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77h: Miskel Spillman / Elvis Costello
Least-Loved Bedtime Tale: The Soiled Kimono
Written by: Michael O'Donoghue
Laraine ... Laraine Newman
Mr. Mike ... Michael O'Donoghue
"Fingers," the Pianist ... Cheryl Hardwick
[Sound of thunder crashing and rain pouring down as we
open on an exterior view of a brick building framed by
palm fronds. Above a broken window, a sign reads:
CORAL WATERS BAR & GRILL. Through the window, we see a
uniformed sailor seated at a table and a bartender
standing behind the bamboo bar wiping down the
countertop. As we slowly zoom forward through the
window, the noises of the storm outside disappear and
we hear piano music.
We slowly zoom in on the bearded, bespectacled
bartender: Mr. Mike -- a thin gentleman who wears a
dark suit, no necktie, a shirt open at the collar and
dark eyeglasses. A lit cigarillo is clenched between
his teeth as he wipes the bar with a cloth. On the
wall behind him: numerous bottles of liquor, a fish
net, and a huge fish, stuffed and mounted.
It's near closing time: chairs have been put up on
tables and the only customer is the half-conscious
sailor who hunches over his drink while smoking a
cigarette. The pianist, a young woman nicknamed
"Fingers," sits at a piano decorated with a plastic
silver and blue Christmas tree. She plays a slow,
quiet version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little
Christmas."
Laraine, a thin woman in a red evening gown enters the
barroom and walks unsteadily to the bar where she sits
on a stool. In the background, a glowing neon sign
reads: MR. MIKE'S Coral Waters Cafe. Laraine, slurring
her words, drunkenly addresses Mr. Mike who polishes a
glass with his cloth.]
Laraine: M-Mr. Mike, I - I need a Least-Loved
Bedtime Tale. I need one real bad.
Mr. Mike: Sure thing, Laraine, but I'm afraid
you're gonna have to sing for it.
Laraine: Aw, Mr. Mike, you know I can't sing
any more -- not since I started hitting the
sauce.
Mr. Mike: Well, if you wanna hear a Least-Loved
Bedtime Tale, I'm afraid you're gonna have to sing the
aria from Madame Butterfly.
Laraine: Sing the aria from Madame
Butterfly? [looks away, distressed] I can't sing
that. I - I - I could sing "These Boots are
Made for Walking." [thinks] Or any old Nancy Sinatra
song. [desperate] Please, don't make me sing the aria
from Madame Butterfly, please.
Mr. Mike: Sorry, cupcake, but - no aria, no
bedtime tale. That's how it is.
Laraine: Well, in that case, I--
Mr. Mike: [abruptly, to the pianist who glances
at him] Say, "Fingers," why don't you accompany the
little lady on the piano while I mix her up one of my
special drinks, the - the one I call - [into the
camera] - the Soiled Kimono.
["Fingers" plays and a reluctant Laraine bravely
struggles through the aria ("Un bel dì" a.k.a. "One
Fine Day"), singing in a screechy, drunken voice. As
she does, Mr. Mike casually fixes the drink on the bar
beside her.]
Laraine: [sings]
One fine day, we'll notice
A tiny smoke cloud nearing
On the sea, in the far horizon,
And then his ship appearing
[During the first few lines of the aria, a
superimposed text scrolls by:]
HOW TO MAKE
A SOILED KIMONO
Mix 2/3 glass costly
French champagne
With 1/3 glass Japanese
plum wine
And top with a
paper butterfly.
Laraine: [sings]
Now the mighty war ship
Slowly comes to harbor
Cannons roar a welcome
See, there, how I know it!
[Over the rest of the song, another - longer -
superimposed text scrolls by:]
THE STORY OF
THE DRINK
A Japanese aviator was
angry with an unfaithful
Geisha girl.
"Take this!" he said,
flinging 2/3rds of a glass
of costly French champagne
in her face.
"And this!" he said,
flinging 1/3rd of a glass
of Japanese plum wine
in her face.
"And this!" he said,
flinging a paper butterfly
in her face.
"Why this tastes delicious!"
she exclaimed, kissed him,
and then hit him
in the lungs
with a gardening tool.
The end.
Laraine: [sings]
I'm dying of rejoicing
And then, in agitation,
He will call, he will call:
"My precious little darling,
My lovely silver goddess!"
Those loving names I will always remember
All I say will come true, you must believe me!
Love cannot be mistakened
But, there, can beat unshakened
Foreverrrrrrrrrrr!
[Laraine hits some long high notes on the last few
syllables just as the scrolling text ends.
Simultaneously, Mr. Mike tops off the Soiled Kimono
with a paper butterfly which twists and turns in the
glass. Much applause. Laraine, trembling and
exhausted, reaches for the drink but can barely lift
it. She lowers her head. In the background, "Fingers"
quietly plays "The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting
on an Open Fire)" throughout the rest of the
sketch.]
Mr. Mike: [hands the glass to Laraine] Here,
drink this, kid. I - I think you're gonna need
it.
Laraine: Okay. [desperate] Now will you tell me
a Least-Loved Bedtime Tale, please? [puts her hand on
his] Y-you promised.
Mr. Mike: Well, I'm afraid not, doll
face.
Laraine: [distressed] But
why?
Mr. Mike: Because you sang lousy, that's why.
'Cause you don't deserve a "Least-Loved Bedtime
Tale."
Laraine: [on the verge of tears] Oh, Mr. Mike,
you're so cruel!
Mr. Mike: Well - [Laraine sobs] - sometimes ya
- you have to be cruel, Laraine.
Laraine: [thinks she understands, looks up at
him] In order to be kind, Mr. Mike?
Mr. Mike: No, in - in order to be even crueler.
Now, scram. Put an egg in your shoe and beat it. It's
closing time.
[Mr. Mike turns away from Laraine who looks at the
paper butterfly in her drink and twirls it in her
fingers. After a pause, she asks Mr. Mike:]
Laraine: Do - do you eat the butterfly?
[Mr. Mike turns to stare at Laraine for a long, long
moment as the camera pulls back and away. Finally, he
turns his back to her and looks around for a cloth
with which to wipe down the liquor bottles behind him.
Applause. We pull slowly back to reveal the now
unconscious sailor slumped face down at his table. We
pull all the way back through the broken window to end
on the same exterior view of the building with which
we began. Sounds of thunder and rain. Fade
out.]
Submitted Anonymously
SNL Transcripts
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