Cheers s05e10 Episode Script

Everyone Imitates Art

Cheers is filmed before a live studio audience.
(whistling) Party till dawn on the Big W.
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DEEJAY: You're listening to the rockin' sounds of J.
But first, let's take a look at tomorrow's weather (Woody whistling) (piano plays) Making your way in the world today Takes everything you've got Taking a break from all your worries Sure would help a lot Wouldn't you like to get away Sometimes you want to go Where everybody knows your name And they're always glad you came You want to be where you can see Our troubles are all the same You want to be where everybody knows your name You want to go where people know People are all the same You want to go where everybody knows your name.
Of all the stinkin', dirty, rotten, maggot-sucking, vermin-infested stinkweeds! Practicing for that Mother of the Year speech again, Carla? Shut up! What seems to be the problem? I've been planning my Elvis pilgrimage to Memphis for weeks, and now Nick is backing out of taking care of the kids.
He says his appendix burst.
Well, that seems serious to me.
His appendix bursts every time I need a favor.
Boy, if he was smart, he'd have that removed.
Hello, one and all.
How are you, love of my life? Just fine, pain in my neck.
The most exciting thing has happened.
You'll never guess.
I got a letter from Syzygy.
Stop it! Yeah! All right, all right, who's Syzygy? It's not a who-- it's a new literary review, dedicated to publishing the prose and poetry that's right on the cutting edge.
Well, I, for one, am excited for you, Diane.
Ah, there, it passed.
Oh let-let me have a look at it.
What does the letter say? Well, I submitted one of my poems for publication, and quite honestly, I was overwhelmed by the response.
It was more than I could ever have hoped for.
But I blush.
Read it.
It speaks for itself.
(giggles) Oh, uh this is a rejection letter.
It's not a rejection letter per se.
It's a "soon and inevitably to be accepted" letter.
Listen to this.
"Your work is not entirely without promise.
" They're almost begging for another submission.
Boy, you know, I I hope you don't get your hopes up there too high, because that looks like a form letter to me.
Poor Sam.
This really threatens you, doesn't it? Let me assure you that I can heed my man as well as my muse.
Syzygy would not even have bothered to respond to my letter if they hadn't perceived me as an up-and-coming literary talent.
You know, this is just like you.
You-you turn every defeat into a victory.
It's like the time when I said that I didn't want to see you anymore, and you all of a sudden start making wedding plans.
Sam, we can talk about the wedding later-- I have work to do.
You know, I bet I could, uh, send a poem to that magazine and get the same letter back that you did.
Oh, Sam, you don't want to write a poem.
Poetry is very, very difficult.
What's the big deal? All you got to do is rhyme.
Most great modern poetry doesn't necessarily have to rhyme.
Well, that's even easier, isn't it? Fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
Go ahead, write your little poem.
You don't think I can even write a stupid poem.
Of course you can.
Don't forget to capitalize the first letter.
I'm gonna do this.
I'm gonna show you that I can be as much of a reject as you.
I told you, I was not rejected.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little creating to do.
Coffee (quietly): Any of you guys know how to write poetry? Uh, I know how to make fun of 'em.
Great, Nick.
That's wonderful.
You're not as much of a scum bucket as I thought you were.
No, that's not an attempt at reconciliation.
Hey, Nick's gonna take care of the kids.
Graceland, here I come.
Hey, all right.
Hey, all right.
Didn't you go to Graceland last year? Yeah, but this is special-- I mean, how many times does the tenth anniversary of Elvis's death roll around? Don't ask me.
I wasn't a fan.
Hi, Sam.
Sam, have you received that rejection letter for your poem yet? No, I haven't.
The letter I received arrived within two weeks of my submission, and here it is, three weeks, and nothing for you.
Isn't that odd? Odd.
What's this? It's that magazine you couldn't get your poetry into.
Thank you, Woody.
I mean, what is it doing here? Well, I decided if I'm gonna try to write, I might as well read some of that poetry stuff.
Sam, that's very commendable.
I didn't realize the new issue was out.
Yeah, it's not bad, either.
They got one I really like.
Page 37, I believe.
Yeah, read it out loud.
It'd be good for me to hear.
All right.
"Nocturne" by Sam Mal oh! Now ooh, Diane, come on, please, books are our friends.
The page is 37 there.
Yes, thank you.
