Mank (2020) - full transcript

It's all right. I've got this. I'm good.

Here.

I had them set you up out here
so you wouldn't feel quite so confined.

The ladies will scandalize
the neighborhood

by occupying both bedrooms.

I will be staying in town
at a bucolic spa called,

if you can believe it, the Shoulder Arms.

I will do my editing there.

As you know,

Fraulein Freda is not only
a nurse and physical therapist,

she studied nutrition
back in the old country.



- Ja, liebes Fräulein?
- Jawohl, Herr Houseman.

It's a dry house.

The owner of the ranch
doesn't permit alcohol.

But you're from Pennsylvania.

You're no doubt used to it.

Saved by the proverbial bell.

Set it here, please.

And, uh, careful.

Careful. Thank you.

Observe.

Naturally,
you'll do your damnedest to get at it.

By the time you finish the first draft,
which is to say, in 90 days,

you should be a world-class sprinter.

Rita, come in here, will you?



This is Mrs. Alexander.

She types 100 perfect words a minute
and takes dictation like a clairvoyant.

Rita Alexander, Herman Mankiewicz.

How do you do, Mr. Mankiewicz?

Uh, that's a big question.

Well, since you like working nights,
Rita here runs on London time.

Her husband
is one of our bold lads in the RAF.

- Flies… What is it, Rita? Spitfires?
- Hurricanes.

- My sympathy and prayers.
- I beg your pardon?

Given the speed, climb, and turning radius
of the Messerschmitt Bf 109...

I hope we won't need your sympathy,
Mr. Mankiewicz.

We'll do the praying and the fighting.

I will meet with Orson weekly.
Keep him to date on our progress.

We're expecting great things.

What is it the writer says?
"Tell the story you know."

I don't know that writer.

Hello.

Yes. Yes, he's right here.

Well, you should have everything.
If I've forgotten, there's a clipboard.

- Yes? Hello?
- They're getting him.

Our wunderkind
does have the gift of theatrical timing.

Orson, hello. We just got in.

- Hello.
- Mank!

Houseman tells me
we have you just where we want you.

Lucky me.

- How's the leg?
- "Thigh bone's connected to the hip bone."

Excellent.

Ready and willing
to hunt the great white whale?

Just call me Ahab.

I understand we've 90 days.

Let's aim for 60.

He's just cut a month.

I used to do it in five for you
at the Mercury. This is leisurely.

- Sixty days, and then we can noodle.
- Nothing like a good noodle.

Uh, is the reason you lopped 30 days
to run it past the RKO legal?

I thought I told you, Mank.
I have final cut, final everything.

There are no studio notes.

We'll have no one but ourselves to blame.

- Sixty days and a noodle.
- Mr. Welles, we're ready.

Gotta run.
I'm doing tests for Heart of Darkness.

Oh, little that, lesser Joe Conrad.

If anyone should ask,
tell 'em you're adapting.

Oh, you don't know
this sun-bleached sewer here, my friend.

Break wind at Hollywood and Vine,

and a producer in Santa Monica
reports a ruptured main.

No,
I don't know this burgh, not yet.

I'm toiling with you in spirit, Mank.
And I don't hear any typing.

No notes.

And then he turns 24.

Trapped.

Let me take off these clothes.

They let me go
just as I achieved perfect equilibrium.

I won't work
with half the producers on the lot,

and the other half won't work with me.

What's this, a racing form?

You stop reading, you stop learning.

Hold still.

Lay back.

Cigarette, please.

Hermie, if a match gets
anywhere near your breath,

you'll burst into flames.

Even the dog's name is awful.

Sounds like a Japanese houseboy.

You mark my words, Sara.

The Wizard of Oz
is gonna sink that studio.

Sleep. You're driving
to New York tomorrow.

Remember
when you used to take the train

from back East?

I'd sneak aboard in Albuquerque
and climb into your compartment naked.

I also remember
how I spent my honeymoon in Berlin,

with hookers running up and down
the stairs all night

because my dashing correspondent
couldn't afford a nice hotel.

Weren't those the days?

Yeah, yeah,
and the nights weren't bad either.

- Schnutz.
- For the last time, what?

- What year is it?
- Herman…

- I should have done something by now.
- Oh, Hermie…

Give me a sign, oh, Lord.

I am as your servant Moses,
though I won't work half as cheap.

Go to sleep, meshuggener.

- Schnutz?
- What?

Why do you put up with me?

I don't know.

That bush in the front yard,

if it catches fire tonight,
you will let me know?

I mean,
you know all kinds of things.

Iambic pentameter,
the words of the great poets.

What about the way she signed it?
"Always, Ethel."

Can you beat that?
Not just "Ethel." "Always, Ethel."

Tommy, if we can find civilization
by sundown,

I hope to climb out of this crate
and into a cold martini.

She's not the kind to use "always"
if she didn't mean it.

If she meant just "Ethel,"
she'd write just "Ethel," not "always."

- Wouldn't you think?
- Uh, the road, Tommy.

I know.

You read it and see what I mean.

She loves me, don't you think?

Mank? It's Orson Welles.

- Of course it is.
- I think it's time we talked.

I'm all ears.

Once a castle on a hill,

now a memory of what once was.

Alone in his unfinished,
already decaying pleasure palace,

aloof, seldom visited, never photographed,

we see an old man in a robe,
smoking a pipe,

sitting alone by his pool…

…um, uh,
discarded pages scattered at his feet.

Narrator,

"An emperor of newsprint
continued to direct his failing empire,

vainly attempting to sway, as he once did,

the destinies of a nation

which had long since ceased to listen
to him…"

No. "Had ceased to trust him."

We see through trees as an aide
pushes this old man in a wheelchair

across neatly groomed lawns.

Narrator, "There, last month,

as it must to all men, death came to..."

- Let's have that cuppa, Mrs. A.
- Oh.

I know who it is.

Or who it's meant to be.

What makes you think
it's meant to be anybody?

Oh, come, now.

Everyone in the English-speaking world
will recognize him instantly.

Exactly what he would say.

- Did you know the man?
- Maybe.

I used to.

- You wrote for one of his papers?
- Oh, no, praise God.

I met him after he started bankrolling
his girlfriend's pictures.

You knew Marion Davies?

- If anyone did.
- Really?

What's she like?

Why is it when you scratch
a prim, starchy English schoolgirl,

you get a swooning moving-picture fan

who has forgotten all she ever learned
about the Battle of Hastings?

Hastings. 14 October 1066,

ten centigrade.

Mank?

Sorry.
Somebody told me Mankiewicz was in here.

He is. I'm the promising brother, Joe.

- I didn't know Herman had a brother.
- Neither does anyone else.

Let me guess.

"There are millions to be made,

and your only competition
is idiots," stop.

How did you know?

I hate to tell you,
anyone who can rub three words together

and make a sentence gets one.

Come on.

It's after lunch, and we're on a deadline.
He may be busy.

- I promise I won't be a bother.
- Not exactly what I meant.

Come on! Hey.
You know I'm good for it.

- Fellas.
- Shh. These are high stakes.

Go on.

- Ooh, tails! That's it!
- God damn it!

- Oh, Mank!
- All right. Double or nothing.

This time, banjo-eyed son of a bitch,
let it hit the floor.

- "Banjo-eyed."
- Son of a bitch?

Mank once bet me a five-spot

to see how long it would take
a falling leaf to hit the ground.

- Had to go to management to cover it.
- For five bucks?

Five thousand.

Come on, come on.

Heads, you bastard!

Oh, Mank!

Ooh! Pleasure doing business
with you, gentlemen.

Hey, Charlie.

Yeah. You all remember
the Algonquin cabin boy, Charlie Lederer,

a poor
but somewhat talented magazine writer,

come West to join our merry band.

- Well, you know most everyone.
- Mr. Kaufman.

George is fine, kid.

- Mr. Perelman.
- Nice to meet you, son.

Do you prefer Sidney or SJ?

Uh, he takes what he gets.
The great Charles MacArthur.

Good to see you again.

My resident jack-of-all-trades,
Shelly Metcalf.

- Hey, kid.
- Mr. Metcalf.

Oh, save the "mister" for the anointed.

And last, not yet among them,
my brother Joe.

Have Cyclone say, "I don't mind the heat
as much as I do the humanity."

And the one and only Ben Hecht.

Have you been laid yet?

Do you have to think about that?

Hello.

Yeah. Right away.

Selznick, everyone. Five minutes.

You've arrived
in the well-known nick.

Just in time for a story conference
with the great David O.

- Once more unto the breach…
- Breach? Hell, unto the wire…

Without a net.

Keep your mouth shut
and watch us for your cue, okay?

Cue?

What I wouldn't give
to see that in a tight sweater.

Herm, can I use that?

I need a status report. Boys, come on in.

Ah, make yourselves at home.

Now, you all know Joe von Sternberg.

You wanted 72 hours, you got 72 hours.
Tell us what you have so far.

- Ben, why don't you start?
- Well, this was tough, David.

In the beginning,
we couldn't agree on an approach.

Really? And why was that?

Well, we see a different kind
of Paramount picture.

Different how?

Frankenstein and The Wolf Man
all rolled into one, only...

I don't make cheap horror pictures,
Universal does.

Uh, this is different.
This is about something.

Okay…

Sidney.

