D.O.A.

Hey!

Geez. Buddy, you look dead.

I wanna see Brockton.

Or Ulmer.

Yeah? What about?

A murder.

Yeah? Who was murdered?

I was.

He looks bad, Dan.

Nice of you to fit in an appearance, Cornell.

We'd about given you up...

You'd be right.

Dead... on arrival.

Just one more on the pile, eh, Cornell?

How many corpses now?

- Five? - Six.

You know, if, uh, Cecil B. Over there is ready, I'll tell you all about it.

I'll try to piece together as best I can what's happened

over the last 36 hours.

Metcalf, a color. How 'bout green?

Uh, young. Raw.

Immature. Specific reference.

Jolly green giant.

You people are junk-culture geniuses, aren't ya?

Now, I mean a literary reference, and bill Cosby’s latest book doesn't count.

Hmm? Anybody?

Nick? The color green, fire off any synapses for you?

What about Shakespeare's line in Antony and Cleopatra?

That's Taylor and Burton to the rest of us.

All right, what's the line, Nick?

"My salad days when I was green in judgment."

Good. Another one.

"The text is old, the orator too green ."

- Nick? - What?

Didn't mean another Shakespeare quote. I meant another student.

Aren't we literal-minded lately, huh? A bit like a computer.

Computer programmers have a saying, professor: "Garbage in, garbage out."

Yeah? Well, English professors have a saying too, Nick,

"don't one-up me in public.

I haven't graded your independent project yet."

Can we hear from somebody else?

I'm glad somebody can sleep in this heat.

Mr. Sloane, good morning. Dreaming of a white Christmas?

Sorry, professor. Pulled an all-nighter.

- Uh-huh. - What's the topic?

The color green as a metaphor.

Got any thoughts? At all?

Anybody got any thoughts?

Jealousy. "Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy.

it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on ."

Othello. Good acting, too, Nick.

Will somebody please unplug this man?

All right, everybody, get the hell out of here.

Professor?

Oh. Thank you, miss.

Fuller. Sydney Fuller. Back row.

I was wondering, do you think you could...

Ohh. Talk about your salad days.

You want me to sign this?

I can't believe myself, but, yeah. To Sydney Fuller.

Taken me all semester to work up my nerve to ask you.

Uh, that's with a 'y'.

S-y...

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

S-y-d-n-e-y. Yeah.

That's the reason I took your course... because my parents,

they just think liberal arts is a waste of tuition and I...

I've read all of your books...

Shut up, Sydney.

Have though. I've read 'em all.

- Glutton for punishment, huh? - No!

They're great. I wish you hadn't have stopped.

I didn't stop. I just... stalled.

Professor Cornell?

My novel, you really haven't, uh...

- Graded it? Finished it? - Either.

Neither.

But you said you'd have it graded this week.

Yes, well, Nick, this heat's put me a little bit behind schedule.

I haven't shown it to anyone else.

Should I feel privileged or singled out for persecution?

- Can I be honest? - I don't know. Can you?

Your opinion means a great deal to me.

And it's not because you're my professor.

It's because of your body of work.

Yeah. Synonyms for body: Corpse, carcass, cadaver.

If you don't like my novel, I'll die.

- No, I will. I'll stop writing. - Ah, even worse.

I've spent the whole semester sweating out on that thing.

it took Hugo 16 years to write Les Miserables.

But it only takes a couple of days to read it.

Come on.

Any comment? Anything to tide me through?

nice typing.

Something go down the drain? You know somethin' I don't?

Yeah. You look like shit, Hal.

And I should know. I'm an expert on the subject.

Heat getting to you, or just up all night tolling against.

The publisher's deadline?

No, I was up all night consulting my physician.

Ah, playing doctor with Elaine, speaking of too hot.

Well, the air conditioning at the med center was workin'.

She was on call all night.

Mm-hmm. How do you do it in a hospital?

Feet in the stirrups?

Where else? Hi-ho, silver.

Yeah, well, you're gonna have to forget about the wild life...

Once you become a full professor.

You son of a bitch.

I wondered how long you were gonna keep me in suspense.

He said yes, right? So the promotion's mine?

Another ring up the ladder.

It's not official yet, but it wouldn't hurt if you showed up.

At the art gallery dedication.

I'll be there, with bells on.

Yeah, it'll be your last chance to kiss ass before the Christmas parade.

If you hadn't helped me with the outline and structure,

I probably wouldn't even have the book contract.

I know.

But I'm not gonna take the rap for that one.

I'm serious.

I wanna thank you for putting in the good word.

Meet me in the office.

I got a bottle in the desk. We'll have a drink.

All right.

- I'll see you later. - Okay.

Hey, Chuck, you spelled "carnival" with an 'e'!

Hey, Dex. Dex, you oughta slow down in this heat.

I thought you were a Ph.D., not an M.D.

You know what I am.

I'm an assistant professor, mortgaged to the eyeballs...

With two kids and a third on the way.

Congratulations, Graham. Boy or girl?

Word around the faculty lounge is that you recommended.

Your friend Hal to the Dean, Dex.

I've been here longer, I was next in line.

I didn't put Hal’s novel on Putnam's spring list, Graham.

You know academics politics as well as I do,

"publish or perish ." always has been, always will be.

I have published.

Well, rehashing old classroom lectures.

In obscure literary journals just doesn't count.

When was the last time you published, Dex?

There's an interesting article for one of those "obscure journals."

Young literary lion produces bril... brilliant novel.

Hold this.

Gets snapped up by snazzy college.

Strong follow-up brings full professorship.

And then the third novel that is careless,

and a fourth that kind of stinks.

But by then, the lion is tame and tenured and number five.

Never comes at all.

Well, you know, that's still four more than you, pal.

Look, some of us just wanna be teachers, Dex.

We don't have any literary pretensions.

We're just fucking good teachers!

Fuckin' asshole.

- How'd you get this in here? - I don't know.

Uh, this is Gail. Um, the papers came today.

Everything seems to be in order. I just need you to sign 'em.

Listen, I'm sorry you had to move out so quickly.

I know you didn't get a chance to get everything. Um...

There's some mail here for you and...

Christ, is it hot enough for you?

They say rain's on the way, but I don't believe it.

Um... I'll talk to you later.

Okay? Bye-bye.

Uh, yeah, hi professor, it's Nick Lang calling...

Mm-hmm.

Oh, shit.

If you don't like my novel, I'll die. No, I will.

I'll stop writing.

Shut that, will you?

Shit. Why?

Time of year, isn't it?

Holiday depression and all that.

And this heat.

Makes a guy do all sorts of insane things.

Pretty grim.

So's this.

Yeah. Well, next semester, I'm on the best-seller list...

And we are up to our asses in Dewars.

What the hell kind of problem could a college kid have...

That he thinks only a swan dive could solve?

That was no ordinary college kid.

Wanna talk about problems? His father was a thief.

One night about four years ago,

he breaks into the Fitzwaring mansion, killed the husband.

So what does the widow do?

She puts the thief's son through college.

The Fitzwaring murder, that's the kid?

Was.

Guess all the money in the world can't buy Nick a happy ending, huh?

He was a poetic little fucker, though.

That's Nick's independent project. Good read, huh?

I don't know. I didn't read it.

- You didn't read it? - Mm-mm.

Well, then what's the "a" for?

- Ambitious? - I don't believe you didn't read it.

Were you uptight that one of your students might actually