All language subtitles for Mrs.Parker and the vicious circle.srt

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- Into love and out again,

thus I went,

and thus I go.

Spare your voice,
and hold your pen -

Well and bitterly I know
all the songs were ever sung,

all the words
were ever said -

Could it be,
when I was young,

someone dropped me
on my head?

- Oh, I'm rather glad

that you caught me like this,

because it gives me an opportunity
to give you a little talk

on the art of making motion pictures
in your own home.

Of course, you all know
that you can...

[laughing nervously]

...that you can make motion pictures
in your own home.

All you need to have is...

a home,

and a small camera like this...

somewhere.

And quite a lot of film,

as you see.

Oh, well.
Never mind.

With these essentials,
you can take pictures

of any interesting events that may happen
in your own household,

if any interesting events ever do happen
in your own household.

And you can make a record of all trips

and of the progress of the children
down the path of life.

And you can also entertain your friends
into the bargain.

The other night, we had a party
of friends in for dinner.

After dinner,
instead of going out on the town,

as they say,

or settling down
for a dull game of bridge...

[director]: Cut!
Wonderful, Bob.

The rest of this is voice-over.
So let's take lunch.

[Bell ringing]
Thank you, everyone! Early lunch today!

Let's be back in one hour, please.

Try to be back in one hour,
please, Bob.

- Bob, we'll be in the living room
after lunch.

- How are you feeling, Bob?
- I'm fine. Just hurting inside.

Have you got a little...
- The top one's a corker.

- Ah, thank you.

[Mumbling to himself]

Oh, my, look at that.
A higher authority.

- If it comes through,

it'll be the first-ever nomination
for a husband-and-wife team.

- Do you hear that, darling? We could be
the first husband-and-wife team

ever nominated for an Oscar.
- Shit! Now I'll have to see the picture!

- Mr. Selznick should know
by this afternoon.

- This afternoon, darling.
Bob!

- Oh, Alan, how are you?
It's good to see you.

Oh, Mrs. Parker.
- Mr. Benchley.

- Oh, Bob, you look terrific.

- When I dress up, I still manage
to look like a house detective.

- It's the tie. Listen, you must come up
to Roxbury Drive.

I'll whip up some tomato curry
with spring lamb.

- That will be fine.
- Alan enjoys whipping young lambs.

- Darling.

Well, great to see you, Bob.

Darling, I'll prepare them
for our scene.

We did a little fix for Goldwyn.

He told us people
want a happy ending.

Dorothy reminded him that in all history,
no single person ever had such a thing.

[Laughing]

Goldwyn doesn't know
what she's talking about.

You must tell me the moment you know!
Just let me know.

- He can be such a fawn's ass.

- Well, Mrs. Parker... Goldwyn.

- Mr. Benchley, out here,
the streets are paved with...

- Oh, careful now.
Stepped in something.

- Hi, Bob.
- A little art going by.

Oh, you know,
I'm seeing Don Stewart tonight.

We're going to go out
for a hot-fudge gin.

Donny needs a break

from his leagues
and guilds and Soviets.

- Union is a five-letter word,
Mr. Benchley.

- Well, what do you know about that?

- And I expect to see you
at the writers' fundraiser.

- Oh, was that you
sent me that little card?

I couldn't make it out with the red ink.
- On the first.

- I promised Gertrude and the boys

I'd launch the big Benchley expedition
that weekend.

- These are not the days for timid,
selfish little things.

- Mrs. Parker, it's no small affair,
getting all those people...

- The years I've wasted
being a party girl and a smartass.

- No, you were a pretty...

smart party girl...
- Ass.

- Ready for you on the set.
- Bit of a party girl myself.

- Visiting hours are over, Mr. Benchley.

- Let's do it again
sometime soon, Mrs. Parker.

- You'll find us
next door to Caligula.

- Oh, does that hurt?

- Must have been so colourful

in the twenties.
- Was it? I barely remember.

- So many famous writers are from
the Algonquin Round Table,
Mrs. Parker.

- Ah, but no real giants.

Just a bunch of loudmouths
showing off,

writing it up in their columns
the next day.

It was no Mermaid Tavern,
I promise you that.

Oh, Ward, would you get me
a cup of coffee, dear? Thank you.

- They love it, darling.
They love our new ending.

- Brilliant scene, Dottie. Alan.

- Thank you, Farleigh.
How was Bob?

It's so silly. We're all out here,
and we never see him.

- Alan, Mr. Benchley
has sold out to Hollywood.

- Really?

- A perfect happy-ending scene, Dottie.
Bravo.

- How very kind of you, Seymour.

You monumental shit.

- Darling, please don't use that word.

- Well, sorry, you monumental...

shit.

[Director]: Alan!

- Yes.
- Veronica, make your heart sing!

- Oh, just put it on the floor, dear.

- And action!

- I came in such a hurry,
my heart is still pounding.

- And I thought
it was Valentine's Day.

- I suppose it was colourful.

- Cut!

[Phone ringing]

[Phone ringing]

[Typing]

- Ahem.

- Oh. Oh, yeah. Delightful.

- How are you today,
Mr. Crowninshield, sir?

Oh, the mail elf is here.

- Mr. Benchley.
- Mr. Elf.

- Do you have anything
for me in there?

- What's with the sign?
- Oh, sorry, we're not allowed

to discuss our salaries.
Crownie's posted a memo.

- There's a love letter
from a soldier in there.

- A real letter?
- No, another post card.

War must've run him short on paper,
I suppose.

- What's the difference
between the red...

- Don't touch that!

- "Dear, if you can send
a cake of working soap,

I think I can arrange
to buy this castle. Ed."

Such passion.
I am overwhelmed.

- "If I were better paid,

"I might feel happier
about murdering time

"in an overheated theatre.

"Indeed, given the state
in which I hobbled home,

"bruised and beaten
by the mediocrity

of both author and cast..."
My, our vines do bear tender grapes-

"...I can only guess that my refusal
to list their names here

"is due to a lingering sense
of playground honour.

I'm not going to tell on them."
- Like it, Crownie?

- I would've liked it better
if it hadn't been another...

- Another dull thug from another one
of your prodigious producers.

- That had nothing to do with it.
- Oh, how silly of me.

Was it a very big advertisement
he was going to take out?

- Not that it matters,
but, yes, a quarter-page.

Benchley, why didn't you cut
that bit about her salary?

- Would that it were in my power
to alter Mrs. Parker's wages.

- Ahem.
- Get rid of that ludicrous sign.

Didn't you see my memo?
- I'm hungry. Aren't you?

- No. I'm Mr. Sherwood.
I am famished.

- Great Scott!
This is Vanity Fair,

not the morgue.

- You inspire deathless prose.

- I think we'd better feed Mrs. Parker
before she gets cranky.

- Be careful. You know she bites
the hand that feeds her.

- Oh, I do not. Do I?
- Come along. Buckety-buckety.

[Dinging]

[Knocking]

- Oh, shit.

- I thought I was late.

- Not so anyone would notice.

Only three hours.

- What are we doing?
May I come in?

Mm, you smell good.

It smells like home.

Thank you.

- You must be terribly hot.

- No. No.
Not at all.

- Oh, dear.

We can't.
- Why not?

Don't you want to feel married again?

- I have to be at the theatre
in half an hour.

- Musical?
- No.

Ibsen.
- Who's he?

- You'll like it, idiot.
Gun goes off in the third act.

- Come to my office,
my door is always open to you.

- So where is
this mythical husband of yours?

- Tonight I rank third
in his affections,

behind Misters Hague and Hague.

Please.

I look pitiful enough.
[Bell ringing]

[Sighing]
Let's hope the actors

don't put too much "glub"
into their lines.

- Eddie!

Eddie, are you hungry?

Eddie?

Eddie, wake up.

Oh, god.
Eddie, wake up.

Wake up.

- Hi.

Kiss me.

Oh, I missed you.

- Lady, lady, never speak

Of the tears
that burn your cheek -

She will never win him,

Whose words had shown
she feared to lose.

Be you wise and never sad,

You will get your lovely lad.

Never serious be, nor true,

And your wish will come to you.

And if that makes you happy, kid,

You'll be the first it ever did.

[Phone ringing]

- There's the phone.
- I'll tune.

Young Mr. Benchley,
where are you going over there?

[Ringing]
- Hello.

- Hello, Gertrude.
It's Dorothy. Um...

something's come up with work.
May I speak with Mr. Benchley, please?

- Certainly. One moment.

It's Dorothy.

On a Sunday.
- A Sunday.

Mrs. Parker, what happened?

- Crownie fired me.

He took me out to lunch,
and then he fired me.

He didn't even have the nerve
to say why.

You and I both know why.

- Ah...

- I've wrecked my career.

Kindly direct me to hell.

- Take two Aspirin, lightly grilled.

I'll be in on the next train.

Well...

- Don't tell me.
I suppose she started crying.

- They fired her.
She did get a bit weepy, yes.

- And then the bastard offered me
a satisfactory rate.

- What does that mean, "satisfactory"?
- Exactly!

For a few little pieces at home.

Like I'm a spoiled virgin
and no one else would have me.

- You're not spoiled. Just...
- I'm not?

- You're just highly seasoned,
with some sort of...

- What does that mean, Bob?

What were you two doing
when I was overseas?

- Nothing, Eddie. Which is a lot more
than you weren't doing.

Do you mind?

- I'm leaving.

- I was expecting a raise,
I really was.

[Humming]

[Tapping]
[Woman]: Do you mind?

- Yes, all right. Then I'll stop.

The day will arrive when they come to me
on their knees and beg me to drum.

- There'll be three of you today?
- Yes, only three.

I wonder what the least-expensive item
is on this menu.

- The eggs.

- Ah, yes,
I believe I'll have the eggs.

