All language subtitles for The.Bonfire.Of.The.Vanities.1990.720p.BluRay.x264-SiNNERS

Fallow arriving, area A. Do you copy?

Hi, Mr. Fallow. Welcome.

- Oh, please, right this way.
- Step right out.

Hi, so nice to see you!

- Mr. Fallow, Mr. Bavardage. This way.
- Very nice to meet you.

Careful with that.

We're in a bit of a rush...

so let's hop on the cart and get going.

There are a lot of people waiting.

We're so honored to have you.

This is really an historic occasion, Peter.

- I'll meet you upstairs.
- Here we go.

Mr. Fallow, I'd like
to take this private moment...

to tell you how much I admire your book.

When Faulkner was asked
to recommend three novels, he said:

"Anna Karenina, Anna Karenina,
Anna Karenina."

"The Real McCoy and the Forgotten Lamb.

The Real McCoy and the Forgotten Lamb,
The Real McCoy and..."

I know you've heard it a million times...

but the scene where the mayor is hit
in the head with the mayonnaise jar...

Well, to be continued.

On our way. Oh, Mr. Fallow.

Right this way.

Here we go.

Whoop-si-daisy.

Okay. Excuse us, gentlemen.
Coming through.

I've got Mr. Fallow.

- Okay. Now...
- There he is!

Oh, please! Get away!
This should never have happened.

I'm so sorry.

All right. Oh, get!

Right this way, Mr. Fallow.

We're just going through these two doors.

We're on our way.

But I must say, if I may quote you...

Oh, Look at all the busy bees.

But I must say, Mr. Fallow... Mr. Fallow?

If I may quote you...

"How in the name of God...?
Who in the name of God...

would bring a half-eaten jar
of mayonnaise to a public meeting?"

Ambassador!

I'm Charles Buchanan. This is my wife,
Stephanie, and my daughter.

Mr. Fallow, I read your book 15 times.

Next year, next year I'm going
to take a course in it.

One second, one second.
We're going to go up by ourselves.

Are you hungry?

That's salmon, but I don't think
you should touch that.

Mr. Fallow, it's such an honor
to finally meet you.

Oh, my God!

Oh, my God!

Is that him?

We are running a bit late.

I don't know what to say. Let me see...

- What's your name?
- Suzanne.

Are you married?

Excuse me!

Excuse me! Excuse me!

Animals!

Let's go, let's take this.

Someone needs deodorant.

Mr. Fallow. Mr. Fallow...

All right, all right, here we go.

Everything is under control.

Nothing to worry about.

Oh. Excuse me. I haven't
introduced myself, have I?

My name is Peter Fallow.

I am a writer.

But you know that already.

Unless you haven't read a newspaper
or seen a TV recently...

you know exactly who I am.

I am the man of the moment.

The hero of the evening.

Me and a book I happened to write.

The real hero of the evening
is not even with us tonight.

We'll come to him in a minute.

For now, indulge yourself
in the extravagance of the moment...

and remember, if you will,
a phrase from another little best-seller:

"What does it profit a man if he gains
the whole world and loses his soul?"

They're waiting.

This is a story about such a man.

There he is!

And it begins on a rainy night
a little over a year ago.

Our hero, Sherman McCoy,
was about to make a simple phone call.

But despite the existence of 11 phones
and seven different lines...

in the 14 rooms
of his $6-million-plus apartment...

this was a phone call
he could not make at home.

Gotcha.

What on earth are you doing?

I'm taking the dog for a walk.

You're not taking "the dog" for a walk,
you're taking "Marshall."

Marshall has a name. He's family.
And, anyway...

it's raining.

I know that.

So does Marshall.

He doesn't want to go.
Do you, Marshall?

Judy...

All right. Have a nice time.

He's not happy about it, Mr. McCoy.

Neither am I, Bill.

Tony, sir. My name is Tony.

Well, whatever.

Oh, Marshall, come on.

Let's be men about this.

Hello, Sherman.

Good evening, Pollard.

It's raining, you know.

I did notice, yes.

Sherman, a true friend
to man's "pest" friend.

Pollard, you old phrase-maker.

I beg your pardon?

Is that the best you can do?

Is that as witty as we get?

I don't know what you're talking about.

Furthermore, if you're wet
when you return, take the service elevator.

Come on, Marshall.

Oh, Marshall, come on.

Come on now. Come on. Come on.

Maria, hello. It's me.

Who?

I'm sorry. May I speak to Maria?

Who is this?

Maria?

Sherman?

Sherman, is that you?

Sherman?

Jesus!

We're back.

You were right. I got soaking wet
and Marshall didn't do anything.

Sherman?

If you want to talk to a Maria...

why call me?

What do you mean?

Please don't lie.
It makes your forehead crinkle.

What are we talking about?

You should see your face.

I don't get it.
Did I miss something?

You're going to stand there and say
you didn't call here asking for Maria?

Who?

You think I don't know your voice?

Judy, I was out walking the dog.

- Crinkle, crinkle.
- I was not on the telephone.

I am not lying. I took the dog for a walk.

Then I came back here, and wham.

I hardly know what to say.

You are asking me to prove
a negative proposition.

Negative proposition?

Oh, God, Sherman.

Listen to the way I sound.
Listen to the stress. Hear it?

I don't want to be this person. I don't.

I am thin and beautiful.

I do not deserve this.

- Judy.
- Here's the phone. Call her from here.

I don't mind. I really don't mind.

You are cheap and rotten and a liar.

And you are dripping
on my Aubusson carpet.

She was right.

And Sherman knew it.

Christ! How could he have been so stupid?

A simple phone call.

The next day, Judy's words still rang
in his ears.

"Cheap, rotten and a liar."

- Campbell, are we ready?
- I'm out of here.

Hold on.

Where is your mother?

Campbell!

She's crying on the Lifecycle.

"Crying on the Lifecycle."

Like so many men before him,
he was no match for a woman's tears.

She won't kiss me because I'm all wet.

Campbell, come and give
your mother a kiss.

Judy?

"Look, Judy, I still love you."

I still love our daughter,
our home, our life.

But I am a Master of the Universe.

"I deserve more."

Like the few privileged others
on Wall Street.

How many? Two, three,
maybe 400 at most.

For these men,
these Masters of the Universe...

and Sherman McCoy was one of them...

there were no limits whatsoever.

Hi. This is 555-8771.

Leave a message and I'll call you back.
Thank you.

Maria, I've been calling you for days.
Call me at the office.

Gene's on from London.

- Let's go! Let's go!
- Calm down, Rawlie.

Let's not get overexcited.

- Yes, Sherman. Sorry.
- Calm, cool, collated.

Let's not lose our composure
over a few hundred million dollars.

Christ, Sherman, you must be made of ice.

Just remember, a frantic salesman
is a dead one.

What the hell
will this crazy Giscard deal cost us?

I need 600 million to buy the bonds.

You want us to sit
on $600 million worth...

of French government bonds?

I'm confident on this.
It's a real sleeping beauty.

- Where are you, Gene?
- At a cricket match.

Somebody just hit the hell out of the ball.

- Who's playing?
- Don't get technical.

A bunch of men in white pants.

How about it? Are we in or out?

Gold has to hold steady.

Bernard Sachs is already in
for $300 million.

Feel better?

You are going to make me
an old man.

A rich old man, Gene. A rich old man.

A $600 million deal.

Sherman's commission
would be $1.7 million.

All in a day's work.

He was there! At the top!

Impervious, untouchable...

insulated by wealth and power.

A Master of the Universe.

A great height
from which to view the world.

A great height from which to fall.

Sherman, you are an absolute angel
coming all the way out here.

I had to talk to you.
I did a very stupid thing.

Are we going to talk about it now?

I'm afraid we have to.

Sherman, don't you want
a little poontang first?

I know it has its funny side,
but it isn't funny.

