"THE PRODUCERS"
by
Mel Brooks
Final Draft
March, 1967
INT. DAY. HALLWAY OUTSIDE OF MAX BIALYSTOCK'S OFFICE.
CLOSE-UP OF LITTLE OLD LADY. She blows a kiss and waves good-
bye.
CUT TO CLOSE-UP OF MAX BIALYSTOCK. He responds with similar
gestures.
CAMERA PULLS BACK TO FULL SHOT. Legend on frosted glass of
Bialystock's office door reads:
MAX BIALYSTOCK - THEATRICAL PRODUCER
Little old lady begins to descend stairway. She stops, turns,
blows another kiss and once more waves goodbye. Bialystock
graciously answers in kind.
BIALYSTOCK
Don't forget the checkee. Can't
produce playees without checkees.
LITTLE OLD LADY
You can count on me-o, you dirty
young man.
CAMERA BACK TO BIALYSTOCK'S FACE FROZEN IN A LITTLE GOODBYE
SMILE. The little old lady's footsteps. Begin to fade.
Bialystock's face quickly resumes its normal expression --
Despair and disgust. He then reaches into his vest pocket,
pulls out an old-fashioned, pocket watch and earnestly
consults its face.
CAMERA STAYS WITH HIM AS HE RUSHES INTO HIS OFFICE. Bialystock
moves with a quick shuffling gait to his desk. From the top
of it he picks up a framed photograph.
CAMERA INSERT: CLOSE-UP OF PHOTOGRAPH. It is face of little
old lady who has just left.
CAMERA BACK TO BIALYSTOCK. He opens desk drawer. It is filled
with tagged keys. He picks up a key.
CAMERA INSERT: tag on key reads: Investors file.
CAMERA BACK TO BIALYSTOCK. With photograph in hand, he moves
across his office to a large, double-doored cabinet. He
unlocks cabinet.
CAMERA SHOWS CABINET INTERIOR FILLED WITH HUNDREDS OF
SIMILARLY FRAMED PHOTOGRAPHS OF LITTLE OLD LADIES.
CAMERA BACK TO BIALYSTOCK. He places photograph in its proper
niche and begins to look through the faces.
CAMERA SLOWLY PANS ROWS OF PHOTOGRAPHS, BIALYSTOCK'S P.O.V.
BIALYSTOCK
(Voice Over)
"Hold me, touch me', 'hold me, touch
me', 'hold me, touch me', where is
'hold me, touch me'? Ahhh... here we
are. 'Hold me, touch me.'"
CAMERA STOPS PANNING AND REMAINS ON ONE OF THE PHOTOGRAPHS.
Bialystock's hand moves into the frame and picks up
photograph.
CAMERA MOVES IN TO CLOSE-UP OF PHOTOGRAPH.
DISSOLVE THROUGH TO MATCHING CLOSE-UP OF SAME FACE WE HAVE
JUST SEEN IN PHOTOGRAPH.
CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL LITTLE OLD LADY IN REAR SEAT OF
LIMOUSINE. EXTERIOR. DAY.
CAMERA KEEPS MOVING BACK TO EXTERIOR OF LIMO AS IT MOVES
ALONG THROUGH NEW YORK'S THEATRICAL DISTRICT.
LONG SHOT. 45Th street. Same limousine pulls up in front of
one of the theatres that line the block.
MEDIUM SHOT. Chauffeur briskly hops out, and smartly opens
rear door. The little old lady emerges. She lowers her veil
and furtively ducks into the building entrance.
INT. MEDIUM SHOT. DILAPIDATED THEATRE OFFICE BUILDING.
The little old lady enters. She raises her veil, chuckles
gleefully, and begins to ascend the stairs.
MEDIUM SHOT. Upon reaching the landing, she spots the first
little old lady coming down. She quickly drops her veil. The
first little old lady discreetly hides her face with her
purse as they pass each other on the landing.
DISSOLVE TO FOURTH FLOOR LANDING. The little old lady makes
her way to the top. She hangs onto the banister for support
as she catches her breath. She raises her veil, reaches into
her purse, takes out a small flacon of perfume and sprays
delicately behind both ears. Thoroughly composed, she
approaches Bialystock's door. She raps on the door three
times in quick succession, waits a moment, raps twice and
then three times again. Suddenly the door is flung open.
MEDIUM SHOT. MAX BIALYSTOCK
BIALYSTOCK
(leering)
Darling!
MEDIUM SHOT OVER BIALYSTOCK'S SHOULDER. LITTLE OLD LADY.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(passionately)
Hold me, touch me.
CUT TO TWO SHOT. Bialystock clutches the little old lady in
a passionate embrace.
BIALYSTOCK
Devil woman.
Freeze action.
SUPER-IMPOSE FIRST CREDIT: ZERO MOSTEL.
Resume action.
The little old lady giggles joyously and then slips from
Bialystock's grasp, darts into the office and ducks behind
the couch. She pops her head up.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Finder's keepers.
Freeze action.
SUPER-IMPOSE: TITLE OF FILM
Resume action.
BIALYSTOCK
Here I come, ready or not.
Bialystock leaps through the air towards the couch.
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Bialystock lands badly. He writhes in pain. Little old lady
coquettishly crawls to him.
LITTLE OLD LADY
What's the matter? Papa no want to
play with baby?
BIALYSTOCK
Ohhhhhh.
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Bialystock reaches out for her. She eludes him, darts into a
chair, crosses her leg seductively, raises her skirt just
above her knee revealing a golden rose and garter.
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Bialystock struggles to his feet.
BIALYSTOCK
Come to Papa. Come to Papa do.
Little old lady leaps out of her chair and poses, coyly.
LITTLE OLD LADY
To the victor go the spoils.
Bialystock starts for her. She rushes around a chair and
ducks behind it. Bialystock tiptoes on to chair and peeks
over it.
BIALYSTOCK
I'm gonna get you.
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Cut to little old lady wedged between desk and back of chair.
She straightens her legs and sends the chair hurtling across
the room.
CLOSE-UP OF BIALYSTOCK'S FACE: TERROR.
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Bialystock crashes into radiator.
BIALYSTOCK
Ohhhhhhhh.
Cut to little old lady. She is lying phone on the desk,
preening herself and purring.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Meeow. Meeow. I wonder where Old Tom
is tonight? Meeow.
Bialystock, with great will, pushes the hate out of his face
and replaces it with sweetness.
BIALYSTOCK
Rowrrr.
Bialystock glides in tom-cat fashion over to his preening
pussy-cat.
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Bialystock finishes crossing to desk, puts his face down
near hers and softly mews into her ear. She suddenly lets
out a fierce howl as she rebuffs him with a savage swipe of
her "paw". Bialystock grabs his stricken face with both hands
and shrieks.
BIALYSTOCK
Aieeeeyiyiyiyiyi,
CLOSE-UP OF BIALYSTOCK'S PAIN-RIDDEN FEATURES.
Stop action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
Bialystock falls into the chair moaning. She hops on to his
lap. From his breast pocket she takes a handkerchief and
tenderly dabs his cheek with it.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Oh, Bialy, Bialy, darling, did I
hurt you?
Freeze-action.
CREDIT.
Resume action.
BIALYSTOCK
My hand. My hand. I can't turn my
hand.
(he turns his hand)
There is a rapping at the door. We hear it, they don't.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(taking his hand)
Don't worry. I'll kiss it and make
it well.
(she smothers his
hand with kissers)
BIALYSTOCK
(trying to rescue his
hand)
Enough. It's better. Please, Lambchop,
it's better. Stop. You're hurting it
again.
Cut to door. It opens. Leo Bloom enters.
BLOOM
(his forward motion
arrested by the
unbelievable scene)
How do you do. I mean... Excuse me...
I mean...
BIALYSTOCK
You mean ooops, don't you? Say ooops
and get out.
BLOOM
I'll wait in the hall...
BIALYSTOCK
Oooooooops!
BLOOM
(backing out of door)
Ooooooops.
Little old lady hops off Bialystock's lap and goes to door.
LITTLE OLD LADY
I can't abide a peeping Tom. There's
one in the apartment just opposite
my bedroom window. I swear that man
NEVER takes his field glasses off me
for a minute.
She locks door and starts back toward Bialystock.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Feeling better?
Bialystock nods his head in assent.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Good. Let's fool around. Now, I'll
be the innocent little milk maid and
you'll be the naughty stable boy.
(she goes into her
act)
Oh, this milk is so heavy. I'll never
reach the house. Help. Will someone
help me?
BIALYSTOCK
(stopping her)
Wait. Wait. We can't play today. I
have too many appointments.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(crushed)
We can't play today?
BIALYSTOCK
Thursday. Thursday. We'll play
Thursday. We'll play the Contessa
and the chauffeur.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Oh, the best one.
BIALYSTOCK
(trying to steer her
towards the door)
Until Thursday, then, Contessa Mio.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(she sits on the sofa)
Oh, Bialy, please, just a little.
Just a little.
BIALYSTOCK
(harassed)
All right. All right.
He squats down in front of her in chauffeur fashion, his
hands on the wheel.
