All language subtitles for Big Town 1947

[Music]

[Music]

You ain't made a glass buster.

I didn't realize this was a dark room.

A dark room?

Well, Willers, get away.

How are you, Will? Why didn't

you tell me you were a reward?

How was I to know you were on this train?

You fugitive from a deadline?

You should be in New York,

blackening the

reputations of the citizens.

Yeah, and you should be in Chicago,

writing advertising jingles.

I've turned honest.

Singing commercials,

that's my new racket.

Well, in that case, I should look forward

to television with even less enthusiasm.

What about your paper? Did

you, um, libel the wrong guy?

In the lexicon of Steve Wilson, there's

no such word as libel.

A publisher named Peabody took over a

newspaper in Bigtown,

the Illustrated Press.

Then he got on the phone

and started making me offers.

After the fifth, I gave in.

The Illustrated Press must

be in a bad way, Stephen.

I know, I didn't ask.

So they sent for the news doctor, uh,

transfusions of stud horse headlines.

All the news that's fit to

print, and a lot of it isn't.

Did it happen?

Of course not.

So?

Mr. Wilson makes it happen.

Why, I never faked a story in my life.

Nah, you don't have to.

News follows you around

like a lovelorn spinster.

Stephen, strand you on a desert island.

The Queen Mary would run

aground right under your nose.

Put you up on a mountain top.

My leg. It's broken.

Well, look after the kid, will ya?

Here, wait a second.

Yeah, that's what I said.

City editor, Illustrated

Press, Bigtown, collect.

Tell him it's Steve Wilson.

I told him. He never

heard of Steve Wilson.

You pay for that call, it

won't be too tough, son.

Oh, never mind it, collect.

Just put the call through.

Don't get in enough

rawr out of the shape.

There's one of your trains, Godric.

Run two trains in the same track when

you're headed for trouble, son.

You want, I should lend you a shirt.

No, thanks. Have a

time. I got one in the bag.

Here's your party.

Hello. Hello, City Desk. This is Steve

Wilson. Can you hear me?

I hear you very well, sir.

Oh, listen to this. The Bigtown Limited

just plowed into a freight.

Well, thanks for calling. Associated

Press will undoubtedly cover it for us.

Of course they will, but...

Yeah, I know.

Dain.

Yeah, awfully thoughtful of.

Pictures, do you understand?

I'm staying here to get a color story.

I'll be on the hospital train tomorrow.

Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.

That will be $3.00 and $0.26.

Well, how do you like that?

It's like all the shade. Don't do no good

to get in an uproar.

Extra, extra. Read all

about the big train wreck.

Get your paper here. Extra, extra. Read

all about the big train wreck.

Listen to the paper, son.

Yes, sir.

Now, this is the Chronicle.

Sure, it's the Chronicle.

I want the Illustrated Press.

Help yourself. Chronicle, read all about the big train

wreck and the Chronicle. Extra, extra.

Anything I can do for you, sir?

Please, quiet.

June 1928.

When we go by the Gregorian calendar

here, you'll find the

sundial on the roof.

Is it that bad?

What's bad about it?

Peace. It's wonderful.

It was.

Hold on to your hats.

Well?

My pictures. Where are they?

What pictures?

The pictures of the

train wreck I sent in.

Oh, you want them back.

I want them in the paper.

We don't. They're too

gruesome. I'm awfully sorry.

So am I. Now I'll have to replay.

Tell the makeup editor to draw up a new

dummy with an eight-column banner.

On that one, six columns in the front

page. Put the others inside, full page.

My dear sir, just who do you

think's running this paper?

The new managing editor.

And I'm in. So get the

staff in here in 20 minutes.

Mr. Peabody, this is Mr.

Wilson, your new editor.

Mr. Wilson, Mr. Peabody, the publisher.

How do you do, sir?

Glad you're here, Wilson.

Perhaps you'd like to

take a look at this.

Thanks.

Wasting no time either, I

see. And that's the spirit.

Go right ahead. Don't let me interrupt.

This paper's in the red.

That's why I hired you.

There's a daily circulation of 83,000, a

Sunday circulation of 85,000,

and a city of over a million.

A small but

distinguished public, Mr. Wilson.

The Chronicle, on the other hand, has a

weekday circulation of 258,000,

and Sunday 340,000.

Why? They've got a funny paper.

Well, we'll get one too.

And we'll get a new calendar and a clock.

We're going to get a new calendar. And a clock.

We're going after circulation, Mr....

Ryan. Pete Ryan.

Mr. Ryan.

And maybe we'll get some new talent too.

No, don't worry. I'm not firing anybody.

I'm asking you to help me put out a

newspaper, that's all.

With advertising it.

Circulation brings

advertising, Mr. Peabody.

I don't know who you are or what you do.

I'm going on the assumption

that you're all newspapermen.

And newspaperwomen.

Mr. Post has given me a list.

Laurel Wright Kilburn, reporter.

Miss Kilburn?

I'm Miss Lovelace, the

church editor, Mr. Wilson.

