
Yes?
What was the name
of that mean little girl,
who was so beastly to
those three lovely bears?
Goldilocks.
Ah, yes. Goldilocks.
Trust a blonde to
bring on trouble.
Well, when I get through
with Miss Goldilocks,
her books will be banned
from coast to coast.
(GROANING)
Oh, Lurch,
Mr. Addams didn't quite make it.
Would you tuck him in, please?
Yes, Mrs. Addams.
(SNORING)
Hey, Gomez, grab
your motorcycle.
I'll race you to the attic.
Fester, my wife's been in
that cave for three weeks
and you want me
to go hill-climbing?
Can you think of
anything better to do?
My poor querida.
Slaving away on book eight, for
what? For some phony publisher
living it up in Rio.
I got a hunch he
didn't go to Rio.
I think he went to Europe.
What difference does it make?
Well, it costs a
lot less in Europe.
He might bring you
back some change.
I don't care about the money.
I must tell Morticia the truth.
About Boswell?
About my tampering
with her book.
Oh, well, I'm certainly glad that I
didn't have anything to do with that.
(TIRES SQUEALING)
Well, here it is,
Gomez, darling.
Book number eight.
And not a word from Mr. Boswell
about book number one.
Tish, are books all
you can think about?
For a dedicated authoress,
dear, what else is there?
There's me.
Oh, you're right.
My next book will be about you.
Morticia,
there's something
I must tell you.
You'll never hear from
Mr. Boswell again. Oh?
Hey, who do you
think's coming in?
Cousin Turncoat?
No, Mr. Boswell.
Come in, come in.
Folks, this is a great day
for American literature.
You're going back to Brazil?
No, dear, I believe Mr. Boswell
means he brought us some good news?
Did you bring us some change?
Some change indeed.
$2,000 worth, as an
advance to Mrs. Addams.
And there'll be many
thousands more,
when the book hits
the bestseller lists.
You mean you printed it?
In genuine pebbled calfskin.
Egad!
The man's more
cunning than I thought.
He's after more money.
Gomez, just think, my
work on the same shelves
with Plato, Shakespeare
and Aristophanes.
Even Mickey Spillane.
The advance sale
has been tremendous.
Schools are ordering
books like hotcakes.
You're sure you don't mean
ordering hotcakes like books?
Mrs. Addams, here is a
contract for your next 10 books.
Read it, sign it, get it back
to me, and we're in business.
Thank you.
Well, toodle-oo.
I never figured him
for a toodle-ooer.
Gomez, what perfidy is this?
Is something wrong, my dear?
Wrong? Listen to this title.
A Treasury of Mean Witches,
Evil Giants and Wicked Goblins,
and Other Bedtime Stories.
The censors'll never pass that.
And listen to this!
"Across the
daisy-covered meadow,
"the snarling, sniveling,
slavering wolf slunk."
"Slinked"?
I felt that it should
have been "slank."
Slinked, slanked or slunked!
That treacherous Mr. Boswell
and his hired assassins
have ruined my work.
The cad! I'll shoot
him in the back.
No, Fester, we
can't go that far.
One bullet each? No,
there will be no shooting.
I have the soul of an artist,
and I will not sell
it for mere money.
Querida! You've
given up writing.
For the time being.
The world isn't ready
for good literature.
How true.
The world isn't ready for you.
But I'm more than ready.
Mon cher.
Tish...
Next time you write a
book, write it in French.
Mais oui.
Hello, Mother. Hello, Father.
GOMEZ: Ah, children.
Hello, darlings.
Look at these books they
gave us to read in school.
A Treasury of Mean Witches,
Evil Giants, Wicked Goblins
and Other Bedtime
Stories by Morticia Addams.
Mother, how could you?
Yuck.
Children, please,
watch your language.
Besides, your mother
didn't write those, I did.
Gomez, you?
Children, please go
play with your spiders.
Cara, much as it hurt to rewrite
those glorious phrases of yours,
I had to do it.
And I know why. You do?
You wanted to prove
that the only thing
that publishers will
print today is junk.
Angelito mio.
(ALARM SOUNDING)
Mail's in.
Thank you, Thing.
It must be for me.
