Agent Elvis (2023) s01e09 Episode Script

1
Look, Howard.
I didn't ask you what I should name it.
Still loving "Rhinostradamus."
I just need to know what it eats,
what to feed it.
Oh, that's easy.
Squirrels and small children, mostly.
Hey, what the
Uh, you know what happened to the last guy
who did that when I was on the phone?
- No.
- Exactly. And nobody ever will.
Industrial wood chippers
are handy that way.
You and I need to talk.
As in, you can go now.
Is this about you taking acid
and destroying your own home? Classic!
Quick question: did you really drive
a little sports car through your gate?
Little sports car?
It's called a De Tomaso Pantera.
Which I believe is Italian
for "early midlife crisis."
You should come over sometime
and check it out.
Of course, you'll have to make your way
through the thousands of fans
who camp out
in front of Graceland every day.
You know, I almost named my house once,
and then I remembered,
I'm not a fucking child.
Ooh, burn!
Well, that was fun. You can go now.
I got your boy Leary back for you.
Great.
You want a thank-you hug or something?
Hey, Doyle! Come hug Elvis!
What? Really?
Shut the fuck up, Doyle.
Leary mentioned something
that got me thinking.
Oh, that right?
Project Tupelo.
"Dirty sandwich,"
in case we're playing a new game
where we just say random words out loud.
Project Tupelo.
- You ever heard of it?
- Can't say I have.
Which doesn't mean you haven't.
Yeah, it's an idiom. Here's another one:
Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
Look here.
I think there's a ton of shit
that you're not telling me.
Know that.
- Hang back for a sec.
- What's up?
You're good
at quietly stalking people, right?
Allegedly stalking, to quote my lawyer.
Keep an eye on Elvis for me.
Let me know if he gets up to anything.
Will do.
Yeah, not a chance, little guy.
I'm so gonna die alone.
You're seriously
just now figuring that out?
Nice setup, Howard.
Fuck nice.
This little baby is state-of-the-art.
An entire database
that fits inside a single room.
Say, mind if I give it a whirl?
Sorry.
Walt and I are kind of busy.
- Walt?
- Whoa! Where are my manners?
Say hello to Walt Disney.
- Well, a piece of him, anyway.
- What the hell?
He's my best friend/
business partner/murder victim.
Walt Disney wasn't murdered.
Says you.
But did you know Walt's dying words
were the name "Kurt Russell"?
- You don't find that a little suspicious?
- Look here, if I say yes,
can I borrow that computer a sec?
I don't think
I'm supposed to let you do that.
Well, Walt here says it's okay.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can hear him?
Why not?
Now that actually makes
a ton of sense to me.
Go right ahead.
What else did Walt say? Did he tell you
about the robot assassins I made for him
modeled after US presidents?
Turns out he wanted
something more vanilla.
What the hell is Sub-Level 7?
Not what, where? Now
It's an ultra-classified area.
- But shut the fuck up about it.
- Where is it?
Oh!
No idea! Only the Commander knows.
Wait, wait, wait!
Did Walt say anything about his murder?
Just
that he wasn't murdered at all.
Classic Walt! The king of misdirection.
Guess it's up to me, then, right, Kurt?
And the Scatter Cam is up.
We got the front view, side view, and
That's supposed to be a rear view.
Well, then, unfortunately, it is working.
Scatter, you read?
This is kids' stuff,
simple trail and tail, buddy.
Oh, come on.
Ah, come on!
Oh, come on.
Huh. I always imagined
his days would be busier.
Oh come on. Come on. Come on.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Got him.
Bertie, how's my number-one person
in the world doing today?
Buttering you up?
Come on now, that's nonsense.
But yeah, I need a pretty big favor.
Oh, is that a glory hole?
Guess they're not just
for fun airport bathrooms anymore.
- What are you doing here?
- Take it easy.
Are you fucking stalking me?
Hey, it's not stalking
if I don't think you're hot.
To quote my lawyer.
Who I do not think is very good.
You still haven't answered my question.
