The Shards (2026) s01e08 Episode Script
Hamlet
1
-Okay, is everyone done?
-Mm-hmm.
Okay, the question was,
who is the poorest in our group?
One vote for Thom.
-Sorry, bud.
-Clearly Robert.
Two votes for Thom.
Aw. Three votes for Thom.
-Thom is officially the poorest.
-No, my dad abandoned us, okay?
He didn't give a grace period
for financial planning.
He just fucking left with no warning. Glad
you're getting a good laugh out of it.
Thom, this is what we do.
It's just us. It's always been us.
It's purposefully silly and stupid.
It's just a game.
Yeah, a game that you always seem to win.
Who's the prettiest? Who's the smartest?
Most likely to succeed,
most likely to win homecoming?
Susan, Susan, Susan, Susan.
Meanwhile, this guy right here sweeps
who's the poorest,
and Debbie routinely gets
most who needs to drop ten.
Excuse me, I won that one time
after eating a bag of Doritos.
Oh, my God, Bret, where have you been?
I've been calling you all day.
You didn't pick up.
Yes, where have you been, Bret?
You look tired and paler than usual,
which is saying something.
Leave him alone. He's here now.
Bret, we're playing secret ballot.
You do the question.
Who is The Trawler?
No, not sexy enough.
I prefer something like, uh, best tits,
which I would sweep.
But as gatekeeper and vote counter,
I'll accept.
Bret, it's vote time. Vote.
I win too. Best-looking,
most likely to have the biggest dick,
best breath, sexiest treasure trail.
Hey, that one was mine. I loved that one.
Best ass, best smile.
-Okay.
-I could go on and on.
Uh-oh, one vote for Bret.
Debbie, that's clearly your handwriting.
What can I say?
You've been obsessed with death lately.
One for Riders of the Afterlife.
Oh. Is that that cult?
Yawn.
One for Really Rhonda.
My vote, obviously.
I used to like her, as you all know,
but now I know she's deranged.
Saying I was a kidnapper
and a perpetrator of violence
in front of everyone
when I graciously gave up my crown.
Hon, you're a legend now.
You spent 45 minutes in jail
and were then released.
Still, my parents had to come.
My mom lost her mind.
So much crying, it was mortifying.
You weren't there.
Who cares? Little Miss March of the Dimes
recanted it instantly,
said she was confused.
Her parents took her
to some loony bin in Tennessee,
where she always should have been.
Your rep's at an all-time high, Su Su.
Why so bitter?
You're right.
Rhonda's disturbed.
She's been through so much.
I would like to publicly recant
my secret ballot vote and then abstain.
I'm sorry, I'm still a bit shaky.
Okay, one vote for Robert.
Hey, two votes for Bret, the winner.
-Looks like you're The Trawler, Bret.
-Whoo!
Looks like.
Hey, do you guys want to know
why you couldn't get ahold of me
for the last 18 hours?
Obviously.
I was at the police station all night
giving testimony.
What? Why?
Matt Kellner is dead.
Holy shit.
I found his severed head.
Somebody wanted me to find it.
Matt Kellner's death changed everything.
I was no longer the only concerned party.
Every single person
who had accused me of paranoia
could no longer deny
that there was a killer in our midst.
School was closed for one week,
and when it reopened,
there was a sudden police presence
that would last through the entire year.
The interrogations began.
Everyone was suddenly a suspect.
If you're wondering
how The Trawler got away
with infiltrating a high school campus
on the night of homecoming,
you must remember, this was 1981.
There were no cell phones,
no surveillance cameras,
no digital records, no metal detectors.
That was all post 9/11.
It was just people then.
People fumbling and failing.
We returned to normal life
as best we could,
with the hope
that feelings of normalcy would follow.
-Nice of you to join us, Mr. Ellis.
-I'm sorry.
Why are you in my seat?
I don't know. I just sat here.
Why is everybody in different seats?
Mystery for another day, Mr. Ellis.
Just sit anywhere.
A kidnapping, a murder
and an active police investigation,
and it's not even Halloween yet.
A lot of people in my position
would probably switch up the curriculum,
coddle you,
but I am not going to do that here
in senior class, Shakespeare 101.
Romeo and Juliet is a play about
death, obsession, angst and love.
It's about
what it feels like to be a teenager.
Act 1, scene 3, Juliet is not yet 14,
and Romeo's probably a little bit older.
A 13-year-old and a 15-year-old,
an eighth grader and a sophomore.
Miss Reynolds, you're making a face.
Eighth graders don't understand love.
They're not even mature enough
for off-campus lunch.
Fair point. What about sophomores?
Romeo's just about your age.
Yeah, teenagers think they're in love,
but it goes away.
In the beginning, it's so intense,
and then it fades
or it disappears overnight.
And then all that's left is habit.
That's bullshit.
What difference does it make
how old they are?
Their brains are underdeveloped
and flooded with hormones.
-Thom did the reading? Is he okay?
-That means they can't love?
Real love shouldn't make you
want to kill yourself.
The only thing Romeo and Juliet killed
was themselves.
That makes sense to me.
Speak on that.
If you're in love and you kill yourself,
that's dying once.
If you're in love and you can't be
with the person you love,
that's like dying every day.
Dying once, dying every day.
Is it?
Is it actually like dying every day?
Or would they both have gotten over it
as soon as they met someone new?
How many people do you know who break up,
act like it's the end of the world,
and then by seventh period
have a new life-defining crush?
Romeo and Juliet should have moved on.
It's not the most romantic take,
Miss Reynolds, but I like it.
There's an open space
in our divorced educator's book club,
-if you're in.
-You're wrong. They're soulmates.
Juliet's special.
She's not some eighth-grade slut.
She's an angel.
Angels aren't sluts.
That sounds like a very good area
to explore in your paper, Mr. Wright.
-What?
-Nothing.
You're staring at me.
I'm not allowed to look at my girlfriend
while we do our homework?
You can look anywhere you want.
I don't care.
I just think it's really sad.
What's really sad, Thom?
You don't think Romeo and Juliet
are meant to be together.
The play is called Romeo and Juliet.
So what?
There's a cartoon called Tom and Jerry.
Do you think they're meant
to be together too?
Fine, Thom.
