01x03 - The Scorecard

[bunniefuu]

Good morning.

You must be Steven Toast.

How are you today?

I'm fine, thanks.

And I trust you're well?

Amazing.

Another Canadian.

You guys are taking over this town.

I'm not Canadian.

Hold your horses.

Is that Scramble Studios in London?

Yeah, Scramble is one of our

sister studios.

We've got studios

all over the world.

Is that right?

Sure. I'm due to fly out

to the London studio next month

as part of our

staff exchange scheme.

I can't wait. I'm super-excited,

it's going to be so super-cool.

Sounds fascinating.

Hey, do you know Donald Sutherland?

Isn't he Canadian?

Is he single?

I've no idea.

He's a bit old for you, isn't he?

Hey, if Daddy can raise the bridge,

then Mama's river be flowing.

Good grief.

Erm, I'm due to record,

and I'm guessing it's through there.

Sure. Studio one.

Go right in. They're ready for you.

Thanking you.

Would you mind if I raised

this microphone?

Make yourself comfortable, Steven.

Hello, Steven, this is

Clem Fandango. Welcome to LA.

Of all the recording studios

in the world,

I end up in the same one

as you two clowns.

Is it always this hot?

I mean, I'm going to pass out

in here.

Got to say,

I kind of like the heat, man.

Always wanted to live out here

in LA.

"Man"? You've only been here

ten minutes, you idiot.

But this is too hot.

Hi, Steven, this is Clem Fandango.

Can you hear me?

Yes, unfortunately.

I'm afraid the air-con in the

vocal booth broke down last night.

Oh! Means it's 27 degrees hotter

in there than it is in here.

Oh, God!

Also bad timing, I'm afraid,

Steven, it's the hottest day

there's ever been in LA.

Oh, for God's sake!

Don't you just love it?

No. All right, let's crack on.

The quicker we finish this, the

sooner I can get out of this oven.

OK, Steven, pepper spray,

take one.

Fed up with people

knocking at your door?

Well, one sharp burst of Corden's

pepper spray will make anyone

think twice about ringing your bell.

Corden's criminal deterrents -

America's favourite pepper spray.

Perfect. That was great, Steven,

real swell.

We'll sh**t that over to the client,

see what gives.

What is this snake oil?

Corden's pepper spray.

Huh.

Wonder what could have caused that.

Must be the heat.

Mm.

Getmeout.

What am I doing here?

Look at Russ Nightlife.

Who is he?

He's a grown man doing a jigsaw

puzzle like some geriatric

in a care home.

Definitely an odd fish.

And I should know.

I've swum with a few in MY time.

What a loser. I hope I never end up

like that - sad, lonely,

without hope, pathetically

assembling a ludicrous jigsaw

just to pass the endless hours.

You know,

I could read your thoughts.

What?! You're thinking about sex.

I'm not, actually.

I'm meeting a friend tonight.

I was thinking

about booking a restaurant.

A friend?

Yes.

What, like a lady friend?

Yes.

Well, I'm telling you now,

don't ever bring her back here,

I can't have anyone just sniffing

around the joint, all right?

All right.

Are you planning

to have sex with her?

What? The thought of you having sex

under my roof disgusts me.

It's a stupid question anyway.

I mean, look at you.

I beg your pardon?

If you do have sex with her,

I want you to inject yourself

with a millilitre of this.

Do what?!

It doesn't hurt. Look.

Ugh! Aghhh!

What the hell?

Jesus Christ, man!

Toast, I'm joking.

Oh, you need to lighten up a little,

man.

Oh!

Jesus Christ.

Easing it inslowly.

And now a persistent rhythmic

movement.

Oh, yes.

In an accelerating motion.

Oh, God.

Quickly followed

by arapid emission.

Good God!

Oh!

The act was completed in

pretty much the same time period

as the previous procedure

last Tuesday,

3 minutes and 28 seconds.

It's all a bit

A bit what?

A bit clinical, isn't it?

But I am a clinical sexologist.

Yeah, but do you need to make notes

while we're actually making love?

Oh, yes. It's very important

to make notes during the procedure

rather than having to rely

on memory.

And even the word "procedure" -

it's not very romantic, is it?

"Romantic" is not a word

easily defined in scientific terms.

This IS a relationship, isn't it?

Just to be clear.

Oh, yes.

I draw a very clear distinction

between sex with you

and sex with people I'm sleeping

with for research purposes.

Glad to hear it.

Except, in this case, when it kills

two birds with one stone,

as you Brits like to say.

Shepherd, there's another man

in bed with us.

Yes, he's a fellow professor

accompanying me on field work.

Does he have to be here?

