All language subtitles for Well.Take.Manhattan.2012.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX].eng

(slow jazz music)

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- Good afternoon, madam.

Good afternoon, Lady Clare.

Welcome aboard.

- Good afternoon, Elaine.

Thank you.

- [Jean] What if she
doesn't like me, Bailey?

- [David] Yeah. And?

- So what if I muck it up?

You'll hate me forever and
never speak to me again and--

- I couldn't give a stuff what she thinks.

- But Bailey, I--

- What?

- Never even been on an aeroplane before.

- It's like a 29 bus with wings.

Come on now.

(David sighs)

You're beautiful.

It'll be fine.

Dry white wine, love.

And she'll have a medium sweet.

Chop-chop.

- [Pilot] This is Captain
Michael Fitzmorris.

- Good afternoon, madam.

- [Pilot] To New York
International Airport.

Our flight time today is
approximately nine hours.

We'll be serving you a
five-course luncheon,

and looking after you in the cabin is--

- [David] All right, Lady C?

(laughs)

- They'll never let us land.

(upbeat jazz music)

- And we were by the river,

and Tony Armstrong Jones
was posing me by a willow,

and this man, this rude
and rather dirty man,

who I suppose must work
on boats or something,

he came up, and this man said,

"Can I be in your picture, lady?"

And I said, "No."

- Never.
- Absolutely.

A little higher with the arm, Your Grace.

Not too wide on the lovely lips.

- And he said, "Why not?"

And I said, "They don't photograph
just anybody, you know."

If we started saying just
anybody was worth photographing,

who knows where we'd be?

- There'd be a revolution.

What did Tony say?

- Tony gave him half a crown
and told him to bugger off.

- My goodness.
- I know.

- Where's Lavinia?

- [Dark-Haired Model] Well,
she was here a moment ago.

- [Lavinia] Oh, no, no, no.

You utter beast.

Oh, no.
- Go on, you love it.

- [Lavinia] Oh, God, yeah.

- Oi, Bailey, we're on.

- Righto.

(Lavinia sighs)

(David sighs)

(David panting)

- So same time next week, Your Highness?

- Listen, sonny.

You can stuff me, but don't
ever imagine you can afford me.

- Love you too, chief.

(David whistling)

- [Mr. French] So are
you going anywhere nice

for the weekend?

- [Dark-Haired Model] Well, I...

- Ah, David, good.

And do we have...

Lavinia.

Are you quite all right?

You look a little flushed.

- I'm divine.

- Perfect, thank you, ladies.

And

still.

(soft ticking)

Lovely.

Well done, all.

Now, for this next shot, I
think a little more erect.

If we could orientate it this way,

can we have the key lights higher, George?

20 points, I think, on that.

And if we raise that
up a little bit there.

- Mr. French?

I'm off.

- Good heavens, for tea already?

- No.

I'm gonna get me own studio.

I'm leaving you.

- Really, David?

But you're--
- What?

- Not quite the type, I suppose.

- So?

- I mean, who will you work with?

- I'll find someone.

(chuckles)

Easy.

(elegant piano music)

- Look, Jean, they've started already.

- They're doing it, you know, the--

- [Mr. Shrimpton] The walking thing.

- Good day.

I'm Miss Lucie Clayton,
principal of the academy.

And you must be Joan.

- Jean.

- Jean. Jean.

Exactly.

Do come this way.

- [Mr. Shrimpton] It all happened at

a holiday camp, actually.

- [Mrs. Shrimpton] Last year.

- [Lucie] How picturesque.

- Yes, it was one of those
beauty contests, you know.

Well, we thought they were just trying

to make up the numbers, but blow me.

- Third.
- Third place.

- Can you believe it?

Our Jean, a beauty?

- [Lucie] Well, you know, in the eye

of the beholder and so forth.

(Lucie laughs)

- It's only until she
gets married, of course.

- Yes, of course, yes, yes.

- Walking out with a lovely
young chap she has caught,

Richard from Henley.

- Fascinating.

Thank you.

Mm.

I'm not sure.

You see, it's a matter
of being model material.

The requirements are rather specific.

- I can do it.

The book thing, I mean.

See?

(gentle piano music)

- Very well.

- I've brought cash.

Now, is that wrong?
- We thought

we should pay first.

- You may settle your
account in any way you wish.

- Jolly good.

Building trade, you know.

Smallholding as well.

Lots of cash.

- Jean, why don't you
join the other ladies?

- Yes, as well as...

- Deportment.

- Yes, as well as that, could
you teach her a bit of...

- She needs to fit in a bit more.

(loud thud)

- Sorry.

- That might require our extended course.

(upbeat jazz music)

(phone ringing)
- That's beautiful, love.

This hand here, just
bring it up a little bit.

There you go, that's lovely.

There you go, it's lovely.

Hang about, ladies,
keep your knickers off.

Hello, studio five?

- [Man] Hello, yes, would
that be Mr. David Bailey?

- This is Bailey, yeah.

- The Mr. David Bailey who was responsible

for the interesting
photograph of Pauline Stone

in the "Express" involving a--

- A squirrel, yeah.

It was stuffed, by the way.

Who's this?

- Oh, sorry, yes, my name's Parsons.

John Parsons, I'm telephoning
you from Vogue magazine.

- [Photographer] Come on, darling,

perk it up, will you?
- Yeah, and?

- [John] Concerning whether
you would care to take up

a position, here, on the staff.

- How much?

- [John] I'm sorry?

- How much is it?

- [Photographer] "Mary had
a little lamb," say it.

Get your boat race moving.

- [John] 15 guineas.

- A shot?

- Good heavens, no.

Per week.

(chuckles)

- There we are!
- Sorry, chief.

- Can't hear you, love.
- I can't hear you.

Hang about, stay there.
- Look on here, you know?

Aw, come on, darling, loosen up a bit.

Christ's sake!

(camera snaps)

Take a jump, I don't know, skip.

Something, anything!

- Excuse me, mate, can you
just keep it down a bit?

- Sorry, guv.

Women, eh?

If they didn't have a Morris,
you'd have to shoot 'em.

Well, look, try saying,
"Mary had a little lamb."

- Hello? Yeah.

Sorry, I gotta pass.

