Original subtitles

Hiya, Peter.

Murderers! How could they? How could they? Somebody lit in the hallway? What

happened?

Look at that.

Looks like a wrinkled playground and wrinkled children.

Smooth it, smooth it.

Oh, it's your picture spreader, Manhattan Today Magazine.

Well, it looks pretty good. Nice picture of the playground, nice picture of kids

playing. What are you so upset about?

Why am I upset?

Look what they did that. Look, you remember my concept.

The playground, an oasis for children of all ages.

Yes. Well, look what it says there.

Neighborhood playground.

Wonderland for weirdos.

Good alliteration. That has nothing to do with my pictures. Some writer comes

along, changes everything, and he gets all the credit.

What are you talking about all the credit? It says text by Arthur Dunlow,

photographs by Felix Engels. Yeah, look at the size of the type. It says...

Ticks by Arthur Dunlow!

Photographs by... He's talking small at times. This is the last time I'm ever

going to do a magazine spread and somebody else does the text. From now

going to do my own writing.

Do what you want. The writing is tough, Felix.

How can I miss? With you to teach me?

I teach.

I teach.

On November 13th, Felix Ungar was asked to remove himself

from his place of residence.

That request came from his wife.

Deep down, he knew she was right, but he also knew that someday he would return

to her.

With nowhere else to go, he appeared at the home of his friend, Oscar Madison.

Several years earlier, Madison's wife had thrown him out, requesting that he

never return.

Can two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy?

Don't pay any attention to me. I'll be sitting right here.

You'll work. You won't even know I'm here. I'll be out of your way.

There we go.

Go to work.

I can learn by watching you.

I'm not here. I'm not... First, before you start,

do you mind telling me what you're writing about?

I'm writing about the featherweight champion who keeps avoiding a fight with

prime contender. Uh -huh. And you call that the theme?

No, I call that what I'm writing about.

Thank you.

What does the featherweight weigh?

Between 118 and 126.

Why does the feather?

That's very good. It's shorter to say featherweight. Yeah, it's a little bit

shorter to say. It's somewhat shorter. It's not a lot shorter, but it's a

bit shorter.

It's very interesting.

How would you like your eyeballs rubbed with carbon paper?

Sorry. I thought you were taking a break. I'm not taking a break. I'm

stuff to write. Ah, think of stuff.

Boy, you're really going now, aren't you? Yeah, good.

I'm telling you, if you don't leave me alone, I'm going to flatten you. I'm

going to roll you up in the typewriter. I'm going to type I hate you all over

your body.

Does that mean you're not going to help me?

Excuse me, is this where creative writing meets?

You just joined us? Yes. My name is Felix Unger. Oh, Al Kattelman. How do

do? How do you do?

Oh, that's me.

Is that something you're working on for class?

No, it's my book.

May I inquire what it's about?

Can you keep a secret?

Certainly.

It's the big one, Felix.

The book I've been waiting all my life to write.

It's going to blow the lid off the upholstery business.

I take it you're in the upholstery business, huh? Right now I am, but when

thing comes out, I'll be finished.

I name names.

Good evening.

Good evening.

For those of you who are here for the first time, I am your instructor, Gerard

Ferguson, president and founder of the Gerard Ferguson School of Creative

Writing. Oh, uh, question. Yes.

Felix Unger, professional photographer, portraits especially, book jackets.

I don't want to pick up the class's time with a lot of silly questions, but

there is one matter of some personal concern I'd like cleared up. Wait.

I am not familiar with the objectives of this class. I've never taken a writing

class before, so I'm aware that my questions may sound somewhat ignorant.

Unger, will you get to the point? Yes.

Your ad guarantees assistance in making our first sale.

Now, I only want to learn enough about writing. Now, Mr.

Unger, you are worrying about nothing. You see, each student has a different

reason for wanting to write. Oh, of course. You see, the objectives may

They do vary, but the fundamentals are all... Ah, right.

