Paris - When It Sizzles Page #8

He is, my dear Gillette.

Keep dancing.

You fool. You little fool.

l've worked the whole thing out

with my analyst.

l don't really hate

lnspector Gillette,

l just feel sorry for him.

He insists on projecting himself

into the starring role

and relegating me

to some minor character.

Got me waiting for him

outside the Eiffel Tower? OK.

Got me saying lines like,

''Brilliant, lnspector, brilliant,''

or, erm, ''l have the car here, sir.''

Maurice!

lnspector, l am Philippe!

lt doesn't matter. Rick is making

his escape at Bourget Airport.

Where is my car?

Erm, l have the car right here, sir.

You read that line beautifully,

Maurice.

lnspector, please. l...

l am not Maurice. l am Philippe.

Dear boy, you are a minor character

and your name is of no importance.

Now, you were saying something

about the car?

l have the car right here, sir.

- Faster, Maurice, faster!

- Faster, Philippe, faster.

l keep forgetting.

My God, you are a dull character.

Even in the non-taxing role

of second policeman.

Bourget Airport, quickly!

But if you are the inspector

who was...?

You are third policeman and should

have no lines. Shut up and drive.

- Do you know what this is?

- The key!

The key to our future.

One million dollars

in small unmarked bills' worth

of happiness for the two of us.

lnspector Gillette of lnterpol here.

Calling all voitures.

Faster!

Erm, the gate, sir, it is closed.

Go through it, you fool.

- Wait here. l'll take him alone.

- lnspector, can l speak to you?

You're Rick.

- l don't understand...

- No, you're not supposed to.

Can't you get it through your mind?

You're only a bit part.

Nobody cares about you.

You're a mere literary convenience.

Someone for the hero to punch

in thejaw at the correct moment.

And that moment, l'm happy to state,

has finally arrived.

Stop, Rick!

Stop or l'll shoot!

Philippe.

Mauri... Philippe.

Darling...

lt's alright.

Perhaps it's better this way.

No, my darling,

we'll make it to Casablanca.

And when we get there,

we'll buy a darling little castle...

With its own...

..private zoo.

And will there be giraffes?

Of course...

Giraffes.

lf this is what it means

to be a cop...

You're...

..first policeman now.

Thus having proved once again

that crime does not pay,

unless you happen to be me.

Fade out.

The end.

Well, there it is.

All 130-odd pages of it.

Finished with...

..hours to spare.

lt's wonderful, Richard.

Only, does it have to end that way?

l mean, Philippe could miss

when he shoots,

and then

Rick could tell the lnspector

where the stolen film cans are

and give him back the key.

He could explain

that now that he's met Gabby

he's retiring from

the liar-and-a-thief business,

and then the lnspector might...

let them go away together.

lt could be

the last big switch on the switch.

Couldn't it?

lt won't work.

You see, he is a liar and a thief.

And he's been one for too long.

He can't retire now.

ln addition to which,

he has become, l'm afraid,...

..a hack.

He may think he's all those things

but she knows he's not.

What gives her that curious idea?

She's been with him constantly

for the last few days.

She's seen him shaking with terror,

exhausted, ready to quit.

She's watched him

pull himself together again and...

..she's also seen him be warm...

..and tender.

And funny.

Not famous-international-wit funny

but really funny.

Do you think she's an idiot?

Do you think she doesn't know

what kind of man he is?

Or what he needs?

And what he needs is L-O-V-E?

Uh-uh.

lt's too late.

He's 43 years old.

Or will be this October.

He's been married twice,

both times disastrously,

and there have been too many years

of... too much dough,

too much bad writing

and too much whisky.

He's got nothing left inside to give.

Even if he could, which he can't.

But that's not true, Richard.

You can, you have. l just love it.

No, you don't.

lt's lousy.

ln any case, the problem is,...

..you're not in love with the script.

You're in love with me.

And why shouldn't you be?

Suddenly, waltzing into your life

comes this charming,

relatively handsome stranger.

Me.

Smooth as silk, with

a highly practised line of chatter,

specifically designed to knock

relatively unsophisticated chicks

like you, Miss Simpson,

right on their ears.

Which l'm terribly afraid l've done.

Well, if it's the last

decent thing l do in this world,

and it very well may be,

l'm going to fix that.

l'm going to send you packing,

Miss Simpson.

Before l cause you serious...

..and irrevocable harm.

You want the truth?

Of course you don't.

l'll give it to you anyway.

l do not give one damn

about anything,

certainly not my work,

as you so touchingly

and ingenuously call it.

Well, that's not true.

There is something l care about.

Money.

And good whisky.

l am, as you've probably noticed,

rather fond of that.

But my work?

That's a hideous little something

that must occur

five days out of the year,

so l can spend the other 360

in the manner

to which l have become -

and fully intend to remain -

accustomed.

To you, Richard Benson.

To you and your glorious

professional know-how.

Long may you wave.

And may you... go on...

..fooling...

..the people.

Miss Simpson?

Miss Simpson!

Gabrielle?

- Pardon, Maurice.

- Maurice? No, no. Philippe.

Oh, you don't even know

when ajoke is over.

Why, Mr Benson,

what are you doing here?

Miss Simpson, stop overacting. You

know very well what l'm doing here.

Of all the hokey cornball

grade-B picture devices.

She forgot the bird,

she forgot the bird...

- l don't know what you mean.

- Yes, you do.

Girl leaves bird.

Boy has to come looking for girl.

l've written that scene

a thousand times myself.

Always works, of course.

That's point one.

Point two. How dare you quit me

when we haven't even started?

Point three...

l love you. Miss Simpson,

if you don't feel up to thejob,

tell me now. l'll get someone else.

Oh, no, l'm perfectly capable.

Very well, then,

l hold here in my hand

130-some-odd pages of contrived

and utterly preposterous,

totally unmotivated...

Oh, if you could only say it

in pictures.

Come on,

we've got a screenplay to write.

Not starting from scratch, of course.

We've got two great characters.

She's sweet and bright and very, very

beautiful, and he, well,...

..he's gone straight, rather dull.

We need something tojazz him up.

Find something for him to do,

some physical action.

To accentuate the masculine image.

There's something in American movies,

a terrible clich,

but you did use it in the script.

Oh, yes...

l think maybe we should,...

like, split.

Richard, this new movie you're

going to write, what is it about?

lt's a love story, naturally.

lt will have a happy ending?

He won't be shot running for a plane?

On the contrary, Miss Simpson.

The music soars and there,

totally oblivious of the fireworks,

the fountains

and the holiday-mad throngs,

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