The Producers Page #13

DRUNK:

(singing)

"By the light...

By the light, by the light...

Of the silvery...

BIALYSTOCK PICKS HIM UP AND THROWS HIM ACROSS THE BAR.

BIALYSTOCK:

Get away from me, you drunken bum!

76.

DRUNK PICKS HIMSELF UP AND DUSTS HIMSELF OFF.

DRUNK:

(indignantly)

Fairweather friend!

THE DRUNK STAGGERS OUT OF THE BAR. BIALYSTOCK GETS A HOLD

OF HIMSELF.

BIALYSTOCK:

Maybe it's not true!

BIALYSTOCK RUSHES OVER TO BLOOM.

BLOOM:

(still mumbling to himself)

No way out. No way out.

BIALYSTOCK:

Bloom, Bloom, maybe it's not true.

BLOOM DOES NOT RESPOND. BIALYSTOCK SHAKES HIM.

BLOOM:

(droning monotonously)

No way out. No way out. What? Who?

BIALYSTOCK:

Why don't we go over to the theatre

and see what's really happening?

After all, we've only heard from a

small portion of the audience.

Let's hear what the majority thinks.

BLOOM:

(in a trance)

The majority. The majority. Yes.

Let's hear from the majority.

THEY START TO LEAVE.

DISSOLVE TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM ENTERING LOBBY OF THEATRE.

AS THEY OPEN DOOR TO THEATRE, THEY ARE GREETED BY A SHOCK

WAVE OF LAUGHTER. THEY PAUSE STRICKEN.

BLOOM:

I don't want to go in.

BIALYSTOCK:

Come, we have to.

THEY TAKE EACH OTHER'S HANDS LIKE TWO FRIGHTENED LITTLE BOYS

AND CAUTIOUSLY WALK IN.

77.

CUT TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM AS THEY ENTER. THEY TAKE THEIR

POSITIONS AT THE BACK OF THE HOUSE AND WATCH THE PROCEEDINGS

MEEKLY, LIKE TWO LAMBS AWAITING THE SLAUGHTER.

CUT TO STAGE. HITLER HAS OBVIOUSLY CALLED A COUNCIL OF WAR.

THE FUHRER IS SURROUNDED BY HIS GENERAL STAFF.

GENERAL:

(making a report)

We are falling back on all fronts.

Our soldiers are retreating.

LSD:

No good, baby, no good. You heard

my orders. Nobody retreats.

Attack! Attack!

GENERAL:

Who can we attack? They're all too

big.

LSD:

(getting an inspiration)

Hey, man, let's stomp Switzerland!

GENERAL:

We can't... we keep our money there!

CUT BACK TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM. THEY STARE STRAIGHT

AHEAD, STONY-FACED. HUGE TEARS WELL UP IN THEIR EYES AND

RUN DOWN THEIR CHEEKS.

CUT TO LIEBKIND. HE HAS RIPPED OFF THE ARM OF HIS CHAIR AND

IS EARNESTLY GNAWING AT IT.

LIEBKIND:

Baby, again with that baby. There

must be no more babies.

LIEBKIND LEAPS FROM HIS SEAT AND HEADS TOWARD THE SIDE

ENTRANCE LEADING TO THE STAGE.

CUT BACK TO STAGE.

LSD:

Where's Goebbels? Where's my

little Joe?

GENERAL:

(to the wings)

Send for Goebbels.

78.

LSD:

He's the only cat left that still

grooves me.

GOEBBELS ENTERS LAUGHING.

GOEBBELS:

Heil, baby! I just finished the

morning propaganda broadcasts.

LSD:

What did you tell the people?

GOEBBELS:

I told them we invaded England.

LSD:

Hey, baby, that's good! How'd we

come out?

GOEBBELS:

We won.

LSD:

Groovy!

THEY SMACK HANDS.

LAUGH FROM AUDIENCE.

CUT TO BACKSTAGE. LIEBKIND COMES CHARGING IN LIKE A LUNATIC.

LIEBKIND:

Bring down the curtain! Bring down

the curtain!

HE RUSHES FOR THE CURTAIN ROPE. A STAGEHAND ATTEMPTS TO

STOP HIM. HE RIPS OFF HIS HELMET AND BANGS HIM OVER THE

HEAD WITH IT. AS HE SLUMPS TO THE GROUND, LIEBKIND UNDOES

THE CURTAIN ROPE.

CUT TO ACTORS ON STAGE.

LSD:

Goebbels, you're the only one...

THE CURTAIN DROPS WITH A THUD. FROM BENEATH IT CRAWLS

LIEBKIND. HE JUMPS UP AND ADDRESSES THE AUDIENCE.

LIEBKIND:

I am the author of this play. You

are the victims of a hoax. These

are not my words. The Fuhrer never

said baby. The Fuhrer was sweet,

the Fuhrer was kind, the Fuhrer was

good.

79.

STAGE MANAGER:

(off camera)

Get that curtain up.

CURTAIN STARTS TO RISE. LIEBKIND HURLS HIMSELF IT, AND

HOLDS IT DOWN.

LIEBKIND:

NO! No! The curtain must not go up!

