The Alienist (2018): Season 1, Episode 5 - Hildebrandt's Starling - full transcript

Another boy's been murdered.

I think it necessary
that arrangements be made.

In the best interest
of your son, of course.

The cripple in him is looking
for the cripple in another.

We won't find him
by dissecting our own minds.

Nor shall we find him by looking
for men with silver smiles.

We must see what's behind
the clues.

Come on, Sara. We don't have
to listen to this.

Go on then, both of you.

And come back when you're able
to look inside yourselves.

Mrs. Santorelli and her son
brought this to me



at police headquarters.

Kreizler: Why wasn't killing
the boy enough?

Why must you send a letter
as well?

He's watching us.

Which one of you
is up for a little fun?

Man: It seems clear that...

...the slashing downstrokes

and the extreme angle
of the characters

suggest a tormented
human being...

...one for whom no relief
can be found,

save through a demonstration
of anger and violence.

The man who wrote this,

and the attack of the pen
in this case,

is undoubtedly masculine.



The man who wrote this note

has had at least
several years of schooling

that entailed penmanship.

This instruction occurred
in the United States

no more than 15 years ago.

Kreizler: You sound quite sure,
Mr. Macleod.

Dr. Kreizler,
as a professional graphologist,

it is my business to be sure.

There is every indication
that this man was trained,

hard and regularly,

in the style of penmanship
known as the Palmer Method.

The Palmer Method was introduced
in the late '70s

and was quickly adopted
by primary schools

all over the country.

Thus, if we assume that this --

If we assume that our scribe
ended his primary education

no later than, say, age 15,

he cannot now be any older
than 35.

Or younger than 24.

I do hope that this letter
has been written in jest.

Or is, in fact,
a training exercise?

Thank you for coming,
Mr. Macleod.

Please send the invoice for
your services to my attention.

Detective Sergeants,
I believe you have

something more to say
on the matter.

We have found
numerous prints, uh,

probably belonging to members
of the Santorelli family...

or Sara here.
Marcus:
But by employing a method

using a silver nitrate solution,
we were able

to match a print found
on the Zweig boy's watch...

To one taken on the stamp...
from the envelope.

Along with Mr. Macleod's
assessment of his penmanship,

I have extracted some words
and phrases found in the letters

which could prove crucial.

"Dirty Immigrants."
"Saucy Boy."

"Dirt and Paint."
The "19th of February."

One thing is certain --

his spelling leaves much
to be desired.

But it could be an attempt
to misdirect our suspicions.

If nothing else,
his deliberate phrasing implies

a certain joy, if not obsession,
at desecrating the body.

Perhaps he's mirroring a...

an action that he learned
or witnessed firsthand?

Are you suggesting
that he himself

could be a victim
of such horrible acts?

A man reliving the violence
inflicted upon him as a child.

I think we can safely say that
whoever wrote it is a man,

while still a child,
was embarrassed, harassed,

beaten,
very likely assaulted.

I might offer that
the hand most responsible

might be that of a man.

But the intimate nature
of other aspects seems to me

to be the rather sinister
presence of a woman.

If your theory were sound,
Miss Howard, wouldn't it hold

that the victims,
like the Ripper's, be women?

The letter is addressed
to Mrs. Santorelli,

its tone both defensive
and whining,

filled with scatological
and anatomical detail.

Isn't that the voice of a boy
who's been made to feel

that he himself is filth?

How many households
have you known

that are ruled by
dominating, violent mothers?

But certainly you would
agree there's more than
one kind of violence?

Look at your friend here to see

who has had more influence
on his childhood.

Laszlo, my mother was absent
a good deal of my childhood.

Doctor, we're not talking
about the gilded upbringing

of a handsome but indolent
member of the Leisure Class.

There is nothing
in the literature to suggest

the involvement of a woman,
not in Bruer,
not in Freud, not --

Why you resist so strongly
the notion of a woman's
active involvement

in this --
Because had a woman
been dominant in his life

at any point,
we wouldn't even be here!

