All language subtitles for The.Wife.2017.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-RARBG-eng

Joe, what are you doing?

I'm hungry.

Don't eat sugar. It will keep you awake.

If this thing doesn't happen,

I don't want to be around
for the sympathy calls, okay?

So what we're gonna do,
we're gonna get out of here.

We're gonna rent a cabin in Maine,
stare at a fire.

That sounds cheerful.

- Don't.
- Don't what?

Don't pretend you're interested in sex
just because you're climbing the walls.

Come on, just a quickie.

- It will help us sleep.
- I was asleep.

Well, you shouldn't be.
It's not natural.

Come on. You don't have to do anything.
Just lie there.

Oh, God.

- Joe, this is pathetic.
- Yeah. Pathetic.

In the real sense of the word. Pathos...

Eros.

Okay, fine. Go ahead.

Just imagine I'm some young,

inarticulate stud who's found you
lying naked on the beach.

His big hand is tan,

blond knuckle hair,

his middle finger gently probing...

Now he takes out his huge, swaying

tumescent cock.

Oh, God, Joe, enough!

Hello?

Hello?

Am I speaking to Mr. Joseph Castleman?

Yes.

This is Mr. Arvid Engdahl calling

from the Nobel Foundation
in Stockholm, Sweden.

This is not a joke, I take it?

No, Mr. Castleman, I assure you.

If you like I will give you
the phone number here,

and you can call back.

No, that won't be necessary, thank you.

Oh, my God!

Listen, before you go on,

I'd like my wife
to get on the extension.

- Would that be all right?
- Yes, of course, I'll wait.

Oh, God.

Hello? I'm on.

- Hello, Mrs. Castleman. Is that you?
- Yes.

Mr. Castleman, are you still on as well?

Yes, I am.

It is my great honor and pleasure
to tell you, Mr. Castleman,

that you have been chosen to receive
this year's Nobel Prize in literature.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Mr. Castleman, we are so delighted
to be giving you this prize.

Your career has
a truly remarkable span to it.

Not only do you write

with extraordinary intimacy,
wit and depth,

you have also challenged
the novelistic form in ways

that will affect generations
of writers to come.

Well, I should be getting something
for all the gray in my beard.

Indeed, yes.

And thank you for doing so
on the world's behalf.

Mrs. Castleman.

Yes.

You should know that your husband
will be fending off the press today,

so what I advise is that
you monitor his calls,

as it does get quite exhausting.

Yes, I'll take good care of him.

Mr. Castleman, I'm sure you would like
to make a few calls of your own,

so I shall leave you
to your celebration.

We will contact you later
with all the specifics.

And, again, many congratulations to you.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I won the Nobel!

I won the Nobel!

What?

Joanie, I'm...

- I'm just being silly.
- No, I gotta take a shower.

We have a long day. Come on down.

Come on.

Joan.

There.

So you're going to Stockholm?

- When?
- December.

It'll be freezing there.

- Joe buying you a fur?
- No.

No, I think I'll be
like any decent First Lady

and get by with a good cloth coat.

Joanie, get over here. Come.

- Hello, Hal.
- Hello, Joan.

- You're looking lovely as always.
- Thank you, Hal. That's very sweet.

- The New York Times is here.
- Really?

Tell her.

They're giving your husband
the cover of the Sunday Magazine.

They're knocking out a story
about Bill Clinton for him.

Is this going to be like
one of those Avedon shots?

With all the pores showing?

Every brilliant one of them, my friend.

Oh, God, this is so unreal.

- How do I look?
- You're fine.

- No crumbs? Nose hairs?
- No.

- All good?
- All good.

Joanie, tell me this isn't
some great, big, fat joke.

It's all real, darling.

Breathe.

- Joe, come on, we're waiting for you.
- Come on.

Let's do this.

Hello, my baby's baby.

- I need a nap.
- Poor Mommy.

Well, lamb.

- There you are.
- Yeah, I'm sorry I'm late.

I was looking for some decent cigars
to give to Dad.

I didn't get him anything.
Was I supposed to?

Darling, no. He's been lavished enough.

- Hey, monkey.
- Hey, sis.

Hello, little man.

David.

I've been wanting to tell you.

Your father showed me your short story.

Yeah?

I think it's beautifully written.

What did he say?

We haven't discussed it yet.

- More like this, please.
- Hi.

That's great.

Looking so good, Joe.

Mr. Castleman.

There, good.

David, you just got here?

- Yeah.
- Thank you so much.

- Thank you.
- Congrats, Pa.

What's this?

They're Maduros.

My God.

- These are spectacular.
- No problem.

What a lovely gift. Thank you, David.

You're still smoking, I see.

- You care?
- Of course I care.

I'd like to see you outlive me.

- So, did you read my piece?
- Yes. We'll talk.

So it is a piece of shit?

Why do you do that?

Because you're clearly
avoiding the subject.

No, I'm clearly distracted
at the moment.

Look, we'll talk
when the time is appropriate.

- Okay?
- Yeah, okay.

Please, go and help your mother.

- No, Joan, let me do this.
- No...

- Please, you enjoy yourself.
- Joanie.

Here, Joanie. Come.

There, some champagne. Where's Susannah?

Right there.

Dad, I'm right here.

Come. Get yourself a glass.

I'm not drinking.

A glass of champagne will not harm
the baby, believe me.

- Quiet, please.
- Okay? Let's do this.

Joe.

To quote from
the Meditations of Quixote,

"I am I, plus my surroundings,

"and if I do not preserve the latter,

"I do not preserve myself."

Today, I'm the happiest of men.

I have my health,
give or take a few bypasses.

I have you, my wonderful friends,
my ever-curious students,

my son, David,
my beautiful daughter, Susannah,

and a future grandchild,

who at this moment is happily floating
in her mother's amniotic fluid.

And finally...

Finally, I have my beautiful wife, Joan,
the love of my life.

Joan, come here. The love of my life.

Without this woman,

I am nothing.

In fact, my greatest achievement is,

well, persuading this woman to marry me.

- Hal, please, get him to wrap it up.
- No.

To Joseph Castleman,

who, in my opinion, is the greatest
living author of the 20th century.

Joe!

- Dad.
- To Joe!

Thank you, everybody.

Would you like another biscuit,
Mr. Castleman?

Sure, yeah.

Where are you from?

- Cambridge.
- Nice.

