Below is a sketch I wrote and posted on one of the Deadwood threads on June 23 of last year, long before I knew anything about the third season or had heard of theater owner, Jack Langrishe, who will be showing up as played by the talented Brian Cox. We were talking about what Season Three might bring and we were still reeling from the finale in Season Two. As a joke, I decided to write the opening scene of Season 3 and bring back a character, Wolcott, who by season's end had reached the end of his rope. I believe I was touched by a moment of prescience. Or maybe I'm just touched. You decide.

(Warning: This episode contains adult language and sexual situations.)

(Interior location: Al’s office at the Gem. Al sits behind his desk while Wolcott stands at the entrance of the balcony looking out upon the thoroughfare. Wolcott shifts nervously on the balls of his feet, not making eye-contact with Al.)

Al: “In all my years upon this fuckin Earth, and I have traveled, seen a thing or two, England, Australia, fucking hot that was, all the way to this shithole we call home, the one thing I have never seen before is a man, Judas like, who hung himself, only to walk away when the rope broke, as if hell wasn’t ready for him yet. How’s your neck? I bet it still hurts some, huh?

Wolcott: “Thank you for asking, Mr. Swearingen. But, please allow me to change the subject. Since I’m no longer under the employ of Mr. Hearst, I am somewhat surprised that you would send for me, with urgency, implied by your man’s impudent demand that I should follow him at once and leave off the matters at which I was engaged.”

Al: “Dan can be pretty fuckin insistent. Jesus Christ, Dolly, what are you doing?”

Dolly: “Sohee ma ees ah soah, I guah I ipped.”

Al: “Don’t talk with your mouth full you stupid whore.”

Dolly: (Popping up from under Al’s desk.) “Sorry, my knees are sore. I guess I slipped.”

Al: “And bit my prick off in the process, huh? Get up now and go take your ass downstairs.” (Dolly collects herself and leaves. Al rearranges his Johnson and buttons up.) “The matter for which I have summoned you concerns the future of this sorry camp and the manner in which we live our lives and entertainments which might keep us sane. I have decided that The Gem should take another course and direction which might be more in keeping with the changing times and morays which advance upon us. Drink?” (Al removes two glasses from his desk drawer.)

Wolcott: “No, thank you, it’s too early in the day.”

(Al puts one glass back and pours himself a drink.)

Al: “Fortunately, I’ve lost all track of time. You, being a man of letters, can help me in the transformation that I seek. If you’ll read this, and read it out loud, huh.” (Al slides a manuscript across his desk. Wolcott approaches with caution, never removing his eyes from Al. He reads the manuscript.)

Wolcott: (Still reading) “Clang, clang, clang went the trolley …what is this?”

Al: “It’s called fucking musical theater.”

Wolcott: “I’m not sure that I understand your point.”

Al: “The fucking point is simple, straight and clear. The Gem will soon be a fine theater catering to the need all hooples have for culture and the finer things in life. For this purpose, I’ll write and soon direct a musical for which I now require actors who know their left foot from their right and can recite their lines from memory.”

(A voice calls out from the thoroughfare.) “Limy cocksucker, there’s no fucking way that I will play a part writ for a man.”

Al: “Please ignore the tomboy and let me know if you will play the part I have in mind.”

Wolcott: (Walking swiftly out of Al’s office.) “I am afraid that you have the wrong man.” (Stopping at the door, Wolcott turns and looks at Al, smiling slightly.) But, I will wish you nothing but success, and may I add that you have surprised me, but I do not count myself past surprise.”


...Okay, so it's not Milch, but what is? At least it's written in meter. I think.