The Room

Alan Ball: Listen, I want to apologize. I think we got off on the wrong foot.
Aaron: I'll say.
Alan Ball: I mean, everyone thought we were dead in the water, but it looks like the show's got some life in it after all, huh?
Aaron: Yeah. You're killing me with the puns over here.
Alan Ball: I know. I can't help it. I just keep coughin' 'em up. By the way, get it? "Coffin"?
Aaron: Oh, I get it. Get it out now, that is.
Alan Ball: And that's another thing. Why you always gotta be so mean?
Aaron: Hey, I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
Alan Ball: Ooh, good one. Is that from the Bible?
Aaron: Ja. Es ist von Deuteronomy.
Alan Ball: En fait, pas vraiment, mais je ne dirai pas.
Aaron: Hey, while we're chatting, do you think you could maybe put in a good word for me with Lauren? If she won't do the interview, you could at least get her to drop the restraining order.
Alan Ball: I doubt it. Those "Marry me, Lauren" billboards really creeped her out.
Aaron: Yeah, I know. But Gustave has interviewed the entire cast of Popular like seventeen million times. I'm getting a little inferiority complex over here.
Alan Ball: Gee, I wonder why.
Aaron: Hey!
Alan Ball: Don't look at me, buddy. I begged them to let Gustave recap this show. But nooooooo. You had to be all, "Look at me! It's my show! It's Sunday nights on HBO! I like to rhyme and repeat myself and make up phony conversations with people! Isn't that clever? Aren't I funny?"
Aaron: Don't make me send Kenny the Corpse over there.
Alan Ball: Shh. The show is about to start.

Reaching deep into his big bag of Visual Metaphors For Death, my new best friend Alan Ball fades up on curtains billowing against an open window. Of course, the de rigueur ironic twist is that its actually sunrise, rather than sunset. Pan over to what's really a quite quaint bedroom, where an elderly black man raises himself from the bed, griping about how cold it is. He closes the window, gripes some more, puts on a robe (StR = 43), gripes some more, and then tries to wake his slumbering wife. Gee, does sleep = death? I forget. I'll just mention up front that Gripey Guy is played by Bill Cobbs. I'd use one his movies as the de rigueur ironic nickname, but the guy has been in every movie ever made, so there were too many to choose from. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Although, if you actually bothered to read the threads I linked to above, you might be interested to know that his first film ever was The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3. The theatrical version, even. Anyway, the wife is our latest La Femme Morte de la Semaine, and The Ironically White Title Card of Death ironically laments the passing of one Mildred "Hattie" Effinger Jones. I've decided that the SFU writing staff is almost, but not quite, as good as you guys at coming up with the names. But more on that later.

Meanwhile, over at Brenda's place, Nate's gnarly-haired rectangle head looms before us, reading his book about Brenda in the foreground, while Brenda herself prances around the kitchen behind him. She's babbling on about some annoying client with a lot of dogs, and it's a stream-of-consciousness rant that somehow ends with the line, "It's like being in a live sex-show for Asian businessmen and frat boys." You know, given her evident inability to self-censor, as well as her oft-demonstrated inclination to spark up the dutchies, perhaps I should be calling her Brenda the Blunt. Seeing that Nate is too engrossed in his book to be paying attention, she does what people on TV always do when they see someone isnt paying attention, and starts spouting all sorts of wild tales. She adds to the sex-show story with a reference to ping-pong balls that I can't even bear to consider re-typing here, and then muses about how funny it would be if she "got some hedge clippers and cut off [his] dick." At this, Nate finally manages to muster up a "What?" and Brenda disgustedly tells him not to read "that shit" in front of her. "I'm at the part with the doll," he says, and suddenly we're watching grainy home-video footage of the young, but still blunt, ber-genius being interviewed by an off-camera doctor. Young Brenda claims her doll is angry because the doctor raped her (the doll, not Brenda), and provides a dictionary-perfect definition of rape when asked if she knows what it means. Back in the present, Brenda remains blas, but Nate thinks it's neato. "It's so cool," he enthuses. "You're obviously doing it to scare him into leaving you alone." Gee, does Brenda ever do that sort of thing? I forget. Anyway, she gives him some spoilers on what happens in the chapter, and then they pack up and head out to face the day. Incidentally, I have a doll too. His name is Timmy.