It is for you, Uncle Fester.
It's from my publisher.
BOTH: Publisher?
Yeah, I wrote a
book. Forever Fester.
And this fellow accepted it.
And I only had to
give him $5,000.
And he didn't run off to
Brazil or Europe, either.
He skipped to Australia.
♪ They're creepy
and they're kooky
♪ Mysterious and spooky
♪ They're altogether ooky
♪ The Addams family
♪ The house is a museum
♪ When people come to see 'em
♪ They really are a scream
♪ The Addams family
MAN: Neat.
Sweet.
Petite.
♪ So get a witch's shawl on
♪ A broomstick you can crawl on
♪ We're gonna pay a call on
♪ The Addams family ♪
My dear, the hot
coals are ready.
MORTICIA: Uncle
Fester, are you ready?
Well...
Make sure they're good and hot.
(GROANING)
Thank you, Lurch. Good man.
Uncle Fester, are you sure
you want to go through with this?
Well...
You said you'd go
through fire for me, old man.
But not in my bare feet.
It's nothing to fear.
Purely a question
of mind over matter.
Well, in that case...
(SIZZLING)
Oh, this is hot!
Bravo, bravo!
By golly, you did it!
After only one lesson
of Zen-Yogi. Yeah.
Oh, darling, with such an
inspired instructor as you,
anything is possible.
(SPEAKING SPANISH)
While they're still hot, I might as
well take a stroll through myself.
(SIZZLING)
Nothing to it, once you've
mastered concentration.
How true, darling, how true.
But next time, why don't
you try it with your shoes off?
A mere technicality.
You're spoiling me, Morticia.
An Indian for each length.
Well, darling, you've always
said I was an Indian giver.
Now I've proved it.
Good cigar.
Hello, Father.
Ah, children, home from...
Where are you home from?
Oh, yes, you're
home from school.
How are things down
at the old brain factory?
Are you sure you wanna know?
Certainly. We're your parents.
Aren't we?
Of course we are, darling.
Look at the family resemblance.
Now, what seems
to be the difficulty?
A little problem
in trigonometry?
Calculus? Nuclear fission?
Anything I can't
handle, your mother can.
It's not that at all.
It's these books
they make us read.
Oh.
Oh, I do hope they're not teaching
you about the birds and the bees?
Yes, plenty of
time for that later.
On the other hand...
Gomez! Run along, children.
Oh, darling, it's even
worse than we thought.
Look at this. The Wicked Goblin.
That's ridiculous.
I never met a
goblin I didn't like.
Oh, dear, I don't think I can even
bear to read the title of this one.
You must. If the children
can stand it, so can I.
How Sir Lancelot
Slew the Evil Giant.
It's outrageous.
Who ever heard of an evil giant?
Of course, a giant is
simply an oversized pygmy.
Read the title of the other one.
Oh, dear.
How Pamela Escaped
from the Wicked Witch.
Oh, I wish I hadn't asked.
Imagine, poisoning a child's
mind with all this terrible literature.
Children, have you protested?
Sure.
We told Miss Doubleday
that us Addamses like giants,
goblins and witches.
But she just muttered
something about nuts.
"Nuts"? That does it.
We'll march to the
board of education.
We'll picket the PTA.
Darling, we've complained
before. It doesn't do any good.
The abuses just continue.
What can we do?
Besides, the poor educators are
probably doing the best they can.
If they had better books,
I'm sure they'd use them.
Probably.
The point is, someone
has to write them.
But who?
Querida.
You?
Oh, no, I couldn't.
But then again, why not?
With your busy schedule,
you'd dedicate yourself
to the task of creating a
new literature for children?
Darling, this is very
important. It must be done.
What a sacrifice!
This is a red-letter
day for book-lovers.
Querida.
(ECHOING)
You have to work
down here in the cave?
The closest thing we
have to a lonely garret.
(ECHOING)
Then why not use the garret?
Lurch likes to use it
for his clay-modeling.
Darling, why don't
you turn off the echo?
Thing.
Thank you, Thing.
Now then, I'll just bring in
a cot, and sleep over there.
Oh, no, darling, you'll
interfere with my work.
That's the idea.
All work and no play...