It's your own fault
for getting caught like a red herring.

You mean red-handed.

Can't we stop talking
about your wife now...

and head over to our little hideaway
on 59th Street and just hide away a little?

I think she knows.

Of course she knows. That's not the point.

It isn't?

Oh, God, Sherman, you are so sweet.

I could eat you alive if I could get
this goddamn zipper down.

- Isn't that the turnoff?
- Where?

The turnoff to Manhattan?

I can't get over right now.

We'll just exit and get back on.

- Exit and get back on.
- Oh, no, Maria. Maria.

- Maria!
- What?

Sherman. Where are we?

The Bronx.

What does that mean?

It means we're north of Manhattan.

All I need to do is make a right
and find a street back.

And there it was.

A simple wrong turn.

Anyone could have done it.

A simple phone call...

a simple wrong turn,
and you're off the track...

moving towards a destiny
you never imagined.

- Sherman?
- Yes, Maria.

Where are all the white people?

Are they going to scratch the car?

Get a job.

I'm from the South
and I don't like this very much.

Excuse me.

Please don't touch the car.

Thank you.

Get us out of here.

I have a red light.

Hey, baby!

We're having a party!

Maria!

Go, Sherman, go...

Get us out of here!

I want my money.
I want my money now!

There was no need to panic.

That's what you think.

I have all my luggage with me.

I just don't want to do anything stupid.
If we keep our heads, we'll be fine.

We're in the middle of a war zone...

and you're worried about
doing the right thing?

Look. An arrow!

Right there. It's an arrow!

I see it.

Then turn!

I'm going to.

There's the ramp
back to Manhattan. See?

What's that?

It's a body!

It's an animal!

Is it dead?

It's a tire, that's all!

- It's a dead tire?
- Calm down! It's just a tire!

What are you doing?

I can't drive around it.

You're going to move it?

Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Sherman, be careful of your shoes.

Sherman, come on.

Touching that dirty old tire.

Oh, yuck.

I just want to get out of here.

I want to get to Manhattan.

Come on, Sherman.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Natives!

Oh, my God.

Sherman! Sherman!

Yo. Need some help?

No.

No, thank you. Hi!

What's the problem? Need help or what?

No. I don't think so. No. Thank you.
Very much. No.

Shit.

Shit!

Sherman, come on!

Sherman.

Well, excuse me. I have to go.

Where are you going with the tire?

This is yours? Oh, then here, you take it.

Damn.

Oh, my God!

Get in the car, quick!

Here they come! Lock the door!

- Drive.
- Open the door!

- Get away! Get away!
- Careful. Look out!

- Okay. Oh!
- Back up!

- Open this door.
- Get away from the car! I can't see a thing!

- Oh, my God!
- Watch out!

- Stop!
- Okay!

Go, car!

Hey, stop! Bitch, open this door!

Hey! Hey! Stop!

Hey!

Where's the ramp?

What are we doing here?

Just make a left.

A left? Okay, a left.

Sherman, fuck the luggage.
Let's go have a drink.

Come on.

- Maria.
- Oh, Sherman.

Maybe we should tell
the police about this.

The police?

Yes, the police.
We were almost robbed.

There's a possibility that you...
that we hit one of them.

There was this sound,
like we hit one of them.

Did you see him get hit?

- No.
- No.

Neither did I.

So, if a question ever arises,
two boys blocked the road.

They tried to rob us, and we got away.
That's all we know.

But if we call the police now,
then we're not...

Let's call them and invite them
to our little love nest.

They'd love to get us.

The police, the press
and all the rest of the "mediarites."

Mediarites?

The newspapers, radio, television.
I can see it now.

"Mr. Sherman McCoy of Park Avenue,
and Mrs. Arthur Ruskin of Fifth Avenue...

are recuperating after their adventures
in the Bronx."

Explain that one to your wife.

Yes, you have a point.

But I'd feel better if...

You don't have to feel better.

I was the one who was driving.

And I say I didn't hit anybody.

And I'm not reporting anything
to the police.

And if you're a gentleman,
you'll support me in that decision.

Sherman.

Sherman. Sherman.

We were in the jungle.

- We were attacked.
- That's true.

- We fought our way out.
- We could've been killed.

We fought.

I feel like an animal.

You drove the hell out of that car.

The hard part was getting into the seat,
over that gearshift.

No, it was instinct.

God, and that tire!

- He was big, wasn't he?
- Sherman was bigger.

- You were great.
- We were both great.

This could be the best sex we've had
in a long time.

- I still think...
- Don't think!

Just fuck!

Sonnenberg?

Mr. Sonnenberg?

Where the hell is Mr. Sonnenberg?

Mr. Lockwood, you sit down.
If and when your lawyer appears...

Two to six, Judge.

Two to six. Two weeks ago,
he told me two to six.

Two to six, or we go to trial.

- Nobody wants to go to trial.
- I'll go.

Approach the bench.

I'll approach the bench.

Listen, you son of a bitch. You're a
nice boy, with a lot going for you.

We got 7000 felony indictments
in the Bronx every year.

We got room for 650 trials.
Yours isn't one of them.

I go to trial.

You go sit down.

And you'll take whatever plea bargain
we give you.

You'll kiss my ass and thank me
that I didn't put you away for 25 years.

That's what you'd get if this case goes
to trial. Now get out of my face.

What'd he do?

Robbed and raped a 70-year-old lady
and put her in a garbage can.

Jesus Christ.

Welcome to the South Bronx.

Next case.

People versus Harold Williams.

- Indictment number 294721.
- Oh, shit.

This case was dismissed three weeks ago.

Go get 'em, tiger.

Why is this case here?

Your Honor.

May I approach the bench,
Your Honor?

Who the hell are you?

Assistant District Attorney Kramer.

Mr. Kramer, you are new here.

Let me explain something to you.

This case is what we call a piece of shit.

Which, loosely translated,
means you don't have any evidence.

Except that District Attorney Weiss
has instructed me to show you...

I know who the District Attorney is,
Mr. Kramer.

The only reason Mr. Weiss is interested
in this case...

is because Mr. Williams over there...

is a white man who lives
in a nice, big house in Riverdale.

I'm not following you.

Because it's an election year.

Ninety-nine percent of those you shovel
through this court are black...

and the other ninety-nine percent
don't speak English.

But they do vote.

So your boss, the District Attorney,
Mr. Weiss...

who dreams every night
of one day becoming mayor of New York...

needs a white man.

He needs to find him, book him,
and throw him in jail.

Then everybody likes him.

The press and voters like him.

You know, even your mother would like him.

- You following me?
- I am now.

Now you tell your boss,
"Captain Ahab Weiss"...

that I know he's out there looking
for "the great white defendant."

But Mr. Williams, over there, is not it.

- Don't take it personally.
- Thank you.

Maybe he didn't like your shoes.

- You Andruitti?
- Yeah, what?

I'm Martin, this is Goldberg.
We just came from Bronx Hospital.

Kid named Henry Lamb came in last night
with a broken wrist.

They fixed him up and sent him home.

This morning, he comes back in
with a concussion.

He goes into a coma,
and now they say he'll die.

Did you talk to him?

- He's in a coma.
- He's in a coma.

Oh, yeah.

What else?

There's a nurse busting my balls.

Says the kid told his mother he was hit
by a Mercedes, which drove off.

- Hit-and-run.
- The mother told you this?

She's got a pile of parking tickets
and won't talk to the police.

Why come to us?

You've got an unconscious victim,
no witness, and no driver.

You've got what we call a piece of shit.
Right, Kramer?

What we've got is a problem.

Ever hear of Reverend Bacon?

Oh, no. No, not me, gentlemen.

Kramer, this is all yours. See you later.

Reverend Bacon?

Is my living in Vain?

This is a tragedy!

A fine young man has been struck down.

God-fearing, church-going,
never in trouble...

graduated from high school,
on his way to college.

