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Tell the truth.

Chain the devil.

In the battle
between good and evil,

the devil's territory is growing.

Home again, home again, chickity-chee.

Thomas?

- Yes?
- This is Star.

Star's gonna be staying
with us for a few days.

Oh, no, don't worry.
I don't mind you. Come in.

She says she's an atheist.

Only God's an atheist.

And when sin and seduction are set free...

Get off!

Get... away! Evil woman!

I know this game.

She's a nymphomaniac.

That's just another way she's unfortunate.

It was the filthy, dirty,
criminal slut who stole my gun.

- Oh, Thomas don't you...
- You believe me, don't you, Mom?

You believe me Shut up!

Fleas come with the dog.

Mystery, thrills.

Scandal

with today's most electric stars.

The sky was underpinned

with long silver streaks
that looked like scaffolding.

And behind it were thousands of stars
still moving slowly,

as if they were about
some vast construction work

that involved the whole
order of the universe

and would take all of time to complete.

But no one was paying
any attention to the sky.

Damn.

The world was made for the dead.

Think of all the dead that are there,

so many more dead than there are living.

And the dead are dead
much longer than the living

are alive.

And they don't seem to mind.

Dear God,
I am so discouraged about my work.

I want to write a novel.

A good novel.

I want to do this for a good feeling
and for a bad one.

The bad one is uppermost.

Please, help me get down
under things, where you are.

Obadiah Elihue.

Obadiah, Obadiah, Obadiah Elihue.

Obadiah Elihue.

What, Obadiah Elihue?

Obadiah Elihue.

O... Obadiah Elihue.

What does that name mean?

Servant of God.

Miss O'Connor, I...

I respect you, so I'm gonna be honest.

Sometimes, I feel like you're
trying to stick pins in your readers.

I don't think you need to make them suffer

in order to introduce them
to the unusual way your mind works.

It feels a little like you're

trying to pick a fight with your reader,

when all they ever did was
open the front cover of your book.

I'm also not sure

if all the rewriting that
you're doing is helping.

I mean, I only say that because the book,
as it was on the whole, is very strong.

I'm wondering if you want
to get into some specifics.

I'm amenable to criticism.

Okay.

Well, these are just

some of our initial thoughts
and reservations about your book so far.

You can take it home with you.

I do think... an outline
would be useful at this point,

just to give us a sense of
what the final chapters will look like.

I'm amenable to criticism, but only
within the sphere of what I'm trying to do.

All right, the real question is,

do you want me to be specific
and work with you

the way that I work with
all the writers on the payroll,

or do you prefer to go it alone?

Think about it.

Take some time, and
I'll follow up with Miss McKee.

Um...

it was really, really nice
to meet you in person, Miss O'Connor.

- Uh...
- Safe travels.

- Thank you.
- Take care.

Oh, you're back.

Before I go,

I think my position on the novel

and on your criticism should be made plain.

I don't outline.

I... I have to write to
discover what I'm doing,

and I don't know so well what I think
until I see what I say.

Then I have to say it over again.

I feel that whatever
virtues the novel may have

are very much connected
with the limitations you mentioned.

To develop at all as a writer,

I... I think I have to
develop in my own way.

I will not be persuaded to do otherwise.

The objections you raised suggest that you
would like to rescue the book at this point,

and train it into a conventional novel.

But I'm not writing a conventional novel.

Wise Blood, when finished,

will be hopefully less angular,
but just as odd, if not odder,

than the nine chapters you have now.

So, the question is...

Is Rinehart interested in publishing

a new kind of novel?

He says to me, "Miss O'Connor,
you seem like a straight shooter,

"but I'm disturbed by the hardening
of the arteries of your cooperative sense.

"It is most unbecoming
in a woman writer so young."

- A straight shooter?
- Yes.

You know, I think I'd rather throw myself

in front of the Dixie Limited
than write an outline.

I know.

If they don't think
I'm worth giving more money to

and just leaving alone,
then they should let me go.

He is an idiot.

I don't know.

He and I came up with the expression
that I was "prematurely arrogant."

I had to supply him with the phrase.

Of course. That's good.

It's edit-proof.

If he has any sense, he'll publish it.

Thanks, Cal.

I try to turn the other cheek,
but my tongue is always in it.

I do need that advance, though.

I need cigarettes.

Oh, all right.

Will you get me a New York Times, please?

Two of 'em.

- Two?
- Two.

The tramp swung both his whole

and his short arm up slowly

so that they indicated an expanse of sky,
and his figure formed a crooked cross.

Although the old woman
lived in this desolate spot

with only her daughter, Lucynell,

and had never seen
the one-armed man before,

she could tell, even from a distance,

he was a tramp and no one to be afraid of.

I'd pay a fortune

to live in a spot as pretty as this one.

I'll bet that sunset...

is something to see.

Happens every evening.

Yeah.

Well...

You ladies drive?

Oh, that car ain't run in years.

Well, nothing's like it used to be.

World is almost rotten.

Where are you from, mister?

Well...

Well, I could tell you anything.

I could tell you that I'm Tom T. Shiftlet
from Tarwater, Tennessee,

but how would you know I ain't lying, hmm?

I could be Aaron Sparks from...

Singleton, Georgia. You don't know.

I don't know nothing about you.

Maybe... the best I can tell you
is that I'm a man.

Well, not a whole man, but...

but what is a man, you know?

Well, you could hang around here,

work.

I'll pay you in food,
you don't mind sleeping in the car yonder.

The monks of old slept in their coffins.

They wasn't as advanced as we are.

Yeah.

Oh, hey, I... I
have something for you.

- Oh?
- Mm-hmm. Here it is.

What is this?

This is courtesy of Bob Giroux at Harcourt.

I showed him your story
in the Partisan Review.

His exact quote was, "That young
Catholic writer is an astonishing talent."

He wants to meet you.

- Thanks, Cal.
- Mm-hmm.

Hey, we can go together.
You... you're back next week?

I'll be back, if it wasn't for my mother,
I'd never see Georgia ever again.

Now boarding on Track 7,

- Crescent Line to New Orleans, now boarding.
- Oh.

