Original subtitles

Love?

Must we?

I was probably the worst bed partner on five continents.

All my life, idiotically,

I thought that sex seemed to matter so desperately to the man who wanted it

that to withhold it was like withholding bread,

an act of selfishness.

And all that bread isn't worth a hoot in hell.

Hmm.

What's always really absorbed me about life

is what's happening on the outside.

Action.

Now, that,

that was something to be shared.

I've always felt most at home

in the most difficult places.

But love?

I'm a war correspondent.

Of course, there are wars...

...and there are wars.

Here we go.

Pull! Look at that!

That's one son of a bitch.

Yeah, but you're a son of a bitch, too. Come on!

But I know one thing he doesn't.

Pull, for God's sakes.

Hold on!

Oh, really?

Come on, Papa! Bring him!

Everything dies.

It was by pure chance that I ever met him.

I was in Key West with my mother and brother on a family trip after my father died.

There was this bar called Sloppy Joe's.

I remember thinking, the first time I saw him...

Okay!

"Who is that large, dirty man in those disgustingly soiled clothes?"

Oh, my God!

That's Ernest Hemingway.

Papa, anoint the beast!

No.

That man appears to be indigen.

Not bad, huh? Good day! Good day!

Skinner, another drink.

Don't look now, Papa, but something's coming.

Hey, how's it going?

I've never kissed a fish.

Sloppy Joe's tradition. Friend or foe?

Or faux friend, you never know.

You find out eventually.

What's your name, elegance?

Martha Gellhorn.

Well, Gellhorn, big game's no fun if it just wanders up to you.

Oh, but I'm not one of your big game animals.

Oh, I can see what you aren't,

I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you are.

If we have a drink, am I gonna have to fight your husband?

Uh... My brother.

That's my mother.

In that case, I hope you're thirsty.

You want to invite him over?

You want another?

Everybody Tells You You're Blonde? I find that hard to believe.

You know the song?

I know Italian.

And I know the song.

What do you think of that, boys?

So what do you do, sophisticated?

What do I do?

Oh, lately, I've been seeing the world.

- How is the world?

It's surprising, occasionally.

- Is that mine? - Sure.

Mmm!

A lot of rum in this rum.

Well, in this joint, they don't drink to get drunk, they drink to stay drunk.

The clientele here scare you?

Scare me? No.

No, I just got back from Berlin.

Now, the Nazis?

They're scary.

Like smelly little boys running around with Lugers.

Pretty rough company for a young Fräulein.

Blondes get a free pass in the Fatherland.

They do fine here, too, from what I've read.

So drink up.

America's plush as the pope's bed.

Don't be naive.

Plenty of people still go hungry.

You sound like Eleanor Roosevelt.

Trust me, I am nothing like Eleanor Roosevelt.

- I've known the woman my whole life. - Of course, you have.

Let's see the review.

- What? - Come on, Gellhorn.

Every writer keeps one review.

Well, you can blame Mrs. Roosevelt. She encouraged me to write it.

It's called The Trouble I've Seen.

- The trouble you've seen? - Mmm-hmm.

What was that? Daddy loop to the country club?

Oh, I've seen trouble. I didn't say it was mine.

I ran around the country, I lived in hobo camps, I settled Appalachian families...

"The book seems to be woven not out of words,

but out of the very tissue of human beings."

"Who is this Martha Gellhorn? Her writing burns."

"Hemingway himself does not write more authentic American..."

As usual, the critic got it wrong.

I mean, comparing me to you is ridiculous.

All I really did was listen.

It's their dialogue.

The whole trick is writing the way people talk. Most people never listen.

I set out to cover grimy lives,

and I ended up looking glamorous on the cover of The Saturday Review.

I have the same problem.

I think I should go.

- How much do I owe you? - Oh, please. I practically own the place.

Papa, now we're really late.

It's all right, I'm going.

Buy yourself a new shirt, Hemingway.

It was nice knowing you.

Gellhorn.

Come on, Papa. Pauline's gonna be mad.

Who's Pauline?

May I help you?

Is this the Hemingway house?

Yes. I'm Pauline Hemingway.

Mrs. Hemingway.

I met Mr. Hemingway at Sloppy Joe's.

Yes, of course. Sloppy Joe's.

Well, you're late.

Come in.

Such an interesting room.

My husband likes to say, "Kill enough animals and you probably won't kill yourself."

I can see he's not taking any chances.

Ernest has read every word he writes aloud to me.

I'm his first pair of ears and his first pair of eyes.

So you're his muse. That makes you very lucky.

Great talent needs a great amount of care.

But we've managed to make a very happy life here.

Ernest likes to surround himself with exotic characters.

- Fascist propaganda!

Some people believe that Franco would not be able to win this war

if he didn't have any support.

Hitler and Mussolini,

you see him here,

are literally throwing money and weapons to Franco and the fascists.

Meanwhile, America and the rest of Europe are doing nothing.

And Why?

Because the only images the world sees come from fascist propaganda.

Fascism is on the move, make no mistake.

And what is happening in Spain is...

It's a threat to our democracy as well.

We need to tell the truth of what is happening to these people in Spain,

these people who are trying to defend their democratically-elected government.

Here you see some of the Russian forces there,

who are also in support.

All young men, as you can see, dedicated to la causa.

Dos, who is that horrid little man dressed as an undertaker?

Pauline, this is Mikhail Koltsov. He's a Russian journalist.

Koltsov is not just a journalist, he's Stalin's eyes and ears.

Only Russia supplies the loyalists with arms, medicine,

food to feed orphans and starving peasants.

I would like to introduce the director of this film, Joris Ivens,

the great Dutch documentary filmmaker,

who, with your help,

will be able to return to Spain and complete this film.

- Beautiful. - Excellent work.

Oh, and it is also our great privilege to have with us tonight

a man who has seen firsthand the horrors that Franco and the fascists

are inflicting upon his people,

he is also my very dear friend, Professor Paco Zarra.

Well, there are many heroes.

I only wish I could have brought them all with me tonight.

But we are all counting on you for your support.

Hey, you started without me!

Oh, well, if it isn't our host.

- Hey, Joris! - Hemingway.

In case any of you are wondering how to sign your checks,

write with a Parker!

- Write like Hemingway. - Fame's a whore, Dos,

doesn't mean to say she can't do something good.

I missed you, you prick.

My book's outselling you in Russia, you know.

Can I say how happy I am for you?

- You could, but that would ruin it.

Gellhorn.

Martha Gellhorn, John Dos Paseos,

greatest writer in America not named Hemingway.

John Dos Paseos.

Hemingway thinks writing is a blood sport.

Don't kid yourself, Dos.

Gellhorn here is a bestselling author. I read her review.

She's gunning for both of us.

- And to think she never said a word! - Excuse me.

Sidney, darling, will you take the boys out of here

- and go play bullfighter or something? - Sure.

Here we go!

The boys don't need to see all of this.

Come on, the boys should see the world for what it is.

Not tonight.

- Paco Zarra. - Very nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you.

- I admire what you're doing. - Thank you.

There's two sides to this little war in Spain.

You're only raising money for one of them.

Why are you backing the communists?

- Pauline... - Mrs. Hemingway,

communist is not the same as anti-fascist.

Does anti-fascist mean you kill Catholics?

Well, sadly, the Church has allied itself with the fascists.

I'm sorry, but in this house, we are Catholics.

Catholic in America is very different than Catholic in Spain.

I've heard the loyalists go into people's homes,

and God help you if they find a cross on the wall.

Oh, I'm not sure I believe all of that.

What do you believe, dear? Do you go to church?

Actually, no.

Oh, Gellhorn! Is that...

I'm half Jewish.

