05x13 - The Critic

[bunniefuu]

(theme song playing)

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Your witness, Mr. Moran.

Thank you, Your Honor.

(orchestra plays
dramatic musical intro)

♪ Miss Snyder, you are guilty
of m*rder in the first degree ♪

♪ We have six
witnesses who swear ♪

♪ They saw you at
the m*rder scene ♪

♪ For your face is
so very appealing ♪

♪ This crime shows a
heart without feeling ♪

♪ I object! ♪

♪ Your Honor ♪

♪ This badger is out of order ♪

♪ Overruled! ♪

MALE JURORS: ♪
He must be right ♪

FEMALE JURORS:
♪ He must be right ♪

MALE JURORS: ♪
He must be right ♪

FEMALE JURORS:
♪ He must be right ♪

JURY: ♪ He must be right ♪

♪ She must be the guilty one ♪

All right, I'm guilty.

But he deserved it.

Order. Order!

He did it.

♪ I'm overruled ♪

♪ I'm a fool ♪

♪ For justice is blind ♪

♪ Oh, no ♪

DEFENSE COUNSEL:
♪ And so is love ♪

MORAN: ♪ Your love ♪

DEFENSE COUNSEL:
♪ A wonderful time ♪

MORAN: ♪ You're mine ♪

BOTH: ♪ I want a life
sentence, no chance for repeal ♪

♪ For love and justice ♪

♪ Love and justice ♪

♪ Justice... ♪

♪ Justice ♪

♪ Love is blind! ♪

(song ends)

(applause)

What'd you think?

Well, it's, uh...

It-It... It's got potential.

You can see that.

You didn't like it.

May I be honest with you?

Of course.

How could you let
them use your name

as technical advisor?

That bad?

Oh, awful!

Julie, I've known this
writer since he was six.

We've got to think of
something nice to say to him.

Now, what can we say to him?

(piano playing gentle melody)

Ben.

Oh, hi.

Hi. Julie, this is Sam Spelvin.

- Hi, Sam.
- Pleasure to meet you.

- Congratulations.
- Thank you. Thank you.

I can't believe

one person could have
written all those lyrics

and all that dialogue.

Yeah.

And composed all that music.

Well, it wasn't easy.

Yeah? Yeah.

Sit down, Julie.

Yup.

So, what did you think, Ben?

Be honest.

Well, uh...

it-it's... it's got, uh...
it's got potential.

Now you can see that.

Isn't that the star?

MATLOCK: That's Sally Ayn White.

SAM: Oh, my God.

What's the matter?

Over there.

That man.

It's John Bosley Hackett.

MATLOCK: Was he in the show?

JULIE: He's that critic on TV.

The most powerful
critic in the country.

His reviews can k*ll
a show in one night.

Oh.

SAM: He must have seen
the performance tonight.

Oh, my God, I-I'm having
a nervous breakdown. I...

Well, wasn't it
just a rehearsal?

No, it... it was a preview.

JULIE: You're not the
only one who's upset.

SAM: Guy looks apoplectic.

Who's Guy?

MATLOCK: Producer.

Oh.

He hated it. I know it.

Uh, I'll be right back.

Excuse me.

Mr. Hackett, I'm Sam Spelvin.

I, uh, work...

Mr. Hackett knows who you are,

and you don't want
to shake his hand.

He's going to k*ll us
on his show tomorrow.

You k*lled yourselves
with this dreadful disaster

you call a musical comedy.

You can't review the play yet.

I'm still working on it.

You're charging for tickets.

I am reviewing your... play.

WOMAN: Yeah... uh-huh...

(indistinct chatter,
piano playing)

MAN: It's a good one. Yeah.

I hate this dress.

I look like a sunflower.

But you are sunshine and
hope in a ruthless world.

Can't I be death?

I look great in black.

You look great in everything.

Angela.

Get a sh*t of her in this.

Mm.

Great. Great.

