Original subtitles

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Arvid, the way you gotta look at the fourth dimension

is like a, like a jelly donut or somethin'.

Except, that you got the jelly on the outside

you got the outside on the inside..

Oh, yeah, why'd you stop?

[sighs] There's Lori, better hurry

you'll miss your 8:30 rejection.

Not this time, Dennis, I've come to a major decision

it is time for me to set her free.

[laughs]

What? I know what you're thinkin'.

I've tried to break up with her before

but this time it's gonna be different.

This time I'm telling her.

Here's your chance.

Uh, uh, Lori. Ahem.

Hi, Arvid, how are you?

W-well, you saw that! She's worried about my health!

How could I dump her now? It will break her heart.

You.. Every time, it's the same thing.

You gotta let 'em down easy.

- No, no, no.. - Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah..

[bell rings]

- Morning, everybody. - Morning.

(Charlie) 'Okay. Today, we..'

Yes?

Marshal Tito.

Why don't you just write down the answers

for the whole year and go home.

It's a nice try, Janice

but I won't actually be talking about Marshal Tito

for at least five minutes.

I have here an essay by a Fillmore student

and I'd like to read a part of it to you.

"The reluctant use of power is a myth.

"Nations pretend to believe

"in the priorities of peace over power

"yet continue to use force

"readily and profitably.

'"By pretending that our aggressive instincts'

"don't exist, we are enabling those

very instincts to overpower us."

- Wow, that's really good. - Oh, yes, it's very nice.

Good? It's great.

Alright who wrote it, I bet it was Darlene.

- 'Yeah.' - No, I think it was Simone.

[indistinct chatter]

I guess, me.

- You guess? - Oh.

Well, I don't remember writing it, but-but it was so good

I just assumed it was me.

[indistinct chatter]

Actually, it was written by a student 60 years ago.

And you're just gettin' around to grading it?

Grading, no. Reading, yes.

I found it in the "Fillmore Quarterly"

in the school library.

It's a journal of prose, poetry and art

that was published by the student body in the '20s.

Gee, we don't have anything like that now.

- I'd love it if we-- - Hmm!

Simone, don't even think it.

I think that it would be great to do something like this.

Too late, he's off on another enriching experience.

Mr. Moore, you know we really appreciate

you broadening our horizons and everything.

I mean, you got us to go to dances

and then you got us to play volleyball

and-and then you got us to, like, make a music video

and everything, and really you've done enough.

Leave us alone.

Okay, I understand. You don't have to participate.

Besides, uh, most of you aren't really writers.

You probably couldn't cut it.

God knows you don't need the extra credits.

[scoffs] Just a minute, who says we can't cut it?

- We can all write. - Yeah, it's true.

I-I-I don't wanna be known merely as a, a future

noble prize winning scientist.

So, uh, you do want to try this journal?

[indistinct chatter]

Sure we do, besides this kind of extracurricular activity

looks good on your record.

She's got a point.

I don't think we should look at it that way.

I mean, we should think of it as an opportunity

to be creative and express our feelings in a way

that will enrich the lives of others.

Simone, that is beautiful.

Can I write that down?

Sure, Dennis.

This is just the kind of swill admission officers drool over.

[instrumental music]

Well, I love it.

A journal of prose, poetry and art

with work from the whole school

put together by the IHP.

You're going to put Dennis Blunden in charge.

It'll be a sleaze rag full of dirty cartoons

with, satirical comments

about bodily functions.

Well, your personal preferences aside, Dr. Samuels..

No, I think you and I

are both talking about cultivating a literary journal

that would display the, the many flowers

blossoming in the Fillmore garden

fertilized by your leadership.

You'll all be very proud, Dr. Samuels

and as for an editor, I was thinking of someone

experienced, decisive

and dying to do it.

Who, me? I-I couldn't.

Why not?

Well, I just..

I mean, it's such a big responsibility.

Collecting the materials and deciding on the layout.

Judging everyone's work, I'm sure

someone else could do it better.

- 'No!' - Simone, you'd be great.

Yeah, I mean, you're a poet, it's a natural.

The most important thing is that

no one could do it better than you.

The most important thing is no one wants to.

Simone, we all think that you do a fantastic job.

- Yes. - Yeah.

You all really think I'm the one to do this?

- We know you. - Yes, you're the one.

