01x05 - The Trip Trap

[bunniefuu]

Hello, I'm Eric Jonrosh, novelist, architect, malcontent.

Things get weird tonight on Spoils Before Dying.

You can handle it.

When I directed The Spoils Before Dying, I was in a strange place in my life.

It was the late '50s, and my world was spinning out of control.

I turned to suspect substances to try and manage the spin, but certain substances I acquired from South American Indians actually accelerated the spin in a not so unpleasant way, creatively speaking of course.

The substances, to be blunt, drove me crazy.

I might have k*lled someone I loved very much.

I honestly don't know.

That's where my head was at.

Creatively speaking, it was like kicking open a locked door in a unicorn's eye and discovering a meadow of sexual daisies.

I gathered my crew in Paris, and, in a trance, we went out and sh*t much of tonight's episode.

Looking back I realized I can't handle some dr*gs.

It's important as an artist to understand this.

[scoffs] No, it's not, really.

I don't know why I said that.

I think maybe I get scared no one will hire me again if I confess to all my little murders.

Enjoy the mess.

Hello, I'm Detective Kenneth Bluntly from the hit Dutone television program Calling All Cars.

The following portion of the film you are watching now involves a depiction of the effects of illegal hallucinogenics of the mind.

The dr*gs depicted are real, and the images were chosen from the case files of thousands of actual drug addicts.

"Tripping," or "lollypopping," or "scallywagging," as the kids call it, is not only against the law, but it can be deadly.

One medical professional predicts that by the year 1965, over half of 10% of 70% of teenagers will die from drug overdoses.

Tripping on dr*gs is no vacation, unless you plan on vacationing in a graveyard.

It's your choice.

Thank you. Now enjoy the show.

This is a special concoction of opiates, methedrine, and just a skosh of cyanide.

I'm so proud of it.

I'm afraid it won't be very pleasant for you.

Let's skip it, then.

[laughs]

I like your sense of humor, Mr. Banyon.

You got to write that one down.

It'll be over soon, don't fight it.

It's just going to be a little prick.

Oh, there we go.

You gonna k*ll me, then get it over with.

We have to make it look like an overdose.

How much longer?

He should be feeling it in about ten seconds.

It won't be fun, Mr. Banyon... - Acht.

Where you're going. - Sieben.

But at least you won't wake up from it.

- Sechs.

Enjoy the dance.

What dance?

Three. - Drei.

Two. - Zwei.

One. - Eins.

Run, Rock, run.

[random piano keys played]

Meow.

Welcome to the party, Mr. Banyon.

What'll it be?

I'll take a hair of that dog that bit me, Lloyd.

How about you?

I'm just a holy fool surfing the eternal now.

How's your nightmare treating you?

Gotta get back to the center.

The center is the boundary.

Your mind, your body, your spirit is committing chakracide.

I saw darkness.

♪ Darkness is not the opposite of light ♪

So?

So you create reality by raising the vibration.

Polarity, my friend.

Polarity.

Blingo.

Pretty sure you mean bingo.

That's what I said.

Bingo.

Blingo.

You...just...flip... the...switch.

[opera music]

♪ ♪

[applause]

man echoing: You're watching BBK 7

[jazz music]

woman: The poor.

[steam whisle, train bell dings]

♪ ♪

h*m*...sexual.

h*m*.

I had a singing group once. It was The Four Robins.

Man named Wardell. Sax player.

Why? Why?

Hello, Rock.

Fresno! You're alive.

Deader than a Sunday morning.

You'll be dead soon too.

I was so close, Fres.

The guy that k*lled Wardell k*lled you and Stygamian.

It wasn't me.

Stygamian has something dangerous in that cigarette case.

I find that case, I can get to the bottom of this.

It's in locker 214 at the bus station downtown.

Really?

No, not really.

How would I know? I'm dead.

What was in Wardell's saxophone case?

Again, the dead thing still applies.

Aw, come on, Fres, you gotta tell me something.

Why were you with Stygamian that night?

Are you going to do a strings album, Rock?

I don't know! Why?

Don't do it, Rock.

You are an artist.

I was never an artist like you.

I made a play for the cash, and now look at me.

Don't make a play for the cash.

Who was trying to give you money?

Stygamian?

Good-bye, Rock.

Fresno.

Fresno, no.

Fresno!

[screams]

Bad scene, Daddy.

He was hunted down by the Nazis.

It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Banyon.

That's right, Mr. Man.

It won't be pleasant for you.

[jass music]

Duke.

Yeah.

You ain't never did no strings album.

Ahh.

What I'ma do?

What does your heart tell you to do, man?

I don't know. I can't even feel my own heartbeat.

What?

You can't feel your heartbeat, man, that is a crime--crime.

Listen, listen.

You are the truth, man, you created the truth--truth.

You got to go deep for the vibration, man.

The vibration never stops.

Vibration never stops.

The vibration keeps going on.

♪ Vibration ♪

Vibration.

[laughs] Yeah.

All right. [laughs]

♪ ♪

Vibration.

Banyon.

[slow motion] Run, Rock, run, my brother.