- Same for me, please.
Loosely scrambled.

Like my brains.

- Could I get a half-order?

- Hello, guppies!

- What colossal trumpery
is taking place at Vanity Fair?

- Well, Mr. Sherwood
was replaced last week

by the woman who gives music lessons
to Conde Nast's daughter.

A woman, I might add,

who's so full of charm,
she's practically panting with it.

[Laughter]
- And then Mrs. Parker was fired...

- Because, I presume, Vanity Fair
is a magazine of no opinion,

and she has plenty.
- And you, Benchley?

We hear your income
is running well into one figure.

- Go ahead, Rob. Tell them.
- I trust this is for publication.

- Benchley, one can't
simply repeat rumours.

- Then do it with some complexity.

- I am resigning from Vanity Fair.

- There'll be five of you today?
- Yes, only five.

- I'm, uh...
- There's no bread yet?

- I'm resigning from the magazine,
because Mrs. Parker's dismissal

was remarkably stupid...
- Ah! Hello, Helen!

...and unfair.
- It's Helen Hayes.

- And if I've learned anything...

- Mr. Case, I've allowed them
to seat five in the booth.

I know it's a little disorderly,

but I think we can keep them
from being disruptive.

[Muffled chatting]

- Everyone, Ross and I have set
a September date for the wedding!

- Congratulations!
- Call me Cox. I'm damned embarrassing.

- And I'm keeping my maiden name.
And no goddamn music!

[Everyone]: No marching down the aisles
to Mendelssohn!

I insist on picking out the wedding ring
and making all the arrangements.

- Nine?
- It's settled!

- We must remodel that ghastly house
before I move in.

- Does that mean you're moving out first?

- Aleck, you left the tub full
this morning.

- In the hopes
that you might take a bath.

I tell you,
that house fairly reeks of sex.

- Oh, Aleck, how would you know?

- Alas, a childhood bout of the mumps
killed the impulse in me.

No, no! Don't apologize!
Celibacy sharpens the senses.

- Is this a dagger I see before me?
- I think this calls

for a "ce-libation."
[Laughter]

- I may not be able to vote red,
but I can certainly drink it.

- Where's my bread?!
- Aleck.

- I'm hungry!
[Laughing]

- Bring them some celery
and some popovers or something.

- Mr. Case already told me, sir.
- I knew that.

- They should be here.
- Are you nervous? Don't be nervous.

I'll take care of you.

Ah, your royal highnesses,
I give you Marc Connelly,

fact-finder for the Morning Telegraph.
- Ah, the chorus girl's breakfast.

- Well, I don't actually write
for the Telegraph.

- Eleven.
- Eleven?

- Ah, a bald man.
- Eleven.

- Strange. It feels
just like my wife's behind.

So it does!

[Laughter]

- Listen, everyone, Ross is in the
planning stages of a brand-new weekly.

- Really? Something similar
to what you're doing now, Ross?

- Just what the world is waiting for,
another publication

for little old ladies in Dubuque.
- Don't ask us to be

on your advisory board.
- Speak for yourself.

- Does that does that mean
you're interested, Aleck?

- Ross, you remind me a great deal
of my grandfather's coachman.

- A horse's ass
would know the coachman.

- Oh, here's Kaufman!
- George, over here!

- Everyone...
- Table for one, sir?

- I'd like you to meet my assistant at
the New York Times, George S. Kaufman.

A Jew.
- Gesundheit.

- Shalom.

- I'm no longer your assistant, Aleck.
- You haven't converted, I trust.

- No, just promoted.
- You feeling all right, George?

You look terrible.
- Terrible'd be an improvement.

Harold Ross, American Legion Weekly.
- You shouldn't touch George.

George doesn't like to be touched.
- How many will there be for lunch?

- There will be two of everybody!
- Mr. Case won't like this.

- Oh, well.

Case closed.
[Clinking glass]

- Yes, Bob?
You rang?

- I'm afraid I have some...

I am resigning my position
at Vanity Fair.

- Why?

- Well, because my job, if you could call
it that, as managing editor

is no longer attractive

without the extraordinary talents
of Mrs. Parker

and Mr. Sherwood.

Ahem.

This is not a reckless decision.
I'm a careful man,

one who often wears a belt,
as well as suspenders.

- Bravo.
- Bravo, Bob.

- Think of us fondly, please,
as ships departing a sinking rat.

- Well, make a good union man.
- What was that all about?

[Laughing]
- Uh, Mr. Woollcott,

I have to remind you,
as of this week,

drinking alcohol here is illegal.
- Geoplenarian,

I am interested only in things
that are illegal, immoral, or fattening.

- It's wine, not alcohol.
Ice, please.

- Are you all right, Mrs. Parker?

- Oh, that man is a mess.

Kaufman? Oh, I think he's rather quick.
- Is that what his name is?

Oh, I never saw such a thing.

- He's a twitchy fella.
Childhood...

- Mr. Benchley...

are you quite sure about this?

- Positive, Mrs. Parker.

Listen, you can't buy the kind
of advertising they'll be giving us.

We'll be freelancers.

Oh, my God,
we'll write only what we like,

not slave over a hot desk
for people like Conde "Nasty."

- Have you told Gertrude?

- Pardon.

[Speaking faux French]

- Is there a problem?
- Don't worry about a thing.

I've set this kind of fracture before
without much pain,

but we must get started immediately.
Mrs. Beemish, please take a seat.

- Does it hurt?
- Oh, it's dreadful.

- Please don't try to speak.
I need room to work!

We'll rent an office together,
move in, cheer each other on.

You can try your dainty hand
at fiction, and I'll start my...

[chuckling]
...history of the Queen Anne humorists.

Both of them.

- Mr. Benchley...

I feel as though
you're proposing marriage.

- How many torments lie
in the small circle of a wedding ring.

- What if it doesn't work?
- Well, we'll just yearn a living.

First, we need a name
for the office door.

- Utica Drop Forge and Tool Company.
- Perfect.

Robert Benchley, president.

Dorothy Parker, president.

Dorothy...

- I could kiss you.

But I'm not sure
it would come out right.

- Yeah...

You're afraid you might
melt the gold in my teeth.

- Afraid I might lose you.

I know I'm losing Eddie.

I couldn't bear losing you too.

- You'd have to wear a pretty large hole
in your pocket to lose me, Mrs. Parker.

- Madame, Monsieur.

The eggs are getting cold.
- Ah.

Much better.

Have to be comfortable when I sit down
to write, because that's where I shine.

[Phone ringing]

Park bench.
Mm-hmm.

May I tell her who's calling?

- Does the cent sign
go before or after?

- After.
- Oh.

- There's a Mr. Nichols.
Wants to know where your story is.

- Who?
- Mister...

- Oh!

Tell him something, will you?

- I'm afraid Mrs. Parker's
had some sort of an attack.

They're in the process now
of freezing her appendix.

The doctor seems to think we may
get it to listen to reason this way.

Mm-hmm. Yeah.

All right.

Certainly.
Goodbye.

Has to be in by tomorrow.

- Oh. Shit.

I may die before a train of thought
leaves the station.

- Me, too.

Hmm.

Let's change places.

- All right.

Hmm... Well.
Pardon me.

- Excuse me.

- We'd build a little bungalow,
If you and I were one,

And carefully we'd plan it so

We'd get the morning sun.

I'd rise each day at rosy dawn

And bustle gaily down.

In evening's cool,
you'd spray the lawn

When you'd come back from town.

If you and I were one, my dear,

A model life we'd lead.

We'd travel on
from year to year,

At no increase of speed.

Ah, clear to me the vision

Of the things
that we should do.

And so I think it best,
my love,

To string along as two.

- Here, dear?
- Oh, to the right.

- Oh, how do you do?
I'm Neyso Mcmain.

I'm your neighbour.
Would you like a drink?

- Sworn off.
Thank you.

- Oh, well, if you should ever
want to come by,

my door is open
day and night.

- Hotel Algonquin.
Please hold.

- O'Neill's won the Pulitzer, Aleck!
- Bravo!

- Hey, John.
How are you?

- Aw, shucks, everyone, it's Rogers.
- Mr. Woollcott. How you doing?

- You know everyone. Everyone, Will.
- Mr. Benchley.

- How do you do? Will Rogers.
- Nice to meet you, Miss Parker.

- I never liked a man I didn't meet.
[Laughter]

- Thank you, I guess.

- So, Aleck, Will Rogers for president.
What do you think?

- Get out of here.
Now that women have the vote,

what do you think, ladies?
- It is a lovely hat.

[Laughter]

- It's the hat
that gets you in the White House.

This must be the smallest table

in the biggest city on the planet here.
You folks got sore knees under there?

- We need a ouija board.
- We divine the future.

- So brave.
- Future looks pretty divine to me.

- Georges, tell Mr. Case

I've had a great idea.

- He might not believe it, sir.

- If Ziegfeld changed the name
of the show...

[chatting]

- I'm sorry. What did you say?
- Wisdom, every word.

- Serge!

- Ross, use the word "dog"
in a sentence.

[Laughter]

- We'll give you time.

- Get her a drink.
- Yes. Would you like a drink?

Please, come.

- What on earth
are you talking about, Georges?

- Well, Neyso, I think if you loiter
in your studio long enough,

the whole world will drift in and out.
- That's the point.

- Sour trumpet at the end
of a third-rate marching band.

- Round of cards?
- I'll get the girls.

- The girls?
- Poker.

- Yes, I'd love to.
- You're a celebrity, George.

Face it.
- Right. A temporary one.

- There's not another kind.
- My point exactly.

- Come on, Don. Ardent infidelity. That's
the first thing that springs to your mind

when you think of Mrs. Parker.
- Well, it's not the first thing,

but gradually, I work
my way back around.

- Let's take a walk through here.

