Revolutionary Road Script - Dialogue Transcript

Revolutionary Road Script

  
  
So, what do you do?
- I'm studying to be an actress. You?

  
I'm a longshoreman.
- No, I mean, really.

  
I mean really, too.

  
Although, starting next Monday,

  
I'm doing something
a little more glamorous.

  
What's that?

  
Night cashier at a cafeteria.

  
I don't mean how you make money.
I mean, what are you interested in?

  
Honey, if I had the answer to that one,

  
I bet I'd bore us both to death
in half an hour.

  
Thank God
that's over.

  
So much for the debut
of the Laurel Players.

  
And she was very disappointing.

  
Frank! Very nice, Frank!
- Thanks so much, Mrs Givings.

  
I can't tell you how much we enjoyed it.
You have a very talented wife.

  
I'll pass it along.

  
Frank!
- Hi!

  
She's in there.
I'm about ready for that drink.

  
Couple of minutes.

  
April? Sweetheart?

  
Hi.
- Hi.

  
You about ready to leave?
- Yeah. Yeah.

  
I've just got to get this makeup off.

  
Well, I guess it wasn't a triumph
or anything, was it?

  
I guess not. I'll be ready in a minute.
- Take your time.

  
Listen, will you do me a favour?

  
Milly and Shep wanted us
to go out with them after.

  
Will you say we can't? Say it's because
of the babysitter or something.

  
Well, the thing is,
I already said that we could.

  
I mean, I just saw them
and I said that we would.

  
Then would you mind going out again
and saying you were mistaken?

  
That should be simple enough.

  
Don't you think
that's a little bit rude, April?

  
Then I'll tell them myself.
- Okay. Okay. Take it easy.

  
All right? I'll tell them.

  
I mean it, baby.
You were the only person in that play.

  
Thank you.

  
We shouldn't have let you get
mixed up in the damned thing, is all.

  
All right.

  
What a bunch of amateurs. I mean,
you've studied, for Christ's sake.

  
Could we stop talking about it now?

  
Sure.

  
I just don't want you
feeling bad about it, that's all.

  
Because it's not worth it, you know.

  
It's bad enough having to live out
here amongst these people...

  
What'd you say?
- I said yes. All right, Frank.

  
Could you just stop talking about it now
before you drive me crazy, please?

  
What are you doing?

  
April, sweetheart,
let's talk about this, okay?

  
No, Frank, please don't do that.
- Come on, now.

  
Don't touch me.
- April...

  
Just leave me alone.

  
Okay. Okay.

  
It strikes me that there's a considerable
amount of bullshit going on here.

  
And there's just a few things
that I'd like to clear up. All right?

  
Number one, it's not my fault
that the play was lousy. Okay?

  
Number two,
it sure as hell isn't my fault

  
that you didn't turn out to be an actress,

  
and the sooner you get over
that little piece of soap opera,

  
the better off we're both going to be.

  
Number three,
I don't happen to fit the role

  
of dumb, insensitive suburban husband.

  
You've been trying to lay that crap
on me ever since we moved out here.

  
And I'm damned if I'll wear it.

  
Number four... April? April!

  
April.

  
What the hell are you doing?
Get back in the car.

  
No. I will in a minute.
Just let me stand here for a second.

  
God damn it!

  
April, can you please just get back
in the car and talk about this

  
instead of running all over Route 12?

  
Haven't I made it clear I don't
particularly want to talk about it?

  
Okay. I mean, Jesus,
I'm trying to be nice

  
about this thing here, for God's sake.

  
How kind of you.
How terribly, terribly kind of you.

  
Wait a minute. I don't deserve this.

  
You're always so wonderfully definite

  
on the subject of what you do
and don't deserve.

  
Wait a minute! Wait a goddamn... April!
Now you listen to me.

  
This is one time
you're not going to get away

  
with twisting everything that I say, April.

  
This just happens to be
one goddamn time

  
I know I'm not in the wrong here.

  
Christ, I wish
you'd stayed home tonight.

  
You know what you are
when you're like this, April?

  
You're sick. I really mean that.

  
You're sick! What?
- And do you know what you are?

  
You're disgusting.
- Oh, yeah?

  
You don't fool me, Frank.

  
Just because you've got me safely
in this little trap,

  
you think you can bully me into feeling
whatever you want me to feel!

  
You in a trap? You in a trap?
- Yes! Yes! Me, Frank!

  
Jesus Christ, don't make me laugh!
- Me!

  
You pathetic, self-deluded little boy.
Look at you!

  
Look at you and tell me, how by any
stretch of the imagination

  
you can call yourself a man?

  
Damn it!

  
Jesus Christ!

  
Don't look at me like that, April.
- Could we please go home now?

  
Fifteenth floor.

  
I'm going to need your help
this morning, Old Scout.

  
For the next few hours, you're to warn
me of Bandy's every approach

  
and you may need to shield me
from public view

  
in the likely event I void my stomach.

  
It's that bad.

  
Good morning, Jack.

  
Nothing good about it, I assure you.

  
Of course, I knew the moment
you stepped off the train

  
what you were looking for.

  
A small remodelled barn,
or a carriage house.

  
And I just hate to be
the one to tell you that sort of thing

  
just isn't available any more.

  
But I don't want you to despair.

  
There is one place up here
I want to show you.

  
Now, of course, it isn't very desirable
at this end.

  
As you can see, Crawford Road
is mostly these little cinder-blocky,

  
pick-up trucky places,
plumbers, carpenters,

  
little local people of that sort.

  
But eventually...

  
Eventually it leads up to Revolutionary
Road, which is much nicer.

  
Now, the place I want to show you

  
is a sweet little house
and a sweet little setting.

  
Simple, clean lines, good lawns,
marvellous for children.

  
It's just around this next curve.

  
Now, you'll see it. There.
See the little white one? Sweet, isn't it?

  
The perky way it sits there on
its little slope? Charming, isn't it?

  
Oh, yes.

  
You wanted to see me?

  
Came for you from Toledo this morning.
This is the third one this month.

  
Sorry. I thought I'd taken care of...

  
I'm not prepared to have this
conversation again, Frank.

  
You understand?
- I was literally just getting into...

  
These folks in the provinces look up
to us. We need to be efficient.

  
We can't have this
kind of back and forth, and so forth.

  
It's just not efficient. Am I right?
- Yes.

