All language subtitles for my-salinger-year-2020-1080p-bluray-x264-justwatch

I grew up in
a quiet suburban town,

just north of New York.

On special occasions, my dad
would take me into the city,

and we would go and get dessert
at the Waldorf or the Plaza.

I loved watching
the people around us.

They seemed to have
interesting lives.

I wanted to be one of them.

I wanted to write novels

and speak 5 languages
and travel.

I didn't want to be ordinary.

I wanted to be
extraordinary.

Those memories came
storming back to me last year

when I came to visit
my best friend in New York.

I was only supposed to
stay a few days,

and then return to Berkeley,

where my boyfriend
was waiting on me.

But something shifted.

I want to stay in New York
for a while.

A while?
What do you mean, a while?

What about your semester?

Yeah, but see,
that's just it.

I don't want to analyze other
people's work anymore, Karl.

I want to write.

In New York?

Yeah.

In New York...

Isn't that what
aspiring writers did?

Live in cheap apartments
and write in cafés?

Yeah, I know.

But it's what I wanted!

My boss says
we're going paperless.

- All emails.
- Hmm.

It's driving me nuts, with
everyone writing about nothing,

answering, "Thanks,"
or worse, "You're welcome."

My colleague sends me emails
to ask me when I'm having lunch.

I hope this is just a trend
that will phase out.

I miss your rants.

Everyone in Berkeley
is so serious

and into jogging
and wearing Tevas.

Fucking Tevas!

I'm like this big cloud
of East Coast irony

haunting Southern California.

Hmm, turning
everything into ash.

- That's me.
- Mmm!

Does Karl feel the same?

Um, it's not really
the same for him,

'cause he's been there
for a couple years,

and the university sort of
treats him like a star.

Oh, well...

Hey, Jenny, um...

I don't know
exactly how long

I'm gonna be staying
in New York.

Don't worry! Just keep
making yourself at home.

Eat anything.

OK.

MA in English literature,
University College in London.

I suppose that would
make you more appealing

to some publishers,

less to most.

You published poetry?

Yes, yes,
in The Paris Review.

I just won
their student contest.

Leave that out.

Publishers avoid
wannabe writers.

Oh. That is what I
wa-want to do, though.

Event-eventually.

Oh! I got it!
Not a publisher.

How about a literary agency?

Yeah, great!

The oldest in New York.

Do you type?

Uh, I took typing
in, um, 7th grade.

Of course you don't type.

She's gonna ask if you type,
and you're gonna say...

Yes!

Sixty words a minute.

But do you type
on a typewriter?

It's very different from typing
on one of those computers.

Yes.

What do you like to read?

Everything.

Uh, Lurie, Hammet,
Donald Westlake.

Hmm...

I just finished
A Sentimental Education,

and I loved it.

It was so contemporary.
I was amazed.

Gustave Flaubert...

Oui, c'est très bien,
ma chère,

but to be in this field,

you'll need to read
authors who are alive.

Mmm...
I love Flaubert!

I like Westlake. He's funny.

I guess you can
start after Christmas.

We'll talk
about Jerry then.

Ah, Jerry!

I'm sure you've heard
that he's crazy or senile

or a misanthrope.

All lies.
He's not the problem.

It's these people
who relentlessly call

for his address,
his phone number,

asking to be put in touch
with him, or even with me!

Reporters, students,
university deans, producers.

They can be persuasive,
manipulative.

But, you must
never, ever

give out his address.

Do you understand?

I understand.

Good.

Remember, there's no shortage
of college graduates

who want this job.

Be prepared
for long hours.

Pam will give you a key.

Pam. OK.

Thank you so much.

I can't tell you how
honored and thrilled I am.

No need to
be honored.

Thrilled, maybe.
Margaret is pretty thrilling.

I'm Daniel, by the way.

She'll be starting
after the holidays, January.

That Jerry!

Ah...

I didn't know yet
what a literary agency was,

but felt like
I'd stepped closer

to the world of writers.

I was to be surrounded
by godlike literary names.

No doubt, their proximity
would inspire my own writing.

Well, congratulations
on your new job.

Here is your key.

Do not lose it.

We will expect you at
8:00 a.m. sharp, January 8.

I never went
back to Berkeley.

New York was to be my new home,
writing, my new life,

with a coveted job
to pay the rent.

- Hi!
- Hey!

Um... Hey!
Come, come, come join us.

- Hi!
- Hi, hi, Mark.

- Everyone, this is Joanna.
- I'm Joanna. Yeah, hi!

And this is Mark.
This is Lisa.

They, uh,
they just got engaged

so, uh, we're celebrating.

Oh, wow!
Oh my goodness!

Congratulations!

It's fake.

Sit... sit... sit down.

The office is incredible.

It's like nothing's
changed since 1927.

And, um, guess who
my boss represents.

- Anne Rice?
- The Pope.

- Thomas Pynchon.
- J.D. Salinger.

- No way!
- He's still alive?

Yeah, he is.

He lives up in New Hampshire,
in basically total isolation.

Reporters are always trying to
ambush him in the local diner

or try to sneak
onto his property.

I love Catcher in the Rye.

Franny and Zooey
is my favorite.

My friend Kat used to
work at his publisher's.

And, one night,
she was working late,

like, 1:00 a.m. late,

and the phone rings in
the office and keeps ringing.

So she picks it up,

and she heard
someone screaming.

The manuscript is OK!

I saved the manuscript
from the fire!

Salinger?

His house had burned down,

and he called in
the middle of the night,

assuming someone
would be at the office.

Isn't that crazy?

I read he still writes,
but doesn't want to publish.

Writing makes you a writer.

Publishing is commerce.

That is such a
crock of shit, Don!

This is some pre-emptive
strike argument

in case he never
sells a novel,

if you ever finish.

I will, but today
is about Joanna

and her crossing
to the dark side

with the book merchants.

- Cheers!
- Cheers!

Thanks!

I had met Don days earlier

in a socialist bookstore
where he worked part time.

Haven't seen you
around here before.

Let me guess.

You're an intern
at The New Yorker?

Besides fighting materialism
and raising class awareness,

Don was into boxing,
Norman Mailer and...

Yeah, I'm writing a novel.

He was straightforward
about being a writer.

I admired his confidence.

Do you know the Panama Café?

