The Ladykillers (2004) Script

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)


(SEAGULLS CAWING)


(CAWING)

(TUGBOAT TOOTING)


(SHERIFF SNORING)

(BEEPING)

(SNORING)


(DOOR SLAMS) (GASPS)

Oh...

Afternoon, Mrs. Munson. Afternoon, Sheriff.

You know the Funthes boy?

Um, Mackatee Funthes?

MRS. MUNSON: No, no, not him. Weemack.

Mackatee's eldest. Oh, yeah.

I believe I do. Mmm-hmm. Well, he's a good boy and all, but he done gone down to the Costco in Pascagoula and got his self a blaster.

What? And he been playing that music.

Well, if you want, you know, I could... Loud.

Well, I could go talk to him if you... Left My Wallet in El Segundo.

He left his wallet? Hippity-hop music.

You know, they calls it hippity-hop music, but it don't make me want to go hippity-hop. Mmm-mmm.

Mmm...

And Othar don't like that music neither.

It's been disturbin' Othar then, has it?

Well, how could it help but do?

Left My Wallet in El Segundo.

He left his... Sheriff, do you know what they call colored folks in them songs?

Have you got any idea?

No, ma'am, I don't think... Niggas.

Ooh.

I don't even want to say the word.

Now, I won't say it twice, I can tell you that.

I say it one time... Yes, ma'am.

...in the course of swearin' down my complaint.

Yes. Niggas.

Mmm. Mmm-mmm.

Two thousand years after Jesus.

Thirty years after Martin Luther King.

The age of Montel. Mmm.

Sweet Lord of mercy, is that where we at?

Weemack down to Pascagoula and gettin' his self a big ol' thumpety stereo so he can listen to that trash.

Sheriff, you got to help that boy.

You want me to help him?

Extend that helpin' hand.

Show an interest.

Well, we're here to help. Well, God bless you for that.

You don't want to be tried and found wantin'.

No, ma'am. No, many, many done tunkalow parzen, Sheriff.

Many, many done tunkalow parzen.

Many what, ma'am?

You been tried and found wantin'.

You don't want that writin' on the wall.

Oh, no, ma'am. Don't want that on the wall.

Feast of Balthasar.

Yeah, that sounds good.

The apostle John said, "Behold, there's a stranger in our midst, come to destroy us."

Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am.

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(BIRDS CHIRPING)


(BELL DINGING)

Aww...

You need somethin' to eat, angel?

Othar, I went and complained about Weemack today.

Don't know if it'll do any good. Mmm.

That boy hangin' by a thread.

Over the pit.

Fiery pit.

Left My Wallet in El Segundo.

Oh! (CHUCKLES)

Sixty-seven years of life.

Forty-six years of marriage.

You mean to tell me you never once suffered from piles?

Well, it's the human condition. (CHUCKLES)

Most humans, anyhow.

Like that ballplayer said, "The world's got two kind of folks.

"Them that's got the piles and them that's goin' get 'em."

But you always was healthy as an ox.

Passed on 'fore you could get the piles.

Mmm-hmm.

Oh, thank the Lord you never was sick.

Just want to pass away nice and peaceful.

(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)

Go to sleep one night, wake up in the glory land. (EXCLAIMS)

(MEOWING)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(CHAIR CREAKING)

(CAT MEOWING) MRS. MUNSON: Pickles!

Go fetch Pickles!

Pickles?

Oh, he's up that tree again. You'd better shimmy on up.

Well, I do apologize, madam, but won't the feline eventually tire of his lonely perch and, pining for his master's affection, return on his own initiative?

The point being, must we actually ascend the tree?

Look, I don't want no doubletalk.

Now, if you not goin' fetch him, I guess I gotta call the police.

Police? And they not goin' be happy.

Every time they have to fetch him, they swear they'll never do it no more.

(INHALES) You don't need to call the authorities, madam.

I did this often as a child.

I was a positive lemur.

Here, kitty.

Oh, don't upset him now.

I wouldn't think of it, madam.

Harmless little Felis domesticus.

(GRUNTS)

Here, kitty.

Come to G.H. Come, come.

(MEOWS) Here, kitty. Here, kitty.

(GRUNTS) Come, come, come. No, no, no.

That's not how Sheriff Wyner do it.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come, come, come.

(HISSING)

Come to the professor.

Yes.

(CREAKING) (GRUNTS)

Ah...

Thank you, madam, for your act of kindness.

Well, you let him out.

I certainly did and for that I apologize no end.

Allow me to present myself, um, formally.

Goldthwait Higginson Dorr, Ph.D.

Like Elmer?

I beg your pardon, ma'am? Fudd.

No, no. Ph.D. is a mark of academic attainment bestowed, in my case, in recognition of my mastery of the antique languages of Latin and Greek.

I also hold a number of other advanced degrees, including the baccalaureate from a school in Paris, France, called the Sorbonne.

Sore bone. (SCOFFS)

Well, that fits.

You ever study at Bob Jones University?

I have not had that privilege.

Oh, that's a Bible school.

Only the finest in the country.

I send 'em $5 every month. That is very generous...

I'm on the mailin' list. I'm an angel. Are you? Yes.

Oh, they list my name in the newsletter every issue.

Do they? Oh, I got the literature right over here.

If you'd like to examine it... Perhaps when my head has recovered from its buffeting.

Mrs. Munson, are you at all curious as to why I darkened your door, as the expression would have it, on this lovely, lovely camellia-scented morn?

Well, I was wonderin' till you let Pickles out.

I quite understand. Then in all the excitement...

The fact is, I saw the sign in your window advertising a room to let?

And there are no other such signs among the houses on this charming, charming street.

Yeah, I got a room, $15 a week.

I'm lookin' for a quiet tenant.

Madam, you are addressing a man who is quiet...

And yet, not quiet.

If I may offer a riddle.

I am currently on sabbatical from the institution where I teach, the University of Mississippi at Hattiesburg.

I am takin' a year off to indulge my passion, and I do not believe that is too strong a word, for the music of the Renaissance. Mmm-hmm.

I perform in, and have the honor of directing, a period-instrument ensemble that performs at Renaissance fairs and other cultural fora throughout central and southern Mississippi.

We perform on the instruments for which the music was originally composed.

Now, wait a minute. You got some kind of band?

(CHUCKLES)

The word "band" would be, in this context, something of a misnomer.

Though we do play together, hence the word "ensemble," the nature of the music is such that, well, one would hesitate to apply the epithet "band" with connotations of janglin' rhythms...

So, y'all ain't playin' no hippity-hop?

I Left My Wallet in El Segundo.

Songs with the titles spelled all funny?

(LAUGHS) No, no, no.

We play music that has been composed to the greater glory of God.

Devotional music. Church music.

Gospel music?

Well, inspired by the gospel, certainly.

The vintage, of course, is no more recent than the Rococo.

Rococo, huh?

Well, I guess that'd be okay.

But I don't propose to inflict our rehearsals on you.

May I inquire, do you have a root cellar?

(DOOR CREAKING)

DORR: Ah.

Yes.

Yes, yes.

This looks promising.

A little dank, ain't it?

Indeed. That only improves the acoustics.

(VOCALIZING)

Marvelous.

Yes.

Ah.

Oh, these earthen walls are ideal for baffling the higher registers of the lute or sackbut.

(VOCALIZING)

That is why so much music of the Cinquecento was played in crypts and catacombs.

This is ideal.

This is perfect. This is more than perfect.

I can scarcely contain my glee.

Oh, you containin' it okay.

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

You gotta peel this shit out, man.

Sometimes it stick to the bottom.