Is there such a thing?

No, we're not closed-minded, dear.

While Ernest was in Spain, he met Sidney, a Brooklyn-born bullfighter.

Now, Sidney's Jewish, too, and he's just like family.

Mmm-hmm.

Papa? Why don't you come back to my country?

If you told our story, the world would listen.

No writer alive has done more to support the Spanish people,

but my husband has a family right here and a deadline on a novel.

- And you? - Well, I believe that the Spanish Civil War

is just a dress rehearsal for the next world war,

and I think that anyone that can go should go.

And how the hell do you think you'll manage that?

You ever try to get into a war zone?

I'm resourceful.

- I think you must come. I mean it. - So, enough politics, it's late.

Somebody has to get up in the morning and write.

Do you want to come this way?

We need you.

We need journalists from all over the world to report what's really happening in Spain.

Pauline's right, you know, Hem. We could all use a new Hemingway novel.

Besides, we need some good men on the domestic front.

Come to Spain and you'll see it for yourself.

I'll be leaving tomorrow morning for Madrid, and I hope you can find a way to come.

People from all over the world are heading into Spain.

Writers, poets, artists, laborers,

all passionate believers in la causa.

The people of Spain need to know that help is on the way.

I'm gonna sing you our song. Okay? It starts like this.

I believed that all one did

about a war was go to it as a gesture of solidarity

and get killed or, if lucky, survive until the war was over.

A knapsack and about $50. That was my equipment for Spain.

Anything more seemed unnecessary.

Needed to get papers, so I cajoled a friend at Collier's

to write me a letter naming me war correspondent,

even though I had never written a word about war.

Fancy collar.

- His name is Sandor. - Mmm.

- Hello, Sandor.

What a beautiful collar you have.

Rabbit's foot.

It's good luck.

I'm going to the front to fight Franco and the fascists.

- Good for you. - Thank you.

You?

I'm a writer.

With those legs?

Actually, I don't use them to write.

Though I once knew a man who played the xylophone with his toes.

It's true.

Thank you.

When I looked at the faces of the men in the international brigades,

I found I loved them immeasurably.

They were private citizens, here at their own expense.

They came to Spain for a cause,

compelled not by government but by passion.

From this valley they say you are going

We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile

For they say you are taking the sunshine

That has brightened the pathways awhile

Come and sit by my side if you love me

Do not hasten to bid me adieu

Just remember that red river valley

And the boy who has loved you so true

Don't you think of the valley you are leaving

Or how lonely and sad it will be

Oh, and think of the fond hearts you're breaking

And the grief that you're causing to me

Come and sit by my side if you love me

Do not hasten to bid me adieu

Just remember...

Would you like some more wine, Mr. Hemingway?

Thank you.

Smell that air!

Spanish earth!

Hey, we're meeting our battalion in Madrid.

Can I hitch a ride?

You can't. It's too tough for a woman.

I had this feeling that one had to work all day and all night,

and love as many people as one could, and do it all,

do it all terribly fast.

Press release from Commissar Koltsov.

Come on, baby.

- Press release. - We do it standing up, we make a tripod.

Press release from Commissar Koltsov.

You're not listening.

To beat the fascists, we need to beat them in the propaganda war.

Beat the fascists, you need to kill them.

You're both wrong.

You have to win over the peasants, give them irrigation.

- Gentlemen. - Welcome to Spain!

Papa!

- Now we gonna beat that bastard Franco! - Hey!

You still like cocido madrileño?

Hell, yes, Lupe. Why do you think I came back to Spain?

For you!

A true honor.

I am Mikhail Koltsov, and I always say,

"Ernest Hemingway is America's Tolstoy."

Papa.

- Have a drink. - Gentlemen.

Boy, this is a surprise.

I didn't think Pauline was gonna let you off the leash.

Look at that!

That help you get laid, Dos?

- Papa! - Mr. Hemingway!

- Papa, what you gonna do to Franco? - Why did you come here?

I'm here with director Joris Ivens and my good friend, John Dos Paseos.

We're gonna make a movie.

We're gonna show the world the noble struggle

of those defending the elected government of Spain.

Hey, what's that?

Here, pass it back.

It's Russian! It's Russian. It's one of ours.

Is there a doctor here?

Is this a woman?

- She made it. - I know. It's great.

Well, look who's here.

Well, hello, Hemingway.

You know how to make an entrance.

Why? Jealous?

- All Cinderella had was a pumpkin.

Cinderella needs a drink.

Joris. Dos. Hello, Paco.

- I told you I'd make it. - Si, thank you.

Glad to be here.

I'm so happy you're here. Welcome to Madrid.

In here?

Oh, boy.

Attaboy, let it out. You're one tough Hungarian, my friend.

Hey, where's the front? It's supposed to be around here.

Twelve blocks away.

Follow the streetcar tracks.

Just past the university. You can't miss it.

- I'm Martha Gellhorn. - Who?

Martha Gellhorn.

From Collier's.

You have something from Collier's?

Uh...

I do.

War correspondent?

In name only.

Oh!

Needed that.

You're a long way from Sloppy Joe's.

Pull in your claws, kitten.

I was always gonna be here.

Okay, sign here.

- Room 428. - Four twenty-eight?

You're on the safe side of the building.

Hey, Capa!

Look what we got here.

A real war correspondent.

Another one.

It's getting crowded at the bar, you know.

Closest most of them get to a gun is standing next to a soldier in the pissoir.

Not this one. Martha Gellhorn, meet my Hungarian friend, Robert Capa.

Capa. Nice to meet you.

I know your photographs.

- Need another drink? - Need a bath.

Sidney! Bath.

- Really, I can turn a spigot. - No hot water. Need to boil.

Need to sleep.

I'm on the same floor.

Oh.

Look at that.

Her legs begin at her shoulders.

Hmm.

Oh.

It's all yours.

Hemingway!

Hemingway! Open the door!

Come on! Let...

Let me out of here!

Hemingway!

How dare you, bastard!

Excuse me, sweetness?

Why the hell would you lock me in here?

In case you hadn't noticed, Gellhorn, as you're the only blonde in the joint,

but there's a city of men, desperate men,

some of whom know they're gonna die,

death frees the beast.

Do I need to tell you what these bastards could do

to a big, creamy bitch like you in the dark?

Okay, enough, Hemingway. I get it. There's a war going on, don't trust anyone.

So how do I know if I can even trust you now?

The best way to find out if you can trust somebody

is to trust him.

Werner, you're right.

- This is the best angle.

- Camera here. - Yeah.

Look! Look! They're arriving! It's the Marseillaise Battalion from France.

We can see Papineau from Canada.

Abraham Lincoln Brigade.

- Werner, you're getting this, right? - Yeah.

Okay, let's go downstairs.

Coming?

Yeah.

Later, ladies.

Brooklyn! Brooklyn!

Gellhorn! Come on!

Wait! Wait up!

Papa, wait! Papa!

Right there!

Hey, look, they're showing your movie.

Not my movie.

- Oh, you didn't like it? - Never saw it. Heard they loused it up.

I agree. I think they miscast Helen Hayes as Catherine Barkley.

- Oh, yeah? - Yeah!

Everyone's a critic.

Look, Werner. Look. All those people.

- Hey, Dos! Get over here! - Right.

- Joris, come on. - Say, "Cheese."

It's so great we're doing this, Hem. It's gonna be a wonderful film.

Jesus. Irrigation.

Oh, what's wrong with irrigation?

Nothing, if you like watching guys dig ditches.

We do our job right, we make people want to watch.

Come on. There's a goddamn war to film.

This is why there's a goddamn war, Hem.

A year ago, these people were shot for stepping on this land.

