Happyish (2015): Season 1, Episode 10 - Starring Christopher Hitchens, Philip Larkin and Josef Stalin - full transcript
Thom writes a story, and then quits his job; "Radical Capitalism"; hopes and dreams.
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you know it ♪
♪ Then motherfucking show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you know it ♪
♪ Clap your motherfucking hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it clap your hands! ♪
(Lee wretches)
Thom: So, yesterday, I decided
to quit my job at MGT.
I'm trying to remember when exactly,
at what point.
It may have been that morning,
listening to Lee puking
and thinking about my life.
Did I really want to waste
the rest of my life writing ads?
(Lee continues retching)
Lee: I mean, you're the shrink.
You're the psychiatrist.
How do you not know if the
Lexapro makes people puke?
A lot of people.
I mean, you're the doctor. I went online.
I found this out in five minutes.
I went to you looking
for some relief, all right?
I went to you because I thought
that maybe you could help me.
But instead what I found
was myself facing the
bottom of a toilet bowl
all fucking night long.
It's 6:30 in the morning.
Call me when you get this.
- (phone beeps)
- Ugh!
Should I stay home?
No, no, no. Don't, mm-mm.
I can't stay home.
I don't want you to stay home.
Got this agency meeting.
These 25-year-old Swedish idiots
love agency meetings.
We're a family.
This corporation, this carnivorous machine
that profits at the expense
of everyone and everything around it,
they say this is a family.
The Manson Family.
You know, unless you have kids,
I don't care how much money you earn,
what company you're CEO of,
don't call your fucking company a family.
Thom, go to work.
- I can't stay home.
- I don't want you to stay home.
Should I just stay home?
(sighs)
Thom: Or maybe it was that
I finally started writing.
I had started writing this story
a couple of days after
Larry killed himself, actually.
I don't know what it means,
and I haven't got the slightest
idea how to end it.
I'm like God in that way...
great at starting worlds,
no idea how to end them,
and not really sure they
mean anything anyway.
The story is called...
"Skidmark Jesus."
_
It's about this guy, Simon Blackwall.
He's kind of a Christopher Hitchens,
Richard Dawkins type.
Scientist, rationalist, atheist,
makes a killing on the lecture circuit.
And tonight, he's about to make
one of the most important
speeches of his career,
refusing God and religion
and establishing what he calls
the Church of Exalted Existence.
"Millions saw the apple
fall from the tree,"
said Bernard Baruch.
"Newton was the only one who asked why."
Reason.
Not hocus...
(stomach rumbles)
(groans)
Thom: The thing about
Simon, though, is this...
he's got a beautiful house.
He's got a great career.
He's got a BMW 10,000 whatever I.
But he's miserable, and
he doesn't know why.
He's been having these
stomach pains lately,
but the doctors, they can't find anything.
And then, that night,
Simon's life changes forever.
(Simon groans)
Because there, inside the
crotch of his underwear...
Jesus.
Is a skid mark.
A shit stain.
Jesus Christ.
That looks exactly, and I mean exactly,
like the Lord Jesus Christ himself.
And Simon is freaked out,
because it doesn't kind of look like Jesus,
like when they kind of
sort of find the Virgin Mary
in a Cinnabon or something.
This is an almost photographic reproduction
of the son of God out of shit,
right there in Simon
Blackwall's underpants.
And Simon, see, he's a scientist.
He's a rationalist.
But he can't explain this.
The likeness is too exact.
The odds are too miniscule.
The chances, too impossible.
Someone, he decides, some
thing made this happen.
Morning. You working on Wonderbra?
(typing) No.
What are you working on?
What does it matter?
Well, Gottfrid and Gustaff
have scheduled an all-agency meeting
for 11:00, no exceptions.
Pretty sure that means you.
So the Wonderbra creative review
has been moved to Friday,
so if you were working
on Wonderbra, then...
Lorna, I'm not working on Wonderbra!
(typing continues)
(sighs) Shit.
Lee: Thom is gonna flip out.
- It's gorgeous.
- I know.
It's really gorgeous.
Okay, we've got, like, seven hours
to turn this room into a writer's office.
Okay, so are we wallpapering and painting?
How Martha Stewart is this project?
No, no. We're gonna
keep this really simple.
We're just gonna shove all
this shit into the basement.
We're gonna make a quick trip to Ikea.
- Ikea?
- Just pick up a few things,
bring 'em home, put 'em
together before Thom gets back.
Lee, have you ever
built anything from Ikea?
It takes hours. We'll never do it.
Yes, we will. It's so easy.
We just need to get a chair,
a bookcase, and a writing desk.