Man, this shit smells like rot.

You wouldn't even believe this, man.

Even out here on the casino floor, you gonna find goddamn mercy pads, Tucks.

I don't know what the fuck people be doin' here while they gamblin'.

Man, I ain't peelin' no funky shit with my human hands.

That ain't nothin' but a prescription for diseases and viruses and shit attackin' your fuckin' insides.

Oh, well, shit, you gotta do it 'cause Mr. Gudge checks everything.

Now, this tunnel leads back onto the land for all the people that work for Mannex.

Mannex Corporation. They own the Bandit Queen, three other boats.

Now, this is where they think all their corporate shit, Gudge and them.

I mean, the light's as ugly as all hell, but, shit, ain't as many Tucks.

(KNOCKING)

Let me in, motherfucker.

MAN: What's the password?

Kiss my ass.

(DOOR CLANGS)

(LAUGHING)

Now, this is where they count the dough.

Now, if you try to take any of it, Elron over there'll shoot yo' ass.

God damn. (LAUGHING)

Dawg, this is a motherfuckin' pigsty, man.

You are a squeakyass, motherfuckin' pig.

Man, look at your ass. You got Cocoa Krispies on your uniform.

Got breakfast there, and you still eatin' goddamn lunch, man.

I swear to God, if that ass was nickels, you'd be a motherfuckin' millionaire.

Spread out, boy. Look at you. You a disgraceful fucker.

You is a fat motherfucker, man. I swear...

Hey, Mr. Gudge.

How you doin' this mornin'? I'm doin' fine.

All right. So, how's the new man?

Oh, shit, he a cleanin' motherfucker, man.

Is that a fact?

What's up, my nigga?

(EXPLOSIONS)

DIRECTOR: Cut! Cut, cut, cut.

God damn it, his canteen fell off. Props!

(SIGHS)

The goddamn thing's canteen fell off.

PANCAKE: Okay, we're prepared for that.

Mountain, put Otto into the apparatus.

(DOG PANTING)

What the hell is this?

World War I vintage gas mask.

It's authentic. Strapped on, of course, so it can't fall off.

Now, the animal is free to be as active as he wants.

It doesn't inhibit his movement in any way, and I think it really sells the whole doughboy thing.

(STUTTERS) It looks like a fucking joke.

Uh, you're absolutely right.

The gas mask is a whimsical concept.

How the hell does it eat when it gets to the Nibbles Ready-to-Eat?

Well, you're absolutely right.

Don't let the clients see this. Or that Humane fucker.

PANCAKE: No, of course not.

They'll just shut the fuckin' spot down, Pancake.

They'll shut the fuckin' spot down, okay?

Put the goddamn canteen back on the dog.

That says he's a soldier.

Dented tin canteen.

All right? Strap it to his fucking collar.

Easiest thing in the world.

I just thought... What?

But you're right, a canteen's much better.

Good concept. Let's go with that.

(DOG GASPING)

What's he doing? PANCAKE: Well, he's...

Just breathe normally, Otto.

The fucking dog can't breathe.

Oh, no, he can breathe. That thing is...

Just breathe normally, Otto. The fuckin' dog can't breathe.

The fuckin' dog cannot breathe.

Okay? Get the... Get that fuckin' thing off of him.

Of course, easiest thing in the world.

I don't have my Leatherman.

Mountain, give me your Leatherman. Chop, chop.

Chitra, make sure that Humane fucker doesn't come over here, okay?

Distract him. He'll shit if he sees this. There we go.

Mountain, have electric run me a stinger.

Don't give up on me, Otto.

Mountain, I need two live leads.

But, Garth, the gennie's 100 yards away. God damn it.

Otto's gonna have irreversible brain damage in about 30 seconds.

Here we go. Okay, kiss of life.

Otto is fuckin' dead.

What the fuck are you doing?

Otto is fuckin' dead!

PLAYER: Set. 320. 320. Hut.

(GRUNTING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

(GRUNTING) (GROANING)

I-left. 90-tiger, X-slant. On one. Ready?

Break.

Hut.

(GRUNTING)

Split left. 68, Z-go.

You the man.

Hey, butthead. LUMP: Huh?

You the man. LUMP: Me the man?

On one. Ready? ALL: Break.

PLAYER: 390. 390. Hut. (CROWD CHEERING)

(GRUNTING)

(CLINK)

(GRUNTING)

(WHISTLE BLOWING)

LUMP: Oh, no.

Hudson, get your ass off the field!

Get your ass off the field!

God damn it.

Hudson, get your ass out of my game!

You couldn't catch a cold.

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

(DOOR BEEPS)

(GUNS COCKING)

A'ight, dragon lady, we want that fuckin' money.

We want that donut money.

(SPEAKING CANTONESE)

Okay, papa-san, we want that donut money.

We ain't fuckin' around, Mr. Hi-Ho.

Look, this fuckin' thing, it ain't that complicated.

You give us all the fuckin' money, you won't get shot in the head.

A'ight? You got three seconds.

You... You got three fucking seconds, a'ight?

One, two, three. You understand?

We want that donut money.

I'm gonna count uno, and two and...

(CHOKING) (GRUNTS)

His fingers are way the fuck up my nose.

Get your fingers out my man's nose!

(SPEAKS CANTONESE) (DOOR BEEPS)

Coffee?

(GLASS SHATTERS) (GROANING)

(CRYING)

♪ Let it shine on ♪ All night

♪ Let it shine on ♪ Come on, now, let your

♪ Light from the lighthouse

♪ Let it shine on me ♪ Shine on me

♪ Oh, let it ♪ Shine on

♪ All night, let it ♪ Shine on

♪ I need you to let your light from the lighthouse

♪ Let it shine on me

♪ Let it shine on me ♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine on me ♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine on me ♪ Shine on

♪ You got to let it Shine on me ♪ Shine on

♪ When you're walkin' in darkness ♪ Shine on

♪ You gotta let it shine ♪ Shine on

♪ If you want to see the light You gotta let it shine

♪ You've got to Let it shine

♪ You've got to Let it shine

♪ Come on, shine, yes Come on, shine

♪ Come on, shine

♪ You've got to come on And let it shine

♪ Yeah, help me Let it shine

♪ Let it shine

♪ Shine

♪ Oh, yeah

♪ Hey, let it shine ♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine ♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine ♪ Shine on

♪ Let the light From the lighthouse

♪ Shine

♪ On

♪ Me

♪ Let it shine on me

♪ Yeah ♪

(APPLAUSE)

(APPLAUSE AND CHEERING)

I know you all remember that when Moses came down the mountain carrying the word of God.

Come down that Sinai peak, he caught them Israelites red-handed.

ALL: Yes.

What'd he catch 'em doin'?

He caught 'em worshippin' a golden calf.

He caught 'em worshippin' a false god.

He caught them Israelites in decline.

In decline.

What did Moses do when he saw those declinin', backslidin', never-mindin' sinners?

What did he do? What did he do?

Moses smote those sinners in his wrath. Yes, he did.

Y'all know what "smote" is?

(MUTTERING)

I smite, you smite, he smites, we done smote.

(ALL EXCLAIM)

To smite is to go upside the head.

Because sometimes, brothers and sisters, that's the only way.

The only way.

To smite is to remind we got to stop that decline and scramble back up to the face of the Almighty God.

Amen.

Instead of worshippin' that golden calf, that earthly trash on that garbage island.

That garbage island in the shadowland.

(VOCALIZING) Way... (ALL CHEER)

Way outside the kingdom of God.

That garbage island, where scavenger birds feast on the bones of the backslidin' damned.

