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Business is good. The kids hang out all day, drink coffee... ...talk about art and read poetry. -It's just a fad. These kids today, they're just slaves to fashion. This is really quite unbelievably bad, my friend. I've made a career out of disregard for convention. But this is profoundly irrelevant material. This is only my opinion, but it is one I value highly. Good night, Laura. Call Norton if we're still on for tomorrow. I refuse to admit that I've ever been wrong as a reader. You got talent. You have an innate sense of the musicality of language. A good ear, maybe. But you do nothing significant with it. And this twisted reasoning that poses as conviction or insight... it's... well, it's embarrassing. Why did you bring this thing to me anyway? A friend of mine spoke of you. He said you had a lot of integrity. Yes, well, of course I do, but I'm not crazy. Who is this person? Do I know him? His name is Henry Fool. Never heard of him. I remember Henry. He used to be the janitor here. Simon? -How much do I owe you? -US$ 25. That can't be right. So what, my credit's good. Hey, Warren! -You got a couple of bucks? -I remind you to vote this Tuesday. Of course. When noble minds shrink from the task of leadership... scoundrels will rush in to fill the void. Thanks. It's every American's right. A blessing. And yet another opportunity to save America from itself. Anybody home? Mom? Henry, got any cigarettes? Let us pray. Lord, grant the peace be within reach for our friend Mary. May the pain and confusion she endured on Earth... be forth through in the afterlife... so that she may enter the kingdom of heaven... and live in the light of God. Amen. So I was a janitor. So what? -Angus said he didn't even know you. -We weren't like bosom buddies. We used to talk sometimes, in the elevator, in the mornings. He said he liked my ideas. Being a janitor is a good job if you're a writer. Especially the night shift. All that time to think and develop ideas. Do it. -Anyway, he hated my poem. -What the hell does he know? He wouldn't know a vital piece of literary art if it bit him! The hell with him! He's not the only publisher in the world. -Nobody likes it. -It's true. A prophet is seldom heeded in his own land. Remember that. Do it. Hey, look. Treasure. -What is this? -Brass, maybe some kind of copper. It's a ring. Jewelry. I think it's a gasket, a fitting for that old refrigerator over there. Warren, I found Pearl wandering around by the garbage dump. -He lost. -Who lost? -Congressman Feer. -Somebody's gotta lose. What's the fucking use? You make sacrifices, Try to be a decent human being... try to contribute something meaningful to society... and then lose to a bunch of cultural elite liberal fuck-ups. I don't give a shit anymore. People deserve what they get. Vicky? What happened to you? He's a good man, Henry. Nobody's perfect. I guess not. He's terribly disappointed. Thanks. She gets scared. And you don't? I love him. -Where's the beer? -No more beer. Coffee. Espresso. Cappuccino. Café Au Lait. Carrot Juice. Cup of tea. Give me a double espresso and a jolly doughnut, Gnoc. Do you mind paying? My credit's no good here anymore. Did you go to the employment agency today, Henry? No. But it's okay. Simon's gonna give me a job on the garbage truck. -I'm concerned about your friend. -Simon? It seems he gave an obscene note to a girl in the library. -Get out of here. When? -I'm not sure. -This is obviously a love letter. -We've had complaints. -Where did you get it? -She posted it on the Internet. Oh, slut! She was trying to warn other girls about a potential rapist. Does all of this is true about the Internet? -About how you can get pornography? -Sure. It's a serious problem. -You can send dirty pictures. -On the Internet? -Yeah. -No kidding. I'll see you on Thursday, Henry. Gnoc, give me another one of these double espressos to go, will ya? Hello, Fay. Go away. You gotta get out of the house, Fay. You can't blame yourself for not being here. You did all you could. Is there something you want? Have you got the Internet on that contraption? Yeah, so what? Look, Fay. About between us, what happened. I don't want to talk about it, Henry. Type that part of Simon's poem onto the Internet. What? Go ahead. No. Why not? Because. Come on, Fay. It's a great idea. -I don't know if Simon would want it. -Sure he would. Just the first ten verses. I don't know... He'll thank you for it later. Henry? Did you see him? -He came by this afternoon. -Did you talk? No. You've gotta tell him, Fay. He thinks I'm a slut. Simon, I don't feel so good. What's wrong? I feel all kind of clammy and damp. -How many of these did you have? -Seven. -Henry, we have to talk. -Can I use your toilet? Fay's taking a shower. How much you think I can get for this? Henry, Fay is pregnant. She's pregnant with your child. Jesus! Henry... I, Henry, take you, Fay, to be my wife... I, Henry, take you, Fay, to be my wife... And do promise before God and these witnesses... And do promise before God and these witnesses... To be a loving and faithful husband... To be a loving and faithful husband... In plenty and in want... In plenty and in want... In joy and in sorrow... In joy and in sorrow... In sickness and in health... In sickness and in health... For as long as we both shall live. For as long as we both shall live. Bless, o Lord, this ring, and he who gives it, and she who wears it... may abide in Your peace and continue in your favor until their lives ending. In God has joined, let no man separate it. -Where did you get this? -It's all over in the Internet. They're