All language subtitles for Big.Sur.2013.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]

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[MUSIC PLAYING]

[SEABIRDS CALLING]

[BIRD CALLING]

[TYPEWRITER DINGS]

[APPLAUSE]

[BAND PLAYING JAZZ]

In the early 1950s,
the nation recognized
in its midst

a social movement
called the Beat Generation.

A novel titled"On the Road"
became a best seller,

and its author,
Jack Kerouac,
became a celebrity,

partly because
he'd written a powerful
and successful book,

but partly because
he, uh, seemed to be

the embodiment
of this new generation.

So here he is,
Jack Kerouac.

[APPLAUSE]

[APPLAUSE FADES,
MUSIC PLAYING]

[TYPEWRITER DINGS]

[CRICKETS CHIRPING]

[SEABIRDS CALLING]

[SNORTS]

JACK: 3,000 miles
from Long Island.

It's the first trip
I've taken away from
my mother's house

since the
publication of "Road"
three years ago.

All over America,
high school and college kids

thinking Jack Kerouac
is 26 years old

and on the road
all the time hitchhiking,

while there I am
almost 40 years old,
bored and jaded.

The book
that made me famous

and, in fact, so much so,

I've been driven mad
for three years

by endless telegrams,
phone calls, requests,

mail, visitors,
reporters, snoopers.

I was surrounded
and outnumbered...

and had to get away
to solitude again or die.

So Lawrence Ferlinghetti
wrote and said,

"Come to my cabin
in Big Sur.

"No one'll know."

Although Lawrence and I
exchanged huge letters

outlining how I would
sneak in quietly into
the West Coast,

I'd ruined my secret
return to San Francisco
by getting silly drunk

and marching forth
into North Beach
to see everybody.

Everyone recognized me.

I'm telling you.

[JAZZ PLAYING,
OVERLAPPING CONVERSATIONS]

MAN: Hey, everybody,

the bloody king
of the beatniks
is back in town.

JACK: Two days of that,

including Sunday,

the day
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

is supposed to pick me up
at my secret skid row hotel

and drive me
to Big Sur woods.

[SIRENS PASSING]

[MAN COUGHS]

[DISTANT SHOUTING]

One fast move,

or I'm gone.

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

You say I'm alone,

and the cabin
is suddenly home

only because
you made one meal

and washed
your first meal dishes.

Then nightfall.

The flies retreat
like polite
Emily Dickenson flies,

and when it's dark,
they're all asleep
in the trees.

Maybe the bees got
a message to come and see me,

all 2,000 of 'em,

which seems to happen like
a big party once a week.

No booze, no drugs,
no binges,

no bouts with beatniks
and drunks

and junkies and everybody.

[MOUSE SQUEAKS]

[GRUNTS]

[CHUCKLES]

...forehead.

No better.

What I do now next?
Chop wood?

Long nights simply thinking

about the usefulness
of that little wire scour,

those little
yellow copper things

you buy in supermarkets
for 10 cents,

all to me
infinitely more interesting

than the stupid
and senseless

"Steppenwolf" novel
in the shack,

which I read with a shrug,

this old fart reflecting
on conformity of today,

and all the while,
he thought he was
a big Nietzsche.

Because on the fourth day,
I began to get bored

and noted it in my diary
with amazement,

"Already bored?"

Even though the handsome
words of Emerson

would shake me out of that,

where he says in one of those
little red leather books

and is relieved and gay

when he has put
his heart into his work

and done his best.

Yet I went crazy
inside three weeks.

In me and in everyone,

I felt completely
nude of all poor
protective devices,

like thoughts about life
or meditations under trees

and the ultimate
and all that...

In fact, the other pitiful
devices of making supper

or saying, "What I do
now next? Chop wood?"

I see myself as just doomed,

an awful realization
that I have been fooling
myself all my life

thinking there was
a next thing to do
to keep the show going,

and actually
I'm just a sick clown,

not even really
any kind of common sense,

animate effort
to ease the soul

in this horrible,
sinister condition
of mortal hopelessness.

I hate to write.

All my tricks laid bare,
even the realization

that they're laid bare
itself laid bare
is a lot of bunk.

The sea seems to yell to me,

"Go to your desire.
Don't hang around here.

"Why not live for fun
and joy and love

"or some sort of girl
by a fireside?

Why not go to your desire
and laugh?"

But I ran away
from that seashore

and never came back again

without that secret knowledge
that it didn't want me there,

that I was a fool to sit there in the first place.

The sea has its waves.

The man has
his fireside, period.

It's time to leave.

I'm so scared by that
iodine blast by the sea

and by the boredom
of the cabin.

I'm tired of my food,
forgot to bring Jell-O.

You need Jell-O after
all that bacon fat and
cornmeal in the woods.

Every woodsman needs Jell-O
or Cokes or something.

But before I go, I realize
this isn't my own cabin.

Here's the second signpost
of my madness.

I have no right to hide
Ferlinghetti's rat poison

as I'd been doing,
feeding the mouse instead,

so like a dutiful guest
in another man's cabin,

I take the cover
off the rat poison,

but compromise
by simply leaving
the box on the top shelf.

I go dancing off like a fool
from my sweet retreat,

rucksack on back,
after only three weeks

and really after only
three or four days of boredom

and go hankering back
for the city.

I figure I'll get a ride
to Monterey real easy

and take the bus there
and be in Frisco by nightfall

for a big ball of wino yelling with the gang.

