01x18 - Sunday in the Park with Fran

[bunniefuu]

Well, tomorrow's opening night
and we are completely sold out!

Thank God Miss Fein has
a large family.

Now all we ... all we need is some good
reviews and I think we might just have
another hit on our hands.

Well, I have sent gift baskets
to every critic in town.

Are you telling me you're
bribing the critics?

Trying to buy us a good review?

Good thinking.

Oh, Mr. Sheffield, my entire family
is so excited about being invited
to opening night.

They want twelve chicken dinners,
two prime ribs and two Kosher meals

if it's not too much trouble.

Nanny Fein, this is
not dinner theatre.

No food? Oy, big mistake.
If you feed them, they will come.

Well, if your relatives won't
come without a feed bag,

I'll be happy to give them their money
back and sell their tickets on the street.

I'll drop you off
at your usual corner.

Miss Fein, I can assure you,
your relatives are gonna love the play.

It's a brilliant post-modern
exploration of despair.

No food and despair? Geez, it sounds
like my Weight Watchers meeting.

Niles, what's all this?

Well, I knew you and Miss Grace
were going to the park.

I thought you might like to take
a little picnic. Oh, you doll you.

The refrigerator's broken and
if we don't eat it, it's garbage.

Tattle-tale.

Well, it sure beats hangin' out on the fire
escape with a can of franks and beans.

You had your picnics
on the fire escape?

Hey, with that menu,
we were better off outside.

Niles, my little Chester's hungry.
Make him something.

Poof. You're a doberman. att*ck.

Oh, Chester, I haven't seen
you in such a long time.

Nanny Fein, please.
He doesn't like strangers.

C.C., how come your dog hates you?

Well, after all, he is a male.

Not for long.

She must get a group rate.

Niles, what's this basket doing here?
It was supposed to go to Frank Bradley, the critic.

It did. He sent it back with a snide
note saying that he couldn't be bought

and if he could, he'd cost more
than a tin of smoked oysters.

There has got to be some way
to get to Frank Bradley.

I know a Frank Bradley.
He's in my arts and crafts class.

Maybe that's his son.
He said my ashtray was derivative.

That's him. Oh, I was the queen
of arts and crafts.

Then one day I left my favorite brush
in the shellac and it hardened overnight.

I just walked away.
Never looked back.

I have a fun idea.

Why don't we call up Frank Junior
and invite him to go to the park with you?

Because I hate him.
He's a big bully.

He's always teasing me
and calling me names.

Oh, you know what they say.
Sticks and stones can break my bones,

but bad reviews can k*ll you.

Miss Babcock, she doesn't like the kid.
You want her to play with someone she doesn't like?

Well, if I had to like every one of
my friends, I wouldn't have any.

I'll flip you for it.

Grace dear, Frank's father is going
to review our play on television

and he can either make it a big
hit or a big flop.

She doesn't play well under pressure.
I'm shutting down.

All right, I'll do it myself. You must
have that kid's number somewhere.

Where's all that school junk you're
always bothering Maxwell with?

Would it be on
the Pa-Tah phone list?

That's P.T.A., Mother Hubbard.

Ah! Here it is.

Pa-Tah. Ha, ha.

Hello, is this Mr. Bradley?

We haven't met, but your little Frank
is in the same class as my Gracie.

I'm not here. Am I?
No, angel.

You don't shed your skin.

It is such a beautiful day and we were wondering
if little Frank would like to go to the park with Grace.

... Marvelous!

You know, there is a brilliant theatre
critic by the name of Frank Bradley ....

You are!?

Oh, can that woman ever suck up.

If she came with attachments,
we could throw out the Hoover.

C'mon, Gracie, move it along.

Freeze. There's been a change of plans.
You're taking Frank Bradley, Jr. to the park.

Forget it. We're goin'
to the park by ourselves.

I forbid it.
Forbid? Is that the "F" word I hear?

That's the "F" word?
What's the big deal?

Who's the nanny here, anyway?
I was there when this child was born.
Where were you?

In high school.

Ladies, ladies. Isn't there a more grown-up
way to settle your differences?

I'm thinking mud wrestling.