These crimes would never
have happened!

Moore: Sara!

Sara, wait!

He's made it quite clear
that the only opinion he values

is one that reflects his own.
-Well, I admit he can be

rather pigheaded
and impatient at times,

but you shouldn't take it
personally.

He's that way with everyone.
He is a bully,
and I will not be bullied.

Boy: Shine, mister? Shine?

I doubt any man living
could bully you.

-Don't patronize me.
-Shine, sir?

All right.

Do you really expect me
to stand here

and wait while you get
your boots shined?

-As a matter of fact, I do.
-Why?

Because you find me handsome.

I said you were handsome
and indolent.

Damned with faint praise.

Besides, I rather see it

not so much as having
my boots shined

as offering a poor boy
honest work.

And what do you know
of honest work?

I know I don't care for it.

A slothful nature
and a fondness for alcohol

can be overcome
with hard work

and a willingness
to change your life.

I'm afraid you sound
just like my old grandmother.

Well, maybe you should
listen to her.

Oh. Very well then.

Sara Howard, will you marry me?

-I, John Schuyler Moore,

take thee, Sara Howard,

to be my wedded wife
from this day forward...

-...for better for worse,

for richer for poorer.

And to give you
lots of little children

who will be as lazy as me

and just as stubborn
as yourself.

If I thought you had
a sincere bone in your body,

I might consider
your offer.

-Hey!
-Don't go.

Man: Whoa!
I thought we might
at least have dinner together?

The Commissioner expects me
in the office when he arrives,

and I've too much work to do.

Sara?

If I were to ask you,
and meant it,

what would you say?

Professor Cavanaugh?

Is that Laszlo Kreizler?

I'd recognize that voice
anywhere.

Please don't get up,
Professor.

May I?

Thank you for agreeing
to meet, Professor.

You were a remarkable student,
Laszlo.

I've followed your work
with great interest.

In this case, sir, the student
needs a remedial lesson

on what it means
to be a student.

I remember your first day
on campus.

You came to me and you asked
to take my class.

You were unsure about
your future, you said,

and an Introduction
to Ornithology

led you down a path that you
didn't even know you would take.

You put me in a room

and gave me
a preserved specimen to study.

Hildebrandt's Starling.

I looked the bird over,
after a short time,

returned and gave you
a-a few sentences describing it.

And then I told you
to look at your bird again.

I did as instructed,

returned with a 4-page essay.
"Look at your bird again,"

you told me
and sent me away again.

I spent three more days
looking at that Starling.

By that time, the poor thing
was beginning to molt.

It was only then that you stated
I had finally seen my bird.

It wasn't what you learned
in class, Laszlo.

It's how you learned it.

I now find myself
in circumstances

where I'm afraid
I only see what I see.

Even if I might be
contradicted,

I seem only able
to recite that

which is already known
to me.

Much to my dismay,

theory seems to have
replaced pragmatism.

Can you suggest to me
what I might do?

Look at your bird, Laszlo.

Look at your bird.

My, my.

If this country isn't going
to heaven in a wheelbarrow...

And to think,
the man is a doctor.

You don't look well, John.

I hope it isn't another hangover
that's troubling you.

Good Lord. I will never
get used to that machine.

I would much rather
speak in person

than have my inner ear assaulted
by some stranger's tongue.

What? Who was it? You look
like you've seen a ghost.

I suppose you'll
tell me at some point

why you're taking me to
this godforsaken penitentiary.

You proved yourself useful
at Bellevue.

And you thought I could
be useful again?

I told you before, John,

people like you more than
they do me.

And it might be...
challenging.

So tell me, why are we going?

Hildebrandt's Starling.

What?

We're going to see
Jesse Pomeroy.

Jesse Pomeroy?
The Boston Boy Fiend?

-Don't be anxious.
-I'm not anxious.

I've quit drinking, that's all.

Keep away from the cells

and say nothing
to the prisoners.

You got 20 minutes.

You behave yourself now,
Jesse...

...or you know what'll happen.