Formaldehyde Fortress. A nifty little twisting shot shows us Mommie Drearest, staring blankly at an empty pot while David walks into the kitchen behind her. After discovering that the director I mocked so mercilessly last week was Kathy Bates, I'm now forced to give credit where credit is due. I'll also say oops, sorry, Kathy. I loved you in The Late Shift. More importantly, I feared you in Misery, so, you know, please put down the sledgehammer. Anyway, David notices his mother's distraction, and plants a concerned kiss on her cheek as he heads downstairs to work.

Across town, Nate stops off at an auto-repair shop to pick up his car. He chats with the owner about The Late Nate, and is bewildered to learn that his dad talked about him a lot. Then he's shocked to hear Dad described as a "funny guy." When he pulls out his credit card, the owner tells him he doesn't have to pay, because The Late Nate buried the owner's brother in exchange for free oil changes. As the scene ends, Peter Krause runs through a mental list of synonyms for shocked and bewildered that he can attempt to emote before settling on what appears to be "flabbergasted." Back at the Fortress, Claire cruises through the kitchen on the way to school, shouting, "Have a nice day," to a still dazed Mommie Drearest as she passes. Only when the door slams shut does Ruth realize she's alone and snap out of her saucepan somnolence.

Das Sargzimmer im Fisherhaus. David is making arrangements with Bill Cobbs. Gripey Guy, as always, is griping. First he doesn't want to spring for a double plot in the cemetery, and then he demands that Hattie not be autopsied, embalmed, or otherwise altered before the viewing. David gently tries to explain the necessity of preparing the body. "After death, the body immediately begins to decompose. Much quicker than you might think. The skin begins to separate, there's quite an unpleasant odorthat's just the way it is, Mr. [Cobbs]." Bill finally relents and agrees to the embalming, but refuses to pay for it. Then he gripes some more. David rolls his eyes and offers to waive the fee. We then cut downstairs, and pan from Hattie's body on the table over to Nate, who is going through Dad's old ledgers in the back room. Looking up the garage owner's entry, he finds it marked with a red asterisk to the word "paid." He flips through the book until he finds another funeral with the asterisk, and we fade to white as he jots down the address.

Fade back up on St. Bartholomew's Church of Repressed Sexuality, as David is escorting his mother out of the building after services. They're almost immediately accosted by Tracy the Funeral Stalker, or as I've now taken to calling her, Our Lady of Perpetual Perkiness. She asks David if she'll ever get to meet his fiance, and the presence of his mother forces David to admit that he's called the wedding off. He grabs OLoPP's arm and pulls her away from Mom, explaining that "it's really a sore subject for all of us." Before Ruth can be too puzzled by all this, Ed Begley Jr. arrives, and everyone's thoughts turn from puzzlement to puking. Well, not really, but as always, it's alliterative, so I'll let it slide. Last week's homework assignment has yielded a veritable bumper crop of stellar Begley nicknames, so I think we'll open the bidding with the also always alliterative Hiram the Hairdressing Ho (tm [again, as almost always] sorkinhead). He greets Ruth, and explains that he's been staying away from church because he thought they needed some space. He asks her out again, and when she says no, he wonders if she "hasn't punished [herself] enough." David rejoins them at this point, and after casually shaking Hiram the Hairdressing Ho's hand, he notes his mother's disturbed demeanor. Putting two and two together, he quickly infers just who Hiram might be. "Nice to finally meet you, son," says St. Elsewhore (tm Karabella), but David isn't having it. "Don't call me that," he growls, forcing Ruth to admonish him. David leaves to fetch the car, and Mom follows a moment later, after (believe it or not) telling Eddie that he looks good.