And so, let us pray.

(MRS. MUNSON HUMMING)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

My dear lady, I do so hope this is not an inopportune time for our first practice.

Somebody die?

DORR: I beg your pardon?

Oh! (LAUGHS)

No, no, no. No, I'm not bereaved.

Though it is so kind of you to inquire.

The hearse is simply a vehicle commodious enough to accommodate all the members of our ensemble.

And, of course, our instruments, contrived in an age ignorant of miniaturization.

Allow me to introduce my friends, my colleagues, these devoted and passionate musicians...

Ain't no smokin' in this house.

Oh?

Sorry.

(STRUMMING AND TOOTING)

(STRUMMING)

What do you think, General?

Present any problems?

(BLOWING SACKBUT)

(SOFTLY) Good, then.

Gentlemen, why don't we crowd around and go over the plan?

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

Gentlemen, this is the Bandit Queen.

The gambling den. Cash cow.

Sodom of the Mississippi Delta and the focus of our little exercise.

Here is Orchard Street.

Here is the residence of Marva Munson, the charming lady whom you all met moments ago.

Gentlemen, I'm sure you're all aware that the solons of the state of Mississippi, to wit, its legislature, have decreed that no gaming establishment shall be erected within its borders upon dry land.

They may, however, legally float.

While the gambling activity is restricted to these riverboats, no such restrictions apply to the functions ancillary to this cash-besotted business.

The casino's offices, locker rooms, facilities to cook and clean, and, most importantly, its counting houses.

The reinforced, secret, super-secure repositories of the lucre may all be situated wherever.

(INHALES DEEPLY)

Gawain, where is "wherever"?

Say what?

Where's the money? Oh...

Okay, look.

At the end of every shift, the pit boss brings the cash down to the hold of the ship in a locked cashbox, then once a day all the cash is moved down to the countin' room.

And where is the counting room?

Well...

It be right there in that square where you pointin'.

And what, to flog a horse that if not dead is at this point in mortal danger of expiring, does this little square represent?

Offices. Underground.

Hah! Underground.

Mmm...

Underground.

During the casino's hours of operation, the door to this counting room is fiercely guarded.

The door itself is of redoubtable Pittsburgh steel.

When the casino closes, this entire underground complex is locked up, and the armed guard retreats to the casino's main entrance.

There, then, far from the guard, reposes the money, behind a five-inch-thick steel portal, yes.

But the walls, gentlemen, the walls are but humble masonry.

Behind which is only the soft, loamy soil deposited over centuries by the old man, the meanderin' Mississippi, as it fanned its way back and forth across the great alluvial plain, leaving earth.

This earth.

The General here, whose curriculum vitae comprehends massive tunnelin' experience through the soil of his native French Indochina, shall be directin' our little old tunnelin' operation.

Garth Pancake, though a master of none, is a jack of all those trades corollary to our aim.

He will be doin' such fabricatin' and demolition work as our little caper shall require.

Happy to be on board.

Gawain is our proverbial "inside man."

He has managed to secure himself a berth on the custodial staff of the Bandit Queen.

Damn, skippy.

And this brings us to Lump.

To look at Lump, you might wonder what specialized expertise could he possibly offer our merry little old band of miscreants.

Well, gentlemen, in a project of such risks, it is imperative to enlist the services of a hooligan, a goon, an ape, a physical brute.

Someone who will be our security, our battering ram, our blunt instrument.

And, on our behalf, I wish him a warm Mississippi welcome.

Fuckin' A. Wassup, my nigga?

Well, gentlemen, here you are.

Men of different backgrounds and differing talents.

Men with, in fact, but two things in common.

One, you all saw fit to answer my advertisement in the Memphis Scimitar, and, two, you're all going to be, in consequence, very, very, incredibly rich.

(INHALES SHARPLY) Let us revel in our adventure, gentlemen.

(BREATHLESSLY) Let us make beautiful music together, and, by all means, let us keep this to ourselves.

What we say in this root cellar, let it stay in this root cellar.

There's no "I" in "team."

(GRUNTS)


(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)


(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(WHISTLES)

(DOOR CREAKING)

(MUSIC STOPS)

It's okay, don't stop on account of me. (CHUCKLES)

No. No, no, no, no. Not at all, madam.

Not at all. We were about to take a break anyway.

The glissandi on this particular piece are technically very, very demanding, and I'm sure we would all welcome a moment of R and R.

Well, I just thought maybe you'd like to see...

What have you gotten into, honey?

Why you sweatin' like that?

Uh... Uh...

(STAMMERING)

(STUTTERS) 'Cause, 'cause... That boy right there?

He plays one bitch barrel full of a sackbut.

Ain't that right, Lump?

I'm tellin' you, he can tear it up. Right, Lump?

Ain't nobody play the sackbut like Lump right there.

He... (EXCLAIMS)

Don't be shy, Lump. Don't be shy.

Lump, that boy, he go at it like it was some pussy.

Ah...

Oh, shit! Mind your mouth.

This is a Christian house, boy.

No hippity-hop language in here.

Sometime it's the only way.

Now listen, you ain't gonna hit me...

I'm tryin' to help you, boy, better yourself.

(CLATTERING)

And so you should, madam. So you should.

Gawain is so far transported by his love of the music of the early Renaissance...

Don't make me no never mind, he transported.

I understand. You been smokin'?

Oh, certainly not, ma'am. I understand your indignation, ma'am.

And I was offering an explanation, not an excuse.

I myself am... Hey, hey, hey, don't be explainin' me, dawg.

You can't read my motherfuckin' mind, man.

You might got yo' Ph.D., but I got my GED.

Yes. Nigga.

A fiery lad.

But then, youth is fiery.

A fact often remarked upon by the poets of the Romantic era.

My youth, I was in church. I wasn't walkin' around fiery.

Youth ain't no excuse for nothin'.

Anyhow, I just came to show you the fife.

Othar's fife.

Burned his own.

I thought maybe, you bein' a man of music, you'd be interested.

Oh, indeed I am.

Cut it his self and burned his holes.

Oh... The Israelites called it a khalil.

Yeah, you can read all about it in the Bible.

Ain't nothin' new under the sun. (CHUCKLES)

Indeed not.

(SIGHS)

Gone these 20 years.

He was some kind of man.

Blowed the khalil.

I don't suppose Othar ever turned his hand...

(LAUGHS)

Or turned his lip to blowing the shofar?

The ceremonial ram's horn sounded by the priests of the Hebrews.

Now, I don't know nothin' about that.

Othar never blowed no shofar.

Of course not. Not to the extent of my knowledge.

The khalil was good enough for my Othar.

He was some kind of man.

MRS. MUNSON: Some kind of man.

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

GAWAIN: Oh, God damn.

Come on, girl, let me get one little peek.

Don't be cruel. Come on, just one butt cheek.

Pull that ass out and make it clap. (CHUCKLES)

Ah, just 'cause I'm dressed like a janitor, don't mean you gotta do me dirty.

This motherfucker's the jackpot.

Come on, girl.

Come over here and blow on these dice.

You know, I'm a seven on the roll now, but I'm a 10 the hard way, and I ain't just talkin' crap.

Mr. Gudge, she had a ass that could pull a bus.

I mean, Gudge, it was more than an ass, it was literature.

Yeah, I don't care how big her ass was, MacSam, you're fired.

You say what?

There is no fraternizing with customers on the Bandit Queen.

Clean out your locker. But, Mr. Gudge, I wasn't...

I said get outta here. You're fired.

You can't fire me. I'll sue your ass.

Sue me? For what?

For fuckin' punitive damages, man.

