(chimes, whirring)
‐GLEN: Betsy! ‐BETSY: Hi!
‐GLEN: How are you? ‐I'm good.
‐GLEN: Thanks for coming in. ‐Thank you for having me.
GLEN: Yeah, I wanted to talk
about the character name before we begin.
‐Oh. ‐GLEN: Sorry about that.
Nah, it's‐‐it's okay.
It was supposed to get changed before the auditions,
but you know how these things go.
The director says we can probably change it.
‐Okay. ‐GLEN: We'll see.
‐Yeah. ‐GLEN: Okay.
It's‐‐it's fine. It's cool.
Just these writers, they start writing
and they throw in something, but‐‐
Yeah, it's‐‐ it is what it is.
‐It's‐‐ ‐GLEN: I'm just‐‐okay.
‐It's whatever. ‐GLEN: 'Cause this is a real‐‐
You don't have many lines, but this is an important part
of the whole story, this character.
‐Mm‐hmm. ‐GLEN: It's a nuanced role.
‐Yeah. ‐GLEN: Great.
Well, whenever you're ready, slate.
Okay, great. (clears throat)
(sighs) Betsy Sadaro reading for
White Crack Whore Who Gets a Brick Thrown at Her.
(clears throat)
Dohh! (groaning)
‐GLEN: Great, that was it. ‐Okay.
(whirs, chimes)
(mellow electronic music)
♪♪ ♪♪
Hey. Do you want to play a game?
Yeah. What game?
It's called Oranges.
How do you play?
Oh, the best way to learn's just by playing it.
‐All right. ‐ Great.
‐(slap) ‐Hey.
‐(slap) ‐All right. I get it.
No, no, I'm still in.
‐(slapping) ‐W‐well‐‐
well, how‐‐how do I‐‐ stop for a sec.
‐You can't stop in Oranges. ‐(slap)
‐But how do I get in? ‐Say the code word.
‐(slap) ‐Which is what?
‐Oranges. ‐Oranges?
‐Okay, you're in. ‐All right.
(cracks knuckles)
‐Oranges! ‐Hey!
‐I said the code word. ‐But I‐‐
That's the rules.
‐This sucks. ‐(slap)
If you want to be in again, say the code word.
‐Oranges. ‐Oranges!
‐(slap) ‐Oranges.
‐Oranges!
‐Oranges. ‐Oh, fuck this.
You're not allowed to run away in Oranges.
I'm not coming near you.
‐You want to call the game off? ‐Yes, I do.
‐Okay, say it, then. ‐Say what?
Well, say you're calling the game off.
I'm calling the game off.
‐Fine. ‐Okay.
You can come back now.
(chuckles)
‐Well, that was a‐‐ ‐(slap)
What are you doing?
You said the citrus phrase.
It means the game continues.
What the hell is a citrus phrase?
‐(slap) ‐"I'm calling the game off."
‐(slap) ‐What?
But I want to call it off for real.
‐Then say the secret sentence. ‐(slap)
‐Which is? ‐"Let's keep playing Oranges."
Let's keep playing Oranges.
‐Okay! ‐(slap)
(upbeat music)
(funky music)
♪♪ ♪♪
JOHN: Uh, I'll have a half order of toast, please.
"A half order of toast."
‐Correct. ‐Sure.
‐And I'll get you some coffee. ‐Nope.
No coffee. Thank you very much.
♪♪ ♪♪
Whoa, sneaking in coffee now, huh?
I know.
We haven't had a case in two weeks,
‐and I'm totally broke. ‐I know. Me too.
‐It's so liberating. ‐Oh, yeah.
Spoken like a man who lives with his parents.
No, no, seriously. Being broke,
it makes that next paycheck all the sweeter.
Oh, by the way, David... (slurps)
I can't pay you, because I'm broke.
God damn it.
Yeah, I had to sell my refrigerator
just to buy my asthma inhaler this month.
Wait, what? That's insane!
What about all the ham I left in that refrigerator?
Well, David, your ham is warm now.
Unacceptable!
That's my fucking personal ham
for when I come over to visit you.
You need to ask him for a loan.
No, I am not going to ask him for a loan.
No excuses!
That's where I draw the line, David.
Here's your half order of toast.