  
What was that about?
- Toledo.

  
Branch manager wants
a revised brochure

  
for the conference on the Knox 500.

  
"It's just not efficient. Am I right?
Am I right? Am I right?"

  
Sounds like a goodie.

  
For God's sake. I don't even know what
the Knox 500 does. Do you?

  
Don't insult me.

  
If you'll look in the inactive file
under SP 1109,

  
you'll find copies of all the stuff we sent
to the agency,

  
that way we can trace the thing back
to its original sources.

  
Listen, I hope you weren't planning
on having an early lunch.

  
No. I'm not really hungry.

  
Good. I'll check on you later then.
All right?

  
Okay.
- Okay.

  
You know something, Maureen?
You're lucky you met me.

  
How's that?

  
I think I can show you the ropes,
you know.

  
There's a certain art to survival at Knox.
Really. Let me show you what I mean.

  
Waiter. Bring me the telephone,
would you? And two more martinis.

  
Wow.

  
Klondike 5-55-66, please.

  
Hello, Mrs Jorgensen?
Frank Wheeler here. Yes.

  
I just wanted to let you know
that I've had to send Maureen Grube

  
down to Visual Aids for me.

  
I'll probably need her
the rest of the afternoon. Yes.

  
You, too. Take care now.

  
I never even heard of Visual Aids.
- That's because it doesn't exist.

  
Hi, Helen. Come on in.

  
I can't stay a minute.

  
I just wanted to bring
these sedum plantings

  
for that messy patch
down by the foot of the drive.

  
It's like the European houseleek,

  
only these have the most marvellous
little yellow blossoms.

  
Now, all it wants for the first few days

  
is just a tiny dollop of water,
and then you'll find it absolutely thrives.

  
Well, thank you, Helen.
That's so kind of you.

  
Would you like some coffee?

  
Is there something
I can do for you, Helen?

  
I almost forgot.

  
There is one small favour
I would like to ask.

  
It's about... It's about my son, John.
He's been in the hospital.

  
I'm sorry. Is everything all right?

  
Well, actually, just for the time being,
he's in Pleasant Brook. Psychiatric.

  
Oh, I see.
- Well, it's nothing serious.

  
He just got a little run down. Things can
just get the better of us sometimes.

  
Don't you agree?
- Yes. Of course.

  
It's a marvellous facility

  
and the treatments
seem to be doing wonders for him.

  
Anyway, they said getting him out
for an afternoon

  
might do him a little bit of good.

  
I think he finds my friends
a little conventional, quite frankly.

  
I mean, he's travelled.
He has a Ph.D. in mathematics.

  
I suppose you could say
he's an intellectual.

  
It would do him a world of good
to meet a young couple like you.

  
Well, we'd love to meet him.

  
Really?
- Yes.

  
We'd love to.

  
Thank you, dear.

  
Thank you.

  
Well, I must be off.

  
I remember the first day
you came off the train.

  
You weren't like my other clients.
You were different.

  
You just seemed special.

  
Of course, you still are.

  
Remember, just a dollop. I must scoot.
Toodle-oo.

  
Bye.

  
I think you got me a little drunk.

  
You know what today is?

  
Monday?

  
It's my birthday. I'm 30 years old today.

  
Happy birthday!
- Thank you.

  
What was the name of that department
you made up again?

  
Visual Aids.

  
What a joke.

  
What a joke. Oh, my.

  
You want to hear a real joke?
- Yes.

  
My old man worked at Knox.
- Yeah?

  
He was a salesman in Yonkers.

  
Once a year he used to take me
into the city for lunch.

  
It was supposed to be a very special,
life-advice sort of occasion.

  
Nice.
- No. Not really.

  
I used to sit there and think,

  
"I hope to Christ I don't end up like you."

  
Now, here I am,
a 30-year-old Knox man.

  
Can you beat that?

  
I think I kind of lost you...

  
Your father worked for Knox?

  
I'm sorry, everything's just kind of
going out of focus.

  
Why don't we get some air,
you and me?

  
Is this you?

  
Yeah.

  
You been to Paris?
- I've never really been anywhere.

  
Maybe I'll take you with me then.

  
I'm going back the first chance I get,
I tell you.

  
People are alive there. Not like here.

  
All I know, April, is I want to feel things.

  
Really feel them, you know.

  
How's that for an ambition?

  
Frank Wheeler? I think you're the most
interesting person I've ever met.

  
I guess this wasn't what you had in mind
when you went to work this morning?

  
No. It certainly wasn't.

  
Do you have a cigarette, Frank?

  
Yeah, sure.

  
There you go.

  
Can I get you a drink or anything?

  
No thanks, Maureen. Actually, it's...

  
It's getting kind of late.
I guess I'd better be cutting out.

  
Gee, that's right.
Did you miss your train?

  
That's all right, I'll catch the next one.

  
Listen, you were swell.

  
Take care now.

  
Frank.
- Why are you all dressed up?

  
First of all, I missed you all day
and I want to say I'm sorry.

  
I'm sorry for the way I've been
since the play.

  
I'm sorry for everything, and I love you.

  
The rest can wait.

  
Now, you just wait here
till I call you. Okay?

  
Okay.

  
All right, Frank. You can come in now.

  
Happy birthday to you

  
Happy birthday to you

  
Happy birthday, dear Daddy

  
Happy birthday to you

  
Happy birthday, darling.

  
I love you, Daddy.
- I love you, too.

  
Frank.

  
Frank. I have had
the most wonderful idea.

  
I've been thinking about it all day.
- Baby, what's all this about?

  
Do you know how much money
we have saved?

  
Enough to live on for six months
without you earning another dime.

  
And with the money we could get from
the house and the car, longer than that.

  
"What we could get for the house"?

  
Sweetheart, what are you talking about?
Where are we going to live?

  
Paris.

  
What?

  
You always said it was the only place
you'd ever been

  
that you wanted to go back to,
the only place that was worth living.

  
So why don't we go there?

  
You're serious?
- Yes. What's stopping us?

  
What's stopping us? Well, I can think
of a number of different things.

  
For example, what kind of a job
could I possibly get?

  
You won't be getting any
kind of a job, because I will.

  
Oh, right, right.

  
Don't laugh at me. Listen a minute.

  
Do you know what they pay
for secretarial positions

  
in government agencies in Europe?
- No, I don't.