Somebody comes along,
some rich white people...

in a rich white man's car, and wham!

They run him down and never even stop.

Now, what'll we do
about these parking tickets?

Well...

First of all, Reverend... Is it Reverend?

Is, was and always will be.

First of all, we have no evidence...

This is your evidence.

I'm sorry. I didn't see you.

Mrs. Lamb is not speaking to the police.

Until we have proper counsel,
I'll speak for her.

Fine. That's good.

I just want to get a few things straight.
The boy was hit by a car?

On Bruckner Boulevard.

Innocently walking along
minding his own business.

A clear case of hit-and-run.

But there were no witnesses.
Without a witness, you have no case.

You got what he told his mother.

It's hearsay.

You and I may believe it,
but it's not admissible in a court of law.

If this boy was born on Park Avenue...

and was run down by two niggers
in a Pontiac...

then you'd have a case, right?

I work Park Avenue
and Bruckner Boulevard.

There's good and bad in both places.

We'll try to help this lady...

- but there's not much to go on.
- Gentlemen.

I want you to make an investment here.

An investment in steam control.

Steam control?

Steam control.

A righteous steam is building up
in the souls of my people.

And that steam is ready to blow!

- I see.
- Now...

on Judgment Day, I am your safety valve.

Because when it blows, and it will...

how grateful you will be
that I am on your side.

The one nigger who can control
the steam and save your white ass...

from being burned
off the face of the earth.

So to speak.

That's...

Thank you. We'll see what we can do.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

He said...

He said it started with an "R."

The second letter was an "E"...

or a "P."

Those were the first two letters
of the license plate.

We should move up here.

Have you ever thought about moving out
of New York?

Keep a small place in town.
Save loads of money. What do you think?

About what?

Do you think we could leave New York?

No.

My father did it.

You are not your father.

She knew how to hurt a guy.

No, he was nothing like his father.

His father, "The Lion of Dunning,
Sponget and Leach."

His father, who took the subway
to work every day of his life.

His father, who believed
in principles and ethics...

whose lessons about duty and debt
had whistled through his son's head.

No. Sherman McCoy was
nothing like his father.

What're you looking for
in that paper?

Nothing. Nothing special.

What's a bond?

Sherman, do explain it.

Yes, your mother and I really want
to hear this.

Well,
A bond is a way of lending people money.

Say you want to build a road or a hospital,
and you need a lot of money.

What you do is issue a bond.

Do you build roads?

No, I don't actually build them.

You're in over your head.

Let me try.

Darling, Daddy doesn't build roads
or hospitals or anything, really.

Daddy handles bonds for the people
who raise the money.

That's what he said. Bonds.

Yes. Now...

Just imagine that a bond
is a slice of cake.

Now, you didn't bake that cake.

But every time you hand a slice
of that cake to somebody else...

a little piece comes off.

Little crumbs fall off.

Really. Crumbs?

And you are allowed to keep those crumbs.

And many a man has sold his soul
for those little crumbs.

And that's what Daddy does.

Daddy passes somebody else's cake around
and picks up all of the crumbs.

But you have to imagine a lot of crumbs,
and a great big golden cake...

and a lot of golden crumbs.

And imagine Daddy running around
picking up every little golden crumb...

he can grab.

And that's what Daddy does.

You can call them crumbs if you want to.

I'm doing the best I can.

Excuse me.

In my day, there was some integrity to it.

Yes, well...

Now it isn't about anything, is it?
Except the money.

Well, I don't make the rules, so...

All the more reason not to play the game.

We're just having a little...

It's nothing really.

Up to this point in our story,
I was blissfully ignorant.

I had no idea of the storm
that was gathering.

Never even heard of Sherman McCoy.

Hadn't the faintest notion that soon
his name would be inexorably tied to mine.

That his fate would be inextricably bound
to my own destiny.

I had my own problems...

and I had no idea that Sherman McCoy
was the solution I was looking for.

You're bad.

- Billy.
- Caroline.

Caroline, you look beautiful!

- You devil.
- You pig.

- Join us for a cocktail.
- No, I'm with someone.

Yes. And a pretty someone he is.

Filippo Chirazzi, the artist.
Peter Fallow, the has-been.

We're crowded this evening.

Why don't you sit on top of Billy Cortez?

I'll see if Caroline will sit on my face.

No thanks. The last time I sat on your face
I got a yeast infection.

Good evening, Peter.

Good evening.

Don't get up. Do you know my daughter?

Of course. How are you, Evelyn?

This is one of my invisible employees.

One of the many journalists
who supposedly write for my newspaper.

You're very honored to see him.

I rarely do.

I can explain. Come have a drink...

We're having a private party.

I was at a dinner last evening,
and halfway through the pudding...

a 4-year-old child came in
dragging a little toy cart.

And on the cart was a fresh turd.

Her own, I suppose.

The parents just shook their heads
and smiled.

I've made a big investment in you, Peter.

Time and money, and it's not working.

I could just shake my head and smile.

But in my house, when a turd appears,
we deal with it.

We dispose of it. We flush it away.

We don't put it on the table
and call it caviar.

Of course you don't.
I've been working at home.

I'm working on a story that I can't talk
about here. It's a big story.

I sincerely hope so, Peter.

- Well, it is.
- I sincerely hope so.

Come along, my dear.

It was the end of the road for me.
I could see it coming.

See it coming? It was here.

I'd had my chance and I'd blown it away
in a bottle.

It was over. I had to face up to that fact.

I could go back home.

Small town, small newspaper.

Or I could write a novel or two.

Or I could slit my wrists.

This last idea seemed most appealing,
as it required the least amount of effort.

And then the telephone rang.

Yeah?

Peter! Albert Fox here.

Peter?

Peter!

- Hello, Peter?
- Yeah, this is Peter.

You sound terrific.

Any pulse?

I called the paper. No one knew
where you were or who you were.

Anything I should know?

No, I'm just working at home today.

Good. There's something
I want to talk to you about.

There's a hell of a story in it.

Meet me at NBC, studio 4H, 7:00.

Ciao.

Yeah. Ciao.

You see that Henry Lamb material?

Yeah, I looked at it.

What do you think?

What do I think?

I think it's an unfortunate situation.

Where's the goddamn story?

A poor, innocent black kid
walking down the street...

and boom. Hit-and-run.
There's a story in it for somebody.

The black community's up in arms.

And when Reverend Bacon gets a feather
in his ass, the shit flies high.

What's your angle on all this?

What do you stand to get out of it?

- I'm a lawyer. I want justice done.
- Come on, Albert.

Reverend Bacon is my friend.
It'll be good for him.

And knowing your situation,
I thought if you broke the story...

Wait a minute.

What do you mean, my situation?

Your boss was at my house for dinner.

He said a few things.

I see.

- You have a little daughter?
- Yes, I do.

I bet she has a toy wagon.

Yes, she does. Why?

Got any scotch in that car?

Henry Lamb. Who's that?

He was a student of yours
at Ruppert High.

He was? What's he done?

Nothing. He's been seriously injured.

I'm a newspaper reporter.

I don't remember him.

What kind of student was he?

If I don't remember him,
I guess he was okay.

Was he a good student?

Good doesn't apply at Ruppert High.
They're cooperative or life-threatening.

- Wasn't he going to college?
- City College.

If you live in the city, graduate high
school, and breathe, they take you.

What about his performance in class?
Any aptitude, special skills?

- Fallow. Peter Fallow.
- Mr. Fallow, I got 65 students in each class.

Tests, homework, any written work?

There hasn't been written work
at Ruppert High for 20 years.

Really?

How do you keep track of the kids?

There must be some records.

You're thinking about
honor students and grades.

We don't make those comparisons.
We just try to keep them off the streets.

At Ruppert, an honor student...

is somebody who comes to class
and doesn't piss on the teacher.