Well..

- Thank you, I accept! - Alright.

(Charlie) Congratulations, Editor Foster.

[cheering]

This is going to be great, wait till my parents find out

I'm going to be a published author.

- Put them down for ten copies. - Oh, sure.

You know, I-I'd like to try a poem.

Me too.

- An essay? - 'Fine.'

- Satire. - Great.

Eric, what are you gonna submit?

Mr. Moore, give me a break.

There's already enough stuff about

teenage angst and alienation

without me adding to the crime.

But no one said you had to write about that.

I mean, write what you know.

- Yeah. - Yeah, Eric.

Look, I'm just not interested, okay?

So please, save your breath.

I mean, there's nothing anyone can say to convenience me

to write for that journal.

Eric.

Couple of lines.

- But that's all. - Okay. Great.

That's everybody.

- So, um-- - Everybody, huh?

Mr. Moore, you wanna submit something?

Now you're the editor, uh

it's up to you.

Great.

Okay, um, by next Monday

if I can have all your pieces in?

Oh, I'm sorry, a week from next Monday.

'That would give you more time.'

Let's say Wednesday. Is that okay?

No, but then..

You wanna make up your mind before my racer explodes?

Simone, maybe you should have a co-editor.

- You know, somebody decisive. - Yeah.

Oh, she could do it, let us give her a chance.

No. Monday really was the best day.

[indistinct chatter]

Don't you think?

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Eric, this is, uh

outrageous.

You grew up poor, your brother died.

You never had a brother!

This is sadder than "Bambi."

It's fiction, Twinkie brain.

I just wrote it in the first person

to make it more poignant.

A literary hoax. I love it.

Come on, nobody is supposed to believe this.

Th-this is just a style, that's all.

Nobody's supposed to take this for the truth.

Uh, ahem.

- Eric, your memoir touched me. - Simone..

And I'm so ashamed the way I've treated you

all along, I didn't understand your pain.

My pain is fine, really, it's-it's--

No, don't say anymore.

Just know that I'm here for you.

- Simone-- - Don't do it!

[bell rings]

- Good morning, everyone. - 'Good morning.'

Mr. Moore, before class starts, can I..

- Oh, sure, yeah. - Thanks.

I wanna thank you all for turning

in your work so promptly.

I've made a few little suggestions on them.

You probably can't read my writing.

So if you have any questions, after class we can go over them.

Simone, can I talk to you for a minute?

Uh, after class, okay, Eric?

Alright.

April 12, 1945..

[indistinct chatter]

...FTR dies

and the 33rd President of the United States is..

They wrote a book about him called, "Give 'em Hell, Harry."

Married to Bess Truman.

Now, what-what-what's going on?

She called me "Superficial and vague!"

"Pointed in too many directions at once that went nowhere?"

Yeah, "More depth," I-I wrote a poem about Euclidean geometry.

There is no depth.

"I'm dogmatic, condescending and pretentious?"

Okay, so she got one right.

I'm just trying to avoid a lot of clumsy amateurish writing.

- "Amateurish writing?" - Simone, we did the very best..

So now, we're clumsy amateurs?

No, that isn't what I meant.

What did she say about yours, Mr. Moore?

Oh, uh, mine was just a, a rough draft, really.

So, what did get in?

I think you're all depending too much on your vocabularies

and not enough on your own experiences.

Now, this is a part from Eric's piece.

It's from his own life and I'd like to read it.

[chuckles] Si-Simone, you don't wanna read that.

No, Eric. You're vulnerable.

Admit it. Share it.

Use it.

Yeah, I-I-I would like to hear this, Eric.

It's called "Early Sorrow."

"What I remember

"from the day my younger brother died

"is of the hot, sour smell of Mrs. Furenze's

"cabbage rolls drifting up

"through the tenement floor.

"My mother had wrapped herself in a thin sweater

"slowly counted out 75 cents and change.

"And got on a bus to the morgue.

'"I watched her helplessly from the broken window.'

"Even today, as I stare out the same window

"I feel the sorrow of a lost child

"and an infant mourned

in a home I never knew."

[indistinct whispering]

[sighs] Wow.

That is, unbelievable.

I'm sorry, Eric.

Do you see how brave Eric was

to strip his soul bare and show us his pain?

'You have to write what you feel passionately about.'