Imagine a mad scientist,

touring the boonies
with a mechanical freak he's fabricated.

Now, what does he mean, "fabricated"?

And displays it to superstitious hayseeds
in a giant, silk-lined casket

for the price of admission.

But every full moon, the monster awakens
and raises unholy hell with the villagers.

Give it a Eastern European look,

men in leather shorts,
gals in tattered peasant blouses.

- Let me guess. They think it's the devil?
- Villagers always think it's the devil.

And the scientist and his creation
are forced to flee

during a raging electrical storm.

Flee from outraged peasants…

Who pursue them mit torches…

Overturn their creaky wagon…

And set fire to it.

Tell him about the finale, Charlie.

Well…

The rain turns to sleet,

puts out the fire,
and entombs the monster in solid ice.

While nearby, an old priest weeps.

Hmm. A weeping priest?

Thunder, lightning, blood, fire, religion…

All in one film?

And with an unseasonal thaw…

A sequel.

I thought you said this was
about something, this was different.

Plus, the ominous futility
of man playing God.

The Faustian bargain of life everlasting.

And the triumph of the human spirit

over the beast incarnate
in our far-too-solid flesh.

It's director-proof.

Joe.

- B picture.
- It's not for Joe.

Boys, this is serious. We need your help.

We've got to get people
into theaters, but…

How?

Show movies in the streets.

You okay, Charlie?

Taken care of this weekend?

- I'm going to see my aunt.
- Oh, that sounds like fun.

You obviously don't know my aunt.
If you're not doing anything, come along.

Careful, I just might.

Glendale station at 7:00.
Bring Sara if you like.

- Who?
- Sara, isn't that your wife?

Oh, you mean Poor Sara.

No, she and the kids are back East.

Herman.

Herman.

- Herman!
- Charlie!

Cut! Next setup, please.

What is Mank doing here?

- Who?
- Herman Mankiewicz.

- Do I know him?
- He wrote one of our Lon Chaneys.

Mank!

- Thalberg, the boy genius.
- I am shocked to see you here.

I'd be shocked to see me here, too,
Irving, if only I knew where here was.

- You wrote one of our Lon Chaneys.
- Among many.

- Pictures?
- Writers.

- At MGM, movies are a team sport.
- Which may be why I'm at Paramount.

Since when don't Paramount
use writers by the truckload?

But all at once, not in relays.

Helps spread the blame around.

You remember our chairman, Louis B. Mayer?

By reputation only.

- Long night?
- A short one. Plagued by spirits.

A hell of a way to spend
the Sabbath, fellas.

Here in support of a friend.

His leading lady is making
a mid-career adjustment.

Ah, I'm on my way over.
Any notes from the oversight tent?

- Who was that again?
- Just a writer.

Slumming on a Saturday, Mr. Metcalf?

Mank.
No, sir, helping out on B camera.

It's a home movie,
but his idea of a home movie.

I know you.

Well, what's at stake here?

We met at John Gilbert's birthday.
You're Herman Mankiewicz.

Guilty.

And I remember you, Miss Davies.

Regaling us with stories
about dodging trolley cars in Brooklyn.

Your Flatbush was showing.

You fractured Wally Beery's wrist
Indian wrestling.

Admittedly, a lucky break.

Boy, was he surprised.
You're stronger than you look.

And from what I understand,
you're smarter.

That was a compliment.

- See what I mean?
- You are interesting.

I need a favor,

but you're gonna have to promise
you won't laugh.

Given the state of the world,
a tall order.

You're gonna. I just know you are.

I have got such a hangover right now,
there's just a fighting chance I won't.

I'm being burned at the stake,
and I am dying for a ciggie-boo.

There. God's punishing you.

Watch those stairs. They're treacherous.

Every moment of my life is treacherous.

Any last words?

Welcome to San Simeon.

I've written worse.

- You've never seen it?
- No, but George Bernard Shaw was right.

How's that?

"It's what God might've built
had he had the money."

Well, as they say in the Bronx,
"Make yourself to home," Mr. Mankiewicz.

- Or shall I call you Herman?
- No. Please, call me Mank.

- Good morning, Charles.
- Charlie.

- Aunt Marion. Mank.
- You sleep well?

Until your rather dramatic wake-up call.

This is all Pops's idea.
He wants me ready to take on the talkies.

First positions!

Riders, ready!

Rolling!

- Speed.
- Speed! Action!

Help! Please! Someone save me!

Cut!

Pops, this is Herman Mankiewicz,
but we have to call him Mank.

Mankiewicz?

Herman Mankiewicz,
New York playwright and drama critic?

Turned humble screenwriter, Mr. Hearst.

Why, no need to be humble,
Mr. Mankiewicz.

Pictures that talk are the future.

They're gonna need people who honor words,
give them voice.

There's a golden age coming
when all the world will be a stage,

and you, perhaps, their Shakespeare.

Oh, I wouldn't have thought

you'd be that keenly interested
in the honoring of words.

What's so funny?

I'm just surprised
that a vaunted muckraker like yourself

sees Hollywood's future
as such a shiny penny.

Back to one.

Times are changing, Mr. Mankiewicz,

and I'm not just referring
to this Depression.

All that bother.

And when all this is over,

picture-makers are gonna have
to service this new entertainment.

I intend to make pictures
with the help of real literary minds.

Mm, I support that.

Instead, what do most studios give us?
Gangster flicks, zanies.

Too true.

Now, how many gangsters
do Americans meet in a lifetime?

How many families
are like the Marx Brothers?

You mean besides my own?

Very good. Have him seated next to me.

Miss Davies, Mr. Hearst would like
Mr. Mankiewicz seated

to his left at dinner.

Oh, Pops likes you.

Why is it when Houseman edits,

everyone ends up speaking
like a constipated Oxford don?

Hello?

Yes, he is. No, not at all.

Please hold on. It's Poor Sa...

I'm sorry. It's your wife.

- Schnutz.
- I heard that.

Hermie,

Joe called four times
in the last three days.

- He wants your number up there.
- So give it to him.

Knock it off!

The boys are remodeling.

He seemed concerned about something.
Is everything okay?

If I could swim, I'd be doing swimmingly.

And don't mind Joe.

- He's a worrisome old woman in disguise.
- Well, he wants to offer you work.

Baby Joe offering me?

Well, if he calls again,
give him this number, Schnutz.

I've gotta run. Kiss the offspring.

I say…

A letter from the gallant "leftenant"?

Now, let's hope
it makes more sense than the last.

Fighters off the decks
of aircraft carriers.

- Whoever had that idea?
- It's not good?

Not good?

German U-boats
are starting to hunt in packs,

and a Stuka dive-bomber can drop one
down your stack from 500 feet.

What's our
valiant laddie have to say for the cause...

It's not from her husband.

His ship's been sunk off Norway.

Presumed lost at sea.

Always the smartest guy in the room.

You're right, of course.

Aircraft carriers are a shitty idea,
but I don't appreciate the callousness.

I expect more of you.

"Presumed" means they don't know,
so I choose to believe he's alive until…

Mank.

Mank!

Mr. Mankiewicz?

He's all right. Just sleeping.

Well…

I shouldn't wonder.

There's enough Seconal in those bottles
to bring down a bull elephant in heat.

Young Orson doesn't believe in chance.

Houseman, you sly thing.
You slipped me a Mickey.

So we did.

How you managed to reach it
so early in your rehabilitation,

I cannot imagine.

How was it? Mother's milk?

On balance, better than nothing.
I plan to use it as a nightcap.

As you Yanks say,
"He went out like a light."

I couldn't have put it better myself,
which may be why I write for the movies.

Will you stop?

You write for the movies
because you're super at it.

Excuse me, you two,
I've masses of typing to do.

Seventy-six pages.

By the time she translates
your red chicken scratches,

it'll be less than 40.

At this rate, you'll never finish.

What I wanna know is what you think of it.

The writing is first-rate,
but you know that.

His lust for power,

your exquisite evocation
of his hunger for love

from those who fear his worst side, but...

The dreaded yet foreseeable "but."

You're asking a lot
of a motion picture audience.

- All in all, it's a bit of a jumble.
- Did you say "jumble" or "jungle"?

A hodgepodge of talky episodes.

A collection of fragments
that leap around in time,

like Mexican jumping beans.

Welcome to my mind, Old Sock.

The story is so scattered,
I'm afraid one will need a road map.

You mean it's a mess.

Would you consider simplifying?

As Pascal once said,

"If only I'd had more time,
I would have written a shorter letter."

All I am saying is
no one can write like that.

But I can write like that, Houseman.
I have.

The narrative is one big circle,
like a cinnamon roll,

not a straight line
pointing to the nearest exit.

You cannot capture a man's entire life
in two hours.

All you can hope
is to leave the impression of one.

But nobody expects Shakespeare.

People aren't spending
their hard-earned 25 cents to see Macbeth.

Maestro the Dog-Faced Boy did Macbeth.

Voodoo Macbeth.
Don't be fooled. He's a showman.

Busker reveling in sleight of hand.

Save yourself the trouble,
be done in 60 days.

He'll get this,
and the audience will too.

Stop worrying. Have a pickle.

No, thank you. I'm not hungry.

Haven't been since we got here.

Cheerio.

Write hard. Aim low.

Where were we, chief?

