Original subtitles

You suggest in your novel that women are all masochists, Mr. Lee. Is that your

personal experience?

I present women as I know them to be. The success of Women Weeping would

that I'm right.

But surely at this point in time, when women are gaining leading positions in

many areas... That will affect the positions they take up in the sex war.

that ongoing action, women are still a weaker sex who long to be dominated by

men.

old -fashioned view. A rather old -fashioned species.

Women have been the weak text from the beginning of our existence. Are you

objecting that a few years of voting and unisex is fundamentally changed? Oh, I

don't agree. You may wear well -tailored suits and smoke cigars, but at heart

you're still the same eminently crushable creature as you've always

You're a real tiger, sweetie, when you've got a half a bottle of bourbon

you.

Well, whether we agree with Sam Luke's reactionary ideas or not, we all have to

agree that women weeping is a runaway success.

And who argues with success in New York?

Who indeed?

You know, it's a pity Zara isn't here to bask in your reflected glory

like a good little wife.

Good little wife indeed.

You know, she wouldn't hear her coming to New York.

A vulgar circle, he considers this.

Apotheosis of my career. Little wife Zara doesn't deserve any glory.

But, uh, I deserve a drink.

Where is it, I wonder?

Ah, look.

You're impossibly macho without her.

Well, I gotta go look after the shop.

Uh, Joanie! Come in, come in.

Come by with those copies for the mayor, okay?

Lovely.

Sammy, I promised Zara no bars.

What do you want it, sir? Where it was before Miss Jansen had it removed.

It's full of goodies, I hope. Yeah, you got the works in there, Mr. Luke.

Yeah, she'll like your book, sir.

Oh, thank you. I ain't read it yet, but it sounds real good to me.

Sign here.

We got to keep them women in their place, eh, sir?

He's biting a good bite. Hey, right on, Mr. Luke.

All right, see you now.

Thanks.

Well, drink it dry, darling, and the rest of British luck to your liver.

Sam, you are such a naughty boy.

Big boys are clodder.

So I shall inform the lovely Zara if she ever gets around to ringing me.

Now remember...

Joanie is coming by with the presentation copies for you to sign for

and his staff. And don't forget to write, I love New Yorker. And have a

day, of course.

And have a nice day, of course.

Bye.

Is she in?

Get in there quick, kid, and keep him off the booze.

Oh, you're kidding.

How? Oh, come on. You'll think of something, sweet son.

Hello? Zara!

You might have rung me yesterday.

Oh.

So how is your mother?

The timing's always perfect.

I don't know why you didn't get somebody in to look after her. I told you I'd

pay. I've got money now. Lots and lots of money.

All those lean years, as soon as I land the jackpot, you abandon me.

Hmm?

Well, I'm mostly on television during the day.

Alone.

Except for the chat show host and 40 million people.

Everybody loves me here.

Even the guerrilla in immigration knew about the book.

It's the friendliest city in the world.

Look, I've got to go now.

Joanie's here.

Joanie, a clod of secretary, man of Friday.

She's blonde, petite and gorgeous.

She'll be here to keep an eye on me.

Yeah, I know you'll trust me.

Sometimes I wish you didn't trust me.

Hello?

Hello?

I think your wife's lovely, Mr. Luke.

Zara.

Who is that? I can't hear you.

I have to get these back to the mayor's office.

Was anything wrong?

I'm not.

Hello, operator. Was that an outside call?

Pardon me, Mr. Luke. I said, was that... Never mind.

All right, sir. Have a nice day now.

If we can get these over to the mayor's office today, we could get two or three

paragraphs tomorrow.

Trial.

Trial!

What care we for odd paragraphs?

We are a television celebrity, Joanie. We are unamused by grubby little

journalists.

Or by cranked telephone calls.

Now, tell me about yourself.

I expect you're a lovely, American, more -than -average girl who is searching

for a meaningful, ongoing relationship and, meanwhile, fantasizes rather a

lot. Am I right?

Oh, gosh, Mr. Luke.

You really do understand women.

Oh, Sammy dearest.

And drink up. Drink up, my babe.

Well, after that, I just couldn't get it together.

I mean, that so -and -so really messed me up.