It's on Avenue A. It's kind of
like a writers' hangout.

I do, actually,
yeah, they have...

Poetry readings.

Love is the one
who's hard to find.

Love's the one
who knows your mind.

Love's the one
who feeds your soul.

Love's the one
to have and hold.

But hold a minute. Hold how?

There's a hundred hungry ways
to hold her up or hold her down.

Will she still be able
to get around?

Will she be able
to hold her ground?

So she digs down deep
to the bottom of the box

to find the original
hide of the fox.

And it's there, all right.

Where the hell
were you?

Cut the goddamn grass today,

or else I'm selling
your K-car, you hear?

Dear Mr. Salinger,

I read your book
The Catcher In the Rye

3 times now.

It's a masterpiece,
and I hope you're proud of it.

I mean, you certainly
should be.

Most of the crap
that's written today

is so uncompelling,
it makes me sick.

I mean, not too many people
write anything

that even approaches sincerity.

And I don't mean to say

that everyone who reads
your book gets it,

not at all.

Lots of people don't.

I mean, I can give you
plenty of idiotic examples,

but I won't.

You might be laughing out loud
right now at the thought,

but I think I get it.

Maybe I don't.

Hello!

Well, you're here.

I am!

We know you can type, hooray!

But have you ever
used a dictaphone?

At ease.

It can be tricky at first,

but I'm sure you'll
get the hang of it.

Play, rewind, and I think
those control speed.

Hugh can help.

Hugh...

You can get
started with these.

This is our technological area.

It is all very new.

This is the Xerox
machine you'll use

to make copies
of my correspondence.

I believe that is the button
you press to make a copy.

Did she give you her speech

about the evils
of the digital age yet?

Max, this is Joanna,
my new assistant.

- Hello, Joanna!
- Max.

- Nice to meet you.
- Nice to meet you.

Um...

So, there are no computers?

We choose not
to use computers.

I've seen them in action.

They just make more work
for everyone, wasting time.

All right.

As you can see, we have a
relaxed, cordial environment.

We ask that you don't
wear dungarees, sneakers,

T-shirts, sweatshirts,
especially the kind with hoods.

No open-toed shoes,

but it's perfectly fine to wear
trousers if you're a woman,

and no need to wear
stockings in the summer.

Bare legs are perfectly fine.

And if Jerry calls,
you just say:

"Yes, Jerry, I will
let my boss know."

Jerry Salinger?

Well, of course,
Jerry Salinger.

And above all,
you never, ever call him.

Why would I
call Jerry Salinger?

Jerry doesn't
want to hear about

how much you loved
The Catcher in the Rye.

And he doesn't want
to read your stories.

- I don't have stories.
- Good.

Writers make
the worst assistants.

Get to work.

The proprietor hereby grants

to the publisher...

...starting from the date
of this agreement.

The proprietor...

I'm Hugh.
You must be Joanna.

Yes, hi!
Nice to meet you.

If you need anything,
I'm right here.

I take care of contracts, legal,
copyrights, the fun stuff.

Salinger's letters, fan mail.

You need to answer
them using these.

There's one for
each type of inquiry:

adaptation, autobiography,

autograph,
photograph, interview...

celebrity auction.

"Mr. Salinger does not wish to
receive mail from his readers.

Thus we cannot pass
your kind note on to him."

1963?

That's the year he
stopped responding himself.

You need to type the new one
based exactly on this, verbatim.

No change.

So, Salinger doesn't
get any of his mail?

Not one, you shred them
in the shredder.

You should always read them.

Yes, indeed.

- Just in case.
- Just in case.

In case of what?

We've been extra careful since
the Marc David Chapman thing.

John Lennon's assassin.

When the police arrived
at the Dakota,

they found Chapman calmly
sitting on the sidewalk

reading Catcher in the Rye.

At his trial,

Chapman said that the big part
of him was Holden Caulfield.

And the small
part of him was...

the devil.

Did Chapman write to Salinger?

We'll never know,
since we throw away the mail.

Read everything
thoroughly.

Use your judgment.

I think about Holden a lot.

When I first think about him,

I get a stupid grin
on my face, you know...

thinking about what
a funny guy he is and all.

But then I usually get
depressed as hell...

'cause I only
think about Holden

when I'm feeling
very emotional, and...

I can get quite emotional.

"I can get quite emotional."

This boy is so earnest.

A major loser
is what he is.

Hey! He is not!

He is.

He's very sweet.

He's a little funny,

but he's sweet
and he cares so much.

I can't send him
a letter that says:

"Dear kid, Mr. Salinger
has no interest in you,

so please fuck off!"

Look, this one is
from the Netherlands:

"Me and my wife traced Holden's
steps around New York.

"Did you know that
the ducks in Central Park

stay through winter?"

Oh my God, they're literally
a bunch of obsessive freaks!

I haven't read
Catcher in the Rye.

You're kidding.

I haven't read any Salinger.

Wow!

Everybody's read Catcher
at the very least.

Yeah, well, at the risk
of disappointing you,

there are actually a few writers
that I have yet to read.

Well, I'm shocked.

Hey, look, this girl is ready
to go to bed with him.

He's 70-something.

Don't be naive!

Good literature is
a powerful aphrodisiac.

I never had that
teenage Salinger moment.

We never read
Catcher in the Rye at school,

and later, I was interested
in difficult, gritty fiction.

Hey, hon!

Uh, Jenny's not
here right now.

Oh! I'll be in the kitchen.

I imagined Salinger's books

to be insufferably cute,
quirky and precious.

I didn't want
to be entertained.

I wanted to be provoked.

Every morning!

My shoulder hurts from
carrying all those manuscripts.

- Hey, Joanna!
- Hi!

Oh! I found a writer for
Max out of the slush pile.

The stories are so good.

I read them last night,
and I was sobbing by the end.

What's the slush pile?

The slush pile?

OK, it's like
the most amazing

and most horrible
part of our job.

The stacks of manuscripts
nobody wants to read.

Basically, it's all the
unsolicited query letters,

people with no referral
who write to agents cold.

The slush pile is,
like, 99% crazy shit,

though some of it
is seriously hilarious.

But very, very occasionally,
you find something amazing.

Your boss doesn't
let you read?

I can read manuscripts,

should that be something
that interests you,

at home on my free time,
of course!