Sound guy, come on.

I want to have one
for my scrapbook.

Come on, everybody.
It's getting late.

After Hackett's review, we
may never see each other again.

Uh-huh.

Maybe Hacket'll change his mind.

Dream on, pal.

You know, this is so wrong.

I'm gonna go this morning,
I'm gonna talk to him

and try to convince
him to hold off.

Why don't you concentrate
on fixing the show

instead of John
Bosley Hackett's review.

Okay, thank you.

Enough fun.
Enough... A lot of fun.

Let's go here. We
got a show to put on.

Let's, uh, get through
the bloody m*rder.

Okay, let's go. Bring in
the m*rder prop. Come on.

SALLY: I'll be in

- my dressing room, Tommy.
- Yeah, I'll...

I'll call you when I need you.

All right, everybody. Love you.

Everybody up, up, up.

Energy. I'll be
upstairs watching.

(indistinct chatter)

MAN: Places, ladies
and gentlemen.

Okay, Brian, we can do
this whenever you're ready.

Three. Go.

(guitar playing gentle melody)

(orchestra joins in, featuring
maracas and string instruments)

(horns join in, playing
romantic ballad )

(romantic ballad segues
to suspenseful music)

(groans)

(g*nsh*t)

(groans)

(gasps)

(exhales)

(groans)

(suspenseful music stops)

(guitar plays slow,
gentle melody)

(song ends)

TOMMY: Nice.

Ni-Nice work, everybody.

Thank you.

Take a break.

Sam, uh, you stay right there.

I'm gonna come down,
we'll talk about the cuts.

I like it the way it is.

The show is overlong,

and that number is so
long, it stops the show dead.

You're out of your mind.

The way you've staged
it is what stops it dead.

Listen to you.

Maybe you ought to tell
that to John Bosley Hackett

when you see him.

Yeah, well, maybe I will.

Fine. Brian?

BRIAN: Yeah.

TOMMY: Would you get me
some coffee, please? And call

Sally Ayn, and we'll run the
"Innocence" number from the top.

- Thanks.
- All right.

He's dead.

(sirens blaring)

SAM: I know I was found

over the body, and the
m*rder w*apon was mine.

And, uh, I certainly
had a motive.

But I swear,
Ben, I didn't do it.

Somebody's trying to frame me.

Hmm. Okay.

Okay, let's assume that's true.

Uh, who knew you were
going up to see Mr. Hackett?

Everybody.

Sally Ayn White, uh, Guy
Palmer, Tommy DeLuca.

And they all had, uh, a
lot to lose if the show failed.

Yes.

And they all hated Hackett.

And any one of them could
have taken my letter opener.

But weren't they
all in the theater

when you went up to see him?

Yes.

Could any one of them
have left rehearsal?

Of course.

Oh.

Ben, about your fee...
Um, I can't exactly

afford it out of
pocket right now,

so I was hoping we'd, uh,

be able to make
some sort of deal.

A deal?

Yeah.

You put up your services...

A hundred thousand
dollars worth of services.

Right. And

for you investment,
you get $ , back

if the show is a hit.

Well, what do I... what do I get

if-if... if the show's
what you call a...

a, mm, flop?

Nothing.

Oh, well, I've...

I've known you since you was,
uh... since you were six, huh?

Yeah. My, uh...

My daddy used to say that
you would hold me on your lap,

and you would tell me stories
that would make me laugh,

and that's where I got
my yen for show business.

Oh, I guess I'm stuck.

Well, I'll, I'll try to get
you out of here, and...

you go to work on that... play.

Now, that first act lays
there like a beached whale.

Ben, I, uh... I
really appreciate...

And the second act lays
there like two beached whales.

TV NEWSCASTER: Though
John Bosley Hackett d*ed yesterday,

his words and his intelligence
will be with us forever.

Now, in a special tribute,

we present
Mr. Hackett's final review

recorded yesterday just
hours before his untimely death.