- Have you been?
- No.

Would you like another biscuit,
Mrs. Castleman?

Thank you, no.

- You want a bite of my cookie?
- No, thank you.

- You want another pillow?
- Got one.

You want to take a look at this?

I really want to do my crossword.

Excuse me, Mr. Castleman.

There's a gentleman in the back

that says he knows you
and would like to say hello.

Nathaniel Bone?

- Tell him...
- Sorry to interrupt.

Thank you.

I just wanted to say congratulations.

- Hello, Nathaniel.
- Hey.

I take it you're not flying to Stockholm
purely for the pickled herring.

No. I wouldn't miss your award
for anything.

It's truly
an astounding achievement, Joe.

It's not about the prize, Nathaniel.

It's about getting up the gumption
to write the next book.

Absolutely. Well, that is
why you are who you are.

May I also say congratulations
to you as well, Joan.

I don't think people give
the spouse enough credit.

I give my wife credit.
I give her plenty of credit.

That's not what I meant.
I meant the rest of the world.

The critics, the readers
and most of all...

Nathaniel, I know I'm supposed
to be impressed

that somehow you've wheedled
your way onto this flight,

but I'm telling you,

I am not giving you permission
to write my biography.

- Now, would you please leave us alone?
- Absolutely.

- You've made that abundantly clear.
- Fine.

- Good.
- I'm so sorry.

- I just wanted to say congratulations.
- Okay.

Thank you for coming by
and saying hello, Nathaniel.

I mean it, sincerely. Thank you.

Hey, David, how's the writing going?

- Move on, Nathaniel.
- Go back to sleep. Apologies.

- What a schmuck.
- You were rude.

You gotta be rude, otherwise the guy
won't give up. Jesus Christ.

You don't want to make an enemy
of somebody like that.

I mean, there's nothing more dangerous
than a writer

whose feelings have been hurt.

Fuck him if he can't take
a perfectly-justified rejection.

- I was just making an observation.
- Yeah, well, fine, good.

Don't forget to stretch your legs
like Dr. Krentz says.

Yeah.

Mr. Castleman, welcome to Stockholm.

We are so delighted to have you here.

Thank you so much.

Please. A moment.

All right, darling.

- Please, follow me.
- Of course.

Well, that was

- quite a journey getting here.
- Excuse me, Mr Castleman.

- It was. Was it...
- Thank you.

- Just one more.
- Thank you.

Mrs. Castleman, I wanna apologize
for intruding earlier.

I certainly didn't wanna be a pest.

Well, I apologize
for my husband's rudeness.

No need. I know he's swamped
by glad-handers all the time.

Shall we pretend
I said something amusing,

so it'll look like
you're enjoying yourself as well?

No, thank you. I'm very comfortable
standing here in my own thoughts.

Joanie, please.

- My wife.
- Yes.

Mrs. Castleman. Hello.
I'm Arvid Engdahl.

I am the one who called you
about the prize,

waking you up at such an ungodly hour.

Not ungodly at all.
It added 10 years to my husband's life.

This is the wife of Joe Castleman.

Mr. Castleman, may I introduce you
to Walter Bark,

who will be accompanying you
on your engagements.

Mr. Castleman, it's an honor.

We'll be providing you
with anything you need.

Thank you. I can assure you
I'm very low-maintenance.

Only when he's asleep.

This is Mrs. Lindelöf,
who looks after our laureate wives.

- Hello.
- Mrs. Castleman.

They'll be keeping your husband
very busy,

so I can arrange for shopping
and beauty treatments.

Thank you. We'll see, but...

Mr. Castleman,
may I introduce to you Linnea Engwall

who will be your personal photographer.

- From your publishing house.
- It's an honor, Mr. Castleman.

I'm very much admiring of your work.

Thank you. You're very kind.

And I will be trailing you
with my camera,

but, of course,
you just pretend I'm not there, okay?

This is Mrs. Castleman.

- Nice to meet you.
- David.

I'd like you to meet my son, David.

Hello, David.
We are so very glad you could come.

We are always pleased to have
the children of our laureates.

In fact, we see you
as just as engaging as your father.

All right. Okay.

I can assure you,
my son is very engaging

when he's not in the throes of jet lag.

Well, shall we take you
to your room, then?

Yes, thank you. That would be very nice.

- Lead on.
- Thank you.

This will be from my lawyer.

- Do you have my reading glasses?
- Yeah.

Yeah, he always sends
the same cheap shit.

Here you are.

Yeah, that's him. What a cheapskate.

David, do you want this for your room?

No, Pop.

Chocolates.

That's delicious.

David?

No.

"Enjoy, enjoy. From Sylvia Fry."

Who the hell is Sylvia Fry?

One of your characters.

Jesus, Dad.

Don't be hard on him, David. He's tired.

My memory's a little shot at, okay?

It'll happen to you.

Sooner, perhaps, with your smoking.

Sure, Pop.

Don't eat all of those.
You'll get heartburn.

Have you seen this library, Joan?

They've got all the books.

What's it...

They've even got a copy of The Walnut
in fucking Arabic.

- Did you know about this edition?
- Yeah. It bought our Sub-Zero.

Careful with that. Would you be careful?

What... Oh, my... What are you doing?

- What is the matter with you?
- I'm gonna go and find my room.

All right, darling. Get some rest.

- Here, take some fruit with you.
- Yeah.

He's in a mood.

Well, let's hope he gets laid
while he's here.

Joe, don't be so crude.

What?

Joanie, is there something bugging you?

No.

I wasn't attracted to that woman,
you know.

I really could care less.

Here, brush your teeth.
Your breath is bad.

Really?

God. You think they noticed?

No, they were too busy being awed.

God.

All this attention's giving me agita.

I don't know. Do you...
Could you just listen to my heart?

- Is it skipping a beat?
- No, it's not.

- God, I'm too old for this.
- We both are, darling.

So what do we do now? We going out?

No. We're gonna get some sleep.

- Joanie.
- What?

Can we try to enjoy this?

Hello, Miss Archer.

Please, come in.

Your story.

I've read it twice,
and frankly, both times...

I found it to be quite good.

Thank you, Professor.

Know that you still have
a long way to go with this piece.

Of course.
I'm more than willing to make fixes.

I'm not asking you to fix anything.

I'm asking you to go deeper.