Manuscripts?

No.

Tabs, wrong.

Margins, wrong.

Proper names, wrong.

Really, everything wrong.

You can start re-typing today.

And here, as a bonus,
is today's dictation.

That...

Forget about manuscripts.

You need to get that right.

Is it on?

Uh, no.

As you know, I believe
that computers make work

rather than alleviate it,

but I agreed to install one
in the office,

on a trial basis, because...

It came in an elegant black.

Because Hugh discovered
that people...

I don't know
who these people are

or why they don't have
more important things

to do with their lives...

but people have been publishing
whole Salinger stories

on their personal e-webs.

Web logs.

Web logs...
Ridiculous!

This is blatant
copyright infringement,

and we're going to have to
scour the World Wide Web

to put an end to it.

And that is all the computer
is to be used for.

Sorry to interrupt.
Just passing through.

Don't mean to cause a fuss.

We can turn it off now.

- Uh, it's already off.
- OK, good.

And maybe the little coat
that goes over it.

I've seen it in pictures.
Thank you, Max.

I'm afraid we don't have a...

There were hundreds of us,
thousands maybe, all girls,

working at literary agencies
or publishing houses.

We answered calls
for our bosses,

ushered in the writers,
fetched them water...

never belying the fact that we
wanted to be writers ourselves.

We whispered about
the lucky ones,

the ones who were
mentored by their bosses,

who were allowed
to take on books or clients,

the ones who broke the rules
to show initiative...

...the ones who wanted it
badly enough.

Please find two copies

of the contract with
St. Martin publishing.

Let's face it.
I was a secretary.

Hello?

Hello? Hello?

Hello?

Speaking to? It's Jerry.

Hello, Mr. Salinger!

Who is this?

This is Joanna.

Who?

I... I'm Joanna.

I'm... I'm Margaret's
new assistant.

Oh, Margaret's new assistant!

Nice to meet you, Suzanna.

How do you like your job?

I love it!

Good to hear. I'm calling
to speak to your boss.

Unfortunately,
she's not in right now.

Um, can I leave her a message?

Oh, no, I'll call back.

Well, I'm sure you
have a lot of work.

It was very nice
talking to you, Suzanna.

I'm looking forward
to meeting you in person.

You too.

Have a great day!

Goodbye!

I never say:
"Have a great day."

Jerry?

He's deaf. An explosion
during the war.

She just left?

Yes.

Better go tell her.

Quicker.

Margaret!

Sorry! I'm sorry
to disturb you.

You just got a call from...

Your client just called.

I wonder
which one!

I have to take this.

Go ahead, Books. I'll wait
for you at the restaurant.

You did the
right thing.

Salinger wants to
publish a book.

The press is
gonna go nuts.

No press. No one must know.

That's our job.

So it's true.
He's been writing.

Well, no, it's an
old story, Hapworth.

A publisher,
Clifford Bradbury,

approached him to publish it
as a stand-alone book.

He has been thinking
about it for 8 years.

The publisher wrote
to him back in '88.

Jerry liked the fact that
he wrote on a typewriter.

How did he get
Jerry's address?

He addressed it
to J.D. Salinger,

Cornish, New Hampshire.

Postman delivered it!

That's brilliant.

Wait, wait, wait, Margaret.

What kind of publisher is this?

It can't be Little, Brown
or any major house.

They would have
just called you.

Oh boy! You're gonna
love this, Max.

It is a tiny press
in Virginia.

Kind of a one-man operation:
Merrygold Press.

Merrybells Press?

Yes, that's it.
You know them?

They publish poetry,
and I like few of their poets.

Are you fucking
kidding me?

A one-man press
is going to publish

the first book
from Salinger

in 3 decades?

That's fucked.

Publishing Salinger
is different

than publishing poetry.

Thank you.

Obviously, we have to
proceed carefully.

Find out everything we can
about this Clifford Bradbury.

I'll call him.

I won't mention Salinger,

and I'll ask for his catalogue
and a sample for our records.

Good thinking.

Hugh, get me the contract
with The New Yorker, please.

What's Hapworth?

It was published in
The New Yorker in '65.

Took up almost
the whole magazine.

- Let me see.
- Pretty common in those days.

Esquire did it, Cosmo.

That's where I got my start.
Buying stories for a magazine.

For Cosmo?

For Playboy.

How did you end up
working for Playboy?

Enough chit-chat, Joanna.
Back to work.

Hi! Is this Clifford Bradbury?

Hi! This is Joanna Rakoff.

I work for A & F
Literary Management.

The job of an agent

is to open up opportunities
for their clients.

But when it came to Salinger,
the logic was reversed.

We had to shield him
from the outside world,

bolstering his reputation
as a complicated recluse.

Yeah, thank you.

But publishing Hapworth

was going to get
a lot of attention.

Nobody understood
his change of heart.

Night, Jerry.

Maybe, I thought, I understood.

Maybe he realized that
what he wanted

wasn't what he wanted at all.

I was like:
"Are you serious?"

She was like:

"Yeah, he's totally
visiting me in my dreams.

I think he has a
message for me."

And I looked to either side
of me to see if anyone heard.

What are you writing?

Writing a very bad poem.

Listen, Bret and I
were talking, and...

Look...

When you first
got back to New York,

and I said that
you could stay here,

to be honest, I thought you'd
go back to Berkeley with Karl.

You're kicking me out?

No, like...

I'm happy to have you here,
and you can stay if you want,

but what did you
plan on doing?

What are your options?

Oh! Ah!

We disinfected
the apartment.

'Cause the man
before had 7 cats.

But young married
couple like you

take better
care of it, yeah?

We're not married.

The man next door,

he takes care of
little things if you need.

He's Mexican. He drinks.

But he works hard.

Uh, how much?

$560.

We'll think about it!

No, we'll take it.

Oh! Good deal!

You're Jewish, yeah?

- Me?
- Mmm?

No.

I like, very responsible.

- Hmm.
- Pay on time.

Uh, let's sign
the paper.

The lease is gonna
be under her name.

Hmm?

Could have just given ourselves
a day to think about it.

No, this is New York City,
young lady, the big time!

I barely make $300 a week.

No, wait, we split
the rent, Buba.

I'm gonna pay my half.

I just... I just have to
avoid the credit check.

Look, I'll take care
of the furniture, all right?