Professor Map? Yes. Yes, he does.

Right.

It's rather taken me by surprise

seeing him in bed here with us.

Very well. Professor Map

Wurde es Ihnen etwas ausmachen,

uns bitte zu verlassen?

It's only 11.30.

What say we go for a walk?

We can stop at a cafe.

You fancy a cappuccino bianco

in the shade?

Or maybe a c*ck at high noon?

I can't.

I have to go

and have sex with someone else.

How many other men are you having

sex with on this project?

Oh, I would say somewhere in the

Oh! g*dd*mn it!

I really have to get these

organised.

What are they?

Score cards.

You give scores for performance?

I'm guessing I'd be

in the higher points bracket.

Oh, I haven't filled out

your score card yet, Toast.

I only do that when I've completed

a full assessment

of the participants' performance.

Yeah, but I'm guessing I'd be

pretty up there, wouldn't you say?

I'm sorry, Toast.

That's confidential information.

Oh-h*-ha!

I really need to get

this sh*t together.

Maybe my daughter could do it.

I must admit,

I'm very fond of you, Shepherd,

so it's only natural

that I should be slightly jealous,

seeing as you're sleeping with

literally dozens, if not hundreds,

of other men, including me.

But as long as I know

that I'm the special one,

then I'm absolutely

..fine with it.

You sure you're fine with it?

Sounds a little g*dd*mn weird to me.

You couldn't be more wrong,

Hooberman.

She's a professional psychologist,

perfectly capable of distinguishing

between business and pleasure.

They're business, I'm pleasure.

Who's that fella?

Sonny-Sam Dysco, they say he's going

to be the next g*dd*mn big thing.

He's got a whole billboard

to himself.

Wouldn't mind a slice

of that action myself.

Anything juicy coming up for me?

How would you like to play

another butler?

I'd hate that.

Weech Beacon needs a butler.

He's about to make a huge

g*dd*mn movie,

so the dollars will be a plenty,

Daddy-o.

Weech Beacon?

Weech Beacon, talented director,

also a major league as*h*le.

I've never heard of that league.

Sounds prestigious.

Well, if he likes the look of you,

he'll probably offer you the job

on the spot.

He's pretty impulsive that way.

You want to meet him?

Well, if the dollars are plenty,

Mummy-o, why not?

I'll text him.

He's probably at The Dive.

He hangs out there all the time.

The Dive? They tell me

it's the hippest bar in town

but, hell, my a*s is as old as time,

so what would I g*dd*mn know?

Oh, we're pretty damn close.

I'll text him now.

as*h*le!

Like I said, Red's on board.

Are you sure?

He might even bring Jen with him.

Who knows? Sure?

Relax, baby.

The chicken's in the basket, huh?

Chicken's in the basket.

Are you Toast?

I'm Steven Toast. Good afternoon.

You came in costume. I like that.

I'm Weech Beacon, and this is

my producer, Ben Egyptian.

Hi, Steven.

I got to go.

See you later, Ben.

Hey, sit.

All right.

Yeah, Ben couldn't stay.

He's gotta go square things

with his daughter.

It's the 16th time

he's missed her birthday.

Yeah.

Jesus.

You know what?

You look exactly like a waiter,

but also exactly like a butler.

Yeah, you'll be perfect.

I'm just going to tell Brad.

That's all very good.

Sorry,

I've drunk rather a lot of water,

so I'll need to use the men's room.

Do you know where it's located?

What, that?

Yeah.

Really? What?

Must have drunk a gallon of water.

Is it always this hot?

Actually

Oh, damn.

That chilli went

straight through me.

Whoa!

g*dd*mn chilli.

Good God.

Jesus Christ!

Oh!

You say the line, "May I offer you

some wine, Herr Shimmerman?"

"Shimmerman." And then hand

the glass to him from the tray.

OK, doesn't sound too difficult.

Hey, this is a crucial scene,

and I'm planning to do it all

in one ten-minute take.

There'll be a long tracking shot.

I'm using 2,000 extras, dancing

girls, and well over 1,000 horses,

and then everything will focus

on you,

and the shot will probably cost

about $3 million,

so, yeah,

you better not screw it up.

Well, no pressure, then.

sh*t.

Oh, dear.

No. LOTS of pressure.

I know, I was just being sarcastic.

You were being what? Sarcastic.

Well, that's a British thing,

sarcasm.

We don't do that here in LA, OK?

Say the g*dd*mn line!

May I offer you some wine,

Mr Shimmershine?

Shimmerman! Shimmerman.

Jesus.

Sorry, I just got the name wrong.

Would you mind if I took that again?

I could have offered this role

to any slack Jack Harris in town.

