Forever Female (1953) Movie Script

1
I know you've seen this view
of Times Square, New York City,
several thousand times,
but I just want to
let you know where we are.
I promise you won't
see it again.
Less familiar
are the side streets...
44th and 45th
shooting west
towards 8th Avenue.
Nestled in this compact area
are perhaps a dozen
legitimate theaters.
I'm Harry Phillips,
a producer of plays.
If I sound a little nervous,
it's because one of my plays
is opening tonight.
You can tell by the size
of the type who the star is.
Things are quiet now,
but soon the doors will open
for the first-act intermission,
the time being 9:25.
And the word, good or bad,
will be flashed immediately
to sardi's on 44th street,
where is gathered
a cross section
of the theatrical world.
The most representative
of this group
is collected, I'm sorry
to say, at the bar.
This is a producer
who turned down
no laughing matter
because it wasn't
up to his standards.
Here's a playwright
whose opinion of the author
of no laughing matter
is that he couldn't
write his way
out of a paper bag.
This chap is a scenic designer.
I threw out his sets
and him with them.
This actress was the Beatrice
Page of two decades ago.
She hasn't cared for
another actress since.
And here are a couple
of press agents...
well, never mind them.
It must be time for
the first-act intermission.
Willie Wolfe is his name.
The reason you don't
recognize him
is that his picture
at the top of his widely
syndicated Broadway column
was taken at least 10 years ago.
He's on his way to sardi's
for his usual
between-the-acts drink.
So that you won't
be surprised later,
we'll tell you now
that it's ginger ale.
Willie drinks nothing
but ginger ale.
Willie has just told them
that the first act is great.
The play looks like a hit.
This is the kind of talk
that can ruin
their entire evening.
Many happy returns, Alice.
Oh, my goodness!
Is this my birthday?
Well, if I'd known,
I would have dressed!
I was so determined to forget
that this is my birthday.
Hello.
Many happy returns.
As long as you've
remembered my birthday,
I hope you remembered
the presents, too.
I feel I've arrived
at such a silly age.
Why do you say that?
You're only 29.
That's an exciting age.
That's what I'll
probably think next year.
In the meantime,
I think 27 would be such fun
and 25 positively hilarious.
She's 29 like I'm 29.
She doesn't look much
more than that to me.
I made the reservations myself.
In wonder who's fighting
there tonight.
All right, all right,
so Harry Phillips has a hit.
A hit?
The second act fell
right on its sitzfleisch.
Too bad!
Let me buy you a drink.
Oh, that Eddie probish.
I've said it before...
he couldn't write his way
out of a paper bag.
How they ever
expected to get laughs
in those dreary sets...
And how was miss Page?
Only great.
There was an ovation...
for her, not the play.
Hello, Willie.
Two scotches.
I want you to meet
a client of mine.
Willie Wolfe, Stanley Krown.
Hi.
How are you?
Any client of Eddie
Woods is in trouble.
What have you been in?
I haven't been in anything.
Stanley's a writer.
Oh, a writer.
Hello, Betty.
They expect a speech.
Please, Felix.
She's just the type who would.
That's much safer.
I know it's corny,
but it's touching.
I would call it heartwarming,
but I have no heart.
We all know that, Harry.
Sit down.
Yeah, you've been noticed.
Why is she carrying on?
She couldn't even
have seen the play.
She's been in here all night.
It's an old trick to draw
attention to herself,
so if she comes up for a part,
they'll recognize her.
She's an actress?
Some actress.
Does television commercials.
Opens doors on refrigerators.
Who's the guy with the menu?
Harry Phillips,
a client of mine.
Her producer and husband.
Ex-husband, I should say.
They've been divorced
some time now.
And the crew cut?
The boyfriend.
This season's.
I don't know his name.
Nobody does.
I don't think she does.
Funny combination.
Why?
Harry doesn't mind
the boyfriends.
He outlasts all of them.
He and Bea
are the best of friends.
You know how it is
in show business.
Bea, darling, I thought
you were wonderful.
Thank you.
I'm always terrible
on opening nights
but never like this.
Promise you'll see
me sometime later.
Not too much later.
We may close.
Do you know... Bea,
what's his name again?
You know perfectly well.
It's George Courtland.
There's a sort of
Roman numeral after it,
isn't there, darling?
Yes, iv, the 4th.
Just out of the money, you know.
Hi, George.
Did you get any telegrams
I can use in the column?
I was too nervous
to look at them,
but I'll read them tonight.
Remember, I get first
call on the funny ones.
I'm stopping in
at the stork and 21.
Madame, I kiss ze hand.
Oh, darling.
One thing about Willie...
he always makes a good exit.
Yeah, but not often enough.
Let's eat, huh?
Beatrice, honey.
Can an old friend tell you
how wonderful you are?
I'd love it.
Sit down and start lying.
Well, lie number one...
Eddie, may I present...
uh, what's his name again?
He's needling me,
George, not you.
That's it, George.
How do you do?
How do you do?
There you are, the times.
Oh, thank you, Felix.
I'm sure the review is good.
It says, "Beatrice Page
is radiant,
but the play
is terrible."
Well, anyway,
I'm glad for you, Bea.
I'm sorry about the play, Harry.
There'll be other reviews.
They won't be any different.
We'll be roasted,
and she'll be radiant.
I want to read that part again
where it says I'm radiant.
Who is, uh, that man?
That's a new client
of mine, writer.
Just written his first play.
Great stuff in it, too.
Just picked it up
at the typing agency.
Not something for Bea?
Wish it was.
You ought to meet him anyway.
Would you like to meet someone
who's written a play
without a part for you?
Not usually.
But I'd like to stare
at him for a change.
Try to remember
George's name this time.
All I need is a clue.
Bea, darling,
I'd like you to meet
Mr. Stanley Krown,
miss Page.
How do you do?
Hello.
Mr. Harry Phillips.
And last but not least,
George...
Uh...
George...
For crying out loud.
Courtland.
Courtland!
Hi.
How do you do?
It's a simple name.
For a simple fellow.
Won't you join us?
Thank you.
It looks as though
I'm outnumbered.
Oh, uh, cigarette?
No, thanks.
Did you see the play tonight?
Yes.
Well?
Did you see the times' review?
Somebody read it out loud.
Tell me, Mr. Phillips,
why is it when
someone has a failure
they all seem so pleased?
It's all right.
When they have a flop,
I'm pleased, too.
I suppose it's human nature.
I believe you've summed it up.
I'm going to ask this
question if it kills me.
How did you like me in the play?
Oh, he was crazy about you!
I always say what
I think, miss Page.
I have very few friends.
I withdraw the question.
I thought you were charming.
Well, it's a change
from radiant.
Half the time.
What do you mean, half the time?
Half the time I thought
you were charming.
The other half, you were
so sure you were charming
it gave me kind
of a queasy feeling.
Don't look at me.
I don't know whether
he's kidding or not.
You weren't working
to entertain the audience.
You allowed them
to be entertained.
You were condescending,
patronizing.
You were superior to the play
and the people
who paid to see it.
Only half the time, darling,
only half the time.
Anyone who's been
granted a gift of talent
owes something to everybody.
The greatest quality
an actress can have
is humility,
and that's something, miss Page,
you'll have to learn.
I think I'm behaving
beautifully.
I haven't screamed or anything.
If I were still your husband,
I'd ask him to step outside.
But as it is,
it's up to Mr. Courtland.
Now you remember my name.
Very well. An actress
should have humility.