There's no sink.

What?

There's no sink
in the kitchen.

I knew something was
off about the apartment.

I couldn't
put my finger on it.

There's no kitchen sink.

We just signed a lease for
an apartment with no sink!

Well, we can do the dishes
in the bathtub.

It's no big deal.

There's a tub. Trust me.

Hey, man!
You coming?

Ladies and gentlemen...

Dear Mr. Salinger, please
forgive my bad English.

I work much at night,

and I like it because I don't
have to talk to people so much.

My heart is troubled,
just like Holden Caulfield.

Holden is like my grandfather,
you know, a no-bullshit man.

He taught me a lot
about human nature.

He warned me I would be
disappointed by most people.

We would be very honored

if you would serve as our
commencement reader next year.

We would, of course,
provide you with accommodation

in a very fine inn,

where your privacy, which I
know is important to you,

would be scrupulously respected.

The fishing helps me.

A nice refuge
from my nightmares.

It's been 27 years
since Vietnam.

They just keep getting worse.

You know, seeing your
dead friends

having their guts ripped out...

Well, I'm sure you must
have similar type dreams,

being a veteran who...

"...does not wish to receive
mail from his readers.

"Thus, we cannot pass along
your kind note to him.

We thank you for your interest
in Mr. Salinger's book."

My daughter
died from leukemia.

She was a talented young writer.

I'm founding a small
literary magazine in her memory,

and I'd like permission
to call it Bananafish,

as Salinger was her fav...

Titles can't
be copyrighted.

I could write a novel

and call it
The Great Gatsby if I wanted to.

So, yes, she can call
her magazine Bananafish.

Great!

But the agency
can't advise her.

As always...

Really?

Yep! I'm just telling you this
for your own edification.

Send the form letter
and finish shredding.

That's absurd!

Well, of course,
you're right.

She's gonna start
yelling at me

the minute she's
off the phone.

A pleasure to talk to you,
Jerry, as always. Goodbye!

Crap sandwich!

- Hugh!
- Yes?

Do you have the Salinger
contract ready?

Yes, almost there.

Ask Pam to
call a messenger

so we can get it over to
The New Yorker before 6:00.

The New Yorker?

Yes.

Probably best if I just
bring it myself then, no?

I grew up reading
The New Yorker,

following my father's ritual.

He would start
with the movie reviews,

and then turn to
"The Talk of the Town,"

and then the features.

In college, everyone was
into The New Yorker.

Hi!

My boss wanted me to make sure
this was delivered right away.

Thank you!

Can I help you
with something else?

No. No!

No, no, that was it, thanks.

I was at the Algonquin
serving him a martini.

Anyway, I used my Cosmo ID
to get in the room.

I recognized the agent.
He did not recognize me.

And we spent the evening talking
about William's tragic death

and the agency.

And?

And I lost my job at Cosmo

for not showing up
the next morning.

But I kept the man's card,

and a year later, I gave him
a call at the agency...

Hi...

...and he hired me.

And the rest is history.
Joanna, what is it?

- Is something wrong?
- No.

She was walking by, looking
cold and hungry and forlorn.

I invited her in.
Joanna, please sit.

I don't want to interrupt.

Don't be silly.
This is my wife, Helen.

Nice to meet you.

We were just reminiscing,

telling tales about
the lost generation:

Hemingway, Fitzgerald.

Do you know the agency
represented Fitzgerald?

Yes, and Dylan Thomas,

Langston Hughes,
Agatha Christie.

And you've read all
their work, of course?

I have, however,
my boss suggests

that I read writers
that are alive.

Speaking of living writers,

are you familiar
with Rachel Cusk?

Don't take
the bait, Joanna.

No, I am.
Yes, I am, I am!

Uh, her first novel,
Saving Agnes, was huge.

It won the Whitbread, I think.

And everyone that I knew
in London was reading it.

It was our lives, basically.
Or it was... it was my... my life.

What is it about?

Um...

Well, it's a coming-of-age
tale, definitely.

I guess it's about
the ways in which

women need to get over this
self-loathing of their bodies.

I'd say it's more
about how the patriarchy

imposes rigid and terrifying
ideas of femininity

onto young women,

how that paralyzes them and
strips them of their dignity.

I don't know. It doesn't feel
quite that didactic to me.

It's a very introspective novel.

It doesn't really read
like social commentary.

OK. Joanna, meet Rachel Cusk.

Hello.

No, no. I'm so sorry.

It's OK.
It's lovely to meet you.

You're a novelist yourself?

Joanna is my assistant.
I don't hire writers.

- I'm very particular about it.
- Really?

I thought all
publishing assistants

were writing novels
at their desks.

If you can write
a novel at your desk

while getting coffee for a
tyrant like Margaret, good luck.

You really have to love it.

You have to want it more than
anything in the entire world,

more than a boyfriend

or a closet full
of pretty dresses

or a fancy job that
makes everyone jealous.

You need to be OK
with saying no

when you're
invited to a party.

And you really
need to be OK

with your mother
and father hating you!

Joanna, don't you have
dictation to finish?

Yes, I do.

Margaret...

Those St. Martin's
contract memos

need to go out
immediately.

Absolutely. It was nice
to meet you. Thank you.

- Bye!
- Goodbye, Joanna!

Lovely to meet you.

Ah!

Hi!

You got a letter,

from your high school
sweetheart, Karl.

Does he know about us?

Yeah, I'm sure
I mentioned it.

Joanna, did you
break up with him?

Like a proper break up:

"Dear Karl,
it's not you, it's me.

I'm sorry. It's over."

You know, the normal stuff?

We haven't talked in 3 months.

And he knows that I'm not
going back to California.

Um...

Did you talk to the
landlady about the heating?

"Why do you need a heater?

Your love should keep you warm."

I was hoping you might find
the time to write back,

but I bet you must be
getting a lot of letters.

But I feel like writing again,
if you don't mind me doing so,

'cause, um, well,
I feel depressed as hell.

And I figured it was
the honest thing do.

Your characters are
the only ones in literature

who are truly like me.

I mean, they take action.

They don't sit around
contemplating suicide.

They pick up a gun and they
shoot themselves in the head.

He's challenging Jerry.

It's a game,
and you're falling for it.

I feel this boy just
deserves a proper response,

not our usual bullshit.