Well, well, good morning, sweetheart.

Where am I?

We give you three whole days to clear yourself, and you go juice up and pass out.

What?

What's the monkey on your back, Banyon, huh?

Is it the reefer? Is it the uppers, the downers?

The Bennies, the Dexies, the big H, huh?

You know what they say, Biggs.

Once a user, always a user.

I didn't do anything.

Oh, no? Then would you care to explain...this?

Huh? What? What's that?

Let me give you a little tutorial.

It's a .38, service revolver.

Same kind of g*n that sh*t up Stygamian and the girl.

That's not mine.

All right, let's go, Banyon.

Where?

Oh, a comedian, huh?

[Donwelly and Biggs laughing]

Downtown--you are under arrest for the m*rder of Wilbur Stygamian and Fresno Foxglove.

No. No.

Let's go.

Come on.

No, wait.

Come on.

[panting]

You guys gave me three days to solve this m*rder.

I still got a few hours.

Your time is up. That g*n is all we need.

Don't you think it's a bit convenient that I would wake up in the middle of a field with that g*n on me?

Mm, that is convenient for us. [chuckles]

Wait, what are you saying?

What if someone planted that g*n on me?

What if someone doesn't want the police to find out who really k*lled Stygamian?

That's a pretty sweet little theory, except for one thing.

You k*lled Stygamian.

What if someone thinks they're smarter than the police?

What if someone is using you guys?

Like--like a-- like a pair of pants, like an old pair of pants.

But not just any pants, the kind of pants you use when you-- when you paint your house.

You know, so you don't get paint on your regular pants that you wear to work or to church or something like that.

Don't you see? You're the pants!

Wait, wait, wait a minute, wait a minute.

How are we the pants?

Or maybe--maybe I'm the pants, I don't know.

Look, look, can we forget the pants?

No, no, keep the pants.

The pants analogy should be played out to the end.

All right, look, someone k*lled Stygamian, right?

Then they k*lled Wardell and Fresno and-- and a h*m* by the name of Kenton Price.

Who?

Another dead man y'all gonna pin on me.

Got it, keep going.

Well, m*rder's a dirty business.

The k*ller's gonna want to stay clean, so what does he do?

Take a shower?

No!

Bleach?

No.

Run through the sprinklers?

No!

Dry cleaning.

He puts on another pair of pants, a dirty pair of pants.

Don't you see the k*ller's using us to stay clean while he paints the city with blood?

Rubber pants.

But it's not going to keep you out of the electric chair.

They're framing me and using you to do it.

Ah, don't you ever get tired of yapping?

Hey, isn't this your tenor sax friend right here?

[jazz on radio]

Rock: Old friend Wardell, telling me to find the missing tenor sax.

Suddenly the whole dirty mess started to make sense.

Look, guys. Give me my few hours.

I know I can prove my innocence, I know!

I'm close, okay? I'm so close.

Ah, come on, Biggs, are you just gonna sit there and let this guy use us like--like...

Like an old pair of pants?

What's a couple of hours?

Ehh.

You got it, jazz man.

Go see what you can find.

Let us stop first, Jesus.

Rock: The cops let me off in the middle of nowhere.

I didn't know where I was, but someone else did.

[phone ringing]

Hello?

Is this Mr. Rock Banyon?

This is he. Who am I talking to?

My name is Gerhart Moll.

Does the name mean anything to you?

Dead man told me that name. Kenton Price.

Too bad about Kenton.

These are dangerous times, Mr. Banyon.

How did you know to find me here? This phone booth?

We're watching you, Mr. Banyon.

Who watching me? Who is this?

I'll explain that to you in person.

I'll be waiting on pier 45.

The ship is called the Dorian Blue.

How do you know Kenton Price?

[phone disconnects]

Hello?

I gave up all my earthly possessions...

Rock: I hitched a ride down to San Pedro with one of those beatnik songwriters.

After what I'd been through, I didn't know if he was real or not.

I just knew I had to get to Gerhart Moll.

Maybe he could tell me what I was looking for.

Thanks for the ride, friend.

[eerie music]

Rock: Was I being set up again?

I had nothing to lose.

♪ ♪

Gerhart Moll?

Mr. Banyon, it's a miracle you're alive.

Who are these people?

They thought they could make you talk before you d*ed.

Perhaps you did?

They want that gold cigarette case.

It's much more than a cigarette case, Mr. Banyon.

Much more.

You have stepped into a very dark secret.

Enlighten me.

You fought in the w*r, didn't you?

Infantry.

Then you must know Adolf h*tler hated modern art?

Wasn't too concerned about art, modern or otherwise.

Too busy being sh*t at.

He called it degenerate art.

He organized an exhibition in '37.

Gerhart: Dadaists, Cubists, surrealists, Bauhaus.

He lumped them all in one building, paraded the German people before them to persuade them that this is what had happened to their once mighty culture.

He blamed the Jews, the artists, the painters, the writers, the h*m*, and yes, even the jazz musicians for the downfall of Germany.

Anyone not in step with n*zi cultural values was either exiled or destroyed.

h*tler forged his own culture out of repression and fear.