What are you gonna do?

- About what?
- He's right.

You won't be done till Christmas.

- What?
- You made a promise.

- I did what?
- Sixty days is two weeks from now.

Where were we?

Bernstein's speech,
the young woman on the ferry boat.

Read it back, please.

"A white dress she had on,
and she was carrying a white parasol,

and I only saw her for one second,
and she didn't see me at all."

"But I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since
that I haven't thought of that girl."

A snapshot
from the Mankiewicz family album?

You might say that.

It really is a gorgeous...

Spot to get stuck?

Is Bernstein meant to be Louis Mayer?

If form follows function.

Mayer is the same pathetic
sort of lap dog to our Charles Foster?

Bernstein is a far nicer character.

You don't much like Mayer.

If I ever go to the electric chair,
I'd like him to be sitting in my lap.

$750 a week?
That's half what you make, Herman.

- You're a junior writer, Joe.
- So?

So, you're only half the wit
your big brother is.

- How many half-wits make that?
- Herm, how do I look?

- You look like you. Fine.
- What should I be expecting?

You're related to me.
He already thinks you're a genius.

Enough.

The job will be yours
if you can do two things.

One, don't roll your eyes.
Two, try not to fall asleep.

This isn't Gower Gulch.

You want I should make a picture
about a prostitute?

What's wrong?

My mother was nothing but a whore.

You would talk about
your own mother that way?

The woman who gave you life?

You ungrateful bastard!
I ought to cut your balls off!

Do it, you fucking junk dealer!
I'll still be the better man!

L.B., this is my brother, Joe.

Nice to meet you, Joseph. I'm Louis Mayer.

I can't tell you
what this means to him, Louis.

- They're all there, Mr. Mayer.
- On my way. Joe, walk with me.

My boy,
there are three work rules at this studio.

Rule number one.
Ars gratia artis, art for art's sake.

How you doing?

One million dollars a year
we spend on stories we never even film.

Why not? I'll tell you.
They don't make me cry.

What makes me cry? Emotion.

Where do I feel emotion?

Here, here, and here.

Rule number two.

You may have heard MGM has more stars
than there are in the heavens.

Do not believe this.

Hiya. We have only one star.
That is Leo the Lion.

Never forget that.

Many stars have,
and now they twinkle elsewhere.

Rule number three.

People think MGM
stands for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

It does not.

It stands for Mayer's gantze mishpokhe,
Mayer's whole family.

Never forget that.

You got a problem, come to Papa.

This is a business where the buyer
gets nothing for his money but a memory.

What he bought
still belongs to the man who sold it.

That's the real magic of the movies,
and don't let anybody tell you different.

I find myself in a horrendous position,
and I come to all of you on bended knee.

We are suffering, as all Americans are,

from our country's terrible economic woes.

Good people, everyday people,
can't afford to go to the movies.

So even our preeminent dream factory…

Is in grave financial difficulty.

I am asking everyone in the MGM family
to take a painful step.

I am asking to roll back salaries.

I don't want to,

but for this hallowed place
to continue to exist, I am forced to.

I won't break up this family
over something like money.

- How long are you asking for?
- Shouldn't be long.

- How much are you asking for?
- Half.

- Half?
- Could be less.

Is everybody going to be pitching in?
Are you, Mr. Mayer?

Real families root for each other
in the good times,

take care of each other in tough ones.

We're with you, L.B.

You may be, Mr. Barrymore,

but a 50% pay cut
for grips and electricians...

Eight weeks, my friends,
eight short weeks.

As soon as FDR reopens the banks,
you'll get back every penny.

On that,
you have the sacred word of L.B. Mayer.

Well, I vote yes.

- I do as well.
- Me too.

- How'd I do, Ben?
- It was great, Mr. Mayer.

Not even the most disgraceful thing
I've ever seen.

Good.

Okay.

- Yeah?
- Oh, yeah.

Yeah? Okay.

Maybe a little bit left?

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Here?

- Ooh, yeah.
- I've got to get typewriter ribbon.

- Here are this morning's pages.
- Dreck. It's all dreck!

Don't flagellate.
At least you're writing again.

None of it sings. None of it. Not a note.

You're not writing an opera.

Hello?

But I am writing an opera.

It's for you.

- Yeah?
- Herman, it's Joe.

Hey, hey, kid. What's up?

- Checking in. How are you getting around?
- Gingerly.

- Any rest?
- Haven't seen a sunrise yet.

You've never seen a sunrise.

- Sara said you wanted this number.
- Just to hear your voice.

Oh. She said you had some work
you wanted to talk about.

Ah. I was thinking about that old play,
The Wild Man of Borneo,

the one you wrote in the Ice Age.

One never remembers one's disasters.
It's considered gauche.

A play is never a disaster

till the movies say it is.

I brought it to my people at the studio.

We want W.C. Fields.

- We want you to adapt.
- I'm kind of on something right now.

I can get you paid for the play
and the adaptation.

Sounds great.

I'll have to think about it.

You know how these things
have their moment.

So this isn't an offer.
It's a subtle ultimatum.

Nobody could ever tell you what to do.

Did Sara put you up to this?

Not at all, but I know how things are.

I can tell by her voice.

- And how bad is that, baby brother?
- How bad?

I went to a party last night

where Scott Fitzgerald
referred to you as a ruined man.

That's how bad things can get.

That's good. I may use that.

- Hermie...
- Please, stop, Joey.

Just tell me what's on your mind.

I hear you're hunting dangerous game.

Word on the street is radio's golden boy
wants to go toe-to-toe with Willie Hearst,

and you're helping in the kitchen.

- And?
- "And?"

Herman, "And?"

How stupid of me.

I thought
I was rejecting a humiliating handout,

when all the time,
I was nixing a respectable bribe.

And I'm sorry I ever cared.

Oops.

Come on.

Marion and I are pleased
you all could come stay for the weekend.

I hope the train ride wasn't too arduous.

And tonight, we're celebrating
our great friend's birthday

in our little hillside home. Charlie.

Happy birthday!

Louis, you should be joyous.
You don't look a day over 48.

I feel 35.

Mr. Hearst, Marion, all of you,

my heart is full to bursting.

I can't express in words…

Please don't try.

W. R., nothing is more precious to me
than your friendship and sage advice.

I am blessed to call you my friend.

God bless William Randolph Hearst.

- Cheers.
- God bless us, everyone.

- Hear, hear.
- A very happy birthday, Louis.

Our country should be flattered
you picked its birth date as your own.

The rest of us have to be satisfied
with the one we happen to be born on.

Mank.

Here's to your rich Canadian imagination.

Rich Canadian imagination!

Here's to banks reopening.

- And to freedom.
- Freedom!

I believe you've met
our distinguished guest,

Mr. Rexford Tugwell.

Now, Rex is special assistant
to President Roosevelt,

and we're all interested
in what you might share with us.

We all wanna welcome the Thalbergs

back from Irving's long convalescence
in Europe.

- Thank you, W.R.
- Good to see you, Irving.

- Thank you, Mr. Hearst.
- Norma.

Anybody seen anything good lately?

I just saw 42nd Street. It blew my wig!

You can take the girl outta Bed-Stuy.

- When was that?
- Over the weekend.

You were in D.C.
I went to the pictures in Santa Barbara.

- We have a fine screening room here.
- Warner's picture?

Why waste money on that?

- Next time, I'll go with you.
- Of course.

I am bonkers about Movietone News.
I love Lowell Thomas's voice.

Oh, is he single?

I sat across from him
at the Brown Derby once.

- He bought me a drink.
- He didn't!

Not technically.

But I made sure
to run into him in the parking lot after.

- I asked him, "Do you need a lift?"
- You didn't! What did he say?

- I'll never tell.
- There's a point to this, dear?

Well, yes, they showed that Hitler
giving a speech, kissing babies.

He is creepers!

Lederhosen and suspenders. Terrifying.

No, it's the mustache that's the horror.

Don't be alarmed, Marion.
He won't be around for long.

The Germans
are a thoughtful, considerate people.

Enough about Nazis.

Irving, tell us about your travels.
Where were you?

Uh… Berlin, in fact.

But it was quite interesting.

Thugs in brown shirts
goose-stepping past our hotel all night,

screaming anti-Semitic slogans.

- I was terrified the whole time.
- This Hitler sounds like an utter drip.

Shouldn't the United States
do something, Mr. Tugwell?

We are weighing all options.

Can't last. Who in the world
takes a lunatic like that seriously?

Well, the last time I looked,
40 million Germans.

Mank! You're always
so wonderfully contrary.

"Chase & Sanborn's der coffee."

"Can 40 million Nazis all be wrong?"

I just read they've opened
their first concentration camps

and started burning books.

- What's next? Movies?
- Enough.

- Is that true, Irving?
- Yes, L.B.

Ah, Hitler, schmitler!

You don't turn your back on
a market as big as Germany.

Please. It's upsetting enough
Marion had to endure the man in newsreel.

What's a concentration camp?

It was fascinating.
Those people adore him.

- I'm probably talking nonsense.
- You're the first tonight that isn't.

Speaking of socialists,
how about Upton Sinclair's book?

No!

He wants to turn private enterprise
over to the state.

There's one we won't be optioning.
Eh, Irving?

Well, it's selling like crazy.

