Previously on United States of Tara...
What if there's no fixing me?
Take this for a spin, written by my old therapist.
Shoshana Schoenbaum, huh?
Tara?
Gimme came out.
This movie is really about Max Gregson...
the man who fell in love with that.
Your son got into the film festival.
Will you take me? To New York?
In the name of the Father, Son, Holy...
Oh, fuck me!
I really like Evan, but that kid...
Monty, come down here! Monty!
That kid's a handful.
New mommy. I can smell it on you.
And I'm doing it all alone right now.
You really can't take care of your kids
until you take care of yourself.
I order crab tortellini.
Catastrophically allergic to crab.
Why do I order it? Because I'm thinking of you.
I don't know what's happening to me. I'm losing pieces.
Chicken is dead.
He killed her. Who killed her?
I killed her.
And who are you?
I'm Bryce Craine.
I need you to take me to Tara.
Why Tara?
I'm going to kill her.
Out of the cornfield, into the car,
drive to a diner, order pancakes.
Pancakes rule.
Then back in the car, drive around town,
stop for petrol, go to a new diner.
Murder makes me hungry.
Yeah, that was a stuffed toy.
You haven't killed anything.
I'm fucking with her,
old guy who talks like Obi-Wan.
Our girl believes it, not me.
So, is Chicken dead or not dead?
Dead, undead... does it matter?
I don't believe in this D.I.D. bullshit
any more than you guys do.
Haven't heard that one before.
Say that again?
And now I'm bored. And out of Cheetos.
Uh...
Tara, this is Dr. Smolow.
Hello.
He's a colleague of mine.
It is Saturday. You're in my office.
Mm. Take a seat.
Something's not right. Something...
You've had quite a night.
Chicken.
I can't feel Chicken. Something happened.
Someone...
Bryce?
He was just with us.
The relevant term here, if I may, is "abuser alter."
It's a personality modeled on a primary abuser,
caretaker, family member...
Or, in this case, stepbrother.
This personality protects itself from the original abuse
by... well, becoming the abuser.
It's a paradox... the self turning against itself,
which accounts for your cutting.
Bryce? Who turned my brain into bread slices?
That's my new alter?
Uh...
Yes.
Oh, God, I need to go home.
Actually, maybe I need to go to the pharmacy.
Now seems like a good time to revisit the old anti-psychs.
Where's the truck? We took the ogre, right?
Yeah, I'll drive you home.
No, no, I'm good to drive. I like driving.
No, no. Okay, you drive me home, okay?
'Cause I came in your car.
Oh, God, I can't feel Chicken.
She's gone. What happened?
We'll discuss it in the ogre.
Okay.
An alter who doesn't believe in D.I.D.
Mustard, spicy mustard, fancy asshole mustard,
relish, onions, kraut,
something I call secret sauce, but it ain't recommended.
Two dogs with mustard and kraut.
What's wrong with the secret sauce?
Turns your dog into an enema. Some people like that.
Me... I prefer to stay bunged up.
Okay, then.
Yeah!
Good to be out of fucking Kansas, huh?
Fucking Orgalawn and all that crazy fucking-ass shit at home.
I mean... I don't mean what you think I mean.
Mom's a handful.
There's nothing wrong with saying it.
We're in New York. Say what you want.
A-fuckin'-men, kid.
Two dogs with the cowardly kraut.
Thanks.
It's your town. What's the plan?
Well, we have the festival meet-and-greet at seven,
so I was thinking the Algonquin Round Table,
Village Vanguard, and the Chelsea Hotel?
Yeah, fuck the Empire State Building.
What do you, uh... What do you want to do first?
I want to jaywalk.
Whoo!
Hoo-hoo!
Whoo-hoo!
Oh!
Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on.
Fuck! Why do you hate me?
Not you, little baby.
This fucking car seat.
Scandinavian piece of shit!
Oh.
Yes.
Shit.
Morning.
Ooh! Somebody had a long night.
Buck? T?
Eh, I couldn't sleep.
Got up early. Happy pills.
I was up at four-thirty, and that truck was not there.
Okay, Wheels, we're going.
Did I just lock my keys in my car?
Because that would be outstanding.
- Where are you rushing off to? - Shit!
Oh, movie matinee for mommies and babies
with Abby and some people who call themselves
the "Fierce Mommies Book Club."
Don't ask. I don't know why.
Fuck!
Thank Christ.
So, are we on for menstrual Sunday?
Oh, I got to pass. I'm cramming for midterms.
Come on.
Kate will be back from "Louville" or "Louieville"
or whatever the fuck it is.
Girls only, gathering our femme power.
I bequeath my power to Wheels.
I got to cram. Must cram.
Is everything okay?
I'm... indestructible.
Okay, okay, we're going.
All right.
Solar winds are blowing.
