Californication s06e08 Episode Script

Previously on Californication: It's time time you stopped this funny business and went back to school.
No, I'm not doing that.
There's a lot more to being an artist than just altering - your consciousness on a daily basis.
- Which is why I'm writing.
- How many pages you got? - I'm closing in on three hundy.
I hate you.
If I'm gonna do this thing, get me the guy who wrote the fucking book.
- Do what? - God Hates Us All.
I fucking loved it, man.
They're turning it into a Broadway musical.
You write the script, I write the music and lyrics.
Let's make a fucking masterpiece.
Congratulations.
You have made it to the next round.
I'll give you one of daddy's long, slow tongue baths.
Men are the enemy.
I advocate the use of a cock cage.
Ophelia is gonna be so pissed at me.
We have sex for the first time in years.
This is the first thing to cross your mind? - So how was the fucking fun zone? - There was this one mom - Did you do something with her? - No.
I'd know that bent fucking chode anywhere.
- Is that what I think it is? - Sure is.
- Would you mind taking a look? - Of course.
I'd be honored.
- What are you doing? - I'm studying your face.
For the truth.
- You hate it.
- That's not true.
Why would you say that? No.
No, no, no.
I can see it on your face.
Have you met me, Becca? I could be hating on a million other things right now.
Thanks.
Is it perfect? No, it's not but first drafts rarely are, sweetheart.
Okay.
So, what are your notes? Okay, this is what I would do.
I would take this draft and I would put it in a drawer.
It doesn't have to be a real drawer, it could be a virtual drawer.
Then go out tonight and celebrate its birth.
You know, hoist an alcoholic beverage or two.
I will join you.
Then in the morning you shut that drawer and forget about it.
And then you start on the next one.
- The next one? - Yeah.
What kind of note is that? A big one? - So it's a disaster.
- No, I didn't No, not at all.
Not at all.
You don't even think I'm a writer, do you? I think you're a writer if you keep on writing, Becca.
Am I a writer? Well, I know that when I saw you read your pages here in the coffeehouse, I was proud of you.
- You saw me? - Yeah.
Yeah, I snuck in and then out again unseen.
I asked you not to come.
- I know, but you didn't really mean it.
- Yes, I did.
Well, aren't you secretly touched that I cared enough to disobey your wishes? Thanks for the destructive criticism, Dad.
To be continued, sweetheart.
One page at a time.
I'm an asshole.
- Hey.
- Hi, Charlie.
What's up? How come you haven't been returning my calls, my texts? Yeah, well, I think that I really took a major step backward and I disrespected my she-ness.
Wait.
Your what? I don't Your "she-ness"? I don't know what the fuck that is.
Is this about the housewife Hannah thing? Because I'm sorry, but come on, you've been to the fun zone, right? I mean, if somebody, you know, offered you an ice cream cone in hell, wouldn't you take it? You know you would.
- You know what I'm saying? - His pictures don't do him justice.
- Thank you.
- What a worm.
- I'm sorry? - Yeah, you should be, you fucking creep.
Okay, who is she, and why is she being so mean to me? Well, this is Ophelia Robins.
Oh, this is Ophelia, the author.
I'm I'm Hey, congratulations.
Because you've really created quite a cult for yourself with those books out there, right? I'm Charlie Runkle, formerly of UTK.
Very nice to meet you.
How dare you offer me that diseased appendage? She's very hostile.
Well, I just I can't see you anymore, Charlie.
- Why? - Why? You've disrespected this woman time and time again.
You've had your chance.
You blew it.
- Go away.
- Wait, I don't know who the fuck you are - but you have no business telling me - How dare you raise your voice to me? I bet you're one of those guys who likes to raise his hand to women too.
No.
Unless she wants it, because, you know, there are some women who sometimes want to be You know, a little light slapping now and again.
Some even like to have their breasts slapped a little bit.
God, he's even more of a monster than I imagined, Marcy.
- Let's go.
- You asked one time.
- Don't.
- You asked me to.
Marcy.
Marcy.
I'll call you.
Jesus.
Schedule the deprogramming.
How's the next Broadway smash coming, buddy? Is it whiskey, weed, and Zevon time yet? Almost.
Just hold your bald horses, Charlie.
You're way past deadline, you know.
Stu and Atticus were expecting a draft weeks ago.
Yes, I'm well aware, but I've been busy, you know, putting them off.
- You're not helping.
- Sorry.
Jeez.
- How do you feel about it? Is it any good? - How the fuck should I know? I do like writing musicals, though.
You just write a few pages, then somebody breaks into song.
I don't have to worry about that part.
Winning.
I love musicals.
Really? Since when? High school production of Guys and Dolls.
The time of my young life.
