Announcer: And now, a message from Pathological Liars Anonymous.
Tommy Flanagan: Hello, my name is Tommy Flanagan, and I’m a member of Pathological Liars Anonymous. In fact.. I’m the president of the organization!
I didn’t always lie. No, when I was a kid, I told the truth. But then one day, I got caught stealing money out of my mother’s purse. I lied. I told her it was homework – that my teacher told me to do it. And she got fired! Yeah, that’s what happened!
After that, lying was easy for me. I lied about my age and joined the army. I was thirteen at the time. Yeah.. I went to Vietnam, and I was injured catching a mortar shell in my teeth. And they made me a three-star general! And then I got a job in journalism, writing for the National Enquire.. er, Geographic! Yeah.. I was making twenty thousand a ye.. month! In fact, I won the Pulitzer Prize that year! Yeah, that’s the ticket.
And then my cousin died – Joe Louis – and I took it hard. Maybe too hard – I tried to kill myself. Yeahh.. I did kill myself! Sure! I was medically dead for a week and a half! It was a woman that brought me out of it – Indira Gandhi! Yeah, right.. And she told me about Pathological Liars Anonymous.
Oh, you’d be surprised how many famous people belong. In fact.. at one of the meetings I met my wife – Morgan Fairchild! Yes, I’m a change man now, and all because of Pathological Liars Anonymous. Why, I – I even have my picture on the cover of Newsweek magazine. Yeah. Every day! Yeah.. that’s the ticket! Yeah, you betcha!
Mr. Anderson…..Chevy Chase Mrs. Anderson…..Nora Dunn Timmy…..Anthony Michael Hall Tracy…..Joan Cusack City Official…..Jon Lovitz
Announcer: And now for an evening with “Those Unlucky Andersons”.
Mr. Anderson: [ reading paper ] Well, I guess we’d better cancel our barbecue, honey.
Mrs. Anderson: Not more bad weather?
Mr. Anderson: I’m afraid so, listen to this: 78° and sunny, except for the area around 516 Woodlawn Avenue.. which will continue to experience heavy rain and occasional sleet.
Mrs. Anderson: What a shame..
Mr. Anderson: Yeah.
Mrs. Anderson: Why is it always our house?
Mr. Anderson: It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?
Timmy: [ enters living room ] Hey, Mom, Dad.
Mr. Anderson: Hey, Timmy! Oh, hey, what do you have there, Tim – one of those toy arrows through the arm?
Timmy: You know, Dad, I wish it were?
Mr. Anderson: Ooh.. oh boy, that’s too bad. It must hurt a bit.
Timmy: Yeah, it does.
Mr. Anderson: You’d better run that under some cold tap water, and put some butter on it.
Timmy: Butter?
Mr. Anderson: Yeah, it’ll make it better. Try it.
Timmy: Mom, how you doing? [ exits to kitchen ]
Mr. Anderson: Boy, I’ll bet that smarts. [ opens paper again ] Oh! Oh! Honey! It looks like we won the lottery again! [ laughs ] Over $8 million this time! The cat didn’t eat the ticket, did he?
Mrs. Anderson: Oh.. yes, I’m afraid so, dear. I guess it’s just the numbers he likes, I don’t know.
Mr. Anderson: Darn that cat! Timmy, where is Buster!
Mrs. Anderson: You know, it’s such a shame he doesn’t eat the losing ones.
Timmy: [ re-enters living room carrying frozen cat ] Here he is, Dad. you know, Buster’s kind of dumb, I think, Dad. He got into the freezer again.
Mr. Anderson: [ holds the frozen cat ] Uh.. I’ll never get the tickets out of him this way. Alright, take him back to the kitchen and warm him up.
Timmy: Alright, Dad.
Mr. Anderson: Put some butter on him. Oh, uh, Tim, when you come back, I’ve got some news for you – you got a letter from the President of the United States!
Timmy: Who, Dad?
Mr. Anderson: [ chuckles ] The President!
Timmy: The President?
Mr. Anderson: Yeah.
Timmy: What’s it say, Dad?
Mr. Anderson: Well, let’s check it out.. [ stabs himself with the letter opener ]
Mrs. Anderson: Honey..
Mr. Anderson: It’s okay, it was open.. [ reads letter ] Oh, boy.. Timmy.. you’ve been drafted.
Timmy: Oh, great.
Mrs. Anderson: I thought the Army was all voluntary now?
Mr. Anderson: Well, it is. But, according to this, the Pentagon decided they need one more guy.
Mrs. Anderson: Oh.. and it had to be our Timmy.
