CHILD'S VOICE OUTSIDE: Hey.
(PASSING MOTORBIKE)
ASSORTED VOICES: What you doing in the street?
I can't hear you. What?
He's taking pictures. Did you hear that?
What do you want a picture for? Huh?
- I'm a photographer. - A photographer?
(SUDDEN LOUD MUSIC)
(MUSIC STOPS)
Hey, he looks like a big photographer.
Wipe that smile off your face.
(PHONE RINGING)
Hey, you think you're a tough guy, right?
(HEAVY BREATHING)
Creep.
- For what? - My camera.
Your camera. Why?
You have a lot of fun with it.
Take our picture.
Be careful with his camera.
(PHONE RINGING)
Hey. Take my picture, will you, man?
- Hello. - Patsy, this is Lester.
- Hello, Lester. - I thought it only fair to tell you
I'm getting married.
I think that's a very good idea, Lester.
I won't do it if you don't think I should.
I want you very much to get married, Lester.
Can I come over tonight and talk to you about it?
- No, Lester. - Tomorrow night?
I have to get off now, Lester.
SHOUTING OUTSIDE: Come on! Do something!
- How about your camera now? - Stand there like a lump!
- Jesus Christ. What a fruit. - He's a fruit, man.
- Faggot. - Faggot.
Look at that son of a bitch! Look at him!
Look at him! He's a big fag! Get him! Fag! Go on! Get him, man!
- Come on, faggy. Come on. Do something. - How about your camera now?
Grab his camera. What is it, baby? Come on! Do something!
Get him! Oh! Oh!
What are you laughing at?
- What are you laughing at? - You think that's funny? Come on.
- You want more? - Come on. Do something.
You're gonna get worked over.
Come on, pal. We're gonna hurt your camera.
- We're gonna take your camera. - Come on!
- Yeah! Come on! - Talk to us, man. Talk!
- Hey, you guys. Stop it down there. - Come on!
Hey. I'm gonna call the police. Stop it. Hey!
Hey! Come on. Stand up and fight.
- Get him. - You're a big fag!
- You fruit! - Come on!
Pick him up! Pick him up!
(LOUD BUZZING)
(INTERMITTENT BUZZING)
(PHONE RINGING)
VOICE OUTSIDE: You're not a man, you're a faggot!
MAN'S VOICE: Police emergency. Sergeant Kershner. One moment.
(YELLING OUTSIDE)
(FLUCTUATING BUZZING)
Hey! Hey!
Who do you think you are? You're beating up on innocent people!
How do you expect anybody to sleep?
Let go of my purse! Come on! Ow!
Stop it! Hey! Give that back to me!
Stop it! Now, listen! Stop! Ow!
No!
You... you degenerates!
Stop! That's not funny!
No!
Ow! Stop that! Ow! No!
Let go! Stop it! Give me back my purse!
Come on.
Who do you think you are? What kind of a man are you? Huh?
I... I should have let them break your neck.
Now, look at me. Look at me. Listen.
What do you think... Are you a man or...
That was absolutely the most spineless...
Are you a man? I don't know what you are.
I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
You shouldn't have done that. They were getting tired. You got them mad.
- You shouldn't have. - Listen.
They were killing you!
You wa... Why didn't you help me?
You could have defended me. I defended you. Don't you think you should have at least tried?
People help each other all the time. Isn't that what life is all about?
I don't know why you want to make such a big thing out of it.
Those guys in the park, they said, "Hey, fat-face, what are you staring at?"
If I told them I wasn't staring at them, they would have beat me up for being a liar.
If I told them I was staring at them because I wanted to take their picture,
then they'd beat me up for being a cop.
So I told them I was staring at them because they looked familiar,
and they beat me up for being a fag!
There's no way of talking someone out of beating you up if that's what he wants to do.
And you... you just let them?
I want to do what I want to do, lady, not what they want me to do.
Listen, no... no one behaves like that. That... I...
I... I... I ought to break your neck.
You should be ashamed of yourself. Listen.
Are you really so down on people, or are you just being fashionable?
(WORDLESS SINGING)
These are beautiful. Really. Just beautiful.
It's sort of a collage effect, isn't it?
And they're all...
They're all...
- Hmm. What do you do for pleasure? - This.
Oh, I don't mean work. I mean, this is important, but...
I mean, if all you ever do is take pictures of...
you know, this sort of picture...
I mean, isn't that awfully limited?
For example, I do interiors.
Now, I like it. I even love it.
But I'd go bats if I had to go home and do interiors,
and go on my vacation and do interiors,
and interiors was all that was ever on my mind.
I mean, that's death. No wonder you're depressed.
I'm not depressed.
Hmm.
So...
this is it.
This is all that you do.
You don't ski?
Ski?
You don't play tennis?
Golf?
Ping-pong?
Checkers?
Oh, you must have some fun.
Fun.
Hello there.
Testing. One, two, three. Testing.
Talk to me. Sing. Do something.
(EXAGGERATED SNORING)
- You want to drive for a while? - I hate cars.
You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.
- Except have fun. - You'll get used to it.
Thank you.
Okay.
What do you mean you don't dance? You dance very well.
I didn't know this was dancing.
Admit it. You're having fun.
You're a terrific girl, Patsy. I don't know if you know that.
I think you were fantastic
on the tennis court this afternoon.
Admit it. You're having fun.
You're having the time of your life.
- Tonight. - Well, that's something.
This must be the first time in your life you're having the time of your life.
- Why not? - I don't feel like it.
Well, I didn't mean to force myself on you.
You're a terrific girl. I really mean that.
I'll tell you when I feel like it.
Do you know how I wake up every morning of my life?
With a smile on my face.
And for the rest of the day I come up against an unending series of...
of challenges to wipe that smile off my face.
The breather calls. Ex-boyfriends call to tell me they're getting married.
Someone tries to break into the apartment while I'm getting dressed.
There's a drunk asleep in the elevator.
Three minutes after I'm out in the street, my camel coat turns brown.
The subway stalls. A man standing next to me presses his body against mine.
The up elevator jams.
Rumours start buzzing around the office that we're about to be automated.
The down elevator jams.
The air on Lexington Avenue is... is purple. And all the taxis are off duty.
A man on the bus tries to pick me up. Another man follows me home.
I walk in the door, and the breather's on the phone.
Isn't that enough to wipe the smile off anybody's face?
Well, it doesn't wipe it off mine.
Because for every bad thing, there are two... no, four good things.
There are... there are friends and a wonderful job,
and tennis, travelling and skiing,
staying up all night to watch the sun rise,
flying your own airplane, horseback riding.
Alfred, I think I'm falling in love with you.
I said, "I think I'm falling in love with you."
Alfred, are you falling in love with me?
ALFRED: I don't know what love is!
- PATSY: Do you think I'm aggressive? - ALFRED: I don't mind.
- PATSY: Do you think I'm too aggressive? - ALFRED: I like it.
PATSY: Somebody has to be aggressive.
- PATSY: Do you like me? - ALFRED: I think you're terrific.
- Are you attracted to me? - Come on, Patsy.
PATSY: Do you want to make love to me?
ALFRED: Hey, you're pretty aggressive.
PATSY: Your life is in my hands.
ALFRED: I trust you.
Oh, Alfred, do you really?
- ALFRED: I nearly trust you. - PATSY: "Nearly"?
ALFRED: I nearly do. I really nearly do.
Oh, Alfred!