Neutron star controlling.
All is lost.
Aah!
Oh, my...
F...
Oh, shit.
I know it's weird... I mean, it's just a burnt book,
but she's not there anymore.
I mean, it's Shoshana. She never shuts the fuck up.
And... Up...
and upstairs, it's just... it's really quiet.
How's the hand?
Well, it's been better.
But, I mean, it's still there. I can feel it.
Shit.
Which is more than I can say for Chicken and Shoshana.
So, yeah, take down those notes,
because now our paper is on the craziest woman in Kansas.
Hey, why limit ourselves to Kansas?
I'm sure there's some nutjob in Argentina
who's pretty fucking out there,
but can he battle the molestee
with the cream-filled molester inside?
I can't take notes fast enough,
let alone analyze what I've written down.
What's going on in that mind is labyrinthine.
I mean, it's... it's... it's beyond the...
Beyond your reach?
Let's move right on past the ethical lapses
that you're not dealing with here, Jack,
and say it plain... She needs professional help.
I'm a professional.
You're a professor... Mondays, Wednesdays, and office hours.
Today is Saturday.
The campus is closed, and that woman is unraveling.
So we should put her on an ice floe and just push her off.
Look, the department understands
what you've been going through... the kite man.
It's understandable that you want to move on to something else.
That has absolutely nothing to do with her!
Right in front of you, Jack.
The department also needs to think about liability.
You in there with her... that is a lawsuit.
You don't walk out on a patient.
A patient?
Get yourself out of this, Jack, or I will.
You're out of your depth here.
So says the Kansas State Overland Park
co-chair of the Psych Department.
She'll make a fantastic obituary
for the Kansas Fuck-All Gazette.
See you Monday.
Sensible Smolow, the Karl Jung of Eastern Missouri,
died today in a crappy motel,
his dick in between the slices of a roast-beef sandwich!
His children rejoiced!
That was the best museum
dedicated to the manufacturing of baseball bats
I've ever been to.
Well, a brighter man would point out
that this is the only museum
dedicated to the manufacturing of baseball bats.
Well, I like bright men
as much as I like baseball-bat museums.
So you hate this place but you like me.
Hmm.
I don't have any hate in my body,
and how I feel about you remains shrouded in mystery.
Mmm.
Give me my bat, no-butt.
Hey. How'd it go in there, kiddo?
You make a spicy meatball?
Oh-ho, yeah.
A spicy meatball?
That's a number two.
Oh. That's cute, kind of. Not really.
I have a butt.
Monty, be careful where you're swinging the bat, okay, bud?
I mean, for a white girl, it's got a little push, little bump.
I love your ass...
Ow! Mont...
Timeout! Time-fucking-out!
You said "fuck." You said "fuck."
Get over here! Get over here now!
Mont... Sorry. I'll be right back.
Monty!
Oh. Not mine.
No.
So, the subway doors open,
and I get shoved into the armpit of this 6-foot-something guy
with shock-white hair, and I look up,
but instead of saying "I'm sorry,"
I just say, "Oh, my fucking God!"
"You're Jim Jarmusch!"
Who's Jim Jarmusch?
Are you kidding me?
Same film over and over again... "Stranger Than Paradise."
Minimal plotting, funereal pacing. "Down by Law," "Dead Man."
Arty American stuff. "Ghost Dog, The Way of the Samurai."
- Tell him... - It's my son.
I told him about the screening tomorrow.
He said he'd try to come.
And then a couple people started saying,
"Come on! Go to his movie!"
And then, like half the subway starts shouting at him.
And he says, "I give. I'll go."
Jim Jarmusch is gonna see my movie!
Oh, my God!
That's... That's amazing, Moosh.
Top five days of all time.
I got to call Noah
and tell him, "Owwww!"
Owwww!
We are excited young men with double beds
and a view of a crazy person pissing in a garbage can.
What's going on there?
What's going on here? Uh...
"I have a 14-year-old prep-school degenerate bit of this, bit of that."
- "Macheteing his way into my insides." - Same old, same old.
Midterms kicking your ass?
How did you know?
I know my wife.
Well, the wife...
Would like a gift.
- Yeah. How about something for a teenage sociopath? - Wife gets a gift.
Dark glasses, meat cleaver.
I miss you.
Love you.
Love you, too.
Shit. Well, at least he knows.
My son is having the best weekend of his life.
It can wait a day. I'll be fine.
You can't, shouldn't, and shan't do this on your own.
Therefore, meager contents of your freezer for dinner
and perhaps a little amuse-bouche
to whet the appetite.
I was...
If stars exist in academia...
A star.
Arrogant, aggressive, best-selling.
But how do...
Do you get from Oxford to Columbia to K.S.O.P.?
You stop believing you're a star.
Or, really, you believe it too much.
7s.