I'll show you some of Miss Mcmain's
extraordinarily useless objects d'art.

- Your apartment is just lovely.
- You think?

It's that Slavic architecture.
It's just like a dormitory, really.

Oh...

Just like a dormitory here.

I was just saying, the Par...
Well, here they are now.

The Parkers live just across the hall.
That's why...

- It's really so kind of you letting
Robert sleep over when he works late.

Why, sometimes I think you see
more of him than I do.

- I'm always very modest.
You know that, Gertrude.

- It must be wonderful to never have
babies waking you up.

They don't allow
babies in dormitories.

- Not that there's anything
wrong with babies.

- If there were, Gertrude,
you'd be arrested by now.

[Laughing]

- Well...

- I'm sorry, I...

I didn't understand.

- For being so good with them.
- Thank you.

- And you are good with them,
God knows. They worship her.

I don't think they know who I am.

- Aren't you and Eddie anxious
to start a family of your own?

- Oh, good... Heavens, no.

My mother was 42
when I was born.

Of course, then she promptly
went and died on me,

so maybe waiting
isn't such a good idea after all.

- Reminds me,
I need another drink. Anybody?

- Uh, no. No.

- You know, my mother
was 34 when she had me,

but she had the good graces to wait
until I was 12 before she passed away.

- She was always
the politest of women.

You know.

- Oh, well, here's a lovely picture.
Benchley and his two wives.

- Not nice, Aleck.

- Oh, come on. Surely you don't say
it's an intellectual relationship.

- What does that mean?
- Yes, what does that mean?

In their minds, they "mm"
like bunnies.

- Oh, Mr. Benchley.

- How's Eddie doing?
He seems all right.

- Well, I think
he's off the morphine, anyway.

- Now he wants to move back
to Hartford to be near his family.

I don't know.

Maybe it'll be easier for him there.

At least they know
how to keep house.

Wifely chores can be lethal,
Mr. Benchley.

- Only if done properly.

You're much too hard on yourself,
Mrs. Parker.

A little garbage
gives a house that lived-in feeling.

- Robert.

- Pull a bed sheet
over it or something.

- The coward's way out?

- Robert.

Excuse me, please,

I must find the ladies room.

- Just to the left here.

Right around the corner there.

- Do you know
where the ladies room is?

- Here, take one of mine.
- No, I don't drink.

- All right. It's just in the back.

- Oh, uh, you've, uh,
forgotten your, uh...

- Soul, as usual.

- If our Mrs. Parker used her body
the way she uses her mouth...

- Dottie, 20 Questions.

I'm thinking of a person.

- I'm so happy for you, Ross.

Would he be the kind of man
to put the wings back on flies?

- I know nothing about entomology.
- Compassion, not bugs.

Right?

- Who's that sitting
with Deems Taylor?

- Mary Kennedy. She's consoling him
through his divorce.

- But if I were you,
I would be paying more attention

to my own flanks
than to his at the moment.

- Paula!

I see you've met
my little husband.

- Oh! So this is Eddie.

Well, how's your arm, dear?

- My arm?
- Why, yes.

Dottie said you broke it
sharpening a pencil?

- Did she? Excuse me.
- You did say that, didn't you, Dot?

- Paula, your slip is showing.

- It's on purpose, dear.

- Unlike your acting, that is.

Excuse me.

[Chuckling]

- Ah, hello, Frank.

- Take care of your body, Paula,

because when it goes,
you'll have nothing left.

- Shouldn't you leave some
for the other guests, Eddie?

- I have to exercise my arm
after all those weeks in a cast, dear.

- I never said such a thing.
- Sure you did.

They know better
than to expect anything from me,

thanks to you.

- You don't want to become
the town drunk, Eddie.

You're not in Manhattan.

- You know, I think
that you ought to drink more, dear.

Then maybe
you could stop nagging me.

I may be a dimwit

and a lousy drunk, dear,

but you and your friends...

- Eddie. Ah!

- It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay.

[Panting]

- I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I... I...

I didn't...
I didn't know what to do,

so I... I just held my breath.

Are... are you all right?

I'm just so grateful
Robert doesn't drink.

His uncle did, you know,
so he's seen the damage done.

[Sighing]

Do you really like that?

- Not much.

But it's better
than a sock in the eye.

[Laughter]
- Mind if I join you?

- So anyway, I asked him
if he'd ever read Edna Ferber's new book.

It's a very full book.
- Full of what, Ross?

- Full of not being edited.

- And this from the editor
of American Legion Magazine, mind you.

- You could do with a little trimming
yourself, my dumpling.

- So it's thin, thinning,
or needs thinning.

- Three words Aleck
has never heard of.

- That's almost a subjective completion.

- What Ross means is that stories
flow easily from Edna's fingertips.

- Oh, I understand she fairly
whistles at her typewriter.

And there was that poor sucker Flaubert

just rolling around on the floor for days
looking for just the right words.

- Well, Dottie,
I do love your pieces.

And when Ross launches his new magazine,
you'll have to be part of it.

No other woman writes like you do.
- Who would want to?

- Listen, I read your new piece in the
Smart Set over and over again, Dottie.

It was wonderful.
- How sweet, Ross.

Didn't he understand it the first time?
[Laughter]

- Alan, dust off your tutu.
It's official.

We've rented the 49th Street Theatre
for Sunday, April 30th.

- Bravo!

[Cheering]

- As our treasurer,
I feel compelled to ask,

how much?
- Not to worry, Bob. I made a great deal.

- They gave us
the sleeves off their vests.

- Kaufman should've negotiated.
He's the Christ killer.

- One more slur upon my race, Aleck,
and I'm walking away from this table,

out of the dining room,
and away from this hotel.

- I trust that Mrs. Parker
will walk out with me... halfway?

[Laughter]
- Raoul Fleischmann was 14

before he realized he was a Jew.

- That's nothing. I was 16
before I realized I was a boy.

- What convinced you?
- Gravity.

- Sex laws of a Newton.

- Chemin de fer.

- Mirabile Dictum.
[Everyone]: Oh! Ah!

- What on earth are they talking about?
And don't tell me you understand.

- Too much for your precious ears.

- Why,

speaking of stage-struck
Jewish nuns, here's Edna!

You almost look
like a man today, Edna.

- So do you, Aleck.

[Laughter]

- Madam Ferber's
so diligent in her duties,

I'm surprised
she's deigned joined us.

- Well, coffee and sandwiches
aren't my usual,

but don't make me out
a dullard to your friends.

I always say,
"There's no good sauce for play

like hard work."
Please, sit down.

- Bite your tongue, Mistress,
before our Mrs. Parker does it for you.

- Ah, the two of you split without
having written a flop yet, eh, Marc?

- That'll be the day.
- Oh, flops -

these days, they're just a play
where no one wears evening clothes.

- An Edna Ferberating statement
if ever I've heard one.

- Oh, that couldn't be
Ferber from the truth.

- You know what I admire?

Is an artist who's got enough brio
to embrace Main Street.

- So the range of his works
may be from bad to horrible?

I think far too wide a stretch
is made of the word "artist,"

because I don't think
that word is elastic.

If I did...

I'd be better company.

- Well, I think you're wonderful
company, Mrs. Parker.

- Homemade fudge, anyone?

Edna, uh...
- I love your fudge, Georges.

- Who's the actual producer...?

- My little dream princess,
I will plan, cast and polish

the entire revue
with my usual revolutionary taste.

- The devil you will.
[Laughing]

- Ladies and gentlemen!

Tonight, 12 rounds in three acts

of unregulated artistic impulse.

In the well-lit corner,

the Vicious Circle
of the Hotel Algonquin.

[Applause]
Algonquin.

And in the darkened corner,

well, the sort of thing one usually finds
in a darkened corner.

Tonight, the no-walkout rule

will be in effect,

and our judges this evening

will be your trampled sensitivities.

We shall be quite vulgar
and unduly exhibitionist,

chief characteristic
distinguishing man from beast.

And so now, as usual,

we'll shoot ourselves.

[Piano playing]
[Applause]

We got the blues

We got the booze

We believe we said before
we got the blues

They're little flappers
never growing up

And they've all been flapping
since Belasco was a pup

We got the blues
They've got the blues

We got the booze
They've got the blues

- Didn't know you played.
- Yes, that was my execution.

We got the blues

I'm an ing�nue

And I've got the blues

As everyone can plainly see

It's 'cause an ing�nue
must promise to

Imprison her virginity

I check my maidenhead

In my producer's bed

Oh gosh I guess
the joke's on me

We got the blues

- They're extremely depressed, and
there's nothing that I can do about it.

- Ah, the prodigal bum has returned.

- How's it going?

- Why are you writing numbers?
- Mm, my report.

- Report? What about the sketch, man?
Your sketch.

Your sketch!
You're next! You're on!

- You wanted an account of the finances.
That's what Connelly told me.

- Don't point the scinger of forn
at me, Benchley. Dorothy...

- If you want to drink, ruin your life...

- Share this with your friend.
He's in need of inspiration.

- Liquor makes people
behave unlike themselves.

- Why would you want people
to behave like themselves?

- In your case, I...

It's like a train station in here.

Don't look at me in that tone of voice,
Mr. Benchley.

- May I see that, please?

Thank you.
Oh, it's my uncle Albert.

That's exactly how he smelled.
What's it taste like?

- Like it smells. Now give it here.
- Ah, ah, ah.

- I won't be the cause
of your corruption.

- My corruption?
- Two minutes, you're on.

- Come along and hold me up,
Mrs. Parker.

Ahem-hem.
Never growing up

And we've all been flapping

Since Belasco was a pup
We got the blues

They've got the blues
We got the blues

- Too bad
Eddie didn't stick around.

He likes leg-and-fanny numbers.

- He went back to Hartford?

- And it was all going so well.