I should come down and visit it sometime.

You would return with the curled hair.

- Cal.
- Oh.

You are an angel.

I don't want to be an angel...

though my relations with them
have improved over time.

You speak with them?

When I was in Catholic school,

I had what the Freudians
would call anti-angel aggression.

I would seclude myself
in a locked room every so often,

and ball up my fist,
and whirl around in circles

knocking out my guardian angel.

At least trying to dirty
up his feathers a little.

Well, haven't they suffered enough?

I don't know what angels are,

but I know what they are not.

And what they are not
is a great comfort to me.

I love you, Flannery.

Well, that's not a proposal.

You know me, I have...
I have a lot of eggs to fry.

You let me know when
you're done with breakfast, then.

Speaking with
Lucynell was like speaking with a dog

who has been trained to say a few words,

but once addressed, becomes overcome
with inadequacy and forgets them.

That's a bird.

Bird.

Yeah.

Now arriving, station stop.

Wilmington, Delaware. Wilmington, Delaware.

Bird.

Bird!

Teach her to say something else.

Bird.

What you want her to say next?

Bird.

Teach her to say...

"sugar pie."

Bird.

Bird.

Sugar pie.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird.

Bird. Bird.

That'll be $3.50.

Sugar pie.

Bird.

Yeah okay. We got three dollars...

Well, that didn't satisfy me none.

That was just something a woman in
an office did, paperwork and blood tests.

Well, it satisfied the law.

Well, you can cut my heart out.

You can look at my heart,
and you wouldn't know a thing about me.

Well, just look how pretty Lucynell looks.

She looks like a baby doll.

Hey, listen.

You got a prize.

What do they know about my blood, huh?

I mean, what...

hey.

Now, I ain't never been parted with her
for more than two days before.

Mm-hmm.

So, I wouldn't let no man have her but you,
'cause I've seen you. You do right.

All right. I'll see you in
a couple of days, okay?

Okay.

Bye-bye, sugar baby.

- Bye-bye.
- All right, bye.

Take care of her.

Take care of my car! You hear?

The life you save may be your own.

Your mama thinks $17.50
is enough for two days.

It takes money.

You got me, girl?

I said...

you know, some people...

some people, they'll do anything
anyhow these days.

The way I think,
I wouldn't marry me a woman

if I couldn't take her on a trip
like she was somebody.

You know?

I mean, you know, take her to a hotel,

treat her.

Hey, stop it. Hey!

I wouldn't marry the Duchess of Windsor

if I couldn't take her on a trip,

and get her to, like, a hotel,
and get her something nice to eat.

God damn it. Stop! See, I almost crashed.

God!

I'm sorry. You hungry?

You want to get something to eat, huh?
How about that?

Can I help you?

Can I get, uh, two plates
of ham and grits, please, sir?

Coming right up.

Hey.

Hey. Yeah. Can I... Just one.

I'll pay for it now. Just give it to
her when she wakes up, okay?

She looks like an angel of God.

No. She's a hitcher.

No time, gotta make Tuscaloosa.

Thought leads to action, right?

What if I could write a poem about a skunk?

A skunk named Frederick

who smells like a
strawberry malted milkshake.

But I wrote this poem

so honestly,

and I imagine this possibility of Frank,
the sweet-scented skunk, so thoroughly

that people saw each and every
black and white creature

slinking around their farmyards
in some new, caring way.

They weren't afraid. They wondered...

"Is that Frank?"

And could their newfound
interest and curiosity

positively impact all those
slinking, stinky skunks? I think so.

Station stop, next stop
is Milledgeville, Georgia.

And if imagination impacts reality,

then isn't faith where those rivers meet?

Ah! Mary Flannery!

Hey, sweetheart.

Well, let me help you with that.

No. I'll take my typewriter, thank you.

- You can take my trunk.
- Well, let me take something.

- Thank you.
- All right. Are you all right?

Think Milledgeville has improved?

It's still here.

Well, two of the stores have new fronts.

Aunt Katie's sleeping in the car,

so let's keep our voices down
when we get up there, all right?

What's Dutchess doing sleeping in the car?

Well, you know,

I don't like to come
all the way out here by myself.

No, there are...
more of them now than there are of us.

I'm taking you to
Dr. Block on the way home.

I'm not going to Dr. Block.

He will take a personal interest in you.

None of those doctors up there'll
take a personal interest in you.

I don't want anyone
taking a personal interest in me.

- I want to go home.
- What in the world?

Mary Flannery,
what are you a hobo? What is this?

We need to get you a proper Yankee coat.

I know what the temperature is,

and I'm old enough to
pick out my own coat...

I know you don't feel well,
but let's try and have a nicer disposition.

There's no need to wake up Sissy.

Many governors
on both sides of the Mason and Dixon line

have talked of the need for unity
on the issue of civil rights.

It's suggested that the Stevens-Russell
team might provide the proper balance...

Oh, Mary Flannery. Hey, sweetheart.

Look at you.

...governors here are making large

and enthusiastic noises
for General Eisenhower.

Oh, you don't look very well.

Regina, she looks sick.

I know. I'm taking her to Dr. Block.

I'm not going to Dr. Block.

She has chills and that rash.

...would switch
to the general on the second ballot.

She says her arms are too heavy
to lift up to reach the typewriter.

...the governors we already
talked to or where the switches might come.

You, uh...

You've been writing
any cute stories lately?

No.

Oh, you must be writing something.

I read that last one you sent your mama.

And?

I... I must admit, you know,
it wasn't for me.

Left kind of a... a bad taste in my mouth.

Well, you weren't supposed to eat it.

- Oh, don't be coy.
- Oh, come on.

Tell us what you're working on.

I'm writing a novel.

It's called Wise Blood.

It's about an atheist who sleeps with a
prostitute, and then starts his own religion called

The Church of Christ Without Christ.

I'm thinking at the end,
he might scratch out his own eyes.

A church without Christ?

Like most of the ones I know.

Well, you can write
about nice people this time.

Maybe you'll be another Margaret Mitchell.

We need another good book
like Gone with the Wind.

Put the war in it.
That always makes a long book.