All work and no
play gets books done.
But you'll need literary advice.
I'll ask Cousin Cackle.
(CACKLE CACKLING)
You see? He's just
dying to give advice.
Cackle's been in
this cave for 30 years.
What does he know
about the world?
Darling, a man who's
lived in a cave for 30 years
certainly has had
a lot of time to think.
Well, I guess the first
thing I'll need is a title.
(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
Why, thank you, Thing.
That's a lovely title.
The Good Giant Slays
Wicked Sir Lancelot.
Thank you.
Will I see you at dinner?
Oh, I doubt it, dear.
I'll probably just munch
some jimsonweed,
and work right
through the night.
Well, in that case...
Aloha.
Aloha, bubele.
You know what that
name does to me.
Darling, please.
Book, now. Bubele, later.
Sorry.
This is how Louisa May
Alcott must have looked,
when she started Little Women.
Well, I've started.
Only 300 more pages to go.
We've cleared out
at least three shelves.
Aren't you going
a bit overboard?
Morticia's only
started her first book.
You have to look ahead.
Once Morticia gets rolling,
we'll have to clear out
every shelf in the house.
Dickens, too?
I'm afraid so, Lurch.
Everyone has to do his part.
How long has
Morticia been on this?
Exactly two days, 13
hours and 41 minutes.
But every one, well worth it.
(TYPEWRITER DINGS)
Oh, thank you, Thing.
I can see it all now.
"Morticia Addams, the
new literary sensation."
Traveling all over the world,
drinking it up at
those literary teas.
Making speeches, signing
autographs, telling off the critics.
We might not even see
her for six months at a time.
Six months?
Oh, maybe even six years.
But as long as
it's for humanity,
who cares? I care.
If the girl travels,
I'm going with her.
Oh, you can't do that.
Somebody's gotta stay at
home and take care of the kids.
What about you?
Oh, I can take care of myself.
Can't you look
after the children?
Oh, sorry, I'll be too busy
answering Morticia's fan letters.
And besides, they're your kids.
Gadzooks! I may have
created a Frankenstein.
The Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire.
(GROANING)
Morticia.
Querida, I must talk to you.
Oh, of course, that's it.
That's what comes next.
"The... (TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
"End."
Thank you so much, Thing.
My fingers were getting numb.
Oh, darling,
you're just in time.
My first book, all
ready for publication.
Wonderful.
And just think, it only took
me two days, 10 hours and...
37 minutes.
Don't you realize we've hardly
had a word together for days?
Well, let's talk now, dear.
I'm taking a 10-minute
break between books.
In that case, let's
not waste a second.
Gomez, darling, don't you
want to talk about my book?
Oh, yes.
The book.
My first story,
Cinderella the
Teenage Delinquent.
Cinderella... (EXCLAIMS)
My blood boils when I
think of that little minx.
Gomez, can you imagine?
Those two Good Samaritans take her
in off the street, and what does she do?
The night they need her the
most, she runs off in a pumpkin.
How did you right that wrong?
Simple.
Ah, here. "As the
clock struck 12:00,
"the police summoned
by the kindly stepmother
"found Cinderella cowering in the
ashes, with a stolen glass slipper,
"and yanked her
off to the pokey."
Cara mia! You've done it.
This'll open the eyes of
school librarians everywhere.
Oh, darling, I'm sorry.
Your 10 minutes
are up. Back to work.
Dear, would you please proofread
that and send it off to a publisher?
Which one?
Uh, try Demon Press.
They sound just perfect
for children's books.
Thank you, Thing.
Thanks again, Thing.
What's the matter, Gomez?
Fester, you've caught me
on the horns of a dilemma.
Well, why don't
you hop off of it,
and just tell me all about it?
I'm supposed to
mail this manuscript
to Morticia's publisher,
but I don't dare.
Oh, it's that bad,
huh? It's that good.
Once he sees this,
I've lost her forever.
There'll be nothing
but abject misery
for both of us and the children.
So just don't mail it.
I can't do that, she trusts me.
That makes it easier.
Out of the question.
Oh, I got a better
idea. What's that?
Why don't you just
change it a little bit,
so the publisher won't like it?
Tamper with this masterpiece?
