There are many important elements that make The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd such a terrific series: the superb music by Patrick Williams, and the direction by Jay Tarses and others, help to create a variety of quirky atmospheres, most notably in the various dream or fantasy sequences. And certainly the excellent acting by Blaire Brown and the rest of the cast plays a vital role. But most important of all, I believe, is the writing, which is what is highlighted on this page. Naturally, these quotes include some minor spoilers, but I have tried to avoid all major plot surprises here.
Contents of this page:
The possibilities here are just about endless, so this page may never be truly complete, but currently it is nowhere close, containing just a few quotes from the first three seasons, so it is still very much...
| Florence: (narrating) |
Welcome to my daughter's bedroom. Somewhere, under that pile of goose lies Molly Dodd, the former Molly Bickford of Huntington, Long Island. Whoops! I think that's her now. [Molly starts to get up; she is oblivious to the narration.] Of course she's freezing. It's Autumn in New-godforsaken-York, and she's parading around half-naked. She owns bottoms, why doesn't she wear them? [Florence hums along with Tchaikovshy's Nutcracker Suite, which is playing on Molly's clock-radio.] I don't know about the short hair. She wanted to cut it, I said, "You're crazy, dear." She said, "Hey Mom, basically, it's my hair." I said, "Fine, kill me." I guess it's easier to control now; since she's always late for work, look at the time she saves. [Florence hums some more.] She redecorated this apartment three years ago, right after the divorce, which I don't want to go into right now, thank you very much. He was a jazz musician, and an idiot, both of which he was good at, especially the idiot part. Do I sound bitter? Well, I'm not. I'm a mother. [Hums.] Now, with the roach epidemic in New York, you'd think she'd put something on her feet before venturing into that kitchen; I'd wear boots, personally. But Molly doesn't care, she flies in the face of danger. [Hums.] That's not fresh oranje juice, but who asked me? Anyway, Molly really is a good person, decent upbringing, very attractive, looks like me, in fact, thank the Lord, because her father as he gets older is looking more and more like Larry Bird -- who's cute, but not as a girl. Molly's going to take a shower now. You can't go in there, nobody can. Not even me anymore. |
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| Florence: | ... And I wish you and your sister got along better. |
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| Molly: | Well, if I were shallow and materialistic we'd get along just fine. |
| Florence: (narrating) | Molly says her sister has the depth of a paper towel, which I think is a bit cruel, but not entirely inaccurate. |
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| Customer: | [During a book-signing at Goodman Books] You know, it's very erotic. |
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| Molly: | Yes, well, you know, personally, I haven't read it, ah, but I'm told that she is famous for her sensuality, and her hair. |
| Moss: | [Picks up the book, and starts reading it for the first time.] This is garbage. |
| Customer: | What? |
| Moss: | Why would anybody buy this stuff? |
| Molly: | [To the custumer.] You know, I think, ah, if you take this over, Miss Draden would be more than happy to autograph it for you. |
| Moss: | I can't believe we sell this. It's drivel, isn't it? |
| Molly: | Well, but it's hot drivel. |
| Moss: | It's embarrassing. |
| Molly: | Yes, ah, but it sells books. |
| Moss: | [Reading it to Molly.] "Her snowy, downy, white, alabaster breasts heaved like stallions, as his stubby fingers twisted in her raven tresses. A low moan emmanated from deep within her silky loins. Their lips looked like gladiators, battling feral beasts in the pit of the Roman forum. 'Franz, Franz,' she murmurmed, 'Franz, Franz,' and then more softly..." |
| Molly: | "'Franz.'" I think maybe you have to know all of the characters, especially the one named Franz. |
| Moss: | It makes me blush. |
| Molly: | Well, ah, you know, I never took you to be a prude. Not that there's anything wrong with that. You know, I mean, in many ways it's very endearing, um, prudism. |
| Moss: | [He puts the book aside, standing taller and speaking louder as he quotes a passage from memory, so that people in the store start to watch him.] "Suddenly she became small in his arms, small and nesting. It was gone, the resistance was gone, and she began to melt, in a marvellous peace. And as she melted, small and wonderful in his arns, she became infinitely desirable to him. All of his blood vessels seemed to scald with an intense yet tender desire for her, for her softness, for the penetrating beauty of her in his arms." [Suddenly realizes that everyone is watching him.] Uh... ha, Lawrence, D.H. It's, uh, over there, under "L". |