ALFRED: I really nearly trust you!
I nearly... I nearly really...
Patsy, I really, nearly trust you.
Oh, Alfred!
Listen, we don't have to if you don't want to.
- No, I want to. - Are you sure you want to?
No, I think I want to.
Oh.
(PHONE RINGING)
(HEAVY BREATHING ON PHONE)
You're not smiling.
PATSY: I'll do the kitchen over in butcher board.
I can get seconds on dishes in the Village.
Sheets and towels, Macy's or Bloomingdale's.
A dining room table, chairs, dressers, a sofa...
we'll go to auctions over the weekend.
Broadlooms I can pick up cheap at a wholesaler's.
Oh, bring your photofloods over from the studio until I find lamps.
I'll have a carpenter in on Monday to put up a work area, a darkroom...
and you'll need your own closet.
A king-size bed, Sloane's will deliver in ten days.
In two weeks we'll get married.
Oh, Alfred, I'm so happy.
(ALFRED SINGING WORDLESSLY)
- I'll bet he's a fag. - He'll be a fine boy.
I know it in my bones.
What the hell is the air conditioner on for?
- It's 50 outside. - It drowns out the traffic.
Well, it's all right when we don't have guests.
Want people to think we're crazy?
Carol, you're not gonna get that poor boy drunk.
That poor boy wants to marry my Patsy.
And don't call me Carol. I hate that name.
I told you never to call me that name.
You deliberately do that to annoy me. Call me "dear"!
PATSY: You're gonna love them.
- ALFRED: It's not my kind of situation. - PATSY: Ssssh.
I can't stand families.
PATSY: Now, be good.
- I really want to go home. - Sssh!
I really hate families.
What was the name of that interior decorator she went to Europe with?
- Howard. He was delicate. - Swish.
And that actor, the one she went camping up in Maine with.
Roger. He was very muscular.
Swish. And the musician and the stockbroker and the Jewish novelist.
Oh, they're not like that.
Swish, swish, swish, swish.
I can spot them a mile away. She draws them like flies.
She's got too much stuff. Too much stuff.
You wait. You'll see. This new one, what's his name?
- KENNY: Alfred. - A swish name if I ever heard one.
Are you reading again?
Lesbians of Venus.
Is this what I spent 10,000 a year on graduate school for?
- Get dressed. - You lost my place!
- (DOORBELL RINGING) - Oooh!
- Patsy, Patsy, Patsy, Patsy. - MR NEWQUIST: Patsy, Patsy.
Oh, my baby girl.
Oh, Mama!
Patsy, Patsy, Patsy!
- You look wonderful. - Patsy!
Oh, my daddy! Oh!
(SOUNDS OF MOCK FIGHTING)
Hey, everybody. This is Alfred.
MR NEWQUIST: Hey, Alfred.
PATSY: Come and meet my baby brother!
Oh, you're so cute. I could just eat you alive.
Let your hair grow crazy.
Alfred, have you ever seen such a madhouse?
Will you cut it out? He's in the house three minutes,
and you're already putting him on the spot.
Alfred, have you ever seen anything like this in your life, huh?
Oh, you're just so handsome. I can't get over it.
I've always had this mad thing for my kid brother.
Kenny's the comedian around here.
Well, what's your pleasure, young fella?
Mother, what have you done to this room?
Oh, nothing special. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.
MR NEWQUIST: If you would bother to come home more often.
- MR NEWQUIST: Uh... - MRS NEWQUIST: I don't like your looks.
MR NEWQUIST: What's the matter with her looks? She looks like a million dollars.
MRS NEWQUIST: You got black rings under your eyes.
- Mother, that's eyeliner. - Uh-huh.
Makes you look exhausted.
- I like it. - MRS NEWQUIST: Always together.
MR NEWQUIST: Do you have the slightest idea what you're talking about?
- She looks like a million dollars. - MRS NEWQUIST: I know.
It's what they're wearing today. I'm out of step as usual.
What's your pleasure, young fella?
- Why didn't you wear your other outfit? - What other outfit?
- Will you stop criticising? - What other outfit, Mother?
Well, I can't be expected to remember everything. It isn't as if you still lived here.
Hey, Al. You wanna see Patsy's old room?
Alfred, Kenny. And he's not interested in that.
- Bet he is. Want to? - Maybe later.
- Why should I care? - Look, he doesn't want to.
Will you stop acting silly?
Well, what's your pleasure, young fella?
- If I can have a... - Alfred. Alfred.
Can I shake your hand? My mother always told us...
you can tell a lot about a person by the way he shakes hands.
Mmm, you got a good handshake.
You better watch out, Patsy. I'll steal your boyfriend.
I'm only joking.
Oh, Lord.
MRS NEWQUIST: Alfred?
Is there something the matter with your face?
Is there?
PATSY: Oh, it's just the usual assortment of bruises, Mother.
What sort of talk is that?
- Modern talk? - Well, Alfred's always getting beat up.
- Oh, I don't get hurt. - What?
- I don't get hurt. - You don't get hurt?
Your face is a mass of bruises. Look at the boy, Carol.
- His face is a mass of bruises. - I have asked you never to call me that name.
- I hate that name, "Carol." - Well, I have to call you something, dear.
Well, I don't care what you call me! Just don't call me Carol!
Call him Harriet!
(LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY)
Oh, you're not being funny, Kenny.
I love your name. I know lots of men named Carol.
Sure. Sure. Name one.
- Um... Carol... - Chessman.
King Carol of Romania.
That's right. I am a King Carol. That's right.
Ha, ha, ha!
What's your pleasure, young fella?
I want to know...
why Alfred gets into these fights.
I don't think that's the least bit funny.
Ask him.
Well, there's a lot of little people who like to start fights with big people.
They, uh...
They hit me... hit...
and they, uh, see I'm not gonna fall down.
They get tired, and they go away. It's hardly worth talking about.
So much tension. Rush, rush, rush.
My mother taught me to take dainty little steps.
She'd kill me if she could see the stride on Patsy.
Well, um, uh, tell me something.
Don't you defend yourself?
Well, I ask them not to hit my cameras.
They're very good about that. It's surprising.
Well, uh, why don't you fight back?
- I don't want to. - Jesus Christ. You're not a pacifist?
- Daddy... - An apathist.
- So you just stand there? - It doesn't hurt.
Getting your face beat in doesn't hurt?
Not if you daydream.
I daydream all through it about my work.
I imagine myself standing there in the same spot,
clicking off roll after roll of film,
humming to myself with pleasure.
I hum to myself when I work.
There are times that I actually think
I'm doing what I'm only dreaming I'm doing.
Muggers tend to get very depressed
when you hum all the while they're beating you up.
It's not something I choose to do, mind you.
- It's one of those things you learn to live with. - This guy's a riot.
Well, uh, tell me, how do you get into these things?
You... you must do something to get them mad.
Well, goddamn it, you're getting me mad.
Aren't they adorable?
What did I tell you about him, hmm? Didn't I predict?
- I think he's very sweet. - Oh-ho-ho. That's a sure sign.
You think they're all sweet. Well, I'll be damned if I let myself stand by
and let a woman fight my battles for me.
Ooh, they don't make frontier fighters like my father any more.
Come on, let me see how tough you are. See if you can break my grip.
Cut it out. Patsy, I don't want to hurt you.
Patsy. Patsy!
Who's my big baby girl, eh? Who, who, who?