(whispering) I brought you a lot of jelly,
because I know you're struggling.
(soft groan)
Okay, let's go ask him.
TUCKER: You want a loan? (chuckles)
That's not happening.
Tucker, you need to help us out, man.
I know you have money.
You live in this big house.
You have all this fancy shit.
Plus, your name is Tucker.
Do you know what N‐O spells?
‐Yes. ‐TUCKER: Wrong.
‐It spells "no." ‐DAVID: Fuck my life.
Come on, David, he just got you with that last week.
It's nothing personal, Detectives.
All my cash is tied up in catering
for my croquet tournament.
Wait, whoa‐‐ croquet tournament?
‐When? ‐Saturday.
‐I've partnered with SCKR. ‐(John gasps) SCKR?
The internet seersucker suit company
that cuts out the middle man and bought their own
seersucker suit factory in Germany?
Yah. I'm a brand ambassador.
I provide SCKR with beautiful teens to play croquet.
‐(gagging) ‐SCKR provides the wardrobe.
I blast the photos across my platforms.
SCKR puts up a thousand‐dollar first prize
and a little money for my trouble.
It's all about looking good and having fun.
Everything you're saying sounds really dumb.
Wait a minute, Tucker, did you say a thousand‐dollar prize?
I did...and now I regret saying that.
(laughing) My problems are solved,
because I'm going to win that croquet tournament.
Tucker, your fancy friends are about to become
victims of FOBOCM.
Which is...
"Full‐on, balls‐out croquet murder."
(dramatic music)
(car horn honks)
Let's go, John!
The sooner you win this stupid tournament,
the sooner you can buy a new fridge, and then we‐‐
‐(laughing) Oh, my God. ‐Huh?
DAVID: What happened?
I got this suit 20 years ago.
I've been waiting for the right moment to deploy it.
Oh, my God, you deployed the shit out of that.
You look insane.
Yeah, it's my secret weapon.
It is a really tight suit,
and when were you gonna tell me about your robotic penis?
David, that's my inhaler.
Took me 20 minutes just to get it into the pocket.
‐Oh. ‐(coughs)
I do think these pants might be a little tight.
Damn, son.
Let's ride.
Uh, actually, can you put on my seat belt for me?
I can't move my arms.
I can't believe you're excited about playing croquet.
Have you ever even played this dumb game before?
Mm, David, of course.
When I was young, I played with people all over the world.
Wait. How'd you do that?
JOHN: Croquet by mail...
DAVID: (whispering) Oh, fuck.
JOHN: Allowed me to master strategy
without the physical risks of an actual game.
It was a rush like no other,
for the asthmatic child, at least.
DAVID: Croquet by mail.
That is hardcore.
When it comes to croquet, I'm fucking hardcore as shit.
♪♪ ♪♪
Don't look now.
Here come those aggro motherfuckers.
Yo, what's up, idiots?
You guys know anybody who wants to fight?
If you really want to fight so bad,
why don't you go fight that new guy
who's just a circulatory system?
We'll kick a circulatory system's ass!
Oh, yeah?
You're gonna go fight the circulatory system, tough guy?
You're mentally fucked up.
You dudes really have no concept of reality, huh?
‐Don't do it! ‐And who might you be?
Don't fight that circulatory system.
You can't defeat him.
Oh, Big Head, Big Head, how do you know?
Because I'm the one who created him.
I created a monster with me big head.
Also, I am officially retiring from karate,
so good‐bye to everybody at this temple.
‐Bye. ‐Good‐bye.
‐And good‐bye to you. ‐So long.
I'll think of you when I eat my soup!
Did you hear that?
You can't fight a circulatory system,
you dingbat.
Oh, yes, we can!
We're gonna track him down and kick his ass,
and then you're gonna cry.
‐Aww. ‐Yeah, man. Whatever.
Oh, shit, there he is.
Holy shit, man.
That guy looks tougher than a horse's skull
with three nails sticking out of it,
and then it turns out the nails are made of your nightmares
and that you went to the bathroom in your pants.
‐Fuck! ‐Come on, man.
He doesn't look that tough.
He's not even moving.
‐Hey, you! ‐Fuck.
Hey, if you're so tough, touch your toes.
Or do a jumping jack.