It made you proud to see

the joy and determination of the Spanish people.

You looked, and you knew our cause was just

and we could not lose.

To rule this country,

Franco would have to do away with 20 million of those brave souls.

Tastes like freedom.

Dos, that may be the worst line you ever came up with,

which is saying something.

Well, that may be, but it's true.

Now these people can irrigate their land and raise food for the defenders of Madrid.

- You're an idealist.

Who wants to irrigate when fascists have a boot on your neck?

- Uh...

How are our filmmakers today?

Paco!

Yes, he's here!

- It's Paco! - Wait! That's Uncle Paco!

Paco! Paco!

This could be the best shot in the film!

There's fighting five kilometers from here. Let's go!

That's where we should be! Let's go, come on!

What are you waiting for, Russian? Come with us!

- Get your clothes dirty!

- Hey, Dos! Coming? - I know what fighting looks like.

I'm staying here.

No! Werner, get back!

Get down, get down, get down.

Up! Paco!

Let's get close.

What is that?

What? What is it?

Red dogs, your leaders have sent you here to die!

General Franco is willing to give his blood for you.

You trying to get us killed?

They see a reflection, they got a ripe target.

Surrender now!

- Take it till you get Paco! - Surrender now!

Fascist bastards!

You told the bastards off.

Madrid is protected.

Yes, it is protected

for today.

Are you okay?

Watercress.

I used to get the most unchristly indigestion.

With this, I can eat a truck tire wrapped in chili peppers

and sleep like a baby.

Wild onions.

Locals say, "Eat two onions a day,

you'll live to be 100."

What do the locals say about one's breath?

They say!

It is a taste one must acquire.

Oh!

Paco!

Paco, my friend!

Come! We must talk. Please.

Hey, it's okay. You leave him there. We'll talk for two minutes.

We talk just for two minutes. We talk. Talk.

- Slide in. - In the car? Why?

Okay, go.

So how'd you learn to have fun in hell?

Family vacations.

Oh, uh...

She says she has your coat.

My... No. No, no. Tell her she's... This is not my coat.

She says it is your coat, and that's why she's giving it to you.

No, tell her... No, thank... No...

- Beautiful, but no, I can't accept... - Then you must pay her something.

Pay her? I can't afford the coat!

- I can't afford! No, thank you.

She's simply asking if you like this coat of yours.

- I like it, yes. Beautiful. But not for me... - Oh, for Christ's sakes! Don't you get it?

Look. There. Now...

Now, it is your coat, just as she said from the beginning.

There's a lot of bargains to be had in wartime,

if you don't mind wearing the clothes of the dead.

Now can we go celebrate?

Hungarian, where is Sandor?

Oh, Sandor is gone.

- He will come back. - No, he won't.

You never know when he will turn up.

And have the waiters say our nada. You art in nada.

Nada be thy nada. Thy will be nada as it is in nada.

Give us this nada, our daily nada, nada, nada...

Hey, Dos! Do we bore you?

Paco should be here by now.

Oh, drink up, for Christ's sake, the man's invincible.

He probably just stepped off to seek relief from one of our hors de combat here.

Relax.

Even a Time magazine cover boy

needs to drink with the lowlifes every once in a while.

Lay off, Hem.

There goes a truly wet blanket.

Do you speak English?

Have you seen Paco Zarra?

- Have you seen him today since...

Hey, Sidney.

Go get her.

This one's for you, Papa!

You were at the irrigation project today, right?

Yes, sir, I was.

Did you see Paco? He should be here by now.

I don't know.

Have you seen him recently?

- No? - No, I haven't. I'm sorry.

Oh...

Just outside the hotel, this.

Look, even with bombs falling,

her mother wanted to make sure she was wearing her best coat.

- Yes.

Except it's buttoned wrong. Look.

There wasn't time.

Yes, yes, yes.

You capture that human theme. That need to do something, to...

To exert control even when your world is spinning out of control.

Yes. You understand.

I want to do what you do.

I do. I want to do it, I want to write the way you take pictures.

Mmm.

There's so much going on in this war, so much.

And yet when I sit down, when I start to write, nothing.

Nothing. I can...

- So what's your secret? Tell me your secret. - There is no secret.

The pictures are there, you just take them.

If your pictures aren't good enough,

you're not close enough.

But you have the talent.

It is not enough to have talent.

You also have to be Hungarian.

I must you to know I am General Petrov.

I am a great admirer of you, figure of goddess,

and it would be honor

for you to...

...dance with me. No, come.

- Come. - Dance? No, no. No.

You are a goddess.

Dance.

No, no. Come. Come, come. Now.

- Me? - No, come. Come to dance with me now.

- Hey. - Come, come, come.

Hey, back off, General Caviar, what the hell do you think you're doing here?

What I am doing here? I am doing seduction of beautiful woman.

Come on, I'm not your property.

Say just the two of us step outside, mi general?

We make duel.

I thought Russians had balls.

How about a little Russian roulette?

- Yeah?

Sidney, pistol!

- Oh, come on. - Sidney!

This is madness, what are you doing?

- Ready? - Wait!

Wait. Wait. Wait, wait.

Go back to typewriter, journalist.

Please wait. Please, as both of you are about to die,

or one of you, either way, it will be regrettable,

but one thing must be had first.

The honor of Russia is at stake.

Fuck Russia.

Vodka! Vodka.

Vodka. Vodka.

Made for Peter the Great.

Vodka. Vodka. Vodka. Vodka.

One last drink before you die.

One last. Just one. With caviar.

On real bread.

With music.

Simmer down, Papa.

Come on, we have a film to make.

Take it easy.

I think maybe, today we all learn something, each clay, we acquire an education.

The thing one comes to know about war are not so simple.

Did you say, "Fuck Russia"?

So what if I did?

- Well, I say fuck America!

My country is here.

Where is yours?

He's right, America should be here. The whole world should be here.

The fascists are trampling Spain, and you two are comparing testicles.

It's ridiculous.

No.

We cooked the goat.

No, not Sandor!

No!

You eat!

How could that Hungarian do this?

- Oh! - Sometimes sacrifice is an art.

Soon, disaster swung like a compass needle, aimlessly, all over the city.

Past the street barricades, the only sound you heard

was a machine gun hammering in the University city

and a bird.

It was a crazy war. We could take a streetcar to the front.

Get this. Get that. Are you getting it? Are we getting it?

Yeah, yeah. I lost the...

The front was only blocks away, it was very cold,

and the thuds of mortar shells were all around,

but we had a film to make.

- Set the camera here.

Get down!

- There's stray bullets everywhere.

Look at that.

Fucking grace under pressure.

- Hey, tú! - Get down!

Get down!

I invited him to join us for a drink after work.

Francisco!

You sure taught them a lesson.

You lobbed grenades right onto their fascist asses.

Good. They deserve it.

Fascism is a lie told by bullies.

One day, Felipe here is a champion jai alai player,

and the next, he's hurling grenades instead of pelotas.

Listen to Hemingway.

You'd think his side was winning the war.

There's atrocities on both sides.

The important thing is to report with objectivity.

Objectivity?

Fuck all your objectivity shit.

What got into her?

Hemingway, no doubt.

There's a cat?

That's no cat.

That's no cat. That's no cat!

Gellhorn!

Gellhorn!

Mama. Mama.

Mama.

Come On.

Come with me.

Come with me.

Mama!

Mama.

It's okay.

Are you fucking stupid?

You are not supposed to charge out in the middle of a shelling.

Little boys are not supposed to see their mothers bleed to death.

Sarita.

- No. - Check the boy. Get him some water.

- I've got blood on my hands. I can't... - Then, wash it off.

- Gellhorn.

Wash your hands.

More coming!