Punitive damages. Yeah.

Punitive damages. You goddamn skippy.

(CHUCKLES) Punitive damages. Yeah, I see why you firin' me, Mr. Gudge.

Yeah, it's simple and plain.

You firin' me 'cause I'm black.

MacSam, everybody on the custodial staff is black.

Your replacement is gonna be black.

His replacement, no doubt, will be black.

Well, the fuckin' judge is goin' be black, motherfucker.

And you? You gonna stand tall before the man.

Oh? And your replacement's gonna be black.

Motherfucker. Thank you.

DORR: Oh, my.

Oh, my, my, my, my, my.

This is a severe setback. I am distraught.

I'm more than distraught.

I am devastated.

I'm beside myself.

I'm at a positive loss for words.

You still talkin' okay, though.

Have you all decided?

Madam, we must have waffles.

We must all have waffles forthwith.

We must all think. We must all have waffles and think, each and every one of us, to the very best of his ability.

Perhaps if you apologized to the man and gave him flowers.

Or perhaps a fruit basket with a card depicting a misty seascape and inscribed with a sentiment.

I ain't apologizing to that motherfucker.

He fired me 'cause I'm black.

He can't do that. You could sue him. Open and shut case.

Fuckin' A. Surely, a chocolate assortment has been known to melt the heart of even the hardest misanthrope.

That man ain't rollin' over for no fucking candy bar.

Uh, we've had a bit of a setback on the tunneling front, too.

We've run into a pretty large rock.

GENERAL: Rock.

Very bad. Very bad.

Oh, my.

Seems that the poet was right.

Troubles never singly come.

Oh, no, we can get through the rock. No worries there.

Easiest thing in the world. Why, we just blow right through it.

I got a pyro license.

Just bore a hole in the rock and pack in a little plastique.

Igneous blows pretty good.

And then we just... Hello, Garth.

Am I ordering the primer cord? PANCAKE: Yes, Mountain.

We were just talking about that, and some plastique.

What the fuck is this?

Oh, this is Mountain Girl.

Mountain is my right hand. She helps me out with ordnance.

Helps me with damn near everything. Hey.

You brought yo' bitch to the Waffle Hut?

(DORR CLEARS THROAT)

I must confess myself to be puzzled as well.

I thought it was understood that when it came to our little enterprise, "mum" was the word.

Of course, I understand that, but this is Mountain Girl.

I don't keep secrets from Mountain.

That's not how you maintain a loving, caring relationship.

You brought your bitch to the Waffle Hut.

The man brought his bitch to the Waffle Hut.

All right, look, you, I will thank you to stop referring to Mountain that way.

She is the other half of my life.

Everybody lookin' at me like I'm some kind of fuck-up for losin' a sorry-ass job, and this motherfucker brings his bitch to the motherfucking Waffle Hut.

Son of a bitch punk. Shut your goddamn mouth.

You better raise the fuck up, fucker. (MOUNTAIN SCREAMS)

Gentlemen, please. Back the fuck up.

You gonna back that shit the fuck up.

DORR: Gentlemen, please. What? What?

Please, gentlemen, this behavior does you no credit in the eyes of your colleagues, nor in those of the other patrons of this Waffle Hut.

PANCAKE: Punk.

Oh, look at this. I got blueberry syrup on my safari jacket.

Gentlemen, I propose that we consider the matter of this woman, Mountain Water... Mountain Girl.

I'm so very sorry.

I propose that we consider this matter closed.

And we shall choose to trust her since we have no choice, and since she shall share only in Mr. Pancake's portion of the booty.

Of course. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Yeah, you damn right you won't.

Up yours, punk. Oh, fuck you and the Swiss Miss.

The matter of disposing of our igneous impediment is also... Coach... Coach...

Coach, I... Closed. Settled.

That leaves us only with the question of Gawain retrieving his job.

Coach, I... Yes, Lump?

Couldn't we just bribe the guy?

(SLOW MUSIC PLAYING)

You are a readin' fool, aren't you, Mr. Dorr?

Yes, I must confess.

I often find myself more at home in these ancient volumes than I do in the hustle-bustle of the modern world.

To me, paradoxically, the literature of the so-called "dead tongues" holds more currency than this morning's newspaper.

In these books, in these volumes, there is the accumulated wisdom of mankind, which succors me when the day is hard and the night lonely and long.

Hmm.

The wisdom of mankind, huh?

What about the wisdom of the Lord?

Oh, yes, yes, the good book, mmm.

I have found reward in its pages.

But, to me, there are other good books as well.

Heavy volumes of antiquity freighted with the insights of man's glorious age.

And then, of course,

I just love, love, love the works of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.

Oh, I know who he was, kind of spooky.

No, madam, no, no.

Not of this world, it's true.

He... (EXHALES) He lived in a dream.

An ancient dream.

"Helen

"thy beauty is to me

"Like those Nicean barks of yore

"That gently, o'er a perfumed sea

"The weary wayworn wanderer bore

"To his own native shore."

Who was Helen?

Some kind of whore of Babylon?

One doesn't know who Helen was.

But I picture her as being very, very...

Extremely

pale.

Mrs. Munson, I have been trying to figure out some way of expressin' my gratitude to you for takin' in this (LAUGHS) weary, wayworn wanderer.

It's just a little old present.

Why, it's hardly anything at all.

Oh, why, Mr. Dorr. You are a gallant man.

Oh, madam, I blush, I melt. No.

I just happened to hear of this gospel concert tomorrow night, the Mighty, Mighty Clouds of Joy, and I thought you and a friend from church perhaps would...

Yes, I have a widow lady friend.

The concert is up in Memphis, so I have arranged a car service to transport you thither.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR) Ah...

MRS. MUNSON: Why, Sheriff Wyner. How you doin'?

Good evenin', Mrs. Munson.

I just stopped by here to let you know I did have a talk with Weemack, and he told me he's gonna comply with your request in keepin' that music down and neighborly.

So, you just go and have yourself a pleasant evenin'.

Wait a minute. I got somebody that I want you to meet.

Ma'am, you know what? I'm a little pressed for time.

(CHUCKLES) You got a gang of bank robbers you're chasin'?

Come on in here and say hello.

Yeah, we were havin' tea and...

Bussed his own dishes. You can always tell a gentleman.

Somebody was in here, ma'am?

Yeah, with me and Othar.

Well, you know what? Maybe I'll catch him the next time.

Uh, come on up to his room with me and say hello.

Mrs. Munson, I got a family. My wife got dinner on the table.

I really have to be goin'.

(DOOR CREAKING)

Oh, my, he is neat.

Yes, ma'am, he very neat.

He probably went down to the cellar to play with his friends.

Ma'am, I really got to be goin' now.

What... Ma'am, I really need to be gettin' back.

Mrs. Munson, don't... You don't have to...

Mrs. Munson? (LAUGHS)

Why, Professor.

What in the world are you doin' havin' tea down there?

SHERIFF: Mrs. Munson? Oh, Lord Jesus.

Mrs. Munson? Land of Goshen, child.

Come on out from under there.

Mrs. Munson, my pager just went off. I got to go.

I'll meet you and your friend later.

That was refreshing.

SHERIFF: Y'all have a good evenin' now.

As you know, we academics are inordinately fond of wedgin' ourselves into confined spaces.

At Yale, the students will see how many of their number they can enclose in a telephone booth.

At Harvard, a broom closet.

Hope I didn't spill my tea.

Well, what the hell is this?

I guess it's just my way of sayin'...

Well, God damn it, Mr. Gudge.

Look here, I...

I don't know what it's like walkin' in your shoes.