They are perfect for each other, and
we'll just have to take your word for it
because we'll never know, because Romeo
and Juliet killed themselves.
Exactly. That proves how much
they loved each other.
Maybe they weren't supposed
to be together forever.
Maybe it was only supposed to be
a Verona thing.
A Verona thing?
Yeah. And then once they leave Verona…
Why would they leave Verona?
-To see other places.
-Like what?
Because even now, like in modern times,
there's only so many places in the world,
if you think about it, maybe a hundred.
What are you talking about?
Like, sure, Toledo is a place,
but you're not gonna, like, go there.
So for all intents and purposes,
it doesn't exist.
Do you have any curiosity
in the outside world, Thom?
Do you care about anything
besides the things
that you personally experience every day?
No. Do you?
Yes.
So, what, you care about Toledo?
Sure, yeah,
and I care about Rome and Paris
You care about Toledo
more than you care about me?
Susan, do you care about Toledo
more than you care about me?
This is deranged. I'm not doing this.
And I'm not correcting your paper
or writing it for you like I always do.
Finish this assignment yourself.
I love you, Susan.
I would die without you.
Thom, that's too much pressure.
I don't want to be with someone
who needs me to survive.
You are the center of my universe.
You're my Earth.
That's the sun.
The sun is the center of the universe.
"Juliet is the sun."
Arise, fair sun,
and kill the envious moon,
who is already sick and pale with grief
"that thou, her maid,
are far more fair than she."
"Oh, swear not by the moon,
the inconstant moon
that monthly changes in her circle orb,
"lest that thy love prove
likewise variable."
Thom,
I need some space.
What does that mean?
I think we should break up.
Did Robert put you up to this?
Robert?
He's manipulating you. Bret's right.
Ever since he got here,
you've been a completely different person.
-This has nothing to do with Robert.
-Yes, of course it does.
Oh, my God, Thom, this right here,
this is exactly the problem.
I am the one breaking up with you.
It's me doing this, and I'm sorry, but
You don't think that this is real
because we're teenagers.
No, no, no.
I don't think that this is real
because it's not.
I'm not in love with you anymore.
Hey.
Ex Can you bring me a steak knife?
Yes, sir.
-No, hey, hey, hey, no, no. Sit down.
-No. No.
-Sit down.
-No. You let go of me.
Sit down!
Here you go, sir.
It's this one right here.
We can go in the bathroom and do it.
No one will notice. It won't hurt.
It'll be like drifting off to sleep
in a warm bath.
This one?
Right here?
We can hold each other as we go.
And once we're gone,
we can meet in the ether as one.
Give me the knife.
Fuck you, Thom.
Fuck you.
What is wrong with you?
You think that I would end my life
on some shit-stained
linoleum bathroom floor
at the fucking Hamburger Hamlet
for a guy who peaks his senior year?
Don't… Don't say…
Don't you ever say that to me.
You don't mean that. This is not…
This is Robert in your head.
I don't need Robert. I don't need him.
Don't you get it? I don't need anyone.
I have potential.
I have a big life to live.
I have dreams.
We're done, Thom.
We're done.
-I'm leaving.
-No. We're not…
-We're not done talking.
-Yeah, I'm leaving. I'm leaving.
-You're sick.
-I know.
I can change. I'll be different.
I'll be whoever you want me to be.
Just tell me how you want me to be.
I can be that. I'll be different. Tell me.
I… I don't want you to be different.
I want you to be you.
-I hate myself.
-No, you are perfect, okay?
Then why doesn't anyone stay?
You know, if I'm so perfect,
why does everyone abandon me?
I'm not abandoning you, Thom.
I'm gonna be in your life
for a very long time.
No.
You won't be.
The lovers die.
Are you threatening me?
I'm just reminding you how the story ends.
Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 3.
"Let's make us medicines
of our great revenge
to cure this deadly grief."
Makes sense to me.
As long as you're feeling potent,
you're feeling something other than sad.
Revenge as a cure for depression.
But if revenge is a medicine,
there are definitely some side effects.
Who can tell me
the potential side effects?
Chaos.
Chaos, sure.
Seriously though, think about it.
What would happen if you hurt
the people who hurt you?
They'd hurt him back.
"Blood will have blood."
Act 3, scene 4.
Bingo. Revenge unleashes
an endless cycle of counterstrikes
and counter-counterstrikes,
as Macbeth more than proves.
Blood will have blood
until everyone's bled out.
So it's like a tie?
No. Everyone loses in the end.
Everyone loses.
Lady Macbeth is
one of the great villains of literature.
But does she even understand
the domino effects of her plotting?
"By the pricking of thumbs,
something wicked this way comes."
Mmm.
You are so gorgeous. Oh, my God.
-Hi.
-Mmm.
Thank God my pharmacist is here.
Mama is running low.
I've just been a nervous wreck
with this whole Trawler thing.
Oh.
Terry says we're installing
some new security system,
and I have to come up with
a four-digit password.
But how the hell
am I ever going to remember that?
I'm losing sleep just knowing
that there's this horrible monster
out there targeting kids.
Well, you know,
every monster has their reason
they became one.
So, down to business.
I've gone ahead and replenished
your supply of Valium
and Halcion.
I don't like the pill bottles
pharmacies use. Plastic and ugly.
You are a woman of value.
You really do think of everything.
I have news.
I have been watching
the staff at the house lately,
and in my opinion,
you are not being treated
with the respect that you deserve.
So, I took it upon myself
to distribute a memo to the help.
From now on,
you will be addressed as Ms. Schaffer,
not Mrs. Schaffer.
People should see
that Terry does not define you.
This town runs
on the backs of women like you.
It's true.
I crawled through glass, Steven,
with a smile on my face
and a Miss Indiana sash
choking me out along the way.
I find it calming
to be placed on a pedestal.
Even if it's yours.
So thank you for that.
Well,
say goodbye
to that momentary peace, Ms. Schaffer,
because I'm about to say something
that may destabilize you.
Don't scream.
Don't make a scene.
Just listen.
I know about the porno film.
What porno?
Oh, honey, I've seen you do things
the human body has no business attempting.
How did you see it?
They promised me
it would only be an overseas release.
If Echo Park Lake can be considered a sea,
then they have indeed.
What?
It's playing in town here?
You and little baby Ryan
on a silver screen
that grows more tarnished
with each showing.