HACKETT: Hello.
Well, here it is.

The play we've
all been waiting for.

Lovers and Lawyers at
the Brookhaven Theater.

Well, doesn't sound bad.

Lovers and Lawyers makes
this reviewer's life simple.

In the future, when I discuss
the theater's best plays,

I shall continue to vacillate.

But when I'm asked
about the theater's worst,

I shall reply,
without hesitation,

Lovers and Lawyers.

It doesn't sound good.

HACKETT: Lovers and
Lawyers is being directed

haphazardly by Tommy DeLuca,

a has-been who never
was and whose idea

of direction is to allow the
actors to mill around aimlessly.

Rather like chickens
looking for corn.

The production is so
tacky and lacking in taste

that it can only be produced
by that master of cheap,

Guy Palmer.

Written by Sam Spelvin,
the script would have to be

greatly improved to
be called amateurish.

The play stars aging
ingenue, Sally Ayn White,

in a turgid performance.

(guttural screaming)

GUY: I know you're
all disappointed, but...

What's going on?

Guy's closing the show.

Oh, oh, Sam, I'm... I'm sorry.

I know, I know how
much you wanted...

This means I'm not
gonna get paid, doesn't it?

GUY: And I wish I could say that

the show must go on.

MAN: Hold everything!

Wait a minute!

(laughing)

Here, read this!

Here you go, here you go.

Here you go. Here, read this.

Guy, read this.

It's a miracle.

We snagged victory
from the jaws of defeat.

Um, we have the biggest
advance sales since Miss Saigon.

The publicity
campaign I kicked off

is gonna take us
right up over the top.

What does it say?

Playwright kills
over bad review.

I, um, I wrote the
headline myself.

SALLY: "Sam Spelvin,
author and composer

"of the bound for
Broadway musical,

"Lovers and Lawyers,
was arrested yesterday

"on suspicion of
murdering national TV critic,

John Bosley Hackett."

Talk about not being
able to take a little criticism.

GUY: Sally.

They're lined up for
tickets around the block.

Oh, uh, in case you didn't know,

this is our press agent,

- Sidney Falco.
- Hi.

Let's hear it for Sid.

Let's get back to work.

Looks like we have
a show to get on.

(cheering)

(gagging and sputtering)

(applauding)

Very nice... a little
awkward but very nice.

You caught me.

I was just going over
something in the police report.

- What?
- Well, uh,

- John Bosley Hackett's last meal.
- Excuse me?

Well, of course he didn't know
it was gonna be his last meal.

But according to
this breakfast order,

he had orange juice, coffee,
pancakes, eggs, toast, syrup

and grape jelly.

And when, when the
police discovered his body,

it seemed he'd eaten the eggs

and toast and
pancakes and syrup,

and the grape jelly,
but he hadn't touched

the orange juice and the coffee.

Isn't that going
at it backwards?

Do you think he was k*lled

because of his
bad eating habits?

(laughing)

I'd like to, uh, get, uh,
something else off my chest.

What?

I don't think you
should try this case.

Why?

Because you're prejudiced,
you hated Sam's play.

I'm not prejudiced and
I didn't hate the play.

You said it stunk.

I said it wasn't very
realistic, that's all.

It's a musical.

The Phantom of the
Opera isn't realistic.

You're right, it stunk.

See?

(knocking on door)

Excuse me, Miss White?

Hi. I'm Michelle Thomas.

I represent Sam Spelvin.

I was wondering if I could...

Darling, you're
interrupting my process.

Oh. I'm sorry.

Your what?

I'm concentrating
using sense memory.

The artist's great tool.

(upbeat music
begins in distance)

Oh, my God, that's
my cue! I'm on!