I wish you had as much brains as you have brawn.
- You don't like him, do you, Daddy? - Don't put words in my mouth.
Then you do like him.
Well, I want to know more about him before I make up my mind.
- Not to like him. - Don't bully me, young lady.
- You know I don't like it when you bully me. - You love it when I bully you.
You're too fast for the old man.
But I know a thing or two. Never settle for less.
- Daddy, I'm not. - Don't undersell yourself.
Hey, when have I ever undersold myself?
The right man will come along.
Daddy, I'm 27. The right men were all married five years ago.
You don't know what you're talking about. You're very popular.
Mmm. Sure. When they want a woman...
they can collapse without shame in front of, they come to me.
Well, why not? You're trusted.
Oh, to meet a man who is ashamed to collapse in front of me.
I'm tired of being Mother Earth.
Alfred's the only man I know who isn't waiting for me to save him.
You know how that makes me feel? God help me, I've got to save him.
Come and get it.
I always said that to my children at mealtime.
I've always found it a charming family tradition.
I always say "Come and get it!" to my children.
I dream of the day when I can hear Patsy say...
"Come and get it!" to her children.
Kenny, come and get it.
- Or do you need a special invitation? - In a minute.
Not in a minute, young man.
Right now.
It's kind of stuffy in here, Alfred.
Do you want to open the window like a good fellow?
No, dear. I asked Alfred.
It's all right. It's perfectly all right.
Son of a bitch!
Son of a bitch refused to open.
Excuse me.
- (LOUD STREET SOUNDS) - Thank you, Alfred.
You see, I had my reasons.
- Well, I loosened it. - KENNY: He loosened it.
That's a riot!
(KENNY HOOTING WITH LAUGHTER)
All right, smart guy. You open it.
Well, come on. You're the smart one around here.
Let's see you open it.
I spent the whole day cooking. Can't we eat now,
and open and close windows later?
This won't take a second. Well, are you gonna try,
or are you just gonna sit there and laugh at the earnest efforts of your betters, huh?
(EXAGGERATED GRUNTING)
Uh, window.
Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch.
Oh.
You're not so smart now, are you?
Oh, you don't know what a pleasure it is to have my family all together like this.
Did you know that in last year's big power failure,
some people stood in the subways in total darkness for as long as four hours
without bringing their newspapers... Kenny, come back here.
...without bringing their newspapers down from in front of their faces?
Be nice if someone else around here would think of lighting the candles once in a while.
I'm the watchdog around here, Alfred.
I can imagine what Patsy must have told you about me.
You're a photographer, Alfred, so I thought you'd be interested
in seeing these pictures of Patsy's dead brother, Steve.
He looks very handsome in his swimsuit.
He won five Gold Cups.
- He was four years older than Patsy. - Nine years older than me.
He looks very handsome in his baseball uniform.
He only pitched no-hitters.
Thank you for letting me see them.
This one was taken after he came home from the war a hero.
He looks very handsome in his uniform.
- What do the double bars signify? - He was a captain... a hero.
He bombed Korea.
When his country called on him to serve again, he bombed Vietnam.
A brilliant future in electronics.
Not an enemy in the world.
Who ever would have thought he'd be shot down in his tracks
on the corner of 97th Street and Amsterdam Avenue?
But I won't bore you with our tragedy.
Damn it, Mother!
Must we go through this every time I bring a man home for dinner?
Patsy's done it again.
Boy, I'd be killed if I ever talked like that.
And that's for basketball, and that's for bowling.
And... that's for tennis.
She's as strong as an ox.
When we were kids, we used to wrestle all the time.
- I always lost. - Are you still with us?
- That's me with Steve. - And me.
They still don't have any idea who did it, eh?
Oh, it's all right. It's perfectly all right.
The boys down at homicide
have worked long and hard and imaginatively on this case.
Many have become close and personal friends.
(HUMMING A TUNE)
♪ Fly Eastern
♪ Number one to the sun ♪
(ALFRED CONTINUES HUMMING)
(HEAVY SIGH)
I didn't mean to take your time, Alfred.
Knowing you were a photographer, I thought you'd be interested.
Exactly what sort of work do you do?
Oh, it's sort of complicated. You don't... You don't really want to know.
You may as well.
Well, I began as a commercial photographer.
You began as a painter.
Oh, I... I was a bad painter.
Says you.
Jesus Christ! Will you let the boy finish?
Well?
I began as a commercial photographer...
and was doing sort of well at it.
"Sort of well"? You should see his portfolio.
He's had work in Holiday, Esquire, The New Yorker, Vogue...
- Vogue? - Whoo! Whoo!
It's an overrated business.
But after a couple of years of doing sort of well at it...
uh, things began to go wrong.
I began losing my people.
Somehow I got my heads chopped off,
or out of focus,
or terrible expressions on my models.
I'd have them examining a client's product like this.
Like that. A face would be... really...
The agencies began to wonder if I didn't have
some editorial motive in mind.
(RUMBLING)
Which was not true.
But once they planted the idea...
MRS NEWQUIST: Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt, dear.
How far better it is to strike a match than curse the darkness.
My mother always told us that.
Go on, dear.
Well, my career suffered, but there was nothing I could do about it.
You see, the harder I tried to straighten out,
the fuzzier my people got,
and the clearer my objects.
Soon my people disappeared entirely. They just somehow never came out.
But the objects I was shooting: brilliantly clear.
So I began to do a lot of catalogue work.
Pictures of medical instruments, things like that.
It was boring, but it kept me alive.
I suppose the real break
came with the SCM show.
They had me shoot thirty of their new models.
They hired a gallery and put on a computer show.
One hundred and twenty colour pictures of computers.
It got some very strange notices,
the upshot of which was that the advertising business went thing-crazy,
and I became commercial again.
You must be extremely talented.
I got sick of it. Where the hell are standards?
That's what I kept asking myself.
I mean, those people will take anything.
Hell, if I give them a picture of shit, they'd probably give me an award for it.
- Language, young man. - So that's what I do now.
- What? - Take pictures of shit.
Language. Language. This is my house.
Oh, I don't mean to offend you, Mrs Newquist.
I've been shooting shit for over a year, and I've already won a half dozen awards.
- Awards? - Yeah.
And Harper's Bazaar wants me to do its spring issue.
- Whoo! Whoo! - Knock it off.
Well, that's a very respectable publication.
It all sounds very impressive.
The news.
(COUGHING)
...who just got the master plan of legislation that must be acted upon,
but others want to fight for their pet bills.
No, we didn't expect to have an agreement.
- We made progress... - Well, I have to get up early.
...by mid-October is open to question.
Don't go, unless you feel you must.
The Weather Bureau says of the storm that she packs 75-mile-an-hour winds
- south of New Orleans... - (PHONE RINGING)
...and Texas, Louisiana.
The situation is still critical.
- Hello. - (HEAVY BREATHING)
Look, I don't know who you are, but you're not dealing with helpless women now.
You people.
You young people today! Destroy! Destroy!
When are you gonna find time to build?
In my days we couldn't afford telephones to breathe in.
You ought to get down on your hands and knees and be grateful.
Why isn't anybody grateful?
I don't know what to do with you. You're the toughest reclamation job I've ever had.
I know. Look, maybe you should just retire on your laurels, Patsy.
I mean, you've reformed five fags in a row.
- Why press your luck with a nihilist? - Because you're wrong.
