thank you.
Thank you.
Bye-bye.
Like fucking clockwork, huh, Bear?
Hi, Bo.
Ready to go for a ride, sweetie?
I told you to watch your mouth
round my daughter.
The white zone is for loading only.
These guys, my investors,
they run a limo service,
put money in some of my pictures,
did OK, they're happy.
This was a few months ago,
when I was planning my next picture,
about this band of killer circus freaks.
There's this 700lb fat lady,
has a way of seducing guys...
Harry, look at me.
You're trying to tell me you fucked up
without sounding stupid.
That's hard to do.
Let's talk about where you're at, OK?
You blew 200 grand of their money
in Vegas and didn't tell 'em. Why?
They wouldn't have taken it
with any understanding or restraint.
If you're so scared,
why take it to Vegas to begin with?
I needed half a million to buy a script.
A blockbuster, but quality.
No mutants or maniacs.
This is gonna be my Driving Miss Daisy.
Murray Saffrin who wrote my Grotesque
pictures showed it to me one day,
said he's got a star interested,
would I produce?
Which star?
Two-time Academy Award nominee,
Martin Weir.
That's Martin Weir!
He played the mob guy in Cyclone.
One of his best parts.
No, his best part was the crippled
gay guy who climbed Mt Whitney.
Ride The Clouds.
The woman, she looks familiar.
She's a rock star.
Every day they have breakfast.
He faces west, so he sees his billboard.
She faces east so she can wear shades.
Anyway, Murray's shrink
is Martin's personal trainer's shrink.
Murray's shrink gives the script
to Martin's trainer, who reads it to Martin.
Martin loves it.
So what's the problem?
Problem is Murray. Heart attack.
Doris, Murray's widow,
hears about the Martin Weir thing,
and because we didn't have a contract,
she wants half a million for the script.
Ah, so you want my dry-cleaner
to invest in your movie.
That, or what if some accident
was to befall the widow Saffrin?
No, I'm not gonna pop her, OK?
It was just a thought.
I'll meet these limo guys, tell 'em to leave
you alone in a way they'll understand.
You don't know these guys.
Believe me, I know 'em
a whole lot better than you do.
I asked this literary agent what kind of
writing paid best, he said ransom notes.
Here it is - Mr Lovejoy.
Lovejoy sits at the wheel,
watching the bar across the street...
Is he following someone?
Read it, it's a grabber.
Harry, I think your investors are here.
Oh, Jesus!
All right, this is the plan. I want these
guys to sit here, not on the couch.
Keep the blinds open.
I want the light in their eyes.
I'll sit at the desk. I don't want
you to introduce me. Just start talking.
I want you to stand behind them
as they sit down. Understand?
They'll be looking at you,
but they don't know who you are.
That's right.
Do not tell 'em who I am.
- I gotta say something.
- No, you don't.
Unless it's "Glad you assholes stopped
by, now I can straighten you out."
You're kidding, right?
Just say the movie's been postponed.
And whatever you do,
don't say anything about Mr Lovejoy.
All right, let's go.
Hey, Ronnie!
Harry, all right!
Have we entered a time warp? I feel
like I'm in Hollywood of yesteryear.
Have a seat right there.
Cool.
This is my associate, Chili Palmer.
Just so there's no misunderstanding,
your investment is just as solid
as the day you signed.
I can hear you, man,
but where the fuck are you?
Right here!
What I've been wondering is,
where's he been?
Yeah, where you been, Harry?
New York. I was scouting locations.
The main thing is that Freaks will
be put off for a couple of months.
- A couple of months?
- Yeah.
Just a couple of months, yeah.
We need more er... prep.
Bullshit, man!
We have an agreement.
We're going to do this picture.
I just have another project first,
one I promised this guy for years.
I wanna see your books.
Show me a two with five zeros after it.
I wanna see your books,
your fuckin' bank statements...