You know, with you bein' a tight-ass and all.

And I'm pretty sure you don't know what it's like walkin' in my shoes.

See, Mr. Gudge, there's the custodian, right?

And then there's the man inside the custodian.

And that's the motherfucker we got a problem with.

See, 'cause that man, he got needs, Mr. Gudge, and normally those needs gotta do with women with big asses.

I guess my point bein' is, uh, I realize I'm a bunkie junkie.

But if you would've seen the kettle drums on this girl, Mr. Gudge... Ohh.

Well, we're all human.

This apology buys you a one-week probationary period.

Thank you, Mr. Gudge.

Stay away from the customers, MacSam.

(CHUCKLES)

(DRILLING)

(GRUNTS)

This drill bit's getting awfully hot.

Gawain, maybe you could fill a Hudson sprayer and spritz it down while I drill.

Fuck you. I ain't your motherfuckin' house nigga.

I'm the inside man.

All right, look, are you gonna have a bug up your ass for the rest of the time we work together?

I'll get the sprayer. Oh, no, no. No.

Me and this gentleman here have to get square.

Let me tell you somethin', MacSam.

I'm gonna tell you about how I came down to Mississippi.

I wasn't born here, you know.

I'm from Scranton, Pennsylvania.

What the fuck?

Scranton, Pennsylvania.

Came down here in 1964, Greyhound bus.

With the Freedom Riders.

Do you know who the Freedom Riders were, MacSam?

No, and I don't give a fuck.

Just tell me when the fuck they gonna leave, damn.

The Freedom Riders, my fine young man, were a group of concerned liberals from up north, all working together, just like we are here.

Involved citizens who came down here so that local black folk could have their civil liberties.

So, that people like you could have the vote.

You know what, man?

What, brother?

I don't vote. So, fuck you.

You little fuckin' ingrate.

And the bus you rode in on, jackass.

Let's step outside, MacSam.

Fuck the outside, come on. What?

(KNOCKING)

(DOOR CREAKING)

My friend Mrs. Funthes is here, so I'm about to go out.

Just thought I'd leave y'all with some cinnamon cookies.

Why, that is lovely.

Ooh, y'all sound good.

Maybe you could come by the church one Sunday.

Give us a recital. Why, how kind of you.

Our music, however, is... Well, how shall I put this?

A bit Roman in its outlook.

Many of our pieces were commissioned by the Holy See.

Oh, I see, all right, but we don't make no big whoop-dee-do about denomination.

Everybody welcome at our church.

Yeah, we had a Methodist come in.

Episcopalian.

Back in the '60s, we had a Jew come in. (LAUGHS)

Yeah, he had a guitar. A Jew with a guitar.

Well, if you will excuse me one moment, madam, I shall see you out.

If you gentlemen can labor harmoniously in the course of my absence, perhaps upon my return we shall be prepared to explode that vexing old piece of igneous.

Oh, Professor, this is Mrs. Funthes.

Enchante, Mrs. Funthes. Ravi.

Rosalie, this is Professor G.H. Dorr, Ph.D.

Oh, my. That's an awful lot of letters.

(CHUCKLES) Well, now...

Of course, in my youth, I was known simply as Goldthwait.

Uh-huh.

All right, safety meeting.

Let's listen up. General, can you hand me the primer cord?

Before we set the charge, we will run through our procedure.

I have earplugs for whoever wants them.

Just wedge those right in your ears.

Now, here we have... Not yet, Lump.

Now, primer cord.

Gelatinite.

C-4.

Time comes, we pack the hole in the rock with the C-4 and insert two leads, A and B.

I remember my father sayin' to me, and it's one of the few memories I retain of the man from one of his visits home, and how I do cherish it...

He said to me, "Goldthwait, "you are not formed as other boys."

He a man of learnin'?

This is the same procedure we will be using when we collapse the tunnel after entering the casino vault and returning to the root cellar.

He was a self-educated man.

Didn't have a career as such, but the government did recognize the breadth of his readin' by makin' him librarian of the state nervous hospital in Meridian, where he was a distinguished inmate.

Once these materials are combined only the professionals may handle them.

That means me or the General.

Separately they are harmless, completely inert.

Why, you could light this stuff on fire, hit it with a...

(EXPLOSION)

(ALARMS BLARING IN THE DISTANCE)

What in the name of heavens was that?

Well, I'm quite certain there's absolutely no reason to be alarmed.

Why, I'm not even absolutely certain I heard anything at all.

Didn't hear nothin'?

Well, something perhaps.

Nothing that need discompose us was the sense I was tryin' to convey.

Now, Mrs. Munson, I will not have you missin' your musical recital.

Off you go.

I shall call the gas company, or the water company.

Whatever subterranean utility is implicated in this contretemps.

I shall see to the matter, as only a highly educated classicist could.

Blood. Blood, Professor, blood.

Blood, blood, blood. (YELLING INDISTNCTLY)

PANCAKE: It's nothin' to make a fuss about. It's perfectly all right.

Jackass, you better get yo' ass back down there and find that shit, dipshit.

Really, I'm perfectly all right. Perfectly all right?

Jackass, you just blew your goddamn finger off.

The motherfucker's down there flappin' the fuck around.

You better get yo' ass back down there and find it.

I'm tellin' you right now, nubbie, I ain't pickin' up your goddamn finger.

I gather there was a premature detonation.

Would you tell this motherfucker he can sew this shit back on?

It's like that dude whose wife cut his dick off, threw it on the freeway?

She just called AAA, they towed the dick and sewed the motherfucker back on.

Listen up. Jackass, I saw the motherfucker in a porno.

The thang still worked. (MUMBLING)

It looked like a chewed-up frank, but that little motherfucker be workin' that motherfucker.

It's mangly, but he be fuckin' the bitch all kind of ways with a twisted dick.

Oh, your fuckin' finger just moved.

The motherfucker movin' slow now.

I'm not gettin' that shit. Fuck that.

You're on your own there.

They usin' the house to practice music of the Rococo.

Mmm-hmm.

I propose we get our fallen comrade to the hospital.

The General will follow when he manages to recover the severed digit.

PANCAKE: No, no, really, I'm perfectly all right.

I don't know what all the fuss is about.

Good news. Good news. Pickles. Go catch him.

The house is in apple-pie order, though we do have to get medical attention for Mr. Pancake, who, durin' the disturbance, pinched his finger in the valve of his sackbut.

You let the cat out.

The General is even now exercisin' every effort in retrievin' your mischievous little Pickles. Please, go on.

Go on and enjoy the concert.

Driver. Au revoir, mes dames!

DORR: Despite our setback, we find ourselves on schedule to penetrate the vault here this afternoon, while Mrs. Munson is at church, havin' blasted that little old rock to pieces durin' Mrs. Munson's choir practice.

Garth, can you run us through the game plan for what remains of our tunnel?

Of course. Why, it's child's play now.

Easiest thing in the world.

Only a couple of feet separate us from the vault.

Just the usual spadework until we get to the masonry of the vault, and then we just drill through.

And will you be able to wield the drill with your maimed extremity?

Oh, well, yeah, I should think so.

Yeah, it's only one finger.

Inhibits me in doing finer work of course.

I'll always have to live with that.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Maybe, um, I'm just thinkin' out loud here.

Maybe, since as you say, there will be problems later.

Maybe... And I actually mentioned this to Mountain Girl, she agrees with me, so, it's not just one person's opinion.

Maybe, uh...

I should get a little extra compensation for the accident.

Somewhat larger share.

Why, if this was any other line of work, I'd be getting workman's comp.