15 guineas is less than what Woman's Own

are giving me per photograph.

You wanna work for a proper magazine,

what people really read.

(phone clacks)

- Well.

(sighs)

- [Photographer] Will you wake up?!

Christ's sake!

- All right, ladies,

who wants a lick of my
raspberry Mivvi, eh?

Come on, then, get back in positions.

(register rings)

(people chattering)

Oi, mate.

Sell a lot of these?

- [Employee] Some.

Nice little earner.

(slow jazz music)

(phone ringing)

- Bailey.

- All right, Mr. Bailey,
a contract position.

Per page, 15 guineas.

Free to shoot for anyone except the enemy,

Harper's, Vanity Fair, Queen.

- All right, cock.

You're on.

- Oh, jolly good.

And is she your girl?

Squirrel lady.

It's just, I'm not wholly sure she's us,

if you know what I mean.

- No, she's not my girl.

No, I don't have a girl.

- Shall we say Monday?

- Done.

(phone clacks)

- Miss Shrimpton.

Love.

You forgot your shoes.

- Hey, Charlie, what happened
to that bird from Pinner

with the big Eartha Kitts?

I feel like celebrating.

(birds chirping)

(phone ringing)

♪ Ba ba, ba ba ♪

- [Jean] Hello?

- You've got a booking, darling.

Yeah, Acrilan.

Autumn skirts.

The photographer is one David somebody,

not long out of John
French's, working at Vogue.

Yeah, asked for you by name.

- Who?
- Chrissie!

- David Bailey.
- Turn that down this instant!

- It's an ad, darling.

30 guineas.

Smile, pack your bag, and try again.

- Do I have to?

- Yes, darling, you do,

if we're ever going to pay
for all those 10 by eights.

- [Mr. Shrimpton] I can't
do my bloody accounts

surrounded by that bloody noise!

- [Mrs. Shrimpton] Come on,
Dad, she'll turn it down.

- [Mr. Shrimpton] Too
right she bloody will!

(record screeches)
- Daddy, what are you doing?!

Daddy--
(gramophone crashes)

It was a birthday present!

Why would you do that, Daddy?!

It wasn't that loud!

I mean, seriously, you never, ever

let me do anything that I want, Daddy!

Please, why would you do that?!

(gentle piano music)

Daddy, I hate you!

That was a birthday present!

- [Mr. Shrimpton] If you think
that wretched gramophone's

coming back into this house--

- [Chrissie] I'm sorry, Daddy!

I said I was sorry!

I am, come on, really, I am!
(doorbell rings)

(door clacks)

- Richard's here.

- Thanks.

- He's so nice.

He's not gonna wait
around forever, you know.

First the typing, now
this modeling business--

- Mum.

- Your dad keeps asking.

- [Mr. Shrimpton] Have you
still got that car of yours?

- [Richard] I do indeed, sir, yes.

- What's it called again?

- Sunbeam Alpine.

- Sunbeam, that's a silly
name for a car, isn't it?

- Mm, it drives like a treat, though.

- [Mr. Shrimpton] Mm.

- Oh, hello, Jean.

- Hi, Richard.

- [Richard] Thank you, sir.

- [Receptionist] Can I help you?

- Yes.

Sorry.

David Bailey?

- Up there.

- All right.

(Jean yelps)
- Good God.

- [Jean] Sorry.

Sorry.

I was looking for the photographer.

- What, well, we have
many fine photographers.

Claude Vernier?

Norman Parkinson?

Mr. Cecil Beaton.
- Morning.

- Morning.

Oh, those are photographers.

This is a rather charming tea boy.

Studio three, top of the stairs.

Small one.

- Thanks.

- What a drip.

(phone ringing)

- Bailey.

- Bailey what?

I mean, what Bailey?

- Just Bailey.

- Gosh.

Okay.

- Yeah.

- Have we...

(exhales)

- Yeah.

You forgot your shoes.

- Oh, yes.

- All right, then.

Acrilan.

(slow jazz music)

(camera clicking)

(camera snaps)

Hang about, this is marvelous.

Good girl.

Open your mouth slightly.

That left elbow, let it
go out more slightly.

That's your right.

No problem, John.

(sighs)

No.

Who told you to move?

Come on, go back to where you were.

- Sorry, being very stiff.

- Yeah, you are a bit.

That's all right, though.

Kinda looks good on you.

(camera snaps)

Kinda.

Lose the bag, lose the hat.

Lose your gloves, lose the earrings.

- Really?
- Really.

- Sorry.

I thought you were like John French.

Silly studs.

Pearls don't really suit me.

- I don't know.

You'd look good in a pearl necklace.

Maybe I could help you out with that.

(both laugh)

(camera snapping)

So what part of town you live in, then?

- I don't.

Bucks. I'm a country girl.

- [David] Oh, right.

Head up.

(camera snaps)
- On a sort of a farm.

- [David] I see. That's it, more.

(camera snaps)

- What do you see?

- [David] Higher.

Do you have a boyfriend, then?

(camera snaps)

- As a matter of fact.

- What's he called?
(camera snaps)

Yes, again.

- He's called Richard du Soixante.

- Oh, right.

I got it.

- Right, you got what?

- Well, you're MGs and Daddy

and chinless wonders, ain't you?

- You don't know anything about me.

- I know you're posh.

- I'm not posh.

I feed the pigs.

- Mm-hm.

And I know you have very,
very, very long legs.

Spread 'em, would you?

(camera snaps)

- And you?

What are you?

Apart from happily married.

(shoe screeches)

(laughs)

- Do you like dogs?

- Of course.

We have five.

- What sort?

- Two sheepdogs, an Airedale,

Schnauzer, and a German Shepherd.

(kettle whistling)

- I just got an Afghan.

Fancy a cup of tea?

See, what you want, doll,

is to work with the best and
then pick the best of them.

In America, it would be
Avedon, it would be Penn,

it would be William Klein.

In America, it would all be different.

Who's your booker, you need a new booker.

All right, what we'll
do is get you a nice do,

get you a nice outfit.

You want your hair up, though.

Wanna see them eyes.

And we'll do you some
nice pics, but good pics,

interesting pics, something
they haven't seen before.

What are you doing next week?

