Elinor St. John In a hundred years, when you and I are both long gone, any time someone threads a frame of yours through a sprocket, you will be alive again. You see what that means? One day, every person on every film shot this year will be dead. And one day, all those films will be pulled from the vaults, and all their ghosts will dine together, and adventure together, go to the jungle, to war together. A child born in 50 years will stumble across your image flickering on a screen and feel he knows you, like... like a friend, though you breathed your last before he breathed his first. You've been given a gift. Be grateful. Your time today is through, but you'll spend eternity with angels and ghosts.
Elinor, you peddle gossip. You don't make anything. You don't know what it is to put yourself out there. You're just a cockroach. I've been counted out before. This isn't new to me.
Elinor St. John Have you ever stopped to think why, when there's a house fire, the people die and the cockroaches all survive?
Elinor St. John What happened was you thought the house needed you. It doesn't. Doesn't need you any more than it needs the roaches. And the roaches, knowing this, crawl back into the dark, lay low, and make it through. See, but you, you held the spotlight. It's those of us in the dark, the ones who just watch, who survive.
[enters her room as she is typing]
Madame? Let's chat.
Elinor St. John I'm on a deadline, darling.
You know, when I first moved to LA, you know what the signs on all the doors read? "No actors or dogs allowed." Yeah, I changed that. I helped build this place you call home. I've never had any illusions about us. I've never pretended we're friends. We're friendly. I scratch yours, you scratch mine. That's our work. But this? [tosses the Photoplay magazine on Elinor's table] This is something else. [Sits down on a chair in front of Elinor's desk]
Elinor St. John [places her glasses on her desk]
What do you want, Jack?
I want to know why you wrote it.
Elinor St. John No, you want to know why they laughed. Would you like me to tell you?
Why they laughed. Sure, Elinor. Why?
Elinor St. John There is no why. It wasn't your voice. It wasn't a conspiracy. And it certainly wasn't anything I wrote. There's nothing you could have done differently. There's nothing you can do. Your time has run out. There is no why. Stop questioning it.
Elinor St. John No. It's over. It's been over for a while. I'm sorry.
Elinor, you peddle gossip. You don't make anything. You don't know what it is to put yourself out there. You're just a cockroach. I've been counted out before. This isn't new to me.
Elinor St. John Have you ever stopped to think why when there's a house fire, the people die and the cockroaches all survive?
Elinor St. John What happened was you thought the house needed you. It doesn't. Doesn't need you any more than it needs the roaches. And the roaches, knowing this, crawl back into the dark, lay low and make it through. See, but you, you held the spotlight. It's those of us in the dark, the ones who just watch, who survive.
Elinor St. John And there'll be hundreds more like it, too. An earthquake could wipe this town off the map and wouldn't make a difference. It's the idea that sticks. There'll be a hundred more Jack Conrads. Hundred more me's. Hundred more conversations just like this one, over and over again, until God knows when. Because it's bigger than you. [gets up from her chair] I know it hurts. No one asks to be left behind. [sits on her desk in front of Jack] But in a hundred years, when you and I are both long gone, any time someone threads a frame of yours through a sprocket, you will be alive again. You see what that means? One day, every person on every film shot this year will be dead. And one day, all those films will be pulled from the vaults, and all their ghosts will dine together, and adventure together, go to the jungle, to war together. A child born in 50 years will stumble across your image flickering on a screen and feel he knows you, like... like a friend, though you breathed your last before he breathed his first. You've been given a gift. Be grateful. Your time today is through, but you'll spend eternity with angels and ghosts.
[sadly gets up from his chair, begins to walk away, and stops for a second to sigh]
Thank you for that. [continues to walk away as Elinor returns to her typewriter]
[At the Hearst party, struggling to cope with the upper-class snobbery, then finally breaking]
Actually, I've got one. A bear and a rabbit are shittin' in the woods one day. And the bear says to the rabbit, 'Hey, do ya ever have a problem with the shit sticking to your fur?' And the rabbit finishes shitting and he says, 'No, I never do. Why?' And the bear says, 'Fan-****in'-tastic!' And he grabs the rabbit behind the ears and... [grabs the rabbit fur scarf from around Mildred Yates' neck and imitates wiping her rear with it]
Elinor St. John [dumbfounded]
I can't believe you just...
Why not? Why, haven't you heard what they say about me? I'm a degenerate ****in' animal. 'Oh, Nellie!' Look at them. 'Oh, who knows what she might do? She's from Jersey, y'know.' This is what a degenerate ****in' animal from Jersey does. [She animalistically feasts at the buffet like an animal, to everyone's stunned glare] That's what the degenerate ****in' animal from Jersey does. So y'know what? I'm gonna let you go on ****in' your cousins, polishing your guest lists, plying your ****in' underage mistresses with ****in' Beaujolais, you sick ****s! I'm the animal? What is this shit? What is this shit? Oh, I'm the sick one! I'm the ****in' crazy one! You people make me ****in' sick! You're not better than me! You're not! You're not ****in' better than me. I don't need this shit. Y'know what? I'm gonna go home, I'm gonna stick some coke up my pussy. And you all can stick your champagne flutes up your rose-smellin', candy-tastin', snow white ****in' assholes! [She walks outside, but quickly runs back inside. She then projectile vomits on the floor, horrifying and disgusting everyone]
WR William Randolph Hearst
My rug! You puked on my rug! [Nellie proceeds to projectile vomit on Hearst, before taking a sarcastic bow and leaving]