Wouldn't I?

Might even have a pretty good lawsuit.

Wait, so you gonna sue yourself for blowing your own goddamn finger off?

Well, now that is simply asinine.

Yes, but you see, Garth, this is not what you just called

"some other line of work."

Yeah, no, no, no, but if it were...

This is a criminal enterprise, not to put too fine a point on it, entailing any manner of risk not involved in honest labor.

Governmental regulations and civic safeguards cannot be assumed to apply to antisocial pursuits.

Yeah, but he lost his finger.

We don't give a fuck.

That fool could blow his goddamn dick off, it don't make no never mind to us.

We not payin' this jackass for goin' around blowin' off goddamn body parts.

Get yo' fuckin' head out yo' ass, man.

Look, you, there is no call for... (ALL CHATTERING)

No extra share.

Okay. Majority rules.

Like I say, it was just a trial balloon.

Hand's not so bad, really.

I even get some phantom feeling.

Yeah, you pull on your prick, you get some phantom feelin'.

Fuck you. Fuck you.

Fuck you. Fuck you, nubbie.

Well, now that that matter is settled, why don't we synchronize our watches before Gawain reports to work.

In 20 seconds, it will be exactly 12:16.

Fifteen... What, it'll be 12.15?

No, 15 seconds. Well, 11 seconds now, it'll be 12.16.

Eight, seven... Professor?

...six... Professor?

...five. Yes, Lump.

I don't have a watch.

♪ There'll be no more Weepin' and wailin'

♪ No more weepin' and wailin'

♪ No more weepin' and wailin'

♪ Home to live with God

♪ Soon I will be done

♪ With the troubles Of this world

♪ Troubles of this world Troubles of this world

♪ Soon I will be done With the troubles Of this world

♪ I'm goin' home to live with God

♪ Soon I will be done With the troubles Of this world

♪ Troubles of this world Troubles of this world

♪ Troubles of this world

♪ Soon I will be done With the troubles Of this world

♪ I'm goin' home To live with God

♪ Well, soon I will be done With the troubles Of this world

♪ Troubles of this world ♪ Troubles of this... Great God

♪ Soon I will be done With the troubles Of this world

♪ I'm goin' home To live with God

♪ Well, I'm goin' up to see King Jesus Hey, hey, yeah

♪ I'm gonna shake His loving hand

♪ I'm gonna tell Him All about my trouble

♪ As I'm travellin' Through this land

♪ Soon I will be done

♪ Troubles of this world

♪ Yeah, soon I will be done

♪ I'm goin' home To live with God

♪ Yeah, soon I will be done With the troubles Of this world

♪ Soon I will be done, yeah

♪ Troubles of this world

♪ Yeah, soon I will be done With the troubles, yeah

♪ I'm goin' home To live with God ♪

Woo-hoo!

GAWAIN: Ain't that somethin'.

(GRUNTING)

IBS. You be what?

Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Is there a men's room down here?

Oh, come on, you shouldn't be usin' the men's room now.

Or a ladies' room, quickly, IBS.

Man, if you knew you had the runs, why didn't you shit back at the house?

Quickly.

We don't want Elron finding your stinkin' ass on the crapper.

No choice, it's a medical condition.

Quickly.

You one disgustin' individual, you know that?

Come on, follow me.

Ah!

I feel 30 pounds lighter.

Come the fuck on with your stinkass.

Thank you for being so understanding.

Not everyone is, of course, which is why the biggest challenge of IBS is educating the public.

Afflicts over two million people, yet most of us have never heard of it.

And it strikes without regard to age, gender or race.

Fuck, man, I don't wanna hear about this shit.

Well, that's exactly the kind of attitude we're fighting.

I guess I never told you that's how Mountain Girl and I met.

They had an IBS weekend at Grossinger's, up in the Catskills. (SNIFFLES)

Of course, the tourist business there has suffered with the demise of the Borscht Belt, so they have various promotions, mixers, so on.

This was a weekend for Irritable Bowel singles to meet, support each other, share stories. Man, look here, I don't want to hear a single one of them stories, okay?

Now, some of them are very moving. Not one fucking story.

Look, I didn't choose to have IBS.

Man, shut the fuck up.

There's no cure, you know.

Only control. Lifelong condition.

Yeah, you know what? Bein' an asshole's a lifelong condition, too.

Just drop the fuckin' tools.

I'm not complaining. I did meet Mountain Girl.

Man, get back in the fuckin' hole.

Oh! (LAUGHS)

Marvelous! This way. This way, gentlemen.

Oh!

Excellent. Excellent. Flawless, flawless.

Thumbs up.

Can't stop shittin'.

Can't stop talkin' about shittin'.

DORR: Gentlemen, to we few.

We who have shared each other's company, each other's cares, each other's joys, and who shall now reap the fruits of our communal efforts, shoulder to shoulder, from each according to his abilities, so forth and whatnot.

We have had our little differences along the way, but I'd like to think that they've only made us value one another all the more.

Each of us coming to understand and appreciate the other's unique qualities and potencies and, yes, foibles.

I suggest that we shall look back upon this little caper one day, one distant day, grandchildren dandled upon our knee, and perhaps a tear will form and we shall say, well, with wit and grit and no small amount of courage, we accomplished something on that day.

A feat of derring-do, an enterprise not ignoble.

We merry band, unbound by the constraints of society and the prejudices of the common ruck.

We happy few.

(GASPS)

Gentlemen, to us.

(GLASSES CLINK) ALL: To us.

(PANCAKE LAUGHING)

(GASPING, LAUGHING)

Charge should've gone off already.

(GRUNTS) I do beg your pardon?

The charge to collapse the tunnel.

I set it for eight minutes.

Well, that much time and more has certainly elapsed.

I need not remind you, it is of the essence of this plan that the money should appear to have simply vanished without a trace, spirited away, as it were, by ghosts. Of course.

The conundrum of the undisturbed, yet empty vault.

The unsolvable riddle of the sealed yet violated sanctum, is of the utmost importance, not only to make our caper more intellectually satisfying.

It is exigent as a matter of practical fact.

I remind you that if any tunnel is ever found leading to this house,

the owner knows all your names.

(WHIRRING)


(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

(VAULT DOOR CREAKING)

(GRUNTING) (STOMACH GURGLING)

(SIGHS)

(BEEPING)

(PANTING)

(EXPLOSION) (GRUNTS)


You just fart?

(BOTH LAUGH)

PANCAKE: Nope, nope, I'm fine.

Perfectly all right. Not a problem.

LUMP: There's no hole left.

MRS. MUNSON: Professor!

I'm surprised.

Well, properly speaking, madam, we are surprised, you are taken aback.

Though I do acknowledge that the sense that you intend is gaining increasing currency through its use, yes.

You have returned from your devotions betimes.

I had to make tea.

I want to talk to you, Professor, so don't you be leavin'.

And you. (INHALES SHARPLY)

I told you I don't want any smokin' in this house.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

(CHEERING) Come on in. How you doin'?

Tea ladies.

Now, I don't know what you boys been up to, but I know mischief when I see it.

Now, I want an explanation, but first, I want you to get your fannies up here with all y'all's period instruments.

Now, I been tellin' the ladies about your music, and they want to hear you play.

LUMP: Professor? Yes, Lump?

I can't really play the butt sack.

Madam, or rather, mesdames, you must accept our apologies for not bein' able to perform, for, as you see, we are shorthanded.

Gawain is still at work, and we could no more play with one part tacit than a horse could canter shy one leg.

Perhaps I could offer, as a poor but ready substitute, a brief poetic recital.