Blues
Copeland and Connelly

Connelly and Copeland
the playwrights of the prairie

- Hey, girls, how'd you like
to be in a show?

[All]: Yeah!

- All right, let's go back
to the dressing room and, uh, talk.

[Laughter]

- What's funny is a laugh
wrapped inside a fact.

That's funny.

That's funny.
- That would be some of our Mrs. Parker's

unprintable verse.
Come on. Come on.

You're in a Broadway theatre now.
I want you to behave yourself.

Careful!

[Applause]

- Oh, careful of the tomatoes.

Wonderful! Wonderful!

New careers for everyone.

Very nice.
[Applause]

- I don't understand this obsession
with women's clothing.

- Oh, you look wonderful, ravaging!

- Jane, listen, I can't go to this party.
Please, can we not go?

- Then don't come.
- Get out of my way, Ross!

I'm here with someone with talent.

- Thank you, Mr. Sherwood
and your lovely companions.

Certainly, "He Who Gets Flapped"

loses nothing in its translation
from the original Russian.

[Laughter]
And now,

it is with a great sense of mystery

that I...
- Try to pay attention, Mrs. Parker.

- Don't break a leg.

...Mr. Robert Benchley and his report.
[Applause]

- Ahem. Ahem-hem.

Ahem-hem.

I shall, uh, take but a very few moments
of your time this evening.

I realize that you'd much
rather be listening this...

interesting entertainment
than to a dry financial report.

Ahem.

But, uh, I am reminded of a story,
which you have probably,

all of you, heard.

Uh, it seems that there were
these two Irishmen

walking down the street,
but when they came up...

Uh, they came to a...

Oh, I should've said
in the first place

that the store belonging
to the Irish...

the first Irishman...

the first fella's store...

Uh, well, anyway...

The, uh, parrot...

Ahem-hem-hem.

Now, in connection
with reading this report,

there are one or two points Dr. Murnie
wanted brought up in connection with it,

and he has asked me
to bring them up in connec...

To bring them up.
Ahem.

[Laughter]
The first is in regard

to the work that we are trying to do
at our little place at Silver Lake.

A work that we feel not only fills
a very definite need in the community,

but also fills a very definite need...

in the community.
Ahem.

[Laughter]
Uh, the...

I don't think many members
of our society realize

just how big the work is
we're trying to do up there.

For instance, I don't think it's
generally known that most of our boys

are between the age of 14.
[Laughter]

Uh, we feel that by taking
the boy at this age,

we can get closer
to his real nature.

And a boy has a very real nature,
you may be sure.

[Laughter]
Ahem.

- Dottie, I'd like you to meet
my new discovery:

Baby Vomit.
Beware: Her lacy sleeve

has a bottle of vitriol
concealed in its folds.

- Get a load of this guy.
Blows into Tony's

like something cut loose
from the Macy's Day Parade.

Brings me here to meet
one of my favourite writers,

forgets my name.
Well, it's Charles.

Charlie.
Charlie MacArthur.

- Pleased to meet you,
Mr. Vomit.

- Charlie's new at the American.

Very amusing fellow from Chicago
with theatrical ambitions.

I thought I'd lay him at your feet
like the faithful retriever that I am.

- Bad dog, Aleck.

- I heard your husband
might be away.

Well, his wife's in Chicago.
[Whistling]

- Aleck, do you meddle
in all your friends' sex lives

just because they have them?
- I knew you'd be pleased.

- Now, it seems to me
that the people who criti...

Why, criticize, that, uh...
[laughing]

The, uh, the people who...

Why, as a matter of fact,
it was done just as, uh...

economically as...
[laughter]

As is possible.
Even more so.

[Laughter]

[Louder laughter]

Mr. Rossiter, uh,
unfortunately our treasurer...

Mr. Rossiter, our treasurer,

unfortunately
is confined to his home

with a bad head cold...
- Psst!!

- And, uh, I, uh...
Excuse me.

Oh.

Well...

the joke seems to be on me.

Mr. Rossiter has pneumonia.
[Laughter]

- Who is this guy?

[Aleck]: Robert Benchley,
Life Magazine.

- That's Benchley,
the drama critic?

- Mm-hmm. A saint.
- A saint, no less?

Well, it's a good thing
he's so goddamn funny.

- Yes, it is.
It's a goddamn good thing.

- Aleck.
- What, Ruth?

- We're next.
- Don't worry. Calm down, Ruth.

- The treasurer's, uh, report.

[Laughter]

- He was the best thing in the show.
So into my column he goes.

- Hear, hear.
- Robert is a writer, not an actor.

Besides, he would never
have time for performing.

What with myself
and the boys in Scarsdale

and his job at the magazine.
As it is, he's got to be careful

he doesn't work himself
into the ground.

- I've seen it happen before, Gertrude.

- Never underestimate
the power of applause.

- Marc, from one's self expect applause.
He noblest lives and noblest dies...

- Help me.
Help me, Mrs. Parker.

Yeah, well, Irving Berlin
and Sam Harris -

right behind you,
directly behind you -

want me and the Treasurer's Report
to be in their next revue.

Oh, how do you do?
Uh, ahem.

It seems that, well, l-l-I...

l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-I...

[giggling]
I couldn't justify a critic like myself

being... well, having a paid job
on stage, of course.

But I didn't want to offend them
and say no, so I asked for $500,

and they... I thought they'd just laugh.
And the next thing I know,

Harris is gleaming at me
with those...

and saying, "For $500,
you better be awfully good."

I'm a bit flustered.
I guess we'll see what happens.

- Congratulations. I'm Charles MacArthur.
- How do you do? I'm Robert Benchley.

Excuse me, I have to tell my...

my wife.
Excuse me, Gertrude.

- Would you like a drink
before kissing me?

- Yes.

- If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.

If I'm in bed
each night by 10:00,

I may get back
my looks again.

If I abstain
from fun and such,

I'll probably
amount to much,

But I shall stay

the way I am,

Because I do not
give a damn.

[Aleck]: Tim and I a-hunting went,
spied three women in a tent.

They being three, we being two,
I bucked one and Tim-bucked-two.

- Oh, here's Bobby's station.

- One man's descent into hell.
- Where we're all waiting for you.

- Say hello to my father,
will you, Rob?

- If I can find him.
[Snickering]

This place ought to be closed -

by law.
[Applauding]

And thank you.
- That's what I thought you'd say.

- Rob, how do you feel?

- I feel...

I must say, I...

feel like an angel.
[Laughter]

- Some friendly advice, Benchley.

The best way to avoid a hangover
is to stay drunk.

- How does a sophisticated gentleman
know when he's drunk?

- When he can't pronounce
"sophisticated" anymore.

- Isn't she adorable?
- She's delirious.

- That's why she's adorable.

- Well, to get back to me,

I was wondering how it could have been
so awful drinking with Eddie

and so much fun

drinking with all of you.

- Is that a loaded question?

- Because you're married to him.

Might be more fun
sleeping with somebody else, too.

- Oh, dear, dear.

Is the, um, subject
in danger of turning to sex?

[Benchley]: No more than usual.
- Because we wouldn't want Charlie here

to think that's all we ever talk about.

- Don't look now, toots, but no matter
how much you talk about sex,

you never know
how the other fellow does it.

- Why would you want to know that?

- Well, you would know
if you were an experienced woman.

But of course,
it would be bad manners to tell.

Now, wouldn't it?

[Whispering]
- Cops are here.

Everybody speak easy.

- Through the kitchen.
- I'll see if I know

any of them.

[Police whistle blowing]

[Police whistle blowing]
- This way!

[Police officer]: All right, everybody.
Settle down.

We're going to take a little ride.

- One at a time. Come on.

- You're coming with us
this evening.

[MacArthur]: Nice faces.
[Mrs. Parker]: Lovely hats, too.

[Humming]
[MacArthur]: Put your drink away!

[Benchley giggling]
- This is wonderful!

- Oh, shit! I left my purse inside.
- That's all right. They'll return it.

Federal good-manners act and all.

- Wait here. I excel at this.

Press. The American.
Mind if I take a look?

- This fella conks me on the head,
and thus goes my heart.

- Ah, love conks-her all.

- He's wild and mad and fleet.

I may have him mounted.
- Yes, one would assume.

[Woman]: Now take it easy!

[Gasping]
- Philip.

[Thunder rumbling]

- Here we are.

- Taxi!
- Hello?

He's engaged.
- Oh, you are? Then be happy.

Congratulations.
- Lousy goddamn...

- Gentlemen!
Would you strike this man?

- Want to do something about it,
pipsqueak?

- New York will be deprived

of its annual
Gilbert and Sullivan revival,

I think.
- The hell with him. Let's walk.

- Nice meeting you, however.

- I love the rain.
I am sister to the rain.

- My place is closest, sister.
- Just missed my last train.

I guess I'm coming too.
- I'm a late sleeper.

- I'll be sure to boil my eggs gently
and not scrape my toast.

- Hello. Excuse me.
- Hey, wait, there.

- 47th and 7th, please.

- Thank you
- Thank you very much.

Thank you.

- Hello.

- Ah.

Hello.

- Thank you... for the robe.

- Cheers.

- My apartment is shamefully undeveloped
compared to yours.

- Ah, well, a friend helped me
fix up the place.

- I should say a few friends.

Oh, do you enjoy Swinburne?

- Look... before you start
analyzing my books,

there's something
I should clear up.

- You didn't pick them out, either?

- I lied when I told you
you were one of my favourite writers.

- And I lied when I smiled.

- It's just that I've read
more about you -

what Dorothy Parker
thinks of this or that -

than your actual writing.

Not counting the fluff, of course.

- Fluff pays the rent.

- Yeah, but if I were you,
I'd be worried.

- Oh, how dare you.
- How dare you.

- Come.

Come here.

