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Alice Adams.
- You're too kind.
- I'm sure you know Errol, right?
- Mr. Flynn. Yes.
Kate. Kate. Kate of the clenched-jawed
Hepburns. Enchanting as always.
You should use Lux on your hands,
by the way. I do.
You and Howard
ought to cook up a picture.
Costar with Errol.
I could sell that in spades.
That would be marvelous. Howard?
I think not.
Don't you read Variety, Mr. Meyer?
Well, I'm box-office poison.
I'm on the outs, the skids, the doldrums.
Washed-up, day-old fish
not worth the eating, so they tell me.
Hell with them. Hell with them, my dear.
Soulless pricks to a man, right?
Johnny tells me you're thinking about
doing a Western, of all goddamn things.
Are you making a Western, Howard?
Yeah. Making a Western.
I'm gonna call it The Outlaw.
Yeah. And you know
what it's about? S-E-X.
- It's all about S-E-X.
- It's a Western.
You can't have fornication in a Western.
It isn't done.
It's not real sex, it's movie sex.
What Scarface did for the gangster picture,
The Outlaw will do for the Western.
Put the sex and guts and blood
up there on the screen.
- Have you seen my cigarettes?
- Don't mind us.
New York cut steak, 12 peas,
bottle of milk with the cap on.
- You can't afford your own cigarettes?
- Jack has all my money.
I hope your food isn't getting cold
at your table somewhere or something.
No, no. We're here all night.
Don't worry.
Now, Howard. Now, Howard. If you're
seriously talking about putting carnality...
...back on the silver screen, you must swear
to let me in on the casting session.
- I have an eye for talent. Isn't that right?
- You ought to give up prancing in tights...
...be a talent scout.
- That prancing paid for my new yacht.
You must all come sailing with me.
Catalina. What do you say?
- Catalina. Sounds grand. Yeah.
- I've even managed to coax...
...the luscious Miss De Havilland
and her equally luscious sister to come.
Though I fear their mother will insist on
coming, to preserve their questionable virtue.
We shall assault these twin monuments
of pristine Britannic beauty nonetheless.
- What do you say, Howard?
- Yeah?
- Yeah. Yeah.
- Yeah?
I gotta go.
If you'll excuse us, we have...
We have to be somewhere.
You are somewhere, Howard,
you madman.
- Somewhere else. Excuse us.
- Charmed, gentlemen.
Do help yourself to the poached pears.
I hear they're divine.
Well. Howard Hughes,
ladies and gentlemen.
Was that meant for me?
My hero. God, all that
Hollywood talk bores me silly.
As if there aren't more important things,
like Mussolini.
- Where are we going, by the way?
- Do you feel like a little adventure?
Do your worst, Mr. Hughes.
- Think you own this place, you limey bastard?
- I'm a Tasmanian bastard, you prick.
- Thataway, Errol.
- Let me at him!
That's Mr. Mayer's house right there.
Do you know where Jack Warner lives?
- What's that on the steering wheel?
- Cellophane.
If you had any idea of the crap
that people carry around on their hands.
What kind of crap?
You don't wanna know.
Hold on to the wheel for a bit.
That's too hard. Relax your hand.
Relax your hand.
You see, you gotta feel the vibration
of the engine through your fingertips.
- Do you feel that?
- Yes.
Well, that's good.
Golly!
Well, she's all yours.
- Where are you going?!
- I think there's some milk back here.
- You just keep us steady, now.
- All right.
- Howard.
- Yeah?
There's a rather alarming mountain
heading our way.
Pull back on the wheel a smidge.
Go on.
Golly!
I don't think I've ever met someone
who actually uses the word "golly."
You all right?
Do you want me to take over?
Just when I'm getting the hang of it?
- You want some milk?
- Oh, please.
Utterly smashing!
We'll do it again.
I'm free Wednesday.
It's a little early for golf, though.
Oh, no, no. I live right there.
- Feel like a drink?
- Lead on.
Now, that makes
for a challenging par four.
My decorator
picked out the
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