Henry And June Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Henry And June script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the movie about Henry Miller and Anais Nin starring Uma Thurman, Fred Ward, and Maria De Medeiros.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Henry And June. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Henry And June Script



It began so innocently.

They said it was strange a woman...



would want to publish a defense

of D.H. Lawrence...



and that his words are considered

an incitement to sex.



- Then he said, "You write about sex..."

- With some authority, Miss Nin.



You must've led a rather free life.






You must've had a lot

of experience.



You know, affairs.



I'm interested in how you came...



to have such insights

into the erotic.



For literature.

Yes, I love Proust and...



I suppose my real awakening

came when my husband Hugo and I...



first arrived in Paris

and rented a bachelor apartment...



for the summer.



One day, I was tidying up.



As I was going through the closets...



where the owner left his belongings...



I discovered...



In that closet...



I became familiar with the endless

varieties of erotic experience.



Come here.



- Hugo!

- I thought you might need a lift.



Are you all right, Pussy Willow?



- He kissed me.

- What? Oh, my God!



It was just one kiss.



He kisses me once.



Then he caresses all of my body.



He seeks my breasts...



and my most secret,

sensitive part.



His hands are deft.



I'm tempted by unknown pleasures.



When I see that I have let him

be aroused...



I let him release his desire

between my legs.



I just let him...



out of pity.



I tell Hugo...



only part of the story.



Pussy Willow!



Remember to meet me at  :   tonight.



Oh, Hugo, would you mind very much

if I didn't go this evening?



I would mind.



I'm sorry, but all they talk about are

bad loans, trusts or estate planning.



Estate planning can be very creative!



Look, the bank is how we got to Paris.



I need this job and I admit

I sometimes enjoy it. Why not?



Why not?



You're changing into someone else.



You are even beginning to smell

like the bank.



I'm working so you can write.



I need to know people who are alive.



You're not consummating.

You're holding back.



Do it again.



I can't seem to concentrate anymore,




My life? Sometimes I think

I need something else.



An older man,

a man stronger than I am.



You like to make me suffer.



I've loved you

since we were children, Anais.



But, I've always had a fear that...



I wouldn't be able to.



Look at them.

They're so exquisite.



If I were a man,

I'd be swept away.



They don't move me like you do.



Hell of a place you got here, Hugo.




Been here long?



- Just since the Crash.

- Since the Crash? How'd you live before?



We lived well.



This is Henry Miller, the American

writer Osborn is putting up. My wife.



- Anais Nin.

- How are you, Anais?



Eduardo Sanchez, Anais' cousin.



Anais, you ought to read Henry's stuff.

He's got it over D.H. Lawrence.



- I'd love to read what you've written.

- Henry hasn't been published yet.



And you're comparing him to Lawrence?



I don't want to be compared to Lawrence.

He would've hated the way I write.



- Henry writes for the man on the street.

- I don't care for his writing.



Anais has been writing a book

about Lawrence.



Perhaps his sexuality

is too strong for you.



Too strong? He's childish.

He's prudish.



The French have been writing

about this. Rabelais, Flaubert!



I can't imagine any modern writer

not to owe a debt to Lawrence.



We should eat.



He makes too much out of sex.

He makes a damn gospel out of it.



To my way of thinking,

sex is natural...



like birth or death.



I'm not interested in literature

or poetry as we know it.



What are you interested in?



- Henry writes about fucking.

- Fucking?



I'm writing about self-liberation.



- It's definitely about fucking.

- We should eat something.



Amelia's waiting.



I flipped through more pages,

and I realize...



this is my own novel I'm reading

with some joker's name on it...



written in French, being sold

in the best bookstore in Paris.



- Unbelievable.

- How's that possible?



Remember last year when some guy stole

my briefcase with my manuscript in it?



This guy swiped my manuscript, but what

he doesn't realize is I'll get him.



The souffle is from

an old family recipe.



So this is a souffle!



I hope it's substantial enough.



This joker doesn't know I'll get him

because I'm a copyright lawyer.



I'll go after him

like I went after the other joker.



- The guy who stole your play.

- That's on Broadway.



That's on Broadway...

I told you this already?



About how this guy must've stolen

my play out of my briefcase?



I'd be a well-received writer by now

if it weren't for these jokers.