Mr. Anderson: Darnit.
Mrs. Anderson: [ lowers head ] Oh, God!
Mr. Anderson: What’s the matter, honey, you lose a contact lens?
Mrs. Anderson: No, my whole eye!
Timmy: Oh, Mom!
Mr. Anderson: Let me help you look for that.. [ gets down on his knees to search the floor ] Ah! This must be our lucky day! Here’s that button I lost!
Mrs. Anderson: Good things come in threes.. because here’s my eye, and another button! [ back cracks as she stands ] Oh.. honey, I think I just turned my spine out again!
Mr. Anderson: Oh, no, sweetheart.. get in the kitchen, put some butter on that.
Tracy: [ enters living room ] Hi, Dad..
Mr. Anderson: Hi, Tracy, did you have a good day? Well, honey, how’d you get that burn on your hand?
Tracy: On the bus. A Buddhist mon sitting next to me was upset about politics and set me on fire.
Mr. Anderson: Some people.. Well, you’d better get in there and put some butter on it. Hey, uh.. that is a hysterical pregnancy, isn’t it?
Tracy: No, Dad.
Mr. Anderson: Come on.. it doesn’t have anything to do with the supernatural, or the devil or anything..? [ she runs away crying ] Darn it all!
[ doorbell rings ]
Timmy: Dad, the door.
Mr. Anderson: I’ll get it, I’ll get it. [ opens door, smacks himself in the head ]
City Official: Mr. Anderson?
Mr. Anderson: Yeah, that’s me. How are you? This is my son, Tim, he’s going to be joining the Army against his will.
Timmy: Dad..
City Official: Mr. Anderson, the local historical society has been going through the old town records.
Mr. Anderson: Oh?
City Official: Yes. And they turned up some 17th Century legal papers.
Mr. Anderson: Sounds very interesting.
City Official: Yes. And, according to an old law they found, you’re under arrest.
Mrs. Anderson: [ re-enters living room wearing an eyepatch ] Honey?
Mr. Anderson: Uh, honey, don’t set a place for me, I’m gonna be in prison for a while.
Mrs. Anderson: Oh, what a shame. Well, honey, before you go, do you remember what we usually do when the cat’s on fire?
Mr. Anderson: Uh, yeah.. we run him under some cold tap water, and put some butter on him.
Announcer: You’ve been watching an evening with “Those Unlucky Andersons”.
Announcer: [ over SUPER ] “In the early 1950’s, a dark shadow descended upon Hollywood. Caught up in the mass-hysteria of the McCarthy era, the entertainment industry turned against its own, blacklisting innocent artists and craftsmen. Banned from their chosen occupations, these blacklisted individuals fell victim to heresay, its ugly accomplice innuendo, and their unattractive sidekick, guilt by association. And now in 1985, Hollywood again is gripped by paranoia, this time provoked by the tragic AIDS outbreak. Actressed refused to do scenes with unknown actors. Gay actors are forced back into the closet, leading double lives, wearing wedding bands, riding motorcyles – living in fear that they will fall victim to: Pinklisting.”
[ dissolve to movie set, as actress Melinda Zoomont storms in ]
Melinda Zoomont: Art, are these the pages? Because if they are, it’s all wrong. I thought the love scene with the new character was out?
Director: Sweetheart, we decided that we had to establish your relationship with Lionel, because four or five scripts down the line, you’re gonna have his baby and he kidnaps you.
Melinda Zoomont: But I told you, I don’t do love scenes with actors I don’t know!
Director: Take five, everybody!
[ groans ]
Melinda Zoomont: I hate that this is happening to me, because it places me in the role of the bitch. And I hate that, because I’m not a bitch.
Director: Melinda, Melinda.. no one thinks you’re a bitch. Youre a professional. We all are. We’ve got a job to do. Now, you may not know Clint Weston, but I do. And I can tell you that there’s not another more masculine, more heterosexual actor on 24-hour call in this town!
Melinda Zoomont: Well.. maybe I’ll do the scene – but not until I meet the man face-to-face.
[ sound of motorcycle can be heard ]
Director: That sounds like Clint’s Harley.
Clint Weston: Damn those helmet laws – who needs ’em, huh?
[ everyone is happy to see Clint as he enters the set ]
Director: Hey, Clint! [ they shake hands ]
Clint Weston: How about the gazombas on that make-up girl, huh? Boy.. I know the old wife wouldn’t be pleased with that comment, but hey – just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu, right guys? [ notices Melinda ] Oh.. uh.. excuse me. Just a little guy talk there!