- What, I'm supposed to worry because
a self-confessed liar and sycophant

whose place looks like
it's been decorated by the Junior League

tells me to?

- That's right.

- I'm not going in there.

Why?

- Because I've read my share.

- Oh, really?
- Yeah.

- Well, did you know
that I sold a short story

that took months to write?

That's, um...

fiction, for your information.

- My low brow is not congenital, Dot.
I saw it.

About a henpecked husband
living in the suburbs.

Seemed a lot like Benchley.

Now, don't be mad.

Dream bigger.

- Like you?

- Yeah, like me.

- And you're going to help,
I suppose.

- Sure. Whatever you want.

It could be...

one of the very best.

I'd think you'd want to find out.

- This must be some sort of sophisticated
Midwestern farm-boy routine.

Um, uh... wh-what's my line?

- You know, for a little person,
you talk an awful lot.

...the mule,
and plow my fertile fields?

[Thunder rumbling]

- No.

But I'm glad you're by the book.

I felt we were pretty good together
for the first time.

- I guess adultery takes practice.

- Double adultery cancels itself out.

- Questionable logic,
but I like the theory.

What does your wife think about it?

- Ah... don't worry about her.

We're clean.

How can you wake up so beautiful?

- Oh, Charlie.

I'm going to wear
my heart on my sleeve

like a wet, red stain.

- Runaway trains colliding.

- You knew it was dangerous
when you introduced them.

- Cupid is judged on precision,
not perils.

- Don't look now, toots, but this is
the one she's been waiting for.

- Oh, it's a little something
for Woodrow.

- We're engaged, everybody.

- Dorothy's dog and I.

- Sit.

- Keep it down, everybody.
[Laughter]

Covered in enemy crap,
the bombs exploding all around me...

[laughter]

I was overcome with a...

a powerful feeling of optimism.
[Laughter]

So I said to myself, "Macarthur,
this is the lowest point in your life.

From here on, everything
will be an improvement."

[Laughter]

Get more.

- Queen's bet.
- Queen's bet five.

I don't know how wonderful
they are together.

- They're an ideal couple.
I'd love to have them both write for me.

Macarthur's got a terrific head
on his shoulders.

- And a different one each night.

I remind you, there are two sides
to Mistress Dorothy.

- Offensive and defensive.
[All]: Our founder.

- If a man pursued her,
she wouldn't be interested.

- Let that man pursue another woman,
she'll fall deliriously in love with him.

With claws flashing and tears falling.

- She's available, but she's the
goddamndest fortress at the same time.

- Yeah, a fortress of cards.

[All]: Our founder.

- She really knows how to suffer.

The greatest little runner-downer
there ever was.

- Dottie can't be suffering
and still say all those funny things.

There wasn't a soul
to greet me there

A lone stranger
on your shore

But Irish luck
was with me there

And wishes came galore

- Happy birthday, Dottie.
- Happy birthday, Dot.

- Don't you think
29's dangerously ripe, darling?

- Nah.
Just how I like 'em.

The tide's out.

The table's set.

Everybody like clams?

- Mm.
- Come on, Marc.

- Can't we just whistle for them?

- They don't have ears.
Grab that.

[Vomiting]
- Dottie.

- Oh, God.
- Nobody saw.

- I can't even get morning sickness
when you're supposed to.

- Are you sure?
[Sighing]

Dottie.
- Oh, Neyso, I wish to Lord I weren't.

In April,

In April,

My one love came along,

And I ran the slope

of my high hill

To follow a thread of song.

His eyes were hard

as porphyry

With looking on cruel lands;

His voice went slipping over me

Like terrible silver hands.

In April,

In April,

My love went whistling by

And I stumbled here

to my high hill

Along the way of a lie.

Now what should I do

in this place?

But sit and count the chimes,

And splash cold water

on my face

And spoil a page with rhymes?

- Aw. What happened?
Did you fall asleep?

I spent two hours in the theatre
imagining you were dead somewhere.

- Oh, Jesus Christ, Dot,
I'm sorry.

- Oh, don't be, it was more entertaining
than the play I was watching.

- I'II... I'll just get dressed.

- In fact I gave up on the whole thing
quite early and spent most of the evening

on the floor as a member
of a volunteer search party

to aid the lady on my left
in retrieving a missing rubber.

Oh, I left my lipstick here
yesterday.

- Dot-Dottie...

[Paula]: You know,
it must be just as hard

to get that look right in life
as it is onstage.

- Well, someone has to leave.
If you ask me,

it ought to be the someone
who already has their clothes on.

But then...

you're the writers.

I'm just an actress.

- Dorothy, cut the theatrics!

We're both still married!

We're in no position to...

Look, you know my situation.

- And you know mine,

while you're up.

- I said I'd help take care of it,
and I meant it.

Here's your lipstick.

- Does the gangplank need painting?

- Dorothy...

you know I adore you.

But I'm not going to make any excuses.
- Oh, no. Goodness, no.

It's all my fault.
Really, it is.

Well, I wish I didn't have to go,

and let's hope I won't be rushing back
as fast as my little legs can carry me.

I can't tell you how much...

I'll miss you.

Just drive, please.

Where is he?

Did he telephone?

Why am I so cold?

- It's the anaesthesia.
We had to give you extra.

You must have been further along
than you told the doctor.

[Bell tolling]

- Your hangover is going straight
to the Smithsonian,

Mrs. Parker.

- Once it kills me
and becomes famous, you mean.

- Jesus. Don't say that.

- You know, there's a lesson
for all of us in this.

- Oh...
- What's that, Sherry?

- Well, I don't know.

Good night, everyone.

- Yes, well,
it's getting to be that time, isn't it?

- Coming, Dot?

- Time does flit.
Oh, shit.

- Good night.
- Dammit, my watch has stopped.

- Yeah?

You wound it too tightly.

- Perhaps it is in need
of lubrication.

- Let's go wild tonight!

There's plenty of time
to do nothing once you're dead!

- Please don't use that word.

- What do you say, Mr. Benchley?

You want to go wild tonight?

Thank you.
Mr. Benchley?

Mr. Benchley?

Fred!
- Mm?

Oh, perhaps I should
see you home, Mrs. P.

We can recite Crossing the Bar
along the way.

What do you think?

- I can't sleep worth sour apples.

I keep seeing these little...

hands and feet...

and a head full of curly hair,
just like Charlie's.

God is standing over me,

in a doctor's jacket...

shaking his long rubber-gloved finger.

That's very phallic,
don't you think?

But l-I...

can't understand
what God is saying,

because he's got a mask
over his face.

Isn't that just like him?

[Whining]

Oh, you poor, hungry thing.

[Whining]

All right.

Up we go.

Oof...

[sighing]

[Thunder rumbling]

Look, Woodrow,

it's raining.

We want

the rain...

the wanton rain.

Oh, you're simply all...

worn-out, aren't you?

Just...

hungry and worn-out.

Well...

we don't want to have a breakdown.

Got to keep you healthy. Huh?

There you are.

There you go, darling.

A nice dinner for you.

[Sighing]

Oh, hello, Johnny.

It's Mrs. Parker.

Yes, I'll be needing you
to deliver up some dinner

before the theatre tonight, dear.

Oh, whatever's the special.

And a large pot of coffee.

Thank you.

All right.

[Coughing]

Tragedies don't kill us, Woodrow.

Messes kill us.

I can't stand messes.

Oh, where's the fucking Aspirin?!

The sun's gone dim,

and the moon's turned black;

for I loved him,
and he didn't love back.

[Thunder rumbling]
[Benchley]: You were a mess lying there.

Bleeding and drooling.

You were pathetic...

and disgusting.

- Is that all?

- I only know 15 adjectives.

- You don't have to tie double knots,

Mr. Benchley.

These are not your son's Oxfords.

Do you still love me, Fred?

- Of course I do, Mrs. Parker.

- But you think I'm a killjoy.

- No, I don't.

But if you don't eat more solid foods
and stay away from razor blades,

you could arouse that suspicion
in others.

[Knocking]

I hear mice.

Shall I discourage them?

[Chuckling]
- Do I look... all right?

- Now you do.

Come in.

Well...

aside from FPA,
who withers easily,

it seems as though all your friends
are here, Mrs. Parker.

- Yes...

And Paula too.

- It must be rough
now that Benchley

and Charlie are such good friends, huh?

- It's not so bad.

I just let 'em ignore me.

You know, people still think
he's banging me every night.

And sometimes I wish to God he were.

[Sighing]
But only sometimes.

You know, he sent me
$30 for the operation.

Judas making a refund.

Oh, for Christ's sake.

- There you are.
- Fred, how long do you think

we can keep this thing up?
- Keep what up?

- You performing six nights a week
and me covering first acts.

- We need the money, Mrs. Parker.
You only need enough money

to keep body and soul apart.

- Shhh. Remember, Mrs. Parker,

speak easy.

Open up.
This is a raid.

[Knocking]

[Benchley coughing]

Oh, God!

[Coughing]

Please, Mrs. Parker.
- You're running a fever, Fred.

- People will think
I beat you in private.

- You're running it ragged.

- Probably how I managed to get so much
done and still look so dissipated.

- I'll bet you haven't
eaten a thing all day.

- Au contraire.
I found a little French place nearby.

Completely without charm.
One brown and one clear, please.

- Oh, for crying out loud, Fred.

The last thing you need is that.
What? What about your family?

- Who?
- I forbid you.

- May I remind Mrs. P. That
I am not a fictional creation of hers.

I could easily saunter...

- What could you possibly say
to a thing like that?

"Did you go to the circus this year?"
Oh, no, no, better.

"When do your tonsils come out?"
- How about "Your regal presence

at the bar has inspired my soul
to an upheaval"? Hmm?

That's the source
of all great literature -

an upheaved soul.