But I'll get them. I'm not taking

any chances. This is my new baby.



You're laughing at me?



I just feel so good. Wonderful.



What a fine moment we have here.

A free lunch.



Fire in the fireplace.

Wonderful wines.



The colors blue and orange.

It's wonderful! No other word for it.



What do you write,

poetry or something?



Most of my writing

is in these diaries.



No, I never let anyone read it.



I never show it to anyone...



except Hugo...






I always wanted to read The Captive.

La Prisonnier.



I want you to have it.



I'll borrow it. Thanks.



Pussy Willow!



I used to go to the six-day bike races

we had in Brooklyn.



Yeah, I love bikes.



- But I couldn't take it.

- I want you to have it.



- What will you use?

- I'll borrow yours.



You can't ride a man's bike.

Henry should take mine.



Hey, thanks, Hugo.



That's swell of ya.

I can really use this.



I'll visit.



Come on, Eduardo, I'll race you

back to Paris before it gets dark.



On your mark.

Come on.



I don't race anymore. To me, a bike

is just a means of getting home.



Get set.



- You're no match for me.

- Are you set, Eduardo?



- I warn you I used to race.

- Go!



- I'd love to read something he wrote.

- Fat chance. He'll never get published.



I've met Henry Miller.



He is virile, flamboyant.



He is a man life intoxicates.



He is like me.



But he doesn't know it yet.



Henry's quite a character.



Good night.



'Night, Hugo.



- Let me help you.

- I'll be fine.



Osborn said he'd be home,

and I want to surprise Henry.



I thought you could use a hand.

You're all right?



Yes, I'm fine!



I'll take the train,

and meet you home later.



I'll wait a minute just in case.



I don't want you to wait.



I'll see you tonight.



See you tonight.









- Oh, excuse me!

- Oh, God, I forgot.



- I'm sorry.

- No, I'm sorry.



Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Wait.



Hiya, kid.

Slumming, huh?



I went to Osborn's place.

He told me where to find you.



I brought my typewriter.

I thought you should have it.



Can we go and sit down somewhere?



Why not?



There's a little cafe back here.



Come on.



That actress in the film...



she reminds you of someone.



A woman who obsesses you.



I know that feeling.



I'm often obsessed.



You oughta eat something, kid.

You eat like a bird.



All right, I'll tell ya.



June appeared like an angel.

I offered her a fool's fate.



She was a taxi dancer.



I paid my dime.



She put her head on my shoulder.



But then the lies began.



She told me her mother

was a Gypsy.



Her father was a count.



Later I saw a film and realized she

swiped her childhood out of the film.



And so?



So I married her.



She gave me the courage to quit my job

to write full time. She believed in me.



Somehow she got some money so

we could buy strawberries in the winter.



We're broke,

living in a dump in Brooklyn...



but we're living like kings.



Then one day she meets an artist.



Brings her home to live with us.



Pretty soon we're supporting Jean, too.



How is she getting the money?



- Pop.

- Pop?



Pop's her scam.



I found out about Pop only after

she barged in with a fistful of money...



and suggests I go to Paris to write.



Then she'll join me later.



I take one look into her lying eyes,

and say...



"Anything you say."



Pack my bags

and I'm off to Europe.






I'm not quite the sap

she takes me for.



Something tells me to double back...



and take a see.



But when I confront her,

she gets furious with me!



She said we would've starved

without Pop. "Pop's my patron saint."



Your patron saint?



Yeah. That's what she calls him.



Only she's been telling Pop

that it's her writing.



That's why Pop's been buying it,

because of her.



How you doing? Bonjour.



And I should be grateful.

She's done it all for me.



Then she says, "I love you."



And everything else vanishes.



In that moment, I lived eternities.



Why does she get angry, hurt,

jealous or cruel?



Why does she lie?

That I can't understand.



Maybe you're not asking

the right questions.



Oh, yeah?

What would you ask?



I'd asked:

What makes her lies necessary?



What is she afraid of?



Who is she afraid of?



The kinds of things a woman would ask.



A woman?



Excuse me, pal. Could you spring

for a few francs? I'm short today.



Beat it!



I could give you some money

if you need it.



Thanks. That's swell of ya.






See you, kid.

You can get home okay?



Yes, of course. I'll be fine.



Should be taxis all the time.

