Kissing it all good-bye.
These four stinkin' walls,
six flights up,
six flights up,
the el that roars by at 3a.m.
Like a cast-iron wind.
Kiss 'em good-bye for me, Maury.
I'll miss 'em...
like hell I will.
Dreamin' again.
Not anymore, Lil.
I'm awake now,
awake for the first time in years.
Uncle Dave said it...
"Daylight is a dream
if you live with your eyes closed."
Well, my eyes are open now.
I see the choir.
I know they're dressed in rags,
but we're part of that choir.
Yeah, both of us,
and you, Maury, and Uncle Dave.
Sun's comin' up, kid.
They'll be hawkin' the fish
down on Fulton Street.
Let 'em hawk.
Let 'em sing their hearts out.
That's it, kid.
Take that ruined choir.
Make it sing.
So long, Maury.
So long.
We'll hear from that kid,
and I don't mean a postcard.
Fish!
Fresh fish!
Let's spit on our hands
and get to work.
It's late, Maury.
Not anymore, Lil.
It's early.
- Bravo!
- Bravo!
Bravo!
Bravo!
Bravo!
- Bravo!
- Bravo!
- Author!
- Author!
- Author!
- Author!
- Author!
- Author!
- Author!
- Author!
- Bravo!
- Bravo!
Your table is ready, Monsieur Fink.
In fact, several members of your party
have already arrived.
Is Garland Stanford here?
He called to say
he'd be a few minutes late.
Ah, here we are.
Barton!
Barton, so glad you could make it.
You know Richard St. Claire
and Poppy Carnahan.
Charmed, charmed, charmed.
We're drinking champagne
in honor of the occasion.
Have you seen the Herald?
Not yet.
I won't embarrass you,
but Caven could
hardly contain himself.
More important,
Richard and Poppy here loved the play.
Weeping.
Copious tears.
What did the Herald say?
I happen to have it.
Please, Derek...
"Bare Ruined Choirs:
Triumph of the Common Man.
The star of Bare Ruined Choirs
was nowhere seen
on the stage last night,
though the thespians
acquitted themselves admirably.
The find of the evening
was the author of this drama
about simple folk,
fishmongers, in fact,
whose brute struggle for existence
cannot quite quell their longing
for something higher.
The playwright finds nobility
in the most squalid corners
and poetry in the most callous speech.
A tough new voice
in the American theater has arrived,
and the owner of that voice is named...
Barton Fink."
They'll be wrapping fish in it
in the morning.
Cynic.
I can't start listening to the critics,
and I can't kid myself
about my own work.
A writer writes from his gut.
His gut tells him
what's good and what's...
merely adequate.
I don't pretend to be a critic,
but Lord knows I have a gut,
and my gut tells me it's simply...
marvelous.
And a charming gut it is.
Oh, you dog.
Aroo!
Oh, stop.
I thought you were going to join us.
Jesus, Garland,
you left me alone with those people?
Don't panic.
I'll join you in a minute.
We have to talk a little business.
I've just been on the phone
to Los Angeles.
Barton, Capitol Pictures wants to
put you under contract.
They've offered you $ a week.
I think I can get them
to go as high as .
To do what?
What do you do for a living?
I'm not sure anymore.
I guess I try to make a difference.
There's no pressure here
because I respect you,
but a brief tenure in Hollywood
could support you through the writing
of any number of plays.
I don't know, Garland.
My place is here right now.
I feel I'm on the brink of success.
I'd say you're already enjoying some.
No. Don't you see?
Not the kind of success
where critics fawn over you
or producers like Derek
make a lot of money.
No. A real success.
The success we've been dreaming about...
the creation of a new living theater
of and about and for the common man.
If I ran off to Hollywood now,
I'd be making money,
going to parties,
meeting the big shots,
but I'd be cutting myself off
from the wellspring of that success,
from the common man.
Oh, I guess I'm spouting off again.
You see Caven's review?
No. What did it say?
Here, take my copy.
You're the toast of Broadway,
and you have an opportunity
to redeem that for a little cash...
Strike that.
A lot of cash.
The common man will still be here
when you get back.
Who knows?
They may even have one or two of them
out in Hollywood.
That's a rationalization, Garland.
Barton, it was a joke.
Welcome to Hotel Earle.
May I help you?
I'm checking in.
Barton Fink.
All righty.
Okay...
F-I-N-K?
"Fink, Barton."
That must be you, huh?
Must be.
Okay, then everything
seems to be in order.
Everything seems to be in order.
Just...
Are you a trans or a res?
Excuse me?
Transient or resident?
I...
I... I... I don't know.
I mean, I'll be here indefinitely.
Res. That's . a week
payable in advance.
Check-out time's : sharp,
only forget that.
You're a res.
If you need anything,
pick up your personal in-room telephone.
If you need anything,
pick up your personal in-room telephone.
My name is Chet.
Although we provide privacy
for the residential guests,
we're a full-service hotel,
including complimentary shoe shine.
My name is Chet.
Okay.
Those your only bags?
The others are being sent.
Welcome to Los Angeles, Mr. Fink.
Six, please.
Next stop... six.
This stop... six.
Is that him?
Is that Barton Fink?
Let me at him.
Let me put my arms
around this guy.
Let me hug this guy.
How the hell are ya?
Good trip?
My name's Jack Lipnick.
You know that.
You read the papers.
Lou treating you all right?
What's the matter
with your face?
What's the matter
with his face, Lou?
It's not so bad.
A mosquito in my room.
Where'd we put him?
I'm at the Earle.
Never heard of it.
Let's move him.
Stay at my place.
I wanted a place a little less...
Less Hollywood. Say it.
It's not a dirty word.
Say whatever you want.
The writer is king
at Capitol Pictures.
Look at your paycheck.
That's what
we think of writers.
So, what kind of pictures
does he like?
Mr. Fink hasn't given
a preference, Mr. Lipnick.
So, how about it, Bart?
Well, uh, to be honest,
I don't go to the pictures much.
That's okay.
You probably
walked in here
thinking that was going
to be a handicap,
thinking we wanted people
who knew something about the medium,
thinking there's technical
mumbo jumbo to learn.
You were dead wrong.
There's only one thing...
Can you tell a story?
Can you make us laugh,
make us cry,
make us want
to break out in song?
That more than one thing?
I run this dump, and I don't know
technical mumbo jumbo.
Why do I run it?