Actually, there is a more grown-up way.

I'm telling Maxwell on you.
Not if I get there first. ....

Frank! Block her!

Well, of course we'd love to have
Mayor Guiliani there opening night.

... But ... but please ask him to
leave his son at home.

All right, Thigh Master!

Mr. Sheffield, would you
please explain to Miss Babcock

that I am in charge of the children!

Well, of ... of course
you're in charge.

And if Gracie doesn't want
to play with a little boy ...

she doesn't have to!
No, of course not.

Miss Babcock, come in.

It's Frank Bradley's son.

On the other hand ....
What?

Well, it ... it might be good for
Grace to play with him.

But she doesn't like him.

Well, how does she know she doesn't like
him if she doesn't spend any time with him?

Ooh, that's good.

It ... it's important for Grace to learn
how to get along with all kinds
of different people

... even people she doesn't
particularly care for.

Too bad we didn't have this
conversation out in the garden.

The plants would have loved
the fertilizer.

C'mon, Frank. Don't sh**t
at the birds. Oy.

Pow! Pow! Pow!

You call this a park?
I find it dull.

The scenery's totally
lacking in imagination.

Why did we have to bring him?

Well, the more the merrier. Except
when you're talkin' about chins.

My Aunt Miriam had more chins
than the Chinese phone book.

That joke's so old I heard it
on the "Flintstones."

Which, by the way, was a pale
imitation of "The Honeymooners."

His father is a critic.
It's hereditary.

I'm bored. Give me some food
to feed the squirrels.

You don't need food. Just lie down
and make believe you're dead.

Oy, does that kid have
a mouth on him or what?

Does he take after his father?
Who knows?

I met his father for five minutes
and that was enough.

Apparently.
I didn't want him.

Next thing I knew he was on his way
and now I'm stuck with him.

... I'm just furious with
Mr. Sheffield.

The little boy's father?
No, the little girl's father.

The little boy's is Mr. Bradley.
You call them both Mister?

Well, I don't really know either
of them that well. What!?

Oh, you think that me and them are
their ...? Oh, I'm the nanny.

... Hey, Frank, don't
aim that at her ...

Good boy.

You're very patient.
Maybe I should get a nanny.

Oh, you really should, with one baby
and another one on the way.

And two more at home. Oh, honey,
you don't need a nanny, you need a hobby.

Stop it! You're makin'
her bald!

Hey, Frank. Quit it.
There's no hair club for dolls.

Frank, did you hear me?

... Are you going to make
me walk over there?

... He's gonna make
me walk over there.

Frank, get him off me!

Oh, Calgon, take me away.

Giddiyap, little donkey.
Fran! He's pulling my hair!

Frank! Get off of her before
I count to three.

One. Two. Two and a half.

Two and three quarters.
Three! Three! Three!

Oh! Frank!
Ooooohhhh!!!

You hit me!
I did not.

Did so! I'm going to tell
my father on you!

Oh, I'm really shakin'.
What's he gonna do?

I hear your boss has
a new play coming up.

Who are you, Siskel and Ebert?

Niles, have you seen my yellow note
pad with all my notes on it?

Not recently, Sir.
Where did you have it last?

Why do people always ask that?
If I remembered where I had it last,

I'd go there and get it.
Not bother you about it, wouldn't I?

The mantle. I was pacing and I left it
on the .... Niles, you're a genius.

Honored to be "The Wind Beneath
Your Wings," Sir.

Hi. We're back.
How was the park?

Oh, you know, birds, trees,
muggers. The usual.

Tell me, sweetheart, did you and Frank
Junior have a good time together?

We hit it off. We broke bread.

Oh ... I'm glad.

I ... I really appreciate you doing
this because, well, you know,

Bradley's father's review could really
make or break our play,
and we've worked so hard on it.

I mean, it's not just me. I mean,
there's all kinds of jobs at stake.

The cast, crew, ushers,
Old Pops at the stage door.

Oh, forgot Old Pops.

Telephone, Sir.
It's Mr. Bradley.

Probably calling to try and steal you away.
Oh, well, I might be available.

Hello, Frank .... What?