By that standard...

was Henry Lamb an honor student?

Well...

He never pissed on me.

No, you're exaggerating
the situation. The franc is no problem.

We can hedge that to next January,
to the term or to both, whatever.

I don't think that's necessary.

Look, Bernard, we've had our share of...

Hell, I wouldn't even call them problems,
so let's not work ourselves up...

into a coma.

Jesus Christ, let me see that!

No, not you, Bernard.

Yeah.

Wait. What the hell are you talking about?

No, we can't wait.
We have to move on this thing now.

Bernard, you're...

You're bringing up phantom issues!

We must pull ourselves together
and fucking do it!

Look!

Bernard. Bernard!

But it was too late. It was gone.

Oh, Jesus.

Six hundred million dollars.

On Wall Street, a frantic salesman was
a dead salesman. And Sherman knew it.

Sherman. Hi.

You know what?

I was just thinking of you.
Where have you been?

Have you seen this?

- Don't I get a kiss first?
- Have you read it?

You know I only read
the newspapers spasmodically.

Sporadically?

Maria. Maria.

Who is this Peter Fallow
character? He's got it all wrong!

Excuse me, but what is going on here?

I'm installing a new intercom system.
Super let me in.

Are you Caroline Heftshank?

I need you to sign a receipt.

I don't live here.
I'm a guest of Miss Heftshank.

- Just a guest. Okay.
- Yeah.

No problem. I'm all done.

Good. Thank you.

- That was close.
- What's going on?

Oh, I don't know. Caroline pays $300 rent
for this place.

It's rent-controlled. I
sublet it for $1100.

But it's not legal.

To get Caroline out,
they have to prove she doesn't live here.

Isn't it weird that he came here today?
After that piece in the paper?

Oh, Sherman.
You are completely "paranoidical."

I have to leave for the airport
in about 20 minutes.

So we don't have much time.

Do you think they could trace
the car to me?

How? They don't have
the full number or a witness.

The only person who could recognize you
is in terminal "comatosis."

But the other fella.
Suppose he comes forward?

If he was going to materialize,
he would have by now.

And he hasn't because he's a criminal.

What a wretched painting.

It's a Filippo Chirazzi.
He's a friend of Caroline's.

- Know him?
- I hope not. God, that looks like you.

No. How could it?

- Where are you going?
- The airport. The car's coming soon.

We have time for a quickie.
What do you say?

Maria.

I've lost $600 million today.
Possibly my job.

I don't feel terrifically
sexy at the moment.

You know I'm a sucker
for a soft dick, Sherman.

You are incorrigible.

Am I?

I suppose we could still go to the police.
We could get a talented lawyer.

And put our heads right
into the tiger's mouth?

I'm the one who was driving the car.

Shouldn't I be the one
to make that decision?

And I say no. I say no.

Trust me.

Nothing will come
of that little newspaper article.

Absolutely nothing.

Thanks be to God

The morning light of peace

Over there. I'll be right with you.

The storm is passing over

Mr. Fallow. Our hero.

Reverend Bacon.

I feel as we already know each other.
And Mr. Corsaro.

Nice to see you again.

You have an exclusive. Understand?

I could've had every newspaper
and TV station spreading this news.

But I have chosen only
you two. And I expect big coverage.

In-depth coverage.

Let's get to work.

Let's go.

Look, Reverend.

Might we be making a mountain
out of a molehill? Honestly...

Honesty has nothing to do with this.

This is show business. I've never known
the two to go hand in hand.

Neither have I.
And I'm supposed to be a journalist.

You're a drunk. That's what I heard.

And you're almost out of a job.
Or am I misinformed?

You have the wrong man.

No, I don't think so.

I don't think so at all.

TV's ready, Reverend.

Okay, man.

Stay in the wide shot.
Push in when you see the action.

The storm is passing over

He's something, isn't he?

He sure is.

He's on the level with this one, right?
The story's legitimate.

Of course.

This Henry Lamb's a nice kid.

The neighbors like him. No record.
Honor student.

No question about it.

Personally, I don't care. But, when I finish
with this story, the kid'll be a saint.

Be nice to know it's true, that's all.

It's true.

We're rolling the cameras. Go ahead.

The storm is

Brothers and sisters...

I stand before you
with a heart that is broken.

And I stand before you
with a heart that is angry.

It's heartbroken because our brother...

our neighbor, our son, Henry Lamb...

has been struck down
in the prime of his young life.

And now he lies in a hospital,
broken, like my heart.

But I tell you, my heart is also angry.

Yes! Angry!

Because the driver
of that car didn't do nothing for him!

And neither did the police!

And neither did this man!

Mr. Abraham Weiss.

That's my name. My own fucking name.

That's a complete fuck-up.

- Who the hell are you?
- Assistant District Attorney Kramer.

I work in this office.

And I, for one, am not gonna stand for it.

No, sir.

In response, Israel today appealed
for patience...

General accounting office said...

Sources at Motor Vehicles say...

less than 200 Mercedes have plates...

beginning with "RE," "RB," or "RP."

How did they get this information
out of Motor Vehicles?

Calm down. We've had this information
for over a week.

Why aren't we doing anything about it?
Why aren't we tracing the car?

Actually, I suggested we...

What am I? The Wizard of Oz?

Trace the car? Trace the car?
We don't even have a witness.

We don't know where it happened,
or even if it happened.

Trace the car.

We don't have a case,
even if we find the car.

If we found the driver,
and the driver came to us and said:

"Yeah, that's right."

I hit this kid the other night,
and I didn't stop.

I didn't report it. I'm the guy. I did it."
Then we got a case.

Just trace the fucking car.

Yesterday, I was
a respected Jewish liberal.

Ten minutes of news like this,
and now I'm a hymie racist pig?

The Italians are going to love this.

The Irish too.

And the WASPs.

They love this shit more than anybody.

They love laughing at me.

All the rich sons of bitches.

They still think they own this town.

They sit in their co-ops, Park Avenue,
Fifth, Beekman Place, snug like a bug.

Twelve-foot ceilings, a wing for them,
one for the help.

They think money'll protect them.

You stupid sons of bitches!

I'd like to light a fire under their
white asses. Let them see how it feels.

Let the Third World see the smoke
and come after them!

Let them feel what it's like when every
Puerto Rican, West Indian, Cuban, Korean...

Albanian, Filipino, black man
from every borough...

The future knows how to cross a bridge!

You laugh.

You laugh! All right!
Here's what we're going to do!

We're going to turn this thing around
if it kills us!

We'll prove to these black motherfuckers...

Pardon my language.

We'll prove to these niggers
that this administration loves them!

No matter what it takes.

I am no racist hymie.

By November...

they are going to be
thinking of me as...

the first black district attorney
of Bronx County.

Yeah.

They're going to beg me to be mayor.

- We'll walk away with that election.
- No question!

- That's what we'll do!
- Yes!

If we have to screw every white asshole
from Albany to Park Avenue, we will!

- No.
- Like people...

Here he comes now.

- Tony, hi.
- It's Eddie, sir.

I'm Detective Martin,
this is Detective Goldberg.

We're investigating a car accident.
Maybe you heard about it.

Yeah.

Yes! On television.

Last night. My wife...

We said, "We have a Mercedes
and the license starts with 'R."'

You and a lot of people.

Going up?

Yeah. Yes, yes, I will.

Should we...?

- Is it bad time for you?
- No, no...

- We just have a few questions.
- Oh, yes.

- Was your car in use the night it happened?
- When?

Tuesday, a week ago.

Let me think.

Anybody else use your car?

My wife sometimes.

The men at the garage.

Parking garage? You leave your car
and they park it?

Can we go see it?

The car? Now?

Since we're here.
There's certain things to look for.

We don't find them, we're out of your hair.

- So you want to look at the car?
- Yeah.

I see. I see.