I feel, in fact, Lew Welch
ought to be back by now,

or Neal Cassady
will be ready for a ball,

and there'll be girls
and such and such,

forgetting entirely that only three weeks previous,

I'd been sent fleeing from that city by the horrors.

This is the first time
I've hitchhiked in years,

and soon I begin to see that things have changed in America.

You can't get
a ride anymore,
but, of course,

especially on a strictly
tourist road like this

or coast highway
with no trucks or business.

But the tourists,
bless their hearts,

after all,
they couldn't know,

only think I'm having a big,
happy hike with my rucksack,

and they drive on.

[CARS HONKING]

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

[CABLE CAR BELL RINGS]

If you should ever
stop using that smile,

how could
the world go on?

[CHUCKLES]

We were gonna come down
to see you this weekend.

You should have waited.
Your mom wrote.

She said your cat died.

I'll go get the letter.

JACK:
My relationship with my cats
has always been dotty.

Some kind of psychological
identification of the cats

with my dead brother
Gerard,

who taught me to love cats
when I was three and four

and we used to lie
on the floor on our bellies,

then watch them
lap up milk.

The death of a cat
means little to most men,

but to me, it was exactly--
and no lie and sincerely--

like the death
of my little brother.

What the hell?

Why bother grown-up men
and poets at that

with your own troubles?

Maybe you should
go back to the cabin

for a couple
of weeks, huh?

Or are you just
gonna get drunk again?

I'm gonna get drunk, yes.

You can
go back soon, huh?

Okay, Lorry.

Did you write anything?

We can drink to that.

It's still a cat.

I know he meant
a lot to you.

You know that's
the way of things.

Hey, so by City Lights
bookstore the other day,

there was a workman out
in the front, you know,

hammering away
with a jackhammer
really loud.

"Yahh."
Right in the street.

And the psychic
above the studio
leans out the window,

and he says,
"When are you gonna stop

making all that racket
down there?"

And the guy looks up,
and he says,

"You're the psychic,
buddy. You tell me."

Did you write that?

No, I--I read it
in the paper.

Herb Caen wrote it.

Here's to Tyke.

I'll go give Lew a call.

Yeah, Lew, this is Phil.

Listen, I'm down
with Jack at the bar.
Why don't you come down?

Old Jack!

On the rocks, right?

Hey, buddy.Hey.

Drinking any less?

Unless we're drinking.That we are.

Can I get one of what
he's having, please?

Hey, go play a record
or something.

Right.

Who's the kid?

Kid I met
named Paul Smith.

He's a little scared
of you, I think.

He's a little
starstruck.

Yeah, apparently.

Janie.Yeah, you know.

Cheers.

Didn't know you
were gonna be here.

Good to see you.
Welcome back.

I'm glad to be back.We missed you.

I'm back.

So what are you
doing back? What are
you doing here?

I been hanging out
at Big Sur.

Really?Yeah.

Lawrence sent me
down there.

You know where
in Big Sur?

How was that?

Paradise.

Wow.

[GLASS CLINKS]Thank you.

JACK:
I realized the unbearable
anguish of insanity.

Big ministers
of states,

bishops walking around
with a dirty behind.

How uninformed
people can be thinking
insane people are happy.

[echoing] In America,
they have these racks

of dry-cleaned clothes,
like you see on trips.

And advertising firms with
their neckties and their...

Dinner.

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS]

[JAZZ PLAYING]

A regular nuthouse actually
and just exactly the image

of what the journalists
want to say about
the Beat Generation.

Nevertheless, a harmless
and pleasant arrangement
for young bachelors

and a good idea
in the long run,

because you can rush
into any room

and find the expert,

like, say,
Philip's room, and ask...

He said go ... yourself.

Make your mind
like a wall.

Don't pant over
outside activities,

and don't bug me
with your outside plans.

Or you go running
into Lew Welch's room,

and there he is sitting
cross-legged on his mattress

on the floor
reading Jane Austen.

Ain't nothing but
a well-cooked beef
and onion stew

that you let
cool afterwards.

Then you throw in mushrooms
and lots of sour cream.

I'll come down and
show you as soon
as I finish a chapter.

Or you go
into Johnson's room

and ask if you can borrow
his tape recorder

because at the moment,
some funny things

are being said
in the kitchen

by Michael McClure
and Lawrence Ferlinghetti.

There was Zen, jazz, booze,
pot and all the works,

but it was somehow obviated as a supposedly degenerate idea

by the sight
of a beatnik

carefully painting
the wall of his room

in clean white
with nice little red borders

around the door
and window frames.

Yeah?

WOMAN:
Come on down, pal.

Let's go see Neal.

My God, what the hell
has happened?

There's nothing
but construction
in the Valley now.

Looks like Los Angeles.Yeah.

Population
explosion's
gonna cover

every bit
of backyard dirt
in America.

In fact, someday
they'll have to start

piling frigging levels
of houses and others...

I think I see
a flying saucer in the sky
over Los Gatos.

It's five miles away.

Yeah. It's just the top
of a radio tower.

JACK: We're anxious
to see great Neal Cassady,

who was always
the major part of my reason

for journeying
to the West Coast.

I haven't seen Neal
for several years,

because mainly he just spent two years in San Quentin

on a stupid charge
of possession of marijuana.

Neal actually
loves his home,

paid for
by railroad insurance

when he broke
his leg trying to stop
a boxcar from crashing.

Loves his kids and especially
his little son,

Timmy John,
partly named after me.

And then there's Carolyn.

