Dialogue from Film – “Miracle on 34th Street” ~~Mail~~

Kris Kringle (Edmund Gwenn), employed at Macy’s Department store, is on trial because the State of New York think he is insane on the grounds he believes he is Santa Claus.
Fred Gailey (John Payne) is acting as his defence attorney.
Thomas Mara (Jerome Cowan) is the Prosecutor.
Judge Henry X. Harper (Gene Lockhart) is presiding.

GAILEY:
Your Honor, the figures I have just quoted indicate an efficiently run organization.
United States postal laws and regulations make it a criminal offense to wilfully misdirect mail or intentionally deliver it to the wrong party.
Consequently the Department uses every possible precaution.

MARA:
The state of New York admires the Post Office.
It is efficient, authoritative, and prosperous.
We’re happy to concede Mr Gailey’s claims.

GAILEY:
For the record?

MARA:
For the record.
Anything to get this case going.

GAILEY (producing letters addressed to Santa):
Then I want to introduce this evidence.

MARA:
I’ll take them, please.

GAILEY:
I have three letters addressed simply “Santa Claus.”
No other address whatsoever.
Yet these were just now delivered to Mr. Kringle by bona fide employees of the Post Office.
I offer them as positive proof that…

MARA:
Uh, three letters are hardly positive proof.
I understand the Post Office receives thousands of these letters every year.

GAILEY:
I have further exhibits, but I hesitate to produce them.

MARA:
Oh, I’m sure we’ll be very happy to see them.

HARPER:
Yes, yes.
Produce them, Mr. Gailey.
Put them here on my desk.

GAILEY:
But, Your Honor…

HARPER:
Put them here on the desk.
Put them here.

GAILEY:
Yes, Your Honor.

Gailey beckons to the court bailiffs, and they turn and open the courtroom doors.
A procession of officers carrying bags and bags of mail enter the courtroom, walk down to the Judge, and unload the bags, containing thousands of letters to Santa, onto the Judge’s bench.
The courtroom erupts with laughter, the press flash their cameras, and Judge Harper pounds his gavel to restore order.

GAILEY:
Your Honor!
Your Honor!
Your Honor… every one of these letters is addressed to Santa Claus.
The Post Office has delivered them.
Therefore, the Post Office, a branch of the federal government, recognizes this man,
Kris Kringle, to be the one-and-only Santa Claus!

HARPER (clearing away letters so he can be seen):
Since the United States government declares this man to be Santa Claus, this court will not dispute it.
Case dismissed.

 

Dialogue from Film – “The Accountant” ~~Dangerous~~

Braxton:
Did you even wonder where I was?

Chris:
I knew where you were.
I just wanted you to be safe.
Some of my clients are quite dangerous.

Braxton:
I’m, kind of, considered fairly dangerous myself.

Chris:
Well, you’ve made improvements.

Dialogue from Television – “The Addams Family” ~~Lurch~~

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Lurch was a character in the Television series, The Addams Family, released in 1964.
He was the butler for the family, portrayed by Ted Cassidy who was 6ft 9in (2.06m) tall.

Ted Cassidy was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania on 31 July 1946, and died on 16 January 1979, aged 46 years.

Dialogue from Film – “Kelly’s Heroes” ~~Gold~~

CRAPGAME:
Okay, Kelly.
What is it? What is it you want?

KELLY:
Well, I want fifteen Thompson’s, two thirty calibre machine guns, two bazookas, two field radios, and enough supplies and ammunition to last a platoon of men in the field for three days.

CRAPGAME:
Oh, that all?

KELLY:
Nope!
I want the lntelligence reports for this whole sector, and I need ‘em in the next two hours.

CRAPGAME:
That’s nice. What’s in it for me?

KELLY:
A piece of the action.

CRAPGAME:
What kind of action?

KELLY (He reaches into his satchel and produces a gleaming gold bar, handing it to Crapgame):
This kind of action.

CRAPGAME (cranks the telephone):
Hello, Izzy? . . .Yeah, it’s me, it’s me.
Listen, get me a quotation for gold on the Paris market.
. . . Yeah, now, and hurry it up!

