CHOIR: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
(school bell ringing)
(whistle blows)
(beeps)
(beeping)
(saxophone solo)
(tires screeching)
D’oh!
(shrieks)
D’oh!
D’oh! D’oh! D’oh! D’oh! D’oh!
D’oh! D’oh! D’oh! D’oh! D’oh...!
(shrieks)
(buzzing)
(roaring)
(yells)
(roaring)
(animals screeching)
(hooting)
(wind whistling)
Hey.
Did you bring the milk?
(sighs)
LOVEJOY: This concludes our service.
Go now in the peace of the Lord.
HOMER: So long, suckers!
Move it, move it, move it!
Do you want to be second out of the parking lot? Do you?
(grunts)
-Leave her! -We left her last week,
and she didn’t make it home for dinner!
(tires squealing)
You’ll never catch me, Lord!
(Homer laughing)
Oh, man, that church service was so boring.
I did a whole book of Find-A-Words.
Dad, all you circled were the "I"s and "A"s.
Those are words. Well, where should we go for brunch?
Griddler on the Roof?
Thank God It’s Fried Eggs?
Luftwaffle’s?
Bodacious Frittatas?
Buffet the Hunger Slayer?
I want to say one.
Be my guest.
Denny’s.
(groans): Oh!
Every place has such a long line.
Don’t worry. We’ll just go home.
Your mother can cook.
I just want a simple salad with pine nuts,
haricots verts, seasonal heirloom tomatoes...
Forget it! One day a week,
I should be able to put on nice clothes
and have someone bring food to me.
There’s a place... with no line!
HOMER: Woo-hoo!
Bart, that’s not a restaurant, it’s somebody’s house.
Lisa’s right, son.
Your mom is way too classy a lady to crash a private...
I’m not cooking!
And you can cut your own meat!
(groans): Oh!
Everyone just act cool.
If anyone asks, tell them we’re plumbers,
and then start plumbing until they go away.
Hi...
you!
Dude! You don’t think, you know me, but you do!
Oh Homer, you’ve got to try this roast beef au jus.
Mmm! Au jus!
Not quite gravy, not quite blood.
Look at the crowd around that table.
(gasps): It must be a make- your-own sundae bar!
Watch it.
Oh, I can’t wait to taste that hot fudge,
and caramel and crushed nuts
all slathered over a delicious...
elderly corpse?!
(gasps): We crashed a funeral!
Oh, my God!
Quick, everyone, put on their long faces.
Longer!
(whispering): We should get out of here.
Come on!
Where’s Bart?
Mahogany.
Great movie, great casket.
I miss my Pop-pop.
I miss him, too.
What’s your name?
-Donny. -You’re Donny?
Pop-pop said that after he died,
you should give me ten bucks a week.
Starting now.
Okay.
Um, listen, I’m out of town next week, so...
Come on, we’re leaving!
Ooh. After one more mini-quiche.
(chomping)
Excuse me.
My brother twisted his ankle setting up the chairs.
Will the tragedies that stalk this family never cease?
(crying)
Would you like to be a pallbearer?
Of course.
(grunting)
I thought she said polar bear.
Please, sir, a little respect for the dead.
Oh, yes, of course. Whoa!
(thudding, grunts)
(groaning): Oh, my back!
It hurts, and not in a good way.
Well, time to move on with our lives.
(chuckling)
(spitting): Oh, stop it!
(spits)
(Homer sputtering): I’m down here.
HIBBERT: Homer,
you have a mild back sprain.
And you also ingested
a dangerous quantity of grave dirt.
Well, you’re always telling me I should eat more dirt.
Not dirt. Vegetables!
Which grow in what?
Oh! Look, I just need to make sure
your vertebrae are properly aligned.
This should take only a minute,
and cost about a thousand dollars.
♪ D’oh! ♪
That doesn’t sound
like Homer’s usual annoyed grunt.
Hmm.
♪ D’oh! ♪
(lower note): ♪ D’oh ♪
Fascinating. When Homer’s on his back,
his stomach lodges perfectly under his diaphragm,
giving him a powerful singing voice.
Is that a real thing?
It is!
Tenor Andrea Bocelli
recorded an entire song on his back.
You know, Homer,
your singing could help alleviate patient suffering,
and save us a fortune in Demerol.
My pleasure.
♪ If ever I would leave you ♪
♪ It wouldn’t be in summer ♪
♪ Seeing you in summer ♪
♪ I never would go ♪
♪ Your hair streaked with sunlight ♪
(beeping)
♪ Your lips red as flame ♪
(crying)
♪ Your face with a luster ♪
♪ That puts gold to shame! ♪
♪ But if I ever leave you ♪
(Homer’s regular voice): ♪ It shouldn’t be in autumn ♪
(operatic voice): ♪ How I’d leave in autumn ♪
(Homer’s voice): ♪ I never will know ♪
HIBBERT & HOMER: ♪ I’ve seen how you sparkle ♪
♪ When fall nips the air ♪
♪ I know you in autumn ♪
♪ And I must be there. ♪
Ah, nothing lifts my spirits like shopping.