Miss Kilburn is on vacation.

She won't be back for two weeks.

Well, I don't have to wait two weeks to

talk to the rest of you.

Now, starting today, we're

going to make some changes.

We're going after circulation.

Now, here's the way we're going to do it.

Laurel Wright. Welcome home.

Say, what goes on around here?

Change, Laurel Wright. Change.

I don't like it.

He's here.

He's here.

Arrive just after you went away.

Such a brash, young man.

Hello. You're new here, aren't you?

Yes. I'm one of the changes.

I'm going to make a change. I'm one of the changes.

Hello, darling. You look correct.

Yes. Now I know the

meaning of the word "bedlam."

Hi, Renegade.

Welcome home, Goldilocks. You always do

wonderful things to me.

I'd like it better if you didn't tell

that to the waitress.

Still convinced that matrimony is a fate

worse than death on the copy desk?

So you didn't forget. By the look of

things, you didn't have time.

We ride the whirlwind.

The one on the front page.

The man's not only dean of the state

university. He's married.

With three kids, we

don't have to crucify him.

We can bury the story.

When the dean makes passes at a student,

Mr. Harris, and the student

sues him, we don't bury him.

The lion's in there, and

you might as well bear them.

Oh, don't forget to ask

him about his circulation.

Oh, that's too personal.

Oh, I almost forgot. You

were brought up on the press.

So how could you know

anything about circulation?

Uh, what's the fact?

Come in. Hello.

Well, good morning.

You wouldn't be

looking for a job, would you?

I have one, Mr.

Wilson. I'm Lorelei Kilburn.

Oh, Miss Kilburn. Well,

sit down. Sit down, please.

Mr. Post must have hired you in the dark.

Well, not exactly. I was running the

college paper, and one day

I covered a story for him.

So when I finished

college, he put me to work.

Then you never worked for

any other paper for the press?

No, but, oh, Mr. Wilson, you've done

wonders in two weeks.

It's so different.

It's vital. It's alive.

Why, we've only started, Miss Kilburn.

Do you know what the circulation is now?

Over 100,000, up 20-odd

thousand the last two weeks.

Why are we going to set Big Town on fire?

We're going to tear it

apart and put it together again.

And you have ideas, too. I knew it.

You build circulation for a reason. You

mold a bright and shining

weapon, a two-edged sword,

and use it to fight greed and oppression.

Don't you?

Well, I do my best.

Do you really know Big

Town? It's full of stories.

Stories about good people, brave people.

They're the ones I want to write about.

I want to give them good government and

playgrounds and parks.

We can, can't we, Mr. Peabody?

Yeah, we...

Well, I think it's wonderful, Mr.

Peabody. You're two-edged sword.

Now, I'd like to see this

town of yours. How about tonight?

It's a date.

Fine. We'll have dinner.

Goodbye, Mr. Wilson.

Goodbye, Miss Kilburn.

What's he talking about?

Good people, two-edged swords.

Oh, you know how these young women are?

Knights in shining armor?

Crusaders?

Steve, you won't have I ever...

Of course not.

I want you to do a little favor for one

of our advertisers, too.

Post?

Yes, Mr. Wilson?

I understand the DA has a statement to

make on the sutton case.

I'll have our city hall

man check on it right away.

It's lots younger than I expected.

Really? Who is young?

Steve Wilson.

Don't worry. He'll make

you grow old plenty fast.

I think he's wonderful.

The bright and shining sword?

Don't be a cynic.

I'm a realist.

So is Steve Wilson, haven't you heard?

I know, I know. I'm going to

have dinner with him tonight.

I'm going to take him

on a tour of Big Town.

What big teeth you have, Grandma.

And don't forget to carry your two-edged

sword on your little

red cape, Goldilocks.

He might turn out to be a wolf.

That Big Town.

It's Pittsburgh and Chicago

and Kansas City and New York.

It's America.

Rich, lavish, expensive.

Gay, with a brittle desperate gayity.

Cheap, evil, with its poor

and its beaten and tragic side.

Yet good and kind and strong and vital.

There's material for

your ideal newspaper.

Take Big Town apart and

show what makes it tick.

Don't tell me it can't be done, and don't

tell me it isn't what

people want to read.

Because I know it is.

Hello, Joe.

Well, a bit late for you, Miss Kilborn.

We've been on a tour of

Big Town. Need a drink.

How about a sting of law, lice?

Okay.

Two stingers, please, Joe.

New here?

Oh, that'd be more.

I even know where the reform school is.

And what we should do about it.

Well, mind if I try it?

Ah, newspaperman who can make her music. Go right ahead.

Do more talent. Hmm. Well, I'm going to have to go. You see what a newspaper can do.

Sure he sees.

Ruining your health again.

Hello, Laurel.

Hello, Pete.

Hello, Pete.

You understand, don't you, Mr. Wilson?

Fight for the little people, huh?

Teach them how to read without moving

their lips or using their forefingers.

Then they'll cancel their subscription to the press and take the Atlantic Monthly.