Bella: A desk?
Honey, that's, like, a month and a half.
You know, that's how they torture prisoners
- at Abu Ghraib.
- Shut up.
I'm serious. They make
them build Ikea furniture.
They work on it for months,
and then they realize that
they're missing two pieces
and a bag of screws.
You okay?
(exhales)
Lexapro.
That shit really kicked your ass, huh?
Don't even get me started on my ass.
Ring of fire.
That's what you get for trying to be happy.
Okay. Ikea, here we come.
I'm not kidding.
The prisoners are like, "Not Ikea again.
Can't you just waterboard me?"
Thom: Or maybe I decided to quit
at Gottfrid's agency meeting.
(cheering)
Gottfrid: Yeah.
Okay, MGT.
So I have two pieces of good news,
one piece, bad news.
- Which first?
- Crowd: Good!
Okay, so we do good news,
bad news, good news.
Some of you already know that
there are some big changes
coming to MGT, yeah?
Gustaff and I have designed
a new and exciting workspace,
a space that will really make the industry
stand up and take notice and say, "Whoa.
That is not the MGT we used to know."
Yeah? It will take some
time, though, to complete.
So, in the meantime,
we thought we'd start with a small taste
of what's to come.
Yeah? Because we are
in the idea business, yes?
- Crowd: Yes!
- Groundbreaking ideas.
Yeah? And business moves at...
Crowd: The speed of ideas!
You don't have to like it, but...?
Crowd: You can't ignore it!
Yeah!
(cheering, applause)
Okay.
(speaks Swedish)
(gasping, cheering)
Gottfrid: Hold on. Wait.
I just had a great idea for the Army,
and business is moving
at the speed of ideas.
I have to tell Gustaff. But wait.
He's upstairs in the ideation room.
(laughter)
Gustaff! Gustaff!
I have a great idea! Come quick!
(cheering, applause)
The new MGT.
(crowd chanting) MGT! MGT! MGT! MGT!
MGT!
Okay, so we have been
through a lot together
over the past few months.
We have lost some friends,
but we gained some new ones.
Lots of new faces here at MGT.
And I really believe
that... that we are a team.
- Yeah?
- Crowd: Yeah.
More than that... we are a family.
- Man: Yeah!
- Gottfrid: Yeah?
(crowd chanting) Family! Family! Family!
And so, I'd like everyone,
at some point today,
to take a turn down the slide,
and Gustaff will take a
little Polaroid of you,
and you write your name at the bottom,
we hang it on the wall
so we can all get to know
each other a bit better.
Nice idea, yes?
- (crowd cheering)
- Okay.
- So fun!
- Totally, right?
(both imitate explosion)
And now, I'm afraid, for the bad news.
(crowd groans)
After a long and difficult process,
I'm afraid we heard this morning
that we did not win the Coke pitch.
(all groan)
Gottfrid: We showed them great work.
We showed them great ideas.
Radical happiness, which I have to say
is one of the best ideas
we've ever come up with.
- We?
- But, in the end,
they went with Wieden and Kennedy.
(crowd boos)
And so...
(laughter)
Fuck them.
(crowd cheering)
Gottfrid: And now for the good news, yeah?
I know many of you know
Gustaff as a man of few words,
but like most geniuses,
the few words he does say
are often quite brilliant.
So, as we were preparing
for the J.P. Morgan pitch
a couple of weeks ago,
Gustaff came to me and
whispered two words...
"radical capitalism."
(laughter)
Gottfrid: I'd like to show
you the video we presented
to the J.P. Morgan pitch last week.
(clicks)
(music playing)
_
Announcer: Money tends to get a bad rap.
They never tire of telling
us what money can't buy,
while warning us in the same breath
of all the ills it can cause.
Well, at J.P. Morgan, we say "bull."
At J.P. Morgan, we love money.
We love the way money smells.
We love the way it sounds.
Let's get something straight.
Money isn't the root of all evil.
Evil is the root of all evil.
Money can't buy happiness? We say bull.
A Lamborghini will make you happy.
A mansion with a pool? Happy.
Caribbean vacation home?
Happy, happy, happy.
- Money can buy health.
- _
- Money can buy families.
- _
It's time to stop apologizing.
It's time not just for capitalism,
but for radical capitalism.
The next time you raise a fist in the air,
make sure there's some cash in it.
J.P. Morgan.
Not just capitalism.
Radical capitalism.
(cheering, applause)
Gottfrid: J.P. Morgan called this morning.
- Gustaff won it!
- (Cheering, applause)
That is fucking bullshit, Thom.