Mr. Krown, should a
writer have humility also?
Never.
Humility can ruin a writer.
A writer should be concerned
only about pleasing himself.
He shouldn't care
what anyone thinks
about him or his work.
He should be arrogant,
self-centered...
And even rude.
He isn't under contract to me.
We haven't a thing in writing.
No, no, no, I'm fascinated.
I think we've been a little
rude ourselves, Harry.
Why don't we ask this young man
to have a drink with us
and continue this discussion?
I'm sorry. I can't.
I've got to go to work.
At 1:00
in the morning?
Is that when you write?
No, not writing.
I work at the Washington Market.
Washington Market?
Washington Market.
Sorry if I spoke
out of line, miss Page,
but I have to say what I think.
It's a habit I'll have to break.
Good night.
Uh, let's see,
where were we before
it started to rain?
Oh, he forgot his envelope.
That's his play.
I'll give it to him tomorrow.
Let me have it.
I'd like to browse through it
when I have the time.
Sure. It's just like
him... strong stuff.
The tribune is out, miss Page,
it says you were sparkling.
Thank you.
We know better,
don't we, darling?
I'm patronizing, superior,
and much too sure I'm charming.
Well! I didn't know
you stayed over.
Yeah. I started to read
that kid's play.
Got late, so I slept
in the study.
You read them all?
Yes. Morning, Emma.
Good morning, miss Page.
Uh...
Where's my orange juice?
Did he drink that, too?
He's had four.
Stool pigeon.
You know what a flop
does to his appetite.
I'll squeeze some more.
Did you telephone
the box office?
Yeah. There's practically
no call for tickets.
We won't run.
Here I am, broke again.
Oh, I am sorry, darling.
We'll do better
with the next play.
Say, what does this do
to my alimony payments?
Well... i was thinking
along the lines
of a postdated check.
Oh, Harry, not again.
Do you know how much
you owe me in back alimony?
I don't, but I'm sure you do.
To the penny.
There's no one in the
world I'm more fond of
than I am of you, Harry,
but business is business.
$11,201.37.
That doesn't include
the interest,
which is 670-odd dollars.
6% doesn't strike me
as very friendly.
At the merchants
and seamen's bank,
I can get a loan for 3%.
The merchants and seamen's bank
did not give you
the best years of its life.
Couldn't you at least
scrape up the interest?
No, but I might manage
the interest on the interest.
Oh, darling,
I wonder what makes me
so disagreeable
about money matters.
Otherwise, I'm really
a rather generous,
warmhearted, thoroughly
delightful person.
6% of $673 is 6 times...
oh, thank you, Emma.
I guess there is something
in the paper today
besides us.
Hmm, would you fix my
coffee for me, darling?
Yes.
With sugar.
Since when are you using sugar?
Oh, well, I'm so depressed.
It's much cheaper than
going to an analyst, isn't it?
No sugar.
Hmm, is that the lighter I
gave you for Christmas?
Almost. It's the one
I exchanged
for the one you gave me
for Christmas.
Having breakfast with
you like this is such fun.
Did we have any fun when
we were married, Harry?
I'd have to think about that.
No, I don't think so,
not at breakfast anyway.
It was always bicker, bicker,
bicker, something awful.
How long have we
been divorced, Harry?
I don't remember exactly.
Pretty long, though.
Long enough for me to pile
up 11,000 in back alimony.
Don't worry, darling,
you'll pay it,
every cent.
There's a Mr. Krown
here to see you.
A Mr. Who?
A Mr. Krown.
The kid from last night.
Send him in, em.
Oh, that Mr. Krown.
The Washington Market
Mr. Krown.
Hello.
Hello, Mr. Krown.
Stanley, how are you?
Well, if you knew me well enough
to insult me last night,
I know you well enough
to call you Stanley
this morning.
Won't you have
some breakfast, Stanley?
Breakfast? It's 12:30.
Won't you have some lunch then?
No, thanks. I just
finished work.
I usually go right to bed.
We're not keeping you up?
No. I came
to see you.
You took a copy
of my play last night?
Yes.
Your office said
I might find you here.
What did you think?
Wait. You don't give
a fellow much time.
Did you start to read it?
Yeah.
Then you finished it.
It's that kind of a play.
It needs work,
but it is that kind of a play.
You're going to produce it?
No.
It's not for miss Page.
Does miss Page have
to be in every play?
Every play I produce,
humility or no humility.
What's it about, anyway?
A mother-daughter conflict,
a wonderful part
for a girl 19 or 20.
A concert pianist,
has to leave home.
Mother doesn't like it.
That's all you need to know
if you're not going to be in it.
Wait. You made it
sound terrible.
It's not the story,
it's the scenes.
The scenes are powerful.
Here, let me start
at the beginning.
In the first scene...
excuse me. This is
usually my bedtime.
Would some coffee or juice help?
Yeah. I could
use some juice.
It's a long play,
and my throat's kind of dry.
Emma.
Oh, here, squeeze these.
Just came up from Florida
this morning.
I wondered what
those bulges were.
I knew it couldn't be thyroid.
Thanks. I'll have
Emma squeeze them.
Oh, uh, could you
use some, uh...
Radishes?
These are prize radishes.
Well, thank you.
Now, why didn't I
know you years ago
when I was a starving actress?
Well, not so many years ago.
From here on in,
nothing will surprise me.
I like this, uh,
apartment of yours.
It's not my apartment,
it's miss Page's.
It used to be my apartment,
when miss Page
and I were married.
Well, miss Page and I
were married...
perfectly terrible marriage.
Now I'm here all the time.
In fact, it's my home
away from home.
Well, lots of times
we work late,
and I sleep over...
what business is it of yours?
As a writer,
everything's my business.
Oh, it is?
Harry, I have a wonderful idea.
How old did you say
the mother was?
Oh, 51, 50.
Well, if she's 50, the
daughter could easily be 29.
Why?
Because then I could play her.
Maybe there's an idea there.
Make the girl 10 years older?
That would spoil everything.
It might make it much stronger.
Gives the mother 10 more years
to frustrate the daughter.
A girl 19's a kid,
at 29, a woman.
It would be a different play.
Maybe better.
I've thought about
this play for 10 years,
and it means too much to me
to change one line,
even for a beautiful
actress like miss Page.
Thank you.
I've never really thought
of myself as beautiful.
One argument at a time.
I'd be the last guy in the world
to try and get a
writer to compromise,
but why don't you
examine your play?
See if a grown woman
being tied to an apron string
isn't much more dramatic
than a kid's being dominated.
Now, what's so
unusual about that?
I'd have to give it
an awful lot of thought.
Let's see...
In the first scene...
Harry.
Supposing it does work,
when could we start?
Well, three or four
weeks' rewrite.
We could go
right into rehearsal...
uh-oh, there's going
to be a big problem.
What's that?
The mother isn't as big
a part as the daughter,
but it's going to be
tough to cast.
I can't think of anybody.
What does it call for?
A tyrant with charm.
She's got to be attractive
and, well, vestiges
of great beauty.
How about Mabel taft?
Mabel taft?
Vestiges of great beauty?
Don't make me laugh.
Ha!
Claire king.
Can't act.
Anita black.
Aah!
Katherine bliss.
She could never do it.
How about Polly Carter?
She hates me, and I hate her,
and you know it!
Maybe Stanley had
someone in mind.
Oh, morning, dick.
Good morning,
Mr. Phillips.
They're all here.
Ah!
Good morning, Harry.
Hello, hello.