Bravest woman I ever saw.

Spying, Gellhorn?

No.

You're supposed to be a war correspondent. So where's your correspondence?

What are you, just a fucking war tourist?

Um...

I...

I can't write. I can't...

I'm trying and I can't get anything.

I...

I feel like I don't know enough.

I don't know enough about the war and about...

About the military and about... I just...

I don't...

The only thing that really interests me is people and their lives,

their daily lives, that's...

And I...

Who's going to be interested in that, really?

There's nothing to writing, Gellhorn.

All you do is sit down at your typewriter and bleed.

Mmm-hmm.

Do what you did in Appalachia,

write about ordinary people, and war

and Madrid.

No, I...

- It's just I... - Fucking get in the ring, Gellhorn.

See what you're made of.

Start throwing some punches for what you believe in.

Fucking war correspondent.

So, what?

As the bombs fall, you know what the people in the square are thinking,

"I must get home."

Somehow, you do not believe you can get killed

when you are sitting in the comfort of home.

Gellhorn!

Gellhorn. Come on, we got to get out.

My God.

You have the most goddamn sexual legs.

Is this what you want?

It's what I need.

So, how did you get this?

Fell Off a ladder.

Mmm.

Skylight fell on me.

Really?

And your leg?

Italy. Mortar.

An Austrian Minenwerfer.

Three Italians with me had their legs blown off.

God, that must have been bad.

No, I was lucky, knee's still attached.

Kept a bowl by my bed for all the metal they took out.

Two hundred and twenty seven pieces.

They awarded me the Croce al Merito di Guerra with three citations.

And he's a hero, too.

I hate the hero words.

And "sacred," "glorious," "sacrifice."

Never saw a damn thing that was sacred.

Goddamn foot fungus.

What?

Bullfighters are plagued by it.

The great matador, Don Junero, gave me this amazing powder.

I think it was Don Junero.

You think?

The important thing for a writer is to tell a good story.

- So, is it true about the scars? - Of course, it's true.

Let me tell you something else about writers.

The best ones are all liars.

It's hard to say exactly the moment you fall in love with someone.

But I knew with him the exact moment when I knew I had.

And I knew why.

In that instant, it was his words. The ones I would never hear.

Whatever private thing he uttered.

Hemingway!

Hemingway!

Hemingway!

Have you seen Hemingway?

The hotel was being transformed

into a vast triage for the wounded.

And it still had all the old furniture, but it smelled, it smelled of ether.

And it was crowded with bandaged men.

Capa!

Have you seen Hemingway?

I know that voice.

- Brooklyn. - Gellhorn.

I've been thinking about you, how are you?

How are you?

I'm... I'm fine.

- And you? How are you? - I'm aces, now that you're here.

But the Hungarian.

Hey, where is he?

Hmm?

Ask me a different question.

Let me get you a drink.

No, wait, wait. Wait, wait, wait.

I want you to have this.

It'll make you lucky.

Hmm.

I'm gonna get you a drink.

Here.

Oh...

There's Papa.

I'll take care of him.

In the event that Madrid should fall...

Madrid will never fall.

In the event Madrid should fall,

there should be no evidence of the extent of Russian intervention in Spain.

Why can't we film this?

Now, let me be direct.

Zarra's brother

is a colonel with Franco.

It's a civil war. Brother fights brother.

In this instance, Moscow believe brother might not be fighting brother.

What, they think Paco is a spy?

I saw him kill half a dozen fascists in one afternoon.

Can you think of a better way to get anti-fascists to trust you?

And you believe this?

I'm afraid it does not matter what I believe.

Moscow is not comfortable with a leader whose brother sits at Franco's side.

Something may happen.

What kind of something?

Something about which nothing can be done. But I promise you, he will get a fair trial.

Fair trial?

- A man knows his friends. - In Spain,

Russians can be very good to know. We control access to all brigades.

And?

Our comrade, Dos Paseos...

...is making it hard for Moscow to continue granting this.

Bullshit.

Dos may be a genius of an ass, but no one is more anti-fascist.

No one doubts the man's ideals, I am talking about his behavior.

You cannot deny that Dos Paseos, you might say, is in love with Paco Zarra.

He hears a rumor about him, and suddenly he is everywhere, talking to people...

War runs on rumors.

Let me be even more direct.

If it appears that Paco Zarra is a spy, and if it appears that Dos Paseos,

the man making this movie with you, is involved with a spy,

then my hands are tied.

What the hell are you suggesting?

I am suggesting that you tell Dos Paseos

that men should not be so emotional.

Tell him to act more like a man Hemingway would write about.

Hem, did he tell you anything about Paco?

Hem?

Two years later, Koltsov was arrested

in a purge in Moscow and sentenced to death.

He truly believed in Stalin.

I sometimes wonder what he believed as Stalin's thugs were dragging him off

to put a bullet in his head.

Oh, Mr. Hemingway, how strong and how big you are!

Your writing is phony! It's pompous!

My writing pompous? Your voice is pompous!

Damn faggot!

Don't you try to tell me how to write narration! What do you know about real war?

Funny how a man has to prove himself manly, I wonder why?

Hemingway is right, your voice is too hammy, it's a disaster!

You overrated, ass-kissing narcissists!

Fuck that blowhard! I'll narrate it myself.

I like that idea, Hemingway. Let's try it.

Yeah, son also drinks a little too much out of war.

- Hello, Orson. - Oh, John, I quit!

What? What do you mean you quit?

This Spanish earth is hard and dry,

and the faces of the men who work that earth are hard and dried from the sun.

This worthless land, with water, will yield much.

For 50 years, we've wanted to irrigate...

Ah, this is working! This is working. This is much better.

Joris, what the hell's going on? I just ran into Welles, he says he quit!

Quit? I fired his ass.

You what? You fired... He can't...

You don't know the first thing about narrating a film, Hem!

Fucking actors.

Turn the projector off, stop, stop. Turn the lights on.

With Orson Welles narrating, it was too theatrical.

But with Hemingway, we now hear a natural voice, a real voice,

a man who has actually been to Spain and wants to tell the world.

Trust me. This is working.

Okay.

Gellhorn, incoming bombs.

- Everybody else ready? Music.

- Projector.

Hemingway, you ready? And, action!

Before, death came when you were old or sick,

but now it comes to all this village,

high in the sky and shining silver.

It comes to all who have no place to run, no place to hide.

Three Junker planes did this.

This worthless land, with water, will yield much.

For 50 years, we've wanted to irrigate, but they've held us back.

Now, we will bring water to it, to raise food for the defenders of Madrid.

That was my line. Now it's Hem's?

Hey, wait, Joris.

Joris, where's the shot of Paco on horseback?

You said that was the best shot of the film.

Here it is. Oh, Paco!

Wait a second, what is this?

You've taken him out of the film entirely?

Shh!

He disappears in Spain and now you're gonna make sure he disappears forever?

For Christ's sake, Dos, calm down.

Cuts have to be made to make the film move better.

It's filmmaking, Dos. There are aesthetic decisions.

Welles' voice wasn't right for our narration,

and now he's telling you Paco needs to be cut.

Paco is...

It's for balance, it's for the film's good.

Oh, for the film's good, or for Russia's good?

Don't insult me. I risked my life to film this war.

Yes, and Paco risked his fighting it.

For God's sake, Hem, you don't do this to a friend.

Why is it, whenever I mention Paco...

What is it you're not telling me?

Something I don't think you'd have the stomach to hear.

Or it's something you don't have the stomach to say.

It's all right, Dos.

Nobody says a coward can't make a great writer.

You should go off and write.

We could use a new book by Dos Paseos.

After Spain, Dos Paseos changed.