- I have a question to ask.
- Mm-hmm.

- A serious one.

- Anything.

- Why do you think...

that we...

- Yeah?

- You and I...

- That would be "we."

...have never misbehaved?

I'm referring to what we don't do
in spite of everything.

- What we don't do...
- Mm...

- Mrs. Parker, really.

- Tell me.

Now.

- Well... ahem.

I suppose we respect
each other too much.

- Ah. We don't respect anyone.
- Well, Mrs. Parker,

suppose it didn't work.

- Suppose it did.

- No. No, no. It's a lot easier to take
disappointment when you're young

or dumb or don't expect much,
but we're old and smart.

Don't bat those ing�nue eyes at me,
you know what I'm talking about.

That's the trouble.
You know entirely too much.

- Oh, gee, and I was thinking
I must not know enough,

because the things I want most
I can't seem to get.

- That's because you've forgotten
how to have fun.

- Oh, really?

Fun.

I'll show you some fun.

What are you doing?
- Yes, you.

- What are you doing?

[Benchley coughing]

You looked

in need of rescue, dear.

What's your name?

- Joanie.
- Sit down, Joanie.

- Joanie Gerard.
- How do you do? I'm Robert.

- Nice to meet you.
- Are you an actress, Joanie Gerard?

- I'm a Western Union girl.
- Oh...

- But I want to be an actress.

- Oh, you dear, brave soul.

You're in luck!

Freddy is a talent scout,
aren't you, Fred?

- Really?

- Oh, well, after a fashion.

And this is Mrs. Parker,
my good friend

and favourite living writer.
- But not much fun.

- You're a real living writer?
- Currently on leave.

- Geez, I feel like I ought
to drop a curtsy or something.

[Benchley giggling]

[Speaking under her breath]

[Benchley laughing]
- All right.

- So, what do you say?

Shall we go wild tonight?

Yeah, Fred, what do you say?
You want to go wild?

- I could outline several opera plots
I've been working on.

[Knocking over a drink]
Oh!

- Forget him, dear.

I've just been released
from Our Lady of Malpractice,

and I want to go wild.

How do I learn how?

[Screaming]

- Ah! Ah! Ah-ah!

- It's on Broadway.
You could come, sir, that would be...

- Artists - that's why we invite them.

[Laughing]
Bravo, George. Bravo!

[Woman]: Mind us, you cretins!

[Woman screaming]

- Well played!

- That wasn't very sporting.

- Well...

Do we have a game?
I'll sing an opera.

You gentlemen see
if you can name it.

- All right.

- Here we go.

[Singing opera music]

- I would say that is,
uh... Joe Green.

Yes, it's definitely Joe Green.

- Joe Green?
- Giuseppe Verdi.

- Don't look now, toots,
but unmarried Yale barristers

have been spotted
cavorting on the south lawn.

- Oh, a girl can get splinters
sliding down a barrister.

What else?

- What about our athletic friend
down there?

He's built like a horse.

- Always so optimistic.

Well, he keeps waving his mallet
in my direction.

It must mean something.

- What are you doing?
This isn't polo, you cretin!

Descend from your perch,
my little morning dove,

and show this Neomalthusian
how it's done.

- Mind if I join you?

- You must be picking wallflowers, Scott.
[Screaming]

- Well, Sherry, I read your latest
short story "Extra, Extra."

It was as fine a bit of writing
I've ever read.

Short, lean, acid. So good.

- This is a magazine of the city.
- A smart magazine.

- And not for the little old lady
in Dubuque.

- You have a title?

[Singing an opera song]

[Others joining in]

- What's in a name?
A name is simply a name.

It's who you know, darling.
It's who you know.

- Most of our friends
will be contributing.

Dorothy Parker, for one.
- George Kaufman.

- FPA.
- Bob Benchley.

- They're all devoted to the idea.

They've never heard
of anything like it and...

So...?

- George, come here!
Is he through that wicket?

- Wicket's crooked, Marc. No.
- Ha!!

- Whose ball is this?
- You cheat!

- Whose ball is this?
- That's Edna's.

For God's sake!

- Now what do you want to do, huh?

- I've always wanted
to write a novel or a play.

- How old are you?
- Twenty-eight.

- Twenty-eight.
Don't let the time pass.

If you want to write something,
you write it.

Don't turn 40 wishing you had.

[Screaming]

- Why is Harpo the only one of us
who enjoys performing like a seal?

Please don't answer that.

- It's a magazine for a man
who knows his way around the city.

- Or wants to know.
- Yes. A man not unlike myself.

- Oh, it's fascinating!
- What's this magazine about, Ross -

shipping news?

- It's a magazine about New York
for people with manners.

- Yeah. M-manners.

- Well, if it's about New York,
why not call it The New Yorker?

- Now, that's brilliant.

- Hello.
- Hey!

- I hope you like to gamble,
Dorothy,

because I just made a bet
that I can make you smile.

- Oh, I hate to see
anyone lose money.

It's so hard to find.

Don't go away.
I must eat something before I pass out.

[Bell ringing]
- Attention, everyone.

Maybe Dorothy would consent to recite
one of her little things for us.

- Oh, great idea.

- Well, maybe I'll just digest
my little supper and sing for it later.

- Oh, please, Dorothy.
Something bilious for dessert.

- No. Something bubbly, Mrs. Parker.

- Something bubbly bilious.
- Double bubbly, but don't bill us.

[Laughter]

- One more drink,
and I'll be under the host.

- Oh, please, Mrs. Parker.

Do honour us
with one of your darling little poems.

- Resume.

Razors pain you,

Rivers are damp,

Acids stain you,

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful,

Nooses give,

Gas smells awful -

You might as well live.

- Another cheerful poem.

- Bravo! Bravo!
[Scattered applause]

- A fascinating woman.
- Nice going.

- Dorothy!

So, is it true
that you live in a rathole?

- Oh, I like my apartment.

It's just big enough to lay my hat
and a few friends.

- Did you know my family's
in bird sanctuaries?

It's true.

Rather interesting.

Let's say I buy a peacock for $5,

throw it up in a tree,
and then charge,

oh, any Tom Dick and Harry
$2 apiece just to...

- Oh, don't worry,

uh... Roger.

I don't review rehearsals.

Oh, God.

Her mind lives
in a quiet room,

A narrow room,
and tall,

With pretty lamps
to quench the gloom

And mottoes on the wall.

There all the things
are waxen neat,

And set in decorous lines,

And there are posies,
round and sweet,

And little straightened vines.

Her mind lives tidily apart

From cold
[thunder rumbling]

And noise and pain,

And bolts the door
against her heart,

Out wailing in the rain.

[Bell ringing]

I think I was born
to live in a hotel.

It helps me concentrate

knowing I can just sign for things
whenever I need them.

- Yes, it's wonderful.
But, of course,

the bill always comes through
at the end of the month.

I trust that won't be a problem.

- Scout's honour.

[Chuckling]

- Well, I think this hotel's always
been very lucky for writers, Mrs. Parker.

For example, do you have any idea

how many important plays
have been written here?

- Well, well, how fortunate.

I'm working on a play.

And if you're right, we won't have
to worry about the rent, now, will we?

[Chuckling]
[Ringing]

- I wouldn't go away from you
for anything!

- There's nothing in the world...
- No, no. Stop, please.

You mustn't move. Please!
- Stop! Stop!

- You mustn't move on his speech!
- Oh, my! I can't work like this!

- Dottie, don't you think
she ought to be wearing a brassiere?

- Oh, God, no. We've got to have
something in this show that moves.

- Good afternoon, Mr. Benchley.
- Hello.

- Loved the play.
Let's hope it's a big financial success!

- I owe him three months on the rent.

- Well, at least
you got fantastic reviews.

- Yes. And some were even
from total strangers.

[Laughter]

- Oh, I suppose it was dull.

And you all have my apologies.

But how can you know
about your own?

You can't.

- I want to know who decided to open it
two days before Christmas.

- I hear your Mr. Benchley

has taken up residence
at Polly Adler's brothel.

Well, that is, of course,
when he's not with that little show girl.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt
to work that in.

The play's about Benchley anyway,
isn't it, Dot?

- Look on the bright side,
Dorothy...

- Bobby.
- Hello.

- My place has got your name
written all over it.

- Thank you, Don. Thank you.

Miss Hunt, how do you do?

Miss Ferber.

Well, when they laughed
at the mandolin duet,

I wanted to bash their skulls in.

[Chuckling]
- Could have used the French horn.

- I think it's more of a magnificent
tragedy than it is a comedy.

It's a wonderful play and that's final.

- I'm afraid so.

We did a cool $90
at yesterday's matinee.

Philip's closing it next week.
- What?!

- Mr. Woollcott, we really have to clear
the room to prepare

for the dinner service.
- Clear the room?!

- Obviously has no taste.
- You imbecile!

Do I look like a piece of furniture?
[Everyone]: Well, actually...

An entire showroom.
- On a good day.

[Laughing]

- Let's go up to my room, everybody.
Coming, Fred?

- I think I'II, uh,
catch up with you later.

- At Polly's?

- Why don't we say at Tony's,
Mrs. Parker?

- Thank you, sir.

- Please, Mr. Benchley.
I've never been to a whorehouse.

- Ah! Mrs. Parker...
it's not unlike the theatre,

in many ways.

Satisfied?

- No.
[Chuckling]

Never, I suppose.

- "For Polly.
Long may she wave.

Al Tennyson."

- Yeah, Mr. Benchley?
That's very good.

I prefer a real whorehouse
to the theatre.

- Oh, yes.

If a girl can't sing here,
she has the good manners to fake it.

- What's the going rate?
- I like the looks of that one there.

[Polly]: She's a guest.
- Well, so am I.

- Oh, Bobby, are you going
to read to me again tonight?