DESPITE HIS EFFORTS, THE CURTAIN SLOWLY RISES. LIEBKIND

DOES NOT RELEASE HIS HOLD ON IT. HE STARTS TO GO UP.

LIEBKIND:

Stop! Stop!

AS THE CURTAIN RISES, WE SEE A BEWILDERED GROUP OF ACTORS

AND STAGE HANDS WATCHING LIEBKIND'S ASCENT. THE AUDIENCE,

THINKING LIEBKIND'S BEHAVIOR PART OF THE SHOW, ENJOYS THE

PROCEEDINGS TREMENDOUSLY. THEY BREAK INTO APPLAUSE.

CUT TO CRITIC. HE IS LAUGHING UPROARIOUSLY AND TEARING UP

HIS NOTES.

CUT BACK TO LIEBKIND.

LIEBKIND:

We have been betrayed! I will

return! I will returnnnnn...

LIEBKIND DISAPPEARS INTO THE FLIES.

DISSOLVE TO ANTEROOM OF BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM'S OFFICE. DAY.

ULLA, WEARING A BELTED RAINCOAT, SITS AT THE TYPEWRITER.

MUSIC FROM A RECORD PLAYER SOFTLY ROCKS IN THE BACKGROUND.

IN HER LEFT HAND SHE HOLDS A GLASS OF CHAMPAGNE, FROM WHICH

SHE SIPS, WHILE HER RIGHT HAND, INDEX FINGER EXTENDED, STABS

AT THE FUNNY LITTLE KEYS. SHE IS HAPPY, IT IS THE RIGHT ONE.

THE DOOR FLIES OPEN. THE DESPERATE BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM

ENTER. ULLA LEAPS UP, QUICKLY UNDOES HER RAINCOAT, EXPOSING

HER DELICIOUS BODY, CLOTHED ONLY IN BLACK LACE UNDERTHINGS.

ULLA:

We make love?

BIALYSTOCK:

No! No! We don't make love. Go

to work.

ULLA IMMEDIATELY TURNS UP RECORD PLAYER TO A CRASHING BLARE

AND DOES HER GROOVY DANCE. BIALYSTOCK HOWLS IN DESPAIR AND

FLEES INTO HIS OFFICE TOGETHER WITH BLOOM.

80.

HE CLOSES THE DOOR, SHUTTING OUT THE NOISE. THE OFFICE IS

FILLED WITH FLOWERS AND CONGRATULATORY TELEGRAMS. BIALYSTOCK

SWOOPS DOWN ON THE TELEGRAMS. HE RIPS ONE OPEN AND BEGINS

READING.

BIALYSTOCK:

"Congratulations. It's the biggest

hit on Broadway."

HE TEARS IT UP AND THROWS IT AWAY. HE PICKS UP ANOTHER AND

READS.

BIALYSTOCK:

"Congratulations. Hitler will run

forever."

HE THROWS IT AWAY. BIALYSTOCK ATTACKS THE PILE OF TELEGRAMS.

WITHOUT OPENING THEM UP, HE TEARS THEM ONE AT A TIME.

BIALYSTOCK:

(boiling with rage)

Congratulations!

HE TEARS TELEGRAM.

BIALYSTOCK:

Congratulations!

HE TEARS TELEGRAM.

BIALYSTOCK:

Congratulations!

HE TEARS TELEGRAM.

BIALYSTOCK:

Congratulations!

HE TEARS TELEGRAM.

THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN. POSED IN THE DOORWAY IS ROGER DE BRIS.

IN ONE HAND HE CARRIES AN OPEN, BUBBLING MAGNUM OF CHAMPAGNE.

DE BRIS:

(ecstatic)

Congratulations! Have you seen the

reviews? Have you seen the lines

at the box office? It's a torrent,

it's an avalanche, it's the biggest

hit on Broadway!

HE STARTS INTO THE ROOM. BIALYSTOCK GROWLS AND LUNGES AT HIM.

81.

BIALYSTOCK:

You lousy fruit. You've ruined me!

HE SMASHES DE BRIS UP AGAINST THE WALL. THE CHAMPAGNE GOES

FLYING.

DE BRIS:

(shrieking)

Help! Help! He's crazy! He's

going to kill me. Call the police!

Call the police! Help, help,

murder, murder, rape, rape!!!

BIALYSTOCK THROWS HIM OUT, SLAMS THE DOOR AND LOCKS IT. HE

FALLS INTO THE CHAIR AND PUTS HIS FEET UP ON THE DESK.

BIALYSTOCK:

(moaning)

How could this happen? I was so

careful. I picked the wrong play,

the wrong director, the wrong cast.

Where did I go right? We forgot

one important, Bloom. Adolf Hitler

always drew a crowd.

BIALYSTOCK IS SUDDENLY AWARE THAT BLOOM IS DOING STRANGE

THINGS AT THE NEXT DESK.

BIALYSTOCK:

What are you doing?

CUT TO BLOOM. HE IS FEVERISHLY PILING LEDGERS AND ACCOUNT

BOOKS TOGETHER. HE SWOOPS THEM UP IN HIS ARMS, CLUTCHES

THEM TIGHTLY AND BEGINS BACKING TOWARDS THE DOOR.

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