It's been a long time.
Well, bless your heart.
This is as sorry-looking
a bevy of biddies
as I've seen in years.
You don't exactly send
shivers up my spine, Harry.
Just for that,
you'll read first.
I want to tell you harridans
the mother is tough.
I don't expect to find
her among you frumps.
But one of you may
have been hoarding
some talent for your old age.
Listen to him!
Well, Olga, shall we start?
Now dick here will
give you the sides.
We're going to do the
last scene from the first act.
Look it over, then dick
will read with you.
Oh, and by the way,
the young man down here,
whose shoes need resoling,
is the author of
this piece of strudel.
Stanley Krown, Olga O'Brien.
Hi, miss O'Brien.
Hello, Mr. Krown.
I love your script,
what I've read of it.
Thank you.
Let us know when you're ready.
I'm never very good
at cold readings,
but here goes.
"I haven't asked you
where you've been.
"I don't intend to.
But if
you're volunteering..."
"The idea's ridiculous,
and I won't hear of it.
"I know what's good for you.
I've know what's good
for you for 29 years."
That's fine, Katherine,
just fine.
In fact, that's about
the closest reading
we've had so far.
Well, it's the first time
I saw the script.
Cold reading.
Darn good, considering.
Who handles you, William Morris?
Yes.
We'll be in touch.
Thank you, Harry.
We just have to keep looking.
I think that covers
everybody for today.
Dick, is there
anyone else out there?
No, sir.
You'd think a mother
would be easy to cast.
Mothers have always been tough.
Don't let it discourage you.
We'll keep looking till
we get the right one.
Phone sardi's
and tell Felix
we're on our way over.
Then take the scripts
up to the office.
Oh, Mr. Phillips?
Yes?
I'd like to read
for you if I may.
Aren't you a little young
to play the mother
of a 29-year-old girl?
29? She was just
19 the other day.
How do you know she
was just 19 the other day?
Oh, I work part-time
at the rialto typing agency.
I read every play they type.
Oh, yours is one
of the better ones.
Thank you.
It needs a lot of work, though.
Aren't you a little young
to play the mother
of a 19-year-old?
How old are you?
I want to play the daughter.
In fact, well, I might
as well tell you now,
I'm going to play the daughter.
I'm sorry, but the part
has been cast.
Miss Beatrice Page
is playing the daughter.
Oh, no!
No, no, no, no!
Oh, this is the end,
the absolute siamese end!
Beatrice Page
playing a daughter!
Oh, you can't let them
do this to you.
Don't let them do this
to your beautiful play!
You just said it needed
a lot of work.
How can Beatrice Page
play anybody's daughter,
even a daughter of 29?
She's playing a woman
of 29 right now.
But who is she fooling?
Not me.
Not for one second.
Not for one siamese second.
I don't know whether
to laugh or cry.
The part doesn't need
the Beatrice Page charm...
that tired old
Beatrice Page charm.
It... it needs
youth and bounce
and vitality and magnetism.
And don't you see?
That's me.
Oh, that's you, is it?
Who are you?
What are you?
She looks familiar to me.
I'm Sally Carver,
and I'm an actress.
Really? What
have you acted in?
Oh, uh, dozens of things.
Where?
Uh, dozens of places.
Which means you've
never acted on Broadway
for pay in your life.
Well, I'm only 19, aren't I?
And I'm already on television.
Oh, of course.
You're the girl who did all
the applauding at sardi's.
She opens doors
on refrigerators.
I do more than that now.
You probably defrost, too.
And I take out trays.
I'm very good at it, too.
I've had a very trying day,
and if you'll please
get off my toe,
I'd like to go someplace
quick and have a drink.
There's a scene here
that I've been working on.
If you'll just listen.
"You shut everybody out,
"but I'm telling you,
not me any longer.
You can't shut me out."
I'll buy you a drink.
You look shaken, too.
It'll just take a second.
"I want to know why.
"When you've got everything,
"why are you satisfied
with nothing?
"Why do you despise people?
"Why do you despise yourself?
Why in heaven's name"...
oh!
I'm going to play this part.
See if I don't.
I'm going to play this part,
and that's the siamese truth!
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
Hey, that playwright of yours
must be a pretty funny kid.
Stanley Krown is a writer
of unshakable principles
and high integrity.
That kind never makes
anybody laugh.
Then what's he doing,
tickling her?
A woman's laugh
is very often
just a mating call.
Ha ha ha ha!
It may be funny to you,
but I'll take vegetables
over flowers any day.
Come on, Bea.
Only a half-hour to curtain.
Stay here
and finish your dinner.
We'll meet you after the show.
I've got to work on the script.
I'm behind on the typing
with that hunt-and-peck system.
How does George
spell his second name,
a "d" or a "dt"?
Just a "d."
George won't mind.
The market went up today.
Don't work too hard, Stanley.
You look a little peaked.
Doesn't he look a little peaked?
I'm jealous. You never tell
George he looks peaked.
Oh, well.
Felix.
Yes?
I'm crooked.
Sorry, miss Page.
It won't happen again.
Drop up for a cocktail
tomorrow, huh, Stan?
I'll set my alarm
for 5:00.
Good night, lambie pie.
You're, uh, really
living, lambie pie,
aren't you?
He's alone.
He's good-looking from here.
Well, for a writer.
Where is it?
What?
My thing.
You're sitting on it.
Oh!
Well, here goes.
Uh...
Hello.
Oh, hello.
I just bet you...
You don't remember me.
Oh, yes, I do.
It's only been two weeks.
Who could forget a character
like you in two weeks?
I remember your name...
Sally Carver.
Peggy Pruitt.
Peggy Pruitt?
I could have sworn
it was Sally Carver.
Well, two weeks ago
it was Sally Carver,
but today it's Peggy Pruitt.
I wasn't having much
luck as Sally Carver,
so I changed it, that's all.
Oh, I've had lots of names.
You see, you keep
getting turned down for jobs
under one name,
and that name gets a reputation
for being unemployable,
so you change your name.
Oh, I have high hopes
for Peggy Pruitt.
What can I do for you,
miss Pruitt?
Miss Pruitt.
It sounds strange.
I just took that name
this morning.
Oh, uh, I have something
very interesting
to show you, Mr. Krown.
Uh, would you like
a cup of coffee?
No, no, no.
Thank you.
What have you got that's ready?
Spaghetti marinara,
our specialty.
Oh, that's fine,
and maybe a mixed salad
and a plate of spumone.
I might as well have
the coffee, too.
Very well.
Tell me something...
does anyone in the theater
ever buy their own dinner?
Oh, not if they can help it.
You see, my
television show is off,
and things are pretty slow
down at the typing agency.
Well, if your play
should be a flop
and peg Pruitt a success,
I'll buy you a dinner.
That's the way things
are done in the theater.
Oh, I should have had a Martini.
You were going
to show me something.
Oh, yes.
Where is it?
Oh!
I'm sitting on it again.
This is a copy of the
theater arts magazine.
I haven't seen the latest issue.
Latest issue?
This copy is so old,
it's falling apart.
Ah, take a look at that.
"Alice Brady, James
rennie, and Henry hull
in a scene from the new
success the forgotten light."
Well, what about it?
Don't you notice anything
funny about the maid?
Yeah.
What's funny about her?
Don't you recognize her?
It's Beatrice Page.
You're crazy.
That's not Beatrice Page.
You're crazy.
It's nobody but Beatrice Page.
The picture's so faded.
How can you tell?