You write with a lot of intelligence,

but you're detached.

The characters are supposed to be
detached, especially the mother.

But she wasn't always that way, was she?

She was somebody's child once,
somebody's lover.

And she has cravings,
fears, secret desires.

I'm sure she even passes gas.

Yes, she does,
but she blames it on their new maid.

That's very good.

I see I'm going to have
to watch out for you.

I can be quite a handful, Professor.

Don't ever try to put it on.

You're charming enough
just the way you are.

I wanted to ask you something.

I was wondering whether by any chance
you would be free on Saturday night.

Yeah, I am.

Would you be interested in babysitting?

My wife and I, we haven't gotten out
since Fanny was born.

Sure. I love babies.

The true writer,

he does not write to get published.

He writes because he has
something urgent and personal

that he needs to say.

A writer must write, as he must breathe,

and he keeps on doing it,

despite the loneliness,
despite the poverty,

despite the piles of rejection letters,

despite the parent or the wife
who call out,

"You fool.
Why don't you get a real job?"

A writer writes because if he does not,

his soul will starve.

"His soul swooned slowly

"as he heard the snow falling faintly
through the universe

"and faintly falling,
like the descent of their last end,

"upon all the living and the dead."

James Joyce. No more needs to be said.

- I asked you to heat her bottle.
- I did.

- It's ice-cold.
- I did it when you told me to do it.

I'm warning you, it's chaos in here.
Come in.

- Is that the girl?
- Yes. Her name is Joan.

Hello. The baby's up here.

Carol, could you get my tie
for me, please?

- It's on the bed.
- Yeah, I know that.

Could you get it for me?

Joan, go on up.

This is my life, God help me.

It's okay.

It's all right.

I'm falling in love with your daddy.

- Oh, my God.
- Good morning, Mr. Castleman.

That's...

This is Santa Lucia, who has come
to show her respect for a great writer.

Sorry, Santa Lucia?

Yes, I believe I informed you
about this yesterday.

Well, you probably did. I don't...

That looks wonderful. Thank you.

Excuse me.

- Where are you going, honey?
- I gotta freshen up.

I'm so sorry if this was
any kind of inconvenience.

I have to say I'm rather grateful.
I was in the middle of a nightmare.

I was back in Brooklyn
living with my mother.

And she says, "Joe,
I have some terrible news."

And before she can get it out,
my tiny Russian grandmother,

who's built like a footstool,
screams at her.

"Not before dinner.
You'll ruin his appetite."

"You'll ruin his appetite."

Excuse me, I hate to interrupt
this wonderful exchange,

but I'd like to introduce the Castlemans

to another one of our laureate families.

Okay, good.
I'll see you later, gentlemen.

James Finch is getting our prize
in physics.

He's a brilliant man and nice as can be.

Good.

James Finch, may I introduce you
to the novelist Joseph Castleman?

- A pleasure to meet you, Joseph.
- And you.

I wish I could say
that I'd read all your books.

Well, I wish I could say
that I understood all your formulas.

I've read your books and, I promise you,

they're a far better read
than James' scribblings.

My wife, Constance,
is a scientist as well.

As you can see,
she's quite critical of my work.

Well, my wife doesn't write, thank God,

otherwise I'd suffer
permanent writer's block.

Hello. I'm Joan.

Hello.

Joan is the love of my life.

Let me introduce my children.
This is Ellen.

I'm counting on her
to find the cure to Alzheimer's

just in time for my own dementia.

My son, David, is a writer.

He's developing quite a voice.

Well, Sam is working
in conductive polymers.

Peter is interested in prime factors.

And Chester, well,

he's trying to disprove
the string theory.

It's a bit out of his league,
but we indulge him.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Castleman.
I have to steal you away.

We have to go to your lecture.
Follow me, please.

Thank you.

Well, I'll...

Good to meet you, James.

- Wonderful to meet you, Joseph.
- Yes, and you, of course.

- A pleasure, Jean.
- Joan.

- My apologies.
- No matter.

So the main problem that we're having

with the hydrothermal liquefaction
is the high mineral content of the...

- Hi.
- Hi.

- How are you?
- I'm fine.

- And you?
- No, I'm very good.

- Can I take a picture?
- Of course.

Catch you later.

And, David, will you do me a favor?

Next time I introduce you,
try a little eye contact.

Sure.

And next time, don't refer to me
as your son, the half-baked writer.

- What are you talking about?
- "He's developing his voice"?

What is that supposed to mean?

It's a fact.
You are developing your voice.

And it takes a little time,
just as it took me time to develop mine.

No, it didn't. You had a hit novel
right out of the gate.

I grew up hard, my friend.

You live a little,
let's see what you come up with.

- You're not smoking in here.
- I can open the window.

Forget it.
It's zero fucking degrees out there.

You shouldn't be smoking anyway.

Yeah? And you shouldn't be
stuffing your face with animal fat.

What the fuck is the matter with you?

Stop it now. Stop it, both of you.

Are you pissed because
we haven't discussed your story?

Is that what's bugging you?

I don't need to discuss something
that you have been avoiding

like some steaming pile of shit

that I deposited on the desk.

I have read your story, okay?

And my opinion is it's a solid start.

But that's not
what you wanna hear, is it?

No, you wanna hear
it's a breathtaking work of genius.

That's not what I wanna hear.
Jesus fucking Christ, Dad.

- Stop it.
- Don't...

- Stop it.
- Such a prick.

David, would you like to spend
the rest of the day on your own?

He's going to miss my lecture.

- David, would you like that?
- Yeah, I would.

What are you going to do with yourself?

It's Stockholm.
It's a major European city.

Yeah.

Shall I let you off here? On the street?

Would that do you?

Gustav, would you pull over, please?

Okay, sir.

I'm gonna give you some money.

- Do you know the way back to the hotel?
- Yeah.

You check in with us
when you get back, okay?

Yeah, sure. Thanks, Mom.

Jesus.

- It's not easy being your son, Joe.
- Come on.

It's not easy being anyone's son.

You could act a little prouder of him.

Or he could work a little harder.

We wouldn't be doing the kid
any favor telling him he's brilliant.

- I think he has talent.
- Yeah, well, you should tell him.

It doesn't mean anything coming from me.

He has to hear it from you.

He shouldn't need my approval to write.

Everyone needs approval, Joe.

Yeah.

These shoes are killing me.