We don't have a description of a driver,
so we have to look for the car.

We're sorry for the inconvenience,
but it's routine.

I understand.

But if there is a routine,
then I ought to follow the routine...

that's appropriate to me,
to someone with a car in this situation.

You see?

No, I don't follow.

If there's a routine
in an investigation like this...

there must also be a routine
for a person like me.

For the owner of a car
with a license number.

That's what I need to consider.

The routine.

We just want to look at your car.

That's what I mean. You see?

No.

Excuse me, Mr. McCoy.

Do you want to tell us something?

No.

No. How do you mean?

I mean, if there is,
now is the time to tell us.

Before things get complicated.

No, no, no...

I just think that to be certain...

to be safe, sure, I think...

If you want to cooperate, that'd be great.

If you have a reason not to cooperate...

you don't have to say anything.
That's your right.

If you want, you can say nothing at all.

You also have the right to an attorney.

For that matter...

if you lack funds for an attorney...

the state will provide you
with one free of charge.

If that's what you wanted.

Well look...

I think what I should do is...

talk to an attorney.

So I casually read him his rights.

Then he sits down on the guy's desk.

And his eyes get bigger
and he starts double-talking like crazy.

I know that there's something there.

Mr. Weiss, I think we got him.

Got who?

Sherman McCoy. We got him.

You think it's him?

It's him! This guy is Park Avenue.

His father ran Dunning, Sponget and Leach.
His wife is a socialite.

Does this put an end
to this white-justice shit?

We have zip on him.

We could bring him in for questioning,
then go public.

Go public? With what? The only
witness is in a coma, likely to die.

Don't listen. You got a speech to make.

Send a signal to the poor people
of the city.

Let them know justice is blind.

Let them know that rich whites
get the same treatment as poor blacks.

You must give the people hope.

You mean, we nail the WASP?

To the wall.

I like this man.

So I tell him,
"I'm your lawyer from Legal Aid."

He says, "I don't want a nigger lawyer.
I want a Jew."

Nice guy.

- It's his third drug arrest. He wants a deal.
- He'll say he was at the scene?

He'll say whatever you want him to say.

Get me Andruitti. Tell him it's urgent
about this Lamb shit.

Suppose this other fellow comes forward.
There was another fellow. He was big...

I believe you. It was a set-up.
They were going to rob you.

He has good reasons not to come forward.

Now, you just sit tight.

Look, you were recommended
as the best criminal lawyer around.

But I didn't come here to...

I want to preempt this situation.
I don't want it to go any further.

What does that mean?

I want to take the initiative.

I want to go to the police with Maria...

with Mrs. Ruskin,
and tell them what happened.

I feel morally certain
that what we did was right...

in the circumstances we were in.

Yeah, you Wall Street honchos
are real gamblers.

What are you, nuts?

They will devour you.

- Eat you alive.
- Why?

Forget that it's a political football.

Forget about the TV and Reverend Bacon...

and Weiss's upcoming election.

Remember that every day, the Bronx DA
prosecutes people with names...

like Tiffany Latour, Sancho Rodriguez...

Chong Wong and Shabazz Tamali.

So he's dying to get his hands on a nice
white couple like you and Mrs. Ruskin.

I mean, Biscuit City.

Open your mouth and they will arrest you.

They will make a big show of the arrest.
It will be very unpleasant. Guaranteed.

And you don't want to be arrested
in the South Bronx.

Yeah.

Put him on.

I'll hold.

I'll need to talk to Mrs. Ruskin too.

I understand you went to Yale.

Yeah. You too?

What did you think of it?

It was okay, as law schools go.

They give you the scholarly view.

And it's good for anything you want to do
that doesn't involve real people.

Andruitti, you guinea bastard!

Yeah? Well...

I'm sitting here with Mr. Sherman McCoy.

Yeah, that's right.

I don't know if he needs a lawyer.
What do you think?

Okay. So what does that mean?

Yeah, sure.

Yeah. Yeah, yeah...

We got a problem.

What is it?

They're going to arrest you.

While Sherman faced catastrophe
in his career and in his marriage...

and while the police were circling,
while his life hung in the balance...

Sherman went to the opera.

There he is...

Don Juan in the vise-like grip of fate...

facing his crime, facing his entire life
of selfish consumption...

and profligate wasting
of himself and others.

You're Judy McCoy's husband.

Yes.

Have you met Aubrey Buffing, the poet?

He's up for the Nobel Prize. He has AIDS.

- Oh.
- We were talking about the opera.

The wrath of heaven must be at hand.

Its justice will not tarry.

I see the deadly thunderbolt
poised above his head.

Suddenly, he saw her in the crowd.

Maria.

- And even when repentance...
- Excuse me.

He followed her past the grinning faces
full of boiling teeth.

Past the conversational bouquets.

Past the impeccably emaciated
ladies of society.

The social X-ray women.

Christ, was this the world he lived in?

Before he answered the question
he saw Maria being introduced...

to his wife.

Maria's just back from Italy.

She lives on airplanes.

She goes back and forth
from Italy like a Ping-Pong ball.

Judy?

Sherman.

Have you met Nunnally Voyd?

- At last.
- How do you do?

- Bobby Shalfet from the opera.
- Oh, yes.

- Hi.
- How do you do?

And Arthur Ruskin.

- How do you do?
- Ciao.

And his wife, Maria.

- How do you do?
- We've met.

Couldn't you try just once
to be a little bit interesting?

I wanted you to meet Aubrey Buffing.

Aubrey Buffing.
He's on the short list for the Nobel Prize.

He has AIDS. You'll love him.

Sherman.

We are in the middle of the room,
a married couple talking to each other.

You simply don't do it. Go mingle. Please.

And even when
repentance is offered, he refuses.

He refuses to deny his life.

The food, the drink, the flesh...

fatal as they may be,
he cannot resist them.

Maria, may I speak to you?

We have to stop meeting like this.

- Do you know Boris, the ballet dancer?
- No.

- Boris Karlevskov, Sherman McCoy.
- Hello. How do you do?

- He's defective.
- You mean, he defected.

No, I mean he doesn't speak English.

- Really? Are you sure?
- Yeah.

- Do you know what's going on?
- Watch.

Boris, want me to eat your ass?

You see? It went right over his head.

- We have to talk.
- Of course we do.

But keep smiling because
my husband is watching.

See? He's so pleased with himself.

He's just closed a new deal.
Charter business. He'll fly Arabs to Mecca.

- I'm going to be arrested.
- The planes are from Israel.

By the police.

He'll make a goddamn fortune.

My lawyer, if you can call him that...

He called me a whore today.
Right in front of the servants.

Really. How does he expect me
to run the house...

- If he humiliates me in front of the help?
- Yes, yes, yes.

- You have a point.
- Oh.

I'm sorry. What are we talking about?

The other guy's come forward.
Says I was driving.

I'm going to be arrested tomorrow.

I need to know from you
what you want me to say.

Maria, darling, I need your advice
about something.

Sherman, have you met Aubrey Buffing?

Like so many of us...

until Death itself takes us into his arms
and burns us with the fever of living...

dragging us like Don Juan
into the bonfires of hell.

The voice of the ghost ringing in our ears.

"Repent. Repent!"

Good morning. Careful. My kid got Styrofoam
shit back there and it sticks to your clothes.

- How do you feel?
- Top notch.

This is just a formality, right?

No problem. They promised me.

I told Maria. I saw her last night.
In case we need her.

That explains it.
She left the country this morning.

You know an Italian painter
named Filippo Chirazzi?

I think your girlfriend's
got a new boyfriend.

It won't be so bad. This is routine.

Andruitti promised we'll be in
and out of there.

No one will ever know what happened.

Cuff him.

What?

The zone captain will be there.
And the press.

What the fuck? What press?

Ray promised no bullshit.

Weiss gave the order this morning.

Somebody's going to pay for this.