Oh, my God, what have I done?
Terry will leave me.
I'll have no money.
Oh, my God, I'll have no money.
Take a Halcion, honey. It'll help.
If you even think
about telling anyone about this,
so help me God,
you don't know what I'm capable of.
Stop.
Just stop it right now.
Of course your secret is safe with me.
I just want to know why you did it.
I don't know.
I don't even know who I am anymore.
Or why I do what I do.
I'm just an object now.
It was the vengeful impulse
of a rusty trophy, the dirty movie.
-That's all.
-Are you sure about that?
Maybe I wanted to be touched again
even if it was only in a scene
we were playing.
Spare me The Day of The Locust act, Liz.
I ain't buying it.
Uh, one final round, please. Thank you.
I think there's something bubbling beneath
the constantly turbulent surface here.
I can see your daydreams.
I know you want to act,
and I think this was
just a perverse attempt
at moving towards that dream.
"Out, damned spot. Out, I say."
One, two.
Why, then 'tis time to do it.
"Hell is murky."
"False face must hide
what the false heart doth know."
I want you to know
that I purchased every negative,
so you don't have to worry
about it ever seeing the light of day.
And to protect you from your husband.
Oh, Steven.
Oh, my God, thank you.
But I'm gonna hold on
to them, though, sweetie.
'Cause I got to look out for myself.
-What do you want?
-What I deserve.
Terry doesn't see me
as a contender in this industry,
so I'm gonna need your help
in bringing to life a grand vision.
A film called Less Than Zero,
and I'm going to produce with him.
Debbie's boyfriend Bret wrote a treatment
based on a novel he's writing.
It's brilliant.
I wrote glowing coverage,
and Terry wouldn't even read it.
Liz, he doesn't fucking read.
He just took
a bullshit meeting with Mr. Ellis,
but he's not gonna close the rights.
You are gonna help me get them.
There's a role for you in the project.
You are perfect for it.
Become, at long last, a star.
-What do you need me to do?
-Every night while Terry sleeps,
I need you to whisper
a single sentence into his ear
no fewer than 100 times,
just like Nancy does with Ronnie Reagan
to get her little plans in his head.
What is the sentence?
"Less Than Zero
will make you $100 million."
Our next lesson was on Hamlet,
and the parallels
to my increasingly unrecognizable life
were so blinding
that I couldn't help but feel mocked.
We were both princes.
We were both secretive,
and we both knew
that something very rotten
was afoot within our own kingdoms.
All right, I need
Acts 1 through 3 read before next class.
And I want 500 words
on how Shakespeare is commenting
on the connection between
mortality and madness.
Thank you.
Bret, you have a second?
-We should talk. In private.
-Would it be all right
if we asked you for this classroom
for just a few minutes?
All right. Though I do have
another class in here shortly.
Shouldn't be long.
Sure.
We got some more questions for you
about Matt Kellner.
What kind of questions?
Questions about
your personal relationship with Matt.
My personal relationship with Matt?
We were just acquaintances.
Not even close, really.
If you want to speak with someone
who was close with Matt,
I suggest talking to Robert Mallory
about him.
We already have talked
to Robert Mallory about him, extensively.
Let me ask you a question, Bret.
Did you go to the Kellner house
on the day that Matt disappeared?
You didn't tell us that before.
I didn't think it was significant.
We were discussing a class assignment.
He needed help with it.
There was another thing
you didn't tell us.
You visited Matt's father
after his disappearance.
I-I just didn't think it was relevant.
Why did you?
-Out of concern for my friend.
-I thought you weren't friends.
Which is it?
Were you or were you not friends?
Or…
were you something else altogether?
Inconsistencies are not always meaningful,
but when they're attributed to the person
who found the victim's body…
yeah, then we feel obligated
to maybe dig a little deeper.
Of course.
Is that all, officers?
Hmm. There is one more.
You were overheard
on the soundstage of Dance Off!
Whispering to Debbie Schaffer
that she deserved to win.
How badly
did you want your girlfriend to win, Bret?
Are you implying that I killed Cha Cha?
Where is this coming from?
Am I under arrest?
Should you be?
Officers, I need my classroom back now.
No worries, ma'am.
We were just finishing up here.
Thank you, ma'am.
My secrets were catching up to me.
My anxiety from concealing my sexuality
had inadvertently led
to becoming a suspect.
I didn't have an alibi.
I was fucked.
Someone was coloring
their perception of me,
and I knew exactly who that was.
Robert, I know it's you.
I thought that nothing
could terrify me more
than being framed
for Matt Kellner's murder.
You did great, the project…
But I was wrong. This was somehow worse.
I wasn't wrong. I wasn't right.
Come on in, kid.
Yeah.
Bob…
Bob…
Yeah.
It's ridiculous. No, Bob.
I-I gotta let you go.
Yeah. I'm meeting with a piece of talent.
Yeah.
Yeah, you're sick. You know that, Bob?
I'll talk to you later. Bye.
You want a drink?
No, thank you.
Straight to business.
Now listen,
I took a look at your treatments,
and, um, I'm inclined to option it.
Wow.
Certain people
whose opinions I occasionally consider
have been whispering in my ear
how brilliant it is.
I listen to whispers.
I'm happy to hear that.
Your writing is so… adult.
So many times, stories about juveniles
can be so juvenile, untrue.
Yes, yes, exactly.
But you, your writing,
I can tell you understand adult things.
Don't you, Bret?
I mean,
I believe that you know how things work.
I believe you understand…
risk.
I believe that you understand
how much of a flyer
I would be taking
on a first-time screenwriter.
But you also know how good things can be.
Things that we can…
do for each other.
Right?
Yeah.
Terrific.
You sure you don't want that drink?
Yeah.
Okay.
I'm gonna go freshen up.
Terry was wrong.
I didn't understand adult things.
I just thought I did.
I've learned through time that
many young people make the same mistake.
I thought I was in control that afternoon
at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
I thought it was my choice
to leave the bathroom,
my choice to stay in that room.
Here's what I remember:
the sight of Terry's naked body.
He looked younger than he was.
Objectively attractive,
but too old for me to even contemplate
as a realistic sex partner.
And yet there I was, doing just that.
Terry pulled me up against him
and roughly kissed my mouth.