He never regretted his stand against Franco,

but because of what happened to Paco, his politics moved far to the right.

Ladies and gentlemen, tonight the American Writers' Congress,

which is sponsored by the League of American Writers,

is proud to present the first motion picture of Spain's battlefront.

Directed by Joris Ivens,

and written by Ernest Hemingway in collaboration with John Dos Paseos.

We also have in attendance tonight Archibald MacLeish, Donald Ogden Stuart...

There are people...

- Shut up. Shut up! - What are you doing?

Ow! God, get off.

- Fuck. - Fuck you!

- This is your fault. - My fault?

You don't remember me shoving you up against a wall

and trying to shove your hand into my knickers.

Cunt.

You want to emasculate me now, in front of the world?

Oh, I get it.

I get it now.

Hemingway has stage fright.

Is that it?

Okay.

This totally feels like horse hair.

And you, in this fucking fur coat.

Papa.

You're on.

You're gonna be fine.

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

just back from the Spanish front,

my friend, my hero, Ernest Hemingway.

Papa, come on!

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am a writer.

So, the last thing a writer should be asked to do is talk.

Excuse me.

Fascists may destroy cities,

but the earth will outlive all systems of tyranny.

For those who have entered the earth honorably,

and no men ever entered earth more honorably than those who died in Spain,

have already achieved immortality.

The film you are going to see is about such men.

Ladies and gentlemen,

The Spanish Earth.

Just a minute, ladies and gentlemen, just a minute.

I see we have a very special guest here,

a woman who has shared our adventures in Spain.

- A writer for Collier's magazine,

please give a warm welcome to Martha Gellhorn.

Uh, ladies and gentlemen,

people speak of the glory of battle,

the sweep of governments, the majesty of leaders,

but go into the ravaged towns and hold the hand of a starving, half-burned child,

and you will know differently.

My job,

our job,

is to give voice to the voiceless, to bear witness to the innocent

and to expose the lies that mask evil with glorious rhetoric.

- Right here, Papa. - One more?

- Right here, right here, sir. - Mr. Hemingway!

Appreciate it, sir.

- Papa! Papa! - Got some good shots. Yes, sir.

- Wait here, Papa. - One more before you go.

- Mr. Hemingway? Mr. Hemingway? - Thank you. Very nice. Thank you.

Good job. Thanks a lot.

Thanks a lot, guys. That was good.

Get you guys back on the way out. Thanks again, guys.

Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming.

- Absolutely. - Thank you for your support.

Let me give you one of these pamphlets.

One for you here, sir, explaining everything about the cause in Spain.

Spain got my juices flowing, Max.

The work's good. I've got a great title.

That's what editors like to hear.

For Whom the Bell Tolls.

John Donne.

"Each man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind,"

"Therefore, ask not for whom the bell tolls,"

"it tolls for thee."

It's going to be his best novel.

Believe me, I've edited all of them.

Every time I think he can't get any better, he does.

It is the mark of a great writer.

Exactly. I know.

You should know.

I could say the same about your articles for Collier's.

Believe me, Scribner's is interested, if you ever want to write a book.

Really?

You can't filch her, Perkins. I've got her locked up at Collier's.

Stories are so good, we want more.

Actually, you know, I wasn't sure that gals have the stuff

to be war reporters.

Well, women get bombed the same as men.

Yeah, well, I want to get bombed right now.

Joris, Joris. Great film. Narration's over the top, though.

Doing...

There he is.

- Critic! - Let me give you a piece of...

Get over here.

Pardon me for a minute.

- Critic! - Easy, Hem.

Easy? Nobody shits on your work.

I need another drink.

Hello, Hemingway.

Hello, Eastman. I was just...

Max.

I was just telling my friends here what you said about my book. Remember?

I don't believe I do.

"His talent's been outstripped by fear of his flagging masculinity."

Then you said,

"Come out from behind that false hair on your chest, Ernest."

"We all know you."

Well, you memorized it.

Oh, come on, Papa, you're not sore?

No. I just want to discuss it with you.

- See? - Oh, God.

Do you see that?

That's what a man looks like.

My lord, you're serious.

Let's see what you got on your chest, you fucking nancy!

No, no. Hem! Hem!

Son of a bitch!

No, that's it. Move away. Come on.

I got a hairier chest than you, pal.

Hairier!

Hemingway! Hemingway! Right here!

Papa! Right here, Papa!

Second-rate son of a bitch!

Don't you know adultery is a sin?

This is a Catholic home!

You are never getting a divorce.

I won't see you destroyed by some,

some Gellhorn.

You told me you loved me so much,

that love was all that mattered.

Your love is just something mounted on the wall.

Your love is... Doesn't... Dirty little sex tricks you taught me

that you probably learned from one of your whores!

Haven't I cared for you through your rages,

and your jealousies

and your meanness?

I told the world you were a genius. I gave you all of this.

Oh, manly Hemingway. All of this!

All Of this!

To prove you're not a mama's boy.

Comparing your penis to F. Scott Fitzgerald,

telling everyone that yours is bigger?

- I know the truth! - Pauline!

What are you doing?

Take them out of here.

- Take them out of here! - Whatever you say, Pauline.

- What's wrong with Mommy? - Come on, boys. Let's go.

- What's the matter? - Up to your room.

Do our boys mean nothing to you?

You think I'm going to let you leave me like you left Hadley?

This time, you're staying married.

You think that this Gellhorn cares about you?

She is using you!

She will not be your muse. She will leave you a broken man.

What do you want?

What do you want?

Who wants a Papa Doble?

- Papa whose's? - Papa Doble.

Two and a half jiggers Bacardi White Label rum,

juice of two limes, half a grapefruit, plus six drops of Maraschino.

You whir the whole mess with shaved ice in an electric mixer,

and you're ready to rumba.

I invented the damn drink, and I own the house record in drinking them.

Seventeen.

- You're on, son. - Count me in.

- Right. - Double sawbuck to the winner.

- Spain. - Spain!

- The death of fascism. - Yeah!

Gellhorn's a real thoroughbred, but she's skittish in the stretch.

We'll see about that.

Mmm-hmm.

Nineteen.

I swear by Christ, you're more of a man than most men I've met.

Just say that I won.

- You didn't win. - No, say it. Say it. I won.

We're taking a break. We'll call it a draw.

Draw, my ass, God damn it. I won!

I'm less body weight than you, so...

- Technically, I'm more alcohol than you are. - Right, so now,

- there's algebra involved. - So say I won.

Why can't you say I won?

- Say I won. - Oh, yeah, I bet you're a sore winner, too.

- How much do you wanna bet? - How much you got?

It's called Finca Vigía.

We can get it for next to nothing.

We can write here together.

What do you think? Isn't it perfect?

We'll have to give the guests machetes.

Who needs guests?

What do you think?

So can we stay?

I still can't believe it.

You never really know what you're fighting for until you lose.

After Spain, I felt such despair for the human race.

I thought, "We're forever bitched."

Spain. Spain really broke my heart.

Nobody listened.

Nobody.

And the fascists won.

The fascists won.

You listen to me, Gellhorn.

A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.

If he's still standing, he can fight.

I'm writing to show the world what we were fighting for in Spain.

A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.

If he's still standing, he can fight.

What time is it?

It was high noon an hour ago.

Writing since 6:00.

Come on, Gellhorn.

Get up and bite on the nail.

Go away.

What are you trying to do, spook me?

Past five minutes, I've watched you.

I've watched you type pages and let them float into the wastebasket.

Never crumple pages. Always let them float gently into the basket.

Any writer who rips out his stuff and crumples it

will be insane in a year, guaranteed.

God, we went through two bottles of scotch,

wine, absinthe, and yet you can get up in the morning

at the crack of dawn and write.