We showed "radical happiness" weeks ago.
Can they do that? Can they really do that?
Gottfrid: So the question is,
"Who's the first one on the slide, huh?"
Debbie!
(cheering)
(crowd chanting) Debbie! Debbie! Debbie!
- Thom: Jon.
- (Cheering, applause)
Thom: Jon!
(crowd cheering)
(shutter clicks)
- Jon! Jon!
- Hey, Thom!
Your turn. Everyone has to do it.
Not fucking now, Gottfrid. Jon!
He really doesn't like slides.
(all laugh)
Bella: This is a lot of shit.
Ditch the lamp.
- Which one?
- The floor one.
- Which is the floor one?
- I don't know.
"Cockenballsen." Whatever.
Cockenballsen? I thought it was Felch.
- Is Felch the desk lamp?
- Oh, my God.
- You okay, honey?
- No. (retches)
Oh. Oh, shit.
That is disgusting.
- She happens to be on Lexapro.
- Bella.
You know, I'm on Lexapro. I don't vomit.
Well, side effects may vary, okay?
She shouldn't come in here if she's sick.
What the hell are you talking about?
Sick people are the only ones
that come into this fucking place.
- Cashier: Charlie.
- You have two carts.
Two carts of plastic shit
you think's gonna make your life happy.
Who's the sick one here?
Miss, let's get you to a restroom.
Here.
You know I'm gonna have
to charge you for that bag.
Thom: Now, Blackwall,
you see, he's fucked.
He's seen some sort of truth,
some sort of meaning,
and there's no turning back.
Ladies and gentlemen, Simon Blackwall.
(cheering, applause)
Give 'em hell, Simon!
- There is no hell!
- (Laughter)
"Millions saw the apple fall,"
said Bernard Baruch,
"but Newton was the
only one who asked why."
Uh, but except... except he didn't ask why,
because Newton was a scientist
and a coward, like all scientists.
Because Newton asked how not why,
because all science has ever done
and all science ever will do is answer how,
and how is the least
important question of all.
Thom: In fact, he's so overwhelmed
by this incredible shit stain,
that instead of extoling the virtues
of science and rationality,
he rages against what he now calls
the cult of logic, the religion of science.
At least true religion has the balls
to ask the bigger question!
And stay out.
Thom: His career is ruined.
But Simon is elated,
because though the rest of his world
thinks it's foolish,
he's found something...
of meaning.
- That's as far as I got.
- (Film audio stops)
And that, now I think of it,
is when I decided to quit.
Yeah, I'm sure he's pissed off.
What do you want me to do?
Send him a fuckin' fruit basket?
Hey. Hang on.
(sighs) I'm done.
You're... you're done?
Yeah, I'm done.
Done with what?
With this fucking job.
With this fucking whorehouse.
I need to call you back.
- You're quitting?
- I'm done, man.
I can't do this job anymore.
- The job of being a father?
- What?
Of being a husband? Is that
the job you're quitting?
Because providing for
your family is your job.
(laughs) Wow. Holy fuck.
Jonathan Berg is about to
lecture me on fatherhood.
I write poetry. Did you know that?
- No, you don't.
- I do.
On weekends. It's kind of a...
"Philip Larkin meets Joseph
Stalin" kind of a thing.
Good for you, Jon.
So should I quit my job and
stick Dani with my bills?
Is that real love, Thom?
Sticking my beloved with
another 20 years of work
so I can pretend to be some kind of artist?
Grow the fuck up.
Fatherhood isn't just about
covering the bills, Jon.
It's about telling my son
that he can be happy doing
something meaningful,
that money isn't the
only thing that matters.
36,000 fiction submissions a year...
that's what "The New Yorker" gets.
Did you know that?
Thom, what do they run?
One, two stories per issue?
One of 'em is some
pretentious Steve Martin shit.
The other's some piece of crap
that Woody Allen found
in the bottom of his desk drawer.
You're a good friend, Jonathan.
I appreciate your support.
We can beat these Sweeds Thom.
We can beat them.
I don't want to beat them.
Well, then, they're gonna beat you.
You know, I love this idea
that you can defeat something
without becoming just like it.
Look at you.
You're 52 years old and you can't stop.
You can't stop working,
you can't stop competing,
dominating, winning.
You're an addict.
And you're only pissed off
because I'm trying to go clean.
36,000 submissions a year, Thom.
Maybe you're the next Hemingway.
Bet you are. Bet you're the next Joyce.
Bet you're the next
William goddamn Faulkner.
Only "The New Yorker" never
published any of them either.
You know, part of me thought
you might actually be happy for me.
Happy for you?
