The Beaver

This is a picture of Walter Black,

a hopelessly depressed individual.

Somewhere inside him is a man

who fell in love,

who started a family...

And then I woke up.

...who ran a successful company.

That man has gone missing.

No matter what he's tried,

and he's tried everything,

Walter can't seem to bring him back.

It's as if he's died

but hasn't had the good sense

to take his body with him.

So, mostly, what he does is sleep.

Shares in his father's

once-proud toy company

are now almost as worthless as Walter feels.

His family used to resemble something

out of a holiday greeting card

but now seems to be in perpetual mourning.

Henry, his youngest, has become

what his teachers call "solitary."

He'd like to become invisible one day

instead of merely unnoticed

by his own father.

And, Porter, his eldest?

Well, he's terrified of becoming

just like his father.

His mission? To catalog

every dreaded similarity that links them.

Every lip bite.

Every neck crack.

Every involuntary behavior.

He plans to erase them one by one.

His wife, Meredith, has hidden herself

behind her engineering work

and nighttime conference calls to Tokyo

and rollercoaster designs.

Anything to drown out the reality

of an absent husband.

Walter's depression is an ink

that stains everything it touches.

A black hole that swallows all who get near.

They've all been waiting for him to wake up,

to snap out of it,

but he hasn't.

So, Meredith does the only thing left to do

and says the only thing left to say.

Goodbye.

Jared, you're failing this class.

Do you honestly think you can suddenly

hand in an "A" paper and get away with it?

What about Hector?

You got him an "A" in Family Development.

Look, I've never written

anything for Hector. All right?

If he told you differently, he's a liar.

Hypothetically, had I written him something,

we would have

raised his grades incrementally.

And if that happened, then, yes,

he might have turned in an "A" paper.

He might even be making a "B"

in a class that he used to be failing.

So, if someone wanted me to do this,

and do it as them,

in their voice and at their skill level,

I would say that they could

either do it my way

or take your chances buying

some piece of sh*t off the Internet.

- $200 every time?

- If it's too much, write it yourself.

More than I pay for weed.

Sorry, buddy.

You passed me again.

I know, honey. I was looking.

How was your day?

Did you talk to anyone?

I guess.

A new person or an old person?

New.

Good. What did you talk about?

He said I was a ball-licker.

I told him I wasn't,

and he threw me in the dumpster.

What?

Did you tell your teacher?

She got me out of the dumpster.

Well, this must be

some kind of misunderstanding,

and we just have to realign

or correct their...

I'll talk to the teacher.

Is Dad gone?

No. He's not gone, honey.

We just agreed that it's better

if we don't live together anymore. Okay?

What do you look for

beyond the sea, Grasshopper?

That part of me

which I know little of.

The past of which I was born.

Then, some day,

you must seek it.

Is it good to seek the past,

Master Po?

Does it not rob the present?

If a man dwells on the past,

then he robs the present.

But if a man ignores the past,

he may rob the future.

- The seeds of our destiny are nurtured...

- That's beautiful, Grasshopper.

Here. Here you go.

You moved.

Oi!

Hmm.

You know, since we're making changes

around here,

maybe you want to get, like,

a plumber or something.

I mean, this place is falling apart.

Well, that's too bad, because there's really

not much we can do about it, is there?

Whoa, relax. I'm on your side, okay.

I'm glad you kicked him out.

I'm just saying this whole

eating-at-the-table thing together.

I mean, that's...

How long do you expect us to keep that up?

I don't know, Porter.

Maybe until we start respecting

each other again?

You know, maybe when we start

asking each other how was our day

and clearing out the dishes...

Maybe I should get a paper route, too.

Then I'm going

to guess the number.

If I guess right, we do the kitten story.

Two big stories to get to tonight,

unfortunately...

Wake up.

Wake up, you worthless sod.

Bloody hell. Look at you.

Stone-drunk and flattened by a television.

That's quite an obituary

you're working up for yourself, Walter.

Leave me alone.

No. Can't do that. You don't want that.

'Cause I'm the only one what knows

how you really feel.

Everybody needs a friend, Walter.

And you've got me.

That's why you read all them

useless self-help books.

Chicken Soup, Positive Thinking,

How to Win Friends.

Which one has the chapter

about dropping the telly on your head?

I'm sick.

Yeah, Walt. On that, we agree.

The question is, do you want to get better?

I can't.

- Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're depressed.

- Yeah.

Lethargic. Anhedonia.

Wake up!

Books and pills. They're cotton candy.

You've seen

too many home-improvement shows.

You think you can just

splash up some paint

and rearrange the furniture,

and everything will be all right.

You want things to change?

I mean, really change?

You gotta forget

about home improvement, Walter.

You have gotta blow up

the whole bloody building.

What are you gonna do, Walter?

- Blow it up.

- Louder!

- Blow it up.

- Louder!

Blow it up! Blow it the f*** up! Blow it up!

Blow it up!

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