A lot of your swanky types come here.



See ya.



I'm getting interesting

shadowy images.



I like it.



You fall in love

with people's minds.



I'm afraid I could lose you

to Henry.



Don't be ridiculous.



He's so rough!



He calls me "kid."



I hate him.



He's a parasite, an egoist.



Maybe it's just jealousy.



What are you jealous of?



His life seems

so full of pain and chaos.



He has someone who drives him

to pain and chaos.



Anais, meet my wife June.



Thanks for taking care of Henry.



He didn't describe you right.



You didn't, Henry.



The colors you've used!



It's as if you painted each room

for a different mood, Anais.



It's Anais.



Henry gets everything wrong.



Oh, sorry!



- Always merry and bright.

- You said it!



What's the title of your book

going to be?



I'm knocking around a couple.



I Sing the Equator

and Tropic of Cancer.



- I like Sing the Equator.

- No!



- Tropic of Cancer.

- Without question.



You are so absolutely right.



You see, Henry, I told you so.






What do you think of her?



June? Not much.



You're afraid of her?



I just don't trust her.

Do you?



Trust her?



Of course not.



But you do think she's beautiful,

don't you?



No. That's the truth.



You have no aberrations...



no cruelty.



I don't want to be cruel.



I hate men who are afraid

of a woman's strength.



I'm not afraid of your strength!

I love it.



The stronger, the better.



Come here.



You don't hate me, do you?



Tell me some more truth.



Or some lies!



Whisper to me.



How would you lie to June...



if you were making love to her?



Making love to her?






To her body.



Her voluptuous body.



She's so perverse, so naked.



Tell her that you love her.



I love you!



Hold tighter.



Possess her like a man.



I want to fuck her like a man.



- Fuck her.

- I am.



I am fucking her, Pussy Willow.



Pretty good, Hugo.



I used to pace the six-day

bike races in Brooklyn.



- You're pretty damn good to keep up.

- Let's go!



I guess it's natural with me.

I've always loved sports.



Hey, come on!



That was fun.



A little different than horseshoes.



Match that.



- It's a tie!

- Okay. It's a tie.



You're like the schoolteacher.

I'm like the young girl.



Always merry and bright.



What's your name?



I'm Count Bruggar!



Where do you come from?



Count Bruggar's been on the stage.



That's why he's so spoiled.



Count Bruggar is not spoiled!



Jean made Count Bruggar.



She's an artist.

Her hands are incredible.



Her beauty's more like a man's.



She's no ordinary woman.



No ordinary woman

could make Count Bruggar!



- Quiet. We're talking.

- Shut up.



You shut up, too!



- Where did you learn how to do this?

- My parents were show people.



My father was a magician in the circus.

My mother was a trapezist.



I was born on the road.



What has Henry told you?



Nothing. Really.



He mention Pop?



No. Who's Pop?



Pop is a patron saint of the arts

I know.



Henry's jealous of him

because Pop's rich.



Henry sees a lecher under every rock.

You know how men get.



Do you love women?



What do you mean?



What about Jean?



Did Henry tell you about Jean and me?



No! You've been telling me

about her.



Sometimes he has a way of making...



everything ugly.



- He's not sleeping with you, is he?

- What?



I guess not.



- Did we pay?

- Let me.



Good. I've got to book my passage.



Passage? To where?



Home to New York.



Come on, Bruggar.



I've got my own life to lead.

So many things up in the air.



My friends, my acting. There's

an audition I don't want to miss.



Excuse me,

this is all the money you have?






Sorry. I can't do anything for you.



What do you want me to do, swim?



Of course not.



We'll find a solution.



Something's happened.

I don't know.



The price has gone up,

or the exchange rate's gone down.



I tried to get a reduction, but I don't

have enough even for third class.



- Here. Let me...

- I couldn't.



Please, take this.



It's swell of you.






About that boat.



So, did you find a solution?



I hope so.



- I'd really like to travel first-class.

- It's possible.



Maybe you know a place

we could meet for a drink.



Let's say  :  .



-  :  's better.

-  :  .



- Thanks.

- See you then.



Here I am.



This character, Mona.

She's supposed to be me?









It's so good.



I always wanted you to be...






- Is that good?

- Good?



I struggled, suffered...



for this?



This isn't me.

This is not me!