♪ Well, I'm back from
the dean's office ♪

♪ Had extra special tutoring ♪

♪ No muss, no fuss,
I'm gonna get an A-plus ♪

♪ Of that there's
no refutering ♪

♪ How did you do it? ♪

♪ Show us the way ♪

♪ It's easy, you gals
are working too hard ♪

♪♪

♪ The way to make
a passing grade ♪

♪ Depends a lot
on what you've got ♪

♪ You gotta find
a teacher's aide ♪

♪ And make him feel
he's hot, hot, hot ♪

♪ Hot, hot, hot ♪

♪ You really gotta
yearn to learn ♪

♪ And teachers
show the way to go ♪

♪ For every credit
that you earn ♪

♪ Your grade is gonna
grow, grow, grow ♪

♪ Making the grade,
making the grade ♪

♪ You gotta make the grade ♪

- High.
- Hello.

No, I mean, high up. (laughing)

You always watch from here?

Yeah, I like to
watch all of my shows

from different
parts of the theater.

(whistling)

Very, very nice, ladies.

But I didn't understand a word.

Can we take it from the top
and remember the words?

They're part of
the plot, thank you.

Okay, girls, let's do it again.

- I love that piece.
- Oh, good.

Yeah, that's one of my favorite
numbers in the whole show!

Oh, oh, uh...

I understand that you were up
here alone watching rehearsal

when Mr. Hackett was k*lled.

Yes, that's right.
Oh, except for Willie.

Follow spot operator.

Willie!

Say hello to Mr. Matlock.

Oh, hey there.

♪♪

Was there something else?

Oh, no, no.

No, that's, well, I
enjoyed talking with you.

Oh, my pleasure,
glad you like our show.

Yeah, like that number.

♪ You really gotta
yearn to learn ♪

♪ And teachers
show the way to go... ♪

(men arguing in distance)

- and then this comes up!
- The show was about

to close down, Guy, I
mean, I had to do something.

You're supposed to check
with the producer, Sidney.

It's elementary, you know that!

But I did a good job, we had
a whole line around the block.

I'll be the judge of whether
you did a good job or not.

You had no right
running it, Sidney,

without checking with me first.

- But, Guy, you don't...
- Shh!

- Guy, it was a great idea, Guy.
- Shut up!

Can I help you, Mr. Matlock?

Oh, well, I wanted to ask
you a couple questions.

Oh, of course.

Sid was just leaving.

Ciao, Sidney.

Come right in, Mr. Matlock.

(clearing throat) Well...

Well, uh, you told the police
that you were in your office

at the time of the m*rder.

That's right, on the
phone with backers.

Oh, so nobody saw you
or can vouch for you?

I'm afraid not.

(sighs)

Boy, you, you must have a
lot of money sunk in this show.

(chuckles)

No, no, no, no, no.

Amateurs put their
own money in shows.

- I have investors.
- Oh.

Oh, they must've been
delighted when the publicity

from the m*rder
started selling tickets.

They're delirious.

Mr. Matlock, I'm surprised.

A great lawyer such as
yourself, b*ating around the bush.

If you wanna know why I
had Sidney on the carpet,

why don't you just ask?

Why did you?

I'm not in the theater
only for the money.

My productions have
always been artistic.

I don't like getting an audience
with cheap publicity tricks.

If there's nothing else... No.

Oh, well, ciao.

♪♪

(elevator dinging)

Uh, you're leaving?

Yeah, yeah, Guy said
he won't be needing me

for the Atlanta
opening after all.

- Oh?
- His way of saying you're fired.

'Cause you broke
that story to the press?

Yeah, and go figure,
he's the one who told me

to get some critics to
Atlanta in the first place.

Guy Palmer's a slippery old fox.

If you ask me, something
weird is going on.

Oh, uh, want-want a
cup-cup of hot coffee?

WOMAN: I... Yeah,
I had a great time.

Good night.

(crowd chatter)

TOMMY: Brian?!

BRIAN: Yes, sir.

TOMMY: Read-through
in the morning.

BRIAN: Right.

MAN: Party at my place.

- Great show tonight, Keith.
- Thanks.

