(THEME)


Fred Newman: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but on the twelfth floor of the Acme Building, one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions -- Guy Noir, Private Eye -- .


(PIANO)


Garrison Keillor: It was December (BLIZZARD) and winter had come down hard on Minnesota and the city was buried in snow and (WOLF HOWL) wolves were running in the streets and caribou were walking into Starbucks (CARIBOU) and the airport was snowed in and thank goodness I got on the last 737 equipped with skis (JET ACCEL AND UP) and we took off for New York where I had an assignment to find a missing daughter. (BRIDGE)


Tim Russell (ON PHONE): Her name is Emily and she left a month ago, Mr. Noir, with $500 in her shoe and we're worried sick.


GK: Call her cellphone.


TR (ON PHONE): She doesn't have a cellphone.


GK: Of course she has a cellphone. Every kid has a cellphone.


TR (ON PHONE): She doesn't.


GK: They're small, maybe you didn't notice it. Maybe you thought it was a pack of cigarettes. It might be in a holster on her belt.


TR (ON PHONE): My daughter refuses to have one.


GK: Why not?


TR (ON PHONE): She read an article that said it causes brain damage. And then she -- well, her mother and I each have cellphones and --


GK: So she looked at you--


TR (ON PHONE): And she looked at us-- and--


GK: Okay. No cellphone. What'd she go to New York for?


TR (ON PHONE): She's a poet.


GK: A poet! Poets are supposed to go in the woods.


TR (ON PHONE): My daughter Emily is sort of always in the woods even when she isn't in the woods.


GK: I get your drift. (BRIDGE) I got to New York and I went straight to the Authors Guild where they have a hiring hall where writers sit and wait to be called for jobs. (CROWD, TALK)


FN: Okay!!! I got a spot for a lyricist -- I need a journalist-- I need a screenplay rewriter -- and I still have sixteen openings for ghostwriters of memoirs. (GRUMBLING) Come on, people. It pays money.


GK: Sir?


FN: Yeah? Who're you? Essayist? I got nothing for essayists. Haven't for weeks.


GK: I'm looking for somebody. This kid here. Poet. Her name is Emily. -- I'd sure appreciate if you'd keep your eye open.


FN: I got nothing for poets either.


GK: If she shows up, give me a call.


FN: You couldn't rewrite a screenplay, could you?


GK: Rewrite it for what?


FN: Make the dialogue snappier.


GK: How?


FN: Whaddaya mean, how? You rewrite.


GK: Well, don't get huffy about it.


FN: You think I'm huffy?


GK: You sound huffy--


FN: Just cause you can't write dialogue isn't a reason to insult me--


GK: Who can't write dialogue? You're saying I can't write dialogue. I can write all the dialogue I want to write. I just don't want to write for you, ya --


FN: Ya what? See? Ya can't even think of anything--


GK: Ya big weasel--


FN: Why you-- (THEY FIGHT, BIG BODY BLOWS, REACTIONS, INTO BRIDGE)


(FOGHORN) (SHIP'S HORNS, ENGINE)


GK: Beautiful view of Manhattan, isn't it--


Renee Fleming: Yes. I love it. I ride the Staten Island ferry whenever I need to -- to summon up the inner fires.


GK: Inner fires. Interesting term. You-- you're in opera, aren't you--


RF: Yes. How did you guess?


GK: Oh, I donno. The cape. The torch. The dwarf.


FN (DWARF): You noticed me? Lurking behind her voluminous skirts?


RF: I keep him around because he understands wireless Internet access.


GK: I wish I did.


RF: Wireless Internet has changed opera -- there's no longer a need to memorize a role -- there are screens hidden all over the stage -- in the stumps of trees -- in castle walls -- on the abutments--


GK: They have them on the abutments?


RF: They do. I'm opening a new opera tomorrow night and it isn't even written yet. No problem. We'll do it without rehearsal.


FN (DWARF): Madame Flambe is tired of doing heroines who die -- Mimi and Violetta and Butterfly and all those wimps --


GK: Flambe-- Oh my gosh-- I didn't recognize you in the fog--Renata Flambe-- I loved you in "Nadine" -- you were beautiful -- when the tenor knelt at your feet and sang "Nadine, Nadine, why won't you be true?"


RF: "Nadine" was one of my favorite operas. That and "Laura"--


GK: Ahh. "Laura" --


RF: The scene where he drives in a stock car race to earn the money to buy me a wedding ring and he dies in a flaming crash and he's pulled out and he sings, "Tell Laura I love her. Tell Laura I need her-- tell Laura not to cry. My love for her will never die."


GK: I loved it.


FN (DWARF): Everyone loved it. (BRIDGE)


GK: We rode the ferry over to Staten Island where Miss Flambe has a summer residence and she invited me over -- (CAR SLOWING DOWN AND STOPPING) the limo pulled up in front of a stately mansion with jaguars roaming around (CATS) and flamingos (TROPICAL BIRDS) and monkeys and chimpanzees -- (PRIMATES) and we stepped into the vast entry hall (FOOTSTEPS ON MARBLE, ECHOEY) and walked through the dining hall and the solarium and the music room and onto the terrace and there were reindeer (REINDEER, SAME AS CARIBOU) --


RF: These are performing reindeer, Mr. Noir. They were flown in from the north of Sweden. They're here for my new opera.