| Molly: | [Visibly moved, but unsure of what to say.] Hmm. Well, uh. I was gonna say exactly the same thing, I mean, except for the scalding blood vessel part, which I forgot. So, thanks for reminding me. |
| Nate: | There's a pasty-faced guy over there who keeps staring at you. |
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| Molly: | [She looks across the restaurant.] Augh, Dennis Widmer. |
| Nate: | Is that a guess, or a positive ID? |
| Molly: | Oh, I used to work for him. He's vermin, he's a bug, I just hate him. |
| Nate: | Well, he's on his way over here. |
| Molly: | Dennis, hello, how are you, nice to see you, how's the family? |
| Dennis: | I know what your're up to, Molly, and frankly it dimminishes you. |
| Molly: | What?! |
| Dennis: | How vindictive can a person be? [Nods to Nate.] Hello, I'm in Real Estate. Let me just say this: jealousy is a petty, dangerous, and sometimes deadly trait. Did you see Fatal Attraction? |
| Nate: | Sure. |
| Dennis: | Need I say more. As for you [to Molly], if you persist in spying on me in this neurotic, obsessive manner, you leave me no choice but to call in the proper authorities, and I don't think you want that. [Nate shows his police badge.] Ah, officer, arrest this woman. |
| Molly: | Dennis, just go away, would you just step off the planet? |
| Nate: | I think you shoud go back to your seat, Mister. |
| Dennis: | Could I just see that badge one more time? Good. Could I speak to this woman for just a moment alone? It's OK, we were lovers. |
| Molly: | Um, I'll just talk to him, and then maybe he will go away forever. [Molly and Dennis step aside to speak privately.] What? |
| Dennis: | I've got to see you. |
| Molly: | Dennis, are you crazy? |
| Dennis: | Yes, crazy with passion, crazy with missing you. My God, Molly, how long can we torture ourselves like this? How many times in the middle of the night have I called your name? [Molly glances across the restaurant toward Dennis's date.] Ignore her, she's nothing, a stop-gap, a vent, a valve to let off steam. I'm Mount St. Helens, Molly. I've totally lost my mind, and it's your fault. [Suddenly ducks his head down.] Did my wife just walk in? |
| Molly: | Dennis, you know, you really ought to get help. |
| Dennis: | Help? Yes, yes, meet me tonight at our usual rendezvous, just for, say, a half-hour. Is that enough time? |
| Molly: | I'm going back to my table now. Please do not follow me, or I will have that detective kill you. |
| Dennis: | Look at what's happened to us. Molly, we've got to put an end to this madness. Let's form a suicide pact. I can't, I've got to be in Great Neck tonight, my daughter's first communion. But I could be late. Or we could go together. Do you like communions? |
| Molly: | [Molly beckons Nate with her index finger.] Dennis, now listen, these are your options: either you leave me alone, on a permanent basis, or you can be taken out into the alley and beaten to a pulp. Now, what do you say? |
| Dennis: | Or, we could go to the midtown Marriot. |
| Molly: | [To Nate, who has come over and joined them.] Kill him. |
| Nate: | Are you sure? |
| Molly: | Do it. [She leaves.] |
| Nate: | [After a long pause, during which Dennis looks very nervous.] Looks like I'm in kind of a bind here, huh? Well, technically, I can't kill you. |
| Dennis: | Really?! [He seems very relieved.] |
| Nate: | What if we plea bargain: you pick up the check. |
| Dennis: | Glad to. |
| Nate: | Don't skimp on the tip. |
| Dennis: | Is ten percent OK with you? [Nate gives him a look.] Fifteen, did I say ten? I meant fifteen. |
| Fred: | [As Moss leaves.] Quite a guy. Was he born here, or visiting from Neptune? |
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| Molly: | Just keep pushing pal, OK? |
| Fred: | OK, OK, I'm not here to fight. I'm here to extend an invitation, just to show you my heart's in the right place. Tonight's the last night of the gig, so I've reserved a table -- for the two of you. |
| Molly: | You mean me and, ah, what's-his-name. |
| Fred: | Mmm. I'm really hoping you'd come. |
| Molly: | I have to work late tonight. |
| Fred: | The show starts at 8:30. |
| Molly: | It's not gonna happen, Fred. |
| Fred: | I think it will, I think you'll show. |
| Molly: | Yeah, like the moth to the flame? |
| Fred: | Like the fly to the paper, like the swallows to Capistrano, like velcro. I want you back, Molly. So be there, 8:30. |