Big improvement,
everybody. Thank you.

Good night.

(door squeaking)

(loud thudding)

(loud thudding)

(rhythmic banging of wood)

Hey! Hey!

What's going..?

What are you...?

Where's the other guy?
Where's the other guy?

Ow!

(gasps)

Hey!

(engine revving)

- (tires squealing)
- Oh.

(tires squealing)

WOMAN: The show is wonderful.

MAN: Let's go next week.

Two in the orchestra, please.

As I've already said,

an artist's concentration
is essential to performance,

and anything that disrupts
that concentration...

I can't tell you how trying
this m*rder has been.

Oh, I can imagine.

But you've had trying
times before, haven't you?

When?

Well, for the past
several years,

you've experienced, um,

artistic rather than
commercial success.

Are you saying I'm washed up?

That the audience
won't pay to see me?

That John Bosley Hackett,

king of scum, hammered
the last nail in my coffin?

That I would have done
anything to stop his review

including m*rder him?

Are you saying
that I'm a predator?

A maniac on the loose?

A black widow?

Well?

I don't think I said that.

I didn't k*ll John
Bosley Hackett.

MICHELLE: I'm
sorry, but... Oh, my.

Where were you at
the time of the m*rder?

I ask that exact
question in the play.

Oh. Well, would you
mind answering mine?

I was in my dressing room.

Did anyone see you?

Do you realize how
offensive that question is?

It implies I'm lying.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to upset you.

I was alone.

And you have my word on it.

- (knocking)
- BRIAN: Sally Ayn?

Mr. Palmer wants to
see you in his office.

Good-bye.

(door opens)

I'm half made up.

What is it, Guy?

Well, this will
only take a minute.

SALLY AYN: Oh.

A gathering of eagles.

Why do I think
something is wrong?

(laughs)

Honey... uh, Guy and I have
finally arrived at a really...

I don't know... difficult,
mutual decision.

I mean, uh... (clears throat)

This is... This is h-hard.

Great.

You sh**t me in the front,
and you s*ab me in the back.

You're gonna take
this act on the road?

Honey.

Say it, you coward.

You're f*ring me.

TOMMY: No.

That speech about
sets was a lie.

You're closing down
until you can replace me.

All right.

You are the reason
we're closing down.

MATLOCK: Uh, no.

No, she isn't.

A funny thing happened to me
on the way to the theater today.

I... I learned, uh, what
happened to that set.

I'm afraid I don't know
what you're talking about.

MATLOCK: Well, I can explain,

but maybe, you
know, in-in private.

(Matlock humming)

(sighs)

Is this it? In here?

GUY: Mm.

MATLOCK: Okay. Now...

(Matlock clears his throat)

Do you feel at home
here, Mr. Matlock?

Well, yeah.

(laughs)

Now, about, uh...

about Mr. Hackett and,
uh, your financial situation.

(Guy laughs)

Why is it the moment

someone steps
foot in the theater

they become melodramatic?

Ah, I don't know.
There's such a...

(laughs)

All right.

I have financial problems,

but I wouldn't k*ll
to have a hit show.

Oh, a-a... a hit show is
the last thing you want.

It... It-It-It
reminds me of a...

of a... of a movie I saw once.

I can't... I can't just
think of it... Wait...

I don't follow.

Well, here, look.

Look. Uh...

Marshall Turner
has % of the play,

Dr. Richmond has ten percent.

Uh, Mr. Doucette... .

Mr. Carp... ,
Mr. Young for .

Mr. Niles for , and
Mr. Russo for , and...

See... (Matlock mutters)

That adds up to %,

and I'm only halfway
through the list.

(both laugh)

(Matlock sighs)

What does that got to do
with John Bosley Hackett?

Well, you picked a play
that you figured was a turkey.

Then you hired a
director and an actress

at the bottom of their careers.

And you budgeted the
show at a million dollars.