Now... If I may proceed, tonight we are going to discuss the use of narrative

prose. Good.

Thank you. Thank you. Now, I believe that the best way to teach narration is

to give each of you several different subjects and let you write, oh, perhaps

200 words on each.

200 words?

Does that include the title?

No, Mr. Unger, it does not stand federal.

Now, I am going to give you three different subjects.

First, narrate something that you see on the way home tonight.

Sounds like fun.

Second, describe, oh, how you spent last summer.

Yes, yes, my boat trip.

And third, write about the most fascinating person you know.

Autobiographical.

After class was over, I was walking home. The streets were deserted. I had

city all to myself.

I could commune with my thoughts.

As I passed that construction site on 68th Street, suddenly I was frozen.

I couldn't move.

What's the net?

Oscar, I wrote this poem.

Ode to a skyscraper.

Born from the rubble that lies there, nurtured through snow and through rain,

by men whose only companions are derrick and shovel and crane,

center for great institutions, place, Where conglomerates grow

Yet home for the little cigar shop With the candies

all in a row Seven, seven, seven They will

call you Towards heaven, heaven, heaven You will soar Only

God can make a tree I will grant you But only man can make a

fortieth

I made a copy for you.

I'll put it in an appropriate place.

Listen to this.

Ode to a toothbrush.

He writes a poem about every move he makes. Last night on the way home from

date, he wrote, Ode to a doorman.

And then he gave it to the doorman instead of a tip.

Listen, is he really going to read these poems in class tonight? He said he was,

including the one about the skyscraper. Oh, poor Felix. Well, at least he's

going to know how rotten his poems are. Oh, he's going to be so depressed.

That's why we have to cheer him up.

Oh, here he comes.

You can see him from here? Yeah, I can tell.

There's a man down there picking lint off the policeman's jacket.

Even when he's depressed, he's neat.

Oh, now those cookies are for Felix. Oh, God.

Now, remember, when he comes in that door, please, I want you to be very,

kind. I will, Mary. I will. Okay.

Now, look, we have the hot chocolate and the cookies.

Can you think of anything else that'll cheer him up? Yes, I can, but we don't

have time to shampoo the rope.

I think you're just wonderful.

I'll hang up your coat. My goodness gracious, I hardly know what to say.

say anything. Just come right over here to the couch and sit down.

Oh, will you look?

Cookie and Coco.

I know how you like to make a mustache.

How did you know?

Well, we knew.

Have a cookie.

How can we help but know?

Naturally, I thought my poems were good, but I never expected to get an A+. A+.

Sable. Sable.

Chair. Fair.

Hair. Dare.

Compare. Rug. Chug. Lug.

afraid to pick up a glass.

He's such a great writer. I know. I haven't heard him this excited since we

to the opera and he sang along.

There's no stopping him since he got that A -plus on the poem.

He gave this one to me last night, and I was both touched and offended at the

same time.

Miriam, if that's intimate, maybe I shouldn't hear it. Oh, yes, you should.

you ready?

Your glowing eyes, your smiling face, your every move so filled with grace,

when sad fate doth make us part, part, part, you'll live forever within my

heart, heart, heart.

Sweet. Sweet, but it sounds like I died, died, died.

Listen,

he's gone, buddy!

Electric typewriter, tape recorder that he takes every place.

Yesterday, we were on the subway.

Nowhere. Out of the blue, suddenly... Oh, boy!

Oh, metal tube. Oh, mighty snake that weaves its way beneath the teeming

Everybody looked at us like we were nuts.

That's the first time I've ever been embarrassed in front of a wino.

The sad part is that he's so enthusiastic.

I know. I'd hate to be in your shoes when you have to tell him how rotten his

work is. When I have to tell him, you're the one that has to tell him. What are

you... You're his girlfriend. You're the one he's writing the poems for.