She's got her mind
on other things

than taking care
of the children,

though all she really wants
is to be alone with me and
talk about Neal Cassady,

which includes the fact
of Billie, his mistress,

who has threatened
to take Neal Cassady
away completely.

In fact, I can see it now,

a great big
four-way marriage

with Neal
and Carolyn.

It is-- [GRUNTS]

Hi, Carolyn.

Hey, Jack.

All right, you guys
come by around 1:00

when the boss leaves,
and watch me work,

and keep me company
a while, all right,

before you go back
to the city?

Okay?

Yeah.

[HORN HONKS]

Neal doesn't
like me drinking.

Yeah.

I don't like
some of the things
Neal does either.

We all have
our something.

Neal's little something
lives in San Francisco.

She might as well move in.

I'll be your something.

Yeah.

I always said
I had two husbands.

You could have
picked me.

You're nobody's fool,
Jack.

I can see in Neal's eyes

that he can see
in my own eyes
the regret we both feel

that recently we haven't
had chances to talk

like we used to do
driving across America.

Oh. Incoming!

Whoo!

JACK:
Lew Welch now realizes

why I've always
loved Neal Cassady.

Expecting to see
a bitter ex-con,

he sees instead a martyr of the American night in goggles

in some dreary tire shop
at 2 A.M.

making fellows laugh with joy
with his funny explanations,

yet at the same time,
to a T

performing
every bit of the work
he's being paid for.

And then
had been reenlisted
in the Army Reserves

in active duty
for the remainder
of the war.

Retread.

My God,
he can do all that,

then even explain it
while he's doing it.

[LAUGHS]

Who wants
to give it a try?I'm good.

Come on, Jack.
We know both know

a little something
about retreading.

No, no, no.
I'm fine where I am.

[GRUNTS] Done!

Paul.

JACK: Neal really
loves me like a brother.

And more than that, he gets
annoyed at me sometimes,

especially when I
fumble and bumble
like with a bottle.

Far from my clean cot
on the porch in Big Sur,

no blue jays yakking
for me to wake up anymore,

no gurgling creek.

Waking up the next morning,
groaning, of course,

but this is the big day
where we're going to visit

poor Albert Saijo
at the TB hospital
in the Valley.

Lew perks me up right away

bringing coffee
or wine, optional.

Any drinker knows
how the process works.

The first day when you
get drunk is okay.

The morning after
means a big head,

but you can kill that easy

with a few more drinks
and a meal.

But if you pass up the meal

and go on
to another night's drunk

and wake up
to keep the toot going

and then continue on
the fourth day,

there will come
a day when drinks
won't take effect,

because you're
chemically overloaded,

and you'll have
to sleep it off,
but you can't sleep anymore,

because it was
the alcohol itself

that made you sleep
those last five nights.

So delirium sets in,

sleeplessness, sweats,
trembling,

a groaning feeling
of weakness

where your arms
are numb and useless,

nightmares,
nightmares of death.

She's a nudist,

and, by God, she is
gonna practice it.

JACK: She's a big,
beautiful brunette

in the line of taste
you might attribute
to every slaky,

hungry sex slave
in the world,

but also is intelligent,
well-read, writes poetry,

a Zen student,
knows everything,

who is in fact just a big,
healthy, Romanian Jewess

who wants to marry
a good, hardy man

and go live
on a farm in the Valley.

But I can't believe
old Zen master Albert

is going to allow
his body to die.

He's in a bathrobe and looks up at us almost displeased.

He sighs, and the expression
on his face says,

"Well, ah, so you've come
to see me because I'm sick,

but what do you
really want?"

Hey.

You're gonna be
all right, Albert.

I don't know.

I guess all that dharma talk
about everything is nothing

is sinking in my bones.

JACK:
He really means,
"I don't care."

And always warm
and courteous with me,

he now hardly pays much
of ragged beatniks.

Do you remember
those dancing girls
in St. Louis?

Whore candy.

How about
the nurses here, huh?

They hot?

There's one.

JACK: But Albert
doesn't care anymore,

and, anyway,
it's time to leave.

The other kids are
all back at the car

wondering
what's keeping me.

What's keeping me
is that I know
Albert will get better

and live
and teach the joyful truth,

and Albert knows
I know this.

That's why he's playing
the game with me,

the magic game
of glad freedom,

which is that Zen
or, for that matter,
the Japanese soul

ultimately means I say.

And someday I will go
to Japan with Albert,

I tell myself,

because I've heard
the supper bell, right?

And knowing Albert's
fantastic appetite,

I don't want to hang him up.

Though he nevertheless
does one last trick.

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

[RING]

[RING]

Yeah?

I lost that tire job.

Because we were there? Nah, nah, nah.

He's got
to lay off some men.

Everything's
all ... up
down here, Jack.

So, uh...

loan me $100, will you?

I'll be right down
and give you $100.

Really?
[CHUCKLES]

Ah, listen. Listen.

You can
just loan it to me,
but if you insist.

How you gonna get
down here and give me
that money then, huh?

I'll have Lew
drive me down.

Really?
Yeah, you'll do that?

[CHUCKLES] Ah, listen,

I'll pay the rent
with it right away.

It's Friday, right?

Or what day
is it, Thursday?
Yeah, it's Thursday,

so I don't need to be
looking for a new job
till Monday,

so you and me,
we can hang out and
talk like we used to do,

and I will
demolish you at chess.

