Cheers is filmed before a live studio audience.
I know, Dad, but still...
Well, whatever you think is best.
Right.
Bye, Dad.
- That was my dad. - Really.
Yeah, he's threatening to make me move back home to Indiana.
He's been talking to my Uncle Fergie.
They guy who was here last week? I though he had a great time.
He did, but all he told them about was the two times he got mugged.
That was just bad luck.
Woody, you live here two years, how many times you been mugged?
Ten, but...
That's including the two times with Uncle Fergie.
My parents are convinced that Boston is a dangerous town
and all my friends are seedy lowlifes.
Surely they don't want you going back to Indiana
because we're a corrupting influence.
Who knows? Somehow they got the idea
that every guy in Boston is some lonely, pathetic weirdo.
Look, is this or is this not the spitting image of George Shultz?
So, Woody, what time does your bus leave?
Okay, let's take it again.
Diane, do we really have to do this again?
We all agreed that the best way
to persuade Woody's parents to let him stay
was to show them how decent and upstanding his friends are, right?
Oh, yeah. Right.
Okay, and what better way to show them
than by making a film of his everyday life?
And who better to serve as auteur
than the person who ruined the curve in her film techniques class?
Hey, Diane, shoot the damn film.
Would you tell Fellini, "Shoot the damn film"?
Would you tell Antonioni, "Shoot the damn film"?
Would you tell Bergman "Shoot the damn film"?
No. I'm telling you. Shoot the damn film.
Better yet, shoot the damn Diane.
Please.
A little more reverence for the words I've written.
Stick to the script, and try to be spontaneous.
Okay.
Take 17.
Manchild in Beantown.
Action.
You know, when the average Joe like me gets off work,
he needs to come to a place like this
where he can sort of unwind with his surrogate family.
Took the words right out of my mouth, Norm.
But it feel as if a crucial part of our support system is missing.
You're right.
What do you think that would that be, Carla?
Could it be that bucolic ray of sunshine from Indiana?
Stupid. This whole thing is stupid, Diane.
People, people! Work with me! Work with me!
I hate that. "People, people."
- Please, Sam. - All right. All right.
You're right. Woody's not here.
The place seems so empty without his smiling countenance.
Hello, buddies!
Hello, Woody! Hello, Woody!
Come on over and join us for some male bonding.
That sounds good, but first I have to call my mother.
Yeah, it sure is refreshing to see a son being so considerate of his mother.
Isn't it, Carla?
It's stupid!
You know, my lovely and cherished...
"Fawnlike."
Fawnlike bride-to-be, Diane Chambers...
You're right, Carla. This is stupid.
The whole thing is stupid.
Can't we just use our own words, be ourselves here?
Fine, Mr. Smarty-pants.
If you're such an expert, you take the camera.
- Go ahead. - All right, I will.
Just don't come crying to me
when the whole mise en scene deteriorates.
You'll find that film is an exacting art, requiring a lot more
than just knowing where the on button is.
Good luck.
Yeah, well, we don't need any luck,
and we don't need you either, Cinemapuss.
Where is the on button?
Oh, good, good, you're just in time to see our masterpiece.
Should I alert Pauline Kael?
Well, if you want to, but tell her to get her butt in gear.
We're about to start.
Cliff ie, get the lights there.
This part was my idea. Look at it.
Startlingly original use of the subjective camera.
Not really. They use it in all your finer chain saw movies.
Hi, Mom, Dad. What a surprise.
I was hoping you'd get to see where I work.
Welcome to the best bar in Boston.
Pretty wholesome and unseedy-looking, huh?
And here are the best, most uncorrupting friends
a guy could hope to have.
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd.
First, I'd like you to meet my boss and good friend, Sam Malone.
Sam used to be a relief pitcher for the Boston Red Sox.
Now he owns Cheers.
Hi.
This is Sam's office. And over there, that's Sam.
He's more than just a boss to me.
He's like the big brother I never had.
Well, except for Tom.
Hi, Woody. Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd.
Another good friend, Mr. Norm Peterson,
has been kind enough to run the camera for us today.
So, Sam, you're reading the bible again, huh?
Well, yeah. I didn't think I was going to get caught.
I was just enjoying St. Paul's epistle to the Galatians.
Boy, those Galatians. When will they listen?
Woody, what's going on?
Well, I have a little dilemma here, Sam.
My father might call me back home.
If he does, and I sure hope he doesn't, what am I going to do with this?
I mean, after all,
what kind of place is a small farm to raise a puppy?
I was hoping you could take him, Sam.
