Susan Slept Here

My name is Oscar. I live in Hollywood.

My family first settled here in 1928.

We love Hollywood.

The orange groves, palm trees, Louella, the freeways,

and movie studios.

Every year, around income tax time,

we throw a surprise party.

Here are some newsreel shots of the first one I attended.

We boys were all lined up, waiting to be awarded

to deserving members of the motion picture industry.

How I hoped I'd be awarded to this deserving member.

She was the girl voted the best supporting actress.

But instead, they gave one of my brothers to her.

Oh, brother!

Me, I was awarded to the author of the best screenplay,

Mark Christopher.

Nice guy, but he's no supporting actress.

Being around a writer, you get to know his problems.

My writer had two problems:

One of them lived in Pasadena... Isabella.

She had everything.

And she wanted Mark to stop working and share everything she had in Pasadena.

Problem number two was Mark's work.

Ever since he won me, he'd been in a rut,

writing the same type of movie... Light, frothy comedies.

Like the clown who wanted to play Hamlet,

Mark wanted to prove he could write serious.

But the studio didn't take him serious,

so Hamlet said farewell to his weekly stipend

and the cop at the gate.

After that, Mark worked at home.

Here I'd been living a well-polished but dull life.

Things were less dull after my writer started writing at home.

It was nice to have another man around the house.

By the night before Christmas,

he'd been working on the serious story for months

and it was only half-done,

but it was coming along real great.

This stinks!

The more I type,

the more I wonder if he could ever write.

Now miss Maude, you know Mr. Mark can write.

Didn't he just write a hit for Jane Russell?

This story is not what made that picture a hit.

I love her pictures. Don't you?

I despise all gorgeous women with gorgeous figures,

especially when they're gorgeous.

Hey, woman of distinction,

I thought you gave up drinking.

I only say that when I'm loaded.

When I sober up, I come to my senses and get loaded.

Here's to you, junior.

Don't call me junior...

Or I'll cancel your mambo lessons at Arthur Murray's!

Uh, excuse me.

I'm sorry.

Oh, excuse me.

Mr. Christopher.

You dropped this.

Oh, would you put it up there for me, please?

Thank you.

Thanks for picking it up.

It's Christmas.

Do you mind if I come in?

Why didn't you use your key?

I hadn't thought of that.

My, my.

We're still Christmas shopping

like we're still employed, aren't we?

Well, our financial condition will be vastly improved

by the completion of our script.

Eh, Maude?

How did you like the new scene where they get married?

How did you like the new scene where they meet?

Hey, you got a date in 20 minutes.

You'd better get into your space suit.

Can I have the rest of the night off, boss?

Sure.

Don't forget your Christmas present.

You may have just earned it.

A girl can always use another mink coat.

"Merry Christmas to Maude."

Oh, now that's clever writing.

Thanks.

You give mother my best.

By the way, how is she?

Still hoping somebody will give me a man for Christmas.

How does it look?

Looks like there ain't no Santa Claus.

Well, merry Christmas to you both.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas.

I heard you.

As you said,

I've got a date with a girl.

Chicken.

There ain't no Santa Claus.

I'm convinced your secretary has no taste in men.

Well, she usually has good taste in scripts.

Ah, forget it.

She's just got the Christmas blues.

Ah, Christmases aren't what they used to be.

Remember when we were in the Navy?

That Christmas on Guam?

Aren't you ever going to get out of the Navy?

My happiest days.

I thought Yale was.

Dear old Yale, my happiest days.

What were yours?

Oh, when I thought Hollywood thought I could write something

besides escapist stuff.

Don't sell it short.

Who else can write for Fred Astaire like you?

And that must be Fred now!

Oh, sorry, the Christmas party must be down the hall.

Hey, wait a minute!

I'm Hanlon, police department.

Remember?

Oh, of course, sergeant Hanlon.

You were technical advisor on the private eye and the chorus girl.

The same.

Who's he?

He's Virgil.

What does Virgil do here?

He works for Mark. He's Mark's...

Right hand.

His man Friday, his Dr. Watson,

his Boswell, his Rochester,

like ham and eggs I am.

The main thing I do is listen to his ideas, when he had them.

Where did he ever get a guy like this?

In the Navy.

I was his commanding officer.

Is that the bar?

Yes, and that's the liquor in the bottles.

Don't mind him. He's off duty.

Well, I'll tell Mark you're here.

Tell him we got a present for him. Ain't we, Monty?

I think the whole idea smells.

Present? Hey, Mark will appreciate that.

He should. It's a girl.

A what?

When I was working at the studio,

Mark used to talk about

an idea he had for a serious story...

About a juvenile delinquent.

Said he'd like to talk to some

of these 16-, 17-year-old kids we pick up.

Well, I'll go down and get his present.

We got her handcuffed to the steering wheel.

We want to make sure she's comfortable.

Drink a lot of coffee, don't you?

Only black.

It's the cream and sugar that hurts you.

Where's Isabella's present?

Well..hello there.

Hi.

I don't think we've met.

That's because you never saw me before.

Detective sergeant Maizel.

I'm Sam Hanlon's buddy.

Oh. How's Sam?

Still the same.

Still in homicide?

No, he switched to vice.

You meet a livelier class of people.

Sam just went downstairs. Got a Christmas present for you in the car.

Just what you need.

Christmas present for me?

Sam shouldn't have done that.

No. We didn't get anyone for him.

Hollywood home for wayward girls.

Hollywood home for... Virgil.

Is Mark there?

Our song.

Hello, Isabella. I'm just leaving.

If you can tear yourself away

from the snorkel commander,

I'd like to remind you, Mark,

this is not one of those Hollywood buffet dinners.

We're sitting down promptly at 8:00.

Put in a good word for me with the assistant Butler.

Maybe he'll sneak me in through his pantry.

Let me go! Let me go, you dirty...

Let me go!

How are you, Mark?

Hello, Sam.

Mark, meet Susan Landis.

Where is she?

Take it easy, kid!

I had to tell her my grandmother lived here.

It was the only way I could get her out of the car.

You liar! You double-crosser!

Communist!