Original subtitles

You suggest in your novel that women

are all masochists, Mr. Luke.

Is that your personal experience?

I present women as I know them to be.

The success of Women Weeping would suggest that I'm right.

But surely at this point in time

when women are gaining leading positions in so many areas--

That doesn't affect the positions

they take up in the sex war.

In that ongoing action, women are still a weaker sex who

long to be dominated by men.

Isn't that a rather old fashioned view?

Rather old fashioned species.

Women have been the weaker since the beginning of our existence.

Are you suggesting that a few years of voting and unisex

have fundamentally changed all?

I don't agree.

You may wear well-tailored suits and smoke cigars,

but at heart, you're still the same, eminently crushable

creatures you've always been.

You're a real tiger, sweetie, when you got to have

a bottle of bourbon inside you.

Bravo.

Well, whether we agree with Sam Luke's reactionary ideas

or not, we all have to agree that Women

Weeping is a runaway success.

And who argues with success in New York?

Who indeed?

You know, it's a pity Zara isn't here

to bask in your reflected glory like a good little wife.

Good little wife indeed.

You know she wouldn't hear of coming to New York?

A vulgar circus, she considers this apotheosis of my career.

Little wife Zara doesn't deserve any glory.

But I deserve a drink.

Where is it, I wonder?

Ah, toots.

You're impossibly macho without her.

Well, I got to go look after the shop.

Uh, Joannie will come--

Come in, come in.

Come by with those copies for the mayor, OK.

Ha ha.

Lovely.

Sammy, I promised Zara no bores.

Where do you want it sir?

Where it was before Ms. Jansen had it removed.

Let's pull the goodies out.

Ah, you got the works in there, Mr. Luke.

Yeah, sure like your book, sir.

Well, thank you.

I ain't read it yet, but it sounds real good to me.

Uh, sign here.

We got to keep them women in their place, ey, sir?

Keep fighting the good fight.

Hey, right on, Mr. Luke.

Have a nice day now.

Thanks.

Well, drink it dry, darling, and the best of British luck

to your liver.

Sammy, you are such a naughty boy.

Big boys ...

Especially former lovely Zara, if she

ever gets around to ringing me.

Now remember, Joannie is coming

by with the presentation copies for you

to sign for the mayor and his staff.

And don't forget to write, I love New York, huh?

And have a nice day, of course.

And have a nice day, of course.

Bye.

Here she is.

Get in there quick, Kitten.

Keep him off the booze.

Oh, you're kidding.

How?

Oh, come on.

You'll think of something, sweet pants.

Hello?

Zara.

Zar-- You might have rung me yesterday.

Oh.

So how is your mother?

Well, her timing's always perfect.

I don't know why you don't get somebody to look after her.

I told you I'd pay.

I've got money now, lots and lots of money.

All those lean years, but since I land the jackpot,

you abandon me.

Hmm?

Well, I must go on television during the day,

alone, except with a chat show host and 40 million people.

Everybody loves me here.

Even immigration knew about the book.

It's a friendly city in the world.

Oh, I've, I've-- I've got to go now.

Joannie's here.

Joannie.

Clodagh's secretary, man Friday.

She's blonde, petite, and gorgeous.

She'll be here to keep an eye on me.

Yeah, I know you'll trust me.

Sometimes I wish you didn't trust.

Hello?

Hello?

I think your wife's lovely, Mr. Luke.

Zara.

Oh.

Who is that?

I can't hear you.

I saw you on television last night.

I'm going to get you, Luke.

Remember that.

And have a nice death.

I have to get these back to the Mayor's office, Mr--

was anything wrong?

Some nut.

Uh, hello, operator, was that an outside call?

Pardon me, Mr. Luke?

I said, was that-- oh, never mind.

All right, sir.

Have a nice day now

Mm-hmm.

If we can get these over to the Mayor's office today,

we could get two or three paragraphs tomorrow.

Child, child.

What care we for odd paragraphs?

We are a television celebrity, Joannie.

We are unamused by grubby little journalists,

or by crank telephone calls.

Now, tell me about yourself.

I bet you are a lovely American, more than average girl, who

is searching for a meaningful, ongoing relationship,

and meanwhile fantasizes rather a lot.

Am I right?

Oh, gosh, Mr. Luke.

You really do understand women.

Hmm.

Call me Sam, or Sammy dearest.

Now drink up.

Drink up, my pet.

Well, after that, well, I just couldn't get it together.

I mean, that so-and-so really messed me up.

My head was like one of those glass balls

with a snowstorm going on inside it, you know what I mean?

And every time I thought what a sucker I'd been, how dumb.

I mean, how dumb can you get?

Well, after that, I just wasn't into men,

not even when I'd fantasized.

