No Time for Love

"Mr. Christley, these photographs represent

my assignment as I saw it.

So long as there remain the rights of free speech

and a free press, I shall continue

to exercise the right of a free camera.

"Sincerely, but not hopefully, Katherine Grant."

Ms. Grant, when "mirror magazine"

gives you an assignment...

Very well. I resign.

Hallelujah! Ms. Grant.

- Mr. Christley... - Very busy.

Yes, christley?

Ms. Grant has resigned again.

Christley, Ms. Grant never resigns without provocation.

What have you been doing this time?

Isn't it within a managing editor's domain

to tell a member of his staff that her work stinks?

It is, if the accusation is true.

But you're well aware that Ms. Grant is among

the foremost women photographers in this country.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. But she doesn't make sense.

Remember, furthermore, that you're speaking

of the woman I hope to marry.

Alright, alright, now, look

I appreciate that we're supposed to be running

a class picture magazine.

But when there's a legitimate chance

to slip a little leg art into the world today

and she comes back with this, I don't know what to say.

Yes, well, uh, well...

What, uh, what was her assignment?

Backstage at the ballet.

Not a sign of a dancer in tights.

Not a leg. Not even a foot.

Christley, you have been informed that Ms. Grant

may photograph her assignments as she sees fit.

The point is, her assignment isn't in the pictures.

Now you're quibbling.

Please telephone Ms. Grant and apologize immediately.

For what?

You know we can't afford to lose her

and we'd regret losing you.

Sometimes I feel like you must feel.

Aren't you carrying art a little far, even as a hobby?

Did you ever see an exciting photograph of an egg?

Honey, the only time an egg can excite me is when I'm hungry.

Katherine Grant studio. This is her sister speaking.

Oh! Uh, just a minute.

- The monster. - I'm busy!

One minute, please.

Come on, let the man apologize

so you can stop fooling around

with a tired egg and get back to work.

I don't need that job, there are other places,

where the managing editor won't try to conceal

his own ignorance by belittling my work.

Oh, you'll break Henry's heart if you don't go back.

Come on, be a sport.

Yes.

Ms. Grant, on behalf of my wife and three children

who must eat, I apologize for what I said

this morning and beg you to return to work.

Are you insinuating you were forced

to make this call by Mr. Fulton?

Well, I only know what I know.

Mr. Christley, I defy you to prove that I have ever

taken advantage of my friendship with Mr. Fulton.

I ask for no soft assignments, no special courtesies.

I see, uh, may I take you at your word, Ms. Grant?

Naturally. Why?

Well, the interborough vehicular river tunnel project

is well undennay.

Would you, uh,

would you care to crawl into the hole

and point your talented camera at what goes on?

You mean, under the river while they're still digging?

Mr. Christley, you know that that's not

my type of photography.

Perhaps, later, when the tunnel's finished

and there's an opportunity to achieve

some geometric patterns with lights and shadows.

But the point is, my dear young lady

that there wouldn't be any tunnel if it weren't for the men

who are risking their lives in creating it right now.

We're interested in them, not the walls.

Of course, if you demand some preferred assignment,

naturally, I'm helpless to...

Alright, alright.

I told you I'll take whatever I'm assigned

regardless of the childish, revengeful spirit behind it.

You go ahead and make the necessary arrangements.

A... and don't forget to feed your wife.

- You're in again? - "In" is right.

In a hole under the east river!

Photographing all those groundhogs?

Sandhogs.

Will you tell me why it's become a crime

to photograph inanimate beauty?

Why must there be only crossed legs

and rouged faces and grime and sweat?

Oh, don't look at me, I had a bath this morning.

Now we're under the river.

Before we reach the point at which the men are working,

we have to go through the compression tank.

Some people collapse at that point.

Others, on the way out.

Do I have my choice?

Well, we're all subject to the bends.

Nitrogen bubbles in the blood stream.

That's from the high pressure we have to maintain

to equalize the water pressure around us.

Liberty boat. Let's get going.

Oh, let me take your things, Ms. Grant.

No, thanks. I always pay my own way.

Hurry up, I got a date with an angel

in a dive on second Avenue.

Who's that?

Guess they're getting short of men.

Visitor, Mike, take it easy.

Okay, Mike.

Well, I don't feel the difference.

The only place you will feel it is in your ears.

If you do, hold your nose and blow like this.

It's like deep sea diving.

We increase the air pressure in this tank until it equals

the pressure under which the men are working in the tunnel.

Could I take a picture of this?

Help yourself.

Give me the heading.

Come on, you apes. Come on, get the iron there.

Come on! Come on! Come on!

That's right. Come on.

On the phone.

- _ yo! - Moran...

Stick your ear into the phone and listen.

I'm bringing a woman down.

- On the company's time? - Stop clowning.

She's a photographer from "mirror magazine,"

and is going to shoot some pictures of the men working.

So, for the love of mud, have them watch their language.

What's the temperature in here?

- Way over a 100. - Quiet down.

Quiet! Quiet! Quiet up there.

When I say quiet, I want it quiet.

Listen, you flatheads, there's a lady comin' down,

so the cussin' is out.

If you can't talk without cussin', then make faces.

What's the idea of bringin' a dame down here?

Don't they know it's bad luck?

I'm gettin' outta here while I got my health.

You can suit yourself about that, but whatever happens,

keep your snouts out of the gutter, you muck-covered baboons

or I'll kick you out of your hairy hides and throw...

Moran!

Mr. Taylor, the men say they won't work

while there's a woman in the tunnel.

It's an old superstition.

There's nothin' I can do about it.

They're a jinx underground.

We ain't invitin' trouble.

Well, I'm sorry. I... I didn't realize.

You see, they told me that this was where I'd find

real honest-to-goodness fearless men.

Nobody mentioned anything about superstitious children.

Well, you heard what the lady said. Come on, back to work.

Back to work. Come on, come on, come on.

And mind your language.

Thank you very much.

Mr. Morrisey, might I have your assistance

with this slave bracelet?

Mr. Hanagan, it's a pleasure to help you.

And it's my turn to carry the heavy end.

Thank you, Mr. Hanagan.

What you expected?

It's like small-time vaudeville!

Easy, easy.

Little over this way.

Lower. Lower.

Little more. Little more.

That's it.

Pardon me. What do you do?

I'm a butterfly presser.

I mean, what's your title?

No titles down here. We're all democrats.

What do you want?

- Would you like to pose for me? - I didn't bring my butterflies.

Now, look, you needn't be cute.

I just need a fairly human model for some pictures.

That's out. My mamma done told me.

Ryan, I'd suggest you cooperate with Ms. Grant.

The president of the company has seen fit to do so.

- Maybe she's his type. - Listen, you...

Hey, Ryan, get to it now.

Pardon me, folks. Work.

- Sorry, Ms. Grant. - Oh, that's alright.

After all, the sun isn't shining and he's a groundhog.

- Come on, lean on it, boys. - Listen, Superman...

For two bits, I'd slug that big yap of yours shut so tight...

Shut up, both of you. Stand back. Take it away.

Okay.