even talking about it on the TV news. There's a man from the radio station over at the doughnut... and a story about some kids burning down the school near Boston. It all started here in Queens, Jim, at the World of Doughnuts... about a year ago, when local garbage man Simon Grim began to compose... what many regard as vicious, anti social and pornographic poetry. This is outrageous! Measures must be taken. Have we debased our culture to such an extent... that a garbage man with a head full of sick ideas... is legitimately referred to as a poet... and where the filth he spews can be accessed by a child at the computer? Is this what we have come to? Not the transmission of our... highest ideals, but a cynical, atheistic delirium? In the past three days we have been treated... to the usual parade of philistines... the posturing, the preening, the pomposity... of the residual puritan element of American culture... that rears its ugly head every time an artistic voice comes out. I'm very attracted to what I feel is a pungent and squalid element init. That is the authentic thrashing voice of American culture. And, moreover, I find the kind of imagery of rotten decay... that is always symptomatic of any fin-de-siécle. In Rome, the Pope issued a message of hope for believer sin their... plight against what he termed 'the godless and lost.' He did not mention Simon Grim by name... but offered a prayer for the young, whom he described as sadly in... need of faith, not the illusion of conviction offered by rock music... drugs, and contemporary poetry. Also in the news today: the United Nations General Assembly... God, Simon, you're like a total fucking rock star. I'm willing to negotiate, Simon. I know. It's just... What? You got other offers? Well, yeah... -But... -What? Why have you reconsidered? Because I think your writing will be tremendously successful. But you don't like it. It's growing on me. -What were the terms? -US$ 1OO,OOO in cash. Up front. -Royalties? -7O/3O split. Well, that could be better. But it is a hundred thousand dollars up front. Guaranteed money. You could use that. -So it's a good deal? -Of course it's a good deal. So I should take it? No. Try to get him up to US$ 15O,OOO. I've let myself down, Simon. I've let myself be caught in a bloody maul, banale necessity. How did I get here? How did this happen to me? I'm going to be somebody's father. I need time to think, to write... time to finish my confession. I can't work for a living. Simon, it's impossible. I tried once. My genius would be wasted trying to make ends meet. This is how great men topple, Simon. Their hearts are at the right place for much of the time. They get sidetracked, distracted... How could I've been so careless? Henry, please let me read the confession. Angus James is convinced my poem is gonna make him incredibly wealthy. He'll read your book and seriously consider publishing it. If I ask him to. I'm certain. Really? I'll insist he publish the confession... or I won't let him publish my poem. You'd do that? You'd do that for me? You saved my life. Do you realize what you're saying? I owe you everything. Is it really that bad? Yes. Maybe your expectations were too high. Are you sure you're being objective? -You read this? -Yes. And you want me to consider publishing? -Yes. -As part of our deal? Yes. Simon... this book is really quite bad. That's what you said about my poem. I'm offering you a real expression of my faith in your writing. US$ 2OO,OOO, and a 6O/4O split. But just exactly what is the nature of your faith in my writing? Simon, you don't require my admiration... but my experience as a publisher. And that experience tells me... that your poem will make more money than any poetry ever published! You will never have to work again on a garbage truck, I assure you... or in anything else, for that matter. Whereas this... The most I can say about this is... the man is a scoundrel. -He taught me everything I know. -No. He encouraged what was expressive in you to become manifest. He inspired you to act. He influenced your perception. How about if my advance is only a hundred thousand? -It isn't about money, Simon. -We could split the royalty 7O/3O. I will not publish Henry Fool's confession. Will you sign the contract? I'm gonna go get your coat. -Where is your coat? -I don't need a coat. I'm gonna go and get Mr. Deng's van. Get in the car! -I want to go up front! -You gotta lie down! Get in the car! When did the water broke? -Give me an ultrasonograph. -Get to feed the monitor! -She's losing her heartbeat. -Sonograph, now! -Give her oxygen. -Breathe. What happened? It's a... it's a boy. So, how did it go with Angus James? Listen, Henry. Angus didn't like your confession. Oh, I see. -Well, what now? -What do you mean? -Did he suggest changes? -No. There are things I can do to make it more accessible. Accessible? I can soften up some of the language and make it read easier. Take out some of the more inter-textual references... and popularize the underlying strum and drum, sort of speak. I can change its mode. Make it more of a conventional novel. No, don't. I appreciate your protectiveness, Simon. But the integrity of the work can sustain such things. No, really, Henry. Don't. What are you saying? That it doesn't merit revision? I'm saying Angus James didn't like it. -Did you tell him what you think? -What I think doesn't matter. Yes, it does. You've got to use your influence. I gave it to him to read and he hated it. What more can I do? You can refuse to let him publish your poem. I can't do that. You said you would. That was before I read your book. I signed