Well (chuckles) Diane Chambers is nothing if not open-minded.
Perhaps you you do have some spark of talent.
They published your poem, huh? CLIFF: All right! Hey, don't let it get out, though, that I'm a sensitive guy.
Oh, yeah, yeah! Hey, Sammy! Very well, I've arrived at my objective opinion.
All right.
This is one of the most amateurish, hackneyed, odious pieces of effluvium ever to wash down the pike.
Listen to this drivel.
"I fly through a puckish arena, "where echoes dance, where echoes dance, where echoes dance" This sounds familiar.
Well, you said it three times.
This poem is plagiarized.
Oh, now I stole it? And a minute ago, you said it stunk.
It does stink.
Leave it to you to not have the sense to steal something worthwhile.
Aw, you know, I realize that it's tough to have somebody come along and swipe your dreams of glory, so I will not take offense at that remark.
That poem is fraudulent, and I intend to find its true source, even if I have to search through every greeting card to do so.
(Sam laughs) Believe me, Sam Malone, I will not rest until today, the blackest day in the history of literature, is blotted out for all eternity.
Diane, I think you're getting overexcited.
Uh, why don't you just calm down? I tell you, I've just come from my Coping With Anxiety Group, and I have just the trick.
Now, here.
Put this over your head and breathe.
I assure you, I am in complete control.
I think the bag's a good idea anyhow.
It's been proven time and time again that reincarnation breaks no physical laws as we know 'em.
You know, I was thinking about this the other day, and, uh, I think in my next life I'd like to come back as the president of France.
Why is that, Wood? Well, I think it'd attract a lot of business to the bar.
Coffee, Woody.
Oh, sure thing, Miss Chambers.
I'll take the pot.
Say, what's with Diane there? FRASIER: She's still searching for Sam's poem.
Crane, I think you ought to talk to her.
I mean, all she does is read, read, read.
I bet she goes through a book a week.
Uh Diane, uh, Diane, you don't smoke.
What's your point? Hey, there! Still looking for that poem, huh? I'm sure it's a post-war piece.
It's not British.
The syntax is wrong.
I have a hunch it might be regional.
You may not believe this, but, uh, I do sympathize with you.
It's not easy to watch those people you scoffed at run past you while you remain stuck in the mud like a weighted-down elephant.
Made that up.
Does this mean that you've stopped trying to get your poetry published? Not at all.
Oh I'm diligently producing new work.
Well, that-that's good.
Uh, I'd love to talk to you about it.
Uh, how's it goin', Diane? Would you like to know how it's going? Yeah.
This is how it's going.
I'm totally blocked.
I can't write another word.
"Hurricane of Wills," unfinished.
"The Death of a Shallow Man," unfinished.
"A Bartender Dismembered," unfinished.
I suffer failure after failure while you, a despoiler of the English language are lionized in front of the world.
That's how it's going.
Well, maybe this little literary chat wasn't such a good idea.
Wanna make out? Well Make out? Diane, now listen, uh, listen, I think the joke's gone far enough, don't you? You haven't eaten a decent meal in a week.
You're living off of cigarettes and coffee.
I mean, for God's sake, this little literary magazine's circulation must be what, 600.
That's just the beginning.
You see, the original 600 readers drop their copies on buses, in taxicabs and doctors' offices.
And another 600 people pick them up and take them to the airport, where they go all over the country.
And then they get taken on international flights.
Tierra del Fuego, Sierra Leone; all the remotest parts of the world.
And soon, I defy you to find me a house, a hut, an igloo or a wickiup that doesn't have a copy on the coffee table.
Diane And then, then, then (voice breaking): everyone in the world, every living thing will be laughing at me! Because he got published, and I did not! Hi, everybody, I'm back! CLIFF: Hey, Carla! How was the trip? Greatest vacation I have ever taken in my life.
Graceland does not disappoint.
And to commemorate the special anniversary, I had this picture taken of me and Elvis.
CLIFF: Oh, look at that.
How do they do that? They use cardboard cutouts.
Wow, you know, you look almost lifelike here.
So do you, Woody.
Woody, more coffee.
Okay, Miss Chambers.
I've got something to cheer ya up.
I sent in a poem to that magazine of yours.
Oh, my God, don't tell me that they published yours, too? No, I got one of your "soon and inevitably to be accepted" letters.
Huh? That's pretty exciting.