We'll start next Monday
and I'll pick you up.

Do you want milk in
that, or do you like it

like an old sock?
- Which are you?

- Which am I what?

- Best, or what?

- Oh, me?

Well, I'm just Bailey.

I don't get no complaints, though.

(both laugh)

(car engine roaring)

- [Jean] He said a Sunbeam
doesn't go faster than 30!

- [David] He wants to
put his bloody foot down!

(David laughs)

(Jean laughs)

(water splashes)
(horse whinnies)

Well, that's your pictures sorted.

What do we do now, then?

- Right, well, if you drop
me off at Wandsworth Town,

then I can catch the Waterloo train to...

Bailey, no.

- What?

You don't look frigid.

- You don't look faithful.

(laughs)

- Well, if it's undying love you're after,

maybe Mr. Richard the
Nice Boyfriend can supply.

(engine roars)

As long as you're happy.

- Kiss me again.

(mellow jazz music)

Just kissing.

Till I know you better.

- All right, then.

If you want.

Done that, done that.

(David mumbles)

- Oh, Bailey, we need someone
for "Brides" magazine.

- All right, chief.

Here we go, big smile as
though it's your wedding.

Dad, on jump, I want you to
fling your hand up in the air,

when you're jumping, all right?

Here we go.

One, two, three, jump!

(camera snapping)

(Jean laughs)

There you go.

(camera snaps)
That's it, that's it.

Remember, lips open.

That's good, lovely.

That's it.

That's it there.

Great.
(camera snaps)

There we go.
(camera snaps)

Again.

(camera snaps)
Lovely.

I guess I should take you home, then?

- Not immediately.

Can I trust you?

- Mainly.

(birds chirping)

- [Mrs. Shrimpton] Oh, hello, dear.

- Where's Dad?

- [Mrs. Shrimpton] The hayfield, I think.

Want a cup of tea?

- [Jean] Mum.

- [Mrs. Shrimpton] Mm-hm?

- My friend's here.

Bailey.

In the barn, it was late and
I said he could kip there.

- Your friend, the married one?

Oh, dear.

(horse exhaling)

- Shit!
(horse whinnies)

(dogs barking)

Shit!

(horses whinnying)

Shit!

- Bailey!

(laughs)

- [David] Lovely jam, Mrs. Shrimpton.

- Thank you...

- David.
- David.

- Any more toast, David?

- Ha-ha.

(Jean laughs)
(footsteps treading)

- Daddy.

Hi.

This is my friend, it was
late, and this is Bailey.

- Get out.

I said out.

Get out, damn you, before I throw you out!

- [Jean] Sorry.

I'm sorry.

It's just the way he is.

- Big fucker, your dad, ain't he?

(engine roars)
(laughs)

(footsteps treading)

- You are not gonna live here

if you are seeing a married man.

- But it's my home.

- What do you think's
gonna happen to you, hm?

To us, to Chrissie now.

- I don't know.
- I haven't worked as hard

as this from nothing, nothing.

I haven't worked all these years

to raise a daughter who was a slut.

Now, either you never see him again,

or you get out and you stay out.

- Dad.

I'm 18.

I have a job.

I can do what I like.

I'm not gonna stop seeing
him just because you--

- Well, you'd better go, then, hadn't you?

And we thought you were the good one.

- Right.

Right.

(somber piano music)

(Mrs. Shrimpton faintly speaking)

(footsteps treading)

- [Mrs. Shrimpton] Take it.

- Mum.
- Take it.

- Oh, Bailey.

(gentle music)

Bailey, you said we were going for a walk.

- Oh, come on, you look beautiful.

That's it, lovely.

- I'm not even dressed for it.

Look at this trench coat.

- Don't worry about your coat.

(laughs)
(camera snaps)

Beautiful. That's it.

Don't move, don't move.

Just stay, that's it.
(camera snaps)

Jean, you look beautiful.
(camera snaps)

(camera snaps)
Woo, there you are.

- Woo.
- Lovely.

(camera snaps)

Beautiful, gorgeous.
(camera snaps)

That's it.

Straight at me, look straight at me.

(camera snaps)

- David will be here hopefully any minute.

So we have "Shop Hound,"
the knitwear thing,

the "Hits and Misses" spread.

- The cover with Enid Boulting.

- The portrait of Zeffirelli.

- And, of course, Paulene Stone

and the squirrel in the "Express."

- Innovation is our metier,
but I don't think we're really

looking for the Tufty Club, are we?

(group laughs)

(knocking)

- Oh, David.

Do sit down.

David, now, you'll be
aware that Lady Clare

has been running the "Young Idea" section

to showcase some of the
more youthful styles,

and we have an upcoming lead

we thought you might
like to take a shot at.

"Young Idea goes West."

- West?

What?

Reading, Basingstoke?

(John chuckles)

- No.

New York.

- [Clare] Mm!

- Who's wearing the frocks?

- We were thinking of Nicole de Mesier.

- Well, you've got to use Jean.

Jean Shrimpton, she's terrific.

She'd be great for New York.

- She did "Brides" last year.

- [Woman Assistant] Got
sort of a beatnik thing.

- Just 'cause you're bonking
her doesn't make her any good.

- That's not the point.

The point is she is the most beautiful,

captivating thing I've ever laid eyes on.

- In love, are we?

(chuckles)

- It's in the pics.

She's got it.

I've never seen anything like it.

She doesn't have a bad angle.

You want new, you want young,

you want anything remotely
near the 20th century

possessed of actual
functioning sexual equipment,

she's your girl.

I won't do it with anyone else.

- Really?

- Really.

It's her, or you can stuff it.

- You do realize this a lead feature?

- Absolutely.

So we should get it right.

- So Miss Shrimpton,
perhaps, as the model.

- Oh, no.

Come on, John.

She doesn't look remotely
like a "Vogue" model.

I've never seen anyone so plain.

- Why not give it a little try?

- Well, only on the strict understanding

that if we don't like
it, we'll shoot it again.

Not with you.

(slow jazz music)

She will not stand in that
way on the street in New York.

- What way?

- That way.

Legs akimbo.

- Why not?

- Because it's not the way a lady stands.

On the street, it will seem experienced,

vulgar, open for business.

