August: Osage County Page #6

your reading, the poems,

which ones did you choose

- in the end to read?

- Well, I, uh...

Bill, where are you living now?

You want this old sideboard?

I beg your pardon?

You and Barb are separated, right?

Oh, or are you divorced already?

No, we're, um, separated.

Mm-hm. You thought you could

slip that by me, didn't you?

Nobody slips anything by me.

I know what's what.

Your father thought he was

slipping one by me, too, right?

- What's the matter with you?

- I'm sorry you two are having trouble.

Maybe you can work it out.

Bev and I separated...

a couple times.

Of course, we didn't call it that.

Help us with an illustration

from your storybook marriage.

Truth is, you just can't

compete with a younger woman.

It's just one of those

unfair things in life.

Is there a younger woman involved?

- You've said enough on this topic.

- Yes. There's a younger woman.

Well, see? Odds are

against you there, babe.

Mom believes women don't grow

more attractive with age.

Oh, I disagree. I think...

No, I didn't say they

"don't grow more attractive."

I said they get ugly! And it's not

really a matter of opinion, Karen, dear.

You've only just started

to prove it yourself.

You are in rare form today, Vi.

Well, the day calls for it, doesn't it?

What... What form would you

have me in, hmm?

I just don't understand

why you're so adversarial.

I'm just truth-telling.

Some people are antagonized

by the truth.

Everyone here loves you, dear.

Oh, you think you can shame me, Charlie?

Blow it out your ass!

Three days ago,

I identified my father's corpse.

And now I'm supposed to sit

here and listen to you

viciously attack

every member of this family?

Attack my family?

Have you ever been attacked

in your sweet, spoiled life?

Tell her about attacks, Mattie Fae.

- Tell her what an attack looks like!

- Settle down, Mom.

Don't tell me to settle down,

goddamn it!

I'm not a goddamn invalid!

Am I to be abided now?

- Have I been passed over?

- Come on, honey...

This woman came to my rescue

when one of my mother's

many gentleman friends

was attacking me

with a claw hammer.

This woman has dents in her skull

from hammer blows.

What do you know about attacks?

What do you know about

life on these Plains?

What do you know about hard times?

We know you had a rotten

childhood, Mom. Who didn't?

You don't know! You do not know!

None of you know!

None of you know,

except this woman right here,

and that man we buried today.

Oh, sweet girl.

Sweet Barbara...

...my heart breaks for every

time you felt pain. I really...

I wished I could've

shielded you from it,

but if you think you can fathom

for one solitary second

the pain that man endured

in his natural life,

you got another thing coming.

You know where your father lived

from age four till about ten?

Do you? Do you?

- No.

- No.

In a Pontiac sedan.

With his mother, his father,

in a f***ing car.

Six f***ing years in a car!

Now, what do you want to say

about your rotten childhood?

Jesus. This is the crux

of the biscuit:

We lived too hard,

and then we rose too high.

We sacrificed everything,

and we did it all for you.

Your father and I, first in our families

to graduate high school,

and he wound up an award-winning poet.

You girls, just given

a college education,

taken for granted, no doubt.

Where'd you wind up?

What do you do?

What do you do?

Who are you? Jesus!

You worked as hard as us,

you'd all be president.

You had no real problems, so you got to

make all your problems yourselves.

Why are you screaming at us?

Just time some truth

is told around here.

Damn fine day to tell the truth.

Well, the truth is...

...I'm getting full.

Amen.

There's dessert, too.

Oh, she baked pies.

They look so lovely.

I got a truth to tell.

It speaks.

- What is it, son?

- No, no.

I have a truth.

- Little Charles.

Charles, not like this, please.

The truth is...

I forgot to set the clock.

The power didn't go out.

I forgot to set the clock.

I'm sorry, Mom.

I'm sorry, everyone.

Excuse me, I just...

Scintillating.

I gave up a long time ago.

Little Charles is your project now.

Charles.

His name is Charles.

Oh, poor Ivy. Poor baby.

- Mom, please, Mom. Just please.

- Poor little thing.

She's always had a feeling

for the underdog.

Just don't be mean

to me right now, OK?

I'm not. Everybody's got the

idea I'm mean all of a sudden.

- Please, Mama.

- I'm just telling the truth.

You're a drug addict.

That's the truth!

That's what I'm getting at!

Hey, everybody, everybody, listen.

I'm a drug addict.

I love drugs.

Especially pills.

Especially downers.

You see these little blue babies?

These are my best f***ing friends,

and they never let me down.

You try to get them away from me,

I'll eat you alive.

Give me those goddamn pills!

Stop it!

Holy sh*t!

Give me these pills!

Right now! Give me those pills!

- Barbara, stop it!

- Come on!

- Barbara!

- No!

- Please!

- Give it to me!

Hey, now, come on.

- Barb, stop!

- Stop!

Stop, goddamn it!

Oh, goddamn you!

Come on, Mama.

Damn you.

OK. OK.

OK, pill raid.

Remember this?

Remember how it goes?

Search everything.

Every closet, every drawer,

- every shoe box.

- You can't do this. It's my house.

- Karen, call Dr. Burke.

- OK.

You can't do this!

It's my house!

This is my house!

You don't get it, do you?

You don't get it.

I am running things now!

Why did Dr. Burke write so many

prescriptions? Didn't he know?

It's not just him. She's got

a doctor in every port.

And you knew this was happening again?

I'm sorry about you and Bill.

Me, too, Barb.

You think it's temporary, or...

Who knows?

We've been married a long time.

Now what?

The chemotherapy

and the radiation

coupled with the overuse

of pain medications...

- Right.

- ...without the benefit

of more thorough testing,

an MRI or CT scan,

I believe your mother is suffering

from mild cognitive impairment.

Mild cognitive impairment?

Brain damage.

It may be time to consider placing her

in a long-term care facility.

I know I'd feel

a lot more comfortable

if I knew she was receiving that

level of supervision.

And, uh, where would you

have us put her?

- A psychiatric hospital?

- Well, Beverly's gone.

Right. Well, not so much "gone"

as "dead," but I see your point.

Legal guardianship for you and your

sisters, with my recommendation...

So you're thinking, if the three

of us cooperated with this, uh,

commitment end-around, that we would be

less likely to sue your ass?

- I'm sorry?

- "Mild cognitive impairment"?

- Are you f***ing kidding me?

- All right.

You know whose name is on these bottles?

- Barb.

- Do you?

Your mother

is a very sick person.

We've got a whole bucket

of these at home

with your name on it,

evidence for the medical board.

Oh, let's go.

I think we're done.

- Pull the car over.

- We'll be home in a minute.

Pull the car over.

I'm gonna be sick.

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