I fingered a girl for the first time at the opening night party.
She was incredibly dry, Hank.
I think I was hurting her.
She cried.
Nothing like a sweet, little Chuck Runkle coming-of-age story to make you want to stab yourself in the dick.
Done.
Hit it.
Where's my weed? - We're out.
- Well, you can't really have whiskey weed and Warren Zevon without the weed.
I know.
I'll pick some up on the way back.
I'm making copies, and I'm hand-delivering to Atticus and Stu.
Yeah, because that's just the kind of simple-minded lackey you are.
Hank, Karen is here, and she does not look happy.
What else is new? Hey.
Peace out, bitches.
What did you say to her? What did she say I said? She said that you said it was a piece of shit and that she should throw it out and start again.
That is not what I said, exactly.
Why would you do that? Why would you be so blunt? Why do you wanna hurt her feelings? I didn't want to.
I didn't mean to.
She kind of ambushed me.
And she does need to throw that out and start again.
It's a good lesson for a young scribe.
Get the bad shit out of your system.
She's ahead of where I was at that age.
- Okay, good.
So did you tell her that? - No, I didn't get a chance.
She stormed off into a silent treatment, just like her mom.
She gets that from you.
Very effective, works every time.
She stormed off because you don't know how to talk to her.
I think I know how to talk to my own daughter, Karen.
I don't think you do, because if you did, she wouldn't be so depressed right now.
She's talking about going to law school.
Really? Awesome.
- That's awesome? - Yeah.
If I can talk her out of being a writer, she shouldn't be a writer.
Why? Because there's only room for one writer in this family? - You called us a family.
- Shut up.
No, because people who aren't writers should not be writers, Karen.
- Does that make any sense? - I can understand that.
What I don't understand is how you can be so harsh and so mean to someone you love.
You could save that shit for when you have to go back to teaching.
Who's being mean and harsh now? There it is, storm off into silent treatment.
Must be me.
Say, have you met this Ophelia character? She is a fucking fruitcake.
I know.
She slapped me.
You think that's bad? She had me in a fucking cock cage.
What is a cock cage? - It traps your penis in its flaccid state - Ladies, enough of your jibber-jabber.
You haven't said anything about the script.
Have you even read it? I have.
Okay.
What'd you think? It was very you.
- What the fuck does that mean? - It's a little dark, Hank.
Dark is what I do.
That's what you hired me for.
It's a Broadway musical.
It's a rock opera, and it's true to the book, which is what Atticus wanted.
Thank you for coming, everybody.
Unfortunately, I have to go in a moment.
I'm flying to London to sit down with Eddie Nero and Sir Bob Geldof.
We're talking about doing this global-relief-concert thing.
It's, you know Speaking of relief, this is a fucking disaster.
- What? - It's shit, Hank.
It's a fucking shambles.
it's - It's bollocks.
- I agree.
Hank, I'm sorry.
It needs work.
Yeah, we're really gonna have to roll up our sleeves on this one.
What the fuck are you talking about? It's a rock opera with the tone of my book.
That's what you wanted.
I don't even like the fucking book.
You said you loved it.
Remember? On your flying whorehouse? Yeah, I remember.
But when I said that - I hadn't read it.
- So you lied? I wouldn't look at it like that.
I liked the title.
it was quite striking.
Titles mean a lot to me, but when I got around to reading the book oh, my God, it's so depressing.
It's like it's Dickensian, but not in a good way.
The working classes want to leave a Broadway theater feeling the way they feel when they leave my concerts.
- With tinnitus? - Happy, uplifted, inspired - preferably a little bit horny.
- Yeah, well, that's very funny because I'm not feeling very horny right now, just homicidal maybe.
Hank, we're gonna need you to burn this draft, Just forget all about it.
Chalk it up to a creative miscarriage.
But when you get up tomorrow, you take a fresh page you put it in your typer, and you start a new one.
One that hews closer to the tone of the movie.
Can you do that? Otherwise, Aaron Sorkin has expressed interest in working with Atticus.
- He's quite good, isn't he? - He's the best in the business.
Just ask him.
And he is a big admirer of your work.
- As I am of his.
- This is bullshit.
- You know why, Hank? - No, why? Because you can't handle the truth.
That's so good.
You think Hank will be able to pull a decent draft out of his ass? Sure, sure.
Look, it's just It's his process, Stu, okay? He brings in something underwhelming, then he knocks it out of the park.
- It's a classic bait-and-switch, that's all.
- Right, right.
And when has he ever done that exactly? Know what, enough about Hank.
- I got a confession to make.
- Look, Runkle, I know you are broke.
I'm not going to lend you any money.
Don't be a beggar.
It's unbecoming.
- I don't want your fucking money, Stu.