Fester, that's like asking me to
put a moustache on the Mona Lisa.
Or put plastic arms on Venus.
Or finger-paint on the
ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Okay, it was just a suggestion.
And a great one.
I'll do it.
A more miserable man
never roamed this earth.
You can be miserable, all right.
But for now, will you relax?
How can I?
Please.
I'll try.
Much better.
It's no use, Fester.
Even Zen-Yogi doesn't help.
I'm a seething volcano inside.
All you're doing is changing
a few of Morticia's words,
just enough so the
publisher will turn it down,
and you've got your wife back.
But at what price?
How can a man of honor
tamper with her beautiful lines?
Who needs a man
of honor? You do it.
Well, better to preserve a
marriage than a masterpiece.
I'll dictate the changes,
you write them down.
Okay, take it from the top.
(CLEARS THROAT)
"Out of the sweet-scented swamp,
"Lucifer, the kindly
wolf, minced dandily."
All right, change that to
"Across a daisy-covered meadow,
"the snarling, sniveling,
slathering wolf slunk."
That's great.
But isn't that "slank"?
No, I think it's "slinked."
How about "slunk"?
Very well, make it "slunk."
I can't go on. You've got to.
You convinced me.
Ah, thank you, Thing.
I don't know what I would
have done without you.
I better sharpen this quill.
All right.
Boy, they're not making
quills like they used to.
I feel so guilty, being
away from my writing.
You've got to relax. If Keats
had had a ping-pong table
he'd have lived longer.
How can I relax?
It's been three days and
no word from my publisher.
Don't worry, the rejection slip
ought to be here any minute.
Rejection slip?
Gomez, what does he mean?
Querida, we must be realistic.
Genius often goes unrecognized.
After all, Dostoyevsky wasn't
discovered until he was 56.
No wonder.
With a name like that, the reviewers
probably couldn't even spell it.
Whose point was that, Fester?
(FOGHORN SOUNDING)
Who could that be?
Oh, wouldn't it be lovely
if it was my publisher, telling
me he was going to print my book?
You writers, you
live in a dream world.
Mr. Boswell, publisher.
For a minute there,
I thought you said...
Mr. Boswell? Publisher?
Ah, Morticia Addams.
Let me look at you.
Incredible.
How do you do?
Look, Boswell, if you're
here with a rejection slip,
be quick about it
and on your way.
Rejection slip?
Really, my dear fellow!
Why, this little
lady is a genius.
And I'm here to
publish her work.
What do you have to
say to that, Mrs. Addams?
Thank you.
Now, as to the finances,
at present we're a little
tight with working capital.
However, if you could see
fit to put up, let's say, $5,000,
I'll publish your book,
and we'll make a fortune.
That sounds intriguing.
Just as I thought, a bunko
artist, out for the money.
I'll shoot him in the back.
I've got a better idea.
In the front?
Boswell.
I've decided to
accept your offer,
but we'll make it $10,000
and use a higher-grade paper.
You better let me shoot him
in the back. It's much cheaper.
No.
10,000.
This is most generous of you.
Without my husband's help,
none of this would be possible.
You can say that again.
I've got to get the
presses rolling.
I'll see you out.
I suppose you'll want some
snapshots and some biographical notes?
Uh, just the snapshots.
Let's forget the
biographical notes.
You gave that
faker 10,000 bucks?
And with good reason.
With that much, the
scoundrel will skip to Brazil
and that'll be the end of it.
And to think, some
people call you a nut.
No wonder!
Please, I'm too upset!
In-laws.
Lunch.
Oh, Lurch. Just in time.
Yes, midnight.
Did Mr. Addams go to bed?
Sound asleep.
(SPEAKS FRENCH)
Tish, you spoke French!
Darling, now, now, now.
You repose while
I compose, dear.
Lurch, a very interesting
technical question has arisen.
And both Thing and Cousin Cackle
seemed a little vague about it.
Yes?
What was the name
of that mean little girl,
who was so beastly to
those three lovely bears?
Goldilocks.
Ah, yes. Goldilocks.
Trust a blonde to
bring on trouble.
Well, when I get through
with Miss Goldilocks,
her books will be banned
from coast to coast.