Director: Clint, this is Melinda Zoomont, your leading lady.
Melinda Zoomont: How do you do?
Clint Weston: Oh, how do you do? You don’t have to introduce me to television’s sexiest star!
Melinda Zoomont: Well, uh.. I think we’re running a bit late. Shall we do the scene?
Director: Right you are, Melinda. We’ll knock this off as soon as you get out of make-up, Clint.
Clint Weston: Okay, right-o! [ approaches the make-up chair, sits down ] Hey, how about handing me the paper, huh? I want to check the stats on my Raiders. [ flips papers around, notices article about Liza Minelli and Judy Garland ] Oh, my God! Why doesn’t she leave the poor woman alone!
Make-Up Girl: Are you alright?
Clint Weston: Of course, I’m alright! It’s just that Raiders secondary!
Make-Up Girl: Who’s the secondary?
Clint Weston: Oh, uh.. those are the guys that, uh.. go.. uh, uh.. both ways.. [ gets up, returns to the set ]
Director: Uh.. you got your dialogue?
Clint Weston: Uh.. yeah.. yeah.
Director: Alright, come on over here, we’ll just talk you through this. Okay, now, Clint, you propose a toast to your little scheme, you share a glass of wine, you gaze into each other’s eyes, you kiss passionately.. then you take off your clothes, and you get into the hot tub. Got it? Uh.. can we hear that hot tub!
Voice: Hot tub!
Director: That’s 180° in there, so you two should be quite comfortable.
Clint Weston: Can you believe we’re getting paid to do this!
Melinda Zoomont: Another day, another $10,000.
Clint Weston: [ laughs ] Stop it! We’ve got a scene to do!
Director: Could we get a censor in here? I’ve got a question about this kiss here?
Censor: [ enters set ] Yeah, what can I do for you?
Director: Oh, Ted, hey how you doing? Uh, listen, Ted, how passionately can we make this kiss? Uh.. we got sweeps coming up, I need a little help here.
Censor: I tell you, there hasn’t been much kissing lately, so.. just about anything is okay with us. Now, as long as we don’t see any tongue, a little bulge in the cheek.. [ demonstrates ] ..or this, that’s alright. But we can’t see any of this..
Director: Okay. Thanks, Ted, I owe you one, buddy! Okay, let’s rehearse this – Clint, Melinda, from the top! Alright, roll it.
Voice: Speed.
Voice: Sound.
Director: Action!
Melinda Zoomont: My husband has the same routine every day. If you follow my instructions, it should be child’s play.
Clint Weston: Angel, I want you to know – I’m not just doing this for the money..
[ a light falls from the set, crashing into the hot tub, freaking Clint out ]
Melinda Zoomont: Wait a minute! You’re gay!
Clint Weston: Yes, I’m gay! And now you all know. Art, you can fire me if you like, but I can’t go on living a lie.
Director: Clint, I admire your guts. And I think you should know that.. I’m gay, too.
[ so is everyone else ]
Clint Weston: [ to Melinda ] Living out this little charade, you know, was not our choice. It was a matter of survival! But I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that!
Melinda Zoomont: Well.. actually.. I do have a confession to make. And I do understand you. [ pause ] I’m an intravenous drug user.
[ everyone groans ]
Director: Well.. shall we do the scene, then?
Melinda Zoomont: [ considering ] Alright.
Clint Weston: Wait a minute! No way am I gonna kiss an intravenous drug user! Get my agent!
A FLOATING HEAD, with curly hair and glasses, looks directly at us.
Floating Head: The Limits of Imagination.
SUPER: THE LIMITS OF IMAGINATION
INT. CAR NIGHT
The camera pans down on a white car telephone cord. The telephone rings.
Nancy Duncan: Hello.
Killer (V/O): Hello, Nancy?
Nancy Duncan: Who is this? And why are you calling me?
[ A dial tone. Nancy hangs up the telephone. She wipes her right cheek. The telephone rings again. Nancy bits her lower lip and darts her eyes left and right. She answers the telephone. ]
Nancy Duncan: Hello?
Killer (V/O): I can see you Nancy!
Nancy Duncan: Please, please, stop bothering me!
[ The killers voice cackles and hangs up. Nancy follows suit. The telephone rings. Nancy hesitates for some time then answers. ]
Nancy Duncan: Stop it! Stop it! I cant take it anymore!
Sgt. Tidrow (V/O): Miss Duncan? This is Sergeant Tidrow. Weve managed to trace the calls — theyre coming from inside the car.
