Barton Fink

I'm kissing it all goodbye. These four stinking walls, six flights up.

The L that roars by at 3:00 a.m. Like a cast-iron wind.

Kiss them goodbye for me, Maury, I'll miss them.

- Like hell I will. Dreaming again.

Not anymore, Lil. I'm awake now, awake for the first time in years.

Uncle Dave said it.

"Daylight is a dream if you've lived with your eyes closed."

Well, my eyes are open now.

I see the choir and I know they're dressed in rags

but we're part of that choir, yeah, both of us.

- And you, Maury, and Uncle Dave, too. The sun's coming up, kid.

They'll be hawking the fish down on Fulton Street.

Let 'em hawk. Let 'em sing their hearts out.

That's it, kid. Take that ruined choir. Make it sing.

So long, Maury. So long.

We'll hear from that kid. And I don't mean a postcard.

Fish! Fresh fish!

Let's spit on our hands and get to work. It's late, Maury.

Not anymore, Lil. It's early.

Bravo!

Bravo!

Bravo!

Author! Author!

Author! Author!

Your table is ready, Monsieur Fink.

In fact, several members of your party have already arrived.

Is Garland Stanford here?

He called to say he'll be a few minutes late. Ahh, here we are.

Barton, Barton, so glad you could make it.

You know Richard St. Claire and Poppy Carnahan.

Charmed, charmed, charmed.

We're drinking champagne, dear boy, in honor of the occasion.

- Have you seen The Herald? - Not yet.

Well, I don't want to embarrass you but Caven could hardly contain himself.

But, more important, Richard and Poppy here loved the play.

Weeping. Copious tears. What did The Herald say?

- I happen to have it with me. - Please, Derek.

"Bare Ruined Choirs, Triumph Of The Common Man.

"The star of Bare Ruined Choirs

"was nowhere to be seen on the stage of the Belasco last night,

"though the thespians all acquitted themselves admirably.

"The find of the evening was the author of this drama about simple folk,

"fishmongers, in fact,

"whose brute struggle for existence

"cannot quite quell their longing for something higher.

"The playwright finds nobility

"in the most squalid corners and poetry in the most callous speech.

"A tough new voice in the American theater has arrived

"and the owner of that voice is named Barton Fink."

Well, they'll be wrapping fish in it in the morning,

so I guess it's not a total waste.

- Cynic. - I can't start listening to the critics

and I can't kid myself about my own work.

A writer writes from his gut.

His gut tells him what's good and what's merely adequate.

I don't pretend to be a critic

but Lord knows I have a gut

and my gut tells me it's simply marvelous.

And a charming gut it is.

Oh, you dog.

- (HOWLING) - (GIGGLING) Oh, stop.

I thought you were going to join us.

Jesus, Garland. You left me alone with those people?

- Don't panic. I'll join you in a minute. - (SIGHS)

We have to talk a little business.

I've just been on the phone to Los Angeles.

Barton, Capitol Pictures wants to put you under contract.

They've offered you $1,000 a week. I think I can get them up to as high as $2,000.

- To do what? - What do you do for a living?

I'm not sure any more. I guess I try to make a difference.

Look, Barton. There's no pressure here because I respect you.

But a brief tenure in Hollywood

could support you through the writing of any number of plays.

I don't know, Garland. My place is here right now.

I feel I'm on the brink of success.

- I'd say you're already enjoying some. - No, don't you see, Garland?

Not the kind of success where the critics fawn over you

or the producers like Derek make a lot of money.

No, a real success.

The success we've been dreaming about.

The creation of a new, living theater,

of and about and for the common man.

If I ran off to Hollywood now,

I'd be making money, going to parties, meeting the big shots, sure.

But I'd be cutting myself off from the wellspring of that success,

from the common man.

I guess I'm spouting off again.

Did you see Caven's review in The Herald?

- No, what did it say? - Here, take my copy.

You're the toast of Broadway

and you have an opportunity to redeem that for a little cash.

Strike that, a lot of cash.

The common man'll still be here when you get back.

Who knows? They may even have one or two of them out in Hollywood.

That's a rationalization, Garland.

Barton, it was a joke.

Welcome to the Hotel Earle. May I help you, sir?

I'm checking in, Barton Fink.

All righty.

Okay.

That's F-I-N-K?