  
Listen, Frank, I'm serious about this.
Do you think I'm kidding or something?

  
Okay, okay.
I just have a couple of questions, is all.

  
For one thing, what exactly
am I supposed to be doing

  
while you're out earning all this money?

  
Don't you see? That's the whole idea.

  
You'll be doing what you should've
been allowed to do seven years ago.

  
You'll have time.

  
For the first time in your life
you'll have time to find out

  
what it is that you actually want to do.

  
And when you figure it out,

  
you'll have the time and the freedom
to start doing it.

  
Sweetheart, it's just
not very realistic, is all.

  
No, Frank. This is what's unrealistic.

  
It's unrealistic for a man
with a fine mind to go on working

  
year after year at a job he can't stand,

  
coming home to a place he can't stand,

  
to a wife who's equally unable to stand
the same things.

  
Do you want to know the worst part?

  
Our whole existence here
is based on this great premise

  
that we're special and superior
to the whole thing.

  
But we're not.

  
We're just like everyone else.

  
Look at us. We've bought into
the same ridiculous delusion.

  
This idea that
you have to resign from life

  
and settle down the moment
you have children.

  
And we've been
punishing each other for it.

  
Listen, we decided to move out here.

  
No one forced me
to take the job at Knox.

  
I mean, whoever said I was meant
to be a big deal, anyway?

  
When I first met you, there was nothing
in the world you couldn't do or be.

  
When you first met me
I was a little wise guy

  
with a big mouth, that's all.

  
You were not.
How can you even say that?

  
Okay. Okay, so I'll have time.

  
And God knows that's appealing.
It's very appealing.

  
And everything you're saying
makes sense

  
if I had a definite talent,
if I were a writer or an artist.

  
No. But, Frank, listen. Listen to me.

  
It's what you are that's being stifled.

  
It's what you are that's being denied
and denied in this kind of life.

  
And what's that?

  
Don't you know?

  
You're the most beautiful
and wonderful thing in the world.

  
You're a man.

  
This is our chance, Frank.
This is our one chance.

  
Okay.

  
Okay?

  
Why not? Why the hell not?

  
Good morning, all.
- Morning, Frank.

  
Franklin. Good to see your shining face.

  
What's the news?
- Fellas, I'm moving to Paris.

  
Indeed. And I'm moving to Tangiers.

  
Intra-company letter to Toledo.

  
Attention B.F. Chalmers,
Branch Manager.

  
With regard to recent and repeated
correspondence,

  
this is to advise
that the matter has been

  
very satisfactorily taken in hand, period.

  
Paragraph. We wholly agree that
the existing brochure is unsuitable.

  
To this end, we have developed, quote,

  
"Speaking of Production Control."

  
Here you go, Mrs Wheeler. These are
the traveller's cheques you requested.

  
Yes.
- Your steamer reservations.

  
These I'll pass on
to the embassy for you.

  
Good luck.
- Thank you.

  
September. October at the outside.

  
I just happen to think
people are better off

  
doing some kind of work
they actually like.

  
Right. Right, yes.
- Absolutely, absolutely.

  
But, I mean, assuming there is
this true vocation waiting for you,

  
wouldn't you be just as likely
to discover it here as there?

  
I don't think it's possible
to discover anything

  
on the 15th floor of the Knox building,

  
and I don't think any of you do either.

  
Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!

  
Michael.
- Daddy, will you read us...

  
...all the way to here.

  
We have to take a big boat ride
across the sea to get there.

  
But I won't know anybody there.
- I know. I know. Neither will I.

  
But remember how you felt
when you started school?

  
And now look
how many friends you have.

  
You'll never guess
what they eat in Paris.

  
You'll never guess.
- What?

  
Slimy snails.
- Snails?

  
Slimy snails and icky frog's legs.

  
Milly, where are you, doll?

  
You better get changed,
they'll be here soon.

  
Is that what you're wearing?
- Don't you like it?

  
Yeah, yeah. You look great, doll.

  
Guess I better haul ass.

  
Hiya, gang.

  
What you watching?

  
Shep?

  
I was calling you and calling you.

  
Hi.

  
Here we go. Just a little something.

  
Those look great. I'm starving.
- April, I can't get over it,

  
you look like the cat that ate the canary.

  
Do you have something to tell us?
Just a little bit of news?

  
Well, actually, Milly, we... Well, we do
have some important news, yes.

  
I knew it.

  
Honey, why don't you tell them?
Go ahead.

  
We're going to Europe. To Paris.

  
To live.

  
What?
- When?

  
In September.
- But what for?

  
What for?
Well, because we've always wanted to.

  
Because the kids are young enough.
Because it's beautiful.

  
I mean, really.
Shep, you've been there, you tell her.

  
Yeah, it's a great city.
- Yeah.

  
When did you make this decision?

  
About a week ago?
It's hard to remember.

  
We just suddenly decided to go,
that's all.

  
About a week ago, you tell us now.
- We had to get used to the idea.

  
So, what's the deal, Frank?
You get a job over there, or what?

  
No, no. Not exactly.
- What do you mean, "Not exactly"?

  
Frank won't be getting
any kind of a job, because I will.

  
So what are you going to do, Frank?

  
I'm going to study.
And I'm going to read.

  
I suppose I'm going to finally figure out
what I want to do with my life, Shep.

  
While she supports you?

  
Yes. While she supports me.

  
In the beginning.

  
You wouldn't believe what they pay
for secretarial work

  
in those government agencies
over there.

  
NATO and ECA and those places.

  
And the cost of living
is dirt cheap, right?

  
It's so cheap.

  
The truth is we just need
something different.

  
We're not getting any younger and
we don't want life to just pass us by.

  
That's right.

  
Gee, it sounds wonderful, kids.

  
I mean it. It really sounds wonderful.

  
Thank you, Milly.
- Oh, Milly.

  
We'll certainly miss you both.
Won't we, sweetie? Golly.

  
Sure.
- We'll miss you, too.

  
Of course.
- True.

  
We should have a toast or something.
To Paris.

  
To Paris.
- To Paris.

  
To Paris.

  
Cheers.
- Cheers.

  
You know what I think?

  
What?

  
I think this whole plan
sounds a little immature.

  
Oh, God, I am so relieved.

  
Me, too.
I was thinking that the whole time.

