The Man from Elysian Fields

Pasadena, home to little old ladies,

noble laureates...

high tech science,

beautiful museums...

and a Pulitzer

Prize winner or two.

Welcome to a city

where people still read.

Are you looking

for anything special?

-Do you like thrillers?

-Not particularly.

It's a pretty good one.

-I didn't think Hitler had children.

-Well...

none that we know of, but what

if Hitler had a child with...

Eva Braun...

then raised in Argentina by the Nazis

to follow in his father's steps.

That's so ridiculous!

Well, it's a premise, and

they're allowed to be ridiculous.

Thanks, but I'm gonna

keep looking.

-A 25-dollar-book for 3,99.

-Not, if I don't buy it.

Right.

Is this you?

-Did you write this book?

-It took 7 years out of my life...

but don't let that influence you.

Would you sign this for me?

-Are you sure?

-Sure!

-What would you like me to say?

-You're the author.

Thanks.

-"Enjoy". I definitely will.

-Please, do.

-Thanks.

-Thank you.

-Bye.

-Bye.

This is the story of Byron Tiller...

a modest man living in a modest

Pasadena neighborhood.

A neighborhood built for

middle income families...

when the middle was still closer

to the top than the bottom.

-Say "hi" to mom!

-Hi.

-Hi, how are you? You know?

-No.

-I sold a book today.

-Hey, that's good!

I haven't done the math, but I think

it'll bring us another 3 cents.

-Course the taxes will kill us.

-The important thing is, honey...

...people are reading your work.

-I went to Rizzoli's.

Couldn't find it but I turned around

and there it was: 7 years of my life.

In the remainder bin, along with

cookbooks, self-help...

...and achieving orgasms.

-If orgasms don't get full price...

...you have nothing to be ashamed of.

-What is this?

What?

Did Heinz die or something?

The man makes 57 varieties

and we can't afford any of them?

Why pay extra for a label?

How many diapers is Nathaniel still

going through? In one week?

That depends on if he decides to spit

his food up instead of swallow it.

And when does he decide to take

muscle control seriously?

Three, I think.

Then my new book

better get published...

quick.

I don't want you to have a worry,

champ. Dad's gonna take care of you.

You go to sleep now,

Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne Tiller.

I love you.

What are you doing in there?

I'm moving his head. Making sure

it doesn't flatten out on one side.

It hardened two years ago.

Come to bed.

Come to bed?

-What were my two men talking about?

-Mostly we talked about law schools.

-I think he's leaning towards Duke.

-That's a good school.

He thinks so.

-Maybe he doesn't wanna be a lawyer.

-Nobody wants to be a lawyer.

That's why you have to shove

that seed in early.

-Maybe he wants to write, like dad.

-If his head doesn't flatten out...

that won't happen.

-You don't have a flat head.

-Maybe not on the outside.

-Honey...

-What?

God gave you a gift.

Remember what "Newsweek" said?

"Byron Tiller's sentences

have bounce and color.

'Hilter's Child' shows sparks

of originality...

...not often seen in thrillers."

-"In the thriller mode", he said.

-And what about the "Times"?

-Refresh me.

I believe he said something about

me and that Hemingway guy.

-Yeah?

-Yes.

-I think it slipped my mind.

-Really, it slipped your mind?

Maybe I should refresh

your memory.

Refreshing, here I go.

"Like Hemingway,

he carves his sentences...

with a...

with a diamond cutter's eye...

Leaving the best and the brightest."

-God, you're good!

-I can't hear you!

I said you're good!

Whether his wife was talking

to Byron or God isn't certain.

But there seemed to be more than

enough credit to go around.

And that's what got my attention.

Tucked neatly between the Hollywood

porn shops, novelty shops...

and Scientology shops...

crammed in amongst the recording

studios whose heyday had long past...

the unproduced screenwriters

whose deals had long lapsed...

the bad actors teaching methods

on emoting to other bad actors...

who dream of one day

passing an audition...

sat Byron Tiller, who until recently

believed writing novels...

no one wanted to read

was a real job.

Sell, baby, sell.

Goals have a way of becoming less

high-minded when you need money.

-Priority.

-Yes, sir.

Thank you.

The type of man perfect

for Elysian Fields.

-Come in.

-Thanks.

I sent it to you because

Little Brown published the last one.

So I figured:
why break up

a winning combination?

-Biscotti?

-No, I'm okay, thanks.

Well, I'm sure it could use

a trim here and there...

...but that's why you're the editor.

-All I can say is that...

Excalibur must be great. Everyone

wanna kill each other just to get it.

It's the sword that King Arthur

himself pulled out of the rock.

-I know the back story.

-0f course.

It just seems a little out of place

in a novel about migrant workers.

Well, Excalibur

represents a symbol.

-A symbol?

-It represents to me...

the downtrodden's

hopes and dreams for the future.

And the migrant workers

are simply a microcosm.

Aren't they always?

See...

...that's where we have a problem.

-What is that?

Tell you a little secret

about microcosms.

-People hate them.

-I wasn't aware.

Think about it.

Who'd sit on a bus...

to read a book saying

you're part of a microcosm?

Already knows it.

He looks around and he knows.

Symbolism's worse. Poor bastard picks

up a book, he wants it spelled out.

No one wants to waste their time

looking for deeper meaning.

My wife thinks it's

the best thing I ever wrote.

She must love you very much.

Look, I've always been open to

any kind of suggestions, changes...

-That wouldn't be fair to you.

-Anything.

Maybe next time.

-Could I get an advance?

-0n what?

-0n the next one.

-You know I'd like to, but...

Virgil, I know that my problems

are not your problems...

but I got nothing left to live on.

-Are you really that desperate?

-Yes.

Then use that emotion.

All of the best novels

are written in desperation.

So are the best suicide notes.

Why'd I think a guy in a US$ 1,400

suit'd care about migrant workers?

So what if your editor hated your

book? You know my advice to you?

F*** him.

Thanks, Harry.

That's one swell pep talk.

Hello.

-How are you doing?

-We haven't been introduced.

No.

-The name's Luther Fox.

-Byron Tiller.

So you're a writer?

Right.

-Anything I'd know?

-I sincerely doubt it.

I did manage to publish a little

piece of sh*t called Hitler's Child.

I liked it.

-You read it?

-You sound surprised.

I never actually met my public.

Well... here I am.

-What are you doing next?

-I'm toying with a few ideas.

I think I'd make a very good

key punch operator.

-Things a bit tough at the moment?

-Hemingway killed himself.

And people actually bought his books.

Me? I'm in the f***ing remainder bin.

It's easy to think of the remainder

bin as doom on some cosmic level.

Don't you think you're making

a mountain out of a mole hill?

The problem is that my mountain

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