My head was like one of those glass balls with a snowstorm going on inside

You know what I mean?

And every time I thought, what a sucker I'd been.

How dumb.

I mean, how dumb can you get?

Well, after that, I just wasn't into men.

Not even when I fantasized.

Fantasized.

And his eyes on to his thighs.

But here's the strange thing.

Though I hated him for all the hurt he'd caused me,

I sort of missed it in a way.

It was like there was an empty space where the pain used to be.

Oh, my God.

I just don't know how you see these things.

Like you've got X -ray eyes, Sam.

Well, that's enough about me.

I'm not very interesting.

Just sort of normal, I guess.

Let's talk about you, Sammy.

Sammy?

Who's that?

Hello?

God almighty, who the hell was that?

Sounded like a man imitating a woman.

The city is full of nutcases.

Morning, Mr. Luke. Got them for you. Special delivery, marked urgent.

What time is it?

Uh, just after 11, sir. Oh, Lord.

I've missed something, I'm sure.

Hey, would you believe it?

My grandmother saw you on TV last night.

She's 83, but sharp as a tack. Oh, say, go open it for me, will you? Oh, yeah,

sure, Mr. Luke.

Anyway, she thinks you're number one, sir.

I'm gonna buy her a copy of your book.

Why bother? Have some of these.

Oh, hey, that's great.

Hey, could you write something in it?

You could just sign it, To Grandma Ethel from a friend, Sam.

It'll tickle her to death.

There's never been an ambition of mine to tickle old ladies to death.

I'll try anything once.

Copy your book, Mr. Luke.

And a letter.

It's much personal.

I don't know.

Shall I put it with the others?

Keep it.

Oh, hey, thanks a lot.

Could you write something in it?

Are you all right?

So what the hell's going on?

I wish I knew.

Who would want to do a thing like that to you?

Just about any liberated lady in New York. Oh, my God, Mr. Luke, look.

Have a nice death.

What do you know?

But, baby, give this in perspective a joke, boy. Joke? That's all it was. No

got hurt. You, my dear Clodagh, were on the receiving end. What about the

message? Have a nice death and those obscene folks. I tell you, it is no

I do not find it funny.

Poor Danny.

Thank you. I wish you hadn't cleaned up the mess.

Bob could have taken pictures. It would have made a great story.

Why, and I hang myself in the lavatory, Clodagh, dear, and Bob can take pictures

of that, too.

That's it.

Of course.

I'm not serious.

Don't be silly. No!

I mean, you can never tell what these jokers will do.

But we can protect you with...

I'm calling a press conference tomorrow. We're going to make this work for us.

You're going over big now, but a story like this, properly handled, everybody

will want to read Women Weeping. I want to go home! Dollface, you've got to look

at this with a cool professional eye. Just remember, every time some crazy

liberated broad attacks, you, you've got to collect the royalties on another

thousand copies of Women Weeping. You've got to make time, newsweek, maybe even

60 minutes. That's the biggest type there is. We're going through the roof,

baby. Clodagh, dear, my life is being threatened.

I take that very seriously indeed.

Sure. Thank you.

Everybody gets assassinated in this heathen country. Well, I don't intend

a martyr to my art. The circus is concluded. Clodagh, I'm staying in this

only long enough for things to quieten down so I can slip out of the back door

and run now.

Get me London.

England.

2589 -299.

We'll hire guards for you and we'll search anyone who comes near you.

And I will give you an increased royalty deal on your next novel.

Really? Yeah.

But you've got to stick with it, kid.

Just a few more days and Women Weeping will be number one. I guarantee it. Now,

I must fly.

Please give me a ring.

Johnny, look after our boy.

No problem.

Bye, Bobby. And stop worrying.

All this is worth a fortune.

Yeah, Zara. Give her my love.

Now, I must run.

Zara, look.

You've got to come over right away.

I'm getting all sorts of... Unpleasant friends. Keep that whimpering and get

happy. Do whatever you have to.

Oh, no problem.

I think I'm beginning to relate to Sam.

Does anybody just do it anymore?

Have fun.

You don't understand, sir. I'm being threatened.

My life is being threatened, sir.