Harris? But you got the part

because you look like a butler.

And remember, this set-up

is going to cost $3 million.

Right.

Don't f*ck it up, buddy.

Understood.

Yeah, it better be.

Jesus Christ.

Look at you, you dirty dog.

Have you been a naughty mongrel?

What's that?

Good grief.

I wondered where that went.

You nasty, thieving mutt.

Someone's getting punished now.

Severely punished.

Has anyone ever told you that

you actually do look like a dog?

Yes. Some people have remarked on it

before.

Shut up, Dogface!

Shepherd, I'm not sure

this S&M stuff is for me.

Are you serious?

We haven't even introduced

the man in the mask yet.

Who?

I auditioned a lot of people

to help me out with our little game.

You want to see this guy.

He has no inhibitions whatsoever.

Jesus.

Man in the mask, enter.

I'm ready to be your sl*ve,

O Mistress.

Hang about.

Huh?

Ed?!

Toast!

How are you finding LA?

What the hell are you doing here,

Ed?

I was visiting friends and happened

to see an advertisement

in a local cafe.

What the hell is going on?

Do you two know each other?

Yes, we used to be housemates

in London.

I was going to look you up, Toast,

but I wasn't expecting to meet you

like this.

Can't say I'm surprised.

Could never resist a kinky knees-up,

could you, Ed?

A kinky knees-up?

Oh, I like the sound of that.

So, since we're all here,

let's get down to business.

Starting on Toast,

is that right, mistress?

Are you ready, man in the mask?

Oh, yes.

Then, if it's OK, me next.

sh*t.

How was your day?

Well, apart from my

sexually-liberated girlfriend

who insisted on stringing me up

and whipping me

in front of my old roommate from

London who was dressed in rubber,

I'd say pretty ordinary.

It is hard in LA

to find your footing,

but at least you have

this other acting job.

What's your line again?

Oh.

"May I offer you some wine,

Herr Shimmerton?"

Herr Shimmerson.

Shimmergroove.

Herr Shimmerguff.

Herr Shimmertree.

Herr Shimmerblue.

Herr Shimmerfoot.

Herr Shimmersquare.

Herr Shimmerhair.

Hello, my name is Liberty.

Are you Sandwich?

What?

No, not Sandwich, Toast.

Toast! I'm so sorry.

Mr Toast, not Mr Sandwich.

Mr Toast, I'm afraid I'm going

to need to take that chair, sir.

What, this chair?

That chair, yes.

The director has asked me to get him

a chair,

but as soon as I find another one,

Mr Toast,

I'll bring it straight over here.

Oh, he's also asked

you don't move from this spot,

otherwise you could be in shot.

Jesus Christ, if

Bloody hell, you could have

k*lled me, you dozy b*stard.

What?

What the hell did he call us?

f*cking loser.

So, there you go. One trumpet.

I didn't ask for a trumpet.

Oh, wait. You wanted a chair.

A chair? Yes.

Unless you want me to sit on that.

I'm so sorry, Mr Toast.

This is my first day.

Who ordered the trumpet?

This is ridiculous.

You might want to get rid of this

before someone falls arse over tit.

Absolutely.

Toast! Get your a*s over here!

I can't tell you how important it is

that you don't mess up this shot.

It's going to be a ten-minute

one-shot take.

At the end of it, you walk in,

say your line.

You know your line, right?

Yeah. "May I offer you some wine,

Herr Shimmershoo?"

Shimmerman! Jesus Christ!

Sorry. Do I look like

the cream cheese fairy, huh?

I don't know.

I don't know who that is.

Am I a chicken in a basket?

Again, I'm not sure.

This set-up costs $3 million.

How much did it cost?

Three million.

Yeah, that's right.

So you'd better get it right, baby.

One chance.

How many chances?

One.

OK, everybody ready.

Positions, please.

Hey!

f*cking

May I offer you some wine,

Herr Shimmelshine?

Whoa!

Damn it!

What?!

How do you think that scene went

just now?

Not great, to be honest.

I tripped on a skateboard

and buggered up my line.

Yeah, yeah.

Forgive me,

my memory's a little hazy,

but at any point did I tell you

it was absolutely crucial

that you got your sh*t together,

because if you didn't,

you could totally f*ck up a shot

that cost $3 million?!

You You remember that?

Yeah, I remember.

OK, Steven Toast

..what do you think we should do

now?

I don't know, er,

reset and sh**t the scene again?

OK, I see what we got here.

Take off your pants.

I beg your pardon?

Take them down

and bend over the table.

What the?

Now!

Hey, Ben. Hey, Weech. Just in time.

You want a piece of the action?