I love... that... movie.

That colored gal that played Mammy,

oh, she just tickles me.

It's so nice to see a respectable Negress.

Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

"Ashley, Ashley.
What ever will I do?"

Sometimes,
Ruby Turpin occupied herself

by naming the classes of people.

On the bottom of the heap
were most colored people.

Not all, but most of them.

Then, next to them, not above,
just away from, were the white trash.

Then, above them were the homeowners,
and above them, the home and landowners,

to which she and her
husband, Claud, belonged.

Above she and Claud
were people with a lot of money,

and much bigger houses and much more land.

But here, the complexity of it
would begin to bear in on Ruby.

For some of the people with a lot of money

were common, and ought
to be below she and Claud.

And some of the people who had good blood
had lost their money and had to rent.

And then, there were some colored people
who owned their homes and land as well.

Sit down.
You know you can't stand on that leg.

He has an ulcer on his leg.

My! How did you do that?

A cow kicked him.

Oh, goodness.

The doctor will
see you now, Mr. Mulligan.

Usually, by the time she had fallen asleep,

all the classes of people were
moiling and roiling around in her head.

And she would dream they were
all crammed in together in a boxcar,

being ridden off to be put in a gas oven.

Ooh, Lord.

I wish I could reduce.

Oh, you aren't fat.

Oooh, I am, too.

Oh, Claud, he... he
can eat all he wants to.

He never weighs more than 175 pounds.
But me? I just...

I look at something good to eat,
and I gain weight.

You... You can eat all you
want to, can't you, Claud, hmm?

Well, as long as you have
such a good disposition,

I don't think it makes a bit of difference
what size you are.

You just...

You just can't beat a good disposition.

You must be in college,

reading a book there.

Lady asked you a question, Mary Grace.

I have ears.

As we start to pray...

It's wonderful weather, isn't it?

Oh, well, it's good weather for cotton,
if you can get the Negroes to pick it.

But they don't want to pick cotton anymore.

But you can't get the white folks to
pick it, and now you can't get the Negroes,

'cause they got to be right up there
with the white folk.

They ought to send them all back to Africa.
That's where they come from in the first place.

Heap of things worse than a Negro.

It's all kinds of them.
Like all kinds of us.

Hmm! Yes, indeed.

A heap of things worse.

Hmm.

Ruby.

Hmm.

Ruby.

Ruby.

You will be reborn.

But there are only two spaces
available for you on Earth.

You can either be a nigger or white trash.

No.

Please, Jesus...

please, just let me be myself.

Or let me wait until there's
another place available.

No.

You have to go right now,
and I have only those two spaces,

so make up your mind.

Oh...

Well, make me a Negro then,
but... but not a trashy one.

Make me a...

a neat, clean,

respectable Negro woman.

Myself...

but Black.

Did you hear that the Mexicans
want to translate the Bible into Spanish?

I think the worst thing in the world
is an ungrateful person.

Hmm.

To have everything and not appreciate it.

I know a girl whose parents
would give her anything,

who's getting a good education,
who wears the best clothes,

but who never has
a kind word to say to anyone.

It never hurt anyone to smile.

It just... It just makes you feel better.
Just all over.

Of course.

But there are some people
you can't tell anything to.

Well, if it's one thing
I am, it's grateful.

When I think of...
who all I could have been beside myself,

and what all I got,

a little bit of everything
and a good disposition besides,

I just...

I just want to shout,
"Oh, thank you, Jesus."

Thank you. Thank you, Jesus,
for making everything the way it is."

Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you.

What you got to say to me?

Go back to hell where
you came from, you old warthog!

Nurse! Call the ambulance!

A visionary light settled in her eyes.

She could see souls rumbling into heaven.

There were whole companies of white trash
and Black folks in white robes,

battalions of freaks and lunatics
shouting and leaping like frogs,

all clean for the first time.

She could see by their
shocked and altered faces

that even their virtues
were being burned away.

Sooey. Pig, pig.

Dear Cal,

I left New York, 24 years old,
and arrived back in Georgia 107.

My bones feel made of charcoal,
and the fever continues to cook 'em.

I aim to get back to New York soon,
but my mama is none too favorable

towards any kind of travel
for me at the moment.

But don't worry, I won't be here long.

Everybody around here thinks
the height of Bohemianism

is wearing slacks out of the house.

When I get up there,
maybe you'll be ready for lunch.

Oh, y'all should see our
new preacher singing his sermons.

He puts a chair out on the platform

and he'll call out for some biblical
character to come out and testify.

He'll say, "Paul, will you
come out and testify?"

And he'll wait for Paul to sit down,
and then he starts to sing:

♪ Rock of Ages ♪

You know, I think I may have
something in the kitchen

that'll settle Carramae's stomach,

and you know,
I need to speak with Mary Flannery

alone for a minute,
so why don't you run on home?

- I'll call you when I need you.
- Oh, okay.

Okay? Thank you so very much.
Thank you.

Ugh.

You suppose they imagined
that the Apostle Paul

is really coming down to sit in that chair?

I have no idea what they imagined.

Look at this.

Dr. Wells gave an educational meeting
at the college the other day,

and two Negroes... teachers or
superintendents or something, they attended.

How'd that go?

Well, everybody's losing their minds.

They burned a cross
on Dr. Wells's side lawn.

You think that's funny?

Well, it was too damp out for a fiery
cross, so they set up a portable one.

It was lit up with red electric bulbs.

All these people couldn't have
gone past the fourth grade.

Nice to know they're so interested
in education all of a sudden.

Mary Flannery, sit... sit.
Please stay for a minute, please.

No, I... I need to be working.

You need to rest.

And to get your strength.

I think I'm strong enough to type, Regina.

Well, that is not...

what the doctor says.

And... Dr. Block is coming out
here this morning to speak with us.

What's this?

What's this for?

Is this for me?

Regina.

Chancey says the cow that's got the
bad quarter's gonna have to see the vet.

Oh, all right, okay.
Well, then, come on, now. Let's go.

Oh, if there's one thing
I don't like, it's needles.

- We'll be right back.
- I've always said it.

This is enormous.

