The Ray Bradbury Theater (1985–1992): Season 3, Episode 1 - The Dwarf - full transcript
Every night, a tiny man visits the carnival's hall of mirrors to stare at a mirror which makes him look much taller. Carny worker Aimee finds herself drawn to this lonely sad man and conceives a plan to befriend him.
RAY BRADBURY
(VOICEOVER): People ask,
where do you get your ideas?
Well, right here.
All this is mine.
I'll never starve here.
I'm Ray Bradbury, and this is--
[theme music]
When I was 12, I met a
magician, Harry Blackstone,
who told me to live forever.
I decided I could.
Mr. Blackstone
introduced me to clowns,
acrobats, fire
eaters, fat ladies,
and some little people--
dwarves.
I've never forgotten.
Every time I see certain
kinds of strange mirrors,
this is what I see.
[gun shots]
You like them military
operations, Aimee?
Pretty good, Ralph.
Pretty good?
Hell, it's perfect-- just
like me and everything I do--
perfect.
You know, some night
soon, you really
should try and find out just how
perfect I could be at anything.
Anything?
Name it.
I got a name for it.
Its name ain't Ralph.
[laughs]
Hell.
Aimee, what are you--
too good for me?
No.
It's just you live so
high up the mountain,
I don't think I could
breathe up there.
Fix the target.
More perfection coming up.
Holy ma-goalie.
Almost forgot.
It's time.
Time for what?
He's coming.
I can't miss him.
Who's coming?
Mr. Big.
You haven't seen him?
Mr. Big.
Come on.
Come on!
BARKER: Over here!
Throw the dice, throw the dice.
[screaming]
Why do they go on that?
People like dying.
It's kind of a death.
Why, Ralph Banghart--
you're a philosopher.
There's lots up here, Aimee.
Someday, you'll find out.
Holy cow.
Here he comes.
(WHISPERING) Hide!
Hide!
No, just come around
right back here.
Come on-- hurry!
Hurry!
One admission, please.
One it is.
That's Mr. Big.
And that ain't all.
You ain't seen nothing yet.
(WHISPERING) Come on!
Come on!
This is rich.
[inaudible]
Every night, the same thing.
[inaudible]
What's the little
king doing now?
[footsteps]
(WHISPERING) You
scared him away.
He'll never come back now.
What?
He's still in there.
Why aren't you?
Same old song and dance--
boring.
I've got to think of a way
to shake the little guy up.
I don't know, give him a hot
foot, turn the lights off--
I don't know.
Bro!
All right, all right.
I'm just kidding.
I'm just kidding.
Wish I never had
to come back here.
Excuse me?
Spoil my fun?
Can I help you, lady?
Maybe.
Um-- the little man
that was just here.
Oh, Mr. Bigelow?
- Mr. Big.
- No-- Bigelow--
Bigelow.
See, uh-- there's
his name there.
Bigelow.
He's a writer?
Yeah.
You wouldn't figure
that, would you?
Little gent like that.
Oh, wait.
You've got change!
AIMEE (VOICEOVER): She
moved up the stairs
into the attic, which
was paved with moonlight
and stirred by wind.
And it was here she knew
that someone had died
and might be buried beneath
this dust, or buried--
or buried under the wintry
ice of the chandelier
itself, like someone lost
in a glacier that moved
in 1,000 year journey to a sea.
At any moment, the ghost
might rise and exhale dust
from its whispering mouth,
and all the strong books
lift with it, like terrified
birds to fly through the air
and disturb the night.
[door bell chiming]
Why are you following me?
Well?
I'm a fan.
What?
A reader!
Nobody reads me.
I do.
They're wonderful.
Come into the light.
So, which do you like best?
The one where
you murder a guy,
because he used to
ambush you on the street,
pick you up in his
arms, kiss your brow,
sing "Rockabye Baby," then
haul you into the meat markets,
toss you on the scales,
and yell, "Watch it!
Don't wear your thumb
there, butcher."
Pretty funny, huh?
Funny.
What else?