Besides, he wouldn't listen to me. Who would he listen to? Probably his

Well, then you have to go talk to his teacher.

That's right. He's the one who's telling him how great he is.

Besides, it would hurt Felix.

Look at that. Usually I want to hurt him.

clothes in the crowd but while being married to a jockey has its

really love the little guy very good very very good and good

luck to your husband next Friday now class I have saved mr. forgive me for

last mr. forgive me may we hear part of your novel please

I don't know where to begin.

Well, why don't you just read us the last paragraph?

Fine.

As the sun sank slowly over the hill,

Martin turned to Jessica and pressed his strong, hot

lips firmly.

She wanted to tear the clothes from her body.

Martin paused for a second to savor her incredible voluptuousness.

Then buried himself slavishly in the hysterical ecstasy that

was Jessica.

The last sliver of red disappeared.

It has a strong narrative flow.

I'd tell it the way it was.

All right.

Thank you again, Mr. Pergivney and class. That's all for tonight.

We will meet again next week.

Mr. Ferguson?

Yes? May I speak to you for a moment? Is it about the course? Well, in a way. My

name is Oscar Madison. I'm Felix Unger's roommate.

Oh, well, I'm sure we can fit one more in. Yeah, well, see, no, I'm not here

the writing, because I'm already a writer. I write for the New York Herald.

would like you to look at a column I'm thinking of.

Mr. Madison, I'm sorry. I would love to help you, but I'm afraid you would have

to join one of my classes.

It's called Gerard Ferguson, Man with a Racket.

I'll meet you by the swing.

Yeah, I thought you'd be interested.

I see.

Yes.

Very clever. Very clever, Mr. Madison.

The way you've developed your story into a sports column.

Mm -hmm.

Underhanded style, weak service.

Yes. You have a good, crisp way of writing.

Yeah, well, I don't want to talk about my way of writing. I know that, but may

point out to you, Mr. Madison, that in the objective case, it is whomever

he deceived, not whoever.

Why don't you send me a bill along with Felix Unger's refund?

Mr. Madison, I see no reason to send Mr. Unger a refund. He likes this course

and is doing very well with it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a... She'll

wait for you on the swing.

Look, your ad says your course will make a professional writer out of anyone.

In Felix's case, a poet. Now, no professional poet goes around saying,

can't stand bent. But that's an exercise.

Yeah, but the point is a professional gets paid for what he does. Who's going

buy a poem about the 40th floor except maybe a sensitive window washer? Mr.

Madison? I think that Mr. Unger is of an extremely professional caliber, and he

will get paid. And as a matter of fact, if I cannot absolutely get him a

definite offer by this time tomorrow for his work, I will return every single

penny to him. Now, is that fair enough? Okay, but if you don't, Mr. Ferguson...

Oh, you will never need to print that column, Mr. Madison. But if you do, when

you spell thief, will you just remember that it is I before E except after

C? And I want you to remember it's bail before jail.

So you better not fail.

Hi, Phoenix.

Dinner ready?

It's ready.

You angry about the food? No. I'm hungry.

I hope we still have a way to plan the soup.

Snake in the grass don't get soup.

Teacher told you, huh? Yes, he told me.

Felix, I did it for your own good.

He was deceiving you.

He was telling you stuff was great. He knew it wasn't. That's your opinion,

It's not my opinion. It's my professional judgment. I am a writer,

don't accept the judgment of a man who puts ketchup on his salad.

I like ketchup. It's like tomato wine.

I never thought my best friend would color his judgment with jealousy.

Felix, I'm not jealous.

Wasn't I thrilled when your baby fortress won the silver nipple?

That was a totally different sphere, wasn't it? There was no conflict there,

threat to you. Oh, come on. When you call up, you'll realize that Ferguson is

fraud and a phony. He said you would sell something. If you sell anything,

eat my hat.

Ho -ha -hee.

Gee whisms.

What's that?

That happens to be a check for $25 for my first poem, which Mr. Ferguson sold

for me.

