01x07 - Cyranose

[bunniefuu]

What's the story, Wishbone?What's

this you're dreaming of?Such a

big imagination on

such a little book?

What's the story, Wishbone?Do you

think it's worth a look?It

kind of seems familiar, like a

story from a book.

Shake a leg now, Wishbone. Let's

wag another tail

Sniffing on adventure With

Wishbone on the trail Come on,

Wishbone

What's the story, Wishbone?

What's the story, Wishbone?

What's the story, Wishbone?

What's the story you wish for?

Ellen, this is it.

This is the sculpture I told you about.

Now, this represents a whole

new direction in my work.

This is a breakthrough for me, and in a

way, you're responsible. I am?Hmm,

I do not like the looks of this. Get

down, Wishbone. It was inspired by your

dog. HuhYou're kidding, a statue of me?

Really?A piece about Wishbone?I

didn't think he would ever be a source of

great artistic inspiration for you,

Wanda. Hey, I've inspired many an artist

in my time. This piece

is about coming to terms with the

savage instincts within myself.

The kind of instincts that lead this

animal to destroy my yard time and time

again. Oh.

I call it... so...

unleashed. It's a gargoyle! Ellen,

run for your life! Quickly!

It's, um.. very, um..

interesting, Wanda.

I want you to have it.

It's not the kind of thing I could sell

to a stranger. But I can give it to a

friend like you. I I can't let you do

that. I mean, well, it's

such a personal piece. Don't

you want to hold on to it?The

artist must learn to let

go. Besides,

it's my tribute to your dog. It

belongs in your house.

Well, I am.

I'm speechless. Coffee.

How about some coffee?

You like it?

Hmm, she's speechless, huh

Maybe I ought to take another look at

this guy. Hmm, from

this angle, you... Hey, you're

ferocious! I like that.

With a face like that, you don't back

down, do you, buddy?You've got a certain

je ne sais quoi, a certain

something. Something bold?

Something inspired?Yes!

You are a lot like my personal hero,

Cyrano de Bergerac.

Cyrano had the guts to stand alone.

He's the main character in a play written

by the French playwright Edmond Rostand

in 1898.

The story takes place in France in 1640.

Cyrano is the best soldier and most

brilliant poet in all of Paris.

And he's also in love with

the beautiful Roxanne.

But he has one major problem.

Cyrano has an enormous nose,

the kind of nose that humans call ugly.

Excuse me, dog face, but

your nose is rather large.

My nose is rather large?

Rather large, you say?Is that the

best you can do?

I do not need my sword to teach you a

lesson. I have

Words. Let me teach you

how to insult my nose, monsieur.

You could have said, Your nose is so

big, you should call a doctor and have it

amputated. Or, how about this?

What do you carry around in that snout?

Your pens or your whole writing desk?

Ooh, how about this one?Do you love that

bird so much that you let them perch on

your nose?But no, the best

you can come up with is... Your nose is

rather large.

Well, any fool can see that my nose is

rather large, but your brain is rather

small.

Thank you very much, ladies and

gentlemen. You're a beautiful audience.

Really, really.

Well done, Cyrano. Such

daring, such wit. You

amaze me. Why, thank

you. Believe me, it was

nothing. Tomorrow we

must speak privately. I have certain

things to tell you. Meet me in the

morning at the pastry shop. Good night,

Monsieur. The most beautiful woman in

Paris wants to see me alone.

Is it possible she could love me of the

canine continents?

Cyrano, I have something to tell you, but

I don't know if I dare to say it. Oh, go

ahead. Dare. Dare. All right.

Yes, I dare. Listen.

Yes?I love someone.

Yes?Someone who does not know.

Yes?But he will know soon.

Yes?The man I love

is Veron Christin De

Nouveillette. Yes!

No! He is the most handsome man that I

have ever seen, and I love him.

