Welcome to Falling Water! So glad you could come! Are you kidding? Wouldn't miss it for worlds. It's not every day one attends a dinner party in a famous Prairie Style house built by... what's that feller's name again? You'll have to excuse Ralph. He knows perfectly well that this house was designed by the great Frank Lloyd Riley. That's Wright, Sue. See, Ralph, I told ya so. Ralph is just jealous because you guys snatched it up before he had even realized it was on the market. "We must needs have speaks with them," quoth she! Oh, what a loon! Yes, well, now it's my turn to apologize for Sue, I'm afraid: she can be a trifle flighty at times. Tell me about it. Eh? I said tell me about it. So what, you know her intimately then, do you? is that what you're saying? Easy, Ralph -- I just meant -- No, please, tell me what you DID mean because I apparently am out of some important loop here! I thought you two were strangers. RALPH! Get your b-u-t-t over here by yon window niche! I'll not have you badgering our host! Come over here and badger Mr. Devreaux instead, as he's already had the presumption to flirt with me in the dumbfounded presence of his understandably unhappy wife. Yo, Ralph -- Some suggested reading on the night, yes? "Othello" by one William Shakespeare: there's a lesson in there for you, bunkie. Skip to the part about the "green-eyed monster"! The green-eyed -- What?! What's wrong, darling? Oh, nothing: Ralph is just sore because we snapped up this place before he did. But then again, "What's not to envy?" We do live in Falling Water, after all, the famous architectural brainchild of the Genius of American Architecture himself! SIGH! To think, this place was getting 100,000 visitors per year until the conservancy unexpectedly decided to unload it last year. Yeah, that was odd. Why would they do that? Search me. There's probably some complicated tax reason behind it.Speaking of ding-dongs, that must be guests number five and six of our specially invited sextet. Relax, I'll get it. You better go make peace with Ralph or he'll be sulking all night. What would I ever do without you? What? Oh, you'd die alone in ignominious poverty, I should imagine. Sarah! Well, you did ask! Yo, Ralph -- I come in peace! Oh, look, it's the Benjamins: Fred and Sally. Hold that thought, Ralph -- I have to say hello to the Benjamins. Meanwhile, think peace and brotherhood, peace and brotherhood (go on, say it to yourself: peace and brotherhood... very good) Fred and Sally, so good of you to come! Well, we had to see this famous house of yours. I can't believe that you actually live in a house designed by the great Frank Lloyd Riley. Yes, that's right. Yeah, but what does that actually mean? Not all of us are I.M. Pei, after all! I am, actually. Oh, hi, Ralph. So you're I.M. Pei, are you? Yeah, like I'm Queen Nefertiti over here. Down boy, down! Cantilever? Isn't that a soap company? Good one, Fred. Ha ha. No, it merely means that the terrace, the living room, and indeed that whole half of the house have no visible means of support. Isn't there a bra like that? Hold on a minute. Oh, Ralph, you've met the Benjamins, right, Fred and Sally. (Oh, and that's the Devreaux couple off in the corner, putting away an increasingly disconcerting amount of booze.) Ralph, what's shakin'? The whole house, I'm afraid. What? Oh, now, Ralph, what are you blubbering about? This house is as sound as Barings Bank. Didn't Barings Bank collapse in the '90s due to some trading scandal? Oh, yeah, I forgot: Well, this house is as sound as Barings Bank was before Nick Leeson got his overly speculative mitts on it. So far, maybe. But it gives me the creeps to be standing in a house that is just hanging over a waterfall like this: After all, I came here to be entertained, not to star in a spontaneous second sequel to the "Poseidon Adventure." Now, don't worry, Ralph -- This house is unsinkable. You can quote me on that. Yeah, Ralph! You don't think that this great architect, Frank Lloyd Riley... would design a house that would eventually tumble into a creek, do ya? That's right, Fred, you tell 'im. Just the same, I think a house like this should be required to feature prominently located life preservers AND parachutes. You'll have to excuse my husband: he's just jealous because we didn't buy this house ourselves, isn't that right, Ralph? You'll have to excuse my wife: She's always saying stupid things like, "You'll have to excuse my husband!" See? You'll have to excuse my husband once again because -- Um, why don't we all migrate to the living area where all the hors d'oeuvres are no doubt getting lonely? I think I hear the brie now: "Was it something I said?" Yeah, quickly, gang, before it gets too dark to see the waterfall that we're walking over even now -- how cool is that?! Are you sure that's a good idea? How do you mean? Well, should all eight of us be walking around at the same time on the completely unsupported side of this house, over a 100-foot waterfall or whatever? I don't care who designed the thing, it still sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. Ralph, cut it out! Look, I'll compromise: I saw some concrete blocks