Hello, Jesse.

Do you remember me?

My name is Dr. Kreizler.

We met many years ago.

You'd just been imprisoned
for the first time.

I was hoping you'd let me
ask you some questions

about the children.

That's why they interrupted
my dinner?

So you could
interrogate me again?

So you do remember me.

I'd like to measure
your progress.

I've been
in solitary confinement

for 22 years.

You call that progress?

Some would say you're lucky
to have escaped the gallows.

Oh, would you say that?
Would you say I'm lucky?

Or just insane?

I never considered you mad
for killing those children,

not even for that which
you'd done to them afterward.

On the contrary,
it was quite understandable.

Understandable?

There's evidence to suggest
you were driven to kill by...

something as simple as envy.

Now listen to this.

He thinks
because I got a bum eye,

I run around,
cuttin' up little kids

just 'cause they gots
two good ones.

If it is just envy, Doctor,

why aren't you out there
choppin' off people's arms?

See? I remember.

I remember about
that arm of yours.

Yes, I do.
Yes, I do.

Well, let me ask you
one question, Jesse.

The mutilations of the face,

especially their eyes,
meant nothing?

Merely a random act of violence?

There's nothing what you
would call a good reason

for what happened
to those kids.

I-I just had enough.
That's it.

I had to stop it.

Stop what?

Jesse.
Yeah, I seen them
little bastards,

standing there,

licking a piece of candy

or eating a drop cake,

starin' at me like I was
some animal in a cage,

only I wasn't in a cage.

Not then, anyway.

There wasn't anything keeping me
from doing what I had to do.

I know how I look.

Yeah, my -- my father...

He couldn't stand the sight
of me, and he runs off.

My dear mother...

she never kissed my face.

Not...
not even once.

It's all right, Jesse.

What, you believe me, Doctor?

You really think I -- you really
think I killed those kids

because...
because my mother

never kissed my ugly face?

You got it figured out
why I cut 'em up?

-Guard!
-Flayed their skin?

You got it figured out
why I cut them up?

Guard!

-Pretty little eyes? Huh?
-Drop it!

Jesse: You'll never know!
Only I'll know!

Only Jesse Pomeroy!
You'll never know!

I must've dozed off a moment.

I don't suppose you got
what you'd hoped from Jesse?

Perhaps the truth --

that I don't know as much
as I think I do.

Strong: Hello, Theodore.

Mayor.

Beautiful morning
for a ride.

It was.

I've not heard
from you directly

since the awful events
of Castle Garden.

My only source of news
is the papers I read.

I urge you to ignore
the press, Mayor.

Truth rarely makes for
a good headline.

Just remember, The 400
are too important to this city

to suffer
the public humiliation

of having one of their own
arrested for murder.

I'm afraid I've no idea what
you're talking about.

I'm talking about the fact that
there's been suspicion cast

on a member
of a certain family --

a most important family.

They've come to me
in hopes that the matter

can be attended to
privately.

If the matter
is murdered children,

then it will be attended to
in accordance with the law.

Just as you're aware
of who put you

in your position, Theodore,

I'm aware of
who put me in mine.

The papers may be rife
with falsehoods,

but they can sow
the seeds of discontent.

What would you have me do?

Let the family take care
of it.

Are we clear?

Clear we are, Mayor.

Clear we are.

Charlie.

Charlie: Whoa! Look out.

Yah!

"...horizontal laceration...

"8 inches across upper abdomen.

Entrails removed..."

Marcus: Enough to put you off
your lunch, isn't it?

My appetite's quite good,
thank you.

Is the Commissioner in?
We've an appointment.

He's with Captain Connor.

I do have a question.

How exactly does the sex act
occur between a man and a boy?

There can be an assault upon
the oral and anal passages,

of course,
as between a man and a woman.

-Of course.
-Or manual stimulation,

perhaps even during
the commission

of the murder itself.

Onanism in place of coitus.

Some men find
it's the only way

to achieve
a satisfactory ejaculation.