Fantasize.

Fantasize.

Auntie's thighs.

But here's the strange thing.

Though I hated him for all the hurt he'd caused me,

I sort of missed it in a way.

It was like there was an empty space

where the pain used to be.

Oh my god.

I just don't know how you see these things.

It's like you've got x-ray eyes, Sam.

Well, that's enough about me.

I'm not very interesting, just sort of normal, I guess.

Let's talk about you, Sammy.

Sammy?

Sam.

Oh, damn.

Sammy Luke, you twisted woman hater.

You sexist pig.

I'm going to cut off your--

Hey, yeah.

Who is it?

You're going to pay for it, Luke.

You're going to pay for every filthy thing

you ever wrote about us.

Have a nice death.

Hello?

Who's that?

Hello?

He-- God almighty, who the hell was that?

Sounded like a man imitating a woman.

This city is full of nut cases.

Have a nice night.

Have a nice day, Sammy.

Have a nice day, Sammy.

Have a nice day, Sammy.

Have a nice death.

Mr. Luke, sir.

Mr. Luke, sir. - All right, all right.

I'm coming.

Hey, morning, Mr. Luke.

Got something for you.

Special delivery marked urgent.

What time is it?

Uh, just after 11:00, sir.

Oh, Lord.

I've missed something, I'm sure.

Hey, would you believe it?

My grandmother done saw you on TV last night.

She's 83 but sharp as a tack.

For god's sake, open it for me, will you?

Well, sure, Mr. Luke.

Anyway, she thinks you're number one, sir.

I'm going to buy her a copy of book.

Why bother?

Have her sent one of these.

Oh, hey.

That's great.

Hey, could you write something in it?

You could just sign it to Grandma

Ethel from her friend, Sam.

It'll tickle her to death.

It's never been an ambition of mine

to tickle old ladies to death.

I'll try anything once.

It's a copy of book, Mr. Luke.

And a letter.

It's marked personal.

Why on Earth?

Should I put it with the others?

Keep it.

Well, hey.

Thanks a lot.

Could you write something in it?

Oh.

- Are-- are you all right? - I think so.

What the hell's going on?

I wish I knew.

Who'd want to do a thing like that to you?

Well, just about any liberated lady in New York, I--

Oh my god, Mr. Luke.

Look.

Oh.

Have a nice death.

What do you know?

But baby, get this in perspective.

A joke book. - Joke?

That's all it was.

No one got hurt.

You my dear, weren't the one on the receiving end.

What about that, that message? Have a nice death.

And those obscene photos.

I tell you, it is no joke.

I do not find it funny.

Poor Sammy.

Thank you.

I wish I hadn't cleaned up the mess.

Bob could've taken pictures.

It would have made a great story.

Why don't I hang myself in the lavatory,

Clodagh dear, and Bob can take pictures of that, too.

That's it.

Of course.

- You're not serious. - Don't be silly.

No.

I mean, you can never tell what these jokers will do.

But we can protect you with publicity.

What?

I'm calling a press conference tomorrow.

We're going to make this work for us.

You're going over big now, but a story like this

probably handled, everybody will want to read Women Weeping.

I want to go home.

Doll face, you've got to look at this

with a cool professional eye.

Just remember, every time some crazy liberated broad attacks

you, you're going to collect the royalties on another 1,000

copies of Women Weeping.

Then the Time, Newsweek, maybe even 60 Minutes.

And that's the biggest hype there is.

We're going through the roof, baby.

Clodagh, dear, my life is being threatened.

I take that very seriously indeed.

Sure.

Thank you.

Everybody gets assassinated in this heathen country.

Well, I don't intend being a martyr to my art.

The circus is concluded, Clodagh.

I'm staying in this hotel only long enough for things

to quieten down so I can slip out of the back door

and run out.

Get me London.

England.

2508 9299.

We'll hire guards for you, and we'll search

anyone who comes near you.

And I will give you an increased royalty

deal on your next novel.

Really?

Yeah, but you got to stick with it, kid.

Just a few more days and Women Weeping will be number one.

I guarantee it.

Now I must fly. - What you mean no reply?

It must be. Please keep it ringing.

Joannie, look after our boy.

No problem.

Bye, booby.

And stop worrying.

All this is worth a fortune.

Yes, Zara.

Give her my love.

Now I must run.

Zara, look.

You-- you've got to come over right away.

I'm getting all sorts of unpleasant--

Keep that whimpering idiot happy.

Do whatever you have to.

Oh, no problem.

I think I'm beginning to relate to Sam.

Doesn't anybody just do it anymore?

Hmm?

Have fun.

You don't understand, Zara.

I'm being threatened.