out in the parking lot: If someone will help me place several of those on the counterbalancing half of the house, then I, too, will come join you guys on the gangplank that is this fella's living room. Hey! My living room is NOT a gangplank, Ralph! You take that back! Relax, Eggy. He's just kidding -- aren't you, Ralph? (Ralph!) Oh, yes, of course. What do I know, after all? There, that's more like it. (That's not a LOT more like it, mind you, but it's more like it all the same.) I can't believe we're even having this conversation: Look, everybody, I am walking over to the hors-d'oeuvres, I am picking up a toothpick bearing a slice of watermelon and I am eating the same. Look, I'm even stomping on the floor for good measure and the house is NOT -- I repeat: NOT -- collapsing into the creek below, much less into the waterfall less than 100 feet downstream. Oh, all right: I still have a gut feeling though that this isn't EVEN safe. He's just jealous, Fred and Sally, believe me: This house was designed by that famous guy, Frank Lloyd Riley (as everyone here tonight seems determined to call him): It will no sooner fall into the creek than I am Gunga Din. Yeah, well, excuse me, Mr. Din, but I could have sworn I just felt a tremor. Ralph, I'm warning you! I could have bought this place, you know, but my architects advised against it. Would you listen to the man? "My architects." He's no doubt talking about a couple of electronic penpals that he met in some stupid Yahoo! Group. "My architects," indeed! Of course it's safe! As you see, the Devreaux are over there already and they don't appear to be the least bit concerned about any supposititious collapse of the building that THEY are currently tenanting. Then again, they do appear to be rather plastered. Alice? Charles? Are you guys okay over there? Oh, cheers, purple! OOPS! I said purple! I meant PURPLE! Ha ha! Oops. There I go again.She meant PEA POLE --PA PA PA PEA POLE! -- I Mean POE POOL! Ha ha ha! Oh, what DO I mean, honey? YOU remember. Dunno: SEARCH ME! Ha ha ha ha! Well, at least they'll be pleasantly numb when the big moment comes. As in, "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down," yes? Shut it, Ralph.Never mind him, gang. Jealousy is such an ugly thing. Here: Let me show you around. Now, the fireplace over here is composed of boulders from this actual site. What's the site name again? Beer Run, isn't it? No, Ralph, not Beer Run: BEAR Run, BEAR Run. Whatever. And check this out. You see this glass "hatch" here in the middle of the living room floor. Well, behold! See? It opens up to a stairway that leads straight down to the creek, or rather to a platform just inches above the water feature known as (ahem!) Bear Run, Ralph -- BEAR Run. I suppose that will just snap off then. What do you mean? What "will just snap off," as you put it? When the house collapses into the creek, this dead-end staircase will probably just snap off. For the last time, this house is NOT going to collapse into any creek! Of course, it's just as well: Imagine, building a staircase that dead-ends right above the surface of a creek -- particularly one in which no one would be crazy enough to swim for fear of being dragged to their death by the relentless current hastening toward an all-too-nearby waterfall! It's dangerous, I tell ya: Dangerous! You take that back, Ralph! Who's gonna make me?! I'm gonna make you! Oh, yeah? Yeah! Aw, isn't that sweet: they're both acting like little kids now. Well, HE started it! 
Listen, Sue, I hear that you're a great singer. Before we page the almost surprisingly good-looking chef for din-din, how about a song for your friends here? I'm too busy grazing on these fantastic raspberry tartlets! But Alice Devreaux's got a fine voice. (Hint, hint!) Let's just hope that she's not too engrossed in her new role as a tiresome lush. hic! lush? Yes, I did, Charles. I represent that! Well, so do I, Charles -- so do I. Yes, come, Alice, sing: Consider it your act of penance for getting prematurely soused like this. The funny thing is, I'm not really drunk at all. Tell it to the judge, Alice. Now would you get up here and sing for us? Eggy here has even brought in a stand-up microphone for the occasion. The man thinks of everything. Except of the safety of his guests, that is. (But I am silent!) If you must know, I was pretending to be drunk in an ultimately futile attempt to wrest attention from the boozing propensities of my besotted husband. Oho! So Charles is the lush then. I don't think that men can be lushes, dear. Oh, hon, these are modern times: Let Charles be a lush if he wants to be one: It's only fair. Hear, hear! Oh, shut up, Charles. You've already succeeded in ruining our chances for any future invites of this caliber. Imagine, partying down, so to speak, in the very house where Frank Lloyd... Wri-- Riley, or whatever, did his stuff! One does love this Prairie Style architecture, after all. One feels a part of nature in it, what with all the wide-open spaces and windows as far as the eye can see -- and without any metal frames around them, either: isn't that right, Eggy? Well, at least Do you guys want to hear me sing or