Was that in 1913 or 17?
I can't remember now.

I'm beginning to forget
all the people that I used to know, see?

Do I remember Louise Bryant?

Why, of course.
I couldn't forget her if I tried.

I can't...

I might sort of scratch my memory,

but not at the moment.

You know, things go
and come back again.

It was Christopher Street,

and I was thinking about

another street down there instead,

until it came back
that it was Christopher Street.

Sometimes I have lapses like that.

I'd forgotten all about them.

Were they socialists?

I guess they must've been,

but I don't think they were
of any importance.

I don't remember them at all.

I know that Jack went around
with Mabel Dodge,

and then he went around
with another gal,

and then he went around
with Louise Bryant.

I know there were shifts back and forth,

but it never occurred to me...

It never impinged on
my own personal life.

I like baseball.

I don't know what
the outside world thought of them.

But they were a couple.

I mean, you always spoke of
Louise Bryant and Jack Reed.

I recall his telling me
that he had two ambitions

when he came to college.

One was to be elected
president of his class.

He didn't know anyone in the class.
No one knew him.

The other was to make a million dollars

by the time he was 25.

Now, my idea about Jack Reed
is probably different from most.

But I knew him well.
I knew he was a man of strong views.

I knew he was independent.

And I have an idea,
I may be wrong of this,

that his wife was a Communist

and that his wife had influenced him,
as any wife does,

as you know and I know.

Louise Bryant?

Well, I thought she was something
of an exhibitionist.

No, I'm not gonna talk about people.
Don't fool yourself.

No, sir. I'm not... I'm not

a purveyor of neighborhood gossip,
or anything of the kind.

That's not my job.

He was quiet.

He was a nice fellow.

I would say, if I met him,
I would say he was a nice fellow.

He was, however, a fighting fellow

in regards to principles.

I said, I think,
that a guy who's always interested

in the condition of the world
and changing it

either has no problems of his own

or refuses to face them.

Jack...
Well, I wouldn't call him a playboy,

but some people did.

Jack Reed's life, short as it was,

happened at a time,

and all of us, after all,
are the victims of our time and place,

when he had the opportunity,
as a reporter,

to be in some very exciting
and dramatic places.

It isn't everybody can
be buried in the Kremlin,

and he's the only American.

Born in Portland, Oregon.

Now, isn't that something?

- What's he hugging?
- A statue.

Well, I can see that.
But what's it a statue of?

It's just a statue, Mr. Woodward.

- How much is it?
- It's $75.

- For a photograph?
- That's right, Mrs. Rudisile.

This is interesting, Mrs. Trullinger.

Not that it isn't very nice,
but it isn't a painting.

Mr. Woodward,
I'd like you to look at this.

- I think I see the intention here.
- Yes.

Eve dominates, you see?

The dream dominates the dreamer.

It's...

It looks blurry to me.

The other one looked blurry, too.

I think that's the intention
of the photographer, Mr. Woodward.

What? To be blurry?

But perhaps if you looked at it
from a different point of view...

Louise!

This is you?

Lovely figure.

Louise, have you taken
leave of your senses?

Don't be a fool, Paul.

You think I'm a fool
because I object to my wife

being displayed naked in front
of half the people I know...

Yes. My God,
it's a work of art in a gallery.

What's the matter with you?

You used to call Portland
a stuffy provincial coffin for the mind.

It may be stuffy and provincial,

but it also happens
to be a coffin where I earn a living.

You can take your living
and fill up teeth with it,

because I can earn my own living.

I have my work.

You consider a few articles in
The Oregonian and The Gazette work?

No, I'll tell you
what your work is, Louise.

It's making yourself
the center of attention.

It's shocking Louise Trullinger,
emancipated woman of Portland.

Now, we're gonna say good night
to these people and go home.

- I'm going to the Liberal Club.
- You're not going to the Liberal Club.

- I'm going to the Liberal Club, Paul.
- No, you're not...

It's very nice, Mrs. Trullinger. All of it.

It's very gratifying to hear,
isn't it, Louise?

Isn't it, Louise?

Of course, you know
who is going to be at the Liberal Club.

Patriotic Americans believe in freedom.

And unless we are willing to take arms
to defend our heritage,

we cannot call ourselves
patriotic Americans!

I'm proud to be free.

I'm proud to be an American.

And if the man
we elected President decides

that our freedoms are being threatened

and that the world must
be made safe for democracy,

then I know I won't be alone
in heeding the call of patriotism!

What is this war about?

Each man will have his own answer.

I have mine. I'm ready to be called!

Now, tonight we have with us

the son of Margaret
and the late C.J. Reed of Portland,

who has witnessed this war first-hand.

And I, for one, see no reason
why we here at the Liberal Club

shouldn't listen to what
Jack Reed has to say.

What would you say
this war is about, Jack Reed?

Profits.

What did he say?

Excuse me, Mr. Reed.
Hello, my name is Louise Bryant

and I am a journalist.

And I was wondering if you might
have time to give me an interview.

I'm sorry, I don't. I don't do interviews.

I had a piece in the Blast not long ago.

- Berkman's Blast? Really?
- That's right.

Well, when did you want
to do this interview?

Now.

I don't live here.

- I live in a house by the river.
- Oh, really.

My, my, my. Two places.

Yeah, I use this place as a studio.

Do you like white lilies?

They're my favorite flowers.

- You're not married, are you?
- No, I don't think I believe in marriage.

- Are you married?
- Marriage?

How could anyone believe in marriage?

I bet your mother's glad
to see you back in Portland.

Just glad when I'm not in jail.
Is this you?

Yes. Do you like it?

Yeah. I think they're...

- A little blurry, but this one's very nice.
- Yes.

It is. Now...

Granted, the profit motive
in the world economy

is a basic root cause for the war.

Do you feel that those
Americans who are pro-war

and who ascribe their motives
to patriotism are cynical or naive?

And, if they're cynical,
is it the cynicism of patriots

who feel that without a profit motive,

the power structure elite of this country
will not enter the war,

even though they feel
that the containment

of German militarism
may be necessary for...

of German militarism
may be necessary for...

All right, Miss Bryant, do you want
an interview? Write this down.

Are you naive enough to think

containing German militarism
has anything to do with this war?

Don't you understand that England
and France own the world economy

and Germany just wants a piece of it?

Keep writing, Miss Bryant.

Miss Bryant, can't you grasp
that J.P. Morgan

has loaned England and France
a billion dollars?

And if Germany wins,
he won't get it back.

More coffee?
America would be entering the war

to protect J.P. Morgan's money.

If he loses it, we'll have a depression.

So, the real question is,

why do we have an economy
where the poor have to pay

so the rich won't lose money?

All right, now, what haven't we covered?

Economic freedom for women
means sexual freedom,

and sexual freedom
means birth control...

Dissent! The Masses stands for dissent.

...we have a predominantly

upper-middle class readership.

So, we have to run around the country
raising money for the magazine

any way we...

What?

Well, I'm thinking that I guess I...

That I ought to offer you more coffee.

I hadn't realized the hour, but

I seem to have taken up
a lot of your time.

Well, that's okay by me.

Does this happen to you often?

Not often enough.

Well?

We certainly have come a long way fast.

Yeah.

Do you want to take it a step further?

Yeah.

What would you think if I asked you
to do something

that might seem a little selfish?

Well, I... I think you should.

Good. Good, because I'd like you
to take a look at my work

and tell me what you think.

You see, I really respect
your opinion so much.

Well, it's odd,
because I was just gonna ask you

if you had anything
I could take a look at.

I know it's an imposition
but I'd be very grateful and you see,

I've read everything
that you've ever written.

Well, I'd be happy to do it. So, that's...

Well, thank you.

Well, then I... I'll get your coat.

Oh, and I hope you won't
be gentle with me.

- Gentle?
- I'm a serious writer.

You can really be tough.

No, I will be. No, I will be.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

- Do you want me to leave?
- Not really, but I'm late.

- Late at 6:00 in the morning?
- Yes. I have an appointment.

Well, could I see you tomorrow night?

I'm busy tomorrow night.

- Because I'm leaving town the next day.
- Gee, I'm sorry.

So, if you have time,
let me know what you think,

and I'll send you a copy of the interview.

Some interview, huh?

Take a look sometime.

Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Okay, I understand.

- Bye.
- Bye.