He tasted like champagne and weed.
He playfully shoved me onto the bed
and pulled off my pants.
I accommodated him,
lifting my feet off the floor
so he could remove all of my clothes.
Though I was fully hard,
I didn't feel any excitement
when Terry sucked and stroked my cock.
I felt nothing
as he slapped it against his face,
deep throating and inhaling it.
This continued for a number of minutes,
at which point Terry grabbed my hips,
rolled me onto my stomach
and lifted up my ass.
I wondered whether this was just
how older guys did it.
At that point,
I'd only been with Matt and Ryan.
I remember how much it hurt
and the relief I felt
when I rolled onto my back.
I remember it was completely silent
except for the breeze outside
teasing the palm trees.
And then it was over.
I returned to the bathroom
and examined myself in the mirror.
I thought I looked composed.
And not just composed,
but like I had
actually accomplished something.
I chose this, didn't I?
I understood adult things.
I understood the way the world worked.
This wasn't what I wanted,
but it wasn't so bad.
Or maybe it was.
What did I know anyway?
I was just a kid.
It was my darkest secret.
And now it wasn't even that.
The information was out there.
I couldn't control that either.
Someone had taped us, but who and why?
All I knew was that it was 1981
and I was 18 and closeted.
I would have rather been outed
as a psychotic serial killer
than a homosexual.
Hamlet is plagued
with paranoia and self-doubt,
caught between action and inaction,
caught between the desire
to avenge his father's death
and the desire to be absolutely,
totally 100% certain
of his uncle's guilt.
But does this kind of certainty exist?
Of course.
How can you be sure?
Well, if you've seen someone do something,
that's objective reality.
Truth.
Hamlet saw a ghost.
Does that sound like truth?
No, that's a sort of
grief-induced hallucination.
You disagree, Mr. Mallory?
Disagree that Hamlet's a nutjob?
Certainly not.
I disagree that
there's something known as the truth.
"There is nothing either good or bad,
but thinking makes it so." Act 2, Scene 2.
"The lady doth protest too much,
methinks." Act 3, Scene 2.
Let Mr. Mallory continue.
Apologies, ma'am.
Officers, this is
my classroom, not the police academy.
We just need a word with, uh…
one of your students.
Mr. Mallory.
"Good night, sweet prince."
After you.
I raced to the phone
on that hot October afternoon…
…expecting another round of obscene
wet-sounding breathing from The Trawler.
Hello, who is this?
It wasn't him.
She never lets me make
My own decisions… ♪
Instead, somewhat shockingly,
the caller was
Robert Mallory's Aunt Abigail.
She insisted
she needed to speak with me in person
and that Robert must never know.
I didn't know if you were coming or not.
Do you want a drink?
No, thank you.
I'm sorry if I seem a little off.
I just got out of a meeting
with my attorney.
Me and my husband are in the middle
of a rather protracted divorce,
and he is acting fairly difficult.
Though I think he says
the same thing about me.
I probably should have rescheduled this.
I'm sorry.
Yes, another.
Robert says you don't like him much.
Let's just say we're always joking around.
Robert doesn't think you're joking around.
He doesn't believe that.
Why are we here?
Robert has mentioned you a lot.
In fact, since the first day of school.
He said you unsettled him
when you were positive
that you saw him at a movie theater
over a year ago.
I know I saw him there.
I don't understand
why he's lying about it.
Well, we can sit here all day
and evade whatever your situation is.
Why was he in the facility?
-How did you find out about that?
-What did he do?
What did Robert do that warranted him
being put in a mental institution?
His mom's death seems to be the catalyst
for Robert going off the rails a bit,
which is to be expected, but…
his father put him there.
What happened to his mother?
Supposedly it was an accident.
She had fallen
from the upstairs landing in her home,
tripped over the banister
and landed in such a way
that she was killed instantly.
But…
you know,
there were always questions, you know.
-Questions?
-Discrepancies.
There were always questions
on Robert's father's part.
It didn't quite add up.
She had to be in a certain position
by the banister,
the railing on the second floor, he said.
Robert wasn't home.
But he was the one who found her.
Does he have an alibi?
Never mind about his mother.
Just listen to me.
Robert came to LA and stayed with me.
The summer of 1980.
And that's when you said
you saw him, right?
Yes, in May at The Shining.
Well, you were right.
You did see him.
Robert was at the theater.
And he was there with a girl.
Katherine Latchford.
That's The Trawler's first victim.
Yes, the first girl. And that is why
he said he hadn't been at the movie
because he didn't want anyone
to make the connection.
No, I-I love my nephew very much, but…
But what?
But I'm not blind.
And I don't think
you should be blinded by him either.
I couldn't believe
how fast the nausea overwhelmed me.
I wanted to go home and smoke weed
and take another Quaalude
until I was stoned enough
to annihilate myself
and crawl under the blankets on my bed
and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I knew with certainty now
who The Trawler was.
Now I had proof.
Had the police figured out his lie?
Is that why they took him in
for a last and final questioning?
Looking back, at that point,
all I knew for sure was that something
was rotten in the state of California.
Robert.
What do you want from me, Bret?
I'm sorry.
How did you get in here?
They took me in a second time,
threatened to book me.
They asked me about horrific things,
terrible things,
things that I'm incapable of doing.
But they think that I'm doing them
because of you.
My mother died, Bret.
Haven't I been through enough?
I've never hurt anybody.
It's not who I am.
Why do you want it to be?
Why do you hate me so much?
I don't hate you.
Then why are you doing all this?
Why do people always turn against me?
Friends and family members.
Is it because I look this way?
Too perfect?
It kills me that
they don't see the real me. This me.
The boy with the broken heart.
There are just some things about you
that I can't ignore.
We're all really scared right now.
You have to admit that you have a history.
It's true.
I have a history of mental instability.
I have depression, I have anxiety.
But that doesn't make me a bad person.
Am I a bad person?
Tell me I'm not, Bret.
"To be, or not to be:
That is the question."
O Superman ♪
O judge ♪
O Mom and Dad ♪
Mom and Dad ♪
O Superman ♪
O judge ♪
In your automatic arms ♪
Your electronic arms ♪
In your arms ♪
So hold me, Mom ♪
In your long arms ♪
Your petrochemical arms ♪
Your military arms ♪
-Okay, is everyone done?