Hmm.
Go fish.
Maybe you slept with a student.
Queens?
God save her and her ugly sister.
Yes, students, graduates,
undergraduates, faculty, spouses.
But that doesn't get you to K.S.O.P.
To get here...
You really got to forget your name.
Your turn.
You stand at the mirror,
and you don't know who you're looking at.
Dry-cleaner hands you a suit you don't remember wearing.
But you have the receipt that matches the claim ticket,
so it must be so.
This drugs are good.
These dr...
You.
Okay.
So that continued for quite a while,
but recently, something changed.
Kite boy?
No... you.
The contract.
Our work.
Give me all your jacks, Jack.
Yes.
He really killed them, you know.
And the other alters are angry at me.
They think I can stop it.
They just... hide in the corners and won't talk to me.
See, I've had these friends inside me for 20 years now.
And they are friends, but...
I've always wanted them to go.
I know.
'Cause they're no help.
Right?
I mean, maybe Bryce is the only way I know
how to make them...
go.
What do you think about that, Jack?
I think Jack is deluding himself.
Donnie, don't go up there! You'll...
Sweetie, I told you.
It's called gravity and hubris.
They're with you for life.
How do they let them run around like that?
Oh, you got to let them fall, Charmaine.
I don't want them to fall.
I want a fall-free child.
And I want Michelle Kwan, but my Cindy's a G.D. Klutz,
may she make it to 15 without an abortion.
I keep seeing her first steps,
and I see this stabby, 90-degree cabinet
headed straight for her eyeball.
Blam! Blindness! No date for the prom!
I mean, this is where my mind goes.
I am a high-strung, neurotic mom, Abby.
We all are.
That's why we need to find balance whatever way we can.
How about a little "Anna Karenina"?
I don't get that joke, but thank you.
Mm.
That's not water.
Stoli and rocks.
Pump it, dump it, and buy some formula.
Ain't that right, ladies?
"Breakfast at Tiffany's."
Mimosa.
"Beyond the Valley of the Dolls."
Oh, I think that's a movie.
I don't read.
So, what book do you want to read?
"Breakfast at Tiffany's."
Yeah!
To the Fierce Mommies Book Club.
Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!
Yeah!
Roscoe!
Put that back in your pants. No one wants to see that.
Welcome back from break.
We've got three more hours of films to watch,
so let's just dive in.
From Overland Park, Kansas,
a film from Marshall Gregson and Noah Kane.
I-I'm proud.
I'm proud and nervous. You... you nervous?
Yes. Shh.
Her name is Tara... my mom.
20 years ago, she was diagnosed with something called D.I.D.,
or multiple personality disorder.
So, in addition to being my mom,
she's also a housewife stuck in the Eisenhower era,
a Vietnam vet, a high-school dropout,
a Manhattan psychotherapist, a rabid uber-id,
and a 5-year-old girl.
But this isn't a story about my mom.
It's about my dad...
a man living one life, dreaming another.
Neutron star controlling.
All is lost.
Doomed and tossed.
At what cost forever.
Meteors fly around me.
Comets die.
And then they, and then they.
You wanna see how they try to surround me?
I can say.
Here today.
We shall stay foreve-e-e-r.
Owww!
I know what you're thinking.
Why the pumpkin head?
Well...
I don't really have an answer for you, but, uh...
Have you met Gimme?
Whoops!
And every night in Overland Park ends the same...
light dying on the houses,
the trees, and the hospital on the hill.
And despite all evidence around him, Max makes good.
So, yeah, everything turns out all right.
I mean, everything's great, you know?
There's some bumps along the way, but we make it.
And that's it, really.
You just kind of go on... one day and then another day.
Right?
Where's Tara?
She's at the zoo.
She's watching porn.
She's... stuck in a Pringles can.
Do you want to fuck the pumpkin?
It's fun.
Hang on. Why the ritualized killing?
You know they're phony. Why do you do it?
I'm a growing boy.
And there's only so much room in the upstairs.
The little girl, the Jew, the poncho...
Three down, three to go.
And then?
And then...
It's just me and her.
And then it's just me.
And you realize...
That if you kill her, you kill yourself?
You're really starting to piss me the fuck off.
I got to take a dump.
Oh, God. I can't do this.
I can't do this! It's too much! I can't!
Shh. Shh. Shh. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
Okay.
They're all really scared. He's gonna kill them.
No. Bryce is a bully. We face him down.
He's the easiest one to get rid of.
Okay? Okay.
I think you need another little amuse-bouche.
Hang on.
We're here!
We bring your femme power back!
And we're not buying "I'm tired!"
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit. Don't go. Get me through this.
Honorable mention.
I had one camera and some dolls, fine,
but it was better than
"my retard janitor has wise things to say."
And Jim Jarmusch... What an asshole!
