Original subtitles

WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull www.MY-SUBS.com

I'm Scott Fitzgerald. May I?

Well, that depends.

On what?

On what you got in that flask of yours.

Whiskey.

I'll get you some ginger ale.

I take it straight.

How do you feel about free love?

Free love?

Like Blake or Shelly's concept of?

And Isadora Duncan.

- The dancer. - She was an atheist.

She had two children out of wedlock.

They both died. It was quite tragic.

- I didn't know. - Hmm.

May I?

No, you may not, old bean.

So what about this Isadora Duncan?

Have you ever seen her dance?

No. But I like her style.

She's dark and wild as sin.

Huh. And you?

I'm the only girl in town with style.

I guarantee you that.

Lord, it's so blazing hot.

I don't know how y'all can stand

to wear all that wool

and not want to strip down

and jump in his own creek.

Well, if you promise to join me.

Oh, you think I wouldn't?

Okay, then. Let's go.

You mean tonight? It's almost midnight.

- So? - Zelda,

Daddy's r'aring to go.

I got to scoot.

You can telephone me some time.

Oh, can I?

Judge Anthony Sayre's residence.

Don't take any guff from the operator.

They don't look kindly

on soldiers phoning local girls.

I'm going to be a famous writer some day.

You should know that.

We'll see.

Who's that, Zelda?

Just some boy.

Sayre residence.

Hello.

She's not home, Lieutenant Fitzgerald.

Because I could tell by the sound of your ring.

Sorry, Mr. Fitzgerald. Zelda's not here right now.

No, Lieutenant Fitzgerald. She's not back yet.

Yes. Yes, I'll let her know you called.

Better call after 9

unless you want to antagonize the judge.

I don't know what to tell you. She's...

It's that Fitzgerald boy.

I can't. Not right now.

No. She's not here.

Yes. I'll tell her.

Good Lord, Zelda,

if you're not going to talk to this boy,

release him from your spell.

Spare us from all the constant ringing.

I can't help it if I'm never home.

He's going to give up.

No, he won't.

I sure as heck would.

There's a new picture at the Strand.

Oh, no. I saw it three times.

We haven't been to the arcade for a while.

Miss Sayre!

- Ha ha! - What?

- Uh-oh. - Oh, Lord.

Now don't get awful flushed.

I'm not.

Miss Sayre.

Why, Lieutenant Fitzgerald.

What in heaven's name are you doing here?

I thought you'd be off doing military maneuvers or something.

What brings you to town?

I'm looking for you.

Seems you found me.

I imagine I have Tootsie to thank for that.

Livye Hart, this is Lieutenant Scott Fitzgerald.

How do you do?

Much better now that I've found the elusive Miss Sayre.

I'm hardly elusive,

but life can be so awfully distracting.

In fact, I'm surprised

you even have a moment to chat with us,

given how busy you must be

with all that writing of yours.

Mr. Fitzgerald's going to be a famous writer some day.

Really?

Well, I would be rewriting my novel right now,

but I can't finish it

because I find myself inordinately concerned

with your phone line, Miss Sayre.

No matter how many times I'd call,

somehow I can't seem to find you in.

Sounds like the problem's not the phone line.

What were you calling about anyway?

I know that you're, uh, quite sought after.

But I'm not going to be stationed here forever,

and I need to get to know you better.

Well, what are you doing tonight?

I understand your people

are from up north, Lieutenant Fitzgerald?

Yes, sir.

I hear it's mighty cold up there.

Biscuits?

I will take the cold over this heat

any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

That's a fact. As soon as this war's over,

I'm moving back to New York.

That's where my husband's from.

It gets cold up there, too,

but not nearly as cold as Saint Paul.

So what do your people do up there?

Fail, mostly.

I beg your pardon?

Daddy, this isn't a deposition.

I'm simply asking.

My father was a salesman.

He was never much good at it.

He had a talent for disappointment

that made me even more determined to succeed.

At what?

Scott's a writer, Daddy. I told you that.

And writing is a real job?

- I write poetry. - My point exactly.

And I write a column for the newspaper.

I get a paycheck every week.

Last time I checked, I was still supporting all of you writers.

Well, I guess the only one who does anything of value around here is old Dick.

Now, baby, that's not nice.

How much money do you make anyway, Daddy?

I'm sure Scott would like to know

what a person gets paid to do a real job.

I agree with Judge Sayre.

Writing is not a real job.

Now until you get paid for it.

But I plan on getting paid a lot for it some day.

As soon as Scribner's publishes my first novel.