[ Nancy gasps. She glances at all the cars doors and hits the accelerator. ]
EXT. HIGHWAY NIGHT
A stoplight turns red. Nancy careens her car to an abrupt stop and hits her head on the steering wheel. She checks herself.
Sgt. Tidrow (V/O): Miss Duncan? Miss Duncan? Are you hurt?
Nancy Duncan: No Mom, Im all right Its the car.
Sgt. Tidrow (V/O): Yes the car its all right. I want you to get out of the car and see if you have engine trouble. Act naturally and dont make any sudden moves.
Nancy Duncan: All right, I will. Goodbye Mom.
[ Nancy hangs up the telephone. She steps out of the vehicle and approaches the hood. She opens it. A stocky, well-dressed, bald with patches THE KILLER lunges his arms towards Nancy. Nancy screams. The killer has control of Nancy and holds her down on the hood. ]
Killer: I got you, Nancy!
[ The cars truck pops open. The floating head, now attached to his full body wearing a sandy blazer, tie, and black slacks, arises with a cigarette in his mouth and a revolver in his right hand. He fires three shots at the killer, whos choking Nancy. The gunshots subdue the killer as he falls dead to the ground. Nancy rushes to the floating head and embraces him. He holds her close and faces the camera. ]
Floating Head: A beautiful woman. A psychotic killer. Perhaps youve seen it before. You may see it again, the next time we reach — The Limits of Imagination.
[ The floating head escorts Nancy back to her car. ]
[ A group of yuppies sit around a table in a fancy restaurant, drinking ]
Yuppie #1: I gotta make a toast. Here’s to a guy who just sold his condo for five times what he paid for it!
[ rapid-fire scenes of yuppies living it up amongst the less-privileged, driving a Ferrari, pushing people aside in the streets, etc. ]
Jingle: You want more than the rest You just won’t take second best You’ve never been number two And you’re gonna get the things the world owes you.
Where you’re going, you’ve always known it Where you’re going, you’re on your way.
[ Champagne glass reads “Where you’re going” ]
Where you’re going.. YOU’RE GONNA PAY!
[ Champagne glass now reads “HELL” – all the yuppies are howling andscreaming in Hell ]
Announcer: Yes, you’re going to Hell. For the life of false values, empty ambitions and raw greed, you’ve earned the agony of eternal torment. You’re going to burn, no doubt about it.
Brandon Tartikoff: Hello, I’m Brandon Tartikoff, president of NBC Entertainment.
(applause)
In a few moments, the second decade of Saturday Night Live will begin, and all of us at NBC are excited that Lorne Michaels, the show’s creator and original producer, is back at the helm. As you may be aware, Saturday Night Live has had, in the past, some problems with … well, there’s no other way to put it … drugs.
(One audience member cheers)
You know, smoke, weed, toot … snow … glue. I could go on and on. We at NBC tried many methods of dealing with drug use on the show, after my own idea, the Honor System, failed so badly. Well, to assure you, the viewer, that this will be a clean show, I am announcing tonight a new network policy of random urinalysis testing for all cast and crew of the new Saturday Night Live. So as not to stigmatize the performers on this show, NBC will imply this procedure on all of our programs. From the actors on Miami Vice — except those who play the criminals — to Punky Brewster, to Meet the Press.
(displays a tray with urine samples in NBC logo plastic cups)
Now as you can see, eight of the new cast members have already completed testing tonight, and we are waiting only for the last member of the group, Anthony Michael Hall. As soon as he returns with his test, the show can begin. (waits around, looks at watch) … Well, a policy is a policy. Ah — there he is now.
(Anthony emerges in a bathrobe, and shakes Mr. Tartikoff’s hand as he turns in his sample.)
Anthony Michael Hall: I’m sorry this took so long.
Brandon Tartikoff: That’s all right. Congratulations, Michael. (puts the sample on a tray)
Anthony Michael Hall: Oh, thank you. Thank you.
Brandon Tartikoff: Um, Michael, if you’ll just uh, recite the network pledge, we can make this all official. (hands him a card)
Anthony Michael Hall: … Right.
(He holds up his right hand as he reads the pledge.)
“I, Michael Hall, swear to remain drug-free as long as I am associated with this network. And if I make a mistake, or freak out, it will not be because there are any chemicals in my body.”
Brandon Tartikoff: Well done, Michael.
Anthony Michael Hall: Oh, thank you.
(They shake hands again.)
Brandon Tartikoff: You know, even though you’re just 17 years old, I understand that you’ve been doing this kind of thing for quite awhile.
Anthony Michael Hall: Yeah, well, I’ve been giving specimens since um, since I first got chicken pox.