I made sure I was there that day.

That day would be full of revelations.

I would meet Sherman McCoy at last.

When he finally appeared...

Well, excuse me, what the hell...?

Who were these people?
What were they doing here?

This was my story!

Sherman McCoy was my baby! My creation!

Come on! Give us a statement!

Look at these punks.
Get out of here!

Why'd you hit that kid?

Put the cuffs on him.

I'm going to jail, aren't I?

Don't say a word. Don't hide your head.

You don't even know they're there.

- I'm going to jail.
- Come on.

- What do you have to say for yourself?
- Over here.

You been arrested before?

Where's your wife?

You ran down Mrs. Lamb's son.
Have you anything to say to her?

Here! Let me take your picture, shithead!

How do you like this cocktail party?

Hello, Mr. McCoy.

Don't make any statements!
Don't talk to anybody!

I'll meet you at the arraignment.

- Don't make any statements!
- Move it. Come on, move it.

Murderer!

Order!

Order! Order!

Quiet! You people sit down!

Shut up!

Sit down. Everybody, sit down.

Mr. McCoy...

do you know the charges
that have been brought against you?

What?

How do you plead to the charges?

I'm sorry.

I am very sorry. Please forgive me.

- Oh, come on.
- Order!

I am truly sorry for everything.
Please forgive me.

For my life. For everything.

I'm truly sorry.

Shut up.

The defendant pleads not guilty.

What?

Bail has been set at $10,000.

Order! Order!

You people sit down! Sit down!

Your Honor.

Your Honor.

Your Honor.

We do not believe it will serve
the interests of justice...

to allow this man to walk free...

on a token bail.

Mr. Kramer knows perfectly well
that my client won't jump bail!

Think of the emotions of this community!

That is patent nonsense.
Bail has already been agreed to.

Mr. Weiss has instructed me to ask
for bail in the amount of $250,000.

Cash!

Order!

If your office has any information
bearing on bail status of this case...

make a formal application.

Meanwhile, I release Mr. McCoy...

under a bond in the amount of $10,000.

Now get this sideshow out of my court!

Your Honor.

Your Honor, your action will irreparably
damage not only the people's case...

I have spoken!

But the people's cause as well.

Mr. Kramer!

It ill-behooves the
criminal justice system!

Kindly behoove me no "ill-behooves."

- Your Honor...
- Mr. Kramer.

The court directs you to shut up!

He's coming out the back!
Fall out! He's coming out the back!

Go get him!

Get him.

He's getting away!

He's getting away.

Pshew.

So much for my introduction
to Sherman McCoy.

Before we could even speak,
he had been swept away.

I began to appreciate the power,
the magnitude...

the sheer force unleashed
by my little story.

Jackals.

These dogs...

yapping at the heels of their prey.

And, my God, I was one of them.

Let them have it. Enough is enough.

With what little dignity I had left,
I decided to go home.

Excuse me. Do you know
where I can find a taxi?

Sherman McCoy.

Yeah, I know who you are.

- What are you doing out here?
- I need a taxi.

There he is! There's McCoy!

You need to get out of here. Come on.

Come on. We'll get out of here
on the subway.

- I don't usually travel in the subway.
- Well, me neither...

I owe you an apology.

No, you were very helpful.

- You don't know who I am.
- It's all right. Thanks.

Listen.

I should go.

Go where? You're on a train.

- Well, I'll just...
- Here, come here.

Come over here and sit down.

Sit down.

I'll make sure you get home.

- Want some?
- No, thanks.

Come on. Fuck it.

What'll they do?

Arrest you?

Thank you.

Does this train go
anywhere near Park Avenue?

Not for the last million years.

Well, my father rode the subway
every day of his life.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

He didn't live in the South Bronx, though.

No. No.

I look terrible.

You look like shit.

You don't smell good, either.

I think when I was in jail
I pissed in my pants.

Take it easy.

I'm all right.

I can't think.

Cheer yourself up.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

Then this newspaper thing started.
This Peter Fallow.

Everything was wrong.
Total disregard for the truth.

This is your stop.

Everyone calls me by my first name,
like they know me. Like they own me.

Lawyers, police, newspapers.
How did I get to be so important?

You're not important. You're dinner.
Don't you get it?

A week from now,
they won't even remember what they ate.

Thank you for everything.

I should have just called the police
right away. Right when it happened.

But it really wasn't my decision to make.

I wasn't driving the car.

Stand clear of the doors, please.

Sherman, wait a minute!

Excuse me. Sherman!

It's going to be fine.

- What do we want?
- Justice!

- What do we get?
- Racism!

It's Sherman! A bravo, everybody!

You sly fox. Don't let the newspapers
keep you down.

The press are bloody fruit flies.

They hover over the feces.
Just swipe them away.

But they always come back to the shit.

I always thought you were dull.

Excuse me.

Sherman. Congratulations.

Has anybody talked to you
about television?

We'd have to play down the racial thing.

Kind of make you more sympathetic.

I know I'm first, but I wanted to be there
before the corpse was cold.

Two hundred grand.

- I beg your pardon?
- Fuck my pardon.

I'll suck your dick for the rights.
Two-fifty.

A book, a mini-series. Half a million.
Go to jail, double.

- Is that a great blow job or what?
- Excuse me!

Hey, Sherman.

Oh, Rawlie, hi. Hi.

- Didn't mean anything to interrupt anything.
- Oh, no, no.

- Gene asked me to come by.
- No. Oh, Gene.

I haven't talked with anyone yet.

- If there's anything we can do...
- Oh.

I'll be back to work in a day or two.

That won't be necessary.
That's what I was sent to...

You don't have to.

I mean, you shouldn't come down.

They don't want you to come down.

- Oh. Oh.
- Sherman, I'm sorry.

Between this and the way you handled
the Giscard deal...

- I mean, $600 million is a...
- This is final?

Well, the firm feels that...

I'm sorry.

Judy, could we...? What's going on?

This dinner party was planned weeks ago,
if you bothered to check your calendar.

Under the circumstances...

I know the whole story.
I saw it on television.

- Television.
- I'm sorry. Judy, I am.

You betrayed us. Me. Campbell.
Even yourself.

But I'm chairing the museum benefit
thanks to your escapades.

What can I say? Life goes on.

I'll make the best
of an appalling situation.

Can you forgive me?

I suppose I can forgive anything,
but not television.

I'm leaving you.

After the party.

Now if you will excuse me,
we have guests.

No... Judy. No, Judy, please.

I'm terribly sorry to bother you.
Is this a bad time?

Pollard. No.

The more the merrier.

I've been in touch with the co-op board.

We want you to know
you have our support.

Oh, thank you.

You know, I wanted to die...

with everybody calling my name
in that courtroom.

Of course. It's hard to believe.

And then I thought, "I have a gun."

A 12-gauge, pump action.

We've known each other a long time.

We went to Buckley together.
My father knew your father.

I speak as a friend and also for the board.

How do I get the barrels into my mouth?

How am I going to pull the trigger?

I read about a man who took off his shoe...

and pulled the trigger with his toe.

This can't be a comfortable situation
for you.

Is that a gun?

Where would I do it?

And who would find me?

Yes, exactly.

Have you considered...

changing residence for a while?

You want me to leave?

Well...

- This is my home.
- I understand that.

I have no safe place to go.
People are threatening my life.

I must protect myself.

People are demonstrating out front.
Black people with basketballs.

You're putting everyone at risk.

It's not your fault. But that's the fact.

If you're so scared, you move out.

Please.

Start...

by moving out of my apartment now.

I came here in good faith.

Now, out!

You were a fat blowhard at Buckley...

and you're a fat blowhard now!

I'll enforce the provision
on unacceptable situations.

Another word and you'll have
an unacceptable situation up your ass!

March!

That goes for the rest of you too! Out!

I said, get out!

Parasites! Everybody out!