Every age has its problems, and people somehow manage to be happy.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to bully you. Yes, I do mean to bully you.
Alfred, if everything is so hopeless, well, why do anything?
- Okay. - Why get married?
Well, you said you wanted to.
I find this a very unpleasant conversation.
Patsy, let's not turn this into a critical conversation just because you're not getting your way.
- I'm for getting married. - Oh, thanks.
(SIREN)
Oh. So this is a critical conversation.
Alfred!
He doesn't know how to fight. That's why I'm not winning.
Alfred!
Damn it, Alfred. Aren't you willing to battle over anything? Even me?
- There isn't much point, is there? - Well, at least say you love me.
- I don't know... - "I'm not sure I know what love is."
Okay, buster, you've had it. I'm gonna marry you,
make you give me a house, entrap you into half a dozen children,
and seduce you into a life so... so...
Oh! Aaargh!
So remorselessly satisfying,
that within two years, under my management,
you will come to me with a camera full of baby pictures,
saying life can be beautiful.
And ugly. More often U-G-L-Y.
You're gonna give me a piano to sing around,
and a fireplace to lie in front of,
and each and every Christmas we are going to send out personalised Christmas cards,
with a group family portrait on the front, taken by Alfred Chamberlain.
Mother, Daddy? Alfred and I are getting married next week.
You got yourself a fine young man.
And so accomplished.
We'll have to let Dr Paterson know right away.
- Who? - The minister, dopey.
Mrs Newquist. Mrs Newquist, listen.
When you speak to the minister, you better tell him
we don't want any mention of God in the ceremony.
- What? - I'm gonna have him arrested!
No God in the ceremony, hmm?
Getting a lot of turndowns, aren't you?
Surprising, isn't it, how the name of God is still respected in this town.
Your father and me go back a long ways, young lady.
He's done me a lot of favours.
Got me tickets to shows.
I'd like to help him out.
My mother, thank God she's not alive today,
landed in this country 65 years ago.
Four infants in her arms.
Kissed the sidewalk the minute she got off the boat, she was so happy to be here,
to be out of Russia alive, across the ocean alive.
More dead than alive, if you want to know the truth.
Sixteen days in the steerage, fifteen people got consumption,
five died!
My father, thank God he's not alive today,
came over two years earlier, 67 years ago.
Worked like a son of a bitch to earn our passage.
Pardon my French.
You don't want God in the ceremony, so you're probably familiar with it.
My father worked 14 hours a day in a sweatshop on lower Broadway.
Number 315. Our first apartment was a five-flight walk-up,
four-and-a-half room cold-water flat,
with the bathtub in the kitchen and the toilet down the hall.
142 Hester Street.
Three families used the toilet,
an Italian family, a coloured family,
a Jewish family.
Three families with different faiths.
But one thing each of those families had in common.
They had in common the sacrifices they had to make to get where they were.
What they had in common was... persecution!
Persecution!
So they weren't so glib about God.
God was in my mother's every conversation.
How she got her family out of Russia, thank God, in one piece.
About the pogroms, the steerage.
About those that didn't make it.
Got sick and died.
Who could they ask for help?
If not God, then who?
The Great Society?
The Department of Welfare?
Travellers' Aid?
This city was a... a concrete jungle to the families that came here.
They had to carve homes and lives
out of concrete!
Cold concrete!
You think they didn't call on God, those poor, suffering greenhorns?
You see this suit I'm wearing?
Expensive? Custom-made.
My father, thank God he's not alive today,
worked 16 hours a day in a shop on Broome Street.
And his artistry for a tenth of what you pay today
makes meat loaf out of this suit.
145-147 Broome Street.
So tired, so broken in spirit,
that when he climbed the six flights of stairs each night,
to the three-room, unheated flat,
the five of us were crowded in, 171 Attorney Street,
that he did not have the strength to eat.
The man did not have the strength to eat!
Turning thinner
and yellower by the day.
For lack of what? A well-balanced diet?
Too much cholesterol?
Too many carbohydrates and starchy substances in his blood?
Not on your sweet life.
For lack of everything!
What was God to my father? I'll tell ya. Sit down. I'm not finished.
I'll tell ya what God was to my father.
God got my father up those six-and-a-half flights of stairs,
not counting the stoop, every night!
God got my mother worn grey from lying to her children
about a better tomorrow she didn't believe in.
Up every morning with enough of the failing strength,
that finally deserted her last year at Miami Beach at the age of 91,
to face another day of hopelessness and despair.
3134 Biscayne Boulevard.
God.
And you tell me you don't want him in the ceremony!
Look at these hands. The hands of a judge?
The hands of a professional man?
Not on your sweet life.
The hands of a worker!
I worked!
These hands toiled from the time I was nine.
Strike that. Seven. Every morning up at five,
dressing in the pitch black to run down seven flights of stairs, 13 steps a flight,
I'll never forget them, to run five blocks to the Washington market,
unpacking crates for 75 cents a week.
A dollar if I worked on Sundays. Maybe.
Where was my God then?
Where, on those bitter cold mornings,
with my hands so blue with frostbite they looked like ladies' gloves,
was God?
Here. In my heart.
Where he was, has been and will always be,
till the day they carry me feet first out of this courtroom.
Knock wood, God grants it soon.
My first murder trial... Where you going? I'm not finished.
- You're not gonna marry us. - I'm not finished.
Don't be a smart punk.
You're a know-it-all wise-guy punk, aren't ya?
I've seen your kind.
You'll come up before me again!
You were never married before?
Your parents, they're alive?
I think so.
You think so?
Where do they live?
Chicago, I guess.
You think, you guess.
What kind of answers are these?
I haven't kept up contact.
They know you're getting married?
Look, Alfred. Patsy's mother is very upset.
I'm upset. I don't say I believe in God.
The question is wide open. But with me it's not a matter of belief in God.
It's a matter of belief in institutions.
I'm a great believer in institutions.
Bitterness is a... bad way to start a marriage.
Patsy's not bitter. I'm not bitter.
I'm bitter. If you don't believe in God, why do you care if they use his name?
I'm a lousy debater, Mr Newquist.
- Nervous, son? - Nah.
- "Nah" what? - No, I'm not nervous, Mr Newquist.
Why don't you call me Dad?
- I didn't call my own father "Dad." - What did you call him?
I didn't call him anything. The occasion never came up.
Look, couldn't you concede me one "Dad"?
I mean, not all the time, but, you know, once in a while.
- "Hello, Dad." "Hiya, Dad." - Daddy.
"Do you want some tobacco, Dad?"
- For Christ's sake, I want an answer! - (CHURCH BELL TOLLING)
(ANGRY SHOUTING)
I'm the father of the bride. You don't understand.
I'm the father of the bride. Patsy.
- I'll never, never forgive you. - Oh.
He's a world-famous photographer, you know.
He does collages for Harper's Bazaar.
- This is Alfred, who's stealing my little girl away. - Hello.
- I'm here. - Oh, Lester.
And I'm willing to forgive and forget.
There are no atheists in foxholes these days, huh, Reverend?
They've all gone into the ministry, eh?
Ethical Culture told them they didn't have to have God in the ceremony,
but they had to have Ethical Culture in the ceremony.
Your father-in-law wants me to mention the Deity in the ceremony.
He wants me to sneak it in. He's offered me a lot of money to do it.
I don't know what to tell you, Henry.
Well, if it's all right with you,
I'd like to take the money and not mention the Deity.