Well, gee, I don't have the room.
I guess you'll just have to put the poor little fella to sleep.
Put this poor puppy to sleep because I have to leave Boston?
Well, if that's what my father wants.
What a shame, Woody. What kind of dog is it?
What's the difference? He's gonna die.
Maybe your daddy will let you stay here and take care of him.
I'd sure prefer that. What about you, pooch?
Would you prefer that to dying?
Subtle tug at the old heartstrings there, guys.
Boy, I'll say.
Hey, shut up, everybody! You're missing my yard.
Hi. Welcome to our cookout.
Another chicken leg, Mr. Peterson?
Oh, well... Yeah, what the hey.
It looks pretty good, if I do say so myself.
This is my coworker here, Carla Tortelli.
- Carla, these kids are dangerous! - Hi.
Now, what do you have here?
This is just the sort of family thing we do here in Boston.
Say something, Carla.
Hi.
Say something besides hi.
Hello.
Do you hear that? Carla lives near the airport, so...
Actually, sometimes it's hard to hear.
Why wasn't I invited?
You didn't miss much, Diane.
Carla's kids stole the beef and they stuck Woody's shoes on the fire.
Smoked tongue, anyone?
Give me that! Give me that hat!
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd. I'm--
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd.
I'm Cliff Clavin, a good pal of Woody's,
and a proud member of the US Postal Service.
Come on along with me,
and I'll show you the kind of work we do routinely at the USPS.
- Good morning, Woody. - Hi, Mr. Clavin.
Hiya, Judy.
Well, let's see what we got in the mailbag.
Well, look at this.
It's a letter all the way from Guam to a man right here in Boston.
Well, it's made it this far.
It's up to me to see that it gets where it's intended.
Woody, I'm gonna get in big trouble for that.
I'm only one link in this chain.
A strong link. A vital link.
A missing link.
Come on in.
- Pretty impressive, huh, Woody? - It sure is, Mr. Clavin.
Just think, all these letters
traveling thousands of miles over oceans and rough terrain
right into the hands of their intended addressee.
Anyway, thanks, Woody.
- You did that pretty well. - Thanks.
Would you like to try one on your own?
Gee, Mr. Clavin, I'm not a government employee.
Pretty good, Woody.
I was testing him. Smart boy.
Yeah, Woods, next time you lick a stamp
and put it on an envelope and drop it in the mailbox,
be sure to give some thought to the thousands of men and women
in the US Postal Service who work very hard day after day
to make sure that your mail is delivered safely.
Woods, you'd make a good postal carrier yourself.
You got youth, stamina, and a friend down at the post office.
Who's that, Mr. Clavin?
Then again, bartending is a noble profession.
But, Woody, there's nothing quite like the pride a postman feels
on the swift completion of his appointed rounds.
You don't have to worry about me going hungry if I stay here in Boston.
This town is famous for its finer health food restaurants.
Hi.
And the best of them all is the Hungry Heifer.
That's right, Woody.
I found out about this place
through a guy who's helped me plan my life here in Boston,
a good friend and my financial adviser, Mr. Norm Peterson.
Hi. Are you hungry?
Norm!
Nice place, huh?
Normally, for this sort of ambiance, you'd have to travel to Albuquerque.
- Hi, Corinne. - Hi, honey.
Studying at the feet of the master?
What can I get you, Norm?
The feeding frenzy special for two.
How about you, honey?
I think he was ordering for both of us.
No.
Well, give me just one.
Anything for you, Sam?
Smart move.
Corinne, I think you forgot the French fries.
Don't you want to save room for dessert?
One step ahead of me.
They take care of you here.
Finally, I want you to meet my good friend Dr. Frasier Crane.
I know what you always said about psychiatrists, Dad,
but he's not a crook or a nut case or anything.
He's a pretty smart guy.
There you go, Dr. Crane.
Thank you, Woody.
Mr. and Mrs. Boyd...
In Woody, you have raised a young man of singular character,
not easily swayed by the attitudes of those around him.
Trust him. Trust yourselves.
Let him do what he wants with his life.
Now, let me address some of your reservations
about the psychiatric profession.
In this building, you see 18 floors of highly trained,
dedicated professionals whose sole purpose is to heal the mind.
And you know, I think...
Norm, could you run that back for me?
I've got to tell Dr. Judd to keep his windows closed
during his depression seminar.
Well, what did you think?
After seeing that, I think we should all move to Indiana.
I don't know how you guys did it, but you made me out as some kind of a jerk.
Talk about movie magic, huh?