Of course it's you.

It's the you inside me.



It's a distortion.



Henry, look at me.






You can't see me or anyone

as they are.



I wanted Dostoyevsky.



Who can be Dostoyevsky with you?



You make that impossible!

What do you want?



- What do I want?

- Yeah?



After I brought the world to you?



After I told you all of my stories?



Sing my praises!



Make me an admirable character.



- I'm not a portrait painter.

- I'll say you're not.



Look what you've done to Anais.



You make everything ugly.



Beauty is a joke to you.



You're so negative.



You're a failure as a writer.



You're not a man.

You're a child!



You use women!



You used me, you fucker!



You fuck!



Get rid of her.



I'll drive you wild.



I love you.



I wanna be drunk.



And make...



you drunk.



Because I'm intimidated by you.



I need to feel free to say anything

and know that you'll forgive me.



I want to tell you things

so you won't stumble through life.



I've done the vilest things...



foulest things.



But I've done them superbly.



I feel innocent now.



Do you believe that?



You are innocent.



I want to be innocent like you.



I want to experience everything

you've experienced.



Take care of Henry for me.



I'll be leaving in the morning.






The morning?



But when will you come back?



Maybe soon.



Maybe never.



There is so much I wish

I could've done with you.



I wish I could've taken opium with you.



Give me your wrist.



No! You have so few things.



I wanted to give you more.



I wanted to hold you.



She's crazy. Don't you see it?



No, I don't see.

I don't care.



She's just using you.



You just don't understand.

You're jealous of her.



No, I'm not.



Besides, you'll never see her again.



Where did you get this?



Show me!



Does she think she can love anything

in you I haven't loved?



Henry, you may have genius

and passion...



but something is definitely missing.



Oh, yeah? What?






Compassion for whom?



June, for instance.



Might as well have compassion

for the moon.



I'm going to write a book about June.



I'm writing about her.



I know more than anybody will know

about her.



I'm talking about something

totally different. As a woman.



From the inside out.



I can get into the poetry of June.



Hey, she's my fucking wife.



You don't understand

your own fucking wife.



I kissed her.



Write about whatever you want

to write about, for Christ's sake.



And more power to ya.



- I gotta get back to work.

- Stay longer if you can.



She's been under stress.

Just getting back on her feet.



Say, they've got Haitian drums

up there.



That fellow said I might sit in.



I saw your true nature

when you were dancing.



You don't understand.



Maybe I'm just a peasant,

and only whores can understand me.



You wanna dance?






Move your legs wider.



I love you.



I need you.



What are you doing?

You're driving me wild.



Perhaps I am a demon to be able

to pass from Henry's arms into Hugo's.



Hugo lies next to me

as I write this.



I love Hugo.



And I feel innocent.



Did I ever tell you about when I was

a little boy growing up in Puerto Rico?



My father used to take me

to the carnival.



There were wild drums beating

and frightening masks.



There was something going on that was

terrifying, that I didn't understand.



I said to my father,

"I'm not afraid.



But give me your hand."



I have to go.



Hello, Mr. Richards.



Hello, Hugo.

Mr. Grant can't join us till Friday.



Anais, I don't know how much

I dare write you.



I would call you,

only I'm afraid Hugo would answer.



God forgive if this letter's

ever opened by mistake.



I can't help it.



I want you. I love you.



I've been living with you constantly.



But I've been afraid to tell you.



I thought it would terrify you.



But today as I watched Dreyer's

Passion of Joan of Arc...



I saw the mad monk

played by Antonin Artaud.



I thought of you like Joan...



in all your youth and purity

and single-minded madness.



And I saw myself in Artaud.



A hungering monk in love with you

and with my madness...



and your madness.



And the demon in Artaud's eyes

was like the demon in your eyes.



We fit so well together.



With Hugo, it's so difficult sometimes.



We have to use Vaseline.



His penis is so big.



But you and I fit so well.



Oh, Henry, I want to know

what you know.



I want my life to match your life.



Look at that, will ya?

Isn't that something?



Just read your goddamn book

on D.H. Lawrence...



and my, oh, my

it's one hell of a book.



Shows me I didn't know shit

about Lawrence when I spoke.



Who am I to go shooting off

at the mouth about him?



He was much greater, finer

than I ever thought.