First Existential can use the money.
I haven't made up my mind. I might go into teaching.
I absolutely deplore your views,
but I respect your right to have them.
What I really want to do is direct films.
Well, the first year at least, we'll live at my place.
I gave him $2,500.
They looked everywhere. Even the state of New York has God in the ceremony.
I gave him $2,500.
No, my family isn't here.
I gave him $2,500.
I plan to go on working into my eighth month.
No, my family is not here.
- I gave him $2,500. - (EMBARRASSED COUGHING)
No, my family's not here.
It's wonderful to marry a tall man.
So many complications when you marry a person shorter than yourself.
I gave him $2,500.
Bitch.
(INARTICULATE MUMBLING)
- REVEREND DUPAS: May we proceed? - (PHONE RINGING)
May we proceed?
- Fags! - May we proceed?
(CHATTERING)
- You want me to have them? - Will you take them?
Alfred.
Sssh, sssh, sssh.
Sssh.
You all know why we're here.
There's often so much sham about this business of marriage.
Everyone accepts it. Ritual.
That's why I was so heartened when Alfred asked me to perform this ceremony.
He has certain beliefs, which I assume you all know.
He is an atheist, which is perfectly all right. Really it is.
I happen not to be, but inasmuch as this ceremony connotes
an abandonment of ritual
in the search for truth,
I agreed to perform it.
First, let me state to you, Alfred,
and to you, Patricia,
that of the 200 marriages that I have performed,
all but seven have failed.
So the odds are not good.
We don't like to admit it, especially at the wedding ceremony,
but it's in the back of all our minds, isn't it?
How long will it last? We all think that, don't we?
We don't like to bring it out in the open, but we all think that.
Well, I say, why not bring it out in the open?
Why does one decide to marry?
Social pressure? Boredom? Loneliness?
Sexual appeasement?
Love?
I won't put any of these reasons down.
Each in its own way is adequate. Each is all right.
Last year I married a musician who wanted to get married in order to stop masturbating.
Please, don't be startled. I'm not putting him down.
That marriage did not work.
But the man tried.
He is now separated, still masturbating,
but he is at peace with himself
because he tried society's way.
So, you see, it was not a mistake. It turned out all right.
Now, just last month I married a novelist to a painter.
Everyone at the wedding ceremony was under the influence of an hallucinogenic drug.
The drug quickened our mental responses,
slowed our physical responses,
and the whole ceremony took two days to perform.
Never have the words had such meaning.
Now, that marriage should last.
Still, if it does not, well, that'll be all right.
For don't you see, any step that one takes is useful, is positive,
has to be positive because it's a part of life.
Even the negation of the previously taken step is positive.
That too is a part of life. And in this light, and only in this light,
should marriage be viewed as a small, single step.
If it works, fine.
If it fails, fine. Look elsewhere for satisfaction.
To more marriages, fine. As many as one wants. Fine.
To homosexuality? Fine. To drug addiction?
I will not put it down. Each of these is an answer for somebody.
For Alfred, today's answer is Patricia.
For Patricia, today's answer is Alfred.
I will not put them down for that.
So what I implore you both, Patricia and Alfred,
to dwell on while I ask you these questions required by the state of New York
to legally bind you, sinister phrase, that,
is that not only are the legal questions I ask you meaningless
but so too are the inner questions that you ask yourselves meaningless.
Feeling one's partner does not matter.
Sexual disappointment does not matter.
Nothing can hurt if you do not see it as being hurtful.
Nothing can destroy if you do not see it as destructive.
It is all part of life,
part of what we are.
So now, Alfred,
"do you take Patricia to be your lawfully wedded wife,
"to love," whatever that means, "to honour,
"to keep her in sickness, in health, in prosperity and adversity..."
What nonsense!
"Forsaking all others..." What a shocking invasion of privacy.
Rephrase that to more sensibly say,
if you choose to have affairs, then you won't feel guilty about them.
"As long as you both shall live..."
Or as long as you're not tired of one another.
- Yeah. - And, Patsy,
"Do you take Alfred to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love..."
That harmful word again. Could not one more wisely say "communicate"?
"To honour..." I suppose by that it means you won't cut his balls off, but some men like that.
"To obey..."
Well, my first glance at you told me you were not the type to obey.
So I went to my thesaurus, and I came back with these alternatives.
"To show devotion, to be loyal...
to show fealty, to answer the helm, to be pliant."
General enough, I think, and still leave plenty of room to dominate.
"In sickness, in health..." and all the rest of that gobbledygook,
"so long as you both shall live?"
(INCOHERENT SOUNDS)
I do.
Alfred and Patsy,
I know now that whatever you do
will be all right.
To Patsy's father, Carol Newquist,
I've never heard that name on a man before, but I'm sure it's all right.
I ask you, sir, feel no guilt
over the $250 cheque you gave me to mention the Deity in the ceremony.
What you have done is all right. It's part of what you are, part of what we all are.
And I beg you not to be overly perturbed when I do not mention the Deity in the ceremony.
Betrayal, too, is all right. It too is part of what we all are.
And to Patsy's brother, Kenneth Newquist,
with whom I had the pleasure of a private chat,
I beg you feel no shame.
Homosexuality is all right.
Really it is. It's perfectly all right.
KENNY: Son of a bitch!
REVEREND DUPAS: Oh, it's all right. Really, it's all right.
Hitting people is all right.
MR NEWQUIST: Police! Police!
REVEREND DUPAS: It's all right. It's all part of life.
MR NEWQUIST: Police!
REVEREND DUPAS: Really, it's all right.
Beautiful.
MR NEWQUIST: Police! Police!
Faggot! Faggot!
- All right. - Faggot!
It's all right. Really, it's all right.
(PHONE RINGING)
- What? - Hi!
Mother's hysterical, Daddy's collapsed,
and Kenny's disappeared with my wardrobe!
I hope you're satisfied with your day's work!
I thought it was a very nice ceremony. A little hokey...
Alfred! What's gonna become of us if you go on this way? Weren't you there?
I want to know when and what in God's name you use for feelings!
- I feel! - You don't feel!
- Have it your way. - Ah! There you go again. You won't fight.
But you knew I wouldn't fight before you married me.
If you don't fight, you don't feel!
If you don't feel, you don't love!
- I don't know what love is. - Aaargh!
(PHONE RINGING)
(HEAVY BREATHING)
(YELLING)
- And where were you going? - I thought it was over.
(DOOR SLAMMING)
I'm glad you're back, Patsy.
Oh! Kissing you is like kissing white bread.
What is it with you, Alfred? I've never had a man do this to me before.
It isn't just pain you don't feel. You don't feel pleasure.
- I do feel pleasure. - About what?
- A lot of things. - Name one.
- My work. - Oh, name another.
- Sleeping. - Work and sleeping. Oh, that's just great.
- What about sex? - Makes you sleep better.
Alfred! Do you mean half the things you say?
You must feel something.
Alfred.
Jesus Christ!
- Alfred, why did you marry me? - You're comfortable.
I am not comfortable!
If you knew anything about me, you would know that I am not comfortable.
- Do you know why I married you? - I'm comfortable.
I married you because I wanted to mould you.
I love the man I wanted to mould you into, but you're not even there.
How can I mould you when you're not there?
Come back here. Alfred!
Honey...
I don't wanna hurt you.
I want to change you.
I want to make you see that there is some value in life,
that there is some beauty, some tenderness,
some things worth reacting to, some things worth feeling.
