All language subtitles for The Last of Sheila

Thanks. Here are the keys.

What?

God damn it! Come on!
You're at a party, damn it!

Sheila, come on back!

Where the hell are you going?

- Sorry, Marty.
- No, she's all right.

He was my friend. No, he was my friend.
But he was a nice man.

- I don't want it now.
- Are you all right?

Guess what?

Your father has had his body defrosted
into life, and he wants this house back.

Almost.

Clinton requests our attendance
on his yacht for a week.

No kidding?

- Oh, God. Could it be?
- I wouldn't count on it.

No, I think he's just bored
and wants to play parlor games.

- But we'll go anyway.
- Ever the dreamer.

- Give me a sip of that.
- It's ginger ale. Do you want one?

Write something new.

Forget Freak Show.
Clinton's never gonna produce it.

And he's never going to give it
back to you.

Probably.

Okay. Who else besides me?

Both of them or just him? That's good.

No way. Yeah, well, who else is coming?

That's different. Of course I'll come.
We've been dying to sign her for months.

Hello? It's a bad connection here.

I said I have been dying
to see you for months!

Listen, what about Bridey Murphy?
Is she coming?

What do you mean, what do I mean?

This is the same B-group
that was at your house...

the night Sheila got bounced
through the hedges.

Yeah, well, I'm giving it to Joyce Haber:
"Clinton Green's Anniversary Wake."

That's what I said. It's not right for Haber.
We'll just keep it our secret instead.

I loved your... That's a piece of dreck.

I loved your wire
and I can't wait to see you, really.

I've lost 50 pounds. I'm a hollow reed.
Kiss, kiss.

Call Haber and give her the dish.
Disguise your voice as a woman.

"My year of mourning being over."
Is he kidding?

I mean, we went directly
to Streisand's opening at The Sands...

right from the cemetery.
Get me Freddie, will you?

Freddie, I want to go
to South France, honey.

Settle down, please, everyone!

Thank you. Now, girls, shall we try?

Big smiles, everyone.

- Britain's best bow-wows...
- Bark...

For Buffers.

- Very good...
- Phone, Mr. Dexter. It's your wife.

Yes, darling?

From whom?

Oh, good God!

- Bark!
- When?

Very good. Send a confirming telegram
from both of us.

Very well, then, from me.

Darling, I must hang up now.
One of my cast is peeing on my leg.

Something Garbo never did,
even at her moodiest.

Bye, now.

Sorry.

All right, everyone off. Once again, please.

Now animation. Wave the little tins.
Ready. Go!

- You ready, darling?
- Yes.

- Ready, gentlemen?
- Ready!

- Do you enjoy Rome?
- Do I!

- I enjoy Rome for countless reasons.
- Why do you leave?

I've just finished my picture
starring Kirk Douglas and I'm exhausted.

- And the heat.
- Where do you go?

For a week on the yacht
of a famous producer.

I'm not afraid. My husband
will be there to protect me.

But I'm afraid our plane
will leave without us.

If you gentlemen will excuse us.
No, grazie.

No!

He didn't mean anything...

You don't do commercials
for liquor companies.

Why can't we just go on a vacation
like normal people?

Let's board.

I don't want to leave the luggage,
and I ain't carrying it three feet.

- Is your back okay?
- Yeah, so far.

I pray it stays that way
and that Clinton stays in a good mood.

Where is everybody?

You don't think they're below
playing sardines or something, do you?

I'll bet Clinton's got games planned
for every day.

Just as long as he sticks to the days
and leaves us some nights for ourselves.

Hey! Tommy! Lee!

It's a mistake!

What do you think, gang?
Thrilled, pleased, disappointed?

It's fabulous, Clinton.

I didn't know you were coming.

- You're thrilled about it.
- I'm delighted.

Clinton can take his frustrations out
on you.

But he's always sorry after it.

- How are you, Tom?
- Hey, C.G.

- Tom, how was your flight?
- Flight was good.

All right, people. Let's line up by the prow.

- What is this, a pogrom?
- Now, come on.

- When do you wish to sail, Signor Green?
- When do I wish to sail?

Let's get out of this joint tout de suite.

All right, gang, let's line up right here.
Husbands and wives separate.

Lee, between Alice and Anthony.
Right in here.

Philip, you there. Christine.

Tom, on the other side of Christine.

Left profile, darling.

He's Italian.

I took the wrong three weeks of Berlitz.
All I know is scusi and pronto.

Pronto will be enough.

All right, let's smile,
or whatever you people do for a living.

Take that hat off, Christine.

All right, now squeeze in close.

Come on. Squeeze in close
or you'll be out of the picture.

And I don't mean this one.

Perfect!

A study of six hungry failures.
Just kidding, gang.

He'll watch his mouth
when you sign with me. When is lunch?

Come on, people.
Vittorio will show you to your cabin.

I hate my luggage more than life.

- Whose is this?
- That's ours.

Vuitton from rewriting
spaghetti westerns?

- What's Vuitton?
- Good.

Who did this room, Parker Brothers?

Sometimes it rains.

- What's the scoreboard for?
- That's for later.

Sorry.

That's all right. That's what they're for.
It's only Sheila's favorite.

All right. Everybody...

down to the latrines for a shave, shower,
or douche, depending on your hang-up.

I think it's fabulous, Clinton.

This is the bathroom.

- You like it?
- It's really beautiful.

What period would you say
it was, Clinton?

Louis XXXIV.

Come on, gang,
let's get this show on the road.

It's fabulous, Clinton. Absolutely fabulous.

- It's like your mother's.
- It's like our maid's.

Tom, Lee, you have to share a john.
Get to know each other.

- Philip.
- Come on, love, let's try it out.

- What's for me, something special?
- Yes.

Can't wait to see it.

I love it! But where does the crew sleep?

Alice and Anthony got the double because
he didn't want her sulking for six days.

- And because he knew you wouldn't sulk.
- Everything with Clinton is points.

Understand? Points.

- Do you understand?
- Too well.

I don't mind Clinton, you know.
I just don't want him running our lives.

Wonderful. Anthony and Alice
have brought their cassette player.

- Bottled water?
- Cabin-o five-o, capice?

Nice little ass,
but I think he's afraid of me.

Now, what do you think we're doing here?

- You're here, too.
- Clinton's project.

Which is?

He's been hinting about making a picture
on the life and death of Sheila Green.

- That is truly bizarre.
- No, not really.

She's still a compulsive subject
with Clinton.

But he never really cared about her.

Yes, he did. He cared about her very much.

He cared a lot about her
Arizona real estate holdings...

which we are sailing on right now.

Finding the guy who hit her
is just another game with Clinton.

Absolutely. But what a game.

And now Tom gets to write it,
Philip gets to direct it...

and what's her face...
I mean my new client, Miss Alice Wood...

gets to thrill you as Sheila Green,
who rose from call girl to columnist.

Listen, just do me this.

Minutes from now, when Clinton talks
about this, and he will, just be surprised.

Well, I'm thinking of calling it...
Don't be shocked now.