Writing's like mass. God gets mad if you don't show up.

Come on. You don't write on Sundays.

Yeah, but Sundays, there's real mass.

I still don't understand you and Catholicism.

Happened right after I married Pauline.

The moment I said, "I do," I was struck impotent.

Oh.

Nada. Señor Linguine.

She had me go to church. It worked.

I had my very own resurrection.

Hell, I would have French kissed John the Baptist for a hard-on.

Oh, there's an image I will cherish.

After that, I figured I'd stay Catholic.

Why jinx things? Hey, no snooping.

Come on, muses always snoop.

What did you...

"Maybe today, we've all learned something. Each day we acquire an education."

"The things one comes to know about war are not so simple."

That's what Koltsov said.

You...

So, this Karkov,

he's based on Koltsov.

Who knows? Could be.

You don't forget anything, do you?

Do you?

I forgot one thing.

No.

You're dedicating that to me?

Gellhorn, you inspire the hell out of me.

Wait, no, no, wait. I've got to talk to you about something.

- Not now. Done by noon... - But I do!

- ...drunk by 3:00. - I have to talk to you about something.

- Wait! - That's my philosophy.

Oh!

Oh, God.

God!

Oh, God.

Life shouldn't be this perfect. It really shouldn't.

It absolutely should.

A perfect moment.

But it's all still out there.

- What's all still out there? - The world.

Collier's wants me to go to Finland.

- Marty. - Mmm-hmm?

In this world, when you find a good place, you don't leave it.

I know.

But Stalin's expanding west now, the Russians are bombing civilians.

Oh, don't pretend you care about the Finns.

You just want a war all to yourself.

Well, you're the one who taught me.

Some wars are necessary, and it's necessary to bear witness.

God damn you. I'm writing a novel here. Aren't you happy?

I adore you. I...

I absolutely adore you.

But innocent people are being blown up.

Someone has to go. Someone has to write about this.

You mean someone has to leave.

I want to go.

I do.

I've gotta go. There's things that...

There's things I need to find out.

Perkins wants you to write a novel for Scribner's.

I don't want to write a novel.

Marty, stay here with me.

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.

Marty.

Papa doesn't want you to go.

Don't "Papa" me.

Will you come with me?

Come with me.

War in the Arctic is a very remarkable thing.

The Finns joke that they don't believe Russian propaganda,

but they believe Russian bombs.

Careful!

I saw a boy of nine, standing outside his burning home, watching the bombers.

He looked up at the sky with a stubborn, serious face.

He had held himself stiffly so as not to shrink from the noise.

Then he said, "Little by little, I'm getting really angry."

I'll put my money on three million Finns against 180 million Russkies.

After all, they are fighting for their lives and their homes.

My dearest Marty, one thing you must know,

love is infinitely more durable than hate.

Last night, I howled at the moon, and some poor, wretched beast answered from the dark.

Maybe he has a Marty, too.

And so we howled together.

The animal, and the man whom love has made an animal.

Your book is what will last after us

and make that war intelligible.

Love, you poison my typewriter.

How can I write with every key screaming?

Since you left, I've had hangovers they could name battleships after.

Today I remember the heat of your naked skin.

I cannot wait to return to Cuba and wallow in sun and quiet, and above all,

I shall be glad to be home with you,

where I belong.

Beloved, I learned from you not to have the vanity

to think the planes were looking for me and all bullets had my name on them.

I'm tired, and I wish I were with you.

I am stinko, deadly lonely.

We must promise and pledge and swear out loud

to the love-drunk gods on high that we will never...

And let's never...

Leave each other again.

Never leave each other again.

Mmm. Mmm.

Mmm.

You're home.

Oh, the maid quit.

I wonder why.

What, you go away for two months, then waltz back and bitch?

Come on.

Got something that will make you happy.

You look terrible.

I'm fine. Now.

I just spent two months in the Arctic missing you like hell,

and I come home to a Tijuana whorehouse.

They don't look like this.

Well, you would know.

- How do you write those letters? - It's notarized.

Oh, my... You got a divorce.

Thing had to be done, I did it.

What about Pauline?

It was bad.

I did it for us.

- Us? But I didn't ask... - So we could get married.

I have a horror of marriage. You know that.

I'd rather sin respectably.

Well, I'd rather make an honest woman out of you.

So what do you think of that?

- Mr. Cooper, over here! - Mrs. Hemingway!

- Hemingway! - Mrs. Hemingway!

Bravo, Hemingway!

- Miss Dietrich! Miss Dietrich!

I have never been happier.

Uh-oh.

Last time you said that, you ended up in Finland.

What is it now?

What?

Chiang Kai Shek.

- China! - Mmm-hmm.

Collier's has made me an offer.

Oh, Christ. Here she goes again.

My assignment is to show what Japan is really doing to innocent people in China.

And an interview with the world's most powerful couple.

- Well, that's us, isn't it? - Come on, be serious.

Me be serious?

You love your wife, Jackson?

Some days.

Some days.

Man's a Plato.

So what do you say?

What do you have against China?

You know how filthy China is?

Come on.

You like filth. Hmm?

I had an uncle there. A medical missionary.

Had to take out his own appendix on horseback.

Oh, forget your uncle's appendix. No one else is covering this.

This could be our war.

Oh, jeez. How many wars do you need?

Don't think of it as war. Think of it as a paid honeymoon.

Our honeymoon. Come on.

- Don't you want a honeymoon? - This is our honeymoon.

A real honeymoon. Real.

- Come on, Hemingway, please? - Marty!

Say yes. Please.

Oh, for Christ's sakes, Gellhorn.

- A man can't let his wife go alone to China. - No, he can't.

Especially if she's blonde.

That's right. It would be very dangerous.

- Who knows what would happen. - Uh-huh.

Thank you.

I had been in Finnish cities during bombing attacks,

and Madrid was swept almost daily by artillery fire,

but China was in a class by itself.

As the Japanese destroyed, the Chinese residents repaired.

Endurance was the secret Chinese weapon.

The Japanese should have understood that,

and everyone else had better remember it.

She has, a whatchamacallit, bound feet.

Her feet were bound and she cannot walk.

The Japanese are bombing everything.

What is that?

- No... - You must be careful.

- No, I hear...

Go no further. There is nothing we can do for him.

This is off-limits.

Are you certain you want to go in here?

Yes, yes. I do, Mr. Ma.

Be cautious, madam.

No.

No, no, you must not use the water.

It's very bad. Very...

- Come on, we're celebrating.

For Whom the Bell Tolls is selling like ice cream in hell.

Clement said it's the finest book written this decade.

Maybe the whole goddamn century, eh?

Tell the one about Garbo's pants again.

- Hey, it's the Marty. - It's very bad.

She washed her hands with the water.

She what?

You must want to suffer.

Mmm-hmm. I must. I'm in love with you.

Oh!

We must hurry, please. I have gotten you a whatchamacallit,

an interview with Generalissimo Chiang Kai Shek.

Madame Chiang, you look even better than you do on the cover of Time.

Thank you. You know what a bore it can be, posing for magazine covers.

The Generalissimo wishes to tell you communism is a disease of the heart.

The Japanese are a disease of the skin.

Beautifully put, Generalissimo.

Yes, the communists hamper our army against the Japanese invaders.

You must tell your friend, Roosevelt.

Oh, we will. You can count on it.

You must also tell him not to worry about Mao or Zhou Enlai.

These are the communist leaders.

So-called leaders, of course.

No one can replace the Generalissimo in the hearts of his people.

May I ask, Mrs. Hemingway, do you believe that war is men's business?

Oh.

Does it really matter?

In China, it seems like all of the businesses are run on slave labor.