My life is being threatened, Zara.

Oh.

I see.

You think it's a joke, do you?

Well in that case, have a nice day.

Sometimes I have this vision that women

are an alien species.

They're probably from some black planet on the outer edges

of the galactic system.

Centuries ago, they sprayed the Earth with amnesia gas

and infiltrated our planet.

And we woke up believing they'd always been here.

Now we're witnessing their final victory,

as they take over our professions, our clothes,

our potency, our sexual positions,

and most of our worst habits.

When they're alone, they communicate with one another

in a disgusting secret language, which

sounds like Japanese mixed with the cries of small birds.

Is it too late to confront and denounce them?

Perhaps it is.

And yet, despised man must make one final if hopeless effort.

Well, Sam, what can I say after that?

Except that Stag, the magazine for real men,

is right behind you.

Thanks for a great piece, Sam.

Oh, that was so neat, Sam.

I just loved it.

Hmm.

Fill me up, my pet.

So we'll wrap up.

Thanks again, Sam.

Our readers are going to love it.

And I guess it won't do Weeping Women any harm either.

Women Weeping.

Whatever.

Thanks a million, Bob.

You've just got to be the greatest

interviewer in the business.

Well, I think you're cute too, honey.

Let me get you that drink.

Or maybe.

Or maybe what?

Well, I had this boyfriend once.

He was terrific at pressure points and massage.

Well, it really does release all your tension, Sammy.

I could, you know, massage your neck or something.

Well, that is if you like.

I mean, it is better for you than a lot of toxic alcohol.

A little light massage.

Why not?

And a drink.

Sometimes I feel like my whole body

is just one terrific erogenous zone, you know?

I know, dear. I know.

Stop talking.

Oh, Sam.

We really are relating so well.

Oh, no.

That will be Clodagh screaming.

Yes?

Mr. Sam Luke, the great author, please.

Mr. Luke is busy right now.

Can I help?

Uh-uh.

This is personal.

OK.

Is it a man or a woman?

Couldn't really tell.

You-- you take it.

Mr. Luke is real busy.

I'll take your message.

The message for Mr. Luke is, have a nice death.

They just said, have a nice death.

Get Clodagh.

Tell her I'm going back to London straight away.

Ms. Jansen, please.

Right away.

Well, cut in.

Hello, Clodagh.

He's just had another call.

No, I took it.

Terrified.

Look, he's packing.

I'm going straight back to a little old country where

a man may still express a civilized opinion

without being picketed or threatened with assassination.

Zara was right.

I should never have come here, never, never.

I'll tell him.

OK.

Sam.

Little old, lovely, bankrupt England.

Here I come.

Sam, Clodagh called Zara.

She'll be here tomorrow.

Zara?

She's coming after all?

Oh, thank god.

Hello?

So that's about it, Sammy.

Have a nice death.

Mr. Luke, sir.

What do you want?

Uh, your people sent over your fan mail, Mr. Luke.

God, you look awful, Mr. Luke.

You OK? - Don't ask.

Just don't ask.

I started to read your book.

I just, I just love it when she asks him--

Thank you very much.

God, you really do look sick, Mr. Luke.

Should I call a doctor?

No.

- Well, have a nice day, anyway. - 'Day's over.

It's evening.

Yeah, sure.

Thanks a lot, Mr. Luke.

Have a nice day now.

It's evening.

Do you understand?

Do you agree that it's evening here?

Well, yeah.

Sure.

Evening.

You take care of yourself, huh?

My sign is Sagittarius, and I'm

sure that you are a Scorpio, and very dominant,

like Richard in your book.

I think he is the most truly male

character since Rhett Butler.

I'm sure that if we could meet, we would find that we related

to one another really well.

That's the most straight up I've had all day.

Ow.

God's sake, Zara.

Hurry up.

Sammy.

Sammy darling.

Zara?

Where's Zara?

I need Zara, not you, Ms. Jansen.

Zara can't help you now, you drunken sexist pig.

The hell is happening?

You're about to have a horrible accident.

You.

Have a nice death, Sammy.

Oh!

Look, I just want to tell you how sorry I am.

I keep remembering the last time I brought him his letters, when

he got so upset.

I mean, my god, he looked awful.

I never thought he'd do a thing like that.

I, I should have stopped.

I, I should've made an excuse to come back in and clear

up the glasses or something.

I might have talked him out of it.

The girl on the switchboard too, she said he sounded desperate.

Yes, thank you.

That's very kind of you.

I can't believe we're free at last, my darling,

after all these years.

Well, we are, my love.

Free and very, very rich.

It's lovely, but I must try to stop thinking about Poor

Sammy's awful accident.

Oh, well let me help you, angel.