  
I mean, what kind of man
is going to sit around

  
in his bathrobe all day picking his nose

  
while his wife goes out and works?
- I don't know, Shep.

  
I just don't know.

  
Why are you crying?

  
What's the matter?

  
It's nothing. I'm just so relieved.

  
Shep.

  
Don't cry. Please. It's all right.
Everything's going to be all right.

  
My God, their faces! Oh, God.

  
Oh, God!

  
You know what this is like,
April, honestly?

  
Just talking like this?

  
The whole idea of going off
to Europe this way?

  
This is the way I felt going up to the line
the first time, in the war.

  
I mean, I was probably
just as scared as everyone else,

  
but inside I never felt better.

  
I felt alive. I felt full of blood. I felt...

  
Everything just...
Everything seemed more real.

  
The guys in their uniforms.

  
The snow on the fields, the trees.
And all of us just walking.

  
I mean, I was scared, of course.

  
But I just kept thinking,
"This is it, you know. This is the truth."

  
I felt that way once, too.

  
When?

  
The first time you made love to me.

  
April.

  
Frank.

  
What's up?
- Bart Pollock's here.

  
He's in Bandy's office.

  
Big deal, huh?

  
Looks like he wants to talk to you.

  
Hey, keep my name out of it.

  
Frank. Good to see you.
You know Bart Pollock?

  
Well, we've never met, but of course...
- Good to know you, Frank.

  
"Speaking of Production Control"?

  
Frank, this is a crackerjack.

  
They are tickled to death in Toledo.

  
Really?

  
So, this guy Pollock was perfect
presidential material in the worst sense.

  
A million dollar smile and about three
pounds of muscle between the ears.

  
April, you should have heard this guy.

  
"Frank, this is a crackerjack."
What a horse's ass.

  
Wish I'd seen his face
when you told him you were leaving.

  
Yeah.

  
Here they come.

  
Sorry to be late.
- You're not late.

  
The traffic was terrible.
- Thank you. You didn't have to do that.

  
Good to see you.
- Wasn't it terrible, Howard?

  
Well, Route 12.

  
By the time they finish
that stretch of road,

  
they'll have to start all over again, right?

  
And you must be John?
- Say hello, John.

  
Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.

  
Where are your darling children?
- They're at a birthday party.

  
Sorry they couldn't be here.
- Don't worry.

  
If I had a certified lunatic
coming around my house,

  
I'd probably get the kids
out of the way, too.

  
Look at all this food. You didn't
have to go to any trouble for us.

  
It's just some sandwiches.

  
John, would you like a sandwich?

  
Helen's been talking it up
about you people for months.

  
The nice young Wheelers
on Revolutionary Road,

  
the nice young Revolutionaries
on Wheeler Road.

  
Would anyone like some sherry?
- Please don't bother, Frank.

  
I'd like some sherry.

  
And I'll drink Helen's, too,
if she doesn't beat me to it.

  
But, hey, you got a high-ball glass?

  
Put a couple-three ice cubes in it,
pour it up to the brim.

  
That's the way I like it.
- I think I can handle that.

  
This egg salad is delicious, April.
You must tell me how you fix it.

  
You a lawyer, Frank?
- No. No, I'm not.

  
I could use a lawyer.

  
John, let's not get started again
about the lawyer.

  
Pop, couldn't you just sit there

  
and eat your wonderful egg salad
and quit horning in?

  
See, I've got a good
many questions to ask

  
and I'm willing to pay for the answers.

  
Now, I don't need to be told that a man
who goes after his mother

  
with a coffee table is putting himself in
a weak position legally, that's obvious.

  
John, come and have a look
out this fabulous picture window.

  
If he hits her with it and kills her,
that's a criminal case.

  
Oh, look, the sun's coming out!
- lf all he does is break the coffee table

  
and give her
a certain amount of aggravation

  
and she decides to
go to court over it, that's a civil case.

  
Maybe we'll have a rainbow.
John, come have a look.

  
Ma, how about doing everybody
a favour? How about shutting up!

  
Settle down, now.

  
Maybe I can look into it, recommend
someone. What do you say?

  
So, what do you do, Frank?

  
I work at Knox Business Machines,
actually.

  
You design the machines?

  
Nope.
- Make them, sell them, repair them?

  
All these questions.
- I help sell them, I guess.

  
I work in the office. Actually, it's...

  
Well, it's sort of a stupid job, really.

  
There's nothing interesting
about it at all.

  
What do you do it for then?

  
Maybe Frank doesn't like
being questioned.

  
Okay, okay, okay.
I know it's none of my business.

  
And besides, I know the answer.

  
You want to play house,
you got to have a job.

  
You want to play very nice house,
very sweet house,

  
then you've got to have
a job you don't like.

  
Anyone comes along and says,
"What do you do it for?"

  
He's probably on a four-hour pass
from the state funny farm.

  
All agreed? Ma?
- Sorry, Frank.

  
Don't be. Don't be. Actually, John,
I agree with everything you just said.

  
We both do. That's why I'm quitting
the job in the fall. We're taking off.

  
We're moving to Paris.

  
Did you know about this, Ma?

  
How do you feel about that, Ma?
The nice young Wheelers...

  
The nice young Wheelers are taking off.

  
John, please.
- Steady down, Son.

  
John. John. How about some fresh air?
What do you say?

  
If that's all right with you?

  
I don't know if it's such a good idea...
- lf John wants to, I don't see the harm.

  
Good.
- After you.

  
I hear you're a mathematician.
- You hear wrong. It's all gone now.

  
All gone?

  
You know what
electrical shock treatments are?

  
Yes. Yes, I do.

  
I've had 37.

  
Supposed to jolt out
the emotional problems.

  
Just jolted out the mathematics.
- How awful.

  
"How awful"? Why,
because mathematics is so interesting?

  
No. Because the shocks
must be awful and,

  
well, because it's awful not to be able
to do what it is that you want to do.

  
I think mathematics must be dull.

  
I like your girl, Frank.

  
Me, too.

  
So, what do a couple of people like you
have to run away from?

  
We're not running.
- So what's in Paris?

  
A different way of life.
- Maybe we are running.

  
We're running from the hopeless
emptiness of the whole life here, right?

  
The hopeless emptiness?

  
Now you've said it. Plenty of people
are on to the emptiness,

  
but it takes real guts
to see the hopelessness.