Here, come here.

Come here. Give me.

Joe, please don't thank me
in your speech.

What?

I don't want to be thought of
as the long-suffering wife.

- You understand that, don't you?
- No. I have to thank you.

Everyone thanks their wife.

If I don't, I'll come off
like some narcissistic bastard.

- Well, you are.
- Oh, God.

No, it'll be quick, Joanie.

You know, one sentence.
It'll be painless.

- Come on.
- No.

You okay?

Do what you need to do.

The Faculty Wife.

You've shed quite an interesting light
on Mrs. Castleman.

No, it's not about your wife at all.
It's just a character study.

Miss Archer, I've already told you
that your work is good.

But I'm not sure
I got it through to you.

This is from my novel, Sleeping Dogs.

I know most of you haven't read it

because it's only sold
1,000 copies.

Most of which were bought
by my relatives,

who were paid handsomely by me.

So, here we go. Chapter one...

- No, thank you.
- Could I introduce you to...

- They're so green.
- We've been through this before...

Elaine, let me introduce you
to Miss Archer,

the promising young writer
I told you about. One second.

Excuse me. Joan, please. Excuse us.

Joan, this is Elaine Mozell.

Hello. Hi.

Your prose is brilliant.
It's clean and vivid and bold.

Thank you, but you know what?

The public can't stomach
bold prose from a woman.

You're talented, I hear.

Thank you.
Yeah, I love to write. It's my life.

Don't do it.

Excuse me?

You wanna know
where your books will end up?

Right there. On the alumni shelf.

Go ahead, open it up.

You hear that? That's the sound
of a book that's never been opened.

Don't ever think
that you can get their attention.

- Whose?
- The men.

Who write the reviews.
Who run the publishing houses.

Who edit the magazines.

The ones who decide
who gets to be taken seriously,

who gets to be put up on a pedestal
for the rest of their lives.

A writer has to write.

A writer has to be read, honey.

Has anyone got a light?

Joe?

Joe?

Joe?

Joe?

You wanna join me?

No. I should go home.

Okay.

Go to bed.

Is it still snowing out there?

Then let me send you out with this.

"His soul swooned slowly

"as he heard the snow falling faintly
through the universe

"and faintly falling,

"like the descent of their last end,

"upon all the living and the dead."

That's beautiful.

Did you write it?

No.

Well, time to go.

It's late.

- Good night.
- Good night.

I know. I know what you're gonna say.

I'm killing myself eating all this fat.

You will.

What are we doing?

Listen, why don't we
knock this whole thing on the head?

Go and hole up in a cabin in a fjord.
Drink ourselves silly.

Howl at the northern lights.

If only.

Come in.

Mr. Castleman will have his lunch
in here.

- Joe, you've gotta get up.
- Yeah.

They're picking you up in 40 minutes.

Oh, Jesus. Okay, I'm coming.

Your lunch is here.

Here are your spare glasses.

And here are your pills.

You're not coming with me?

No, I'd like to spend some time
by myself.

What are you gonna do?

I don't know.
Maybe go on a tour of the city.

What, some lousy tour bus?

Joe, I'll be in a much better mood
if you let me go.

I thought this was something
we should be doing together.

Take one of these at 3:00.

And I've set your watch.

- Mrs. Castleman.
- Nathaniel.

I'm not stalking you, I promise.

But I do have something for you.
I was gonna leave it at the desk.

Just a little something
I picked up at a bookstore at Smith

when I was doing some research on Joe.

Northrop House.

That was my dorm.

I know.

It's quite a bit before your time,

but I thought
you'd get a kick out of it.

Thank you, Nathaniel.
This is very thoughtful of you.

You've always been so kind to me
in my aborted attempts at wooing Joe.

I'd love to buy you a drink, if I may.

There's a lovely bar close by,
very 19th century.

You can imagine Strindberg
getting hammered in there.

I don't know
how appropriate that would be.

Well, it's completely inappropriate.

But here we are in Sweden,
it's the dead of winter.

I don't think either one of us
wanna be completely alone

in our own brooding thoughts
right now, do we?

Nice.

I do actually have a confession.

I have gotten an offer
to write a book about Joe.

I wanted to tell you so you don't think
I'm doing anything behind his back.

And is this going to be
a scholarly work?

Yes and no.

Meaning what?

You may as well know
that I am aware of Joe's various...

Indiscretions.

Well, I'm sure you are.

I can imagine it's veryjuicy material
for a biographer.

You would think so, but,
to be honest, it's a tad predictable.

Most of your men of genius
tend to have overactive libidos,

and thanks to worshipful tomes
put out by us biographers,

we're all supposed to find it
charming and forgivable.

I don't, actually.
I find that behavior rather appalling.

Well, please don't paint me as a victim.

I am much more interesting than that.

I know you are.

Look, I don't wanna make the wrong
assumptions about your relationship.

Now we have an opportunity
to set the record straight.

You are so transparent, Nathaniel.

I can't believe I let you lure me here.

Of course, you have
the opportunity to leave,

spend the rest of the day in some
draughty museum of obscure Nordic art.

Or we can enjoy these excellent drinks.

Morning, Joseph.

Professor Chen Ling, chemistry.

Hello.

- Dr. Karl Seigler, medicine.
- How do you do?

- And Sir Randall Meade, economics.
- Pleasure.

For me, too.

I'll turn you over now briefly
to Mr. Lagerfelt,

who will just run you through
the protocol for tomorrow.

Gentlemen, you will take your seats

indicated for now
by these signs with your names.

When it is time
for you to receive your medal,

you will walk from your seat to here.

And you will receive your medal
from the king.

And then you shall bow,
making the three reverences.

Like so.

We will start with you, Mr. Castleman.

Okay.

Sorry. I bow first?

You approach the king and then you bow.

- I'm sorry.
- No need to apologize.

That is why we are practicing.

It's not rocket science, Castleman.

No, of course.

And now the three reverences.

Walter, could I have a moment?

Are you all right, Mr. Castleman?

I'm fine.
I just need to take a little break.

- Do you need anything? Water or...
- No.

- Just tell us.
- No, please, I'm fine.

- Just for a moment.
- Okay.

We'll walk you out.

I come to you unarmed.

I could tell
that all that clicking in your face

was getting on your nerves.

You're doing your job.

Well, the good news is they told me,

if you wish,
they will release you for the day.