Look, it wasn't my idea.
The Commander asked me to.
This right here. This right here.
This is why I am done trusting you people.
Are you also done
being overly dramatic?
I'm not going to rat you out, okay?
Now, what do you say we hit Sub-Level 7?
This has nothing to do with you.
Oh, come on. I've been dying
to see Sub-Level 7 for years.
Not to mention,
I can maybe find out down there
- if the Commander is secretly my dad.
- What?
Well, I never met my real dad growing up,
and the Commander got super weird
when I tried to seduce him.
You do the math.
Just don't get in my way.
Oh, uh,
based on personal experience,
it's a very bad idea to look
directly into a glory hole like that.
Jesus,
there are vein lines in there.
Ooh, custom-fit hole, huh?
Okay, well, yours still might work.
Give it a shot.
Maybe it's all out of acid now?
More like we're totally screwed now.
So you're gonna give up? Just like that?
Wow, you would make a terrible stalker.
Unless there's an exact copy of the guy's
schlong lying around somewhere
- Actually
- What?
The Commander was once
in a three-way with Marlon Brando.
What exactly made you think
I wanted to know that?
Ever heard of Penelope Penis Caster?
So let me get this straight.
This woman just runs around
making plaster casts
of famous people's private parts?
Among other things.
She's sort of
a Cynthia Plaster Caster wannabe.
Hang on. You mean
there's more than one of these people?
If by "people" you mean artists, then yes.
- Not sure this counts as art.
- This is a real skill.
It takes years to master, okay?
You can't just pull perfectly-sculpted
cocks out of thin air, you know,
like some some birthday party magician.
What kind of fucked-up
birthday parties have you been going to?
Elvis Presley, as I live and breathe.
What brings you to my studio?
Well, I just figured it was time
to wrap my erect penis in plaster
in front of a total stranger.
Well, then, you've definitely
come to the right place.
So, how's the papier-mâché dick business?
Belittling description aside,
it's going well. Thanks for asking.
I've waited a long time for this.
Well, you're gonna have to wait
just a bit longer, sweetie,
because my buddy here, he's going first.
What?
You know those folks who taste
your food to make sure it's not poisoned?
It's basically that, but for erections.
Don't worry, I got this.
I can tell what any man's penis looks like
just by looking at him.
It's a thing, trust me.
There it is.
That is definitely the one.
Huh?
Oh yeah, well, also could be that one.
Ow! Damn it!
- Just relax.
- How's it going in there?
A little hot at first, but
Ooh!
But then it's like a warm marshmallow
trying to swallow you whole
from the groin up.
Well, you're painting
quite a picture there, buddy,
but we gotta go.
Wait, what if the Commander's down there?
Bertie's got it covered.
Gotta be honest, I was a little
surprised you invited me over.
You and me both.
- I'm sorry, what?
- Nothing.
I mean,
given how our last date ended.
Oh, you mean the date where you murdered
a bunch of animal rights activists?
Yeah, that's the one.
Know what?
Let's not dwell on the ugly past.
That's my motto. Word for word.
Mind if I slip into something
a little more comfortable?
Mm.
By all means.
Jesus!
Christ almighty!
What the hell are you doing?
Apparently, misreading the room. Fuck.
Wow.
What is this place?
Yeah, and how come he gets all this,
and I can't even get assigned parking?
- Is that
- A Beechcraft Bonanza.
Just like the one that killed Buddy Holly.
Uh, more than "just like."
"Project Cricket"?
Is that
the James Dean car?
- There's the Caddy Hank Williams died in.
- Must have all been TCB agents.
More like agents
that TCB got killed, apparently.
Okay, what the hell's with the bathtub?
Holy shit! Is that the one
Jim Morrison died in?
Looks like it.
- Goddamn it!
- What?
I could've been hanging out
with Jim Morrison this whole fucking time?
No offense taken,
in case you're wondering.
Is it just me,
or is it creepy as shit down here?
Yeah.
Speaking of,
you know who'd love this place?
Comfy?
What the hell is this?