LITTLE OLD LADY
So, the Count hired you this morning,
Rudolfo... Watch the road... Watch
the road.
BIALYSTOCK
I can't take my eyes off you. How
can I drive when you drive me mad.
Mad.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(she squeals with
delight)
Rudolfo, you dirty pig! Pull over.
BIALYSTOCK
(upright)
Good. That's enough. We'll do the
rest on Thursday.
(he reaches down and
helps her off the
couch)
That's a good girl.
(leading her to the
door)
It's always such fun to see you.
Bialystock opens the door and ushers her out onto the landing.
CUT TO HALLWAY. FAR SHOT. Revealing Bloom waiting outside.
We see him. They do not. Bloom, very embarrassed, hugs the
wall trying to make himself less conspicuous.
MEDIUM SHOT. Bialystock and the old lady in front of
Bialystock's door.
BIALYSTOCK
Until Thursday, then, you bawdy wench.
He slaps her on the rump.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Oooh. I love it. Hold me, touch me.
CUT TO BLOOM IN SHADOWS, AGHAST.
BACK TO MEDIUM SHOT LITTLE OLD LADY AND BIALYSTOCK.
BIALYSTOCK
Thursday. I'll see you Thursday.
LITTLE OLD LADY
And we'll finish playing the Contessa
and Rudolfo.
BIALYSTOCK
Good. Yes. Thursday.
LITTLE OLD LADY
And after that we'll play the
Abduction and cruel rape of
Lucretia... And I'll play Lucretia.
CUT TO BLOOM IN SHADOWS. It is all too much for him. He looks
the other way. Suddenly his eyes widen in surprise, as he
discovers another man hiding in the next doorway. The man
puts a finger to his lips indicating silence. There is no
place left for Bloom to look. He looks to heaven.
BACK TO LITTLE OLD LADY AND BIALYSTOCK.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Oh, Thursday. Will Thursday ever
come?
BIALYSTOCK
(to himself)
Like clockwork.
She starts to descend.
LITTLE OLD LADY
I shall count the minutes.
BIALYSTOCK
Goodbye, my angel... My angel!
(calling after her)
Hey, touch me... wait! Hey, uh...
Lucretia, Lucretia!
We hear a mounting clatter of footsteps as the little old
lady flies back up the stairs.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(eagerly)
Yes???
BIALYSTOCK
Oh, Angelcake, you forgot to give me
the check. Can't produce a play
without money, ha, ha, ha.
CUT TO BLOOM. Once more he steals a glance at the stranger
hidden in the second doorway. Once again the man gestures
for him to be silent.
CUT BACK TO BIALYSTOCK AND THE OLD LADY.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(opening her handbag
and reaching inside)
Of course, the check, I had it with
me all the time.
She takes out the check and hands it to him.
LITTLE OLD LADY
I don't know what's happening to me.
I must be getting old.
Bialystock takes check and reads it.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Is it all right? I made it out to
cash. You didn't tell me the name of
the play.
BIALYSTOCK
Oh, it's fine. Fine. Good. Good.
Bye. Bye.
LITTLE OLD LADY
Til Thursday, my Darling, I shall
count the minutes.
She starts to descend.
LITTLE OLD LADY
(descending)
Ta. Ta.
BIALYSTOCK
(waving check at her)
Ta. Ta.
The man, who has been lurking in the second doorway, suddenly
springs into action. He darts forward and quickly takes the
check out of Bialystock's hand.
THE MAN (LANDLORD)
He who signs a lease, must pay rent.
He shoves the check into his pocket and starts down the
stairs.
LANDLORD
That's the law.
BIALYSTOCK
Murderer! Thief! How can you take
the last penny out of a man's pocket?
LANDLORD
(turns back, shrugs)
I have to... I'm a landlord!
BIALYSTOCK
(shouting to heaven)
Oh Lord, hear my plea. Destroy him.
He maketh a blight on the land.
CUT TO LANDLORD ON THE WAY DOWN.
LANDLORD
(to the Lord)
Don't pay attention. He's crazy.
CUT BACK TO BIALYSTOCK. He turns to re-enter his office.
BIALYSTOCK
(biting his knuckle)
Nnnnn. That hurt.
(he sighs)
I'll have to make another call.
He starts in and stops. He notices Bloom.
BIALYSTOCK
(to Bloom, quietly)
Have you been there all this time?
Bloom nods.
BIALYSTOCK
And did you see and hear everything?
Bloom nods.
BIALYSTOCK
Then what do you have to say for
yourself?
BLOOM
Uh... uh... ooooooops?
BIALYSTOCK
(shouts)
Who are you? What do you want? Why
are you loitering in my hallway?
Speak, dummy, speak! Why don't you
speak?
BLOOM
Scared. Can't talk.
BIALYSTOCK
All right. Get a hold of yourself.
Take a deep breath, let it out slowly
and tell me who you are.
BLOOM
(breathes deeply.
Words tumble from
his mouth as he
exhales)
I'm Leo Bloom, I'm an accountant,
I'm from Whitehall and Marks, I was
sent here to do your books and I'm
terribly sorry I caught you with the
old lady.
(he has run out of
breath)
BIALYSTOCK
"Caught you with the old lady." Come
in, Mr. Tact.
CUT TO OFFICE. They enter. Bloom enters timorously. He doesn't
know quite where to go. He looks to Bialystock for guidance.
Bialystock studies Bloom curiously from head to toe.
BIALYSTOCK
So you're an accountant, eh?
BLOOM
(timidly)
Yes sir.
BIALYSTOCK
Then account for yourself! Do you
believe in God? Do you believe in
gold? Why are you looking up old
lady's dresses? Bit of a pervert,
eh?
Bloom, who has been quaking under the assault, reaches into
his pocket and takes out the tattered corner of an old blue
baby blanket. He twists the blue blanket nervously in his
hands.
BLOOM
Sir, I...
BIALYSTOCK
Never mind. Never mind. Do the books.
They're in that desk over there. Top
drawer.
Bloom dutifully goes to desk. Opens top drawer and begins
removing books.
BIALYSTOCK
How dare you condemn me without
knowing all the facts.
BLOOM
But sir, I'm not condem...
BIALYSTOCK
Shut up. I'm having a rhetorical
conversation.
(to himself)
How humiliating. Max Bialystock. Max
Bialystock.
Bialystock suddenly wheels and shouts at Bloom.
BIALYSTOCK
You know who I used to be? Max
Bialystock! The King of Broadway!
Six shows running at once. Lunch at
Delmonico's. Two hundred dollar suits.
Look at me. Look at me now! I'm
wearing a cardboard belt!
He rips the belt off and holds it in the air.
BIALYSTOCK
I used to have thousands of investors
begging, pleading, to put their money
into a Max Bialystock production.
He picks up the picture on desk ('hold me, touch me') takes
it over to open cabinet filled with similar pictures.
BIALYSTOCK
Look at my investors now. Voila!
(gestures at pictures)
Hundreds of little old ladies stopping
off at Max Bialystock's office to
grab a last thrill on the way to the
cemetery.
He puts picture back in its place. Looks toward Bloom.
CUT TO BLOOM. He is obviously touched by the great man's
dilemma.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK.
BIALYSTOCK
You have exactly ten seconds to change
that disgusting look of pity into
one of enormous respect. One... Two...
CUT TO BLOOM. He is really trying to change his expression.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK.
BIALYSTOCK
Do the books! Do the books!
CUT TO BLOOM. He is greatly relieved.
BLOOM
(sighing)
Yes, sir. Thank you.
He plunges into his work.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK. He goes to window, looks out.
BIALYSTOCK
(to himself)
Window's so filthy, can't tell if
it's day or night out there.
He wipes window with his cuff. Looks at window. No good.
Looks at his grimy cuff. Grimaces. From his desk he takes
the remains of a cardboard container of coffee and sloshes
it against the window. He wipes with his tie. He looks over
his shoulder at Bloom to see if he is watching. Bloom is
watching. Their eyes meet. Bloom's eyes retreat. Bialystock
victoriously turns away and looks out the window down into
the street.
CAMERA: SHOT OF STREET. BIALYSTOCK'S POINT OF VIEW. A white
Rolls Royce slowly makes its way up the block.
BIALYSTOCK
(voice over as camera
follows Rolls)
Look at that. A white Rolls Royce.
That's it baby, when you got it,
flaunt it.
BLOOM
(off screen)
Koff, koff... ahem, ahem...
harrumph...
BIALYSTOCK
I assume you are making those cartoon
noises to attract my attention. Am I
correct in my assumption, you fish-
faced enemy of the people?
Bloom is wounded.
BIALYSTOCK
I have hurt your feelings.
Bloom nods.
BIALYSTOCK
Good, what is it?
BLOOM
Sir, may I speak to you for a minute?
BIALYSTOCK
(looking at his watch)
Go! You have fifty-eight seconds.
BLOOM
Well, sir, it seems...
BIALYSTOCK
(interrupting)
You have forty-eight seconds left.
Hurry. Hurry.
BLOOM
(speedily)
In looking at your books, I've
discovered that...
BIALYSTOCK
(interrupting)
Twenty-eight seconds, hurry, hurry,
you're using up your time.