Though I do not pretend to any great oratorical skills, (LAUGHS)

I would be happy to present, with your ladies' permission, verse from the unquiet mind of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.

Ladies, "Thy beauty is to me

"Like those Nicean barks of yore

"That gently, o'er a perfumed sea

"The weary wayworn wanderer bore

"To his own native shore"

WOMAN: My, my, my.

"On desperate seas long wont to roam

"Thy hyacinth hair thy classic face

"Thy Naiad airs have brought me home

"To the glory that was Greece

"And the grandeur that was Rome"

Glory hallelujah. ALL: Amen.

(MUTTERING)

DORR: Bye-bye, ladies. It was my pleasure. (CLAMORING)

We have to do this again. Yes, we do got to.

Thank you.

Such a pleasure. Safe home. Safe home.

Now I want to know what's goin' on. Indeed, indeed.

The thirst for knowledge is a very commendable thing.

Though I do believe that when you hear the explanation you shall laugh riotously, slappin' your knee and perhaps even wipin' away a giddy tear, relieved of your former concern.

Lump here, is an avid collector of Indian arrowheads, and having found one simply lying on your cellar floor...

A particularly rare artifact of the Natchez tribe?

What?

He enlisted the entire ensemble in an all-out effort to sift through the subsoil in search of others.

And apparently, in doing so, we hit a mother lode of natural gas.

I myself became acutely aware of the smell of "rotten eggs."

And it was just at this inopportune moment that the General here violated the cardinal rule of this house and lit himself a cigarette.

So sorry.

Well, what about all that money?

The money.

Well, the money is Mr. Pancake's.

(CLEARS THROAT)

That's right. Who only just remortgaged his home in order to raise the money for a surgical procedure that will correct the wandering eye of his common-law wife, Mountain Water, who suffers from astigma, strabismus and a general curdling of the vitreous jelly.

(CHUCKLES) Mr. Pancake, is an ardent foe of the Federal Reserve, and is, in fact, one of those eccentrics one often reads about hoardin' his entire life savings, in Mr. Pancake's case, in a Hefty bag that is his constant companion.

The Steel Sak.

Don't trust the banks. Never have.

Mmm-mm. It don't smell right to me.

I'm callin' Sheriff Wyner. No. Madam.

Please, please. Madam.

No, no, I beg of... Yes. Yes.

It is a lie. It is a fantastic tale.

You have us dead to rights, but, madam, please, please, please, allow me to tell you the truth in private.

Madam...

Madam, we are not musicians of the late Renaissance.

Nor of the early, nor mid period. Mmm-hmm.

We are, in fact,

criminals.

Desperate men, Mrs. Munson.

We have

tunneled into the nearby offices of the Bandit Queen gambling emporium and relieved it of its treasure.

Lord have mercy.

It is true.

The Bandit Queen is a den of iniquity.

A painted harlot luring people into sin by exciting the vice of greed with her promise of easy winnings. Oh, yes.

Her gains are ill-gotten.

But I offer no excuses.

Save one.

We men have each pledged one half of our share of the booty to a charitable institution.

In compensation for the use of your home, we had planned to donate a full share to Bob Jones University.

Without burdening you with guilty knowledge by informing you of same.

But now you have wrested the information from me.

(LAUGHS)

There you have it.

It is on your table, Mrs. Munson.

"The awful truth."

Stolen money.

But find the victim, Mrs. Munson.

I challenge you.

Even the casino itself, that riparian Gomorrah, shall suffer no harm.

It has an insurance company.

A financial behemoth that will cheerfully replenish its depleted vaults.

That is its function.

And that insurance company has tens and tens of thousands of policyholders.

So that we have done the calculations, Mrs. Munson.

So that at the end of the day, at the final reckoning, each and every one of those policyholders shall have contributed one penny, one, single, solitary cent, to the satisfaction of this claim.

One penny?

One penny. Think of it, Mrs. Munson.

One penny from those thousands upon thousands of people so that Bob Jones University can continue on its mission.

Why, I have no doubt that, were those policy holders made aware of the existence of that august institution.

Each and every one of them would have volunteered some token amount for the furtherance of its aims.

Well, that's probably true.

Sadly, the criminal stain is upon my soul.

But the benefit shall accrue to any number of worthy causes as long, that is, as the secret stays with us.

Well,

I can't hardly see the harm in it.

One penny? (MOUTHING) One penny.

I'm sorry. Excuse me?

No, I'm sorry, it's wrong, and don't you be leadin' me into temptation.

No, no, madam, I must strenuously...

I'm sorry, it's just plain wrong.

Stealin'. No, madam...

I know your intentions was good. No, they weren't.

And I won't call the police if you give back the money and y'all go to church with me next Sunday.

And engage in divine worship?

I've made up my mind.

Now, you can doubletalk all you want.

It's church or the county jail.

Think it over. I gotta feed the cat.

(STRUMMING)

Motherfuck. DORR: Yes.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Munson has rather complicated the situation.

Yeah, well, I know how to de-complicate it.

You bust a cap in that old bitch's head, everything be simple.

Not easy to do.

Many reasons.

Practical ones, quiet neighborhood, sleepy town.

Reasons of moral repugnance, a harmless woman, a deed conceived and executed in cold blood.

No, Gawain, would that it were simple.

Well, fuck, man. What we gonna do?

Give the money back and go to church?

(STRUMS)

I shudder. I quake.

You, sir, are a Buddhist.

Is there not a "middle" way?

Must float like a leaf on the river of life

and kill old lady.

Yes, yes, I suppose you are right.

It is the active nature of the crime, though, that so abhors.

The squeezing of the trigger, the plunging of the knife.

But let us think a moment.

What other tools do we have at hand?

We have the cellar.

We have the cavity.

We have masonry and trowel.

Perhaps we could simply immure her.

Sure, easiest thing in the world.

I can whip up a little mortar in a snow saucer.

Lay the bricks. Anchor in some chains.

(SNORTS) Mountain Girl could outsource the manacles.

Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen, we delude ourselves.

No, shortest and painless is best.

Gawain's gun, retort muffled by a pillow, into the brain.

(CLAPS) The affair of an instant.

The only question is, who wields the weapon?

I believe it is traditional in such circumstances to draw straws.

Fair enough. Here you go, Lump.

I'm thinkin', though, that since I lost a finger, I mean, literally lost it, 'cause of that fuckin' cat, maybe I should be excused from this thing.

Hard for me to squeeze a trigger anyway.

You one whiny motherfucker.

I'll come over there and squeeze your fuckin' nutsack, you keep that bullshit up. Shut up, punk.

I'll kick your goddamn ass, sweet-legs. Gentlemen.

No special pleading. No exceptions.

It is of the nature of the situation we would all prefer to be excused.

Well, okay, it was just a trial balloon.


(GRUNTS)

Long straw.

You all see it.

All that fuss for nothin', punk.

Fuck you.

Motherfuck.

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(COCKS GUN)


Would you like a hot-cross bun?

No, just an explanation.

Coming up...

Weezy, I'll take some cocoa. Hi, George.

What's goin' on? George.

How did they get in here?

(LAUGHING)

What you got there, Gawain?

Why, nothin', Mama.

Nothin', my ass, you got a dog there.

No, Mama.

A filthy, noisy little pest of a puppy dog gonna shit all over the house.

He won't shit in the house, Mama.

I'm gonna train him, I promise. I'll train him real good.

I'm gonna train you real good.

You wait till your daddy get home.

He gonna lay into you proper.

(CRYING) No, Mama. Please, Mama. I love you.

Your daddy gonna kick yo' ass.