What do you want out of life? Just survival?
And to take pictures.
Of shit?
It's not enough!
(DOOR SLAMMING)
- Here. - What's that? A summons?
It's a questionnaire. Here.
I'm sending you to Chicago. You're gonna see your parents.
You're gonna ask them these questions. These questions on this questionnaire.
What do you mean? Like, was I a happy or unhappy child?
Was I breast-fed or bottle-fed? What are you trying to prove?
You are going to record their answers to these questions.
You're gonna record every word that's said. Do you understand?
And then you are going to bring the whole thing back to me in here.
And we are going to learn why you are the way you are
instead of the way you have to be.
- I'm not going. - You're fighting.
I'm not fighting and I'm not going.
Christ, Alfred!
I wanna be married to a big, strong, vital,
virile, self-assured man,
that I can protect and take care of.
Alfred, you're the first man I've ever gone to bed with...
where I didn't feel he was a lot more likely to get pregnant than I was!
You've got to let me mould you.
Please let me mould you! Oh, you've got me begging.
You've got me whining and begging and crying.
I've never behaved like this in my life.
Alfred, do you have any idea how many people in this town
worship me?
Maybe that's the attraction. You don't worship me.
Alfred, you've got to change.
I'm not saying that I'm any better or stronger than you are.
It's just that we...
you and I have different temperaments.
And my temperament is better and stronger than yours!
You're a wall! You... you don't fight.
You hardly even listen. Dear God, will somebody please explain to me
why I think you're so beautiful?
(PHONE RINGING)
- Hello? - (HEAVY BREATHING)
Leave me alone! What do you want out of me? Will you please leave me alone?
She can't talk now!
It's all shit.
How come I never noticed before?
- Patsy. - You were right.
I'm just dense. I'm the one who doesn't feel.
Come on, Patsy.
- No more reason for anything. - Come on. Cut it out.
The only true feeling is no feeling.
It's the only way to survive.
You were 100% right.
- Hold my hand. - I feel weak.
Alfred, we can't both feel weak at the same time.
You're beginning to get me nervous, Patsy.
You're right.
I'm wrong.
Everything's the way you say.
You sit.
You get old.
You die.
- WOMAN: Who is it, Tubby? - It's Alfred.
- Alfred who? - Alfred Chamberlain.
My Alfred Chamberlain?
Tom Wolfe said you can't go home again.
But I doubt if he meant that literally. It was more likely a metaphor.
But he didn't come from Chicago. North Carolina, Georgia, something like that.
Wolfe wasn't a racist, though.
I don't think he was. An anti-Semite, I think, but not a racist.
Faulkner, though, well, the character of Dilsey.
Brilliant, I think.
But today they probably call her a handkerchief head.
Boo, here's the prodigal son.
Well, what a surprise, Alfred.
I mean, I wish you would have told us you were coming.
We would have invited some young people over.
- Hello. - Hello.
Oh, now, I must remember what you drink.
- A martini, isn't it? - I didn't drink when I lived here.
Oh, you have to have my martinis. I am the best martini maker in the Midwest.
Everybody says so. Harriet and Hank and...
Aren't we lucky that we didn't go out tonight?
I mean, there's a new David Smith show on at the museum.
Do young people like David Smith?
We were supposed to go with Norm and Edie, but I was in the middle of a Vonnegut.
Young people adore Vonnegut.
- I could still get a hold of Norm. - I don't wanna go.
Ooh, there's a Visconti movie on.
And Arthur raves about it. We could go to the late show.
The new Hopper is at the threepenny cinema.
I don't wanna go to the movies.
Oh, you put on some weight, Alfred.
But then you were seventeen when you left.
Well, what have you been up to?
Well, I went to college, and now I'm a photographer.
Oh. Cartier-Bresson
and Man Ray are the only photographers I know.
I'll have to brush up.
Well!
- Did you like college? - No.
Do you like photography?
Oh, yeah.
Well, it's important for young people to like what they do.
Also, I'm sort of married.
Well, I'll be darned.
- Peace. - Brotherhood.
I often wondered whether you were married or not.
Doesn't Boo make a good martini?
The trick is in the vermouth.
Look, I don't wanna take a lot of your time.
Patsy, my wife, worked out a questionnaire,
a series of questions about my childhood.
It's supposed to help me.
See, I don't remember very much before I was nineteen.
- Well, Alfred, I don't mind answering questions. - Nor do I.
If it'll help you, but I don't know if I wanna be recorded.
Well, preserved for posterity.
I mean, do you really need that thing? We could talk much more openly without it.
Oh, I need it. It'll help me.
Justice Holmes, I think it was, hated wiretapping.
- I could look that up if you like. - I might forget what you say.
Young people are just so lazy about taking notes.
Well, I have nothing to say that I mind being quoted on.
- It's the idea. - It's the FBI.
I need it!
Was I a happy or an unhappy child?
- What is one to say? - Well, every child has anxiety.
I mean, we're just not willing to accept anxiety any more.
Freud, I think it was Freud, dates all anxiety back to the birth trauma.
Rank too.
- Was I breast-fed or bottle-fed? - MR CHAMBERLAIN: Sullivan.
Sullivan writes about the significance of powerlessness.
It's years since I've looked at Sullivan.
Doesn't Sullivan also have something to say...
it could be Adler, but I think it's Sullivan,
about the dynamism of apathy?
MRS CHAMBERLAIN: Dynamism of apathy. That's a wonderful phrase.
The magical power of the cry.
MR CHAMBERLAIN: You see, what Sullivan is saying is that the cry brings help,
which leads to the correction of the condition which led to the cry.
ALFRED: Was I difficult to toilet train?
Uh, Klein.
Klein speaks of the coupling of early Oedipus wishes
with the fear of castration.
The child's desire to possess the mother's faeces.
I mean, it's the anal-sadistic stage.
Ah. Sphincter-morality.
Ferenczi's phrase.
Ferenczi?
- Was I subject to temper tantrums? - Uh...
"A tendency in boys to express excessive aggression..."
"Originates in his fear of castration."
"And coincides with the boy's protest against the feminine role...
"rooted also in his..."
BOTH TOGETHER: "...dread of his mother,
"Who he intends to rob of his father's penis."
Was I a good or bad eater?
Uh, food.
I don't remember.
Did I relate well to other children?
- I don't remember. - I don't remember.
When did I first exhibit signs of alienation?
- I don't remember. - I don't remember.
- MR CHAMBERLAIN: I don't remember. - MRS CHAMBERLAIN: I don't remember.
- I don't remember. - I don't remember.
In college the government couldn't decide whether I was a security risk or not.
I used to protest a little then.
So they decided to put a mail check on me.
Every day the mail would come later and later.
Corners torn.
Never sealed correctly.
I was more of an activist then.
So I decided to fight fire with fire.
I began writing letters to the guy who was reading my mail.
I addressed them to myself.
But inside they went something like:
"Dear Sir,
"I'm not that different from you.
"All men are brothers.
"Tomorrow, instead of reading my mail in that dark, dusty hall...
why not bring it upstairs so we can check it out together."
I never got an answer.
So I wrote another letter.
"Dear Sir,
"There are no heroes, no villains,
"no good guys, no bad guys.
"The world's more complicated than that.
"Come on upstairs where we can open a couple of beers and talk it all out."
Again, no answer.
So I wrote:
"Dear Sir,
"I've been thinking too much of my own problems,
"too little of yours.
