The Producers Page #12

BIALYSTOCK:

Ahhhhh, it's going better than I

expected.

THE COUPLE COMES ABREAST OF BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM.

WOMAN:

(to man as they exit theatre)

Well, talk about bad taste.

BIALYSTOCK:

(he chuckles as they leave)

Come, let us repair to the bar

across the street. I don't want to

be caught here during intermission.

We'll be stoned to death.

THEY LINK ARMS AND MERRILY MARCH OUT OF THE THEATRE.

CUT TO STAGE. "SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER" OPENING IS ENDING IN

A GREAT CRESCENDO OF PATRIOTIC INSANITY.

70.

ENTIRE CHORUS:

(singing)

So Springtime for Hitler,

Is Springtime for Goering,

Is Springtime for Goebbels,

Is Springtime for Himmler,

Is Springtime for you and me!!

CURTAIN FALLS. THE NUMBER IS RECEIVED BY THE AUDIENCE WITH

HUSHED SILENCE. FOLLOWED BY A SURGE TOWARD THE DOORS. THE

AISLES ARE CHOKED WITH UNHAPPY PEOPLE, WHO CAN'T WAIT TO GET

OUT.

CURTAIN RISES. ON STAGE ARE EVA BRAUN AND HITLER (LSD).

EVA BRAUN IS A FETCHING BLONDE IN LONG BRAIDS. LSD IS

PACING UP AND DOWN. EVA BRAUN SITS ON LOVE SEAT DOWNSTAGE.

IN HER HAND IS AN OVERSIZED DAISY. AS SHE PULLS THE PETALS

FROM IT, SHE WHINES. SHE HAS A PRONOUNCED AMERICAN ACCENT.

EVA:

Er liebt mir. Er liebt mir nicht.

Er liebt mir.

(the last petal)

Er liebt mir nicht.

CUT TO PEOPLE IN AISLE. THEY HAVE NOTICEABLY SLOWED DOWN.

SOME ARE WALKING BACKWARDS. THEY ARE INTRIGUED.

CUT BACK TO STAGE.

EVA:

(turns to LSD)

Du liebt mir nicht!

LSD:

(protesting vehemently)

I lieb you baby, I lieb you. You

know that.

EVA:

If you lieb me, why are you leaving

me?

LSD:

Hey, man, I can't spend all my time

with you. I took an oath, baby,

Deutschland uber alles.

CUT TO AUDIENCE IN AISLES. THEY HAVE ALL STOPPED LEAVING TO

TURN AND WATCH. SOME BEGIN TO LAUGH AND OTHERS APPLAUD.

THEY LIKE LSD.

71.

MAN:

That's Hitler? I get it! It's a

put-on.

CUT TO WOMAN.

WOMAN:

Hey, Harry, he's funny.

NOW THERE IS A MAD RUSH TO REGAIN THEIR SEATS.

CUT TO INTERIOR BAR. IT IS EMPTY EXCEPT FOR THE BARTENDER

AND A DRUNK AT THE FAR END OF THE BAR. BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM

ARE SEATED ON STOOLS AT THE BAR. THEY CLINK GLASSES.

BIALYSTOCK:

Here's to the one and only

performance of "Springtime for

Hitler."

THEY BOTH LAUGH AND DOWN THEIR DRINKS. BIALYSTOCK RAPS ON

THE BAR WITH HIS CANE.

BIALYSTOCK:

Innkeeper, innkeeper, another round

of drinks here. As a matter of

fact, a round of drinks for

everybody in the place!

BARTENDER LOOKS AROUND AT THE ALMOST EMPTY BARROOM. DOES A

LITTLE TAKE. HE THEN REPLENISHES THEIR DRINKS AND PLACES A

GLASS IN FRONT OF THE DRUNK. THE DRUNK TIPS HIS HAT

GRACIOUSLY TOWARDS BIALYSTOCK.

BLOOM:

Just think, yesterday I was a

meaningless little accountant --

and today, I am the producer of a

Broadway flop!

BIALYSTOCK:

(raising his glass)

To failure!

BLOOM:

To failure!

DRUNK:

(blushing)

Oh, thank you! It's very kind of

you.

(raises his glass and

downs his drink)

(MORE)

72.

DRUNK (CONT'D)

CUT BACK TO STAGE. SAME SCENE. EVA STARTS TO CRY.

EVA:

If the Duke of Windsor could give

up the Throne of England for the

woman he loved, why can't you?

LSD:

It's different. I'm a tyrant, baby.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS.

CUT TO FRANZ LIEBKIND SEATED IN AN AISLE SEAT. HE NERVOUSLY

PINCHES HIS FACE AS HE SEMI-COHERENTLY MUMBLES TO HIMSELF.

LIEBKIND:

(becoming slightly unhinged)

Baby, why does he keep saying baby?

I didn't write baby. The Fuhrer

never said baby. Vat is it vit

this baby?

WOMAN IN ADJOINING SEAT

(very annoyed)

Will you shut up!

LIEBKIND:

You shut up! I'm the author.