Oh, my God.
Sam was right.
Sam the Bard.
It was a form letter all along.
We two were sent a condescending form letter.
I'm framing mine.
You okay? You win, Sam.
I've struggled so hard for so long to keep my dreams alive, and I haven't fooled anyone but myself.
I know all along you all considered me a pretentious, self-deluded windbag and apparently, you've all been right.
I'm never going to be Diane Chambers, the great poet, the world-famous novelist, the revered artist.
I've gone as high as I'm going to go.
I'm a waitress in a beer hall and not a very good one.
A waitress.
A waitress.
A waitress.
Miss, could you take our order? (sobbing) Come on.
Let's go have a talk in my office.
Come on.
Sweetheart? Okay, come on, sweetheart.
Come on.
Sit in the big chair there.
Okay, I have something, uh, I have to say here.
And, uh, I just want you to promise before I say it that you, uh, won't go crazy.
Don't worry.
I've hit rock bottom.
I have no emotions left.
Oh, all right.
Um I, uh, I did copy that poem.
You are scum.
I tried to make one up myself, but I-I just couldn't, and so I-I copied one.
I never thought it would be published, I promise.
What could you possibly have been thinking of, Sam? It obviously had been published to begin with.
No, no, no, it hadn't.
Well, then please tell me.
I think you owe me that much.
Where did it come from? Well, actually, it, uh, came from a letter that you wrote to me.
One of my letters? Mm-hmm.
And when you didn't recognize it out there, I decided to play it out, and rub your smug little nose in it.
I'm sorry.
I probably went too far.
Oh, my God, it's one of mine.
How could I not recognize this exquisite fluidity? The characteristic Chambers' grace in the face of hard imagery? Come on.
You told me that it stunk.
Sam, I'm a poet, not a critic.
Oh I'm published! Yeah! I'm published! Oh, this is so exciting! This is like like the first time I ever rode a bicycle.
Oh, this is great.
You're-you're not mad.
Mad? I'm elated.
Hey, all I'm elated, too.
Oh, what a glorious day.
I'm going to go do what poets do drink myself stinky.
(laughs) Wait a minute.
This always happens.
You always squirm out of these things unscathed.
You did a terrible thing! I know it.
No, you don't.
You put me through hell.
This time it's going to be different.
I'm going to make you suffer.
What-what're you going to do? I don't know.
Yes, I do.
You're going out there and admit to everyone that you stole this poem from me.
Oh, come on, you mean I have to go out and tell the whole bar that I'm not a poet? You sure do, mister.
Let's go.
(gasps) What? What? What? What? What? Mm What are you doin'? Oh, yeah, I've heard about this.
You wanna go back to my place and ride a bike? Don't you ever, ever again try to tell me that you don't love me.
Oh, God, every time I think I'm about to get my hedge clipped, you start talkin' about love, and it's just not fair.
You saved my love letters.
I was so excited about being a published poet, it didn't sink in at first.
This proves it.
You love me now as you always did, madly and completely.
Hey, wait, listen to me.
I did not save your letters.
Where did this come from? I found it in my apartment.
I got pizza boxes that old that have more meaning.
Come on.
Sam Malone, look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me.
If you can do that, then I have no choice but to believe you.
Oh, boy, I'm sorry, but I don't love you, Diane.
Uh, I thought I did once, but I was wrong.
There's nothin' goin' on between us here.
I mean, it's all over.
Very well.
That was in the eyes, wasn't it? I guess I'll go before I make a bigger fool of myself.
Aha! What the hell are you doing? I came to catch you in a lie, and I did.
Don't I know my darling better than anyone else? Okay, so I kept some of your letters.
Big deal.
I mean, that doesn't prove anything.
I mean, I got lots of junk in here.
Look at this.
I save all sorts of things.
Look-look at that.
Where is it? A warranty for my toaster.
Look at that, huh? My letters.
A ticket-- here-here it is-- a ticket to, uh, 1980 boat show.
Your protests only prove my point.
There, poker chips.
Three poker chips.
You know, Sam, Each one of these poker chips I was thinking.
means more to me than your letters.
You know when we finally do get married, A key.
we could move to the country.
A whistle.
Not too far away Look at that-- a whistle.
because I couldn't be far from the theater.
A double-C battery.
And I know how much you love the ocean.
Sam Four paper clips.