I wish that.

Which of these doors do you think
offers the quickest escape?

Shall we try them and see?

So, I would guess
Joe made you give it up.

Yes, he wants to keep me healthy.

All right,
here's my next fascinating query.

What does the Nobel Prize mean
to Joseph Castleman?

- Oh, God.
- Yeah.

That's not mine. It's not mine.
It's from the publisher.

Why don't I just use
what he said to me on the plane?

"It's not about the prize.

"It's about getting up the gumption
to write the next book."

Perfect. Thank you.

And what about you?
How do you get up the gumption?

To get up in the morning?

To write.

- I'm not a writer.
- I beg to differ.

When I was going through
the Smith archives,

I came across some of your stories

that were published
in the college journal.

I read The Faculty Wife.

Beautifully written piece.

Thank you.

I had some potential.

Ever regret giving it up?

No.

I had very low expectations

about what I could achieve
as a female writer.

There were plenty of successful
female writers back then.

Yes, but I didn't have
the personality for it.

Really?

I'm quite shy.
I don't like to be looked at.

Okay, I won't look at you, then.

So, what about Joe?
Did he encourage you to keep writing?

Yes, but, as I said,

I didn't choose to pursue it.

Because he was the writer of the family.

Nathaniel, if you're trolling
for nuggets of bitterness,

you'll find none here.

Shucks.

Now, speaking of bitterness,

I spoke to his ex, Carol.

How is she?

She's good. She's a psychiatrist.

- Good for her.
- Yeah.

And their daughter, Fanny?

Successful dentist.

Rest assured,
Carol forgives you, by the way.

I'm glad.

Joe tried to keep in contact
with them...

I actually urged him to,

but we feel very badly
about that chapter in our life.

Well, she wants to make sure

that you know how thankful she is
that you took him off her hands.

She's very welcome.

Joan, I hope you know that

his affairs have nothing to do with you.
It's a compulsion.

I believe it's a deep-seated fear
of inadequacy.

Aren't you the therapist.

Do you have anyone that you confide in?

No.

And I don't really care to.

I guess that's what makes you
so attractive.

You're very mysterious.

Are you flirting with me?

Probably. Why not?

You know I don't trust you.

Oh, shit.

My pills.

Pills?

Yeah. Blood pressure.

I think I should get back to the hotel.

Yeah.

Here, hold this.
Let me give you something.

God, where's my pen?

Here it is.

Let's see. "To...

"Linea..."

Is that with an M, or?

No, it's two N's.

Oh, shit.

It doesn't matter.

I should go.

Will you find your way out?

Yeah.

Fuck it.

I have read some of Joe's earlier work.

Couple of short stories I came across,

some obscure literary journals,

and I hate to say it, Joan,

but not very good.

Well, early work is rarely readable.
I mean, you should know that.

Yeah, but these didn't even have
a hint of his mature voice.

In fact, your piece, The Faculty Wife,

that reads much more like
early Castleman than these did.

That's understandable.

Joe had a very heavy hand as a teacher.

Fair enough.

When I spoke to Carol,
she said that it was very odd

how much better his writing became
after he met you.

That's very generous of her.

With all respect,

I think you are sick and tired

of Joe Castleman.

I think you're tired of his affairs,
tired of being invisible,

tired of channeling your enormous talent
into creating the Castleman legend.

I would think
for the sake of your family,

for the happiness of your family,
you would wanna do something like this.

David seems like
a very unhappy young man.

You have no business
talking about my children.

You're right. I'm sorry.

I do think you want to talk to somebody.

I give you my word,
I will never reveal my source.

I will be the bad guy, so you don't
have to feel like you're betraying Joe.

Then the truth will be out there.
You would be free to write on your own.

What a marvelous story, Nathaniel.

You really ought to write fiction.

Joan...

You know where I'll be.

I really do want you to know that
I genuinely do enjoy your company.

Joanie?

Joanie, is that you?

Yeah.

Where have you been?
I've been worried sick about you.

Why? It's only 4:30.

Yeah, but look how dark it is already.

Don't do this to me.
Don't disappear on me like this.

I didn't disappear.
I went out for a couple of hours.

So, what you been doing all day?

Well, I walked around,
went into a couple of stores,

looked in a couple of shops.
How did the rehearsal go?

Joanie, have you been smoking?

- I can smell it on you.
- I went into a cafe,

and it was filled with smoke.

Have you been drinking, too?

Yeah, I had a vodka.

In the middle of the day?

Yes, Joe, in the middle of the day.

You know, Joanie,
you can't be doing this.

You can't be showing up at functions
with alcohol on your breath.

You are the star of the big show,
so why would anyone possibly care?

What the hell has gotten into you?

I don't like to be lectured to.
I'm not a child.

God damn it, Joe.

- What?
- Are...

Are you gonna stop throwing
your clothes all over the floor?

- I am so sick and tired...
- Here.

- ...of picking up after you.
- Let me do it.

- What's that?
- I got hungry. I bought some walnuts.

Let me see it.

- It's just a walnut.
- Can I see it?

What are you talking about?
"Can I see it?"

Give it to me.

- What are you doing?
- Give it to me.

- Don't be ridiculous.
- Give it to me.

So, while I was out
being a drunken lush,

you were seducing the luscious Linnea?

Nothing happened.

Don't you dare insult my intelligence.
Don't you dare.

Nothing happened.

- I put a stop to it.
- Bully for you.

Yeah, bully for me. And do you know why
I put a stop to it?

Because I was worried about you
on some fucking tour bus,

feeling neglected, so I come back here
so you wouldn't be alone.

And what happens?
I end up waiting for you.

I should have let you know I'd be late

so you could finish fucking
your photographer!

I wasn't gonna fuck her!

I'm not even attracted
to the woman, okay?

Look, all I was worried about was you.

I'm touched.

I'm too old for all this crap.

I'm done with it.

I'm all yours.

Goody for me.

Yeah, goody for you.

- Hello?
- Hi, Mom?

Susannah?

I had the baby.

What?

Oh, my God.

- What?
- Susannah had the baby.

Get on the other line.

When, darling? When?

A couple of hours ago.

Oh, my God.

Are you okay?

I'm fine.

He's making little mewling sounds.

You had a boy?

- What are you gonna call him?
- Max.

Max.

Who does he look like?