'Cause I got horse sense, showmanship!
And also I'm bigger
and meaner and louder
than any other kike
in this town.
I don't mean my dick's
bigger than yours.
It's not a sexual thing.
Coffee?
Yes, thank you.
Lou!
Used to have shares
in the company,
ownership interest,
got bought out...
muscled out.
We keep him around.
He's got a family.
Poor schmuck.
He's sensitive.
Don't mention the old days.
Hell, say whatever you want.
Look, barring a preference,
you'll be working on
a wrestling picture... Wallace Beery.
They say you know
the poetry of the street.
That rules out
westerns, pirates,
screwball, Bible, Roman...
I'm not some guy
that thinks poetic is fruity.
We're together on that.
I'm from New York myself.
Minsk... if you want
to go all the way back,
which we won't
if you don't mind.
People will say to you...
Wallace Beery, wrestling...
it's a B picture.
You tell them... bullshit!
We don't make B pictures
here at Capitol.
Let's put a stop
to that rumor right now.
Thanks, Lou.
Join us.
Join us.
We're talking about
the Wally Beery picture.
Excellent picture.
Got a treatment on it yet?
We just bought the story.
Saturday Evening Post.
The hell with the story.
Wally Beery's a wrestler.
Give me his hopes, his dreams.
Naturally he gets mixed up
with a bad element
and a romantic interest
or else an orphan.
Lou, think Wally's too old
for a romantic interest?
Look at me.
A writer in the room,
and I'm asking Lou
about the goddamn story.
Which is it, Bart?
Orphan?
Dame?
Both maybe?
Maybe we should do a treatment.
Hell!
Let Bart take a crack at it.
He'll get into the swing of things
or I don't know writers.
Let's make it a dame.
Keep it simple.
The important thing
is we all want it to have
that Barton Fink feeling.
We all have that feeling,
but since you're Barton Fink,
I'm assuming you have it in spades.
I like you.
If all my writers
were like you,
I wouldn't have
to get involved.
Have something
by the end of the week.
I heard about your show,
by the way.
My man in New York saw it.
Says it's damn moving,
a little fruity,
but I guess you know
what you're doing.
Thanks for your heart.
We need more heart
in motion pictures.
We're all expecting great things.
Front desk.
Hello? Uh, Chet?
Speaking.
This is Barton Fink in room .
Yes. There's, uh, someone in the room
next door to mine...
...
and he's, uh...
he's, uh...
making a lot of... noise.
I'll take care of it
right away, sir.
Thank you.
Hello.
What?
Huh?
Who?
Did you...
Somebody just complained.
No. I didn't.
I mean, I did call down,
not to complain exactly.
I was concerned that you might...
not that it's my business...
might be in some kind of... distress.
See, I was trying to work,
and it's...
Well, it was... difficult.
Yeah.
I'm damned sorry
if I bothered you.
The damn walls here...
I just apologize like hell.
My name's Charlie Meadows.
I guess we're neighbors.
Barton Fink.
Neighbor, I'd feel better
about the damned inconvenience
if you let me buy you a drink.
That's all right.
Really.
Thank you.
All right, hell.
You trying to work,
me carrying on in there.
The liquor's good.
What do you say?
You got a glass?
It's the least I can do.
Okay, a quick one.
Sure.
Yeah, just a nip.
I sure do forget myself sometimes.
I feel like a heel...
All the carryings-on next door.
That's okay, I assure you.
It's just I was trying to work.
What kind of work do you do, Barton,
if you don't mind my asking?
Well, I'm a writer, actually.
You don't say?
That's a tough racket.
My hat's off to you.
Damned interesting work, I'd imagine.
It's not easy, but...
Damn difficult, I'd imagine.
And what's your line, Mr. Meadows?
Hell, no, call me Charlie.
Well, Barton...
you might say I sell peace of mind.
Insurance is my game.
Door-to-door.
Human contact's the only way
to move merchandise.
In spite of what you might think,
I'm pretty good at it.
It doesn't surprise me.
I believe in it.
Fire, theft, and casualty aren't things
that only happen to other people.
Writing doesn't work out,
you may want to look into it.
Providing basic needs...
you could do worse.
I'll keep that in mind.
What kind of scribbler are you?
Newspaperman did you say?
No. Actually, I'm writing
for the pictures now.
Pictures?
Jesus!
Aw, I'm sorry, brother.
I was just sitting here thinking
I was talking to some ambitious
youngster eager to make good.
Hell, you've got it made.
Beating out that competition?
And me being patronizing?
Is the egg showing or what?
Actually, I'm just starting out
in the movies,
though I was well established
in New York,
some renown there.
Oh, it's an exciting time, then.
I'm not the best-read mug on the planet,
so it's not surprising
I didn't recognize your name.
Jesus, I feel like a heel.
That's okay, Charlie.
I'm a playwright.
My shows have only played New York.
The last one got
a hell of a write-up.
Must be why they wanted me.
Why not?
Everyone wants quality.
What kind of venue...
that is to say,
thematically,
um...
What do I write about?
Caught me trying to be fancy.
Yeah, that's it, Bart.
Well, that's a good question.
Strange as it may seem, Charlie,
I write about people like you...
the working stiff,
the common man.
Well, ain't that
a kick in the head.
I guess it is, but in a way,
that's exactly the point.
There's a few people in New York...
hopefully our numbers are growing...
who feel we have an opportunity
to forge something real
out of everyday experience,
create a theater for the masses
based on a few simple truths,
not on some shopworn abstractions
about drama
that don't hold true today.
I don't guess this means much to you.
Hell, I could tell you stories.
And that's the point...
we all have stories.
The hopes and dreams
of the common man
are as noble as those of any king.
The stuff of life...
Why shouldn't it be
the stuff of theater?
Why should that be
such a hard pill to swallow?
Don't call it new theater, Charlie.
Call it real theater.
Call it our theater!
I can see you feel
pretty strongly about it.
I don't mean to get up
on my high horse,
but why shouldn't we
look at ourselves up there?
Who cares about
the fifth Earl of Bastrop
and Lady Higginbottom
and...
and who killed Nigel Grinch-Gibbons?
My butt's getting sore already.
Exactly.
You understand what I'm saying
a lot more than some
of these literary types
because you're a real man.
I could tell you some stories...
Sure, you could,
yet many writers insulate themselves
from the common man,
from where they live,
from where they trade
and fight and love
and converse and...
and...