You have any idea how much it costs
to raise a child these days?
Pay for... for braces, college, cars.
You wrote that fucking J.P.
Morgan video, didn't you?
Did I win the J.P. Morgan account?
Did I save another 30 jobs including yours?
Yes. Did I let Gustaff take the credit?
Yes, I did. Forgive me.
So you go.
Go, write... write your fuckin' novel,
and then shove it up your ass,
because it's the insurance
from this fuckin' whorehouse
you work at that's gonna
pay to have it removed.
I'm out.
36,000 submissions, Thom!
36,000!
Sometimes they're wrong, honey.
They get false positives.
I did all three.
(sighs)
(crying) Oh, my God.
(snorts)
Ugh!
Hey, look, you know what?
Some people like me and Barry,
we've been trying for ages, you know.
You're lucky.
(both laugh)
Oh, we were just getting
out from under it, you know?
I was just getting out from under it.
I was just starting to
feel like a human again.
Fuck!
And then yay.
And then fuck.
Yay, fuck, yay, fuck.
That's life.
I guess we should start
taking this shit apart.
Yay.
I mean fuck.
Oh, my God!
(crying)
Lee.
Lee?
Hey.
Oh, my God.
Is this for me?
To write in.
Come here.
- Oh, baby.
- Hi.
- I got some news.
- Okay, me, too.
No, no, me first. Me first.
I'm quitting. I'm quitting.
It's... you know, do I wanna spend
the rest of my days writing ads?
I had a vision this
morning of my tombstone.
"Here lies Thom Payne. He
wrote that Wonderbra ad."
You know, this is it.
This is what we wanted.
This is why we moved here, baby.
I know, Thom...
So I can... you know, so I can, you know,
write and you can paint.
Oh, my God.
You know, it's... and... and...
- Thom.
- It's okay.
Look, I figured it out.
I can earn extra money from freelancing,
and we can show Jules that it's possible.
It's possible to... to find happiness.
So I'm quitting tomorrow,
- and I'll...
- Okay.
I'm gonna spend my days here,
writing and being happy.
You're pregnant.
I'm so sorry.
(exhales) Are you sure?
Yeah.
- Oh, baby.
- I know.
- I know. I...
- Fuck. Fuck.
- Your office.
- I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I know.
- I'm so sorry.
- Hey. Hey, hey, look at me.
Hey, hey, look. Hey.
Hey. Another little Julius.
I know.
Or Julia.
- You know?
- Or Julia.
I guess I just fucked myself
out of my writing room.
Yay. Fuck.
- Oh, boy.
- Uh-huh.
(laughs) Oh.
(exhales)
Thom: It was nice to quit.
Even if it was temporary.
(cheering)
I did, however, find an ending to my story.
Simon Blackwall stumbles
through the streets,
ruined, yes, but ecstatic,
because he has at last
found a reason to live,
a reason for suffering
all these slings and arrows.
- (pounds)
- Hey, what's the problem here?
- Yes?
- Oh, Father.
Oh, what is it, my son?
Father, I have been so unhappy and empty,
but... but the Lord has called to me
and opened my eyes.
Here, in my underwear.
It's a skid mark, Father.
A skid mark of our Lord, Jesus Christ.
And He has shown me the way to such joy.
But this is... this is
just an ordinary shit stain.
I... I... it got wet.
Looks like a shit stain to me.
No, no, this is a sign from God.
This is the reason for being.
How dare you come in here
and pretend this is holy?
This... this... this shit.
- I... I swear.
- Hey!
You heard the father.
Your shit isn't holy.
Your shit has no meaning.
Nobody cares about your shit.
Your shit isn't holy, you son of a bitch.
Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit isn't holy.
- Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit has no meaning!
- Your shit has no meaning!
Thom: "The New Yorker"
is gonna love it.
Submission number 36,001.
(cheering, applause)
Come on, Thom!
(all chanting) Thom! Thom!
Thom! Thom! Thom!
(chanting continues)
(chanting fades)
Lee: We're with you, Thom.
You don't have to go
down if you don't want to.
You don't have to do it for me, buddy.
You don't have to do it for me.
(chanting resumes)
(cheering, applause)
Thom: You gotta hand it to Stalin.
He didn't fuck around.
When he wanted to control you,
he threw you in the Gulag
or shot you in the head.
Nowadays, they give you
a 30-year mortgage.
They give you an auto
loan, credit card bills,
and a Graco convertible crib
with three-position mattress adjustment
and a one-year limited warranty.
Yay! Fuck.
Yay!
Fuck.