not? Do you take requests? Don't tell me, Ralph -- You're going to request that she doesn't sing. No, I'm not: Scout's honor. What would you like to hear, Ralph? What's that? I can't hear you on account of that eternal stream that's percolating beneath this flagstone floor. Speaking of which: Would somebody turn the volume down on that water feature? I think we get the general idea that this house is one with nature, okay? There is such a thing as overdoing it, you know, even when it comes to eco-friendliness. I mean, there's a thin line between white noise and Chinese water torture! So, what about it, Alice? Can you sing that song I mentioned? Well, if you say so. If you'll play the piano part as promised. Mind you, it sounds like a real moldie oldie to me... Easy on that piano, Ralph. Those keys were carved out of the local -- Wait: don't tell me: they were carved out of the tusks of the local elephant population. Yes, yes, I won't harm your precious keys! Smart aleck. He is cruising for a positive bruising, hon. Honestly, when you two get to fighting, you are just like two little boys. Am not! Are so! Am not! Are so! Eggy! But, honey! If I don't answer him back, he's going to get the very last "are so"! It's my house, after all: Surely, I should have the last say in any argument that takes place in it. Now Mother Sarah will get you boys a nice big glass of milk and warm cookies -- or vice versa -- if you'll only both shut up and let Alice sing for us! Thank you, dumpling. Now then, Ralph, darling: whenever you're ready. Oops, careful, sweetie: One mustn't react childishly, you know. Dumpling?! Meaning my bodily shape, I suppose! I'll "dumpling" her! Well, it looks like you'll need to prepare an extra set of those cookies and milk for yourself there, dearest, because more than two of us now appear to be in a snit. Dumpling, huh? Just so I know where I stand! Ahem-Ahem! Ears in the full upright position, people, Alice is about to warble. Very good, Alice -- Nice fade-out there at the end, too. I believe that's the first time I've heard that kind of ending in a live performance. "Morning After," eh, Ralph? That's right: The theme from the "Poseidon Adventure!" Rather fitting, if you ask me. How so, Ralph? Oh, you haven't heard the debate, Alice? No, I've been over there covering for the male lush. Speaking of whom: Snap out of it, Charles -- The lovable party drunkard went out of style fifty years ago. Well, Ralph here has this crazy idea that this house is eventually going to tumble into the creek on account of shoddy design principles. Eventually? How about this very night! Shoddy design -- What? By the great Frank Lloyd Ri... Ri... Ri... Yes, Alice? Yes? Frank Lloyd.... AH-CHOO! Well, some do say that Mr. Riley, for all his greatness, never did satisfactorily counterbalance the superstructure in his original design. Of course it's probably all just speculative carping on the part of his occupationally jealous contemporaries. 
Oh, look, Charles has decided to join the living.Yes, I really want to apologize, Eggy. It's just that... we got here so dashed early, and you know how fabulously bored I am by the subject of architecture... you must have noticed me absent-mindedly hanging back during that seemingly interminable walking tour that you led us on.... more like "a merry chase," if you ask me. Well, unfortunately, I stumbled across your antique liquor cabinet here in the living room (you know, the one carved right into the masonry for the tippling convenience of the original millionaire owner), and before you knew it, I was under the pine desk there in the corner, muttering peevish invectives against the fruitless moon. As one does.Yes, indeed, Eggy -- as one does. Think nothing of it, Charles -- After all, I'm obviously never going to invite you here again, so the way I see it, we two are perfectly even now!I knew you'd understand. Hey, wait a minute! Never invite me here again, eh? Oh, ha ha! that's a good one. You know what Frank Lloyd Wright -- um, Riley, as you call him -- said about people who don't like architecture, Charles? No. Oddly enough, Eggy, I can't remember any relevant bon mot of that gentleman on that particular subject: no, not one. Well, Frank said... (and I quote from the famous Mike Wallace interview in 1957, where the famous architect talked about his critics...):Well, whippy-tye-oh. Now the truth is coming out! Well, I'm not for Frank Lloyd Riley, either, then. So there! You are incorrigible.I try my best. No, seriously, I'm stoked that you all came -- even Ralph here, notwithstanding his strange conviction that this house of mine is going to collapse any minute now into Bear Run. AND go sailing down the waterfall, lickety-freakin'-split, with the hapless residents still inside, screaming blue bloody murder as they make their inexorable (if incredibly bumpy) way into the yawning abyss! Yes, well, thank you for that inventive (if woefully misguided) clarification, Ralph. Now, who's up for a nice game of Twister? Nonsense. You're still drunk. Now take your socks off and join us. (Creaking noise, my assets!) Now then, who's going to spin the wheel? Sarah? Your wish is my