  
Wow.

  
You know, he's the first person

  
who seemed to know
what we were talking about.

  
Yeah. That's true, isn't it?
Maybe we are just as crazy as he is.

  
If being crazy means
living life as if it matters,

  
then I don't care
if we are completely insane.

  
Do you?

  
No.

  
I love you so much.

  
Tell you something, Frank.
That Ted Bandy, nice guy.

  
Real sport.

  
Good enough department head and all.

  
But I'm a little sore at him
for the way he's kept you

  
under a bushel all these years.

  
This place okay for you?
- It's just fine, sir. Just fine.

  
One thing interests me, Frank,
and one thing only.

  
Selling the electronic computer
to the American businessman.

  
That's why I'm assembling a team.
Men like you.

  
Not your average salesmen.

  
It'll mean more money,

  
and, I got to be honest,
maybe more of a time commitment.

  
But you'll be a part of
something exciting, Wheeler.

  
Computers.

  
Well, sir, it sounds exciting.

  
Bart.
- Bart.

  
Bart, let me ask you a question.

  
Do you happen to remember
an Earl Wheeler? Out of Yonkers?

  
Can't say that I do. Relation of yours?
- My father.

  
He worked as a salesman for Knox
for almost 20 years.

  
Earl Wheeler.

  
Earl Wheeler.

  
There's no reason you'd remember him.

  
Well, I'm sure he was a good man.

  
Listen, Bart, there's something
I should have mentioned earlier.

  
I'm going to be leaving the firm
in the fall.

  
Another outfit?
- No, no, it's not another outfit.

  
Now, look, Frank.
Is it a question of money?

  
Because if it is, there's no reason

  
we can't get together on a satisfactory...

  
Well, I sure appreciate that,
but no, it's not the money.

  
It's... Well, it's more of a personal thing.

  
I hope you understand.

  
A personal thing?

  
I see.

  
Frank, let me tell you something
my father told me.

  
A man only gets
a couple of chances in life.

  
If he doesn't grab them by the balls,

  
it won't be long before
he's sitting around wondering

  
how he got to be second rate.

  
I guess so.

  
So, do me a favour. Sleep on it.

  
Discuss it with your wife.

  
Because let's be honest,
where the hell would any of us be

  
without our wives, anyway?

  
And, Frank, in all sincerity,
if you do decide to join us,

  
I believe it'll be a thing
you'll never regret.

  
And I believe something else, too.

  
I believe it'd be a fine memorial
to your dad.

  
Think about it, Frank.
Really think about it.

  
Knowing what you've got, comma,

  
knowing what you need, comma,

  
knowing what you can do without, dash.

  
That's inventory control.

  
Knowing what you've got, comma,

  
knowing what you need, comma,

  
knowing what you can do without, dash.

  
That's inventory control.

  
Hi, Frank.

  
Working late?

  
Yeah. I got to dig myself out here.

  
I heard you were getting promoted.

  
Big shot.

  
I guess your dad would have been
real proud, huh?

  
Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.

  
So maybe I should take you
for a drink or something?

  
You know, celebrate.

  
Yeah, maybe.

  
I'll just get my things.

  
I'm going to bring my doll carriage

  
and my three Easter rabbits
and my giraffe

  
and all my dolls and my doll house
and my crayons...

  
I thought maybe
we'd give the doll house to Madeline.

  
I don't want to give the doll house
to Madeline.

  
But I already explained to you,

  
the big things
are going to be hard to pack.

  
But she can have my bear,

  
and my three Easter rabbits.
- No! Just the big things.

  
Look. Wouldn't you rather go outside
and play with Michael?

  
I don't feel like it.
- You've been inside all day.

  
I don't feel like it.

  
Well, I don't feel like
explaining everything 15 times

  
to somebody who's too bored and silly
to listen!

  
All right, April. What's the matter?
- Nothing.

  
I don't believe you.
Did something happen this morning?

  
Nothing happened today that I haven't
known about for days and days.

  
What?

  
Oh, God, Frank,
please don't look so dense.

  
You mean you haven't guessed
or anything?

  
April, what are you talking about?

  
I'm pregnant, that's all.

  
What?

  
Frank, I meant to wait
till the kids were in bed to tell you,

  
but I just...
Well, I've been pretty sure all week

  
and today I went to the doctor,

  
and now I can't even pretend
it's not true.

  
How long?
- Ten weeks.

  
Ten weeks. Ten weeks?
And you wait until now to tell me?

  
I thought... I don't know what I thought.
I'm sorry, Frank. I'm so sorry.

  
I know. I know you are. All right?

  
There are things we can do.

  
We don't have to let this stop us
from going, do we?

  
Remember that girl at school
I told you about?

  
As long as we take care of it
before 12 weeks, it's fine.

  
We've got to be together in this, Frank.

  
Well, we'll figure it out. All right?

  
Come here.

  
Twelve weeks.
So we have time to decide, right?

  
Right.

  
I love you.

  
I love you, too.

  
So, Frank, how's work?
They gonna survive without you?

  
Actually, something kind of funny
happened the other day.

  
I did some dumb little piece of work
to get myself off the hook with Bandy,

  
and suddenly,
I'm the bright young man.

  
That's always the way, ain't it?
- It's incredible.

  
I mean, I knocked this thing off
in a couple of minutes

  
and now they want me to join
their team of "specialist" salesmen.

  
Morons.

  
Well, it would be funny
if they weren't offering

  
so much damn money.

  
So, are you tempted?

  
Well, it's just kind of ironic,
don't you think?

  
I thought you turned the job down.

  
Not yet.

  
It's just an option, that's all.

  
With the kind of money they're talking,
things could be different for us here.

  
We could get a better place. Travel.

  
The point is, we could be happy here,
at least for a little while.

  
It is possible that Parisians
aren't the only ones

  
capable of leading
interesting lives, April.

  
So you've made up your mind?

  
No. No. Like I said, it's just an option.
That's all.

  
And supposing you're right.

  
You make all this money
and we have this interesting life here.

  
Won't you still be wasting your life
toiling away at a job you find ridiculous?

  
Maybe we let that be my business,
all right?

  
Your business?

  
You know what? It's too hot for this.
I'm going to go get wet.

  
You don't want to go, do you?
- Come on, April. Of course, I do.