Jack, dear,
do you remember Mr. Hardison?

Used to be at the First Presbyterian
Church, up the hill.

He's in Seattle now
at the big Plymouth church.

What brings you out here, Jack?

Just come out to see your mother?

Mr. Partlow, I just... I'm raising money
for this magazine that I write for.

- What?
- I say, I'm raising money

for this magazine that I write for!

- Magazine? What magazine?
- Yes, sir.

Well, it's called The Masses.

- The what?
- The Masses!

- The Masses.
- Masses.

Jack, do you remember
Mr. Potterson's sister?

The one with the bad arm?

- Is that religious?
- Oh, no, sir. No, sir.

Oh, you remember her, Jack.
Her name was Miriam.

She didn't eat meat.

Sounds religious.

You remember the fellow
that was courting her?

Sold spool thread.
Came from down around Eugene.

- Not religious, huh?
- No, sir.

- What was his name, Jack?
- I don't think I remember the name.

Well, I don't know about you people,
but I'm starved.

I don't know, Mrs. Partlow. I...

Jack, I heard you made a few people
a little unhappy

down at the Liberal Club last night.

Oh, Carl,
we're here to have a good time,

let's not go into that.

What was his name, Jack?

- Here you are!
- I can't...

Welcome. So happy...

- Hello, Jack.
- Hello.

Oh, you look wonderful.

Alma, this is Louise Trullinger.

Alma Boyle.
This is Ned Boyle and Jack Reed.

Jack, Louise is quite a progressive
in her own right.

Mr. Partlow.

- How do you do, Mr. Reed?
- How do you do?

Oh, Mr. Partlow, Mrs. Partlow,
this is Louise Trullinger.

- Pleased to meet you.
- Pleased to meet you.

Are you Paul Trullinger's wife?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Well, isn't that something?

He did Frank Rhodes' bridge.

Oh, Mrs. Trullinger, your husband's
the finest dentist in all of Portland.

- Thank you very much.
- Really?

And I think he did a plate
for Uncle Grover.

Oh, we won't wait for Harry and Martha.
I could eat a horse.

All right, let's go in.

What a shame Paul
couldn't come tonight.

- An emergency?
- Yes...

Not Uncle Grover's plate, I hope.

- No. Uncle Grover's plate's like new.
- Oh, well...

Did free love start
in Greenwich Village?

Very good wine, Carl.

- More, Jack?
- No, no. No, thank you.

It's just delicious, really.

Don't you think so, Mrs. Trullinger?

Yes, it's just delicious.

Thank you, Louise.

- Dupont, I think.
- Dupont.

It is Dupont, isn't it, Harry?

Mother doesn't want you to get Jack
started on the subject of marriage.

You got any children, Mrs. Trullinger?

Not yet, Mr. Reed.

- Call me Jack.
- I've been married 14 years now.

Don't get me in any arguments
about free love.

It's getting cold outside.

I'll just call you Louise.

George Waldorf.
That's it! George Waldorf!

Used to sell spool thread.

- What about George Waldorf?
- Well, he died.

I couldn't think of letting
you walk unescorted, Louise.

Tell me something.

Does Dr. Trullinger mind your
spending so much time at your studio?

People have to give each other
a little freedom.

Freedom, Mrs. Trullinger?

I'd like to know
what your idea of freedom is.

Having your own studio? Walk...

I'd like to see you
with your pants off, Mr. Reed.

Marching and shuffling along

I didn't realize the time.

So, if you like, there's some
very nice damson preserves.

And you can make toast out of that,
if you want.

So, bye.

Where you going?

Where you going?

If you're catching the 2:45, I mean,
you don't really have that much time.

- I'm sure you're gonna want to pack...
- Louise, it's 8:45, only.

It's 8:45.

Listen, I realize
that you're very busy in New York,

but I'd be grateful
if you could take the time

to write a few words to me
about my work.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes.

If you'll just send my portfolio back.
You can mail it to this address...

Louise, wait a minute. What are you
just walking out like that for?

Will you come upstairs, please,
and just talk to me for a minute?

Thank you.

- Listen...
- What is it?

Why don't you come?

- What?
- Come to New York.

You wanna write?
Come where the writers are.

If you wanna have freedom you gotta go
where the freedom is, don't you?

You're gonna go to waste in Portland.
Come to New York.

- You ought to be in New York.
- Thank you very much.

I'll remember that.

- What?
- I'll remember your advice.

Please come with me.

All right, wait a minute.
Let me get this straight.

You want me
to come with you to New York.

Yeah.

What as? What as?

- What do you mean, what...
- What as?

- Your girlfriend?
- What does that mean?

What as? Your girlfriend,

your mistress, your paramour,
your concubine?

Why does it have to be as anything?

Because I don't wanna
get into some kind

of emotional possessive involvement
where I'm not able to...

I want to know what as.

Well, it's nearly Thanksgiving.
Why don't you come as a turkey?

I always thought she was
a very earnest girl who went away.

Probably the dentist knew nothing
except about teeth,

and was mainly interested...

And then she had
this wonderful journalist

who could talk about all sorts of things.

I had a coat I brought from Germany.

And she wanted that coat

and made me all kinds of propositions.

But I wanted it, too.

But finally I gave in and gave it to her.

I had other coats.

So that's how she operated.

She went after him.
As I say, she got him.

So she wasn't any dummy.

But it was something to happen
in little old Portland.

You didn't hear the word "sex."

You didn't hear the word "lesbian."

You didn't hear the word "homosexual."

You didn't hear the word "abortion."

You didn't hear those things.

Men respected women.

They helped them on with their coats,
they opened the doors for them.

And the man and woman
who courted each other,

they married each other.

You know something that I think,

that there was just as much
fucking going on then as now.

Only now,
it has a more perverted quality.

Now there's no love whatever included.

Then, there was your heart,
a bit of heart in it.

Greenwich Village was there,

and New York was around it.

And the rest of New York did not act
the way Greenwich Village did, exactly.

It was sort of a center of dissent

and had been for a long time
in American life.

People from all over
the country came there.

They were regarded as bohemian.
Their ways of life were irregular.

The way they dressed

and certainly the way they thought

was outside the mainstream
of American life.

And as I recollect it,

marriage was not important
in Greenwich Village.

I remember hearing a line
Jack said to somebody

he was trying to lure into bed.

She was being very coy, and he said,
"Aren't you pagan enough?"

Hello?

Hello, Jack?

If it's illegal to hand out pamphlets
on birth control,

I'm proud to be a criminal.

No one is arguing with your
inalienable right to go to jail, Emma.

All I'm saying
is that this is not the right time

to go to jail for birth control.

Oh, there's a right time
to go to jail for birth control?

The Masses is governing
conscience now?

Soon you'll be indistinguishable
from The New York Times.

Emma, all I'm saying
is that you are too valuable

- to the anti-war movement.
- You're wrong.

- No, he's right. If we get into this war...
- And you're wrong.

- Will you let me finish my sentence?
- Your sentence is not worth finishing.

Thousands of American women,
overworked, underfed,

are dying, giving birth to anemic
children who can't last out a year.

Are their lives any less valuable
than thousands of American boys'?

- I want those back Tuesday.
- I'm not saying... Do you think...?

- Oh, shit.
- Exactly.

Good night.

- You want some coffee?
- Chase and Sanborn?

- I'm out of coffee.
- Again? I'm leaving.

No, the conversation is over.
You're a journalist, Jack.

When you're a revolutionary,
we'll discuss priorities.

Hopefully over coffee.

- It's late, I'll walk you home.
- Why? I won't hurt anybody.

Well...

Yeah.

It's Friday night.

I'm so glad to see you.

Really, I'm so glad to see you.

I finished your articles.
They're very good.

The railroad piece, I think, is...
Needs polishing.

- It's repetitious, but...
- But that's deliberate.

I'm using repetition to make a point.

I don't want it to seem too polished.

Oh.

Well, I think
you're gonna love New York.

Emma, Emma, Emma.

I think it was Emma Goldberg.

I think so.

I never forgot Emma Goldman.

She inspired me to the very depths.

And Max Eastman was a beloved man.

The real radical, a free spirit.

He was in that same group
with that Emma Goldman.

That was her name.
Goldman, not Goldberg.

Floyd Dell was one of them.

He wrote novels, beautiful novels.