I can understand
self-gratification for a woman,

but for a mature man,
it seems contrary to nature.

Oh, I whole-heartedly agree.

I mean, for a man to turn
to self-pollution...

I once knew
a nurse in training.

-[ Under breath ] Oy gevalt.
-Did you now?

Yes, but she failed
her exams.

They asked her how she would
bathe the genitals,

and she said, "Why, the same way
I'd bathe the Jews."

Roosevelt: That is enough!

I want the name and I want it
now, Captain Connor.

We have no suspects
in these crimes, sir.

I wish
I could say different.

No person of means has come to
the attention of the department?

No, sir.

I will not tolerate
a concealment of facts,
Captain.

If a crime
has been committed,

every effort will be made
to apprehend the perpetrator.

I care not a wit
about his social standing.

Yes, sir. And I share
your sentiment, Commissioner.

You wanted to see us, sir?

Yes. Come in.
I've something for you.

Miss Howard, please join us.

They've just come in.

They'll be standard issue for
every officer in the department.

Marcus: Colt, double-action.
Excellent choice, sir.

Please go straightaway
to the target range

and familiarize yourself
with your weapons.

Marcus:
Thank you, Commissioner.

Miss Howard.

It's come to my attention
the police may have a suspect,

but Kreizler's investigation
seems to be lagging.

I want you to comb through
police records to see

if someone of means presents
themselves by their actions

as worthy of suspicion.

As you know, sir,
there is good reason to believe

that the killer does come
from privilege.

Mr. Moore found out as much

when he visited the brothel
Paresis Hall.

Yes, I'm well aware

that privilege has powerful
allies within the department.

So please be careful.

Miss Howard.

I hope
I'm not interrupting.

It seems you're making
a habit of surprises,

albeit pleasant ones.
Won't you sit down?

I think not.

I only came here
on the instruction
of the Commissioner.

I'm to inform you
the police have a suspect.

Roosevelt is asking for
your help to identify him.

I'd very much like it if
you would join me.

[ Indistinct conversations
continue ]

Please.

Only on the condition that
you fabricate no more stories

about distraught mothers
and their waterlogged children.

I give you my word.

Thank you.

Is the wine
not satisfactory?

It's delicious.

You're not being truthful.

The truth is
I prefer whiskey.

Oh.

Bring the lady a whiskey,
please.
Man: Yes, sir.

-Please make it two.
-Man: Of course.

I was raised by my father
as an only child.

He taught me
to drink whiskey.

He said if I was to endeavor
to live in a man's world,

then it was necessary for me
to learn to drink like a man.

I must admit, however,
it took me years

to accustom myself
to the taste.

What else did your father
teach you?

To ride, to shoot,

to live without fear
of my own convictions.

I don't know about
horseflesh or firearms,

but it appears he's done
rather well with the latter.

Are you sure you won't
have anything to eat?

No, thank you.

Is it not satisfactory?

Her grandfather came
from a village outside Minsk.

Tell her.

Um, I never met him.

He died before I was born.

My parents met here.

Marcus: Just like us, Mama.

She has ties to the old country.

I'm curious about your names.

I don't recall a Marcus
or Lucius in the Old Testament.

-Marcus: Shakespeare.
-Esther: Shakespeare?

Our parents were
just arrived in this country.

In order to learn English, they
took to reading Shakespeare.

Or trying to.

They were halfway
through "Julius Caesar"

when we were born.
They didn't want

their children to be subjected
to any anti-Jewish feelings,

hence we were named after
characters in the play.

You know.

That's a wonderful story,
Mrs. Isaacson.

What more can you tell me
about this suspect?

The Commissioner
only stated

that he comes
from wealth and privilege,

and that I should try and see
if police records might help

to identify him
by his actions.

I discovered
several complaints

regarding improper behavior
with children

approximately the same age
as our victims.

I found these two to be
of most interest --

a young man, age 29,
unmarried,

volunteers his time
at children's charities.

On both complaints, the name of
the accused had been redacted.

Ex-Chief Byrnes' influence,
I've no doubt.