Never mind how he failed

or triumphed as a man.



As an artist, did he succeed?



I say magnificently.



He tried to liberate literature.



And that's our task:

Liberation, freedom.



Let's toast to Lawrence.

Let's toast to our defects.






to our friendship.



Drink cold, piss warm.



To Henry.



Fuck the Huns.



You know who I really am?



It's only me from over the sea.

I'm Barnacle Bill the sailor



I'm all lit up like a Christmas tree

I'm Barnacle Bill the sailor



I'll sail the sea until I croak

I'll fight and swear and drink and smoke



But I can't swim a bloody stroke

I'm Barnacle Bill the sailor



I'll put my mast in whom I please

I'm Barnacle Bill the sailor



I'll drink and fight and fuck and smoke

But I can't swim a bloody stroke



I'm Barnacle Bill the sailor

Barnacle Bill the sailor



Perverts yourselves!



- Fuck you.

- Jack.



- What?

- Say, fuck you, Jack.



Fuck you, Jack!



Twelve meters.



Pull it.



Yeah, scram.



Everybody says sex is obscene.

The only true obscenity is war.



I'd believe only in a god...



who understood how to dance.



Isn't that something?



Nietzsche says that at the same time...



the Huns and Germany are gearing up,

perverting, what he says.



We're given this gift:

The ability to understand.



Yet no one wants to understand.



We're given the ability to read.



Read Nietzsche, Thomas Mann...



read Spengler, Joyce, Rambaud.



Read fucking Alice in Wonderland.

Huh, Osborn?



Everything's out of whack.



People just worry about money

and deny their inner self.



What is money, anyway?



There's an old Portuguese saying...



"If shit had value,

the poor wouldn't have asses."



Money. Money.



They walk through the night crowd

protected by money...



lulled by money, dulled by money.



No single object anywhere

that is not money.



Money everywhere and still not enough.



Then no money or little money

or less money or more money.



But money. Always money!



If you have money or don't have money,

it's the money that counts.



And money makes money.

But what makes money make money?



I say, what the hell!



We gotta die to the world

like the clowns. Right, clowns?



I've never seen the sun rise in Paris.



I've never been up all night.



I've never been with a woman

I could be so sincere with.



I feel so free to write now.



I'll help you.



And I'll help you.



I feel so pure.



So strong.



So new, Henry.



You and I together,

not any man or woman together.



I'm gonna demand everything of you.



Even the impossible.



Because you encourage it.



Maybe I should get down on my knees

and worship you.



I'm gonna undress you.



Vulgarize you a bit.

Lift up your dress.



No, not here.



Don't look around.



You little aristocrat.



Don't care.



I want to fuck you...



teach you things...



humiliate you a little.



Wrap your leg around me.



I'm gonna make you come with me.






This is one of the most beautiful things

I've ever read.



I've never shown this diary

to anyone before.



No one will ever know these things...



but you.



You're becoming all the things

you wished to be as a little girl.



- I had a cricket.

- What?



A little cricket in a cage.



I love your accent.



I carried it everywhere with me.



But when we arrived in America,

they took it away at immigration.



The only thing they let me keep

in America was my diary.



And my accent.



I love you at   .



I love you now.



I will love you at    .



Here. Take a look.



What have you got here?



This is good.




Yours, too.



You tell the truth with such...






- I hope you don't mind.

- Mind?



Why should I mind?

I welcome constructive criticism.






If it's constructive.



- What are you doing?

- Just a few things.



Here it's all shrieks...



and abstracts.



It's too melodramatic.



You gotta take time to expand.



You're enjoying this.



- What?

- Cutting me up.



I don't want to write

the way you write.



I don't want you to write

the way I write.



You've got to write in your own voice.

I'm just making a few suggestions.



It's tight in places.




Read it out loud

and see how it sounds.



- I won't give you that pleasure.

- Pleasure?



Hold on a minute here.



Can't you take it?

You gotta take a few taps on the chin.



A few taps on the chin?



Amuse yourself with someone else.



A prizefighter, for instance.



You're right exactly.

A prizefighter.



You've got to get knocked down

occasionally to acquire ring tactics.



The strategy,

the art of fighting.



You can't just shadowbox in your room.



You wouldn't last two minutes

when you step into the ring.



I am not interested

in stepping into a ring with you.