That's right.

Now, Mark Twain,

he was a millionaire.

And Theodore Dreiser,

they were voices of their generations.

You are going to be our next Mark Twain?

No, sir.

I'm going to be the next F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Well, your father didn't care for me.

Ah, he doesn't care much for any boy that comes courting.

Most boys are too scared to talk to old Dick.

And yet, knowing that,

you threw me right in there anyway.

Well, after the professors of Princeton,

your father is a whoop and a holler. I like him.

If I were the judge, I would lock you in a tower

- like a princess. - He already has.

What do you think Montgomery is?

It's a good place to be from.

No buts about it.

Well, hello, there, Zelda.

Hey, John Sellers. Hi, y'all.

This is Lieutenant Scott Fitzgerald.

You got a cigarette for me, John?

How long you in town for, Lieutenant?

No telling.

I'm expecting my orders any day.

Scott's a writer. That's what he does

when he's not defending

our country's honor.

One of those Yankee highbrows, huh?

I went to college, if that's what you mean.

John Sellers was just telling us

about the new car his daddy just got him.

A Franklin Touring, slick as all get-out.

Cost more than $3,000.

Well, whoop-dee-doo.

Isn't there anything more interesting

to talk about than motorcars?

Lieutenant Fitzgerald's going to think

we're all a bunch of asinine clodhoppers.

The thought never crossed my mind.

Come on. Let's scoot before we get comfortable.

You have a lot of friends.

When I was 6, my mother threw a birthday party for me.

Invited every child in school.

No one came.

- Not even one? - Nope.

Not one.

I ate the entire chocolate cake

all by myself.

And several candles.

Oh, you are a heartless woman, Zelda Sayre.

I'm sorry,

but that is the most deliciously sad story

I've ever heard.

Well, don't be too sad.

I made up for it in prep school.

I was quite popular.

Voted Most Blond.

Come on.

Evening, Zelda.

Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Weaver.

I went to school with her granddaughter Delia.

Does everyone in town know you?

Pretty much.

Okay.

So tell me something that I should know

about you, Zelda Sayre.

Hmm. I'm extremely talented

at talking my way out of trouble.

Oh. Are you now?

And, uh, I've played hooky

from high school nearly every day

and still managed to graduate with a high B average.

- Hmm. - And there's my lips.

They're quite famous.

Rumor has it I have the most kissable mouth in town.

By the look of it, I can't disagree.

That's not exactly a virtue in this town.

Everybody knows everybody else's business.

It's exhausting.

You want to know what I think?

I think that these people that supposedly know you

don't know you at all.

Oh, really?

Yes.

I look at the bluebloods trying to impress you

with their cars and their legacies.

But they don't have the faintest idea

of who you really are.

And you're different?

We move and breathe in the same world, Zelda,

and it's not Montgomery, Alabama,

or Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Is that why you asked me to dance?

I saw you before anything else in that room.

This is crazy nuts.

What are you doing?

I'm commemorating that night.

This place will forever be known

as the place we met.

It's historic.

There. Now no one will forget us.

Why are your initials

so much bigger than mine, Scott Fitzgerald?

Hey.

Here's one more.

Hand me another cookie.

Chocolate this time.

That Theda Bara wears too much make-up.

Mm.

Did you see your Yankee again last night?

He's not my Yankee, but yes.

We went swimming in the lake.

Just you two?

Of course, silly.

Your mama know?

You think I'd tell my mama?

I think John Sellers is a little jealous.

Doesn't know why you're spending so much time

with Lieutenant Fitzgerald.

I'll say that John Sellers' mooning about.

So what's he like?

Your Yankee.

He's so handsome,

and he seems smart and mature,

not like most of the boys around here.

Well, he certainly is full of himself.

He's a good kisser.

Zelda.

Scott, go to the side door.

Scott.

This is nuts.

What in the name of heaven

do you think you're doing?

I'm doing what a fellow has to do

when he's trying to avoid the swarm of suitors

panhandling on your veranda.

Well, go ahead and make yourself comfortable,

why don't you?

I like it. It's colorful, like its occupant.

Shh! Keep your voice down.

My daddy would have you strung up and horsewhipped

if he found you up here.

It would be worth it.

Is this any good?

I don't know. You tell me.

"Boone said last night

"that I was the pinkest, whitest person

"he ever laid eyes on,

"so I dropped off to sleep in his lap

"under the dusky, dreamy smell of...

dying moons and shadows."

What are you really doing here?

They just gave us our orders.

We're shipping off to New Jersey next week

and then immediately off to France.