... Well .... I ...
I'm teribly sorry. I ....

Well, th ... there must be some mistake.

No. No. Frank, there's absolutely no
reason to bring any lawyers into this.

... Frank ... Frank!
Hello? Hello!?

You wouldn't hurt the woman
carrying your child, would you?

All right. I ...
I'm trying to stay calm.

That's good, because you are entering those
dangerous heart att*ck years.

Miss Fein, you struck a child?
Struck a child? Oh, God, let it be Grace.

It was ... it was little Frank Bradley.
Miss Fein hit him with a baguette.

She nailed him. Ka-pow!

Don't help, honey.
You can't nail someone with a baguette,

unless it's stale, of course.
Or ... or sour dough.

Or a nicce hard crouton aimed
at the Adam's apple.

Do you have any idea
what you've done?

Well, it's been a very busy day.
Can you be more specific?

I'll tell you what we'll do.
We'll invite Mr. Bradley and his son over

so Miss Fein can apologize to them.

So even though the kid deserved it,
I'm gonna have to beg and ... and grovel and ...

and completely debase myself?
Miss Babcock will show you how it's done.

I don't think a gift basket is
gonna get us out of this one.

I may have to offer myself.

Might as well close the play now.

Don't touch that door.

Is it just me, or does
he need a vacation?

We're conserving the cold until
that wretched repairman gets here.

Now tell me what you want.
You get one request.

Um, milk.
Yogurt.

Miss Grace?
I'm not that hungry.

Suit yourself. But I warn you.
The door won't open again until six o'clock.

Okay. Pudding.

Two seconds.

That's a new personal best.

This isn't pudding.
This is cocktail onions.

Well, I'd make you a martini,
but the ice is melted.

I know these measures
may seem a bit ... harsh,

but in order to ensure
that no more food spoils,

the refrigerator doors must
remain shut at all times.

Pew! Niles, something smells like
it d*ed in here. Oh, Miss Fein?

All right. I'll have a bagel.

Get back. She's armed.
Put the bagel down

and step away
from the bread box.

This is all your fault, Niles.
You had to have that stupid baguette.

Baguettes don't hurt people.
People hurt people.

I can't believe Mr. Sheffield
is making me do this.

What are you complaining about?
All you have to do is apologize.
I have to make the refreshments.

Thank you, Niles. It's so nice to
know that we're in on this together.

Well, meanwhile,
the caviar is sweating,

the Brie is running
and my croutotae's limp.

You know, they got
an operation for that now.

I can't believe that you're making me
apologize for something when
I really didn't do anything wrong.

Look, Miss Fein, if you really
didn't do anything wrong,

just smile and be charming and nice
and lie through your teeth.

Oh, well, if you put it that way, I suppose
I can make believe that I'm at a tax audit.

Hello, hello. Maxwell,
this is Frank Bradley.

Well, of course. It is good to meet you,
Frank. Hello, Sheffield.

Oh, I ... I do apologize for this whole
ugly mess. I feel terrible.

Really? I thought you'd be used to disasters
by now. You certainly have produced enough of them.

Oh, there's that Bradley wit.

Oh, and you must be Frank Junior.
Nice to meet you, young man.

Your hand's sweaty. Nervous?

What a charming little snot ...
ah, tot.

Miss Fein, don't you have something you want
to say to Mr. Bradley and his son?

Yeah, but then I'd have something
else to apologize for.

Miss Fein!
Oh, all right. Okay.

Mr. Bradley, things might have gotten
a little out of hand at the park

and whose ever fault it was, not mine,
I suppose I would be sorry.

Well, that's that then.
A heartfelt apology. Shall we?

Well, I think it needs some work.
What do you think, son?

It left me cold ... much like
Robert Goulet in "Cyrano."

That's my boy.
How fast they grow up.

Soon he'll be closing plays and
destroying careers.

You must be very proud.

Well, I'd love to stand here and grovel, but ...
I'm afraid I have to walk the dog. Chester!

C'mon, boy. C'mon, boy.
It's all right. Yes.

Where do you wanna go? Oh, Pomerania.
Well, I'll get my coat.