- Oh, another county heard from.

Um, I'd like you
to meet my good friend,

Mrs...
Oh! Mrs. Parker.

Mrs. Parker...
[Polly]: Is she all right?

- I think she should lie down.
Here we are.

- Yes, I think I hit my... ass.

- Take her to the lavender room,
Coco.

- Yes, Miss Adler.

- I'm so sorry.
- It's right this way.

- Maybe I should go up with her.

I had medical training in the army,
you know.

- Suspicions confirmed, Fred -

I am a drunken whore.

- You're an artist, Mrs. Parker.
Sometimes artists lose their balance.

- Ah... I'm little Dorothy

with the curse of the Rothschilds
hanging over her head.

You're the artist, Mr. Benchley.

- No, no, not me. Don't lay that on me.

I've discovered
I have no real talent for writing.

I can't quit
because I'm too famous.

All right?

- You lean down here.
I want to check your temperature.

- Get some rest, Mrs. Parker.

- Mr. Benchley.

- Yes, Mrs. Parker.

- Oh!
[Chuckling]

Christ.

- Is Ross in?
- Yes, but he's engaged right now.

You'll have to take a seat.
Excuse me, miss!

...because I reject them.
Do it over again! Thurber's crazy.

You talk to him. Finally!
I've been wondering what happened to you.

Do you have the article?
This was due on the third.

- Somebody was using the pencil.

- You look terrible, Dottie.
Have you not been sleeping?

- Woodrow Wilson died.
- Yes, I heard. About a year ago.

- Last week.
- You have me there.

- This is not a charitable donation,
Ross. I'm fighting them off at the hotel,

and my bank account is so overdrawn,
it's positively photographic.

- You'll be paid eventually.
I promise.

- Don't believe him, Dottie.
He owes me for years.

- Jane, for Christ's sake, please.

- Dottie, really, this is just wonderful.
- Herbert Spencer once said,

"A genius can do readily what nobody else
can do at all." That's what I'm doing.

I can't read this right now.
I've got a meeting in five minutes.

- What a thing to be doing at my age,

sitting around making up stories
about broken-hearted sissies.

- Dottie, where are you going?

- Mrs. Parker.

I just wanted to see
if you still answered to that.

- We are still married,
aren't we, Eddie?

- I guess so.

- I guess we ought to talk
about getting a divorce, then.

- Not today.

I'm feeling too good.
- Oh, is it catching?

- Sure. Why not?

- You look swell, Eddie.

- Do I really?

- Truly.
- Thanks.

You look beautiful.
- Oh, where the hell are you looking?

- At you.
- No. I'm...

lower than worms.

I miss... feeling safe, Eddie.

I do miss that.

- Is that what we were?

You could've fooled me.

You're not going to cry, are you?

- Woodrow died.
- Did he? I'm sorry.

- I'm all alone again and broke.
See?

- I'm flush.
Let me buy you a present.

- Now you can buy me lunch
if you promise not to be very dull.

- I'd love to, dear, but I can't.

I'm meeting someone
and I'm late.

Another time, though.
I insist.

- Actually, I'm meeting someone, too.

- It's really been lovely seeing you.

Dear...

- Oh.

I do not like my state of mind.

I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.

I hate my legs,

I hate my hands,

I do not yearn
for lovelier lands.

I dread

the dawn's recurrent light.

I hate to go to bed at night.

I snoot at earnest, simple folk.

I cannot take
the gentlest joke.

I find no peace
in paint or type.

My world is but a lot of tripe.

I'm disillusioned,
empty-breasted.

For what I think,

I'd be arrested.

I am not sick,

I am not well.

My quondam dreams
are shot to hell.

My soul is crushed,

My spirit sore.

I do not like me anymore.

I cavil, quarrel,

grumble, grouse.

I ponder on the narrow house.

I shudder at the thought of men.

[Bell ringing]
I'm due to fall in love again.

- Well, I'll mention it
to her again, Mr. Case,

but there really
isn't that much I can do.

It's a very difficult situation.

- Dottie?

I'd like to talk to you.
- Cheese it, the fuzz.

- Mrs. Parker.

Mrs. Parker!

- I don't know
how he's going to feel

about an untrained puppy
piddling on his rugs.

He didn't like it much
when the trained one did.

Plus, I have to write him
another IOU for the rent.

- Well, they wouldn't throw you out.
You're good for too much publicity.

- How was lunch?
Did they talk about me?

- Of course they talked about you.

- Rex... learn to read, darling.

It's time
to think about serious work.

Thinking is working, isn't it?

- Of course it is.
It's the kind that I do best.

Why don't you write a novel, dear?

You could probably knock one off
in, say, 20 or 30 years.

- Oh, yes, why not a novel?

I put as much work into writing nonsense
as I do the things that matter,

and it's the nonsense
everybody notices.

And you know what?

By the time I'm paid
for what I do,

the money's already gone.

But you can dream on a book,
can't you?

- Absolutely.

- Have we ever touched?

- Hello, Mrs. Parker.

- What do you think
we should drink this one to, hmm?

How about to us?

Yes, it's too bad
we don't look prettier.

We were pretty once,
though, weren't we? Mm?

You might not think it matters,

but I do.

I'll tell you why.

Because, my dear,
it all turns on that.

All those little sags and...
[dog barking]

- What is going on here?
- Yes, it's London Zoo.

Listen. I've had enough.
I really have.

- Is that this woman's dog?!!!

- We've had these interruptions
on this set...

- I did it.
[Yelling in Russian]

- Very sorry.
- Nicotine pipsqueak. Listen, Sergei,

this is not the steppes of Russia,
this is the United States of America.

[Yelling in Russian]

- So Zanuck says
give him a death scene.

That'll win an Oscar. I'm telling you,
this guy couldn't play dead

if you cremated him.
- Move over.

- What's wrong, Dottie?
- Argh!

I never worked on a picture that I liked,

and I never worked on a picture
that liked me.

- Dottie, I need a line.

There's a guy standing on a ledge,
and his wife's got to say something.

- No, let her push the sonofabitch
without speaking. Over!

- Hey, Dottie, saw Alan on the lot this
morning, standing right beside wardrobe.

- Wearing a dress, no doubt.

- Hi, Harry.
- Harry.

- You guys
hear about Bob Benchley?

Hi, Dottie.
- Hey, listen, Harry, I need a line.

- Forget about that.
Harry, what about Benchley?

- He, uh, he died.

- You're kidding.

How?

- Cirrhosis of the liver,
hemorrhaging.

They say Marc Connelly ran around
the Stork Club looking for blood donors.

- God, Benchley.
I talked to him just before I left town.

- Dottie...
- Oh, that's just dandy!

Well, if it isn't Mr. Dorothy Parker.

- Hello, Dottie. Thought I might
as well get my things out of your way.

- What's in here?
This is mine, you shit!

You queer! You can't use that anymore
and you know it.

- Oh, surely not because
of your wartime adventures in London.

- Everybody knows it's a lie, Dottie,
and so do you.

- Just because you fucked another woman
doesn't make it all better.

- Goodbye, darling.

- Oh, that's right, take your toys
and gallop away - sidesaddle!

And don't forget to bore a hole

in the hobby-horse,
you fucking idiot!

Oh, Fred!

Dear Fred!

You lovely...

wonderful shit.

[Crying]

[Crying]

[Sobbing]

[Phone ringing]

- Department of Mass Hysteria
and Indecision.

The new year you ordered
is due shortly

and may be picked up
at the will-call desk.

- Bob, where have you been
all evening?

- Hello, Charlie!
Anyone seen my noisemakers?

- Aleck, you are a noisemaker!
- Where are my damn noisemakers?

[Meowing]
- I think she likes you better.

- Yes. Meow, too.

- James, my stomach hurts.

I like champagne,
but it doesn't like me.

- Oh, you're just being modest, Mary.

- Ha, ha, ha.

- A-are you nauseous, dear?

- My stomach.
- Your stomach.

- Well, pardon my pussy.

[Aleck]: Everywhere I draw breath
is a social hall!

- Then go breathe somewhere else!
- Aleck, I'm sure Jane means...

Aleck!
- If you were a true gentleman, Aleck,

you'd pinch my ass!

- Aleck, please. What the hell?
Just calm down, please.

Will you please calm down, Aleck?
It's New Year's Eve.

[Aleck]: Didn't I give you a dollar
Tuesday?

- You know, Charlie,
I actually made-believe

we'd be married someday.
I even decided what to wear.

- Ah, Jesus Christ, Dot!

- A rather pinkish gray
with butterfly orchids.

- Your passion for unhappiness
is goddamn endless.

- But you're fine, aren't you?

You're all well.

- Just wish you wouldn't sentimentalize
all the time.

- And I wish I never learned
to take off my clothes.

- Happy new year, Charlie.

Dottie.

- Happy new year, John Peter.

- Harpo, you'll appreciate this.

The Wisdom Tooth -

a comedy in three acts.

Ahem.
Act one...

[laughing]
Scene one.

[Laughing hysterically]
It gets better.

"A men's washroom.

Four washbasins are against the wall,
running diagonally."

- Why would I ruin the night?
- You talk about quitting your job.

Oh, here.
Here, one of your friends.

Why don't you tell her about the fact
that you want to leave.

- Too late, Mary.

[People blowing noisemakers]

- Oh...!!

- What, he swallow a nut?

- Have you been drinking, Ross?
- Heavily.

Don't for a minute
think I'm not incoherent, Bob.

- I would never not think that, no.
There you two are.

Toothing this comb with a fine...
- Put us back together, Dr. Benchley.

We're broken into little bits.
- What seems to be the problem?

Oh God! You, sir, appear pained enough
to have appeared in my column.

- I suppose I should say something
amusing about leaving life.

- I wish you would.

- But I'm afraid I don't find
any of this amusing anymore.