"Yours can't be a happy task, reading another man's mail.
"It's dull, it's unimaginative,
"it's a job, and let's not mince words, for a hack.
"Yet I wonder,
"can this be the way you see yourself?
"Do you see yourself as a hack?
"Do you see yourself as the office slob?
"Have you ever wondered why they stuck you with this particular job,
"instead of others who have less seniority?"
That letter never got delivered to me.
So then I wrote:
"Dear Friend,
"Just a note to advise.
"You may retain my letters as long as you deem fit.
"Study them, re-read them, think them out.
"Who back at the Home Office is out to get you?
"Who, at this very moment,
"is sitting at your desk,
"reading your mail?
"I don't say this to be cruel, but because I'm the only one left you can trust."
No answer.
But the next day, a man saying he was from the telephone company showed up,
no complaint had been made, to check my telephone.
Shaky hands,
bloodshot eyes.
And as he dismembered my telephone,
he said:
"Look, what nobody understands
"is that everybody's got his job to do.
"I got my job.
"In this case, it's preparing telephones.
"I like it or I don't like it,
"but it's my job.
"If I had another job, say with the FBI,
"or someplace putting in a wiretap, for example,
"or maybe even reading a guy's mail,
"like it or don't like it, it would be my job.
"Does anybody got the right to destroy a man for doing his job?"
I wrote one more letter,
expressing my deep satisfaction that we had at last made contact,
and informing him that the next time he came, say to read the meter,
I had valuable information,
photostats, recordings, names and dates,
about the conspiracy against him.
That letter showed up a week after I mailed it.
It was torn in half and clumsily glued together again.
In the margin on the bottom in large, shaky letters,
was written the word "Please."
I wasn't bothered again.
It was after this that I began to wonder.
If they're that
unformidable,
why bother to fight back?
It's very dangerous.
It's dangerous to challenge a system,
unless you're completely at peace
with the thought that you're not gonna miss it when it collapses.
Patsy, you can't be the one to change.
I'm the one who has to change.
Alfred, what are you talking about?
(SIGHING) When I first met you,
I remember thinking to myself,
this is the most formidable person I've ever met.
I don't stand a chance. I'll try to stay the way I am.
I'll try desperately, but I don't stand a chance.
It's only a matter of time, Patsy. Very soon I'll be different.
I'll be able to look at a half-empty glass of water and say:
"My God, this glass isn't half-empty. This glass is half-full."
Patsy, I'm the one who has to change. You're not the one who has to change.
PATSY: You see what happens when you start fooling around with the rules?
It begins with weddings, and it ends with...
Well, there's no telling where it ends.
There are reasons for doing things the old way.
Don't look for trouble and trouble won't look for you.
I'm not saying there aren't problems.
But you have to fight.
You're going to fight, starting now. Is that right?
And you're going to feel, starting right now. Is that right?
I don't want a nod. I want an answer.
Say, "Yes, Patsy."
- Yes, Patsy. - Yes, Patsy, what?
Yes, Patsy, I'm gonna feel.
Starting when?
Starting as soon as I can manage it.
Starting when?
Starting now.
And what's your first feeling?
Uh...
- It's sort of distant. - Don't be ashamed of it.
Okay.
It's worship.
- Of God? - Of you.
You're doing just fine.
(LOUD GUNSHOT)
(DOOR OPENING)
(STIFLED GASPING)
(DOOR CLOSING)
(DRILL DYING DOWN)
Did you tell 'em silver for the bedroom?
It was either silver, brown or black.
- There's still not much of a selection in steel. - Oh, make it brown, then.
- Not in my bedroom. - It's my bedroom too.
I told you I didn't want them in my room!
They have to be put in every room, Kenny. It says so in the building code.
- They block out all the light! - What light?
That's what shutters are for, dear. It's for your own good.
Don't I have any rights around here?
You'll love them when you get used to them.
(INCOHERENT RAGE)
(DRILL WHIRRING)
That noise!
What a mess they make. I remember when workmen were neat, quiet, mannerly.
I brought you some tea.
(HAMMERING)
- Will you do me a favour and cut it out. - I was only trying to help.
Come on, Alfred. Come on.
Here. Come on.
You're doing fine. Go ahead.
Uh-uh. Don't gulp.
Take it easy now, huh?
Nice and easy, Alfred.
Big deal. Big deal.
MR NEWQUIST: Will you get out of here, goddamn it!
Big deal. Big deal.
You little son of a bitch.
Christ, I hope it's only a phase.
Come on, Alfred. Come on.
It's always darkest before the dawn.
Alfred, I paid an unexpected call on police headquarters this afternoon.
Keep this under your hat, huh?
I had a fifteen-minute talk with Lieutenant Practice.
Busy as hell, but he found fifteen minutes to talk to me.
He's convinced they're closing in on the conspiracy.
Three hundred and forty-five unsolved murders in six months.
I feel sorry for those poor bastards.
I don't understand anything any more, Alfred.
(SIGHING)
You know how I get through the day, Alfred?
In planned segments.
I get up in the morning and I think,
okay, a sniper didn't get me for breakfast.
Let's see if I can take my morning walk without being mugged.
Okay, I finished my walk.
Let's see if I can make it back home without getting a brick
dropped on my head from the top of a building.
Okay, I'm safe in the lobby.
Let's see if I can make it up in the elevator without getting a knife in my ribs.
Okay, I made it to the hall.
Let's see if I can walk in and not find burglars in the hallway.
Okay, I made it to the hall.
Let's see if I can walk into my living room
and not find the rest of my family dead.
This goddamn city.
- What happened? - They shot a hole in my shopping bag.
- You could have been killed! - I get shot at every day.
We all do, Carol. Don't make more of it than it is.
I ran into that nice Lieutenant Practice in the lobby.
He looked simply awful.
I invited him up for coffee as soon as he finishes investigating the new murder.
- Who got it this time? - I don't know. It was in the other wing.
- Thank God. - Kenny!
I've got a leaking shopping bag!
- MR NEWQUIST: Lock the door, goddamn it! - KENNY: I opened it!
(RICOCHETING BULLET)
Fags!
(PHONE RINGING)
- Hello? - (HEAVY BREATHING)
Haven't you read the newspapers lately?
You don't have to call anymore. Patsy's dead.
(PHONE RINGING)
- Hello? - MAN: I don't know what to say.
I'm terribly sorry. But what can we do? The world's gone crazy.
Mm-hmm.
KENNY: I should have been a girl.
Girls have it easy.
They're better at studying.
They're not forced to play ball.
They don't have to have a job.
I really could've handled it.
You.
And you, outside.
That's the crop, Lieutenant.
MR NEWQUIST: Alfred, look who decided to pay us a visit. Lieutenant Practice.
Can I have a glass of milk, please, Mrs Newquist, and a cookie?
Of course, dear.
Jesus Christ, I'm depressed.
There's gotta be some logical explanation to this whole business.
You've got nothing to be ashamed of. Don't worry. You'll figure it out.
Listen, I really came by to return this. I don't know what got into me this afternoon.
- It's yours. I gave it to you. Keep it. - I can't hang onto a $250 cheque.
I know your heart was in the right place, Mr Newberg...
but it's not gonna help us find your son's murderer any quicker.
It's Newquist, and it's daughter this time.
- Keep it. You never know when you can use it. - Here, drink this, Lieutenant. You'll feel better.