In his anxiety, Bloom unconsciously reaches into his pocket
takes out the old blue blanket and nervously strokes his
cheek with it.
BLOOM
Mr. Bialystock, I cannot function
under these conditions.
Bialystock curiously eyes the blanket.
BLOOM
You're making me extremely nervous.
BIALYSTOCK
What is that? A handkerchief?
Bloom quickly begins to put away his blue blanket.
BLOOM
It's nothing... nothing.
Quick as a flash, Bialystock reaches over and snatches it
out of Bloom's hand.
BIALYSTOCK
If it's nothing, why can't I see it?
Bloom leaps up in hot pursuit of his blanket.
BLOOM
(shrieking in panic)
My blanket. Give me my blue blanket.
Bialystock, taken aback, hurriedly gives the blanket back to
Bloom.
BIALYSTOCK
Here, don't panic.
BLOOM
(clutching his blanket)
I'm sorry... I don't like people
touching my blue blanket. It's not
important. It's a minor compulsion.
I can deal with it if I want to.
It's just that I've had it ever since
I was a baby and... and... I find it
very comforting.
He kisses it and shoves it into his pocket.
BIALYSTOCK
(to himself)
They come here. They all come here.
How do they find me?
BLOOM
(recovering his dignity)
Mr. Bialystock...
BIALYSTOCK
Yes, Prince Mishkin, what can we do
for you?
BLOOM
This is hardly a time for levity.
I've discovered a serious error here
in the accounts of your last play.
Bialystock moves around the desk to examine the ledger.
BIALYSTOCK
Where? What?
BLOOM
According to the backer's list you
raised $60,000. But the show you
produced only cost fifty-eight
thousand. There's two thousand dollars
unaccounted for.
BIALYSTOCK
I went to a Turkish bath, who cares?
The show was a flop. What difference
does it make?
BLOOM
It makes a great deal of difference.
That's fraud. If they found out, you
could go to prison.
BIALYSTOCK
Why should they find out? It's only
two thousand dollars, Bloom, do me a
favor, move a few decimal points
around. You can do it. You're an
accountant. The word 'count' is part
of your title.
BLOOM
(aghast)
But that's cheating!
BIALYSTOCK
It's not cheating... It's charity.
Bloom, look at me... look at me!
I'm drowning. Other men sail through
life. Bialystock has struck a reef.
Bloom, I'm going under. I am being
sunk by a society that demands
success, when all I can offer is
failure. Bloom, I'm reaching out to
you. Don't send me to jail. Help!
Help!
During Bialystock's last speech, Bloom unconsciously reaches
into his pocket, takes out the blue blanket and rubs it across
his cheek.
BLOOM
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
BIALYSTOCK
(faintly)
Help!
BLOOM
All right. I'll do it. I'll do it.
BIALYSTOCK
Thank you, Bloom. I knew I could con
you.
BLOOM
Oh, it's all right... wha?
BIALYSTOCK
Nothing. Nothing. Do it. Do it.
BLOOM
(pouring over the
accounts)
Now let's see, two thousand dollars.
That isn't much. I'm sure I can hide
it somewhere. After all, the
department of internal revenue isn't
interested in a show that flopped.
BIALYSTOCK
Yes. Right. Good thinking. You figure
it out. I'm tired. I'm gonna take a
little nap.
(crossing to couch)
Wake me if there's a fire.
He hurls himself down onto the couch.
CAMERA MOVES IN TO TIGHT SHOT OF BLOOM.
BLOOM
Now let's see, if we add these
figures, we get...
CAMERA MOVES INTO CLOSE-UP OF BLOOM'S FINGER SWIFTLY MOVING
DOWN LONG COLUMN OF FIGURES. He comes to the end and
immediately writhes total below.
BACK TO TIGHT SHOT OF BLOOM. He compares pages.
BLOOM
(musing to himself)
Heh, heh, heh, amazing. It's
absolutely amazing. But under the
right circumstances, a producer could
make more money with a flop than he
could with a hit.
QUICK CUT TO BIALYSTOCK'S SLEEPING FACE. His eyes pop open.
CUT BACK TO BLOOM.
BLOOM
Yes. Yes. It's quite possible. If he
were certain the show would fail, a
man could make a fortune.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK. By now he is halfway across the room. His
whole being tingling with alertness. He moves to Bloom's
desk and hovers over him, waiting expectantly for more
information. But Bloom is lost in his work, unaware that
Bialystock is hanging on his every word.
BIALYSTOCK
Yes???
Bloom looks up. He is startled to see Bialystock's face so
close to his own.
BLOOM
(at a loss)
Yes, what?
BIALYSTOCK
What you were saying. Keep talking.
BLOOM
What was I saying?
BIALYSTOCK
You were saying that under the right
circumstances, a producer could make
more money with a flop than he could
with a hit.
BLOOM
(smiling)
Yes, it's quite possible.
BIALYSTOCK
You keep saying that, but you don't
tell me how. How could a producer
make more money with a flop than
with a hit?
Bloom, slightly exasperated, puts his pencil down and faces
Bialystock. He speaks to Bialystock as a teacher would a
student.
BLOOM
It's simply a matter of creative
accounting. Let us assume, just for
the moment, that you are a dishonest
man.
BIALYSTOCK
Assume away!
BLOOM
Well, it's very easy. You simply
raise more money than you really
need.
BIALYSTOCK
What do you mean?
BLOOM
You've done it yourself, only you
did it on a very small scale.
BIALYSTOCK
What did I do?
BLOOM
You raised two thousand more than
you needed to produce your last play.
BIALYSTOCK
So what? What did it get me? I'm
wearing a cardboard belt.
BLOOM
Ahhhhhh! But that's where you made
your error. You didn't go all the
way. You see, if you were really a
bold criminal, you could have raised
a million.
BIALYSTOCK
But the play only cost $60,000 to
produce.
BLOOM
Exactly. And how long did it run?
BIALYSTOCK
One night.
BLOOM
See? You could have raised a million
dollars, put on a sixty thousand
dollar flop and kept the rest.
BIALYSTOCK
But what if the play was a hit?
BLOOM
Oh, you'd go to jail. If the play
were a hit, you'd have to pay off
the backers, and with so many backers
there could never be enough profits
to go around, get it?
BIALYSTOCK
Aha, aha, aha, aha, aha, aha!! So,
in order for the scheme to work,
we'd have to find a sure fire flop.
BLOOM
What scheme?
BIALYSTOCK
What scheme? Your scheme, you bloody
little genius.
BLOOM
Oh, no. No. No. I meant no scheme. I
merely posed a little, academic
accounting theory. It's just a
thought.
BIALYSTOCK
Bloom, worlds are turned on such
thoughts!
Bialystock starts moving in on Bloom.
BIALYSTOCK
Don't you see, Bloom. Darling, Bloom,
glorious Bloom, it's so simple. Step
one: We find the worst play in the
world -- a sure flop. Step two: I
raise a million dollars -- there's a
lot of little old ladies in this
world. Step three: You go back to
work on the books. Phoney lists of
backers -- one for the government,
one for us. You can do it, Bloom,
you're a wizard. Step four: We open
on Broadway and before you can say
'step five' we close on Broadway.
Step six: We take our million dollars
and fly to Rio de Janiero.
Bialystock grabs Bloom in his arms and begins to lead him in
a wild tango around the room.
BIALYSTOCK
(sings)
"Ah, Rio, Rio by the seao, meo, myo,
meo... "
BLOOM
(afraid of the scheme,
afraid of the dance,
afraid of Bialystock)
Mr. Bialystock. No. Wait. Please.
You're holding me too tight. I'm an
honest man. You don't understand.
BIALYSTOCK
(leading Bloom as he
talks)
No, Bloom, you don't understand.
This is fate, this is destiny.
There's no avoiding it.
At this point, Bialystock sweeps Bloom into an elaborate
dip.
BLOOM
(the back of his head
practically touching
the floor)
Mr. Bialystock, not more than five
minutes ago, against my better
judgment, I doctored your books.
That, sir, is the ultimate extent of
my criminal life.
Bialystock raises his fists to the heavens in despair. Bloom,
experiencing a definite lack of support, goes crashing to
the floor.
BIALYSTOCK
OOOOOHH! OOOOOHH! OOOOOHH! OOOOOHH!
I WANT THAT MONEY!
CAMERA ON BLOOM AS HE LIES STRICKEN ON THE FLOOR.
BLOOM
(to himself)
Oh, I fell on my keys.
(he shifts slightly
to make himself more
comfortable)
I've got to get out of here.
BIALYSTOCK
(angrily hovering
over Bloom)
You miserable, cowardly, wretched
little caterpillar. Don't you ever
want to become a butterfly? Don't
you want to spread your wings and
flap your way to glory?
Bialystock flaps his arms like a huge predatory bird.
BLOOM
(his eyes widened in
terror)
You're going to jump on me.
Bialystock stares at him incredulously.
BLOOM
You're going to jump on me. I know
you're going to jump on me -- like
Nero jumped on Poppea.
BIALYSTOCK
(nonplussed)
What???