The world will give us

plenty of beatings.



We need each other's support.



Should I criticize you

like an outsider?



Should I say you write




That you write only from a man's point

of view and can't understand women?



Should I say that sometimes there's

a touch of the brute in your writing?



That you're too much of a realist?



What's the matter?

Can't you take it?



Like a prizefighter.



Knock it off.



You want to fight, huh?






Leave it. It looks nice that way.









You never like the way I look.



I do love your hair.



I just think it shouldn't be so severe.



So tight.



Like my writing?



No, not like your writing.

I love your writing.



I believe in you.



Last night I thought that you were

the woman I should've been married to.



You're always ironizing with me.



"Ironizing"? There's no such word.

It's "to be ironic."



Look it up.



Then he steals my ideas

and puts them in his novel.



Henry wouldn't do that.



I'm sure of it.




he got into my briefcase

and swiped my ideas.



Those phrases are mine.



That way of expression,

that rhapsodizing, it's mine.




I introduced him to Nietzsche.



I introduced him to Hugo and you.

He stole you from Hugo.



- Don't, Richard.

- He stole you from me.



That's true.



It was my idea to become your lover.



He betrayed me by stealing you from me

and from my best friend, your husband.



This man is treacherous to the core.



This Neanderthal from Brooklyn

is trying to murder me.



For all his pretended friendship, his

most intimate friends are only fodder...



for the unrolling of his own sanctified

destiny, his own creative urges.



I leave the two of you

to your destiny.



And one more thing.



No more sex in my apartment.

I won't stand for it.



I won't stand for it.



I love that guy.



He understands me,

even though he is...



Pas maintenant. Later.



Even though he is ironizing.



I have only three desires now:



To eat...



to sleep...



and, uh...






- Jerks out there.

- It's just the Art Students Ball.



Maybe you just don't want it tonight.



It's fine.



I understand.



It's natural.



I've read about such moments.



It happens to women, too,

only women can conceal it.






Don't be.



You feel that you have to fuck me

or I'll be disappointed.



But you don't always

have to fuck me.



Don't say that word.



What word?






It just bothers me now.



Maybe it's the accent.



Maybe it's just because you can't fuck.



It's important not to imagine

terrible things...



like being impotent from now on.



It's nothing.

We should just laugh about it.



I love you, Pussy Willow.



I love you, too, Hugo.



I gave myself with such feelings

against Henry...



that I experienced

a great physical pleasure.



My first infidelity to Henry...



was with my own husband.



I've changed.



I feel restless, spirited...






To be truthful, I hope secretly

to meet someone else.



I have erotic imaginings.



I want pleasure.



Every time I go out with you

I love you more than ever.



You seem so wild tonight.



Tonight I could do anything.



I could, too.



We need to think of something

that will stimulate us both.



Anything you say, kiddo.



Henry told me about this place.



This ought to be something.



Wait here.



- I'm with you.

- We'll just look.



What's an exhibition?



Then you must choose two.



An exhibition is...



us watching a man and a woman

doing it?



No man. Only women.

One pretends to be the man.



It is better that way.

N'est-ce pas?



Of course.



You will not be disappointed.

You will see everything.



And now you must choose.









There are    ways

in which to make love.



Oh? Really?



They will show you love

in a taxi.



Love when one of the partners

is sleepy.



Love in the street.

Etcetera, etcetera.



You like something else?



Yes. Stop pretending to be a man.



Would you like to join us?



As you wish. You're the boss.



Anais, what?



I love your green eyes, Eduardo.



I want to show you things.



Teach you things.



I want you to relax.



Relax, Eduardo.



I had a dream.

A nightmare.



June had suddenly returned.



We shut ourselves in a room.



I began to undress.



I begged her to undress.



I asked to let me see between her legs.



As she lay over me...



I felt a penis touching me.



Aren't you glad?



Aren't you glad?



I'm passing through a crisis, Eduardo.



Be careful, Anais.



Abnormal pleasures kill the taste

for the normal ones.



I hate you, Henry...



because I now realize I love you

as I have never loved anyone.



I miss your voice,

your hands, your body...



your tenderness,

your bearishness and your goodness.



Most of all,

I miss our friendship.



I'm finished.



Pussy Willow!

I'm home!



I'm home!



