Hemingway & Gellhorn

Love?

Must we?

I was probably the worst bed partner on five continents.

All my life, idiotically,

I thought that sex seemed to matter so desperately to the man who wanted it

that to withhold it was like withholding bread,

an act of selfishness.

And all that bread isn't worth a hoot in hell.

Hmm.

What's always really absorbed me about life

is what's happening on the outside.

Action.

Now, that,

that was something to be shared.

I've always felt most at home

in the most difficult places.

But love?

I'm a war correspondent.

Of course, there are wars...

...and there are wars.

Here we go.

Pull! Look at that!

That's one son of a bitch.

Yeah, but you're a son of a bitch, too. Come on!

But I know one thing he doesn't.

Pull, for God's sakes.

Hold on!

Oh, really?

Come on, Papa! Bring him!

Everything dies.

It was by pure chance that I ever met him.

I was in Key West with my mother and brother on a family trip after my father died.

There was this bar called Sloppy Joe's.

I remember thinking, the first time I saw him...

Okay!

"Who is that large, dirty man in those disgustingly soiled clothes?"

Oh, my God!

That's Ernest Hemingway.

Papa, anoint the beast!

No.

That man appears to be indigen.

Not bad, huh? Good day! Good day!

Skinner, another drink.

Don't look now, Papa, but something's coming.

Hey, how's it going?

I've never kissed a fish.

Sloppy Joe's tradition. Friend or foe?

Or faux friend, you never know.

You find out eventually.

What's your name, elegance?

Martha Gellhorn.

Well, Gellhorn, big game's no fun if it just wanders up to you.

Oh, but I'm not one of your big game animals.

Oh, I can see what you aren't,

I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you are.

If we have a drink, am I gonna have to fight your husband?

Uh... My brother.

That's my mother.

In that case, I hope you're thirsty.

You want to invite him over?

You want another?

Everybody Tells You You're Blonde? I find that hard to believe.

You know the song?

I know Italian.

And I know the song.

What do you think of that, boys?

So what do you do, sophisticated?

What do I do?

Oh, lately, I've been seeing the world.

How is the world?

It's surprising, occasionally.

- Is that mine? - Sure.

Mmm!

A lot of rum in this rum.

Well, in this joint, they don't drink to get drunk, they drink to stay drunk.

The clientele here scare you?

Scare me? No.

No, I just got back from Berlin.

Now, the Nazis?

They're scary.

Like smelly little boys running around with Lugers.

Pretty rough company for a young Fräulein.

Blondes get a free pass in the Fatherland.

They do fine here, too, from what I've read.

So drink up.

America's plush as the pope's bed.

Don't be naive.

Plenty of people still go hungry.

You sound like Eleanor Roosevelt.

Trust me, I am nothing like Eleanor Roosevelt.

- I've known the woman my whole life. - Of course, you have.

Let's see the review.

- What? - Come on, Gellhorn.

Every writer keeps one review.

Well, you can blame Mrs. Roosevelt. She encouraged me to write it.

It's called The Trouble I've Seen.

- The trouble you've seen? - Mmm-hmm.

What was that? Daddy loop to the country club?

Oh, I've seen trouble. I didn't say it was mine.

I ran around the country, I lived in hobo camps, I settled Appalachian families...

"The book seems to be woven not out of words,

but out of the very tissue of human beings."

"Who is this Martha Gellhorn? Her writing burns."

"Hemingway himself does not write more authentic American..."

As usual, the critic got it wrong.

I mean, comparing me to you is ridiculous.

All I really did was listen.

It's their dialogue.

The whole trick is writing the way people talk. Most people never listen.

I set out to cover grimy lives,

and I ended up looking glamorous on the cover of The Saturday Review.

I have the same problem.

I think I should go.

- How much do I owe you? - Oh, please. I practically own the place.

Papa, now we're really late.

It's all right, I'm going.

Buy yourself a new shirt, Hemingway.

It was nice knowing you.

Gellhorn.

Come on, Papa. Pauline's gonna be mad.

Who's Pauline?

May I help you?

Is this the Hemingway house?

Yes. I'm Pauline Hemingway.

Mrs. Hemingway.

I met Mr. Hemingway at Sloppy Joe's.

Yes, of course. Sloppy Joe's.

Well, you're late.

Come in.

Such an interesting room.

My husband likes to say, "Kill enough animals and you probably won't kill yourself."

I can see he's not taking any chances.

Ernest has read every word he writes aloud to me.

I'm his first pair of ears and his first pair of eyes.

So you're his muse. That makes you very lucky.

Great talent needs a great amount of care.

But we've managed to make a very happy life here.

Ernest likes to surround himself with exotic characters.

Fascist propaganda!

Some people believe that Franco would not be able to win this war

if he didn't have any support.

Hitler and Mussolini,

you see him here,

are literally throwing money and weapons to Franco and the fascists.

Meanwhile, America and the rest of Europe are doing nothing.

And Why?

Because the only images the world sees come from fascist propaganda.

Fascism is on the move, make no mistake.

And what is happening in Spain is...

It's a threat to our democracy as well.

We need to tell the truth of what is happening to these people in Spain,

these people who are trying to defend their democratically-elected government.

Here you see some of the Russian forces there,

who are also in support.

All young men, as you can see, dedicated to la causa.

Dos, who is that horrid little man dressed as an undertaker?

Pauline, this is Mikhail Koltsov. He's a Russian journalist.

Koltsov is not just a journalist, he's Stalin's eyes and ears.

Only Russia supplies the loyalists with arms, medicine,

food to feed orphans and starving peasants.

I would like to introduce the director of this film, Joris Ivens,

the great Dutch documentary filmmaker,

who, with your help,

will be able to return to Spain and complete this film.

- Beautiful. - Excellent work.

Oh, and it is also our great privilege to have with us tonight

a man who has seen firsthand the horrors that Franco and the fascists

are inflicting upon his people,

he is also my very dear friend, Professor Paco Zarra.

Well, there are many heroes.

I only wish I could have brought them all with me tonight.

But we are all counting on you for your support.

Hey, you started without me!

Oh, well, if it isn't our host.

- Hey, Joris! - Hemingway.

In case any of you are wondering how to sign your checks,

write with a Parker!

- Write like Hemingway. - Fame's a whore, Dos,

doesn't mean to say she can't do something good.

I missed you, you prick.

My book's outselling you in Russia, you know.

Can I say how happy I am for you?

You could, but that would ruin it.

Gellhorn.

Martha Gellhorn, John Dos Paseos,

greatest writer in America not named Hemingway.

John Dos Paseos.

Hemingway thinks writing is a blood sport.

Don't kid yourself, Dos.

Gellhorn here is a bestselling author. I read her review.

She's gunning for both of us.

- And to think she never said a word! - Excuse me.

Sidney, darling, will you take the boys out of here

- and go play bullfighter or something? - Sure.

Here we go!

The boys don't need to see all of this.

Come on, the boys should see the world for what it is.

Not tonight.

- Paco Zarra. - Very nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you.