Oh, that's a good idea. Well, I'm going to have to go. I'm going to have to go. But I'm going to have to go.

I'm going to have to go. I'm going to have to go. Oh, Pete, stop being fizzled.

I'm too old to be better and

too hungry to be a crusader.

We see eye to eye, don't we, Mr. Wilson?

That's right. You do.

Still trying to lift the front page,

hiding murderers and desks and being

objective about hanging.

Ah, but not our own.

Oh, what's the use?

A couple of ostriches

with your heads in the sand.

Oh, no.

You see the light on his eyes?

The head emerges from the sand.

A two-edged sword held in the beak.

Say it so, Mr.

Wilson. Go on, reassure her.

Tell her that first she gets circulation.

Then you get advertising.

Then you hire a great staff.

And then you launch the crusades.

Go on, tell her.

You took the words right out of my mouth.

I hope you mean that.

Come on.

We've got a deadline at

8 o'clock in the morning.

Good night, Pete.

Good night, Lola.

Hello, Pete.

Tomorrow we put out a newspaper.

But next week, we

build a brave new world.

There should be a space devoted to

advertising revenue, too.

It's much more important.

Must all female corpses

be blond and beautiful?

Must all getaway cars be big and black?

I'm getting fed up with

adjectives and short paragraphs.

There's your answer.

It's three months since

the world went struck.

And already the men from the

marketplace stormed the walls

with handfuls of gold for

the advertising manager.

Maybe the new comic section

has something to do with it.

Do those blue eyes find a

chink in his shining armor?

Or does our hysterical attitude toward

love, crime, and disaster begin to fall?

Give him time to sharpen his sword.

Meanwhile, where's that

color story about the day

we tried to knock off her husband by

putting a rattlesnake in his bed?

I wrote it.

Oh.

Yes?

Yes.

Is that Miss Kilburn, then?

Miss Kilburn.

Mr. Wilson.

A farmer just phoned

him a story about a calf

that was born with a picture of Abraham

Lincoln on his forehead.

Oh, shut up.

Hello, Laura.

Good morning, Steve.

Here, read this.

It was buried on the

state page of the Chronicle.

I don't see a story in it for us.

An unidentified girl found dead in the

hotel room in the state capitol.

Ah, but she's been identified.

Secretary to State Senator Williams.

Could be murder.

But it's his heart attack.

Look, a girl is found

dead in a hotel room.

She isn't registered.

It isn't her room.

It isn't anybody's room

according to the hotel manager.

Who is she?

A state senator's secretary

by the name of Mary Johansson.

Mary Johansson?

I know her.

Yeah, I thought you might.

Her mother lives here in Big Town.

Fine old family.

Oh, it couldn't be.

Why?

My mother and Mrs.

Johansson grew up together.

I'm sorry, Laura.

Oh, Steve, the poor woman.

She hadn't anyone but Mary.

Better take a run out to the house.

Of course.

You're not going to make

a big story out of this.

Well, we want to be covered just in case.

They'll take the photographer along.

Oh, no, no. I couldn't do that.

This is a tough racket you're in, Laura.

I...

Sometimes you have to do

things you don't want to do.

But you do them

because you're a reporter.

No, I...

Look at it this way.

Mrs. Johansson knows you.

It's going to be a lot easier for her to

talk to you than to some stranger.

I suppose it is.

Now run along.

Steve?

Mm-hmm?

You won't go overboard on this, even if

there is a story in it.

I'm not entirely heartless.

Of course you're not.

Better get a picture of the

girl if the mother has one.

Oh.

Don't worry. It's for the obituary.

You wait out here, Harry.

Don't you want me to get

a picture of the place?

No. Get over there out of sight.

Okay.

So to lie. I knew you'd come.

Does your mother know?

Not yet.

You'll tell her?

I wanted to come and stay with you?

Yes.

I can't be alone.

People will call and I

don't want to see them.

And the phone will ring

and I don't want to answer.

So I tried to get her to come home.

I knew something would happen.

But it would have

happened anyway, darling.

Her heart.

But there'll be talk.

Because the senator was married and

because she loved him.

And because she didn't care who knew it.

Oh.

That was his route, darling.

It'll be all right, darling.

Oh, but it won't.

The newspapers.

Oh, Lorelei.

You wouldn't.

You're a reporter.

No.

I'm afraid.

The papers and the Black Steve are the

first time in ten years.

Well, it's a gold mine.

Well, in that case, I...

Well, in a modest story, boy.

Oh, hello, Miss Kilvorn.

How run along?

No. I want you to hear this.

We can't print that story, Steve.

Oh, that? What story?

Oh, I sent Miss Kilvorn

out to see Mrs. Johansson.

You know, the mother of the girl, the

state senator's secretary.

Probably nothing to it.

There's a story in it.

If you want to break a woman's heart,

there's a story in it.

She thought I was a

friend and she cried and...

She told me things she

shouldn't have told me.

But it wasn't murder.

Mary had a bad heart and she died.

Just because she died in his room doesn't

mean we have to say so.