Maybe you were just too close to the subject.
I thought he looked like a jerk, too.
You all looked like jerks to me.
May I say something?
Go ahead. Go ahead. Tell me how right you were.
- Get it over with. - On the contrary.
I was about to say that I don't think any of these people
realize what a fine job you did.
- Oh, right. - No, I mean that.
What you have here is the raw material for a truly fine film.
- Thank you. - The problem is its entirely structure.
It's too linear.
You know, that was gnawing at me, too.
We need to make a film that appeals to the emotions,
not the intellect.
If you'll allow me, I can transform your film
into a shattering emotional experience.
What are you going to do to it?
Snip here, snip there. Nothing much.
In a world gone mad, where can a young man go?
Where? Where? Tell me, where?
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd.
Here are the best and most uncorrupting friends
a guy could hope to have.
First, I'd like you to meet my boss and good friend, Sam Malone.
Sam used to be a relief pitcher for the Boston Red Sox.
This is just the sort of family thing we do here in Boston.
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd.
Welcome to our cookout.
Another chicken leg, Mr. Peterson?
Be sure to give some thought
to the thousands of men and women in uniform.
In Woody, you've raised a young man of singular character,
not easily swayed by the attitudes of those around him.
Trust him. Trust yourselves.
Let him do what he wants with his life.
Shouldn't we all have a chance live our lives the way we choose?
Please, give us that chance in the time we have left.
Well?
You're hurt because I was the only one who had a credit at the end.
No. No. No.
- You keep the credit. - Thanks.
It's just that I felt I'd transformed your film
into a personal statement that was...
...Pure Diane Chambers.
It was pure something.
I don't know, Miss Chambers, maybe we'd better not send this film to my folks.
Oh, Woody, it's a fait accompli.
Was it ever.
No, I mean I've already sent a copy to your father.
For all we know, he may be viewing it as we speak.
Oh, I think that's a mistake.
Why?
Well... your film...
didn't have enough...
There was-- there was too much...
It needed a little--
Yeah, and it stunk, too.
Thank you, Siskel and Ebert.
Take my word for it, after Woody's father
sees this impassioned plea for individual freedom,
there's no way he'll be able to order Woody
to leave here against his will.
Well, I guess this is good-bye then.
I just can't believe you're leaving us, Woody.
Are you sure my film had no effect on your father?
Come on, face it.
All that weird stuff wouldn't mean anything to a guy like Mr. Boyd.
Yeah.
Besides, he thought it was too derivative of Godard.
You sure you don't mind if I take this picture?
No, I want you to have it.
While we're at it, Woody...
Here.
One of your Elvis earrings.
Well, he was one of a kind, and so are you.
Besides, the guy I went out with last night swallowed the other one.
Here. I want you to have this.
It's a copy of being and nothingness.
My mother gave it to me in grade school.
Thanks, Miss Chambers.
I don't think I've read this one.
Woody...
A six-pack.
All the beer you've poured me over the years.
Thanks a lot, Mr. Peterson.
Woodsy, I... I got a sheet of commemorative stamps here
depicting all the US presidents.
Well, except nine.
That's great. Thank you, Mr. Clavin.
See, I didn't know we were giving gifts.
I could... Could I send you something?
That's fine, Dr. Crane.
It's been an honor knowing you, Woody.
If somebody had told me, I could've picked something up.
- I got to go. - I'll walk you to the car.
No. I want to remember you guys the way you're standing.
Bye, Woody.
Well, hell, we don't have to stand around here forever.
Does anybody know his shirt size?
Come on, let me buy y'all a beer on the house.
- None for me, Sammy. - Hello, Cheers.
Beer is just gonna remind me of the kid.
It'll be quite some time before I can touch one again.
Well, that ought to do it, I guess.
Hey, it's Woody's dad. Get him. Get him.
Woody! Woody, your father's on the phone.
Hey, guys. How you been?
Hello, Dad?
Really? Well, thank you.
You don't know how happy this makes me.
Yeah, I love you, too. Bye!
I can stay!
Yeah...
After reflecting on my film, he was finally moved...
by its timeless message.
No. He tossed it in the thresher.
Well, what happened?
Someone sent him a real simple note that changed his mind.
What did it say?
It said, 'Let your son choose his own path,
and it will always lead back to you."
Eloquent.
But it wasn't signed. Come on, guys, fess up. Who did it?
- Not me. - Don't look at me.
- Carla? - Yeah, right.
I sure wish I knew who it was so I could thank him.
Don't mention it, kid.