| Dushayne: | No, no, no. No bikes in the lobby. Get rid of 'em. |
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| Davey: | Talk to her. |
| Molly: | Dushayne, no, I had nothing to do with this. |
| Dushayne: | It starts with bikes in the lobby; next thing you know, they got them what-d'ye-call-its in the closets. |
| Davey: | Brooms. |
| Dushayne: | No, in the closets. |
| Molly: | Skeletons. |
| Davey: | Shoe bags. |
| Dushayne: | Right, shoe bags. We don't need 'em, we don't want 'em. |
| Molly: | Now, what is your story, Moss? You know, do you have a game plan? You see, cause I'm going along kind of thinking about the two of us as if there is actually something to think about. I mean, do you ever think about that? And if so, where do you want me to be? |
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| Moss: | You're fine right there. |
| Molly: | Oh Moss, come on! Is it possible for you to string together a couple of words to give me some kind of overall general indication, even a vague hunch, of what the hell is going on around here? |
| Moss: | OK, I'll try. |
| Molly: | Thank you, that is all I ask. |
| Moss: | I have to go to Switzerland tonight. |
| Molly: | Wrong, that is the wrong response. That is not the answer that I was looking for. |
| Moss: | I have to see my mother. She's in Zurich, and I've been summoned to her bedside. |
| Molly: | What is it? |
| Moss: | One of those big oak four-posters. And I'll probably be gone for awhile. |
| Bing: | [Introducing himself.] Oh, Bing Shalimar, like the crooner, and the perfume. |
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| Molly: | Ah, Molly... Dodd. |
| Bing: | Please sit down. So, uh, how did you hear about us? |
| Molly: | Oh, uh, you know, I saw your flyer at the bookstore where I used to work. It was so vague that I was intrigued. |
| Bing: | I do that on purpose. I keep it vague, so it becomes intriguing. |
| Molly: | Well, it's effective. |
| Bing: | [Looking at the flyer in her hand.] Indeed, my very handiwork. |
| Molly: | Ah, so, is the job still open? |
| Bing: | Sure is, do you want it? |
| Molly: | Oh, no. No, wait. Now, see, that's what happened to me at my last job: I just asked, and somebody gave. So I would like to know more about the position. Uh, if you don't mind. |
| Bing: | This is the "It Would Be Our Pleasure, brackets, To Do It For You, close brackets, Agency." |
| Molly: | Yes. But, what exactly do you do? You see, I couldn't really understand, from the flyer. |
| Bing: | Anything. |
| Molly: | Yes. |
| Bing: | And everything. |
| Molly: | For instance? |
| Bing: | Whatever. Whatever you don't want, or can't, do yourself. So long as it's not illegal or immoral. |
| Molly: | It's good to have some parameters, yes. So, what would I do? |
| Bing: | Help me out. You can't expect me to do everything all by myself, can you? |
| Molly: | No, I guess not. [They both laugh awkwardly.] Can you really provide all these services? |
| Bing: |
Absolutely. I'll walk your dog, I'll clean your house, I'll do your taxes, I'll follow your spouse. |
| Molly: | Don't you need some kind of degree, or, you know, license, or professional certification? |
| Bing: | No, not in New York State. |
| Molly: | Oh. |
| Bing: |
I'll pick up your mail, I'll stand in line, I'll go to court, I'll pay the fine. I'll visit your mother, I'll perform your marriage, I'll take out your trash, I'll push your carriage. I'll pick up your mail, I'll stand in line, I'll go to court, I'll pay the fine. I'll visit your mother, I'll perform your marriage, I'll take out your trash, I'll push your carriage. |
| Molly: | ... carriage, ha. Yes, well now, you see, it says right here, "I'll fix your TV, stereo, VCR, or cat." How can you fix a cat? |
| Bing: | Cat-scan. Misprint, should say cat-scan. |
| Molly: | Well, how does one fix a cat-scan? |
| Bing: | White-out. |
| Molly: | Well, I'm very impressed, Mr. Shalimar. |
| Bing: | Der-Bingle. |
| Molly: | Ah, right. Oh, come on, level with me. Can you really do all the things that you say that you can do? |
| Bing: | Molly, let me tell you a story. When I first got out of law school, a lady called me up in the middle of the night. She was hysterical. She said, "My husband is threatening to kill me. As my attorney, I want you to tell me: can he do it?" Know what I mean? |
| Molly: | Not in the slightest. |
| Molly: | [To the waitress at a "groovy" piano bar.] Do you have a house wine? |
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| Waitress: | Swine? Yeah, we've got a lot of those. |
| Molly: | Wine, wine. |
| Waitress: | Oh, yeah, we got a Cabernet that's kinda impish, and a Zinfandel that comes in a can. |