Let’s see, I’ll take his liver,
a case of Adam’s apples,
that motorcycle man’s moustache.
Oh, the money you’ve contributed
to anti-helmet laws has really paid off, sir.
Well, young people are my future.
HOMER (singing): ♪ And could I leave you ♪
♪ Running merrily through the snow... ♪
(gasps): That beautiful voice!
It’s making my heart race!
(steam whistle blowing)
-♪ Knowing how in spring... ♪ -It’s coming from down the hall.
To the Betty and Herbert Weinstein Pavilion!
♪ Oh, no! Not in springtime ♪
♪ Summer, winter or fall ♪
♪ No, never could I leave you...
♪ At... all! ♪
Excellent, excellent!
The Springfield Opera House,
of which I am founder, artistic director,
and standing ovation starter,
is producing La Bohème.
I want you to sing the lead.
But I can only sing lying on my back.
Uh, we’ll cover it with a rewrite.
Places, everyone!
Oh, oh, I just have one question:
what is this movie about?
For the last time, it’s not a movie!
Excuse me, "film."
It’s an opera and you are in it!
Muah!
Good luck.
(applause)
♪ Rodolfo, perché lete che vi trovate gio? ♪
♪ Ho danneggiato il mio piede. ♪
♪ Nei cieli bigi ♪
♪ Guardo fumar dai mille comignoli parigi. ♪
-Homer’s fantastic! -Yeah.
But these seats are terrible.
(sobbing)
♪ Mimi! Mimi! ♪
(sobbing)
♪ Mimi! Mimi! ♪
(sobbing)
ALL: Bravo!
(cheering)
Encore!
My boy, you are a star.
Woo-hoo!
-An opera star! -Oh.
Dad, you were great!
And you contributed to our culture!
Well, I didn’t mean to.
No, no. It’s a good thing.
Oh, good.
This makes up for me showing up drunk
to the father-daughter dance.
The dance isn’t till next week.
Sorry, Lisa.
Can’t change the future.
(trumpeting)
♪ And the home ♪
♪ Of the... ♪
♪ Bra-aave! ♪
We’re free!
(sinister laugh)
(applause)
♪ Figaro, Figaro, la, la, la ♪
Nice set, Homer.
That was a hot one.
Wow, praise from Placido Domingo.
Just call me P-Dingo,
Eh, I’ll think about it.
You know, Homer,
there’s one thing about opera that has always bugged me:
everyone sings instead of talking.
But you made me believe
I was in a magical world
where singing is talking.
Thanks!
You know, of the three tenors, you’re my second favorite!
No wait, I forgot about that other guy.
Sorry, you’re third.
Wait, Homer, before you go,
there is a new note I’ve been working on.
Tell me what you think...
(sings operatic note)
Hmm...
what if you gave it a little more of this flavor...
(sings operatic note)
Like this?
(sings operatic note)
Keep reaching for the stars, kid.
(sings operatic note)
(sings a groan)
Happy anniversary, sweetie.
You know, it might be a little more romantic
without your entourage.
But I need my childhood friends to help me keep it real.
Would you have me keep it fake?
Homer, can’t we please be alone?
It’s our anniversary.
We’ll move to another table.
Yoko.
See?
Isn’t it nicer, with just you and...
Excuse us.
Would you mind signing autographs for my mother and me?
(chuckling): Oh, my pleasure.
To the hottest girls in the room.
(chuckles)
What is he saying?
I said you look hot!
Hot!
-Ay Chihuahua! -Ay chi-what?
(screaming): Hua-hua!.
I want you to stop flirting with women.
No problem.
Sir, may I say
I thoroughly enjoyed your performance.
May I say
I’m enjoying the calm waters of your deep, blue eyes?
Oh, well...
(chuckles)
What?
That’s how guys talk.
(growling): Oh.
You are out of control!
The late nights, the eating!
You’ve actually outgrown your cape!
Oh, Homie...
I miss our alone time.
I miss you.
Need some help, H?
Want us to take Marge shopping?
You guys go on, we’re gonna walk home.
Great call, H, walking’s the best.
I really want to hook up with Homer.
Now we both know that ain’t gonna happen,
but, uh, I’m right here.
(radio clicks on)
(Jane’s Addiction’s "Superhero" plays)
♪ Yeah ♪
♪ Oh, yeah. ♪
Marge, when I’m onstage,
I can only sing those love songs
by picturing your beautiful face.
So in a way,
my groupies are really our groupies.
Aw, you’re sweet.
WOMAN: Oh, my God, it’s him!
(women screaming)
Use your opera glasses, Dorothy.
DOROTHY: Switching to thermal imaging.
Target acquired.