It looks like it's for a farm animal.

I think I'd rather have arthritis.

Mary Flannery.

You don't have arthritis.

You have lupus.

Now, you're an adult now.

And you need to know...

your mama, she didn't want you to worry.

You were already weak,
and she just thought it would...

She doesn't want you to think

that there isn't any hope.

Because it's not like
when your daddy had it.

See, nowadays,

nowadays, doctors
don't let young people die.

They give 'em some of these new medicines.

People don't die...

like they used to.

Well, that's not good news...

but I can't thank you
enough for telling me.

I thought I had lupus,
and I thought I was going crazy.

I'd a lot rather be sick than crazy.

But don't tell Regina that you told me,

because if you do,
she'll never tell you anything ever again.

And I might like to know something else
about myself sometime.

Okay?

Thank you.

I'm working.

I told you not to enter my room
when I'm working.

I know that,

but you need to come on down now,
when you're ready.

Rinehart rejected my novel.

I'm sure that's very disappointing,
but the doctor's downstairs now.

How long have you known?

Known what?

I look just like Daddy.

No, you don't.

You go talk to the doctor.

I don't need one. I need a priest.

The reality of death
has come upon me.

And a consciousness of the power of God

has broken my complacency
like a bullet in the side.

A sense of the dramatic,

of the tragic, of the infinite,
has descended, filling me with grief.

But even more than grief...

wonder.

"Dear Regina,

I have good news.

They tell me I've won
the Rinehart-Iowa Fiction Award.

It means $750 from
a respected New York publisher

and gives them an option to
publish the novel, if I can ever finish it.

I hope you and Duchess are well.

Don't let the new yard man
demoralize the ducks.

Love, MF."

"P.S. Please restrain yourself
from sending me any more aprons.

I know it will be hard, but please."

All right, Flannery,
the room is yours.

This story's called Parker's Back.

Sarah Ruth was plain plain.

The skin on her face was thin
and drawn tight as the skin on an onion.

And her eyes were gray and sharp
like the points of two ice picks.

Come on. God...

Damn it! God damn it to hell.

- Hey.
- Jesus Christ.

- We don't talk no filth here.
- Huh?

We don't talk no filth here.

Oh, okay. Okay, okay, okay.

Hey, hey.

I just... It's my hand. I hurt my hand.

I think it's broken.

Let me see.

Your hand's fine.

Well, I'm cured.

Oh! Okay.

All right. Be careful
with me now, all right?

I'm a Navy man.
I've been all around the world.

I could teach you a
thing or two, all right?

This right here, got this in Cape Horn.

Got this one in Burma. I got this
one here when I was 15 years old.

Don't tell me. I don't like it.
I ain't got any use for it.

- It's idolatry.
- Hold on a second.

You ought to see the ones you can't see.

All that there is nothing better than
what a fool Indian would do.

Vanity. Vanity of vanities.

Hold on a second.

You must like one of these
a bit more than the rest.

I mean, take a good look at this here.

Chicken ain't so bad.

A chicken?

Girly, this is an eagle.

What kind of fool a would
put a chicken on himself?

Well, what kind of a
fool would have any of it?

You saved?

Saved?

I don't really know
what I would need saving from.

Would a kiss from you
take care of that, though?

What's your name?

Parker.

O.E. Parker.

What's the "O.E." stand for?

Never mind that. What's your name?

I'll tell you if you tell me
what them letters are the short of.

Nah, nah, I can't do that.
You'll just go blabbing it all around town.

I won't.

I swear.

Swear to God.

All right.

All right. I will then.

That's a secret now.
You can't tell anybody, all right?

Come here close.

My name...

is Obadiah Elihue Parker.

Means "servant of God."

Hey!

You kids want some apples?

- Yeah!
- Come on.

Now, I think I'll come by tomorrow.

I'll bring you some blackberries.

How about that?

Dive in, everybody. Come on.

Say "thank you."

Thank you!

It was as if a blind boy

had been turned so gently
in a different direction

that he did not know
his destination had been changed.

Parker, no. Not till I'm married.

- Oh, come on.
- Parker, no!

What, are you, one of them Suffragettes?

A lesbian?

I don't divide people
up into boys and girls.

I divide them up by
irritating and less irritating.

Oh.

Well... which am I?

Mm-hmm. There's my answer. Less irritating.

Parker, wait, no. No, really.
Not till I'm married, Parker.

- Parker, Parker, Parker!
- Ow, ow!

- Not till we're married! No!
- Come on!

Parker!

Not till we're married, okay?

Ah.

Lo, this is the man
that made not God his strength,

but trusted in the
abundance of his richness...

and the strength in himself.

Sometimes, Parker
supposed she married him to save him.

At other times, he had the impression

she actually liked all the things
she said she despised.

He could account for
her one way or another.

It was himself he didn't understand.

But I am like a green olive tree
in the house of God.

I trust in the mercy of
God forever and ever.

At the judgment of God, Jesus is gonna ask
you what you've been doing all your life

'sides drawing pictures all over yourself.

Girly, you ain't fooling nobody.

You're just worried that big hefty
blonde woman I've been working for

is going to come around one day
and say, "Hey, Mr. Parker,

why don't you and me
just go take off together?"

Now, you are tempting sin.

You should have seen her the first
time she seen me with my shirt off.

She looked at me and said,

"Why, Mr. Parker,
you are a regular old panorama."

Now, at the judgment of God,
you'll have to answer for that too.

Vanity.

See, I'm thinking I'm going to put
a Bible verse right here on my back

so you have something better to read.

Now, ain't I...

already got myself a real fire.

Yeah, but I want you looking at me.

Oh!

All right.

Lift up.

Parker understood
why he married her.

He couldn't have her any other way.

But he couldn't understand
why he stayed with her now.

She would be pregnant soon,

and pregnant women
were not his favorite kind.

He thought of his own head as a switchbox
where he controlled from.

But with her, he could only
imagine the outside in.

The whole black world in her head, big
enough to include the sky and the planets.

Shut your mouth.

Whatever had been or would be.

I wanna show you something
and then I don't want to hear another word.