Are you fucking insane?
Don't play stupid, Kurt Russell.
You're not that good of an actor.
So you are insane, then.
We both know you killed Walt Disney.
Now you just need to admit it!
Well, I can't.
But only because
I didn't invent lung cancer.
Oh no, no, no, no!
What's this?
Kinda looks like the Hall of Presidents
at the World's Fair.
Want some popcorn?
There's a machine in the corner.
No. And stop touching things, would you?
We don't know what's booby-trapped.
Who booby-traps popcorn?
Hey, what do you think this button does?
Hey, focus. We're looking for answers.
Care to be more specific?
Project Tupelo. You ever heard of it?
Uh, nope.
But if I were you, then I'd check out
that creepy-ass tarp over there.
- You sure you want to do that?
- What?
I'm just saying,
sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Like when you give herpes to an entire
lacrosse team without even knowing it.
Hypothetically.
You know what you need?
A splash of vermouth would be nice.
What you need is more Jesus in your life.
Ooh.
Afraid I'm gonna
have to pass on the Jesus, yeah.
I'm more of an autotheistic nihilist.
An auto-what now?
It means if there's a God,
it's probably me,
and I still don't give a shit.
See? That right there is exactly why
you need to open your heart to the Lord.
Uh, why?
Because then
maybe you wouldn't strip naked
in the middle of the damn living room
like some half-assed
home invasion porno star.
Where does it say in the Bible
that Jesus never did that?
That's my first guitar.
And there's my old Army uniform.
And that's me backstage at my first
concert at the Overton Park Shell.
This is my whole life.
What's this doing here?
Yeah, real head-scratcher.
I'm going for a refill.
Again!
Again!
Again!
Again!
Are you okay?
What?
You were mumbling,
like in a trance or something.
Holy shit, I remember.
I mean, not everything, but
Well, I bet this file
might fill in the gaps.
You fucked with the Commander's shit.
Countermeasures deployed.
Yeah, how about
we don't find out what those are?
Fucking Howard.
Oh hey, listen to me, listen to me.
I didn't fucking kill Walt Disney, okay?
I barely knew the guy.
He was on set
for one day of Follow Me, Boys,
and he was super nice.
I mean, he gave all the kids cigarettes.
Ah, you know what, Kurt?
It kind of feels like
we're just going in circles here.
Well, the important thing is we tried.
Ahem, can I go now?
Or
maybe instead, we should focus on how
you can pay Walt back for your treachery.
Perhaps, and I'm just spitballing here,
with your entire body.
Actually, minus the head.
The hell are you talking about?
A head transplant, you moron.
A head transplant?
What the fuck?
Just picture it!
Walt's beautiful head
on your just-okay body.
Jesus!
What's that?
Ugh.
Shit. I gotta get back to the office.
Oh, come on.
Can't you just stay a little bit longer?
Really wish I could. Can't.
Seriously, you can't go.
Okay, wait,
what the hell is going on here?
What? Nothing, I swear.
I'm leaving.
I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that.
Fuck me.
Oh shit.
You thinking what I'm thinking?
Doubt it. I'm still
kind of stuck on the popcorn.
Shit! What now?
What are the chances
that thing's still got gas?
How are we doing?
Great! I'm having a wonderful time!
Ah, ah. Not falling for that again.
Oh good.
So they're invincible and annoying.
No, wait!
We gotta go back!
Nah, what we gotta do
is find a way out of here.
I need that file!
Do you need it more than being alive?
Close one, huh?
So, where are we going?
Maybe go grab a drink, shake it off?
Okay, this is not a reassuring silence.
Say, have either of you seen a young man
with a dotted line across his neck?
I'm going home.
And don't fucking follow me.
Fine.
Nice tone, by the way.
Met your fun little robot friends.
George!
Yep, looks dead to me.
It wasn't my fault. I swear.
I was just trying to keep him here
like Elvis told me to.
Then look on the bright side:
mission accomplished.
Will you shut the hell up?
Just relax. It'll be fine.
How?