Anyway, what are you
trying to prove?
If she played a maid
so long ago,
how can she play
a girl of 19 today?
She's not 19 anymore.
She's 29.
Wait.
They must list the cast.
"Maid... Eileen Prentiss."
Well?
My, this...
Spaghetti is good.
Uh, what are you doing
after dinner tonight?
Me?
Well, i... i usually take
a brisk half-hour walk.
Good for the digestion
and the figure.
And, uh, after the walk?
Well, this is New York.
There are millions
of things to do,
only I never seem
to do any of them.
Tonight, like most nights,
I'm going to go home,
unless you're thinking
of asking me
to go to the ballet.
I hate ballet.
Oh.
Um...
How about coming up
to my apartment?
I feel about men's apartments
the way you feel
about the ballet.
Well, a brisk walk
from here to my apartment
takes about a half an hour.
How about it?
Well...
O.k.
Oh, uh, excuse me a minute
while I tell my girlfriend
not to wait for me.
When the waiter
brings the spumone,
ask him for some macaroons.
Well, it's finally happened.
What?
I've been hanging around
Broadway for three years
and not even a leer
from a producer,
playwright, director,
or even stage manager,
but now!
You mean Stanley Krown?
He invited me up
to his apartment.
I guess Peggy Pruitt has
more appeal than Sally Carver.
Well, you're not going.
Indeed I am.
He'll have a script
in his apartment.
Before he knows it, I'll
be giving him a reading.
It may not be
what he has in mind,
but that's what
he's going to get.
He doesn't look like he'd
stand still for a reading.
Maybe you'd better phone
me every 15 minutes.
He's probably in the phone book.
All right, but be careful.
Don't worry about me, Patty.
He hasn't got a siamese chance.
Come on.
It's getting late.
What about my spumone?
I ate it.
It was delicious.
If you don't mind,
I'd rather not hear
any more about it.
Oh, don't be a child.
She's lying about her age.
Everybody in the theater
lies about their age.
You, too?
Well, of course me, too.
I, uh, I told you
I was 19, didn't I?
If you're not 19,
how old are you?
22. Practically 23.
Ye gods!
What do you
have to lie for at 22
or even practically 23?
You're naive.
I'm not lying for now.
I'm lying for 15 years from now
when I'll be 38
and want people to think I'm 35.
You're crazy.
Yeah.
I don't see any kitchen.
Even bachelors eat, don't they?
Where do you do
your, uh, cooking?
I'll show you afterwards.
Is there a... a drink
on the premises?
Afterwards.
After... what?
Let's see.
Is there enough light?
For what?
Here. You sit here.
Here. Catch!
Oh!
Maybe a little more light.
There. That's better.
Oh.
This is for the saddle sores.
Now, three carbons
ought to be enough.
Three carbons of what?
The changes on my play.
There's quite a batch.
Wait a minute.
You mean to say
you got me up here
to do your typing for you?
That's right.
You type, don't you?
Said you worked
at the rialto agency.
Well, you've got
one fine siamese nerve!
Do you know what I get
for typing?
$1.00 an hour. This will
take me five hours at least!
That's fine.
That's just about
what your dinner cost me,
including the tip.
When you finish that batch,
there'll be another.
Hello.
Patty!
What?
What's happening?
I'm typing.
That's what's happening.
Yes, that's what I said...
typing.
Yeah. Well, you're...
you're right, Patty.
Playwrights just ain't what
they used to be, that's all.
Ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
Pretty funny, huh?
Frankly, Stanley, I didn't
think you had it in you.
The first script I read
had no laughs.
Harry thought it could use
a little comedy, so I wrote...
this isn't a comedy scene.
It isn't?
This is a new dramatic scene.
Well, if it is, Stanley,
you're in trouble.
Let me look at it again.
Do you know what it is, Stanley?
Changing the girl from 19 to 29,
that's what does it.
That's what's ruining your play.
Harry Phillips doesn't think so.
Harry Phillips is in
love with Beatrice Page.
How do you know that?
Everybody knows it but Harry
Phillips and Beatrice Page.
Well, I'm not in love
with Beatrice Page.
Even if I were, I wouldn't
change one line for her
if I didn't think it was right.
By making the girl more mature,
I make the play more mature.
Is that what you believe,
or is that what they
talked you into believing?
I made some coffee.
Would you like a cup?
Is it free, or do I
have to do your laundry?
Aw, don't worry. It's
going to be all right.
All you have to do is
change the girl back to 19
and persuade me
to play the part.
I could be persuaded, you know.
I know.
Mmm!
Ooh, this is perfectly
terrible coffee.
I know.
Would it, uh,
would it change your
attitude about the ballet any
if I told you I could get two
passes for tomorrow night?
No, it wouldn't.
Have you any brothers
or sisters?
I've got a kid sister.
What difference does it make?
None.
I, uh, I'm an only child.
That's obvious.
Are you engaged or anything?
And don't ask me what
difference does it make.
It makes a big difference.
To whom?
To me.
You know, I'm really looking
at you for the first time...
As a male, I mean.
You were just a man
who could give me a job.
That kind of man is
always attractive, but now...
Listen.
Why don't you look at me
for the first time, too?
Ha ha ha ha!
You've got such
a surprised look,
a real siamese surprised look.
Tell me something.
What is this siamese bit
you do all the time?
Oh, it doesn't mean anything.
Every person should have an
expression peculiar to himself.
It draws attention.
You see?
It worked with you.
You seem to have
a lot of characteristics
peculiar to yourself.
Oh, one good thing
about bad coffee...
it makes you so nice and drowsy.
My sister used to have a
kitten that stretched like that.
It must have been
an only kitten.
Oh, it's the phone.
I'll get it.
Never mind, Patty.
It's all...
Patty?
Patty?
That's funny.
There's nobody on the phone.
It's the doorbell.
Well, hello.
Oh, hello.
It's raining,
so I thought I'd drop up
and drive you to work.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I didn't know you had company.
Oh, she's not company.
She's, uh, miss Pruitt, I think.
Uh, she's a typist.
I'm not a typist.
I'm an actress.
Oh, really?
So am I.
I'm Beatrice Page.
How do you do?
I'm helping him
with the changes.
Oh.
No, no.
It's the alarm.
It's supposed to wake
me up and get me to work.
Turn it off and get your coat.
You're going to
the market in style.
That's swell of you.
I'll see you in a second.
And all for me.
You know what my first
job in the theater was?
Typist at an agency.
Oh, this has got
to be the phone.
Hello?
Hello, Patty.
No, no, no trouble.
No hits, no runs.
One error.
That your car?
Yes.
Oh, may we drop you?
I'm going to walk home.
I love walking in the rain.
You're crazy.
The wind in your hair,
the rain on your face,
it's exhilarating!
You two better get in the car.
You're darn right.
Wait. It isn't
raining that hard.
It does give you a tingle.
Let's walk half the way
and then take a taxi.
Oh, just because this lunatic...
a little water won't hurt you.
Come on.
What are we trying to prove?
Hello, Mr. Phillips.
Hello, whatever your name is.
Oh, it's still Peggy Pruitt.
I'd rather be alone,
miss Pruitt.
I suppose if I don't
ask you to sit down,
you will anyway, so sit down.
Thank you, Mr. Phillips.
I imagine you have a drink
in the back of your mind.
I assumed you'd ask,
so I ordered a planter's punch.
I read that you're flying to
Hollywood to sign up a mother.
In an hour and a half.
