(duck quacks)
Jump, Lickety-Split, jump!
Yay! Yay!
I told you he could do it!
You said you'd call it off if he jumped.
Gimsy, we're scrapping the plans for the oil dump
and from now on, we don't do anything
environmentally unfriendly.
I know it'll cost billions
but this is a debt we owe to a little girl
and to a very special marlin.
DUCKMAN: That's it?! That's all there is?!
Boo! It sucks! Lo-o-oser!
Anybody here got some tartar sauce?
Miserable moron!
What a creep.
Thanks a lot, duck.
A tad judgmental, aren't we?
On the bright side
they hit you harder in Little Princess.
Duckman, maybe going to the movies
has lost some of its allure for you.
I have to admit, even I was surprised
when you ran up and urinated on the screen
screaming "Swim in this, Lickety!"
Hey, it's an interactive culture.
Try and keep up.
Besides, I have a right to be P.O.'d aplenty.
You see a movie called
Lickety-Split's Oily Adventure,
you expect a little... well, let's just say
my very special marlin came up dry.
What's gagging this googleplex?
Where's the sex and violence Bob Dole promised?
Well, I'm one webbed waddler
who's weary of walking away whipped.
I'll get my money back, or annoy everyone trying.
Patrick Henry, right?
Are you the manager?
No, I beat him senseless with my bare hands
then dumped his cement-laden body
into a nearby lake
just so I could wear his name tag.
You're an odd little man
but you got a way with a witty retort.
I'm here to demand a refund!
Sorry, no refunds.
Says right on the back of your ticket stub
there's still no proof that our nacho cheese topping
causes genital herpes.
I'm talking about your movies!
If I wanted to pay good money
for two hours of blather and no sex, I'd date.
Sir, I don't make the movies.
I just unlock the doors and make sure the ushers
put sawdust in the vomit puddles.
If you really want your money back,
perhaps you should complain...
(muffled laughter)
to the president of the studio.
Hey, that may be a ridiculously stupid idea
but there's no reason I have to know that.
Pizza delivery?
Hell no! I'm an anonymous movie-goer
who's so angry at a movie I just saw
there's no telling what I'll do to the president of this studio
after I sneak into his office.
I mean... yes.
Go on in.
Like I want all the details.
I'm a shark now, driven by one purpose--
getting my money back.
Undeterred by the distractions of a major Hollywood studio,
unwavering, unblinking in my...
Ooh. Earl Holliman.
And look! Lauren Tewes.
Oh, no. Could it be?
Philip Michael Thomas!
Gangway, Gramps, I got the fever!
I can't believe I actually met the black Ghostbuster!
And what a lovely bunch of people
this Hollywood crowd seems to be.
I don't care what anybody says.
They deserve all the awards they give themselves.
Oh. Right. My refund for the swill we get force-fed
by these no-talent panderers.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
You can't fire me.
I'm Paradox Prexy Sammons Cagle.
Besides, if I were
going to lose my job,
it'd say so here, front page.
"Wassershein Rankles, Cagle Ankles.
"Studio Head Rolls.
Paradox Drops Pay Cagle Idea."
Do you ever listen to yourself?
Actually, I have someone who does that for me,
but he's out today; he's Bar Mitzvah or something.
Cagle, you nearly broke this studio
and you know why?
Because you don't love movies.
They're not about deal-making.
They're about magic.
They're about glamour,
and you have no idea what these words mean.
It's 9:55.
As of 10:00, if you want to come back on this lot,
take the tour.
Hey, hey, Stan! Five minutes?
That's barely enough time
to come up with a story line for the next Adam Sandler movie.
How dare he talk to me like some kid from the mailroom?!
I haven't worked in the mailroom since January.
I should give the keys to his little kingdom
to a real incompetent.
That'd show him.
Heads up, people. Idea time.
I'll give a huge production deal--
creative control, final edit, ironclad-- to a complete idiot.
He'll blow millions of Wassershein's money.
It'll ruin the studio!
I have the authority to do it till 10:00,
which gives me two minutes
to find the world's biggest moron.
But where? Where? Where?!
I'm Duckman,
and I just saw a steaming load you dropped
called Lickety-Split.
It should've been rated "P.U.-13."
I want my seven clams back.
Not that they'll be the same seven clams.
I know they'll be different ones.
I'm sure my seven clams were really $6.75
in Cracker cereal bonus bucks
and a SweeTart I passed off as a quarter,
but there's a principle here!
And if I knew what it was,
you can be damn sure I'd be hearing about it.
So, if you don't do whatever it is
I came in here to get you to do,
I'll launch the most frivolous lawsuit
you and your fancy 20-buck-an-hour lawyers
have ever seen!