Well, in that case, have a nice day.

Sometimes I have this vision that women are an alien species. They're probably

from some black planet on the outer edges of the galactic system. Centuries

they sprayed the Earth with amnesia gas and infiltrated our planet.

And we woke up believing they had always been here.

Now we're witnessing their final victory as they take over our professions, our

clothes, our potency, our sexual positions and most of our worst habits.

they're alone, they communicate with one another in a disgusting secret language

which sounds like Japanese mixed with the cries of small birds.

Is it too late to confront and denounce them? Perhaps it is.

And yet, despised man must make one final, if hopeless,

effort.

Well, Sam, what can I say after that? Except that Stag, the magazine for real

men, is right behind you.

Thanks for a great piece, Sam.

Oh, that was so neat, Sam.

I just loved it.

Fill me up, I think.

So, we'll wrap up.

Thanks again, Sam. Our readers are going to love it. And I guess it won't do

weeping women any harm, either.

Women weeping.

Whatever.

Thanks a million, Bob.

You've just got to be the greatest interviewer in the business.

Well, I think you're cute too, hon.

Let me get you that drink.

Or maybe... Or maybe what?

Well, I had this boyfriend once who was terrific at pressure points and massage.

What really does release all your tension, Sammy, I could, you know,

your neck or something.

Well, that is if you like.

I mean, it is better for you than a lot of toxic alcohol.

A little light, my son.

Why not?

And a drink.

Sometimes I feel like my whole body is just one terrific erogenous zone, you

know? I know, dear, I know. Stop talking.

Oh, Sam.

We really are relating so well.

Oh, no, that'll be Clodagh screaming.

Yes? Mr. Sam Luke, the great author, please.

Mr. Luke is busy right now. Can I help?

Okay.

Is it a man or a woman?

Couldn't really tell.

You take it.

Mr. Luke is real busy.

I'll take your message.

The message for Mr. Luke is have a nice death.

They just said have a nice death.

Okay, Clota, I'm going back to London straight away.

Mick Jansen, please, right away.

Well, cut in.

Hello, Clota, he's just had another call.

No, I took it.

Look, he's packing.

Going straight back to a little old country where a man may still express a

civilized opinion without being picketed or threatened with assassination.

Zara was right. I shall never have come here. Never, never.

I'll tell him.

Okay.

Sam? Little old, lovely, bankrupt Britain, here I come. Sam, Clodagh

Zara.

She'll be here tomorrow.

Zara?

She's coming after all.

Oh, thank God.

Mr. Luke, sir.

What do you want?

Your people sent over your fan mail, Mr. Luke.

God, you look awful, Mr. Luke. You okay?

Don't ask.

Just don't ask.

I started to read your book.

I just love it. Thank you very much.

You really do look thick, Mr. Luke.

Shall I call a doctor?

No.

Well, have a nice day anyway.

The day is over. It's evening.

Yeah, sure. Thanks a lot, Mr. Luke.

Have a nice day now.

It's evening!

Do you understand?

Do you agree that it's evening here?

Well, yeah.

Sure. Good evening.

You take care of yourself, huh?

My sign is Sagittarius, and I'm sure that you are a Scorpio, and very

like Richard in your book.

I think he is the most truly male character since Red Butler.

I'm sure that if we could meet, we would find that we related to one another

really well. Well, I'll throw that all down.

Sammy Garland! Zara!

Where's Zara?

I need Zara, not you.

Miss Jensen.

Zara can't help you now, you drunken, sexist pig.

What the hell is happening?

You're about to have a horrible accident.

You have a nice damn tummy.

Look, I just

want to tell you how sorry I am.

I keep remembering the last time I brought him his letters, when he got so

upset.

I mean, when I got him, he looked awful.

I never thought he'd do a thing like that.

I should have stopped. I should have made an excuse to come back in and clear

the glasses or something. I might have talked him out of it.

The girl in switchboard, too, she said he sounded desperate.

Yes. Thank you.

That's very kind of you.

Free at last, my darling. After all these years.

Well, we are, my love.

Free and very, very rich.

It's lovely.

But I must try to stop thinking about poor Sammy's awful accident.

Oh, well, let me help you, Angel.