You're just the audience. I

outrank you.

CUT TO BAR. BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM ARE A LITTLE TIPSY. BY

NOW THE DRUNK HAS JOINED THEM AND ALL THREE ARE GOOD PALS.

BIALYSTOCK:

Bartender, bartender, another drink

for myself and my associate, Mr.

Bloom. And don't forget our good-

natured inebriate over there.

DRUNK TIPS HIS HAT GRACIOUSLY.

DRUNK:

Eternally grateful. Sincerely

yours, Oliver Wendell Drunk.

DURING DRUNK'S SPEECH, BARTENDER HAS REFILLED THEIR GLASSES.

HE STANDS BACK, WATCHING THEM AS HE DRIES GLASSES.

73.

DRUNK:

(raises his glass)

A toast!

BLOOM:

To what?

DRUNK:

(stumped)

To... toast! I love toast.

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM

To toast.

BIALYSTOCK:

(smacking his glass

down on the bar)

Now I'll take the lead and I want

you right behind me all the way!

One... two... three!

(singing)

"By the light,

BLOOM AND DRUNK:

(singing)

"By the light, by the light,

BIALYSTOCK:

"Of the silvery moon,

BLOOM AND DRUNK:

"Of the silvery mooooon,

BIALYSTOCK:

"I want to croon,

BLOOM AND DRUNK:

"He wants to croon, he wants to

croon,

BIALYSTOCK:

"To my honey I'll croon,

BLOOM AND DRUNK:

"He's gonna croon love's tune,

BIALYSTOCK:

"Honeymoon,

BLOOM AND DRUNK:

"Honeymoon, honeymoon,

BIALYSTOCK:

"Keep a shining in...

74.

BIALYSTOCK STOPS ABRUPTLY. HE POINTS TOWARD THE DOOR. WE

HEAR THE SOUND OF PEOPLE ENTERING THE BAR.

BIALYSTOCK:

Intermission! Quick, hide your

face. They'll tear us to pieces.

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM HOP ON THEIR STOOLS AND COVER THEIR

FACES WITH THEIR HANDS. THE DRUNK SHRUGS, HOPS ON THE STOOL

NEXT TO THEM AND ALSO HIDES HIS FACE. A HORDE OF FIRST

NIGHTERS SWEEPS INTO THE BAR. THEY ARE ALL AROUND

BIALYSTOCK, BLOOM AND THE DRUNK, CLAMORING FOR DRINKS.

CROWD:

(ad-lib)

"Scotch on the rocks,"

"Bourbon and soda."

"Two martinis."

"Whiskey sour."

THE CROWD IS VERY CHEERFUL. THEY ARE STILL BUBBLING FROM

THE FIRST ACT.

WOMAN:

(to her escort)

Well, so far that's about the

funniest thing I've ever seen on

Broadway.

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM LOOK AT EACH OTHER.

WOMAN'S ESCORT

Never laughed so much in my life.

MAN:

(to his friend)

Hysterical, absolutely hysterical.

MAN'S FRIEND

I thought I'd split my sides.

BIALYSTOCK:

Take it easy, don't panic. There

are a lot of plays on this street.

They are not necessarily talking

about "Springtime For Hitler."

HUSBAND:

(to his wife)

Honey, I never in a million years

thought I'd ever love a show called

"Springtime For Hitler."

75.

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM FREEZE. A LITTLE OLD LADY COMES UP

BEHIND BIALYSTOCK. SHE RAPS HIM ON THE BACK WITH HER

UMBRELLA.

LITTLE OLD LADY #8

Bialy, you sly fox, you've done it.

It's a smasheroo.

BIALYSTOCK:

(in a daze)

Smasheroo. Smasheroo.

THE CROWD STARTS TO LEAVE.

LITTLE OLD LADY:

Oh, I'd better hurry back. I don't

want to miss one minute of it.

THE FIRST NIGHTERS LEAVE THE BAR. ALL THAT REMAIN ARE

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM, THE BARTENDER AND THE DRUNK.

BIALYSTOCK SLIPS OFF THE STOOL AND WANDERS TO MIDDLE OF

BARROOM.

BIALYSTOCK:

(dazed)

Got to think... Got to think... Got

to think... Got to think... Got to

think...

CUT TO BLOOM AT THE BAR, FROZEN, STARING STRAIGHT AHEAD.

HIS EYES ARE GLAZED WITH SHOCK. HE STROKES HIS CHEEK WITH

HIS LITTLE BLUE BLANKET.

BLOOM:

Mrs. Cathcart -- 50%

Mrs. Biddlecombe -- 50%

Mrs. Wentworth -- 50%

Mrs. Resnick -- 100%

THE DRUNK STARES FROM ONE TO THE OTHER. UNHAPPY WITH THEIR

PRESENT MOOD, HE DECIDES TO LIVEN THINGS UP AGAIN. HE

TIPTOES OVER TO BIALYSTOCK, PUTS HIS ARMS AROUND BIALYSTOCK'S

WAIST, ROCKS BACK AND FORTH AND BEGINS TO SING.

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