BLOOM
(by now he is shrieking)
Poppea. She was his wife. And she
was unfaithful to him. So he got mad
and he jumped on her. Up and down,
up and down, until he squashed her
like a bug. Please don't jump on me.
BIALYSTOCK
(shouting and jumping
up and down next to
Bloom)
I'm not going to jump on you!
BLOOM
(rolling away in terror)
Aaaaaaaaaa!
BIALYSTOCK
(hoisting Bloom to
his feet)
Will you get a hold on yourself.
BLOOM
(up on his feet and
running for cover)
Don't touch me! Don't touch me!
He runs to a corner of the room. Trapped! He turns.
BIALYSTOCK
What are you afraid of? I'm not going
to hurt you! What's the matter with
you?
BLOOM
I'm hysterical. I'm having hysterics.
I'm hysterical. I can't stop. When I
get like this, I can't stop. I'm
hysterical.
Bialystock rushes to the desk. Picks up a carafe of water
and shoshes its contents into Bloom's face.
BLOOM
I'm wet! I'm wet! I'm hysterical and
I'm wet!
Bialystock in a desperate move to stop Bloom's hysterics,
slaps him across the face.
BLOOM
(holding his face)
I'm in pain! And I'm wet! And I'm
still hysterical!
Bialystock raises his hand again.
BLOOM
No! No! Don't hit. It doesn't help.
It only increases my sense of danger.
BIALYSTOCK
What can I do? What can I do? You're
getting me hysterical.
BLOOM
Go away from me. You frighten me.
(he indicates the
sofa)
Sit over there.
Bialystock sits on the sofa.
BIALYSTOCK
(exasperated)
Okay. I'm way over here. Is that
better?
BLOOM
It's a little better, but you still
look angry.
BIALYSTOCK
How's this?
(he smiles sweetly)
BLOOM
Good. Good. That's nice. That's very
nice. I think I'm coming out of it
now. Yes. Yes. I'm definitely coming
out of it. Thank you for smiling.
It helped a great deal.
BIALYSTOCK
(for want of something
sensible)
Well, you know what they say, "Smile
and the world smiles with you."
Heh, heh.
(to himself)
The man should be in a straight
jacket.
(to Bloom)
Feeling better?
BLOOM
Much, thank you. But I am a little
lightheaded. Maybe I should eat
something. Hysterics have a way of
severely depleting one's blood sugar,
you know.
BIALYSTOCK
They certainly do. They certainly
do. Come, let me take you to lunch.
BLOOM
That's very kind of you, Mr.
Bialystock, but I...
BIALYSTOCK
(interrupting)
Nonsense, nonsense, my dear boy. I
lowered your blood sugar, but least
I could do is raise it a little.
Bloom looks at him suspiciously.
BIALYSTOCK
And I promise you faithfully, I won't
discuss that silly scheme to make a
million dollars anymore.
Bialystock dons his cape and "belasco" hat. From a rack he
selects a gold-topped walking stick. He goes to door, opens
it, and with a grand flourish, motions Bloom to precede him.
BIALYSTOCK
Avanti!
Bloom graciously complies. They exit.
CUT TO EXTERIOR. ENTRANCE OF BIALYSTOCK'S OFFICE BUILDING.
The door opens. It is held by Bialystock. Bloom exits building
into street.
BLOOM
(to Bialystock, who
is holding door)
Thank you.
BIALYSTOCK
Je vous empris.
They turn up 45th street and head toward broadway. Bialystock
reaches into his pocket and counts his money. He looks
worried. Suddenly his face brightens.
We see what Bialystock sees.
CUT TO MURRAY THE BLINDMAN WORKING 45TH STREET.
CAMERA BACK TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM.
Bialystock drops a step behind, quickly takes off his hat
and flings it through the air.
BIALYSTOCK
(pointing to his hat)
My hat.
BLOOM
I'll get it.
He races after it.
Bialystock detours slightly toward Murray the Blindman, who
wears a large cardboard sign with the legend: "Murray the
Blindman. You can see. I can't. Give!" Inscribed on it.
Bialystock reaches down into his cup and grabs a fist full
of coins.
BIALYSTOCK
Murray, I'm going to lunch. I took
two dollars.
MURRAY THE BLINDMAN
Okay, Bialy, that makes six eighty
you owe me.
BIALYSTOCK
I know. Don't worry. You'll get it.
You'll get it.
MURRAY THE BLINDMAN
(tapping his way along)
Well, don't forget about it. I need
it. Nobody understands. I'm competing
with giants. The Greater New York
Fund. The March of Dimes. The
Community Chest. They're driving me
out of business.
Bloom comes dashing back with hat in hand.
BLOOM
(out of breath)
I got it, Mr. Bialystock.
He proffers hat to Bialystock. Bialystock takes it.
BIALYSTOCK
Thank you, Leo. And call me Max. You
know, I don't let everybody call me
Max. It's only people I really like.
BLOOM
(trying it on)
Okay... Max! And you can call me
Leo.
BIALYSTOCK
I already have. Come on.
BLOOM
Oh.
BIALYSTOCK
Where would you like to eat?
BLOOM
Well, Max, I don't know, Max. What
do you think, Max?
Bialystock quietly winces at the surfeit of max.
BIALYSTOCK
Let me see... it's such a beautiful
day. Why waste it indoors. I've got
it! Let's go to Coney Island! We'll
lunch at the sea shore.
BLOOM
Coney Island??
BIALYSTOCK
What's the matter, Leo? Don't you
like Coney Island?
BLOOM
I... I love it. I haven't been there
since I was a kid. But it's nearly
two o'clock. I really should be
getting back to Whitehall and Marks.
BIALYSTOCK
Nonsense! As far as Whitehall and
Marks are concerned, you're working
with Bialystock, right?
BLOOM
Right.
BIALYSTOCK
Then stick with Bialystock!
SWISH PAN CUT TO CONEY ISLAND.
FAR SHOT OF BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM AMIDST THE CROWD AT A CUSTARD
STAND.
CAMERA ZOOMS IN. TWO SHOT.
BIALYSTOCK
(to Custard Man)
We'll have another round.
CUSTARD MAN
What kind now, sports?
BIALYSTOCK
What kind now, Leo?
BLOOM
(he's loosening up)
I don't know. Let's see. We've had
chocolate, vanilla, banana - let's
go green.
BIALYSTOCK
(to Custard Man)
Two pistachios, my good man.
CUSTARD MAN
I'm not your good man, I happen to
own this establishment.
(he turns to fill the
order)
BIALYSTOCK
Everybody's a big shot.
(turns to Bloom)
Well, Leo, are you having a good
time?
BLOOM
I don't know. I think so. I feel
very strange.
BIALYSTOCK
Maybe you're happy.
BLOOM
Yes. That's it. Happy. Well, whatta
ya think of that. Happy.
QUICK DISSOLVE TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM ON THE WHIP (A CONEY
ISLAND RIDE). They are tightly squeezed into one of the moving
seats. They are between "whips".
BLOOM
(licking his pistachio
custard. He is
ecstatic)
I love it. I love it. Get set. We're
coming to another turn.
BIALYSTOCK
(working, relentlessly
working on Bloom)
Bloom, it can always be like this.
Life can be beautiful. Let me show
you. Stick with...
They hit the turn.
BIALYSTOCK
Bialysto-o-o-o-ckk.
QUICK DISSOLVE TO BARKER SELLING TICKETS IN FRONT OF TUNNEL
OF LOVE. MEDIUM SHOT OF EXIT. A little boat comes out. In it
are a man and a woman embracing. It is followed by another.
In it there is a sailor kissing a girl. Boat number three
comes out. In it are Bialystock and Bloom.
CLOSE IN TO A TIGHT TWO SHOT. Bloom is mesmerized. Bialystock
speaks in a soft, enchanting tone.
BIALYSTOCK
Money is honey. Money is honey. Money
can put soft things next to your
skin. Silk... satin... women.
CLOSE-UP OF BLOOM'S EYES. They widen on the word "women."
QUICK DISSOLVE TO PARACHUTE JUMP. Bialystock and Bloom are
seated in a little gondola that swings beneath a huge
parachute. They are buckling themselves in.
BLOOM
But if we're caught, we'll go to
prison.
BIALYSTOCK
(sensing victory, he
marshals his forces
for the final assault)
You think you're not in prison now?
Living in a grey little room. Going
to a grey little job. Leading a grey
little life.
BLOOM
You're right. You're absolutely right.
I'm a nothing. I spend my life
counting other people's money --
people I'm smarter than, better than.
Where's my share? Where's Leo Bloom's
share? I want, I want, I want, I
want everything I've ever seen in
the movies!
The parachute begins to ascend. We follow.
BLOOM
(coming out of it)
Hey, we're going up.
BIALYSTOCK
You bet your boots, Leo. It's
Bialystock and Bloom -- on the rise.
Upward and onward. Say, you'll join
me. Nothing can stop us.
Bialystock offers his hand to Bloom.
BLOOM
(shouting at the top
of his lungs)
I'll do it! By God, I'll do it!
Bloom grabs Bialystock's hand and shakes it firmly.