Henry's exhausted.

Hasn't slept for two days.



He's just finished his novel.






This is wonderful.






- Come and join us.

- Lay down with us, Henry.



I hope you don't mind.

Anais was reading this.



I'm a nosy guy,

so I took a peek.



I love it.



I've been trying

to write something about it.



About how necessary this book is

for our times.



You give us a blood transfusion.



- Beautiful.

- Thanks.



Wait till June reads this.



She'll be so thrilled

that you've finished your book.



Each mention of her name...



each page I read is painful.



Well, this was a swan song.



It was a way to understand her

so I could free myself from her.



- It's finished now.

- Not yet.



- Now we've got to get it published.

- Published?



Who will publish it?

I know what they'll say.



There's even laws against

what I've written.



But I feel good now.



I'm ready to celebrate my failure.



I won't let you be a failure.



I'll make the world listen to you.

I promise.



I'm ready now to call on the pope...



and all the kings...



and all the editors and publishers

in the world to get them to support you.



It's Anais.



- Eduardo.

- Hello, Henry.



- Where's Hugo?

- Hugo's gone on business.



Osborn's gone, too.

Gone crazy.









We're celebrating Osborn's madness.

This is a rare occasion.



It doesn't happen every day. I hope

he's really insane and not faking it.



- They came and took him away.

- He was a monster.



That was his best side.



We've got the whole place to ourselves.



You ever see what

a good contortionist can do?






I'll get you something to drink.



Sorry I couldn't keep in touch.



I thought of you every day.



You know me with writing.

I have a terrible time.



I don't have the gift

like you and Henry.



I found your book

lying around here.



I hope you don't mind.



I took a peek.



House of Incest?



It's nice.



Is this character Sabina

supposed to be me?



"The muffled, close half talk

of soft-fleshed women.



Deep into each other

we turned our hollowed eyes."



It seems like poetry sort of.



It's so damn sweet of you

to try to write something about me.



I really...



I really expected something more...



I don't know.

More real.



More real?



Yeah. More about, you know, life.



Hey, don't get upset.



Some of it's really beautiful.



I promise I'll read it again.



Things have been so damn tough for me.



The acting didn't pan out.



Then Jean, my friend, left.



Anais, what's happened to Henry?



He's so changed.



June, I don't know.



I don't know what to say.

I've been busy.



I've seen him occasionally. We work

on our writing together sometimes.



But, I don't know.



I've been seeing someone.



- You mean you have a lover?

- Yes.



That man you came with?



Yes. Eduardo.



Anais, I'm so happy for you.



I don't know who I came back for.



Don't let it come between us.




I need your faith.



That could be good luck, too.



Could be.



Jack, you've come.



How are you?



June, I'd like you to meet Jack...



the man who wants to publish my book.



- My wife June.

- Hiya, Jack.



Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller.



I feel I already know you intimately

from reading Henry's book.



Yeah? What do you think?



I think it's strong meat.

That's how we'll market it.



- What's our cut?

- Your cut?



Lt'll be  %.



A crummy  %?



Henry spends years

writing the book.



Lives like a bum.

Busts his nuts.



- Stay out of this, June.

- I scrape by and do without.



And pour my heart and soul in making him

some kind of Dostoyevsky.



And all we get is  %?



With me, the percentage

will mean something.



What does "mean something" mean?



I believe it's a fair deal.



Well, I'll be.



Of course, if you don't want

to publish it...



Henry just doesn't get business.



Let's us talk.



By all means. But as I've said,

before we can do anything...



it's absolutely necessary to have

the money to print it.



Jack, I've told you.

I'll get the money.



I guess I was naive about

how things work in your business.



I hope I didn't upset you.



I was wondering if some advance

might be possible.



Or maybe there's room

to improve in the percentage.



Let's not discuss it now.



Here is not the place.



Maybe you know a place

where we could have lunch?



I certainly do.

A marvelous place.



It's done then.

It's been so good to meet you.



Really. It's been wonderful

having you.



You, too.



Good night.



- Yes.

- See you.






Who's he trying to kid?



A crummy  %.



He hasn't dealt with

this Brooklyn girl yet.



- Let's go for a nightcap, Henry.

- Go ahead. We'll join you later.



- Always merry and bright.

- To you, too.



- I should go.

- No, Anais.