commando. And away we go.... RIGHT FOOT YELLOW! Oh, great: Now my wife is hearing some imaginary creaking, too! It's probably just the trees overhead. I hope so. Um.... LEFT HAND BLUE! Sorry, Alice, but I'm afraid I've got my nose stuck in your back.I'm not Alice, and that's not my back! RIGHT FOOT GREEN! Oh, dear: That "right foot green" business really settled my hash. Good old Ralph -- King of the mangled metaphor. You and what army, Eggy? You and what army?! Oh, there they go again, the babies. Say, why does the parking lot out there suddenly look a trifle... A trifle what, Alice? I don't know, askew? Oh, you're just dizzy from playing Twister! I demand a rematch: Charles poked me in the ribs last game. Ribs, huh? Is THAT what you call them? Otherwise, I might have finagled that "right foot green" business. Well, that was fun! But -- Ooh, look at the time. I guess we'd better call it a night. I want to play one more game of Twister! Hey, I know: Let's play a game of Twister outside -- just for a laugh! What? That's crazy. Is it just me being right as usual, or did everybody else just hear and feel a very disconcerting "creak" in the cement superstructure of this perhaps excessively ballyhooed house? Would you believe that was my stomach? Or maybe it was our collective stomachs, as none of us have had a proper meal yet. Now where is that chef of ours! Maybe we should all go see if he's outside in the parking lot for some as yet unknown reason. 
Oh, my God, the outdoor parking lot is tilting! Parking lot nothing! That's US who are tilting. Last one to the door is a rotten and even potentially dead egg! It's nothing: I'm sure the house is built to automatically adjust like this to the curvature of the earth. What? There was probably just a little local seismic activity and the house took the appropriate countermeasures by tilting ever so slightly in order to compensate. Ever so slightly? The bottom terrace is underwater! It's probably just a temporary adjustment on the part of the superstructure. I'll check the fuse box. There must be something in the nature of a "reset" switch or something. Don't tell me you're going back in that Titanic of yours?! If he is, he's going alone: The captain's wife is under no obligation to go down with the ship. I tell you, this is normal! It has to be! The house was built by an architectural genius, after all. You guys just come back when the seismic activity is over and you'll see, the house will have self-corrected. Don't ask me how. I'm sure, Eggy! I'm sure! (Ha ha!) That's Wright, you fool! See? He says so himself! Easy, boy, easy. We'll call our lawyer first thing tomorrow morning. I can't believe it. No wonder the conservancy was getting rid of the place. Oh, no! Oh, no! What is it now? We forgot about the almost surprisingly good-looking chef who's evidently still inside! Danny? O Danny Boy: the pipes, the pipes are creaking. In fact, the whole house is apparently falling apart! This is a fine time for jokes, Sarah -- Danny dude: Leave the house at once! This is an order! Oh, wait, there's a note here on our car hood. Thank goodness! It's from Danny. He must have already vamoosed. Well? What does it say? Dear Mr. Eggy, I am resigning until such time as structural integrity can be guaranteed here at Falling Water. I reserve the right to bring in my own engineers to verify any claims to such integrity made by you and your so-called "architects." "Cooks for a Level Playing Field." There you have it: our chef turns out to be nothing more than a sophomoric dweeb! Aye, but a handsome sophomoric dweeb, all the same. SIGH! You know, Sarah, maybe you'd better read the play "Othello" tonight, too, when Ralph is finished with his copy: There's a lesson in it for wanton hussies such as yourself. What do you mean? Desdemona was chaste. Yes, to hear her tell it, but she still managed to royally piss off her long-suffering husband, Iago or no Iago, practically obliging the poor Moor to stab her to death. In the first place, Othello smothered her with a pillow, he didn't stab her. It's six and a half dozen of the other. Besides, if anybody should read a Shakespeare play, it's you! Oh, yeah? And which play should I read? "Timon of Athens." "Timon of Athens"? So there's a lesson in there for me, is there? Certainly. The play is all about a popular rich dude who suddenly goes broke and is abandoned by all his friends. Remind you of anybody?! Egad, you're right. This is going to set me back a peg or two on my financial cribbage board. If only we could somehow rectify the situation before the inevitable reporters show up with their cameras. The fat lady will have really sung when this expensive Tilt-o-Whirl of ours shows up on page one of Architects Monthly Magazine, not to mention in a special edition of the local rag: The Daily Podunk or whatever. I can see it now: "Local Investor takes a bath at Falling Water." Too true: And they'll certainly never buy that malarkey about the house magically adjusting to the changing contour of the earth below it. If only we could arrest the building's further descent, we could try to pass it off as America's answer to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I've