CRAPGAME (to Kelly):
How much more where this came from?

KELLY:
Fourteen thousand bars.

CRAPGAME:
Fourteen thousand bars?
Fourteen thousand!
Hey, sweetheart, have yourself a bottle of booze, you’re beautiful!
Fourteen thousand bars!
(moves over to the balance scales to weigh the gold bar)
That’s beautiful! Where is it?

KELLY:
In a bank.

CRAPGAME:
In a bank?
You’re getting pretty ambitious, aren’t you?
To think you can blow a bank and get away with it?

KELLY:
It’s behind enemy lines.

CRAPGAME:
Behind enemy lines.
That could be the perfect crime.
(Answers telephone)
Right. Right, I got you.
(Calculates 14,000 bars at prevailing gold price)
. . . 1.6 million dollars.
What else will you need?

ODDBALL:
You could probably use some armor.

(Crapgame and Kelly turn and look up to see Oddball lying atop some crates)

CRAPGAME:
What are you doing up there?

ODDBALL:
I crept in.

KELLY:
Who the hell’s that?

CRAPGAME:
His name’s Oddball.

ODDBALL:
I got three Shermans outside.

KELLY:
What outfit?

ODDBALL:
Right now I don’t have any outfit.

KELLY:
Who’s your commanding officer?

ODDBALL:
He got decapitated by an 88 about six weeks ago.
But I mean don’t say you’re sorry.
He’s been trying to get us killed ever since we landed at Omaha Beach.
It’s terrible.

CRAPGAME:
He hasn’t reported him dead yet.
You see, I’ve been collecting his whiskey.

ODDBALL:
We see our role as essentially a defensive image.
While our armies are advancing so fast and everyone’s knocking themselves out to be heroes, we are holding ourselves in reserve in case the Krauts mount a counteroffensive which threatens Paris or maybe even New York.
Then we can move in and stop them.
But for 1.6 million dollars, we could become heroes for three days.
A Sherman can give you a very nice edge.

Crapgame later realises his calculation error and advises “Sixteen million dollars” . . .

Don Rickles as ‘Crapgame’
Donald Sutherland as ‘Oddball’
Clint Eastwood as ‘Kelly’

 

“Losing My Religion” released by R.E.M.

Oh, life is bigger
It’s bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I’m choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool, fool
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

Consider this
Consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around?
Now I’ve said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
Try, cry
Why try?
That was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream
Thank you
See ya
Thanks a lot

 

Excerpt from “Famous for 15 Minutes” by Ultra Violet ~~Flowers~~

Ultra Violet (Isabelle Dufresne) visits Andy Warhol at the Factory in 1964

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Piles of silk screens are stacked along the west wall of the loft. I spot a large screen, about six feet by twelve feet, that depicts in dark ink the background of two flowers side by side, each about six feet in diameter, one larger than the other, and barely touching. We unroll on the floor some virgin canvas, on top of which we lay the flower stencil.
“What color?” he asks.
“Make it violet, since that’s my name and I’m a flower myself.”
Using a can opener, he lifts the top of a gallon can of deep violet Benjamin Moore paint. He adds a dollop of white and with a roller, applies it to the screen over one of the flowers.
“What about the other flower?” he asks.
“Orange? That’s complementary to violet.”
He opens a premixed can of orange paint and rolls the color back and forth across the other flower. The whole process takes a few minutes. We remove the silk screen and see those two colourful flowers pop out at us from the canvas.
I feel my heart jump with the excitement of experiencing the creation of this large Pop Art painting. I ask him if he’ll give it to me. After all, he’s never paid me for the films we are doing together. No, he won’t give it to me, but he’ll sell it cheap, below his dealer’s price. We agree on $2,000. I write him a check on the spot for $1,000 and later give him another $1,000 that I scrounge together. I still have the two receipts, on each of which he scribbled, “Two flowers, sold to Isabel defraine, $1,000.”
In 1970 Gordon Locksley, a Minneapolis art dealer, offers me $40,000 for the Two Flowers. In 1975 I am offered $125,000 by Ivan Karp of the O.K. Harris Gallery. In 1980 Andy tells me the painting is worth $200,000. I don’t know how much the scribbled receipts are worth. The painting hangs in my living room. It costs me a fortune just to keep it insured.