BIALYSTOCK
This is where we belong, Leo. On top
of the world. Top of the world!
They hit the top. The parachute is released, they quickly
plummet down.
BIALYSTOCK
Oiiiiiii!!!
BLOOM
Ohhhhhhhh!!!
Bialystock and Bloom drop out of frame.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO BIALYSTOCK'S OFFICE. NIGHT. OVERHEAD SHOT.
Bialystock and Bloom are bathed in a small pool of
concentrated light. They are down to their shirt sleeves.
They are feverishly reading play manuscripts. All about them
are strewn coffee containers, some empty, some half-filled.
There is a huge pile of discarded scripts on the floor.
CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF LEO BLOOM AS HE READS SCRIPT. He looks
up, pushes his glasses back and massages the bridge of his
nose.
BLOOM
Max, let's call it a night. It's two
in the morning. I don't know what
I'm reading anymore.
PULL BACK TO TWO SHOT.
BIALYSTOCK
Read, read. We've got to find the
worst play ever written.
Bialystock turns his attention to a new script. He cracks it
open and begins reading.
BIALYSTOCK
Hmmnn. "Gregor Samsa awoke one morning
to find he had been transformed into
a giant cock-a-roach."
In a rage Bialystock flings The manuscript onto the pile of
discards as he bellows:
BIALYSTOCK
It's good!!!
CAMERA MOVES UP AND WE DISSOLVE THROUGH TO MEDIUM SHOT OF
OFFICE. Bialystock and Bloom are thoroughly disheveled and
badly in need of a shave.
BLOOM
(mumbling to himself
as he reads)
Wait a minute, I've read this part.
I'm reading plays I read this morning.
He gets up, stretches, goes to window and raises shade.
Sunlight floods the room. He reels back as though struck.
BLOOM
Good lord, it's morning. Let's face
it, we'll never find it.
(he turns to face
Bialystock)
Max, tomorrow's another day. Today's
another day.
BIALYSTOCK
(off-camera. Crazy
little voice)
We'll never find it, eh? We'll never
find it, eh? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK. He is standing. At his feet lies a script.
He dances around it, his arms folded across his chest.
BIALYSTOCK
(as he does an insane
little jig around
the script)
You can't smell it when it's under
your nose. You can't see it when
it's right before your eyes. You
can't feel it when it's in your hand,
when it's in your pocket.
CUT TO MEDIUM SHOT.
BLOOM
Max, what is it? What are you doing?
What's happening?
BIALYSTOCK
I'll tell you what's happening.
We've struck gold. Not fool's gold,
but real gold. The mother lode. The
mother lode. The mother of them all.
BLOOM
(brightening)
You found a flop!
BIALYSTOCK
A flop, ha! That's putting it mildly.
A disaster! A catastrophe! An outrage!
A guaranteed-to-close- in-one-night
beauty!
He bends down, picks up the script and shakes it in Bloom's
face.
BIALYSTOCK
This is freedom from want forever.
This is a house in the country.
This is a Rolls Royce and a Bentley.
This is wine, women and song and
women.
Bloom snatches the script from his hands and reads aloud the
title.
CUT TO CLOSE-UP. TITLE OF SCRIPT.
BLOOM
(voice over)
"SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER, A Gay Romp
with Adolph and Eva in
Berchtesgarten." Fantastic!
BACK TO TWO SHOT. BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM.
BIALYSTOCK
It's practically a love letter to
Hitler!
BLOOM
(ecstatic)
It won't run a week!
BIALYSTOCK
Run a week? Are you kidding? This
play has got to close in the first
act.
BLOOM
Who wrote it?
CUT TO AUTHOR'S NAME ON THE MANUSCRIPT: By FRANZ LIEBKIND.
DISSOLVE THROUGH AUTHOR'S NAME TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM, SHAVED
AND DAPPER, WALKING DOWN STREET IN A RUN-DOWN TENEMENT
NEIGHBORHOOD.
BLOOM
Here it is -- 415.
They march up stoop to number 415. Their motion is arrested
by a querulous command issued in phlegmatic tones by the
Superintendent of the building (a woman in her late forties)
who is leaning out of her window which is adjacent to the
stoop.
SUPER
Who do you want?
BLOOM
(taken aback)
I beg your pardon?
SUPER
Who do you want? No one gets in the
building unless I know who they
want... I'm the concierge. My husband
used to be the concierge. He's dead.
Now I'm the concierge.
BIALYSTOCK
(imperiously)
We are seeking Mr. Franz Liebkind.
SUPER
Oh, the kraut. He's on the top floor.
Apartment twenty-three.
BLOOM
Thank you.
They start into the building.
SUPER
But you won't find him there. He's
up on the roof with his birds. He
keeps birds. Dirty, disgusting,
filthy, lice-ridden birds. You used
to be able to sit out on the stoop
like a person. Not anymore. No sir.
Birds! You get my drift?
BLOOM
We... uh... get your drift. Thank
you, Madam.
SUPER
I'm not a madam. I'm a concierge.
Bialystock and Bloom enter the building.
CUT TO FRANZ LIEBKIND. He is in his early forties. He is
wearing, as always, a german helmet. He crouches beside a
huge pigeon coop. In his left hand he tenderly holds a pigeon.
In his right, a small photo of Adolph Hitler. He shows the
picture to the bird. He moves it back and forth until he is
sure the bird is focused on it properly.
LIEBKIND
(to pigeon)
Hilda, look... look good... Hilda,
you're not looking. Hilda, if he
lives, I know you will find him.
He kisses the bird and tosses it skyward.
CUT TO ROOF DOOR. Bialystock and Bloom enter onto the roof.
They look for Liebkind. He is not on that side of roof. They
walk around to other side. As soon as they turn the corner,
they spot Liebkind crouched near the coop.
BLOOM
(quietly to Bialystock)
He's wearing a German helmet.
BIALYSTOCK
(in a fierce whisper)
Shhh. Don't say anything to offend
him. We need that play.
(cups his hands to
his mouth and calls
up to the coop)
Franz Liebkind?
Liebkind is not aware of their presence until he hears his
name called.
Startled, he quickly flips Hitler's picture under his helmet.
LIEBKIND
(he speaks with a
German accent)
I vas never a member of the Nazi
party. I am not responsible. I only
followed orders. Who are you?
BIALYSTOCK
Mr. Liebkind, wait. You don't
understand.
LIEBKIND
Vhy do you persecute me? My papers
are in order. I love my country.
(he sings)
"Oh, beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber vaves of grain."
BIALYSTOCK
Mr. Liebkind, wait...
LIEBKIND
(singing)
"I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy...
BIALYSTOCK
(interrupting)
Mr. Liebkind, relax, relax, we're
not from the government. We came
here to talk to you about your play.
LIEBKIND
My play? You mean, "Springtime For..."
you know who?
BIALYSTOCK
Yes.
LIEBKIND
Vat about it?
BIALYSTOCK
We loved it. We thought it was a
masterpiece. That's why we're here.
We want to produce it on Broadway.
LIEBKIND
You're not, as you Americans say,
dragging my leg, are you?
BLOOM
No, not at all sir, we're quite
serious. We want to produce your
play.
(he reaches into his
attache case and
displays a legal
looking document)
I have the contracts right here.
LIEBKIND
(looking up)
Oh joy of joys! Oh, dream of dreams!
I can't believe it.
(he turns to the
pigeons)
Birds, birds, do you hear? Otto,
Bertz, Heintz, Hans, Wolfgang, do
you hear? Ve are going to clear the
Fuhrer's name. Fly, fly, spread the
words.
He opens the cages and sets the birds free.
LIEBKIND
(singing at the top
of his lungs)
"Deutchland, Deutchland, uber alles,
Uber alles in der velt."
Bialystock and Bloom look at each other in alarm.
LIEBKIND
(singing for all he's
worth)
"Deutchland, Deutchland..."
BLOOM
(shouting)
Mr. Liebkind, Mr. Liebkind.
Liebkind stops singing.
LIEBKIND
Vat?
BLOOM
People can hear you.
LIEBKIND
OH.
(he sings)
"I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy, Yankee
Doodle is my..." Listen, this is not
place to talk. Come! We go to my
flat. An occasion like this calls
for Schnapps.
DISSOLVE TO FRANZ LIEBKIND'S APARTMENT. Liebkind has just
finished pouring three glasses of schnapps. He puts the bottle
on a tray.
LIEBKIND
(as he hands glasses
to Bialystock and
Bloom)
Mr. Bloom, Mr. Bialystock. Gentleman,
with your permission, I would like
to propose a toast to the greatest
man that ever lived. Let us say his
name quietly to ourselves. The walls
have ears.
CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF FRANZ LIEBKIND.
LIEBKIND
(a fervent whisper)
Adolph Hitler.
(he downs drink)
CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF BLOOM.
BLOOM
(whisper)
Sigmund Freud.
(he downs drink)
CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF BIALYSTOCK.
BIALYSTOCK
(whisper)
Max Bialystock.
(he downs drink)
BACK TO SCENE.
LIEBKIND
I vas vit him a great deal, you know.
BIALYSTOCK
With whom?