-Mm-hmm.
Okay, the question was,
who is the poorest in our group?
One vote for Thom.
-Sorry, bud.
-Clearly Robert.
Two votes for Thom.
Aw. Three votes for Thom.
-Thom is officially the poorest.
-No, my dad abandoned us, okay?
He didn't give a grace period
for financial planning.
He just fucking left with no warning. Glad
you're getting a good laugh out of it.
Thom, this is what we do.
It's just us. It's always been us.
It's purposefully silly and stupid.
It's just a game.
Yeah, a game that you always seem to win.
Who's the prettiest? Who's the smartest?
Most likely to succeed,
most likely to win homecoming?
Susan, Susan, Susan, Susan.
Meanwhile, this guy right here sweeps
who's the poorest,
and Debbie routinely gets
most who needs to drop ten.
Excuse me, I won that one time
after eating a bag of Doritos.
Oh, my God, Bret, where have you been?
I've been calling you all day.
You didn't pick up.
Yes, where have you been, Bret?
You look tired and paler than usual,
which is saying something.
Leave him alone. He's here now.
Bret, we're playing secret ballot.
You do the question.
Who is The Trawler?
No, not sexy enough.
I prefer something like, uh, best tits,
which I would sweep.
But as gatekeeper and vote counter,
I'll accept.
Bret, it's vote time. Vote.
I win too. Best-looking,
most likely to have the biggest dick,
best breath, sexiest treasure trail.
Hey, that one was mine. I loved that one.
Best ass, best smile.
-Okay.
-I could go on and on.
Uh-oh, one vote for Bret.
Debbie, that's clearly your handwriting.
What can I say?
You've been obsessed with death lately.
One for Riders of the Afterlife.
Oh. Is that that cult?
Yawn.
One for Really Rhonda.
My vote, obviously.
I used to like her, as you all know,
but now I know she's deranged.
Saying I was a kidnapper
and a perpetrator of violence
in front of everyone
when I graciously gave up my crown.
Hon, you're a legend now.
You spent 45 minutes in jail
and were then released.
Still, my parents had to come.
My mom lost her mind.
So much crying, it was mortifying.
You weren't there.
Who cares? Little Miss March of the Dimes
recanted it instantly,
said she was confused.
Her parents took her
to some loony bin in Tennessee,
where she always should have been.
Your rep's at an all-time high, Su Su.
Why so bitter?
You're right.
Rhonda's disturbed.
She's been through so much.
I would like to publicly recant
my secret ballot vote and then abstain.
I'm sorry, I'm still a bit shaky.
Okay, one vote for Robert.
Hey, two votes for Bret, the winner.
-Looks like you're The Trawler, Bret.
-Whoo!
Looks like.
Hey, do you guys want to know
why you couldn't get ahold of me
for the last 18 hours?
Obviously.
I was at the police station all night
giving testimony.
What? Why?
Matt Kellner is dead.
Holy shit.
I found his severed head.
Somebody wanted me to find it.
Matt Kellner's death changed everything.
I was no longer the only concerned party.
Every single person
who had accused me of paranoia
could no longer deny
that there was a killer in our midst.
School was closed for one week,
and when it reopened,
there was a sudden police presence
that would last through the entire year.
The interrogations began.
Everyone was suddenly a suspect.
If you're wondering
how The Trawler got away
with infiltrating a high school campus
on the night of homecoming,
you must remember, this was 1981.
There were no cell phones,
no surveillance cameras,
no digital records, no metal detectors.
That was all post 9/11.
It was just people then.
People fumbling and failing.
We returned to normal life
as best we could,
with the hope
that feelings of normalcy would follow.
-Nice of you to join us, Mr. Ellis.
-I'm sorry.
Why are you in my seat?
I don't know. I just sat here.
Why is everybody in different seats?
Mystery for another day, Mr. Ellis.
Just sit anywhere.
A kidnapping, a murder
and an active police investigation,
and it's not even Halloween yet.
A lot of people in my position
would probably switch up the curriculum,
coddle you,
but I am not going to do that here
in senior class, Shakespeare 101.
Romeo and Juliet is a play about
death, obsession, angst and love.
It's about
what it feels like to be a teenager.
Act 1, scene 3, Juliet is not yet 14,
and Romeo's probably a little bit older.
A 13-year-old and a 15-year-old,
an eighth grader and a sophomore.
Miss Reynolds, you're making a face.
Eighth graders don't understand love.
They're not even mature enough
for off-campus lunch.
Fair point. What about sophomores?
Romeo's just about your age.
Yeah, teenagers think they're in love,
but it goes away.
In the beginning, it's so intense,
and then it fades
or it disappears overnight.
And then all that's left is habit.
That's bullshit.
What difference does it make
how old they are?
Their brains are underdeveloped
and flooded with hormones.
-Thom did the reading? Is he okay?
-That means they can't love?
Real love shouldn't make you
want to kill yourself.
The only thing Romeo and Juliet killed
was themselves.
That makes sense to me.
Speak on that.
If you're in love and you kill yourself,
that's dying once.
If you're in love and you can't be
with the person you love,
that's like dying every day.
Dying once, dying every day.
Is it?
Is it actually like dying every day?
Or would they both have gotten over it
as soon as they met someone new?
How many people do you know who break up,
act like it's the end of the world,
and then by seventh period
have a new life-defining crush?
Romeo and Juliet should have moved on.
It's not the most romantic take,
Miss Reynolds, but I like it.
There's an open space
in our divorced educator's book club,
-if you're in.
-You're wrong. They're soulmates.
Juliet's special.
She's not some eighth-grade slut.
She's an angel.
Angels aren't sluts.
That sounds like a very good area
to explore in your paper, Mr. Wright.
-What?
-Nothing.
You're staring at me.
I'm not allowed to look at my girlfriend
while we do our homework?
You can look anywhere you want.
I don't care.
I just think it's really sad.
What's really sad, Thom?
You don't think Romeo and Juliet
are meant to be together.
The play is called Romeo and Juliet.
So what?
There's a cartoon called Tom and Jerry.
Do you think they're meant
to be together too?
Fine, Thom.
They are perfect for each other, and
we'll just have to take your word for it
because we'll never know, because Romeo
and Juliet killed themselves.