- Okay.
Cool.
What is it then? I slept with Marcy the other night.
You did? You fucking dog.
Now I am jealous.
Well, good for you, bro.
Up high.
I'm still in love with her, Stu.
Me too.
- So, what are we gonna do? - I don't know what you're going to do but I am prepared to write you a check right this very instant.
What? You just said you would never give me I will not lend you a fucking dime, but I will pay you not to pursue Marcy any longer.
So how much you want? Give me a number.
I don't want your - How much are you willing to pay? - I would sign over my entire fortune if it meant I could have that sweet and sour little firecracker back in my life.
Seriously? - This is crazy, Stu.
- No, no, no.
It ain't over till it's over.
May the best man win, and by "best" I mean the richest and the most well-hung.
Okay, how do you propose we get past this Ophelia broad? She seems determined to cock-block us at every turn.
- We could have her killed.
- You think? It's just a matter of money.
Now, I don't know a guy but I probably know a guy who knows a guy.
Solid plan, but perhaps a little extreme.
- You know, maybe we talk to Marcy first.
- You're right, Runkle.
And if I know my favorite pint-sized stoner chick I bet she is running low on weed.
Hank Moody.
Long time no see.
- He's been working.
- Good.
Good to hear.
Yeah, well, you had a lot to do with it, lady.
After our weekend in new york I banged out a draft of that thing I'm doing with Atticus.
- It's what I do.
- Yeah.
How did it go? I like it.
Others, not so much.
They're Well, they're calling it a creative miscarriage.
- Oh, God, no.
- Yeah.
That is no way to talk about our love baby.
It isn't.
And I wanted to ask you if you might take a read.
Give me your notes.
I don't know if you muse types do that sort of thing, but I'd appreciate it.
Of course I do that.
- But only if you can handle the truth.
- No, don't use that phrase.
Okay- All right.
Yeah.
Grab a drink.
I'll read it.
- Thanks.
- Take a swim.
- That sounds pretty relaxing.
- Yeah.
Or we could have sex.
You seem a little mopey.
Oh, baby.
Poor you.
Maybe we should combine the two.
- Where is it? Hand it over.
- Sit.
Marcy, please.
I don't want to sit, Stu.
I want you to give me my weed, so I can go home and smoke it.
Sit down, Marcy.
Just hear us out.
Fuck, I knew that this was a fucking setup.
We are worried about you.
This Ophelia broad has you acting all loopy.
Look, I know she comes off a little intense but her heart is in the right place, and she speaks the fucking truth.
- Marcy, the woman put me in a cock cage.
- You deserved it, Stu.
- You betrayed our love.
- I did, and I will forever be sorry but at what point can I take the damn thing off? - You're still wearing it? - Yes.
I'm trying to prove I deserve this woman's love.
- Doesn't it hurt? - It's excruciating.
Do you have the key, Marcy? No.
Only Ophelia has it, and she's the one who decides when it comes off.
This is ridiculous.
- I'm still in love with you, Marcy.
- I'm still in love with you.
Yes, but we have a child together.
True, but I am far more capable of taking care of you both financially and sexually and I know what you are thinking at all times.
I mean Okay look at that pool table over there.
See, I know you are thinking: "Maybe we could play Jodie Foster in The Accused.
" We had such fun together, Marcy.
Our bedroom games were so delightful.
See, there you go.
Now, I find that revolting.
But it proves that you're still in there somewhere.
- I'm going.
- Stay, Marcy.
One drink, one drink, one drink.
One drink.
One drink.
Just hear a couple of brothers out.
Some appletini to start.
What do you think? You hate it, you hate it.
I can tell you hate it.
That's all right.
And that totally bums me out, but then you could have pool sex with me again and I'll maybe feel a little better.
What do you think? What do I think? It's very dark.
Dark.
Funny.
Funny dark.
And I do really get what you're trying to do as far as You're doing something really different with it.
I get that.
- But - But it doesn't have any heart.
And if there is one thing that I know about you, Hank Moody it's that you have a huge heart.
I think that maybe you were posturing a little bit.
You were trying to show the world that you are not gonna write some fluffy Broadway musical.
And I think in the process of doing that maybe you forgot that it's still a story of boy meets girl.
You know? It's simple.
I think I get that.
I do, I get it.
Anyone can be cynical, Hank.
Dare to be an optimist.
You know it's all just a big can of karmic whoop-ass anyway, you know? Because my daughter, she just wrote her first novel and I was really fucking hard on her.
You have to be really gentle with those little girls, Hank.
God, my parents they hit me pretty hard once upon a time.
I'm still smarting.
About what? What happened? Do you know Big Yellow Taxi - by Joni Mitchell? - No.
No.