The Last of Sheila.

Fox and Paramount are interested.
It's the perfect woman's picture.

Every bit as big as Love Story.

Except she never gets to play
that good hospital scene.

I think it's the picture
we've been waiting for.

If we're available, of course.

Provided they're not opening a new
shopping center in Anaheim, you will be.

Two hours to game time, gang.

Let me describe
the week's entertainment for you.

The last time I played a game
was charades...

At my house, the night Sheila was killed.

- As a matter of fact, everyone here was...
- Was there.

Except Lee. You were home
sick in Santa Barbara, you said.

No, I was home, sick
of Santa Barbara, I said.

I like any game
where you don't have to move.

Well, you don't have to for this one
if you're smart enough.

- Meaning?
- Well, it's sort of...

I call it "The Sheila Green
Memorial Gossip Game."

- Sounds fascinating.
- And I haven't even described it yet.

- I couldn't. I'm stuffed.
- Now, I've dreamed up odds...

- Can't you take a joke? Come here.
- Pay attention, please.

I dreamed up six secrets,
one for each of you.

Six little pretend pieces of gossip.

Now keep them secret.

Give me.

- Can we look at them?
- It'll help.

How do you think these things up?

"This one's only taken me
a month to prepare, he said modestly."

- It's marvelous.
- It's what I've always wanted to be.

It says, "You are a snoop."

No, don't throw it away. Keep them
till Saturday. And don't show them.

Anybody who wants to peek
at mine gets a kiss.

What's the game?

The idea is to discover everybody's secret.
Without peeking, of course.

And prevent the others
from discovering yours.

And how do we do that?

Every day, we'll park in a different port...

where you can discover
the proof of one person's secret.

I'll announce what secret it is to look for
and give you a clue...

which will tell you what to do
and where to go on shore.

Now, if you solve the clue properly,
it'll lead you to where the proof is.

Suppose you announce,
let's say, "pyromaniac."

Let's say that's my secret.
Why should I bother looking for the proof?

Because when the person
whose secret it is discovers the proof...

I'll put a card out saying
the game for that evening is over.

And those who haven't found it
don't score, right?

Right. If you could direct
as fast as you catch on to games...

you'd never be a has-been again.

- What do we get if we win?
- Better billing.

Let's play!

According to the old pizza slinger
that runs this tub for me...

the launch will be back
to pick you up at 7:00 p.m.

That's when you'll get your clue
for this evening.

- For whom are we looking tonight?
- The person with the shoplifter card.

Vittorio!

All right, who's got the shoplifter card?

Come on. We're not gonna
really do this, are we?

Run around this bombed-out backwater
with a silver key up our tokhes?

It probably means
that you're the shoplifter.

Is this the only clue we're gonna get?

- It must open a door somewhere.
- Brilliant.

It's a game.
I thought you were going to enjoy it.

Vittorio, honey, I wanna talk to you.
If we're playing...

Stop coming on to Vittorio, Christine.

He doesn't know what the key means
any more than you do.

It's my secret!

Everybody got their key?

Vittorio will be back
to pick you up again at 10:00 sharp.

Be on the docks by that time...

or you'll have to swim back to the boat
through the oil slick and the beer cans.

And no conferring.
This is an individual competition.

Quit pouting, Alice.

You're having a terrific time.

Kill.

Don't hate me. I followed you.

I know it's against the rules,
but we could knock this off together.

You know, actually, I speak a little frog.

- Christine.
- Just don't tell Clinton I did it, okay?

Look at this chintzy toast rack.

Maybe it's a letter holder.
What do you think?

I think Steve and Eydie would love it.

How much is it?

90 francs. What is that? 90 divided by five?

- Merci.
- Are you kidding? That is $18.

I think that's outrageous.
Where'd she go? Lee!

I'd very much like to be allowed
to compare...

this key with the keys of your rooms,
if that's all right with you.

Lee, what did you find? Lee, wait for me!

- What did you find?
- I'll give you a hint.

The word in French for key is clet.
C-L-E-F. Get it?

Don't tell Clinton I told you, okay?

- I never saw that one before.
- She's probably a war baby.

I knew this hotel was an at-cay ouse-hay.

It's the same key
that whore had on the corner.

Which corner, madam?

- Don't touch the dummy, dummy.
- Jesus.

Figure out what happened
and get your buns out of here...

- before one of the other dodos comes in.
- All right.

Tick-tock.

Obviously, this is the shoplifter's room.
Everything still has a price tag on it.

Yawn.

And this is a detective whom he's killed.

And this bottle of perfume is a clue
to the shoplifter's identity.

Do you move your lips when you read?

Perfume, scent, money.

No. French money is francs, not cents.

Chanel No. 5.

Very good, Clinton.

Where did you get the money?

Here are all the known photographs
of the brutal shoplifter...

who has terrified the sniveling merchants
of the Riviera for the past 20 years.

Here is the only headshot
taken by Bruno of Hollywood.

Clinton, I'm dazzled! Closed circuit?

What did you think it was, black magic?

Is this it?

- Oh, my God! What is that?
- Don't get your hopes up, darling.

It's not our host,
who's standing behind the door.

You go play pinball machines.

- Have fun.
- Now, now. See you at 10:00.

- You get it?
- Not yet.

I could give you a hint.

I want to figure this one out all by myself.

You seem a little worried. You okay?

I'm fine.

Go on, get out of here, you shoplifter.

Here is the only headshot
taken by Bruno of Hollywood.

- I found the proof. What now?
- We get out of here.

Ketchup's beginning to attract silverfish.

- Don't hit me.
- No. Thank God you speak French.

Listen. Did you get fixed up
with one of the go-go boys in there?

Are you kidding me?

I spent the last hour ditching guys...

who thought I was offering them
the key to my hotel room.

Hotel.

Fellows, I got the key. I knew it would...

Any of you guys belong
to a '57 Dodge pickup truck?

Shit!

Not here, for God's sake.

Everybody's walking around. Listen.

I want to see you tonight.
I'd like to talk to you.

It's about this game.

I know we said we'd be careful...

but I don't think anybody will be
on the top deck. I mean late.

Hi, bunny.

You mean there's no such thing
as 18-karat silver?

No, gold, my dear. Only gold.

If I'd been thinking more clearly...

I wouldn't have wasted 15 minutes
in some masseuse's apartment...

while she showed me her scrapbooks
from World War II.

- Is it your back?
- Yes. All that running around.

All right, Brownie troop,
I just want to ask you two questions.

Who solved it, and how many?

- Didn't you, sweetie?
- No talking about the game.

I'll be more into it tomorrow night.

You'd better be, honey,
or Sandra Dee will be playing Sheila.

- Terrific!
- Go tell them to turn it down.

Are you mad? I'm not gonna
play housemother to those two.

- Alone at last.
- Not while Clinton's...

Good Lord. I was gonna say
not while Clinton's on board...

and it came out "not while Clinton's alive."

Boy, you don't forgive easy.

I've lived around Clintons all my life,
starting with Daddy.