| Molly: | Boy, you know, it's been a long time since I've had a good can of wine, but, ah, you know, I think that I will stick with the Cabernet. |
| Nate: | I would join you, but I'm allergic to the tannic acid. |
| Waitress: | I bet you'd like a Stoli with a twist. |
| Nate: | Yeah, but without the twist. |
| Waitress: | Gotcha, virgin vodka. [She leaves.] |
| Nate: | Vodka has the fewest conjurners of any liquor. |
| Molly: | Yeah, well, everybody knows that. So, what's a conjurner? |
| Nate: | The flavorings, additives, the sugar. The stuff that gives you a headache and a hangover. |
| Molly: | Ah. |
| Nate: | They did a study: red wine hangovers are the worst. |
| Molly: | Yeah, I did the same study: they're right. |
| Nate: | And the citric acid in a twist of lemon just makes my face itchy. |
| Molly: | Ah, so it would be a mistake to rub your face in veal picatta. |
| Waiter: | Ready to order? [Molly and Moss are seated on the floor, at a Japanese restaurant.] |
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| Moss: | Um, uh. How do you do your squid? |
| Waiter: | Fine, how do you do, sir? [Molly and Moss exchange puzzled looks.] |
| Moss: | Uh, actually, I meant, uh... the squid? |
| Waiter: | Is good, the squid is good. |
| Molly: | I'll have your chicken thing, with the peanut stuff. |
| Moss: | I'll have your, uh, squid. |
| Waiter: | To drink? |
| Moss: | No, uh, I'd rather chew it. [The waiter leaves.] Did he think I was calling him "your squid?" "How do you do, your squid?!" Is that some kind of cultural thing I should know about? |
Since Molly's poems are read out-loud, usually by her, I have had to guess at the punctuation and the line-breaks. Keep in mind that these are intended for your amusement, and not necessarily as examples of great poetry! (Note the critical comments made by characters other than Molly herself.)
Swollen, sunken
You see me
Piecemeal, oatmeal
Ravaged shape
Against a ghostly wall.
Tears and wine,
And your mortar thighs
Clasping me,
Enveloping me,
And losing me,
Loosening me,
Adrift in nighttime's tomb.
| Davey: | That's part one, uh? |
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| Molly: | Yeah, of a trilogy. |
| Davey: | Hmm. So we have two more parts to look forward to, do we? |
| Molly: | Yes we do. So, what do ya think? |
| Davey: | It's amorphous, if you want to know the truth. You see, it fluctuates between your erotic and your grotesque, without being one or the other. And those thighs, what do they represent: passion, sterility, parental influence, sexual repression, what? Now I'm gettin' a whole bucketful of mixed messages there, and I think on the whole, it could be crisper and meatier. |
| Molly: | You mean like bacon. |
| Davey: | Oh, hey, if it was like Bacon it'd be fine. He was a homo, you knew where he stood. No, yours ain't neither fish nor fowl. |
| Molly: | (sighs) [As the elevator approaches, but does not reach, the ground floor] Are you ever gonna learn how to land this machine? |
| Davey: | Don't transfer your anger, it's immature. Just bend your knees. Oh, I like that "piecemeal, oatmeal" part. Yeah, that was good. |
| Florence: (narrating) |
My daughter, Molly Dodd, writes tortured, gut-wrenching poetry that's generally putrid. I'd never tell her that, because I feel children should be encouraged to express themselves. Not that Molly's a child, per se, but she'll always be my child, to me. She's been submitting poems to magazines for years, and the rejections ought to tell her someting, but still she keeps banging her head against the wall. That's the thing about her, she doesn't give up! I'm not positive, but I think there's a whole lot of sexual innuendo in her poetry that, personally, makes me very uncomfortable. Not that I'm a prude, mind you! Here's an excerpt I found in her drawer. This is the non-sexual part. I quote ... |
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Love's fangs pierced my neck;
My blood spurted and wrote your name.
Serpents in scarlet letters winding around my sleeping shape,
Twisting and squeezing,
And the hot wind licks the lace curtains.
[Florence concludes her recitation with: "Excuse me, I have to sit down now."]
Gently spinning, silently turning,
Plucked from far stars uncharted,
Though blue azimuth and the white of white nimbus,
It falls like sheets on a new bride's bed.
And I am the bride, patient, waiting,
Hearing only the rustle of time and promise,
While outside in the courtyard
The clang of revellers celebrating comes close.
Trapped in shoes of frozen slag,
Prisoners of concrete,
Petrifying, putrifying,
Locked in half-forgotten dreams of empire,
We welter and fall,
A house of cards.
[Molly later burns this one.]
The beautiful tree,
Its branches growing upwards,
Stretching to the sky.