The radicals included people
like the IWWs

and Bill Haywood.

And there were Walter Lippmann,

and Lincoln Steffens
and Isadora Duncan

and Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Alfred Stieglitz...

Oh, and Margaret Sanger.

My Lord, I picketed for her.

And, of course,
the great writer Eugene O'Neill

came from down there.

I don't think there's anybody
who can touch O'Neill today.

You have to be a bit of a rebel
to be an artist of any kind, I believe.

And everybody in Greenwich Village
was a bit of a rebel.

- What do you do, Louise?
- I write.

Good for you.
Could you pass the bread, please?

- Thanks.
- Because to the middle-class American,

everyone on the left is the same.
An anarchist, a socialist...

Would you pass the bread, please?

- What do you do, Louise?
- I write.

Good. Madame Schumann-Heink...

Jack tells me you write, Miss Bryant.
What do you write about?

Everything.

You write about everything?

Everything. Yes. Everything, nothing...

Just...

I see.

Now, about Davis and Sloan,
have they quit?

Not yet, but they...

I don't think they should sit here
like this. I don't. I think it's cruel.

- It's just...
- Organization, right?

Look, what does a capitalist do?

Let me ask you that, Mike.
Huh? Tell me.

I mean, what does he make,
besides money?

I don't know what he makes.
The workers do all the work, don't they?

Well, what if they got organized?

I mean, all the workers.
Not just the plumbers,

and the carpenters
and the goddamn cigar makers.

But all of them, all over the world?

Not in just one country.
Give him a beer, will you?

What if they all got organized?

Don't you think they could...
They could change society overnight.

They can make it into
anything they wanted.

Jack, can I tap you for $5? I'm flat.

Well, don't ask this pretentious
son of a bitch for money.

If you need $5, I'll give it to you.

Let me have $4.50, will you?

- What isn't fair...?
- You see what I'm saying?

If all the workers in the world
belonged to one big union,

- there wouldn't be a war, would there?
- Are you listening to me?

Miss Bryant.

You've been nursing
that beer for an hour.

Can I get you a glass of wine
or something?

No, thank you. I'm fine.
Thank you, anyway.

- Beer's fine.
- You are an amiable person.

And a very good painter, I hear.

I write.

Read Jung!

"Read Freud, read Jung."
Read Engels, read Marx!

My God, you can't interpret Freud
in an economic context.

You know you got a taxi waiting?

Zosima represents
the corruption of religion.

I tell you you're wrong.

- And Jung is a mystic...
- But do you seriously believe...

- How long are they going to stay?
- I don't know. They'll get out in a while.

- I'll only be gone for a day.
- You just got back from Boston.

Hey, why don't you come
with me to Baltimore?

Really? What am I supposed
to come to Baltimore as?

What as?

Jack, you know, you got a taxi waiting.

Taxi's waiting, Jack.

See you tomorrow.

We've been trying for two years.

Capitalists can take this country into
war any time they damn well please.

The only impact you can make
is in the streets.

Of course, but...

But don't you think, Emma,

that if Debs gets a lot of votes,
it'll strengthen that image?

No, I don't. I think voting is the opium
of the masses in this country.

Every four years, you deaden the pain.

Yeah, but...

Don't you think...

I just made it very clear
what I think, Miss Bryant.

Come on, E.G.
Don't be so goddamn dogmatic.

- Louise has a point. She says...
- Suddenly I'm dogmatic.

Why does my status change
every time you get a new woman, Jack?

Bernie, could I have the red wine?
Louise, would you like a glass?

She's just... She's upset with me.

It's got nothing to do with you.
Nothing to do with you.

Thank you. It's a great comfort.

The house is completely filled
with people when you're gone.

They use it as if it was
a meeting hall or something.

- I can't get any work done.
- Just throw them out.

- How am I supposed to throw them out?
- Just kick them out.

Tell them to leave.

I'm not going to
say to Max Eastman, "Leave."

- Just throw them out.
- Jack?

Jack, is that you?
Jack, it's very good to see you.

- Hello, Horace. How are you?
- Very good to see you.

- You know Louise Bryant?
- Yes, hello. How are you?

- Very nice to see you.
- How do you do?

Great pleasure.

- Hi, Max. How are you?
- Divine, Horace.

- And Floyd, good to see you.
- Hello, Horace.

Still getting arrested, Jack?

I try.

How about you, Miss Bryant?

Are you trying to get arrested, too?

No, not really.

- What do you do, Miss Bryant?
- I write.

You write? Now, may I ask,
what are you working on?

It's impossible to describe.

It's impossible to describe?

She just did a hell of a piece

on the influence of the Armory Show
and you ought to read it.

Well, you know,
I very much would like to read that.

Why don't you give me a call
at The Metropolitan?

In fact, even better,
why don't we have a drink on Thursday?

- Fine.
- We can talk about the Armory Show.

- It's a date, then.
- Well, all right.

That's wonderful. Fine.

Jack!

Now, you stay out
of the slammer, now, okay?

Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
It's nice to see you.

- Jack, please don't do that.
- What?

He's the editor of Metropolitan.
I've known him for years.

- Jack, I can speak for myself.
- So can your work.

- I don't want you to do that...
- Taxi's waiting, Jack.

Oh. Taxi's waiting, Jack.

Jack...

I'll see you at the end
of the week, okay?

- Okay?
- Wait. Wait.

Maybe I will call him about Thursday.

Yeah, call him about Thursday.
Yeah, yeah.

- See you, boys.
- Bye-bye, Jack.

- Bye-bye, Jack.
- See you.

See you, Jack.

"The railroad's opening new frontiers,

"and crisscrossing it all
are the railroads.

"The railroad's opening new frontiers,

"and in turn, these frontiers...

"And in turn, these frontiers..."

Oh, God.

It is repetitious.

We're not human beings,
we're a commodity.

- And how many days a week?
- Seven days.

- Every day?
- They said,

"If you don't come to work on Sunday,
don't come on Monday."

- What do you make an hour?
- 20 cents.

How many times have they
slammed the door on your face

because the labor you do
is called unskilled?

That's right, Bill.

Well, the IWW's not gonna
turn you down

- because you're unskilled.
- Listen to him, George.

Or skilled. Or black or white or yellow.

Seven days a week.

- What do you make an hour?
- 10 cents an hour.

One big union.

- All workers belong...
- Listen, read that. That's important.

I'm looking for a lathe worker
named Pasquale Alberti.

He had an industrial accident. He got
his leg crushed. Do you know him?

Yeah, sure, Harvard.

Is that what they wanna read about
in Greenwich Village now,

industrial accidents?

And for that, we need power.

And there's only one way to get power.

Organize!

All the workers together!

One big union!

And the war the IWW
wants you to get into is class war!

Not a war in Europe!

War against the capitalists!

You'll never get anything or anywhere,

until the whole working class
belongs to one big...

All right, gentlemen,

you've got 20 seconds
to vacate the premises.

May I ask on what authority?

On my authority.

This is an illegal assembly.

Excuse me, Officer. These men
have the legal right to assemble.

That's all they're doing.

We know what the hell they doing.

- What the hell you doing?
- Me?

You.

- I write.
- You write?

You wrong.

Get him out of here!

Here they are.

The folio. The oeuvre.

Well...

How is Jack?

I do hope he's being more careful
about what he's writing these days.

I'd hate to see him not able
to get into print.

Oh, I'm sure he'll do fine.

Did you tell him
where we were having drinks?

No, I will. He's out of town.

Mr. Whigham, excuse me, but
the Armory Show piece is on the top.

Oh, this is the Armory...

- Yes.
- Yes. Of course. Here it is.

Well...

I really ought to spend
more time on this.

Oh, yes, of course.

What about dinner?

- Dinner?
- Jack wouldn't mind.

- Why would he mind?
- Well, we're all grownups, of course,

but Jack's rather...

He's rather an odd duck, isn't he?

And I've never really known how...

Mr. Whigham, are you saying you need

Jack's permission
to make a pass at me?

Don't get so upset about it.

For Christ's sake,
I made two little tiny changes...

Don't rewrite what I write, Pete.

What the hell's the matter
with you, Jack?

The IWW's a bunch of Reds.

Come on.

We got Reds in the IWW,
got Reds in the Village.

We've got nothing
but Reds around here.

For Christ's sake,
you're the best goddamn writer around.

