Phil Spector Page #5

Walter, of ruining

this simple f***ing song.

[Gunshot]

MUSICIAN:
Oh! What--

REPORTER:
Oh,

my goodness.

Send out for Chinese.

We're gonna be here a while.

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.

See that?

Lesson learned.

OK, pretty.

We're ready for you. Mwah.

Oh, you moved.

Where were you?

Ha.

PHIL:
Let me see.

Oh, yeah.

Here you go.

Thank you.

Let him go out and

do something with his life.

MUSICIAN:
Phil,

what do you want?

Uh, play till the lemon

chicken comes.

[Linda coughs]

You're sick?

End of a case,

if you're not sick,

you're not working

hard enough.

It's not the end

of the case.

You're killing yourself.

Oh, what? I wish I could

say the same for you.

I was in New York.

My caseload

is not lim--

I have clients I left

in New York, all right?

LINDA:
Hmm.

BRUCE:
What is it

you love this guy,

all of a sudden you're

working yourself to death?

LINDA:
He's our client!

BRUCE:
Oh, that's right.

You told me.

He covered you

with a blanket.

WOMAN:
Here you go.

BRUCE:
You're a cheap date.

LINDA:
Oh, f***

you, Bruce.

You've got a case

that should have

been thrown out.

The cops and the DA

are trying him

on the O.J. case.

The prosecution

has nothing.

BRUCE:
Except everyone's

conviction that he's guilty.

LINDA:
We've got

ballistic evidence.

They trot up

their experts;

we trot up ours.

At the end of the day

the jury finds him guilty,

and we have wasted

their time--

unless we indict

the girl.

Is he guilty?

Not beyond a reasonable

doubt, but why don't you

just show the yokels

your two-toned shirts,

your cufflinks,

fix your tie,

and say the law protects

all equally?

Is that untrue?

It's true if you win.

Not true for freaks.

But for him,

off he goes.

Is that what this

is about--freaks?

Very good, Bruce.

That's right.

That's right.

It's all about me.

It's about me.

You know, the poor geek,

the bookworm--

she gets judged

in the schoolyard,

doesn't get a fair

trial, except our

guy does,

and the facts do not

support a conviction.

I don't give a sh*t

who he is.

I don't give a sh*t

what he's done before.

OK.

Marvin Gaye--his father

shot him, right?

Sam Cooke...in bed

with some girl,

husband comes home,

bam, bam, bam!

End of story.

Who gives a sh*t?

Lana Clarkson shot herself.

I was there.

Now they're treating

me worse than they treated

Mark David Chapman.

His name plate reads

"What a shame,"

and he shot John Lennon.

And I, who happened

to be in the same room

when this girl

shot herself,

I am a monster the likes

of which never saw

the light of day.

You--you want to explain

that to me?

So, what is it, then?

What are we talking

about here?

Hatred.

What do they hate

about me?

I'm alive.

You know the saying

"The good die young," right?

Why?

Because the file

is closed.

REPORTER:
I understand.

Have you said that--

This is the story.

The girl exceeded

her shelf life.

She's in L.A.

She's down on her luck.

She is broke.

Spector didn't help her?

That's not his job.

You're thinking

of Christ.

He's not Christ.

He's a guy. He

wanted affirmation.

He wanted sex.

68-year-old guy.

It's the same thing.

What is he--

p*ssy-crazed?

OK, she's working

in some bar.

A guy comes in.

She brushes him off.

The boss says,

"Do you know

who that is?"

So, what we have

is a car crash.

She's lonely.

What is she

supposed to do?

Hire the Goodyear blimp?

"Please help me.

I'm lonely"?

Wait, wait, wait,

wait.

What, are you

arguing my case?

PHIL:
Why would I

kill that girl?

REPORTER:

You were drunk.

PHIL:
I was drunk.

I was drunk half my life.

These women.

Who are these women?

These women come out and say

I pulled a gun on them.

Where were they at the time

of the supposed offense?

No. They came out

of the woodwork years later.

They came out

at the time.

No. Bullshit.

They--no. They didn't even

press their case. Come on!

They came out when

it was in their interest

to come out--

they came out when there was

something in it for them.

What was in it?

Publicity.

What did Lana Clarkson want?

Publicity.

What do they all want?

People--people think

it's contagious--

you can get it by hanging

around someone

who's got it.

I don't know this,

and that idiot whom

I would have helped--

why not?

came in here and ruined my life

by sticking a gun

in her mouth.

For--for what?

For what?

For what is this

retribution?

For what am I

being punished?

For being the most

successful music producer

in the history

of the world.

And if you think

that's bullshit,

then you're not

as smart as I know you are.

I am--I am so sorry

that that girl,

that her life

was full of suffering.

I'm sorry she died.

I didn't do it.

The State says

the gun was in her mouth.

If he were 10 feet away,

could he have done it?

BRUCE:
The prosecution says

you didn't go to her,

you didn't touch her.

LINDA:
Bruce.

He throws up his hands

to avoid the paint.

His coat has one spot

of paint on it,

This is an exact copy if

the coat Mr. Spector wore

on the night

of the shooting,

with a replica

of the blood spatter--

4 spots and 2 pinpricks--

of blood on the coat.

You're free to examine it

if you wish.

Here is what happens

to somebody standing

within arm's length

of such an explosion.

When the shot comes

from inside the mouth,

the brain explodes.

When the skull is intact,

as here, the brain matter

the blood, is ejected through

the nose and the mouth.

It seems to me Mr. Spector had

to have been standing a minimum

of 10 feet from the event for

him to have avoided being

painted--painted with brain

matter and blood.

What do you think?

[Group murmurs]

MAN:
Ronnie Spector

interview.

RONNIE:
I believe--I believe

that Phil at one time

was very much like you or me,

and at the start--at the start

of his career he was

talented and devoted

a very serious musician.

But as the press began to write

about him as a great, an icon,

or a genius, he began, yes,

to be affected by it

and it affected him horribly,

like a drug,

for it confused him.

He was tormented--not by

the adulation, no, but by

the question--is it true,

or is it deserved,

and what would the answer

for that be?

There is no answer.

MAN:
Thank you.

Thank you very much,

Mrs. Spector.

Uh, this interview was

recorded at Everclear

Studios...

LINDA:
Irene, can you

get me the 911 tape--

you know, the chauffer?

IRENE:
Mm-hmm.

LINDA:
Put it in

the room for me,

let me listen to it?

Thanks.

[Beep]

WOMAN:
What are you

reporting?

IRENE:
Mm-hmm.

MAN:
My name is Adriano,

and I'm Phil Spector's driver.

I think my boss

just killed somebody.

WOMAN:
You think your

boss killed somebody?

ADRIANO:
Yes.

Why do you think

he killed somebody?

Because he...

LINDA:
What's the speech

pathologist, the Brazilian,

you know, the interpreter?

MAGGIE:
Uh...

Have you got his

number?

Yeah.

Here, let me show you.

It's this guy,

this guy here.

Would you get me

a meeting with him?

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