80s Flashback
Rose: “What are you guys doing up?”
Dorothy: “We’re conducting a séance to contact Liberace.”
Let’s Get Political
Dorothy: “Ma, what are you doing in here?”
Sophia: “The searchlights were out so I tunneled out of my
room with a spoon. I couldn't sleep so I'm having some tea. If that's OK with
you, Prime Minister Botha?”
That’s What She Said
Rose: “It still doesn’t feel right.”
Shady Pines, Ma
Dorothy: “I had a terrible nightmare.”
Sophia: “Was it the recurring dream where you're a lonely old
woman and your family doesn't want you so they put you in a home and never come
to see you or take you out on holidays?”
Dorothy: “That wasn't
my dream.”
Sophia: “Oh yeah, right. That was my life.”
Dorothy: “Ma, please, for the hundredth time, Shady Pines was
a beautiful retirement village.”
Sophia: “Sure, sure. And Attica's known for its topnotch
tennis facilities.”
Lewd Ladies
Rose: “Why are these statues always of naked men?”
Blanche: “Oh, you see, Rose, the Greeks and Romans always
sculpted men. They admired the beauty of the male form. Its sinewy, muscled
hardness, its rippling loins, its chiseled buttocks. My, it's getting hot in
here.”
Picture It
Sophia: “Picture it. Sardinia, 1932.”
Blanche: “I thought these stories of yours always took place
in Sicily?”
Sophia: “Can't a person go away for the weekend? Anyway, I'm
on a tour of the great caper factories of Sardinia. I was a kooky kid going
through my piccata period. A wedge of lemon and a smart answer for everything. Anyway,
I was, uh, I was slicing an onion when suddenly this big basil tree—
Dorothy: “Ma, what the hell are you talking about? You're not
making any sense!”
Sophia: “I was hoping the late hour would help to mask that. I
don't have a story about taking advantage of a dead guy for money. I’ve got a
great story about a Moroccan and a monkey, but that really comes under the
heading of lust.”
Rose: “I'm really confused.”
Sophia: “Look, life is tough. I'm not happy that a fellow
human being is passing away, but it's out of our control. If we don't make a
few bucks on this deal, somebody else will.”
Zbornak Zingers
Rose: “I couldn't sleep either, but I think it was something
I ate before bed.”
Sophia: “What did you eat?”
Rose: “Nothing out of the ordinary. A handful of Snowcaps, a
couple of Devil Dogs, some Oreos. Oh yeah, and a Ho Ho chopped up in a bowl of
fruit cocktail with heavy syrup.”
Dorothy: “Couldn't sleep? I'm surprised you didn't try to
kill the mayor of San Francisco.”
Insult Watch
Sophia: “It's my day to volunteer at the hospital.”
Rose: “Oh Sophia, you know it's really sweet of you to
volunteer.”
Sophia: “I like charity work. Besides, I've got my eye on an
eligible doctor for Dorothy. I hope he likes charitable work too.”
Product Placement
Blanche: “This is nonrepresentational art. I work in a museum,
so I understand these things. You see now, for instance, this slash of color of
red across the bottom, well, that represents the setting sun. And this jagged
blue line, now, that signifies the ocean. Then this spot of orange up here in
the corner, that stands for the planets and man's eternal struggle against
nature and the elements.”
Rose: “No, it doesn't Blanche. That's where I put my
Creamsicle down this afternoon when I answered the phone. See? It rubs right
off.”
Sassy Sophia
Sophia: “I got up in the middle of the night and there was a
puddle in my bed. You don’t know how
relieved I was to find out the roof was leaking.”
Back in St. Olaf
Rose: “Oh, I just love a mime. It's all on account of my
Uncle Gustav. He was a coal mimer.”
Blanche: “You mean a coal miner.”
Rose: “No, a coal mimer. You see He had a bad back and he
didn't wanna lose his medical benefits, so every morning he'd go down the shaft
and pretend to work.”
Best of B.E.D.
Dorothy: “Blanche listen, we really have to talk about the roof.”
Blanche: “Dorothy, I already called the repairman. Last night
the damn ceiling caved in on my bedroom. Knocked the Zorro mask right out of
poor Ed Rosen's hand.”
Sweet, Single-Digit-IQ Rose
Blanche: “Oh girls, listen to me, when a famous artist like
Jasper DeKimmel dies, the value of his work doubles sometimes, even triples. You
know what that means?”
Rose: “Sure. It means if he dies, those crummy pictures of
his will be worth a fortune. He'll have more money than he'll know what to do
with.”
Dorothy: “You almost got it, Rose.”
The Boob Tube
Blanche: “Oh, Sid! Well, can't you patch it up or something?”
Sid: “Well yeah, I could patch it up, but that won't stop
more leaks when it rains again.”
Rose: “What are you trying to say, Sid?”
Side: “You couldn't follow that?”
Dorothy: “She has
trouble following Murder, She Wrote.”
Golden Quotes
Blanche: “You cannot replace this towel, there are too many
fond memories attached to this towel.”
Dorothy: “Blanche please. I am in no mood to hear about the
parade of endless sexual encounters that you have experienced up and down the
Florida coastline, with only this towel between your hot flesh and the cold,
wet sand!”
Blanche: “I brought my son Skippy home from the hospital in
this towel, Dorothy.”
Dorothy: “You're lying, Blanche.”
Blanche: “Damn, you're good!”
And
Dorothy: “You are nothing if not consistent, Rose.”
Rose: “Thank you, Dorothy, but hot water and oat bran every
morning takes most of the credit.”
And
Auctioneer: “Next we have ‘Community Property’ by Jasper
DeKimmel. A small piece, but one which will be worth many times its current
value someday.”
Rose: “Like tomorrow.”
Dorothy: “Keeping a
secret just isn't your strong suit, is it Rose?”
Critique:
This is another brilliant episode in a somewhat solid if a bit uneven season. The girls love them some money and this episode proves it. This time, they need money for a roof that has caved in all over Blanche’s bedroom. I’d loved to have seen that. Also, is it just me, or is Blanche Devereaux literally the WORST landlord on the planet? What landlord makes her tenants pay for repairs on a house they don’t even own? Though I hear she’s no match for the Big Mean Bug Lady. But I digress. While attending an art show at a museum they come across the nasty artist Jasper DeKimmel, a man who has no business painting pictures of his own genitalia. (“Oh so those aren’t noses.”) And natural once they find out the miserable grump is dying they see a prime opportunity to purchase his art before it jumps up in value after his death. It’s a nasty scheme to go with the nasty artist who inspired it. Yeah it’s a ridiculous plot but it’s simply fascinating to watch these ladies at work. The dialogue here is on point (Dorothy’s line about killing the mayor of San Francisco is one of my all-time favorite Dorothyisms) and the auction scene itself is a brilliant display of great writing and pitch perfect comedic timing. I could really go for a Creamsicle. GRADE: A
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