Now, what the hell
you wanna waste your time

with a lot of Red propaganda
nobody's ever gonna print?

It's the truth.
Does that mean anything around here?

Well, who the hell's to say
what the truth is?

A bunch of goddamn Reds in the IWW?

You're not being fair to the AF of L.

- Now, give me the goddamn article...
- You're gonna rewrite what I write.

I'm just gonna take it
to a magazine that won't.

Well, fine. Take it to The Masses.

- They're a bunch of Reds.
- Thank you.

- Who's gonna pay your rent?
- Rent's easy, Pete.

You just don't rewrite what I write.
You got that? Don't rewrite what I write.

You stubborn son of a bitch.
Who's gonna pay your rent?

Louise?

I got every one in the shop.

We're broke, but we've got them all.

Thanks.

- What's the matter?
- Nothing.

- What is it?
- It's nothing. How'd it go?

A lot better than we thought it would.

- You see Whigham?
- Yesterday.

- How was that?
- We mostly talked about you, of course.

Did he offer you work?

No, but he made a big point
of telling me

what wonderful friends
you and he have become over the years.

It was a fascinating meeting.

Are you angry at Whigham or me?

What is it?

It's nothing.
You said you'd be back Tuesday

and it's Saturday.

Didn't I say I'd back
at the end of the week?

- The end of the week is Friday.
- The end of the week is Friday?

Saturday's not the
end of the week anymore, huh?

Jack, you said you'd be back Tuesday!

What difference does it make?

What do you think I've been doing?

Running around listening
to the sound of my own voice?

How do I know whose voice
you've been listening to?

Obviously you like it
a lot better than mine!

Look at me. Oh, God!

I'm like a wife.

I'm like a boring, clinging,
miserable little wife.

- Who'd wanna come home to me?
- Me!

Well, I can't do this!
I can't do this anymore!

You can't do what?

I'm just living in your margins.

I don't know what I'm doing here.
I don't know what my purpose is.

- Well, tell me what you want.
- I want to stop needing you!

I want you to know something.

I asked Whigham
if he'd send me to France.

- Is that what you want?
- That's what I want.

- What are you doing, Louise?
- I can't work around you.

Will you tell me why you're doing this?

I'm not taken seriously
when you're around.

When I'm around
you're not taken seriously?

Oh, God, this is not good.

You mean
you think I'm taken more seriously?

Is that what you're talking about?

Do you mean you're not?
Come on, Jack.

You know what I'm saying.
You're not being honest with me.

I don't know what you're saying.

You're not being honest with me.
Please, be honest with me.

I am so being honest with you.

Maybe if you took yourself a little more
seriously, other people would, too.

I told you what I thought
about the Armory piece.

I was honest about that.

I think it's very nice,
but no, I don't take it very seriously.

- Thank you.
- Why do you even expect

to be taken seriously if you're
not writing about serious things?

I don't understand that.

I found myself an apartment.
I'm looking for one.

I'm not even sure I know
what things you're serious about.

One day you're writing
about the railroads,

and you don't even finish the piece.

The next day you're doing a piece
on an art exhibition

that happened three years ago.

Look, why do you give me
anything to read, anyway?

If I criticize it at all,
you tell me you like it the way it is.

And when we're out with other people,

if somebody doesn't ask you
a direct question,

you tell me you feel ignored.

But with everything
that's happening in the world today,

you decide to sit down and write a piece

on the influence of the goddamned
Armory Show of 1913!

Are people supposed
to take that seriously?

Well, I don't really care!

- You care!
- I'm not really... I don't care!

- You care!
- I don't care!

And I'm not interested
in whether your stupid friends

- take me seriously or not!
- Well, they don't take it seriously.

That's why they don't take it seriously.

I found an apartment on Houston Street,
and I'm moving in.

And I'll tell you something else,
Jack Reed.

I don't think we like the same people
or the same kind of life.

- And I wanna be on my own.
- Go ahead, be on your own!

I don't give a damn!
You're on your own anyway.

Oh! I know you don't give a damn!

Well, will you tell me
why the hell I should give a damn?

You shouldn't! Don't give a damn!

- I don't give a damn, either!
- That's right! I don't give a damn!

- I'm getting out of here!
- Good, fine! I'm leaving, too!

Honey, can we just
get out of New York?

Let's go somewhere
and just write what we wanna write.

Provincetown was
just a tiny little fishing village.

And it was very, very conservative.

We'd take the Fall River steamer
up there, I remember, every summer.

We used to save fares
by sleeping in tiers.

And we always got bedbugs.

You did whatever you pleased up there.

And we put on some very
interesting plays, experimental plays

that a commercial theater
couldn't possibly do.

Take Susan Glaspell's T rifles.

There's a whole play

without the protagonist
even appearing on the stage.

And they gave three one-act plays.

One of them was a play by...

I always thought it was by John Reed
and Louise Bryant.

But I see it's by her.

They were in it.

The play was terrible,
and they were worse.

And of course, Gene O'Neill
was known as the poet,

but I liked his plays
better than his poetry.

Will you never understand?

Are you so stupid
that you do not know what I mean?

I am offering myself to you.

I am kneeling before you.

I have promised you my body,

my body that men have
found so beautiful.

I have promised to love you,
a negro sailor!

Tell them not to stand behind the moon.

Don't stand behind the moon.

- Back?
- Can you step back a little bit?

'Cause of the moon.

This is the moon here.

- This way?
- Yes.

Take it from "I hate the sea."

Will you never understand?

Are you so stupid
that you don't know what I mean?

I'm offering myself to you.

I'm kneeling before you.

I... I, who have had so many men
kneel before me,

I'm offering you my body,

my body that men have
found so beautiful.

I have promised to love you.

You, a negro sailor.

Is that not humiliation enough
that you must keep me waiting so?

Answer me, please! Answer me.

Will you give me that water?

I have no water.

Old Teddy wants this war, doesn't he?

I wonder how long it'll take the public
to find out he's a maniac.

Teddy Roosevelt has rabies.
Universal military training.

Jack, your second speech is out.

And the ironic part of it is
that poor people, they love him.

Sure, they do.
They'll take him up San Juan Hill again.

You can't touch the bunny suit.
It's rented.

Did you read the piece
on the convention?

If the left doesn't defend Wilson,
we're gonna get President Hughes.

Think we ought to go to St. Louis?

I am not going to St. Louis
to defend Wilson.

- I think we should.
- Why? What good would it do?

I don't know,
if you don't think Hughes would have us

in a war in a few months,
it wouldn't do any good at all.

Wilson's kept us out so far.

Reed thought that he was a good poet.

He was a terrible poet.

He thought that he could write
good novels.

Short stories.

Of course, he was a poet.

And not a great poet,

but some of it was very fine.

But, as a journalist,
Jack Reed topped them all.

- Look. Pull this up.
- Hey, Jack.

See? That's good.

Jack, your ride's here.

- Excuse me. I'll wait outside.
- Okay. Okay.

- Do you see what I mean? If one...
- Jack, the taxi's waiting.

Yeah, I got to run.

Bye, honey.

Jack Reed wanted to stir up trouble,

he wanted to stir up trouble
for the capitalists.

And he also wanted
to arouse the working masses

to the necessity of some
kind of effective united action.

to the necessity of some
kind of effective united action.

In other words, I am accusing him
of either being a busybody

or of being a fraidy-cat,

not wanting to face things
of his own nature.

Dear Louise, St. Louis is very hot
and very crowded with Democrats,

all having a wonderful time
and wearing little paper hats

in anticipation of Wilson's nomination.

I'd like to think it's because

he doesn't want the United States
to go into the war,

but who knows
the mind of a Democrat?

By the way, I've decided to throw out
the poem on white lilies.

The rhyming scheme was wrong.

Maybe when I get back
I can start it again.

Politics sure plays hell
with your poetry.

I keep thinking I see you.
It's the damnedest thing.

I miss you, honey.
I miss walking on the beach.

- Hello.
- Where's the whiskey?

Would you like a glass?

Don't try and decide.

I'll get you one.

I like your play.

I only hope I can do the part justice.

I think your dialogue is beautiful.
I really do, I love it...

Then why the hell
don't you just stand still and say it

instead of wandering all over the stage?

You're supposed to be looking
for your soul, not an ashtray.

Would you rather I didn't smoke
during rehearsals?