the contract. Look, Henry. What would you expect? I... I don't know. If I told you when I read it, it was no good, what would've you done? -I would've respected your opinion. -There's no accounting for taste. Well, is there? I don't know. I didn't bring it to Angus... because it was good, but because you're my friend. Oh, how perfectly enormous of you, Simon. Look, Henry. I did it. I wrote! I wrote poetry because you told me to. I worked. I worked while you just sat around... and comfortably dismissed the outside world as too shallow. Is that such a priority? Is that a measure of a man's worth? To drag what's best in him out into the street so that every average... slob with some pretense to taste can poke it with a stick? Maybe. Maybe it is. You must be pretty impressed with yourself, huh? The all too obviously talented new man. The important new voice. You'd be nowhere without me and you know it. I'm leaving. I saw you for what you were in the beginning, Simon. I hold no grudge and I'm sure you'll leave a small dent in the world. The world is full of shit. The world is full of shit. It's true. And you have to walk through it. That's your part. I'm sorry, but you're good at it. Perhaps I'm not. Perhaps I wasn't made to walk through shit. Go on, now. Leave. Do what you're good at. Go. -What are you doing? -Thinking. About what? Nothing. Play. Henry, what did I tell you about not bringing the kid out here? -Say hello to Patty, Ned. -Hi. -How are you doing, sweetie? -What did you learn in school today? -Nothing. -Here. I'll teach you something. -How's that? -It burns. Of course. See, that'll teach you. Here. Sip this. Pearl! I'm warning you. That's it. Perfect! -Hey, Fool, it's about your friend. -What about him? The controversial and reclusive American poet, Simon Grim... has been awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. The Swedish academy, which will confer the award next week... praised Mr. Grim for works of great and difficult striving for the... rendering of the desperate, the ugly and the mundane... in a language packet in our share of human frailties. They must be hard out for geniuses to pin medals on, because, listen... when I first met him, he didn't even know what iambic pentameter was. -He's a fraud. -Shut up. You're out of your league. Stir things up so as to get in the newspapers, that's his racket. He's a great American poet, you dumb fuck! Poet my ass! I could puke all over a leaf and be more profound than he is. Come over here, and I'll cripple you in three different ways! Henry! Listen, you degenerate. I've had it. I've got enough of this. Ned, have you been drinking? His throat hurt from smoking. Henry, don't come home tonight. Don't come home at all. Ever! Who's winning? Nobody. What's going on in there? We got out rock and roll shows these days, Henry. Poetry readings just don't pay the bills no more. What did I tell you? That was just a fad. I told you that. I told everybody. You hear about Simon? He's on the news today. Yeah. So what? Nobel Prize. Anybody can get one of them these days. That's the problem with this world, Mr. Deng. Nobody's got any standards anymore. 'Ve you seen Fay? You better sleep in my office tonight, Henry. She's very angry. You gotta let it cool off. I can't sleep in there with all that racket. Suit yourself. What are you doing here, Pearl? You want some? Some what? Oh, shit. That's what my stepfather always says. What? "You want some?" People say you were once in jail for having sex with a girl of my age. You want some? You oughta get out of here, Pearl. -I was here first. -Go home. I can't go home. Why not? He beat her up again. Is she alright? Do you think I'm pretty? Does your mom need help? I'll suck your cock if you kill him for me! Vicky? What do you think you're doing, you idiot? What are you doing in my house? It's about Pearl. Mind your own business, Henry. Yeah. Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? Is it true your husband served seven years at a state prison for rape? Yes. He has. And when was that? It was... ...I don't know, 15, 16 years ago. -And when were you married? We were married seven years ago. Were you aware of the victim's relationship with the stepdaughter? Pardon me? The girl. The daughter, Pearl. She has been having sexual relations with her stepfather. I didn't know that. No. I'm just repeating what she said, Fay. I know this isn't easy, but we need your help here. She asked your husband to kill her stepfather in exchange for... well, I guess... the promise of sexual relations with her. Mom? Where's dad? I don't know, honey. Leave me alone a minute. I gotta think. Mom? What? Is dad in trouble? Yes, Ned. He is. He's in big trouble. Now, can you just be quiet for two minutes? What do you want? My uncle. What's his name? Simon Grim. There ain't nobody here by that name. Room 423. This is postmarked 5 years ago. What's he look like? I'm sorry, kid. I can't help you. Promise me you'll be on that plane at 4:OO, Simon. I'll see you in Stockholm. Look, Simon... the world's a scary place, I admit it. But it's not my fault, I swear. Come on, let's go! You got a light? I love you, Fay. Yeah, well... tough. Passport and ticket, please. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Grim. -Congratulations on the Nobel Prize! -Thanks, but... I know all your work by heart. It changed my life. Yeah, well. Look, thanks, but, uhm... Yes, of course. Please hurry, sir. They're holding the plane for you in the runway. This way, Mr. Grim! Please, we have to hurry! Hurry, Mr. Grim! Run! CAPTIONS BY VIDEOLAR |
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