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then motherfucking
show it ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Clap your
motherfucking hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands! ♪
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you know it ♪
♪ Then motherfucking show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you know it ♪
♪ Clap your motherfucking hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it clap your hands! ♪
(Lee wretches)
Thom: So, yesterday, I decided
to quit my job at MGT.
I'm trying to remember when exactly,
at what point.
It may have been that morning,
listening to Lee puking
and thinking about my life.
Did I really want to waste
the rest of my life writing ads?
(Lee continues retching)
Lee: I mean, you're the shrink.
You're the psychiatrist.
How do you not know if the
Lexapro makes people puke?
A lot of people.
I mean, you're the doctor. I went online.
I found this out in five minutes.
I went to you looking
for some relief, all right?
I went to you because I thought
that maybe you could help me.
But instead what I found
was myself facing the
bottom of a toilet bowl
all fucking night long.
It's 6:30 in the morning.
Call me when you get this.
- (phone beeps)
- Ugh!
Should I stay home?
No, no, no. Don't, mm-mm.
I can't stay home.
I don't want you to stay home.
Got this agency meeting.
These 25-year-old Swedish idiots
love agency meetings.
We're a family.
This corporation, this carnivorous machine
that profits at the expense
of everyone and everything around it,
they say this is a family.
The Manson Family.
You know, unless you have kids,
I don't care how much money you earn,
what company you're CEO of,
don't call your fucking company a family.
Thom, go to work.
- I can't stay home.
- I don't want you to stay home.
Should I just stay home?
(sighs)
Thom: Or maybe it was that
I finally started writing.
I had started writing this story
a couple of days after
Larry killed himself, actually.
I don't know what it means,
and I haven't got the slightest
idea how to end it.
I'm like God in that way...
great at starting worlds,
no idea how to end them,
and not really sure they
mean anything anyway.
The story is called...
"Skidmark Jesus."
_
It's about this guy, Simon Blackwall.
He's kind of a Christopher Hitchens,
Richard Dawkins type.
Scientist, rationalist, atheist,
makes a killing on the lecture circuit.
And tonight, he's about to make
one of the most important
speeches of his career,
refusing God and religion
and establishing what he calls
the Church of Exalted Existence.
"Millions saw the apple
fall from the tree,"
said Bernard Baruch.
"Newton was the only one who asked why."
Reason.
Not hocus...
(stomach rumbles)
(groans)
Thom: The thing about
Simon, though, is this...
he's got a beautiful house.
He's got a great career.
He's got a BMW 10,000 whatever I.
But he's miserable, and
he doesn't know why.
He's been having these
stomach pains lately,
but the doctors, they can't find anything.
And then, that night,
Simon's life changes forever.
(Simon groans)
Because there, inside the
crotch of his underwear...
Jesus.
Is a skid mark.
A shit stain.
Jesus Christ.
That looks exactly, and I mean exactly,
like the Lord Jesus Christ himself.
And Simon is freaked out,
because it doesn't kind of look like Jesus,
like when they kind of
sort of find the Virgin Mary
in a Cinnabon or something.
This is an almost photographic reproduction
of the son of God out of shit,
right there in Simon
Blackwall's underpants.
And Simon, see, he's a scientist.
He's a rationalist.
But he can't explain this.
The likeness is too exact.
The odds are too miniscule.
The chances, too impossible.
Someone, he decides, some
thing made this happen.
Morning. You working on Wonderbra?
(typing) No.
What are you working on?
What does it matter?
Well, Gottfrid and Gustaff
have scheduled an all-agency meeting
for 11:00, no exceptions.
Pretty sure that means you.
So the Wonderbra creative review
has been moved to Friday,
so if you were working
on Wonderbra, then...
Lorna, I'm not working on Wonderbra!
(typing continues)
(sighs) Shit.
Lee: Thom is gonna flip out.
- It's gorgeous.
- I know.
It's really gorgeous.
Okay, we've got, like, seven hours
to turn this room into a writer's office.
Okay, so are we wallpapering and painting?
How Martha Stewart is this project?
No, no. We're gonna
keep this really simple.
We're just gonna shove all
this shit into the basement.
We're gonna make a quick trip to Ikea.
- Ikea?
- Just pick up a few things,
bring 'em home, put 'em
together before Thom gets back.
Lee, have you ever
built anything from Ikea?
It takes hours. We'll never do it.
Yes, we will. It's so easy.
We just need to get a chair,
a bookcase, and a writing desk.
Bella: A desk?
Honey, that's, like, a month and a half.
You know, that's how they torture prisoners
- at Abu Ghraib.
- Shut up.
I'm serious. They make
them build Ikea furniture.
