Saving Mr. Banks Page #7

Pamela.

Pam!

Oh, Dolly, would you be so kind

as to ring my driver,

and ask him to collect me?

Yes, ma'am.

Thank you.

Here we are, Mrs.

- Thank you.

- Yeah.

It's been a real pleasure

driving you, Mrs.

No one likes a fibber.

Oh, no, no.

I really have enjoyed it.

I didn't know who you were at first.

And then, guess what.

You found out?

I was telling my daughter

all about my day,

and how I'm driving

this nice writer lady, Mrs. Travers,

for Mr. Disney, and, uh...

And?

And...

And she made me go to her bedroom,

and bring her this.

I can't stop reading it, you know.

I'm very slow, mind you, so...

Would you like me 10 sign it?

Would you?

I'd be honored.

Uh...

Let me see, now.

"To Jane

"and her dearest father... "

I've just this instant realized

I don't know your name.

Ralph.

Pamela.

You're the only American

I've ever liked, Ralph.

Oh... Well, may I ask why?

No.

Now, take this.

"Albert Einstein, Van Gogh, Roosevelt.

"Frida Kahlo. "

- "Kahlo. "

- Kahlo.

What is this?

They all had difficulties.

Jane can do anything

that anyone else can do.

Do you understand?

Oh.

I almost forgot, turn it around.

"Walt Disney. "

Hyperactive behavior

and deficiencies in concentration.

It explains everything.

Thank you, Mrs.

She acted like

an angry person a lot of the time.

Mmm-hmm.

So, she's come and gone, huh?

Yeah, her flight left 10 minutes ago.

Beverly Hills Hotel, private limousine.

First-class plane ticket

back to England for...

Wait. "Goff"?

Who is... Who is Helen Goff?

That's her. That's her real name.

She acts so hoity-toity British,

and she's really an Aussie.

Then who is Travers?

I've been talking to the wrong person?

He's gone.

No, no, no. You mustn't.

Let her go, Margaret.

I dropped the pears.

I'm sorry, Daddy.

Helen, dear girl...

You promised you would fix everything.

Hello, house.

Oh, dear God!

It was one heck of a job getting a seat

on the very next ight, let me tell you.

Mrs. Travers,

I could sure use

a nice pot of English tea about now.

Here we are.

Allow me.

Milk in first, remember?

Yeah, I remember.

And a spoonful of sugar'?

No, I think I'll have whisky.

Oh.

Ooh.

That's okay.

Well, when in Rome...

Thank you.

You've come to change my mind,

haven! you?

To beat me into submission.

No. No.

I've come because you misjudged me.

How do I misjudge you?

You look at me

and you see some kind

of Hollywood King Midas.

You think I've built an empire,

and I want your Mary Poppins

as just another brick in my kingdom.

And don't you?

Now, if that was all it was,

would I have suckered up

to a cranky, stubborn dame

like you for 20 years?

No, I would have saved myself an ulcer.

No... You, uh...

You expected me to disappoint you,

and so you made sure I did.

Well, I think life disappoints you,

Mrs. Travers.

I think it's done that a lot,

and I think Mary Poppins

is the only person

in your life who hasn't.

Mary Poppins isn't real.

That's not true. No, no, no.

She's as real as can be to my daughters.

And to thousands

of other kids. Adults, too.

She's been there as a nighttime comfort

to a heck of a lot of people.

Well, where is she

when I need her, hmm?

I open the door to Mary Poppins,

and who should be standing there,

but Walt Disney?

Mrs. Travers, I'm sorry.

I'd hoped this would have been

a magical experience,

for you and for all of us,

but I've let you down.

And, in doing so,

I've broken a 20-year-old promise

I made to my daughters.

I've been racking my brain,

trying to figure out why

this has been so hard for you and I.

And, well...

You see, I have my own Mr. Banks.

Mine had a mustache.

So, it is not true that Disney

created man in his own image?

No, no.

But it is true that you created yourself

in someone else's, yes?

Have you ever been

to Kansas City, Mrs. Travers?

Do you know Missouri at all?

I can't say I do.

Well, it's mighty cold there

in the winters.

Bitter cold.

And my dad, Elias Disney,

he owned a newspaper

delivery route there.

A thousand papers, twice daily.

A morning and an evening edition.

And Dad was a tough businessman.

He was a "save a penny

any way you can" type of fella.

So he wouldn't employ delivery boys.

No, no, no. He used me

and my big brother Roy.

I was, uh... I was eight back then.

Just eight years old.

And, like I said, winters are harsh.

And old Elias, well,

he didn't believe in new shoes,

until the old ones were worn through.

Honestly, Mrs. Travers,

the snowdrifts,

sometimes they were up over my head.

And we'd push through that

snow like it was molasses.

The cold and wet seeping through

our clothes and our shoes.

Skin peeling from our faces.

Sometimes I'd find myself

sunk down in that snow,

just waking up,

because I must have passed out

or something, I don't know.

And then it was time for school,

and I was too cold or wet

to figure out equations and things.

And then it was right back

out in the snow again

to get home just before dark.

Mother would feed us dinner.

And then it was time to go right back out

and do it again for the evening edition.

"You had best be quick there, Walt.

"You'd better get those newspapers up

"on that porch

and under that storm door.

"Poppa's gonna lose his temper again

"and show you the buckle end

of his belt, boy.

I don't... I don't tell you this

to make you sad,

Mrs. Travers.

I don't. I love my life.

I think it's a miracle.

And I loved my dad.

He was a... He was a wonderful man.

But rare is the day

when I don't think about

that eight-year-old boy

delivering newspapers in the snow,

and old Elias Disney

with that strap in his fist.

And I am just so tired.

Mrs. Travers,

I'm tired of remembering it that way.

Aren't you tired, too, Mrs. Travers?

Now we all have our sad tales,

but don't you want to finish the story?

Let it all go and have a life

that isn't dictated by the past?

It's not the children she comes to save.

It's their father.

It's your father.

Travers Goff.

I don't know what you think

you know about me, Walter...

You must have loved

and admired him a lot

to take his name.

I...

It's him this is all about, isn't it?

All of it, everything.

Forgiveness' Mrs. Travers.

It's what I learned from your books.

I don't have to forgive my father.

He was a wonderful man.

No, no.

You need to forgive Helen Goff.

Life is a harsh sentence

to lay down for yourself.

Give her to me.

Mrs. Travers, trust me with

your precious Mary Poppins.

I won't disappoint you.

I swear, every time a person

walks into a movie house,

from Leicester Square to Kansas City,

they will see George Banks being saved.

They will love him and his kids.

They will weep for his cares.

They will wring their hands

when he loses his job.

And when he ies that kite...

Oh, Mrs. Travers, they will rejoice.

They will sing.

In movie houses all over the world,

in the eyes and heads

of my kids and other kids,

and mothers and fathers

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