And if you don't care enough to write something

from your heart, I don't care to publish it.

Who made you our lady of literature?

[indistinct chatter]

- You did. - 'Well, we take it back then.'

She's right, I mean, she is the editor

and so, Simone, we'll all just, uh

have another try. Hmm?

Simone, about my story--

Oh, I'm sorry, it's wrinkled

but I slept with it under my pillow last night.

What'd you wanna say?

Just that, um..

...I'm glad you liked it.

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But by that time, the US had committed

to the defense of South Korea.

[bell rings]

We'll continue tomorrow.

Uh, I don't wanna remind you

your term papers are due in one week.

Oh, Mr. Moore, I haven't even started mine.

I mean, I really got into writing this piece

for the journal, it was kinda hard

to open up at first, but I'm really glad I did it.

Yeah, me too, I mean

Saturday night I was working on my new poem

when I could've been at the Math Clubs Logarithm

and Blues Festival.

Here are your rewrites.

If you have any questions

we can go over them later.

Right now, I've got a meeting with the printer.

Printer, that sounds hopeful.

Maybe we finally made the grade.

"Good idea, but needs more feeling."

Feel this.

"Too influenced by Emily Dickinson.

Develop your own style."

A girl who still dresses like Annie Hall

is telling me about style?

How much of this do we have to take?

She called it "Brilliant but juvenile."

That's what I am!

I-I like my poem and so did my mommy.

Mr. Moore, you just have to say something to her.

- You picked her. - 'Yeah, Mr. Moore.'

You gotta admit, she's gettin' outta hand.

- Yeah. - Simone is just doing her job.

She sure is. Listen to this.

"Mr. Moore, a good second try

"but still verbose.

- Perhaps you--" - Thank you.

I'll talk to her, if that's what you all want.

[indistinct chatter]

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This dedication

working after school.

I'm so glad you convinced me to take this job.

This is going to be a worthy successor to the original.

How many pieces have you chosen?

- Three. - Hmm.

Think they'll all fit?

I want quality not quantity.

I have Eric's piece

an essay on street performers

and Mr. Dorthman's haiku.

Mr. Dorthman writes haiku?

- Can I see that? - Sure.

In 17 syllables he captured

the essence of sharpening a pencil.

"Dull graphite sheath in wood

"the handle turns, gears grind

now I see your point?"

I mean, I'm very happy for Mr. Dorthman, but..

...don't you think you're being a little hard

on the rest of us? The-the class, I mean.

I take the art of writing very seriously.

- Don't you? - Of course.

You're not telling me to give up what I believe is right

just to please other people, are you?

Well, absolutely not.

And I know you're not the kind who would get defensive

just because I criticized your work a little.

I'm so glad we agree.

It's really good to know I have someone on my side.

Well, good.

I, I-I just wanted to make sure we were in sync

before I, we start our rewrites.

So go-good.

I'll leave now.

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Really, Simone, I don't need anything.

- The thing is-- - Yes, you do.

He needs the comfort and love of a family, right?

Yes.

Why don't you come to my house for a nice home cooked meal.

- You can go this weekend! - Good idea.

I don't know, families aren't exactly my thing.

Yeah, but in this case, you'll make an exception.

If you wanted to be alone

you could just go off and be by yourself.

- Or you'd go with me? - If you liked.

I would definitely like that.

Well, great! Then it's all set!

You guys will get together Saturday, say eightish?

Ah! Ah! Ah!

I'm a slimeball.

Yes, but a lucky slimeball!

I can't take this. I gotta tell her the truth tomorrow.

Don't do that.

Look, if I get her to like me this way

I won't be able to live with myself.

You won't have to. She'll ask you to move in with her!

What?

- Did you talk to Simone? - Well, yes, I--

Oh, great, after one of your soul searching talks

I bet she feels like dog food. Uh, no offence.

I feel bad, but at least we're all in, right?

Well, you know, tha-that's this thing about writing

it's-it's just so subjective.

Are we in or not?

Someone once said, "Writing is rewriting."

It was probably Simone.

Now, Eric's piece was very strong.

Oh, come on, Mr. Moore.

Well, I'm not telling you what to do.

I'm just leaving you something to think about.

What I'm trying to think about is how her nose

would look in a sling.

That's so petty.

Let me help.