Is this absolutely necessary?

Well, it won't bring me

my money back,

but I'll feel

a whole shitload better about it.

Grip the desk.

Hey, Mr Toast, I found you a chair,

but I'm guessing you're good.

Moving my right hand

across the lower back

and down to the buttock area.

What the hell is going on, Toast?

Your g*dd*mn a*s

feels like a giant cookie.

Yeah, it's a bit sore down there,

Shepherd. It's starting to burn.

Maybe I'll have a cold shower.

That a*s has taken

one hell of a beating.

I thought you said

you weren't into S&M.

I'm not. The director

I'm working with did it.

I ruined his shot,

so he thrashed me with his belt.

Did it in front of his producer

and a young runner.

Very humiliating, not to mention

highly unprofessional.

Mm. Urgh.

You're top class, Shepherd.

This is the best relationship

I've ever been in.

I'm so incredibly happy,

I believe I could fly.

What are you doing, darling?

Oh, I'm just making

a few final notes on my scorecards.

Scorecard, you say?

I'm guessing I'll get a 10,

or maybe a 9.5.

I have to go. More research.

All right.

My grandfather's hands

went wandering

Wandering from north

down to south ♪

What's this?

Weech Beacon?

What's it say? "Poor performance,

predictable, dull, unexciting.

"Total, zero out of ten." Brilliant.

I say, Billy,

how do I post something online?

You know that bloody director

who shredded my arse?

Well, I found out something

pretty embarrassing about him

and I want to put it online

as an act of revenge.

I can do that for you.

You can? Mm.

I must warn you, I'm pretty useless

when it comes to the social mediums.

Nonos problemos. Let's do it.

Really? Yeah. Fantastic.

I'll leave you to it and I'll enjoy

the rest of my pina colada

on the terrace.

Okey dokey, Smokey.

Very much appreciate you helping me,

Billy.

Happy to do this for you, Toast.

Yes.

Oh, before I forget, do make sure

my account is anonymous.

This is the life.

What's the internet saying about me?

How cool I am? Yeah.

Loved my last movie.

What the?

sh*t. sh*t!

Jesus Christ, how the hell

did that get there?

Is that my scorecard, huh?

"Poor performance, predictable,

dull, unexciting"?!

I mean, whoa, zero out of ten?

Zero out of g*dd*mn ten?!

No, that is not right.

That is not your scorecard.

What? Well, that is the score card

of a hopeless loser

I was sleeping with

as research for my book.

His name is Steven Toast.

That's the dumb-a*s jerk

who just ruined my movie.

What? I asked Liberty to type up

my scorecards from the notes

I'd put together. She's obviously

got the names mixed up.

What a loser.

Yes, he is a zero out of ten loser.

But you, you, baby,

you are a ten out of ten winner.

I'm going to find your real

scorecard and post it there.

Whoa, I'm a ten out of ten?

You betcha.

Are you ready to play,

little doggie?

Oh, yeah.

Woof!

And after we have some fun,

I'm going to go get my scorecards.

Oh, yeah, baby.

Woof!

Ah, Shepherd, what a lovely

surprise. Come in.

I know you posted that stuff

about Weech, Toast.

No, I didn't.

It was an anonymous account.

Then, maybe you shouldn't have

posted it

under the name of "Steven Toast,

specialises in playing butlers".

Right, OK.

But we are still in a relationship,

aren't we, you and I?

Scorecards.

He's not a happy bunny, Toast.

You screwed up his whole movie,

and then you went on

the social media

saying he couldn't cut it

in the sack.

Yeah, and also he gave my arse

a severe thrashing

and stole my ladyfriend.

Hopefully that'll be the end of it.

Oh, God.

No!

This Hollywood Reporter magazine,

now, I'm guessing it's a niche

publication that nobody reads.

Would I be right?

Wrong? It's read by everyone

in Hollywood.

Absolutely everyone.

Even people who never read anything

read it.

God!

Hey, you want to try to fit

a piece into my Tricky d*ck

jigsaw puzzle?

Jigsaw?

Yeah, might take your mind

off of things.

Doesn't fit.

Aw, doesn't fit?

Bad luck, loser.

I'm so sorry I used your name

on the account.

I didn't know

you wanted to be anonymous.

It's not your fault.

I should have supervised

my own caper.

Poor you. Are you OK?

You might have to remove that hand.

I'm not used to people

being nice to me.

Son of a small-town draper

You wanted everything now

not later

Took a job as a hotel waiter

Drank your whisky straight

No chaser

Hang around with a pretty

ice-skater

Till you tired and began

to hate her

Oh, yes, you're boss

And it's just because

They know

that you're the great beatmaker.