So, naturally, their work suffers
and regresses into
empty formalism and...
Well, I'm spouting off again,
but to put it in your language...
the theater becomes
as phony as a $ bill.
That's a tragedy right there.
You're all right, Charlie.
I'm glad you stopped by.
I know sometimes I run on.
Well, Christ, if there's
any way I can contribute
or help or whatever...
You can help by just being yourself.
Well, I can tell you some stories.
Now, look...
I'm sorry about
the interruption.
Too much revelry late at night,
you forget there's other people
in the world.
I'll be eating on the lot today.
Who's this?
Barton Fink, Mr. Geezler.
Geisler.
I'm a writer, Mr. Geisler.
Ted Okum said to drop by.
Ever act?
Huh? No. I'm a...
We need Indians
for a Norman Steele western.
I'm a writer.
Writers come and go.
We always need Indians.
I'm a writer.
Ted Okum said you're producing
this Wallace Beery picture.
Ted Okum doesn't know shit.
They've assigned me
enough pictures for a year.
What Ted Okum doesn't know
you could almost squeeze
into the Hollywood Bowl.
Who should I talk to?
Get me Lou Breeze.
Mr. Breeze's office.
Is he in for Mr. Geezler?
Geisler.
Lou! How's Lipnick's ass
smell this morning?
Yeah? Yeah?
Yeah. All right.
Listen.
I got a writer here...
Fink... all screwy.
Says I'm producing
that Wallace Beery wrestling picture.
What am I, the goddamn janitor?
Yeah?
Who'd you get that from?
Well, tell Lipnick
he can kiss my dimpled ass.
No, no. All right. Shit.
All right. No.
All right.
Okay, Fink.
Let's chow.
Don't worry about it.
It's just a B picture.
I bring it in on budget,
they book it without screening it.
Lipnick said he wanted
to look at the script
by the end of the week.
Sure, he did.
He forgot about it
before your ass left his sofa.
He forgot about it
before your ass left his sofa.
Okay.
I'm just having trouble
getting started.
It's funny.
I'm blocked up.
I just feel
like I need
some kind of indication
of what's expected.
Wallace Beery.
Wrestling picture.
What do you need, a road map?
Look,
you're confused.
You need guidance?
Talk to another writer.
Who?
Oh, Jesus.
You throw a rock in here,
you'll hit one.
Do me a favor, Fink...
Throw it hard.
Bill Mayhew.
Sorry about the odor.
Barton Fink.
Jesus. W.P.?
I beg your pardon?
W.P. Mayhew?
The writer?
Just Bill, please.
Bill!
You're the finest novelist
of our time.
Why, thank you, son.
How kind.
My God.
I had no idea
you were in Hollywood.
All of us undomesticated writers
eventually make our way out here
to the great salt lick.
That's probably why
I always have
such a powerful thirst.
A little social lubricant, Mr. Fink?
No. It's a little early for me.
Bill...
if I'm imposing,
you should say so.
I know you're very busy.
I just wanted to ask...
you a favor.
Have you ever written
a wrestling picture?
You are drippin', sir.
They have not invented
a genre of picture
that Bill Mayhew has not
at one time or other
been invited to assay.
Yes, I've taken my stab
at the wrestling form,
as I have stabbed
at so many others.
Well, how do you...
I gather you're a freshman here,
eager for an upperclassman's counsel.
However, just at the moment
I have drinking to do.
Why don't you stop
by my bungalow, number
later on this afternoon?
We will discuss wrestling scenarios
and other things literary.
Sons of bitches!
Sons of bitches!
Where's honey?
Huh?
Honey!
Where's my honey?
The water's lapping up on me, honey!
Honey, just stop it.
I can't.
I'm trying to help you.
Ohh!
Can I help you?
I'm sorry. I...
Where are you, damn it?
My name is Fink.
Bill asked me to drop by
this afternoon.
Is he, uh...
Honey!
In?
Oooh!
Mr. Mayhew is indisposed
at the moment.
Where's my honey?
Is he, uh...
Honey!
Is he okay?
He'll be fine.
Mr. Fink, I'm Audrey Taylor,
Mr. Mayhew's personal secretary.
Where's my honey?
I know this all must sound horrid.
I really do apologize.
Where are you, damn it?
When he can't write, he drinks.
It's so embarrassing.
How about you?
Will you be all right?
I'll be fine.
Are you a writer, Mr. Fink?
Yes. I'm working on a wrestling...
Please call me Barton.
I'll tell Bill you dropped by.
I'm sure he'll want to reschedule
your appointment.
Perhaps you and I can get together
at some point also.
Sorry if that sounds abrupt.
I just...
I... I don't know anyone here in town.
Perhaps the three of us, Mr. Fink.
Please. Barton.
Barton.
You see, Barton,
I'm not just Bill's secretary.
Bill and I are...
in love.
Where's my honey?
Look, I know this must look...
Funny.
Bastard-ass sons of bitches!
I'm sorry.
Please don't judge us, Mr. Fink.
Where's that woman?
Bastard-ass sons of bitches!
The water's lapping up!
Oh, honey!
Oh...
Oh...
Oh...
Oh...
Ah...
Oh...
Oh...
Oh...
Ah...
Howdy, neighbor.
Charlie. How are you?
Oh, Jesus, I hope
I'm not interrupting you again.
Heard you walking around in here.
Figured I'd drop by.
Yeah. Come on in.
Have a seat.
I haven't really gotten started yet.
What happened to your ear?
Oh, yeah.
An ear infection.
Chronic thing.
Goes away for a while,
then it comes back.
I got cotton in it
to staunch the pus.
Don't worry.
It's not contagious.
You seen a doctor?
What's he going to tell me?
Can't trade my head
for a new one.
I guess you're stuck
with the one you got.
I'd invite you to my place,
but it's a goddamn mess.
You married, Bart?
No.
I myself have yet
to be lassoed.
Hey, Bart.
Ouch.
Got a sweetheart?
No.
I guess it's something
about my work.
I get so worked up over it.
I don't have much attention left over,
so it would be a little... unfair.
Yeah. Ladies do ask for attention.
In my experience,
they pretend to give it,
but it's generally a smoke screen
for demanding it back with interest.
How about family, Bart?
How you fixed in that department?
My folks live in Brooklyn
with my uncle.
Mine have passed on.
It's just us three now.
What's that expression?
Me, myself, and I.
Sure.
