Angel Page #2

Synopsis: A woman and her husband take separate vacations, and she falls in love with another man.
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance
Director(s): Ernst Lubitsch
Production: Paramount Pictures
 
IMDB:
7.4
APPROVED
Year:
1937
91 min
245 Views


- Thank you.

You must have been

very successful with women.

What makes you say that?

Nobody could order such a delicious dinner

who wasn't.

Am I a success with you?

Tremendous.

- I wonder if I am.

- Why do you doubt it?

Because, here we are at the dessert

and we know nothing about each other.

You won't tell me your name

or even let me tell you mine.

Oh dear. Didn't we settle all that at the soup,

and again at the salad?

Why spoil such a

perfect evening with names?

I don't want to know your name.

Whatever it is, I know it wouldn't suit you.

Thank you.

I should hate to risk it.

Besides, I know all about you.

You do?

Providence gave you

grey eyes, brown hair...

a charming smile.

Great attraction.

Everything else is unimportant.

I'm content.

You're married?

Back to the soup and the salad.

Why be so curious?

Jealous.

Just terribly jealous.

I thought we were going to have

an amusing evening

but now it's become serious.

Desperately.

Who are you? I must know.

- Isn't it obvious?

- Not to me.

- We meet at the Grand Duchess's house.

- Why were you there?

You meet me at five o'clock. And at ten

minutes past five, I agree to dine with you.

A complete stranger.

The shortest story in the world.

Now tell me the true one.

Very well, then. Perhaps it's dangerous

for you to be with me.

Perhaps I have a husband

who'll come in and shoot you.

Perhaps I'm a spy. A thief.

The police may come in and arrest me.

Both of us.

You're none of those things.

If you were, it wouldn't matter.

Now, or any other time.

I must have done something very nice

in my life to be so beautifully rewarded.

Do you really mean that?

And so much more.

You're an angel.

Angel, that's what I shall call you.

Angel.

You're cold.

Frightened.

- Of me?

- Much more serious.

I'm frightened of myself.

What a strange evening.

I dined with you to be amused, to laugh.

To laugh at you. And...

- And what?

- And say goodbye.

Could you?

I don't know. You must give me time.

Please, a fortnight. A week.

Next Wednesday at five o'clock

at the Grand Duchess.

Wait for me. If I come, I won't ask any

questions. I'll go wherever you ask me to.

- And if you don't come?

- Then you must forgive me.

Never look for me. Forget that I ever existed.

Swear.

Promise that you'll do that for me. Please.

If I did, it would be a promise I couldn't keep.

I don't care who you are or what you are.

- All I know is...

- What?

I love you.

You'll never go out of my life.

I'll never let you go.

Er... Merci beaucoup.

Angel!

Angel!

Angel.

- No other statement, Sir Frederick?

- No other statement, no.

- How's everything, Wilton?

- The Foreign Secretary is on the telephone.

Get me the minutes of Thursday's meeting.

Article 6, section 5b.

Also of Friday's meeting,

all of article, erm... 2.

Well, Mr Wilton? How are you?

- Glad to see you back, Graham.

- Thank you.

- How's everything at Geneva?

- Oh.

- Is there going to be a war?

- Well...

It looks as if Europe is going to have peace.

At least, for the next three weeks.

We had rather a hard fight, you know.

21 nations lined up against us. But we won.

- I hear France was making difficulties.

- Well...

- What can you expect from the French?

- Yes.

You realise the French delegate

hasn't even a manservant?

Appalling.

But the Russians

were the surprise of my life.

We had two Soviet delegates to dinner.

You may not believe it, but I assure you

they were properly dressed.

- Tail coats. White ties.

- Well, well, well.

- Maybe the Russians are going places.

- Oh, well, I...

wouldn't come to hasty conclusions.

They still dunk.

- I shan't need you any more tonight.

- Good night, sir.

Graham!

It would be outrageous,

you can't disturb the master at this time.

The telegram may contain matters of state.

But how would you justify it

if it were only a personal matter?

You'd be criticised very harshly.

My dear Mr Wilton, may I remind you

of what our master always says?

A statesman must have

the courage to be unpopular.

- What is it?

- A telegram, m'lady.

Oh, thank you.

- Oh!

- Aah!

Who's that? Who's that?

Oh!

Hello, darling.

I didn't want to wake you up.

You were sleeping so peacefully,

I hadn't the heart to disturb you.

You're always so considerate.

Oh, I watched you for a long time.

- You had the loveliest expression.

- I was dreaming.

- About me?

- Oh, naturally, of course.

I dreamt you were a great success

at the League of Nations.

Well, I was! Sweetheart,

your husband defeated 21 nations.

Oh. You must be worn out.

- Not at all. I feel better than ever.

- Good.

- What else did you dream about?

- Let me see.

Oh, yes. I came into the League of Nations,

dressed in the most striking Paris gown.

All the delegates rose to their feet,

staring at me.

But I walked straight to you.

I wanted to kiss you.

But you were talking. So I walked out.

I went to Egypt,

and from Egypt I went to China,

from China I went to Arabia.

I circled the whole globe.

Finally, I came back

to the League of Nations.

But you were still talking.

So I took you away. I took you to Paris.

We walked in the park at night.

You had your arm around me.

Suddenly, I sat down on a bench.

I was cold. Frightened.

- Of me?

- Huh?

Oh. I got mixed up.

I dreamt that yesterday.

Now, let me see. Oh, I have it.

I lost you in Paris.

Next thing I remember, we were here

at home and you were beating me.

Oh! What did you do?

I'm afraid to tell you.

I liked it. And then you started to kiss me.

And you liked that too?

Better than ever before.

You carried me upstairs.

- And?

- There was a knock at the door. I woke up.

- Oh. How cruel.

- No, how wonderful.

It's true the dream is over.

But it doesn't have to be.

Oh, I'm so glad you're home, my darling.

- Tell me, who knocked at the door?

- Oh, Graham.

- At this time of the night? Why?

- A telegram.

- Was it so important?

- I didn't open it, it was for you.

- Where is it?

- There on your table.

Bad news?

Very disturbing.

What's worrying you?

- France?

- No.

Yugoslavia.

- I hope you don't mind, I...

- That's all right, dear. I understand.

I understand perfectly.

- Night, dear.

- Good night, dear.

Good morning, sir.

Morning.

How's the weather today?

Not bad, sir.

Why, Wilton!

Darling, some thrilling news

from Mrs MacGillicuddy.

Wilton, this is the nicest thing

you've ever brought to the table.

- My congratulations.

- Thank you.

- And mine.

- Thank you, m'lady.

What a pretty girl.

All her friends think

she ought to act in the films.

You see, sir, she once was photographed in

a newsreel

at the funeral of Admiral Bennington.

She was standing on the pavement

just as the hearse went by.

I hope I don't seem disrespectful, sir,

but in my opinion, she stole the show

from the late Admiral.

- That's love.

- I'm sure she loves you just as much.

Oh, she worships me, sir.

But it was by no means an easy conquest.

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Samson Raphaelson

Samson Raphaelson (1894–1983) was a leading American playwright, screenwriter and fiction writer. While working as an advertising executive in New York, he wrote a short story based on the early life of Al Jolson, called The Day of Atonement, which he then converted into a play, The Jazz Singer. This would become the first talking picture, with Jolson as its star. He then worked as a screenwriter with Ernst Lubitsch on sophisticated comedies like Trouble in Paradise, The Shop Around the Corner, and Heaven Can Wait, and with Alfred Hitchcock on Suspicion. His short stories appeared in The Saturday Evening Post and other leading magazines, and he taught creative writing at the University of Illinois. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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