I'd rather you went up in flames
than put out your cigarette

in the middle
of a monologue about birth.

I'm sorry. You're absolutely right.

It makes me wanna cancel
the whole production.

I won't do it again.
Excuse me, I'm sorry.

You keep the glass. I'll take the bottle.

Are you leaving?

Give me your glass.

Are you nervous?

- Or is that a tremor?
- Why aren't you in Chicago with Jack?

Why should I be?
He has his things, I have mine.

- What are they?
- What?

The things that you have that are yours.

What are they?

My work, for one.

He's a real mean
son of a bitch, isn't he?

What do you mean?

Leaving you alone with your work.

- You think I mind?
- You should.

It's the one thing
we mustn't be left alone with.

- You may feel that way, I don't.
- Good.

Don't let those village radicals keep you
from being what you should be.

What do you think I should be?

The center of attention.

Well, you must have been
with some very competitive women.

Let's just say possessive.

Possessive? That's something else.

It's a waste of time.

I'm not.

Neither is Jack, for that matter.

Oh, yes. I know.
You and Jack have your own things.

He has the freedom to do the things
that he wants to and so do I.

And I think anyone who's afraid
of that kind of freedom

is really only afraid
of his own emptiness.

Are you making this up
as you go along?

I'd like you to go.

Why?

Because I don't want to be patronized.

I'm sorry if you don't believe
in mutual independence

and free love and respect.

Don't give me a lot of parlor socialism
that you learned in the Village.

If you were mine, I wouldn't share you
with anybody or anything.

It'd be just you and me.
You'd be at the center of it all.

You know,
it would feel lot more like love

than being left alone with your work.

- I hope I haven't upset you.
- Not at all. I'm grateful.

But you seem to be looking
for something much more serious

than what I had in mind.

- Than what you had in mind?
- Yes.

You see, Jack and I
are both perfectly capable

of living with our beliefs.

But I think someone as romantic as you
would be destroyed by them.

And I don't want that to happen.
It would upset Jack too much.

You can't come and play in my yard

I don't love you anymore

You'll be sorry when you see me

Sliding down my cellar door

You can't holler down my rain barrel

You can't climb my apple tree

I don't want to play in your yard

If you can't be good to me

I don't want to play in your yard

I don't like you anymore

You'll be sorry when you see me

Sliding down our cellar door

You can't holler down our rain barrel

You can't climb our apple tree

I don't want to play in your yard

If you won't be good to me

Wonderful!

Floyd, I've been
waiting for this for weeks.

T ap your sensuality.

- Wonderful close.
- Extraordinary.

Very good. Excellent.

- Floyd, that's new for you, isn't it?
- Max, what about you?

- Okay. Who's next?
- I just recited

two-thirds of my new play.

You said it was a work
of uncanny perception.

Oh, did I? How quickly we forget.

- Well!
- Jack. Come in.

News from the front.

- Hello, Jack.
- Hello, Jack.

- Hi, Jack.
- How was the trip?

Welcome back.

- Who's next?
- Nobody's next.

Let's have a dance out of Gene.

Jack, you're just in time
to see O'Neill dance.

Okay. Do something Irish.
Come on, Gene.

Yeah. Let's have it, Gene.

- Yeah. Go ahead Gene.
- Recite something from your new play.

Hutch says it's wonderful.

Tell us about the convention, Jack.
How was Wilson's speech?

Never mind the speech.
What was he wearing?

- What about Wilson?
- Yeah. What about Wilson?

Oh, I don't think there's any reason to
believe that Wilson's gonna do anything

other than support the interest of the
ruling class and take us into the war.

But as long as he says he's against it,
then I think we have to support him.

Because he'll have to make good on
that campaign promise

for at least a few months
and that might give us time

to strengthen the anti-war coalition.

But there's a lot more pro-war feeling in
the streets now than there was before...

You want another drink, Gene?

I guess not.

- Good night.
- Night.

Good night.

Would you like
some cold tea with lemon?

No, thanks.

Well, I'll have some, anyway.

- What's this?
- A poem.

May I read it?

I didn't finish it.

Finish it.

Finish it?

Would that make you happy?
If I were a poet?

I'm happy.

- Jack.
- Why don't you get some sleep?

Jack.

There's something
that I have to tell you.

- You don't have to tell me anything.
- No?

No.

You want to get married?

Okay. There we go. I'll see...

- Oh, careful there. Careful.
- There's two more to come.

Two? No, there should be three.

Oh, excuse me. I'm sorry.
I'm very sorry to hover like this.

It's not that
you're not doing a wonderful job.

It's just that I'm very concerned
about this one particular box.

- Here. No. No.
- I'll take it.

Where's the whiskey?

- Lady, where do you want this?
- Oh, just put it over there.

That'll be fine. Thank you.

Yeah.

- Anything to drink in there?
- Drink?

Oh, here. Thanks.
Thank you very much. I...

- Thank you. Good.
- Thank you.

Oh. Well. Let's see now. Here we are.

- Gene?
- No glass?

Oh. Let's see.

Well, I guess I should have
labeled these, shouldn't I have?

No. No, that isn't the right one.

Try this one.

Well, what are you working on, Gene?

At the moment, Scotch.

I found a cup. Will a cup be all right?

- I'd prefer a glass.
- A glass.

You know,
you left without saying goodbye.

That's not like you, not that I have
slightest idea what you're like.

Success at last. See, a... Here we go.

Your skill as a bartender
seems to have deteriorated.

- Are you nervous?
- Yes. No. I'm...

Why should I be nervous? My God,
it's gonna smell like a saloon in here.

- What is it?
- It's a poem telling you that I love you.

And that I won't be possessive
and I won't be jealous.

And you can sleep with whoever
you want, live with whoever you want.

I'll do anything that you say.
I'd like to kill you, but I can't.

So you can do whatever you want to,

except not see me.

Or smoke during the monologue.

Gene, Jack and I,
we haven't told anyone yet

because we were too embarrassed.

But

we're married.

Jack and I got married.

- That is embarrassing.
- Yes. Isn't it?

We felt very silly, but we wanted to do it.

And it's gonna be good.
We're gonna work together.

We're gonna spend
all our time together.

That's why we took a lease
on this place,

so we wouldn't have to go back
to the city.

Does this mean that we have to cheat?

Or is this a free
and independent marriage?

- Gene.
- You're a lying Irish whore from Portland

and you used me
to get Jack Reed to marry you.

No, I didn't.

I just want us to be friends, Gene.

Oh, how genteel. That would be a
good role for you, wouldn't it?

"There's Louise with Jack and Gene.

"He's crazy about her,
but Jack doesn't know.

"Poor Jack. Poor Gene.
What a heartbreaker she is."

What a heartbreaker you are, Louise.

I'm sorry. I'm...

Where is he?

Washington.

Well, Mrs. Reed,

I'll do whatever you say.
What do you want me to do?

Wish us well?

I wish you well.

You and Jack.

Jack!

Oh, God.

I'm not sure whether she had an affair

with Eugene O'Neill or not
during this time.

And nobody seemed to know. Or...

It was nobody's business, anyway, so...

I don't know what that situation was.

The report was that
she and Reed and O'Neill

had a menage a trois.

Jack, what... What is...

Oh, God! I swear...

...that we love America!

We love her mountains, her forests...

There were mutinies
in the French army,

there were mutinies
in various parts of the front.

And then, in 1917, the troops,
poorly armed,

poorly equipped, poorly clothed,
went back to Russia

to talk it out with the czar.

And when they got through,
there wasn't any czar.

Revolution in Russia.

This was the spring of 1917.

And I became so excited

that I zigzag-jumped the benches

as we walked out of the park.

Oh, I was so happy as a young boy.

Revolution, the people take over,

down with the czar!

Naturally, I was happy.

Well, haven't you made the politics
a little nebulous here?

- What do you mean "nebulous"?
- Unclear...

- How can you say they're unclear?
- Well, they're unclear to me. I...

Why am I necessarily attempting

to define the politics
of a specific group of people?

It isn't what I said.
I think it's a vast oversimplification.

Oh, it's just an opinion.

You know,
if you made carbons of these,

I could take them on the train with me.

Wilson, of course,
was elected on the platform of

"Keep us out of war" in 1916.

But in 1917, Wilson reversed himself

and declared war against Germany.

The mission at that time was to make
the world safe for democracy.