The story about your
living with your parents--
small people, but not as
small as you in a teeny house,
with little chairs.
You call it beehive
rooms, an ant farm,
with windows the
size of moth wings,
and bookcases full of books
no bigger than your thumb.
Someone tries to burn
your little house.
So you kill him too.
All in my head.
And the story-- the last
one about the doctor who sells
you pills to grow
an inch a month,
only you grow more than that.
And in a year, you're 7 feet
tall, and knock the world down.
That's my favorite.
I wondered if anyone else
in the world read my stuff.
Mr. Bigelow?
Aimee.
(WHISPERING) Can't
be too careful.
Oh my gosh.
It must've cost thousands.
No.
I built it myself.
[typewriter sounds]
That was the night the
beautiful, giant lady
came to the little house
in the middle of nowhere.
[typewriter key sounds]
[gasp]
[noise in distance]
There are rats in the walls.
It's me, Aimee.
Like I said.
Well, you sure
look fine, Aimee.
You always back there?
Always and forever, Ralph?
Ralph?
It's the only fun I have.
These mirrors expensive?
Where'd you buy them?
A place in Long Beach.
Why?
Thought I might buy one,
keep it home, look in it
every night, never have
to come back in here,
knowing there were
rats in the walls.
I think I might just buy one.
No.
Aw, no.
No.
You can do better than that.
[children shouting]
Please find enclosed
a check for $197.50.
Please ship mirror
to R. D. Bigelow.
Evening, Aimee-- for you.
So how's business?
Never better.
Fine.
Great, great-- for me too.
Guess we're both going
downright pretty, great fine.
[chuckling]
You know, I can, uh,
read upside down.
Think you're pretty smart, huh?
OK.
I've seen your hand.
I'd like you to see mine.
Pick a card, any card.
Go on, come on.
Take card, any card.
You can't win, Aimee.
All aces or spades.
All dark cards.
I fixed the deck, just like--
just like I fixed the mirrors.
What do you know?
There he is, right on time.
MR. BIGELOW: Ah!
God, no!
[crying]
[stifling noises]
Oh.
[gun shots]
No!
You've killed them all.
The last one there--
he's been dead for years.
Ah!
(VOICEOVER): People ask,
where do you get your ideas?
Well, right here.
All this is mine.
I'll never starve here.
I'm Ray Bradbury, and this is--
[theme music]
When I was 12, I met a
magician, Harry Blackstone,
who told me to live forever.
I decided I could.
Mr. Blackstone
introduced me to clowns,
acrobats, fire
eaters, fat ladies,
and some little people--
dwarves.
I've never forgotten.
Every time I see certain
kinds of strange mirrors,
this is what I see.
[gun shots]
You like them military
operations, Aimee?
Pretty good, Ralph.
Pretty good?
Hell, it's perfect-- just
like me and everything I do--
perfect.
You know, some night
soon, you really
should try and find out just how
perfect I could be at anything.
Anything?
Name it.
I got a name for it.
Its name ain't Ralph.
[laughs]
Hell.
Aimee, what are you--
too good for me?
No.
It's just you live so
high up the mountain,
I don't think I could
breathe up there.
Fix the target.
More perfection coming up.
Holy ma-goalie.
Almost forgot.
It's time.
Time for what?
He's coming.
I can't miss him.
Who's coming?
Mr. Big.
You haven't seen him?
Mr. Big.
Come on.
Come on!
BARKER: Over here!
Throw the dice, throw the dice.
[screaming]
Why do they go on that?
People like dying.
It's kind of a death.
Why, Ralph Banghart--
you're a philosopher.
There's lots up here, Aimee.
Someday, you'll find out.
Holy cow.
Here he comes.
(WHISPERING) Hide!
Hide!
No, just come around
right back here.
Come on-- hurry!
Hurry!
One admission, please.
One it is.
That's Mr. Big.
And that ain't all.
You ain't seen nothing yet.
(WHISPERING) Come on!
Come on!
This is rich.
[inaudible]
Every night, the same thing.