I mean, the people...

The people are starving.

I, uh...

I met a little girl in an opium den today, and she was...

So many sights, and you visit an opium den?

Perhaps you enjoy opium? Mmm?

No. I never touch the stuff.

But I can see why your people do.

Your opinions are so interesting.

But I believe that we know what is best for our own people.

Chocolate?

No, thank you.

So is it best for children to be working in squalor?

And it's best for lepers to be on the street, begging?

That's so interesting.

If not civilized.

Civilized?

Your wife has a wonderful sense of humor.

She certainly does.

China was a great civilization

when your ancestors were living in trees

and painting themselves blue.

Which ancestors are they?

Apes or Gellhorns?

You will have this.

No, I couldn't take it.

I insist.

Well, thank you, it's lovely.

You see, we're not so uncivilized.

Some balls, Gellhorn, telling off the Empress of China

in front of Chiang Kai Shek.

Oh, you don't think they'll invite us back?

We'll be lucky if they don't hang us.

What the hell got into you?

I just keep seeing that little girl in the opium den.

It upsets me.

They don't take care of their people.

Ugh! I need some calamine.

My hands, they're just...

You must stop scratching. It's very bad.

You have the whatchamacallit?

What's whatchamacallit?

China rot.

Too late for calamine.

You need...

You need some of this...

No, no, no. What is that?

Snake urine and bat whatchamacallit...

- Come on. - Yes.

This will work.

Stop scratching. Put this on.

Right away.

Ugh.

There you go.

Ugh!

Now, you need some gloves.

Ah! Here.

These are the best.

Motorman's gloves.

Enjoying your honeymoon?

- Go to hell. - Already there, dear.

Should we go and scare up some of that snake hooch?

Yes, sir.

Gellhorn.

Zhou Enlai wants to meet you and Hemingway.

Make sure you're not followed.

Just walk. We'll find you.

But hurry.

You see that woman?

What woman?

Damn it, she disappeared. She...

She said that Zhou Enlai wants to meet us.

Who is he again?

Well, he's the big commie that Madame Chiang said not to worry about.

Which means she is worried.

Hmm. I like him already.

We'll have to ditch you know who.

Mr. Ma?

She said to just keep walking and they will find us.

Quick.

Come.

Please. Get in.

Put these blindfolds on.

Why the hell Will We do that?

Zhou has many enemies.

Better you don't know how to find him.

Well, this should be fun.

How fast can they pull these things?

Depends who's chasing them.

This is some fucking honeymoon, Gellhorn.

Black flag. What does that mean?

It means there's cholera there.

Cholera?

We're headed ashore.

A line of men, like dark, straining statues,

pulled the towrope with their sampan

and slowly moved the heavy barge forward.

They chanted to time their effort.

And the sound came as a rising and falling wave across the water.

You may remove the blindfolds.

I'm Zhou.

Zhou Enlai.

The one you're not supposed to worry about.

Hello, Zhou.

- I'm Gellhorn. - Hemingway.

A drink.

To Hemingway and Gellhorn.

Oh!

I believe where you come from, it is called moonshine.

Where I come from, it's called gasoline.

I admired A Farewell to Arms.

You understand the real heart of war.

The movie, however...

- You saw the movie? - Yes.

But I'm sorry.

Helen Hayes was not Catherine Barkley.

Don't blame me. Okay?

When it comes to Hollywood,

I drive to the border, toss the book over with one hand,

then grab the cash with the other.

Sounds very glamorous.

Not as glamorous as an underground communist leader

up against the Generalissimo.

Oh, yes.

I live simply

'cause my people live simply.

Most of us do not have chocolates.

It's not often Chiang removes his teeth for guests.

You have excellent intelligence.

Ah, Gellhorn. I see you have one of Madame's jade brooches.

Oh, she was very insistent.

Did she mention they are made by blind children?

The Chiangs own the factory.

My wife thinks that Madame had Chiang castrated.

Your wife knows a lot about castration?

Wouldn't surprise me.

Castration is an elective at Bryn Mawr.

My friends in America tell me you know Eleanor Roosevelt.

Mmm-hmm. Quite well.

Brilliant woman.

Inform her the Generalissimo is the past.

A communist victory is inevitable.

I wish we had more time to talk,

but unfortunately, I have a country I must defend against the Japanese invaders.

Take care.

So, how do we get back from here?

Mr. Ma.

So, whose side are you on?

There are no sides.

There's only the past and the future.

Now, you must wait here.

When it is safe, we will come to get you.

Zhou's a winner, don't you think?

Oh, he's entrancing.

I mean, he's...

I mean...

intoxicating.

I mean, if he asked me to follow him,

I would follow him...

What, you sit here on our so-called honeymoon

and tell me you want to run off with Zhou fucking Enlai?

I thought you liked him.

I like a lot of guys.

I was just musing.

Musing? A wife doesn't muse about fucking other men.

Fucking?

Who was ever talking about fucking?

I'm talking about a charismatic leader, someone who's intoxicating.

Well, why do you have to make it about fucking?

Fucking?

I don't want to fuck him.

Ugh.

I'd love to interview the person who made this stuff.

Oh, Little Miss Human Interest.

- Don't you want to be careful,

or you might lose the sweep of history with all your people stories.

History is people. You should get out of the bar more.

- I like bars, I met you in one. - Mmm-hmm.

Well, I like to get my stories firsthand.

Well, this one you got on both hands.

Zhou fucking Enlai.

It had been scandalous selfishness on my part.

In that moment, I wanted to praise him

for his generosity and letting me drag him to China.

His forbearance for not murdering me,

even his awful jokes.

I wanted to let him know that I grieved for his time wasted

on a season in hell.

Thank you... - Take your filthy hands off me!

You're the biggest asshole!

You are!

Where are we?

In a fucking cave.

Somewhere in China.

We told Mrs. Roosevelt

all that we had seen, and she was very sympathetic.

And she encouraged us to speak to the President and the State Department.

We spoke to the State Department.

We said Zhou Enlai was the man to watch.

We told them the communists would win.

Imagine that.

Communist China.

For that,

we were branded fellow travelers.

I thought it was funny.

But Hem didn't like it.

He didn't want the government thinking he was a pinko.

I believe it made him extra patriotic.

Right on target.

He stopped writing,

and he spent all of his time with his cronies on the Pilar,

hunting for U-boats.

People say that jealousy is the greatest enemy of love.

They're wrong.

The greatest enemy of love

is boredom.

Colebaugh. It's Gellhorn.

I wanted to be where the real action was.

Why do you think? There's going to be an invasion in Europe.

I want to cover it for Collier's.

That's Hem and his buddies playing war.

They managed to get the Pilar designated an official Q-boat

for destroying German submarines.

I am not going to write a piece on Hem's hunt for German submarines in the Caribbean.

Because it's ludicrous.

That's why.

In six months, he hasn't found so much as a floating sauerbraten.

That's a damn cat.

They multiply hourly down here.

I know how the army feels about female correspondents,

but, I mean, come on.

I'm battle-tested.

I'm different.

Come on, Charlie.

You got to help me out here.

But you told me that Collier's loves my stuff on Finland and China.

You'll get back to me?

Damn.

- You had their balls cut off? - I did.

- What the hell is wrong with you? - What? Me?

- Wait a second. Whose balls got cut off? - The cats.

She had them de-cojone-d!

No! What'll they do at night?

One thing they're not going to do is spray my clothes.

Everything I own stinks!

Stinks of cat stink!

You're obsessive, you know that?

You're obsessive about being filthy!

Yeah, well, men aren't tulips!

Please. A grown man playing war?

Nobody here is playing.

Felipe here can throw a grenade down the hatch of a sub

the second they open up.