That's tough.
But in a sense,
we're all alone in the world,
aren't we, Charlie?
I'm often surrounded
by family and friends,
but...
You're no stranger
to loneliness, then.
I guess I got no beef,
especially where the dames
are concerned.
In my line of work,
I got opportunities galore.
I could tell you stories
to curl your hair,
but it looks like you've
already heard them.
That's me in Kansas City
plying my trade.
That was taken by
one of my policyholders.
They're more than just customers
to me, Barton.
They appreciate
what I have to offer.
Her hubby was out of town,
and they were carrying
fire and life.
The third quarter payment
was way past due.
In a way, I envy you...
your daily routine,
you know what's expected.
You know the drill.
My job is to plumb the depths,
so to speak.
Dredge up something from inside,
something honest.
I got to tell you,
the life of the mind...
There's no road map
for that territory.
And exploring it
can be painful.
I have pain most people
don't know anything about.
This must be boring you.
Not at all.
It's damned interesting.
Yeah.
Probably sounds a little grand
for someone who's writing
a wrestling picture
for Wallace Beery.
Beery?
You got no beef there.
He's a hell of an actor,
though you can't beatJack Oakie.
A stitch, Oakie.
Funny stuff, funny stuff.
But don't get me wrong.
Beery? Wrestling picture?
Could be a pip.
Could be a pip.
Wrestled myself some back in school.
I guess you know the basic moves.
No. I never watched any.
I'm not interested in the act.
Hell, you should know
what it's about.
I can show you
the wrestling basics in seconds.
You're a little
out of your weight class,
but just for demonstration purposes...
That's all right.
Not a bit of it, compadre.
Easiest thing in the world.
Just get on your knees
to my left here.
Slap your right hand here,
your left hand here.
Come on, champ.
You can do it. Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
Yeah. There you go.
Right there.
All right.
Now, when I say, "Ready, wrestle,"
we try to pin each other.
That's the whole game.
Got it?
Yeah. Okay.
Ready? Wrestle.
Oh!
.
Damn. There I go again.
Going to wake up
the downstairs neighbors.
I didn't hurt you, did I?
It's okay.
Well, that's all wrestling is.
Usually there's
more grunting and squirming
before the pin.
Well, you're out of your weight class.
Jesus, I did hurt you.
I sure do apologize.
I'm just a big, clumsy lug.
I sure do apologize.
You sure you're okay?
I'm fine, really.
Actually, it's been helpful.
But I guess I should get to work.
It wasn't fair of me to do that.
I'm pretty well-endowed physically.
Don't feel bad, though.
I wouldn't be
much of a match for you
at mental gymnastics.
Give me a holler
you need anything.
If I close my eyes,
I can almost smell the live oak.
That's chicken fat, Bill.
Well, my olfactory's
turning womanish on me...
lying and deceitful.
Still, I must say I haven't
felt peace like this
since the grand productive days.
Don't you find it so, Barton?
Ain't writing peace?
Well...
actually...
no, Bill.
No. I've always found
that writing comes
from a great inner pain.
Maybe it's a pain
that comes from a realization
that one must do something
for one's fellow man
to help somehow ease the suffering.
Maybe it's personal pain.
At any rate, I don't believe
good work is possible without it.
Hmm.
Well, me, I just enjoy
making things up.
Yes, sir. Escape.
It's when I can't write
and escape myself,
that I want to rip my head off
and run screaming through the street
with my balls
in a fruit picker's pail.
Hmm.
This will sometimes help.
That doesn't help anything, Bill.
I've never found that
to help my writing.
Your writing?
Son, have you ever heard
the story of Solomon's mammy?
Barton, you should read this.
I think it's Bill's finest,
or among his finest, anyway.
So now I'm supposed to roll over
and get my belly scratched?
Bill.
Look, uh...
maybe it's none of my business,
but don't you think
a man with your talent...
your first obligation
is to your gift?
Shouldn't you be doing
whatever you have to
to work again?
What would that be?
I don't know.
But with that drink,
you're cutting yourself
off from your gift
and your fellow man
and everything your art is about.
Oh, no, son.
I'm building a levee...
gulp by gulp,
brick by brick...
Putting up a levee
to keep that raging river of manure
from lapping at my door.
Maybe you better, too, Barton,
before you get buried
under his manure.
My honey pretends
to be impatient with me,
but she'll put up with anything.
Not anything, Bill.
Don't test me.
You're lucky she puts up with you
as much as she does.
Maybe to a schoolboy's eyes.
People who know about
the human heart, though,
maybe they'd say,
"Bill over here,
he gives his honey love,
and she pays him back with pity,
the basest coin there is."
Stop it, Bill.
Gone are the days
When my heart was young and gay
Gone are my friends
From the cotton fields away
Gone from the earth
To a better land I know
I hear their gentle voices
Callin'Old Black Joe
I'm comin'
I'm comin'
Oh, my head is bending low
I hear their gentle...
The truth, my honey, is a tart
that does not bear scrutiny.
Breach my levee at your peril!
Gone are my friends
From the cotton fields...
That son of a bitch!
Don't get me wrong.
He's a fine writer.
Gone from the earth
Are you all right?
To a better life I know
Audrey, y-you can't...
Oh, Barton.
You can't put up with that.
Old Black Joe
I feel so sorry for him.
What? He's... He's a son of a bitch.
No.
No.
He...
He sometimes just...
I hear their angel voices...
Well, he thinks about Estelle.
His wife still lives
in Fayettesville.
She's...
disturbed.
Really?
I'll just walk on down
to the Pacific,
and from there I'll improvise.
He'll wander back
when he's sober
and apologize.
He always does.
Okay, but that doesn't excuse his...
Silence upon the hill...
behavior.
In Darien!
Empathy requires understanding.
I'm comin'
What?
What don't I understand?
I'm comin'
Oh, my head is hangin'low
I hear their gentle voices
Callin'Old Black Joe
I hope these are your shoes.
Charlie.
Because that would mean...
they gave you mine.
Yeah.
As a matter of fact, they did.
Come on in.
Jesus, what a day I had.
Ever have one of those days?
Seems like nothing but lately.
Jesus, what a day.
Felt like I couldn't have sold
ice water in the Sahara.
Okay. So you don't want insurance.
Okay. So that's your loss.
But, God, people can be rude.
I feel like I have to talk
to a normal person like you
just to restore a little of my...
It's my pleasure.