That same hearty way of bringing people
to their knees...

- and then handing out little presents.
- Like this job.

- Why are you doing this?
- Come on.

She wants a bigger bed.

Point noted.

Come over here.
Let's forget Clinton for a while.

And starlight
filled the corners of the room.

- You're an incurable romantic.
- It's curable.

I swear to God, I'm not. That's it.

- What's that all about?
- Turn off your questing mind for a while.

We went through a shuffle
at the model agency, and I was broke.

Jean wasn't keeping me anymore,
and I don't know...

suddenly I just got this urge
to take something, anything.

I told myself it was because I was broke...

but really, it was just this urge.

So I ripped off a leopard coat.

Big brown buttons and slash pockets.

Poor thing. But, of course, I got caught.

"Would you please accompany me
to the manager's office?" they said.

And you know who got me out of it?

No, scratch that.
We know how jealous you get, don't we?

Anyway, I got bailed out
and nobody knew.

But nobody knew me then.
That's why I was so out of it tonight.

Clinton swore to me
it was just a coincidence...

but, you see, it's not just me.

Look, darling.

You see?

And I thought of you.

And I thought that Clinton's got
something on each of us.

He's just mixed up the cards, that's all.

It's rotten.

But I'd like to know what the others are.

I wonder what he's got for Anthony.

That's the thing about secrets.

We all know stuff about each other.
We just don't know the same stuff.

How did he find out?

Sheila, probably.

Have you got the shoplifter card?
That would be ironic.

You won't tell.

What card do you have?

How will you get through this trip...

without jumping on my bones
and eating me alive?

What card do you have?

Please? Tell me.

Please.

Is she still upset?

- Talk about a body.
- Please don't.

She's looking upset again.

That's because she doesn't like games.

- She always loses.
- Will you stop it?

Why don't you go down the hall
and get yourself a job?

You're so mean to me.
Isn't she mean to me?

Boo-hoo.

Jesus.

You started without me.

Lee, my darling, what are you doing
out here at this ungodly hour?

Have I ever told you how sweet
you were to me when I was a child?

Nothing could have been simpler.

I mean it.
At Daddy's legendary Sunday lunches.

I can still see you
on Olivia de Havilland's lap.

It's funny, you know.
She was one of the few people...

that Sheila ever had anything good
to say about.

Couldn't you sleep?

Yes, if I took a Seconal,
which I'd rather not do just yet.

Lord, I hope that Clinton
really does intend to do this movie.

Tom has done nothing but rewrite jobs
for so long now.

Need I tell you the two years we've tried
living off Clinton's options on Freak Show.

Hardly paid for the pool maintenance?

If a glass of second-rate brandy
at this hour...

might excuse a certain tactlessness...

why don't you dip into capital
and produce your own picture?

Private finance
is not that uncommon nowadays.

Can you imagine
how Tom would feel about that?

Heigh-ho, gang.

Going over your hand signals
for the bridge tournament?

How'd I feel about what?

If after a sudden blackout,
we all discovered we were dead...

as a result of some terrible crash
and were on our way to the great beyond.

- With Clinton as God.
- Yes.

Give me a sip of that.

- It's bourbon.
- Right.

Well, I hear that calisthenics
are at 8:00 sharp.

We wouldn't want to incur disfavor
at this point, would we?

Good night.

He's a nice man.

Come on back down.

- I only had one.
- Don't worry about it.

Let's just get some sleep.

I'd kill myself for a hot bath.
Clinton has the only tub.

- You want one of these?
- I may not need it, Doctor.

- What's the matter?
- I don't know.

There's something going on.
I'm getting some strange vibes.

- I'm gonna have a talk with Clinton.
- At this hour?

He never sleeps, like Dracula.

He hasn't had a good eight hours
since the night Sheila was killed.

Do you think
we'll ever hear the last of Sheila?

Tommy, let's just make this movie,
and put the money in mutual bonds...

and go home.

Go to sleep, dear boy.

They'll give us conflicting reports
about it in the morning.

Clinton, I've been thinking on the subject
of managing Alice's career.

I mean, we do think of her career
as our career. But still, my...

My aspirations do run closer
to the production end of things...

if you know what I mean.

Production, casting, et cetera.

What would you say,
and please, be absolutely frank...

to me asking you...

for an associate producership
on this upcoming film?

What would I say?

I would say...

"Boo-hoo."

There's nothing worse
than a hustler with bad timing.

Crissy, put a little of this
on my back, will you?

I'd really love to,
but it would throw my schedule off.

I have to do 25 minutes on my front today.

To make up for the 25 minutes
you spent on your back last night.

Honey, put some gunk on her back,
will you? We don't want her to burn.

Anyhow, as I was saying,
they shoot you full of these rhino tranqs...

and then they wrap you
in these hot sheets.

You wake up five days later
about 30 pounds thinner...

and screaming for hot turkey sandwiches.
I mean, it's...

- You listening to me?
- Kind of.

I'm here because I've got a client to keep
and one to get. What's your excuse?

I'm trying to hold on to a husband
who's trying to hold on.

With your money?

I like you best alone.

People have been telling me that for years.

You know that guy on the corner...

who winds up his little mechanical men,
and they run crazily around?

- I'm that guy.
- Oh, Clinton.

"Oh, Clinton," what?

- I'm sorry.
- You're sorry, what?

I'm sorry Anthony
didn't handle that better.

Cut. Print.

Vittorio!

Christine, the crew are having their naps.

Jesus! Watts, Pakistan,
and now naps for sailors?

Honey, would you drop me down a Tab?

My mouth is so dry I feel like
they could shoot Lawrence of Arabia in it.

You know, Christine just said
that her mouth is so dry...

- they could film Lawrence of Arabia in it.
- Right.

Tommy! Come on in.

Tell us about the rewrite you did
on Fistful of Lasagna...

or whatever the hell it was.

You never talk about your work.
Why is that?

Philip, listen. I've been mulling over
the opening sequence.

What do you think?
We zoom in close on a sleeping bag...

somewhere in the Pacific Northwest,
right?

It's Sheila's mother in labor.

Think it'll play?

Sorry, Clinton, I didn't quite get that.
Shall we play what?

Jesus, go back to sleep, Lee.

Stand up, Christine!

I hope you were taking movies.

Where's your robe?

Get her a drink.

Look at me. I got a new hairstyle.

Get me a glass of water
and a couple of lesbians.

Did you hear what I said?

My, that was limpy.

What's the matter with you people?

I'm so tired. I just have to take a nap now.

Wake me up when the credits are over.

- Is she okay?
- Yeah, she's all right.

Vittorio, God damn you, where are you?

All right! You listen.
You've got some explaining to do.

Don't you know enough
not to turn those eggbeaters on...

when we're ditching around out there?

This is a goddamn luxury cruise,
not an obstacle course!

Look, I've been asking around,
and none of us...

was in sight of any of the others
for just those few seconds.

- Alice claims to have been in her cabin.
- I was in the lounge with Guido.