- If you want innocent, maybe
I should have her holding

a bloody teddy bear in every shot.

- Ha, maybe you should.

- Oh, Mr. Bailey.

Congratulations.

Enjoy your trip.

And remember, you are
representing "Vogue" magazine.

You will not wear your leather jacket

in the St. Regis Hotel, understood?

Clare, thank you, darling,
for the gardenias.

They are just perfect.

(airplane roars)

- [Clare] Mr. Bailey?

I just wanted to touch
on a couple of items.

- You can touch what you like, Lady C.

- Did you receive your
latest shoot itinerary?

- Yeah.

- Yeah?

- Yeah.

Though, frankly, I could
have read any photo feature

on New York in the past 20 years

and it would have been the same.

- Indeed?

- Well, to shoot blah blah blah fashions

against blah blah blah classic backdrops,

the Empire State, the New York
Library, Brooklyn Bridge--

- Have you ever been to
New York, Mr. Bailey?

Well, I have, many times.

And I can attest it's the
most thrillingly modern city,

largely unfamiliar with
many of our readers.

Now, with these particular clothes--

- Yeah, the schmutter.

- What about the clothes?

- Well, they wouldn't
upset your mum, would they?

- Why on Earth would I
want to upset anyone's mum?

- Well, I thought we were
"Vogue" magazine's "Young Idea"?

Where's the "Young" bit?

I mean, that coat, that silly white dress.

- I suppose you'd have it
all leather and sunglasses?

- Yeah, shades might help.

- A lady does not wear shades.

- [David] So it ain't young,
and it ain't got an idea.

- Mr. Bailey, David, we
should be friends this week.

I should be your best friend
because I'm the nice one,

and one day I'll be
editor-in-chief of this magazine

and I'll be deciding whether
you're hired or fired.

- [David] Really?

- Yes, really, because what
do you know about fashion?

You don't know anything about fashion.

I heard your father was a tailor's man,

your mother was, what, a
machinist, factory girl?

You are working for "Vogue" magazine.

You could learn something,

if you follow the
instructions, Mr. Bailey.

Cut to the pattern.

Oh, and just as soon as you can,

do ditch this ridiculous girl.

I hear that's something you
really are quite good at.

Ah, could I have another blanket, please?

- Yes, Your Ladyship.
- And a little more Sancerre.

- Certainly, madam.

- My ashtray is full.

- I'll empty it.

- Is it true, then?

- What?

- That you're quite
good at ditching girls?

- Only when I've completely used them up

and spat them out like a dry husk.

(lively music)

(yawns)

(car horns honking)

- [Clare] At night.

I think it was supposed to be night.

I didn't know--

- Lady Clare?

Lady Clare, hi, I'm Larry Schwartz.

Welcome, welcome.

I've been assigned to you

by the Conde Nast Logistics
and Transportation Office.

Mrs. Vreeland sends her compliments

and invites you all to her Friday soiree.

And I am here to assist in
your orientation around this--

- Mr. Schwartz.
- Yes?

Larry.

It may be happy hour here,

but back in civilization, it's
two o'clock in the morning,

I have a headache the
size of Gloucestershire,

and I have just had to wait

in the most ugly custom halls imaginable

because of the thoughtlessness
of an idiot girl.

- They were only dog-worming pills.

- Oh, that's terrible.

- You know, for my dog.

- I'm so sorry to hear about that--

- If you speak a syllable again

during the entire process of checking in,

I will have you fired from
Conde Nast so swiftly,

you will not so much as draw breath

in the Graybar Building again.

Now, carry my bags, find me
some cigarettes, shut up.

(lively music)

Imbecilic, stupid girl.

♪ Are the stars out tonight ♪

- Follow me.

♪ I don't know if it's cloudy or bright ♪

♪ 'Cause I only have eyes for you, dear ♪

♪ The moon may be high ♪

♪ But I can't see a thing in the sky ♪

♪ 'Cause I only have eyes for you ♪

♪ I don't know if we're in a garden ♪

♪ Or on a crowded avenue ♪

♪ You are here, so am I ♪

♪ Maybe millions of people go by ♪

♪ But they all disappear from view ♪

♪ And I only have eyes for you ♪

(door thuds)

- A whole week.

No daddy.

No wife.

Do you think the springs will last?

♪ Oh, I don't know if we're in a garden ♪

(shelf door creaks)

- Jesus.

There's a bleeding telly in a hotel room.

- Later.

♪ Maybe millions of people go by ♪

♪ But they all disappear from view ♪

- Oh, Bailey.

It's so tall.

- Didn't I say?

Didn't I?

(Jean chuckles)

Look, darling, we're in New York.

- We are.

God, we are!

(both laugh)

- Yeah, that's right, tosh.

Egg and chips, as in fish and chips,

as in saveloy and chips,
as in chips and chips.

- We're English.

Sorry, we mean fries.

Do you mind awfully?

- Right.

(chuckles)

(egg sizzling)

(gentle jazz music)

- What?

What, Bailey?

- What on Earth did I ever see in you?

(both chuckle)

- [Clare] Excuse me!

Mr. Bailey.

Mr. Bailey.

- What?

- You know perfectly well what.

You're pointing in the wrong direction.

- Really?

Over there, model.

Over here, no model.

I think I'm pointing
in the right direction.

- [Clare] No, that's not what I mean.

The girl should be over here.

- It's not about the girl.

- Well, on that we can agree.

It's most certainly not about the girl.

It's about the fashions.

It's about the mid-price spring
season young ladies' fashion

that the editorial board of
Vogue have decided to showcase

against the sophisticated
backdrop of New York.

Pace, morning one, item one:

The famous stone sculptured lions

in front of the famous
New York Public Library

in this precise direction over here.

And while you're about
it, I would be obliged

if you could show off
the exceptionally fine

stitching on the lapel.

- No.

- Sorry?

- No.

You're wrong.

It's not about the poxy clothes.

It's about the street, in actual fact.

It's about the noise.

It's about that drunk guy over there.

It's about the steam!

It's about that big plastic
sign that says Twist

which will appear three to
four inches above Jean's head

in the magazine spread.

It's about the vibe!

(lively jazz music)

Jean!

Head up!