I also found this name.

Bishop Henry Potter?

On that redacted document,
he stated after the fact

that there had been
some sort of misunderstanding,

that the young man accused
of assault had merely

been engaged
in a bit of roughhouse.

You're suggesting

that the head
of the Episcopal Church --

Roughhouse that sent the boy
involved to the hospital.

While it's too early to draw
conclusions, Miss Howard,

I must compliment you on
your police work.

I suppose I should be
grateful at the suggestion

that what I'm doing
is police work.

Searching out these records

and drawing
quite convincing inferences

is certainly worthy
of the term.

Commissioner Roosevelt
might disagree with you.

I find Commissioner Roosevelt

capable of disagreeing
with most people on most things.

You're of
similar temperament then.

If I were to disagree with you,
it would only prove your point.

Given your knowledge
and experience,

perhaps instead
I should say

that you're stubborn
and intractable.

Intractable?

You've a gift for it.

-Please excuse me, Doctor.

I have more work to do.

Red Rover, Red Rover,
send James over!

Red Rover, Red Rover,
send the Bishop over!

Whoa!

Whoa!

Ah! Oh.

That took the wind
right out of my sails.

You children go on without me.

My name is Laszlo Kreizler.

I believe we have
a mutual acquaintance

in Theodore Roosevelt.

A friend of a friend
is my friend.

You seem
to have many friends,

and some very important ones
at that.

What can I do for you,
Mr. Kreizler?

Dr. Kreizler.

Perhaps you've heard,
there have been a number of boys

murdered down
in the tenements.

I read the papers like
everyone else.

I'm here to inquire after
a member of your congregation --

one who's had
a troubled history
with the police.

I'm afraid I'm unaware
of anyone who fits
that description.

Perhaps...
this enlightens you.

Boys: Red Rover, Red Rover,
send Matthew over!

That is your name mentioned,
is it not?

I haven't seen the young man
in a number of years.

He lived a life of the flesh.

Last I heard,
Mrs. Van Bergen...

Boys: Red Rover, Red Rover,
send Henry over!

Um...his mother had
sent him off to Switzerland

to undergo what was termed
a "rest cure."

The complaint filed
against him had to do

with work he was doing here
at the church.

A misunderstanding.

He had volunteered
to help with the orphans
we provide for.

He's a passionate
young man.

Things were taken
the wrong way.

So you don't believe him
capable of murder?

Boys: Red Rover, Red Rover,
send Gerald over!

Let me ask you, Doctor,

how would God distinguish
an alienist...

from an alchemist
or a...spiritualist,

or someone
who levitates tables

and talks to the dead?

Psychology is
a relatively new

but well-respected field
of medicine.

Without God, man's nature is
to seek not good, but evil.

Everyone is born in sin.

Salvation is required by all.

And if the need for salvation
did not exist,

the church would surely find
its invention necessary.

That is a beautiful calendar,
Bishop.

May I ask you,
what's the importance

of the 19th of February?

It was Ash Wednesday.

"Dirt and Paint."

I beg your pardon?

Growing up Catholic,
I should have known.

One last question.
Was Willem devout?

As I said, he lived
a life of the flesh.

Kreizler's voice:
"On February 19th,

I seen your boy parading
himself outside the church..."

"...with dirt and paint
on his face.

"I decided to wait

"and saw him several times
before one night,

I took him
away from that place."

Whoa!

Do you have a name?
You won't like it.

I don't like anything
about this to begin with.

Willem Van Bergen.

Van Bergen?

Are you certain?

I'm certain a wealthy
and socially prominent couple

have a son
of dubious character

who shares any number
of traits with our killer.

Makes sense, then, that I was
warned to look the other way

by the mayor himself.

Then I suggest you do

what the mayor says
and look the other way.

What are you saying?

Van Bergen is not our killer.

And how did you reach
that conclusion?

A visit to a church
in the Five Points --

one Giorgio Santorelli
might have attended.