- Lee was on the top deck.
- I was in my cabin.

According to the rules of the genre,
we should now be looking for a motive.

Even Clinton could have climbed up
the other ladder and started the engines.

Not pawing through
my bag of tricks there, are you, Dad?

No, Clinton.

- Trying to get my attention?
- It's my back.

Don't you slip a disc.

No, don't answer that.

We don't want this topic
to degenerate into the discussion phase.

Take a pill. Vittorio, get my friend
two blue with the purple stripe.

- Maybe if I stayed out of tonight's game.
- Jesus, I'd really hate that.

But qu� ser�. As long as you're ready
for Saturday night, which is your biggie.

- Saturday?
- Yes.

You like it?

I love it.

Tiny islands fascinate my ass.
I've got this crazy broker in London...

that sends me these brochures on
all the islands for sale all over the world.

Little impoverished islands.
A few thousand dollars cash...

and you're practically king
to six shepherds and their families.

Or whatever.

I read every word on every island.
Then you know what I do?

I tear them neatly in half
and drop them in the wastebasket.

Then I say to myself...

I'm still weak, Clinton,
but I'm eating solid food.

I say to myself, "If there's one thing I hate,
it's to have my island speech interrupted."

I say to myself:

"No, you poor people...

"you don't deserve a good king like me."

That's what I say.

Three hours to magic time. Bye-bye!

Heidi-ho, gamesters!

Everybody on the deck.

There they are.

It really touches me, the way
you people humor me day after day.

Here they are, gang,
your clues for this evening.

Read them and weep. Good work, Tom.

All right, the launch will be back
to pick you up at 8:20 sharp. Be ready.

Hey, Clinton! Who are we looking for?

Tonight, the homosexual.

In a monastery?

Where else?

"The isle off the Church of Saint Pierre."

Shouldn't that... That must be "of." "O-F."

"This isle, now largely uninhabited
by modest fisher folk...

"was once the domain...

"of the devastating monastery
of forgotten men..."

- This must be a put-on, yeah?
- Clinton's fine Italian hand.

"Travelers engulf from many lands...

"to the site of
this former 11th century refuge...

"of perverts, onanists, catamites...

"and other riffraff of the day."

We have just 15 minutes.

Just enough time for me to get dressed
as a catamite, if I knew what it was.

Right.

Honey, I know this isn't the kind of junk
you keep in your head, but...

But what?

Can you ever remember hearing
any gossip about Alice being arrested?

For taking something from a shop.

I'm going to grab a quick shower
before we take off. Just be a minute.

Okay?

Do you think there's a homosexual
aboard the yacht?

God, I don't know.
Is there a dividing line today?

Don't patronize me.

Patronize? Is that the word
you really mean?

- What's the matter now?
- I'm sorry.

- Is this game only a game?
- I'll be right out.

I'll be up on deck.

It's all rather like a Hammer film, isn't it?

He's got the sound department
working overtime.

It's weird.

And I'm scared.

"In these ruins, monks' robes
must be worn at all times...

"in respect for the departed brothers."

I fear it's to be a costume party.

"The evening tour commences at 9:00 p.m.
and ends at 9:30 p.m., regardless.

"To begin before
will enrage the spirit of Fra Pervertus.

"The vows of silence must be observed.
So keep..."

So keep what? What does it say?

I don't like that at all.

What time is it?

It begins.

That's Clinton.

- All we have to do is find him.
- Vows of silence.

It's the sound of music, for God's sake.

How are we supposed to know
which place to look for him?

We're wasting time.

Clinton, what am I supposed to do?

Listen, I know it's you.

I heard you cough.

Now, the others there,
they're on tape. Right?

That's disgusting.

- But clever.
- You'll ruin it.

You're supposed to be Alice, obviously.

And you're supposed to be
on the other side, so I can use the slider.

- Much more effective but the door's stuck.
- God damn it!

How'd you find me so fast?

That "isle off the church" pun
in the brochure.

- Not up to par, Your Eminence.
- I'll fix the door.

They must have loused it up
when they moved it.

- Can I help?
- No, just piss off...

my son.

God damn you!

For shame.

Damn.

Wanna kiss me?

You could do with a little more rouge.

- Is the volume too high out there?
- Too low, if anything.

Shit, nothing's going right.

Maybe if I open the door
to the chapel a little wider?

Ollie, Ollie, oxen free!

Just give us the news, please.

Come out, wherever you are.

Am I the first?

What do I do now?

Clinton, don't leave me.
I hate being scared.

Scared.

Then Alice has the homosexual card.

Just keep your voice down
and get the hell out of here.

Clinton, this is just the best game
I've ever played.

Darling, it's brilliant. It's really brilliant.

Hello?

Clinton? Is somebody there?

What's going on?

That's not fair. Clinton, you can't do that.

Vittorio thought that Guido
had picked him up and vice versa.

But he's not in port,
and he hasn't slept in his bed.

- It's part of the game. It's a clue.
- He hasn't filled in the scoreboard.

Maybe he's still
romping around Dragonwyck.

Or perhaps lying in a box of earth
with a stake through his heart.

He seemed edgy last night.
The door was stuck.

- The cassette wasn't loud enough. And...
- What door?

- The confessional...
- "Loose lips sink ships."

Who cares about the game at this point?
Something's flooey. Now, where is he?

That's funny.

Out! Just out!

Apparently, there is a God.

- Don't touch anything.
- I won't.

It must have been the storm.

Loosened the stone.

- What do we do with the ladies?
- Tell them to wait.

Shouldn't we notify the authorities?

On an island with two caf�s and a weaver?

- Something's wrong.
- I hope you brought your fingerprint kit.

I see Clinton finally got this door open,
breaking it in the process, as usual.

- Alice is sick.
- Oh, dear.

We're going back.

What?

A vital clue?

Clinton didn't smoke cigarettes.

There's no seaplane.

The police will arrive late tonight
or early in the morning by craft.

It takes six to eight hours.
We will harbor here until.

Good. Thank you very much, Captain.

I guess that means
an inquest and reporters.

- You better get your left profile ready.
- Shut up, Christine.

They can't very well
bury him at sea, can they?

No, there's too much pollution
in the Mediterranean already.

Poor Clinton. It's such a shame.

It would have been such a big grosser
for him: The Last of Sheila.

Hey, now, he's dead.

How can you sit around here
and talk about some goddamn movie...

and he's dead... Will you stop
hawking that ice bucket?

I'm just gonna
have my Bloody Mary straight up.

Me, too. Bourbon.

Christine, listen,
Clinton's misadventure is unfortunate...

but an accident is an accident,
and a film is a film.

Has it occurred to anybody
that this isn't the first accident?

Yesterday, the propeller.
Last night, the stone.

What do you mean?

Suppose the propeller wasn't an accident.
Suppose it was a mistake.

You mean someone
was trying to kill Clinton?

- Why should anyone want to kill Chris?
- Yeah, we're not in Hollywood.

Come off it, Tom.

Look, I assumed Clinton was swimming
near the propeller. I heard him yelling.

