Dogville

Dogville was in the Rocky Mountains

in the US of A.

Up here where the road came to its

definiteve end near the entrance to the old,

abandoned silver mine.

The residents of Dogville were good,

honest folks and they liked their township.

And while a sentimental soul from the East Coast

had once dubbed their main street ELM STREET,

though no elm tree had ever

cast its shadow in Dogville,

they saw no reason to change anything.

Most of the buildings were pretty wretched;

more like shacks; frankly.

The house in which Tome lived

was the best, though,

and in good times might almost

have passed for presentable.

That afternoon the radio was playing softly,

for in his dotage Thomas Edison Senior

had developed a weakness for music of the lighter kind.

[Radio Presenter] Ladies and Gentlemen...

the President of the United States...

Tom, do me a favor, will you?

The radio!?

Just because the music's over and

you might risk hearing something useful?

I thought that's why we have the radio...

Well, I need a rest, as you know.

Mock me if you like.

[Narrator] Tom's father had been a doctor

and now received a modest pension,

so it was no great disaster for Tom

to drift about not doing anything in particular.

Tom was a writer.

...at any rate by his own lights.

Oh, his output as committed to paper

was so far limited to the words "great" and "small",

followed by question mark,

but nevertheless meticulously archived

in one of his many bureau drawers.

'Bye, Dad.

Evenin' Master Tom.

Good evening, Master Olivia.

Don't forget about the meeting tomorrow.

Noooo

[Narrator] In order to postpone the time

at which he would have to put pen to pater in earnest,

Tom had now come up with

a series of meetings on moral rearmament

with which he felt obliged to benefit the town.

- Hi, kids.

- Hi, Tom.

Good evening Chuck.

Will we see you at the meeting tomorrow?

Well, I could do without your lectures.

You know Vera.

Wouldn't give me moment's peace

till I said yes.

Who gave Moses that bone?

It's still got meat on it.

Jason did.

Jason gave that mutt a bone

with meat on it?

When did we last see meat?

Next time you waste good food,

I'll take your knife away.

I would know it was you give'n meat to eat.

Moses was meant to be hungry! To keep watch.

Keep watch in Dogville?

What's there to steal?

These are wicked time, Tom Edison.

Soon there'll be folks by

with even less than us.

[Narrator] Indeed..Tom was busy enough,

even though, formally speaking,

not yet busy with writing per se.

And if a body found it hard to grasp

what profession he was busy at,

he'd merely reply "mining".

For although he did not blast

his way through rock,

he blasted through what was even harder...

namely, the human soul...

right into where it glistered!

- Hey, Martha.

- Hello, Tom.

Listen, they're all comin',

so you just have those benches ready.

Yes, they're ready.

Oh, but Tom, I repeat,

if you need to use my organ

I got to get special permission

from the regional director, Tom.

Martha, and I repeat,

we don't need the organ.

We can be spiritual without singing

or reading from the Bible.

It's almost seven.

Don't forget your bell now.

I imagine that'll do Ma Ginger.

I don't think it's good for the soil

with all the raking and hoeing.

It's the soil that gave life to us all.

Don't give me any of your lip,

Thomas Edison Jr.

I'll hoe as I darn well please!

Yeah, and spoil the whole thing!

I agree with Tom.

Yeah, well he likes eating my pies,

don't you?

Well they're tasty.

No doubt about it.

Yeah. So when it comes to hoeing,

who's right, Tom, you or me?

I'm not so sure it's that simple.

He's got you there Ginger.

You can not resist,

can you, Gloria?

Hey, Ben, I'll get the doors!

I'll be fine, Tom.

Any news from the freight industry?

Is everything going to hell there too?

Don't poke fun at the freight industry.

[Narrator] It was seven o'clock precisely,

as Martha chimed the hour,

and Tom was due to play checkers

with his childhood friend Bill Henson.

Bill was dumb and knew it.

Far too dumb to qualify as an engineer,

he was certainly sure of that.

After listening for a while to the piledriver

down the valley that Ben insisted was working

on the foundation of a new penitentiary,

Tom headed for the Henson home

in order to inflict upon Bill

yet another humiliating defeat at checkers.

Some folks might say the opportunity

to meet Bill's older sister, Liz, was more of a draw

than the checkerboard,

and they might be right.

It was a fact that in the Henson home

lay another horizon.

A horizon just as alluring

as the one beyond the valley.

A horizon bound by Liz Henson's

luscious curves.

- No one's getting it?

- A sweet, painful, seductive abyss.

- Hey, Liz.

- Hey, Tom.

Must you come by every single day?

Huh!?

It'd be a lot more fun if someone

interesting appeared for a change.

You know I really am so lonesome in this town.

The moment my fiancee writes

that he's gotten that job in Bolder, I'm off.

Then the whole lot of you will

have to find some other girls' skirts to peek up.

Is.. uh.. Bill in?

Well, isn't he always?

He studies and I help out with the glasses.

Even though everybody knows

that I'm the clever one.

- Hey, Mrs. Henson.

- Good evening, Tom.

Checkers time, Bill ol' Buddy.

Was that..??

You didn't hear the bell?

[Narrator] As usual Bill tried to fake

his way around actually playing.

He had not yet fully comprehend

this meeting business, he claimed.

Maybe you should just let them be?

I don't think so... I... I...

What if they're just fine as they are?

You think they're fine?

I don't think so.

I think there is a lot

this country has forgotten.

I just try and refresh folk's memory

by way of illustration.

So... so the illustration for tomorrow?

mmmh.. I don't know.

See if the people of Dogville have

a problem with the acceptance.

What they really need is something

for them to accept,

something tangible,

like a gift.

Why in the heck would someone

up and give us a gift?

I don't know.

I might have to do some thinking.

Wait, wait, .. the ...

we're missing a piece.

We won't be able to play.

My mind is sharp tonight.

'Night, Bill.

[Narrator] Despite considerable effort

on his part to prolong things,

Tom had achieved the triumph

at the checkerboard pretty quickly.

It had started to rain and

the wind had become a regular gale

when Tom strolled home through Elm Street.

If Tom were to prove that the citizens of Dogville

had a problem receiving in his lecture in the next day

he sorely lacked an illustration,

a gift.

Bill might have been right.

It hadn't exactly rained gifts

on this particular township.

There was no doubt in his mind.

They were gun shots.

The pile driver in the marshes

didn't sound like that at all.

The shots had come from down in the valley,

or perhaps from Canyon Road some place

in the direction of Georgetown.

He listened for more shots for ages.

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