Dad, I know you want me to say
that he looks like you, but...

Put the phone next to his ear.
I wanna talk to him.

Here, take the phone.
Dad wants to talk to Max.

Is he on?

Hello, Maxwell.

It's your Grandpa Joe.

Hello, darling.
It's your grandma. Hello. Welcome.

He's talking to us. Can you hear?

You are the most beautiful little boy
in the world.

I wish I was holding you in my arms
right this minute.

Dad, Mom, Mark's parents just got here.
I have to go.

You give him a big kiss from us.

I will.

Love you, darling. Love you so, so much.

- Bye, sweetheart.
- I love you too, Mom.

Bye, Dad.

- Bye, darling.
- I love you.

- Bye.
- Bye.

Oh, Joan.

Life doesn't get much better.

Oh, my God.

Say what you like about the crap
we put each other through.

We still have a wonderful fucking life.

You're a really gifted writer, David.

But you know that.

Thank you, Dad. I appreciate that.

I liked your story. Well-constructed.

But?

Well, there's always a "but"
with the first draft.

Come on. Do you wanna hear this?

- Yeah, sure, go on.
- Okay.

Well, I don't completely buy
what you did with the couple.

The blowhard husband, the stoic wife
with the repressed rage.

We've seen it before. It's a cliché.

I think you can do better.

Jesus.

Okay.

It's all part of the process, David.

It's painful. I know that.

Writing can be fucking agony.

Yes, darling, it's dreadful.

You've suffered enormously.

Time for bed, huh?

- I'm gonna take your mother upstairs.
- Sure.

You enjoy yourself.
Don't stay up too late.

Night, darling.

Call your sister.
She'd love to hear from you.

Cigarette?

Sorry. We don't sell
any cigarettes here.

All right.

You can have one of mine.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Thanks.

I've been watching them.

The girl likes to chew her hair,

and the guy has got
some sort of weird twitch.

Yeah. They're pretty screwed up.

Well, aren't we all?

You know, my dad was a teacher at Yale.

He used to make me recite
the Iliad at dinner,

in Greek.

That's fucked up.

You haven't heard the half of it.

And the really, really
fucked-up thing is,

he didn't understand a word of it.

What are we drinking, David?

I have a writer who I think
is the next Henry Miller.

He's a hopeless drunk and will probably
self-destruct in a few years,

so I suggest we grab him now.

All right, I'll give it a read.

Honey, top me off, will you?

I've a novel here by a lady writer.

It's about an American family,
spans three generations.

It's great writing, kind of brilliant.

- But I thought it was a little soft.
- Soft?

Well, it comes from the point of view
of this woman.

I don't know. It just didn't grab me.

- Is she good-looking?
- So-so.

How about Jewish writers? Anyone have
any smart, young Jewish writers?

All the big houses have one.
Where the hell is ours?

Mr. Bower.

I think I may have
what you're looking for.

So, I walked to Harlem and back,
I had five espressos,

and I made my way through
a pack and a half of cigarettes.

You asked me to be honest.

So, talk.

I'm so sorry, Joe,
but it just doesn't work for me.

What do you mean?

Somehow it never comes alive.

The subject is too close to you.
I should get a more objective opinion.

Your characters are wooden, Joe.

No offense,
but you didn't make them real.

That doesn't mean anything.
Get specific.

Well, for one thing,

your dialogue is stilted.

- Let me see if I can get an example.
- Fuck this.

What the fuck?
Okay, this is not gonna work.

- What isn't?
- This whole thing. You and me.

This love affair of ours,
whatever you wanna call it.

Joe, just because I don't love your
novel doesn't mean I don't love you.

How could you love me

- if you think I'm a hack?
- Joe.

Look, how can I be with someone
who doesn't respect me?

- I do...
- You have no respect for me.

I do respect you.
I respect you in all kinds of ways.

All kinds of ways. Well, fuck that.

Tell me you believe in me as a writer.

- It's only your first draft, Joe.
- Screw this, Joanie. It's over.

This relationship's doomed.

What am I supposed to do
when I'm back in...

Go back and teach English
at some second-rate college?

Since I obviously blew it
with the Ivy Leagues

by screwing one of my students.

I'm not just one of your students, Joe.

No, you're the girl
with the golden touch.

You'll go on to be a literary sensation

while I stay at home grading papers
and cooking the pot roast.

I'm not gonna be a literary sensation,
you bastard, not ever.

No one will ever publish my books,

and even if they did,
no one would read them.

I'm not full of big ideas
the way you are.

You're the one
that has something to say, not me.

Please don't leave me.

If I lose you, my life is over.

I'm not going anywhere.

I don't wanna live without you.

I don't wanna live without you either.

Joanie, life is so fucking unfair.

Okay. Let's just calm down, all right?

We'll be okay. Let's...

Okay.

What are we gonna do?

I don't know. I just...

Let me think.

So, you think it's hopeless?

This piece of shit I wrote?

It's not a piece of shit, Joe.

It's a very compelling story.

All the ideas are there.

I can see it.

I could fix it.

Do you want me to fix it?

Joe?

What did he say?

He loved it.

- They wanna publish it?
- Yeah.

- They wanna publish it?
- Yes!

Fuck!

What are you doing?

- Come here.
- Hold on.

- We're getting published
- Getting published

We're getting published

We're getting published

Where the hell is he?

Joe, relax.

Just relax, all right?

If he doesn't show up,
we're leaving without him.

- You see? There he is.
- Oh, God.

- Hello, darling.
- Hey, Mom.

Look how handsome you are.

You're late. We gotta get going.

- You got my glasses?
- Yeah, they're in my purse.

- And the invitations?
- I don't think we'll need them.

You never know.

What the hell is going on with your tie?

- Come here.
- No, I got it.

Let me fix it.

Keep still, will you?

What?

- What?
- You've been smoking pot.

- No, I haven't.
- Yes, you have. I can...

- You reek of it.
- Joe, calm down.

No. Look at him.

Oh, my God. The kid's completely stoned.

I guess I'm a real embarrassment
to you, Pop.

- What kind of hostile crap is that?
- Joe.

David, what's going on?

I don't know, Mom.

I'm trying to figure out
if I've been worshiping

at the wrong parental shrine.

What the hell are you talking about?

What are you talking about?

Oh, my God. The kid's in a mess.

- What are we gonna do with him?
- No, I'm not a pronoun, Pop.