Bullshit?

You are confusing
judgment with empathy.

I have read hundreds of
letters just like this one.

It can get overwhelming,
but just do your job.

Did you send my letter
to Mr. Salinger?

Did you send my letter
to Salinger?

You have no right
to keep my letter!

You can't read
other people's mail!

I was at least
expecting a confirmation.

Dear Mr. Salinger,
I hate school,

especially English class.

Catcher in the Rye
is the only book I liked.

My teacher is going to
make me flunk.

She says I'll have to
repeat my year,

and that's gonna be
so embarrassing.

So I asked her:
"What can I do?"

"Write a letter to
J.D. Salinger," she told me,

"and make it so good
that he'll write back.

If he writes back,
I'll give you an A."

Please write back
so I can get an A.

"An A earned by trickery

"means absolutely nothing.

"You'll soon find out
that young women

"are often held
to double standards

when it comes to success."

"You need to prove to yourself
and to your peers

"that you do not need
special treatment.

"If you desire an A
or a passing grade,

"you must do the work
assigned to you.

"And if you want to uphold
the spirit of Holden,

"try not to care too much
about how people judge you.

"This might mean
being more humble,

"but it's the only way.

Sincerely, Joanna Rakoff."

You've become quite the expert
in what Salinger would say.

"If you want to uphold
the spirit of Holden..."

Have you read
Catcher yet?

You haven't!

Unbelievable!

Bret got accepted
at Case Western.

Thought he was
going to Brooklyn Law.

He's from the Midwest.
He misses it, you know?

So you'll stay here
until he's done?

Of course not.
I'm going with him.

We're engaged, remember?

Hey, you're moving?

I... I thought you
loved your work?

I do! But Cleveland
is a cool city.

We're already looking
for a place in Shaker Heights.

Wow! The suburbs!

Have you been
writing lately?

I don't really
write anymore.

I know we used to say that
we wanted to become writers,

but that was
more your thing.

I kind of
grew out of it.

You make it sound
like a teenage phase.

Isn't that what it was?

I don't understand.

You'll drop everything
for Bret's project?

Whoa, Joanna, stop!

I don't want to be a writer.

You keep saying
you wanna write,

but you work long hours
for other writers

while Don is at
home writing his novel.

Oh, we both write.

And we're supportive
of each other's work.

Well, then I'm
happy for you guys!

Please be happy for me.

I'm sorry.

Um...

Why don't we go to
the Waldorf and eat dessert?

Ha! I'll have
the $12 cheesecake.

Maybe we'll catch my boss on
her martini lunch or something.

Gotta get
back to work.

- Everything to your liking?
- Yes. Thank you.

May I get
you a cab?

Oh, it's such a nice day.
I think I'll walk.

It is a beautiful day.
You enjoy it.

Thanks!

Hello?

Hello, Suzanna!
How are you today?

I'm... I'm great. How are you?
How's the weather in Cornish?

It's very pleasant.
Uh, tell me something, Suzanna.

I was looking at those books

from this fellow Clifford in
Virginia, Merrybells Press.

Yes...

What do you think of them?

Um...

Honestly, I think
the design isn't great.

I think they'd really benefit
from hiring a designer.

Uh, but as far as
the books themselves,

I've only read a few.

I do like some of the poets
they publish, though.

Oh, you read poetry?

I do, yes, a lot!

But do you write
poetry yourself?

I do!

Well, I'm very glad
to hear that.

Poetry is food for the soul.

Never forget that,

uh, Suzanna.

Food for the soul.
I've got it!

Uh, Suzanna, it's important
to write everyday.

You know that?

I'll keep that in mind.

Jerry wants to meet Clifford.

Gosh!

We have to find
somewhere discreet.

Well, it won't be.

Jerry's driving down to
Washington on Wednesday.

They're meeting in a cafeteria
at Georgetown University.

That's awful! Awful!

Uh, do we trust
this Clifford fellow?

I don't know.

So, we're presuming he's
not gonna tip off The Post

that the world's
most reclusive writer,

who barely leaves his home,

who hasn't given an
interview in decades,

will be having lunch

at Georgetown University
on Wednesday?

Yeah.

You have mentioned this
possibility to Jerry?

I have not. Jerry thinks
of Clifford as a pal.

If I say anything
negative about him,

Jerry will not take it kindly.

That's it.
Back to work.

Oh, Joanna, tell me
what you think of this.

Judy Blume?

You've heard of her?

Of course I have!

I read all of
her books as a kid.

I love her.
Everyone loves her.

She was a client of
my predecessor, Claire.

She's not written
a book in a long time.

Have you ever
read Judy Blume?

No. I don't read
children's literature.

But they're
so wonderful!

I'm sure! Claire
had impeccable taste.

You wanna go out?

We're broke.

So? We'll split a beer.

It's open mic night at the KGB.

What?

Well, bring a poem.
They'll love you.

You're not funny.

I'm not trying to be.

Your poems are good.

I have a Judy Blume
manuscript to read.

Judy Blume?

Judy fucking Blume?

I loved Then Again,
Maybe I Won't.

You like Judy Blume?

Yeah. I mean,
I was a kid once.

And like her hero, Tony,
my parents were working class

and moved to
a middle-class area.

It's about social class.

No, it's not!

It turns you on that
I like pedestrian stuff,

doesn't it?

To be given
Judy Blume's new book

was like going from
sitting in the stands

to hitting a home run.

I felt lucky
to be on the inside.

Well?

I like it.

Really?

But what do
you make of it?

I'm not sure what you mean.

Well, it's not
a kids book, is it?

No, no, it's about
kids for grown-ups.

It's about female friendship.

But will adults buy
a book about kids?

Can I sell it?

Lots of books have
child protagonists.

Um, Oliver Twist!

This is not Oliver Twist.

But you would buy it?

I would.

Hmm...

Many people would.

There's the nostalgia factor.

You know, my entire generation
grew up on Judy Blume.

Maybe.

Definitely.

All right.
You've had your fun.

I put new tapes
on your desk.

Close the door.

I got the deal.

For sure, she was very happy.

Judy! Margaret
is expecting you.

Oh!

- Coffee?
- No.

That's very exciting! Yes.

What is it?

Judy Blume is here.

Shit!

Uh, Michael,
hold on one second.

That's today?