 

“A Girl Like You” released by Edwyn Collins

I’ve never known a girl like you before
Now just like in a song from days of yore
Here you come a knockin’, knockin’ on my door
And I’ve never met a girl like you before

You give me just a taste so I want more
Now my hands are bleeding and my knees are raw
Cos now you’ve got me crawlin’, crawlin’ on the floor
And I’ve never known a girl like you before

You’ve made me acknowledge the devil in me
I hope to God I’m talkin’ metaphorically
Hope that I’m talkin’ allegorically
Know that I’m talkin’ about the way I feel
And I’ve never known a girl like you before

Never, never, never, never
Never known a girl like you before

This old town’s changed so much
Don’t feel like I belong
Too many protest singers
Not enough protest songs

And now you’ve come along
Yes, you’ve come along
And I’ve never met a girl like you before

It’s alright, yeah

 

Excerpt from “The Natural” by Bernard Malamud ~~Strike~~

Roy got Wonderboy and walked out into the light. A roar of recognition drowned the announcement of his name but not the loud beating of his heart. Though he’d been at bat only three days ago, it felt like years — an ageless time. He almost wept at how long it had been.
Lon Toomey, the hulking Cub hurler, who had twice in the last two weeks handed Roy his lumps, smiled behind his glove. He shot a quick glance at Fowler on second, fingered the ball, reared and threw Roy, at the plate, watched it streak by.
‘Stuh-rike.’
He toed in, his fears returning. What if the slump did not give way? How much longer could it go on without destroying him?
Toomey lifted his right leg high and threw Roy swung from his heels at a bad ball and the umpire sneezed in the breeze.
‘Strike two!’
Wonderboy resembled a sagging baloney. Pop cursed the bat and some of the Knights’ rooters among the fans booed. Mike Barney’s harrowed puss looked yellow.
Roy felt sick with remorse that he hadn’t laid aside Wonderboy in the beginning and gone into the game with four licks at bat instead of only three miserable strikes, two of which he already used up. How could he explain to Barney that he had traded his kid’s life away out of loyalty to a hunk of wood?
The lady in the stands hesitantly rose for the second time. A photographer who had stationed himself nearby snapped a clear shot of her. She was an attractive woman, around thirty, maybe more, and built solid but not too big. Her bosom was neat, and her dark hair, parted on the side, hung loose and soft. A reporter approached her and asked her name but she wouldn’t give it to him, nor would she, blushing, say why she was standing now. The fans behind her hooted, ‘Down in front,’ but though her eyes showed she was troubled she remained standing.
Noticing Toomey watching her, Roy stole a quick look. He caught the red dress and a white rose, turned away, then came quickly back for another take, drawn by the feeling that her smile was for him. Now why would she do that for? She seemed to be wanting to say something, and then it flashed on him the reason she was standing was to show her confidence in him. He felt surprised that anybody would want to do that for him. At the same time he became aware that the night had spread out in all directions and was filled with an unbelievable fragrance.
A pitch streaked toward him Toomey had pulled a fast one. With a sob Roy fell back and swung.
Part of the crowd broke for the exits. Mike Barney wept freely now, and the lady who had stood up for Roy absently pulled on her white gloves and left.
The hall shot through Toomey’s astounded legs and began to climb. The second baseman, laying back on the grass on a hunch, stabbed high for it but it leaped over his straining fingers, sailed through the light and up into the dark, like a white star seeking an old constellation.
Toomey, shrunk to a pygmy, stared into the vast sky. Roy ended the bases like a Mississippi steamboat, lights lit, flags fluttering, whistle banging, coming round the bend. The Knights poured out of their dugout to pound his back, and hundreds of their rooters hopped about in the field. He stood on the home base, lifting his cap to the lady’s empty seat.