Bon appetit.

Well, Mr. Madison, I didn't expect to see you again. Don't play coy, Ferguson.

What do you mean?

The swings.

I saw that check.

That was not from a publishing company or a magazine. Now, that was from a

personal account of someone named Ida Moskowitz.

You may have fooled Felix, but I know that wasn't a professional sale. You

happen to be wrong, Mr. Madison.

Mrs. Moskowitz may not be a publishing house, but she did buy one of Belich's

love poems with her own money. One of his love poems?

Yes, for the tombstone of her deceased wire -haired terrier.

You sold his poem for a dog's tombstone?

Yes, for little Spot Moskowitz.

It's a beginning, Mr. Madison.

Look, come with me, will you? Now, look, we don't make any claims to be able to

turn any of our students into Ernest Hemingway or anything like that. We just

say that after they take our course... they will be good enough to get their

work sold. Now, Mr. Madison, will you just read this, please? Right there.

Loose lips think shit.

Now, that was written by Fenton Gilroy, one of my students during the war. That

slogan appeared in every defense plant across this country.

Wait, you're telling me that's writing? Mr. Madison, you mustn't be such a snob.

Not all of us can work for the New York Herald.

Now, there are tremendous opportunities for writers in many, many other fields.

For example, look at here. Now, match, matchbooks, cocktail napkins, coasters,

all written by former students of ours. And one of our graduates, Sanchez Vega,

has just climbed to the very top of his field.

What did he write, Ocupado?

What are you saying? That Felix is good at writing mottos and slogans like do

not litter?

Why would he write that one?

No, I think that Felix Unger is much better than that.

I think that he could write bumper stickers.

Bumper stickers?

Don't laugh. There's a lot of money in that.

Did you tell him that?

No, no. I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He was so excited when I told him

that I'd sold the poem that he just grabbed the check and ran out of here.

But, of course, I'll get into all of that with him tomorrow.

Good, because I think the novel he's writing is a little too long for bumper

stickers.

about traffic?

No.

Just sitting.

You look terrible.

Where you been?

Spock's grave.

You know.

I called up Mrs. Moskowitz to thank her and she invited me over to see the

tombstone.

It's shaped like a fire hydrant.

You fixed me food even though you felt so terrible?

Well, you worked late. I knew you'd be hungry.

If it had been a French poodle, I wouldn't have minded, but a wire -haired

terrier. You made my favorite. Why don't you take a bite? No, no, I couldn't eat

if you paid my tongue.

Is this what I'm good for, Oscar?

After all my lofty ambition?

Terrier tombstone. Not so bad.

Hmm. I thought I could write a novel.

Some novel I could write.

A Tale of Two Terriers.

Get you a beer?

Oh, Felix, don't take it so bad.

All right, so you're not a great writer, but you are a great photographer, which

is what you're supposed to be.

All right, your poems aren't so good, but I'll bet you Carl Sandburg's

photographs couldn't win the silver nipple.

The embarrassment, Oscar, the humiliation.

What humiliation?

Who's going to visit the grave of Spot Moskowitz?

Three little dogs with yarmulkes?

Cheer up. Come on.

I guess the least thing I can do is apologize to you for the things I said

you. That's all right. I don't know if this will make it up to you, but I want

you to have this.

To a chum.

There are times when you may feel lonely.

There are times when you may feel glum.

But those times will not last if you only have a buddy, a comrade, a chum.

Thanks, Felix.

Where are you going?

I want to put this in an appropriate place, too.

You're some kind of guy, you know that, Oscar?

That's it.

the most terrific day today. Yeah? I took the greatest pictures. You were so

right. I should stick to photography.

That's my bag.

What do you got there? Nothing.

Is that your car? No, I was a little doodling. No, there's nothing.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

My heart will always cherish that cheerful, happy sound, and my love will

perish for my faithful Basset town.

One box of chai.