Bit more!

(camera snaps)
Yeah, down with the bear!

That's it.

(camera snaps)

Give us a profile.

(camera snaps)
Yeah, up a bit.

Too much.

(camera snaps)

Into the light.

(camera snaps)

Little smile.

Oh, come on.

That's not the way you looked at me

at three in morning.
- I've never heard of anything

so ridiculous.

- That's it.
(camera snapping)

Done.

- Done?

- We're done.

What's next?

Midtown?

Or can we have a cup of bloody coffee?

I'm freezing me tits off here.

- He hasn't even brought out a tripod.

We haven't done anything we wanted to do.

- So was that okay?

- Yeah, yeah, of course.

Taxi!
- How can we possibly be done?

Look at her, she looks like a tramp

with those circles under her eyes.

(camera snaps)

What on Earth is that you're using?

- It's a Pentax S3.

(camera snaps)
- Tourist camera?

- No.
- An amateur camera.

- Well, that depends who's
holding it, doesn't it?

- [Clare] Are you seriously
telling me you intend

to spend the morning
shooting on that thing?

(camera snaps)
- Rest of the week,

if I can help it.
- Oh, no, Mr. Bailey,

I'm not an idiot.

What about the reduction in quality?

- There will be no reduction in quality.

There will be a change in quality.

- The negative area produced
by a medium format camera

is several times the size

of what can be produced on that thing.

Our results are going
to be grainy, blurry--

- Energetic.

- Hurried.
- Fresh, young.

Real.
- Cheap.

- Vibrant.

- Grubby.
- Instant.

- Messy.

- And alive.

Does anyone remember alive?

That's the one before dead.

- Well, I'm sure we'll still
end up with some snaps.

- Who asked you?

Is this it?

Is this the big idea?

You and her?

Oh.

Sorry.

I thought you were supposed to be special,

not some snapper with a
jumped-up convent girl in tow.

Well, Shrimp is right.

Wet, pink, and needs dressing.

Come on, Larry.

Leave him to his bit on the side.

- Bailey.

What have you got me into?

(sighs)

(slow piano music)

- [David] I'll bloody
take it off if you want.

- [Jean] Well, she's right, Bailey,

I'm just your little bit
on the side, aren't I?

- [David] Will you give it a rest?

What do you want from me?

Confetti?

(knocking)

- Good morning, Your Ladyship.

We've got the first contacts

and the document you wanted
was telefaxed through, so.

- One or two teething problems, but...

- Was there anything
else in particular you...

Mm.

- What?

No one.

Nothing I haven't handled a hundred times.

And I think things are about
to be straightened out.

Oh, is that the little darlings?

Oh, they just come in from their walk?

Oh, good.

And the children?

(people chattering)

- You feeling better?

- [Jean] Mm-hm.

- Good 'cause you made your
bags even bigger than ever

with all that fuss and crying.

We got shots to do.

Big shots.

Can't work with a bleeding panda.

- Well, you'd better look after

your bleeding panda, then, hadn't you?

- [David] Another egg and chips, Al!

Good morning.

Sleep well?

- You are required, under contract,

to provide photographic services
of a quality commensurate

with Conde Nast Publications in general,

and "Vogue" magazine in particular,

and to "provide these services as directed

"by appropriate senior editorial staff."

Commensurate means--

- I know what it means.

- And senior staff means me.

Now, I'm going to assume
that you don't quite yet

wish to resign your contract?

Very well.

Today, we are scheduled
to shoot Miss Shrimpton

in front of the United Nations Plaza

in the suede battledress pullover.

In keeping with the grandeur
of the architecture,

you will use a tripod,
she will appear elegant--

- And you want it
delivered on medium format.

- Yes, I do, Mr. Bailey,

just like every other
photograph in "Vogue" magazine.

- All right, then.

- It is more than all right.

It is correct.

- Just one thing.

- Yes?

- Is it possible Jean
could wear sunglasses?

Just this once?

- I suppose she might, Bailey,

in a limited amount of exposures.

It is rather bright out and about today.

Well, see you there.

Door, Larry, door.

One step ahead, Larry, one step ahead.

- Thank you.

- What are you up to?

- Nothing.

(mellow jazz music)

- [Clare] Oh, Mrs. Vreeland,

congratulations on the new appointment.

- Ah, you know, new broom.

(Clare laughs)

And how are you enjoying
your stay, Lady Rendlesham?

- Well, photographer and model already

(speaking in foreign language).

Nothing we haven't dealt
with a thousand times.

- Mm.

(Mrs. Vreeland chuckles)

- Be sure to see me Friday.

- Friday it is.

The dress size is absolutely wonderful.

Taxi, please.

Now, the scarf, I think,

is the absolutely piece de resistance.

Ah, now, aren't they wonderful?

I do love shopping in New York.

(Clare faintly speaking)

Thank you very much.

- [Larry] Here you go.

Lady Clare.

(camera snapping)

- Hello?

(camera snaps)

What on Earth are you doing?

- I'm shooting Jean in front

of the UN building using a tripod.

- [Clare] Yes, but this
thing's in the way.

- [David] Not really.

- Oh, no, yes, really.

Yes, positively.

It's in the way.

- Well, I can see through it.

Can you, Jean?

- Yes, I can see through it.

- I don't want to see through it.

If I wanted to see though a filthy fence,

I'd have gone to a filthy scrapyard.

- [David] Good idea.

Larry, see if there are any scrapyards

within a cab ride of here.

- Okay, sure.
- Larry, do no such thing.

- [Larry] Okay, sure.

- Mr. Bailey, I appeal
to you, omit the fence.

- Commit it?

- [Clare] Omit it.

- [David] Omit it?

- [Clare] Yes, leave it out.

- [David] Oh, I couldn't do that.

- Why not, pray tell?

- Because it's symbolic.

- Symbolic?

Of what?

- Old, rusty, been around a long time,

no use anymore, needs to be torn down.

Do I have to draw you a picture?

- Right, if we've finished
with this location,

I think we can move on.

We've got several more to complete...

You're not even shooting
on a proper camera.

- Oh, don't worry, I'll
get you your medium format.

- Quite how?

How?!

- Because I'm a bloody magician!