Let me tell you what Eric did.

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Oh, Charlie, have you seen Dr. Samuels?

- No. - Try not to.

Mr. Moore.

Mr. Moore, I knew there was a catch to this journal thing.

I've sent out notices to the parents.

I've told the school board.

I've informed and alerted the media.

But there's only one little problem

there's nothing in it!

An essay on panhandlers.

A dumb little poem on pencil sharpeners

and a sob story from Eric.

Uh, Dr. Samuels.

Even as we speak, there is more material coming in.

Now, it'll be fine. You'll see.

"So, the emptiness of a family without love

"can never be filled.

"Can a tax-free bond

"replace the bond between father and son?

"The interest on a jumble CD

"is no substitute for a mother's interest.

Even if compounded daily."

We're into this thing for $3000

and I told the mayor we're dedicating it to him.

"I remember the day our family fortune vanished.

"The rain felt like tears and washed the shine

"from my new fuchsia pattern leather pumps.

'"I walked aimlessly down the street'

'"hiding my face from the people who just the day before'

"questioned so kindly..

""Do you want that in a bag

or on a hanger?""

[applause]

"What I remember from the day Gandhi died

was the hot, sour smell of Mrs. Remonigen's chicken--"

Okay, that's enough!

I see what you're doing and it's not funny

and I'm sure Eric doesn't appreciate it either.

You know, he's the only one who had the courage to examine

his life with some honesty and you make fun of it?

- Alright. - Aw!

[clears throat]

What's going on?

Simone..

...my story wasn't exactly all true.

What do you mean "Exactly?" What part was true?

A lot of it.

What part wasn't true?

I never had a brother.

I made it all up.

You used writing to try to give me--

No, Simone, you don't understand.

Yes, I do!

You all tried to make a fool of me

well, I guess it was fun!

Laughing at poor, little Simone

trying to be in charge!

Fine!

If there is no journal

you know the old saying about

"What I'll do in Macy's window?"

(Simone) That's it! There isn't going to be any journal!

I'll see you in Macy's window!

[instrumental music]

It's not just Eric's making a fool of me.

The whole class got together to humiliate me.

- That really hurts. - Well, I know it does.

Maybe you, just possibly

you brought it on yourself, just a little.

I was only doing my job.

Like all the great editors, Maxwell Perkins

was very rigorous with Hemingway.

But that was Ernest Hemingway.

I mean, the man fought bulls.

But you're dealing with Arvid Engen.

A boy who's afraid of leather.

Is it wrong to have high standards?

You remember when the class played volleyball?

[chuckles] You call that volleyball.

Right, and you especially

did not know how to play volleyball.

- Well, I was doing my best. - Oh.

Oh..

See, you set your standards so high

that nobody can reach 'em, including me.

And these are high school kids

who enjoy being writers for a while.

And this journal is probably the only chance

they'll ever get of...being published.

See, they're trying their hands at being writers.

Just like you're trying to be an editor.

I'm not doing so well.

Well, it takes a lot of practice shots to get one over the net.

[instrumental music]

(Simone) 'I think I could learn to be a good editor'

if you'll give me another chance.

But if you want me to resign, I'll understand.

Simone, I'm willing to give you another try

if you'll give me another try.

And if you wanna burn that piece I wrote

I'll write you a new one.

No, I'll print it just the way it is.

Now that you know it's not true, don't you hate it?

I wouldn't have liked it any less if I had known

it were pure fiction.

Of course, I wouldn't have kissed you either.

Yeah, well, if you would've done that to me..

...I would have kissed you, anyway.

Well, I guess we got through this

and, uh, the journal's gonna be fine.

And I, for one, Simone

I'm ready to jump right in

and do my final rewrite.

When do you want it?

Tuesday would be fine.

Tuesday. I said "Tuesday."

- Okay. - Okay.

Okay. Tuesday.

Unless, Wednesday would be better.

[indistinct chatter]

[instrumental music]

Oh, Mr. Moore, about your essay..

Uh, listen, Simone, four rewrites is my limit, okay?

No, it's beautiful, it's perfect.

As I was saying, four rewrites is really all I need.

I loved it. It's really good. It's going in.

Thank you.

Could use something to balance that Dorthman haiku.

Uh, pencils don't educate people

writers do.

Dorthman, eat your heart out.

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