- Didn't you? Didn't we all?
- What fantasies are you building?

Who did not solve the game last night?

Why did you say "that's funny" when
we were standing outside the chapel?

Because it was locked
when I left last night.

Then why was it unlocked this morning,
and why did Clinton put the sign out?

Because the game was over.

It was, but it shouldn't have been.

I had the homosexual card, and the game
should have gone on until I found him.

Exactly. There were
some interesting points in the chapel.

Interesting how?
Obviously, he was leaving.

The storm shook the place
and the stone fell on him.

Not unless he was crawling.

Why would he be crawling?

The stone that fell on Clinton's head
came from the base of the column.

It was grooved.

The tops of the columns are shaped like
acanthus leaves, the bottoms are grooved.

Interesting point number one.

Then, there was that piece of wood.

What's that?

I found it in the folds of Clinton's robe.

It's from the grille
on the door to the priest's box.

Interesting point number two.

I didn't see any grille on the priest's door.

- Right. You never found him, you said.
- What do you mean, he said?

There was a grille last night,
but not this morning.

That grille was removed. Why?
Where's the rest of it?

And what was this doing
in the priest's box?

Clinton didn't smoke cigarettes.

Newport.

I'm not the only one
who smokes Newports.

Come on. There are cartons
all over the ship.

- I'm smoking one.
- What's the difference?

- Did you smoke in there?
- No.

- You?
- I never found him.

Of course. I forgot.

- Honey?
- I don't know. I don't remember.

- But surely not in the priest's box.
- Of course not.

Interesting point number three.
A cigarette nobody smoked.

I don't think Clinton died near the pillar
at all. I think he died in the priest's box.

And not from a stone falling or otherwise.

So what do you think happened?

I think he was about to leave
when somebody came in.

I am not saying one of us.

Somebody came in,
smashed through the grille...

With what, pray tell?

I don't know.
Maybe something he brought with him.

- He or she.
- The candleholder, perhaps.

Crossed my mind.

Maybe it was an accident.

Maybe. But at any rate, he decided
to make it look like an accident.

I'm theorizing that he or she
stood there for a moment...

assessing the situation,
which would account for the cigarette.

Slipped the sign under the door so
there wouldn't be any more interruptions.

Dragged Clinton over,
placing him near the pillar...

smashed the stone down,
thereby making his first mistake.

He assumed the stone was
from the top of the column. It wasn't.

But there was very little light.

Now, he had the problem of the wood.

What problem?

Darling, he couldn't very well
leave the grille broken.

He hoped, with the frame empty,
it would go unnoticed.

Unfortunately, second mistake:
One piece had lodged in Clinton's robe.

The only thing left then was to get rid of
the splintered pieces: probably in the sea.

And the game was over.

Hell, I think we can agree
that none of us did it, can't we?

I mean, who would?

I really mean, who wouldn't?
But who really would?

Right. After all, we're not
the only people around.

What about some of the weirdoes
on this ship? What about Vittorio?

That's not what Tom has been saying.
Tom has been saying...

that one of us did it.
Or haven't you been listening?

- Hold it.
- I don't care, that's your problem.

Hold it, please. I'm sorry, I was
only exploring. I haven't accused anyone.

Yet.

Look, let me just get this out.

Five minutes, and then I'm gonna have
five scotches and take a long nap.

- You think you know who?
- No.

Then stop telling us what you don't know
and tell us what you do.

There is someone
who might clear this up for us.

- Who?
- Clinton.

So help me God, if this is a hoax
and he comes through that door...

I'm gonna throw this cut glass ashtray
right in his face.

There's no hoax. Clinton's dead all right.

Just say what's on your mind.

- Okay.
- May I have another?

I think it's tied up to the game
we've been playing this week.

Do you have the cards
he handed out the first night?

We passed it.
I have no idea where mine is.

All right. I'll go and look for it.

Thanks.

I wonder what we're gonna feel like
an hour from now.

When Tom's finished writing the scene,
I'll tell you what attitude to play.

I've done it before, you know.

I'm beginning to wish
I hadn't started all this.

You could stop right now.

It's gonna be interesting.

Thank you.

All right. Now, if everyone
will please put their cards...

if you'll pardon the expression,
on the table.

There's only five there.
Where's the other one?

- Tom?
- I'll show mine in a minute.

I'd like to see it now.

Give him a chance.

All right.

We all knew about two of these secrets.
We've already played them.

"Shoplifter" and "homosexual."

The others, we're seeing for the first time.

"Ex-convict." "Informer." "Child..."

Excuse me. "Little Child Molester."

And mine.

So, this was Clinton's idea
for a week of fun.

Him assigning us secrets,
us discovering them.

And it was a good game.

But some of us began to suspect
there was more to it than met the eye.

That Clinton had not assigned
these six secrets at random...

but that each player had been,
at one time in his life...

guilty of one of them.

Oh, no.

Not guilty of the secret he was assigned.

Clinton was a far more elegant
game player than that.

And he didn't want us refusing to play
on the first night...

which we well might have done
had we been assigned our own secrets.

So it was more than a game.

It was a private joke.

- What does your card say?
- In a minute.

A man is dead.

Evidence indicates that it's murder.

And we've discovered...

the murdered man was playing
a sadistic game with his guests.

A game whose central theme
was six hidden shreds from the past.

Any questions?

Yeah, but you see
he knew that I never meant to...

Christine, wait.

That's bullshit!

Nobody would have knocked Clinton's
brains in because of some stupid secret.

I agree.

Look at these cards.
Enough to make us squirm. Sure.

Enough to remind us
of just how nasty Clinton could be. Sure.

But enough to kill him?

No.

Do let's see your card, old boy.

"Hit-and-run killer."

- What is this sick joke?
- No.

Clinton always took his games seriously.
He wouldn't have spoiled this with a joke.

It seems clear enough he believed
one of us guilty of a hit-and-run killing.

Sheila.

The game was to be Clinton's revenge.

- On?
- The person whom he thought...

but couldn't prove,
to be guilty of Sheila's death.

On the last night, Saturday, my turn,
he was gonna pull the plug on that person.

How do you know?

He told me yesterday
when he gave me the pill for my back.

Okay, everybody.

What are you waiting for?
Let's all get up and run around in a circle.

This is musical chairs, isn't it?
Isn't that what this is, musical chairs?

In Tom's mind, anyway.

Why, it's just
one of Tom's damn fantasies.

But you're all still here.

Okay...

I'll start.

I had a thing with Clinton.

It wasn't much more
than me feeling sorry for him.

It didn't last long.

And it's in the past now.

More than ever, right now.

Tom, am I just being slow?

Are you claiming that homosexual card,
meaning you're in the clear?

Because I don't know
about the rest of you.

And I'm in no position to challenge
your little story, charming as it was.

But then it's equally true that Clinton
could've come up with dirty half-truths...

about you, you, you, or any of us.

I mean, what gives you
the exclusive right to that card?

Fair enough. I just looked at the cards
and saw only one that applied to me.