When he closed his eyes,
he could see some type of star.

The kind of star on a Christmas card.

But he couldn't hold the
star steady in his mind.

He felt as if he were blocked
at the entrance of something,

or as if he was at the beginning of
something that didn't have a beginning.

He saw the star moving farther
and farther away into darkness, until

he realized Sarah Ruth
was the pinpoint of light.

A ferocious thud
propelled him into the air.

He landed on his back
while the tractor crashed sideways

and the tree burst into flames.

He could feel the hot breath
of the burning tree on his face.

If he had known how to cross himself,
he would have done it.

Hey! Hey, open up!

God.

Parker longed
miserably for Sarah Ruth.

Her sharp tongue and ice pick eyes were
the only comfort he could bring to mind.

She can't say she don't
like the looks of God.

Then, a calm descended on him,

as nerve-shattering
as if the long, barn-like room

were a ship from which Jonah
had been cast into the sea.

It was as if he were himself,
but a stranger to himself,

driving into a new country,

though everything he saw was familiar.

That blonde woman was here
and she ain't as hefty as you said.

You're gonna have to pay every penny
on that tractor you busted.

She don't keep the insurance on it.

What you doing wasting
electricity in the daylight?

- I ain't got to look at you.
- Shut your mouth!

You ain't gonna have
none of me this morning.

Look at me, all right? Look at me.

I want to show you something, okay?

I wanna show you something
and then I don't want to hear another word.

- Not another word.
- Don't touch me.

I should've known you was off
putting more trash...

Well, just look at it, all right?

- Just look at it.
- I done looked.

Don't you know who that is?

Look! Don't you know who that is?

Who is it? Ain't nobody I know.

It's Him, all right? It's... It's Him!

- Him who?
- Him! It's... It's God.

Just look at it for a second.

Just look. Huh?

He felt as though under her gaze,

he was as transparent as the wing of a fly.

God?

God don't look like that.

What you mean?

How do you know?
You don't know what God look.

You ain't never seen him before.

He don't look. He's a spirit.

No man shall see his face.

Come on. This is just a picture of him.

No! Parker, no!

This is just a picture of him.

No! No! That's idolatry, Parker. Parker!

Stop! Stop! Ah!

Idolatry! Parker!

Idolatry!

'Idolatry!' Sarah Ruth screamed.

Still gripping the broom,

she looked toward the pecan tree
and her eyes hardened still more.

There he was,
who called himself Obadiah Elihue...

crying like a baby.

- The thing I struggle with is...
- Hey, Walter...

There won't be any critical
dissecting this afternoon.

Workshop's over for the day.

Creativity
is nature manifest in us.

It is you inside us rising.

Writing is dead without you.

Oh, Lord, please rise in me.

Make this dead desire living.

You are the slim crescent moon that I see,

and myself is the earth's shadow
that keeps me from seeing all the moon.

Help me feel that I will
give up every earthly thing for this.

Every earthly thing for this.

- I do not mean becoming a nun...
- Hey. Who are you talking to?

Oh, God.

Oh!

- It's Cal. It's you.
- I didn't... I'm sorry.

No. I'm...

I'm scared to death.

I should be working.

You know, I don't even like parties.

I think whoever invented the cocktail party
ought to be drawn and quartered.

And I think my ankles
are soaked in Beefeater.

Well, uh, I can get you some vermouth,
and they'll be... they'll be perfect.

No, really, I... I came to pay my respects
to you, and in some way I've done that.

And I think I should go home.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Please stay. Please. Please stay. Yeah.

- I won't be any good in there.
- I need...

I need your help. Uh,

I'm finding this party
to be so... so trying.

If you are here, I could be assured of
at least one conversation that isn't sordid

or gossipy,
or about some abstract aesthetic theory.

Well, that's high praise, Cal.

It's true.

You got any food in there?

Yes.

Chicken a la king.

Well, then maybe for a minute then.

It's just that I hadn't eaten all day.

Thank you.

Your story...

Parker's Back.

It's good.

Thank you.

I...

canonize... you...

Saint Flannery.

- Take a swig.
- Oh.

Ah, there you are.

Of course, your party
filled with adoring students,

and you vanish.

I don't even know half
of those people, Cal.

Elizabeth, Flannery. Flannery, Elizabeth.

Hi. I... I've read your
book. I liked it right much.

I was very impressed.

Oh, thank you.

Welcome to Cal's party.

He's very important.

He's won a Pulitzer.

Uh...

Come on.

♪ What a rare mood I'm in ♪

♪ Why, it's almost like being in love ♪

When I was seven years old,

my daddy and I had a chicken
that walked backwards.

♪ There's a smile on my face... ♪

Pathé News came all the way to Georgia
to make a newsreel of it.

I was in it, too.

I was only there to assist the chicken,
but it was the high point of my life.

Everything since has been anticlimax.

Oh.

Is she good?

She's the most promising
writer in the class.

Ouch, Walter, he said
that right in front of you.

Congrats on winning the Rinehart.

- Oh, you won that?
- Oh, sorry.

- Definitely beating you now.
- Here.

Thanks.

Can I give you some advice though?

You should use the word "Negro."

- Ready?
- Instead of that other word.

The people I'm writing about would
never dream of using any other word.

Just a friendly warning.

And I prefer not to tidy up reality.

I'm not tidying up reality.

What you're talking about is propaganda,

and propaganda even on the side
of the angels only makes it worse.

The truth doesn't change
according to your ability to stomach it.

Guys?

Hey. I was just trying to be nice to you.

Well, I guess you're up.

Ready?

So, my question is,

do Christians, do Catholics,
do whoever, pick... pick one,

believe that they're actually eating Jesus?

Like cannibals.

Walter!

I'm just saying.

And if so, then how can you
stand on a moral high ground?

Well, Walter, the question
seems to be, to me,

whether a person believes that
we are created in God's image,

or whether he believes that
we create God in our own.

Hmm?

Now, I don't know the answer,
but I do remember, as a child,

when I would stand in
line to receive the Host,

I always thought of it as the Holy Ghost.

That's beautiful.

He seemed like the most
portable person of the Trinity.