We start rehearsals
a week from tomorrow,
and we have no mother.
We have a well-typed
script, thanks to you,
almost enough money, but
no mother. I think it's very sad.
How many drinks have
you had, Mr. Phillips?
Innumerable,
and if I can pronounce
innumerable,
I haven't had enough.
Make it a double this time.
I know why you're upset.
If I told you to shut up,
you'd keep talking.
You're flying to the coast,
and Beatrice Page isn't
even here to see you off.
I bet it's the first time
it's happened, too.
It used to be that if I
went to the Polo grounds,
she put me on the subway train.
And where is she tonight?
Out to some stupid party
with that supreme idiot
Stanley Krown.
I know because I asked him
to take me
to the ballet tonight.
They're the hottest
romance of the century.
They're making bums out
of Tristan and Isolde.
Oh, I think it's disgraceful.
Why doesn't she leave him alone?
What does she want with him?
As long as a man as young
and attractive as Stanley
looks at her the way he does,
she has that wonderful feeling
that she's still
in there pitching.
Allow me to mix a metaphor.
She feels that the door
hasn't closed on her yet.
Every woman has
one foot in there
trying to keep that door
from slamming shut.
The foot is bare.
It's broken and bruised.
It's bleeding from every toe,
but it's in there.
And don't look so disdainful.
You'll be doing
the same thing yourself.
I better get my check
and get out of here.
All right.
I can understand her
going for him,
but what does he see in her?
Here I am
flinging myself at him,
and there's no sense
in being modest.
I'm fairly attractive, aren't I?
Well, if I were 10 years younger
and the plane was
leaving an hour later, i...
the horrible part of Bea's
dusting off George Courtland
is that I can't sign
his name anymore. Thank you.
Nice trip,
Mr. Phillips.
Thank you, Jimmy.
Look, right now you
haven't got a chance.
You see, Bea is glamour.
She takes him to
all the snazzy parties.
He meets not the best people,
but the best-known people.
This is a big leap
from Washington Market.
He's in a whirl.
Well, I'm not giving up.
You're just a good little man
fighting a good big man.
It's dempsey and
carpentier all over again.
Dempsey, carpentier?
I wasn't even born yet.
Bea knows all about
dempsey and carpentier.
She probably refereed the fight.
Hi, Harry.
I've been trying to
call you all day long.
I have no phone.
I've got a part for you...
fourth road company
of the night is blue.
You play tents,
gymnasiums, even theaters.
It's the ingenue lead.
Ingenue lead?
I'll leave you two
to settle the details.
I've got to go out into the wild
blue yonder and find a mother.
You're not making a
mistake, Eddie. She's good.
Once I almost heard her read.
Goodbye, Peggy.
Goodbye, Eddie.
Goodbye, writers,
producers, directors,
agents, ballet dancers.
Goodbye, everybody.
Flight number 125
from Washington
now arriving gate number 3.
Harry. I thought I'd
never get here on time.
What's the matter,
the party dull?
The unemployed actors
were entertaining.
They'll never know I'm gone.
Sorry, excess. 15.80.
Oh, my.
This is heavy.
Well, it's way over 40 pounds.
You'll have to pay excess.
$1.50, $2.00...
what's the difference?
Don't be silly. Why
should you pay anything?
The airline doesn't
need the money.
Harry.
Come along. Come along.
Follow me.
Don't make a scene.
Be quiet.
Give me that bag, will you?
Excuse me.
What are you going to do?
Never mind.
Put this in your pocket.
Put it in your pocket.
For Pete's sake.
Why are you bringing this?
The frame weighs a ton.
Put this in one pocket.
I'm sorry.
Got the other.
Don't worry.
Everybody does it.
At least pretend
to be making a phone call.
Carry that.
Pretend it's a book.
I don't know why you're not
the world's richest woman.
Because a certain spendthrift
I know owes me lots of money.
Come, Thomas.
Here you are.
There's the ticket.
Where's the boy playwright?
He's still at the party.
However did he let you go?
I slipped something
into his drink.
Very funny.
A quarter of a pound over.
What?
There's no charge.
There's your baggage
check and gate pass.
Thank you.
You might at least thank me.
It's wonderful... a man
your age being jealous.
It's even more wonderful you
being able to make me jealous.
Oh, what's the matter?
You've been through
George Courtland,
Roger Baker, Johnny Morrow,
and all my other little
harmful flirtations.
I've got a funny feeling about
Stanley Krown. He's different.
Yes, he is different.
Stanley worries me.
He's not behaving
according to Freud.
A young, charming girl
throws herself at him...
Peggy Pruitt?
Yeah.
I got her a job
in the road company
of the night is blue.
You did, eh?
Yes, I did.
She needed the job, didn't she?
You did it because
she needed the job, eh?
Not to get her away
from Stanley?
Oh, Harry.
Take care of yourself.
I don't know
what I'd do without you.
I'll take very
good care of myself.
Thanks for taking
my picture along.
A pleasure.
Bea,
by any chance did you referee
the dempsey-carpentier fight?
Oh, for me? Celery.
Emma.
Mr. Krown.
Yeah.
A young lady wants
to see the run-through...
a friend of yours.
What's her name?
Claudia Souvaine.
Claudia Souvaine.
I don't know a Claudia Souvaine.
She seems to know you
right well.
Where is she?
In the lobby.
All right.
Claudia Souvaine?
Oh.
They love that sort
of name on the road.
Only I'm not
on the road anymore.
They fire you already?
I gave my notice.
What for?
It's a stupid part any of
10,000 ingenues can play.
It's a waste of my talent.
You knew that before you
took the part, didn't you?
Yeah, but...
Yeah, but what?
I didn't know I'd be
missing you so much.
Oh.
It wasn't so bad
in Hazelton and Scranton
and places like that,
but as we kept going
farther west, I...
Did... you miss me any?
Uh, well, I, uh...
I was so busy.
You can be busy and
still miss a person.
I was busy, too.
I think I did think
about you now and then.
Aren't you touched
by what I did...
I mean, giving up a job
and everything?
Well, of course I'm touched.
Who wouldn't be? But...
Also I think
you're a little tetched.
What's the matter?
That's a nice, warm smile.
I like it.
Uh,
uh, you lose some weight?
Yeah, a pound or two.
Are you worried about me?
Uh, yes. I don't know
why I should be,
but I'm worried about you.
Thank you for worrying about me.
Look, after the run-through,
we're going out for
coffee and sandwiches.
You want to join us?
I was hoping you'd ask me.
I was planning to anyway,
but I was hoping you'd ask me.
Ready, Mr. Krown.
Oh, thanks.
Oh, could I watch
it, just from the back?
Sure. Look, it's
just a run-through...
no scenery, no lights.
You can't get much reaction
from 10 audience members.
Don't worry about me.
I know all about run-throughs.
No, mother.
I won't wait.
I've waited for 10 years.
I refuse to be treated
as a child any longer.
And when you grow up,
you can find me
at the hotel tremont.
Curtain!
O.k., Mr. Phillips?
I'll check the notes later.
O.k., people. Not bad.
Pretty good.
Pretty good? Not bad?
Why, it's great,
and that's not a word
I use very often.
Bill, what do you think?
One act's all I want to see.
If that 5% is still open, you'll
have my check tomorrow.
Bless you and
your black market money.
Dick, the entire company
on stage, please.
What's the matter? I
can see you didn't like it.
It's dreadful.
I'm furious.
They took your play
about a young girl
and made her a woman,
and now it's... it's nothing.