  
No, you don't.
Because you've never tried at anything.

  
And if you don't try at anything,
you can't fail.

  
What the hell do you mean I don't try?

  
I support you, don't I?
I pay for this house.

  
I work 10 hours a day
at a job I can't stand.

  
You don't have to.
- Bullshit!

  
Look, I'm not happy about it.

  
But I have the backbone not to run away
from my responsibilities.

  
It takes backbone
to lead the life you want, Frank.

  
Where are you going?

  
If it's all right with you, April,
I'm gonna go use the bathroom. Okay?

  
What the hell are you going to do
with this?

  
And what do you think
you're going to do?

  
You're going to stop me?
- You're damn right I am!

  
Go ahead and try.

  
Listen to me. You do this, April,
you do this and I swear to God I'll...

  
You'll what? You'll leave me?
Is that a threat or a promise?

  
When did you buy this, April?

  
How long have you had this?
I want to know!

  
Jesus Christ.

  
You really are being melodramatic
about this whole thing.

  
As long as it's done
in the first 12 weeks, it's perfectly safe.

  
That's now, April! Don't I get a say?
- Of course you do!

  
It would be for you, Frank.
Don't you see?

  
So you can have time,
just like we talked about.

  
How can it be for me
when the thought of it

  
makes my stomach turn over,
for God's sake?

  
Then it's for me.

  
Tell me we can have the baby
in Paris, Frank.

  
Tell me we can have a different life.
But don't make me stay here. Please.

  
We can't have the baby in Paris.
- Why not?

  
I don't need everything we have here.
I don't care where we live.

  
I mean, who made these rules, anyway?

  
Look, the only reason we moved
out here was because I got pregnant.

  
Then we had another child to prove
the first one wasn't a mistake.

  
I mean, how long does it go on?

  
Frank.
Do you actually want another child?

  
Well, do you? Come on, tell me.

  
Tell me the truth, Frank.
Remember that?

  
We used to live by it.

  
And you know what's so good
about the truth?

  
Everyone knows what it is,
however long they've lived without it.

  
No one forgets the truth, Frank.
They just get better at lying.

  
So tell me,
do you really want another child?

  
All I know is what I feel.

  
And anyone else in their right mind
would feel the same way, April.

  
But I've had two children.
Doesn't that count in my favour?

  
Christ, April!
The fact that you even put it that way!

  
You make it seem as if having children
is some sort of a goddamn punishment.

  
I love my children, Frank.

  
And you're sure about that, huh?

  
What the hell
is that supposed to mean?

  
April, you just said our daughter
was a mistake.

  
How do I know you didn't try
to get rid of her,

  
or Michael for that matter?
- No.

  
How do I know you didn't try to flush
our entire fucking family

  
down the toilet?
- No, that's not true. Of course I didn't.

  
But how do I know, April?

  
Stop. Please just stop, Frank.

  
April, a normal woman,
a normal sane mother

  
doesn't buy a piece of rubber tubing
to give herself an abortion

  
so she can live out
some kind of a goddamn fantasy.

  
Look, all I'm saying is you don't seem
entirely rational about this thing.

  
And I think it's about time
we found somebody

  
to help make some sense of your life.

  
And the new job's going to
pay for that, too?

  
April, if you need a shrink,
it will be paid for.

  
Obviously.

  
Okay. I guess there isn't much more
to say then, is there?

  
So I guess Paris
was a pretty childish idea, huh?

  
I guess maybe it was.

  
April, we can be happy here.

  
I can make you happy here.

  
We've had a great couple of months.
It doesn't need to end.

  
We're going to be okay. I promise.

  
I hope so, Frank.

  
I really hope so.

  
Thank you for waiting.
Mr Pollock will see you now.

  
Thanks so much.

  
Foiled by faulty contraception.

  
I can't say that I'm sorry.

  
You'd have been sorely missed
in the old cubicle, I can tell you that.

  
Wouldn't have been the same
without you.

  
Besides... Well...

  
What?

  
The plan always seemed
a touch unrealistic, don't you think?

  
I suppose
it's none of my business, really.

  
No. No. I suppose it isn't.

  
Well...

  
They'll be celebrating
in the secretarial pool.

  
Hey! Remember the first time
you brought us here?

  
Absolutely.

  
You said it takes a special kind of taste
to enjoy Vito's Log Cabin.

  
It's so awful, it's kind of nice.

  
Look at me. I'm just so happy.
Our little gang's back together again.

  
Hey, Europe's not going anywhere.
- That's right.

  
April, honey, how about a dance?

  
Not right now. Maybe later.

  
I'll dance.
- Okay.

  
Guess she's still pretty blue
about Paris, huh?

  
Think she'll be okay?

  
Sure. Give us girls a couple of days
and we can get over anything.

  
Right.

  
Frank.

  
Frank.

  
Frank.

  
Frank.

  
Are you okay? Are you okay? Milly?

  
I'm so sorry.

  
Excuse me.

  
That's just great.

  
How the hell
are we supposed to get out now?

  
Oh, boy.

  
Don't worry about it, Shep.
We can wait. Really.

  
What about the sitter?

  
Listen, why don't you drive Milly home,
then go home yourself.

  
That takes care of both sitters.
Then Shep can take me home later.

  
Yeah, it's fine by me.
- Okay, then.

  
You... You'll be all right?
- Sure.

  
Okay.

  
Good night.
- Good night.

  
Feel better.

  
I'm sorry you're not
going away any more.

  
I know it was important to you.

  
Don't take this wrong,
but I've been there.

  
They don't have so much
we don't have here.

  
It didn't have to be Paris.

  
You just wanted out, huh?

  
I wanted in.

  
I just wanted us to live again.

  
For years,
I thought we shared this secret.

  
That we would be
wonderful in the world.

  
I didn't exactly know how, but just...

  
Just the possibility kept me hoping.

  
How pathetic is that?

  
So stupid.

  
To put all your hopes in a promise
that was never made?

  
See, Frank knows.
He knows what he wants.

  
He's found his place. He's just fine.

  
Married, two kids.

  
It should be enough.

  
It is for him.

  
And he's right.

  
We were never special or destined
or anything at all.

  
Yes, you are.

  
You're...

  
You're the Wheelers.

  
You're a terrific couple.
Everybody says so.

  
I saw a whole other future.

  
I can't stop seeing it.