Now, I think of the Eucharist
as a lovely, expressive symbol...

The synecdoche of God.

If it's a symbol, then to hell with it.

Uh, it's a lot harder to believe
than not to believe.

What people don't understand

is how much religion costs.

They think that faith is
a... big electric blanket,

when really, it's the cross.

There are many who say

that a dog has its day,

and a cat has a number of lives.

There are others who
think that a lobster is pink

and that bees never work in their hives.

Drink.

Your eyes had no bottom.

They can see more.

- I did not lie.
- You lied.

- I didn't lie.
- You lied.

You have your truth, I have mine.

There is only one truth.

In that there is no truth.

All my thoughts
are so far away from God,

He may as well not have made me.

Here's
Mary O'Connor, of Savannah, Georgia,

holding the only chicken in the world
that actually walks backwards.

When she advances, she retreats,

to go forward, she goes back.

When she looks ahead, she's going astern,

and when she arrives, she's really leaving.

Dear God, please,

help me to eliminate my picky,
fishbone way of doing things.

I can never seem to escape myself
unless I'm writing,

and, strangely, I'm never more
myself than when I'm writing.

Is there no way for me
to disappear into something bigger?

Don't slouch. Thank you.

I don't want to die.

Please, give me one good story.

Let me be your typewriter.

We only live once. And by... by
paying just a little bit more for it,

I, at least, I won't meet myself
coming and going.

I mean, this hat looked much better on me
than any of the others.

And when I bought it,
I said, "Take this thing back.

I won't have it on my head."

And the lady person said,
"Now, wait till you try it on." So I did,

and she said,
"Now, you do something for that hat,

and that hat, it does something for you."

She said, "With that hat,
you won't miss yourself coming and going."

I like it, Mother.

With the way the world is,
it's a wonder we can enjoy anything.

I tell you, the bottom rail is on top.

Let's skip it.

You know, I remember this
old darky who was my nurse,

Caroline, there was no better
person in the world.

For God's sakes, Mother,
please come off the subject.

Why must you always dress
like this when we go into town?

You look like a gangster.

Nobody cares what I look like.

I care.

I can be gracious to
anybody. I know who I am.

Nobody gives a damn
about your graciousness,

and you haven't the foggiest idea
of who you are.

I most certainly do know who I am,
and if you don't, I'm ashamed of you.

Oh, hell.

Your grandfather

was the former governor of this state.
Your grandmother was a Godhigh.

And your great-grandfather,

he owned a plantation and 200 slaves.

Luckily, people are not allowed
to be bought and sold anymore.

Except when they
dress it up like a wedding.

Hmm.

What would you know about a wedding?

Colby, come on, baby.

Be still, be still. Come on.

Ooh, isn't he cute?

Peek-a-boo.

Oh, I think he likes me.

Stop all this mess.

Quit this foolishness, sit up straight.

Sit up straight. Sit up.

I want to give that boy a nickel.

- No.
- Uh-huh.

Mother, Mother, he won't like it.

Oh, I can't
find nothing but a penny.

Don't do that.

Oh, but it looks like shiny new.

- Put your purse away...
- Little boy?

Hey-hey, woo-hoo!

Little boy, look, I got a bright new penny.

I got a nice shiny penny just for you.

Uh-huh. Ooh, got it? There you go.

He don't take... nobody's pennies!

Nobody's.

This...

That's why I told you not to do that.

In the future, please spare me any more
moral lectures on the race problem.

I... I will no longer allow you
to confine my friendships

based on matters of race.

I want to go home.

Oh, what? You think that was
just one uppity Negro woman?

It wasn't.

That was all colored
people telling you that

they won't take your
condescending pennies anymore.

Don't act like
it's the end of the world, 'cause it ain't.

We are going to your reducing class
'cause you are fat.

Fat, Mama!

I need to go.

- Mama, come on!
- I wanna go home.

Mother, where are you going?

Mother, I'm not walking any further.

Going home.

Mother!

Tell Grandpa to come get me!

Tell...

Tell Caroline.

Tell Caroline to come get me.

What?

Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama. Mama. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'll take you home.

Mama, I'll take you.

Mama. Mama, I'm sorry.

Help me!

Well?

Uh, well...

I...

I don't understand...

why you don't wanna write something
that people would like to read.

I mean, it's not exactly
Harper's BAZAAR now, is it?

Harper's BAZAAR?

But do...

Do you really think you're
using the talent God gave you,

if you don't write something that a lot...

a lot of people like?

That is a literary magazine.

Do they pay?

Yes, they pay.

They don't pay a lot.

But those are the kinds of magazines
that help establish a writer's reputation.

Well, reputations don't buy groceries.

I'm thinking of ordering me a peacock.

- A peacock?
- Mm.

Don't those things eat flowers?

No, they eat Startena,
like the rest of 'em.

I... I don't know.

I'll need a new hobby
if I'm gonna be a decoration around here.

You know,

you might want to consider
being a little more friendly.

I'm not gonna let you die.

Hmm?

Dear Cal, I'm making out fine,
in spite of any conflicting stories.

Me and the novel are stuck
in the Georgia wilderness

at my bird sanctuary for a few months,

waiting to see how much of an invalid
I'm going to get to be.

In a sense, sickness is a place more
instructive than a long trip to Europe.

I'm writing and revising the novel,
but it's so bad at present

that I'm writing a lot of short stories
as to not have to look at it.

I'm getting up a collection that I plan
on calling A Good Man Is Hard to Find.

If you make any trips,

I hope you will include Milledgeville.

Learning to walk on these crutches,
I feel like a large, stiff, anthropoid ape

who has no cause to be thinking
about St. Thomas or Aristotle

and instead should be
thinking about bananas.

Oh, baby.

You'll be walking on 'em
just as good as new in no time.

You'll get used to 'em.

Hey, did I ever tell you about that time

that my little pony, Patina,
reared up and hit me in the head?

- Did I ever tell you that?
- Maybe once or twice.

Well, I was out lunging her... oh, okay.
I was out lunging her one day...

Lord, I do not want
to be lonely all my life.

Well, she'd had
enough of it. Just had...