Walter Winchell says Sinclair may run
for governor next election.

That rat Bolshevik
belongs right up there with Hitler

on the list of people
not to be taken seriously.

There's a world of difference
between communism and socialism.

They both
want something for nothing.

Like a workforce for free?

Half, and only in the interim.

I think it's safe to assume
none of us here would welcome

a crusading socialist
as California's political savior.

Certainly not FDR. Am I right, Rex?

Off the record,
President says the man bears watching.

Especially now that Republicans
seem bent on running Frank Merriam again.

Sinclair's run twice before
and got, what, 2% of the vote?

- Good people, the man is an author.
- As was Thomas Jefferson.

Ha! Come now, Mank.
Upton Sinclair as Thomas Jefferson?

No, you're right, W.R.

Jefferson never got federal laws
passed to ban oil monopolies,

or railroad trusts,
or cleaned up the stockyards.

- He's an angry scribe, a provocateur.
- Because he provokes thought.

You always side with the writer, Mank.

Poor souls surviving a depression
on five grand a week.

- Commies.
- L.B. is not wrong.

Irving, you're a literate man.

You know the difference
between communism and socialism.

In socialism, everyone shares the wealth.

In communism, everyone shares the poverty.

Thank you, Mr. Mankiewicz.

Upton just wants you to apportion
some of your Christmas bonus, Irving,

to the people who clean your house.

- Now that's why I always want Mank around.
- Me too.

Upton, Mank? Nobody's asking
to hear you sing "The Internationale."

- What's that?
- The Communist national anthem, darling.

I would. Do you sing?

No one should have to hear me sing.
Isn't that right, Sara?

If at all possible.

As Republican state
chairman-elect,

I'm telling you,
nothing's going to happen here.

The people who count
in California won't let it.

All this talk
is so much pissing in the wind.

Nicely put.

I heard Pops on the phone
helping to pick the president's cabinet

like casting a movie.

They can stop a guy like Sinclair.

Couldn't you, Pops?

Pardon.

I don't know what I'm saying.

Go.

Hello, Tokyo?

London, you there?

- Ah, nerts!
- What is that?

Oh, Pops's radio-phones.

Never ever be out of touch
with your empire.

- No, no. What's "nerts"?
- Nerts is Brooklynese for "nuts."

Jeepers!

What did I do that was so terrible?

I shouldn't have said that thing
about the cabinet in front of Tugwell,

but since when does anybody care
what I have to say?

Those things just pop out of my mouth,

and the moment they do, I feel like…

Like you got caught, jambes en I'air.

No!

Well, do you always
just say whatever you think? Hmm.

You're blushing.

- Am not.
- Are too.

- Am not.
- Are too. I can see it even in the dark.

Well, what can I tell you, Mank?
Marion Douras…

Went to convent school.

Hedda! Louella!

Where's a gossip columnist
around this castle when you need one?

I hate shop talk.
I never know what's going on.

The one thing you never ever talk about
is Upton Sinclair.

I noted.

The moment he's mentioned,
the evening turns.

- It's sort of a sore subject.
- Really?

Do tell.

I don't even know
who this Mr. Sinclair is,

but he wrote about us for a book.

I used to quote it word for word.

"I saw our richest newspaper publisher
keep his movie mistress

in a private city
of palaces and cathedrals,

furnished with shiploads
of junk imported from Europe

and surrounded by vast acres
reserved for use by zebras and giraffes,

telling in jest
that he had spent six million dollars

to make his lady's reputation

and using his newspapers
to celebrate her change of hats."

It must be hard
to be on the receiving end of that.

People think because you're
on the cover of Modern Screen,

they know you.

Ah, nerts!

What do I have to complain about?

I live in a fishbowl,
but anything I want is mine.

If I could, I'd share with everyone.
You know that, Mank.

This Upton doesn't know
a thing about the real…

Nobody but nobody makes
a monkey out of William Randolph Hearst!

- I understand why Mayer loathes him.
- Why?

- Sinclair caught him with his pants down.
- Yikes!

He wrote that Mayer took a bribe
to look the other way

so a rival could buy MGM.

- It's complicated.
- Over my head?

No, over mine.
You'd need a degree in larceny.

- Isn't bribery a crime?
- That's what Sinclair said.

The little sausage
might have gone to jail.

Jeepers!

The hypocrisy.

"Mayn gantze mishpokhe. My mishpokhe."

- I don't speak a lot of Jewish.
- Really?

"My mishpokhe. My family."

Everything he does is for family,

except when it comes
to selling his last name

to a competitor
in the middle of the night.

Wow. He would do that to his own studio?

He doesn't own MGM
any more than Sam Goldwyn.

They just run it
for the moneyboys back East.

And jail is not something
an animal like Mayer is likely to forget.

Irving must be clean.
He looks like he shaves three times a day.

Well, there's clean, and there's clean.

Irving bought one of Sinclair's novels.

Sinclair demanded a guarantee
that not one word could be changed,

in writing,
on the back of the purchase check.

He didn't want notes
from Irving Thalberg?

When Thalberg refused,
Sinclair took his money

and ran off to Mexico and financed
a picture about the Russian Revolution.

Now, that's sticking the old neck out.

I'm sorry. Instinct!

My fault.

I've been a little
sixes and sevens recently.

Tell me something, Mank. The truth.

Could you see me playing

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
or Marie Antoinette?

Irving's bought 'em both,
you know, because of Pops.

What do you think?

And honestly.

I see you more as Dulcinea.

- Who?
- Dulcinea.

From the Spanish, for sweetness.

"Her hair, gold. Her cheeks, roses."

Nice.

- "Her lips, coral."
- Mmm.

"Her neck, alabaster. Her bosom, marble."

Marble?

Maybe once.

"Ivory, her hands,
and her whiteness, snow."

- You wrote that?
- No. A fella named Cervantes.

"There are meters
of accent and meters of tone,

but the best of all meters
is to meet her alone."

- Ah, a poem with a message.
- That's just the first verse.

The last…

"There are letters of accent
and letters of tone,

but the best of all letters
is to let her alone."

Now, those I wrote.

Do come in.

- Jesus! What is that?
- Sunlight. It's nearly noon.

Mother of God! Where did the night go?

- Your support device is here.
- Oh, good. Send it in.

As is Mr. Houseman.

What would you like me to do?

Well, send him in too.

Uh, put it over there, please.

- You're early.
- I thought we should talk.

- Why are you wearing a coat?
- I always wear a coat.

Must be 108 degrees.

- We're at a Rubicon moment, Mank.
- Uh-huh.

It's not the work.
That's everything we hoped it would be.

- Enough room there?
- Oh, it should be.

I'm sorry, John.

- You've only written ninety pages.
- Ninety-one.

In my expert opinion,
you're hardly out of the first act.

I mean,
how do you hope to be done in 14… 13 days?

We gave him
our solemn word we would deliver.

- "We"?
- I don't think he's going to take it well.

Not very well at all.

You said 90 days. Welles said 60.
I'm doing the very best I can.

- We are surely to be axed.
- Not just yet.

I've never been fired.

- I've never not been fired.
- I don't get fired.

It's not as unpleasant
as you might imagine.

You worry too much, John.

What do you do for pleasure?

Hello? Yes, he's here.

It's Orson.

Will you talk?

He'd like to speak
with Mr. Houseman.

Me?

Orson.

I came early
to see where we were with, uh…

No, not at all.
Everything's going absolutely according…

Well, that's difficult to say exactly.

Yep. Yes, I know the clock…

Well, as I've told you, it's quite unique.

In fact,
I would venture to say, one of the most…

Yes, well,
it will absolutely need your marvelous…

He's on the mend, working tirelessly.

Of course. When?

I'm on my way.

Yes. Hang on. He's right here.

He wants to see me right away.
Wouldn't tell me why.

Perhaps he will you.

- Orson.
- Tell me what's up, Mank.

He's getting on my nerves.

I sensed that.
I told him I had to see him at once.

Hopefully, I can think of a reason
before he gets here.

I've finished my test
for Heart of Darkness.

I'm turning my full attention
to our little project.

"Let there be light."

- Tell me what to expect.
- I thought you'd want to be surprised.

Ha. You're always surprising.
That's why you were my only choice.

No one else is Mankiewicz.
I can almost hear the finish line.

- We're about to turn a corner.
- Unto the breach!

Slim, you may tote

those lovely highland beauties
to the kitchen.

Fraulein Freda, empty the Mickeys

and start replacing
their contents, raus schnell.

- Thank you, Slim. You may go.
- Slim.

Mr. Mankiewicz, please don't ask us
to help you in this sad deception.

My dear Mrs. Alexander,

Charlie Lederer and I went to a great deal
of trouble to engineer this sad deception.

My deadline
is two weeks away and I intend...

It could mean our jobs.

I do my best thinking
before I fall asleep.

And I am sick and tired
of having my evenings end

with the abrupt sensation of being
struck on the head with a croquet mallet.

- A way to put it.
- I'm not asking you to help.

- You're not?
- I'm telling you.

I'm sorry. I won't be bullied.
You'll have my resignation in the morning.

I know Freda's been sneaking
you nightcaps from the cabinet.

If she continues
to cooperate in this cheap ruse,

I'll have to report the both of you.

- Fraulein Freda.
- Ja, Herr Mank?