Can you write?
Your name, I mean?
Oh, no, you don't.
I make it a rule never to sign anything
until my Ecuadorian business manager
can look it over in his cell.
Sign it, or my foot soldiers will destroy you!
Okey-doke.
Mr. Duckman, you are now Paradox's newest mogul.
You have the power to determine trends and tastes
for an entire nation-- to expose your ideas
to a world eager for any kind of guidance.
In short, Mr. Duckman,
you are a Hollywood god!
(maniacal laughter)
(steam engine hissing)
Good luck, Dad.
Make us proud.
Or at least try not to humiliate us.
Yeah, that's what I meant.
I want to videotape this moment.
Now, which is "play" and which is "re..."?
WOMAN ON TAPE: Hey, you sick yuck, wipe this stuff off of me
or it's an extra 50.
(chuckling): It, uh, came with the camera.
Until I send for you,
pretend to listen to your Aunt Bernice, boys.
And remember, thanks to these, you'll always be with me.
Pictures of us?
No, your savings bonds.
I need them for tips in the bar car.
(whistle blowing)
Come on, Corny, I call the upper berth!
I'll wear my rain hat.
(hissing and chugging)
So long, boys.
Good-bye, Dad! Bye-bye.
Yeah, bye.
Adios. Bye. Good-bye, Dad.
I'm Paul Golden, Senior VP, production
and third-generation Hollywood hanger-on.
Though I didn't write, direct, edit, shoot or perform
in anything at all, I'm solely responsible
for our 12 biggest movies last year.
Hired the assistant who hired the reader
who found the script, the usual back story,
and might I add, though no one here has ever heard of you,
your deal is the biggest any of us have ever seen.
And therefore, there's no one whose work we respect more.
GOLDEN: Here's your office.
Wow! This is an amazing office!
Duckman, be careful.
Hollywood's past is littered with people
who got taken in by all the opulence and fawning,
then were changed by it and forgot about the things
that were really important in their lives.
Corny, you old worry warthog.
I'll never sink so far into this world
that I'll forget the things that are important to me,
like my children, Ajax, Charles and Jumanji.
Mambo.
Whatever.
The point is, my web celebre are firmly on the terra cotta.
This is one duck who isn't going Hollywood.
(upbeat music playing)
Davy,
tell Steve and Jeffrey I'll swing by for a looky-loo,
but I won't even discuss Dreamworks SKGD.
I wouldn't take fourth billing on Mount Rushmore.
(belly laugh)
What's that?
When did they add him?
Well, let's not miss the point, okay, Captain Geography?
Bu-bye.
MAN: Ow!
Cornfed, de pig supreme.
I have breakfast tomorrow with Oliver Stone.
Make a reservation, but nothing spicy.
Ollie's got a colon like a hamster.
My aromatherapist needs Leno tickets. Make it happen, babe.
Not too close to the stage, though.
Jay tends to spit when he's on a roll.
And cancel your plans tonight.
There's a premiere shindig for the new Harrison Ford.
I'm going?
(guffawing)
No, you silly fool. I'm going.
You'll be doing the work I won't have time for.
"I'm going"?
(laughing)
That didn't even sound like me.
Duckman, did you read those scripts I found?
Oh, yeah, right.
That's just why I got into movies-- to read scripts.
But these are smart, provocative screenplays.
If you'd just read...
Yawning!
Come on, Corny, scripts are words,
and words are dead.
If reading words was important,
we'd still be teaching kids how to do it in school.
Sizzle! That's what sells movies.
Yep, which reminds me.
(speed dialing)
(ringing through)
Meg Ryan, please.
Duckman.
Thank you.
Meg, hey there, ho there.
I gotta tell you, I'm a big, big fan
When A man Loves A Woman changed my life.
I remember thinking, "Great idea."
If I only date drunk chicks,
I save the time and money of getting them drunk, you know?
Meg? Meg... yup, hi.
Thought I lost you there. Well, here's the skinny.
I want you to star in my first picture.
340 million up front for you and a big back end
if you get my drift. No?
Well, it's always been a dream of mine
to see you in provocative lingerie,
and I'm betting a lot of other men would pay
to see it, too. Stunts are minimal--
bending over to clip a toenail kind of thing.
And I'd call it Meg Ryan In Her Underpants.
Huh? You like? Meg?
(dial tone)
(speed dialing)
Uma Thurman, please.
Liv Tyler?
(crickets chirping)
Maya Angelou?
(theme from Entertainment Tonight plays)
In what has to be the deal of the century,
Hollywood's newest mega-mogul, Duckman,
is paying studio secretary, Betty Furple, $340 million
to star in Betty Furple In Her Underpants,
saying only that the unknown office temp
"was always my first choice."