Mama's whuppin' Gawain's ass.

Ain't you gonna use the strap, Mama?

I love you, Mama. I'm sorry, Mama, I love you.

I swear I'll wash the dog's ass and everything, Mama.

I'll train him to shit in the toilet, Mama.

I'll wipe his ass and everything, Mama. What you doin'?

What you doin' with my pillow?

Nothin', ma'am. I just came down to get a...

I'm displeased with you.

Yeah, but... Fine colored boy like you fallin' in with that trash downstairs.

Now, I know your mama taught you better than that.

(GRUNTS) (DOOR CLICKS)

I can't do it. She remind me of my mama.

Look, man... Why, this is most irregular.

Y'all motherfuckers just gonna have to draw straws again.

Wait a minute, you've got to accept your responsibilities, young man, and shoot that old lady.

Hey, man, fuck you and your irritated bowel.

Must shoot.

Now, look here, it's the easiest thing in the world.

Just pretend her head's a casaba melon and the gun is a melon baller.

What the fuck are you talkin' about? A melon baller?

GAWAIN: Look, man, you do it.

Oh, this is most irregular.

Now, look, with equal rights comes equal responsibility.

I'm afraid Mr. Pancake is correct. We cannot draw straws again.

The exercise would lose all credibility if you show that the loser can simply beg off.

Must shoot.

Hey, look, man, she's just an old colored lady to you.

Come on, man, you do it.

Why, you sniveling little coward.

What did you say to me?

Sniveling little coward.

You whiny motherfucker.

I will come up yo' stankin', irritated asshole with this gun and give you a lead colonic, motherfucker.

You think you scare me, you mewling punk?

You don't scare me. Bull Connor and all his dogs didn't scare me.

Now, be a man.

Fuck. You ain't no fuckin' man.

Oh, my, this is most distressin'. Be a man.

You ain't no fuckin' man.

Fuckin' a 60-year-old with pigtails.

Why, you bastard punk. Mountain Girl is 53.

She could ride your ass to jelly. Yeah?

Gentlemen, please. GAWAIN: I seen Virginia hams I'd rather stick my dick in than that big ol' white chick.

(GUNSHOT)

Oh, my God.

Oh, no.

Oh, my.

I think he's hit.

LUMP: Oh, no.

I'll just check the carotid artery.

That's a negative.

Is he dead, Professor?

Sure he's dead, Lump.

I just checked his carotid artery.

DORR: Well, this is most irregular.

We shall need a Hefty bag.

She is in the kitchen.

You steal out with the carcass while I dazzle her with conversation.

My dear, Mrs. Munson, I have outlined your position with my colleagues, and I now return to you to render our collective verdict. Uh-huh?

There was much spirited discussion and an atmosphere of frank give-and-take.

Some of our number were initially appalled at your proposal that we simply return the money, some were more receptive.

I don't care if they was receptive or not.

And that attitude, madam, was a factor in our discussions.

To a man, I must say they were devastated at the prospect of not being able to contribute to their respective charities.

Well, that is a shame. Indeed.

But at the end of the day, your position prevailed.

So, we have decided to return the money, every last cent of it, and attend Sunday services, rather than spend the remainder of our days wastin' away in the Mississippi Men's Correctional Facility.

Though that was the original preference of some.


You are not assistin' with the cadaver.

Oh, no need.

Just chuck it off the bridge. Easiest thing in the world.

I'm just cleanin' up here.

Oh, that's them, back already.

I'll just go dump these in the hearse.

Yeah, easiest thing in the world.

General.

No extra share, huh?

(GRUNTING) (STOMACH GURGLING)

(DOOR CREAKING)

Mountain? Garth?

(CHOKING)

IBS, dear?

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(HORN TOOTING)

Get Garth.


Excellent.

I believe, at last, we have the right man for the job.

(SNORING)

(DOOR CREAKING)


(CONTINUES SNORING)


(ALARM RINGING)

(GASPS)

(GRUNTS)

(CHOKING)

(CAT YOWLS) (GRUNTS)

(GRUNTS)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

DORR: The old woman is a more formidable antagonist than one had imagined.

(TRAWLER TOOTING)

(GRUNTING)

Now, Lump,

it falls to you to finish the job.

The comedy must end. You know, I've been doin' some thinkin', Professor.

Oh, dear. Maybe we should be goin' to church.

Maybe she is right. Oh, dear, Lump.

I feared those would be your words.

Not that I don't appreciate you giving the matter the benefit of your thought, but recall, my dear boy, our respective functions in this enterprise.

I am a professor.

The professor, as you yourself so often say. The thinker.

Trained, in fact, in the arts of cogitation.

You, Lump, are the goon, the hooligan, the dumb brute, whose actions must be directed by a higher intelligence.

Yeah, I know, but...

Uh-uh, no buts, dear boy. Do not repeat the error of thinkin'.

Now is the moment of praxis.

Now, Lump, you must act.

Well, I can't do it, Professor.

A nice old lady like that.

Think of the riches, Lump, that you and I alone shall divide.

(STUTTERS) Yeah, I know, but...

And reflect also that if you decline to act, thus forcin' me to do so, you shall no longer have any entitlement to the money.

Your offices shall have been nugatory.

You mean you're gonna kill her?

Of course, yes. My hand shall be forced.

I can't allow you to do that, Professor.

(LAUGHS)

You...

Allow?

Mmm-hmm.

Not allow?

Mmm-hmm.

What presumption!

You stupid boy.

You very, very, extremely stupid boy.

Oh, yeah?

Who looks stupid now?

(GUN CLICKING)

(TRAWLER TOOTING)

No bullets?

(GUNSHOT)

Perhaps it had to be thus.

"Lo! In yon brilliant window-niche

"How statue-like I see thee stand"

(GASPS) A raven.

(CAWING)

"The agate lamp within thy hand!

"Ah! Psyche, from the regions which

"Are Holy-land!"

(GRUNTS)


Huh?

MRS. MUNSON: Uh-huh.

Professor?

Mmm-mmm-mmm.

Couldn't face the music.

I appreciate that, but we don't know what to do.

Tried that, too.

Oh...

Uh, Mrs. Munson...

Gotta make a statement, Sheriff.

Ma'am, could it possibly wait?

We're kinda busy down here today.

Well, I suppose it could wait, but it's about that casino money.

Let me call you back. You know somethin' about it?

Somethin'? Everything. I got it at home.

You got what at home? The money.

$1.6 million.

It's down in my root cellar.

How did it get there, Marva?

Well, a bunch of desperate men stole it and put it there, that's how.

See, they was musicians of the Renaissance period.

Turned out they really couldn't play, but they could recite poems that'd break your heart.

The ringleader spoke in dead tongues. Does he now?

I tried to get you to see him.

That night. Yes, ma'am.

I had to holler at 'em about stealin' all that money. Mmm.

And I guess I made 'em feel real bad, 'cause they just picked up and left without takin' the money.

And they let Pickles out.

(GRUNTS)

So, you want us to come over and fetch him.

Oh, no, no, he's back.

What you want me to do with the money?

You keep it.

Why don't you keep it?

Keep it? Go on and keep it, Miss Marva.

Well,

it is just a penny off of everybody's policy.

I could...

You don't suppose I could... Yes, ma'am?

Could I just give it all to Bob Jones University?

Yeah, that'd be nice.

Give it all to 'em. That's a good idea.

(CHUCKLES)

As long as everybody knows.

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

How you doin'?

(MRS. MUNSON GRUNTS) (CAT MEOWS)

Pickles. Oh, Lord, Pickles!


(GOSPEL MUSIC CONTINUES)