And then you raised two
million dollars in backing.

The only way you could
succeed was by failing,

so you had Sid Falco
invite Mr. Hackett down

to review your play.

You needed his bad review,

but his m*rder made it a hit.

(Matlock laughs)

So you hired a couple of
thugs to tear up the scenery,

and you fired Sally Ayn White.

Oh, wait a minute.

If I wanted it to be
a flop, I'd keep her.

Hmm-mm. No, you just
wanted to delay the opening

till the m*rder
publicity d*ed down.

Well, this plot would make a
very good play, Mr. Matlock.

MATLOCK: Yeah?

But are you saying that I
k*lled John Bosley Hackett?

No. No.

You didn't have
motive or opportunity.

What you did was,
uh, you destroyed

a young writer's
play and his dream,

and that's what I'll
see you in prison for.

A young man's dream.

Very nice, Mr. Matlock.

What's the sentence
for destroying a dream?

The same as fraud.

(clapping)

Bravo.

DeLuca, have you
been there all that time?

TOMMY: Are you kidding?

I wouldn't have missed
this for the world.

What a scene.

The staging was weak,
but content was riveting.

What a drama.

No, I take that back.

A comedy.

A really black comedy.

Producer... sleazy
producer... Hires patsy

director/choreographer
to play the fool.

Had no choice but
to fire Sally Ayn.

Really?

Oh, get off it.

You came off all right.

If not for me, the chronically
unemployed Tommy DeLuca

probably wouldn't have worked
again for another ten years.

You're a bum.

BRIAN: Mr. Palmer!

It's Sally Ayn.

I-I-I just found her on the
floor in her dressing room.

She's OD'd.

(sighs)

(whimpers)

(Tommy gasps)

Call a paramedic.

TOMMY: Sally Ayn?

- (Sally sighs)
- Are you all right?

- (sighs)
- Honey.

Honey, tell me you're all right.

Get some coffee.

Leave me alone.

I want to die.

MATLOCK: You
will in about years.

- This is all my fault.
- (Sally Ayn gasps)

If I hadn't been so relentless,

If I hadn't-hadn't-hadn't...
pushed her so far.

If you hadn't made me fire her.

If you'd just bring the coffee.

Tommy.

Hold my hand, please.

TOMMY: Oh.

I feel so cold.

(Sally Ayn breathes loudly)

Shh. Shh. Try to stay awake.

Oh, I'm so tired.

Just let me sleep.

No! No, no.

Will you get the coffee?!

Oh.

(Sally Ayn breathing loudly)

SALLY AYN: Oh.

(panting)

(laughs)

You fools.

You call yourself a
producer, and you a director.

Then you ought to recognize

a great actress
when you see one.

Then you're all right?

For an aging
ingénue, I'm perfect.

You were acting?

This was a performance
good enough

to convince an audience
two inches away.

Stupid.

You fired me.

You have any idea what
you just put me through?

You scared the hell
out of me, you phony.

SALLY AYN: Me? Oh, no, darling.

I'm the real thing.

I've worked with Bob
Fosse and Michael Bennett.

I've been toasted by
Andrew Lloyd Webber.

And here's the picture of me
with Sam Spelvin, Guy Palmer

and Tommy DeLuca the
morning of the m*rder.

You're no Bob Fosse,

but you seemed very fond of me.

Whispering sweet nothings
and planning to fire me.

I'm not the phony here, Tommy.

You are a lying,
duplicitous creep!

Well, I'll be dogged.

Next time you play
an overdose scene,

uh, try to get, you know,
sweaty and kind of clammy.

It'll play better.

Hmm.

As for, uh, you and you, I'll...

I'll see you gentlemen in court.

MATLOCK: Uh, Mr. DeLuca,

John Bosley Hackett's review

was not very
favorable to you, was it?

Well, uh, he pretty
much savaged everyone

- in the show, including me.
- MATLOCK: Yeah.