Brandon Tartikoff: Right. Well, uh, you may start the show.
Anthony Michael Hall: Thank you, Mr. Tartikoff. (the camera goes in on him as he says, with defiance) “Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!”
Victor LaSalle…..Jon Lovitz Waiter…..Damon Wayans Actress…..Nora Dunn Newspaper Editor…..Randy Quaid
[ opens on Victor LaSalle typing at his desk ]
Announcer: Greg Sharnell is Victor LaSalle, movie critic for the nation’s most influential newspaper.
[ shows building, newspaper is titled THE DAILY TRUMPETER ]
[ logo CRITIC is typed on screen ]
[ opens on high-class buffet in fancy restaurant ]
Announcer: In a world where no one pays for his own dinner, Victor LaSalle stands alone.
Waiter: Champagne, caviar, Mr. LaSalle?
Victor LaSalle: No. I cannot in good conscience accept food and beverage from a motion picture studio.
[ logo CRITIC is typed on screen ]
Announcer: The passion. The pathos. The honesty. The despair.
[ Victor Lasalle is seen dining at a restaurant, someone reads newspaper with headline “Actress bites big one” by Victor LaSalle. Actress criticised in the article looks angrily at Victor, walks over to his table, and throws wine at his face. ]
Never before have the torments of movie critics been so vividly portrayed.
[ Victor is talking with another critic in a bar ]
Other critic: Most of us critics go into it for their own reasons. We so desperately want to be a part of show buisness, and yet we have no talent. So out of sheer envy we criticise the honest work of real artists, while secretly wishing all the time we were writing the scripts, or directing, or acting.
[ logo CRITIC is typed on screen]
Announcer: Ripping the lid off the corruption, the hypocrisy of the movie industry.
[ newspaper editor storms angrily into Victor LaSalle’s office ]
Newspaper Editor: Are you insane? You can’t pan a movie that was financed by the corporation that runs this newspaper!
[ newspaper article is held up, with headline “Megacorp Movie Bites Big One” by Victor LaSalle, the person reading the article turns out to be the head of Megacorp ]
Megacorp Head: [ into his cell phone ] Unplug that S. O. B.’s word processor!
[ logo CRITIC is typed on screen ]
[ protesters march around the Daily Trumpeter building, holding signs that say “TRUMPETER UNFAIR TO MOVIEGOERS”, “BRING BACK LaSALLE”, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT MOVIE TO SEE” ]
Protesters: Bring back LaSalle! Bring back LaSalle! Bring back LaSalle! [ repeatedly ]
Announcer: An extraordinary picture about an extraordinary man. The critics are raving: [ reviews show up on screen, announcer reads reviews ]
“I loved this…film.”-JUDITH CRIST
“I laughed, I cried.”-JOHN SIMON
“I stuffed my face.”-ROGER EBERT
[ credits show up on screen ]
Rated PG-13. Children and stupid people should be accompanied by anintelligent adult.
Cabrini Green: What’s happening? My name is Cabrini Green-Jackson. Um.. I’m an international spokesmodel. Not like the spokesmodels on “Star Search” – they ain’t about nothing! Um.. my full name is Cabrini Green-Harlem-Watts-Jackson. I’m a Libra, my favorite sport is running, I’m in tenth grade, I’m 17 years old, and I have two children. I speak for teenage mothers, I speak for just-about-to-be-mothers, and for don’t-wanna-be-mothers – I been all three!
So, I’ll never forget this one day – I was at home, my momma was fixing some corn bread, black-eyed peas, cnadied yam with neck bones and some Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. I said, “Hi, Momma, you wanna hear a joke? I’m pregnant.” She said, “How did that happen?” I said, “How am I supposed to know how that happened? You never told me nothing about things like that, the school don’t teach us about things like that, you’re asking me how that happened? How’d that happen? How’d that happen?” I finally said, I said, “Momma, you know it didn’t happen when Mary got Jesus, because we not Catholic!”
But don’t get me wrong – I love my Momma, you dig? It was just that that day she was getting on my very last nerve, you know what I’m saying? But anyway, my Momma, she helped me a lot with Binky and everything like that, but I could have avoided the whole thing with Binky if I had had this.. [ holds up coloring book ] ..the Cabrini Green “I Don’t Want A Baby” coloring book. It start off with two hearts – two hearts that beat as one. It’s very romantic, because, of course, I wrote this book myself. I think it’s gonna be very big. It’s got all kinds of physical charts, scientific programs, and it also has some porno pictures, so you can know what the real deal is!
Air Date:
Sheila E., “Hollyrock”