Wait a minute. Have you ever talked to

this guy?No, we have never spoken. But

I can read his soul and his beautiful

face. His head is covered with the

most glorious curls.

Hello?What if there's nobody home under

the curls?He must be as brilliant as he

is beautiful. Well, I

hope you two will be very happy. But you

must help us. Oh, this is getting good.

Pardon me?Yes.

I want you to keep Christine from getting

into any fights or duels. You are the

best soldier in Paris. Christine

is in your regiment. You must protect

him. You want me to watch out for

curly locks?Yes. Please?

For my sake?

I will do anything for your sake,

Roxanne. Thank you.

Thank you. I must go now.

Adieu. Bye. I

would never want Roxanne to be

disappointed. Me and my big nose.

Today, we are going to begin a two-week

discussion of a very special subject.

Poetry.

Imagination is the soul of

poetry, according to Samuel Taylor

Coleridge. Coleridge wrote The Rime of

the Ancient Mariner, which we'll study in

this class. It contains the famous line,

Water, water, everywhere,

but not a drop to drink.

Any questions?

David. Can I get a drink of water?There.

You see, Coleridge described

thirst in such a way that made David

thirsty.

Tomorrow's assignment is one that I

encourage you to enjoy.

I want each of you to write an

original poem. It doesn't have to

rhyme. It doesn't have to be of any

particular length. Choose a subject for

which you have strong feelings, and then

let your imagination rule the day.

Write a poem?Wait a minute. Mr.

Pruitt?Mr. Pruitt, did you say we

had to write a poem?Yes.

I can't. Don't worry, David. Just give it

a try. Do we

really have to write a poem?Yep.

But how?Great

shot, Mom. I

don't see why we have to do this poetry

stuff anyway. It doesn't make any sense.

Well, poetry can be fun, David. It's a

way to play with words. I can't do it. I

just don't know how to make up poetry.

Everyone has a poet within,

David. Nice shot, though. Besides, you're

such a good student. I'm sure you'll do

fine. This is an

opportunity to express yourself.

Express myself?Yes. You just need to

get inspired and then run with it.

Poetry is food for the

soul. Umm Yes,

food for the soul.

Costien, we are alone

at last. Let me feast upon the

beauty of your words.

Speak. I love

you. Tell me of your

love. I

love you. Yes,

that's your subject. Expand upon

it. I

love you

so. You give me

water when I ask for cream. Where's the

poetry?Where are the beautiful words

to feed my soul?But

I love you. Enough. Your

words do not move me. Adieu. But

But wait. Oh, boy.

Well, congratulations, Christian. A

brilliant success. I need

help. No kidding. If only I had

your wit. If only I had your

looks.

Hey, I've got it. It's

dark enough to hide. You stand under the

balcony and I'll give you the words to

win Roxanne. Thank you.

I got to be out of my mind.

Who's there?It is I,

Christian.

You have nothing to say to me. Your love

has gone with your words. Okay,

okayMy love is born anew every day and

rises with the sun. My love is

born anew every day and rises

with the sun. It should die. For lack of

eloquence. Ouch. Okay, I tried to

k*ll it, but it has the strength of

Hercules. I tried to k*ll it,

but it has the strength of Hercules.

That's better. Please continue.

This is too hard. All right, then let me

do the talking. Why do you hesitate?

Has your imagination left you?Uh,

my words grope through the darkness to

reach your ears, and if you let a harsh

word drop from that height,It will crush

me. Then I will

come down to you. No, no, no Why

not?Stay on your perch.

You must give me your oath. For though we

continue to stand apart, the dark veil of

night that covers us both allows me to

speak the words in my heart.

You sound different. Your words please

me. The very name

Roxanne rings in my heart every day. I

love everything about you and forget

nothing. What do you

want of me?A kiss. Oh,

what?Hey, not so fat, muscle boy. A

kiss. Yes. Climb up and you shall have

it. No, wait. Christian. Christian, come

back here. Christian.