GK: What do they do, Miss Flambe?


RF: They dance.


GK: How well?


RF: Better than most other reindeer. (TR SWEDISH, APPROACHING) This is Bjorn, the choreographer. Bjorn-- line up the reindeer. (TR SWEDISH) (REINDEER) (FOOTSTEPS APPROACH) Oh-- this is my publicist, Natalie Dressed.


SS: A pleasure. What network did you say you're from?


GK: I'm from the Main Channel.


SS: Very good. Miss Flambe is opening her new opera next week. We're extremely busy. It's terribly exciting. Everyone who's seen the rough draft is thrilled to pieces. People are wetting their pants, literally. Everyone in the opera world is fainting with anticipation. The phone is ringing off the hook. E-mail, telegrams, you name it-- this is going to be the biggest thing since Carmen.


ER: That's not true. (STING)


GK: I turned and there was Emily. The poet.


SS: This is Emily Swanson, the librettist. Brilliant young writer. People are simply agog over her work. Everyone in New York is talking about her. She is fabulous beyond fabulous. She is creating hysteria in the literary world. People are unable to control themselves.


ER: It's not true. Not a word.


RF: How are you coming, Emily?


ER: It's hard work writing an opera. Listen to this-- "Thirteen birds glittering on the mountain-- the rabbit is the teacher of the way through the woods--the lizard sat in the silver birch and sang to the green angel--"


RF: Where does that come in the opera, dear? Is that before the peasants invade the castle or is that during the big Christmas tree scene?


ER: I don't know. I just wrote it.


GK: I take it this is a Christmas opera?


SS: It's called "The Ring of the Tannenbaums," and it's going to be huge. We can't print tickets fast enough. It's sold out into 2008. "Great Performances" is begging to tape it for PBS. Texaco, Mobil, all the big oil companies, are begging to underwrite it-- there's talk of a movie, a TV series, a video game-- we're getting calls from all over--


GK: How did you come to hire Emily Swanson to write the libretto? She's never done this before--


RF: Natalie hired her.


SS: Because she's phenomenal, she's a genius, she's-- what did you say her name is? Swanson?? Oh dear. Wrong Emily. My mistake. Oh well. We'll just put out a different press release.


RF: We have to have some words, Emily. My costumes are sewn, the set is built, the reindeer are ready, the performances are sold out-


ER: How about this-- "Come all you wise old women and follow the owl-- tie up your purple hair--and lo, the silver penny planted under the trotty trotty cowslips -- and up came daddy and his fangs like candy-- Willie O Willie go home, go home-- your kippers are cooked and the Figgie hobbin -- and the cat of cats sits in the window, singing, Dot a dot dot dot, dot a dot dot dot--


RF: What does that mean, the "Dot a dot dot dot, dot a dot dot dot."


ER: It's an ellipsis. It means I couldn't think of anything.


RF: Oh dear. -- (FOOTSTEPS, AS SHE PACES) That's the problem with opera in English. It actually has to mean something. Darn. With Italian, you just stand there and sing vowels and people love it.


ER: I am so sorry. The harder I try, the worse it gets.


GK: That is sort of a general rule in life--


RF: What am I going to do?


GK: Listen-- Miss Flambe-- I'm not a director but I know a thing or two about opera, and my experience tells me-- if you have small children and animals, you're most of the way home -- that's what people love. Put a horse on stage. A cat. Some reindeer. (TR SWEDISH, REINDEER) Add a chandelier. Throw in some pyrotechnics. (BIG WHOOSH OF FLAME. OOOOOHHSS) And then bring on a child. (BABY TALK) You've got a show. And make them wait for your big number. Save it for the second act.


RF: You mean this one-- (NESSUN DORMA)
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
Season's Greetings and Noel
Chestnuts on an open fire
Come all ye faithful don your gay apparel
Fa la la la la la.


GK: That one. Add sparklers and people will love it. (SPARKLERS, ROCKETS) (BRIDGE)


ER: Thanks so much for getting me out of a jam, Mr. Noir.


GK: You're welcome, kid. What should I tell your parents?


ER: Tell em I'm fine. And don't tell them where I'm living.


GK: Believe me, I won't. If they knew you'd leased a space in a parking garage for an apartment--


ER: It's absolutely safe. And it's bigger than a lot of apartments.


GK: But to live in a parking space--


ER: It's very quiet all week. New Yorkers don't use their cars, they just like to know that they own one. I'm subletting an S.U.V. for a bedroom. It's fine.


GK: It's okay?


ER: It's fine.
(THEME)


Sue Scott: A dark night in a city that keeps its secrets, and there on the twelfth floor of the Acme Building is a guy still trying to find the answers to life's questions.....Guy Noir, Private Eye.
(MUSIC OUT)