Out of my house! Out of my apartment!

Out of my life!

Sherman McCoy is dead!

Sherman McCoy of Park Avenue
and Wall Street...

will never be Sherman McCoy again!

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away,
I was being praised and congratulated.

It should have been
a triumphant yours truly...

but it wasn't.

My encounter with the real
Sherman McCoy was spoiling everything.

Truth has a way of doing that.

Daddy, dinner.

- Yes. Shall we take Peter with us?
- Lovely.

Pay full attention to this story.

We look better and better
the more we do for the Lambs.

These poor little Lambs.

These fuzzy-wuzzy little wogs!

Oh, Daddy.

- Excuse me, Peter.
- Yes?

- Phone call for you in the office.
- Oh.

Thank you. I'm expecting a call
about the story.

I'll see you at dinner. Thank you.

Where's the phone?

I lied.

I wanted to see you alone.

I'm going to do you a favor.

Does this mean I'll finally get
into your panties?

You don't deserve this, Peter.

I'm going to tell you something.

I'm with some people right outside.

Relax, darling.

Do you remember...

my pretty little Italian friend?
The painter.

Yes.

Frederico. No. Franco.

- Filippo.
- Filippo.

The shit.

Caroline. You are very intoxicated.

Well...

Filippo has run off with a little slut
you should know about.

Isn't that dangerous?

At the very least, unsanitary?

Shut up, Peter.

You're not listening.

Her name is Maria Ruskin.

She was subletting my apartment.

She was also subletting Filippo.

As it turns out...

she was in the car with Sherman McCoy
when he had his little mishap.

You're joking.

I never joke.

She was in the bloody car.

How do you know?

The apartment was bugged.

They had a wire in the intercom.

They wanted to prove
I wasn't living there.

Which I wasn't.

Now I've lost the apartment
and the boyfriend.

Do you know where they are?

No.

I am trusting you to find them.

When you do...

give them this.

Tell them it's from the little twat
who turned them in.

Thank you for seeing me
on such short notice, Mr. Ruskin.

Peter Fallow.

I'm a good friend of your wife.

My wife. My wife.

I'm glad she's not here.
Otherwise I couldn't have a drink.

Jacques. A Courvoisier VSOP.
Put it in a sidecar.

Where is Maria?

Italy. She's always in Italy.

She's young. She needs young people.

I know what goes on.

I'll want to talk to her.

My office has her number.

- Voilà, Monsieur Ruskin.
- Thank you.

I'm not supposed to drink,
but I love a sidecar.

- So you're on The City Light?
- Yes.

We're profiling the new tycoons.
Naturally, we thought of you.

Good. Good. I like that.

New tycoons. What do you want to know?

The best one happened
a few weeks ago.

My jackass pilot lands long
and the plane goes off the runway.

I was on the plane.

We were going to Mecca.
The plane is full of Arabs with animals.

Goats, sheep, chickens. They don't
go anywhere without their animals.

We had to put plastic in the cabins.
They urinate, they defecate.

Anyway, the plane goes off the runway
and lands into that sand with a jolt!

The right wing tip digs into the sand
and spins around in a circle.

Three hundred and sixty degrees.
I'm scared shitless. Panic!

I look in the cabin. In
there, calm, quiet...

they're picking up their luggage
and animals...

and looking out the window
at a little fire on the wings.

They're waiting for the doors
to open like nothing happened!

Then it dawns on me.

They think it's normal!

That's how you stop a plane!

Stick the wing in the sand
and let it spin until it stops!

They'd never been on a plane before!
What do they know?

They think this is how you do it!

Mr. Ruskin?

Mr. Ruskin?

Mrs. Ruskin?

I'm Peter Fallow.
I want to express my sympathies.

How very kind.

Did you know Arthur?

Actually, I was quite close to him
when he died.

You know, I have reprobated myself
over and over again for not being there.

I understand that
you're Sherman McCoy's lover.

Excuse me?

And that you were driving the car
on the night of that unfortunate accident.

- Sherman would never tell you that.
- Tell me what happened that night.

Listen, Mr. Peckerhead.

I am here for my husband's funeral.
Understand?

Go away. Disappear. Disintegrate.

Yes, yes, yes.
This story was getting better every day.

I could smell it.

Hell, some of it was even true.

I was back on track.
I was a reporter again.

You're a muckraking yellow journalist!

You print this story without so much
as a by-your-leave to me or the Reverend.

Who do you think you are?

For chrissakes, calm down.

You have to keep your voices down.

Sherman McCoy was not driving the car.
I think I can prove it.

So what?

This is our case. Right here.
The hospital is the guilty party.

The hospital?

The hospital. A young man comes in
with a cerebral concussion.

They treat him for a broken wrist.

That is our case. That is the lawsuit
we'll bring against the hospital.

That is what we have been
working toward all this time.

And you are confusing the issue.

What about Sherman McCoy?

What about the truth?

Congratulations.

You're a reporter again.

Don't forget where your story came from.

That's right. You our boy, Peter.

You take care of us
and we'll take care of you.

I promise you that is going
to be a very profitable relationship...

for all of us.

Annie.

Annie.

Annie, I know nothing can heal
the wound that you've suffered.

But $10 million in damages
will make your grief more comfortable.

Well...

I could use a few things.

I feel that the presentation of my person
should be carefully designed.

I think I should have the right wardrobe.

So if Mr. Fox's limousine could pick me up
tomorrow morning...

I could do some shopping.

Certainly.

I printed the story they wanted.

Why not?

If you work in a whorehouse,
there's only one thing to be.

The best whore in the house.

And I was beginning to see
even greater possibilities in my situation.

They're going to sue the hospital.

All they want is money.

Can you imagine using a tragedy like this
for your own selfish motives?

It really is terrible.

Shut up, asshole.

Yes, sir.

What is happening to my campaign?
The People versus Sherman McCoy?

Where is my issue?

Where is my cause?

Where is my hope?

Abe.

We've got to talk to this Ruskin woman.

You go to the press. Tell them we're going
to question the woman.

If she's the woman in the car,
she faces possible charges, etc., etc.

Okay.

And you!

Mr. Wise-Guy-Know-It-All-Shitface!

You got us into this!
You're going to get us out.

Look at me when I talk to you!

Go to this broad.
Tell her she's in a whole lot of trouble.

But if she's willing to cooperate,
if she'll say what we want her to say...

we will grant her immunity.

Yes, sir.

What are you waiting for? Go.

Today?

Her husband's funeral is today.

I don't care if today is
her mother's bar mitzvah.

Go to her. Now!

- Mr. Leach.
- Yeah.

I hear you did some creative wiring
in the building.

What?

You bugged
Caroline Heftshank's apartment.

In three minutes, I had what I needed.

It was more than a story.
I had the makings of a book.

A great book. A prize-winning effort.

All I needed was a finish.

- Do you have the tape upstairs?
- I got it.

I shipped off a present
to McCoy's lawyer...

and waited for the fireworks.

I don't feel terrifically
sexy at the moment.

You know I'm a sucker
for a soft dick, Sherman.

You are incorrigible.

That is me! That's Maria!
Where did you get this?

Listen.

We could still go to the police.
We could get a talented lawyer.

And put our heads right
into the tiger's mouth?

I'm the one who was driving the car.

Shouldn't I be the one
to make that decision?

And I say no. I say no.

The apartment was wired?
It was bugged all that time?

- Yeah.
- Why?

Who knows?

Whoever sent this tape is either a fan
of yours or not a fan of Maria's.

Then we have this as evidence!

This tape is illegal. Totally illegal.

The guy who did this could go to jail.

If this were your tape, it'd be legal.

But it's not.

If it were my tape?

If you recorded your own conversation...

it would be okay.

But this tape can't be used as evidence
in a court of law.

Then what good is it?

- It gave me an idea.
- What kind of idea?