- Please do as I instructed.
- Ja, Herr Mank.

Humph.

Freda, you mustn't let him intimidate you.

- I am not intimidated, Frau Alexander.
- Then, why?

Herr Mank sponsored
my family's entry into this country.

He's responsible for us getting safely
out of Germany, legally and financially.

- Really?
- Our entire village, he brought here.

- Entire village?
- Over 100 people.

Joseph Goebbels, the propaganda minister,

will not allow his films
to be shown in the Fatherland.

I didn't realize.

He wrote a picture about the Nazis,
which no studio anywhere will dare make.

I assume if he wishes to drink,
he's a grown man, a good man,

and should be treated as such.

Nicht wahr?

To Mank-town. Or is it Mank-ville?

Dear Freda.

What's German for blabbermouth?

Either you demonstrate
you can handle this,

or we will all end up getting sacked.

There's nothing like
a vote of confidence from one's peers.

To Mank-berg. Prosit.

Mank-heim. Bottoms up.

Hey, Mank, you remember me?

Oh, my God.
Of course I remember you, C.C.

C.C. for Central Casting.
How you been, Mank?

What happened?

What happened?
The goddamn Depression happened.

I ain't had so much
as a walk-on since Tugboat Annie.

Listen. I hate to, you know…

Uh, yeah. Ed, lend me a buck.

Uh, me and Grady here
been thinking of bummin' east to Miami.

I heard it from someone who knows,

the Hollywood studios are movin'
to Florida.

- Who told you that?
- Oh, I can't say.

Somebody in the know.

In certain echelons,
it's common knowledge.

Well, people in certain echelons

don't usually trust me
with sensitive information.

But the studios aren't moving anywhere.
That's just company-town propaganda.

Believe what you want,
but say, you think you could spare…

Uh… Ed?

Bless you, Mank.

The bastard reneged. You were there.

Yes, he reinstated salaries,

but he never gave back the money
he promised.

Giant surprise.

Come on, Mank. We need guys like you
to keep people like Mayer honest.

I'd refer you, for that,
to the power of prayer.

The Writers Guild
doesn't have to hit the bricks

for the $2,500-a-week guy.

We're doing it for the $250-a-week guy.

Joe, all the $250-a-week writers I know
are getting $2,500.

Stop crying for your just deserts,
or they're liable to give them to you.

Then we'll all be working
for 75 bucks a week.

I don't know if you've ever walked
a picket line. You might have to.

And Dave Chasen will cater.

"Junior writers only paid $750 a week."

If that happens, you'd better run

before real folk
with real troubles stone you to death.

Hermie, the guild's in its infancy.

- It needs you.
- You're telling me.

What writer failed to notice

the Screen Writers Guild
needs an apostrophe?

As Groucho always said,

"Never belong to any club

that would have someone like you
for a member."

And look at him.

The most miserable bastard
on God's green earth.

I'd tell him you said that,
only he'd think you were brownnosing.

Close the door.

Ah… summer.

Inez, you are not to let the Brothers Marx
wait in my office. Ever.

They've been grilling hot dogs again.

Sit down.

You wanted to see me?

Not that I care,
but why aren't you contributing

to MGM's anti-Sinclair fund?

Well, call me old-fashioned, Irving,
but I don't like being told

which side of a fight I'm already on.

How's it gonna look
if the GOP chairman himself

can't get unanimous support
from his own studio?

You're serious.

I was taught
by my parents to be straightforward,

to ask simply for what I want, and expect
that I may have to elucidate my position.

Well, I was encouraged by mine
to use my imagination,

but I taught myself
to avoid the consequences.

It's ten bucks, Mank.

You piss that away between hopeless bets.

I hate to think what L.B. might do
if he knew you were the only holdout.

- I am, and he doesn't?
- And we're not gonna tell him.

- I could let you go for this.
- It is a hanging offense.

I'll add the appropriate amount
to your gambling debt

and forget we ever had this conversation.

You do that.

And the brand-spanking-new Writers Guild

might find it very interesting,
not to mention the newspapers.

I'm not sure the guild
intends to cover games of chance.

And you won't go to the press,
because in California, that means Hearst.

Irving, you are the shrewdest executive
in this town.

Why are you acting
like some dumb ward heeler?

You don't need my donation.
You don't need anybody's.

You have everything it takes right here.

Meaning?

Meaning you can make the world
swear King Kong is ten stories tall

and Mary Pickford a virgin at 40.

Yet you can't convince
starving voters that a turncoat socialist

is a menace
to everything Californians hold dear?

You're barely trying.

Millions of Californians

are being taxed out of their homes,

yet the Depression is one of abundance.

Fruit rots on the ground
and vegetables are dumped into the ocean

because there are no markets for them.

Aimee Semple McPherson says
you're a godless commie, Upton.

Too often, sir, the religion
of Jesus is used by the ruling classes

to keep themselves in power
and the poor ever poorer.

And that, my friends,
is a sin and an error.

And I say with Thomas Jefferson,

"Truth has nothing to fear from error
where reason is left free to combat it."

My friends,
income in this country

is going to be redistributed
by one of two methods,

legal enactment or violent revolution.

We haven't much longer
to exercise our choice.

Thank you all for coming.

Tell us about Hollywood!

Are the studios moving
to Florida like they've been saying?

Absurd, sir.

If they were serious,
why have the brothers Warner broken ground

on an additional
100,000 square feet of sound stages?

While MGM has the most contracts
with stars in their history.

Well, he may not get Mayer's vote…

Jobs will be here…

…but he gets mine.

…In California.

Thank you all for coming.

Well, I have seen
some miracles in my day,

but I have over 200 pages in 13 days.

I never would've thought it possible.

- To support devices.
- Support devices.

It's good, Mank. Damn good.

I have it on highest authority
it's the best thing he's ever done.

As a moving picture,
it's more than good.

I'm at a loss to even express
how wealth and influence can crush a man.

It's Lear. The dark night of the soul.

And I was completely mistaken.

The shifting point of view
is revolutionary.

I never thought
one could care so much about a sled.

It's kind of you to say.

But.

"But," again.

It's 327 pages.
An embarrassment of riches.

When the Dog-Faced Boy gets here,
there will be plenty of branches to prune.

"A far too long screenplay for the ages."
John Houseman.

I built him a watertight narrative
and a suggested destination.

Where he takes it, that's his job.

I was, uh, looking to get you paid.

I don't know if you were aware or not.

You signed your rights to the Mercury.
You agreed not to take screen credit.

- I needed the work.
- You may want to reconsider.

All I currently want is a real shower,
a cocktail, and my Sara to wake up to.

Are you certain?

It worked out.

Mank, if I may be so bold, why Hearst?

Lord knows,
outside his own blonde Betty Boop,

you were always
his favorite dinner partner.

John, are you familiar with the parable
of the organ grinder's monkey?

Today, our roving reporter

is visiting Mrs. Elsie Hammontree
of Azusa.

Elsie, would you mind telling the folks
at home why you're voting Republican?

Young man, I'm a widow,

and this little home may not be much,
but it's all I have left.

- And I intend to protect it.
- Poor old woman.

Would you mind telling folks
why you're voting for Frank Merriam?

Well, I'm voting for Frank Merriam
because I wanna keep our way of life…

I know that voice.

It is familiar.

That's Maude Anderson.

- I don't know much…
- It is. Aunt Bertha from Lonely Trails.

Well, she's no widow.
And she's absurdly rich.

That "poor old woman" has got
enough oil wells south of El Segundo

to buy us both, Schnutz.

I'd know that whiskey gargle anywhere.

Hey, Mank.

Well, well.

Looks like you found work, C.C.

Don't nose it around,
but yeah, just in the nick.

- Who's hiring?
- MGM.

They cleaned out the Washington
and Culver gates like a dose of Ex-Lax.

Grady gets a speaking part.

They told us to come dressed as we are.

I don't know who thought of it,
but it keeps a lot of us off the streets.

Don't forget to vote.

Okay.

He's confused
with Sinclair Lewis.

So many hicks think he wrote Elmer Gantry,
it's cost him the Dust Bowl vote.

I'm in.

Poor sap.
Not only has he got no money,

he's an idealist, for Christ's sakes.

Talk about political handicaps. I'm out.

Times says
he'll lose by 200,000.

It's amazing
what $10 million against him bought.

Raise.

That's what he gets
for surrounding himself with amateurs.

They not only charge admission to rallies,

they pass a plate
once the suckers are inside.

Call.

He's the most famous schlub
after FDR, Hitler, and Mussolini.

That oughta count for something.

- Hiya, Shell, sit in.
- The bookies know.

Soon as old Maude's
radio spots started running,

the odds went from 7-5 for to 2-1 against.

Could you effete political snobs
please shut up and play?

Mank, can I talk to you?

I'll see you guys
and bump you two big ones.

It's important.

What, now, Shelly?

It better be.

That's the first good hand
I've had all day.

I didn't know he knew
what a good hand looked like.

I'm out.

Mind telling
who you favor in this election?

I'm going to vote
for Frank Merriam.

Tell us your principal reason.

Well, I want Merriam because I want a job.

If you drive all the capital
out of the country, who's gonna pay us?

You think Merriam
would be safest for all of us?

Absolutely.

It's no time
to trade horses in the middle of a stream.