  
Can't leave,

  
can't stay.

  
No damn use to anyone.

  
Come on.

  
Let's do it.

  
Let me take you somewhere.

  
No. Just do it here. Now.

  
April.

  
This is what I've always wanted.

  
I love you.

  
Don't say that.

  
No. I mean it, I love you.

  
Please, just be quiet for a minute.

  
Then you can take me home.

  
It's beautiful out.

  
Yes, it is.

  
You know what today is?

  
It's 12 weeks.
- That's right.

  
Look, this has been
kind of a crazy summer.

  
We've both been under a strain.

  
I mean, I understand why you're upset.

  
You know I'm not sleeping with you,
and you want to know why.

  
Well, I'm sorry, Frank,
but I really don't feel like talking about it.

  
All right.
Then what should we talk about, April?

  
Would it be all right
if we didn't talk about anything?

  
I mean, can't we just take each day
as it comes, and do the best we can,

  
and not feel like we have to talk
about everything all the time?

  
I don't think I'm suggesting that
we talk about everything all the time.

  
Look, my point is we've both been
under a strain

  
and we ought to be helping each other
out as much as we can right now.

  
I mean, God knows my own behaviour
has been pretty weird lately.

  
As a matter of fact, there is something
I'd like to tell you about.

  
I've been with a girl a few times,
in the city.

  
A girl I hardly even know.

  
It was nothing to me,

  
but it's over now, really over.

  
And if I weren't sure of that, I guess
I could never have told you about it.

  
Why did you?

  
Baby, I don't know.

  
I think it's a simple case
of wanting to be a man again

  
after all that abortion business.

  
Some kind of neurotic,
irrational need to prove something.

  
No. I don't mean
why did you have the girl.

  
I mean, why did you tell me about it?

  
What do you mean?
- I mean, what's the point?

  
Is it supposed to make me jealous
or something?

  
Is it supposed to make me
fall in love with you,

  
or back into bed with you, or what?

  
I mean,
what would you like me to say, Frank?

  
Why don't you say what you feel, April?

  
I don't feel anything.

  
In other words, you don't care what I do
or who I fuck or anything?

  
No, I guess that's right. I don't.

  
Fuck who you like.

  
April, don't you understand
that I want you to care?

  
I know. I know you do.

  
And I suppose I would if I loved you.

  
But I don't think I do any more.
And I only just figured that out.

  
And that's why I'd just as soon
not do any talking right now.

  
Don't give me that shit, April.
Don't give me that.

  
You know goddamn well you love me.
- You think so?

  
You know goddamn well!

  
Anyone home?

  
I'm sorry dinner's late.
Would anyone like another drink?

  
Don't worry.
It's nice to just sit a bit and socialise.

  
You shouldn't have gone to
all this trouble.

  
With all your packing and whatnot.

  
I imagine you have a lot on your plate.
No pun intended.

  
Actually, there's been
a change of plans.

  
I thought maybe it was obvious.

  
April here is pregnant.

  
Congratulations.
- Oh, April!

  
I can't tell you how pleased I am!

  
But I expect you'll be needing
a bigger house now, won't you?

  
Hold it a second, Ma.
Hold on a second, Ma.

  
I don't get this.
I mean, what's so obvious about it?

  
I mean, okay, she's pregnant, so what?
Don't people have babies in Europe?

  
John...
- Suppose we just say

  
that people anywhere
aren't very well advised to have babies

  
unless they can afford them.

  
Okay. Okay, it's a question of money.
Money's a good reason.

  
But it's hardly ever the real reason.

  
What's the real reason?
Wife talk you out of it or what?

  
Little woman decide she isn't
quite ready to quit playing house?

  
No, no, that's not it. I can tell.

  
She looks too tough
and adequate as hell.

  
Okay, then. It must've been you.
What happened?

  
John, please. You're being very rude.
- No, no. What happened, Frank?

  
You get cold feet?

  
You decide
you're better off here after all?

  
You figure it's more comfy

  
here in the old hopeless emptiness
after all, huh?

  
Oh, wow, that did it. Look at his face.

  
What's the matter, Wheeler?
Am I getting warm?

  
All right, Son. I think we'd better be...
- You know something?

  
I wouldn't be surprised
if he knocked her up on purpose

  
just so he could spend the rest of his
life hiding behind a maternity dress.

  
That way he'd never have to find out
what he's really made of.

  
Now look, I think that's just about
enough out of you.

  
I mean, who the hell
do you think you are?

  
You come in here and say

  
whatever crazy goddamn thing
comes into your head,

  
and I think it's about time somebody told
you to keep your goddamn mouth shut.

  
He's not well, Frank.
- Not well, my ass!

  
I don't give a damn
if he's sick or well or dead or alive,

  
he should keep his fucking opinions

  
in the fucking insane asylum
where they belong!

  
Let's go, Son.
- Come on, John.

  
Big man you got there, April.

  
Big family man.

  
I feel sorry for you.

  
Still, maybe you deserve each other.

  
I mean, the way you look right now,
I'm beginning to feel sorry for him, too.

  
You must give him a pretty bad time

  
if making babies is the only way
he can prove he's got a pair of balls.

  
You fucking...
- No! He's not well, Frank!

  
All right, John.
Let's get on out to the car now.

  
April, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

  
Oh, right. Sorry. Sorry! Sorry!

  
Ma, have I said
"I'm sorry" enough times?

  
Damn! I am sorry, too.

  
I bet I'm just about
the sorriest bastard I know.

  
But get right down to it, I don't have
a whole hell of a lot to be glad about.

  
Do I?

  
But, hey, you know what?

  
I am glad about one thing.

  
You want to know what I'm glad about?

  
I'm glad I'm not gonna be that kid.

  
Okay, okay, don't tell me.

  
Don't tell me, let me guess.

  
I made a disgusting spectacle
of myself, right?

  
Right.

  
And everything that man said
is true, right?

  
Is that what you're going to say?

  
Apparently I don't have to.

  
You're saying it for me.
- Well, you're wrong, April.

  
Really? Why am I wrong?
- Because the man is insane.

  
He's fucking insane! Do you know what
the definition of insanity is?

  
No. Do you?

  
Yes, it's the inability
to relate to another human being.

  
It's the inability to love.

  
April. April.

  
April! April!

  
The inability... The inability to love.