Figures. I do the work. He gets the

credit. And the kiss.

Major. Major bummer.

Peek-a-boo! Hey, anybody here?

Joe! What's up, pal?

Ooh, heavy sigh. I

don't know what to write. Bummer.

Did you?He scores!

That's it. That's what?All

right. Okay, wait. Hold on, Mom.

Dad, can I have dinner at Mom's on

Wednesday?Sure. No, wait. No,

that's soccer night. OK, well, I can't on

Wednesday, but Thursday's fine.

OK, I'll see you then. Bye.

Sam, can we talk about Saturday's plan

for a minute?I'm sorry, Dad. I can't do

any more scheduling right now. I have to

write this poem for tomorrow. OK, OKDon't

want to disturb the poet.

David, this is yours. Look, I've

got homework to do, okay?But it has your

name on it. Where'd you get it?

On the front porch. For

David, may you be inspired?

Does this mean you have a girlfriend?

Yeah, right. I don't even know who sent

it, okay?David's got a

girlfriend David's got a girl

Very good job, Stacey. All

right, who's next?

Joe.

It's called basketball.

When I get the ball, I really come alive.

I look for a hole and dribble and drive.

If a defensive player gets in my face, a

fallaway jumper puts him in their place.

The taller they come, the more I'm keyed.

They got the height, but I got the speed.

Very good. Very good, Joe.

Couplets. Huh

Pairs of rhyming lines.

Oh. All right, who's next?Samantha.

Mine doesn't rhyme, you said. No, doesn't

have to.

It's called My Two Homes.

Most people have one home, but I have

two. One is my mother's and one is my

father's, but both are mine. You might

think I'm lucky, but it's not easy to

learn two sets of rules or to keep two

bedrooms picked up. My dad works at home,

so he's always there and the house feels

cozy and lived in. My mom travels, so her

house is mostly neat and empty. I love

both houses, and I wish I could live in

both at once, so I could call myself on

the telephone.

That's very good. Now, most poems

create a world. In that

poem, Samantha, you created two worlds.

That was very good. Thanks. But I didn't

have to create them. They're already

there. All right. Who's

next?David.

It is called Birds of My Backyard by

David Barnes. Oh, swift,

swift, swift, see the tree robbin,

lake robbin, cat robbin, evening robbin,

from light to gloom. My heart is the

light, the glide, just to the side of the

roof aside a toweek. The gloom is my

fear, the rush, the thrush, the king

bird hiding in the rose bush. But I

resign my heart when all is done. Resign

it. to its real master, the bright one,

the blue jay. The blandishment is over.

David. We're

all quite stunned. You

actually created the feeling of and

the sound of flapping wings.

Swift, swift, swift.

Amazing! And you used internal

rhyme. David,

I want to publish your poem. Would you

mind?

Mom, Mom, guess what?Mr. Pooh is

going to publish David's poem. Well,

David, that's wonderful. And you were so

worried that you couldn't write a poem.

Yeah. Hey, I'll bet she'll even get paid

for it. Maybe. Yeah. Hey,

what's a Rufus-sided Toe, anyway?

Well, it's... You know, it's a

bird. HuhWhere'd you come up with the

idea?Well, I just, um..

well... I didn't.

Oh, no. What?I didn't write the

poem. Well, if he didn't

write the poem, he did. I don't know, but

I didn't. Great, my mom's gonna

k*ll me. Mr. Pruitt, he's gonna flunk me.

Ms. Tabet, what should I do?Well, I

think you know what you have to do,

David. Yeah, I've got to

go tell him.

Good for you, David. The truth always

comes out.

Cyrano and Christian are in the same

regiment, and they are called away to w*r

together right after Roxanne and

Christian have their meeting on the

balcony.

While they are at w*r, Cyrano writes

beautiful letters to Roxanne. Of

course, he signs Christian's name to

them. The letters are so moving

that she decides she must see Christian,

even if she has to goto the

b*ttlefield.