Abra-bloody-cadabra!

- I'm gonna telephone London about you.

- Oh, suit yourself.

- And I'm going to speak to the editor.

- Old girls united?

- About you and her,

and don't think you're going to be invited

to Mrs. Vreeland's soiree on Friday night.

- Shame.
- And I strongly suggest

you complete your schedule,

the Empire State and
the park before lunch.

Larry.
- I got you your--

- Oh, never mind about the ruddy tea,

just get me to the hotel, man.

- Taxi!

- Bye!

- She's not pleased, Bailey.

She'll make a lot of trouble.

Why are you doing this?

- Because it's important.

Because I hate her, I hate all of them.

- Bailey, if you hate them so much,

why do you want to be one of them?

- You what?

- You know what I mean.

You don't have to do this.

You could do something else.

- If you think I wanna be one of them,

one of them stuck-up twats--

- All I'm saying, Bailey, is--

- Jesus Christ, I wonder
why I even brung you here.

- All I'm saying--
- Look, if you've

got a problem, why don't
you go home to daddy

and cry about it?

- I can't.

Remember?

I'm the cheap tart who's having an affair

with a married man.

I can never go home ever again.

And you've dragged me out here
and put me on bloody trial.

And if she hates me, which she does,

and you hate me, which
you obviously do too,

then I have no bloody idea

what will happen to me in my life at all!

At all!

- You forgot your bloody teddy!

(somber music)

(telephone rings)

- [Clare] Hello?

- [Operator] Caller, we have
your international collect call

to London, England.

- Yes, yes.

- [Operator] Connecting you now.

- [Man] Hello?

- Hello, is that Miss Garland's office?

- No, Clare, it's John Parsons.

It's past five.

Ailsa's gone.

Oh, I saw your telex about Bailey.

- He's frightful, John.

He really is.

Low, rude.

I mean, there is a right
way to conduct things

and he's not subscribing
to it in the least,

he and the girl.

He's not even shooting on proper--

- [John] We have six or
seven star photographers.

But he does have a certain raw talent.

- Sorry, how did he do this?

- I don't know, Your Ladyship.

- How the hell is he turning
them into proper film?

- Long as he's delivering
in the appropriate way.

- [Clare] You should see these shots.

I'm having them expressed to you.

- Of course, listen, Clare,
I'll make some calls.

Do try and work together in the meantime.

- But he's impossible.

And this girl--

- Remember, Clare, we need this session.

If you don't feel able to complete it--

- I warned you about her.

- Shall I speak to Ailsa?

- You dare, John.

I'll handle this.

- Very well.

- And make sure Ailsa receives them.

She will agree with me.

(siren wailing)

- [David] Jean!

- What?

- You know I think you're beautiful.

- Hardly.

- No, I do.

(gentle piano music)

I think you're amazing.

You're Jean Shrimpton.

I can't take my eyes off you.

You have the longest, most elegant neck,

the most intense eyes.

You have a spine like a swan

and the most gorgeous
hands I've ever seen.

You have the longest legs, fantastic bum.

Every time I see your
toes, I want to kiss 'em.

(sighs)

- I don't have any bosoms.

- You're perfect.

You're Jean.

I can't do this without you, girl.

(camera snaps)
(Jean gasps)

- Bailey!
- What?

You look great.

Can't I take some snaps?

This place is great.

- But what if she finds out?

Won't she mind we're not

at the Empire State--
- She can't say nothing.

We're on lunch.

(gentle music)

- [Al] There you are, Mr. Bailey.

All in medium format now.

- Thanks, Al.

(camera snaps)

- You're welcome.
- Nice job.

- No.
(camera snaps)

Maybe.

No!

Never.

No!

No!

Not good enough, no!

(key clacking)

(key jingles)

- Ah, Jean.

Could us girls have a little chat?

Well, I feel neglectful.

Here we are in one of the
chicest cities in the world,

and I have spent no time at all

showing you the best of the place,

or my special access to
everything it happens to offer.

This is Lanvin.

They gave it to me at Glamour yesterday.

You should try it.

Suits you, when you
feel like being a lady.

(sighs)

All right, be difficult.

I expect that's what they
taught you at secondary modern.

- What do you want?

- I'm having a little
man trouble, sweetie.

This, I suspect, we do have in common.

Mm?

Not quite responding how
you'd like either, is he?

Thing is, we've wandered
a little off-piste

as far as the job's concerned.

Do you ski?

No, of course not.

But you should be very clear

that if we stray this far off the path,

one of us is going to get fired.

Me?

You?

Him?

Now, do you want it to happen to him?

Do you?

Just when he's doing so well?

Do you have any opinions about this?

Do you?

(screams)

Why can he not actually see,

why can he not actually
understand that I am an innovator,

that I am the only one
at that ruddy magazine

who can see, who can actually
see, where things are going?!

And to be treated like
I'm some super-annuated

Edwardian battleship...

I do apologize.

We're all a long way from home and--

- Leave it with me.

Give me 10 minutes.

- Should I follow?

- Yes, Larry, yes, do.

(people chattering)

- Come bearing a flag of truce.

- You mean her.

- I mean her.

- She means her.

- Like she can't talk for herself.

Like you have to go helping her.

What is this, posh girls stick together?

Miss Jean Shrimpton
shows her true colors--

- You know, at the bottom
of it, I think she's hurt.

- So?

- So fashion isn't just a job for her.

It's her birthright.

You know, she's supposed
to inherit the job

of deciding what's
beautiful, and what's not,

from all the other purebred
old ladies who went before her,

and maybe we're the end.

Bailey, me, you, us mongrels,

we're just the end of all that.

Wouldn't hurt to be a little nicer.

- What does she want?

- She wants a proper picture at the UN,

just one, like in the plan.

God, I need a coffee.

- What sort of picture?

- Nonspecific, but without
a chain-link fence.

Please?

- Tell her all right.

- Bailey, I knew you were a softie.

- Yeah, that's me all right.

(Jean laughs)
(Larry laughs)

(camera snapping)

- Bailey?

Bailey, are you sure about this?

- [David] Absolutely!

- But--
- But nothing!

I can't see an old
chain-link fence anywhere.

Can you, Larry?