I could use a little lift myself.
A little lift? Yeah.
Good thing they bottle it, huh, pal?
Did I say rude?
People can be goddamn cruel,
especially some of these housewives.
Okay.
So I have a weight problem.
That's my cross to bear.
I don't know.
It's a defense mechanism.
Defense against what, insurance?
Something they need?
Something they should be
grateful to me for offering?
A little peace of mind.
Finally decided
to knock off early.
Went to see a doctor about this.
He told me I had an ear infection.
$ please.
I says, "Hell, I told you
my ear was infected.
Why don't you give me $ ?"
Well, that led to an argument.
Listen to me bellyaching,
as if my problems amounted
to a hill of beans.
How goes the life of the mind?
Well, it's been better.
I can't seem to get going
on this thing.
That one idea,
the one that lets you get started,
I still haven't gotten it.
Maybe I only had one idea in me...
my play.
Maybe once that was done,
I was done being a writer.
Christ, I feel like a fraud,
sitting here staring at this paper.
Those two lovebirds next door
driving you nuts?
How do you know about that?
Know about it?
I can practically see
how they're doing it.
Brother, I wish I had
a piece of that.
Seems like I hear everything
that goes on in this dump...
the pipes or something.
Yeah, but...
You'll lick this picture business.
You got a head on your shoulders.
What do they say?
Where there's a head, there's hope.
Where there's life, there's hope.
See, that proves
you really are a writer.
There's hope for you, too, Charlie.
Tomorrow I bet you sell
a half-dozen policies.
Thanks, brother, but the fact is
I got to pull up stakes for a while.
You're leaving?
In a few days.
Out to your stomping grounds...
New York City.
Things got all balled up
at the head office.
I'm truly sorry to hear that.
I'll miss you.
Well, hell, buddy.
Don't pull a long face.
I keep a room here,
and I'll be back sooner or later.
And mark my words,
by the time I get back,
your picture will be finished.
New York can be
pretty cruel to strangers.
If you need a home-cooked meal,
you just look up
Sam and Lillian Fink.
They live on Fulton Street...
with my uncle Maury.
Christ.
Your room does that, too.
I guess the heat's
sweating off the wallpaper.
What a dump.
I guess this must seem pretty pathetic
to a guy like you.
Well...
But it's pathetic, isn't it?
I mean, to a guy from New York?
What do you mean?
This kind of heat.
It's pathetic.
Well, I guess
you pick your poison.
So they say.
Don't pick up and leave
without saying good-bye.
'Course not, compadre.
You'll see me again.
Zing! Bango!
You're dead.
You're a corpse.
You got me.
Okay, go, go, you son of a gun.
Yeah, Fink.
Come on, come on.
What do you got for me?
What the hell happened to your face?
Nothing.
It's just a mosquito bite.
There are no mosquitoes
in Los Angeles.
Mosquitoes breed in swamps.
This is a desert.
What do you got for me?
Well, I...
On the Beery picture, where are we?
Well, I'm having a little trouble
getting started.
Getting start...
ChristJesus, started?
You don't have anything yet?
Well, not much.
What the hell do you
think this is, Hamlet,
Gone With the Wind,
Ruggles of Red Gap?
It's a goddamn B picture...
big men in tights...
you know the drill.
I don't really understand that genre.
Maybe that's the problem.
Understand? Shit!
You were going to consult
another writer on this.
Well, I've talked to Bill Mayhew.
Mayhew? Some help.
The guy's a souse.
He's a great writer.
A great souse!
He's in pain
because he can't write.
Souse! Souse!
He manages to write his name
on the back
of his paycheck every week.
I thought no one cared
about this picture.
You thought?
I don't know
what the hell you said to Lipnick,
but the son of a bitch likes you.
He's taken a interest.
Never make Lipnick like you.
Never!
I... I don't understand.
Are you deaf?
He likes you.
What the hell did you say to him?
Nothing.
Well, he's taken a interest.
He'll make your life hell.
Since I drew the short straw
to supervise this turkey,
he'll be all over me, too.
Fat-ass son of a bitch called yesterday
to ask how it's going.
I said you were making progress.
We were all very excited.
I told him it was great.
Understand that?
Now my ass is on the line.
He wants you to tell him
all about it tomorrow.
I can't write anything by tomorrow.
Who said write?
Jesus, Jack can't read.
You got to tell it to him.
Tell him something,
for Christ's sake.
Well, what do I t-tell him?
Yes, Mr. Geezler.
Projection!
Jerry.
Jerry, Ben Geisler here.
Any screening rooms free?
Good! Book it for me.
I got a writer here.
He's coming in.
You're going to show him
wrestling pictures.
I don't give a shit which ones!
Isn't Victor Sjoderberg
shooting one now?
Show him some dailies on that.
Okay, Ben.
All right.
This will give you some ideas.
: tomorrow morning
at Lipnick's house.
Ideas.
Broad strokes.
Don't cross me, Fink.
Devil on the Can...
Devil on the Canvas,
Apple, take .
Action!
I will destroy him!
Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut!
Devil on the Canvas,
Apple, take .
Action!
I will destroy him!
Cut! Cut!
Rolling!
Devil on the Canvas,
Apple, take .
Action!
I will destroy him!
Cut! Cut! Cut!
Devil on the Canvas,
Apple, take .
I will destroy him!
Apple, take .
I will destroy him!
Apple, take .
I will destroy him!
Baker, take .
I will destroy him!
Aah!
Aah!
Aah!
Aah!
Charlie, take .
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
Take .
- Aah!
- Aah!
...
Take .
- Aah!
- Aah!
...
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
- Aah!
Aah!
Orphan.
Dame.
Front desk.
Hello, Chet?
This is Barton Fink in room .
Could you try a number for me
in Hollywood?
Slauson - .
Right away, sir.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Hello.
Audrey, I need help.
I know I shouldn't be
calling you like this.
I wouldn't have
if I could see any alternative.
I'm sorry.
Listen, how are you?
You doing okay?
Who is this?
Barton! I'm sorry.
It's Barton Fink.
Barton, I'm afraid
it's not a good time.
I'm sorry.
I just feel like I need...
I know I shouldn't ask.
I just need some kind of help.
I have a deadline tomorrow.
All right, Barton.
I'll see if I can slip away.
Oh, if you could...
If I can.
He... He gets jealous.
I need help, Audrey.
I'll try to slip out
if he quiets down, passes out.