Um, I'm gonna go check on...
uh, buying a microwave oven or something.
Well, the time has come.
I'm gonna kick this guy's ass.
(dramatic chords)
SINGERS: ♪♪ I think I need a little wiggle room ♪♪
♪♪ To move my body and to go to zoom ♪♪
JOHN: Well, well, well, look at these pathetic losers.
Uh, are you kidding? This is amazing.
‐JOHN: What? ‐DAVID: This is like
that book we read in high school
about the guy everyone thinks is so great.
‐Oh, really? Which book? ‐"The Greatest Guy"
by F‐This Fitzgerald or something.
All right. I'll ignore that.
Listen up, everyone.
My name is John Hunchman.
I came here to smash balls and make money,
and I'm all out of money.
(laughs) Nice outfit.
He looks like a gummy bear going to Sunday school.
He looks like if Mark Twain lived in a basement
with a freezer full of human heads.
‐Brutal. ‐Okay, I can hear you.
He looks like if a riverboat captain
and a Double Stuf Oreo had a baby.
‐Ooh. ‐Keep it coming.
Every insult makes me stronger.
Looking like "Brideshead Regurgitated."
(snorts) Oh, my God.
All right. You know what?
That's‐‐that's actually a good reference.
He looks like a bag of mustaches
trying to sneak into the Kentucky Derby.
‐(laughing) ‐Okay.
Enough meaningless nonsense.
Let's play croquet. Where's Tucker?
Rise and grind, bitches.
BOTH: Wow.
JOHN: SCKR really does send quality seersucker suits
straight to your door.
Remember, no matter who wins or loses,
this is all about looking good and having fun.
Right, but there's still a thousand‐dollar prize.
‐Correct? ‐(sighs)
That's correct.
Now, everyone remember,
the official hashtag is #sucklife.
And that's paid out immediately, the prize?
Sure.
And you should promote that
across all your‐‐
‐In cash? ‐Cash, check, Bitcoin.
Whatever, but you gotta win first.
‐Okay. Got it covered. ‐All right, champ.
Good luck. You call me when it's over.
We'll hit the Fridge Pit.
We'll get you a fresh, shiny fridge.
ANNOUNCER: Fridge Pit!
Whoa, whoa, David, you can't leave.
(sputters) Croquet's lame.
I'm gonna go read magazines at the gas station.
No, no, it's‐‐it's‐‐ it's two‐person teams, David.
‐I‐‐I need you. ‐DAVID: Ugh. Really?
‐You need me? ‐Uh‐‐
Do it for the ham.
‐Fine. ‐Yes!
Okay, but if this isn't fun, I'm gonna be pissed.
Put us on the board, Tucker!
Fine. What's your team name?
Uh, how 'bout "Best Buddies Ball Bonkers LLC"‐‐
‐Weak... ‐Oh, my God.
Our team name is
"Your Face Is My Slaughterhouse."
Oh...kay.
MAN: Round one!
(rock music)
Boom!
We win.
In your face, Toby!
All right, chill out, man.
‐It's just a game. ‐"Just a game."
The catchphrase of losers.
Who's next? How 'bout you two?
Who, us?
We won the tournament last year.
We get a buy.
Oh, well, wowee.
What's up with him?
This is supposed to be about looking good and having fun.
Dude, I don't know.
‐I've never seen him like this. ‐Come on.
Come on. You want some?
You want some, right? Come on.
Which one of you is gonna take a piece of this?
He looks like a toll booth having a panic attack.
MAN: Round two!
Come on, Britney!
You got this, Brit!
(camera shutter snapping)
(coughs) Missed the ball.
‐(coughing) ‐Oh, shoot.
My turn.
♪♪ ♪♪
‐Aw, man. ‐Lesson here, Britney:
you come at the king, you best not miss.
♪♪ ♪♪
JOHN: Ha!
Why are you being such a little bitch?
(blabbering)
This is a croquet tournament, okay?
It's not a cuddle puddle.
‐Dude. ‐What?
You're acting insane.
This is supposed to be fun.
I literally can't afford to have fun, okay?
Now get out of my way. You're blocking my shot.
♪♪ ♪♪
Mm...mm.
Yes!
ALL: Boo!