got it: You have? Yes, we can lasso the house with a giant rope and then anchor the whole ball of wax to a nearby cliff, or perhaps to an army of thick tree trunks. Good luck finding thick tree trunks in the box of toothpicks that we ax-happy Americans refer to as a "forest" these days. Well, we've got to do something. Great! Now that song will keep running through my head forever. What: the theme from the Poseidon Adventure? No, that Bee Gees tune... How did it go again: "How did a building so Wright turn out to be so wrong!" Stop torturing yourself. Now let's drive down to Marine Depot and pick out the biggest rope and anchor we can find! You know: one that would have done the captain of the Titanic proud. And don't mention the Titanic! (Oh, I am going to be the laughing stock of the Real Estate Investment Club. I can hear it now: "Hey, Eggy, you want to invest in any more 'sinking funds', ha ha!") Timberrrrrrrr! Oh, dear. Thar she blows! Oh, my poor house! Straight down the wazoo. I thought the river was called Bear Run. Very funny, Sarah. I'm sorry, dear. Oh, look: and there it goes down the waterfall now, too, much to our superfluous sorrow. Just when I was getting comfortable with that idea about emulating the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We could have even charged admission -- albeit our guests would probably have been hog-tied to safety ropes, if only for insurance purposes. Relax. I come in peace! Oh, yeah? What's your angle? Nothing. I just heard the collapse and I got to thinking... Yes? This Frank Lloyd Riley character is big business these days. Wright, Wright! Of course I'm right. I mean, there's the Frank Lloyd Riley Institute, the Frank Lloyd Riley Preservation Trust, The Frank Lloyd Riley Foundation -- not to mention various state museums and monuments erected in honor of the architect's regional achievements. What's your point? Merely this: Riley's reputation is like Barings Bank: It's too big to fail! But Barings Bank DID fail! That's because your old buddy Ralph wasn't around to orchestrate a behind-the-scenes bailout on its behalf. Would you get to the point? We've got to get to Marine Depot tonight before they close! I've got contacts in the stateside architectural scene. I know the movers and the shakers on these various foundations and boards. Yes? Well, I'll just convince them that it's not in their interest for the Frank Lloyd Riley house at Bear Run to have actually fallen into the waterfall like this. But it DID fall into the waterfall like this! Not yet, not as far as the world is concerned anyway. Your friends certainly won't blab if we give them even a modest compensation.... But -- Don't you see? We'll form a self-interested cabal that will close the site to prying eyes (and above all to prying camera lenses) while we secretly rebuild the place from scratch under the pretext of doing maintenance work that was necessitated by, quote-unquote, "normal environmental wear and tear." But -- Now, you guys guard the main road and make sure that nobody claps eyes on the wreckage. I'll be back in a few hours with your own personal pup tent (for you to use during our top-secret re-construction work) as well as an update on my progress when it comes to winning the hearts (and the wallets) of the high and mighty in the world of American architecture who might be expected to aid and abet us. You really think that they'll not only keep the collapse secret but that they'll shell out the necessary dough to rebuild the place? Of course they will! Think of the endless stream of books that most of these high-profile characters have cranked out over the years in extravagant praise of this Riley character. Can you imagine the egg on their faces when it comes out that one of their architectural hero's landmark structures collapsed of its own weight, apparently out of the gross miscalculation of its dangerously stubborn creator!? Ralph, give me your hand: You're not quite the schmuck that I always took you for. Nor you I. What? Never mind. Of course, Sue and I want a share of the new structure when it's finally erected. Anything you say. Sarah and I will split the house 50-50 with you guys -- and we'll even share our handsome but sophomoric chef with you: that Danny boy character. Ooh, that reminds me. Danny boy is already on the lam. You'd better catch up with him and buy his future silence on your way to get the pup tent. On one condition, though. What's that? That Sue and I get the half of the house that is solidly situated on dry land, thank you very much! Fair enough. You can have your cantilevers and your invisible means of support: Susan and I will take a good old-fashioned brick foundation, be it never so bourgeois of us! Right you are. I mean, I may not really be I.M. Hieronymus Pei up in here tonight, but when something works, it works: even when it comes to architecture! You said it, Ralph. It all comes down to one truism, Eggy, old boy. Indeed? And what is that, Ralph? "If it ain't broke, don't fix it!" Exactly. You'd think that even the hifalutin Frank Lloyd Riley would have understood that! That's Wright, Ralph! That's Wright!