(panting)
Oh, we’re trapped.
Your fans will rip us to pieces.
-Not me, they love me. -(groans)
(ladies screaming)
Get on.
(engine revving)
(tires screeching)
Sir, thank you for saving us.
Do you want to come in for coffee?
That’s right, I’m a woman.
A lady motorcycle driver?!
What is this, The Twilight Zone?
It’s a shame a few out of control fans
can make the rest of us look bad.
I couldn’t agree more, Julia.
Listen, I love opera,
but I hate the way these people treat your husband.
Why don’t you make me president of Homer’s fan club
and I’ll keep the crazies in check.
That’s a great idea.
To celebrate, I’ll go whip us up some Chex Mix pie.
So did you see the show tonight?
Remember the part where I forgot the words
and I just sang "Uh-oh Spaghetti-os"?
I’m hoping they send me a case.
(unzips)
Now listen, Homer.
You can have me anytime you want me.
Marge!
But if you say one word to your wife,
I’ll tell her you attacked me.
MARGE: What is it, sweetie?
Um... everyone’s wearing clothes in here.
That’s nice.
(on phone): Mr. Simpson will send you a photo
if you send him a self-addressed envelope.
-(clicks) -Mr. Simpson cannot
sing at your daughter’s birthday,
but he will come for cake.
-(clicks) -Dedicate your shopping center?
What’s the anchor store?
I don’t think so.
She’s perfect!
For the first time since you became
an opera star I can finally relax.
Well, uh, I’m not sure she’s working out.
(Homer shrieks)
(Mozart’s "Don Giovanni" plays)
(screams)
(shrieks)
That’s it!
Let me make something very clear:
my heart belongs to Marge and you can
never, ever have it.
This opera’s over
when the fat man sings.
All right, Homer.
I understand perfectly.
You shall never be mine.
That’s good. You’ve calmly accepted
that you will never have the only man you could ever love.
Now, I think it would be best if you left.
-Julia, wait! -Yes?
Before you go,
could you hire your own replacement?
But make sure she’s not crazy like you.
(Mozart’s "Don Giovanni" plays)
(screams)
Die, you stupid cobra!
Die! Die!
(giggling)
Dad, I think someone’s trying to kill you.
Who could it be?
A disgruntled former employee?
Whoever it is, the cobra is their symbol.
HOMER (singing arpeggios): ♪ D’oh, d’oh, d’oh, d’oh, d’oh, d’oh, d’oh ♪
♪ Woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo-hoo ♪
♪ Stu, stu, stu, stu-pid Flanders ♪
Why the crescendo, my dear, old friend-o?
♪ Get lost you waste of a moustache. ♪
Okily-dokily.
Chief, I think we should cancel the performance.
No can do, Marge.
My first duty is to the season-ticket holders.
But don’t worry, I’ve got the entire
opera house on a complete lockdown.
I got sharpshooters on the gargoyles,
inflatable Homer decoys in the seats,
and to take out the biggest threat of all,
we’re pre-crashing the chandelier.
(glass breaking)
("Se Il Mio Nome Saper Voi Bramate" begins)
♪ Se il mio nome ♪
♪ Saper voi bramate ♪
♪ Dal mio labbro il mio nome... ♪
(groans)
I’m so tense.
I can’t enjoy Count Almaviva
serenading the intended bride of Dr. Bartalo.
I just can’t.
I don’t see anything suspicious.
Except someone is loudly unwrapping their candy.
It ain’t candy, it’s a lamb chop wrapped in foil.
Hey, Mom, do all conductors carry
poisoned blow-darts in their pocket?
Well, Arthur Fiedler used to, but I’d better take a look.
(gasps)
Chief Wiggums!
The maestro is the killer!
All right, I’m going in.
(horns blasting notes)
(moaning)
Allegro! Allegro!
-(orchestra plays faster) -I mean, andante. Andante!
-(playing slower) -Ah, yeah.
(grunts, thuds)
Snipers, take the shot.
(gunfire)
(crashing)
Okay, that’s a wrap, people!
Luckily, the sniper bullets
stopped her heart from pumping the poison
through her body long enough for the chandelier
to squish it all out of her.
With any luck, she’ll be up and stalking within a week.
(chuckles)
I’m sorry you got hurt,
but you learned an important lesson.
One comes between me and my Homie.
(surly): I’ll get you for this, Marge,
if it’s the last thing I do.
(normal voice): Oh, and I scheduled the cable guy
to come on Wednesday between 10:00 and 2:00.
Oh, but Wednesday’s not good for me.
(surly): I know, Marge. I know.
(evil laugh)
Let’s go, Hagliacci,
or should I say, Madame Butterface?
-What? What? -I had two.
Well, that’s it.
I’m retiring from the opera.
It’s just too popular.
And I know something much more fun
I can do on my back.
Singing opera made me good at painting.
-Is that a real thing? -No.
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