The Producers Page #6

BLOOM:

Good lord, it's morning. Let's

face it, we'll never find it.

(he turns to face Bialystock)

Max, tomorrow's another day.

Today's another day.

BIALYSTOCK:

(off-camera. Crazy

little voice)

We'll never find it, eh? We'll

never find it, eh? Ha, ha, ha, ha,

ha.

CUT TO BIALYSTOCK. HE IS STANDING. AT HIS FEET LIES A

SCRIPT. HE DANCES AROUND IT, HIS ARMS FOLDED ACROSS HIS

CHEST.

BIALYSTOCK:

(as he does an insane

little jig around the script)

You can't smell it when it's under

your nose. You can't see it when

it's right before your eyes.

(MORE)

33.

BIALYSTOCK (CONT'D)

You can't feel it when it's in your

hand, when it's in your pocket.

CUT TO MEDIUM SHOT.

BLOOM:

Max, what is it? What are you

doing? What's happening?

BIALYSTOCK:

I'll tell you what's happening.

We've struck gold. Not fool's

gold, but real gold. The mother

lode. The mother lode. The mother

of them all.

BLOOM:

(brightening)

You found a flop!

BIALYSTOCK:

A flop, ha! That's putting it

mildly. A disaster! A catastrophe!

An outrage! A guaranteed-to-close-

in-one-night beauty!

HE BENDS DOWN, PICKS UP THE SCRIPT AND SHAKES IT IN BLOOM'S

FACE.

BIALYSTOCK:

This is freedom from want forever.

This is a house in the country.

This is a Rolls Royce and a Bentley.

This is wine, women and song and

women.

BLOOM SNATCHES THE SCRIPT FROM HIS HANDS AND READS ALOUD THE

TITLE.

CUT TO CLOSE-UP. TITLE OF SCRIPT.

BLOOM:

(voice over)

"SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER, A Gay Romp

with Adolph and Eva in

Berchtesgarten." Fantastic!

BACK TO TWO SHOT. BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM.

BIALYSTOCK:

It's practically a love letter to

Hitler!

34.

BLOOM:

(ecstatic)

It won't run a week!

BIALYSTOCK:

Run a week? Are you kidding? This

play has got to close in the first

act.

BLOOM:

Who wrote it?

CUT TO AUTHOR'S NAME ON THE MANUSCRIPT: By FRANZ LIEBKIND.

DISSOLVE THROUGH AUTHOR'S NAME TO BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM,

SHAVED AND DAPPER, WALKING DOWN STREET IN A RUN-DOWN TENEMENT

NEIGHBORHOOD.

BLOOM:

Here it is -- 415.

THEY MARCH UP STOOP TO NUMBER 415. THEIR MOTION IS ARRESTED

BY A QUERULOUS COMMAND ISSUED IN PHLEGMATIC TONES BY THE

SUPERINTENDENT OF THE BUILDING (A WOMAN IN HER LATE FORTIES)

WHO IS LEANING OUT OF HER WINDOW WHICH IS ADJACENT TO THE

STOOP.

SUPER:

Who do you want?

BLOOM:

(taken aback)

I beg your pardon?

SUPER:

Who do you want? No one gets in

the building unless I know who they

want ... I'm the concierge. My

husband used to be the concierge.

He's dead. Now I'm the concierge.

BIALYSTOCK:

(imperiously)

We are seeking Mr. Franz Liebkind.

SUPER:

Oh, the kraut. He's on the top

floor. Apartment twenty-three.

BLOOM:

Thank you.

THEY START INTO THE BUILDING.

35.

SUPER:

But you won't find him there. He's

up on the roof with his birds. He

keeps birds. Dirty, disgusting,

filthy, lice-ridden birds. You

used to be able to sit out on the

stoop like a person. Not anymore.

No sir. Birds! You get my drift?

BLOOM:

We ... uh ... get your drift.

Thank you, Madam.

SUPER:

I'm not a madam. I'm a concierge.

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM ENTER THE BUILDING.

CUT TO FRANZ LIEBKIND. HE IS IN HIS EARLY FORTIES. HE IS

WEARING, AS ALWAYS, A GERMAN HELMET. HE CROUCHES BESIDE A

HUGE PIGEON COOP. IN HIS LEFT HAND HE TENDERLY HOLDS A

PIGEON. IN HIS RIGHT, A SMALL PHOTO OF ADOLPH HITLER. HE

SHOWS THE PICTURE TO THE BIRD. HE MOVES IT BACK AND FORTH

UNTIL HE IS SURE THE BIRD IS FOCUSED ON IT PROPERLY.