Maybe even go see
a baseball game,

maybe go sneaking
into town and see my--

see my pretty
little baby.
What do you say?

All right,
I'll see you soon.

I ask Lew, and,
yes, he's ready,

and, yes, he's ready
to go any time.

He's just following me,

like I often
follow people myself,

and so off we go again.

The idea suddenly comes to me
for Lew and me and Neal

to go to the cabin
and spend a big,
quiet, crazy weekend,

but when Ferlinghetti
hears this, he'll come, too.

In fact, he'll bring
his little Chinese
buddy, Victor Wong,

and we'll catch Michael McClure at Santa Cruz

and go visit Henry Miller,

and suddenly another big,
huge ball has begun.

I'll just spend
a couple days
with Jack and the gang

and look
for a new job Monday.

Bye.There you go.

Have fun.

Whoo!

Get out.

[SIGHS]

Well...

The air's so good.

Here we go.Thank you.

Not that I'm talking
about us or anybody
in particular.

[LAUGHS]

I wouldn't
even dare that.

Must be awful at night.

Reminds me of
the old Colorado, by God.

It's like they say.
It's like a cathedral
of redwoods.

This is the kind
of place where you should
really be alone, you know.

There's such
a sad sweetness
to these trees,

as though yelling
would insult them.

Whoo!

Whoo!

Hey, over here,
Lawrence!

[LAUGHS]

McClure is
the handsome young poet

who's just written
the most fantastic poem

in America
called "Dark Brown,"

which is every detail
of his and his wife's body

described in ecstatic union
and communion

and inside out
and every which way,

and not only that, he insists on reading it to us.

But I want to read
my sea poem, too.

"Let me be
a torch to myself.

"Oh, heart-sick, burn
strive past the drift-ease

"to the depth within,
making a film of the gene
over the surface.

Say meat hand
the hand black in the deed
as this damned pleasure!"

Whoo![CHEERING]

You are beautiful!

JACK:
Too many people now
want to talk to us

and tell us their stories.

We've been hemmed in and
surrounded and outnumbered.

The circles closed in on
the old heroes of the night.

That's what he
told me last week.

Uh-oh.

Oh, what was it?

Oh, yes.

JACK: I've gotten
the idea in my head

I'm the leader
of a guerilla warfare unit,

and I'm marching ahead,
the lieutenant
giving orders.

With all our flashlights
and yells,

we come swarming
down the narrow path,

going hup, one, two, three,

and challenging the enemy
to come out of hiding.

Whoa, whoa,
whoa, whoa!

[MUTED CHATTER]

Hey, Jack! Jack.

Whoo! You got
to see this, man.

The night ending
with everybody passing out

exhausted on cots,
in sleeping bags.

Outside, McClure goes home
with wife.

Victor and I
by late fire keep up,

yelling spontaneous
questions and answers

right till dawn like.

Circles momentarily complete

the balance of forces

lying together

into love that never
have slipped out.

[KISS]

I kiss your shoulder,

and it reeks of lust.

Well, Jack, I didn't
get a chance to talk
to you yesterday

or last year
or even 10 years ago
when I first met you.

You know, I can remember
being so terrified

when I first met
you and Neal.

You looked like a couple
of bank robbers
or car thieves.

You know, all this
sneery stuff they've
written against us,

against San Francisco,
against Beat poetry writers,

that's because none of us
really look like that.

We don't look like
writers or intellectuals
or anything.

I--I must say that
you and Neal, well,

you look pretty awful
in a way.

I--I must say that,
you know, well,

let's just say
you've seen better days.

Man, you ought to go
to Hollywood and play
Billy the Kid.

What I'd rather do
is go to Hollywood
and play Rimbaud.

Well, you can't
play Jean Harlow.

You know
what I really want?

I want to get "Dark Brown"
published in Paris.

So, if ever possible--
I don't know--

a word from you
to Gallimard or Girodias,

it--it would help.

I don't know.

You know, when I first
read your book of poems,
"Mexico City Blues,"

I turned around,
and I started writing
completely differently.

Everything changed, man.

That book...

it enlightened me.

That's nothing like
what you do.

In fact,
it's miles away.

I'm a language spinner,
and you're an idea man.

[LAUGHTER]

I used to do this
in a work gang
in southern Arizona.

Who's got the chops?

Lawrence, show 'em
how it's done!

No tree was left alive.

[LAUGHTER]

JACK:
I realized you can always
study the character of a man

by the way he chops wood.

Ferlinghetti took neat,
little, short-handled chops.

Oh, whoa.

Whereas old Whalen
slogged away,

I guess, the way
he learned in Oregon,

getting his job done
silently, not a word.

Little Victor thereupon
tried his luck,

but gave up
after five strokes.

The ax was likely
to carry him away anyway.

I'm really happy
for the first time
in three years.

Then Lew Welch demonstrated
with big, easy strokes,

and in no time, we had
five huge logs to use.

Neal's fantastic,
fiery character showed

in the way
he went at that log
with horrible force.

When he brought down that ax
with all his might

and holding it
far at the end,

you could hear
the whole tree trunk

groaning the whole length
inside.

He brought
that ax down so hard,

his feet left the Earth
when it hit.

It was like an example of vast, but senseless strength.

He chopped off his log
with the fury of a Greek god.

♪ Whop, de-doo whop,
whop, de-doo whop... ♪

Now it was
time to get in the cars.

McClure had rearrived,
and we go driving south
down the Coast Highway

to a hot springs
bathhouse down there,

which sounded good
to me at first.