Does it?

Oh, go on. Forget it.

Let's say you went out

there as a friend of the family.

Go on home. Maybe you

can do something to help.

I don't want to go home.

There's a circus opening this afternoon.

How'd you like to cover it?

Black Steve.

Well, then get going.

And don't start your story.

High as skinny, the circus is in town.

Thanks.

He told me to forget it.

He said I was right.

Did he?

Did he?

And he said there's a circus in town.

Cover that and they don't.

Start the story. High as

skinny, the circus is in town.

Are you out of your mind?

That senator's the Chronicle's man.

Think I'll let her cover it.

Play a dirty trick like that?

Why, she's a friend of the family.

Send Peter.

Peter.

Interview a baboon for me.

Hello, Pete.

I want you to cover the Johansson story.

How'd you know?

I was born with a call on second sight.

My mother used to write a broomstick.

You want me to give it to work, sir?

Yeah.

With pictures?

Yeah.

Is he drunk?

No. But he will be tonight. Go on.

♪ Early straight and fresh ♪

♪ Expe-ex-save ♪

You're no better than he is.

Want me to write it out?

Sit down, Laura.

Talking about my

resignation because I'm quitting.

Oh, I feel that way about it?

I feel that way about it.

Keep away from newspapers.

Yellow journals, you mean.

Self a job in a bookstore.

Because this isn't the first time a thing

like this has happened

and it won't be the last.

You said you wouldn't print it.

I said you neededn't write it.

So your trained seal wrote it.

Pete's a newspaperman.

And I'm not.

You could be. I don't think

you should, but you could be.

I'll get another job.

And it won't be in a

bookstore or on a scandal sheet.

Have you seen the Chronicle?

They played the story down.

Explain that, Mr. Wilson.

The Chronicle supported the

Senate in the last election.

He was there, ma'am. What'd you expect?

Decency.

If you had gone out as Pete did, cold.

If you had known Mrs. Johansson, you'd

have written the story.

You might not have liked

it, but you'd have done it.

It's like, well, covering an execution.

You hate it.

You do everything you can to duck it.

But if that's your

assignment, you're gold.

Because I'm a newspaperman.

I thought you said I wasn't.

You come in here and quit.

You accuse me of double-crossing you.

What do you think I am?

I send you out on a story.

Because the woman turns out to be a

friend, I let you off

and lose an addition.

What do I get? Insults, accusations.

I'll go on over to the Chronicle.

They can use you.

They can use anybody I've nursed and

pampered and babied.

Bunch of ungrateful primitanas.

That's what I've got working for me.

Go on. Go on over there.

I'm not looking for gratitude.

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have blown my top.

Good luck, Lorelei.

If you want, I'll call the

Chronicle and give you a pitch.

I believe you would.

Tell the cashier I said to

give you two weeks, Allie.

I beg your pardon.

A bandit held up the Mercury Theater.

He's cornered in a warehouse on Water

Street, shooting it out with the police.

Come on.

What are you waiting for?

Get on your horse. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown my top. Good luck, Lorelei. If you want, I'll call the Chronicle and give you a pitch. I believe you would. Get on your horse.

Take Pete and the photographer with you.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

Oh, my God.

Yes, Max.

That's about him.

Look at that guy shoot.

Oh, don't worry.

The Chronicle will buy you a new one.

Yeah!

Have you got me a tear gas?

It's in your cart.

Don't get it.

This thing is ridiculous.

But fun.

The only part is beat it.

We like it here.

That ain't no bandit.

That's Buffalo Bill.

Or a reasonable facsimile.

I saw him. He's just a kid.

He's got a round here.

Shut up. Don't let him get away.

Baby, tell us where the road.

Why don't you two come up there?

You two go to the side door.

You go to the back door.

And you two cover the elevator shaft.

Pete, wait.

Bantu.

You certainly have found something.

That's Julie.

Ronnie, go.

Read all about it.

Gunmen fight cops.

Get it in your light paper.

(yelling)

Illustrated France, read all about the

pistol packin' mama.

It was a shark shootin' game.

Extra, extra, get it while it's hot.

Illustrated France, read all about it.

Paper shirt.

Illustrated France, get

your illustrated French air.

Illustrated France, read all about it.

Where is Wilson?

You've gone too far this time.

He seems upset.

Uh, Pete, maybe we made a mistake.

We found a lipstick, didn't we?

Or did we?

Of course we did.

You wouldn't kid me, would you?

That wasn't your lipstick.

Yes?

Send in Ryan to Miss Kilburn.

Miss Kilburn?

Ryan.

That did it.

Well, the tumbler waits.

Have you any last requests before your

head rolls into the basket?

Don't be funny.

We don't make mistakes

and we don't fake stories.

And I won't have cops

telling me how to run a newspaper.

newspaper?

Oh, Miss Kilburn, Mr.

Ryan, you know Chief Berkeley.

Hello, Chief.

And Mr. Mika.

Mr. Mika is a cashier

at the Mercury Theater.

Oh, it was a man.