That dog's ugly. It's got beedy little
eyes and a pointy little nose.

He looks like her.

They're from the same litter.

Finger sandwich?

Ooh, what idiot made these?

I did. And they came
from a real little boy.

Yes. Finger sandwich,
Mr. Bradley?

A man like you deserves a good finger
every now and then.

Sheffield, I can't believe
that you employ this woman.

She's rude, she's insolent,
and totally *******

and keep this damn beast .

Ow!

Your dog bit me.
He's not my dog.

Yes, he is.
What?

This dog has absolutely no connection whatsoever
to either myself, Maxwell or our play.

That dog is a menace to society.
He ought to be put to sleep.

Sure. No problem.

Hey, listen Cruella,
nobody is touching this dog.

He's my dog.
I thought he was hers.

I forgot. Maxwell gave him
to me for my birthday.

It was a gift from the heart,
so if I want to k*ll him, I can.

Niles, quick. Get a bucket of water.
Let's see if she melts.

Sheffield, if you want to avoid a lawsuit,
I suggest that you muzzle that dog

and muzzle the nanny as well.

You know, Frank, I'm getting bloody
tired of kissing up to you.

I'm not. Let me do it.

Miss Fein was right
from the beginning.

I should never have forced my little
girl to play with your son.

Quite clearly he deserved
everything he got.

And I don't care what you
think about my play.

And frankly, I don't care
much for you, either.

Now let me show you the door.
It's over there.

Son, let's go.

You'll never work
in this town again.

Oh, Mr. Sheffield, you know,
it takes you a while,

but when you see the light, boy, you just
jump on that white horse and you go.

And you, my little
fluffy protector

you were just like Kevin Costner
in the Bodyguard.

Except you have a better haircut.

Oh, I thought the play
was just excellent.

Put in a seafood buffet and
you've got yourself a hit.

Miss Fein, if you enjoyed it that much,
how come you snuck out before the curtain call?

Well, 'cause nature called.
And by the way, not to knock your theatre,

but two stalls, six hundred women?
It's like Tokyo in there.

I hate waiting for reviews.
My stomach has been in knots all day long.

Oh, we really don't have anything
to be concerned about.

I mean, whatever else he might be,
Frank Bradley is a professional.

Right. He's not gonna let his personal
feelings get in the way of his judgment.

We're doomed.

I thought these pictures were
supposed to be of famous people.

Who's Ethel Merman?

Never heard of her.
How 'bout Mary Martin?

Beats me.

Hey, hey, hey, how 'bout this one.
Groucho Marx?

Oh, he must be Markie Marx grandfather.

Oh, look here it is,
here it is.

Oh, I can't look. Just tell me
which way his thumb is pointing.

Well, it's time for Critics Corner.
Unfortunately, Frank Bradley is out
with food poisoning tonight.

The finger sandwiches.

I ate the finger sandwiches.
Oops, that darn refrigerator.

So we went right to the theatre to get
the opinion of the common man.

Hi.

Fran, that's you.
I know. Do I look a little chunky?

I loved it.
It was a masterpiece.

Compelling, riveting.
A sheer enchantment.

Two thumbs up.

Bartender, I think there's something
wrong with your set. I sound so nasal.

It was a perfect evening of theatre,

although adding a few stalls for
the ladies room wouldn't k*ll 'em.

Bye.

Well, it looks like a hit to us.

Oh, thank you, Miss Fein.

Oh ....

Any time, Mr. Sheffield. Any time.

Well, that makes it official.

Our final perishable
has perished.

And there's the repairman
in the nick of time.

Well, listen, the man is
highly in demand.

This is a very sensitive piece
of equipment. Who're you gonna call?

Crash Busters!

Yeah, I'll just come look
at the ol' frigidaire.

Well, actually,
it's a sub-zero.

Not anymore.

Could be a condenser problem.
I think you got a cr*ck.

We've got a cr*ck.
Mmmm ....

You know, I think these repairmen must
all shop at the same store.

Yeah. The Gap.

Oh, thank you so much ... and I'd like
you all to please meet my dear friend,

a man that I'll kiss any day
on both cheeks Mr. Dan Ackroyd.