They work on it for months,
and then they realize that
they're missing two pieces
and a bag of screws.
You okay?
(exhales)
Lexapro.
That shit really kicked your ass, huh?
Don't even get me started on my ass.
Ring of fire.
That's what you get for trying to be happy.
Okay. Ikea, here we come.
I'm not kidding.
The prisoners are like, "Not Ikea again.
Can't you just waterboard me?"
Thom: Or maybe I decided to quit
at Gottfrid's agency meeting.
(cheering)
Gottfrid: Yeah.
Okay, MGT.
So I have two pieces of good news,
one piece, bad news.
- Which first?
- Crowd: Good!
Okay, so we do good news,
bad news, good news.
Some of you already know that
there are some big changes
coming to MGT, yeah?
Gustaff and I have designed
a new and exciting workspace,
a space that will really make the industry
stand up and take notice and say, "Whoa.
That is not the MGT we used to know."
Yeah? It will take some
time, though, to complete.
So, in the meantime,
we thought we'd start with a small taste
of what's to come.
Yeah? Because we are
in the idea business, yes?
- Crowd: Yes!
- Groundbreaking ideas.
Yeah? And business moves at...
Crowd: The speed of ideas!
You don't have to like it, but...?
Crowd: You can't ignore it!
Yeah!
(cheering, applause)
Okay.
(speaks Swedish)
(gasping, cheering)
Gottfrid: Hold on. Wait.
I just had a great idea for the Army,
and business is moving
at the speed of ideas.
I have to tell Gustaff. But wait.
He's upstairs in the ideation room.
(laughter)
Gustaff! Gustaff!
I have a great idea! Come quick!
(cheering, applause)
The new MGT.
(crowd chanting) MGT! MGT! MGT! MGT!
MGT!
Okay, so we have been
through a lot together
over the past few months.
We have lost some friends,
but we gained some new ones.
Lots of new faces here at MGT.
And I really believe
that... that we are a team.
- Yeah?
- Crowd: Yeah.
More than that... we are a family.
- Man: Yeah!
- Gottfrid: Yeah?
(crowd chanting) Family! Family! Family!
And so, I'd like everyone,
at some point today,
to take a turn down the slide,
and Gustaff will take a
little Polaroid of you,
and you write your name at the bottom,
we hang it on the wall
so we can all get to know
each other a bit better.
Nice idea, yes?
- (crowd cheering)
- Okay.
- So fun!
- Totally, right?
(both imitate explosion)
And now, I'm afraid, for the bad news.
(crowd groans)
After a long and difficult process,
I'm afraid we heard this morning
that we did not win the Coke pitch.
(all groan)
Gottfrid: We showed them great work.
We showed them great ideas.
Radical happiness, which I have to say
is one of the best ideas
we've ever come up with.
- We?
- But, in the end,
they went with Wieden and Kennedy.
(crowd boos)
And so...
(laughter)
Fuck them.
(crowd cheering)
Gottfrid: And now for the good news, yeah?
I know many of you know
Gustaff as a man of few words,
but like most geniuses,
the few words he does say
are often quite brilliant.
So, as we were preparing
for the J.P. Morgan pitch
a couple of weeks ago,
Gustaff came to me and
whispered two words...
"radical capitalism."
(laughter)
Gottfrid: I'd like to show
you the video we presented
to the J.P. Morgan pitch last week.
(clicks)
(music playing)
_
Announcer: Money tends to get a bad rap.
They never tire of telling
us what money can't buy,
while warning us in the same breath
of all the ills it can cause.
Well, at J.P. Morgan, we say "bull."
At J.P. Morgan, we love money.
We love the way money smells.
We love the way it sounds.
Let's get something straight.
Money isn't the root of all evil.
Evil is the root of all evil.
Money can't buy happiness? We say bull.
A Lamborghini will make you happy.
A mansion with a pool? Happy.
Caribbean vacation home?
Happy, happy, happy.
- Money can buy health.
- _
- Money can buy families.
- _
It's time to stop apologizing.
It's time not just for capitalism,
but for radical capitalism.
The next time you raise a fist in the air,
make sure there's some cash in it.
J.P. Morgan.
Not just capitalism.
Radical capitalism.
(cheering, applause)
Gottfrid: J.P. Morgan called this morning.
- Gustaff won it!
- (Cheering, applause)
That is fucking bullshit, Thom.
We showed "radical happiness" weeks ago.
Can they do that? Can they really do that?
Gottfrid: So the question is,
"Who's the first one on the slide, huh?"
Debbie!
(cheering)
(crowd chanting) Debbie! Debbie! Debbie!