♪♪ ♪♪
‐GLEN: Betsy. ‐BETSY: Hi, Glen.
‐GLEN: Hey. ‐BETSY: Hi.
‐GLEN: Thanks for coming in. ‐Thanks for having me.
Hey, I just wanted to say this is another one of those movies
with a weird character name,
and unfortunately, this one we definitely‐‐
there's no changing it.
‐Yeah, okay. ‐Okay? You good with that?
‐Mm‐hmm. ‐GLEN: Okay, well, let's, uh‐‐
slate your name and let's begin.
Okay, great. (clears throat)
Betsy Sadaro reading for Stupid Shithead with no Teeth.
(howling)
(brakes hiss)
(light music)
‐(woman coughs) ‐(phone buzzes, rings)
(devices chirping)
♪♪ ♪♪
MAN: To the lovely lady
I encountered on the crosstown bus this morning
at roughly 10:00 a. m.
Hello.
I was the bearded gent with the whimsical comedic bent,
pantomiming subtle satire to you.
Hopefully an oasis in this tech‐flooded world
of phone zone zombies.
(chuckles)
Your sunglasses were a mysterious touch.
All the better to play coy with
when presented with a suitor such as myself,
uncomfortable luddite in a homemade birthday shirt.
I feel no shame for my unique countenance,
and the fact that your cool exterior
displayed no judgment had me swooning inside.
Yes, the jig was a bold move.
A proclamation of my belief
that there was connective tissue between us.
I'm sure you could see the passion
with which I imbued the performance.
Alas, my lack of balance at a crucial moment
led to a break in that connective tissue,
not to mention a possible fractured wrist.
As the bus stopped at your destination,
the last thing I saw was your lovely back
heading toward the rear exit.
Trapped and immobile and the target
of many a scornful look for waking those around me
from their brain‐dead slumber with my amorous antics,
I was forced to watch you walk out of my life,
the one woman who finally connected with me
on a deeper level than an angry shove
or harsh word about the quality of my breath.
You disappeared into the ether.
But you had seen me.
That much I can hold dear to my heart.
I danced for you, showed you my true self.
We shared a delightful moment,
unfettered by handheld computers
and the chaos of the modern world,
and for that, I thank you heartily.
I do hope we meet again.
But for now, I bid you adieu.
‐(brakes squeal) ‐(thud)
SINGERS: ♪♪ Gold on bond make a whistle ♪♪
♪♪ Like a rocket ♪♪
♪♪ 'Cause when I gonna whistle like that ♪♪
TENANT: I lost a lot of things recently.
A lighter, a pen, a pair of pants.
But a lot of that is to be expected
when you have a black hole in your apartment.
Mine is massive and swirling.
Gravity intensifies in the living room,
and all forms of matter
begin breaking down in the kitchen,
which makes cooking nearly impossible.
I had a friend come over last week,
and he got trapped in the black hole,
and now I can always hear him screaming.
MAN: Ahh!
TENANT: At the right angle,
I can see my future through the black hole,
but I avoid looking to avert potential paradoxes
and the sight of myself in shorts.
Light bulbs became useless since the black hole
immediately sucked up their light,
leaving me in darkness at sundown.
Sometimes when I'm around the black hole,
I get this odd feeling,
as if there's someone watching me from the other side
and that they might have a black hole
in their apartment too.
Maybe they're also frustrated by it
and don't like the fact that it's in their space
when it should be out in space
and find the whole thing just ominous and foreboding.
Or maybe they're better
at dealing with black holes than I am.
It might even be a positive force
at the center of their universe,
as opposed to something to fret about like I do.
After all, having a black hole isn't all that bad.
Makes for a great conversation piece,
provided you keep a safe distance.
The event horizon around the black hole
is perfect for preserving the fine cheeses
I spoil myself with on occasion,
since time moves slower around there.
A black hole is also pretty handy for cleanup
if you're as bad and lazy at cleaning as I am.
I just scoot everything into a pile
and slowly nudge it with my designated nudging stick
until it disappears off the cusp of infinity.
When my parents come over to my apartment,
they always complain about my black hole.
My dad says, when he was my age, he didn't have
cosmic formations like this in his home.
I don't care what he thinks.
So I guess I'll just stick to avoiding the black hole
on my own terms, at least until the lease is up.