The boys reassure me
the hot springs bath
will do me good.

They see I'm gloomy,
now hungover for good.

[OVERLAPPING CHATTER]

Look, there's
a dead otter down here.

But when we arrive,
my heart sinks again

as McClure
points out to sea

from the balcony
of the outdoor pools.

And sure enough, it is
a dead otter, I guess,

a big, brown pale lump

floating up and down
mournfully...

It's just an otter.

...with the swells
in the ghastly weeds.

"My otter. Why did he die?"

I ask myself in despair.
Why do they do that?

What's the sense
of all this?

I borrow McClure's
yellow bathing suit
and get in.

It's very typical
of me and Neal

that we won't undress
in this situation.

We were both
raised Catholics,

supposedly the big sex heroes
of our generation.

Not to mention that
when somebody informs me

this bathhouse is
owned by the young
writer Kevin Cudahy,

whom I knew
very well in New York.

I ask one
of the young strangers,
"Where's Kevin Cudahy?"

He doesn't
even deign to reply.

Thinking he hasn't heard me,
I ask again.

No reply. No notice.

I ask a third time, it all
adds up to the confusion

that's beginning
to pile up in my battered
drinking brain anyway.

The constant reminders of death, not the least of which

was the death
of my peaceful love
of Bixby Canyon

now suddenly
becoming a horror.

[MUTED CHATTER]

Michael.

Cheers.

To you.

[LAUGHS]

All right, ready?

No, you play
for me.

[MOANING]

Hey, morning.

It looks like
everybody else,
um, took off.

Is it all right
if I stay?

I couldn't think of any way
to reject his request

in a harmless way,
so said yes.

I--Yeah, I don't really
have a ride, so...

So when they all left
suddenly, I was alone

with this mad beatnik kid,

singing, "All I
want to do is sleep."

You want
some salami?

I mean...

yeah, I don't
really have a ride.

[GROANS]

But I've got
to make the best of it

and not disappoint
his believing heart,

because, after all, the poor kid actually believes

that there's something
noble and idealistic
about this Beat stuff,

and I'm supposed to be
the king of the beatniks.

A dead mouse.

Whoa!

Hey, you got
to watch out
for snakes, huh?

Never can tell
which kind
it's gonna be.

NEAL:
Happy birthday, Jack!

Happy birthday![LAUGHTER]

Oh, I have
good news for you.

I have brought
Carolyn and Emily
and Gaby and Timothy,

because all of us are
so grateful and glad
because of your $100.

I have
the most fantastic
story to tell you.

Come on. Let's get him
outside and tell the story.

Come on, get up!

Come on, get up!

Here, take him.
Take him. Take him.

So I have to have
my old good buddies push it
down the road for me,

and this guy,
he had this perfect gem
of a Cadillac.

A Cadillac, mind you,
with a new radio--
get in--

and new headlights

and a this-a
and that-a

down to the new set
of tires.

Oh, and the color,
the color that'll
knock you out.

And a new job.

Jack, I got
a new job along with
a new Cadillac,

a new job
in downtown Los Gatos,

where I don't even
have to drive.

I don't even
have to drive.

It's a half mile, Jack.
I can walk.

Listen to that.[JAZZ PLAYING]

That is it.

Ah.

Ah, that is it.

Carolyn:
Go, girls! Get him!

NEAL: I tell you,
being away from the men,
I lost time, brother.

I lost more than time.

I lost a piece
of soul, but I'm
getting it back!

[YELLS]

[JAZZ CONTINUES]

[LAUGHS]

Neal has gotta
learn to control

the enormous forces
that run inside of him.

You speaking to me?

What are you doing, Jack?

You see
that grove there?

Once in a while,
you'll be surprised
out of your shoes

to see the mule
quietly meditating...

[LAUGHS]

with locks
of hair like Ruth's
over his forehead,

a big biblical mule
meditating.

[LAUGHS]

But up here,
look at that bridge.

Yeah.Now, what do you
think of that?

It's big.

A man needs truth like
a machine needs oil.

Truth?

Well, then there's Neal.

He just manicures
his little white lies

so much that they
turn into black ones.

I don't know.

[CHUCKLES]

Oh, you will.

Yeah, you will.

All right.

[RADIO PLAYING MUSIC]

You and me,
we're gonna go--

we're gonna
go flying down that
Bayshore Highway

and go rubbing shoulders
into that city.

Then we're going
to go popping up

into my sweet
little baby Wilhelmina.

I'm gonna leave
you two little lovebirds
days on end alone

so you can just
live and enjoy
that gone little woman,

because, I tell you,

I want her to dig
every possible thing

you have to tell her
about what it is that
you know, you hear?

'Cause she is my--

you know,
she's my soul mate,

my confidante,

my mistress,
and I want her

to learn,
to be happy.

What's she look like?

[LAUGHS]

[CHUCKLES]

She's all right.

She's got
a gone little body,
I'll tell you that.

But in bed, oh,
she's the first and only

and last possible
greatest thing.

You dig?

I dig.

♪ Ah, ah, ah ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah... ♪[PANTS]

You're here!
[LAUGHING]

[GRUNTS]

JACK:
It's Lucien.

My God, it's Lucien.

Neal hates Lucien,
and Lucien hates Neal.

You look like Lucien,
but you're not Lucien,

and on top of that,
you're a woman.
How goddamn strange.

So I'm gonna go
back to Los Gatos

and get some sleep
before I have to work.