I didn't believe a word of it.
Not a word, huh?
Four weeks on the road, and
you know more than these people.
I don't care about them. What
do you think about your play?
You're afraid to tell me.
It's my first play.
If all these people
experienced in the theater...
don't you know nobody tells
the truth at a run-through?
I'm telling you the truth
because I love you.
It'll be a fiasco in Washington.
O.k., that's
your opinion.
Thank you.
If I lied, you'd be
falling all over me
the way you're falling
all over that woman.
She's ruined your play.
Now, listen...
shh! Shh!
I want you to leave
that woman...
I mean miss Page...
out of this.
You, the theater tough guy,
you came out of
Washington Market,
and nobody could tell
you what to do.
They told me how to get
a star like Beatrice Page.
Beatrice Page's twisting you
around her little finger.
It's as plain as the siamese
nose on your siamese face.
That's enough.
You're too dumb to know it
and to know
I'd be wonderful for you,
or my name isn't
Claudia Souvaine.
It isn't, or it
won't be next week.
You and Beatrice Page...
why, it's pitiful.
An eagle swooping down
on an innocent sparrow
and carrying him off...
shut up and give
the actors a chance.
Get out and never come back.
I never want to see or
hear from you again or...
what about that sandwich
and drink you invited me out for?
Get out!
Oh, they're lovely.
Thank you.
Some more telegrams.
Oh, thank you, darling.
Oh, thank you, Harry,
for the roses.
They're lovely.
Whatever did you use for money?
Your alimony payment.
Nevertheless I am touched.
Roses always make me want
to cry. Long-stemmed roses.
Come in.
Hi.
Hello, Stanley.
Y-You nervous?
Yeah.
I, uh, brought you
a little something.
Darling, you shouldn't have.
The place's filled
with flowers already.
Well, these aren't
exactly flowers.
They're, uh, strawberries,
prize strawberries.
Oh, well, thank you, Stanley.
We'll, uh, we'll eat
them after the show.
Market here's almost
as good as New York's.
They made me a present of these.
Professional courtesy, no doubt.
Did you, uh, spend
all day at the market?
No. I walked along
the potomac river.
Again?
Well, the view seems
to settle my stomach.
It's been churning ever
since we came to Washington.
Thank you.
This is the most
important night of my life.
In a couple hours, I'll know
whether I belong in the theater
or back to fruits
and vegetables.
Another batch of wires.
Thank you.
And a couple for you.
I didn't know
you had any friends.
It's from Eddie Woods.
"10 words wishing you
and my 10% good luck."
For 20 years, he's sent
that same wire to his clients.
Who's the other one from?
"I love you...
Claudia Souvaine."
Cheapskate.
Only three words.
She's probably
like Eddie Woods...
sends the same
telegram to everyone.
Come in.
Five minutes, please, miss Page.
Well...
No, don't... don't wish me
luck. I'm superstitious.
But you may kiss me.
Oh, come on. Come on.
You haven't got
all night. Do you mind?
For luck.
I hope you watched
and learned something.
Well?
Not a trace of him.
I phoned the hotel and
had him paged at the bar.
It's too early to call the
hospitals and police stations.
I can't get over it.
You say he didn't come
back for the third act.
He didn't even stay
for the end of the second.
Was it that bad?
The curtain went up,
and nothing happened.
In all my years in the
theater, I don't know why.
Let's go back to the hotel.
Maybe the bartender
will know why.
Wait. You go back.
I have an idea where he may be.
Driver.
Driver, stop here.
I came to apologize
for ruining your play.
There wasn't enough
of a play to ruin.
Well, whatever there was
I ruined.
You don't really believe that.
Of course I don't.
I thought I was quite wonderful.
Why did you say it?
The first time we met,
you said that an actress
should have humility.
I'm having humility.
I also remember your
saying something else...
that a writer
should be arrogant.
You were very definite
about that.
An actress should be humble.
A writer should be arrogant.
You don't look
very arrogant to me.
I found out I'm no writer.
I'm a fruit and vegetable man.
I'm going back
to Washington Market.
No, you're going right
back to work on the play.
I worked on that play
a whole year...
from 6:00 at night
until 3:00 in the morning...
on the subway going to the
market and on the subway back.
I thought about it shaving
and thought about it showering.
I've had it.
Forget the whole thing.
No, I won't.
We'll close the play.
I'll go to Europe
for a vacation.
You'll work on the play
every moment I'm gone.
When I return, we'll
start all over again...
more rewriting, more rehearsal,
and we'll have a hit.
We'll have the biggest
smash since...
pop McNally.
Pop McNally?
Our high school basketball coach
used to give just
the sort of pep talk
in between halves
when we were losing.
Well, did it work?
Not once. We had
the league's worst team,
at least when I was on it.
This isn't a locker room,
and there's a big difference
between me and pop McNally.
He doesn't want to marry you.
What?
I said, "he doesn't
want to marry you."
Well, he... he never mentioned
it one way or the other.
Well, I shouldn't have
mentioned it either.
I wanted to marry you,
but not anymore.
I don't mind people
feeling sorry for themselves,
but when they enjoy it.
If you were really miserable,
you'd be staring
at a blank wall.
But you're being unhappy
on this beautiful river,
staring at
the Jefferson memorial.
I wanted to marry you,
but now, in your
own immortal words,
"forget
the whole thing."
Now, is there a taxi here,
or do I have to run
back to the hotel?
Let's try one from down here.
Hold it just like that.
Lovely!
Darling, let's see if I've
got everything straight.
You're going to Paris, Rome,
Israel, and scandinavia.
Home after labor day,
marry Stanley, open the play.
Or is it the other way around...
open the play,
then marry Stanley?
It's marry Stanley first.
Any word from Harry yet?
I don't know where he is.
His nose needs powder.
Take miss Page. I don't
want any more pictures.
O.k. You don't
sell papers.
How about by the piano?
I'll only be a minute.
Look real sweet, darling.
My nose needs powder.
Hold it like that.
That's it.
Oh. Hello, Claudia.
Is it still Claudia?
Mr. Krown,
one last picture...
you and miss Page
in a clutch, huh?
Keep your back to the camera.
You can scowl
as much as you like.
Isn't he sweet?
Mr. Phillips.
Mr. Phillips!
Harry...
Where have you been?
None of your business.
What do you think
of Bea marrying Stanley?
The three of us
will be very happy.
I'll fix you some food.
She can't wait to know
what I think about it.
True enough.
Is the engagement broke?
See if my guests need anything.
I'll say this to you
again, miss Page...
he's a lovely boy, but
he ain't no Harry Phillips.
Even Harry Phillips ain't
no Harry Phillips anymore.
Listen here.
You know something?
You're liable to have the
shortest engagement on record.
You sound so tired.
I just got off a plane.
Where were you?
Lots of places.
Why didn't I hear from you?
Why didn't you accept my call?
Why should I accept
a collect call?
Don't forget to invite me
to the wedding.
I cry at weddings.
Everybody else will be laughing.
So you think
the whole thing's crazy?
Bea, you know it'll never work.
That's what they said
about the Wright brothers
and about the steamboat.
Not me. I kept encouraging
Robert Fulton.
If you can't be
serious, get out.
You've... you've played
comedy long enough
to know when a thing's funny.
How can you take a silly,
childish thing like this...
what is this?
The very latest Bermuda onions,
a sort of going-away
gift from Stanley.
Well, let's see.
You ought to be married
just in time for cantaloupes.