If the same is true of you, Anthony,
then that's another story.

And it may mean
that Clinton's game is invalid.

Well?

Are you trying to say
I'm a homosexual now?

Nobody says you're anything.

I just looked at the cards
and said I was the homosexual. That's all.

But that was in the past.

They're all in the past.

Anybody want to say anything?

I mean, if ever there was an "unofficial
investigation," this is it, right?

Or should I tell you that Lee and I
once heard rumors...

about a shoplifting incident
concerning somebody in this room?

Okay.

Thanks.

Shoplifter, that's me. It's the only one.

I stole a coat. Et cetera, et cetera.

Don't look so shocked, Anthony.

I'll swipe you some ID bracelets
and you'll forget all about it.

All right.

Me for the five scotches.

- Tom, if I may?
- Sure.

That leaves the other four of us
somewhat dangling, wouldn't you say?

Hello.

What can I say? I was a secretary,
and I was just too eager.

So I dropped a few names to the House
Un-American Activities Committee.

Then those people didn't work for a while.
Now they work.

Sometimes I try and get them work.

Sometimes I see them on the street,
and sometimes they cross the street.

So what?

- There is one thing that confuses me.
- Shoot.

I'm just pursuing a thought,
you understand? But as I see it...

the logical person
to have killed Clinton is you...

- because...
- Because... No, go ahead.

- I need some ice.
- That's right.

Because no one else felt so threatened.
You were the only one...

Who knew
about the hit-and-run killer card.

I was the only one meant to know about it.

Clinton would never have given that card
to the person he thought to be the killer.

I was horrified when I saw the card.
I spoke to Clinton about it.

He laughed. Said he just made up
a lot of melodramatic secrets.

But I'm guessing
the killer overheard our conversation...

and understood Clinton's real motive.

You're cold, Tom.

You think it's me, don't you?

Your wife was 100 miles away...

and your sophisticated director friend here
seems cool enough...

but I'm a little nervous.

- Besides, you dislike me too much.
- I have no reason to dislike you.

- I feel it, though.
- Anthony, I don't think this is the moment.

I think it's the moment.
My moment. Time for my theory.

Now, today, we saw all the cards
for the first time.

It didn't take us long
to find the truth in three of them.

And your mind worked fast.

I could almost hear it ticking over
as you quickly labeled Lee...

the ex-convict,
arrested in some anti-war rally.

Sentence suspended sort of thing.
And Philip here?

He can kid his way along
with some witty child molester jokes.

And that leaves me.

I've done time.

I've been in prison twice, for assault.
And I can prove it.

Can anyone else here
make that particular claim?

Disappointed, Tom?

Actually, I was arrested some years ago.

- No.
- I was. I was arrested.

Not just arrested. You see that card?
"Arrested" is quite different.

As a matter of fact, I...

At this point,
I don't think we can go any further.

What?

What I mean is, we've established
what we set out to prove.

What is this?

I mean, we can't...

We all agreed to this...

We can't draw any ironclad conclusions.
It's all theoretical.

That's just fine. It's theoretical.
But it's hardly fair to stop now, is it?

Is it, Philip?

I mean, you want to
choose from what's left?

We've got...

dented fenders, or...

how about a little petting
in the playground?

Stop, everybody, please.

By which I just mean
let me get this over with.

I was drunk. I was too drunk to drive.

No, Tom, stay there, please.

I am so sorry I didn't tell you.

I know you would've helped me
do the right thing, but I just couldn't.

I drove down the coast to the party.
I overshot the driveway.

My car skidded. I didn't even see her.

I panicked. So I turned around and
drove all the way back to Santa Barbara.

The next morning I wrote that silly note
about having to visit my school friend.

And I took the car and I drove
as far away as I could. Las Vegas.

I traded cars at the car rental place,
and then, that afternoon, I drove home.

And I thought I was safe.

Until the game.

It was things that you said, Tom.

I started to think, and then...

I was the one who looked at the card.

I know the point of the game.

I think it's vicious
and I'd like you to stop it.

Go away.

Why did you wait so long?

I only found out last week.

Harry's Rent-A-Car,
Las Vegas. Remember?

- It was...
- I happened to meet Harry.

It was an accident.
It was only an accident.

I swear, Clinton, I'm sorry. I didn't...

He said he hoped you weren't
still worried about the damage to the car.

I couldn't get control. I was drinking!

The police never checked
on out-of-state cars.

Please don't tell them. Please, Clinton!

You want to let the whole world know?

That's what gave me
the idea for the game.

Because the harder you try to keep
a secret in, the more it wants to get out.

- See you Saturday.
- No!

Please!

Son of a bitch!

Clinton? Is somebody there?

What's going on?

You're so smart.

You didn't think it could be me.

He kept whispering.
He kept taunting me over and over again.

- Darling, he was so mean.
- Lee, you don't have...

I would like to go downstairs
and make a clean exit by myself.

Okay?

Don't worry, everybody, I'm okay.

Sorry, Tom, but that
"clean exit" line bothers me.

Lee, open up.

God damn it, Lee, unlock this door
or I'll break it down!

I like you, but go away.

I want a nap.

Then we'll talk about all kinds of stuff.
I'm okay.

I swear to God, I'm okay.

All right, darling, if you say so.

I'll come back in a little while.

Okay?

Is she all right?

The door is locked, but she talked to me.

She just wants to be alone.

- It just never occurred to me.
- You thought it was Anthony.

I don't even know what I thought.

- I'm sorry.
- Don't be.

You got other things on your mind.

What do you think?
Think there's anything we can do to help?

Let me know what you come up with.

My God, what a sick business this is!

- Are you all right?
- I am not.

I am in a deep state of shock.

Anthony just told me...

the deal that Alice's ex-agents
made for her on the Douglas picture...

and I will never get over it.
Would you like some cake?

- Yes, please.
- How's Tom?

- He says he doesn't want anything to eat.
- What about Lee?

Not a sound. He's been down
half a dozen times already.

She's probably passed out.

I never knew she was a boozer.

- In and out.
- She was AA for a while.

Still locked. She doesn't answer.

- The captain must have a master key.
- I got it.

Shall I wake her? I don't know.

- You want me to go with you?
- No, thank you.

Lee, darling?

When I saw her in that chapel,
murder was scrawled all over her face.

When I write my autobiography,
that line is gonna need a little help.

- I felt undercurrents all evening.
- Now you felt undercurrents.

You know, I knew it. Something told me
it was gonna be a bummer in there.

That door creaked open
even before I touched it.

And then Clinton getting so physical,
and that awful, faraway look in his eye.

Who is it?

I'm sorry.

That's okay. Have you met my fianc�?

- Have you seen Lee?
- No, why, is anything wrong?

What?

Lee is not in her cabin.

Where is she?

She's not in your room, not with Christine,
and Alice and Anthony are asleep.

Now what do we do?

I don't know.

Where's the captain?

How old do you think she was?

Don't think about it.

Thirty-five? Thirty-seven?

I hope you're around if I die.