Exactly. That proves how much
they loved each other.
Maybe they weren't supposed
to be together forever.
Maybe it was only supposed to be
a Verona thing.
A Verona thing?
Yeah. And then once they leave Verona…
Why would they leave Verona?
-To see other places.
-Like what?
Because even now, like in modern times,
there's only so many places in the world,
if you think about it, maybe a hundred.
What are you talking about?
Like, sure, Toledo is a place,
but you're not gonna, like, go there.
So for all intents and purposes,
it doesn't exist.
Do you have any curiosity
in the outside world, Thom?
Do you care about anything
besides the things
that you personally experience every day?
No. Do you?
Yes.
So, what, you care about Toledo?
Sure, yeah,
and I care about Rome and Paris
You care about Toledo
more than you care about me?
Susan, do you care about Toledo
more than you care about me?
This is deranged. I'm not doing this.
And I'm not correcting your paper
or writing it for you like I always do.
Finish this assignment yourself.
I love you, Susan.
I would die without you.
Thom, that's too much pressure.
I don't want to be with someone
who needs me to survive.
You are the center of my universe.
You're my Earth.
That's the sun.
The sun is the center of the universe.
"Juliet is the sun."
Arise, fair sun,
and kill the envious moon,
who is already sick and pale with grief
"that thou, her maid,
are far more fair than she."
"Oh, swear not by the moon,
the inconstant moon
that monthly changes in her circle orb,
"lest that thy love prove
likewise variable."
Thom,
I need some space.
What does that mean?
I think we should break up.
Did Robert put you up to this?
Robert?
He's manipulating you. Bret's right.
Ever since he got here,
you've been a completely different person.
-This has nothing to do with Robert.
-Yes, of course it does.
Oh, my God, Thom, this right here,
this is exactly the problem.
I am the one breaking up with you.
It's me doing this, and I'm sorry, but
You don't think that this is real
because we're teenagers.
No, no, no.
I don't think that this is real
because it's not.
I'm not in love with you anymore.
Hey.
Ex Can you bring me a steak knife?
Yes, sir.
-No, hey, hey, hey, no, no. Sit down.
-No. No.
-Sit down.
-No. You let go of me.
Sit down!
Here you go, sir.
It's this one right here.
We can go in the bathroom and do it.
No one will notice. It won't hurt.
It'll be like drifting off to sleep
in a warm bath.
This one?
Right here?
We can hold each other as we go.
And once we're gone,
we can meet in the ether as one.
Give me the knife.
Fuck you, Thom.
Fuck you.
What is wrong with you?
You think that I would end my life
on some shit-stained
linoleum bathroom floor
at the fucking Hamburger Hamlet
for a guy who peaks his senior year?
Don't… Don't say…
Don't you ever say that to me.
You don't mean that. This is not…
This is Robert in your head.
I don't need Robert. I don't need him.
Don't you get it? I don't need anyone.
I have potential.
I have a big life to live.
I have dreams.
We're done, Thom.
We're done.
-I'm leaving.
-No. We're not…
-We're not done talking.
-Yeah, I'm leaving. I'm leaving.
-You're sick.
-I know.
I can change. I'll be different.
I'll be whoever you want me to be.
Just tell me how you want me to be.
I can be that. I'll be different. Tell me.
I… I don't want you to be different.
I want you to be you.
-I hate myself.
-No, you are perfect, okay?
Then why doesn't anyone stay?
You know, if I'm so perfect,
why does everyone abandon me?
I'm not abandoning you, Thom.
I'm gonna be in your life
for a very long time.
No.
You won't be.
The lovers die.
Are you threatening me?
I'm just reminding you how the story ends.
Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 3.
"Let's make us medicines
of our great revenge
to cure this deadly grief."
Makes sense to me.
As long as you're feeling potent,
you're feeling something other than sad.
Revenge as a cure for depression.
But if revenge is a medicine,
there are definitely some side effects.
Who can tell me
the potential side effects?
Chaos.
Chaos, sure.
Seriously though, think about it.
What would happen if you hurt
the people who hurt you?
They'd hurt him back.
"Blood will have blood."
Act 3, scene 4.
Bingo. Revenge unleashes
an endless cycle of counterstrikes
and counter-counterstrikes,
as Macbeth more than proves.
Blood will have blood
until everyone's bled out.
So it's like a tie?
No. Everyone loses in the end.
Everyone loses.
Lady Macbeth is
one of the great villains of literature.
But does she even understand
the domino effects of her plotting?
"By the pricking of thumbs,
something wicked this way comes."
Mmm.
You are so gorgeous. Oh, my God.
-Hi.
-Mmm.
Thank God my pharmacist is here.
Mama is running low.
I've just been a nervous wreck
with this whole Trawler thing.
Oh.
Terry says we're installing
some new security system,
and I have to come up with
a four-digit password.
But how the hell
am I ever going to remember that?
I'm losing sleep just knowing
that there's this horrible monster
out there targeting kids.
Well, you know,
every monster has their reason
they became one.
So, down to business.
I've gone ahead and replenished
your supply of Valium
and Halcion.
I don't like the pill bottles
pharmacies use. Plastic and ugly.
You are a woman of value.
You really do think of everything.
I have news.
I have been watching
the staff at the house lately,
and in my opinion,
you are not being treated
with the respect that you deserve.
So, I took it upon myself
to distribute a memo to the help.
From now on,
you will be addressed as Ms. Schaffer,
not Mrs. Schaffer.
People should see
that Terry does not define you.
This town runs
on the backs of women like you.
It's true.
I crawled through glass, Steven,
with a smile on my face
and a Miss Indiana sash
choking me out along the way.
I find it calming
to be placed on a pedestal.
Even if it's yours.
So thank you for that.
Well,
say goodbye
to that momentary peace, Ms. Schaffer,
because I'm about to say something
that may destabilize you.
Don't scream.
Don't make a scene.
Just listen.
I know about the porno film.
What porno?
Oh, honey, I've seen you do things
the human body has no business attempting.
How did you see it?
They promised me
it would only be an overseas release.
If Echo Park Lake can be considered a sea,
then they have indeed.
What?
It's playing in town here?
You and little baby Ryan
on a silver screen
that grows more tarnished
with each showing.