I'm afraid he thinks...
Well, he said you were
a buffoon, Barton.
Uh-huh.
He becomes irrational.
Uh-huh, uh-huh.
I'll try and slip away.
Who is that?
Audrey, thank you for coming.
Thank you.
Hello, Barton.
I'm sorry to be...
such a... such a...
Thank you.
That's all right, Barton.
Everything's going to be all right.
Yes. Thank you.
Thank you.
Yes. Thank you.
How's Bill?
Oh, he's, uh...
He drifted off.
He'll sleep for a while now.
What is it you have to do exactly?
Well, I have to come up
with an outline,
I guess you call it,
the whole goddamn story,
soup to nuts, three acts,
the whole goddamn...
That's all right, Barton.
You don't have to write
actual scenes.
No, but the whole goddamn...
Audrey...
have you ever read
any of Bill's wrestling scenarios?
Yes, I'm afraid I have.
What are they like?
What are they about?
Well...
usually they're simple morality tales.
There's a good wrestler
and a bad wrestler,
whom he confronts at the end.
In between, the good wrestler
has a love interest
or a small child he has to protect.
Bill would usually make
the good wrestler
a backwards type or a convict,
and sometimes, instead of a waif,
he'd have the wrestler
protecting an idiot man-child.
The studio always hated that.
Some of the scripts were so...
spirited.
Barton, look,
it's really just a formula.
You don't have to type
your soul into it.
We'll invent some names
and a new setting.
I'll help you.
It won't take any time at all.
I did it for Bill so many times.
You did what for Bill?
Well... this.
You wrote his scripts for him?
Well, the basic ideas
were frequently his.
You wrote Bill's scripts?
Jesus, you wrote his...
Well, what about before that?
Before what?
Before Bill came to Hollywood.
Bill was always the author,
so to speak.
What do you mean, "so to speak"?
Audrey, how long have you been his...
secretary?
Let's concentrate
on our little project.
I want to know how many
of Bill's books you wrote!
I want to know!
Barton, honestly...
Only the last couple.
Hah!
And my input was
mostly editorial, really,
after he had been drinking.
I'll bet.
Jesus, "the grand productive days"!
What a goddamn phony.
W.P. Mayhew...
William goddamn Phony Mayhew!
All his guff about escape!
I'll say he escaped!
We don't have much time.
It'll be fine.
Don't judge him, Barton.
Don't condescend to him.
I help Bill most
by understanding him,
by appreciating him.
We all need understanding, Barton...
even you tonight.
It's all you really need.
Aah!
Aah!
Aah!
Barton?
Barton, are you all right?
I'm fine, thanks.
You sure?
No! No.
Barton. Are you all right?
No. Can I come in?
Let's go to your room.
Charlie, I'm in trouble.
You got to help me.
Get a grip on yourself, brother.
Whatever the problem is,
we can sort it out.
Charlie, I'm in trouble.
Something horrible's happened.
I got to call the police.
Will you stay with me
till they get here?
Don't worry about it.
We can work it out.
Before you go in...
I didn't do this.
I don't know how it happened, but...
I didn't.
I want you to know that.
Okay.
Ohhh!
Oh...
Oh...
Jesus, Barton,
what the hell is this?
What are we going to do?
Call the police.
Hold on.
I didn't do this.
I did not do this!
Hold on!
Stop.
Take a deep breath.
Tell me what happened.
I passed out! I don't know!
Won't the police...
Stop with the police!
Wake up!
This looks bad!
They hang people for this!
But I didn't do it.
Don't you believe me?
I believe you! I know you!
Why should the police?
Did you...
Barton, between you and me,
did you have sexual intercourse?
Jesus, they can tell that.
Got to believe me!
They got to have mercy!
You're in pictures, Barton.
Even if they cleared you eventually,
this would ruin you.
Come on.
Wait in the bathroom.
Oh, Lord.
Oh, Lordy. Oh, my Lord.
Oh, my Lord.
Ooh!
You passed out.
Where's Audrey?
She's dead, Barton!
She's dead, if that was her name!
You got to act
as if nothing has happened.
Put this totally out of your head.
Your play is to go about
your business as usual.
Give us some time
to sort this out.
Bart!
So happy to see ya!
Sit. Talk.
Relax for a minute.
Then talk.
Drink?
Uh...
yeah.
Rye whiskey?
Boy, you writers.
Work hard, play hard.
That's what I hear, anyway.
Lou!
Anyway, Ben Geisler tells me things
are going along great.
Says we got a real winner
in this one.
I'll tell you something.
I'm counting on it.
I've taken an interest.
Nothing to fear, mind you.
Hardly seems necessary in your case...
a writer,
a storyteller of your stature.
Give it to me
in bold strokes, Bart.
Give me the broad outlines.
I'm in the audience,
the lights go down,
Capitol logo comes up.
You're on, huh?
Yeah.
Uh... okay.
Huh?
Well, uh...
we... we fade in...
Uh-huh.
It's... It's a tenement building
on the Lower East Side.
Great!
He's poor, this wrestler.
He's had to struggle, huh?
And then...
Uh-huh?
Well, uh...
Can I be honest, Mr. Lipnick?
Can you?
Jesus, you damn well better be!
If I wasn't honest
in my business dealings...
Well, you can't always be honest,
not with the sharks
swimming around this town.
If I'd been totally honest,
I wouldn't be near this pool
unless I was cleaning it.
But that's no reason
for you not to be.
Honest, I mean.
Not cleaning the pool.
Oh.
Uh-huh.
To be honest, uh...
I'm never really comfortable
discussing work in progress.
I got it all worked out in my head,
but sometimes,
if you force it into words...
prematurely...
uh, the wrong words...
Well, your meaning changes,
and it changes in your own mind,
and you never get it back,
so I'd... I'd just as soon
not talk about it.
Mr. Fink... never mind me.
Never mind how long
I've been in pictures.
Mr. Lipnick's been in pictures
about since they was invented.
He practically invented them.
I think if he's interested
in what one of
his contract employees is doing,
that employee
should be able to tell him
if he wants to stay an employee.
Right now,
the contents of your head
are the property
of Capitol Pictures.
If I was you...
I would speak up.
And pretty goddamn fast.
You lousy kike...
son of a bitch.
You're telling this man...
this artist...
what to do?
Mr. Lipnick, I...
He creates for a living!
Thank him, you son of a bitch,
or you're fired!
