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Darling.

Darling.

Darling, it's time.

My desk beckons.

Where are we?

About two feet above the floor.

Let's stay. It's like a museum.

Zelda, we gotta get home.

- They're finally awake. - Harvey.

- So, this is your place. - You broke my elevator.

As I said last night, Coney Island is a better choice

for novelty rides, Fitzgerald.

Remind me who you are?

Oh, Zelda, this is Harvey Firestone, Jr.,

of the tire and rubber Firestones.

Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald of the judgmental Sayres.

Even at Princeton, Scott was famous for going for girls

far out of his league.

Well, that's what happens when you're in

a league of your own.

So I'm told.

Voice of our generation, right, Fitz?

It's always a pleasure, Harvey.

Come on, Zelda.

Happy birthday to you.

And try not to break anything else on your way out.

What's wrong with him?

Oh, he's rich.

They like to set themselves apart.

Luddy has piles of money, and he's not such a high hat.

Well, there's having money,

and then there's being rich.

Well, then, let's never be rich.

Oh, never, my darling. I vow it.

Why'd we go in this entrance?

Oh, because change of pace.

And this door is fantastic.

Uh, Mr. Fitzgerald.

- Oh. - Do you have a moment?

- Mr. Fitzgerald. - Mm.

- Moment of your time, sir. - Yes.

We have something to discuss.

We'll keep it down. It's a writing day today.

But tonight's a different story.

Let's see how fast you can get it to 8.

- Mr. Fitzgerald, please. - Go, go, go, go, go!

♪ In the good old summertime ♪

♪ In the good old summertime ♪

♪ Walking down the shady lane ♪

♪ With the baby mine ♪

♪ She'll hold your hand and you'll hold hers ♪

♪ And that's a very good sign ♪

I like being able to see you.

It helps when I'm struggling.

I'm sure what you're writing is wonderful.

That makes one of us.

Do you hear a baby crying?

No. Maybe there's a cat.

Yes?

Mrs. Fitzgerald's Victrola,

her shopping and last week's mail, sir.

Come in.

What happened to the old Victrola?

It broke.

- You bought a new Victrola? - Maybe.

Why, I just asked them to get another one like the old one.

- Zelda, we... - We what?

Never mind.

One minute.

Thank you.

Oh, and...

There is a baby that has been squawling for an hour.

Please do something to make it stop.

I don't hear a baby, sir.

You don't?

Well, it's off and on. It... It's maddening.

Well, you could play some music, sir.

"How long did it take you to write your book?

"asked the sturdy, broad-shouldered young man.

"To write it, three months.

"To conceive it..."

I certainly hope that's not the new novel.

It's a fictionalized interview

to promote "Paradise."

Max wanted me to do it.

That's batty.

Well, it'll sell books.

You're already selling books.

It's leveled off.

You know, one doesn't stay on top forever.

People really ought to be taught about marriage.

Which of the responsibilities

they'll be expected to carry.

I had taken on Scott.

And I was just beginning to understand what that meant.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

This isn't like you, darlin'.

What if I'm empty already?

What if I've run dry? I mean,

there are younger writers that are nipping at my heels.

What if I can never finish anything again?

What if I'm no better than my father?

You are not your father.

And I will never let you fail.

Look at this. Look at this.

Do washed up writers get letters

from the Modern Languages department at Princeton?

Ah.

It's from Professor Gauss.

He was the one professor there that was worth a damn.

He's invited me to speak.

"An acknowledgement and celebration

"of your tremendous achievement."

The conquering hero returns.

Or the prodigal son.

I don't know, it's, uh...

The speech, one more thing to write.

Ish kabibble.

All you have to do is talk about

how much Princeton means to you.

You do that half the time anyway.

Oh, come on.

Come on.

You've been wantin' to strut your stuff there

ever since the book came out.

Well, no one at Princeton

thought I would amount to much.

And here you are a success.

Well, maybe we could invite the fellows.

- Bunny and Ludlow. - Mm-hm.

And we could stay at cottage.

Yes, whatever that is.

The Eating Club. I'm a member.

Oh, lovely.

And everyone that wrote me off,

Harvey and his ilk.

Everyone, period,

will see that you have become

the confident, talented, important writer

that you always said you'd be.

And I can show off my, uh,

beautiful girl.

That's the spirit, Mr. Fitzgerald.

Now, get yourself into that tub.

We can't go to tonight's parties

with you still smellin' like last night's, now can we?

Mr. Fitzgerald.

- Oh. Let's go! - Whoa, Man O' War.

Can't keep the boys waiting.

I must insist, sir, that we set...