- Wait a minute.
- I don't like getting morbid.

I sure hope someone's around.

Is it terrible to wonder if you can get
a good hairdresser in this town?

Christine, you don't really need all that
for one night ashore.

I've always dreamed of being interrogated
in some cellar...

by some slob with steel teeth.
And I want to look terrific tomorrow.

Hey, listen. Must be a taxi strike.

If we don't get to the Majestic,
they'll give our rooms away.

I'll be right back, okay?

Besides, Guido said he'd take me
dancing tonight if I'd pay the check.

Isn't he cute?

- I can't tell you how sorry I am.
- I know. Are you free later?

Listen, darling, thanks for
not letting on about us yesterday.

Well, I thought...

There was enough flak in the air, right?
Well, there was.

Why don't we cool it for a while,
aside from the bad press angle?

Let's be honest with each other.

Somehow, your being available
and my not being, it's not the same.

You'll always be
the world's most attractive man.

God, what a thought I just got.

Namely?

If you get married again, give me a call.
Isn't that awful?

See you tomorrow.

Goodbyes after an ocean voyage
are always so sad.

Whose fault is all this?

Clinton's? Lee's?

Mine?

Or Sheila, for being a tough broad...

who liked to wander around Bel Air
at 2:00 in the morning?

- Does that make any sense?
- Nothing makes any sense.

Something Clinton said...

keeps rattling around in the back
of my head, if I could remember it.

You'll be at the Majestic?

My invitation was for a week on the yacht.

I didn't bring any pocket money.

I'll see you tomorrow, I guess.

- Anthony?
- Tom.

What's going on here?

Are you waiting for the other members
of your coven or what?

I've been calling your hotel.
Something's not at all right.

What are you doing?

I'm experimenting.

Look at this cigarette.
It's the original stub.

It's what I went down
to ask Lee about last night.

Later, I dismissed it from my mind
as a whim. But tonight...

It's the shape.

That bothered me, too.

Stamp it out.

Now...

try this one. Quickly, just once.

No, let it burn out.

You see, if it's dark
and it's awkward for you...

you may stamp on the filter
instead of the lit end.

- lf you only have one shot at it.
- As Clinton did.

It was in the box
where he was killed, after all.

Bear with me, please.

Now, remember, we both thought
this came from the priest's box.

It doesn't. That wood was carved.
This is plain.

It's from the side grille.

How did it find its way into Clinton's robe?

Someone broke the grille.

- You're saying, who?
- Could we be shy one actor in the piece?

Meaning someone
who saw the whole thing.

Now, none of it would seem
quite so sinister...

if it weren't for this.

We found Lee in Clinton's stateroom.

But her cabin was locked from the outside.
What could she have locked it with?

The only key to the cabins
was in the wheelhouse.

She probably went into the john
and out through my cabin.

No, because your door to the bathroom
was bolted from the inside.

I had to unbolt it myself.

There's got to be some explanation.

The point is that anybody could have
taken the key last night.

Then again, maybe Clinton
broke the grille, nobody else was there...

and I'm just puttering my way through
the debris of my rusty imagination.

He kept whispering.

Where's the ice pick?

That awful, faraway look in his eye.

- What?
- I said, where's the bloody ice pick?

I don't know. It was...

It's been missing
since yesterday afternoon.

The back of Clinton's cowl
was stained with blood.

Of course.

You can't strike a man in the face and
the back of the neck with the same blow.

Meaning that Lee only thought
that she killed Clinton.

Did the police examine the body?

What was the point of it?
Why bother? She confessed.

Thomas, we've lost our touch.

A good director and a good detective
ought to pay more attention to detail.

Allow me, please.
This is the director's cut.

The important moment happened
before Lee came into the chapel.

Whoever it was lit a cigarette
and dropped it through the grille.

And then, as Clinton leaned forward
to stamp it out...

stabbed him in the back of his neck
with the ice pick.

Then, I assume,
he started to leave the field, but...

Just give us the news, please.

...the timing was unlucky
because Christine entered.

Christine was sitting there last night
chattering about the game.

That door creaking open
even before I got to it...

and then Clinton getting so physical.

Tom, the door was open
when I came into the chapel.

Me, too. He wanted it to stay open
so everybody could hear the tape.

Exactly.

So who closed it? Why did it creak open
when Christine came towards it?

Because he was trying to get out.

Yes.

He was compelled to improvise.
He impersonated Clinton.

But the grille that he had smashed meant
that he couldn't let her into the left side.

So he forced open the door
at the opposite end.

Now, he might have hoped
to make a run for it...

but the sprung door
meant that Christine...

would have a clear view of anyone
trying to sneak out of the chapel.

I happened to notice that
when we discovered the body.

Small wonder that Clinton
had an "awful, faraway look in his eye."

Then Alice has the homosexual card.

Just keep your voice down
and get the hell out.

The moment Christine left, he intended
to duck out as soon as he possibly could...

but the timing was still unlucky
because somebody else came in:

Lee.

She wasn't going to go until
she'd had her showdown with Clinton.

So he drove her into a state of hysteria...

convinced that she'd panic and run.
This is taking an awful chance...

because she could have
raised her voice enough to draw attention.

But luck was on the murderer's side...

because Lee presented him
with the best possible solution.

She exploded.

She killed a dead man.

And needlessly committed suicide.

Somebody killed my wife.

Not Christine.

Alice? Anthony.

Oh, my God.

- Tom...
- Hold on, I'll be right back.

I like any game
where you don't have to move.

You don't have to for this one
if you're smart enough.

No, no, don't throw it away.
Keep them till Saturday.

As long as you're fit for Saturday night,
which is your biggie.

- Saturday?
- Yes.

She was AA for a while.

If you're smart enough.

She was AA for a while.

What did you find?

The beginnings of an idea.

You seem pleased with yourself.

I've had the beginnings of an idea, too,
for a scenario.

It's about a middle-class writer...

who is married to a beautiful
and wealthy young woman.

Is this an original or an adaptation?

After a few years, she begins to bore him.
Not her money, she herself.

And then,
while rewriting a picture in Rome...

he renews his acquaintance with a cheap...

but not untalented young actress.

Aren't we getting a little off the subject?

I told you something
had been nagging me.

Something Clinton had said or done.

He said we didn't have to move
to play the game if we were smart enough.

And just now...

I noticed this.

I thought he was being unusually finicky
when he was lining us up.

See anything odd?

What's odd?

Everybody's been posed under a letter.

So?

Now have a look at these secret cards.

There's something peculiar
about one of them.

Come, Tom, where's that puzzle mind?

"Little Child Molester."

"Little Child Molester"?
As opposed to what, Big Child Molester?

I still don't get it.

The word, "little." What's it doing there?

All right.

The first night, the "Shoplifter."
The second night, the "Homosexual."

We don't know which the third was to be...

but Clinton told you
that the hit-and-run killer was to be last.

So let's try the "Ex-convict" next.

And then, just for fun, "Informer."

"Sheila."

Clinton needed "little" to give him the "L."