No.

I... I was hoping we'd have more time together.

So was I.

I'm playing chess with Jim Mayfield later, Minnie.

We've got to move this along. Jim's in bed by 9.

I'll go fetch her.

No, I'll go.

Zelda, it's dinnertime.

I like to cry.

All my ancestors are here.

Makes me feel a part of something bigger.

Well, maybe this is the spirit of your great-grandmother.

I hope not. She was a mean old buzzard.

It all seems so futile, doesn't it?

We all end up here eventually.

Stop that.

There's nothing hopeless in having to live.

Think of the lives these people had,

the loves they shared.

How could any of it be in vain

when it's all so miraculous?

Oh, in the end, I guess we're just humans,

drunk on the idea that love can fix everything.

Because it can.

You are the finest, loveliest,

most glorious person I've ever met.

I have something for you.

This is a chapter from my novel.

I wanted...

you to have something to remember me by.

I could never forget you, Scott Fitzgerald.

Baby's going to be fine.

I remember when she came back

from her first day at Childan Elementary.

Said it was worse than prison.

And then she refused to go back

until I threatened to get the switch.

Well, she's too old for the switch now.

I know. I know it.

Well, Zelda's going to do what she's going to do.

You sure you want to do this?

Yes.

I don't suppose I really knew him very well.

But I knew he smelled like the damp grass

that grows near old moss.

And that my cheek just fit

the depression in his shoulder.

Fitzgerald!

Johnson!

Moore!

Hey, hey! Fitzgerald!

- Fitzgerald! - Here you go.

- Gilbert! - Here.

Aberdeen!

Damn!

You're drunk. Get out of here, boy.

Just take your hands off me!

I'm Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald!

I'm going to be famous some day,

while you... you, sir, are still going to be cracking bottles

in this stupid piss hole.

Take it up somewhere else.

For the life of me,

I don't know what you're talking about, Daddy.

Scott Fitzgerald is the best man I know.

He's intelligent and caring and a gentleman.

And he's going to be a famous writer.

A famous writer. Yes, so he says.

What exactly has he written?

As a judge, I've written more than he has.

Dear, he's young.

Zelda, you've only known this young man

for a few months.

What do you really know about him

besides what he's told you?

He knows who he is and what he wants.

And he cares what I think

about everything.

And that's enough for me.

He's confident and fearless.

He's an Irish Yankee hellraiser

is what he is, Zelda. Catholic, no doubt.

And way too fond of his liquor,

and he's about to be shipped off to war

with no apparent prospects afterwards...

if he comes back at all.

Well, guess what.

I'm not your baby anymore.

And it's not your decision to make.

I'll do what I want.

You know what you are?

You're a narrow-minded pallbearer

who wants to lock me up

in this morbid Southern coffin of a town

for the rest of my life.

Well, I won't have it.

I'll be with him if I want to be.

That boy isn't who you think he is.

You'll be making a terrible mistake.

Well, it won't be the first time.

Hey, Fitzgerald!

Fitzgerald, move your ass up.

What's going on?

You slept through the briefing.

We got orders to be at the train station at 1400 hours.

Ah, shit.

Oh, Your play, Matilde.

Scott!

Scott. How did you find me?

What's wrong?

My orders have changed.

- I'm moving out. - When?

Today. Now.

Now?

I couldn't leave without seeing you, Zelda.

Well, we have to speak.

I didn't get a chance

to talk to you about your book.

It doesn't matter.

Scribner's rejected it. It's dead.

How could that be? It's brilliant.

The language, the feeling.

They didn't seem to think so. It doesn't matter.

Who cares is I'm going to be a writer or not

if I'm going off to die?

None of it matters except for you, Zelda.

You're everything.

I care if you're a writer.

You can't give up your dreams.

It's who you are.

The only thing that I know, darling girl,

is without you nothing's possible.

- Scott... - Zelda, I need you.

Marry me.

You don't need me.

You don't need anybody.

You're as good a writer as there is,

Scott Fitzgerald.

No, without you I'm nothing.

I'm less than nothing.

Is that really what you want me to think?

Because that's not the man I thought you were.

You're not a quitter.

Zelda, I am going off to war.

I may never see you again.

Please.

Please, please.

Marry me.

I can't.

Not like this.

Zelda!

Zelda.

Get on out of bed

and come down and see this.

What? What is it, Dad?

Armistice, dear. The war's over.

Over?

Now we can all get on with our lives.

Hurry up now. We're all going to the parade.

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull www.MY-SUBS.com