- Yes, yes. - Mr. Fitzgerald, please.

Oh, my.

I thought we were taking your car, Ludlow.

No. Harvey insisted.

She's a beauty, isn't she?

Not even on sale to the public yet.

Perfect for your grand entrance, Fitz.

Or rather, Harvey's.

Come on, Goofo.

Drive on, Firestone.

♪ Goin' back ♪

♪ Goin' back ♪

♪ 'Cause we're the saps that keep goin' back ♪

♪ Goin' back to Nassau Hall ♪

I can hardly breathe with all the prestige in the air.

There's nothing more glorious

than Princeton in the spring.

There's such a magnificent laziness about the place.

Which you contributed legendarily.

Princeton.

Scott Fitzgerald has returned.

Princeton!

I have returned!

Princeton, take cover.

Ludlow, always good to see you.

Bunny, I hear you're climbing the ladder

of a serious publication. Good for you.

Ah, Mr. Fitzgerald. Man of the hour.

Welcome.

Monty. It's good to see you, old man.

Monty's chairman of Cottage Club,

class of 70...

I'm told your book was an overnight success.

And it's all about this beloved institution.

Yes, he was, uh, a young man that was a student.

Well, kudos.

Princeton rarely offers speaking engagements

to people who... How shall I say politely?

Who left before graduating.

Well, I had malaria, uh, you see.

Well, I see you've recovered.

Everyone says you're nothing if not persistent.

And you, sweet girl, are...

Gloria Seymour, Scott's mistress.

I'm much younger and lovelier

than the old bat he keeps at home.

Yes, it's, uh... it's an arrangement

that works for everyone.

You must excuse us, Monty,

but I'm struck with this sudden and ferocious need to copulate.

Come on, Scott.

Gloria.

This is it.

Where Amory Blaine was conceived.

Oh.

And you did it, Goofo.

You created him.

And you'll do it again.

I thought there, uh... might be a display.

History. Fiction.

Oh!

Ahh.

Voila!

Oh, Gloria.

Yes?

I, too, find myself stirred.

I'm sorry, I was just...

Ah, and who are you, young man?

What is your business here?

Lawrence Calderwood, sir.

Class of '22.

I'm so sorry to interrupt.

I needed to get a book.

Well, here is the only book you'll ever need to read.

All of the smart young men are mad over it.

I've, uh... I've read it twice.

I'm a big fan of yours, Mr. Fitzgerald.

I think your talk this afternoon

is gonna be the highlight of my year.

Oh, Scott.

Can we keep him?

Lawrence, clear your schedule.

I'm in dire need of a protégé.

Meet downstairs, noon.

Do excuse us.

Mr. Fitzgerald and I need to continue

our discussion about the literary canon.

Privately.

It must get awfully lonely around here

without any women.

Oh, there were women.

They just weren't students.

So, let me guess, Lawrence.

Your father was a Princeton man, too.

- I'm third generation. - Mm-hm.

Both grandfathers.

And I take it the money's not gonna run out any time soon.

I suppose not.

See, this is the rub.

The truly rich never have to worry about

it all getting away from them.

I don't know what you're talkin' about, Goofo.

You're the best selling author of the year,

and no one's taking that away from you.

Lawrence, tell us what you like most about Scott's book.

Well, uh...

- it captures youth. - Mm-hm.

- And rebellion. - Hm.

And it takes a hatchet to everything else.

Unlike all the books they make us read here.

Here, here.

I made myself a summer reading list.

Mackenzie, Wells.

All the authors Professor Bailey said you borrowed from.

Oh.

- Oh, I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean that... - No. No, no.

Lawrence, every first novel, uh,

- displays the author's influences. - Yes.

What's important is his second book.

Which the author must make entirely his own.

- Right, Scott? - Absolutely.

Tell us about your second book, Scott.

Tell us about your first book, Bunny.

Scott.

Let's go to the book store.

I want to see the display.

Give Bunny something to fantasize about.

♪ Goin' back ♪

♪ Goin' back ♪

♪ Goin' back to Nassau Hall ♪

♪ Goin' back ♪

♪ Goin' back ♪

♪ To the best old place of all ♪

None? How could that be?

We sold 100 last week.

You're supposed to order more.

Yes, how can he sign your copies if you don't have any?

President Hibben was upset

with the portrayal of the university,

and doesn't want it sold on campus.

So why have I come?

Just to be judged and humiliated?

Professor Gauss invited you.

He believes in you.

Here. Here. Sign this for Lawrence.

Another writer's book?

Mackenzie inspired you, and you inspired Lawrence.