Reed said,

"This is a war for democracy?
Where is the goddamn democracy?"

If men really disapproved of war, dear,
we'd have stopped wars years ago.

Men like wars. Always have.

So they all went and got little uniforms,
went to war.

- My country is at war!
- Yes.

And so today, I, too, am at war!

My name is Jack Reed,
I'm from New York.

This is not my war, and I'm not gonna
have anything to do with it!

All right. All right.

All right, folks.

There was a lot of anti-war feeling,
of course.

We had no one against the war.
There wasn't a soul against the war.

Well, I'm not talking about saying it
to the workers any other way.

How do we move them?

Right. How do we organize them?

The Socialist Party...

The Socialist Party of America
is nothing to sneeze at.

You think the Socialist Party
is going to take a position?

You boys are Reds, aren't you?

The Socialist Party is useless.
Jack, is that right?

Now, that's the truth. Jack?

The United States is at war.

Your friends are talking to you.

If the workers of the world act together,
they can stop the war. And I'm not...

This one even pisses red.

You ran around saving the world
until your kidney acted up again.

Very intelligent.

And you're gonna keep running around
making speeches

until you wind up
in the hospital. Brilliant.

And then,
you're gonna lose your kidney. Perfect.

Harry, how much is the government
paying you to keep me quiet?

- Very funny. Keep laughing.
- Yeah.

That hurt, didn't it?

Listen, I'm gonna tell you something.

You're not gonna be able to keep doing
what you've been doing.

This is a serious condition.
It could kill you.

Harry, look, I want to know if...

Could this thing interfere
with having children?

- Yes. You cannot have sex if you die.
- No, come on, Harry. Seriously.

Are you thinking about having children?

Not at the moment,
but I want to be able to...

Is Louise talking about it?

No.

Well, just because
she isn't talking about it

it doesn't mean
she isn't thinking about it.

Don't worry. You don't make babies
with your kidneys.

Look, I'm gonna send you home
to Louise.

Tell her to keep you there,
put you in bed,

give you lots of liquids.
I'm gonna write it all down.

Look, Louise doesn't know about
this. And I don't want her to, okay?

- Fine.
- So, can you give me my bill here?

- I don't want it sent to the house.
- Do you have any money?

Not at the moment.

Then why the hell
should I give you a bill? Go home.

It is my belief that socialism and peace
are inseparable.

And I reiterate that the Socialist Party
will stand firmly behind

its resolution to oppose
American involvement in this war!

Mr. Chairman, Louis Fraina,
Local Boston.

The chair recognizes
the delegate from Boston.

And I still want to know

what specific action
we are going to take against the war.

Your resolution is all very nice,

but will it stop even one boy from
being killed? I don't think so.

...stigmatized as unpatriotic.

The task that confronts us is difficult.

Let us hope
that we can handle it properly.

What's that supposed to mean?

Stupid!

I'd like to know if the Socialist Party
is gonna fight conscription or not.

- That's what I'd like to know.
- Will the delegate identify himself?

I am not a delegate, Mr. Chairman.
My name is John Reed,

I write for the magazine The Masses,

and I want to know if the Socialist Party
is gonna organize demonstrations...

I'm sorry, Mr. Reed.
You have no credentials here.

Now, this floor is reserved
for delegates, not journalists.

Mr. Chairman,
is the Socialist Party prepared

- to take a position on the draft or not?
- Hey, shut up!

I'm sorry, Mr. Reed.
You have no credentials.

Let him speak, will you?

Mr. Reed,
you're getting into party politics, eh?

I'm just trying to be a journalist.
Mr. Chairman...

So is Trotsky.
Let us see what happens in Russia.

Why don't you join the Socialist Party?
We need good people like you.

Big things are happening in Russia.

As appalling as it may seem
to see socialists supporting bloodshed,

I can understand the necessity
of supporting one's government

during times of war.

The task that confronts us is a giant!

In that,
we must continue our opposition!

- We have to give this dog a name.
- Well, she has a name.

What's the matter with her name?

- I can't find anything in this house.
- I'm not going to call a dog "Dog."

I suppose if she were a baby,
you'd wanna call her "Person."

Not really.
I think I might wanna call her "Jack."

No. No. Bad.

See, now this is why
I can't find anything.

You put things anywhere.

Dog! Dog!

She's still not housebroken.

You got to grab her
when she squats like that,

and then take her outside. That's right.

And then when she goes,
you've got to give her a reward.

All right. Now, stay, Dog.

Are we having garlic for dinner, honey?

No, no, no.

Why? Why, do you think
I'm using too much garlic?

I thought I'd put a little in the sauce.

Garlic doesn't bother me.

- That's from Gene.
- Sorry. I didn't mean to read it.

I didn't realize what it was.

He gave it to me in October.
I haven't seen him since.

- You don't have to explain.
- I'm not explaining.

- I'm just telling you it's over.
- Louise, look.

I don't expect you to tell me
everything you do.

What about if you tell me something,
just tell me the truth?

- Jack, I haven't seen him.
- Don't do that, Louise.

Don't tell me that Gene gave you
a love poem six or seven months ago,

but you put it in a book
and you haven't seen him since.

I don't care
whether you've seen him or not.

- I just care about dishonesty.
- Oh, I see.

You don't care
that I had an affair with another man,

you just care about dishonesty?
Look who's being dishonest.

You care. You care so much,
you won't even talk about it.

- You won't even mention...
- Wanna talk? I'll talk about it.

You want to be honest about it?

If I didn't wanna be honest about it,

do you think I'd be silly enough
to leave a poem he gave me

Iying around in the house
in a book of Walt Whitman?

Why not Whitman?

I'm sure Gene would feel right at home
in that company.

Oh, no. You don't care.

Why the hell should I care that
you slept with somebody else?

Do you think I haven't?

I don't think we have to report
to each other

every time we go to bed with somebody.
It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean that I love you any less.

Do you love me any less
'cause you went to bed with Gene?

What difference does it make?

I just don't think we should lie about it.
That's all.

- Who?
- What do you mean, "Who?"

- Who was it?
- Who was what?

Who was it?

What do you want, a list?
It doesn't mean anything.

Louise.

Louise.

- What are you doing?
- I'm not sure.

- I wanna know where you're going.
- I don't want to talk about it.

- Well, I wanna talk about it.
- You said it all, Jack.

What? What did I say now
that we both haven't said 100 times?

Please forward my mail
to John K. Wheeler,

Wheeler Bell Syndicate.

I'll have someone pick up
the rest of my things in the morning.

Didn't we say that people had to give
each other freedom

- if they were gonna live together?
- We said a lot of things.

I thought
we weren't going to be possessive.

- I thought you loved me!
- Who says I don't?

You love yourself! Me, you fuck!

When you're not fucking other people,
that is!

Freedom? You mean I should just be
like you and not give a damn, is that...

Is that what fucking Gene means?
You don't give a damn about us?

I'm not packing my bag.
I wanna know where you're going.

- Get out of my...
- Where you going?

- Get out of my...
- You're not going...

Get away! Get out of my way.

- How many were there?
- Come on, Louise.

You don't know the first thing about
what living together means.

Go ahead. I know where you're going.

I thought you needed someone
to share your life with. But I was wrong.

As long as you get your two shots of
limelight every day.

You don't need a thing.

You go to hell! Both of you!

It could possibly have been
a matter of prestige, you know,

to say that you had an affair
with Louise Bryant.

I haven't been spared

the legends about men that are
supposed to have had affairs with me,

because I was known by name.

Affairs which never occurred at all.

It's very difficult to tell, you know.

Do you know there is nothing
more bewildering

than when you get a letter
from a loony who says,

"That marvelous week
we spent in Venice."

- Yeah.
- And it happens about every two years.

- Yes.
- It's most extraordinary.

One day, I was out walking
with my aunt in Portland.

And she was quite something.
She was six feet tall.

And I said to her,

"What is all this ado about Louise?

"What do you think of her, Aunt Belle?"

She said,

"Well, she had something
that just appeals."

That's my story.

- How you feeling?
- Oh, better.

- Here you are.
- Oh. Thanks, Harry.

Thanks.

Well, we got it out just in time.

But since God only knows what
condition the one you've got left is in,

you better treat it well.

That means, tell that goddamn Eastman
you got to be in bed by midnight.