He had a gun.

Would you be willing

to tell that to a jury?

No true bullying him.

Oh, she wore a hat down,

had a coat over her chin.

How could he tell

whether she was male or female?

Well, I know a man when I see one.

How do you explain the lipstick?

Miss Kilburn uses one, doesn't she?

Are you accusing a member

of my staff of trickery?

Yes.

Look at me, Wilson.

You've been riding high, white, and

handsome since you hit big town.

But that's over.

You heard what Mika said?

The bandit was a man.

So get busy and print the truth.

If you have any idea what the truth is.

Did you hear that?

A cop telling us off,

accusing you and me of faking?

Let me see your lipstick.

Well, they are different.

Of course they're different.

You don't think that I--

Well, at least that's something.

I wish that guy and

Mika wasn't so positive.

I don't care what Mika says.

I'm sure the bandit was a woman.

Well, I hope we can prove it here. Look at this. Citizens of big town, do

you want truth or fiction?

Well, how do you like that?

If you want the

truth, read The Chronicle.

If you want fiction, if you

want lies, if you want fakery,

read the Illustrated Press.

Why, they can't do that to me.

Go on. It's getting good.

This is a challenge, Mr. Wilson.

You say the Mercury

Theater Bandit was a woman.

Prove it.

So that's what they want.

All right. Well, prove it. But how do you get the truth? Well, you're going to have to be a man. All right. Well, prove it.

But how?

I don't know.

All we have to do is find a dame that's

handy with a shooting iron.

All right. Get on it, then.

Check the shooting

galleries, check the theaters,

check the booking offices.

Find me a dame who

could shoot like Annie--

Hey.

Good night, Mr. Roy.

Good night, Oscar.

Not much of a house tonight.

There never is.

Camp?

Hey, what's the alarm?

Say, what is it?

It's a police car. It's a police car. Say, what is it?

Let's go.

When I get through, you

won't have a newspaper.

You held up that theater and you know it.

Furs, diamonds.

On the salary they

paid you in that joint.

Come on, Viv. You wanted to confess.

Don't call me a thief.

That matches.

Come on now.

Come clean.

We'll make it easy for you.

We'll get you the best attorney in town.

Why, we'll get you--

Why?

We'll have them crying for you.

You were the victim of your environment.

Your father lived in saloons.

No mother.

You were an orphan,

tasting the dregs of life.

No milk.

Holes in your stockings.

I wasn't an orphan and I didn't have

holes in my stockings.

Shut up.

Shut up.

How are we going to keep you out of jail

if you don't cooperate?

Why should I go to jail?

Features, stories, pictures.

The shack you lived in.

It wasn't a shack.

No heat.

Rats.

Great big rats.

And the rusty bucket you

carried the beer home in.

Why, we'll go to town.

No jury in the country would convict you

by the time we got through.

I'll sue you for kids. I'll sue you for

kidnapping, libel, everything.

Why?

You wanted a crusade.

Well, here's your chance.

The product of the slums, undernourished,

brought up in the streets.

The breakdown of modern civilization.

Here he is, Steve.

Where is he?

There she is.

There's your bandit.

I'll sue you.

Let that woman alone, you big bully.

And you take your hands off me.

The idea of saying you had the bandit.

Dragging me out of bed to see this woman.

You weren't in bed and

the dame's worth looking at.

She's no bandit.

Why, I'd tell that to

every judge in the country.

See?

Get me a lawyer, would you?

Well, you'd better get yourself one.

And you'd better get the best in town.

Nice office.

I think I'm going to

enjoy the newspaper business.

Game.

That's what we call it in the trade.

Hey.

It's him.

All right.

Call your attorney.

Start writing those stories.

I stuck up the theater and I

stuck up a couple of banks.

Hey, Vivian.

But first you're going to

help me fix the chronicle.

Who are these?

Two for a quarter.

You're new here, aren't you?

Hey.

Here I am, boy.

Oh, put your guns away.

I left mine home.

[laughs]

See this, Joe?

[music playing]

Hello, little.

No Fletcher Asport.

He wrote an editorial calling Steve

Wilson a faker and demanded proof.

And Wilson gave it to him.

Yeah, right in the chronicle lobby.

[door opens]

Now, was there something?

Where was that?

Who are you?

Good evening, Mr. Will.

Next time it's a lady in

the office, take your hat off.

Sit down.

All right, start cheering.

Made a fool out of me and got me fired.

All right, cheer.

You mean you said the chronicle fired you

into account of that story?

I didn't expect that.

Didn't I?

Somebody had to take

the wrap and I was it.

Now, wait a minute.

How much did they pay

you in the chronicle?

Why do you care?

Because I'm hiring you with a $25 raise.

Take the desk opposite Mr. Post.

We can use a guy around

here that likes to fight.

You mean it?

Yep.

I'm not going to say thank you, because

at the moment I don't feel up to it.

That guy's got what it takes. I like him.

Never mind him.

What about Vivian LaRoe?

I made promises. Are

you going to keep them?