The congregation was made up
of poor immigrants,

a world away from Bishop Potter
and his golden-haired choirboys.

That doesn't answer
my question.

The killer is choosing victims
who somehow remind him

of his own background
and upbringing, his own class.

I almost believe you don't
want the killer found,

that this is nothing more
for you than an exercise,

or an examination
of the human mind.

You asked my help
in providing you with a name,

and I've done so.

Now that's all.

This is not a classroom

or one of your
laboratory experiments.

This man is killing children

in a most cold-blooded
and horrific way,

and no amount of theorizing
is going to stop him.

It's time to take action.

Totally got him.

Man: I wonder why
he bothers playing at all.
I know.

Captain Connor.
I'd like a word with you.

-Man: Okay, lads...

What do you know
of Willem Van Bergen?

I, uh, I-I-I know
the Van Bergen name, sir,

but...everyone in the city
knows that name.

You're unaware he had complaints
filed against him?

I mean, we've a thousand
complaints a day filed,
Commissioner.

You don't expect me
to know all of them.

You keep your office
very neat, Captain.

Yes, sir.

Thank you, sir.

I want you to discreetly
find the whereabouts

of Willem Van Bergen.

I want an address.

Boy: I've never
had a milk bath before.

What happened to your teeth?

Too much candy.

Commissioner Roosevelt?

-Are the men ready?
-More than ready.

-Sir?
-Let's be on our way then.

[ Holsters gun ]
You're coming with us?
It might be dangerous.

Well, Commissioner,
you personally goin' to arrest

a rich degenerate
like Van Bergen

will surely draw the attention
of the press.

That's why I asked you
to keep your search

for his whereabouts
confidential, Captain.

I feel the city
owes the family that much.

All right, come on!

Driver: Yah!

Move!
Move out of the way!

Driver: Yah!

Officer: Go, go, go!

You're mine now.

Wait here, Captain.
Let me do this.

Who's that?

Open the door!
This is the police!

Willem Van Bergen, open
the door! This is the police!

Mother.

Excuse me, madam,
who might you be?

Miss Effie.

Why didn't you answer
when I knocked?

Deal with the boy.

Can I...keep the dress?

You can't do this.
You cannot do this!

You're Mr. Roosevelt,
aren't you?

I am. Do you live here,
Miss Effie?

Yes, sir. 26 years.

Please excuse us.
There's been some confusion.

This is not the right place,
Commissioner?

Have a lovely evening, ma'am.

Captain Connor!

Connor: Sir?

Mrs. Van Bergen:
We'll need to leave here.

I don't want to go.

I know, precious.
I know.

You cannot make me.

It's all right. It's just
for a little while.

Oh, my Willem.
My good, good boy.

No!

No!

No! No!

I want you to know,
Commissioner,

I paid good money
for that address.

Good money.

Roosevelt:
Apparently not good enough.

Hand me your weapon.

Give me your weapon, now!

You're gonna regret this,
Mr. Roosevelt.

Let's go.

Go!

Yah!

Every time you ring,

you scare the life
out of my grandmother,

especially late at night.

I have
to show you something.

Humans are creatures of habit,
of traditions and customs.

Therefore, it made sense

that our killer might
be following a pattern.

On January the 1st,

an unidentified Negro boy
was found dead.

Aaron Morton's body
was discovered

hanging from the Brooklyn Bridge
on the 2nd of February.

Giorgio Santorelli's body

was found
on the 3rd of March,

But then Ali ibn-Ghazi was
killed on the 3rd of April,

and the numerical pattern
was broken.

I have to admit I was quite
disheartened,

but in the letter
sent to Mrs. Santorelli,

our killer mentions seeing
Giorgio outside a church

on the 19th of February,

"parading himself with dirt
and paint on his face."

It wasn't until I realized what
was meant by "dirt and paint"

that it started
to make sense.

Ash Wednesday.

Moore:
They're all holy days.

He's following
the Christian Calendar.

The next holy day
is the 14th of May.

The Feast of the Ascension.

Just a few days
from now.

Yes.