If you get an infection now, that's it!
Absolutely no salt!

"Dear Jack,
I'm relieved you're feeling so well again.

"I talked to a specialist here in Paris.

"And he said you can lead
a perfectly normal life.

"I hope you're not neglecting
your writing.

"Please don't spend your energy

"getting caught up in things
you can't afford."

"Dear Jack, I'm enclosing a piece
I've written

"on a volunteer ambulance driver

"from the New York City
Police Department.

"Also, please don't keep asking me
if you can come over here.

"It just makes me think you have no..."

"Dear Jack, yes,
Wheeler's very happy with my work.

"Life here is so hectic and exhilarating
that I don't have a minute..."

"Dear Jack, don't worry, I'm well.

"My only problem is keeping up with
Wheeler's demands for more stories."

"...serial newsletter under the heading,
'Letters from France.'

"Please don't mention this to anyone.

"I promised Wheeler I wouldn't
say anything to you."

"Dear Jack, I feel I've really grown
through my work for Wheeler,

"and there's no reason to worry about
my being here alone."

Bolsheviks, Sandy. The Bolsheviks!

Jesus Christ,
if the Bolsheviks get in, Sandy,

you can just bend right over
and kiss your ass goodbye.

Because they'll pull Russia
right out of the war.

Right off the Eastern Front.
They quit, that's all.

Pete, the Bolsheviks are small potatoes.

Russia isn't gonna get out of the war.

You want to walk down
the Champs-Elysees someday

and see 500,000 Krauts
come barreling out of Fouquet's?

You better hope that the Bolsheviks
are small potatoes.

Now, let's have another drink. Waiter!

Waiter, another round here.

Hey! Oh, God. It's Red Emma, Jr.!

Hey, come over here!

Speak up, Pete, speak up.
They can't hear you in the next room.

- How are you, Jack?
- Good to see you.

God. You look 20 pounds lighter
since you lost that kidney.

- Oh, yeah?
- I bet you only piss about half as much.

Yeah, but twice as often. Sarsaparilla.

Jack, can the Bolsheviks
overthrow Kerensky?

Okay. Why don't you ask
an impartial observer?

Goddamn it, Jack. What the hell
you got against this war anyway?

Shit, why don't you bury the hatchet
with Wilson?

Get back into print so we can all read
some decent writing, you know.

- I'll drink to that.
- You'll drink to anything.

Well, that's right, too.
It's good to see you.

Jesus Christ. It's good to see you.
Goddamn, how's Louise?

Not so good.

- She's good.
- Tell her from me that I said

that John Wheeler wouldn't know
a story if it fell right on top of him.

I'll tell you.
Hey, Jack, what are you doing?

What the hell are you doing?
You're driving them crazy.

You realize that?

They think you're some kind
of goddamn German!

I love it! Goddamn, I love it!

Give them hell, Jack. Give them hell.

- Is that a sarsaparilla with ice?
- Yeah, thanks.

You bet your sweet patoosie,
that's sarsaparilla with ice.

Why wouldn't John Wheeler
know a story if it fell on him?

John Wheeler's a dumbbell, that's why.

No, he's all right.

I just hate to see Louise get hurt.
That's all.

What are you talking about?

Jesus Christ.

Don't tell her that I told you. All right?

Told me what?

Well, Ben Parsons told me
that Wheeler had to let her go

because she hadn't turned anything in
that he could use,

other than some story about a cop

that went over there to drive
a police department ambulance.

- He let her go?
- Fired her.

- When did you hear that?
- A couple of weeks ago.

No, it was a month.
More than a month and a half ago.

Oh, look, Jack,
Wheeler's a goddamn moron.

Tell her she shouldn't feel ashamed
about being fired.

- I'm gonna see you later, huh?
- Jack, what's the matter?

Hell, we've all been fired.
I've been fired.

Hell, I'll drink to it.

Imagine, 65 million

go to war. Right?

10 million die.

10 million become orphans.

20 million become maimed, crippled,
or wounded.

You had catastrophe in Europe.

You had a holocaust in Europe.

You had a desire for change.

Who can stop them

when there was
such a revolutionary sentiment? Huh?

Who could stop them?

You know, I think I'm gonna have to get
a new typewriter...

- What are you...
- What?

You look fine. Are you all right now?

Oh, God, yes.
Nobody needs two kidneys.

The second one's just for show.

Sorry, this isn't a very good time.

They're moving me
to another communications center.

So, I'm just not going to be able to
talk to you right now, Jack.

Could we just go out here a second?
Just for a second?

- Look, I'm on my way to Russia.
- Oh, really? Have you enlisted?

Very funny.

I know you're doing work here
that's good,

'cause I read the ambulance piece
and I thought that was good.

- Thank you.
- And I know you're working on your book

and I know how important that is to you.

But you got to have enough sense

if you're trying to build up
your reputation as a journalist,

to be in the right place at the right time.

- I appreciate your advice.
- Well, the place to be now is Russia.

- Thank you. I'll remember that.
- Louise, it's chaos. They can't last.

They're in their third
provisional government in six months.

You know what that means? It means
there might be another revolution.

The workers are deserting the factories,
the army's deserting the battlefronts.

The exiles are all coming back.
The Jews, the anarchists, the socialists.

All of them are going back,
only this time

it might be the real thing.

And if they have
a real workers' revolution in Russia,

they'd have one in Germany,
and if they had one in Germany,

- it could happen all over the world.
- Got a match?

Louise, that'd be the end of the war.

You don't have to tell me
what's happening in Russia.

- I read the papers.
- Well, come with me.

As a colleague,
I'm not talking about anything else.

Come with me as a colleague.
You ought to be in Petrograd.

Oh, yeah? Well, that's what you said
about New York!

- I was right about New York.
- No, I have work I'm doing here.

And I happen to think my work is...

It is important. But it's not important as
what you could be doing in Russia.

I wanna work together. As partners.

I don't want a partner. And if
I wanted to go to Russia, I'd go alone.

- I wouldn't need you to take me.
- Louise.

Russia is not the safest place
in the world for a woman to be alone.

You may be a hell of a journalist.
But that doesn't mean...

Louise, we'd better hurry along.

So, moving you out of here, huh?

Yes. I've been promised an interview
with General Plumer.

Well, I've got to run along myself.

- Sorry I don't have any time.
- No. I don't want to keep you.

I just...
Look, the seat's already reserved.

You've wasted your money, Jack.
I don't want it.

Change the date. Go by yourself.
You can use it whenever you want to.

Keep up the good work.

Jack.

Good luck.

Yeah, you, too.

I got a taxi waiting.

Jack! Jack Reed!

- Joe, Joe Volski.
- How are you?

Oh, fine, fine.
Are you going to Petrograd, too?

- Yes. Yeah.
- Fine. Wonderful!

Great things are happening.
Are you traveling by yourself?

- I think I am.
- Well, then I'll switch.

We met in Chicago.

Boy, oh, boy. Were you a speaker!

You don't remember me, eh?

Well, it's not that.

- Maybe I just... Maybe it's the hat.
- My hat?

Yeah. Maybe I just don't recognize you
in this particular hat.

Oh, then I'm a revolutionary
returning in disguise.

Well, comes the revolution,
I'll buy you a new hat.

- I see you're studying Russian.
- Yeah. I'm trying to.

Know what?

- What?
- I mean,

ask me anything you want in Russian.

Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.

Let's see...

Excuse me.
Excuse me, now here's the thing.

I'd be a goddamned fool not to take you
up on this offer. So, here's what I want.

I want to sign my own name
to my own stories

and I don't want to use a double byline.

I want to be responsible
for my own time and my own actions.

I want to be referred to as Miss Bryant,
and not as Mrs. Reed,

and I want to keep an account
of every cent we spend

so that I can pay you back.

Now, I assume you know that
I'm not going to sleep with you,

so just don't confuse the issue
by bringing it up.

That's it.

- Fine.
- Good.

You like salami?

He says,
"Wait a minute, I have to go back.

"I forgot my teeth on the table."

He says, "Hell with your teeth!

"What do you think,
they're bombarding with sandwiches?"

After the revolution,
you'll buy me a new hat.

Thank you very much.
I'll keep you by your word.

By the way, did you hear this one?
A man...

Lenin asks,
"Why do you let your beard grow?"

I says, "I want to remember
what I ate yesterday."

