White Hunter Black Heart Page #2

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But you discussed it behind my back,|you son of a b*tch.

I didn't mention it because there isn't|a chance it could be done that way.

You'll guarantee that, I suppose?

Yes, goddamn it. I guarantee it!

Well, your guarantee doesn't mean|a damn thing to me.

I'm not gonna make some fake,|crappy mess just to please you.

So I don't care if this picture's shot|in black and white or sepia tone...

...or we have to make|the whole damn thing in animation.

Pete and I are going to Africa.

- What's the effective range of this thing?|- About 100 yards, sir. Not much more.

That's plenty for your buff|and your elephant.

They kill them at 20 yards, kid.

Well, even closer than that sometimes,|so they tell me.

Of course, I've never been to Africa,|but this man has.

Makes for invaluable reading.

Big Game and Big Game Rifles.

- We'll need two of these.|- We'll take two of these rifles right here...

...and two of the smaller ones,|the Mannlichers 256.

And that's to shoot for the pot,|so to speak.

- And then one 12-gauge shotgun.|- Always a useful thing to have along, sir.

And cartridges, of course.

- How many rounds, sir?|- Two hundred. Two hundred per weapon.

- Planning to be away quite a while, sir.|- Yes.

And Sunrise Films will send you the check.

John! Be careful!

Irene. For God's sake,|what are you doing here?

You told me to meet you here.

We had an appointment.|Drinks and dinner.

- I dressed.|- Yes.

Well, it plain slipped my mind.|Irene Saunders, this is Pete Verrill.

Hello.

I admired your last book enormously.

I'm a writer too.

John's promised to listen to an idea|I had for a film this evening.

I do hope you'll join us.

You can give me a few pointers.|One writer to another.

It's about a dog. A puppy dog.|He's the hero, the star.

Imagine, John, over the opening credits,|we'll see Horace.

Wonderful, adorable dissolves|of Horace. In close-up. In long shot.

Now, this is the part of the script|I'm not sure about.

The censors might cut it.|It turns out that Horace is in heat.

- Horace?|- It's a story of mistaken identity.

You see, Horace has a twin. A b*tch.|She's called Geraldine.

Now, it's she that's in heat.|Isn't that a wonderful switch?

We'll cut from the Hyde Park sequence,|John, to an early-morning shot of the river.

The river.

Horace is alone now. We dolly with him|as he trots slowly down a deserted street.

- He turns into Grosvenor-|- What are you doing here?

I have found a copy of the script.

- I hope you like it as much as I do.|- I'm sure I will.

Peter! Please.

You must hear the ending.

Horace is all alone. Now, we'll dolly with him|as he trots slowly down a deserted street.

Now, from another angle...

...Geraldine can be seen|coming down Brook Street.

She passes Claridge's,|then she enters the square.

Suddenly, they see each other.

Horace and Geraldine.

There isn't a human being in sight. They|race toward each other! The music swells!

Now, we hold the final picture|in an extreme long shot...

...as they meet...

...turn...

...and go off together.

They've only just begun to live.

Well, that's the end.

They find each other.

Well, isn't that something?|Isn't that something?

Do you really like it?

Well, darling, it's swell.

Come on, we'll talk some more.

Pete.

If there's half as much love|in this old gal as there is talk...

...I may be dead in the morning.

Hey, Johnny.

- Morning.|- Morning.

You look like you've been|run through the wringer.

Just part of me.

What's happening, kid?|What do you think of the script?

Well, I'll tell you the truth. I like it.

- I like it a lot.|- Good.

It's original, it's exciting and it's moving.|I just have one little problem with it.

The ending.

- You don't like the ending?|- No, I didn't say I don't like the ending.

I'm just not sure that it's the right one.

Let me put it in Hollywood terms.|I think it's too downbeat.

After everything|these two have gone through:

They fought the river,|tropical storms, the Germans...

And just when you've set the audience up|for a wonderfully comic ending...

...you blow the ship up and kill everybody.

Well, Pete, there's an old saying:

"God makes a man before he kills him. "

I've heard it, John. I've heard it.|But I don't think it applies in this case.

You're beating the audience|over the head, John.

People don't go to see pictures|to be lectured to.

Tell me, Pete. Do you own|a percentage of this film?

No.

Then why are you so concerned|about the damn audience?

Because we're in show business, John.

Not me. And not you, either,|when we work together.

You see, we're gods, Pete.

Lousy little gods who control|the lives of the people we create.

We sit up in some heavenly place|and decide whether they live or die...

...on the merits of what happens to them|in reel one, two, three, et cetera.

And then we decide|if they have the right to live.

And that's how we arrive at our ending.

Well, that's what you say, John.|But I say I'm a swell god.

I say they should live because of everything|they've gone through together.

This world doesn't necessarily have to be|a hopeless and rotten place, John.

We're not all destined and doomed to die|of radium poisoning.

Now, I might be completely wrong...

...but that's what makes me a swell god.

- That makes you a flea on an elephant's ass.|- Oh, balls to your pessimism.

You know something? You're never gonna be|a good screenwriter, and you know why?

No, John. Why don't you tell me why?

Because you let 85 million popcorn eaters|pull you this way and that way.

To write a movie, you must forget|anyone's ever going to see it.

You're gonna make damn sure|nobody sees this one.

Well, maybe I am. But I figure|there's two ways to live in this world.

One is you can crawl and kiss ass|and write their happy endings...

...sign their long-term contracts and never|take a chance on anything and never fly...

...never leave Hollywood. Save all|your goddamn money, every cent of it.

And then when you're a healthy-looking 50,|you die of a stroke...

...because whatever was wild in you|has eaten away the muscles of your heart.

The other way is to let the chips|fall where they may.

Refuse to sign their contracts and|tell off the guy who can cut your throat...

...and flatter the little guy|who's hanging by a thread that you hold.

John, maybe you shouldn't be|in the picture business.

Well, maybe you're right, kid.|Maybe I shouldn't.

Maybe I should've wandered the planet|gambling on oil wells...

...or stolen diamonds|or pimped for maharajahs.

Maybe you should've|but you know why you didn't?

Because somewhere deep inside of you|is a small, tiny spark of hope.

Hope, hell.

I'll die broke in a downtown Los Angeles|flophouse. And I won't be bitter.

I'll have contributed maybe five,|10 damn good pictures.

They'll name a special Academy Award|for me. And you know something?

All the wrong guys will get it.|And I'll be in hell, laughing my ass off.

Romantic futility.

- Your one true love.|- Nothing to be ashamed of, kid.

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