Oh, my God, what have I done?
Terry will leave me.
I'll have no money.
Oh, my God, I'll have no money.
Take a Halcion, honey. It'll help.
If you even think
about telling anyone about this,
so help me God,
you don't know what I'm capable of.
Stop.
Just stop it right now.
Of course your secret is safe with me.
I just want to know why you did it.
I don't know.
I don't even know who I am anymore.
Or why I do what I do.
I'm just an object now.
It was the vengeful impulse
of a rusty trophy, the dirty movie.
-That's all.
-Are you sure about that?
Maybe I wanted to be touched again
even if it was only in a scene
we were playing.
Spare me The Day of The Locust act, Liz.
I ain't buying it.
Uh, one final round, please. Thank you.
I think there's something bubbling beneath
the constantly turbulent surface here.
I can see your daydreams.
I know you want to act,
and I think this was
just a perverse attempt
at moving towards that dream.
"Out, damned spot. Out, I say."
One, two.
Why, then 'tis time to do it.
"Hell is murky."
"False face must hide
what the false heart doth know."
I want you to know
that I purchased every negative,
so you don't have to worry
about it ever seeing the light of day.
And to protect you from your husband.
Oh, Steven.
Oh, my God, thank you.
But I'm gonna hold on
to them, though, sweetie.
'Cause I got to look out for myself.
-What do you want?
-What I deserve.
Terry doesn't see me
as a contender in this industry,
so I'm gonna need your help
in bringing to life a grand vision.
A film called Less Than Zero,
and I'm going to produce with him.
Debbie's boyfriend Bret wrote a treatment
based on a novel he's writing.
It's brilliant.
I wrote glowing coverage,
and Terry wouldn't even read it.
Liz, he doesn't fucking read.
He just took
a bullshit meeting with Mr. Ellis,
but he's not gonna close the rights.
You are gonna help me get them.
There's a role for you in the project.
You are perfect for it.
Become, at long last, a star.
-What do you need me to do?
-Every night while Terry sleeps,
I need you to whisper
a single sentence into his ear
no fewer than 100 times,
just like Nancy does with Ronnie Reagan
to get her little plans in his head.
What is the sentence?
"Less Than Zero
will make you $100 million."
Our next lesson was on Hamlet,
and the parallels
to my increasingly unrecognizable life
were so blinding
that I couldn't help but feel mocked.
We were both princes.
We were both secretive,
and we both knew
that something very rotten
was afoot within our own kingdoms.
All right, I need
Acts 1 through 3 read before next class.
And I want 500 words
on how Shakespeare is commenting
on the connection between
mortality and madness.
Thank you.
Bret, you have a second?
-We should talk. In private.
-Would it be all right
if we asked you for this classroom
for just a few minutes?
All right. Though I do have
another class in here shortly.
Shouldn't be long.
Sure.
We got some more questions for you
about Matt Kellner.
What kind of questions?
Questions about
your personal relationship with Matt.
My personal relationship with Matt?
We were just acquaintances.
Not even close, really.
If you want to speak with someone
who was close with Matt,
I suggest talking to Robert Mallory
about him.
We already have talked
to Robert Mallory about him, extensively.
Let me ask you a question, Bret.
Did you go to the Kellner house
on the day that Matt disappeared?
You didn't tell us that before.
I didn't think it was significant.
We were discussing a class assignment.
He needed help with it.
There was another thing
you didn't tell us.
You visited Matt's father
after his disappearance.
I-I just didn't think it was relevant.
Why did you?
-Out of concern for my friend.
-I thought you weren't friends.
Which is it?
Were you or were you not friends?
Or…
were you something else altogether?
Inconsistencies are not always meaningful,
but when they're attributed to the person
who found the victim's body…
yeah, then we feel obligated
to maybe dig a little deeper.
Of course.
Is that all, officers?
Hmm. There is one more.
You were overheard
on the soundstage of Dance Off!
Whispering to Debbie Schaffer
that she deserved to win.
How badly
did you want your girlfriend to win, Bret?
Are you implying that I killed Cha Cha?
Where is this coming from?
Am I under arrest?
Should you be?
Officers, I need my classroom back now.
No worries, ma'am.
We were just finishing up here.
Thank you, ma'am.
My secrets were catching up to me.
My anxiety from concealing my sexuality
had inadvertently led
to becoming a suspect.
I didn't have an alibi.
I was fucked.
Someone was coloring
their perception of me,
and I knew exactly who that was.
Robert, I know it's you.
I thought that nothing
could terrify me more
than being framed
for Matt Kellner's murder.
You did great, the project…
But I was wrong. This was somehow worse.
I wasn't wrong. I wasn't right.
Come on in, kid.
Yeah.
Bob…
Bob…
Yeah.
It's ridiculous. No, Bob.
I-I gotta let you go.
Yeah. I'm meeting with a piece of talent.
Yeah.
Yeah, you're sick. You know that, Bob?
I'll talk to you later. Bye.
You want a drink?
No, thank you.
Straight to business.
Now listen,
I took a look at your treatments,
and, um, I'm inclined to option it.
Wow.
Certain people
whose opinions I occasionally consider
have been whispering in my ear
how brilliant it is.
I listen to whispers.
I'm happy to hear that.
Your writing is so… adult.
So many times, stories about juveniles
can be so juvenile, untrue.
Yes, yes, exactly.
But you, your writing,
I can tell you understand adult things.
Don't you, Bret?
I mean,
I believe that you know how things work.
I believe you understand…
risk.
I believe that you understand
how much of a flyer
I would be taking
on a first-time screenwriter.
But you also know how good things can be.
Things that we can…
do for each other.
Right?
Yeah.
Terrific.
You sure you don't want that drink?
Yeah.
Okay.
I'm gonna go freshen up.
Terry was wrong.
I didn't understand adult things.
I just thought I did.
I've learned through time that
many young people make the same mistake.
I thought I was in control that afternoon
at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
I thought it was my choice
to leave the bathroom,
my choice to stay in that room.
Here's what I remember:
the sight of Terry's naked body.
He looked younger than he was.
Objectively attractive,
but too old for me to even contemplate
as a realistic sex partner.
And yet there I was, doing just that.
Terry pulled me up against him
and roughly kissed my mouth.