[inaudible]
What's the little
king doing now?
[footsteps]
(WHISPERING) You
scared him away.
He'll never come back now.
What?
He's still in there.
Why aren't you?
Same old song and dance--
boring.
I've got to think of a way
to shake the little guy up.
I don't know, give him a hot
foot, turn the lights off--
I don't know.
Bro!
All right, all right.
I'm just kidding.
I'm just kidding.
Wish I never had
to come back here.
Excuse me?
Spoil my fun?
Can I help you, lady?
Maybe.
Um-- the little man
that was just here.
Oh, Mr. Bigelow?
- Mr. Big.
- No-- Bigelow--
Bigelow.
See, uh-- there's
his name there.
Bigelow.
He's a writer?
Yeah.
You wouldn't figure
that, would you?
Little gent like that.
Oh, wait.
You've got change!
AIMEE (VOICEOVER): She
moved up the stairs
into the attic, which
was paved with moonlight
and stirred by wind.
And it was here she knew
that someone had died
and might be buried beneath
this dust, or buried--
or buried under the wintry
ice of the chandelier
itself, like someone lost
in a glacier that moved
in 1,000 year journey to a sea.
At any moment, the ghost
might rise and exhale dust
from its whispering mouth,
and all the strong books
lift with it, like terrified
birds to fly through the air
and disturb the night.
[door bell chiming]
Why are you following me?
Well?
I'm a fan.
What?
A reader!
Nobody reads me.
I do.
They're wonderful.
Come into the light.
So, which do you like best?
The one where
you murder a guy,
because he used to
ambush you on the street,
pick you up in his
arms, kiss your brow,
sing "Rockabye Baby," then
haul you into the meat markets,
toss you on the scales,
and yell, "Watch it!
Don't wear your thumb
there, butcher."
Pretty funny, huh?
Funny.
What else?
The story about your
living with your parents--
small people, but not as
small as you in a teeny house,
with little chairs.
You call it beehive
rooms, an ant farm,
with windows the
size of moth wings,
and bookcases full of books
no bigger than your thumb.
Someone tries to burn
your little house.
So you kill him too.
All in my head.
And the story-- the last
one about the doctor who sells
you pills to grow
an inch a month,
only you grow more than that.
And in a year, you're 7 feet
tall, and knock the world down.
That's my favorite.
I wondered if anyone else
in the world read my stuff.
Mr. Bigelow?
Aimee.
(WHISPERING) Can't
be too careful.
Oh my gosh.
It must've cost thousands.
No.
I built it myself.
[typewriter sounds]
That was the night the
beautiful, giant lady
came to the little house
in the middle of nowhere.
[typewriter key sounds]
[gasp]
[noise in distance]
There are rats in the walls.
It's me, Aimee.
Like I said.
Well, you sure
look fine, Aimee.
You always back there?
Always and forever, Ralph?
Ralph?
It's the only fun I have.
These mirrors expensive?
Where'd you buy them?
A place in Long Beach.
Why?
Thought I might buy one,
keep it home, look in it
every night, never have
to come back in here,
knowing there were
rats in the walls.
I think I might just buy one.
No.
Aw, no.
No.
You can do better than that.
[children shouting]
Please find enclosed
a check for $197.50.
Please ship mirror
to R. D. Bigelow.
Evening, Aimee-- for you.
So how's business?
Never better.
Fine.
Great, great-- for me too.
Guess we're both going
downright pretty, great fine.
[chuckling]
You know, I can, uh,
read upside down.
Think you're pretty smart, huh?
OK.
I've seen your hand.
I'd like you to see mine.
Pick a card, any card.
Go on, come on.
Take card, any card.
You can't win, Aimee.
All aces or spades.
All dark cards.
I fixed the deck, just like--
just like I fixed the mirrors.
What do you know?
There he is, right on time.
MR. BIGELOW: Ah!
God, no!
[crying]
[stifling noises]
Oh.
[gun shots]
No!
You've killed them all.
The last one there--
he's been dead for years.
Ah!