Carol, are you giving money away again?
Every time we pass a policeman, he hands him five dollars.
Well, I want the boys on the beat to know that someone still has faith in them.
Oh, boy.
I wasn't like this six months ago, was I?
Wasn't I a lot more self-confident, huh?
Jesus Christ, the way I used to walk in on the scene of a crime.
Like I owned the goddamn world. Can I have a little scotch in that milk, please?
- Oh, sure. - A piece of cheese on that cookie?
- Oh, sure. - There's gonna be a shake-up, you know.
When there's 345 murders and none of 'em get solved,
somebody's gotta be elected fall guy.
How about a piece of ice like a good fella?
Somewhere there's a logical pattern to this whole business. There has to be.
I didn't ask for butter on that cookie, just cheese. Thank you.
And those goddamn vigilante groups, black against white, white against black.
Whatever became of human dignity?
Oh for Christ sakes! Only one piece of ice? Let's get it right, huh?
(SPLUTTERING)
What kind of cheese is that? Sharp cheddar?
You should know by now with my stomach I can't take sharp cheddar.
Goddamn it! Will you shape up?
Sooner or later there's a pattern. Sooner or later everything falls into place.
I believe that. If I didn't believe that,
I wouldn't wanna wake up tomorrow morning and see the sunrise.
Goddamn it! Is this what I asked for? I want some co-operation!
(GUNSHOT)
Every crime has its own pattern of logic. Everything has an order.
If we cannot find that order, it's not because it doesn't exist,
but because we have incorrectly examined s-s-some vital piece of evidence.
Let us examine the evidence. Number one:
In the past six months, there have been 345 homicides committed in this city.
The victims have ranged various-s-sly in age,
sex, social status and-and colour.
Number two: In none of these homicides have we been able to find the motive.
Number three: Consequently, all 345 homicides remain unsolved.
So much for the evidence. A subtle pattern begins to emerge.
What is this pattern? What is it that these 345 homicides
have-have-have, uh-uh-uh... have in common?
They... they have in common three things:
A. They have nothing in common.
B. They have no motive.
And C. They remain unsolved.
(MANIACAL LAUGH)
Now when a case does not gel, it is often not because we lack the necessary facts,
but because we've observed those facts incorrectly.
Following normal routine, we look for a cause.
Had we looked for effect, we would have found our answer that much sooner.
What is the effect of 345 unsolved homicides?
The effect is... (DEMENTED CACKLE)
Lack of faith in law enforcement personnel.
That is our motive. The pattern is complete.
We are involved here in a far-reaching c-c-conspiracy
to undermine our most basic beliefs and sacred institutions.
Who's behind this conspiracy? Once again, ask the question, who has the most to gain?
People in high places. Their names would astound you.
People in low places, concealing their activities
beneath the cloak of poverty.
People in all walks of life, left wing and right wing,
black and white, students and scholars.
A conspiracy of such ominous proportion
that we will never, never know the whole story
and we'll never be able to reveal all the facts.
We are readying mass arrests.
I'm gonna see that you people get every possible break.
If there's any i-i-information you'd like to contribute at this time,
it would be held in s-s-s confidence.
I strongly advise against any of you trying to leave town.
(ALARM BELL)
(RINGING STOPS)
MR NEWQUIST: What's left?
What's there left?
I'm a reasonable man. Just explain to me
what have I left to believe in?
Oh, I swear to God, the tide is rising.
Two hundred and fifty dollars.
Give me, give me, give me. We need honest cops!
People just aren't being protected anymore!
We need a revival of honour and trust. We need the army!
We need a giant fence around every block in the city. An electronically-charged fence!
And anyone who wants to leave the block has to get a pass
and a haircut and can't talk with a filthy mouth.
We need respect for a man's reputation!
TV cameras. That's what we need! TV cameras.
in every building lobby, in every elevator, in every apartment, in every room.
Public servants who are public servants!
And if they catch you doing anything funny, to yourself or anyone,
they break the door down and beat the shit out of you!
A return to common sense.
We have to have lobotomies for anyone who earns less than 10,000 a year.
I don't like it, but it's an emergency. Our side needs weapons too.
Is it fair that their side has all the weapons?
We have to protect ourselves and steel ourselves.
It's freedom I'm talking about, goddamn it! Freedom!
There. There's a fox loose in the chicken coop.
Kill him! Kill him!
I want my freedom.
Ah, you gotta get me my freedom!
(INARTICULATE HOWLING)
(DOOR OPENING)
(DOOR CLOSING)
(INAUDIBLE)
Aren't they beautiful. Look, Carol, they're flowers.
When I was twelve and a half,
my mother and father used to cart the whole pack of us
out to the country and we would picnic near the flowers.
There were so many more flowers in those days.
We'd pick every last one. Bring them all back to the city.
No one else does the cleaning up around here except me.
(MAKES GUN NOISE)
ALFRED: Use it.
What do I wanna use it for?
I've only been in analysis four months. I never used one of these in my life.
- Neither have I. - Well, why'd you get it?
It was on sale.
(MAKES GUN NOISE)
(MAKES MACHINE GUN NOISE)
It's not loaded.
Well, why didn't you load it?
- Don't know how. - KENNY: Hey.
You know, the army rejected me four times?
The fifth time they said if I came around again they'd have me arrested.
"Nomenclature. Trigger Housing Group.
"To load, hold the weapon by the forearm of the stock with the left hand.
"Open the bolt. With right hand,
insert up to five cartridges into the receiver of the magazine."
(BREAKING GLASS)
Dad.
It's yours.
It's okay.
(GUNSHOT)
I got him!
- Go ahead. - Go ahead, Kenny.
Oh.
(GUNSHOT)
It's not fair!
Let him alone! Give him another shot!
- Dad! - Take another shot.
MR NEWQUIST: All right, you bitch, you.
(GUNSHOT)
Son of a bitch!
Cocksucker! You got him!
Oh, my boy! My boy. Alfred.
Come on. You go.
(KNEELING ON BROKEN GLASS)
(GUNSHOT)
You know who I think you got?
Lieutenant Practice!
(JOYFUL WHOOPING)
Did you see that?
(EVERYONE TALKING AT ONCE)
A fine Newquist!
It'll take more than one shot to get me, let me tell you!
Oh, Alfred! You done it!
Son of a bitch!
- Beautiful! - Come and get it.
Did you see that? Right back! We're gonna fight!
I'm telling you, we're gonna fight.
We're gonna fight. We're gonna fight.
(SIREN OUTSIDE)
King Kong.
(GORILLA NOISES)
We did it. Oh, I'm so hungry.
(EVERYONE TALKING AT ONCE)
(SIREN GETTING LOUDER)
Where's my chow?
It's gold. It's gold, I say. It's gold.
♪ She taught me wrong from right
♪ I shot her right between the eyes ♪
I feel good! Let me tell you that!
- Mom, it's delicious! - Tell her! Tell her!
(EVERYONE TALKING)
Watch your fucking language. Your mother's here.
It's the Fourth of July. That's what it is, the Fourth of July.
Give me some silverware!
- Watch your manners, you shit, you. - I'm watching my manners.
There's a thing in my soup. What's the matter with you?
- Give me some more chili. - Have some more chili.
(SIREN OUTSIDE)
Oh, you don't know how good it is to hear my family laughing again.
You know, for a while there I was really worried.
(SUBTITLES BY POWERHOUSE FILMS LTD)