LIEBKIND
(astonished by the
question)
Vit the Fuhrer, of course. He liked
me. Out of all the household staff
at Berchtesgarten, I vas his favorite.
I vas the only one allowed into his
chambers at bedtime.
BIALYSTOCK
No kidding?
LIEBKIND
Oh, sure. I used to take him his hot
milk and his opium. Achhh, those
were the days. Vat good times ve
had. Dinner parties vit lovely ladies
and gentlemen, singing und dancing.
You know, not many people knew about
it, but the Fuhrer vas a terrific
dancer.
BIALYSTOCK
Really, I never dreamed...
LIEBKIND
(flies into an
indignant rage)
That's because you were taken in by
that verdampter Allied propaganda.
Such filthy lies. But nobody said a
bad vord about Winston Churchill,
did they? Oh no, Vin Vit Vinnie!
(he gestures V for
victory)
Churchill, vit his cigars and his
brandy and his rotten paintings.
Couldn't even say Nazi. He would say
Narzis, Narzis. Ve vere not Narzies,
ve vere Nazis. But let me tell this,
and you're getting it straight from
the horse, Hitler vas better looking
than Churchill, he vas a better
dresser than Churchill, had more
hair, told funnier jokes, and could
dance the pants off Churchill!
BIALYSTOCK
(swinging along)
That's exactly why we want to do
this play. To show the world the
true Hitler, the Hitler you knew,
the Hitler you loved, the Hitler
with a song in his heart.
(to Bloom)
Leo, quick, the contract.
Bloom quickly whips the contract out of his pocket, produces
a pen, hands them to Bialystock. Bialystock spreads the
contract out on the table before Liebkind.
BIALYSTOCK
Here, sign here, Franz Liebkind.
And make your dream a reality.
He hands Liebkind the pen. Liebkind refuses it.
LIEBKIND
Wait. No. How do I know I can trust
you? How do I know you vill present
this play in the manner and spirit
in vhich it vas conceived?
BIALYSTOCK
We swear it!
LIEBKIND
Not good enough... Vould you be
villing to take the Siegfried oath?
BIALYSTOCK
Yes. We would!
INSERT: CLOSE-UP BLOOM. He looks worried.
LIEBKIND
Good. I will make the preparations.
Liebkind leaves the room.
BLOOM
(anxious whisper)
Max, I don't want to take any
Siegfried Oath. I don't know what it
is, but I don't want to take it. We
might end up in the German Army.
BIALYSTOCK
Shut up, you idiot. He's a harmless
nut. Play along with him. It's almost
in the bag.
Liebkind enters. He is laden down with all sorts of
ritualistic paraphernalia. Liebkind places all the stuff on
the table. Without a word to them, he goes to phonograph.
In a few seconds we hear the opening strains of Wagner's
"Ride Of The Valkyries." As the music booms louder, Liebkind
addresses them.
LIEBKIND
Please to don your helmets.
From the table they take classic Wagnerian helmets (with
horns) and place them on their heads.
LIEBKIND
Please to light your candles.
They each take a huge white candle from the table and light
it. Liebkind flicks the light switch. Now they are in the
dark except for the glow of their candles.
LIEBKIND
Please repeat after me. I solemnly
swear...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
I solemnly swear...
LIEBKIND
By the sacred memory...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
By the sacred memory...
LIEBKIND
Of Siegfried...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
Of Siegfried...
LIEBKIND
Wagner...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
Wagner...
LIEBKIND
Nietzche...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
Nietzche...
LIEBKIND
Bismark...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
Bismark...
LIEBKIND
Hindenburg...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
Hindenburg...
LIEBKIND
The Graf Spee...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
The Graf Spee...
LIEBKIND
The Blue Max...
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
The Blue Max...
LIEBKIND
And last, but not least, Adolph...
you know who.
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
And last, but not least, Adolph...
you know who.
LIEBKIND
(saluting)
Heil you know who!
BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM
(spiritlessly saluting)
Heil you know who!
LIEBKIND
Good. Good. Now ve sign the contract.
BIALYSTOCK
Good. Good.
(he hands Liebkind
the pen)
LIEBKIND
No. No. Not in ink. We'll desecrate
the oath. It must be done in blood.
CUT TO BLOOM'S FACE. It is a silent oi.
LIEBKIND
Fingers, please.
Bialystock and Bloom extend their forefingers and look the
other way. Liebkind pricks them with the sacred safety pin,
and squeezes a few drops of blood from each into the sacred
vessel (a jar cover). He does the same with his own finger.
LIEBKIND
Ve vill sign vit this sacred qvill
taken from the last chicken I served
at Berchtesgarten.
Liebkind signs. "The Ride Of The Valkyries" reaches its
zenith. It echoes through the room as we fade out.
FADE IN ON BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM AS THEY WALK UP STREET AWAY
FROM TENEMENT. It is late afternoon. They are both wearing
swastika arm bands.
BIALYSTOCK
(triumphantly whacking
the contract with
the back of his hand)
There it is... in red and white!
"Springtime For Hitler," signed,
sealed and delivered.
(he notices Bloom's
dour expression)
What's the matter with you?
BLOOM
Look, I'm just not wearing this arm
band. I don't care how big the deal
is.
BIALYSTOCK
(placating him)
Okay, take it off, take it off.
They take off their arm bands and toss them into a litter
basket. Bialystock spots a passing taxi. He whistles. It
stops.
BIALYSTOCK
(to cab driver as he
opens door)
The Blue Gypsy.
BLOOM
(about to enter cab
with Bialystock)
Why are we going to the Blue Gypsy?!
BIALYSTOCK
(stopping Bloom from
entering cab)
We are not going to The Blue Gypsy.
I am going to The Blue Gypsy.
Bialystock gets into cab and slams the door. He continues
speaking to Bloom through the window.
BIALYSTOCK
I have a rendez-vous with a lady of
some means. You see dear Bloom, phase
one is complete, the play is ours.
We are now entering phase two -- the
raising of the money. In the days to
come, you will see very little of
me, for Bialystock is launching
himself into little-old-lady-land.
(to cab driver)
Avanti!
The cab speeds away.
SWISH PAN CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF LITTLE OLD LADY #3. In her
hand she holds a bubbling glass of champagne. She raises it
to Bialystock.
PULL BACK TO TWO SHOT OF BIALYSTOCK AND LITTLE OLD LADY.
They are seated in a corner booth of a little Viennese cafe.
LITTLE OLD LADY #3
Here's to the success of your new
play.
Bialystock raises his glass.
BIALYSTOCK
Our play, my love.
He gallantly intertwines his arms in hers in a lover's toast.
It is hard to drink with arms entwined, especially if one of
the arms is attached to a little old lady. The toast is a
fiasco, Bialystock getting most of the champagne over his
vest and trousers.
LITTLE OLD LADY #3
Oh, I'm sorry, Bialy, did I wet you?
BIALYSTOCK
Think nothing of it, my dear. A mere
trifle. A mere trifle. Did you bring
your checkbook?
LITTLE OLD LADY #3
It's right here in my purse and I
made it out just as you told me --
to cash. That's a funny name for a
play.
BIALYSTOCK
Think nothing of it.
She snaps open her little beaded purse, takes out the check
and begins to hand it to Bialystock. At this moment, we are
assaulted by the passionate sound of a crying violin.
CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL A VIOLINIST IN GYPSY ATTIRE
CLOSING IN ON THE TABLE. The little old lady is delighted by
the violinist and unfortunately for Bialystock stops the
passage of the check as her attention is diverted. Bialystock
cautiously reaches out to snatch the check but each time
that he does, a turn in the music makes the little old lady
clutch her heart. Bialystock is very unhappy. He quietly
brings his foot from beneath the table and places it directly
over the foot of the violinist.
CUT TO CLOSE-UP OF BIALYSTOCK'S FOOT POISED OVER VIOLINIST'S
FOOT. Bialystock proceeds to crush violinist's foot.
CUT TO VIOLINIST'S FACE. Somehow it conveys to us all the
misery and pain of the human condition. With eyes crossed by
grief, he limps to another table. Bialystock quickly reaches
out and snatches the check.
SWISH PAN CUT TO HANSOM CAB THREADING ITS WAY THROUGH CENTRAL
PARK. NIGHT.
CUT TO INTERIOR OF CAB. Bialystock is cozily ensconced with
Little old lady #4.
BIALYSTOCK
(taking check from
old lady)
Thank you, my dear.
LITTLE OLD LADY #4
Oh, Bialy, Bialy, tell me again.
Tell me again.
BIALYSTOCK
Edna, I swear on my life, you don't
look a day over sixty-five.
SWISH PAN CUT TO CITY TRAFFIC. DAY. A taxi fills the screen.
As it moves out of frame, we discover Bialystock and little
old lady #5 astride a red and white honda motor scooter. As
they roar past the camera, Bialystock shouts.
BIALYSTOCK
Clear the road! Clear the road!
LITTLE OLD LADY #5
(clutching Bialystock
fiercely)
Go, Bialy, baby, go!