- No, no, I don't see a chain-link fence,

probably because of the great
big sign about dog poop!

(group laughs)
(camera snapping)

- After I'd personally appealed to you.

- Look, you can't blame her.

It was me, it was my fault.

- We have to have a talk, don't we, David?

Because whilst I might be able to overlook

a small lapse or two,

even perhaps find humorous your campaign

of juvenile defiance,

I think it's pretty obvious
you've gone too far.

Now, I don't suppose you and
I are ever going to agree

on the nature of beauty, or elegance,

or anything important we're here to shoot,

so let's agree on some changes instead.

- I'm not changing nothing.

- In which case, I'm not saying

she has no redeeming features,

and I've tried very hard to like her,

but as one professional to another,

we have to save this assignment
and something has to give.

Now, if you are going to
insist on this grubby verite,

I've already been recommended

a number of professional girls

all with much more acceptable looks,

several of which whom I'm sure

will be available immediately.

- Is this a joke?

- Am I laughing, Mr. Bailey?

- You still don't get it, do you?

What Jean's got.

What all those other bloody
bints don't even come close to.

- Then perhaps you'd like to alter

some other aspect of the shoot personnel?

- You don't want Jean.

Up yours.

(gentle music)

- Your Ladyship?

I wanna apologize for my behavior

and I also want to reassure you

that they'll never be an
incident like that again.

- Good.

- [David] She's a bloody good model.

I ain't gonna work with no one else.

(sighs)

(phone rings)

- Mr. Bailey?

Alexander Lieberman.

I'm the senior creative
director over here.

Can we talk?

Walked out on her, huh?

Well, okay, fine.

It doesn't matter, then.

- What, what don't matter?

- I gotta say it, Mr. Bailey,

your pictures need more direction.

You're all over the place.

Now, I've had Clare
Rendlesham on the phone

about your choice of model

and I've been hearing some
pretty hair-raising stories

about the situation here.

- Who wants to see stiff
birds standing in stiff poses

that no one's ever stood
in in their lives?!

- Well, no one.

But you want to be William Klein?

You want to be Dick Avedon?

You're gonna have to do better

than sticking two English fingers
up to your fashion editor.

- I just wanna make something alive.

- Then go farm chickens, son.

This here is fashion.

It's a serious business
involving serious people.

Frankly, I'd have fired you a while ago.

- Now, look, mate,

first her, now you!
- Look at what?

I don't get it with you.

You're good.

You could be really good.

- [Mrs. Vreeland] No!

Boring, boring, boring!

Who else doesn't want to
work at Vogue anymore?!

(door slams)

- But you gotta pick your
battles a bit better.

(somber piano music)

(footsteps treading)

- Bailey?

- I blame Picasso.

When I saw Picasso, I
thought if you can do that,

you can do anything.

Maybe you can't.

Maybe I can't.

- What happened?

Is it about her?

What do you want to do?

- I don't know what I wanna do.

I have no idea, none.

- Why is it so important
to beat Lady Clare?

- Because I've been fighting
her all my bleeding life.

You're too posh to understand.

- I am not posh!

(door clacks)
- Let me have a look.

- I'm not posh any more than
you are, David Royston Bailey.

I am me and sometimes
when you go head-to-head

with that stupid woman, I wonder
if you even know I'm there.

- Oh, I know you're there, all right.

Christ, I know you're bloody there!

Can't exactly miss you, can I?!

- What is it?

What's the matter, Bailey?

- I sorta walked out.

- You what?

- She didn't like what we were doing.

- We?

You mean me.

You stupid man.

You absolute bloody idiot.

(gentle music)

You know I'd do anything for you.

Anything.

I don't care.

I really don't care.

But you do.

Where is she?

She here at the hotel?

- Jean!

- Thank you.

- Whatever you want, name it.

I'll do anything, be anything.

Just let him do his job.

- Lovely.

I think we'll do Fifth Avenue.

(slow jazz music)

- Well, that's it now.

Now roll your shoulder a bit.

That's it, a little lean.

Now, into the window.

Yeah, we're not quite there.
(camera snaps)

Stupid bloody hairdo.

- Very elegant.

A little higher with the teddy bear.

(camera snaps)
We'll need all the way

down toward, oh, that's wonderful.

Oh, today is going well.

- Yes, yes.

- A little bit more lapel,
please, Miss Shrimpton.

(camera snaps)
Perfect, done.

Right, now.

- [David] Hold it there, darling.

(camera snaps)

- Mr. Bailey.

- [Jean] Come on, Bailey,

we'll get through this, it's all right.

- I don't want it to be all right.

Didn't come all this way
for it to be all right.

Now, let's do it again,
and maybe this time,

the bags underneath your bloody eyes

won't show up so bloody much!

- Right, well, one more
little job left to do.

The Brooklyn Bridge, Larry.

- [David] Freezing.

Stupid thing's stuck to my hand.

- [Clare] Where's the view, Mr. Bailey?

- What?
- The view.

What is the point in a bridge, Mr. Bailey?

What is the point in this vast expanse

between these two islands,

if not to look back at
that wonderful vista?

Ah, like Norman Parkinson did in 1956.

- I'm not here to make postcards.

- [Clare] Sorry, what?

- [David] I said I'm not here
to shoot bloody postcards.

- No, we're here to do
exactly what I tell you to do.

- Oh, really?

- Yes, really.

So kindly point it in that direction.

- No.

Larry, could you get me
a cup of coffee, please?

- Okay, sure.

- Tea, Larry, China tea.

The bilge they call coffee
here is universally vile.

- Bailey.
- We'll have tea.

- Okay, yes, ma'am.
- Coffee, Larry.

American fucking coffee.

- [Larry] Mm-hm.

- All right, then, Jean, here we go.

- I order you to turn around.

- [David] Get off!

(camera snaps)

- Do it, now!
- Get the fuck off,

you stupid, stuck-up bitch!

- That is it, that is it!

You're fired!

I'm gonna have your contract incinerated!

- Jean, head up!
- You're never going to work

for Conde Nast ever again.

- I said higher, are you
bloody listening to me?!

- I knew it.
- Down with the bear!

- I knew it!

- Bailey.

- [Clare] And you will never--

- Bailey.