But this wasn't the first
time he'd reviewed a play

you had directed, was it?

Personally I don't read reviews.

But, uh, I've directed
so many shows,

- uh, and I guess he must have.
- Yeah.

Well, this-this-this is a...

This is a -year-old review.

Uh, it's John-John
Bosley Hackett.

See?

And the play was
Saint Joan of Rock.

You were the director.

He hated the play and
he hated your direction.

But he saved his most
devastating remarks

for the actress.

You remember her name?

Jeanine Sewell.

Jeanine Sewell DeLuca...
Your bride of six months.

His review crushed
her, didn't it?

She was pretty much destroyed.

Would you tell the jury
what happened to her.

After that review, she left me.

She left her life.

Fled to Europe and...

The fact is that
she-she blamed you

for her horrible
review, didn't she?

Afraid so.

And-and-and that's
why she left you.

You could say that.

Yeah.

And you hated John
Bosley Hackett, didn't you?

I mean, you-you blamed
him for the loss of your wife.

And you waited for
years for revenge,

and finally that
day came, didn't it?

The perfect opportunity.

Objection. Speculation.

Sustained.

The jury is directed

to ignore the defense
council's last remarks.

Mr. Matlock, please
confine yourself

- to questions.
- Excuse me, Your Honor.

Um, Mr. DeLuca, you were present

when Mr. Hackett
told Sam Spelvin

that he was going
to review his play

even though it was
only a-a preview,

and that he hated
it, weren't you?

Yes, I was.

And you were present
the next morning

at the theater when you
learned that Sam was gonna go

talk to Mr. Hackett,
weren't you?

- Yes.
- Yeah.

Would you tell the court what...
What you did right after that.

I resumed rehearsal.

Yeah, and you watched
from the balcony.

Yeah, I was up there

with, uh, Willy the-the
follow spot operator.

But you-you didn't stay

in the balcony the
whole scene, did you?

Of course I did.

Are you sure in the
darkness you didn't slip out?

I just told you I was up there.

- Ask Willy.
- I did.

I had a-a long talk
with Willy the other day.

And he tells me, that
a follow spot operator

can't take his eyes off
the stage for a second.

So he can't say whether
you stayed or left.

Oh.

So he didn't see
me for a few minutes.

- Mm-hmm.
- Well, there's-there's no way

that a person could have
gone over there, k*lled someone,

and-and then come
back in that time.

I disagree.

A person could easily
have left that balcony,

gone to the hotel,
k*lled Mr. Hackett,

and gotten back
in plenty of time.

Even me, bum knee
and all, I timed it.

And a spry ex-dancer

like Tommy DeLuca,
should have no problems.

Don't you agree with that?

No. I don't.

Okay.

Okay, look at this.

Look at this.

This... this is, uh,
Mr. Hackett's...

breakfast menu for the
morning he was k*lled.

See, he had... He
had orange juice,

coffee, toast, eggs,
pancakes, syrup, grape jelly.

The man had a fine appetite.

But according to
the police report,

when they found him, the only
thing that was left untouched

was the orange
juice and the coffee.

That seemed strange.

I mean, why would a person...

Why would a person
eat his-his-his toast,

and his eggs, and his pancakes,

and his syrup
and his grape jelly,

and not touch the orange
juice and the coffee?

Doesn't that seem odd?

(chuckles) Not especially.

Hmm.

(sighs)

Uh, Mr. DeLuca, you wear,
um, a hairpiece, don't you?

I beg your pardon.

Uh, you know, a toupee, a wig.

The-the conventional
kind held on with four clips.

Well, you-you do, don't you?

- Your Honor...
- I'll-I'll tie this together

in a moment, Your Honor.

Proceed.

The-the man who
k*lled Mr. Hackett,

slipped into his room,
and att*cked him

with a letter opener.

Mr. Hackett tried
to defend himself.

And he grabbed at his m*rder*r
and pulled something off him,

that fell into his breakfast.