SWISH PAN CUT TO POSH PARK AVENUE APARTMENT. NIGHT. A private
concern is in progress. A thin, consumptive-looking young
man fingers his way through a chopin nocturne.
CAMERA SLOWLY PANS THE ROOM. Seated in a semi-circle around
the piano on various pieces of delicate empire furniture is
an austere group of elderly dignified patrons of the arts.
Suddenly an old lady's shriek rends the air. Everyone's head
turns.
LITTLE OLD LADY #6
(slightly flustered)
Go on with the concert! Go on with
the concert! It's nothing. Nothing.
Bialystock stares straight ahead.
LITTLE OLD LADY #6
(to Bialystock, smiling)
You dirty man.
SWISH PAN CUT TO NEW YORK STREET. Old fashioned limousine
pulls into view. The window shades are drawn. As it passes,
we detect strange sounds emanating from the interior.
LITTLE OLD LADY #7
(off camera)
Tee hee, ha ha ha, ho ho, ooo, ooo,
teehee hee.
BIALYSTOCK
(off camera,
simultaneously)
Heh, heh, heh. Hah, hah, hah.
The car drives out of frame.
SWISH PAN CUT TO SCULPTOR'S ATELIER. DAY. An ancient little
old lady wearing a sculptor's smock is feebly chipping away
with chisel and hammer at a huge square block of marble. She
makes not a scratch on it.
CAMERA DOLLIES BACK TO REVEAL BIALYSTOCK, HER SUBJECT,
STANDING NUDE, EXCEPT FOR LOIN CLOTH, HOLDING UP AN ENORMOUS
GLOBE. He is obviously atlas.
LITTLE OLD LADY #8
(stepping back to
admire her work)
Well, Bialy, how's it coming?
BIALYSTOCK
It's beautiful, Alma, beautiful.
(to the heavens)
Oi.
SWISH PAN CUT TO LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Bialystock, dressed as
a turkish slave, is asleep on the sofa. The room has been
done in a byzantine decor. The strains of Scheherazade softly
fill the room. Suddenly a whip comes flashing into the frame
and whacks against the torso of the sleeping Bialystock.
SHOT WIDENS TO REVEAL 'HOLD ME, TOUCH ME' WIELDING THE WHIP.
She is dressed in an 'Aarabian Nights' costume.
HOLD ME, TOUCH ME
Dance! Dance, slave!
Bialystock is up in a flash and into a quick turkish time
step so as to avoid the deadly lash.
BIALYSTOCK
How's this?
HOLD ME, TOUCH ME
Faster, faster, you dog. Excite me,
delight me. Hold me, touch me.
CUT TO CLOSE-UP OF BIALYSTOCK'S FACE AS HE DANCES.
BIALYSTOCK
(murmuring to himself)
Money is honey, money is honey.
DISSOLVE TO BIALYSTOCK'S OFFICE. NIGHT. Bialystock is seated
at the desk. On one side of him is a large stack of signed
investor contracts. On the other an equally large pile of
unsigned ones. Bialystock signs furiously, as Bloom feeds
the contracts to him.
BLOOM
(handing Bialystock
contract)
Mrs. Sarah Catheart. She owns 50% of
the profits.
Bialystock dutifully signs. Bloom takes another and places
it before Bialystock.
BLOOM
Mrs. Eleanor Biddlecombe. She also
owns 50% of the profits.
Bialystock signs. Bloom puts the next one down.
BLOOM
Mrs. Virginia Resnick. She also owns
50% of the profits.
Bialystock signs. Bloom takes another.
BLOOM
Mrs. Alma Wentworth. She owns 100%
of the profits.
Bialystock signs. Then looks up at Bloom.
BIALYSTOCK
Leo, what if this play is a hit?
BLOOM
Then the Department of Justice owns
100% of Bialystock and Bloom.
BIALYSTOCK
(Bloom's thought makes
him unhappy)
OI. I'm depressed. Leo, do me a favor.
Open the safe. I want to see the
money.
Leo, humoring him, spins the combination dial on safe and
opens it.
CUT TO INSIDE OF SAFE. It is jammed full of neatly stacked
piles of money.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES IN FRONT OF SAFE.
BIALYSTOCK
(to himself. Inhales
deeply)
That's better.
Bialystock takes out a stack of neatly folded bills. He smells
it, kisses it and puts it in his pocket.
BLOOM
What are you doing?
BIALYSTOCK
I'm going to buy a toy. I worked
very, very hard and I think I deserve
a toy.
BLOOM
(quizzically)
A toy?
DISSOLVE TO CLOSE-UP, FACE OF A GORGEOUS BLONDE, ULLA. DOLLY
BACK TO REVEAL THE REST OF HER. She is incredibly well-
endowed.
CUT TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM. Their eyes glued to her form.
BLOOM
That's a toy?
BIALYSTOCK
Yes. She's an adult, educational toy
made in Sweden for children over
fifty.
Bloom stares at him.
BIALYSTOCK
Stop looking at me like that. She's
not an indulgence. She happens to be
our new receptionist. She goes with
our new surroundings.
QUICKLY PAN POSH NEW WALL-PAPER, FURNISHINGS, ETC.
BIALYSTOCK
Ulla, I'd like you to meet my partner
and associate, Mr. Leo Bloom.
ULLA
Got dag pa dig.
BLOOM
How do you do.
(to Bialystock)
Have you gone mad? A receptionist
that can't speak English. What will
people say?
BIALYSTOCK
They'll say, "Oooh, wah, wah, wah,
ooh, ooh."
BLOOM
What is she gonna do here?
BIALYSTOCK
I'll show you. Ulla, go to work.
ULLA
Ya, sur.
Ulla goes to phonograph and places needle on record. The
driving sound of a twist fills the room. Ulla sensuously
twists, vibrates, frugs, watusis and rocks her body in time
with music.
BIALYSTOCK
See, it helps the day go by. Ulla,
okay. Okay.
Ulla stops, goes to phonograph and takes needle off.
BIALYSTOCK
Go to desk. Answer telephone.
He picks up phone to show her.
BIALYSTOCK
Bialystock and Bloom. Bialystock and
Bloom.
ULLA
(repeating to herself
as she leaves)
Bialystock and Blum. Bialystock and
Blum. Bialystock and Blum. Got dag
pa dig. Bialystock and Blum.
BIALYSTOCK
(to Bloom, opening up
a box on his desk)
Hey, Blum, have a cigar.
BLOOM
No thanks.
Bialystock takes an enormous black cigar.
BLOOM
Max, maybe...
Bialystock reaches under his desk. Presses buzzer. We hear
buzzing sound in ante-room.
BLOOM
What's that?
BIALYSTOCK
Nothing. Nothing. Go on.
Ulla enters. Goes to desk, picks up cigarette lighter, lights
Bialystock's cigar, kisses him.
ULLA
(pinching Bialystock's
cheek)
Min Bialystock.
Ulla leaves.
BIALYSTOCK
Nice girl.
BLOOM
Max, as I was saying, maybe we should
go easy on the spending. I mean these
offices and everything.
BIALYSTOCK
Why? Take it when you can get it!
Flaunt it, baby, flaunt it!
BLOOM
But if something should... God
forbid... go wrong, at least we could
give them some of their money back.
It would look better in court.
BIALYSTOCK
Stop talking like that, you white
mouse! Nothing's going to go wrong.
As a matter of fact, today I have
taken steps to insure total disaster.
At two o'clock we have an appointment
with none other than Roger De Bris.
BLOOM
(searching)
Roger De Bris. Roger De Bris. Oh
yes, the director. Is he good... I
mean bad?
BIALYSTOCK
Roger De Bris is the worst director
that ever lived.
BLOOM
Do you think he'll take the job?
BIALYSTOCK
Only if we ask him.
Bialystock consults his watch.
BIALYSTOCK
Come on. We'd better hurry. We're
late.
Bialystock buzzes. Ulla enters.
BIALYSTOCK
Call chauffeur. Get car.
ULLA
(smiling)
Good. Good. We go Motel.
BIALYSTOCK
No. We go.
(he indicates Bloom
and himself)
ULLA
You, Blum go Motel.
BIALYSTOCK
No. No Motel. Get car. Get car.
ULLA
(as she leaves)
Get car. Get car.
BIALYSTOCK
Very nice girl.
DISSOLVE TO STREET IN FRONT OF CHIC TOWNHOUSE UPPER SIXTIES.
DAY. A white Rolls Royce limo pulls up. A liveried chauffeur
with small latin-type mustache gets out and opens door for
passengers. Bialystock and Bloom get out.
BIALYSTOCK
(to chauffeur)
Thank you, Rudolfo.
Bialystock and Bloom climb the steps to the front door.
Bialystock pushes the doorbell. We hear chimes.
BIALYSTOCK
(whispering)
Now don't let anything he does or
says upset you. He's a little
peculiar.
BLOOM
What do you mean?
The door opens. Framed in the doorway is a thin, strange
looking man in a black turtleneck sweater. (Carmen Giya) he
contemplates them coldly.
CARMEN
Yesssssss?
BIALYSTOCK
I am Max Bialystock. This is my
associate, Mr. Bloom. We have an
appointment with Mr. De Bris.