Mr. Butler,
are you voting in the election?

- I am.
- Who would you vote for?

I'm sure
that I'm gonna vote for Mr. Sinclair.

You must have a good reason.

Mr. Sinclair's got something new.
He got that EPIC Plan.

I feel as though it's time
we should try something new out again.

I need prosperity.

Well, first of all,
I'm an American,

and I believe that Mr. Merriam

will support all the foundations
and principles

that this country has stood for
in the past 150 years.

I have a job now, and I wanna keep it.

My wife and I love California,
and we'd like to stay.

But in case we should have to leave,

I'd like to have
at least a couple dollars.

Cut.

Mrs. Hammontree, tell the folks
why you're voting for Frank Merriam.

Well, I'm voting for Frank Merriam
because I wanna keep our way of life.

A Democrat
wouldn't protect your way of life?

Why, that man's a socialist.

I don't know much about politics,
but I do know this.

If Upton Sinclair wins this election,

private ownership in California
won't amount to a hill o' beans.

Well, we need
complete rejuvenation of our system,

so I vote for Comrade Upton.

His system work in Russia, why not here?

Cut. Do it again.

What'd you think?

Truthfully, Shelly,
if the performances were any better,

you'd be ashamed of yourself.

Only half of 'em were actors.

It's got that raw newsreel feel,
hasn't it?

- But it isn't news and it isn't real.
- I wasn't looking for an ethical debate.

- When did they cook this up?
- At a meeting in production.

They were passing around a pamphlet
Sinclair wrote called "Ending Poverty in…"

"America's unemployed
will invade the Golden State."

- Mayer was giddy to use it against him.
- Yeah, I bet he was.

It's enough to persuade me
that a writer is more of a menace

to an unsuspecting public
than a party hack.

- Manky...
- You okay?

Just nerves.

If it's bothering you, Shelly,
why get involved?

They gave me a chance to direct.

You don't think anyone old enough
to vote is gonna buy this shit?

Only the ones who believe
King Kong is ten stories tall

or Mary Pickford a virgin at 40.

Thanks, Cedric. These are fine.

I've just watched our Sinclair films.

Ah. What did you think?

With all due respect to Shelly,
King Kong they ain't.

Though I do think footage

of invading hobos
has a certain xenophobic power

when front-paged in the Times
and backed by those tacky billboards.

Shelly got a chance to direct,
and I canceled your $12,000 gambling debt.

I'd call that a fair return
on a one-minute lecture

for uninspired studio chieftains.

Your director's been stricken
with a bout of conscience.

I'm sure he'll tell me himself.

Don't do this, Irving.

When I was just a boy passing out
socialist leaflets in the Bronx,

a couple Tammany goons came
to show me the error of my ways.

And one of them crushed my testicles

until I volunteered to distribute
my wares into the East River.

That's politics. I didn't invent it,
I don't apologize for it.

Mayer's not paying for this.

He never pays for anything.

Willie?

- Marion might be interested.
- Well, you're gonna have to hurry.

Mayer's over there now
giving her the company kiss-off.

Oh, haven't you heard?

She's taking her playpen
to Warner Bros. Permanently.

Warner's?

I wouldn't let her do Marie Antoinette.

Goldwyn's right for once.

"A comedienne in that role is to laugh."

Besides, her pictures
haven't made a dime in a decade.

Congratulations, Irving.

I know what I am, Mank.

When I come to work,
I don't consider it slumming.

I don't use humor
to keep myself above the fray.

And I go to the mat for what I believe in.
I haven't the time to do otherwise.

But you, sir,

how formidable people like you might be
if they actually gave at the office.

Close the door.

that's a beautiful shot right there.

Mank! Are you okay?

No, that almost killed me.
Where's Willie?

Cairo, I think.

- Can you phone him?
- I don't phone him, he phones me.

When's he due back?

After November 6th.
I'm joining him in Europe next week.

Marion, I need a favor.
It's just a little joke on Willie.

Sure, Mank, anything.

I want you to go back and tell Mayer

Willie wants
the phony Sinclair films pulled.

Which phony Sinclair films?

There isn't time to explain.
I just need you to tell him that.

Oh, I couldn't, not even as a joke.

- Why not?
- You know I don't lie.

And that's why he'd believe you.

Marion, please,
you're not in convent school anymore.

- I'm sorry. I… I know it's silly, but...
- But what? Why not?

- Promise you won't laugh.
- I promise I won't laugh.

- My exit.
- What?

I already made my exit.

- Manky!
- Whatie?

- It's an ash-throated flycatcher!
- Congratulations! Best kind.

What can I say?

She's my aunt.

- Oh, it's not about her, it's about him.
- Oh?

- Or rather, it's him, but it's not her.
- It isn't?

The lonely showgirl, trapped in a castle,
doing jigsaw puzzles.

It's more, her as people
who don't know her imagine her to be.

I see.

It's her as they imagine her,
but it's him as you knew him.

- Damn it, Charlie.
- You asked me out here.

I was honored
to come and read your latest.

- Is this a test?
- A test? Of what?

- Friendship? Loyalty?
- Oh, come now.

Or just your way
of avoiding responsibility?

What do you mean?

Are you hoping I might absolve you
of such a personal betrayal?

I won't give you that.

Are you going to say anything?

- I have to think about it.
- Why?

'Cause I haven't made up my mind
how she might react.

What does instinct tell you?

It's mighty strong medicine

for a lifetime
of starry-eyed self-absorption.

It's one of those cures
that could be worse than the disease.

But you, of all people,
should know about that.

He took the script?

Will he show it to her?

I don't know.

Do you want him to?

I don't know.

Sinclair is yesterday's fishwrap.

Never stood a chance.

Make up your mind.

Are we home licking our wounds
or here making the best of it?

We're making the best of it.

- Good evening. Name?
- Mankiewicz.

Sorry, what was that?

M-A-N-K-I-E-W-I-C, and outta nowhere, a Z.

- Table 14.
- Ends of the earth. Clean exit.

Mankiewicz, Herman.

Oh, terribly sorry.
Table one. Right this way.

If you can't say something nice,
don't say anything at all.

- Table one.
- Sara!

Good grief. Look who's here.
How about that?

- Sara.
- What a loyal friend you are.

- I never thought we would see Mank.
- I'm surprised.

I would've imagined you in pajamas by now.

Mank, turns out we have
the same dentist on Camden.

Sara, we have to plan
a day of shopping and catch up.

Herman, I met your brother.
He's a chip off the old block.

Quite handsome.

Please, sit.

I can't tell you how much it means.
I'm touched you'd come.

- Thank you.
- Oh.

Why do I love you?

What's everyone else having?

- What a great night. Great result.
- I'll drink to that.

You see, if you just give people
what they need to know

in an emotional way,
you can expect they'll do the right thing.

I think what you mean,

"If you keep telling people
something untrue,

loud and long enough,
they're apt to believe it."

That's not what he was saying.

What's going on here?
Are we quoting Goebbels?

- I'd like to debate that with L.B.
- I'd like to see that.

Mank. Have another.

It's early. Every vote counts.

Maybe the informed
of California were late leaving work.

The last I heard, Irving,
it's still a democracy.

- Of the people.
- By the people.

What are you two talking about?

I tell you what, how about…

Double or nothin'?

- What's he saying?
- Herman.

You really will bet on anything.

Keep your money. I'm happy enough

just to nail
that utopian son of a bitch to the wall.

I told you. Your obligation
was canceled out of gratitude.

Wait a minute. What?

He wants to wager double or nothin'
on a debt he doesn't even owe us?

Mank.

It's a matter of principle, L.B.
You wouldn't understand.

I understand plenty. I'll take that bet.

Okay, Mank, you're on.
Twenty-four grand or nothing.

Excuse me.

I'm going to throw up.

I needed some air.

Why do you love me?

Excuse me, friends.

The final, incomplete, count
for tonight is…

Upton Sinclair, the lousy Bolshevik…

…728,653.

Frank Merriam…

…the good Republican,

948,814.

My friends! My friends!

Everybody get up and sing with me!

Sing with me! Everybody, up and sing!

It was a team effort. Thanks.

Uh, Mr. Mankiewicz,
I'm so sorry to bother you,

but there's a telephone call for you.
Right back this way.

- Hello.
- Mank, it's Shelly.

It's Shelly.

- He lost, Mank.
- Yeah, it's been a bad night.

It's my fault.

- Oh, easy, fella, you only voted once.
- He was just on the radio.

He said the phony newsreels
cost him the election.

That shows how naive he is.

FDR cost him the election
by staying on the sidelines.

- Sleep it off.
- I'm not at home.

Where are you? Let me call you a cab.

Never mind.
I'll take the Pasadena Freeway.

Nobody'd be on it election night.

Hello?

Hello?

- How may I direct your call?
- Normandie, 4761.

He's shit-faced.

Shell, is that you?

It's Herman Mankiewicz. Where is he?

I don't know. I'm so worried.

He left here very upset,
and he's got a pistol with him.

Don't worry, Fay. I'll find him.

- Eve.
- What?

- I'm Eve. Fay was his first.
- I'll find him.

Is Houseman coming back?
I never thought I'd miss him.

He and the wunderkind
are cutting the first draft.

A form of creative vivisection.

Vital organs are exposed,
nothing is learned,

the patient dies on the table.