It was your wig, wasn't it?

This is funny stuff.

Who writes your material?

I mean, uh, I think there's
a joke in there somewhere.

I'm not joking!

You were afraid
particles of your hairpiece

would be found in the
eggs, the toast, the pancakes,

the syrup, the grape jelly.

So you flushed
it down the toilet,

- didn't you?
- No!

Then you rushed
back to your room.

I mean, it would look very odd

for you to come
out of that balcony

with the eggs, and syrup
and grape jelly in your wig.

So you put on another
one, and still got back

before the end of the
dance number, didn't you?

Objection!

Mr. Matlock, this kind of
speculation must come to an end.

I have pictures.

Pictures.

See?

Two for you.

Two for you.

Two for you, sir.

And two for us.

Now, this first photo is of you,

and Sally Ayn White
and Guy Palmer...

Of course they don't spell it.

Taken just before the m*rder.

You see, your hairpiece
is very fashionable.

See, how it's kind
of long over the ears.

See there?

- Yes.
- Okay.

Now, in this-this
newspaper photo,

it was taken as part of
the interview that you gave

minutes after the m*rder.

Your hair is shorter.

See that sideburn?

See that?

It's shorter.

How'd-how'd your
hair get shorter

if you were just
sittin' in the balcony?

You put on another
toupee, didn't you?

You're accusing me of
m*rder based on a news photo?

Uh, Mr. DeLuca, you-you have...

three hairpieces.

One looks like
you need a haircut.

One looks like you
just got a haircut.

And one looks like
it-it's growing out.

And, I don't know,
it got me to thinking.

All these hairpieces... I mean,

how-how do you clean 'em?

I mean, do you shampoo
them or is it soap and water?

How do you do that?

Soap and water.

Oh, soap and-and-and water.

Uh, is it, um, synthetic hair?

Yes.

What if all that sticky
stuff... You know, the eggs

and toast and-and syrup
and-and grape jelly...

Wouldn't come out
with soap and water?

What if that synthetic hair
got so sticky and matted,

that-that it was useless.

What-what would you have done?

I don't know. It never happened.

I think it did, and I think
you took it to a wig maker

to have the ruined patches
cut out and rewoven.

You did it the very
next day, didn't you?

No!

And you can
check that with my...

Top Copy... your wig
maker in New York.

No, you wouldn't have done that.

And there aren't that
many wig makers here,

so it wasn't very
hard to find...

Mr. Bruce.

He is the person you
took your wig to for repairs.

And he is prepared to testify

that in the ruined
patches of that hairpiece,

he found toast,
eggs, pancakes, syrup

and grape jelly.

Exactly Mr. Hackett's
last breakfast order.

And that's pretty well the
way it happened, isn't it?

I know that you've just
directed a courtroom play

and you probably know

that you don't have to
answer any more questions,

even that last one,
without representation.

And it's... it's a good idea.

And, um... (mumbling)

(clears throat)

I gotta tell you something.

I-I'm no expert,

but I didn't agree with
John Bosley Hackett.

I didn't think your
play was that bad.

Defense rests.

Your Honor, in light
of the new evidence,

the state moves that all charges

against the defendant,
Sam Spelvin, be dropped.

So noted.

In the matter of the State of
Georgia v. Sam G. Spelvin,

this case is dismissed.

(pounds gavel)

Ben, I don't know
how to thank you.

Take out all those jokes
about money-grubbing lawyers.

But it's some of
my funniest stuff.

I didn't laugh.

- Okay.
- Okay?

Okay, okay.

- Um...
- (clears throat)

uh, how 'bout we go
somewhere for dinner

and maybe a-a show?

How about just dinner?

(whistling)

Uh, that tune you're whistling.

Isn't that "Love and
Justice Is Blind"?

(whistling)

It is.

Catchy, isn't it?

You know that big
number that tall guy sings?

How about give that to Sally?