He wanted to rid the world of those he called degenerate.

He b*rned their art. He sold it. He slashed it to bits.

All of it, all of it, save one strange sculpture, which he kept hidden in his secret bunker.

Why? Why was this sculpture saved?

This piece of degenerate art?

The question plagued a young rocket scientist who worked for the Reich at the time.

He was Jewish and a h*m*, and he loved jazz music.

So in many ways he was like the sculpture.

He should have been destroyed.

But he knew about rockets. He was useful.

What use, then, was the sculpture?

This question plagued him, even as he defected to America to begin a new life.

For years, Wilbur Stygamian searched for this orphaned piece of art that had once been kept in h*tler's secret bunker.

A Russian art dealer contacted him with an offer to buy it on the black market.

He hired me to retrieve the art.

Many lives were lost bringing it to this country.

Stygamian is not the only one looking for this art object.

I seen the sculpture.

I seen it inside of his house.

And for that you will die.

I'm already dead.

Adolf h*tler hid something in that sculpture, something that many men have d*ed for.

Find the sculpture. That's your only chance.

I can't go back in that house.

It's your only chance.

I can't, I tell you!

[engine starts]

[dramatic music]

[tires screech]

[engine revs]

♪ ♪

Stop!

Stop running, Rock!

Stop!

[g*n cocks]

Rock: Most men wouldn't have survived that fall.

Maybe it was the booze and pills, but I made it.

Rock Banyon!

Say, how come you never made an album with strings, huh?

What?

Miles made an album with strings.

Chet Baker, Coleman Hawkins...

Rock: I knew now I was gonna have to go back to Stygamian's house again...

Banyon...

Rock: But first I needed to make a couple stops...

[exhales] I genuinely enjoy jazz with strings, now.

Rock: So I paid a visit to an old friend, Bebop Jones.

After Wardell and Fresno left the club that night, I knew they went out to Bebop Jones to score.

Bebop had lied about the tenor sax.

He must have known what was in the case and pinched it.

I was pretty sure if I found it, I would get that gold cigarette case and the chance to clear my name.

I wanted that tenor sax, and I would've k*lled Bebop to get it, except... someone b*at me to it.

There it was, Wardell's tenor sax.

♪ ♪

Rock: I went home to Delores.

I needed her now more than ever.

Rock, you're hurt!

Oh, let me make you some eggs.

I'm more than hurt. I need you to do something for me, Delores.

Well, I've got eggs in the fridge, there's bacon.

What else do you need? There's sausage.

I know you think we're out of butter, but we're not.

Just tell me what you need.

I need you to go by the club and pick up a tenor sax from behind the bar.

Beatrice will know where it's at.

What do you need with the horn?

I've got a hunch on a few things.

Okay, all right, well, do you want me to bring it back here?

Find Alistair and meet me up by the cabin.

Cabin? What cabin? Is there food there?

Don't worry about food, Dolores!

Well, why don't you come with us? Where will you be?

I gotta get something. Everything will be all right.

Hey, Delores.

Yes?

Wear something warm.

Well, I've got a Lanni Jergens cashmere cardigan sweater.

Oh, sweater, baby?

No, you gotta wear something really warm.

Well, I've got an RJ Bunt Mackinaw jacket.

Will that be all right?

Now see, that's the ticket.

Yeah.

And I'm wearing a PJ Crumley wool hunting jacket and a pair of Camp Master 500 sporting pants--exquisite.

Oh, I've got a Harris Buntly Dubliner.

Too on the nose, but good try.

Oh, what about my Kraverly Mills dungarees?

We really don't have time for this, but yes, okay, yes!

What about Alistair?

Alistair! I forgot about Alistair.

Get something from Bullocks for him.

Oh, God, no, I'm too scared. I'm terrified!

You can do it. Just...he likes virgin wool.

Lord Bainbridge or Fox Hunt.

Well, Sears is having a sale on Chester & Morechester Scotch plaid waddle droppers.

Ah, that's perfect!

I'll see you...at the cabin.

All right. Is there anything else I can do?

Yeah. Just one thing.

All right.

Need you to plant one right here for me.

Oh, Rock.

Dolores?

Yes, Rock.

I'm real close to pulling myself out of this mess.

I know you are.

It's a long sh*t, but I got a real good hunch.

Oh.

I'll see you at the cabin.

All right.

Rock!

[meows]

I'm worried about you!

Oh.

[cat crying]

[sobs]

We're gonna be safe, aren't we?

I just know we are.

[cat meows]

All right, I know what I'm gonna do.

I'm gonna make myself some eggs.

Rock: I sped out into the night, all the answers falling into place like an Ellington song.

My solo break was about to happen, and I was feeling it, the notes preordained and magical.

The good guys thought they could k*ll me with a few dr*gs, but they didn't understand jazz.

They thought they could end the song, but I had one more solo to play.

Contractually speaking, I was guaranteed wine.

Not one glass or two glasses.

Wine.

The contract says wine.

Well, I'm seriously considering walking, I am.

If I didn't need help getting up, I would walk.

Horse balls.

[grunting]

[panting] Oh, my God.