Two Men in Manhattan (1959) - full transcript

Two Men in Manhattan

It was 3:32 PM on December 23rd...

...when the old 1912 gaslight...

...forgotten by urban planners...

...lit up for the kids on 43rd Street.

An Irish boy, an Italian, a Jew...

The trio neatly symbolized the

great glass building on First Avenue...

...known as the United Nations.

There was nothing special...

...about the General Assembly's

agenda that day...

...simply a vote in favor of a state

seeking membership in the organization.

That's all. And yet...

An empty seat indicated the absence...

...of the leader of a national delegation.

An unimportant fact duly

reported by press agencies...

...the world over.

Meanwhile, the new member

broadcast his state's gratitude...

...to the world.

In a speech recorded

for posterity...

...on wax in lieu of marble.

Soon, news of the absent delegate

reached the French Press Agency...

...in New York's Rockefeller Plaza.

NY AFP, how may I

direct your call?

Get me the Waldorf.

The absence of the French

delegate has been widely noted.

No explanation was offered

by the press office.

Was there a reason for

the delegate's absence?

No, I've heard nothing,

I was just asking.

Yes, I'm much obliged.

Sorry to have troubled you.

Do you understand?

If there's something new

I'll call you, even at night.

Have a second?

I know it's quitting time...

...but our UN delegate has disappeared.

A missing person?

He wasn't at the session today.

Try to find him.

You're a night owl

who knows Manhattan.

You spy on me?

That's nice.

McKimmie may know where

Fevre-Berthier is at.

Delmas is more likely.

The dreadful Delmas?

You have sleazy friends.

I choose my own informants.

That alcoholic photographer revolts me.

Suppose he finds Fevre-Berthier?

Give him a bottle of Bourbon.

He only drinks Scotch.

I'll call as soon as I hear anything.

What brings the great journalist here?

Our delegate has disappeared.

Disappeared? Let's not be

overly dramatic!

Was there a reason?

Who knows?

Maybe he was avoiding having to

explain a vote against.

Then, considering the voting by

the Western bloc...

...the Eastern bloc or the

Afro-Asian bloc...

...it may have been politic

not to attend.

So it's routine?

No, Fevre-Berthier's family has

been wondering since midday...

...which proves his absence

wasn't premeditated.

What's the general view?

No one knows except the family...

and you.

What sort of man is he?

The classy type.

That pre-war vintage.

Brilliant.

...when statesmen forgot

they were politicians.

Pining for 1925?

Who wouldn't regret

the "Roaring Twenties"?

It's only when such men are gone

that wars break out.

Where could I find him?

Try his secretary

in Greenwich Village.

Sorry to bother you.

I'm with the French Press Agency.

Were there political reasons for

Fevre-Berthier's absence today?

What political reasons?

An abstention perhaps.

The UN has its own

information services.

I know: McKimmie sent me.

He said you might

be able to help.

I don't see how.

He doesn't confide in me.

Could there be

a diplomatic reason?

It's curious the way Frenchmen

forget their own adage...

What's that?

Americans use it all the time...

Cherchez la femme

He'd skip out on the UN

just to chase women?

Not hitherto, but today maybe.

Who is she?

I don't care.

You mean you don't care...

any more?

The insoluble problem of male-female

relations is not in my line.

Good evening.

Hi, pal.

Sorry, I'm a bit out

of focus.

I need you to stick your head

under a tap.

Here you go.

Good morning.

Good evening.

Talking of morals,

like your landlady...

Who is Fevre-Berthier's mistress?

Excuse me...

Take your pick.

Which would you say?

I'm not invited.

I just take pictures.

We'll see all three.

To get their autographs?

You guessed it.

Why take that?

I hate to feel alone.

Without a glass or a camera

in hand, there's just me.

I know what you mean.

But tonight: No camera,

no reporting.

She's like me...

hates to feel alone.

Who is she?

Judith Nelson, an actress

with the Mercury Theater.