- I'm standing right here.
- Then talk to me, for Christ's sake!

- Don't shout at him.
- Yes, I will!

We're late.

We're supposed to be in the limo.

And already, he's spoiling my night
with his fucking bullshit.

Is it?

- Is it what?
- Your night.

Because according to your biographer,
this could all be some brilliant fraud.

What biographer?

That guy on the plane
with the glasses and the hair.

- Andy Warhol with pigment.
- Nathaniel Bone?

He's not my fucking biographer.
What are you talking about?

- He was in the bar last night.
- What did he say to you?

He said that I shouldn't measure myself
against my venerable father's success

because there is, in fact, a theory

that you, my mother,
are the real genius of the family.

That's ridiculous.

Why would he make
such a twisted thing up?

David, he's out to get me

because I won't authorize
his hack job on my life.

Don't be an idiot, David.

- I'm not an idiot.
- All right.

- Why would you call me that?
- Okay, calm down.

But, of course, if what he said is true,

then I really, really would be
a fucking idiot, wouldn't I?

David, look,
I hate to state the obvious,

but I think the pot
is making you paranoid.

I'm not fucking paranoid.

David, Nathaniel Bone is
an insidious man.

He had no business saying
those kinds of things to you.

He said you had a drink with him, too.

Did you?

I did.

He approached me in the lobby.

I thought it would be unwise
to rebuff him.

- He said that you confessed.
- Confessed what?

He said that you ghostwrite Dad's books.

I never said that.

Do you?

No, David, I do not.

I don't believe you.

Well, darling,
I can't make you believe me.

You know, you have to decide
what you believe yourself.

David, it's all lies.
It's fucking outrageous.

Dad, why were you always
closing the door on me,

with her inside, when I was young?

What the fuck was she doing in there?

- What are you talking about?
- The fucking door to your office!

It was always being slammed
in my face with her inside.

No, your mother was proofreading.

Proofreading?

I don't fucking believe you!

You asked Mom,
"Who the hell is Sylvia Fry?"

You don't even know
who your own fucking characters are!

- All right, now, that's enough.
- No, fuck you!

- David, that's...
- Fuck you!

- David!
- Fuck you.

- David.
- You made a slave of my mother.

David. Stop it.

- Fuck you.
- Calm down.

Your father doesn't control me.

It's all so fucked up.

- Come on, David. Come on.
- I'm sorry.

No. Come on. That's okay.

- Mom.
- It's all right, darling.

- I know it's not easy for you, son.
- It's all right.

Get some rest.

Order up some food.

What do you say?

Joan, we're not bad people.

This part where you're describing
her folding his clothes,

that goes on too long.

It's deliberate, Joe.

It's about her boredom
while she waits for him to show up.

You know, there's a rhythm to it.

It's an endless list of the prosaic.

I see.

- That's good.
- Mommy!

Well, if that is what you're doing...

- I wanna show you something, Mommy.
- You need to take it further.

- I got it.
- Mommy, I wanna show you something.

I'll take care of this.
I'll be back in a little while, okay?

- Look at me.
- David, come here, kiddo.

Mommy!

- Let's take him downstairs.
- Mommy!

Mommy!

Mommy, I wanna show you something.

Mommy!

You have given us a vast, restless
and brilliant body of work.

With each book, Mr. Castleman,
you have challenged the novelistic form

and reinvented the very nature
of storytelling and of prose.

You are a master of style,

yet your characters are intensely real,

their journeys heartbreaking,
their portrayals intimate and deep.

Dear Mr. Castleman,

the humanity in your writing

transcends the boundaries
of class and gender.

You are a master of words,

but, more importantly,

you are a master
at portraying the human condition

in all its complexities.

Mr. Castleman,
I would like to convey to you

the warm congratulations
of the Swedish Academy

as I now request you to receive
the Nobel Prize in Literature

from His Majesty, the King.

You brown the brisket in the pot.

You add two cups of water, some ketchup,

some garlic salt
and finally the secret ingredient,

a tablespoon of instant coffee.

This is a typical recipe
of the American Jewish culture?

No, it's a typical reflection
of how terrible a cook my mother was.

Excuse me, Your Majesty.
If I may lead Mr. Castleman to the dais.

- Yes, of course.
- Yeah. Excuse me.

- I'll be back.
- Yes, bravo. Please do.

Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Castleman.

Do you have an occupation?

I do.

And what is that?

I am a kingmaker.

You know, my wife will tell you
the same thing.

Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness,

ladies and gentlemen.

It is a great honor to introduce
the Nobel Prize winner in Literature,

Mr. Joseph Castleman.

I'm deeply grateful for the honor
you have given me.

But really this honor should go...

Really this honor should go
to someone else.

My wife, Joan.

Joan truly is my better half.

She's made it possible for me to find

the stillness,

as well as the noise,

to create my body of work.

Without her, I certainly wouldn't be
standing up here tonight.

I'd be at home,

staring at a blank piece of paper,

my mouth open in stupefaction.

My wife is my sanity,

my conscience,

and the inspiration
for every decent impulse

I have ever had.

Joan, you are my muse,

my love,

my soul.

And I share this honor with you.

Darling.

- What are you doing?
- I'm leaving.

- What are you talking about?
- No, it's okay. You can stay.

- I just have to leave.
- Excuse me.

Joan.

Joan, listen. I want to talk to you...

Oh, God.

- No, it's okay.
- I'm so sorry.

It's all right.

- Come, my dear, come.
- Joan.

I will take you to the powder room.

I would like to go back to the hotel.

If you tell me your dress size, I can
have a clean gown delivered to you.

No, thank you. I'm done for the night.

Oh, God.

- Your award, sir.
- Thank you.

Mrs. Castleman, I'm so very, very sorry
that this happened.

I'm sorry.

Gustav, would you turn up
the heat, please?

Right away, sir.

And would you give us some privacy?
Thank you.

So we'll go to the hotel,
you'll change, we'll go back,

make a quick appearance,

and then we'll be done
with this whole fucking thing.

I'm leaving you.

- What are you talking about?
- I can't do this anymore.

Don't be crazy. You're not leaving me.

Don't act surprised
or heartbroken or shocked,

none of which you could possibly be.

Look, I know you didn't want me
to acknowledge you in my speech,

but do you think everything
I said up there was for show?

I meant every word of it.

