Hail, Caesar! Page #8

new age, Mannix, and we’re part of

it; the industry you’re in——what’s

the future there? What happens when

everybody owns a television set?

Will they still be going to

pictures every week?

EDDIE:

Well, we——

CUDDAHY:

I don’t mean to denigrate; I’m sure

the picture business is pretty

damned interesting. But it’s also

pretty frivolous, isn’t it?

Aviation is serious; serious

business, serious people.

(MORE)

43.

CUDDAHY (CONT'D)

You won’t be babysitting a bunch of

oddballs and misfits, shouldering a

lot of crackpot problems from

people who——

EDDIE:

Look, we have some kooks, sure——

CUDDAHY:

Course they’re kooks, it’s all make-

believe!

(quick grimace and smile;

he leans back)

I told myself I wasn’t gonna

badmouth the competition, and looka

me. Sorry, Mannix, I’ll stick to

what we’re about. Lemme show you

something.

(digs in a pocket)

Ever heard of the Bikini Atoll?

EDDIE:

What?

CUDDAHY:

It was a test site, couple of rocks

in the South Pacific——till a few

weeks ago. Then we blew the Aitcherino.

Not supposed to be telling

you this.

(hands Eddie a picture)

The real world. Hydrogen bomb.

Fusion device.

EDDIE:

Armageddon.

CUDDAHY:

And Lockheed was there. We had a——

He cuts himself off. A splash of the bead curtain.

WAITRESS:

Call for you, Mr. Mannix.

The waitress, in a red embroidered sheath dress, is entering

with a telephone. She plugs it in. As she leans to set it on

the table Cuddahy swipes the picture from Eddie’s hand where

it was exposed to view.

EDDIE:

Thank you... Hello?... And he has

it now?... No, have him stay on

set, I’ll go to him.

(MORE)

44.

EDDIE (CONT'D)

(slams down the phone and

rises)

Sorry, Cuddahy, work emergency.

Still do work there, for the day

anyway.

(grabs his hat, calls back

over his shoulder)

You make a good case. I’ll let you

know.

INT. MALIBU HOUSE - DAY

There is a dull clunk and we are close on Baird Whitlock, who

opens his eyes.

Wider:
Baird in his centurion’s wardrobe reclining on the

beach chaise. The sound of ocean outside.

The clunk has punctuated an ongoing machine-hum which

continues, cycling louder and softer, its loudest approach

always punctuated by a clunk.

The lawn chair makes tacky noises as Baird disengages from

it. He stiffly sits up. He gazes stupidly about, looking into

the depth of the room: where am I?

He twists to look behind himself, lawn chair crackling, and

does a modest take: out the window is the Pacific Ocean.

Another clunk and receding machine hum. Baird registers the

noise, gets to his feet and walks to the door. It is closed.

He reaches for the knob. He tries the knob. It turns. He goes

through the door.

INT. MALIBU HOUSE - DAY

LIVING ROOM:

The main room, in which we saw Baird being brought in and the

mysterious visitors entering. It is now empty except for a

middle-aged woman with a bandana tied Aunt-Jemima style on

her head. She vacuums. Each forward pass of the machine ends

with its clunk against the wall.

The woman looks up, and shows no particular interest in Baird

despite his breastplate and leather skirt. She turns off the

vacuum.

WOMAN:

You one of the Hollywood people?

45.

Baird stares at her, considering all the possible answers.

Finally:

BAIRD:

... Maybe.

WOMAN:

They’re in there.

A jerk of her head indicates a hallway. She fires up the

machine again.

Baird looks down the hallway. From one of its rooms, muffled

male laughter.

He goes cautiously down the hall, the vacuum sound fading

away, male voices fading up. One door is ajar. Baird

cautiously bumps it open further.

Another round of laughter is interrupted as all turn to look

at the Roman-attired man in the doorway. Most of the

interrupted party are seated; there are a couple of overflow

standees; several men smoke cigarettes, one smokes a cigar;

the tweedy elderly man is sunk back in an easy chair smoking

a pipe.

The springer spaniel leaps and twists and yaps, excited by

the new arrival.

DOG SHUSHER:

Quiet, Engels!

Again, this does nothing to quiet the dog. Baird looks from

man to man. John Howard Herman, the man who greeted the other

arrivals at the door, the apparent host, waves Baird in.

HERMAN:

Please! Enter! All are welcome!

Baird cautiously enters. One man vacates a seat for him.

Baird cautiously sits. His scabbard catches on the chair arm,

prompting chuckles from some of the men.

HERMAN (CONT’D)

Those things are a nuisance!

A nearby man leans over to help him adjust it. Baird sits

back.

BAIRD:

Thank you. Uh...

46.

The men look to him, waiting for him to bring out his

thought. Herman helps:

HERMAN:

Wondering where you are?

BAIRD:

Yeah.

The dog has subsided and comes over to sniff at Baird’s

sword.

HERMAN:

Malibu. We’ll have sandwiches in a

minute. Tea?

BAIRD:

... Tea. Well. Okay. Okay. And...

and——

HERMAN:

And what’s going on?

BAIRD:

Yeah.

SECOND MAN:

Well, we’ve just read the minutes

and Allen was about to bring up new

business.

BAIRD:

So... I missed the minutes.

HERMAN:

I wouldn’t worry about it.

THIRD MAN:

They’re usually pretty boring.

BAIRD:

Uh-huh. And——what kind of

meeting——exactly——

HERMAN:

Well it’s not a “meeting,” so much

as a, a——what should we say?

BENEDICT:

It’s a——more of a, a study group.

BAIRD:

And you’re studying... ?

47.

HERMAN:

Oh, all sorts of jolly stuff.

THIRD MAN:

History.

DUTCH:

Economics.

THIRD MAN:

Same thing, isn’t it——history,

economics?

HERMAN:

Don’t you agree?

All are looking at Baird.

BAIRD:

Well... I’m... I’m not really a

student of history.

INT. MALIBU HOUSE - DAY

PLATTER OF FINGER SANDWICHES

Someone reaches in to take a sandwich off the offered

platter.

Wider:
Baird sits back with the finger sandwich. It is

minutes later and the respectful quiet has now given way to

the relaxed clatter of people eating, laughing, having side-

conversations.

BAIRD:

Thank you. So man is... split?

HERMAN:

Well, man’s functions are split.

There’s the little guy, the regular

Joe, who works for a living. He’s

the body, uh, body politic. Then

there’s the brain——the boss, the

owner——

SECOND MAN:

The boss is not the brain!

ANGRY MAN:

No no! The boss is parasite!

48.

HERMAN:

Well, it’s true that the boss

doesn’t work, but he has a function

in the system——

Baird looks from man to man, as at a tennis match.

He controls the means of——

SECOND MAN:

——production, sure, but that’s not

a function, that’s, that’s——

ANGRY MAN:

Parasitism! On the body! On the

body politic! Of the regular Joe!

It’s——

A throat clearing.

Everyone instantly quiets. All look to the old man in tweeds

who is just lowering his pipe. Having claimed the floor he

now speaks with non-argumentative authority.

MARCUSE:

Man is unitary——a simple economic

agent. Man’s institutions are

split, expressing contradictions

that must be worked through. And

they are worked through in a

causative, predictable way: history

is science. This is the essence of

the dialectic.

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