Hail, Caesar! Page #6

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Very good, very good, let’s try one

shall we?

HOBIE:

Sure, I’ll give her a go.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Wonderful, splendid.

(turns away but turns back

with a thought)

The only thing I would suggest is,

before your first line, you respond

to her line with a mirthless

chuckle.

HOBIE:

A mirthless chuckle.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Yes, given your unspoken suspicions

about Allegra, a mirthless chuckle.

31.

HOBIE:

Okay, Mr. Laurence, I’ll give it

a——

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Laurentz.

HOBIE:

Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Mr. Laurentz.

I’ll give it a shot.

THROUGH FILM:

A clapper-boy ID’s and whacks a slate on “Merrily We Dance.”

Laurence Laurentz’s voice calls “Action!”

Those assembled in the parlor come to life in a pantomime of

civilized conviviality, chatting and laughing.

Hobie enters, an uneasy backward glance referring perhaps to

the unseen grip.

DIERDRE:

Oh, Monty! Come join me on the

divan!

Briefest who-me confusion from Hobie. With a quick recovery

he manages a fairly casual saunter to the couch where he

plants himself——not close to Dierdre. She slides over to

close the gap between them, and she is now all warmth and

sympathy. Her voice is musical and upper-crust:

DIERDRE (CONT’D)

It seems Allegra's a no-show, which

is simply a bore, but I can partner

you in bridge.

(reacting to him)

Why the pout?

Gazing at the floor, Hobie gives a short loud laugh that

sounds like a Heimlich-expulsion. A flinch from the actress.

Hobie’s grin abruptly drops, and, still gazing at the floor:

HOBIE:

Would that it were sooooo...

simple.

A beat, the actress looking at him, Hobie looking at the

floor.

The beat grows longer... longer...

Voice of Laurence Laurentz: “Cut!”

32.

We cut to Laurence Laurentz sitting in his director’s chair,

mouth slightly open, staring without expression as he tries

to frame his notes.

He abruptly rises and walks into the set to join Hobie.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Very good——wonderful in fact. But

let’s try it a little differently

this time——

HOBIE:

Sure.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

——let’s try, well let’s see, first

of all why don’t we dispense with

the mirthless chuckle.

HOBIE:

No mirthless chuckle.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

No, no need, really——it was a bad

idea, bad directorial——my fault,

overthinking the thing.

HOBIE:

Well if you say so, but I’m happy

to do another——maybe try her one

more time——I mean if you want that

chuckle I sure wanna give her to

ya——

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

No no no, completely unnecessary

under the circumstances, I think

the audience can to that extent

read your thoughts, and will assume

your mirthlessness.

HOBIE:

Okay, you’re the bossman, Mr.

Laurence.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Laurentz.

HOBIE:

Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Mr. Laurentz——

33.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Also, let’s try, this time,

actually looking at Dierdre as we

speak, looking into her eyes, and

speaking our line with a certain...

ruefulness.

Hobie nods agreement.

HOBIE:

Ruefulness, okay.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Yes. Because it’s not so simple.

Not so simple as she suggests.

HOBIE:

Okay.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Your feelings are not so simple.

HOBIE:

Nawsir. Okay.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Splendid.

THROUGH FILM:

A clapper-boy ID’s and whacks a slate on “Merrily We Dance”

identifying the scene number and Take 2.

Laurence Laurentz’s voice calls “Action!”

Those assembled in the parlor come to life in a pantomime of

civilized conviviality, chatting and laughing.

Hobie enters.

DIERDRE:

Oh, Monty! Come join me on the

divan!

Smoothly this time, Hobie joins her on the sofa. When he sits

he is still not close; she slides to him. The same music in

her intonation:

DIERDRE (CONT’D)

It seems Allegra's a no-show, which

is simply a bore, but I can partner

you in bridge.

(reacting to him)

Why the pout?

34.

Hobie looks at her, somewhat shifty-eyed, not comfortable

with the eye contact.

HOBIE:

(rueful)

Would that?

(slight beat; sad head-

shake)

It were soooo... simple.

Voice of Laurence Laurentz: “Cut!”

Hobie looks hopefully to the approaching Laurence Laurentz.

The director, feeling his look, puts on a smile.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Good, very good. Wonderful, in

fact. Let’s try, this time...

He balls a fist and brings it to his mouth and stares at the

floor, thinking.

Hobie waits, gazing up at him.

At length:

LAURENCE LAURENTZ (CONT’D)

All right, let’s try this, your

line, just say it as I say it, say

your line exactly as I’m about to.

Just as I’m about to do.

HOBIE:

Sure, okay.

Beat to focus attention, and then:

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

(rueful, and British-

accented)

Would that it’were so simple.

HOBIE:

Would that ih twuuuuuuh, so simple.

Laurence Laurentz stares at him.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

My dear boy, why do you say

that——why do you say, “twuuuuuh”?

HOBIE:

Well you said, say it like I say

it.

35.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Yes but——

HOBIE:

Would that it twuuuuuuh, so simple.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Would that it’were so simple.

HOBIE:

Would that ih twuuuuuh, so simple.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Would that it’were so simple.

HOBIE:

Okay, I’m tryin to do that, Mr.

Laurentz——

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Laurence.

HOBIE:

I thought——um, a minute ago it was

Laurentz——

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

We can use Christian names, my good

dear boy. Laurence is fine——

HOBIE:

Okay.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

——just as I call you Hobie. So,

“Would that it’were so simple.”

Trippingly.

HOBIE:

Would that it twuuuuh——

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

You seem to be lingering, it’s

interminable——

HOBIE:

Oh gosh.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

——I’m wondering when it’ll end, the

“were,” and we shouldn’t have to

wonder, should we, we should be

marching right along to “so

simple”!

36.

HOBIE:

Would that ih...

(after hesitating, rushed)

twersasimple. Twersasimple.

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Would that it were so simple. Not

“simple!” Just...

(relaxed)

simmple.

HOBIE:

Simmmple. Simmmple. Gosh, I can’t

seem to cinch m’saddle up on

this’n, Larry——

LAURENCE LAURENTZ

Larry! Good God, Christian names,

yes, but not Larry.

EXT./INT. MALIBU HOUSE - DAY

FROM A HIGH BLUFF

We are looking down into a hidden box cove of the Pacific

Ocean, rugged and secluded. Surf pounds into the teeth of

jagged rocks just offshore. Nestled in the canyon just above

the cove’s tiny beach is a modernist octahedral beach house.

The “Al’s Linen’s” truck is parked where the beach road ends

just in front of the house. The goon from inside the truck

now has Baird Whitlock in a fireman’s carry, taking him to

the house’s front door.

We jump down close——the surf louder here——as the goon knocks.

The knock brings furious dog-yapping from inside the house.

We are close on Baird’s head upside-down against the big

man’s back. Just past the two men the door swings open, and

as the big man steps in he turns to negotiate Baird’s body

through the doorway, Baird’s sandaled legs sweeping toward

us.

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