People only make me lonelier
by reminding me of you.

...reared up on me,
smacked me in the forehead,

left a hoof print on my
forehead for 37 days.

You should have seen your grandmother.
She came flying out of the kitchen door.

"That pony's gonna kill you.
That pony's gonna kill you."

I'm reading Mr. Kafka,

and I'm understanding more
about his problem of grace.

God's love is always available.

And the more we suffer,
the closer you come.

But it is still so difficult
to want to suffer.

Lord, please grant me grace...

and please, if possible...

don't make it as painful
as it was for Mr. Kafka.

Oh, my God. Mary Flannery!

Oh, my God. No. Do not move.

Do not... I'm calling the doctor.

I'm not climbing those stairs anymore.

Mary Flannery? Mary Flannery?

Ah, there she is.

Forgive me for waking you up.

Father Flynn?

Are you... are you here
to give me Extreme Unction?

No, no, no.

Regina requested a visitation.

Oh. Thank you.

Regina, I'd like to speak
to the father alone, please.

Thank you for coming.

Happy to do it. Happy to do it.

How do you feel?

I feel awful.

The cortisone shots make me
think night and day, and then,

the blood transfusions knock me out again.

- Cortisone?
- I feel awful. I feel like I got no blood.

Ah, you've got enough for a Southern girl.

Confession and communion will sort you out.

Father, I'm afraid.

Afraid of what?

You'll be the pallbearer at my funeral
like you were for my father,

or worse, I'll be stuck
here for the rest of my life.

I wasn't a pallbearer.
I conducted the mass.

I'm sorry, Father. I thought...

Now, I want you to read these.
That'll sort you out.

"Preserve the Lily of Innocence."

Have you read Joyce?

- Who?
- James Joyce.

Haven't met him.

No, he's a great writer.

It... him.

Yes, he's banned in Ireland, of course.

Are you a... a writer, yourself?

I want to be.

Well, you'll never learn to be good
at anything without prayer.

You can't love Jesus
if you don't talk to him.

I do talk to him.

I try every day.

I say, "Oh, God, please,"
and "I must," and "please, please."

But I don't know him,
because I'm in the way.

I long for grace. I see it.

I know it's there, but I can't touch it.

My faith rises and falls in me
like the tide of an invisible sea.

It's torment.

But then I think that might be the process
by which faith can be deepened.

Maybe God finds us in the darkness
and not in the light.

Maybe faith is a little more like marriage,

that when you get into it,
you find it is the beginning

and not the end of how to make love work.

But I don't know anything about marriage.

I spend my days injecting myself

with the pituitary glands
of poor, slaughtered pigs.

And I do know

that mystery isn't gradually evaporating.

It grows with more knowledge.

Right?

Today's Christians,
like my mother, for example,

operate by the slide rule.

And the church for them
is a poor man's insurance company,

the Elks Club.

But I don't want it to be fear
which keeps me in the church.

I don't want to be a coward,
staying with Him because I fear hell.

Though hell seems a great deal more
feasible than my weak mind in heaven.

No doubt because hell
is a more earthly-seeming thing.

If we could accurately map heaven,
some of our up-and-coming scientists

would begin drawing blueprints
for its improvement,

and the bourgeois would sell guides
ten cents a copy to all over 65.

I don't mean to be clever.

Although I do mean to be clever.

And I want you to think so.

What I pray for is ridiculous.

My demands are absurd.

I want to be a mystic, but I am cheese.

I am the moth who would be king.

Shh, shh, shh.

Amen.

You don't need to see
grace. It's always here.

You resist it
because grace changes us,

and change is bloody painful.

This notion that grace is healing

omits that, before it heals,

it cuts with a sword
that Christ said He came to bring.

The way to gladness
begins with a hard blow.

Joy is sorrow overcome.

- Father?
- Yes?

How can I be a good Catholic?

Give alms, Mary Flannery. Serve others.

A full heart, enriched by honest service,
love, sacrifice, and courage.

You mean like charity.

I fear the only thing
I'll ever be able to do is write.

- Then write.
- But my writing is scandalous.

Can it still serve God?

People are always imagining themselves
to be scandalized by one thing or another.

Banning choice is your disease.

Is your writing honest?
Is your conscience clear?

Then the rest is God's business.

In the end, it's all straw.

I suppose I can take being sick if I have
the strength to write a little each day.

Hm.

With God's help,
you can even see it all as a blessing.

Now, should we try at a proper confession?

Hmm?

Oh, y'all should see
our new preacher singing his sermon.

He puts a chair out on the platform,

and he'll call out for some biblical
character to come up and testify.

Mm-hm.

I'm gonna go
start on those bulbs and check on Carramae.

She's thrown up four times after supper.

The Idiot?

You would get something called Idiot.

What's it about?

An idiot.

Mrs. Cedars?

Mrs. Cedars?

Good morning, Mrs. Cedars.

I'm Mrs. Hopewell.

Oh! I... I... Well, I saw it said
The Cedars on the mailbox,

so I thought you was Mrs. Cedars.

- Hm.
- Mrs. Hopewell.

I hope you are well.

I've come
to speak to you of serious things.

Lady, I've come to speak of serious things.

How may I help you?

Mrs. Hopewell,
you believe in the Christian service?

Oh, yes.

And you're a good woman.

- Friends have told me.
- Mm.

- What are you selling?
- What are you selling?

Bibles.

And you have a beautiful home.

But I see you have no
family bible in your parlor.

"Well, you might as well put
those bibles up. I don't want any."

I don't want to buy a bible,
and... and I smell my dinner burning.

Well, lady, I'll tell you the truth.

I'm just a country boy.

Oh, well, I think good country people
are the salt of the earth.

Well, I think there aren't enough
good country people in the world.

It... that's what I think's wrong with it.

I didn't introduce myself.

I'm Manley Pointer, from out
in the country around Willohobie.

Not even from a place,
just from near a place.

I need to see to my dinner.

Of course.

Get rid of the salt of
the earth and let's eat.

I can't be rude to anybody.

I heard some farms
are breeding chickens without wings.

That way we get more white meat.