Poor Neal Cassady.
Yet, you see,

I've already explained
why actually subconsciously

this is what he
really wants to happen,

but he won't admit it ever

and always invents reasons
around this

to get mad at me
and call me a bastard.

I even see in my drunkenness

a little worried flutter
in Neal Cassady's eyes.

[GIGGLES]

I'll come back
tomorrow.

Her voice is the main point.

[FOOTSTEPS ECHOING]

Hey, darling.

You hungry?

Yeah? Okay.

Oh.

Here we go.

Lots and lots
of milk, right?

There you go.

Bye.

I feel myself skidding.

At night, Billie comes home,
and we pitch into love again

like monsters who
don't know what else to do.

And by now,
I'm too blurry to know
what's going on anyway,

though she reassures me
everything is all right.

We're already
going to get married

and fly away
to Mexico in a week.

In fact, I can see it now,

a great big
four-way marriage

with Neal and Carolyn.

I feel myself skidding

also because,
during the following week,

I keep sitting
in the same chair
by the goldfish bowl,

drinking bottle
after bottle of port

like an automaton
worrying about something.

Ferlinghetti comes to visit,
McClure, almost everybody.

So Neal's secret
is public, huh?

JACK:
They call to me
dashing up the stairs,

and we have
long, drunken days talking,

but I never seem
to get out of that chair

and never even
take another delightful
warm bath reading books.

You should only drink
white wine, Jack.

That'll kill you.

Hello.

Are you gonna come back
and get me here?

I'm feeling like
I'm hiding the weapon.

In a few days.
Just stay there.

Have you
heard about that?

There's this
strange group of,

uh, beatniks
or whatever.

A-And they wear
the most--the most
dandy clothes,

you know,
or they'll turn around

a-and have
these fancy pants,

unpressed, of course,

with torn sneakers.

LEW: Jack, you know
what Lenora and I
did the other day?

We went and saw
"The Wizard of Oz."

Lenora after the movie
thought it would be fun

if we maybe had sex
with a midget

or something
or a munchkin
or--you know.

I don't know, though.
I've never had sex with
a midget or a munchkin.

You know what's
freaking me out
are those fish.

I don't understand
that their world is--

their world is
so small. It's just
right in there,

and then they can't
really go anywhere,

and their world
is just encompassed
in this little space.

Do you ever
think about that?

I think about that
a lot.

I think that
their world is so small
and our world is so big.

But our world
is getting smaller, too,

because now
Hawaii is a state,
and Alaska is a state.

We went from 48 to 50...

I realize it's just
a little family home scene,

and I'm just a nut
in the wrong place.

Meanwhile, Neal has
completely disappeared.

This chair that you've
been sitting in for days,

have you
noticed the bottom
is falling out of it?

Jack, you need
some sleep.

How long have you been
sitting in that chair?

I've been, um,
sitting here,

waiting for Billie
to come home.

Well, my God,
let's go outside,
and sit by the water.

Only if we
get another bottle.

Hmm. I have one
right here.

So Philip and me,
we made our city hike
over to the bay,

where there is
sound that harkens
slightly up to Sur

that I had abandoned
in betrayal.

Ah, Philip, I'm sorry

I ruined our day
by sleeping like this.

You needed to sleep.
I told you.

How long was I sleeping?

Ages.

I'm sorry.

Why should you be sorry?

I love you anyway.

Was I snoring?

You were snoring all day,

and I've been
sitting here all day.

What a beautiful day.

Yeah.

It's been
a beautiful day.

How strange.

I smoked a whole package
of Edgewood.

It's been
a very strange day.

Are you sad
I didn't talk to you?

Not at all.

In fact, I'm glad.

JACK:
Watching life.

Maybe we don't know
all that we think we know.

Where's she going?

Does she has some
secret sailor lover?

She only gonna finish
her typing after hours
in the office?

What if we knew, Philip,

what every one
of these people going by
is headed for?

Some door,
some restaurant,

some secret romance?

You sound like you
stored up a lot of energy

and interest in life
out there in the woods.

What did you do
all day?

I was with Philip Whalen
and slept by the water.

Here are
your vegetables,
honey.

Billie, what are
we gonna do?

We'll get married
and fly to Mexico
with Elliott.

Billie, I don't want
to get married, I'm afraid.

I want to go home
and die with my cat.

Jack...

what have
I done wrong?

I'll tell you what
you've done wrong.

You withhold
your love...

from a woman
like me.

And previous women...

and future women
like me.

Jack...

can you imagine
all the fun we'd have
being married?

Going out to hear jazz?

Or even taking planes
to Paris suddenly

and all the things
I have to teach you
and you teach me?

I'm a creepy, strange guy
you don't even know.

Yeah.

Creepy, strange guy...

that I love.

I love.

We could go live
in an old log cabin
in the hills,

never say anything
for years.

Let's leave the city
and take Elliott with us

and go to Ferlinghetti's cabin
in the woods for a week,

for two weeks,
forget everything.

Jack, I love you.

I'll call Lew Welch,

and he'll drive us
to Big Sur cabin.

We'll be alone
in the woods at least.

I'm telling you
that's what I want to do.

[DIALING TELEPHONE]

Hello, Lew?
There you are.

Know what I'm
calling you about?

Listen, pal,
take that big brunette Lenora,

that Romanian madwoman,
and pack her in Willie

and come down
to Billie's here
and pick us up.

We'll pack
while you's en route.

Honey's on, and we'll all
go spend two weeks of bliss
in Ferlinghetti's cabin.