  
Frank. You really are a wonderful talker.

  
If black could be made into white
by talking,

  
you'd be the man for the job.

  
So now I'm crazy
because I don't love you. Right?

  
Is that the point?
- No. Wrong.

  
You're not crazy and you do love me.
That's the point, April.

  
But I don't. I hate you.

  
You were just some boy
who made me laugh at a party once

  
and now I loathe the sight of you.

  
In fact, if you come any closer,
if you touch me or anything,

  
I think I'll scream.

  
Come on. Stop this, April.

  
Fuck you, April!

  
Fuck you and all your hateful,
snotty little...

  
What're you going to do now?
Are you going to hit me?

  
To show me how much you love me?
- Don't worry, I can't be bothered!

  
You're not worth the trouble
it would take to hit you.

  
You're not worth the powder
it would take to blow you up.

  
You're an empty, empty,
hollow shell of a woman!

  
What the hell are you doing in my house
if you hate me so much?

  
Why the hell are you married to me?

  
What the hell are you doing
carrying my child?

  
I mean, why didn't you just get
rid of it when you had the chance?

  
Because listen to me.
Listen to me, I got news for you.

  
I wish to God that you had.

  
April!

  
April!

  
April!

  
April!

  
April!

  
April!

  
April!
- Stay away from me.

  
April, listen.
- Stay away from me.

  
Can't I even get away from you
in the fucking woods?

  
April, listen, I didn't mean that.

  
Honestly, I didn't mean what I said.
- Are you still talking?

  
Isn't there any way to stop your talking?

  
I need to think. Can't you see that?
I need to think.

  
Please come back to the house.
What're you doing out here, April?

  
Do you want me to scream again,
Frank?

  
Because I will! I mean it!

  
Okay. Okay.

  
Good morning.

  
Good morning.

  
Would you like
scrambled eggs or fried?

  
I don't know.

  
It doesn't really matter.
Scrambled, I guess, if it's easy.

  
Fine. I'll have scrambled, too.

  
It's kind of nice having breakfast
without the kids for a change, huh?

  
Yes.

  
I thought you'd probably want
a good breakfast today.

  
I mean, it's kind of an important day
for you, isn't it?

  
Isn't this the day you have
your conference with Pollock?

  
Yes. Yes, that's right.

  
Big deal.
- I imagine it is a pretty big deal.

  
For them, anyway.

  
What exactly do you think
you'll be doing in your new job?

  
You haven't really
told me much about it.

  
Haven't I?

  
Well, I think this whole thing
is about Knox getting ready

  
to buy up one of those
really big computers,

  
even bigger than the 500.

  
Didn't I tell you about that?
- No.

  
Why don't you tell me now?

  
Well,

  
you know, basically it's just a big,
fast adding machine.

  
Only, instead of mechanical parts,
you see,

  
you've got thousands
of individual vacuum tubes.

  
I see.

  
At least I think I see.

  
Yes, it's really kind of interesting,
isn't it?

  
Well, I don't know.

  
Yeah, I guess it is kind of interesting,
in a way.

  
You should value what you do, Frank.

  
You're obviously good at it.

  
Well, I guess
I'd better be getting started, huh?

  
Listen, though, April, the...

  
This was really nice.

  
I mean, it was a swell breakfast.
Really, I...

  
I don't know when I've ever had
a nicer breakfast.

  
Thank you. I enjoyed it, too.

  
Then you don't...
You don't hate me or anything?

  
No. No, of course I don't.

  
Have a good day.

  
Okay, then. So long.

  
Hello. Milly? Everything all right?

  
Well, no, I'm afraid I'm not feeling
any better. That's really why I called.

  
If it's not an inconvenience for you,
this evening would be great.

  
What?

  
Oh, no. No.
Not if they're outdoors playing.

  
No.

  
Don't call them in.

  
Just give them each a kiss for me,

  
and tell them I...

  
Tell them...

  
You know. All right. All right.
Thank you, Milly. Bye.

  
I think I need help.

  
115 Revolutionary Road.

  
Frank. They tell you what happened?
- Jesus Christ.

  
Shep, I didn't understand
half the things he told me.

  
He said the foetus was out
before they got her here.

  
And they had to operate to take out
the, what do you call it, the placenta?

  
And now she's still bleeding.

  
He said that she'd lost a lot of blood
before the ambulance came,

  
and now they're trying to stop it.

  
He said a whole lot of things
I didn't understand about capillaries...

  
He said that she's unconscious. Jesus.

  
Okay, Frank,
why don't you just take a seat?

  
What the hell do I want to sit down for,
for God's sake?

  
Okay, Frank. Just take it easy.
Take it easy.

  
Frank, have a cigarette.
- She did it to herself, Shep.

  
She did it to herself.

  
I'm gonna get you some coffee.

  
They were such wonderful people.
Weren't they, Shep?

  
It's just devastating. Poor April.

  
Thank you.

  
Frank lives in the city now.
Where is it that he works?

  
Bart Pollock Associates.
- Computers?

  
Interesting firm.

  
Have you seen him since?
- No. Not back here.

  
There are too many memories, I think.
Shep has seen him in the city.

  
Haven't you, sweetie?

  
Frank is just devoted to those kids.

  
Every spare moment he has,
he spends with them.

  
Excuse me.

  
You all right?

  
I don't want to talk
about the Wheelers any more.

  
Okay.

  
We don't have to.

  
We don't have to.

  
Daddy, Daddy, watch. Watch, Daddy.

  
I can't tell you how pleased I am

  
about the little Revolutionary Road
place, Howard.

  
And now whenever I drive past,
it gives me such a lift

  
to see it all perked up
and spanking clean again.

  
All the lights in all the windows.

  
And do you know? I was just thinking,
I've loved that little house for years.

  
And the Braces are the only really
suitable people I've ever found for it.

  
Really nice, congenial people, I mean.

  
Well, except for the Wheelers,
you mean.

  
I was very fond of the Wheelers.

  
They were a bit whimsical for my taste.
A bit neurotic.

  
I never stressed it, but they were often

  
very trying people
to deal with, in many ways.

  
And actually, the main reason
that the little house was so hard to sell

  
was because they let it depreciate
so dreadfully.

  
Warped window frames, wet cellar,
crayon marks all over the walls,

  
filthy smudges around the door knobs
and the fixtures...