Got her an attorney, the best in town.

Those stories I was right. Remember?

Environment, the rusty beer

bucket, holes in her stock.

Come on, let's get out of here.

Wait a minute, Steve.

Vivian LaRoe is in jail.

I hope she stays there.

You think I want female bandits as you

cameras out of your

hands roaming the streets?

Come on, we're going to celebrate.

How many? Two.

This is fun.

Hey, uh, I gave you 20.

This is only changing 10.

You gave me a 10, chum.

It's 20, I saw it.

You're looking for trouble?

No, I just want the

right change, that's all.

And what's going on here?

This guy tried to shortchange me.

How about it?

That cheap chisel is

trying to pull a fast one.

Why, you do.

Come on, Steve. Steve, come on.

Right this way, gentlemen.

Win a valuable prize. Step right up.

The biggest bargain in the park.

What a dump. Shortchange artists.

Dirt, filth, gambling.

Something ought to be done about it.

What's wrong with gambling?

Uh, try your luck, lady.

Let's try it.

Oh, don't be downcast, brother.

Remember, one good one

makes up for all the bad ones.

A little to the right, sister.

Uh-oh, you missed.

Try your luck, brother.

All right.

There we are.

And jolly good luck.

A bullseye.

And here's your prize.

You know, I'll take that one.

Now, you take this one.

A bullseye first shot

gives you first pick.

Only when the

bottle's light's standing up.

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen.

Hey, boy, give me that clock.

Go away, boy. You're part of me.

Right this way, the

biggest bargain in the park.

Three balls for a half.

[music playing]

It's a crime, I tell you, though.

Things like this shouldn't exist.

They do.

This should belong to

the city, a place for kids,

a safe, clean place

where they can have fun.

Anything for a dime.

What's the trouble with this world?

Let's change it.

Tear all this down.

Plant trees and lawn.

Build a swimming pool and a playground.

All of it free and all of it clean.

You could do it, Steve.

What happened?

It was tracking away.

You didn't throw us all out.

Yeah, the rail was broken.

It's a death trap.

Lucky only one of us got it.

I knew this would happen.

Let me have your name.

Mary Blake, 114 South Central.

What's your name?

Jim Prossen, 2131 Fairview.

Get going.

The kid was standing up.

That's a lie.

What's your name?

So it's you again.

Come on.

Oh.

Get out.

Stay out.

And you, too.

Oh, I'll stay out all right.

And so will the public.

And when I get through, there won't be

anything left to stay out of.

So I'm baited.

Because I'm going to close this, George,

and keep it close

until they tear it down.

I'm already waiting for it.

Picture.

Check the receiving hospital files.

Get the dope on every

accident at the amusement park.

Get after Davis and the

people who saw what happened.

We'll run a story a day for two weeks.

Now get busy.

[music playing]

That last feature story did it.

He raised it.

So he gave us a

by-line instead of a raise.

$10 a week apiece, you skeptic.

A $10 raise?

Well, that calls for

a celebration tonight.

I have a date tonight,

but we can do it tomorrow.

Oh.

I'm sorry, Pete.

Steve asked you first.

Well, that's all right.

Have fun.

Hello, Mr. P. Bunn.

Hello, Steve.

This is George Ingram.

How are you, sir?

Good-dow.

Good-dow.

Oh.

So that's the time.

Mr. Ingram is the owner of

the big town amusement park.

You admit it?

It's one of my interests.

Ever been inside the joint?

You really won't know the place when we

get through with it.

That accident, Steve, it's

been settled out of court.

You want me to kill it, huh?

Yes.

Can't do it.

Why, the place is a death trap.

Not anymore, Mr. Wilson.

We'll remodel it.

Yeah, I've heard that song before, too.

How about our readers?

We announce the next

bizet and then drop it.

You'll find something to take its place.

I'm not worried about that.

No, you're worried about Mr. Ingram

because he's an abit

Now, just a minute, Steve.

We're in the newspaper business and we're

in it to make money.

You've been doing a great job.

You've filled up our circulation and

pulled us out of the rain.

Yeah, I know all about that.

Steve, we're not crusaders.

You said that yourself.

There's nothing to crusade about now.

Okay, it's your paper.

Thank you, Steve.

Yeah, Fletcher.

Come on in here.

Come on in here.

Say when.

When?

Mr. Fletcher?

Here's to a free press.

We're not running that amusement park

exposé, Mr. Fletcher.

Got anything to take its place tomorrow?

Well, there's a trunk motor.

It's pretty cheap.

Janet knocks his wife off and beat it. Anything different about it? She's 6'3", he'll counter with a rock. Got it.

The Goliath murder.

Get Pete on it right away.

Belle, wasn't it?

Oh, boy.

Oh, let's forget

about newspapers tonight.

I kicked a little off the amusement park

for you when you asked me to forget it.

Let me see my story.

Later, when you get home.

Let's stop in the club.

I want to show you something.

I've been practicing. I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to do anything. I've been practicing.

All right.

Give it to me.