- No, I don't know any Joni Mitchell songs.
- No? None? What self-respecting guy knows any? I played that song at this stupid, little church social.
I was obsessed with Joni Mitchell when I was a teenager.
I wanted to be a lady of the Canyon when I grew up.
- Me too.
- We have so much in common.
And so I got together with this cute boy who played the guitar and we practiced every day after school.
And finally, the big day came and we played our little hearts out and, you know, he forgot a few chords and I forgot a few words and my voice cracked and But people clapped.
And I was so thrilled.
- They kind of loved us.
- Yeah.
And I went looking for my parents and, of course, all my mom had to say was that I looked like a slut up there.
And my father said: "Don-t quit your day job, kid.
" Nice, huh? The whole thing was not a bust, however.
I lost my virginity to that cute guitarist.
Yeah.
I think it's becoming a pattern.
Take that, bitches.
- Marcy.
- Oh, my.
I'm so disappointed in you.
I mean, I'm not surprised.
The road to she-ness is long, and it's paved with potholes.
Okay, that just makes no sense at all.
You don't pave with potholes.
You pave over potholes.
It absolutely makes sense.
It's in my third book, Menis to Society.
M-E-N-I-S.
Catchy title, and subtle.
And what have you written that's changed lives, you pathetic, little simian? Marcy, let's go.
I'll drive you home.
Wait one second, Ophelia.
How did you even know where I was just now? I tracked your iPhone.
Okay, that's just What? That's so fucking weird.
It's not weird.
I've seen you check your email several times.
I happen to be very good at recognizing keystrokes.
And your password is distinctive and disgusting, and, you know that's when I really realized that we had a problem that was just much bigger than I ever imagined.
You're kidding.
It's not still? "ILoveMyHubbysBigFatCock," all one word.
Yes, it is.
You must be so proud.
I am, and you still care.
I was too lazy to change it.
- Yeah, well, either way, I am thrilled.
- And I'm nauseous.
Marcy, are you ready to come home? You can spend the night at my house.
Okay, you know what? I think that you should let Marcy embrace her she-ness and make up her own mind where she wants to spend the night.
You know, I heartily concur.
Need I remind you, Stu, that I hold the key to your cock cage.
Do you have it on your person? I'll write you a check this instant.
This is just ridiculous.
Look, Marcy, you know what, don't worry.
We will make sure you get home.
You gonna lay your hands on her now? You want worse than you got yesterday - you slimy, little sea otter? - What you gonna do? You gonna slap me again in front of all these people? Woman, you are a fucking fruitcake! Oh, my God! Ophelia! What the fuck is the matter with you? What? It's fine.
I stunned them, you know? Every woman should have one of these puppies.
It just totally neutralizes the height-weight advantage.
I'll get you one.
Let's go.
No, man.
This is too fucking weird.
You just go.
- You get out of here.
Go.
- Marcy.
You're gonna regret this.
Jesus.
You okay? What did that feel like? This table is all wet.
Gross.
You pissed your pants, Charlie.
What? No! Who pissed on my pants? Who pissed on my pants? I didn't take you for a book-burner.
What else am I gonna do? It's a piece of shit.
You might as well throw another one on the pyre.
- What's that? - It's the play I was writing with Atticus.
Apparently, it's not very good.
They don't like it very much.
- Really? - Yeah.
It happens to us literary lions too.
- How does that feel? - Like getting shanked in prison.
I would imagine.
You know, maybe you could read it for me and give me your thoughts? Why would you want my thoughts? I'm not a writer.
Becca, you wrote a fucking novel.
Do you know how amazing that is? Nobody your age is doing that.
They're too busy texting, tweeting and Facebooking feeling entitled to a life they don't want to work for.
Way to slam an entire generation, Dad.
Thank you.
And I'm sorry that you stormed off before I could give you my notes, you know? You know what I really dug about your work was the relationship between the daughter and the asshole father.
I mean, obviously you took a lot of creative license there, But it felt authentic to me.
And I think, if you flesh it out, you could maybe turn it into a novella.
- You think so? - I do.
And I'm sorry that you walked away from me thinking that I didn't think you were special, because I do.
I think you're so special.
And I hope you don't go to law school because I don't think that's you and I don't think the world needs another lawyer.
I'm not sure it needs another writer either.
Yeah, maybe not, but if you're doing what you were born to do, then that's a good thing, you know? - I guess.
- Yeah.
Anybody can be cynical.
Dare to be an optimist.
Who are you right now? Just your asshole father.
Who else? Okay.
I'll think about my next move.
In the meantime, I'll read this.
But I'm going to be brutal with my thoughts, Dad.
I think you need some help reaching a younger demographic.
Fuck the younger generation.
I just like you.