What have we here?

Why, it's a puffed-up,
sharp-tailed, red-ruffled magpie.

A whatie?

- How do you like the Mojave?
- God's answer for drunks and reprobates.

Perfect place to dry out.

- How's that working?
- It didn't take. Cheers.

L'chaim.

Why are you doing this, Herm?

- Posterity.
- Posterity, my ass.

- From the original Latin.
- Don't patronize me.

My Latin grades were better than yours.

Bibamus, moriendum est.

I read your little script.

News travels fast.

Even without the title page,

you don't need
to be Philip Marlowe to know who wrote it.

Have at it.

It's very…

Complicated.

Well, thanks for coming out.

Herman, this is me.

You pick a fight with Willie,
you are finished.

Mayer can't save you. Nobody can.

Especially the boy genius from New York.

- You're far too political, Joe.
- Self-preservation is not politics.

Him, I get.

But what did Marion ever do
to deserve this?

It's not her!

You know better than anyone,
not all characters are headliners.

Some are secondary.

Well, that's why I'm here.
On behalf of the secondary characters.

I thought you'd wanna know
there's a rumor in town

you're out to get Hearst

because they dropped you
from L.B.'s payroll,

that they didn't want you around anymore.

Don't believe everything
you hear at Schwab's.

Hey, you made yourself court jester.

Someone had to say it.

People are speculating Rosebud
is W.R.'s pet name for Marion's genitalia.

Now, I know you'd never stoop to that.

Only because I hadn't heard.

Charlie tells me
you're up for Thalberg's old job.

- Not anymore.
- Did I bollix that?

Don't flatter yourself, Herman.
I did it all alone.

Now, there's a first.

I exposed myself,
not entirely metaphorically, in court.

Do tell.

Somebody was bitching about Mervyn Leroy
running over budget on Wizard of Oz.

- Goddamn movie again.
- I said, "Le Roy s'amuse."

I was then forced to spend
the next 20 minutes

having to explain that "Le Roy"

is "le roi" in French
and means "the king."

Or to be specific, François I,

and his royal habit of s'amus-ing himself

by diddling all the ladies of his court.

You know, Pop was right.
You should've been a professor.

Nobody knew
what the fuck I was talking about.

They say I was passed over
because I'm not a team player.

But I know better.

It was the goddamn French pun
that did me in.

I'm washed up, Joe.

Have been for years.

It's the best thing you've ever written.

A rare bird, that.

A Mankiewicz.

- You can't do it that way.
- Do what?

Kill yourself. I've tried. It takes years.

I was tired of doing inserts
and pick-up shots.

You're not the first person
to trade integrity

for a chance in the big chair.

Thalberg said this was your idea.

Sometimes my asides
are too clever by half.

Go home to Fay.

- Eve.
- Eve. Sorry.

Look at what we did.
We can't un-ring this bell.

We have to be vigilant.

In regards to?

People sitting in the dark,

willingly checking
their disbelief at the door.

We have a huge responsibility.

I got it.

Got what?

Parkinson's.

No, Shelly.

I'm so sorry.

First, you get the tremors,

and your muscles begin to fail.

Pretty soon, you can't get out of a chair.

Then smiling, speaking,

everything goes.

And it keeps going till…

You could always produce.

Give me the gun, Shelly.

Take 'em, Mank.

Go on home. I'll be fine.

Is he with you?

He… He wouldn't come.

Please tell me you got the gun.

Oh, my God!

- What?
- He had a whole box.

Mank.

You have another visitor.

What?

Drink it fast.
In this heat, it'll flash to sugar.

Why the wine and dine, Marion?

Good cop, bad cop?

- How do you mean, Mank?
- First Joe, now you.

Can't you just tell me
what's on your mind?

Well, I read the script.

Who hasn't?

It's very grand, Mank, in its own way,
and very much you.

I would've loved to play me ten years ago.

It was never meant to be you.

For myself, I don't care, Mank.
Really, I don't.

But I beg you,
don't kick Pops when he's down.

Willie, down?

I haven't told a soul this,

but I had to loan him a million dollars
just to save San Simeon.

You hocked your jewels?

Of course not.
Just some real estate.

He bought me most of it anyway.

Willie sent you.

Didn't have to.

That surprises you?

You're the most observant man I know.

- Then you deserve better.
- That's very sweet.

I always wanted better.

Mama Rose too.

She made sure
her daughters learned to sing and dance.

We were never gonna end up in Brooklyn.

I was only 16
when I was cast in Stop! Look! Listen!

That's some title.

Willie came to the show.
Same seat every night.

And all the other girls said to watch out.
He was too old for me and too interested.

Come, now, he wasn't your only admirer.

The thing you got so right in your script…

Was how lonely he'd been as a boy.

When my own mother heard
he was one of the richest men in America,

she said, "Kick a little higher."

He has always been so kind to me.

I love the old guy, Mank.

Maybe I didn't always,
back when he was my social security.

But now,
there are things about us together…

That no one could possibly…

Am I persuading you at all?

I hope, if this gets made,

you'll forgive me.

And I hope, if it doesn't,

you'll forgive me.

He was a modest man.

His name never appeared on the marquee

with the great stars, producers,
and directors who worked alongside him.

But he loved moving pictures
more than he loved anything.

And he left his impeccable taste,
his incredible attention to detail,

on every frame he touched.

It is not for us to say
why he was taken from us so unexpectedly.

Behind, he leaves his memory.

The memory of a great man, a talented man,
a man of unblemished integrity.

Irving G. Thalberg.

Mank.

I haven't seen you since,
what was it, Jack Gilbert's funeral.

Well, I haven't seen you
since Shelly Metcalf's.

Has it been that long?

How you been, Mank?

Between pictures.

I thought you were still at MGM.

I am.

Well, look, come see me at International.
Let's work something out.

I did come see you.

You gave me the same invitation
after Shelly's funeral.

I couldn't get past
your secretary's secretary.

Is that right?

Good to see you, Mank.

- Hello.
- Mank?

One moment, please.

Mank.

Mank!

It's Orson.

- It's Orson.
- Hmm.

Hello.

Mank, I've just finished
your first draft and I must say

I'm pleased and impressed.

- Are ya? Good news.
- It'll need work, of course.

But there are no problems
that can't be solved together.

Well, I'm delighted to hear it.

Houseman's bringing my notes.
Think about 'em.

Meantime, I'll run everything
through my typewriter.

Everything will thank you.

I understand you're in touch
with your Hollywood crowd?

Oh, good old Houseman.

So perhaps you've heard.
None of the theater chains will touch us.

It looks like RKO will have to sue
for restraint of trade.

They'll countersue, of course.

If you own that lovely home of yours,

it might be a good idea
to put it in Poor Sara's name.

- You still there, Mank?
- Oh, yes. Where else would I be?

I've saved the best for last.

Guess who phoned with an offer
to buy out RKO's investment

and shelve the picture permanently?

- Not Hearst?
- Mank, I'm surprised.

Would Othello snoop
on Desdemona when he has Iago?

Ah, Mayer. What did RKO say?

No dice, for now, but they're
on their uppers. Whether they...

- You'd better drive up.
- I plan to, just as soon as I'm done...

Today, if possible.

Dear Jove, did I say something
I shouldn't have?

I hope you haven't lost your nerve.

Nerve's about all I've got left.

What a year you've had, Louis.
How have you weathered it?

Despite everything, the MGM ship,
I'm happy to say, is full steam ahead.

We're on track with this recent slate
for our most successful year ever.

Well, that's great news.

Would you like to go lay down?

I think
I'd rather stay upright.

Perhaps we can find you a costume.

Well, why would I need a cos…

Hello, everyone. Better late than never.

Mank! Where's Sara?

Uh, caring for clan Mankiewicz.

- And what train did you take?
- Glendale. I missed my stop.

Got a taxi from Morro Bay.

I'm confused. I thought the invitation
called for circus attire, not flea circus.

I was cornered by a man
who sold vacuum cleaners.

A show of hands,
who knows what a vacuum cleaner is?

Martin, would you set a place
for Mr. Mankiewicz,

somewhere where he might get some air?

Follow me this way, sir.

And offer him some coffee.

Yeah.
Mr. Monkeywitz could use some coffee.

And how's Marie Antoinette
coming together?

Previews have been
a struggle for general audiences.

We made some trims, but I should've known.

Versailles, all those costumes and wigs.

You can't tell those stories

without overhauling them
for a modern audience.

How's the performance
of your leading lady?

The picture depends upon her.

Norma put her heart and soul into it.

I should've insisted she take some time.

It's a lot to deal with, a loss like that.

Marion would've made it her own.

- Marion would've been perfection.
- Aw.

Marion Antoinette.

- But it was Irving's picture.
- Marionette.

I'm not interested
in educating our customers.

You want to send a message?
Call Western Union.

Literary pictures.

"Let them get cake."

Who needs to see that?

Joanna, come along.

I'll show you those horses
we talked about.

She's very pretty.

Also, very bright,
bullheaded, and British.

Are you here
to try your luck, too, Schnutz?

- At what?
- Changing my mind.

I never had much success
with that, Herman.

In the end, you'll do what you need to.

Charlie's been here,
Joe's been, Marion's been.

For one reason or another,
all of them want me to walk away.