(GROANING)
Oh, Lurch,
Mr. Addams didn't quite make it.
Would you tuck him in, please?
Yes, Mrs. Addams.
(SNORING)
Hey, Gomez, grab
your motorcycle.
I'll race you to the attic.
Fester, my wife's been in
that cave for three weeks
and you want me
to go hill-climbing?
Can you think of
anything better to do?
My poor querida.
Slaving away on book eight, for
what? For some phony publisher
living it up in Rio.
I got a hunch he
didn't go to Rio.
I think he went to Europe.
What difference does it make?
Well, it costs a
lot less in Europe.
He might bring you
back some change.
I don't care about the money.
I must tell Morticia the truth.
About Boswell?
About my tampering
with her book.
Oh, well, I'm certainly glad that I
didn't have anything to do with that.
(TIRES SQUEALING)
Well, here it is,
Gomez, darling.
Book number eight.
And not a word from Mr. Boswell
about book number one.
Tish, are books all
you can think about?
For a dedicated authoress,
dear, what else is there?
There's me.
Oh, you're right.
My next book will be about you.
Morticia,
there's something
I must tell you.
You'll never hear from
Mr. Boswell again. Oh?
Hey, who do you
think's coming in?
Cousin Turncoat?
No, Mr. Boswell.
Come in, come in.
Folks, this is a great day
for American literature.
You're going back to Brazil?
No, dear, I believe Mr. Boswell
means he brought us some good news?
Did you bring us some change?
Some change indeed.
$2,000 worth, as an
advance to Mrs. Addams.
And there'll be many
thousands more,
when the book hits
the bestseller lists.
You mean you printed it?
In genuine pebbled calfskin.
Egad!
The man's more
cunning than I thought.
He's after more money.
Gomez, just think, my
work on the same shelves
with Plato, Shakespeare
and Aristophanes.
Even Mickey Spillane.
The advance sale
has been tremendous.
Schools are ordering
books like hotcakes.
You're sure you don't mean
ordering hotcakes like books?
Mrs. Addams, here is a
contract for your next 10 books.
Read it, sign it, get it back
to me, and we're in business.
Thank you.
Well, toodle-oo.
I never figured him
for a toodle-ooer.
Gomez, what perfidy is this?
Is something wrong, my dear?
Wrong? Listen to this title.
A Treasury of Mean Witches,
Evil Giants and Wicked Goblins,
and Other Bedtime Stories.
The censors'll never pass that.
And listen to this!
"Across the
daisy-covered meadow,
"the snarling, sniveling,
slavering wolf slunk."
"Slinked"?
I felt that it should
have been "slank."
Slinked, slanked or slunked!
That treacherous Mr. Boswell
and his hired assassins
have ruined my work.
The cad! I'll shoot
him in the back.
No, Fester, we
can't go that far.
One bullet each? No,
there will be no shooting.
I have the soul of an artist,
and I will not sell
it for mere money.
Querida! You've
given up writing.
For the time being.
The world isn't ready
for good literature.
How true.
The world isn't ready for you.
But I'm more than ready.
Mon cher.
Tish...
Next time you write a
book, write it in French.
Mais oui.
Hello, Mother. Hello, Father.
GOMEZ: Ah, children.
Hello, darlings.
Look at these books they
gave us to read in school.
A Treasury of Mean Witches,
Evil Giants, Wicked Goblins
and Other Bedtime
Stories by Morticia Addams.
Mother, how could you?
Yuck.
Children, please,
watch your language.
Besides, your mother
didn't write those, I did.
Gomez, you?
Children, please go
play with your spiders.
Cara, much as it hurt to rewrite
those glorious phrases of yours,
I had to do it.
And I know why. You do?
You wanted to prove
that the only thing
that publishers will
print today is junk.
Angelito mio.
(ALARM SOUNDING)
Mail's in.
Thank you, Thing.
It must be for me.
It is for you, Uncle Fester.
It's from my publisher.
BOTH: Publisher?
Yeah, I wrote a
book. Forever Fester.
And this fellow accepted it.
And I only had to
give him $5,000.
And he didn't run off to
Brazil or Europe, either.
He skipped to Australia.