I thought we
had more time.

She's going to
blow this, isn't she?

I think so.

Hey!

We've been renovating,
moving everything around,

which is why your books are
down there and out of order.

Don't worry about it.

I'm Joanna.

I'm Margaret's
new assistant.

And I'm such a huge
fan of yours.

- That's very sweet of you.
- Really nice to meet you.

- Judy!
- Hi!

How lovely to see you!
Come into my office.

Good!

Please take a seat.

You know the way.

So...

I'm not sure
it could attract readers...

Joanna?

Why don't you answer your phone?

There's someone at the reception
who wants to see you.

Me?

Are you Joanna Rakoff?

- Yes!
- Is that your real name?

It's so ridiculous,
it sounds fake.

You have no right to keep
my letter from Salinger.

I'm sorry. Who are you?

Because of you,
I'm going to fail English!

Is everything all right here?

- Yes.
- No.

Why don't we go downstairs
and get a coffee, OK?

Joanna?

Aren't you supposed
to be in school?

Who do you
think you are?

It's my job here to
answer Jerry's mail.

Oh, it's Jerry to you?

Is he your sugar daddy?

No, I... I've never
even met him. OK?

Mr. Salinger does not
want to receive his mail.

So instead you lecture me
like you're my mother.

You're right. OK?

I'm sorry.

I apologize.

Your letter was different.

And I thought you deserved a
real response instead of our,

"I'm sorry we cannot pass along
your kind note," bullshit.

So I wrote you
something more personal.

What makes you
think your advice

is better than some
bullshit response?

I'm going to summer school.

So thanks a lot,
Miss Rakoff.

You sent a personal letter
to one of the fans,

and she came
storming in here?

Oh my gosh!

Oh my gosh!

Do you have any idea
how many times,

when I was answering
Salinger's letters,

I wanted to write
my own one back?

Really?

Of course!

"Dear sir, obsess
over another writer.

I hear Kurt Vonnegut
answers his own fan mail!"

Sometimes, you just
wanna go: "Hey, loser!"

And... and then others...

...they're so engaging.

You just want to
champion them, you know?

Yes, yes! Exactly!

Yeah.

But you've
crossed the line.

It's a huge rabbit hole,
ethically and legally.

I'm taking you off
Salinger's mail.

- No, no.
- Yes.

Hugh, please. I love
these letters so much.

I promise you this won't
happen again. I promise.

Judy?

Ah, crap!

It's all over.

Judy?

She's leaving us.

For whom?

Does it matter?

If I were Judy,
I would have left too.

Joanna...

Why?

Tell me, I'm curious.
Why would you leave?

No, I'm really,
really sorry.

I didn't mean that.
I just, um...

I'm just sad to see
her leave, that's all.

Well, until you can articulate
a reason that will enlighten us,

you can go back to
typing your dictation.

And fetch Daniel's
prescriptions when you're done.

Close the door!

For crying out loud!
I can't believe it!

I still don't understand
what the hell she's thinking!

OK, you think that
when a man falls in love,

he doesn't look at
another woman, hmm?

But I have news for you.

Every man in this world
is looking at every woman

and deciding weather
or not she's...

He wants to fuck her?

She's sexy. Right?

Don, I think you
might be in a hole

and you might
wanna stop digging.

You think women don't
look at other men? We do.

We even look at other women.

We just don't drool
while we do it.

Buba, Buba...

I drool exclusively for you!

Hmm?

Hey!

White wine?

No thanks. I'm, uh...
I'm gonna go.

Don't leave.

Oh, I know.

I, um, I actually
came to give you this.

What's this?

It's from Karl.

He's coming to Washington
for a concert.

He really wants you to go.

You've been
in touch with Karl?

He wrote you a letter,
but you never answered.

Wednesday in DC.

Yeah.

What is it?

Someone should go to
the meeting in Washington

with Clifford Bradbury,

make sure that
he's prepared

and walk him through
the agency's protocol.

He did sound
jittery on the phone.

I can't leave New York.

But I suppose I could send...

Me!

- You?
- Send me!

Why?

Take notes and
assist Clifford.

Just let me do this
for the agency.

Uh...

You are to go to Washington,

be the agency's
eyes and ears,

find out who this
Clifford person is.

You are to meet
with him beforehand

and debrief
him afterwards,

but you are not
to meet with Jerry.

Jerry must think they
are meeting on their own.

Understood?

You will not regret this.

We'll see
about that.

Hey! Wait!

I've got a...
got a gift for you.

My birthday was 2 months ago.

Oh, well, birthdays
are for Hallmark.

It's, uh...

It's my novel.

You finished it?

What, don't you
want to read it?

Uh, of course I do! Yeah!

Thanks!

Congrats!

Mr. Bradbury?

Yes, Joanna!

- Hi!
- Hi!

- Nice to meet you.
- And you.

I've widened the spine, see,

to give the book some length
because it's too thin.

I also re-typed it all
from The New Yorker.

I didn't scan it.

And good thing too, because
there were a few small typos.

The New Yorker
doesn't make typos!

Oh, yes! Small ones,
but typos still.

Salinger is such a
stickler for details.

I made two mock-ups.

Wow!

Do you think I
should have made more?

No.

Oh, I think I should
have made more, yeah.

Mr. Bradbury,
it's gonna go very well.

Just forget everything that
you've heard about Mr. Salinger.

I think that you'll find that
he's very straightforward.

It's important that
you just be yourself.

What happened?

Jerry Salinger
paid for my lunch!

But how did it go?

We agreed
on everything.

That's great!

I guess I just
missed him then, huh?

Except the typos.

What do you mean?

He did not want me
to correct them.

Yeah, he seemed peeved
that I fixed them.

I thought,
at one point,

he'd say: "Let's forget
the whole thing."

Did he say why?

He wants it printed exactly
as it ran in The New Yorker,

as if the typos were
actually intentional.

It makes no sense.

Hey.

Don't fix any more typos.

Don't tell anybody
about the book.

No interviews. That would
ruin the whole deal.

Yeah, we don't
want to do that.

Great work,
Mr. Bradbury!

My boss is going to be
very pleased, OK?

Bye!

- Jo!
- Hi!

You got my invitation.

Yeah.

Uh, I'm... I'm so
glad you're here.

You look great!

So do you!