Mm.

It's a whole society of wingless chickens.

That's why Nietzsche says God is dead.

- Joy, here, is a writer.
- Mm.

Yeah. She spends all day long
up in her room writing.

- Mm.
- Lord knows what.

She looks like a writer.
It must come easy for you.

It's like giving birth to a piano sideways.

Bible salesman
with a bad heart.

Strange, I could seduce him quite easily,

but then I'd have to
reckon with his remorse.

You ever ate a chicken
that was two days old?

Yes.

It must have been mighty small!

- How old are you?
- Seventeen.

I see you got a wooden leg.

What's your name?

Hulga.

Hulga. Hulga.

Hulga.

I ain't never heard
of anybody named Hulga before.

My mama named me Joy.

I changed it to Hulga
when I went away to school.

Her mind,
clear and detached and ironic anyway,

was regarding him from a great distance
with amusement, with pity.

I like girls that wear glasses.

I think a lot.

I'm not like one of these people that serious
thoughts don't ever enter their heads.

Because I may die, Hulga.

You and I have the same condition.

I may die too.

Listen, don't you think some
people are just meant to meet

on account of what they
got in common and all?

Like they both think
serious thoughts and all?

I don't work Saturday.

Couldn't we go on a picnic?

Say yes, Hulga. Say yes.

Please?

She decided
for the first time in her life,

she was face to face with real innocence.

I guess God takes care of you.

No, I don't believe in God.

No?

That's very unusual for a girl.

She had never been kissed before
and she was pleased to discover

that it was an unexceptional experience,

and all a matter of the mind's control.

Some people might enjoy drain water
if they were told it was vodka.

Well, come on if you're coming!

Okay, I'm coming.

I love you.

I love you.

I said it, now, you gotta say it.

I don't have illusions.

I'm one of those people
who see through to nothing.

Okay, okay, okay.
Okay, but do you love me or don't you?

You poor baby. I mean...

makes sense you don't understand.

We are all damned.

But some of us have
taken off our blindfolds

and see that there is nothing to see.

It's a kind of salvation.

Okay, okay, okay,
but do you love me or don't you?

I'm a great deal older than you,

and I have a number of degrees.

I don't care.

I don't care a thing about all you've done.

I just want to know if
you love me or don't you.

Yes.

Okay, okay, okay, then prove it.

Okay.

Show me where your wooden leg joins on.

- No.
- Show me where your wooden leg joins on.

No.

She was as sensitive
about her leg as a peacock about his tail.

No one ever touched it but her.

She took care of it
as someone else would his soul.

All right.

She was thinking
that she would run away with him.

And that every night,
he would take the leg off,

and every morning put it back on again.

Now, will you let me
show you how to put it back on?

Oh, come on, now. You got me instead.

- Just give me my leg.
- Wait.

Wait, wait, wait, wait.

Take a swig.

Um, uh...

I thought you were just
good country people.

Yeah, but it ain't held me back none.

Come on, now,
I'm as good as you any day in the week.

I know.

So give me my leg.

Oh, come on, now.

Without her leg,
she felt entirely dependent on him.

Her brain seemed to have
stopped thinking altogether

and to be about some other function
that it was not entirely good at...

Not very good at.

Without her leg, she seemed
entirely dependent on him.

What's the matter
with you all of a sudden?

And... Yes.

And I thought you were a Christian.

A fine Christian.

I hope you don't think
I believe in that crap.

Listen, I may sell bibles, but I know which
end is up, and I wasn't born yesterday.

And I know where I'm going.

Hey. Give me my leg!

Please.

I've gotten a lot of interesting things.

One time I got a woman's
glass eye this way.

And you needn't to think you'll catch me
'cause Pointer ain't really my name.

I use a different name at every house
I call at and don't stay nowhere long.

And I'll tell you another thing, Hulga,
you ain't so smart!

Come on.

I been believing in nothing
ever since I was born.

What's more comic and terrible

than an angular, intellectual woman

approaching God inch by inch...

with grinding teeth?

Dear Flannery,
you must feel better soon.

I miss you, and I hope your health is safe.

I've been reading that
Thomas Merton book I gave you.

I hope you are too.

Listen to this.

"At the center of our being is a point or
a spark which belongs entirely to God."

"It is like a pure diamond...

blazing with the
invisible light of heaven."

"It is in everybody.

And if we could see it,
we would see these billion points of light

coming together in the face and blaze
of a sun that would make all the darkness

and cruelty of life vanish.

Completely."

"I have no program for this seeing.
It is only given, but the gate of heaven...

is everywhere."

I wish I could come and visit, but I won't
be making it down there to see you anytime soon,

as Elizabeth and I are getting married.

In the very depths of our
imagination, springs forward our reality.

I sense you have implanted in me,

in all of us, a desire
irresistible, hallowing,

which makes us cry out, believer
and unbeliever alike, 'Make us want.'

Knock-knock.

You didn't come down for breakfast.

'Cause it tastes like a horse blanket.

Yeah.

Well...

Hopefully soon you'll be
able to have salt again.

Or milk, or eggs, or
cheese, or anything I like.

The treatment is worse than the disease.

You gotta eat.

Have you tried it?

Have I tried... Lord,
no. I wouldn't eat that.

Nothing but plain oats.
Tastes like a horse blanket.

Oh, and I saw your peacock
having his breakfast this morning.

You were right about him eating Startena.

He also eats everything else.

No, he got every single one
of my Herbert Hoover roses.

And when he's not eating 'em,
he's sitting on top of 'em.

Well, what good is he?

He hasn't even put up his tail feathers.

- Now, what ails him?
- Nothing ails him.

He'll put it up. You just have to wait.

Mm.

I just have to get a wire fence
around my flowers.

Eat.

Oh.

It's nice you got this
view while you're writing.

Hmm.

I bet it helps.

Thank you, Mama.

I used to have the notion
that the life of my writing

depended on my staying away.

I would certainly have persisted in that delusion
had I not gotten very ill and had to come home.

I thought it'd be the
ending of any creation...

any writing,

any work for me.

Now, I see it as only the beginning.

Everything that rises must converge.