This is a hard word,
but it means "I don't smoke."

Okay.

"Are you one of the family?"
He said, "No. That's why I'm crying."

There's a foreman of a logging camp,
he's trying to hire a crew.

You know, and he goes down
a long line of very big men

and he gets to a little man in the back

and he says, "Who the hell are you?
What're you doing here?

"Don't you know that I need men who
can chop down dozens of trees a day?

"Where the hell
have you ever worked before?"

And the little man says,
"Well, I worked in the Sahara forest."

And the foreman says,
"You mean the Sahara Desert."

And the little man says,
"Yes, sure, now!"

A woman knocks at the door
of her neighbor.

I didn't tell you that?

She says, "My husband just died.
I want to sell his jacket."

He says,
"What's the matter with the pants?"

She says, "The pants, I wear."

The Russian border.

The Russian border.

He's already fighting for three months.

Now he joined the Bolsheviks
and he's not going to fight anymore.

I don't think he's afraid.
There are many Bolsheviks in the army.

And the Bolsheviks will stop the war.

He's 14 years old.

The Communists obviously wanted
peace. Rightly so.

Because the country was completely
unable to sustain a war.

There was treason
and there was corruption.

There was everything under the sun.

But certainly...
There was certainly no possibility

of conducting a war.

Kerensky was anxious to conduct it,

produce some battalions of women
who were going to go and fight.

Jack Reed!

Alex, what the hell are you doing here?

- You have someone to meet you?
- No.

Then what luck I am here!

- Lois?
- Yes.

Alex Gomberg.

- Looking for accommodation?
- No. Just a hotel.

More good luck.
I know of an empty apartment.

You have transportation?
No problem. Follow me.

A lot of people had an idea
that Utopia was growing up.

I could not blame them
for being pro-Bolshevik,

but I wasn't.

The one person
who was awfully ignorant about Russia

- was Beatrice Webb.
- Yes, she was.

She didn't know a thing.

Do not be misled by the quiet
in the streets.

Underneath is great tension.

Alex, how much time
has the Kerensky government got left?

Any day now, the Bolsheviks will strike.

Fantastic, isn't it?

A quiet street,
and yet we are in the heart of Petrograd.

Give him four rubles.

Jack, Lois. Lucky for you, I am here.

Yeah. Thanks. Thanks again.

Only one bed? That's a double.

Single. That's a single!
This is where I'll...

This is good for me. I can just...

Good.

I don't mind this at all.

He's calling for an insurrection,
isn't he?

Day and night. Day and night.

"Another insurrection will ruin Russia."

"Another insurrection will save Russia."

"The war is ruining Russia."

"Without England or France,
Russia will be isolated."

"The Bolsheviks are ruining Russia."

Lois, lucky for you, I am here.

Louise.

- This is the line for bread.
- Yes.

There's another line for boots.

And there is still another line for cards

on which they'll get the boots
in two, three months.

Did we have to get rid of the czar
to stand in line for bread?

- What does that mean?
- I don't know.

Vosstanie means "Insurrection,"
and "Kerensky" means "Kerensky,"

and Bolsheviki means Bolshevik.

So I think it calls for an insurrection
by the Bolsheviks

against the Kerensky government
and the kornilovtsy.

- What's a kornilovtsy?
- Louise, I'm not that fluent in Russian.

Look, if they buy this,

they're gonna cut you down
to 400 or 500 words, aren't they?

- That starts out like you got 5,000.
- Where would you cut?

I'd lose this. I'd lose this.

But what's your lead?

Oh, I know what you think.
You think the strongman line.

Well, I just don't know if you're gonna
take anybody's breath away

with that for a lead. You know?

You're right.
It's too long, it's too general.

And the strongman line
is the best lead.

You've been right
about something else, too.

The Bolsheviks will take Russia
out of the war.

- Good night.
- Night.

"In the streets the talk
is of peace and bread.

"Neither of which
Kerensky has provided."

"Everybody knows that
something is going to happen,

"Everybody knows that
something is going to happen,

"but nobody knows just what."

Y es?

I'm sorry, I don't speak Russian.
I'm English.

"Petrograd does not sleep.

"At night, the arguments grow louder
and the crowds thicken."

"Nobody is satisfied with Kerensky.

"The far right wants a strongman,
the far left wants peace.

"Everyone waits to see
what the Bolsheviks will do."

"It is not easy to write fairly about
the Bolshevik leader Lenin.

"He is absorbed, cold,
impatient of interruptions."

- You're editorializing here.
- I never editorialize.

- At the end.
- You're right. Cut it.

What I don't understand is...

Why did you take out the piece
about the gunshot? It was very good.

- It is good, isn't it?
- Yeah.

Put it back in for me.

Mr. Zinoviev, do you still feel
that the timing is wrong

for a Bolshevik insurrection?

"I interviewed Zinoviev at Smolny.

"He'd been in hiding with Lenin."

...had another whole decade,
less than a day.

"His style is still that of a man in hiding.

"We hear Trotsky speak at Smolny.

"If Lenin represents thought,
Trotsky represents action.

"He is essentially an agitator."

"The meeting hall at Smolny
was packed. At one point,

"someone in the platform
asked the comrades not to smoke,

"and everybody, including the smokers
took up the cry,

"'Don't smoke, comrades!'
And then they went on smoking."

"At the point Trotsky said,
'We are trying to avoid insurrection,

"'but if the Kerensky government
attacks us,

"'we shall answer blow by blow,'

"the audience broke into wild cheers."

"Lenin is a strange popular leader,
a leader purely by virtue of intellect.

"Colorless, humorless,
uncompromising,

"he seems to have
none of Trotsky's force of personality

"or his gift for phrasemaking,
and yet it is Lenin who is the architect."

Kerensky is some socialist, huh?

"The Winter Palace of the czar, where
Kerensky's government holds office,

- "is vast and magnificent..."
- "It is quiet in the Winter Palace.

"There's no sign here
of the strikes and lockouts

"that convulse Moscow and Odessa.

"No evidence that
transportation is paralyzed,

"that the army is starving
and in the big cities, there is no bread."

"Kerensky is full of old-world manners
and charm, totally unlike Lenin."

"'Provisional government will last,'
Kerensky said during the interview,

"'in spite of the Bolsheviks.'"

"He seemed bitter, defensive."

900,000 men deserted
since January the 1 st.

That's 14% of the Russian army. I...

I'm sort of braising the cabbage.
'Cause I thought it'd be a nice change.

You know that house
where Rhys Williams is staying?

Evidently, the banker's daughter
came home in hysterics the other night,

'cause some woman streetcar
conductor called her "comrade."

So after dinner, they all voted

they preferred the Germans
to the Bolsheviks by 10-to-one.

Anyway, the Social Revolutionaries
asked the British ambassador

to please not to mention their visit,

because they were already considered
too far to the right.

And you know,
it's the same group of people

you couldn't even see a year ago,
'cause they were too far to the left.

Karsavina is dancing tonight.

And, oh, Manny Komroff says
that Charlie Chaplin will be...

Jack...

Thanks for bringing me here.

Will they strike?

Do you speak English?

Do you speak English?

Do you speak English?

Do you speak English?

Do you speak English?

Do you speak English?

- Do you speak English?
- Yes.

Will they strike?

- New York?
- Yes.

- You know Broome Street?
- Yes!

I know,
but can you tell me what he's saying?

- I lived there four years.
- Really? What's he...

What is he saying?

Can you tell me what he's saying?

He says don't strike.
He says it's not right

to leave our Russian soldiers
at Front without guns.

You are a long way from New York.

He says that our Russian
soldiers at the Front

are also strike.

That is why they're leaving the Front.

What's that?

He said that the workers of England,
France and America

will be left alone to fight Germany.

Tell him he doesn't know
how many workers

in England, France and America
are against the war.

You lived in New York. Tell him that.

You are right, American.

Go ahead, you speak.

Go ahead.

Tell them about your American workers.

No, I can't speak here, I don't have
any credentials to speak here.

- I'm an American...
- Credentials? What credentials?

Everyone has credentials here.

He ask you to speak.

Speak. I translate.

I only want to say that if you strike,

the American workers
will not feel betrayed.

They're waiting for your example.

They're waiting for your leadership.

If you refuse to support
the capitalist war machine,

they will follow your example.

And if workers of the world
stand together,

the war can be stopped.