After reading all of your beautiful

letters, I had to see you. I

had to tell you. My letters?Yes, of

course. These letters have breathed

your soul into me. My soul?

At first I loved you because of your

handsome face. Please forgive me.

Now I love you for your soul. for what

you have on the inside. Do

you mean that?You really don't care what

I look like?I would love you

even if you were the ugliest man alive.

Oh, no. Roxanne.

Roxanne, wait here.

Cyrano. Christian, there you are. This

is a letter that I wrote for you to give

to Roxanne. Here, here, take it to her.

Cyrano, Roxanne loves you, not

me. Impossible. She loves the person who

wrote the letters. She said that she

would love me even if I were ugly. She

said that?Yes. She must decide

who she really loves. Me for my handsome

face, or you for your beautiful soul.

Tell her that you wrote the letters. Tell

her now. Well, okay, cover for

me.

Cyrano. Roxanne, Roxanne, there's

something I have to ask you. Did you tell

Christian that you would love him even if

he were ugly?Yes,

I would love him even if he had...

had the face of a dog?

Yes. Even then. Oh,

boy. Should I tell her the truth?

What was that?Uh-oh. It's

so close. This is bad. Stay here.

Oh, no. It's Christian.

Christian, my love. Roxette.

Hi.

Last letter he wrote. A

piece of his soul for me.

She believes that Christian wrote the

letters. I can't tell her now it was me.

She'd be so disappointed.

He was a great poet. A

magnificent soul.

David, I called my friend last night

about publishing your poem. He is very

interested. Uh, it's not my poem,

Mr. Cruitt. What?I didn't write

it. It's not my poem. You

didn't?I'm

disappointed, David.

You still have to make up the assignment.

Oh, I wrote a poem last night. Well,

good. Please read it for the class.

It's called The Thrill of Discovery. When

I got this assignment, I didn't want to

do it, but it so happens that my teacher

is this guy named Mr. Pruitt. He says

try. I like the word try.

I'm more at home in the lab, but it's

still invention, so I'll give it a stab.

To imagine what might be is the only way

to start. I guess that's why good poetry

has to come from the heart. Good.

An honest effort, David. That was

really good, David. Thanks. Yeah, way to

go. David,

about that other poem, The Birds of My

Backyard, if you didn't

write it, who did?I don't

know. Somebody left it for me on the

front porch. I don't know who wrote it.

I must find out who wrote that poem.

I think I can help.

Yeah. Uh,

poetry. Wishbone,

fetch the poet. You got it.

Supernose to the rescue.

Miss Gilmore?Of course, it has to be her.

HerYeah, she was there the other day when

we were talking about it. I must meet

this poet.

$1.00 Good boy, Wishbone. Just doing my

job. Oh, oh, excuse me.

Yes?Did you write this poem,

The Birds of My Backyard?Did I what?

I want to publish it. What?Your poem. I

want to publish it. It's brilliant.

Really?It's absolutely wonderful.

But you think it's any good?

It reminds me of T.S. Eliot,

my favorite poet. I think she

likes you. Mine too.

The truth comes out. A

poet revealed.

Cyrano.

It takes 15 long years before Roxanne

finds out the truth about her poet.

So, it was you all along.

It was you who wrote this letter.

Not Christien. It was you

who wrote all the letters. It

is your soul that I have loved.

And I didn't know it. Why didn't you

tell me?I couldn't. Not after

Christian's death. So you have loved me

all this time. You love me even

now.

Wow. Better late than never.

Good boy, response. You know, Mr.

Pruitt, I mean, Bob.

I'm also a visual artist. Oh,

I would love to see your work sometime.

Joe, could we go over to your house

so I could show Soul Unleashed

to Bob?Sure. Let's go,

Wishbone. Follow me, all you happy

people!

Poetry in motion. It's a beautiful thing,

don't you think?