What's the purpose
of all this?

Just to see you,
and we can talk
about purposes anywhere.

Oh, Lew, I--I wanted
to stop by, uh, Neal's.

JACK:
It always starts out good
like that, the bad moments.

Nothing is gained or lost
also by the fact

that I insist we stop
at Neal Cassady's en route

so I can pick up
some clothes I left there,

but secretly
I want Carolyn

to finally come
face-to-face with Billie.

He always wants
to drive my car.

It's my Willie.

[LAUGHS]

LENORA: I'll settle
things with you.

[DOOR OPENS]

Billie's out
in the Jeep.

Of course it was you
who was destined
to bring her here.

What's Neal
so worried about?

[CHUCKLES]

Oh, you're just
spoiling all his chance
to be real secretive.

He hasn't come and seen us
for a whole week.

That's in a way
what happened.

Just left me
stranded there.

Well, why don't you
bring her in?

[SIGHS]

Honey, you should
probably get her
a drink.

What can
I get you
to drink?

Eh, the usual.

That's fine.

I just love the color
of these walls, Carolyn.

What do you
call that color?

Yellow.

Carolyn, did you
know that Billie

has a lovely little boy
called Elliott?

No.

Asks a whole bunch
of questions,

really charming.

Neal never
mentioned that.

Well, what
a great idea this was.

Let's toast, um--

Let's toast Neal.

Across the meadow and back
to the haunted cabin.

I begin to feel
extremely low

as soon as last night's
alcohol wears off.

I can't chop wood
for fear I'll cut a foot off.

I can't sleep. I can't sit.
I can't pace.

I keep going to the creek
to drink water

till finally I'm going
down there a thousand times,

making Lew Welch wonder,
as he's come back
with more wine.

I'm hungry.
Lew is hungry.

Are you starving?I'm through starving.

What shall we eat?

Tell you what,
I got an idea.

What?

I am now gonna
go out surf casting

for a grab bag of fish
for a marvelous supper.

[LAUGHS]

Lenora,
you get a salad ready,

whatever else we need,
or you can--

Oh, no, no.

♪ Oh doh doh doh doh doh ♪

Mm-hmm.

We're gonna
leave the two of you
alone now, okay?

Why don't we go
to Nepenthe

and private
our grief tonight?

And drink Manhattans?

Or go see Henry Miller?

I'm so exhausted,
I can't do anything
or see anybody.

Already feeling awful guilt
about Henry Miller anyway.

We've made an appointment
with him about a week ago,

and instead of showing up
at his friend's house
in Santa Cruz at 7:00,

we're all drunk at 10:00,
calling long distance.

And poor Henry just said,
"Well, I'm sorry

"I don't get
to meet you, Jack,
but I'm an old man,

"and at 10:00, it's time
for me to go to bed.

You'd never make it here
till after midnight now."

His voice on the phone
just like his records,

nasal, Brooklyn,
good-guy voice,

and him disappointed
in a way,

because he's gone
to the trouble

of writing the preface
to one of my books.

Though I suddenly now think
in my remorseful paranoias,

"Ah, the hell with it.

"He was only
getting in the act,

"like all these guys
write prefaces

So you don't even get
to read the author first,"

as an example
of how really psychotically

suspicious and loco
I was getting.

I'd begun to realize
in my soberness

that this thing
had come too far,

that I don't love Billie,
that I'm leading her on,

that I made a mistake
dragging everyone here,

that I simply
want to go home now,

that I'm
just plumb sick and tired,
just like Neal, I guess.

I suddenly wonder
if she's going to horrify
the heavens and me, too,

with a sudden suicide walk
into those awful undertows.

I see her sad
blonde hair flying,

the sad, thin figure
alone by the sea,

the leaf-hastening sea.

"You are my last chance,"
she said,

but don't
all women say that?

Can it be I'm withholding
from her something sacred
just like she says?

Or am I just a fool
who will never learn

to have a decent,
eternally minded

deep-down relation
with a woman

and keep throwing that away
for a song and a bottle?

Ladies and
gentlemen,
what we are having

is a sacrificial
banquet with all
kinds of goodies

laid in a regal spread
around one little
delicious fish,

so that we may
pray to that fish and
take tiny, little bites.

Now, there's only about
four bites apiece, okay?

But there's all kinds
of different parts
of the fish

where the bites are
even more significant

or substantial
or beneficial.

But let me tell you,
however,

the real way to properly
fry a fish...

[SIZZLING]Beautiful!

Lew. [LAUGHS]

That's fantastic.

Flipping the fish, now!

Oh!Oh!

[LAUGHS]

We're having fish, Jack.

Here you go, Jack.

You gotta eat, Jack.

I whispered love into
every orifice of that bite.

Oh, Lew,
that looks beautiful.

Thank you.

[CHUCKLES]

[GASPS]

[CLAPS][LAUGHS]

It's beautiful.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Let us pray.

Jack?

This is the fish that
we're now gonna partake of

and feed us so that
we shall be stronger.

Thank you, fish people.

Thank you, fish god.
Thank you, moon,

for giving us
our light tonight.

This is the night
of the full moon fish...

which we are now going
to consecrate with our
first delicate bite.

JACK:
That fish has
all the death

of otters and mouses
right in it.

And that first bite
is for Jack.

It's just a tiny,
little bite, Jack.

Just chew it
very slowly.

You just chew it
really slowly.

Is he chewing?Oh.

Yes, my drink.