Mr. Lipnick,
that's really not necessary.
Get down on your knees,
you son of a bitch!
Kiss this man's feet!
Mr. Lipnick, please.
Kiss this man's feet!
Get out of here!
You understand me?
You're out of here. You're fired.
Get out of my sight.
I...
I apologize, Barton.
No. Mr. Breeze actually
has been a great help.
You don't have to cover for him.
That's very noble.
I'd feel much better
if you'd just reconsider.
If that son of a bitch
won't apologize to you,
then goddamn it, I will.
I respect your artistry
and your methods.
If you can't fill us in yet,
hell, we should be kissing your feet
for your fine efforts.
You know...
in the old country,
we were taught as young children
that there's no shame
in supplicating yourself
when you respect someone.
On behalf of Capitol Pictures,
the administration,
and all of the stockholders,
please accept this
as a symbol of
our apology and respect.
Barton, can I come in?
Jesus... you're leaving?
Have to, old-timer,
just for a little while.
Jesus.
Charlie, I...
Everything's okay, believe me.
I know it's rough mentally,
but everything's been taken care of.
Charlie, I got no one else here.
You're the only person
I know in Los Angeles
that I...
that I can talk to.
I feel like I'm...
like I'm losing my mind,
like I'm going crazy.
I don't know what to do.
I didn't do it, believe me.
I... I'm sure of that, Charlie.
You got to get a grip on, brother.
You got to carry on till I get back.
Try and stay here.
Don't talk to anyone.
We got to keep our heads,
and we'll figure it out.
Okay, but...
Don't argue.
You asked me to believe you and I do.
Now, don't argue with me.
Look, pal,
can you do something for me?
Keep that for me
till I get back.
It's just a lot of personal stuff,
but I don't want
to drag it with me.
Funny, huh?
When everything
that's important to a guy,
everything he wants to keep
from a lifetime,
and he can fit it all
into a little box like that.
I guess...
I guess it's pretty pathetic.
It's more than I've got.
Well, keep it for me.
Maybe it'll bring you good luck.
It'll help you finish your script.
You'll think about me.
Make me your wrestler.
Then you'll lick that story.
Thanks, Charlie.
Yeah, yeah, sure.
I'll see you soon, friend.
You'll be fine.
And you'll be back?
Don't worry about that, compadre.
I'll be back.
You read the Bible, Pete?
Holy Bible?
Yeah.
Yeah, I think so.
Anyway, I've heard about it.
Fink?
Yeah.
Detective Mastrionotti.
Detective Deutsch.
L.A.P.D.
Uh-huh.
Got some questions
we want to ask you.
Just routine.
Sit down.
What do you do, Fink?
I... I write.
Oh, yeah?
What kind of writing?
As a matter of fact,
I write for the pictures.
Big fucking deal.
Should my partner
kiss your ass?
I didn't mean to sound...
What did you mean?
I got respect
for working guys like you.
Jesus, ain't that a load off.
You live in ?
Yeah.
How long?
A week. Eight, nine days.
This multiple choice?
You know this slob?
Yeah, he lives next door to me.
That's right, Fink.
He lives next door to you.
You ever talk to him?
Once or twice.
His name is Charlie Meadows.
Yeah, and I'm Buck Rogers.
His name's Mundt.
Karl Mundt.
Also known as Madman Mundt.
A little funny in the head.
What did he...
He likes to ventilate people
with a shotgun
and cut their heads off.
Yeah, he's funny that way.
Started in Kansas City.
Couple of housewives.
We got the same M.O. in Los Feliz.
Doctor.
Ear, nose, and throat man.
All of which is missing.
Well, some throat was there.
Physician, heal thyself.
Good luck with
no fucking head.
Hollywood precinct finds
another stiff yesterday
not too far from here.
This one's better-looking
than the doc.
Female Caucasian,
about years old,
nice tits, no head.
Ever see Mundt with anyone
fits that description?
But, you know,
with the head still on.
No, I never saw him
with anyone else.
So you did talk to Mundt.
What about?
Nothing, really.
He said he was
in the insurance business.
Yeah, and he's Buck Rogers.
No reputable company
would hire a guy like that.
That's what he said.
What else?
I'm trying to think.
Nothing, really. He...
He said he liked
Jack Oakie pictures.
You know, ordinarily we say
anything you might remember
could be helpful,
but I'll be frank with you, Fink.
That is not helpful.
Notice how he's not writing it down?
Fink.
That's a...
a Jewish name, isn't it?
Yeah.
Yeah.
I didn't think
this dump was restricted.
Mundt has disappeared.
I don't think he'll be back,
but give me a call
if you see him...
or if you remember something
that isn't totally idiotic.
"Fade in.
Ayoung hussy opens the door...
to the burlyman's...
apartment.
If you were a man,
a real man,
you'd slap me."
"I put my mark on you first...
in... delibly."
"Boardinghouse,
painted women,
and the burlyman..."
"Why'd you arrest him?"
"With one lightning move
with his mighty arms,
the burlyman..."
"She's a good woman..."
"I don't care what people say..."
"So, Burlyman,
we have to deduct those expenses
from your personal..."
"Don't you care for me
after all these years?"
Hold the line, sir.
I have your call.
Hello, operator!
I can't...
Oh, God.
Ahem. Hello?
Garland, it's me.
Barton?
Wh-What time is it?
Are you all right?
Yeah, I'm... I'm fine.
I have to talk to you, Garland.
I'm calling long-distance.
What is it, Barton?
Are you okay?
Yeah, I'm fine, Garland,
but we have to talk.
It's about what I'm writing.
I think...
it's really...
I think it's really big.
What do you mean, Barton?
Not big in the sense of large,
although it's that, too.
I... I mean important.
This may be
the most important work
I've ever done.
Barton, is everything okay?
You sound a little, um...
Sound a little what?
You sound a little, um...
Thanks, Garland.
Thanks for all the encouragement.
Nitwit.
Whoo!
You're cute.
Excuse me, buddy.
Mind if I cut in?
This is my dance, sailor.
Hey, come on, buddy.
I'm shipping out tomorrow.
I'm a writer
celebrating the completion
of something good.
Do you understand that, sailor?
Beat it, creep.
Come on, buddy,
give the navy a dance.
Let somebody else spin the dame.
Step aside, four eyes!
-F, take a hike!
Go sit on a tomato.
I'm a writer, you monsters!