Normally, a price like that
Would scare the studio powers that be,
but Stan Wassershein and Paradox have three aces up their sleeves
in Soapy "Soap" Carbone Billy Bruno
and Minehard Braunbusser. With each one of them
now shooting a Paradox action film overseas,
the studio has three certain blockbusters
whose combined box office
should more than compensate for Duckman's shopping spree.
Duckman's spending all the studio's money,
but those three stars are going to make it right back.
I can't let them save the studio.
I've got to stop them!
But how?
I've got it.
I'll use Duckman to sabotage their movies,
and I will regain my position on the mountaintop--
finally pulled out of the hellish nightmare
of squalor and misery I have been left with!
Stevens, the bidet is out of Evian.
Five minutes to air, Duckman.
Are you sure you're ready for a televised interview?
It's live, and almost every time
you say anything out loud,
it's ill-informed, insulting or nonsensical.
I mean... do you need that cigar lit?
I've never felt more at home
than I do in Hollywood, Corny.
I'm listened to, respected,
and people are throwing way less bottles at me.
My fantasies are all coming true.
Or will be, once I make Melissa Etheridge my wife.
(whispering)
(gasping)
That's a lie! Take that back!
Psst!
(screams)
Hi, Duckman, I'm Julie,
and we'll jump right in after the commercial.
Gotcha-roony, news babe. Nice grip.
Care to stay after the show
and sample it on my hand-held mike?
Man: Three... two...
(theme from Entertainment Tonight plays)
Welcome back.
Next up: Hollywood's newest player, Duckman.
We're here in his office at Paradox Studios,
and Duckman, it looks like you're adjusting quite nicely
to life in the fast lane.
You betcha. In fact, I just moved my family
into a house in Bel Air that used to belong to Merv Griffin.
(pounding on door)
DUCKMAN: Go away!
Anyone can say they still live here.
Well, Duckman-- spendthrift, visionary, or very lucky duck?
The jury's still out.
But one thing's certain:
You're emptying the studio's bank account.
How do you justify
paying the largest star salary in history
to a complete unknown?
I'll tell you, cuppy cakes.
This is an industry built on perception rather than fact
run by businessmen who understand numbers
and don't have a clue about what's good and what isn't.
So, the key is to be perceived as good
by being associated with the biggest and best numbers.
Meaning, if you have no talent, you can buy credibility--
in essence, creating the illusion of quality
by spending the most money.
Wow! How'd you learn so much
in only a day and a half on the job?
I was looking for a strip joint
and wandered into a Writers Guild meeting by mistake.
Pissy little bunch-- no wonder they're not allowed on the set.
And speaking of sets,
we have word from the sets of the new movies,
starring Paradox's three action mega-stars
and your ears must be burning.
Well, anyway, apparently, they don't like being replaced
as the highest-paid stars in the world
and they're saying you'll fail
because you, quote, "have stupid ideas for movies."
What? The testosterone trio called me stupid?
You ever talk to Carbone?
Not exactly a rocket scientist.
This duck maligns me,
and worse, by paying a woman more than me,
he's forced me to renegotiate
despite my innate suspicion that 30 million dollars
is sufficient pay for one idea-free movie.
(yelling)
And Bruno-- ha, ha!-- if he's such a big deal,
what about the rumor I'm just now starting
about he and that stripper he's married to--
what's her stage name, "Semi-Naked"?
I think she pronounces it "Seh-Mee."
Whatever. The point is, I hear Mr. Action Star
is Mr. No Action in the bedroom
if you get my drift.
In other words, that popcorn comes without butter.
(spitting)
What the f...
Is he saying my bevel ain't level?
My cat's paw is coleslaw?
My upfront's a blunt runt?
(yelling)
(grunts)
(yelling)
(over radio): Uh, Billy, this is just a movie set
and the plane is yours.
Hey, I'm in a mood.
And the other one, Minehard-- what a weeny.
Take away 30 years of barbells and back oil,
and all you got left is a limp rag,
except not as smart.
The guy's one large muscle,
and we're talking head to toe.
Me, all muscle?
This time it's personal.
Not that the other times I said that
weren't personal too.
They were personal,
but this time, it's just more personal
compared to those other times, which were also personal.
Mr. Braunbusser, you can't leave.
(snapping)
"Can't" is for character actors.
Bring me the Humvee.
Not the Hyundai, the... Never mind.
I will stick shift his...
I mean, I am starting to hatch a plan to...
I am trying to say I won't show economy in pulv...