Isn't that right, Lawrence?

Absolutely.

- You can't do that. - No, no, no, no.

He has money. He's buying it.

Ah, here. You stole from this one, too.

Yeah, why the hell not?

- Thank you, Bunny. - You should thank Wells.

Send him a ham this Christmas.

Yes, Zelda. Let's remember...

There. I have done your patrons a great service

by curating a collection of fine literature.

Put it on his tab.

♪ With Princeton spirit back of them ♪

♪ They're sure to win the day ♪

♪ With cheers and song we'll rally 'round ♪

♪ The cannon as of yore ♪

Ah, Professor Gauss.

At long last. Good to see you again, my boy.

Indeed.

Professor Gauss, I'm Zelda, Scott's wife.

I'm so honored to meet you.

The pleasure is all mine, my dear.

Congratulations on your tremendous success with the book.

Yes, I hear Hibben doesn't like it.

The president isn't a literary man, is he?

So, what can you expect.

Little to nothing.

Let's go inside. We're ready for you.

Should we wait for the rest of the department?

Oh, uh, no. I believe we're all here.

There's a baseball game this afternoon.

I wrote.

I wrote this novel.

But it's not a book that any of you will ever assign or value.

Or even understand.

No book of mine will ever be.

And all the writing I've done,

and will do, is in spite of you.

You teach with two goals:

To prop up literature that is long dead,

and to curry favor with the wealthiest students

just so that you can indulge in the fantasy

that you belong to their world.

You don't.

He never really fit in here, did he?

Not like he wanted to.

You're not a part of anyone's success.

Most certainly not mine.

You are fools and eunuchs,

and you are pathetic, tragic frauds.

Hmph.

Sit down!

I'm not finished.

Keaton, Bailey, Crenshaw,

- you will never breakfast wtih the Firestones. - Mr. Fitzgerald.

Or find yourselves parting the fleshy thighs

- of the widow Campbell. - We're so sorry.

- Oh, no. We are absolutely not sorry. - All right, Fitz.

You set them straight. Time to move on.

- Scott. - Can you take him back to cottage?

- Scott. - Ludlow and I will try to repair the damage here.

He's under tremendous pressure, sir.

He wants just so desperately to please everyone.

- Goofo. - Gloria.

You are marvelously brave.

Now we won, Zelda.

But there's more to be done.

- Scott. - Lawrence.

Lawrence.

You should go, Mr. Fitzgerald, it's time.

- You're one of us. - Excuse me?

- You're one of us. - Scott, please.

No, you can smile and say how much you love literature.

But you'll end up the same as Monty,

the same as Harvey.

You're just gonna walk away from me?

You fucking coward!

Harvey. Harvey,

Harvey, Harvey, Harvey,

Harvey, Harvey, Harvey...

What the hell are you doing in my car?

Harvey, Harvey...

- Oh. - Harvey.

We're ready to go home.

- Please. - No. Get out.

You're acting like idiots.

Tell me,

what have you done

besides ride your father's coattails?

I went to war.

You have a spiffy car,

and you're never gonna run out of money,

and thus, you believe that artists are beneath you.

But I'm not beneath you, Harvey tire and rubber.

Here's what you don't understand, Fitzgerald.

You could write "Hamlet" and you'd still be a fucking peasant.

Shakespeare was a peasant, you fucking imbecile.

Tickets, please.

Tickets, please.

Tickets, please.

Thank you.

A cigarette.

Lighter.

Everything that's ever gone bad for me at Princeton

has been entirely my fault.

Mr. Fitzgerald.

Mr. Fitzgerald.

- Yes? - It's time to pay the bill.

It's been a very bad day.

You can't possibly...

- I gave you a serious... - I understand.

The bill will be paid, of course,

but it's late, and we...

We have certain expectations.

♪ ...and then she holds yours ♪

♪ And that's a very good sign ♪

♪ Tootsie-wootsie in the summertime ♪

Zelda!

♪ She's your tootsie-wootsie ♪

♪ In the summertime ♪

- Scott. - Zelda!

Scott, come in here.

Zelda.

♪ She's your tootsie-wootsie ♪

♪ In the summertime ♪

Zelda, stop!

Oh, it's marvelous.

♪ Through the shady lane ♪

Zelda, stop!

We... we can't keep doin' this.

I love you, but...

We are out of money.

Already?

If I don't write,

then there is no money.

If there are no stories, there is no...

this!

And you, you keep on spending and spending and spending,

and it puts me under too much pressure.

I'm tr...

I'm tryin'.

All right, Goofo.

Then let's go somewhere you can write.

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