The Country Girl

Here's a coffee, Bernie.

Coffee, Mr Cook?

Let's discuss it. Don't pout as if I'd just taken away your tricycle.

I'm not pouting. I just disagree.

But Frank Elgin? Let the doorman read for the part!

Phil, we've been in rehearsal for five days.

Our leading man was dreadful. Maybe I was the wrong director for him.

We let him go yesterday. We do not have a replacement.

We open in Boston on the 28th. We are in trouble.

- I can do without the sarcasm. - Let me audition him for you.

Phil, there's no harm in giving the man a reading.

I agree with you, but when I wanted to read Ray Watson,

that was a waste of time, and he's a better actor than Elgin.

A lot of guys can act or sing better, but nobody can do both as well.

- What about Billy Hertz? - He's pompous.

This isn't Student Prince or Blossom Time.

The guy has to act while he's singing and sing while he's acting.

In Lonesome Town , Elgin played a part like this. He was magnificent.

- Ask Henry. He played the piano. - When?

- Eight years ago. - He didn't fall off bar stools then.

- He hasn't had a drink in ages. - To a drunk, ten minutes is ages.

- I just want you to listen to him! - All right, go ahead!

Larry?

- As soon as Elgin comes in... - He's here.

I didn't want to interrupt.

Send him in. Now, Cookie, no cracks, please.

- What are you auditioning, owls? - Hello, Frank. Bernie Dodd.

- How do you do? - Our producer, Mr Cook.

- Hello. How are you? - Paul Unger and Henry Johnson.

- Hey, Henry! - It's been a long time.

I told him to write his own music. You took my advice, huh?

- How's the family? - Fine.

- Is your boy in high school? - The Air Force.

- No! - Yes, he is.

Let's get started. I've got a luncheon date.

This is an offbeat show, a dramatisation of The Land Around Us.

- You remember the book? - Sure.

The boys have done an exciting musical adaptation.

The music is part of the fabric, woven in and out.

Keep the seats from getting dusty, give them something different.

Yeah. Would you read a couple of scenes for Mr Cook?

- There's one in the first act... - Excuse me.

You were speaking of Lonesome Town.

Frank could do the Pitchman number. That'd show Phil everything.

- All right. - If I remember it. You sure you do?

I should. Eight performances a week for a year and a half.

- Describe the number to Mr Cook. - OK.

It wasn't much, really.

I played one of those pitchmen, sort of a fanciful character.

Instead of selling a patent medicine, I was selling a philosophy,

a sunshine salesman.

The scene was a New York street corner, under a lamppost.

I had a... Is it OK if I use this for a minute?

- Use anything you like. - Thanks.

- When I made my entrance... - OK, I get it. Get on with it.

I was carrying an imaginary valise, one of those pitchman's outfits.

OK, Henry.

And then a crowd of sourpusses began to gather round.

A left-handed Indian, this kid.

Friends, I have here in this valise

nostrums, cure-alls, panaceas, unguents, oils and healing waters.

What did you say, son? You say the valise is empty?

Son, this valise is loaded.

You're just looking at it, and your windows are foggy.

What did you say? You can't see nothing?

There's no trick in believing in what you see.

The trick is believing in what you can't see.

You've got to visualise the indiscernible.

Every item in this valise belongs to you as well as it does to me.

What's that you say, Officer? Have I got a licence?

Just the greatest licence in the world, poetic licence.

You been listening to my pitch?

We're going to the station house?

You got a desk sergeant who's a little cantankerous?

Here's how we'll handle his case.

Share it among you, friends. Tell them where you got it.

- You have a good beat for a writer. - Fine, Frank.

You ought to hear it with an orchestra. It's good and lousy.

- Wait outside for a second. - I'm a little in the dark.

Is it a musical spot, a small part or what?

It's the lead, Frank. The whole show is built around this character.

Well, didn't it speak for itself?

He's probably been doing that at dinner parties for ten years.

Did it prove he's worth risking $200,000 on?

Did it prove he can carry a show?

Be sensible. That guy's been in the pickle since you were a kid.

Someone took a chance with Laurette Taylor in The Glass Menagerie.

Bernie, what are you trying to prove? We've got a good book, good music.

Why can't you be satisfied with a reliable, sober actor?

He'll give you a reliable, sober performance.

That's not what people pay to see.

- You fought me over Danelli. - I think you were wrong.

Instead of teaching an actor to box,

you teach a punch-drunk fighter to act.

- He gave you a great performance. - He gave us trouble, too.

If there was a fight at the Garden, he wouldn't show up.

With Elgin, you'll get something that happens once in 20 years.

I'll get it out of him.

- You're good, but not that good. - People have always said that to me.

So now you're going to show them, every one of them.