Okay, now I am without an effective action guy joke
and this is making me want to hurt Duckman even more.
("Hooray for Hollywood" playing)
It's a glamorous star-studded premiere
for the opening of Planet Sycophant in Hollywood.
We're high atop the abandoned, long-forgotten public library
to give you the best view of the stars
and they're out tonight.
Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley are here.
Looks like they drove together this time.
And here comes Johnny Depp
looking rakish with his walking stick.
Oh, no, I'm sorry. That's Kate Moss.
There's Sharon Stone with the 25 lucky winners
of MTV's "Oh, boy, I'm going to sleep
with Sharon Stone" contest.
Ah... and there he is now, Hollywood's man of the hour--
Duckman!
Good career move--
asking me to escort you tonight.
Bottom line: At the end of the day,
when the bird flies, uh...
up, over the, uh...
hill, or uh...
something.
I forget what I was going to say.
Anyway, I just wish those three over-hyped has-beens
were here now to bow down to the new king.
(honking)
(all screaming)
(brakes screeching)
Yippee-ki-ay, motherducker.
(screaming)
Ah!
(clunk)
Duckman: Yike-den-lieber!
Hasta la roasta, duck.
Waah!
I become bellicose
with each glimpse of your feculent visage.
Hmm.
Yah!
Ah!
Fortunately, we radioed ahead
and made sure all the buildings would be empty,
so no innocent bystanders would be harmed.
We may destroy, but it doesn't mean we don't care.
D'ahh!
Don't know what that is, but I can't see for...
All: Shi...!
(spitting)
There's a billboard up ahead! Hit the...
Brakes.
(engine knocking)
Action stars, my sewage-filled butt.
None of them are a match for a hunka-hunka burning duck.
(guns cocking) (gasps)
ALL: Go ahead... make our day.
That's the best one.
Works, doesn't it?
You're telling me.
(karate yell)
Sorry, fellas.
(all grunting)
I'm grunting at you, pig.
There's no need for revenge.
This whole thing has been a plot
to manipulate you all
and, in turn, ruin the studio.
A plot hatched... by him.
Heh-heh. Just ignore that crack about the hand-held mike.
All right, it's me.
To complete my evil scheme,
I posed as Julie Moran,
which by the way, I've been secretly doing
for years in a club on La Brea.
I knew if I got you three mad enough,
you'd leave the sets, get arrested for killing Duckman
and cost Wassershein hundreds of millions of dollars.
There was a flaw in your plan.
We would pay Stan back.
Anything for you, Stan.
You believed in us
when we were starving Broadway gypsies.
You sure did. Till you came along,
we were living in one room, sharing tights and toe shoes.
Shh. Shh.
Why hide? We were young, it was spring...
I got to know-- how'd you figure it out?
Was it the obscene amount of money
for a production deal
that gave a total incompetent the power to make movies?
No, they do that all the time.
The truth is, I knew something was wrong when you didn't touch
that piece of luscious pecan layer cake
only offered at Planet Sycophant.
Of course. Everyone knows Julie's cuckoo
about that nuttily moist mouthful
of sweet, savory goodness
served hot with gobs of caramel and rich vanilla ice cream.
Remember: Planet Sycophant--
where the world revolves around us.
Anyhoo,
the real Julie's unharmed.
I found her hanging upside down in a wardrobe closet,
stripped naked.
As it turns out, kidnapping the host
of a syndicated entertainment news program
is only a misdemeanor.
But you're at a Hollywood opening
without having your name on the guest list.
And in this town,
that's a jailable offence.
Say, an Indie deal run from prison
has a certain novelty value.
Make my assistant your one phone call.
We'll talk.
Duckman, your contract's no good.
Go away.
Well, that's that.
Now that we've, you know, battled to the death,
maybe we can do the schmooze thing.
Summer at Oxnard. Hit some Clipper games?
(all laughing)
Might've gone a little overboard this time.
We blew up our own restaurant.
Not to worry. It was just millions of dollars
spent on creating something with no intrinsic value
for the sole purpose of making millions more.
Hey! Just like our movies.
(all laughing)
Don't be upset. They have strict rules
about spending time with anyone
who can't do something for them.
In fact, that's why we had to go with impersonations
and caricatures, who are fictional
and in no way meant to represent
actual persons, living or dead.
So, that could be it
for our careers in show business,
and it humbles me, partner of mine,
for in the end, who are we
to even dare to aspire to such heights?
An industry so bathed in greatness
should be left to those whose talent
is outshone only by their desire to enlighten.
(distant automatic gunfire)
(distant explosions)
(distant sirens blaring)
MINEHARD BRAUNBUSSER: Where the world revolves around us.