God knows he could have found
six other secrets for us...

but he wanted to make a game
for himself, too.

How to find six secrets
that formed an appropriate acronym.

The "L" was his only problem.

Clever son of a bitch.

Cleverer than that. This photograph...

showing the six of us carefully posed...

under each of the initial letters
of our assigned secrets.

Something in plain view the whole week.

Something he could lord over us
Sunday morning.

"Shoplifter, Homosexual, Ex-convict...

"Informer, Little Child Molester.

"Hit-and-run Killer"?

The last of "Sheila" should be an "A."

"Hit-and-run" doesn't begin with an "A,"
does it, Tom?

- It's a mistake.
- Not Clinton's.

I remember something else
about the first day.

You started to crumple your card.

This one is smooth.

That was dumb, Tom.

What was your original card?

All right, let me make an educated guess.
Something about Lee.

Arsonist? No, that doesn't sound like Lee.

Adulterer? No, that's you.

"A..." Alcoholic?

That's the secret. Like the others,
not too heavy, not too light.

After all, Clinton was
only a minor-league sadist.

His aim was to make us
uncomfortable, not violent.

As he kept saying, it was only a game.

You made it more than that.
You killed him.

Why should I want to kill Lee?

Alice.

Lee's estate must be worth
about $3 million?

$5 million.

You'd always known
that she'd killed Sheila, hadn't you?

Sure.

I knew it the day I got my statement
from Harry's Rent-A-Car.

Dented fenders, Vegas.

I didn't have to be a genius
to put two and two together.

Fade in. Exterior. Day.
The yacht, the game.

You get the "Alcoholic" card
and realize what Clinton is up to.

Not until Alice so generously told me
her leopard coat story.

That late?

At any rate...

selecting the ice pick...

a classic woman's weapon...

When did you take it, I wonder?

Private finance
is not that uncommon now.

Can you imagine
how Tom would feel about that?

You skipped down to expunge Clinton...

type up a new card
that would incriminate Lee...

and toddle off to sleep soundly
to await the alarms of the morning.

I should've recognized the hatred
on your face outside Clinton's door.

Was that to have been
the moment of truth?

Alas, Clinton and Christine
were having their own moment of truth.

Dissolve.

The next day,
you did substitute the cards...

and arranged for Lee
to see the wrong one...

making her think
Clinton had sadistic plans to expose her.

The stage was set.

Subsequent investigation of the cards
would now point to Lee...

as the only person with
a motive strong enough for murder.

Would you care to explain how I started
the propellers with Guido in the room?

That was my contribution.

You wanted Clinton dead, too.

You see, I'd helped Alice...

out of her little unpleasantness
those many years ago.

So when we began playing the game,
looking for a shoplifter...

I knew some ugly truths
would be trotted out.

Not in the least mine.

I wanted it stopped.

As you pointed out so astutely yesterday,
I blundered...

but it gave you the courage to carry on.

What do you think?

Am I gonna get away with it?

You pretended your back was hurting...

to coax Clinton into revealing...

what day your secret would be played.

As long as you're ready
for Saturday night, which is your biggie.

It was only Tuesday. Four days' grace.

Clinton's choice of a location was a gift.

But you had to...

make sure that you found him before
Lee confronted him with the false card.

So you followed me
because I'd been boastful enough to hint...

that I'd figured out the clue.

After my session, you came in...

and proceeded to play Clinton's game
as well as your own.

Maybe if I open the door to the chapel
a little wider?

What the hell?

Then you put on
your little ventriloquist act...

for Christine and Lee. I should've realized.

We'd all seen you impersonate Clinton.

Going over your hand signals
for the bridge tournament?

How'd I feel about what?

You know too much to live.

How convenient for you that Lee...

exploded.

But how inconvenient for you
that she thought quickly...

and arranged everything
to look like an accident.

You must have been furious. So you...

rearranged everything to look like
a murder that looked like an accident.

She had picked up the right stone.
You replaced it with the wrong one.

I'll bet that other stone,
stained with blood, is still in the corner.

As well as the cigarette
that Lee actually smoked.

But, no matter,
you knew that the next day...

when you conducted
your brilliant investigation...

Lee would naturally assume
that she had made the mistake.

And it was brilliant. What better detective
than the man who's committed the crime?

Every hesitant conclusion,
every stumbling interpretation.

And when you suddenly panicked,
protecting your wife...

it was dazzling, dear boy.

- It's after 12:00 already.
- Is it?

Good. That gives us plenty of time...

because the crew is happily celebrating
the death of their master in the port.

Aren't we lucky?

I think so.

If you're thinking of setting up
for another fake suicide sequence...

I must warn you
of the dangers of improvisation.

This last exploit had
far too many loose ends...

even though you had four days
to prepare it.

You even planned
for the obligatory confession scene...

the morning after the murder.

You knew that she would
need some fortification...

when you started turning the screws.

You felt you were safe because
no one else on board drank bourbon...

which, incidentally,
you don't pour out of a porthole...

and then toss the bottle overboard.
Your pour it down a drain.

Unless there's something else
you're anxious to get rid of like...

Seconal.

I don't have any gloves.

Hey, you guys, knock it off!

Jesus Christ, look at this place.

Actually, we've been having
a little difference of opinion.

We've all gotten squirrelly on this trip,
but aren't you carrying it a little too far?

About the Last of Sheila project.

But it's all straightened out now.

- What are you doing on board?
- I'm trying to sleep.

Well, not exactly.

Guido took over for Vittorio
and asked me to keep him company.

So we went into Clinton's room
to listen to the stereo...

and instead of getting mood music,
we get you guys yakking on the intercom.

Dictate it tomorrow
when you can get a secretary.

He killed her, she killed him.

That's a good idea...

but we're agreed on the basics,
wouldn't you say, Tom?

Now that the truths are known...

we've begun to see this as a big project.

There are gigantic themes here,
worthy of Dostoyevsky.

There's innocence...

guilt...

hatred...

loyalty.

Lee's ambitions for Tom were such
that we, as survivors...

feel bound to tell Sheila's story
in all its pitiless purity, sparing nothing.

Big budget?

I feel $5 million should cover it.

Alice's price just went up.

Tom, nobody can write it better than you.
Who handles you again?

Actually, I'm keen on having the first draft
done by a complete outsider.

Someone who will bring a naivet�
to our little inbred circle.

Tom will be needed as technical advisor.
And just before shooting, for a few...

Rewrites.

Rewrites, exactly.

I think I'll turn in.
I'm almost dead on my feet.

So much to do tomorrow...

and still a few pages to type tonight.

Sealed letter to my solicitor...

protecting the copyright sort of thing.

In these perilous times,
one can't be too careful.

Coming, Christine?

Let me hit you
with a couple names.

Yul Brynner as Clinton.
Paul and Joanne as Tom and Lee.

I hope it's got enough content for them.

Who have I got for Alice?
I know, Carly Simon!

The soundtrack album alone
will pay for her clothes.

Now, don't scream. Virna Lisi.

No, darling, as me!

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