No, no. Let's have a

couple of drinks, sir.

Joe, two stingers.

This is only the beginning, Steve.

We go on from here.

Yeah, listen to this, Gully Locks.

Oh, no you don't.

Not until I've seen my handiwork.

Go ahead and say it.

That's the newspaper game, Lorelai.

Your version of it.

City desk.

And not your city desk.

This is Lorelai Kilburn.

Has that offer you made

me a while back still open?

All right. I'll be in in the morning.

I'm quitting. Understand?

Yes, sir.

Had him up this.

And Eris is murdered in

Riverford and we miss him.

Correspondent out there, slipped off.

I just talked to him on the phone.

Yeah, he would.

Hey, come here.

I had to take a run out to Riverford.

The Chronicle certainly gives Mrs.

Kilburn a big violin, doesn't it?

Yeah. See, she

doesn't scoop you this time.

I shouldn't be shivlous.

Here's the set up.

A girl by the name of Isabel Prentice was

drowned around midnight last night,

choked to death.

Well, the Chronicle has all that.

But they haven't got this.

This is the second murder in

that suburb within four months.

Both women, both throttled.

About two months ago in Lindborough,

that's about ten miles from Riverford,

another woman was killed in the same way.

We hook them together.

Well, we make a stab at it.

Dip in the petty cash box

and extract a modest sum.

For wolfbane.

For what?

Wolfbane for silver bullets.

Or whatever anybody uses

to catch a suburban vampire.

Thank you.

Or you better check the composing room.

Tell them we'll need the big B.

B as in vampire.

Go ahead.

I didn't kill her, I tell you.

But you were with Miss

Prentice the night of the murder.

Weren't you cray?

Yes, Mr. Masters.

In the public library.

I met her in the library.

You'd never seen her before?

No.

I met her there and

walked a little away with her.

And then I went home.

But I didn't kill her.

I didn't kill her. I tell you. But you were with Miss Prentice the night of the murder. Weren't you cray? Yes, Mr. Masters. But I didn't kill her.

Then how do you explain this?

A library book.

Charged after you.

Yesterday we dug it from a pile of leaves

near where Miss Prentice's

body was found a week ago.

Why was it there, cray?

I gave it to her that night.

We were talking about it and she said she

wanted to read it, so I gave it to her.

But that's how it happened.

That's everything that happened.

I went right home and went to bed.

Well, my mother will tell you the truth.

Poor kid. I hate this.

I don't think he killed her.

Think you can convince Mr. Wilson?

Vance Crane was a mental

patient until two months ago.

Don't forget that.

That's the sort of thing

Mr. Wilson would like to hear.

Mad vampire.

The vampire line was mine.

Mrs. Crane?

Yes.

We're reporters.

Come in.

Won't you sit down?

Thanks.

Vance didn't kill us.

We don't think so either.

You must be worried, Mrs. Crane.

Chief Mathis is holding Vance, but if

there's no more evidence uncovered, he

said he'd let him go.

Did he say that?

Yes.

And we'll do all we can to help.

20 minutes to nine.

How long would you say

it would take him to walk?

In that case, he

couldn't have killed her.

The coroner said she

was murdered about 9.30.

Are you certain he was home around nine?

Oh, yes.

I heated some milk for him.

You know, my son was very ill.

He worked so hard at the university.

And ever since he came home from the

hospital, I've insisted

that he go to bed early.

Are you sure he didn't

know the Prentice girl?

No.

I mean, I'm sure he didn't.

And those other two murders, the one here

and the men borrowed.

Was he home both those nights?

Oh, yes, he was.

I told Chief Mathis that.

Then there's nothing to worry about.

I hope not.

You have him back in no time, Mrs. Crane.

Goodbye.

You're... you're both so kind.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Take it while it's hot.

Look, warm you, man.

The Crane kid's still in jail, isn't he?

At the moment.

About suspicion of murder.

Are you displeased with me, old boy?

You've turned judge and jury

and found the kid not guilty.

He isn't.

He's still in jail.

He's still accused of murder.

If they turn him loose, we'll see. So right now, I want a story. I'm writing you one.

You aren't writing.

You're bleeding all over the joint for

Vance Crane and his mother.

And how about the mental angle?

That isn't in here.

Vance Crane is released

from a mental hospital.

Women start getting

murdered and you skip it.

A boy has a nervous breakdown from

overwork and you want me to

say he's nuts, is that it?

I want the news.

All right, then write it.

And keep on writing.

And don't forget the Wilson motto.

Ever kick a man till he's down. (Door opens)

(Tape rips)

Read all about the vampire murderer.

Extra, extra.

Get your illustrated press here.

Read all about the vampire murderer.

Crane is crazy.

Read all about it.

To the last delusion.

Let's grab a couple of shots of him.

Okay.

Glad it turned out this way, Vance.

Thank you, Mr. Masters.

Hold it, hold it.

Thank you.

We're releasing him for lack of evidence.

And you can quote me.

Hello, Chief.

How are you?

Uh-oh.