- God, give me some credit.
- What for?

- For loving you.
- Oh, God, Joe.

What?

Here.

- Here, take it.
- I don't want it.

- It belongs to you.
- I don't want it. It's yours.

It's all yours.
It has your fucking name on it!

- Fucking take it.
- I don't want it.

I don't want the fucking thing!

What are you doing?

What did you just do?

- You have it?
- I found it.

Thank God. Thank you.

Joanie, come, sit down.
Sit where I can look at you.

Come on. I wanna talk to you.

- Do you want a drink?
- No, thanks.

Listen, Joanie...

Listen, there is nothing horrible

or shameful or immoral about what we do.

We're writing partners.

We've created
a beautiful body of work together.

You edit, Joe. That's all you do.

I'm the one who sits at that desk
eight hours a day.

Is that the way you see it? Really?

All these years you've been sitting
in some giant stew of resentment?

And what about all the years
I've been rubbing your back,

bringing you tea, cooking you dinner,
watching the kids,

so you could work without distraction?

You don't think
there were times when it killed me

that you were the one
with the golden touch?

You think I wake up every morning
feeling even remotely proud of myself?

But have I ever said
I'm done with this marriage,

I'm walking away?

- No, you had affairs.
- Oh, God.

And I've regretted
every fucking one of them.

Yeah, right, you'd sob in my lap,
and you'd beg me to forgive you,

and I always would because, you know,

somehow you convinced me
that my talent made you do it.

- Oh, shit.
- And then when I was too angry

or too furious or too hurt to write,

you would give me
one of your famous back rubs,

and you'd say, "Use it, Joanie. Use it."

- I never said that.
- Yes, you did.

Lucky for me I had somewhere to put it.

I mean, critics loved the image
of Sylvia Fry, you know,

scrubbing the tear stains
out of her dress.

They just loved that,
another Castleman masterpiece.

Your chest just swelled
when you read me those reviews.

It actually swelled.

And rather than being outraged

and rather than thinking about
what this all was doing to our kids,

I would watch you and I'd say,

"Oh, my God,
how can I capture that behavior?

"How can I put all that in words?"

And you know what? I did, right here.

Right here.
Yeah, another Castleman masterpiece.

And let's see. This one I wrote
after you screwed, who was it?

- Yeah, our third nanny.
- God.

This book had nothing at all to do
with the fucking nanny.

Yes, it did. It's on every single page.

These are my stories,
my culture, my family, my ideas.

My words, my pain,
my spending hours alone in that room

turning your appalling behavior
into literary gold!

What compelling ideas
did you ever fucking have?

You were nothing but a privileged,
prissy little co-ed.

The only decent story
you ever wrote alone was about Carol.

You stole from my life even then.

Shame on you, Joe.

You loved holing up in the Village
with the big, bad Jew.

You loved making your parents squirm.

You got the literary life
and the house by the sea.

You loved getting the nice clothes
and the travel and all the privileges

without ever having to marry
some schmuck from a brokerage firm.

- You got it all, my girl.
- Well, you can have it back.

I don't want it.

What are you doing?

I'm going to spend the night
in David's room,

and then when I get home,
I'm gonna call a lawyer.

This is ridiculous. Joanie, we got kids.

We got a grandchild.

We've got friends we've known for years

who are gonna start dying on us
one by one.

Where you gonna be?

You gonna be living alone feeling brave?
Is that what you want?

Joanie, wait for me.
Don't walk away from me, God damn it!

Don't touch me!

Don't touch you?

Joanie, we gotta talk this through.

I can't do it anymore, Joe.

I can't do it. I can't take it.

I can't take the humiliation

of holding your coat
and arranging your pills

and picking the crumbs out of your beard

and being shoved aside
with all the other wives

to talk about some goddamn shopping trip

while you say
to all the gathering sycophants

that your wife doesn't write!

Your wife, who just won the Nobel Prize!

So, if I'm such an insensitive
and talentless fucking piece of shit,

why the fuck did you marry me?

Oh, God, Joe.

No, I really wanna know.
Why did you marry me?

I don't know.

I can't think anymore.

- Joanie, come here.
- I just wanna get out of this dress.

Come here.

Let me... Come here...

- Joanie.
- Oh, God.

- What?
- No.

No.

Fuck.

What the fuck?

Oh, God.

What is it?

Oh, my God. Here, lie down.

- I hurt.
- Okay, lie down.

- Oh, God.
- Lie back here.

Here.

Okay.

I'm going to make a call.

Yes, hello,
we're in the executive suite.

I think my husband is having
a heart attack.

Please send one. Yes,
as fast as possible. Thank you.

- All right, darling.
- Oh, God.

Okay, just remember you have to breathe.

Very slowly. Right out. Okay.

All right. Okay.

- All right.
- I'm okay.

- You're gonna be all right.
- I'm okay.

Okay.

Oh, Joanie.

They're gonna come to us.

Do you love me?

Do you love me?

Yes, I love you, Joe.

I love you very much.

Oh, God.

You're such a good liar.

How will I ever know?

- Joe? Okay, Joe.
- Oh, God.

Stay here, Joe. Stay with me.
Look at me, Joe.

Stay here. Hang in there, Joe.

Hang in there, Joe.

Don't leave me, Joe. Joe?

Mr. Castleman?

Mr. Castleman, can you hear me?

Sorry. You have to move.

Would you like another, Mrs. Castleman?

No, thank you.

I don't know whether you remember me,

but I served you
on the flight coming over.

I remember.

I'm so very sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

You know,
I see a lot of couples on my flights,

and you and your husband...

Well, I just wanted to say
that I could tell

you had a wonderful relationship.

How?

Just something about the way
you were with each other.

Excuse me.

Nathaniel Bone would like
to speak with you.

Would you like me to tell him
you're asleep?

No, it's all right.

I don't know what to say.

I'm stunned.

How are you doing?

We're still in shock.

Yeah. I think we all are.

It's a lot to process.

Nathaniel.

Yes?

What we were talking about
the other day...

Yes?

I want to say
that what you implied isn't true,

and if you malign Joe's talent
in any way, I'll take you to court.

Good luck, Nathaniel.
I'm sure you'll write a fine book.

Did you hear any of that?

Yeah.

When we get home, I'm going to
sit you and your sister down,

and I'm going to tell you everything.

Okay, Mom.