Then it's month‐to‐month,
and I could just play it by ear.
♪♪ ♪♪
MAN: Round three!
(sighs) Stupid game.
Whoa, David, what are you doing?
‐What? ‐Not the red ball.
Green ball's a cleaner shot.
The green ball's too far away.
No, it's not. It's perfect.
Listen. Do you need me or not?
‐(groans) ‐Let me play my game.
‐Fine. ‐Step back two steps.
Goddamn.
Breathing down my neck over here.
Shit.
Oh, god damn it, David!
Whatever!
I told you, David.
Now I have to clean up your mess.
Oh, okay, fine. I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry I messed up your master plan.
I'm gonna go get a drink.
You're mine now.
‐Ah! Ouch! ‐Shit!
Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. Finger cramp.
‐ALL: Boo! ‐What was that?
Oh, I guess it's a false alarm.
Tucker, the weird, fat old man isn't playing fair.
Rein it in, Detective.
We're trying to document a fun seersucker lifestyle.
Not your menopausal breakdown.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just get the prize money ready.
MAN: Match point!
It all comes down to this.
The final wicket.
This is why we love croquet.
Who's looking good and having fun?
‐(all cheering) ‐Oh, Jesus.
Enough about looking good.
(camera shutter snapping)
Out of my way, "Grey Gardens."
(grunting) Asthma attack!
Tucker, this weird old man
is doing another fake medical emergency.
Oh, shit. No, no.
He's having an asthma attack. He's‐‐it's real.
Where's your inhaler?
Can't get it out of my pocket.
Damn, these pants are so tight.
Does anyone have an inhaler?
Anyone?
I know he's been a dick all afternoon.
Doesn't mean he should die.
Fine. Here you go.
‐Thank you. ‐(gasping)
This inhaler... (wheezes)
It's beautiful.
Come on, Colonel.
Suck life!
Suck life. Suck life.
ALL: Suck life! Suck life!
This is not what I planned,
but thank you for this incredible spectacle.
ALL: Suck life! Suck life!
Now there, and zoom... and match.
See? I definitely would've won that on paper.
You know what?
No one gives a shit about what happens on a piece of paper.
What‐‐what is your problem?
Dude, are you not even gonna thank me?
For helping me lose the match?
For saving your life, asshole.
Technically, the inhaler saved my life.
Admit it; you literally cannot live without me,
because real life is not on paper.
Will you stop waving that ham in my face?
John, this is the talking ham.
Whoever holds the ham can talk.
Now, you listen to me, damn it.
‐(phone chimes) ‐Whoa.
‐What? ‐Tucker.
He just sent me $500.
According to him, it turns out,
"Young people playing lawn games..."
JOHN AND TUCKER: With a belligerent,
lonely, old man...
TUCKER: Speaks to millennials' yearning for weird dads
who aren't their actual dads.
Good work, Detective.
Huh. I'm a brand ambassador.
Goddamn, you're selfish.
We're both brand ambassadors.
‐(phone chimes) ‐Oh.
Uh, did you just order me five honey‐baked hams?
Well, I don't want you to die from eating that rotten ham,
and you have a point.
Here we go.
I couldn't have lost without you.
‐Uh‐huh. ‐All right?
Okay, apology accepted,
if what you're saying is you need me.
‐I need‐‐ ‐Just say it, man.
Just say it. Why's it gotta be so hard?
Don't even think about it. Just say it.
You need...
Need...a new refrigerator.
So I can stuff all this hot honeyed ham in it.
Ugh, vomit.
‐My hot honeyed ham, homey. ‐Disgusting. Yeah.
‐Euphemism taken. ‐Take it.
Take all that euphemism.
SINGERS: ♪♪ And then the way it goes, it goes ♪♪
♪♪ And then the way it goes it goes ♪♪
♪♪ And then the way it goes, it goes ♪♪
♪♪ I need a little wiggle room ♪♪
♪♪ To move my body and to go to zoom ♪♪
♪♪ Oh ♪♪
♪♪ Ohh ♪♪
♪♪ Oh ♪♪
♪♪ The way it goes, the way it goes ♪♪
♪♪ Oh ♪♪
♪♪ Ohh ♪♪
VOICES: Yes!