Original subtitles

public service, we thought it might be wise to take our remote cameras and show

you how those alert, never -tiring public servants, the firemen, go about

work. We have been on the road only ten seconds and already I see the fire.

I understand it's the fastest fire truck in the world.

We seem to have taken a wrong turn somehow.

and a very wide turn at that.

As I was saying, these men have been on the road less than a minute, and yet

here we are in Arabia.

It isn't the pilots that are the controllers of the truck.

Perhaps we'd better get back to the show.

I doubt if you thought to bring your passports.

Here then is our show for tonight.

with this one -minute pulse alarm.

Dear Mr. James, many thanks for your letter about my new novel.

I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

Yours is the 2000th letter I've received mentioning the typographical error on

page 90.

It's always gratifying to learn, etc., etc., end with formula B.

Any more?

That's the last of the eager readers.

There are four odd ones.

Only four? Well, we must be slipping.

No, I will not guarantee the loan in question.

Impertinent blockhead.

My dear Mr. George, thank you for your letter, but I'm afraid the

world of patents and inventions is an unfamiliar one to me.

I am not, therefore, prepared to back your project for the recovery of soap

domestic bathwater.

No matter what benefits it may confer on the underdeveloped nations of the

world.

Sincerely yours, Ralston Temple.

I thought you'd like that one.

You said there were four.

Dear sir, I am writing a novel and starving at the same time. Enough!

Out! I know it is a good novel.

But unless I can get some money, I don't think I will be able to finish it. Now,

Alice... First, they will take the typewriter away, and then they will take

away. I am sending you the first three chapters. If you like them, will you

me? Yours truly, Alan Chatterton.

No.

I will not help him. Now, will you please allow me to go on with my work?

Well, I've read what he sent. It's called The Locked Stable.

The horse, I presume, has gone.

No, still there.

But feeling very sick, I'll be bound.

He can write. I think it's good.

Splendid. Then he should get himself a job and work at it in his spare time.

Is that what you did?

Now, you know very well that with me, writing always had to be a full -time

occupation. Oh, you mean people were kind and helped you. You had friends.

You know, what I dislike even more than your hectoring manner is the blatant way

in which you attempt to manage to...

To manipulate me.

Well, it's too bad.

He'd model this style a lot on yours.

I think you'd like it.

He's here.

Who? Mr. Chatterton. I told you Wednesday.

This is Wednesday. He's waiting in there.

That's Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.

Mr. Chatterton?

Good afternoon.

Yeah, good afternoon.

It's very good of you to see me, Mr. Temple.

Will you sit down?

Well, I was interested in your letter and the beginning of your book.

Tell me about yourself.

Me? Oh, the usual jazz.

Go east, young man, go east.

Flunk out of college.

Went to work in a gas station.

Needs therapy, starts to write. Well, why not?

Everyone else does.

I'm not everyone else.

If I was, I wouldn't be here.

That's true.

But as I said, I like the beginning of your book, and I think... Well, I'm

to rewrite all that.

Well, I did think that perhaps a measure of revision was called for.

The central character was shifting his point of view too suddenly and too

quickly.

I don't say that he shouldn't, but in my experience, it's wiser to give the

reader time as it were to... Hey, you have a decorator do this for you?

I beg your pardon?

You have a decorator do all this?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did.

Why?

Yeah, that's the best way, I suppose.

An effect of studied negligence, isn't that what they call it?

I really don't know.

But speaking of cant phrases, Mr. Chatterton, what effect are you trying

What is known as angry young man?

Me? I'm not angry.

Just envious.

Well, this would be a great place to work.

How many copies your last book sell?

Hard covers, I mean.

English -speaking world?

Half a million?

Why? Man, if I could hit it lucky like that. Oh, well, luck doesn't necessarily

play a part.

I spent 20 years learning how to write.

How long did it take you to finish that last one? A jackpot one, I mean.

A year?

18 months?

See, that's what I mean.

I need six more months.

I gotta finish this. My dear Mr.

Chatterton, even if you do finish the book, there's no guarantee that it'll be

accepted. Listen, you want guarantees?

I tell you what. You stake me for six months.

Forty bucks a week.

And if the book doesn't sell and I can't pay you back that way, then I'll go to

work in a gas station again and pay you.

I'm not asking for a handout. All I want is a loan.

Interest at six percent.

You want me to put it in writing? I do not want any interest.

And I do not want anything in writing.

Well, what do you want?

Alice!

Stay clear.

Stay clear.

Oh, dear, I should be in Jamaica.