We'll start there.

What's this?

One of my spare wheels.

In short...

I can park here.

American women are very direct.

She must be of English descent...

from the Trafalgar Nelson.

- Did you pass her well mister?

- Reasonably.

Who's next?

Virginia Graham.

She's recording tonight at Capitol.

We'll go and see her

at Capitol.

I didn't tell you: Fevre-Berthier

has disappeared.

Keep it quiet. They think he's

with his mistress.

Who?

That's why I got you

out of bed.

What's all this about Fevre-Berthier

disappearing?

That's what I must find out.

Such things can blow up into

diplomatic incidents.

Maybe there's money in it.

For both, clearly.

He's a womanizer?

For the moment.

I know a girl who

specializes in diplomats.

Should we visit her?

I doubt she knows anything.

Who knows? Perhaps she

can give us a lead.

We'll have to call first.

Forms of prostitution are

a measure of civilization.

Who said that?

Delma.

Who is this charmer?

Burlesque dancer.

Where?

In "darkest Brooklyn."

Cheap bags.

Poor girls.

I can see you banging

a Salvation Army drum.

And you'd rush in

to pass the hat.

Delmas... Five years from now.

It takes a yogi 40 years

to reach that state...

...and a monk years of prayer.

He and I?

We can reach beatitude

in a few hours.

Stay here and keep watch.

She was Fevre-Berthier's mistress.

Era?

He's dead.

Dead! How? Where?

She won't say.

Don't let anyone in.

Careful. She's very weak.

Quick, I have the keys

to her apartment.

Careful. No accidents now.

Did you notice which floor?

The eighth.

Oh, shit!

No news, sir...

Hold on.

The boss is on the other line.

He wants to see you.

Give me your number.

34822

I found Fevre-Berthier...

...and the reason for

his absence.

But he's not talking...

...about anything.

It'd like to tell you and

the boss in person.

It's serious.

No, nothing political.

Stay there, I'll call you back.

Are you crazy?

You can't do that.

Be quiet.

Hello, Moreau?

No, no details.

You found him?

What?

Dead?

Where are you?

On the left or right?

It's the only door.

I'll stop there.

Is nothing sacred?

Something.

This.

My boss is coming.

I should have stopped you.

A shot on the sofa might

bring in twenty dollars.

But, rumpled up on the bed...

...half undressed, next to

his cutie's picture.

Do you know what that means?

I'm stunned.

Me too, for different reasons.

Ah, Mister Scruples...

You're nearly 40.

Don't you want to get somewhere?

This is your chance

to make a fortune.

I can't do it.

Why not? You started it,

not me.

You're the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

You can't stop it now.

It's easy.

Did I come looking for you?

You turned up and

hauled me out of bed.

Now we're going to

see it through.

To the very end, understand?

Get out of here

before my boss comes.

Your boss! To hell with him.

I put everything

back just as it was.

Too late.

What happened?

A coronary, or something like it.

What is this place?

His girlfriend's.

We traced him through her.

His? Where is he?

You're not alone in this?

A French photographer helped me.

Which paper?

French Match.

I know your editor well.

Is that right?

I met this man when he left France

for London in 1942.

The General sent him back on a mission.

He parachuted in without preparation.

"Blind," as we used to say.

He broke a leg

and was thrown into prison.

Interrogated, tortured,

His leg, finally in plaster...

...sentenced to death,

under an assumed name...

...he contrived to escape.

Two months later, in London...

He joked about it, like

someone else's adventure.

He parachuted into France again.

His exploits were cited

by Winston Churchill...

...as the true bedrock

of the Resistance.

He worked on opposing fractions...

...like the Communist Party...

...or the Secret Army...

...establishing contacts between them

and persuading them to cooperate.

It took more than diplomacy,

believe me.

It took faith, too.

That rare faith...

...that makes self-sacrifice easy.

Later, he was arrested under

his own name, and deported.