I'm glad you're here, Jo.
I've been wanting to apologize.

What?

I was angry when I
sent you the letter.

I wrote stuff
I didn't mean.

No, don't apologize.
You should be angry.

I'm... I'm angry at you
for not being angry at me.

I'm... I'm not angry,
and that's absurd, by the way.

You hurt me, and I
needed to unleash.

I deserved a proper
break-up, you know.

You know, "Karl,
I'm leaving you,"

you know,
the usual stuff.

Yeah...

- The usual stuff.
- Mm-hmm.

The apartment felt
depressing when you left.

I didn't read...
I didn't read your letter.

Oh, wh-why?

No, I, um...

I couldn't
make it past Jo.

Nobody else
calls me Jo, so...

I want you back in my life.

You know, even if it's
just a phone call

every once in a while.

You were my best friend.

I miss you, Jo.

I miss you too.

I've learned that,
as phony as it may be,

you can't go around revealing
your goddamn emotions

to the world.

Most people don't
give a flying hoot

about, like,
what you think and feel

most of the time, I guess.

And if they see a weakness...

I mean, why, for God's sake,
is showing emotion a weakness?

Boy, do they jump
all over you, right?

They seem to get right
in your goddamn face and...

...revel in the fact that you
are actually feeling something.

Is it good?

What?

The manuscript, is it good?

It's interesting.

But you hate it?

I don't... I don't hate it.

Or maybe I do hate it,
and that's why it's good.

It's weirdly addictive.

But...

I don't want to read
about his sex life.

No one wants to read
about his sex life.

Maybe I'm just annoyed
by his nonchalance.

Or because...

He's writing and I'm not.

I understand.

What's going on?

Shhh!

Well, keep us posted
and thank you.

Apparently, he shot himself.

Wait, who...
who shot himself?

Daniel, Joanna.

Daniel committed suicide.

The Daniel?

In the living room, while
Margaret was in the bedroom.

This can't be right!
Daniel is a beautiful man.

He's sweet and he's kind and...
This can't be happening!

But he looked fine!

He was bipolar.

Margaret took care of him
all these years.

He was
her brother?

Lover.

Of 20 years.

Wait, are we talking
about the same Daniel?

Daniel was married to Helen,
whom you've met.

He lived half
the week with Helen

and the other
half with Margaret.

They... shared his care.

They shared him.

Margaret shared a man
with another woman?

Joanna, if anyone calls,

tell them she's working
from home and take a message,

and no mention of this.

What about
if it's Jerry?

Especially if it's Jerry.

Can you please do that
some other time?

Fine.

Thanks.

Margaret's office.
Joanna speaking.

Hi, Joanna!
It's Jerry. How are you?

Hi! I'm well.
How are you?

How is the weather down there?

Muggy.

Is your boss around?

No, I'm afraid she's out.

She's been out a lot lately.

Yeah, she's very busy,
lots of meetings.

Is there anything
I can help you with?

Let me ask you something.

This, uh,
Clifford Bradbury fellow...

Sure.

What do you make of him?

I like him.

Sometimes, I think
he can overthink things,

but he just doesn't
want to let you down.

Have you been
writing every day?

A lot of days.

They've given me more
responsibility around here,

so I've been
reading manuscripts!

You're a writer, Joanna,
aren't you?

Not an agent, not a secretary.

I don't know.

Sorry, I missed that.

I'm a little deaf.

Yes, um, yes!

I'm a writer.

So write!

Even if it's just
15 minutes in the morning.

Protect that sanctuary, OK?

Don't get stuck answering
the phone, Joanna.

You're a poet!

- Hey!
- Hey, Mark!

What is it like,
working for The New Yorker?

Well, why don't you come
by the office one day?

We'll show you around.

I would like that very much!

Do you
write yourself?

Uh...

It's OK! We won't
tell your boss!

I... I've published two poems
in The Paris Review,

and I'm working on
some new material.

Uh, well, we'd be happy to
take look at your material

when you feel it's ready.

That would be great.

That would be
really great, yeah.

Let's cheers to that.

OK!

Well, the satirical
stuff, I like.

I know, but The New Yorker's
fiction is a joke.

And that soppy
"Talk of the Town" thing?

Don...

Oh, I'm sorry.

I know you love
that shit, that...

"Oh, let's all
go meet up at the Algonquin.

I do so wish you could
join us," bullshit.

So when's the wedding?

It's, uh, it's Columbus Day
weekend, right?

Or... or am I making...
am I making that up?

It's next weekend, Don.

Joanna, you're
coming, right?

Yeah, yeah...

Excited!

You're an asshole.
You know that, right?

Uh...

I knew that if
I told you about it,

you'd start planning,

like: "Let's rent a car.
Let's stay in this B&B.

What am I gonna wear?"

And then you'd buy that dress
and you'd make all these plans,

and then you flip out at me

when I told you that
I wanted to go alone.

You wanna go to your
best friend's wedding alone?

OK, listen,

I don't need to justify
myself to you, all right?

Really?

Really, Buba!

All my bros from
Hartford will be there.

It's gonna be
the end of an era.

And I don't want to
have to worry

about whether you're
having fun or not.

Right!

Maybe you'll meet
some hot blonde

that wants you to
rip her panties off

and fuck her up the ass

and write an unreadable
story about her!

What? Wow!

Where is this coming from?

Where is the sweet, naive
girl I met last Christmas?

'Cause you know what?

I'd like her back,
please, Buba.

Stop calling me Buba, OK?
I'm not a child!

I call you Buba
because I love you.

It's what my grandmother
calls my mom.

You love me?

Of course!

I mean, would I
be here if I didn't?

I told you I've never lived with
a girl before. You changed me.

You love me,

but you don't want to me
to go to Mark's wedding?

Correct.

Look, I am
older than you.

I try not to remind you
of this, but it is true.

All right?

And one day,
when you're my age,

you'll realize that
two people can love each other

and not agree
on everything

and not have to
do everything together.

You think I should
pack a tie?

Buba? You're good
with this kind of thing.

Like, I don't have a suit,

so you think... you think
just a shirt and a tie?

You're depressed.

I swear, I mean,
I... I recognize the symptoms.

I get like that
when I'm emotional.

And, well, I can
get quite emotional.

I'm not depressed.

Hmm.

I'm a very happy person.

What?

Nothing.