Because this, my friend,
is why God invented unmarked graves.
- A chain saw?
- Well yeah!
If you chop them up,
the body fits in a way smaller hole.
We used to do it on the farm
all the time
with cows, mostly.
Ah!
Fuck! What the hell are you people doing?
Sit down.
You sit down!
Your friends are about to fuck
Oh!
Did you seriously
just give me a warning shot?
Nope.
Ah! Fuck!
That was a warning shot.
Now sit.
What the fuck do you want?
I saw my little tribute wall
down on Sub-Level 7.
Sub-Level 7? What's that?
Goddamn it!
Oh hell, yeah.
Now this is how you get shit done, King.
Good for you.
Project Tupelo.
I told you before, never heard of it.
Oh, wait, wait, wait.
Oh, you mean that Project Tupelo.
Start talking.
Okay.
You know, I've been
a fan of yours for a long time.
Mm-hmm. Get that a lot.
Not of your music, sorry.
But of your power.
The way you controlled the audience.
Your legions of fans. It was hypnotic.
Yeah, if you're done blowing me,
how about you get to the point?
You were the cultural phenomenon.
You started a revolution,
sonny boy, and that scared people.
You had Hoover
and the FBI shitting themselves.
- What?
- Oh yeah.
But what they saw as a threat,
I saw as an opportunity.
- For what?
- Oh, you're going to love this.
Somehow I doubt that.
The chance to weaponize rock and roll.
- Sorry?
- Imagine it,
a device that could duplicate the power,
the control you had over people.
But to do that, first we needed you.
So I had you drafted into the Army.
That was you?
Exactly how long
have you been fucking with my life?
We had to study you,
to see what makes you tick,
and that's where Leary comes in.
- Oh shit.
- Oh yeah.
He pumped you full
of all kinds of psychedelic crap
that frankly,
I don't even wanna understand.
How come I don't remember any of this?
Well, probably
the exploratory brain surgery.
That, or the mind-erasing chemicals
Leary injected into your eyeball.
It's hard to say which.
The fuck? What, you went inside my head?
Hey, we had to.
That's science. I don't make the rules.
But the good news is
we eventually had a prototype ready,
and we put my idea to the test,
harnessing your essence,
your very DNA, in an actual device.
I mean, if Elvis can send
an audience into a sex-crazed delirium,
what else could it do?
Could it make you punch?
Could it make you kick?
Could it make you kill?
And it worked.
- But
- But what?
But we couldn't control it.
It turns you into an animal,
a homicidal maniac,
and not in a good way.
You son of a bitch.
Yeah, so we had
to shut the whole thing down.
But hey, you're better now though, right?
So what do you say? Bygones?
You know, I was glad
I destroyed your fucked-up Sub-Level 7,
but now you know
what makes me even more happy?
The fact that I shot you twice.
Please.
The real stuff's on Sub-Level 8.
Sub-Level 7 was just a decoy in case
someone ever stole a copy of my penis.
Look,
I performed
horrifying experiments on your brain,
you shot me a couple of times.
Point is, things happened.
It doesn't matter anymore,
because you're in TCB now.
I've been watching you for years,
and when your '68 comeback special
put you on top of the world,
I knew it was time.
Time for Elvis Presley
to become Agent King,
my greatest triumph!
You really want to throw all that away?
Okay, I really thought I sold that better.
Elvis, look at me.
That won't solve anything.
This probably will though.
Wow! Wow. Solid entrance.
Picking sides, are you?
Look, I know he can be
a complete and total dick sometimes
Standing right here.
but you can't kill him.
TCB is the only family I've got.
Sad but true.
I mean, you've met her mother, right?
Look, asshole, I put up
with all your secret agent bullshit
because I thought I could do some good.
Maybe make a difference.
Maybe make tomorrow a little bit better.
Yay. Nice speech. You feeling better now?
You used me.
You used me to create
some kind of rock-and-roll terror weapon.
So no, I'm not exactly feeling better.
But this might help.
I quit.
Now get the fuck out of my house.