The Philadelphia Story Page #5

Well, anyhow, I'm so delighted

that I can offer it to you.

Well, it's terribly nice of you,

but, uh...

Heck, that's Dexter.

Look, if he comes here,

stand by, will you?

- I don't want to be alone with him.

- Certainly, if you like.

Isn't it lucky that I happened

to think about that house?

And don't think I'd come trooping in

every minute, because I wouldn't.

I'd never come

except when expressly asked to.

- Well, it isn't that.

- What is it?

Well, you see,

the idea of artists...

depending upon a patron lady bountiful

has more or less gone out.

Oh. I see.

That wasn't especially kind

of you, Mr. Connor.

I'm sorry to have seemed patronizing.

- Now, look, I didn't mean...

- Please don't bother.

- Hello.

- Hello. Fancy seeing you here.

Orange juice? Certainly.

Don't tell me you've forsaken

your beloved whiskey and whiskeys.

No, I've just changed their color.

I'm going for the pale pastel shades.

They're more becoming to me.

How about you, Mr. Connor?

You drink, don't you?

- Alcohol, I mean.

- A little.

A little?

And you're a writer?

Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought all writers

drank to excess and beat their wives.

You know, at one time I think

I secretly wanted to be a writer.

Dexter, would you mind

doing something for me?

- Anything. What?

- Get the heck out of here.

I couldn't do that.

That wouldn't be fair to you.

You need me too much.

Would you tell me what

you're hanging around for?

- No, please don't go, Mr. Connor.

- No, please don't go, Mr. Connor.

As a writer, this ought to be

right up your street.

Don't miss a word.

I never saw you looking better, Red.

You're getting that fine, tawny look.

Oh, we're going to talk

about me, are we? Goody.

It's astonishing what money can do

for people, don't you agree, Mr. Connor?

Not too much, you know.

Just more than enough.

Take Tracy, for example.

There was never a blow that

hasn't been softened for her.

Never a blow that won't be softened.

It's even changed her shape.

- She was once a dumpy little thing.

- I'm not interested in myself now.

Not interested in yourself?

You're fascinated, Red.

You're far and away

your favorite person in the world.

- In case you don't know...

- Of course, Mr. Connor...

she's a girl

who's generous to a fault.

To a fault, Mr. Connor.

Except to other people's faults.

For instance, she never had

any understanding...

of my deep and gorgeous thirst.

- That was your problem.

- Granted.

But you took on that problem

with me when you took me, Red.

You were no helpmate there.

You were a scold.

It was disgusting.

It made you so unattractive.

A weakness, sure, and strength

is her religion, Mr. Connor.

She finds human imperfection

unforgivable.

When I discovered that

my relationship to her...

was supposed to be not that of a loving

husband and a good companion but...

- Oh, never mind.

- Say it.

But that of a kind of high priest

to a virgin goddess.

Then my drinks grew deeper

and more frequent.

I never considered you as that

nor myself.

You did it without knowing it.

And the night that you got drunk on

champagne and climbed out on the roof...

and stood there, naked,

with your arms out to the moon...

wailing like a banshee.

I never had the slightest recollection

of doing any such thing.

You drew a blank.

You wanted to.

Mr. Connor, what would you... oh.

A nice story for Spy,

incidentally.

Yes. Too bad we can't supply

photographs of you on the roof.

Honestly, the fuss you made

over that silly, childish epis...

It was enormously important

and most revealing.

The moon is also a goddess,

chaste and virginal.

Stop using those foul words.

What are you trying

to make me out as?

- What do you fancy yourself as?

- I don't know that I fancy myself...

When I read you're gonna marry

Kittredge I couldn't believe it.

That's why I'm here.

How could he even think of it?

Because he's everything you're not.

He's been poor, he's had to work,

and he's had to fight for everything...

and I love him as I never

even began to love you.

Maybe so, but I doubt it.

It's just a swing from me...

but it's too violent a swing.

Kittredge is no great

tower of strength.

He's just a tower.

You hardly know him.

To hardly know him

is to know him well.

Perhaps it offends my vanity to have

anyone who was even remotely my wife...

remarry so obviously beneath her.

How dare you, in this day and age,

use such an idiotic...

I'm talking about the difference

in mind and spirit.

You could marry Mac,

the night watchman. I'd cheer for you.

- Kittredge is not for you.

- You bet he's for me.

He's a great man and a good man.

Already he's

of national importance.

You sound like Spy magazine talking.

But whatever he is, toots,

you'll have to stick.

- He'll give you no out as I did.

- I won't require one.

I suppose you'd still be attractive

to any man of spirit, though.

There's something engaging about it,

this "goddess" business...

something more challenging to the male

than the more obvious charms.

- Really?

- Really.

We're very vain, you know.

"This citadel can and shall be taken,

and I'm the boy to do it."

You seem quite contemptuous of me

all of a sudden.

No, Red, not of you.

Never of you.

Red, you could be the finest woman

on this earth.

I'm contemptuous of something inside you

you either can't help or won't try to.

Your so-called "strength"...

your prejudice against weakness,

your blank intolerance.

- Is that all?

- That's the gist of it.

Because you'll never be a first-class

human being or a first-class woman...

until you've learned to have

regard for human frailty.

It's a pity your own foot

can't slip a little sometime...

but your sense of inner divinity

wouldn't allow that.

This goddess must

and shall remain intact.

There are more of you

than people realize.

A special class of the American female.

"The Married Maidens."

So help me,

if you say another word...

I'm through, Red.

For the moment I've had my say.

I suppose I should object

to this twosome.

That would be most objectionable.

Any time either of you

want my advice...

- We'll give you a ring.

- Thanks. Do that, will you?

So long, Red.

I left you a wedding present. Sorry I

hadn't ribbon to tie it up with.

Aren't you swimming?

We haven't time.

Uncle Willie wants us at 8:00.

Look what your friend

considers a wedding present.

- Why, it's a model of the True Love.

- The what?

A boat he designed

and built, practically.

We sailed it down the coast of Maine

and back the summer we were married.

My, she was yare!

"Yare"? What's that mean?

It means, uh...

Oh, what does it mean?

Easy to handle, quick to the helm.

Fast, bright.

Everything a boat should be...

until she develops dry rot.

Oh, George, to get away.

Somehow to be useful

in the world.

Useful? You, Tracy?

I'm gonna build you an ivory tower

with my own two hands.

Like fun you are.

You mean you've

been in one too long?

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