It makes me a little hesitant
to bring forth
my slight offering.
You brought me a present?
In a weak moment.
Oh, Harry.
Needless to say,
it's not real gold.
Well, it is to me.
Why do you have
to marry him, Bea?
Why can't it be like George Courtland,
Roger Baker, Johnny Morrow?
You said it once
yourself, Harry.
Stanley is different.
Oh, I don't know.
Maybe I'm getting scared.
Everybody has their
moments when they're scared.
With me, it's usually
quarter of 5:00 in the morning.
I know because
I look at my watch.
Maybe you're right, Harry.
Maybe the whole thing
is crazy, but...
I need Stanley.
He... he makes me happy.
Well, don't you want me
to be happy, Harry?
I just want you
to be sure, baby.
Baby...
You haven't called me baby in...
When was the last time
you called me baby?
I remember exactly when,
but the children
may be listening.
At least I won't have
to pay alimony anymore.
That's true. You won't.
Of course you'll still owe
me the back payments.
You're not canceling
the back payments?
You owe it to me.
You're kidding.
You know I'm not.
You're getting married.
I don't see any connection
between my getting married
and money you owe me.
After I bought you
this magnificent gift?
It isn't even real gold!
That's the limit!
Every kiss, every look I
ever bestowed upon you,
every kind thought
I ever had about you,
I take back!
Sue me for the money!
I'll carry it
to the supreme court!
Harry!
Harry!
Harry?
Stan.
Yeah, what's up?
I see a stock company in
Maine's doing the unhappy holiday.
How come?
That's what
I'd like to find out.
I'm still rewriting.
Why don't we get Bea's car,
drive up there, and
take a look at the play?
Maybe we'll find a mother in it.
Drucilla's gone back to Hollywood.
She was no good anyhow.
O.k., you arrange it.
Hey, listen, I got two
letters from Bea today.
One was from nice.
One was from venice.
That's nice.
Save me the stamps.
We're a few minutes late.
I'll get the tickets.
Two for Phillips, please.
I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips.
We couldn't hold
the tickets past 8:30.
They didn't hold the tickets.
We'll have to stand in the back.
Look who's in the play.
What do you know?
And Clara Mootz yet.
Oh, Henry.
I stood outside listening.
I didn't want to interrupt.
I thought it was mother.
I do my rehearsing when
mother isn't around.
You've passed
the being-spanked stage.
Henry,
mother doesn't spank.
She has a pained smile.
It's much worse than spanking.
It's none of my business.
She's doing the first version.
Yeah. I wonder...
Well, maybe it is my business.
I don't care.
She's great.
The play is great, too.
You said that four times.
I've had four drinks.
Once a drink is not too often.
If you had guts, you'd
take the play from me
and cast Claudia or
whatever her name is
as a 19-year-old girl
and have a big hit.
That is, if you had guts.
Who'd tell Bea?
You're engaged to her.
Well, you were married to her.
Hello, Claudia.
The, uh, name is Clara Mootz.
Oh, yes, yes.
What are you drinking?
Beer.
Bill, see if you can
find us a corner table.
Certainly, Clara.
Jack, get us two beers
and tell mortie
at the piano I'm here.
O.k.
He knows what I like.
They... worship me.
In the meantime,
why don't we dance?
Will you tell me something?
Why Clara Mootz?
It happens to be my real name.
Couldn't be.
Well, it is,
and I'm sticking to it.
I'm through with name
changing and all other pretenses.
What have you been
doing with yourself?
Oh, uh, nothing much.
What do you hear from Beatrice?
Oh, uh, nothing much.
What sort of summer
have you been having?
Hot?
Yeah, kind of.
I'm trying to make conversation.
I'm sorry, Clara.
It's just that I can't
get used to you.
At the theater, I was
completely bowled over.
I was good, wasn't I?
Good? You were...
Well, this... this new
manner you have...
The new you.
You're... You're...
oh, bill has a table for us.
They cleared out
soon as I told them
who it was for.
Oh, thanks.
Here we are.
Uh, we'd like to be alone, Jack.
Oh, sure.
Oh, and please see that
we're not disturbed.
O.k.
All right,
tell me about the new me.
Well, you're so much
more self-assured
in a so much less obnoxious way.
That's very true.
When I kept shouting
what a great actress I was,
I really didn't
quite believe it.
I was awfully afraid
that maybe I wasn't.
Now, I know.
I'm good.
Not great yet,
but good.
And it's had
a strange effect on me.
I don't have to shout
at people anymore.
I'm actually humble.
To my great surprise
I've discovered
that I'm really
a very nice person.
Yes, you are.
And you look different, too.
You're...
You're much more, uh...
Well, you know what I mean.
I know what you mean.
Do you remember the night,
the night I came to
your apartment to wrestle
and remained to type?
Do you remember
my saying to you,
"I'm really looking at
you for the first time"?
Yes.
Well, that's
what's happening now.
You're really looking at me
for the first time.
Only it's too late now.
The timing is all wrong.
Two people have to
look at each other
for the first time
at the same time,
or it's no good.
Yeah. Funny, huh?
No, not very.
Hey, you're the queen
around here.
Can't you get them
to play something else?
I like it.
Where are you staying?
Down the road
with some of the kids.
Maybe I could walk you home.
No.
No, it's more of
a lane than a road,
and it's a very pretty lane,
and it's a beautiful night.
No, we're not going to
fall into that trap.
What's happening to us, Sally?
Why did you call me
Sally all of a sudden?
I don't know.
I... i didn't realize I had.
But you did.
Maybe it's because
it's the first name
I knew you under.
Maybe that's why
it's the name that stuck.
Maybe because it's
the sweetest name.
Now, you tell me this.
You call me the wrong name,
you say the wrong things.
For a writer,
you're a terrible dope!
Go finish your drink
with Harry Phillips.
Good luck with Beatrice Page.
Good luck with your play.
Good luck with everything!
You don't have to
tell me a thing.
I'm a lip reader.
You find out who
gave them permission
to do the play?
No, well, it seems
Eddie Woods...
I don't know.
I wish Bea were
back from Europe.
What's the matter?
Do you miss her?
Sure.
Sure, I miss her.
That's not the
impression I got last night
when you were playing
footsie with miss Mootz.
Forget last night.
She'd given a great performance,
the orchestra was playing,
there was a waterfall,
and I had a couple
of beers. So forget it.
O.k., I'll forget it
if you will.
Harry, there's a big difference
between Clara and Bea.
Clara's so...
So...
Well, you know.
No, I don't know.
I'm stupid.
Well, take Bea.
Bea's so...
Well, I wish she were
back from Europe.
You do?
Yes, I do.
Funny thing you should
mention Bea just now.
We're only about an hour's drive
from her mother's house.
Bea's mother?
She never mentioned
having a mother.
Well, she's that
kind of a mother.
Why don't we drop in on her?
No. It's late.
I want to make New York.
O.k., you're going to have
to meet her sooner or later.
Is this the place?
Yeah, hop out.
I'll wait here.
Aren't you coming?
I'd better not.
The old lady keeps hounding
me about back alimony. Go on.
I'm not facing
any strange woman alone.
You've got to introduce me.
Well... all right.
Go ahead, ring the bell
or use the knocker or something.
What's the matter? What
are you so nervous about?
Mr. Phillips.
Mr. Krown.
Emma, I didn't
expect to see you here.
That goes double for me.
Are you taking care
of miss Page's mother
while miss Page is in Europe?
What's that?
Tell Mrs. Page
we'd like to see her.