LIEBKIND:

(to pigeon)

Hilda, look ... look good ...

Hilda, you're not looking. Hilda,

if he lives, I know you will find

him.

HE KISSES THE BIRD AND TOSSES IT SKYWARD.

CUT TO ROOF DOOR. BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM ENTER ONTO THE ROOF.

THEY LOOK FOR LIEBKIND. HE IS NOT ON THAT SIDE OF ROOF.

THEY WALK AROUND TO OTHER SIDE. AS SOON AS THEY TURN THE

CORNER, THEY SPOT LIEBKIND CROUCHED NEAR THE COOP.

BLOOM:

(quietly to Bialystock)

He's wearing a German helmet.

BIALYSTOCK:

(in a fierce whisper)

Shhh. Don't say anything to offend

him. We need that play.

(cups his hands to

his mouth and calls

up to the coop)

Franz Liebkind?

LIEBKIND IS NOT AWARE OF THEIR PRESENCE UNTIL HE HEARS HIS

NAME CALLED.

36.

STARTLED, HE QUICKLY FLIPS HITLER'S PICTURE UNDER HIS HELMET.

LIEBKIND:

(he speaks with a

German accent)

I vas never a member of the Nazi

party. I am not responsible. I

only followed orders. Who are you?

BIALYSTOCK:

Mr. Liebkind, wait. You don't

understand.

LIEBKIND:

Vhy do you persecute me? My papers

are in order. I love my country.

(he sings)

"Oh, beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber vaves of grain."

BIALYSTOCK:

Mr. Liebkind, wait ...

LIEBKIND:

(singing)

"I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy ...

BIALYSTOCK:

(interrupting)

Mr. Liebkind, relax, relax, we're

not from the government. We came

here to talk to you about your play.

LIEBKIND:

My play? You mean, "Springtime For

... " you know who?

BIALYSTOCK:

Yes.

LIEBKIND:

Vat about it?

BIALYSTOCK:

We loved it. We thought it was a

masterpiece. That's why we're here.

We want to produce it on Broadway.

LIEBKIND:

You're not, as you Americans say,

dragging my leg, are you?

37.

BLOOM:

No, not at all sir, we're quite

serious. We want to produce your

play.

(he reaches into his

attache case and

displays a legal

looking document)

I have the contracts right here.

LIEBKIND:

(looking up)

Oh joy of joys! Oh, dream of

dreams! I can't believe it.

(he turns to the pigeons)

Birds, birds, do you hear? Otto,

Bertz, Heintz, Hans, Wolfgang, do

you hear? Ve are going to clear

the Fuhrer's name. Fly, fly,

spread the words.

HE OPENS THE CAGES AND SETS THE BIRDS FREE.

LIEBKIND:

(singing at the top

of his lungs)

"Deutchland, Deutchland, uber

alles, Uber alles in der velt."

BIALYSTOCK AND BLOOM LOOK AT EACH OTHER IN ALARM.

LIEBKIND:

(singing for all he's worth)

"Deutchland, Deutchland ... "

BLOOM:

(shouting)

Mr. Liebkind, Mr. Liebkind.

LIEBKIND STOPS SINGING.

LIEBKIND:

Vat?

BLOOM:

People can hear you.

LIEBKIND:

OH.

(he sings)

"I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy, Yankee

Doodle is my ... " Listen, this is

not place to talk. Come!

(MORE)

38.

LIEBKIND (CONT'D)

We go to my flat. An occasion like

this calls for Schnapps.

DISSOLVE TO FRANZ LIEBKIND'S APARTMENT. LIEBKIND HAS JUST

FINISHED POURING THREE GLASSES OF SCHNAPPS. HE PUTS THE

BOTTLE ON A TRAY.

LIEBKIND:

(as he hands glasses

to Bialystock and Bloom)

Mr. Bloom, Mr. Bialystock.

Gentleman, with your permission, I

would like to propose a toast to

the greatest man that ever lived.

Let us say his name quietly to

ourselves. The walls have ears.

CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF FRANZ LIEBKIND.

LIEBKIND:

(a fervent whisper)

Adolph Hitler.

(he downs drink)

CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF BLOOM.

BLOOM:

(whisper)

Sigmund Freud.

(he downs drink)

CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF BIALYSTOCK.

BIALYSTOCK:

(whisper)

Max Bialystock.

(he downs drink)

BACK TO SCENE.

LIEBKIND:

I vas vit him a great deal, you know.

BIALYSTOCK:

With whom?

39.

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