I'll have that piece.Okay.

If I try to turn over,

the whole universe
turns over with me.

It's no better on the other side of the universe.

You got me all wrong.

I wouldn't be
any good for you.

I know that now.

You're just tired of life,
and you want to sleep,

and in a way, that's
what I want to do, too.

Only, I've got Elliott
to worry about.

Could take both our lives
and solve that.

You, creepy talk.

You told me
the first night

you loved me,

that I was
the most interesting,

that you hadn't met
anyone you liked so much,

and then you just
went on drinking.

I really can see now
what they say about you
is true.

You keep groaning
about how sick you are,

and you really don't
think about others enough,

and I know you can't help it,

but you are
really ratty sometimes.

But even that,
I know you can't help.

Why can't you follow through

with what your heart knows
is good and best and true?

You give up so easy
to discouragement.

And I guess, too,
you don't really want me.

You want to go home

and resume your own life
with Louise.

No, I couldn't
with her either.

I'm just bound up inside
like constipation!

I can't
move emotionally,

like you'd say
emotionally as though

that were some big,
grand, magic mystery!

Everybody's saying,
"Oh, how wonderful life is!

How miraculous!
God's made this,
and God made that!"

How do you know
he doesn't hate
what he did?

He might even be drunk
and not noticing what
he went and done!

Though, of course,
that's not true.

Maybe God is dead.

No. God can't be dead,
because he's the unborn!

You have
all these philosophies

and sutras
you keep talking about.

But don't you see?

They've all become
empty words!

I realize I've
been playing like
a happy child

all my life
with words, words, words

in a big,
serious tragedy!

Look around!

[BIRD CALLS]

JACK: I've never
screamed in my life.

It's the first time
I'm not confident
I can hold myself together,

no matter what happens.

The devils
come after me tonight.

The creek
will give me water

that will clear away
everything.

Suddenly the water in the creek tastes different...

as though somebody's thrown
gasoline or kerosene in it.

[PANTING]

[GASPS]

The unbearable
anguish of insanity.

There's a tightening
around the head that hurts.

There's a terror of the mind
that hurts even more.

[HEART BEATING SLOWLY]

I feel evil forces
gathering down all around me

from her,

the kid...

the very walls
of the cabin...

and the trees.

Even the sudden thought
of Lew Welch and Lenora
is evil.

[WAVES CRASH]

[SHRIEKS]

They're all coming now.

[PANTING]

Jack.

Jack?

Love me...

please.

Even--Even if we never
see each other again,

let this last night
be beautiful.

Please.

JACK:
I'm carking in my canyon.

Can you just
do that for me...

Everything is death.

For the both of us?

They all look dead.

I can't.

I'm with you, Jesus,
for always,

but there's
a battle somewhere,

and the devils
keep coming back.

Why can't you?

Jack, please?

I see the cross.

It's silent.

It stays a long time.

My whole body
fades away to it.

I don't want
to scare Billie

or anybody
with my death scream.

So I swallow the scream

and just
let myself go into death.

[WATER FLOWING]

[SIZZLING]

I can't possibly
stay here another minute.

You gotta drive us
all back to town.

Okay, but I sure wish
we could stay another week
like Lenora wants to do.

Well, you drive me
and come back.

Heh. I don't know if
Lawrence would like that.

We already dirtied up
the place aplenty.

In fact, we gotta
dig a garbage pit
to get rid of all the junk.

I'll do it.

It's exactly the size

fit for putting
a little dead Elliott in it.

We've all
read Freud sufficiently

to understand
something there.

Want to finish
the job yourself?

What do you mean?

Well, I said I'd dig
the garbage pit,

and I've done that.

Aren't you supposed
to do the rest?

I'll dump earth over it
and tamp it down.

No, no, no, no!

What's the matter
with this kid?

Is he a cretin?

Come on, Elliott.

Jack...

you are so ... neurotic.

[PANTING]

The hell with this madness.

Just a golden wash
of goodness

has spread over all and
over all my body and mind.

All the dark torture
is a memory.

I know now I can
get out of there.

We'll drive back
to the city.

I'll take Billie home.
I'll say goodbye
to her properly.

She won't commit no suicide
or do anything wrong.

Billie will go on being golden one way or the other.

The little boy will grow up
and be a great man.

Lenora's life will go on.
Old Lew will manage somehow.

I'll forgive them
and explain everything.

And Neal Cassady
and Albert Saijo

and ravened Michael McClure

and perfect,
starry Philip Whalen,

they'll all pass through
one way or the other.

I'll stay with Ferlinghetti
at his home a few days,

and he'll smile and show me
how to be happy a while.

We'll drink dry wine
instead of sweet

and have quiet evenings
in his home.

Ferlinghetti will say,
"That's all there is to it.

"Take it easy.
Everything's okay.

"Don't take things
too serious.

"It's bad enough as it is

without you going the deep end over imaginary conceptions,

just like you
always said yourself."

I'll get my ticket and say goodbye on a flower day

and leave
all San Francisco behind

and go home
across autumn America,

and it'll all be like
it was in the beginning,

simple, golden eternity,
blessing all.

Nothing ever happened,
not even this.

There'll be farewells
and smiles.

My mother will be
waiting for me glad.

The corner of the yard
where Tyke is buried

will be a new
and fragrant shrine,

making my home
more homelike somehow.

Something good will come
out of all things yet,

and it will be golden
and eternal just like that.

There's no need
to say another word.

[INSTRUMENTAL PLAYING]