He tasted like champagne and weed.
He playfully shoved me onto the bed
and pulled off my pants.
I accommodated him,
lifting my feet off the floor
so he could remove all of my clothes.
Though I was fully hard,
I didn't feel any excitement
when Terry sucked and stroked my cock.
I felt nothing
as he slapped it against his face,
deep throating and inhaling it.
This continued for a number of minutes,
at which point Terry grabbed my hips,
rolled me onto my stomach
and lifted up my ass.
I wondered whether this was just
how older guys did it.
At that point,
I'd only been with Matt and Ryan.
I remember how much it hurt
and the relief I felt
when I rolled onto my back.
I remember it was completely silent
except for the breeze outside
teasing the palm trees.
And then it was over.
I returned to the bathroom
and examined myself in the mirror.
I thought I looked composed.
And not just composed,
but like I had
actually accomplished something.
I chose this, didn't I?
I understood adult things.
I understood the way the world worked.
This wasn't what I wanted,
but it wasn't so bad.
Or maybe it was.
What did I know anyway?
I was just a kid.
It was my darkest secret.
And now it wasn't even that.
The information was out there.
I couldn't control that either.
Someone had taped us, but who and why?
All I knew was that it was 1981
and I was 18 and closeted.
I would have rather been outed
as a psychotic serial killer
than a homosexual.
Hamlet is plagued
with paranoia and self-doubt,
caught between action and inaction,
caught between the desire
to avenge his father's death
and the desire to be absolutely,
totally 100% certain
of his uncle's guilt.
But does this kind of certainty exist?
Of course.
How can you be sure?
Well, if you've seen someone do something,
that's objective reality.
Truth.
Hamlet saw a ghost.
Does that sound like truth?
No, that's a sort of
grief-induced hallucination.
You disagree, Mr. Mallory?
Disagree that Hamlet's a nutjob?
Certainly not.
I disagree that
there's something known as the truth.
"There is nothing either good or bad,
but thinking makes it so." Act 2, Scene 2.
"The lady doth protest too much,
methinks." Act 3, Scene 2.
Let Mr. Mallory continue.
Apologies, ma'am.
Officers, this is
my classroom, not the police academy.
We just need a word with, uh…
one of your students.
Mr. Mallory.
"Good night, sweet prince."
After you.
I raced to the phone
on that hot October afternoon…
…expecting another round of obscene
wet-sounding breathing from The Trawler.
Hello, who is this?
It wasn't him.
She never lets me make
My own decisions… ♪
Instead, somewhat shockingly,
the caller was
Robert Mallory's Aunt Abigail.
She insisted
she needed to speak with me in person
and that Robert must never know.
I didn't know if you were coming or not.
Do you want a drink?
No, thank you.
I'm sorry if I seem a little off.
I just got out of a meeting
with my attorney.
Me and my husband are in the middle
of a rather protracted divorce,
and he is acting fairly difficult.
Though I think he says
the same thing about me.
I probably should have rescheduled this.
I'm sorry.
Yes, another.
Robert says you don't like him much.
Let's just say we're always joking around.
Robert doesn't think you're joking around.
He doesn't believe that.
Why are we here?
Robert has mentioned you a lot.
In fact, since the first day of school.
He said you unsettled him
when you were positive
that you saw him at a movie theater
over a year ago.
I know I saw him there.
I don't understand
why he's lying about it.
Well, we can sit here all day
and evade whatever your situation is.
Why was he in the facility?
-How did you find out about that?
-What did he do?
What did Robert do that warranted him
being put in a mental institution?
His mom's death seems to be the catalyst
for Robert going off the rails a bit,
which is to be expected, but…
his father put him there.
What happened to his mother?
Supposedly it was an accident.
She had fallen
from the upstairs landing in her home,
tripped over the banister
and landed in such a way
that she was killed instantly.
But…
you know,
there were always questions, you know.
-Questions?
-Discrepancies.
There were always questions
on Robert's father's part.
It didn't quite add up.
She had to be in a certain position
by the banister,
the railing on the second floor, he said.
Robert wasn't home.
But he was the one who found her.
Does he have an alibi?
Never mind about his mother.
Just listen to me.
Robert came to LA and stayed with me.
The summer of 1980.
And that's when you said
you saw him, right?
Yes, in May at The Shining.
Well, you were right.
You did see him.
Robert was at the theater.
And he was there with a girl.
Katherine Latchford.
That's The Trawler's first victim.
Yes, the first girl. And that is why
he said he hadn't been at the movie
because he didn't want anyone
to make the connection.
No, I-I love my nephew very much, but…
But what?
But I'm not blind.
And I don't think
you should be blinded by him either.
I couldn't believe
how fast the nausea overwhelmed me.
I wanted to go home and smoke weed
and take another Quaalude
until I was stoned enough
to annihilate myself
and crawl under the blankets on my bed
and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I knew with certainty now
who The Trawler was.
Now I had proof.
Had the police figured out his lie?
Is that why they took him in
for a last and final questioning?
Looking back, at that point,
all I knew for sure was that something
was rotten in the state of California.
Robert.
What do you want from me, Bret?
I'm sorry.
How did you get in here?
They took me in a second time,
threatened to book me.
They asked me about horrific things,
terrible things,
things that I'm incapable of doing.
But they think that I'm doing them
because of you.
My mother died, Bret.
Haven't I been through enough?
I've never hurt anybody.
It's not who I am.
Why do you want it to be?
Why do you hate me so much?
I don't hate you.
Then why are you doing all this?
Why do people always turn against me?
Friends and family members.
Is it because I look this way?
Too perfect?
It kills me that
they don't see the real me. This me.
The boy with the broken heart.
There are just some things about you
that I can't ignore.
We're all really scared right now.
You have to admit that you have a history.
It's true.
I have a history of mental instability.
I have depression, I have anxiety.
But that doesn't make me a bad person.
Am I a bad person?
Tell me I'm not, Bret.
"To be, or not to be:
That is the question."
O Superman ♪
O judge ♪
O Mom and Dad ♪
Mom and Dad ♪
O Superman ♪
O judge ♪
In your automatic arms ♪
Your electronic arms ♪
In your arms ♪
So hold me, Mom ♪
In your long arms ♪
Your petrochemical arms ♪
Your military arms ♪