- Thom: Jon.
- (Cheering, applause)
Thom: Jon!
(crowd cheering)
(shutter clicks)
- Jon! Jon!
- Hey, Thom!
Your turn. Everyone has to do it.
Not fucking now, Gottfrid. Jon!
He really doesn't like slides.
(all laugh)
Bella: This is a lot of shit.
Ditch the lamp.
- Which one?
- The floor one.
- Which is the floor one?
- I don't know.
"Cockenballsen." Whatever.
Cockenballsen? I thought it was Felch.
- Is Felch the desk lamp?
- Oh, my God.
- You okay, honey?
- No. (retches)
Oh. Oh, shit.
That is disgusting.
- She happens to be on Lexapro.
- Bella.
You know, I'm on Lexapro. I don't vomit.
Well, side effects may vary, okay?
She shouldn't come in here if she's sick.
What the hell are you talking about?
Sick people are the only ones
that come into this fucking place.
- Cashier: Charlie.
- You have two carts.
Two carts of plastic shit
you think's gonna make your life happy.
Who's the sick one here?
Miss, let's get you to a restroom.
Here.
You know I'm gonna have
to charge you for that bag.
Thom: Now, Blackwall,
you see, he's fucked.
He's seen some sort of truth,
some sort of meaning,
and there's no turning back.
Ladies and gentlemen, Simon Blackwall.
(cheering, applause)
Give 'em hell, Simon!
- There is no hell!
- (Laughter)
"Millions saw the apple fall,"
said Bernard Baruch,
"but Newton was the
only one who asked why."
Uh, but except... except he didn't ask why,
because Newton was a scientist
and a coward, like all scientists.
Because Newton asked how not why,
because all science has ever done
and all science ever will do is answer how,
and how is the least
important question of all.
Thom: In fact, he's so overwhelmed
by this incredible shit stain,
that instead of extoling the virtues
of science and rationality,
he rages against what he now calls
the cult of logic, the religion of science.
At least true religion has the balls
to ask the bigger question!
And stay out.
Thom: His career is ruined.
But Simon is elated,
because though the rest of his world
thinks it's foolish,
he's found something...
of meaning.
- That's as far as I got.
- (Film audio stops)
And that, now I think of it,
is when I decided to quit.
Yeah, I'm sure he's pissed off.
What do you want me to do?
Send him a fuckin' fruit basket?
Hey. Hang on.
(sighs) I'm done.
You're... you're done?
Yeah, I'm done.
Done with what?
With this fucking job.
With this fucking whorehouse.
I need to call you back.
- You're quitting?
- I'm done, man.
I can't do this job anymore.
- The job of being a father?
- What?
Of being a husband? Is that
the job you're quitting?
Because providing for
your family is your job.
(laughs) Wow. Holy fuck.
Jonathan Berg is about to
lecture me on fatherhood.
I write poetry. Did you know that?
- No, you don't.
- I do.
On weekends. It's kind of a...
"Philip Larkin meets Joseph
Stalin" kind of a thing.
Good for you, Jon.
So should I quit my job and
stick Dani with my bills?
Is that real love, Thom?
Sticking my beloved with
another 20 years of work
so I can pretend to be some kind of artist?
Grow the fuck up.
Fatherhood isn't just about
covering the bills, Jon.
It's about telling my son
that he can be happy doing
something meaningful,
that money isn't the
only thing that matters.
36,000 fiction submissions a year...
that's what "The New Yorker" gets.
Did you know that?
Thom, what do they run?
One, two stories per issue?
One of 'em is some
pretentious Steve Martin shit.
The other's some piece of crap
that Woody Allen found
in the bottom of his desk drawer.
You're a good friend, Jonathan.
I appreciate your support.
We can beat these Sweeds Thom.
We can beat them.
I don't want to beat them.
Well, then, they're gonna beat you.
You know, I love this idea
that you can defeat something
without becoming just like it.
Look at you.
You're 52 years old and you can't stop.
You can't stop working,
you can't stop competing,
dominating, winning.
You're an addict.
And you're only pissed off
because I'm trying to go clean.
36,000 submissions a year, Thom.
Maybe you're the next Hemingway.
Bet you are. Bet you're the next Joyce.
Bet you're the next
William goddamn Faulkner.
Only "The New Yorker" never
published any of them either.
You know, part of me thought
you might actually be happy for me.
Happy for you?
You have any idea how much it costs
to raise a child these days?
Pay for... for braces, college, cars.
You wrote that fucking J.P.
Morgan video, didn't you?
Did I win the J.P. Morgan account?