(David faintly speaking)

Bailey, please.

- Conde Nast was in debt.

- Bailey.

- And we are not in Hanover
bloody Square anymore!

- Bailey, please.
- Do you want to know

who runs me and you?!

Mrs. bloody Vreeland, that's who!

Runs!

Owns!

There's a new world
coming, with new rules,

where people will be applauded
and will be beautiful,

not because of who their daddy was,

but because of who they are, here and now,

in front of the camera!

You're dead and gone, you and
all your hoity-toity pals.

You just don't bloody know it yet.

- Lady Clare, the concession was shut,

so no tea or coffee, I'm sorry.

- We are leaving, Larry.

- Thank Christ for that!

Go polish your fucking tiara!

Jean?!

Jean?

Shit.

Jean?

Darling, Jean.

(phone rings)

- Hello, Ailsa Garland.

- Thank God.

I've been ringing and ringing all week.

Yes, it's about him.

Ailsa, he is just impossible.

He is an upstart of the worst, worst sort.

His ego.

Doesn't even know how to frame a shot.

He has no culture, he has no restraint.

He insists on using his girlfriend,
some snub-nosed parvenu,

who shudders and shakes
through every shot, the decors.

He just wants to rub us in the filth

he finds on every street corner.

And he seems to think that
being ridiculously young

is some justification.

I have to insist that he is removed.

Oh, you have?

- Yes, yes, they arrived yesterday.

- Oh!

Oh, that's marvelous.

That's wonderful.

Well, now you have the proof.

Now you can see.

You can see for yourselves how appalling--

- Clare, darling, listen
to me very carefully.

(somber piano music)

- Really?

Of course.

Consider it done.

Thank you, Ailsa.

(phone clacks)

- You all right?

(sighs)

Got a bit chilly up there.

I'm sorry.

(sighs)

Nice pics, though, my
last for that magazine.

Yeah, well, we gave her
what for, didn't we?

We showed the posh old tart.

You hungry?

You something else?

You ticked off?

Don't be like that, Jean.

Come on, let's go eat,

see a movie, have a giggle.

I'll get you a nice
towel, take care of you.

- No, you won't.

- Yeah.

Of course I will.

- No 'cause it's always me

that does the changing, isn't it?

Clothes, the hair, they
make me different somehow,

like a dressing-up doll.

But you, you don't change, do you?

I haven't changed you a
bit, none of this has.

Don't think you feel the same way about me

as I do about you.

You're too selfish and proud

and entirely yourself to manage it.

And I need you to, Bailey.

I want...

I deserve someone who
feels the same way about me

as I do about them.

So if you don't, then that's it.

Isn't it?

- I'll take care of you, all right?

(water splashes)

Fuck 'em.

Fuck 'em all.

I love you, Jean.

I always have.

(laughs)

- Oh, Bailey.

(gentle piano music)

(footsteps treading)

Ready.

- Did you...

Have you changed something?

- Oh, I suppose it just felt like me.

- Yeah.

Yeah, it is.

It's just like you.

Come on.

Let's say goodbye to Al before we go.

(sighs)

Well, Good Housekeeping pays more.

- Pet Fancier's Gazette pays more.

- Ain't really about the
money, though, is it?

- No.

No, it's not.

(door clacks)

- Nice day for it, Your Highness.

Bit bright, maybe?

- Oh, shut up, you little shit,

and shoot whatever trashy
nonsense you have in mind,

so we can get out of
this godforsaken latrine

and back to civilization.

- What, we're staying?

- We're not fired?

- You're to complete the assignment.

There is, apparently,
a refreshing vitality

and youthfulness in the material

conducive to newer and
younger readers of "Vogue."

She apparently, she's beautiful.

- Sorry, I'm a bit Mutt and Jeff.

She's what?

- Beautiful.

- Yeah, she bloody is.

One little problem.

I trashed the negs.

We have nothing.

Unless you sent some
copies home to Matron?

Larry, egg and chips all around.

- All right.
- That's cola.

- Egg and chips--
- Pancakes.

- Four egg and chips.

- What's that?
- Colas.

- Pumpkin pie.
(Jean laughs)

- Pumpkin pie.

- And an English tea for Lady Clare.

- [Larry] And English
breakfast if you have that.

- No, tea, Larry!
- Yeah, that is a tea.

Yeah, okay.
(both laugh)

(eggs sizzling)

(lively music)

- Lady Clare, come on, love!

Are you coming?

Get over there for some shots.

There, yeah.

(camera snapping)

There you go.

(both laugh)

Here we go now.

Here we go now, into the reflection.

(camera snaps)

(whistles)

(camera snaps)

(Clare mumbles)

- The one building in the entire city

of New bloody York without a lift.

Great.

Now he gets serious.

- Right, here we go, Jean.

Head up.

Lovely.

(camera snapping)

- Mrs. Vreeland, I must apologize

for the unkempt appearance--

- But they are adorable.

England has arrived.

Now, this is exactly what I have been

telling all you people about.

This is now!

Are you two married?

Don't you think they should be married?

(Jean laughs)

It would be so chic.

- I don't know about that.

- Maybe you picked the
right battle after all.

Call me.
- Turn around, turn around.

Who's the the dress by?

- The dress.

Did you want me to introduce you?

- Sure.
- Yeah, come on.

- I'm from the country.

Bucks.

- Bucks.
- Bucks.

- What is that, dollars?

- [Larry] Bailey, you want
to know this woman, okay?

- Hello, you all right?

So why do I wanna know you, then?

- [Mrs. Vreeland] Where did you find it?

- It was left over from the shoot.

- It's from Quant.

It's Mary Quant.

- Mary what?
- Mary Quant.

(upbeat music)

- What the hell is this rubbish?

- Don't know, some pop person.

Cliff Richard, probably.

Skiffle?

- I hate pop, and skiffle.

If I never have to shoot
a bloody pop star again,

it'll be too soon.

I tell you, this is gonna be
the best jazz decade ever.

- Mr. Bailey.

- Lady Clare?

- We should talk.

Perhaps I could offer you
some form of representation.

- [David] Let's have a coffee
and go around two o'clock.

- Jolly well done.
(receptionist clapping)

(group applauding)

(gentle piano music)