Am I gonna get
a kiss goodbye?

All right. Goodbye, Joanna!

"I think about Holden a lot.

"When I first think about him,
I get a stupid grin on my face,

"you know, thinking about
what a funny guy he is and all.

"But then I usually
get depressed as hell,

"because I only
think about Holden

"when I'm feeling
very emotional.

I can get 'quiet' emotional."

That's what I had become...

quiet emotional.

Dear boy from Winston-Salem...

My most profound apologies
for taking so long to reply.

I've been thinking about
your letters for months.

I suppose that...

I too can get quite emotional
about things sometimes.

But you're right.

You can't go around revealing
your goddamn emotions

to the world.

But if you can't reveal
your emotions to the world,

then what are you
supposed to do with them?

How do you go on?

'Cause...

I feel like
crying all the time.

Joanna? What is it?

Has something happened
at the agency?

No, no, no!
Everything's fine.

I brought you these
and some soup from Mangia.

I know you like
their mushroom barley.

That's very thoughtful.

You do pay attention, don't you?

You did a fine job
on those contracts.

Those electronic clauses,

they'll be the
death of publishing.

On the other hand,
engaging with Jerry's fans

was irresponsible,
immature and dangerous.

You know about that?

I have fired
assistants for less.

Why didn't you fire me?

Because it's
highly unlikely

you will make
the same mistake twice.

Also, Jerry likes you.

I am reluctant
to alter his routine.

I don't want to
be a routine.

I, uh...

I have a couple of stories...

from long-term clients.

Read them,

and, uh, figure out which
magazines they'd be right for

and send them out.

What if I don't like them?

Then it's your job
to figure out who will.

Right.

Thank you.

Better get back
to the office.

Why do you think
Judy Blume left?

I'm sorry that
I said that.

No, please, I would like
to know what you think.

When you met with Judy,
did you discuss her writing?

The quality of her writing
was never an issue.

Maybe she wasn't looking
for the perfect sales pitch.

Maybe she just wanted...

to hear what you
thought about the story,

what it meant to you.

Or if you love books the
same way that she loves them.

I'm not sure my love of books
was relevant to that discussion.

Maybe it was
relevant to her.

I know it would be to me.

Oh...

You know, I sold my first book
when I was in my 20s.

It was about this
young woman journalist

in the Spanish Civil War,

and it was actually
written by a man.

And yet he seemed to
understand intimately

what it would be like
for her as a woman.

Anyway, I sold the book.

And then my boss said that I
should represent the author.

And naturally,
I said yes.

And then, like, right away,
I started to get nervous,

almost panicky.

And what if...

what if the author
disappointed me as a person?

And what if I liked
the writing, but not him?

And it was about
3 weeks later,

we met for lunch
at Elaine's.

And at 9:00 p.m.,
we were still there.

Yeah, just laughing
and talking and, yeah,

sharing our aspirations
and our... our love of music...

our love of books.

Daniel?

Yeah, Daniel.

My condolences, Margaret.

I'll pull my socks up.

Oh!

For months, I had been
touched by anonymous fans,

touched by their desire
to connect with Salinger.

Their letters had changed me.

The time had come to see
for myself what had moved them.

Salinger's nothing
like I thought. Nothing.

He's brutal, brutal and funny,
and I love it.

I love Franny the most.

There's that moment
when the guy in Princeton

is waiting for Franny
at the train station,

and he has the letter
in his pocket, Franny's letter.

And he's read it
a thousand times.

He knows it by heart,

but when she gets
off the train and asks,

"Did you get my letter,"

he says...

Which letter?

Hey, Buba!

I thought you'd be at work.

I took the morning off.

You know,
I missed you, Buba.

Hmm?

Are you going somewhere?

I'm leaving you, Don.

Y...

I get it! This is
about the wedding!

Something hit me
while you were gone.

Why are you making
a thing out of this?

Listen to me, something
hit me while you were gone!

What, that you
never really engaged?

- I didn't miss you.
- What?

I didn't think about you,
not for one second.

OK, so you needed some time
on your own. I get that.

You can keep
the apartment, all right?

You need it
more than I do.

So you're gonna give me

the, "Sorry, it's not you,
it's me," bullshit?

I should have broke up
with you before.

I'm not in love with you.

I'm sorry.

Thanks.

I knew you could do it!

I knew it! Come with me!

Hugh! Stop doing
what you're doing!

Max, we're coming
into your sanctum!

I have an announcement to make!

What is it?

Joanna has sold a story
I gave her this summer.

- Congratulations!
- Oh! Not surprised! Good job!

- You're on your way.
- Of course she is!

I knew the moment you
walked through the door

that you were
agency material.

Now you can start to build
your very own client list,

a most exciting
feeling for an agent.

Isn't that right, Max?

For once, I have to
agree with Margaret, yes.

We will celebrate at lunch.

Hope you
like martinis!

- Oh, she'll learn to like them.
- There you go!

You know, we have
some authors

who would prefer to
be with you, I think,

than an old fogey like me.

Some people I
think you'll like.

What is it?

I'm so grateful.
I'm so, so grateful.

You're leaving.

I was planning on talking
to you some time this week.

But you're doing so well!

I mean, you have it in you to
become a really fine agent.

You have good instincts,
a good heart.

Thank you.

Thank you, Margaret.

My mind's made up.

Of course, I'll stay until
you can find a replacement.

You have other aspirations.

I do.

We just never really
talked about anything

other than the
agency's business.

That's very true.

But I like working with you.

I like working here.
I really, really do.

There's just other things
I wanna do, and...

I'm afraid that if I don't
do them now, I never will.

I understand.

Hi! Kevin told me to
drop this by at my convenience.

Would you like to give it to
him yourself? I think he's in.

That would be lovely. Thanks.

You like Japanese?
Oh, hey there!

Oh, um, guess
who's visiting?

I want to
give us enough time.

I wonder about the cover.

The cover.

Yes. What do you make of it?

I don't think...

Hello?

Listen, I'm thinking.

If I was the guy
who put myself on a paper

and it came out as
Catcher in the Rye,

I'd get a bang out of the
bastard writing me a letter

pretending to be
able to do the same.

You follow me?

...chestnut stuffing.

Oh, Jerry?

- May I introduce you to...
- Joanna!

So good to finally meet you.