About what you wear to the funeral.

What funeral?

Please be seated.

In accordance with the wishes
of Mr. Ruskin...

Just one second.

Manny Leerman will play a medley
of Arthur's favorite songs.

It's me. Sherman.

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

Don't you know each cloud contains

Pennies from heaven?

Maria.

I need to talk to you. Can you come?

Be sure that your umbrella

- Is upside down
- Sherman. Sherman.

I'm so sorry.

What are you doing here?

I had to talk to you.

Sherman, it seems like you've been doing
all your talking to the newspapers.

I had nothing to do with it.
We didn't want your name brought up.

I see.

Maria, you have to help me.

How can I help you?

This may sound strange,
but you could start by...

telling the police
what really happened that night.

Sherman, you are the sweetest thing.

I'm not sure anybody knows
what really happened that night.

Not anymore.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Oh, God, Sherman.

There's something about funerals
that is so stimulating.

My panties have been wet all morning.

Then I'm back on top

Maria, stop.

What's wrong with you?
Why are you all hunched over?

- What's on your back?
- My what?

This lump, this piece of metal.

- That's my belt buckle.
- You don't have a buckle in the back.

There's subterfuge afoot.

You're secreting something on your body.
I want to see what it is!

A hidden microphone? A wire!

Sherman! Oh, Sherman!

Sherman.

You rotten, dishonest bastard!

I didn't want to do it!
You gave me no choice!

Mrs. Ruskin?

Go away, whoever you are!

I'm so sorry. I'm Jed Kramer,
of the district attorney's office.

District attorney's office.

My, my, my, Mr. McCoy.

I'd say your goose is
just about home-fried.

I have protected you.
I have been a gentleman about this.

I've tried to keep your name out of the papers.
Now you must do the right thing.

Never. Never! Never!

I hope you die and hang
in the electric chair!

Mrs. Ruskin, I apologize
for the intrusion...

He's gone.

I know. And I'm sorry for your loss.

He just ran out the back door.

- Who?
- Sherman McCoy!

Jesus!

I'm sorry if I alarmed you,
but he was acting very strange.

Where are my manners?
My name is Maria Ruskin.

Yes. I'm Kramer.

Jed Kramer.

Jed. I'm the assistant district attorney.

Bronx County.

Oh. I see.

What a handsome district attorney you are.

- We have a lot to talk about.
- Yes, we do.

Because if I'm going to testify...

I need to know what I should
or should not say.

You can start by telling the police...

what really happened that night.

Sherman, you are the sweetest thing.

I'm not sure anybody knows
what really happened.

Not anymore.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, Sherman.

They weren't sure downstairs
if you were here.

Well, I...

I usually come up the back way now.

I see. May I?

Yes. Yeah, sure.

It's all gone. Everything.

- Yeah, Judy...
- Judy's gone too?

Yes.

She moves quickly.

She's got a good lawyer.

I'm not sure I ever really
liked her, your wife.

No, of course not.

Or this apartment, for
what you paid for it.

Or the furniture...

Or my car, or my job,
or my clothes, my life, my money!

Christ. You did not come
all the way here...

on a fucking subway to tell me...

I am not...

at this late date, going to get
the ethics and morality speech.

Not now! Not when I have to do what
I'm going to do in court tomorrow.

If you came to give me that...
Jesus Christ!

I came here to...

I don't know how to do this.

You didn't call. We wanted to help.

I came to say that we're here for you.

You're our son and we love you.

I don't mean "we."

I mean "I."

I love you.

That's all.

Please.

Well...

Have you thought about
what you want to do?

Well, there's...

There's only one thing I can do.

I want the truth to come out
and burn every one of them.

There's only one way to do that.

Go on the stand?

Lie.

I have always been a great believer
in the truth.

I've lived my life as honestly as I can.

I believe in the truth as an essential
companion to a man of conscience.

A beacon in this vast and dark wasteland
that is our modern world.

And yet...

Yes?

In this case,
if the truth won't set you free...

then lie.

Did this incident take place
on the ramp to the expressway...

or on the avenue itself?

On the avenue. Right on the street.

Was there a barricade,
or an obstruction of any kind...

that forced the car to stop?

No, there was nothing like that at all.

Well...

Just one last question.

Who was driving the car
when Henry Lamb was hit?

Sherman never let anyone drive his car.

So Sherman McCoy was driving the car?

Yes.

Lock him up! Bang it shut!
Lock him up! Bang it shut!

Chill, everybody. Chill!

And there it was.

The end of Sherman McCoy.

It wasn't the ending I was hoping for.

All my work, all my efforts,
down the tubes.

My hero was gone. Finished.

Maria might as well have put a gun
to his head and pulled the trigger.

She and everyone in this courtroom.

I saw a wave of triumph wash over them.

I could feel them rising like the tide
as Sherman sank before them.

The Master of the Universe was
going down for the third time.

It was all over.

There was no hope now.

The darkness closed in around him.

And then I noticed a peculiar thing.

Sherman was smiling.

You people settle down!

I will have you all thrown out!

You are out of order!

Order in here! Order!

We never...

Order!

Go on, Mrs. Ruskin.

And I wanted...

to report the incident,
but he wouldn't let me.

He said that he was driving...

and that it was his decision to make.

And did that surprise you?

I was shocked.

There are certain qualities of virtue
that I admire in a human being.

Virtues that I hope I possess myself.

We have time for a quickie.
What do you say?

I don't feel terrifically
sexy at the moment.

You know I'm a sucker for
a soft dick, Sherman.

You are incorrigible.

We could still go to the police.
We could get a talented lawyer.

And put our heads into the tiger's mouth?

I'm the one who was driving the car.

- Give me that tape!
- Get the hell out of here!

Order! Order!

Order!

Order in here, goddamn it! Order!

Approach the bench.

Now, gentlemen.

Damn it.

That can't be used.

- Whose tape is this?
- Mine.

- Your Honor...
- Shut up!

Mr. McCoy.

I remind you that you are still under oath.

Now...

Did you record this conversation?

Yes, sir, I did.

I recorded the conversation on this tape.

My tape. This is my tape...

of my conversation.

I recorded it.

Get out of my face.

All of you!

You can't let them get away with this!

Order! Order!

Order in the court!

You insist on testing
the will of this court?

Now shut up and sit down!

Very well.

In the case of
The People v. Sherman McCoy...

based on the evidence contained
in this recording...

I order the indictment dismissed
in the interest of justice.

Justice? Justice?

You call that justice?
That's not justice, you racist pig!

- Racist?
- Yeah.

- You dare call me racist?
- Yeah!

I say unto you...

what does it matter
the color of a man's skin...

if witnesses...

Perjure themselves?

If a prosecutor...

enlists the perjurers?

When a district attorney...

throws a man to the mob...

for political gain?

When men of the cloth...

men of God...

take the prime cuts?

Is that justice?

I don't hear you.

I'll tell you what justice is.

Justice...

is the law.

And the law...

is man's feeble attempt...

to set down the principles of decency.

Decency.

And decency is not a deal!

It isn't an angle, or a
contract or a hustle.

Decency...

Decency is what
your grandmother taught you.

It's in your bones.

Now you go home.

Go home and be decent people.

Be decent.

Mr. McCoy, you're free to go.

No!

I don't fucking believe this.

Shit. Damn.

So we come to the end of our story.

That was the last I saw of Sherman McCoy.

The last anyone saw of him.

He was gone...

in a blaze of glory.
A hero for our times.

Or as close to a hero
as we're likely to get these days.

And now, without further ado,
the man of the moment.

The winner of the Pulitzer Prize...

the National Book Award
and every other prize you can win.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Peter Fallow.

Sherman, who started with
so much, lost everything.

But he gained his soul.

Whereas I, who started with so little...

gained everything.

"But what does it profit a man
if he gains the world and loses..."

Well.

There are compensations.