Maybe he had better shit to do today.
Well, then he should have said so.
I mean, say what you mean.
Is that really what you think of our family, of me?
It's a movie, dad.
No, no, no, no. You say what you mean.
"Max is a coward for hanging in there."
"Max is a fucking dipshit"
"for loving his wife and raising his kids."
I'm guessing that's why you didn't show it to us.
No, everyone was so caught up in their own shit...
mom and school, you and Orgalawn...
No one even fucking asked to see it.
You can't take a bunch of fucking random moments
and stick them in a doll's mouth
and tell the world "That's the guy."
It ain't the fucking guy!
I know that! It's a short film!
I couldn't do everything! I'm sorry!
Well, don't fucking back down now.
That's your fucking movie. Own it. Be a man.
Okay, well, which is it?
It's both!
- Hey! Watch it! - Fuck you!
- Screw you! - City's full of fucking assholes!
Hey! Get out of the way!
I'm sorry I didn't see your movie back home!
But I'm glad your mother didn't see it,
or it would have fucking killed her.
- Jerk! - I don't think so.
She's tough, and she knows what she puts us through.
Doesn't put me through anything. I love her.
You know, you don't get it.
I know you love her. I love her, too.
But mom is crazy,
and we treat her like she's an eccentric.
And there's a cost. That's the movie.
By the way,
there's no view of a fucking hospital on a hill.
It's a metaphor!
So, are you gonna tell dad I can drink wine now?
Or that you're having an affair
with your professor?
I am not having an affair.
And why would you say that in front of my daughter?
She's a woman of the world!
She lives in the sky. She sees everything.
One last time for posterity...
We are working on an academic paper together.
That's it. End. Done.
You think it's a paper.
He thinks it's something more.
I know that look.
Neil gives me that look.
Does Evan give you that look?
How is Evan?
And his spastic 8-year-old?
I don't know if I'm ready.
Don't change the subject!
Oh, God. There is no subject to change!
He's helping me.
Something very big is happening to me.
Day-old stew holding up well. Ready in 10.
And, really, ladies,
would I choose Liverpool over Kansas City?
Am I missing a joke?
It's, uh, Brighton, actually.
You all right?
Mm-hmm.
Mmm. Fill it up, handsome.
How much have you had?
Here today.
We shall stay foreve-e-e-r.
To those who are not with us...
Neil, who is learning to sell farm equipment in Houston.
How about Neil? Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!
Marshall, who is following his mother's artistic footprints
in New York City,
and Max, who is riding his coattails.
My boys in the Big Apple!
Whoo! We love you!
And Evan...
Where's Evan?
Oh. He's in St. Louis.
Who is peddling wind to those who want Budweiser.
We thank our men for their abscess... ab...
absence...
Oh, drunkie, drunkie, drunkie.
So that we may initiate my little Wheels
into our menstrual Sunday coven.
We drink our blood.
What am I doing here?
I am a U.N. observer. How nice.
And to Jack Hattaras, my mentor and collaborator
on this... great endeavor.
What is said great endeavor? Spill.
Mm. What are your intentions with my sister?
Please. Let the poor man alone.
No, I can talk.
Your sister has produced an extraordinary document.
Mm.
Ooh.
Excuse m... excuse me.
Stew a little spicy for you, England?
This is so good, mom.
I love the crab.
Crab?
No. There's no crab in there. It's chicken.
Well, this looks like crab.
No, I did not put crab in there.
Extraordinarily allergic to crab.
I told you that.
Are you okay?
Call an ambulance right now!
Don't die!
Yes, hello.
Bully, huh?
Easiest to get rid of?
I hear everything.
I don't think I'd even be here if it wasn't for you.
But don't all sons dream of killing their father?
I don't know how old he is! He's got a beard!
What the fuck are you doing?
Buck?
Our address is 12725 Oak Avenue.
Charmaine, I know it's been a while,
but I'm in the middle of a eulogy,
and you're denying me.
Please hurry.
Oh, come on.
Think way back.
It's your big brother.
And let me say...
You have filled out nicely, sis.
Unh.
I'm sorry.
I'm so glad you're okay.
I want to apologize...
You will be receiving an "A"
in your Abnormal Psychology course,
with the stipulation you do not return to the classroom.
Do you understand?
I do.
The paper you and Dr. Hattaras were working on
will not be pursued.
And he will take a leave of absence
at the conclusion of the semester.
I'm sorry.
The department considers this matter closed.
Okay.
These are the names of two doctors
that I can confidently refer you to.
One of them resides in Chicago, the other, Boston.
That may be a distance away,
but they are the leading experts in the country
who deal with your disorder.
Thank you.
Thanks.
Forget the one in Chicago. She's shit.
The one in Boston.
Him.
Tara?
Jack?
Consider me converted.