Directing doesn't satisfy you.

You want to take a corpse and breathe life into it.

Maybe I'm crazy. Doesn't this worry you guys?

- Not if it doesn't worry Bernie. - He's too old for the part.

Hairpieces will make him look ten years younger.

All right. Could we look for someone else while he's rehearsing?

No, we don't let him go without real cause,

a binge, or if he can't retain lines.

Give him a run-of-the-play contract.

- Wait a minute! - I need his complete confidence.

No! I'll take a $40,000 loss before I give him a run-of-the-play contract.

- OK, two weeks. Agreed, Paul? Henry? - OK with me.

Frank? Frank Elgin?

- Elgin left. - What do you mean?

- He left. - Where? Coffee? What?

He just walked out. He didn't say.

Try the nearest bar.

- Mr Elgin in? - No, he's not.

Mrs Elgin? I'd like to talk to Frank. I'm Bernie Dodd.

I don't know when Frank will be back.

Mind if I wait?

- Would you like some coffee? - No, thanks.

- Did Frank say when he'd be back? - He didn't say where he was going.

- Didn't he say he had an audition? - No.

I looked around after it was over, but he'd gone.

- Will he do? - That all depends.

If you're wondering if you can get Frank for very little money, you can.

It doesn't depend on that. Does he still drink?

Just what did you think I would answer to that?

- Touché. - What?

- Touché. In French, that means... - Everybody knows what it means.

You're even younger than I thought.

You try to look like an old lady. You shouldn't do your hair like that.

Some women pay too much attention to themselves and some don't pay enough.

That's quite a pearl of wisdom. May I quote you?

- How long have you been married? - Ten years.

- Did you meet in a show? - Look, Mr Dodd...

- Were you ever an actress? - Not me, thank you.

I'm just a girl from the country.

The theatre and its people have always been a complete mystery to me.

They still are.

Dreiser, Balzac, Montaigne. Who reads these books?

I do.

I'm afraid to ask if you enjoy them. Montaigne's too polite for me.

- That doesn't surprise me. - Frank's old recordings?

Some new. There's one on the machine he did last week.

A man with his talent. It's degrading.

So is not eating.

Why didn't you wait?

I figured the boat had sailed. The producer didn't like me.

Since when does a producer have to love an actor?

I can't go to battle unless everybody is rooting for me.

- Cook thinks you're a drinker. - Not on a show.

Not according to Maxwell. You worked for him in '46.

After a couple of months, he had to replace you.

While I was playing in that show, our son died.

What about this show? I need an actor who can stay sober and learn lines.

Are you that actor or not? Make up your mind.

Give me time. Cook wasn't the only reason I left the theatre.

I wouldn't take a part like this without talking it over with Georgie.

- I'll be back in ten minutes. - He's afraid of the responsibility.

But the gamble's all on my side!

It's not a question of being afraid of the responsibility.

The part's the whole show. You said so yourself.

You're opening in Boston the 28th.

I don't think I could learn the lines. You need Walter Huston.

It's bad enough to go to Hollywood to cast. You suggest I go to heaven?

- You can do it, Frank. - Why are you so sure?

When I was a hat-check boy, you, Lunt and Jolson were my heroes.

- I know everything you've done. - You exaggerate to make your point.

- Are you for him or against him? - I'm his wife.

I want honesty from both of you. Flattery is cheap.

How about a little costly truth?

I'm not blind to Frank's condition. This room tells me what he is.

I'm not one of those nice people who buys you a drink and that's it.

I won't leave you on a limb. We'll work together and worry together.

But if you do me dirt, just once, no pity, not a drop of pity.

No pity. I like that. Now he knows what to expect.

- What contract do you offer? - Standard two-week contract.

- You could let Frank out any time? - Exactly.

He won't have confidence with a two-week clause. Would you?

I have nothing in my mind except for Frank to play this part.

That's sentiment again.

I come here with the best intentions. Suddenly I find I'm victimising you.

- Did I bring you a basket of snakes? - It's not the two-weeks clause.

I don't want to bite off more than I can chew.

We're in Boston for two weeks. We can stay out until you're perfect.

- Would you do that? - I'd insist on it.

Talk it over with your agent. Call the office by 3 p.m., no later.

Need a $20 bill?

You need it.

Why did you make that crack about responsibility?

Why didn't you tell me about that audition?

Because I wasn't sure whether I could make it.

I must have walked up and down 47th Street a dozen times.

- Don't keep things from me. - I can't do it, can I?

Of course you can. You've got to try. It's a perfect opportunity.

If I do take it, Georgie, I'll need you every step of the way.

I don't have any appointments, Frank, all winter.

- I wish it were a run-of-the-play... - Why didn't you tell him?