As soon as I finish my new book, I shall go to Jamaica.

Or possibly around the world by slow luxury liner.

If you finish signing those checks, I'll get you some hot lemon. I detest hot

lemon. Why is it when one is already feeling suicidal, these extra little

torches must be applied to... What's this?

Oh, $100 for Alan Chatterton to buy a top coat.

Hmm?

He's been going about in this blizzard in a thin rain slicker. But he had an

extra $100 last week.

Well, that was to pay the dentist.

But what's his allowance for?

Have you tried to live in New York on $40 a week?

I lived on $20.

I hate to remind you how many years ago that was. Why does he have to live in

New York?

Why don't you take some small place in the country?

Why don't you? Because I dislike the noise.

Birds twittering, bees having. I can't work.

That's just what he says.

In fact, he's like you in quite a number of ways.

I'd say when you were his age. My youth was nasty, brutish, and luckily short.

But even in my worst moments, I managed to preserve something of the fitness of

things. Yes, and respect you to wiser people.

Yes, and a lively...

Sense of gratitude as well.

That's not what you said in your autobiography. That's still unpublished,

you have no right to quote it at me.

What I dislike is the underhanded manner in which he approaches you for these

subsidies.

You told him all you were interested in was his work.

Naturally, he comes to me. There's nothing underhand about it.

Yes, and what about his work?

Six months, he said. It's been five months now, and for all I know, he may

have written another word.

It's taking him longer than he expected.

He says it's difficult to concentrate when he's worrying about money all the

time.

In my opinion, he needs a vacation.

A vacation?

Oh, my God, a vacation.

I'll get your hot lemon.

Mr.

Temple's apartment.

Oh.

Mr. Chatterton, how are you today?

Yes, he's here, working rather hard on the last chapter.

I see.

Well, perhaps there's something I can do.

Well, he is very busy, unless you're bringing in your manuscript for him to

read.

No, of course you don't.

What sort of emergency, Mr. Chatterton?

I have to get married.

Married? But you can't get married. You have a descent.

Besides, you shouldn't get married.

I've been married several times, and I know.

Marriage and a writing career are basically incompatible. I didn't say I

to get married. I said I have to.

Oh, good grief.

Young men are so disgusting.

Do I know the wretched woman?

She's not wretched. She's a poet.

Good. Then she should remain single.

Single. Well, that's the trouble. She won't.

It's all this psychology jazz.

She says if the kid doesn't have two parents who conform to the mores of the

society into which it is born, barbaric though those mores may be,

it'll grow up insecure and neurotic.

If I don't marry her, she's going to marry some other guy.

I've never heard anything so immortal in all my life.

Oh, he knows about the baby and me.

But you see how it is. I don't want her marrying him.

It's been bugging me for weeks now.

I don't think I can finish the novel if I don't get married.

Hey, I read that article you wrote for Manhattan Monthly.

I thought it was pretty good.

Thank you. It was full of insight.

Vital.

Well, what do you propose?

Oh, well, I worked out a kind of a letter.

It gives you half interest in the book.

Sort of a contract.

I figured that was the least I could do.

Thank you.

How much do you need?

I don't know. Say, uh, five thousand.

Five?

But most first novels don't earn half that much. I should have thought you'd

have known.

Oh, money doesn't mean that much to me.

So I've noticed.

So let's say one thousand and a good long prayer.

You don't like me, do you?

No, not much.

Alice, give me that checkbook.

But I still think you may have talent.

With me, I suppose you might call this an act of faith.

Oh, this is an unexpected pleasure. Ah, good evening, Luigi.

Will you have a table for me?

Always, Mr. Temple, but we do not often see you at this time.

Just one? Yes, please.

You see, my cook sister chose this an opportune moment to break a leg.

Goodis gratia.

Ah, Mr. Temple, there's a party paying the bill now. If you will please wait

just one little moment at the bar, I will have a booth for you.

Hey, Julio, you better put a couple more bottles on the ice.

Now, hey, by a student named Pendleton, I want you to tell a story about the man

in the lion's skull.

Tell him about the one with... It's a true story. I

swear to you. The one I want you to tell is a marvelous story. It's the one

about the parrot with asthma.

That's a true story.

No, no, but I know one about that. Mr. Temple, your table is ready now.

Thank you.

And the preacher was coming.

Luigi, that young man over there with the bow tie, you happen to know who he

Oh, yes, sir.

That's Mr. Alan Chatterton. You know the writer?

He's a very good customer here.

Thank you very much.

I'll be over in a minute.

Thank you, sir.