He returned from the camps...

...broken in body

but not in heart or spirit...

Yours is an honorable profession,

Monsieur Delmas.

History is no long written,

but photographed.

But some pictures can not...

must not be...

I never leave film

in my camera.

Monsieur Delmas...

the man did not die here.

Do you understand?

There can be no photographs

showing him here.

How interesting.

What do you suggest?

I'm asking for those pictures.

Though I've never worked for you,

I know your reputation.

You are well-versed in

journalistic tradition.

When did a press officer ever

surrender documentary evidence?

There is more to journalism

than such traditions.

Reporting is not just saying

and showing everything.

Not telling, sometimes, might

be more honest.

You're against freedom

of the press?

It has occasioned many excesses.

Do you remember the scurrilous campaign

against a Third Republic minister?

And how it ended?

Too late for suicide this time!

Are you truly as

cynical as you seem?

Much more so.

Very well Mr. Moreau,

they've gone.

Tell me, what happens if an

employee disagrees with you?

We argue, decide who is right.

The perfect democratic organization!

I'll use what influence I have...

...to stop the publication

of those pictures.

We want them, Pierre.

How much are they worth?

The minority yields.

That's democracy too, isn't it?

I wish that you

saw it our way.

Don't ask too much.

I need you.

You too, Monsieur Delmas.

We can't leave him here.

We'll put him in my car.

The police will find him here.

Dead from heart failure.

To avoid questions about

his time of death...

...I'll see that

there's no autopsy.

Goodbye Monsieur Delmas, please

forget our little differences.

See me at the office tomorrow, Moreau,

to settle the details.

Can I drop you somewhere?

I'll get a taxi, thanks.

I'll buy you a drink.

Wait. No one's going to

get near this car.

_M_?

At least I'll scoop his picture.

Let's go.

I've got work to do.

You behaved like an absolute prick.

You messed up your once big chance...

...to get rich.

Suit yourself, but I

intend to do my job.

I'm going to recoup my losses

the best way I know how...

...by taking pictures of the widow.

She doesn't know she's a widow, yet.

So, I'll tell her

and get a picture of her crying.

You made me miss out on

thousands of dollars.

At least let me earn

my living.

Where does she live?

No idea.

What a help.

Let's have that drink.

I'll call for the address.

If you're squeamish, you can

opt out now.

And have you say...

"Are you the Widow Fevre-Berthier?"

"I'm not a widow, Sir."

"Want to bet?"

Cut the gutter talk, Pierre.

Pardon the interruption, Madame.

Have you heard from your husband?

No, I haven't.

May we come in?

Have a seat please.

Don't do that, please!

It's ridiculous.

Momma, leave me alone with

these gentlemen.

I'll explain later.

Should I thank you for

what you did...

...or worry?

How did you find out?

I followed you two all night.

When I saw you at McKimmie's office...

...I knew you were on

my father's trail.

I followed them...

Where can I get a taxi?

Use my car.

Where's he going?

I wish I knew.

Tell me about it.

It's complicated.

First, let's check the all-night

photo lab on 97th Street.

Tell me about it?

I was conned.

How could I ever imagine

he'd give us those photos?

What pictures?

He took them in the apartment...

Judith Nelson's apartment?

You knew about that?

Yes.

But the main this is that

mother doesn't. What happened?

He's probably developing

them at home.

Let's try the papers.

There must be plenty of

other labs in New York.

But how do we catch

up with the bastard?

He has a two hour lead.

He'll have sold the pictures...

Probably got the editor of

"Life" out of bed.

If he's really on the ball...

...he'll wait for the early editions...

...to give the "official version"...

...then come out with pictures

and the true story.

He was right.

It's a goldmine.

You're having regrets?

I think I know where he'll be...

...gloating over a whisky

at the Pike Slip Inn.

You kept the real film

and sold it!

You wouldn't hit a guy

with glasses, would you?

Let's get out of here, Anne.