Did I save another 30 jobs including yours?
Yes. Did I let Gustaff take the credit?
Yes, I did. Forgive me.
So you go.
Go, write... write your fuckin' novel,
and then shove it up your ass,
because it's the insurance
from this fuckin' whorehouse
you work at that's gonna
pay to have it removed.
I'm out.
36,000 submissions, Thom!
36,000!
Sometimes they're wrong, honey.
They get false positives.
I did all three.
(sighs)
(crying) Oh, my God.
(snorts)
Ugh!
Hey, look, you know what?
Some people like me and Barry,
we've been trying for ages, you know.
You're lucky.
(both laugh)
Oh, we were just getting
out from under it, you know?
I was just getting out from under it.
I was just starting to
feel like a human again.
Fuck!
And then yay.
And then fuck.
Yay, fuck, yay, fuck.
That's life.
I guess we should start
taking this shit apart.
Yay.
I mean fuck.
Oh, my God!
(crying)
Lee.
Lee?
Hey.
Oh, my God.
Is this for me?
To write in.
Come here.
- Oh, baby.
- Hi.
- I got some news.
- Okay, me, too.
No, no, me first. Me first.
I'm quitting. I'm quitting.
It's... you know, do I wanna spend
the rest of my days writing ads?
I had a vision this
morning of my tombstone.
"Here lies Thom Payne. He
wrote that Wonderbra ad."
You know, this is it.
This is what we wanted.
This is why we moved here, baby.
I know, Thom...
So I can... you know, so I can, you know,
write and you can paint.
Oh, my God.
You know, it's... and... and...
- Thom.
- It's okay.
Look, I figured it out.
I can earn extra money from freelancing,
and we can show Jules that it's possible.
It's possible to... to find happiness.
So I'm quitting tomorrow,
- and I'll...
- Okay.
I'm gonna spend my days here,
writing and being happy.
You're pregnant.
I'm so sorry.
(exhales) Are you sure?
Yeah.
- Oh, baby.
- I know.
- I know. I...
- Fuck. Fuck.
- Your office.
- I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I know.
- I'm so sorry.
- Hey. Hey, hey, look at me.
Hey, hey, look. Hey.
Hey. Another little Julius.
I know.
Or Julia.
- You know?
- Or Julia.
I guess I just fucked myself
out of my writing room.
Yay. Fuck.
- Oh, boy.
- Uh-huh.
(laughs) Oh.
(exhales)
Thom: It was nice to quit.
Even if it was temporary.
(cheering)
I did, however, find an ending to my story.
Simon Blackwall stumbles
through the streets,
ruined, yes, but ecstatic,
because he has at last
found a reason to live,
a reason for suffering
all these slings and arrows.
- (pounds)
- Hey, what's the problem here?
- Yes?
- Oh, Father.
Oh, what is it, my son?
Father, I have been so unhappy and empty,
but... but the Lord has called to me
and opened my eyes.
Here, in my underwear.
It's a skid mark, Father.
A skid mark of our Lord, Jesus Christ.
And He has shown me the way to such joy.
But this is... this is
just an ordinary shit stain.
I... I... it got wet.
Looks like a shit stain to me.
No, no, this is a sign from God.
This is the reason for being.
How dare you come in here
and pretend this is holy?
This... this... this shit.
- I... I swear.
- Hey!
You heard the father.
Your shit isn't holy.
Your shit has no meaning.
Nobody cares about your shit.
Your shit isn't holy, you son of a bitch.
Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit isn't holy.
- Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit has no meaning.
- Your shit has no meaning!
- Your shit has no meaning!
Thom: "The New Yorker"
is gonna love it.
Submission number 36,001.
(cheering, applause)
Come on, Thom!
(all chanting) Thom! Thom!
Thom! Thom! Thom!
(chanting continues)
(chanting fades)
Lee: We're with you, Thom.
You don't have to go
down if you don't want to.
You don't have to do it for me, buddy.
You don't have to do it for me.
(chanting resumes)
(cheering, applause)
Thom: You gotta hand it to Stalin.
He didn't fuck around.
When he wanted to control you,
he threw you in the Gulag
or shot you in the head.
Nowadays, they give you
a 30-year mortgage.
They give you an auto
loan, credit card bills,
and a Graco convertible crib
with three-position mattress adjustment
and a one-year limited warranty.
Yay! Fuck.
Yay!
Fuck.
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then motherfucking
show it ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Clap your
motherfucking hands ♪
♪ If you're happy
and you know it ♪
♪ Then your face
will surely show it ♪
♪ If you're happy and you
know it, clap your hands! ♪