I am performing a service for my country here!

How patriotic. A nonstop, rum-running party.

For God's sake, Hem.

German submarines in Cuba?

You wouldn't put that in a bad novel.

What novel are you calling bad?

- Here we go. - For your information,

not a single U-boat has made it through.

Fine. Fine.

You keep America safe for democracy.

I am going.

That woman loves humanity,

but can't stand people!

I always said that, didn't I?

- You did. - I did.

Gellhorn!

Papa, forget about her!

- Gellhorn! - Papa!

Don't you walk away from me!

You berated me in front of your friends.

You've become a braggart, and it's not attractive.

What the hell do you need from me?

I don't need anything from you! There's going to be an Allied invasion.

- I need to be there. - Oh, that's right.

Run off whenever there's a cause.

We have an obligation, don't we? As writers.

What happened to your conscience?

You know what? You're giving it back to me.

I'm so inspired.

I'm going to be flying over in a week.

I have secured a position.

Well, that's fantastic.

So we're going together.

What?

What?

- What is it? - Congratulate me, darling.

I'm going to be the correspondent for Collier's.

For Collier's?

No, come on. This is a joke. You...

You know they can only take one correspondent.

It's dog-eat-dog out there.

Oh, my God.

You could have signed anywhere.

You took my job.

You took my job at Collier's?

I know. I got some hefty shoes to fill.

You've done some excellent work.

Are you trying to make it impossible for me to love you?

Oh, come on, sport. I could be killed over there.

That'd make you happy, wouldn't it?

I don't even...

You asshole!

Jesus.

This is...

So, how are you flying over?

- Government transport. - Really? Okay.

Get me a seat on the plane. It's the least you could do.

No can do.

Men only. Military.

Why?

Hem, why?

So Dos Paseos was right.

What was that priss ever right about?

Oh, about you, mostly.

He said you were a self-serving, selfish bastard.

- You didn't need to do that. - Yes, I did.

You know a hell of a lot,

but what you don't know is how much I did need to do that.

You get back here.

Fuck you.

Gellhorn!

Gellhorn!

Oh, God.

Waste of time.

They'll still be reading me long after you've been eaten by worms!

Fuck you!

Eaten by worms!

There was talk everywhere that the invasion was going to happen.

And my problem, with no connections,

was how to be there when it did.

Hey, where are you going? Where you going?

Oh, I'm doing a story on nurses for Collier's.

Good luck, blondie. Go.

So I stowed away

on a hospital ship.

People will be writing about this sight for 100 years,

and whoever saw it will never forget it.

After the first shock of wonder and admiration,

one began to look around and see separate details.

A gun flash, a distant war.

Barrage balloons,

like comic toy elephants, bounced in the high wind.

And invisible planes droned behind the gray ceiling of cloud.

Troops were unloading from big ships.

On the shore, moving up four brown roads that scarred the hillside are tanks

clanked slowly and steadily forward.

We waded ashore having agreed that we would assemble the wounded.

Everyone was violently busy on that crowded, dangerous shore.

The dust that rose seemed like the fog of war itself.

There was the terrible feeling of working against time.

There were wounded who groaned in their sleep or called out.

"And there was the soft steady hum of conversation among the wounded

who could not sleep."

"Stop."

"It was a ship carrying a load of pain."

"But we were together."

"And we counted on each other."

"Stop."

Ernest, are you all right?

Yeah, of course I'm okay.

- What did you say your name was again?

Mary.

Mary Welsh.

I can tell you're my kind of girl.

What kind of girl is that?

The kind that takes care of a man.

Looks after him.

Keeps him going.

I like that.

I could do that.

Yeah?

That's lovely.

It's Italian, isn't it?

Mrs. Hemingway!

Mrs. Hemingway?

Mrs. Hemingway!

Are you Mrs. Ernest Hemingway?

Why?

And that, children, is the best way to handle a knife-wielding Chinese!

Ernest is a great storyteller.

Oh, my God. It's the Marty.

First journalist on the beach at Normandy.

Though she's not really accredited.

No home and hearth for my wife.

She'd rather be married to war, isn't that right, Intrepid?

I heard you had an accident.

A scratch.

Obviously hasn't affected your personality.

Unless you came to gloat, why did you come?

I don't know.

I guess...

Guess I just came by for a divorce.

Marty.

- Papa, what are you doing? - Marty!

Look what that bitch has done to him.

Marty!

Gellhorn!

Sir, you're bleeding.

Gellhorn!

Marty, it's me.

Go away.

Marty, open the door.

No, I'm not letting you in.

You're plastered. Go away.

Marty!

I told you I want a divorce.

Open up, Mrs. Hemingway.

Mr. Hemingway loves you.

Oh, my God. Look at you.

You're the queen of heaven.

It's too late.

No.

Marty.

Give me a chance.

I deserve a chance.

Come on.

If we get divorced in Cuba, then we don't have to wait.

Always up on the local customs.

Fucking journalist.

Fucking bitch!

I gave you everything!

Gellhorn!

I made you!

- I made you!

It's over. It's enough!

Go away.

Please go away.

Bitch.

God.

We were good in war.

And when there was no war,

we made our own.

The battlefield neither of us could survive was domestic life.

I try not to think about him

since I fear I cannot think about him with kindness,

but only with dread.

God, how I hope the problems of my own tiny life don't

blind me to everything.

There were two things that most affected my view of the world.

One.

One was the defeat of Spain.

And the other...

...was Dachau.

And Dachau was minor compared to Auschwitz.

It was an unbelievable horror.

A thing so horrendous that you could not take it all in

without becoming frenzied and hysterical and mad.

I fled.

I spent the night weeping,

and I think I lost faith in this whole wretched human race.

- Feels like a big one.

What are you doing, Papa?

Papa?

Papa!

Papa!

Pull it in, Papa!

Papa!

Papa! Papa!

Do you remember that song? The song we used to sing?

It just came to me.

Aren't you glad I moved us out here, away from those bars?

When I think of how you used to carry on...

There you go.

You need your peace and quiet.

We need to focus on keeping Papa healthy.

Writing, at its best, is a lonely life.

As a writer grows in public stature,

he sheds his loneliness,

and often his work deteriorates,

for he does his work alone.

And if he's a good enough writer,

he must face eternity, or the lack of it,

each day.

Miss Gellhorn?

You are considered to be one of the greatest war correspondents of all time.

For the past 45 years, you've covered conflicts everywhere.

Burma, Singapore, the Middle East, Central America,

Vietnam, Africa, Bosnia, on and on.

And for a woman to have done all this...

Were you trying to put yourself in danger?

I don't have those complexes.

That's something men do.

Yes. Men.

Well, since you mentioned men...

Well, we're both journalists, I'm sure you'll understand.

Our viewers would like to know more about your relationship with the man

who was most synonymous with masculinity.

No.

Something about your debt?

My debt?

Your debt to Hemingway?

Hmm...

The man has been dead for 30 years.

He tortured no one so much as he tortured himself.

I wish him peace.

That's all I have to say on the subject.

I do not see myself as a footnote to someone else's life.

Turn it off.

We're done.

Thank you, Miss Gellhorn, for your time.

My dearest Marty,

one thing you must know,

love is infinitely more durable than hate.

God damn it.

It's Gellhorn.

I've decided to go after all.

Why? Because, as usual, The Times got it wrong again.

Mmm-hmm.

All that drivel, all that goddamn objectivity shit.

I'm going to be on the next plane.

No. Well, God damn it, I'll pay on my own dime.

I can't wait for you to grow a pair of balls.

You relax.

No.

Oh, don't worry about me.

I love you, too.

I'm not dead yet, you fuck.