Collateral Beauty

1

(CHEERING)

WHIT:
Thank you. Thank you.

But no, give yourselves a hand

because it was your hard work

that gave Yardsham Inlet the best year

in the history of this agency.

(CHEERING)

Before we let all that success

go to our heads,

we just thought we should get together

and reconnect with the fundamentals

of what actually got us here.

For that, I'm gonna turn it over

to our resident

poet philosopher of product.

The rebel command of brand.

He's the guru

who terrifies Madison Avenue.

(CHEERING)

My partner, my better half,

Howard Inlet.

(CHEERING)

(SOFTLY) Love you.

- Yes!

- (CHEERING CONTINUES)

Oh. What is your "why"?

Why did you even get out

of the bed this morning?

Why did you eat what you ate?

Why did you wear what you wore?

Why did you come here?

Other than the fact that

I would fire you and hire someone else

if you didn't show up for work, but...

- (LAUGHING)

- Not that. The big "why."

We're certainly not here

to just sell sh*t.

We are here

to connect.

Life is about people.

Advertising is about illuminating

how our products and services

will improve people's lives.

Now,

how do we do that?

Love.

Time.

Death.

Now these three abstractions

connect every single human being on Earth.

Everything that we covet,

everything that we fear not having,

everything that we ultimately

end up buying

is because at the end of the day

we long for love,

we wish we had more time,

and we fear death.

Love.

Time.

Death.

Let's begin there.

How long did this one take?

Five days.

That's pretty impressive.

- Maybe he came back too soon.

- Are you kidding me?

It's been six months

of this zombie routine.

We can't indulge this anymore.

Especially because

we're getting fired by Danworth Financial.

- (COUGHS)

- CLAIRE:
What? You're kidding me.

- No, Whit, come on!

- I'm sorry, what?

But I just talked to them yesterday.

WHIT:
I know. Everybody's been doing

their best to cover,

but that entire account

is built on Howard's relationship.

Half our billings are built

on Howard's relationships.

This is a disaster. This is a disaster.

No. Not yet.

We have an offer from Omnicom

for $17 a share...

- Oh, come on!

- ...but they want an answer

- by New Year's.

- Shh.

(BELL RINGS)

(WHISPERING) Let's be honest,

we're not worth $14 a share

if my partner takes a sabbatical

as the local domino champion

of Crazy Town.

That's a little harsh, Whit.

WHIT:
I'm sorry, but it's true.

Simon, I am empowering you.

Go make the deal with Omnicom.

I wish I could,

but Howard controls the voting shares.

I'll deal with the Howard part, okay?

Just push the papers, Simon.

(FESTIVE MUSIC PLAYING)

CLAIRE:
I still don't understand

why Howard got 60% of the voting shares

and you only got 40.

Because I needed cash to settle my divorce

and Howard did me a huge favor

and let me sell him some.

So, if you never had an affair

with some junior creative,

we wouldn't be in this situation?

Inaccurate and unfair

to put it squarely on my shoulders.

- Well, I'm just pointing out the facts.

- (BELLS TINKLING)

Oh, my God.

Don't you just love that smell?

Wait. Stop.

Close your eyes.

Breathe it in.

Doesn't that remind you of your childhood?

Claire, come here.

Come on, I got to tell you something.

What?

I have been doing something

about our situation

that you need to know about.

What did you do?

I hired someone.

You hired someone?

Yes. Look, when Eloise caught me cheating,

she used a private investigator

named Sally Price.

She's this woman

who looks like a Mormon grandmother,

and it makes her very good

at the whole stealth thing.

You hired the woman

who caused your divorce?

No. I caused my divorce.

Sally Price just documented it.

Wow. That was actually enlightened.

I have hidden depth. We've discussed this.

So,

why did you hire the Mormon grandmother?

Because we need to document

what's going on with Howard.

We need to show that

he's not mentally fit to vote his shares.

No. We're not really

in that place where we're...

We're actually gonna be the people

who would do that to a friend?

It's not that he won't sell,

it's that he won't even

have a conversation about selling.

I try to talk to him, I try to reach him,

and it's like I'm not even

in the same physical space with him.

He's not there.

His kid died.

That was two years ago, Claire.

What are we gonna...

This is our lives at stake.

We're not kids anymore.

You look me in the face

and tell me that you're willing to have

everything you've worked for

for the last 10 years just evaporate.

Is this PI good?

She caught me cheating.

Oscar could have caught you cheating.

Who the hell's Oscar?

My son.

Oh. (STAMMERING) That Oscar?

This private investigator

isn't gonna find anything

that'll pass for moral turpitude.

(WHISPERING) Not on Howard,

but if she can raise concern

regarding legal capacity,

then we'll be in business.

I do really think that

we are out of other options.

You know, he terrorized

the grief counselor for six months.

He totally blew off the Ayahuasca shaman

we flew in all the way from Peru.

And our...

Our intervention was a disaster.

I just...

Look, uh, this doesn't feel right.

I know.

But when something starts

with a six-year-old dying,

nothing is gonna feel right.

(CHUCKLES)

(CHILD LAUGHING)

(GASPS)

(SIGHING)

(HORN HONKING)

SALLY:
He writes letters.

CLAIRE:
Letters? What kind of letters?

SALLY:
This might be the strangest thing

I have ever come across.

- You got the letters?

- Oh, yeah.

SIMON:
Can we ask you how?

Cost me $800

to get this cut.

And just so you know,

it's a federal offense

to steal mail directly from a mailbox.

- You could...

- Yeah.

- So, three letters.

- Who are they to?

- Oh, not who.

- What do you mean?

Howard doesn't write letters to people.

He writes to things.

- WHIT:
What kind of things?

- Time.

Love.

Death.

The three abstractions.

CLAIRE:
"Time,

"they say you heal all wounds,

"but they don't talk about how you destroy

"all that's good in the world.

"How you turn beauty into ash.

"Well, you're nothing more

than petrified wood to me.

"You're a dead tissue

that won't decompose.

"You're nothing."

That doesn't prove anything.

We can't use that, right?

No. I mean,

kids write letters to Santa Claus,

it doesn't mean they're crazy.

No. This is therapeutic.

It's so sad.

Yeah. Anything else?

Usually after work,

he goes to a small dog park in Brooklyn,

even though he doesn't own a dog.

Just sits there for hours.

Does he write letters to the dogs?

Are you serious?

Well, that would be

like the home run, right?

I mean, that's what we need.

- Does he?

- Not that I saw.

- Okay. What else?

- That's it, really.

Goes home to his apartment.

Rarely leaves before morning.

No Wi-Fi, cable, phone. Nothing.

"You're a dead tissue

that won't decompose."

(HORNS HONKING)

(SIREN WAILING)

Howard?

Hey, it's Claire.

I swung by that place down the street

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