- Fink, Barton. That must be you, huh? - Must be.

Okay, then, everything seems to be in order.

Everything seems to be in order. Just...

- Are you a trans or a res? - Excuse me?

Transient or resident?

I don't know. I mean, I'll be here indefinitely.

Res. That'll be $25.50 a week, payable in advance.

Checkout time is 12:00 sharp only,

you can forget about that on account of you're a res.

If you need anything, anything at all,

just pick up your personal in-room telephone and talk to me.

My name is Chet.

Although we do provide privacy for the residential guests,

we are also a full-service hotel, including complimentary shoeshine.

My name is Chet.

Okay.

Those your only bags?

The others are being sent.

Welcome to Los Angeles, Mr. Fink.

Six, please.

Next stop, six.

This stop, six.

Is that him? Is that Barton Fink?

Let me at him. Let me put my arms around this guy.

Let me hug this guy. How the hell are you?

Good trip? My name is Jack Lipnick.

I run this dump. You know that. You read the papers.

Lou treating you all right? Get you everything you need?

What the hell's the matter with your face? What the hell's the matter with his face, Lou.

It's not as bad as it looks. Just a mosquito in my room.

- Place okay? Where'd we put him? - I'm at the Earle.

Never heard of it. Let's move him to The Grand or The Wilshire.

Hell, he can stay at my place!

Thanks, but I wanted a place that was a little less...

Less Hollywood.

Sure. Say it. It's not a dirty word.

Say whatever the hell you want. The writer is king here at Capitol Pictures.

You don't believe me? Take a look at your paycheck at the end of every week.

That's what we think of the writer.

So, what kind of pictures does he like?

Mr. Fink hasn't given a preference, Mr. Lipnick.

So how about it, Bart?

Well, to be honest, I don't go to the pictures much, Mr. Lipnick.

That's okay. That's just fine.

You probably walked in here thinking that was going to be a handicap.

Thinking that we wanted people who knew something about the medium,

maybe even thinking there was all kinds of technical mumbo-jumbo to learn.

You were dead wrong. We're only interested in one thing.

Can you tell a story, Bart? Can you make us laugh, can you make us cry?

Can you make us wanna break out in joyous song?

Is that more than one thing? Okay.

The point is, I run this dump and I don't know the technical mumbo-jumbo.

Why do I run it? 'Cause I got horse sense, goddamn it. Showmanship!

And also, I hope Lou told you this.

I am bigger, meaner and louder

than any other kike in this town. Did you tell him that, Lou?

I don't mean my dick is bigger than yours, it's not a sexual thing.

Although, you are a writer, you know more about that. Coffee?

- Yes, thank you. - Lou!

Used to have shares in the company.

Ownership interest. Got bought out in the '20s.

Muscled out, according to some. According to me.

We keep him around. He's got a family.

Poor schmuck. He's sensitive. Don't mention the old days.

Hell, say whatever you want. Look, Bart.

Barring a preference, we're gonna put you to work on a wrestling picture. Wallace Beery.

I say this because they tell me you know the poetry of the streets

so that would rule out westerns, pirates, screwball, Bible, Roman...

Look. I'm not one of those guys that thinks poetic has gotta be fruity.

We're together on that, aren't we? I mean, I'm from New York myself.

Minsk, if you wanna go all the way back.

Which we won't, if you don't mind, and I ain't asking.

Now, people are gonna say to you, "Wallace Beery, wrestling, it's a B-picture."

You tell them, "Bullshit!"

We do not make B-pictures here at Capitol.

Let's put a stop to that rumor... right now.

Thanks, Lou. Join us.

- We're talking about the Wally Beery picture. - Excellent picture.

- We got a treatment on it yet? - No, not yet, Jack.

We just bought the story.

- Saturday Evening Post. - To hell with the story.

Wally Beery is a wrestler.

I wanna know his hopes, his dreams.

Naturally, you have to get him mixed up with a bad element.

And a romantic interest, you know the drill.

Romantic interest, or else a young kid, an orphan.

What do you think, Lou? Wally a little too old for a romantic interest?

Look at me.

A writer in the room and I'm asking Lou what the goddamn story should be.

Which is it, Bart? Orphan? Dame?

Both, maybe?

Maybe we should do a treatment.

Hell. Let Bart take a crack at it.