Well, of course, when the poor guy gets back to his dressing room, he can't wait

to find out what bit him.

So he takes off the lion's suit, and then he takes off the lion's head.

Hey, Alan, you've got to listen to this.

Excuse me.

Hello. I thought you went to Europe.

My boat leaves tomorrow.

I'd like to see you before I go.

Tomorrow morning at ten. Okay.

Good night.

Well, he's standing there holding this lion's head in his hands, and the door

opens, and in comes this dame, and she wants to know where he's been all her

life.

I gave you that thousand dollars to enable you and your wife to get an

apartment, not to squander an expensive restaurant.

Well, it was only the once. Oh, no lies, please.

Luigi tells me you're often there.

You been checking up on me?

No, but perhaps I should have done.

Was your wife in that party?

Or do you have a wife?

I told you. You told me a squalid little story about an immoral poetess who had

some half -baked ideas on child psychology.

I didn't trouble to find out if it were true.

Of course, I could have... All right, I made it up. You mean you deliberately

lie.

Well, what's the difference? It was a good story, wasn't it?

You weren't bored, were you?

What about all this righteous indignation I've had to put up with?

Deliberately lied.

What do you do when you write a novel? You tell the truth?

What do you do when you go to a show and the guy says, I love you, baby. You

stand up and say, that's a deliberate lie. I happen to know he's a happily

married man with three kids and a house in White Plains.

If I'd been tricked into paying a thousand dollars for my seat, I probably

should have said a great deal more.

I suppose if I'd come to you and said, I need the money for research on the

book, that would have been different.

It might have.

And while we're on that subject, I want to see that book, please.

Now.

Well, you can. It's not finished.

Finished or unfinished.

I gave you $6 ,400.

$6 ,600.

I'll trust you to keep an accounting. And I'm curious to know what, if

it bought.

I told you it's not finished.

I see.

Let me ask you a question.

Now, I know that $1 ,000 doesn't go very far when you start picking up big tabs

at Luigi's.

Am I the only subscriber to the locks table?

Oh, no.

That's my business.

We could make it the business of the police.

Oh, don't give me that jazz.

You had your kicks, didn't you?

The great Ralston Temple patronizing the young artist?

The well -turned phrase from the well -heeled man of letters?

You had your fun.

Police, don't make me laugh.

You got half interest in a novel.

That's what you bought, wasn't it? Or don't you read contract?

Of course, if the novel doesn't make any money or doesn't even get off the

ground, that's too bad. But the loss is always tax deductible, so what are you

griping about?

You shoddy little crook.

Okay.

Here's your contract.

Take it.

Oh, you'll be sorry. Your business manager will need that.

Get out.

Alice, if this creature comes near my apartment again, you have my full

authority to call the police.

Oh, that streak of masochism there makes you wonder, doesn't it? All I'm

wondering is who you stole those first three chapters from. Or would you rather

not say?

Alice, please, that's enough.

Please go.

There's a lot of mail I didn't forward. Don't you want to... Tomorrow, dear,

tomorrow. Tomorrow.

How good that gasoline smells.

Well, I've got the new book all planned.

As soon as I can rid myself of this...

Sense of robust well -being, I shall make a start.

Thursday, possibly.

What's the matter?

I'm afraid I have some rather upsetting news.

News?

You're going to get married?

No.

It's Alan Chatterton.

Oh, dear. Someone's pressed charges, I suppose.

No.

Oh, not suicide.

I'd never forgive myself if anything I'd said had driven another human being

however odious to... What's the

meaning of this?

I think you'd better see for yourself.

He sold the motion picture rights, too.

I wrote him a note.

Hope you'll enjoy the book.

It wishes Alan Chatterjee.

Your name, please?

Mrs. Kathy Carr.

And I want to tell you, I read it twice already.

In that chapter about the lion's head three times.

Out loud.

Thank you, Mrs. Carr.

Thank you.

I'm glad you enjoyed it.

The name, please?

Temple.

Oh, hello. I sent you a check. Did you get it? Yes, thanks very much.

It was unnecessary to add the interest.

Bank rate?

Well, I'm glad I was of help.

I'm afraid I owe you an apology.

Help?

Oh.

But you never did believe in me, did you?

I usually write with best wishes, but I think maybe in your case, something a

little different.

What about kindest regards?

for anything but holding on here.

Darkness is an excellent condition for viewing a combustion.

If you don't see me at its conclusion, just wait a moment and I'll be by.

My only hope is that the driver will run out of gas.

I know I have.

I shall be back next week and the week after that and the week after that until

I...