[Woman]: What is everybody staring at?

[Chuckling]

- Mr. Benchley.

- Mr. Sherwood.
- Mrs. Parker.

- Where are you going, Robert?

Couldn't have stood another moment
of him looking at me,

thinking of what a public clown
I turned out to be.

- Oh, Fred. That's not
what he was thinking at all.

- Hello.

- Bobby.
- Mademoiselle Gerard!

Hmm-mm-mm!

How did it go?
- Great.

Isn't he just the bee's knees, Dottie?

Did you miss me?
- Does the sun miss the stars?

Did Jackson Miss-issippi?
Cain miss Abel?

- What do you say
we go wild tonight, huh?

- All right, if you insist.

Little Miss Muffet?

Christmas cheer?

I try to worry, Mrs. Parker,

but I can't.

- Isn't anybody happy?

- I feel sick to my stomach.

[Aleck]: Tolstoy?
I always found Tolstoy rather dreary.

- Poor Alvan.

- You're right,
Tolstoy isn't very cheerful.

- And sentimental!
- Nor sentimental, for that matter.

- What's he written?
- He's a doctor, a psychotherapist.

A good one, too, actually.

- Because of his understanding

of how pure sorrow
is no more possible than pure joy.

- That's hardly reasonable!
[Everyone talking at once]

[Alvan]: Your friends don't care
for the Russians, I'm afraid.

- Come on, Doctor,

let's talk about
my sorrow and joy.

You don't mind, do you, Paula?

- Why, no.
- Well, at least I asked.

- I'm a-Freud of that man.
[Laughter]

- Someone pay attention to me!

[Chatting]

- My great fear

is being a bitter old woman
alone in her room,

who, despite all requests for rain,

will meet her maker
on a bright, sunny day.

[Cracking nuts]

I don't know if this is a terrible
tragedy or a big fucking joke.

- Would you like a nut?

- Could you just close the door
on your way out? Please.

Oh, sit here.

Please.

- Happy new year.

- Well...

what are you waiting for?

Analyze.

- Analysis is a serious business.

- Would it help if I cried?

- One needs an office,
a certain amount of formality.

- What if I put on a more expensive dress
and then cried?

- Well, it's safe to suggest
that you examine the need

you and your colleagues feel
to spend so much time together.

- They're shits, really,
Except for Mr. Benchley.

- That's quite a thing to say
about your best friends.

[Shouting]

- Please be sweet.

Don't know
why I can't work anymore...

why life is so goddamned painful.

- If we identify your inability to work
as the primary problem...

- It's a tossup, really, between that
and my inability to get laid.

- Then we ought to examine
how your energy is being spent instead.

- What else?
- Your drinking.

- Oh, it doesn't do me
much good anymore,

but that's about the extent of it.
- I have to disagree.

- Well, maybe it's the bad whiskey
I've been getting.

May I say, the real stuff
never made me suffer.

- It's not what you're suffering,
Mrs. Parker.

It's what you're missing.

In my opinion, you and your friends
are missing a great deal.

It's a sign of insecurity,

this compulsion
to be constantly with each other,

to be constantly entertaining, but
never discussing one subject for long,

never in-depth.

The serious side of your nature is lost.

Your purpose.

And then you can't write.

I think life is something more
than being able to breathe.

- Do I have to believe that
to feel better?

- Tell me about your mother.
She died when you were 5, correct?

- Actually, it was a month
before my fifth birthday.

Oh...

Sometimes I...

I think I catch a bit of her voice...

her scent,

something she once said.

And then it...

slips away.

Oh, I suppose she loved me
and kept me warm

and made sure
I ate roughage...

The truth is, I barely remember
a thing about her.

- There's no reason to be afraid.
It's good to remember.

- But I'm not remembering.

I'm just guessing.

I'm guessing everything.

It would be different, if only...

[sighing]

If only this, if only that.

- Where are you going, Dorothy?

- Um, I'm returning to my room.

My anxieties are waiting.
They miss me.

- You think that's a good idea?

- I... I like my room.
Everything I need is there.

- Don't you think you should stay here
until you face this pain more directly?

- Face it more directly?

Um, I face it every day.

I fall in love with married men,
but I do it on purpose.

I drink too much,
and that's because I'm thirsty.

And I write doodads because...

it's a doodad kind of town.

It's, um...

nothing... personal, Doctor...

but I think my version of pain
is more fun than yours.

- You're up.

- Mr. Kaufman.

I'm surprised to see you here.

- You, me, all of Manhattan,

and parts of Schenectady,
I'm sure.

Did she say anything about me?

- Just a little one...

while we're up.

- My dear,
do let me congratulate you.

You must be terribly proud and...

- It's Dorothy Parker.
- Who?

- Dorothy Parker.
- Dorothy Parker, yeah, the writer.

I worked with her and her husband
in Hollywood a long time ago.

They had just remarried.
[TV]: Somebody give me a drink!

- You might've heard of her.
- But didn't she commit suicide?

- Jesus Christ.
- No, no, no.

- What? I'm just asking a question.
- She was very famous.

- For writing movies or for marrying
the same guy twice?

- For having lunch, mostly.
[Laughing]

[Dorothy]: Is that a double?
- You didn't ask for a double, lady.

- I didn't?

I meant to, I promise you.

- I'll get you another one.

- How about a little tummy rub?

Part of the romance of digestion.
[Woman]: Where are you going?

- I want you to meet her. Just for a
second. She's great, you'll love her.

Come here, just sit down.
Sit, sit. Go ahead, sit.

Mrs. Parker,
I hope we're not disturbing you.

- Well...
[laughing]

- Do you remember me?

- Honey, I don't remember this morning.
[Laughing]

- I'm Fred Hunter.
I acted in a picture

that you and your husband,
Alan Campbell, wrote several years ago...

Flight to Nowhere.

Well, I got cut out, but...

- Honey, if I wrote it,
they cut me out too.

[Laughing]

- These are two friends of mine:
Marcy and June.

This is Mrs. Parker,
Dorothy Parker.

Can we buy you a drink?
- Well, sure. Ha, ha, ha.

- Can we get another drink here
for Mrs. Parker?

I was just telling them
about the old Hollywood days,

and about your husband.

He was so, so nice to me
when we worked together.

- I don't doubt it.

Unhappily...
Oh, I beg your pardon.

Happily,
I'm away from Hollywood now,

and I don't have to hear
about that crap.

[Laughter]
- Whatever happened to that director?

What was his name? I can't remember...
- He went to jail,

for being an American
in the US of A.

- Oh, really. Jail?
Oh, you mean because of the...

Right.
- Thank you.

- Thank you. Did you, uh...

I mean...
- Oh, no, no, dear.

But I bought a new hat, just in case.
[Laughing]

- Well, there's plenty of money
in Hollywood to buy things with.

- Oh, Hollywood money isn't real.

It's like... Well, I don't know
what the money is like.

It's like small ice in your hand.

- We got... we got to go.
- Oh, okay, great.

Mrs. Parker,
we're on our way to a movie.

Would you like to join us?

- Why were you just asking me
about Hollywood?

Honey, the thing has come down on me
like a curtain,

and I don't want
to remember those things.

Why are you trying
to split these curtains to me,

just a nice woman
trying to talk to you?

- I'm sorry...
[woman]: We're going to be late.

- Okay, all right, great.

Well, anyway...
- Fred...

Always late.

Someone said they'd have to keep
heaven open after hours for him.

[Chuckling]

- Well, Mrs. Parker,
it's a pleasure to see you.

You look, uh...

It's nice to see you.

- Well...

A dependable fact-of-life cliche -

everything's always worse
than you thought it would be.

[Man]: We are here
to honour Dorothy Parker,

because the clean wit of her verse

and the sharp perceptions
in her stories

have produced
a brilliant record of our times.

Because of Mrs. Parker's true talent,

her early work gives us
as much pleasure today

as it did 30 years ago.

And so...
[Dorothy]: What horse shit.

With apologies to the horses.

[Man]: Happily names Dorothy Parker

as this year's recipient
of the Marjorie Peabody Waite Award

for achievement and integrity.

[Applause]

- I never thought I'd make it.

[Up-beat jazz music playing]
[Laughter]

[People chatting]

- Do you miss
the glamour of the jazz age?

- Glamour? They ought to call it
the Dingy Decade.

- What disturbs you most
about American culture, Mrs. Parker?

- Stupidity, intolerance,

and segregation -
particularly segregation.

- Is it true that you were
involved in the Spanish Civil War?

- Why do we have to go into that?
Yes, I was!

Indeed, I should like to say

it was the proudest thing
I've ever been of.

I was, for a time,

with the proudest people
I've ever been of.

And that doesn't hurt you,
you know.

- What do you think of Kerouac
and the Beat Generation writers?

- Well, you'll... you'll take 'em.

Well, I think this... this thing
of the Beat Generation -

do you mind? -
I think it's perfect nonsense,

and I think in a couple of years,
they'll be forgotten.

But, us, messy as we were

and all that,
we're not going to be forgotten,

because some of us
came out of it.

There came out Benchley.
There came out Fitzgerald.

There came out Hemingway.
There came out Broun.

There came out Sherwood.

Well, for heaven's sweet sake,

who's coming out of the Beatniks?

All right, Kerouac.
All right, all right, all right.

[Laughing]
- Have you thought

about what you'd like to have written
on your tombstone, Mrs. Parker?

- What a morbid thing to ask a person.

You've just stolen my heart.

Actually, I have composed
something for my epitaph.

Something memorable, I hope.

- Well, I'm not a bit surprised.

Are you going
to let me know what it is?

[Whispering]

- Come here, dear.
Off we go.

Excuse me.

- What did she say?

[Up-beat jazz music playing]

DVD Subtitling: CNST, Montreal

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