Rebel in the Rye

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1

[projector clicking]

[instrumental music]

Dear Whit..

...I regret

to inform you

that Holden Caulfield

is dead.

I know you thought

he could protect me.

Or, at the very least

give me refuge

from my sarcasm.

But Holden

is gone forever.

And I don't know

if anything

can save me now.

[drum music]

[laughing]

Oh, where's your girl,

Jerry? Where'd she go?

Ah, she wanted to dance

with her brother.

Oh, it's a tight family.

You know, the Lusitania

making it to England

Oh, I don't know,

spoiled rich girls

love college dropouts.

"He's not only broke,

daddy, he's also a Jew."

Hey! Half-Jew.

Oh, God. Why do we

keep coming here?

I can't stand all these

flits and phonies.

To give girls

like that the time.

- Who is that?

- Oona O'Neill.

What? As in

Eugene O'Neill?

That's her dad.

Rumor is, she's got

a thing for writers.

Maybe I can get her drunk

and read her

one of my stories.

The drunk part, yes, not

so sure about the second

I've read your work.

You're a real

prince of a guy.

Who are the bodyguards?

Blythe Chaucer

and Carol Flourentine

her protectors

from morphine addicts

and boys

without trust funds.

If you even try

to give Oona the time

they'll take

your watch away.

Okay.

I'm going in.

Ladies.

- Oona.

- Hello.

I'm

Jerome David Salinger.

My friends

call me Jerry.

It's a pleasure

to meet you,

Jerome David Salinger.

I'm a huge admirer

of your father.

I'm a writer myself,

and his plays have been

a great source

of inspiration to me.

What do you write?

I, uh..

I write short stories.

- Really? Have you --

- Have you been published?

Come on, Oona,

I want to introduce you

to Billy Chanler.

- He's here?

- Yes.

Oh, right now?

- Great.

- Let's go.

Until we meet again,

Jerome David Salinger.

Come on, Oona doll.

Billy!

Excuse me, sir,

do you happen to know

the time?

That went well.

[instrumental music]

Through the course

of my fascinatingly

dull life

I've always found fiction

so much more truthful

than reality.

And, yes,

I'm aware of the irony.

He had neither

the looks, personality,

or good clothes

to gain

Shirley's interest.

He didn't

have a chance.

And as I said before

to write a really good

boy-meets-girl story

it's wise to have

the boy meet the girl.

I can't concentrate

with you staring

at me like that.

Well, do you like it?

- It's really good.

- You can tell me

the truth.

I am. It's...terrific.

Tie your shoes, honey.

So, what do you

think, mom?

I love the kids.

I love the way they talk.

Yeah, 'cause in

the slicks, the teens

always sound phony

because they're written

by 50-year-old drunks.

You know,

it just kills me.

Well, you're

really talented.

I think I want

to try to publish.

How would you do that?

I want to go back

to school, to study

creative writing.

You what?

You get kicked out

of every school

I send you too

because of that

smart alec mouth

of yours.

How do you

possibly believe

you could be

a professional writer?

I don't know,

I just like doing it.

He's very

talented, Sol.

Even if he is,

it's impossible to make

a living at it

even for the best

of students

and you're not even

a good student.

I can't do

anything right.

Ah -- ah, sonny, sonny..

Come here, sit down.

Sorry. Please.

I -- I -- I just

don't want you

to be disappointed

when it doesn't

work out.

And it won't.

It never does.

Listen to me, meat

and cheese distribution

has been very good

to this family.

Six years ago,

Buddy Richman

was practically broke.

He buys a slaughterhouse

and now he's

king of the bacon.

That could be you,

sonny boy!

Jerry is not

going to sell cheese

or pigs,

or cows, or milk.

He is not going to be

the king of the bacon.

He is going to go

to Columbia.

He is going

to study writing.

That's what Jerry

is going to do

and you are going

to pay for it.

I bet if I never walked

into your class that day

then Holden Caulfield

probably wouldn't

even exist.

So, in a way,

this whole mess

is as much your fault

as it is mine.

There is nothing

more sacred

than story.

The Bible, the Koran,

the Torah.

The stories contained

in these books

are so powerful

that people

actually believe

they were written

by a God.

That is the power

that a story can hold.

And in the course

of this semester

you will be

given the tools

and the techniques

to be able to create

your own stories

so that you can

enrapture people, move..

I was always

a lousy student.

Even when I wanted

to be there.

It was pretty

embarrassing, if you

want to know the truth.

How does that sound,

Mr. Salinger?

I'm so sorry,

you lost me at Bible.

Oh, I'm sorry,

Mr. Salinger

did you think

that this course

was a study in atheism?

No. No, I didn't.

But I'm hoping

there really is a God

that'll give you something

interesting to say.

- Oh!

- Oh!

Funny, I had

the same thought

when I read your

admissions essay.

Although they still

let you in

it must be a very

lean year for Columbia.

Mr. Salinger wrote

an essay

very funny

brimming with exactly

the sort of sarcasm

that he so beautifully

displayed here

in the first five minutes

of the course.

And yet, after that

Mr. Salinger failed

to turn that

clever voice of his

into an actual

narrative.

Which is a shame,

because there is

some potential there.

But this is the work

we will all be

striving to achieve.

And by the end

of the semester

God willing,

or in Mr. Salinger's

case, unwilling

you will all understand

the difference between

wanting to be a writer

and actually being one.

My countrymen,

and my friends

I had hoped against hope

that some miracle

would prevent

a devastating war

in Europe

and bring to an end

the invasion of Poland

by Germany.

I have said many times

that I have seen war

and I hate war.

I hope

the United States

will keep out

of this war.

I believe that it will.

Oh, Mr. Salinger.

Come in, have a seat.

Would you like a drink?

- Coffee, please.

- Coffee, please.

So, how did you

find me here?

Oh, I used to go to NYU,

and I always saw you

grading papers

in the window.

Hey, why do you come

all the way down

to the Village?

I couldn't think

of a better place

to read the work

of the next Fitzgerald

or Hemingway

than right here

in Greenwich Village.

- Sir.

- Thank you.

And what about you?

What happened at NYU?

They kick you out

for that mouth of yours?

No, it was

a mutual understanding.

They wanted me gone,

and I wanted them dead.

[laughing]

Well, you're not

the first wise-ass

I've taught, you know.

You act out

at authority figures

like me

because you're emotionally

repressed at home

and you also think

you're the cleverest boy

that ever walked

the planet, and no one

recognizes what a genius

you are.

It's pretty typical stuff,

if you want

to know the truth.

But enough of my

dime-store Freud.

What can I do for you,

Mr. Salinger?

Uh, well, I -- I -- I

wanted to ask about

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