Suddenly, it's morning again at The Formaldehyde Fortress, and the ringing of the doorbell brings a still-sleepy Claire down the stairs. She opens the door to find Gripey Guy, who demands admission so that he can see his wife. "Look, sir, I'm sorry," she says, "but I don't deal with the dead people, so you'll just have to come back when my brothers are home." Heh. She tries to close the door on him, but he blocks it with his foot, shouting, "Bitch, I don't need your permission to see my wife." Hey! Back off, Billy! Nobody talks to Lauren that way. Changing tactics, he turns around to scream to the neighborhood that "there's a white girl trying to cripple an old black man." Claire finally relents and lets him in. Cut to the official Ticking Clock Shot That Signifies The Passing Of Time, and then Brenda enters through the front door and starts shouting, "Is anybody home?" Claire's voice calls to her from off-screen, and Brenda walks into the funeral room to find Claire and Gripey Guy sitting on a couch. He's asleep and drooling on her shoulder, and has one her hands locked in, well, a death-grip. Claire explains how they got there, and how he passed out and now she "can't get his fucking hand to let go." "Maybe he died," opines Brenda. "Very funny," replies Claire. "But he's still breathing. And farting." Heh. I love Lauren. [The three sentences have been deleted at the request of Lauren Ambrose's legal team.] Brenda gives Claire, well, a hand, and together they pry her loose from Mr. Cobbs. Brenda mentions that she's looking for Nate because she needs his help moving an antique chest, but when he's nowhere to be found, Claire promptly suggests using her own newfound freedom to help out. Brenda doesn't seem too excited by that idea, leaving Claire to wonder if she's "no good, because the whole cabinet moving thing is just foreplay for you to fuck my brother." Instead of being impressed that young Claire could be her equal in inappropriate sexual bluntness, Brenda slams her with, "No, I'm just not in to babysitting high-school girls. No offense."

Gripey Guy takes this opportunity to wake up and gripe about them trying to steal his watch, and Claire jumps up off the sofa in a huff. "Look, we've got to go move a chest," she snarks, drawing a sharp glance from Brenda. "Someone should be back soon to let you see your wife." Bill Cobbs, in a gravelly voice infused with the sage Wisdom of the Minorities found so frequently in this, our Alan Ball world, simply replies, "Little girl, you ain't fooling nobody." Nobody but me, that is. Claire goes off to change, and Brenda asks Bill if he'll be okay there alone. "Everybody is alone. You're born alone, you die alone, goddammit," he replies, and Brenda, at last impressed that she's found someone more metaphysical than she, joins him on the couch.

Cut to Nate, arriving at a nursery. For plants, not for kids. He spies the owner, and identifies himself as "Nate Fisher, Nathaniel's son." Now we cut to the owner's office, where she cries at the thought of "never seeing [The Late Nate] again. He was such a kookI don't think anybody ever made me laugh like that." Nobody but me, that is. "He had such a sense of humor," she continues. "So I hear," is all Nate can reply. When she mentions that Dad was really proud of him, Nate is forced to admit that he's "Nate, not David." Potted Plant Lady knows this, and tells us all again how proud Dad was that Nate got away. He asks if she maybe had any kind of arrangement with his dad, and mentions that her entry in the ledgers at Fisher & Sons was marked with the asterisk. "Don't take this the wrong way," she replies, "but can I see some identification? A driver's license will do." I'm actually really glad she asked that, because I've been TiVoing the nine daily showings of Sports Night on Comedy Central lately, and Peter Krause is appearing especially Casey-ish in this scene. He hands over his license, and after checking it out, PPL hands over about an ounce of Humboldt County's finest. "My father never smoked pot," insists Nate. "Not in front of you, he didn't," answers Potted Plant Lady. By the way, do you get it now? Anyway, they've clearly exhausted Peter Krause's repertoire of "shocked" expressions, so they just cut to a close-up of the pot before ending the scene.