I create!
I create for a living!
I'm a creator!
I am a creator!
Screwy!
This is my uniform.
This is how I serve the common man!
This is where I...
Get 'em, boys!
"He left this morning.
Said he had a job to do.
There was something in his eyes,
something new.
Mother:
What's to become of him?"
"Father:
We'll be hearing
from that crazy wrestler,
and I don't mean a postcard.
Fade out.
The end."
I thought you said
you were a writer.
I don't know, Duke.
I kind of liked it.
Keep your filthy eyes
off of that.
You made the morning papers, Fink.
Second one of
your friends to die.
You do get around, don't you?
You didn't tell us
you knew the dame.
Sixth floor too high for you, Fink?
Give you nosebleeds?
Just tell me one thing.
Where'd you put the heads?
Charlie.
Charlie's back.
No kidding, bright boy.
We smelled Mundt all over this.
Was he the idea man?
Tell us where the heads are.
Maybe they'll go easy on you.
Only fry you once.
Come back later.
It's too hot.
My head's killing me.
All right, forget the heads.
Where's Mundt, Fink?
He teach you how to do it?
You two have some sick sex thing?
Sex?
He's a man.
We wrestled.
You're a sick fuck, Fink.
Charlie's back.
It's hot.
He's back.
Fred.
Sit tight, Fink.
Why's it so goddamn hot out here?
Duke.
Mundt!
Mundt!
Show yourself.
There's a boy, Mundt.
Put the policy case down
and your mitts in the air.
He's complying.
Look upon me!
I'll show you the life of the mind!
Aah!
Aah!
Aah! Look upon me!
Aah! I'll show you
the life of the mind!
I'll show you the life of the mind!
I'll show you the life of the mind!
I will show you the life
of the mind!
Aah!
Heil, Hitler.
Aah!
Barton.
Brother, is it hot.
How you been, buddy?
Well, don't look at me like that.
It's just me... Charlie.
I hear it's Mundt.
Madman Mundt?
Jesus, people can be cruel.
If it's not my build,
it's my personality.
They say I'm a madman, Bart,
but I'm not mad at anyone.
Honest, I'm not.
Most guys I just feel sorry for.
It tears me up inside
to think about what
they're going through,
how trapped they are.
I understand it.
I feel for them.
So I try and help them out.
Jesus.
Yeah.
Yeah.
I know what it feels like
when things get all balled up
at the head office.
They put you through hell, Barton.
So I help people out.
I just wish someone
would do as much for me.
Jesus, it's hot.
Sometimes it gets so hot
I want to crawl
right out of my skin.
But, Charlie, why me?
Why...
Because you don't listen!
Jesus.
I'm dripping again.
Come on, Barton,
you think you know pain?
You think I made your life hell?
Look around this dump.
You're just a tourist
with a typewriter.
I live here.
Don't you understand that?
And you come into my home...
and you complain
that I'm making too much noise.
I'm sorry.
Don't be.
I'll be next door
if you need me.
Oh...
I dropped in on
your folks in New York.
And Uncle Maury.
Good people.
By the way,
that package I gave you...
I lied.
It isn't mine.
Fink.
Samuel or Lillian Fink.
Fulton Street.
Or Uncle Maury.
I understand that,
but there's still no answer.
Mr. Fink?
Shall I check for trouble
on the line?
Fink.
Mr. Lipnick.
Colonel Lipnick...
if you don't mind.
Sit down.
I was commissioned yesterday
in the army reserve.
Henry Morgenthau arranged it.
Dear friend.
Congratulations.
It hasn't officially
gone through yet.
Had wardrobe whip this up.
Got to pull teeth
to get anything done.
Can understand
red tape in peacetime,
but now it's all-out warfare
against theJaps.
They'd love to see me
sit this one out.
Yes, sir.
They, uh...
Anyway, I had Lou
read your script for me.
I got to tell you, Fink...
it won't wash.
With all due respect,
I think it's
the best work I've done.
Don't gas me, Fink.
If your opinion mattered,
I'd let you run the studio.
The lunatics aren't going to run
this particular asylum.
Let's put a stop
to that rumor right now.
Yes, sir.
Had to call Beery this morning,
tell him we were pushing
the picture back.
After all I told him about quality,
about that Barton Fink feeling,
how disappointed we were.
Wally was heartbroken.
The man was devastated.
I didn't actually call him.
Lou did.
That's a fair description,
isn't it, Lou?
Yes, Colonel.
I could take you
through it step-by-step,
explaining why
your story stinks,
but I won't insult
your intelligence.
Well, all right.
First of all,
this is a wrestling picture.
The audience wants to see action,
adventure, wrestling.
They don't want to see a guy
wrestling with his soul.
All right, some for the critics.
You make it the carrot
that wags the dog.
Too much,
they head for the exits.
There's plenty of poetry
inside that ring, Fink.
Look at Hell Feet Square.
Blood, Sweat, and Canvas.
Blood, Sweat, and Canvas.
These are big movies,
Fink, about big men.
In tights!
Both physically
and mentally...
especially physically.
We don't put Wally Beery
in a fruity movie about suffering.
I thought we were
together on that.
I'm sorry if I let you down.
You didn't let me down
or even Lou.
We don't live or die
by what you scribble.
You let Ben Geisler down.
He liked you,
trusted you.
That's why he's gone.
He's fired.
That man had a big heart.
You fucked him.
He tried to convince me
to fire you, too,
but that'd be too easy.
You're under contract.
You'll stay that way.
Anything you write is
property of Capitol Pictures.
Capitol Pictures won't produce
anything you write...
not until you
grow up a little.
You ain't no writer, Fink.
You're a goddamn write-off.
I... I tried to show you...
something beautiful.
Something about all of us.
I...
You arrogant
son of a bitch.
You think
you're the only writer
that can give me
that Barton Fink feeling?
I got writers
under contract
I can ask for
a Fink-type thing from!
You swell-headed hypocrite.
You don't get it.
You think the whole world
revolves around
whatever rattles
inside that little
kike head of yours.
Get him out of my sight, Lou!
I want him in town, though.
He's still under contract.
I want you in town
and out of my sight.
Now, get lost.
There's a war on.
It's a beautiful day.
Huh?
I said it's a beautiful day.
Yes.
It is.
What's in the box?
I don't know.
Isn't it yours?
I don't know.
You're very beautiful.
Are you in pictures?
Don't be silly.
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