Mrs. Page?
Yes, Mrs. Page.
Go along.
She's in the work shed.
All right...
oh, no. I'll go.
I'll tell her you're here.
Oh, miss Page.
Miss Page, he's here.
Who?
Him. Mr. Krown.
Stanley?
And he talks awful funny.
He says, "are you taking
care of miss Page's mother?"
How does he know that I'm here?
Why does he think
I have a mother?
Mr. Phillips. He seems
to think so, too.
He says...
oh!
Oh, now I get it.
Why the contemptible,
the despicable,
the dirty, rotten...
I know what you're thinking,
and you're not
thinking half enough.
Well, look at the way I look!
You... you go
and stall them.
Make them a drink,
and I'll fix up.
Yes, miss Page.
Oh!
Miss... Mrs. Page
will be right in.
In the meantime,
would you gentlemen
like a drink...
oh.
One bottle of liquor
in the whole house.
Hello, Bea.
Bea.
Hello, Stanley.
You can't be here.
I saw you off
on a plane to Europe.
I know.
I got off at Boston.
But all those letters
I received from Europe.
A very simple matter to arrange.
And this mother business?
I haven't had a mother
for 20 years.
This was just Harry's
idea to get you here.
I don't get it.
Why did you say
you're going to Europe?
I say every year
I'm going to Europe,
then I sneak up here
to hide out.
Hide out?
Why?
Why?
So I can relax
and put on weight,
let my hair go and be as sloppy
and carefree as I like.
So I can put behind me,
for a while,
the dieting and the massaging
and the hair dying
and the beauty parloring
and all the other little
tortures that my profession...
and my vanity...
inflict upon me.
In short, so that
for two heavenly months
out of the year,
I can be my age.
Why can't you be
your age all year?
You ask an actress
to give up being 29?
When you're an older and
wiser playwright, Stanley,
and you write a play
for a woman of 34,
or 35, or even 40,
you'll find that the
actress will come to you
and say, "why does
she have to be 34?
"Or 35, or even 40?
Why can't she be... 29?"
It's such a wonderful age.
Can you blame us for lingering
and lingering and lingering
and then finally having
to be dragged through?
And it isn't only
in the theater.
Look at the audience sometime.
It's full of 29s.
Speaking of 29...
I'm not speaking to you.
Nevertheless, speaking of 29,
Stanley and I saw
the unhappy holiday
at lake manapac last night.
Oh? Really?
Yes, and Clara Mootz
played the lead.
Clara Mootz
alias Claudia Souvaine,
alias Peggy Pruitt, alias
Sally something or other.
Bea, what I don't understand is
why'd you let me see you?
I didn't have to know.
No...
No, you didn't.
But all summer long,
I sat on the porch here
rocking and thinking
about you and me.
We had some wonderful
times together, Stanley.
And I felt some wonderful
things toward you,
but it wasn't love.
I rocked myself
into that realization.
You know, when Emma told
me that you were here,
at first, I got panicky. I...
i didn't want to see you.
Then I knew it was no use.
You'd find out sooner or later.
E. Harry Phillips would see
to that, wouldn't you, dear?
I certainly would.
May I tell you something else?
The moment I saw you,
I knew you'd been having
the same sort of summer.
Harry, when you mentioned Clara
did you see his face light up?
Like a cheap Roman candle.
Tell me, did you play the maid
in the forgotten light
years ago?
Yes, under another name.
I, too, have had many names,
but nothing, nothing like Mootz.
Well, Stanley,
now what?
Well, the...
the whole thing
is such a surprise. I...
I really don't know...
Look, Bea, a few years' difference
in age, what does it matter?
On your toes, Bea.
He's going to be gallant.
No, i...
thank you, Stanley.
That's sweet of you.
I'm touched.
If I were young and foolish,
you'd make me cry.
In fact, I wish you would go,
because I have a feeling
that in a little while,
I'll be crying
all over the place.
Bea...
never mind.
I'll take care of her.
Here are the car keys.
Drive to New York or someplace.
Drive to lake manapac.
That's where you
really want to go.
Go on. Beat it.
Somebody's always
telling me to beat it.
Bea...
Do you want to kill me?
Could I get you a cigarette
or a drink or something?
Bea, could I ask you
just one question?
Was it your doing that
the lake manapac players
got ahold of Stanley's play?
I wrote Eddie Woods...
From Europe.
Why did you do it?
Oh, I don't know.
But ever since Washington,
I had a feeling...
I hated to admit
even to myself...
that maybe by making
Stanley change his play
we'd ruined it.
I just wanted to see.
And did you?
I sneaked into the
theater the other night.
Oh, don't look at me
as though I'd done
something noble.
It wasn't noble at all.
I kept hoping the play
would be terrible
and Clara would be even worse.
But she wasn't, was she?
No.
She was wonderful.
And the play was
even more wonderful.
And that's what you've
got to do, Harry...
produce that play
the way it was written
with that girl in the lead.
What am I going to do
on opening night?
I won't even be able
to go near the theater.
Bea.
Bea, I just thought
of something.
Something crazy.
What?
Please listen to me
and then you can hit me.
But suppose you were
to play the mother?
Just suppose.
Everyone would say
how courageous
of Beatrice Page
to play a woman of 50.
She's nowhere near it.
I am nowhere near it.
Suppose you have
a few gray hairs.
They'll think it's dyed.
They'll say what a great artist,
to dye her hair gray for a part.
I don't want to set foot
on stage again.
Bea, you know the trouble
we've had casting the part.
You're the only woman in
the world who could play it.
Yes, I know.
And with that Mootz kid
playing the daughter,
not that the part's any better,
we'll have the
biggest hit of our lives!
Oh, I don't know.
I don't think so.
Anyway, I don't
want to discuss it.
Suddenly, I feel I can't stay
in this house another night.
You don't have to.
Let's get out.
You mean now, tonight?
Sure. Is there a train?
A horrible one, but a train.
Oh, we'd never
make it. 15 minutes.
Just throw a coat over.
You've got clothes in New York.
Get my coat and my purse.
We may not make it.
We can try!
Emma!
Yes?
You're driving us
to the station! Hurry!
I may not have enough
money for the tickets.
We'll ride the rails.
We've only got 12 minutes.
Harry.
What's the matter?
I was thinking.
The girl in the play
is going to be 19 or 20.
Yeah, but...
then why's the mother
have to be 50?
Why can't she be... 39?
Come on, for Pete's sake!
We'll miss the train.
Well, I was nervous
again tonight.
Another opening night.
Anyway, it's 11:30,
and thank heaven
it's all over now.
So, Harry Phillips
finally has a hit.
A lucky one, too, I hear.
The kid, he's
a one-play playwright.
You'll never hear from
that Stanley Krown again.
How good was she really, Harry?
Very good.
Not as good as the play.
Not nearly as good as you.
You'll get all the
notices. Wait and see.
It'll take her five years,
but she'll be better than I.
They're very much
in love, aren't they?
I don't envy them.
They'll marry and go
through all the crises
and bickerings and
heartbreaks of young love,
and we've got
all that behind us.
We older people
really know happiness.
Yes, but it's taking us
two marriages
to get to that stage.
Can I have your autograph?
Yes, indeed.
There you go.
Thank you.
Wait a minute.
At least let me get in first.
We're not remarried
yet, you know.
I'm sorry.
I wasn't thinking.
What's the matter?
Harry, are you remarrying me
to get out of the back alimony?
Oh, for Pete's sake!