You care to hear what I've decided?

Not really.

After 20 years of connubial bliss,

blind loyalty
can get a little suffocating.

Okay. Here goes.

God knows
I've rehearsed it enough.

I've raised your kids kosher
and all but by myself.

I've put up with your suicidal drinking,

your compulsive gambling,
your silly platonic affairs.

You owe me, Herman.

So Joe says he can't promise,

but he thinks if you make nice with Mayer,
you can have your old job back.

Is that what you want me to say?

I know what your answer'll be,

so don't ask me to give you
Poor Sara's seal of approval.

Why do you put up with me, Schnutz?

My movie star looks
or my diplomat's charm?

I suppose because being
married to you, Herman,

I'm never bored.

Exhausted, yes. Exasperated, usually.

But having devoted so much,

I have to stick around
to see how it all turns out.

And whatever you decide,

please be mindful of those
who care about you most.

I'm going riding.

Haven't seen a horse's face in years.

Oh, and one last thing, Herman.

I don't want nobody
calling me Poor Sara no more.

I've got a great idea
for a picture, Louis.

A picture I just know you're gonna love.

It's a modern-day version
of Quixote.

Now, I know none of you read,
but you know what it's about.

A deluded old nobleman
who tilts at windmills.

So how might we update this story?

- Do you want me to get...
- No, no.

How about we make our Quixote…

A newspaperman?

Who else could
make a living tilting at windmills?

But that's not enough.

No, he wants more than readership.

He wants more than adulation.
He wants love.

So, he runs for public office,
and because he's notably rich, he wins.

No, wait, wait a minute.

Notably rich and powerful
can't win over an audience

unless notably rich and powerful sees
the error of his ways in the final reel.

Notably rich and powerful

and making no goddamn excuses
for it is only admirable in real life.

Isn't that right, Louis?

So what do we do?

Anybody?

We give him ideals.

Ideals that any dirt-poor,

depression-weary audience
can identify with.

Our Quixote is against crooked trusts.

He's for the eight-hour workday,
fair income tax, better schools.

Why, he's even
for government ownership of railroads.

You know what we call those people?

- Communists?
- Anarchists?

No, our Quixote,
he's a two-fisted muckraker.

In fact, someone predicts
that he will one day

win the presidency
and bring about, get this…

…a socialist revolution.

- What a bunch of bullshit!
- Is it?

Tell him, Willie.

Tell him.

Upton Sinclair used exactly those words

to describe
a young William Randolph Hearst.

- You miserable bastard!
- How do you do?

Our Quixote, he hungers, he thirsts,

he lusts for voters to love him.

Love him enough to make him president.

But they won't, and they don't.

How do you suppose that could happen?

Could it be because, in their hearts,

they know
that he values power over people?

Disillusioned in Congress,

he authors not one
single piece of legislation in two terms.

Can you believe that?
That'll take some writing.

Placed in nomination for president,

but it's too radical
for the boys in the back.

His bid goes nowhere,
but we're doing something.

We're building sympathy.

Rejected, he flees to lotusland,

where his faithful troll, Sancho,

has prepared a mythical kingdom for…

Wait a minute.

I forgot the love interest.

Her name…

Dulcinea.

Funny, adventurous, smarter than she acts.

Ah, she's a…

She's a showgirl,
beneath his social stratum,

but that's okay,

because true love on the big screens,

we all know, is blind.

And she…

Yeah, she loves him too.

So he takes her away
to his mythical kingdom.

Can I get a bicarb?

Now, along comes nemesis.

That's Greek for any guy in a black hat.

Nemesis runs for governor
and he's a shoo-in to win.

Why? Because he's exactly
what our Don used to be.

An idealist, you get it?

And not only that,

nemesis is the same guy
who once predicted our Quixote would

one day preside over
a socialist revolution.

Our Quixote looks
into the mirror of his youth

and decides to break this glass,

a maddening reminder of who he once was.

Assisted by his faithful Sancho,

and armed
with all the black magic at his command,

he does just this.

Destroying in the process
not one man… but two.

Well, what do you think, Louis?

You think it'll play?

Don't worry, folks.

Uh, the white wine came up with the fish.

Who the fuck do you think
you are, Mankiewicz?

You're nothin' but a court jester.

And let me let you in on a little secret.

Do you have any idea
who pays half your salary?

He pays half your fucking salary.

Him, you fucking ingrate.

You didn't know that, did ya?
You wanna know why?

Because he likes the way you talk.

Not the way you write, the way you talk.

Don't that chap your ass?

- Please, follow me.
- It's very quaint.

Rise and shine, hombre.

Shoot-out at the O.K. Corral.

Before we buckle down, I gather you have
something to get off your chest?

As a matter of fact, I do.

Frankly,
I think what I said upset you.

I know your health's not what it might be.
I understand that comes first.

- Really?
- This studio fuss, this lawsuit.

God only knows
what pressure's yet to come.

At your age,
you'd be justified in wanting out.

I'm 43, but that's very understanding.

Mayer's buyout was rejected.

So, the fat's only starting
to hit the fire.

Now, I talked to RKO, and I'll tell you
what they're ready to do.

In recognition of the outstanding work
you've done so far,

they're prepared to relieve you of
the rewrite and still honor your full pay,

plus $10,000.

How's that?

That's more than generous.

But I don't intend to walk.

All right.

What's bothering you, then?

You're not going to like this, Orson.

I want credit.

Come again?

It's the best thing I've ever written.

Jack, get me some Cuban cigars.

- In Victorville?
- Do what you can, Jack.

Oh, stay, Houseman.
You'll miss the third act complicator.

Get going, Jack. Muy pronto.

I believe that means right away.

Mank, Mank.

What I said was more
in sorrow than in anger, Willie.

Are you familiar with the parable
of the organ grinder's monkey?

Now, the organ grinder's monkey
is tiny in stature,

and having been taken from the wild,

he's naturally overwhelmed
by the enormous world around him.

But every morning, a sweet elderly woman
dresses him in a fine suit of clothes.

She fits him with a red velvet vest
adorned with pearl buttons

and a handsome red fez with a silk tassel.

She slips on brocade shoes
that curl at the toe,

and he's paired with a fine gilt music box
on an exquisite gold chain

fastened to his neck and his neck alone.

Whenever he ventures
into the city to perform,

he thinks,
"What a powerful fellow I must be."

"Look how patiently
everyone waits just to watch me dance."

Hey, Willie...

"And wherever I go," he thinks,

"this music box must follow, and with it,
this poor downtrodden man."

"And if I chose not to dance,
this sorry street peddler would starve,

and every time
I do decide to dance, every time…

He must play."

"Whether he wishes to or not."

You've had a bit too much
to drink, Herman.

I'll get Raymond
to drive you to the station.

Goodbye.

Put aside gratitude, Mank.

That you've done your best work
was no accident.

I removed any distraction,
eliminated every excuse,

your family, your cronies, liquor.

I gave you a second chance.

And for that, I cannot thank you enough.

But with credit for a risky undertaking
must go the weight of real responsibility.

Given your current health,
I wonder if you're up to it.

Frankly, I wonder, too,
but we'll find out.

You may never work
in this town again, Mank!

Orson, please…

Then you force me to remind you!

We have a contract
that you understood and agreed to!

If you fight this, it will go
to what your new guild calls arbitration,

and you, my friend,
will lose script, money,

and assuming such a thing still exists
in Hollywood,

the respect of those who honor their word.

How can I put this nicely?

I may be a loose cannon,

but you, my friend, are an outsider.

They're exasperated by me,
and I've earned it,

but you, a self-anointed savior-hyphenate,

they're just waiting to loathe you.

Remind me never again
to work with a washed-up alcoholic!

Duly noted. Nelson Algren, please copy.

All right!
No doubt you'll get your credit.

But ask yourself,
"Who's producing this picture?"

"Directing it? Starring in it?"

That's just what we need
when Susan leaves Kane.

An act of purging violence.

Maybe.

Mank! Mank, where are you?

Mank, come quick!

He's alive!

Ian's alive!

- He fetched up on the Orkneys!
- The what?

The Orkney Islands, you idiot.

Oh, Mank, are you ever serious?

Only about something funny.

And the winner
of the best original screenplay is…

Herman J. Mankiewicz…

…and Orson Welles for Citizen Kane.

This is the first nomination
and first win

for Mr. Mankiewicz and Mr. Welles.

Neither were able to attend tonight.

Accepting for both
is the president of RKO Radio Pictures,

Mr. George Schaefer.

- Excuse me, Mr. Welles.
- Good morning.

Good morning, Mr. Welles.
You missed a big night.

I was unable to attend
the Academy Awards

because I'm here in Rio
making a marvelous motion picture.

Kane was nominated
in nine categories, including best actor.

Aren't you disappointed
that it only won one Oscar?

Well, that, my good man, is Hollywood.

Anything you'd like to say
to your coauthor, Mr. Mankiewicz?

I do have a message.
You may tell him from me…

Mank, you can kiss my half!

You ask me what
my acceptance speech might have been.

Well, here goes.

I am very happy to accept this award

in the manner
in which the screenplay was written,

which is to say,
in the absence of Orson Welles.

- How's that?
- How come he shares credit?

Well, that, my friend,
is the magic of the movies.

Hold up the Oscar, Mank.
Big smile.