CARMEN
Ah, yes, you're expected. Please
come in.
They enter the vestibule. Carmen closes the door behind them.
CARMEN
How do you do. I'm Carmen Giya, Mr.
De Bris' private secretary. Would
you be so kind as to remove your
shoes.
Bialystock and Bloom look at each other bewildered.
CARMEN
White, white, white is the color of
our carpets.
Bialystock and Bloom remove their shoes.
CARMEN
(to Bloom indicating
a rack of slippers)
Now, let's see, you're wearing grey.
I would suggest the crimson. They're
a little vivid, but your suit is so
quiet.
(to Bialystock,
studying his mish
mash attire)
Why don't you... Oh, take anything.
Please follow me.
Carmen leads the way. Bialystock and Bloom scuff after him.
We follow them down a narrow corridor lined with examples of
classic greek sculpture -- each one depicting nude males in
various poses.
INT: ELEVATOR.
CUT TO ROGER DE BRIS' BOUDOIR SITTING ROOM. It is elegantly
feminine.
Chaise lounge, antique mirrors, Louis XVI armoire and dressing
table. From behind an ornate dressing screen, we hear muffled
sounds of discontent.
DE BRIS
(from behind screen)
I'll never get into this damned thing.
CUT TO BOUDOIR ENTRANCE. Carmen, Bialystock and Bloom enter.
CARMEN
(to De Bris)
We're not alone.
De Bris' head pops over the screen. He is a once handsome,
now dissipated man in his late forties.
DE BRIS
Ah, Messers Bialystock and Bloom, I
presume. Ha, ha, ha, forgive the
pun.
BLOOM
(to Bialystock)
What pun?
BIALYSTOCK
(a curt whisper)
Shut up. He thinks he's witty.
(to De Bris)
It's good to see you again, Roger.
Did you get a chance to read
"Springtime For Hitler?"
De Bris emerges from behind the screen. He is wearing a "Lady
Windermere's fan" style dress.
DE BRIS
Remarkable. Remarkable. A stunning
piece of work.
BLOOM
(shocked, whispers)
Max! He's wearing a dress.
(his mouth remains
open)
BIALYSTOCK
Shhhhhh.
DE BRIS
(continuing)
I think it's a very important play.
I, for one, never realized that the
Third Reich meant Germany. I mean
it's drenched with historical goodies
like that.
De Bris is suddenly aware of Bloom's expression. (Bloom's
mouth is still agape.)
DE BRIS
Oh, dear, you're staring at my dress.
I should explain. I'm going to the
Choreographer's Ball tonight. There's
a prize for the best costume.
CARMEN
(smugly)
We always win.
DE BRIS
(looking in the mirror)
I'm not so sure about tonight. I'm
supposed to be the Grand Duchess --
I think I look more like Tugboat
Annie. What do you think?
He parades back and forth, executing sharp turns like a model
at a fashion show.
DE BRIS
No be cruel. Be brutal. Be brutal.
Because heaven knows they will. Well,
what do you think, Mr. Bloom?
BLOOM
(very embarrassed)
Well, it's... uh... it's nice and
long... I mean, it's... uh... uh...
where do you keep your wallet?
BIALYSTOCK
(jumping in)
It's gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.
You couldn't have picked a better
color. It brings out your eyes. Let's
face it, Roger, that dress is you.
DE BRIS
(his eyes flashing
flirtatiously)
Do you really think it brings out my
eyes?
CARMEN
(irritated)
We can't tell a thing without your
wig. As far as I'm concerned, you're
only half-dressed.
DE BRIS
Ummmm. Well, if you're so worried
about the wig, get it, o' wicked
witch of the west.
Carmen turns in a huff and leaves to get the wig. De bris
reaches into cut crystal cigarette box, takes cigarette,
taps it, and holds it for a light.
BIALYSTOCK
(in a whisper to Bloom)
Quick, light his cigarette. He likes
you.
Bloom nervously reaches for a book of matches, rips one out
and strikes it. It doesn't light. He tries another and
another. One finally catches fire. He tries to hold it steady,
but he is too nervous. De Bris firmly places his hand over
Bloom's to steady the flame.
DE BRIS
Didn't I meet you on a summer cruise?
He lights the cigarette but continues to hold Bloom's hand.
BLOOM
I've... I've... never been on a
cruise.
DE BRIS
Oh, quel dommage.
Carmen enters carrying wig. He sees De Bris holding Bloom's
hand.
CARMEN
(snidely)
Oh, I see we're getting acquainted.
De Bris drops Bloom's hand and turns on Carmen.
DE BRIS
How would you like to go back to
teasing hair, big mouth?
BIALYSTOCK
Roger, do you mind if we talk a little
business?
DE BRIS
Please, please, that's what we're
here for.
(to Carmen, who is
adjusting the wig)
Be careful, that hurt.
BIALYSTOCK
I think this would be a marvelous
opportunity for you, Roger. Up to
now, you've always been associated
with musicals, and...
DE BRIS
Yes. Dopey show-girls in gooey gowns.
Two-three-kick-turn! Turn-turn-kick-
turn! It's enough to make you throw
up! At last a chance to do straight
drama! To deal with conflict, with
inner truth. Roger De Bris presents
history. Of course, I think we should
add a little music. That whole third
act has got to go. They're losing
the war. It's too depressing. We'll
have to put something in there.
(gripped by his vision)
Aaahghhh! I see it! A line of
beautiful girls, dressed as Storm
Troopers, black patent leather boots,
all marching together... Two-three-
kick-turn! Turn-turn-kick-turn!
BIALYSTOCK
That's genius. That's genius. Roger,
I think I speak for Mr. Bloom and
myself when I say that you're the
only man in the world who can do
justice to SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER.
DE BRIS
(in one rush)
Wait a minute. This is a very big
decision. It might effect the course
of my entire life. I'll have to think
about it. I'll do it.
De Bris extends his hand. Bialystock shakes it.
BIALYSTOCK
Congratulations.
DE BRIS
(to Carmen)
Get on the phone. Send out a casting
call. Call every agent in town. I
want to see everybody. Everybody.
DISSOLVE TO STAGE DOOR OF BROADWAY THEATRE. DAY. Sign on
door reads: CASTING TODAY -- SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER.
QUICK DISSOLVE TO INTERIOR OF THEATRE. The place is a
madhouse. Hundreds of would-be Hitlers fill the stage. Each
and every one with the Fuhrer's haircut and little square
mustache. There are tall Hitlers, short Hitlers, fat Hitlers,
skinny Hitlers, method Hitlers, shakespearean Hitlers, all
kinds Hitlers.
CUT TO FIRST ROW OF AUDIENCE. Seated there, watching the
bedlam, are Bialystock and Bloom, De Bris, Carmen Giya and
Franz Liebkind.
BIALYSTOCK
(looking for the least
likely Hitler)
Roger, what about that one? The fat
Hitler on the right?
DE BRIS
I don't know. I rather fancy that
one.
CUT TO BEAUTIFUL, BLOND, MUSCULAR, YOUNG MAN, WHO LOOKS AS
IF HE IS POSING FOR "BODY BEAUTIFUL." He bears not the
slightest resemblance to hitler even though he does sport a
little black mustache.
CUT BACK TO BIALYSTOCK.
BIALYSTOCK
Not bad. Not bad. What do you think,
Franz?
LIEBKIND
(very emotional)
I don't know. I don't know. For some
strange reason, I'm deeply moved.
(he wipes away a tear)
DE BRIS
(getting to his feet)
Oh, this is bedlam, bedlam. We must
have some order.
De Bris, followed by Carmen, hops to the stage and addresses
the milling mob.
DE BRIS
(clapping his hands
for attention)
Will all the dancing Hitlers please
wait in the wings. We're only taking
the singing Hitlers.
As the dancing Hitlers leave the stage, Carmen arranges the
singing Hitlers so that they are in a long straight line
against the back of the stage wall. Carmen reads out a name
and the first singing hitler walks downstage to audition.
Except for a sporty little Hitler mustache, he bears little
resemblance to the Fuhrer.
CARMEN
Arthur Packard.
DE BRIS
Hello, Arthur. Tell us something
about yourself.
ARTHUR PACKARD
(in a strangulated
tenor's voice)
I was the lead tenor of the
Albuquerque Opera Company for two
seasons. I just finished a road tour
of STUDENT PRINCE. And last season I
was up for the lead in the Broadway
production of Circus Man.
DE BRIS
What happened?
ARTHUR PACKARD
I didn't get it.
DE BRIS
What are you going to sing for us
Arthur?
As Arthur tells him the title of his song, De Bris mouths it
word for word toward his friend, Carmen.
ARTHUR PACKARD
The soliloquy from CAROUSEL.
From the pit the piano plays a four bar introduction.
ARTHUR PACKARD
(sings)
My boy Bill will be strong and as
tall as a...
DE BRIS
Thank you.
Arthur shrugs and leaves the stage.
DE BRIS
Next please.
CARMEN
Jason Green.
Jason Green comes downstage. He is a big, barrel-chested
man. He also wears Hitler-type mustache.
DE BRIS
Well, Jason, what hav