Do I hear the beating

of the vampire's wing?

Hello, Pete.

Hello, Arleye.

Figure it?

No, thanks.

How do you like

working for the Chronicle?

There goes your story.

Does it?

So take your little hammer and pull out

the nails, Mr. Wilson.

Suppose you wait a couple of

days before you start gloating.

Oh, come on, leave us float.

All together now, three gloats and a

tiger for Mr. Wilson.

You know you should try that whimsical

touch in your copy, Pete.

Hmm, the Chronicle can use it.

You think so?

Oh, by the way, if I should turn up a

story, you want me to cover it for you?

No, thanks, old boy.

We'll muddle through.

Thanks, anyway.

Well, I'll be seeing you.

Goodbye, Mr. Wilson.

He's up to something.

Yeah, and it isn't good.

Come on.

[music playing]

Arleye.

Thanks.

[music playing]

Yep, sold him cigarettes

that night in Lindbergh.

Yes, Miss Francis

visited him at the sanitarium.

They applied for Mary's

license, but didn't use it.

Yes, I lied, but he didn't do it.

[music playing]

We illustrated press.

Crane arrested again.

Read about the vampire murders.

Hello, Mr. Wilson.

We meet all fast, and what are you doing?

Coming up.

What is this, a weight?

Well, you can get far.

That's what you mean.

Have a drink?

We'll just leave you.

No, no, no, wait a minute.

You've been scooped before.

You'll be scooped again.

No reason for treating me like an orphan.

You asked if this was a weight.

Well, it is.

For a woman named Mrs. Crane.

Have you seen her?

Have you talked to her?

She lied, didn't she?

Wouldn't you to help your son?

No.

You'd only lie to build circulation.

And Vance Crane lied.

He said he didn't

know the apprentice girl.

Yet only a year ago, he knew her well

enough to try to marry her.

Ah, what's come over you two?

I thought you were newspaper men.

Suddenly, you're mewling sentimentalists.

Is that sound I hear, the

pricking of a conscience?

Conscience?

He can't even spell the word.

Why should I have a conscience?

Because I dug up after I put

Crane back where he belongs.

Sure.

But you've already

tried and convicted him.

Even if he's innocent,

he hasn't got a chance.

Well, drink up, old boy.

Don't let us spoil your celebration.

Come on, Lorelei.

All right, all right.

So I'm a heel.

Because I put the finger on the killer.

Now there won't be any

more vampire murders.

♪ Da da da da ♪

Don't be scared.

[screaming]

[screaming] [screaming]

[screaming]

Get me Steve Wilson.

This is Nixon at Riverport, Mr. Wilson.

They just arrested a man named Alan for

the vampire murders.

What's that?

They caught him in the

park trying to kill a girl.

He confessed.

Are you sure?

There's no doubt about it.

Are they releasing Vance Crane?

Hold him in an old shack.

Mac, are you turning the Crane kid loose?

Yeah, I'm gonna get him right now.

He's releasing him right now.

You want me to hang

around and talk to him?

Vance? Hold it a minute.

Well, Mac, what about if

Crane just hung himself?

He just hanged himself in his cell.

Well, what do you want

me to do, Mr. Wilson?

Mr. Wilson.

Come on in.

[music playing]

He never hurt anybody.

He never did any one harm.

Well, Mrs. Crane, get it over with.

And now.

[crying]

Say something.

Say it served him right.

Go on, please.

Say it.

That isn't what I'd say.

If I'd done what he did, I

wouldn't have written this.

I'd have found myself a high

bridge and jumped off of it.

Oh, Pete, you don't think that he--

No, not him.

What can we do?

Me?

I can't do anything, not now.

Maybe someday, if he gets another paper,

I'll walk in and ask for my job back. Pick up my tab, will you, Pete?

Sure.

Herman.

Herman.

Take the bags down and get me a cab.

We'll be along in a minute.

You can't run away, Steve.

There isn't much else I can do.

Yes, there is.

That's your city down there.

You took a dying

newspaper and built it up,

made it big and powerful.

Yes, and what did I do with that power?

Abused it.

Killed a man.

Steve, that's over and done with.

Now, his voice will be,

"Why did you have to help me to death?

Why didn't you take your

paper and help people with it

instead of hurting them?"

Steve.

You were right, Lola.

I could have helped

people in so many ways.

Why don't you, Steve?

Why don't you use the

paper to do those things?

You mean that?

That confession of yours, Steve,

my name should have been there, too.

I was as much to blame as you were.

You mean this, Steve.

You bet I do.

I'm going to take you

up on that, Mr. Peabody.

City desk.

Hello, Fletcher?

Yeah, this is Steve Wilson.

No, no, that was yesterday's news.

Get this, Fletcher.

They got everything in

the morgue on that slum,

Expece.

What?

Too hot to handle?

Not now.

Yeah, doctor's reports,

infant's death told everything.

And get a hold of Pete Ryan.

Well, hire him back and put him on it.

Now, we're going to

blast that slum of barn,

and we're going to kill those people for decent housing.