Radioland Murders

The Lone Ranger!

The makers of Fleischmann's High Vitamin Yeast present

I Love A Mystery.

Hop Harrigan,

America's Ace of the Airwaves!

A big howdy-do and how-are-you from Chicago, Illinois,

where we're about to bring you the Cinderella story of 1939.

That's right. Local radio station WBN may be small,

but they've got a lot of big dreams.

And tonight, those dreams could come true

as they go nationwide in their revolutionary attempt

to create a fourth national radio network.

Oh, Miss Henderson,

the Biff Blaster, Space Ranger script is a minute and a half over,

and Mr. Whalen doesn't know what he should do.

Well, lose all the exploding asteroids,

give the Venusians one-syllable grunts.

Have you seen the General? No.

I just want you to know that I'm not just a page.

You know, I'm a man of many talents,

and if you ever give me a chance to prove myself,

you won't be sorry, Miss Henderson. Mrs. Henderson.

Her name is Mrs. Right, Mr. Henderson.

Not now, Roger. I don't have time to be talked out of divorcing you.

"Hiya, Roger, that's a swell suit. Oh, the dog says hello,

"and, say, what's that last thing? Oh, yes,

"my life has no meaning without you."

Suit up, fellas. Yes, ma'am.

Penny, this is me. Remember?

The joint checking account, the little hairs on the sink, you know.

How can you throw away everything we have?

Had, Roger. Past tense.

Speaking of tense, I'm busy.

I'm trying to stay on top of things around here.

I always liked you on top...

Of things. He didn't let me finish.

Walt! Walt!

Yes.

I can't do this scene in the Second Act.

It's terrible! It's unmotivated...

Calm down, boys.

Clive, you're absolutely right.

Now, the problem as I see it is this...

Kill him in the first act. We'll have one more go at it.

Has anyone seen the General?

On stage. On stage.

Let's go, men. No time for slackers.

Thirty minutes to combat. Chest out, shoulders back.

Little more spit on that shine.

Excuse me, General, sir, you're needed back in your office.

Can't lead the troops from the rear.

It's about the script, it's Mr. King.

Carry on, men.

Our sponsor wants to give us a well-deserved pat on the back.

The most revolting, moronic and insipid trash

I've ever read in my life.

And, General, I expect you to do something about it.

Calm down, Bernie.

We're open to suggestions. Damn right you are. And here are mine.

Billy! Billy, my baby! Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.

Hi, Son. Best row in the house.

Looks like we're finally going on the air.

Let's check the tower voltage and turn on the generators.

Those scripts stink! They're not funny.

Here, look at this one.

A philosophy professor who murders people

by convincing them they don't exist?

It's satire, Mr. King.

It's crapola, Mrs. Henderson!

I am General Whalen's biggest sponsor, young lady.

And if I pull out, the others will follow.

You heard him, Henderson. Double-time. Yes, sir.

It's so silly, isn't it? The little disagreements couples have?

Little disagreements?

You had an affair, Roger, with the station manager's wife.

I told you 100 times nothing happened.

Right, with an actress billed as the Va-Va-Va-Voom Girl.

It's not my fault she's done the classics.

Everything was fine, everything was jake,

and you had to throw it all away for one night of pleasure.

Well, believe me, sister, there was no pleasure.

Spare me your shortcomings.

Penny, Penny, did you hear what King just did?

He threw out half the scripts.

He threw out half the scripts.

Someone ought to stand up to him.

Someone ought to stand up to him.

Five primetime scripts, he just gives them the heave-ho.

For the love of Mike, will you say something?

Fix your rug. Oh, my God.

Mr. General Whalen Junior, sir. Yes.

You're the director. Yes.

This is no time to panic. Can you think of a better time?

Five scripts! Five scripts!

Don't! Tell that S-O-B King to do his own rewrite!

Gentlemen, lady, please, a little decorum.

What's going on in here?

You people should be ashamed of yourselves.

Penny's just doing her job. Now, let's give her a little support.

Let's put our shoulders to the wheel, and,

you know, do whatever it is Penny wants us to do.

That's not funny. Listen, kids, I know this stinks.

I know you've been working on those scripts for six months,

and I know we go on the air in 15 minutes.

But somehow, you gotta take these cockeyed notes and make them magic.

You'll get paid overtime.

She's right. That's the word.

Am I a complete raving lunatic,

or have we not been paid anything in the last three weeks?

Can't both be true?

The knife in the back.

The sound of the human head smashing.

No. Something is not quite right.

Try honeydew. Good idea.

Because I'm your wife, that's why!

And next time you send me flowers, spell my name right!

Oh, hey... Thank you very much, I was...

Oh, Mr. Katzenback, Ruffles said he'd like to speak to you right away.

Said you'd know what it was about.

Ruffles? Ruffles?

Ruffles. Trumpet player. Oh, please, that horn-blowing...

Now, you listen to me, Junior.

Don't you think that I don't know what's going on,

because I do know, and now you know that I know.

Listen, I don't know what you know that I know,

but I do know that you don't know what you think you know.

Oh, no?

No.

Come on, Penny, back to the booth.

Clearly, this man is an idiot.

Sir? Yeah?

Wrong way. Oh.

Please.

Okay, so he leans over and he kisses the moose, and then...

And he says what? "Honey, I kissed a moose!"

Forget the moose! I could care less about the moose!

I got something else that he could kiss.

All this work without a day's pay!

I think my head's gonna explode!

No. Still not the sound of the head smashing.

That's it.

To all the local stations who have affiliated with us,

be assured that I have assembled a top-notch squadron of professionals,

redefining the phrase "grace under fire."

Help!

Miss Henderson? Have you seen her? No.

Miss Henderson?

Anyone seen Miss...

Billy.

Oh, Mr. Whalen Junior, sir. Yes.

They don't know whether they're opening on the announcer or the music.

Oh, that's right. I forgot to make up my mind about that one.

Okay.

Forty seconds to air, and where the hell is our director?

Okay, I got it. Decision made. Problem solved.

Thirty seconds, Max. That's good. That's good news.

Here we go.

And now, gentlemen, I give you America's newest network,

WBN.

Junior, what are we opening with, music or announcer?

- Okay, cue the... - 5, 4, 3...

Cue the announcer! Cue the announcer.

Cue Dexter.

Clear the airwaves. Clear the airwaves.

And from the four corners of this great country,

the Whalen Broadcasting Network says,

"Hello, America!"

Please welcome the Rick Rochester Band with The Dead Tones

and the lovely Miller Sisters.

But first, gather up the kids and caboodle

and stay with us till the stroke of 12:00,

for an evening of everything but the kitchen sink.

Oh, well, it sounds like we have that, too.

Believe you me, folks, we've got a night full of surprises.

"Dig and dig to find some dirt

"Dig too deep and you'll get hurt"

Something cut in? Well, that's not right.

What went wrong, Max?

Must have been an open mike.

No, no, no. I only have one pot open.

Cue the band. Cue the band.

I hate opening nights. Aunt Millie's.

Stand by, Aunt Millie's. Watch that overload.

Zoltan, you got a pen?

Thanks, pal.

Max, promise me nothing else is gonna go wrong tonight.

Promise.

We've got a show, people.

Out! No writers backstage.

What a ham.

Get him off.

Close the curtain. Close the curtain.

Cue the commercial. Cue the commercial.

He's dead.

Stand by, Black Whip.

Will you stop fussing?

Hate to be a stickler for detail, but we don't have a script.

We don't have... We don't have a script? Where is Roger?

Billy, would you get to the writers' room?

Tell Roger we need that script right away.