Don't go. You can catch up

with Eduardo later.



All right, Eduardo?



Say, you know...



I don't know.



I was thinking maybe it's not time

to publish Henry's book just now.



Not publish?



What the hell you talking about?



I'm talking about the crappy deal.



And the fact that you're

taking advantage of Anais.



And Hugo, too.



They're not made of gold, Henry.



Am I right, Anais?



Yes, but... No.



We believe we have to publish it.



I'll get it published.



The right way,

just like I always have.



We've always managed to survive,

you and me.



Besides, it needs work.



- What?

- It's not ready.



It's better than

when I first read it...



but it could be even better.



There's too much anger in the book.



Too much anger?



Too much fucking anger?



Even Anais agrees that you

distorted me in your book.



She had to write her own book.



- Isn't that right?

- No.



I did tell June you failed to perceive

certain things.



- Don't.

- After all I've done for him.



He owes me for all the years

I sacrificed.



Your sacrifices just add

to your greatness.



- I don't owe you a thing.

- You don't what?



What Henry really means is...



For Christ's sake,

can't you see what she's doing?



- Don't yell at me!

- He treats you like a child.



- She's a woman, Henry.

- I know she's a woman.



- I'll bet you do.

- What the fuck do you mean by that?



I'm leaving.



How can you treat her this way?



You're drunk.



So what?



You're weak.



I hate when you get weak.

Be a man!



God, that's it!






I hate your violence.






Anais, don't go.



I love you.



You're cruel and clever.



You're both cruel and clever.



I'm afraid of both of you.



Oh, God.



I'm the wrong woman for you, Henry!



I'm the wrong woman for you, Anais.



Leave me alone.

Don't touch me.



I'm so terribly sick.



Give me peace.



I love you.



Get some sleep, Anais.



I don't know why I keep thinking of

this little Chinese restaurant...



Henry and I used to go to

after I got off work.



He'd wait for me outside the dance hall

at  :   in the morning.



And we'd rush through

the freezing cold...



holding each other tight.



We'd get there

just before closing time.



Sit in the booth by the window

eating chow mein...



watching the snow swirl by.



There was some kind of unbelievable

thrill in the air between us.



I feel kind of honored by it now.



Chin Lee's.



It's funny.



It seems like a dream.



Your eyes make me shy.



Don't be shy.



You're so lovely.



So small.



I burnt myself out.



June, I worship you.



I don't want worship.



I want understanding.



I understand you.



We should go away somewhere together...



where there's lots of snow.



How little you are.



So thin.



I could break you in two.



I feel innocent now.



Let yourself go.






You're still holding back.



Let me see your body.



It isn't beautiful enough.



Beautiful June.



I heard a noise out there.



Henry was listening.



No. Once Henry falls asleep,

nothing can wake him up.






I'm sorry.



- I lost my head. I was drunk.

- Don't be sorry.



This new lover of yours

has really made you bloom.



- It's chilly.

- Tell me more about him.



Did you make curtains for him?



Did you give him books to read?



Did you give him a typewriter?



No, you don't understand.



I don't understand?



What don't I understand?



That I love you.






You just want experience.

You're a writer.



You make love to whatever you need.



- You're just like Henry.

- No, I'm just like you.



I can see exactly what you're doing.



You're so slippery.

So slippery.



You bitch!



Liar, trickster.

You bought his love!



Shut up!



You both robbed me blind.



You stole everything.



- What do I care? I've got more to give.

- Shut up.



To someone new.

Some truly great writer.



Henry said you just took us in

because you were bored.



That's a lie.



A lie.



I was dreaming about you.






What's wrong?



She lies.



She lies.

What is she afraid of?



I don't understand.

I tried to give her everything.



I know.



Very pretty.

Just like I figured it.



Now I know everything.



I wanted to return something

before I leave.



Some books I borrowed.



June, you're wrong!



We're just friends.

I never touched her.



Get rid of her, Henry.



All right, you made your choice.



I've only got one more thing

I can give you.



Your last chapter.



Watch closely.



What are you doing out here?

It's freezing.



I thought she'd do something crazy.

I never know.



I looked all over for her.



She's gone.



This is mine.



This is mine, too.



I feel like the war's over.



Hey, what are you doing?

Come on.



Leave that there.



Stay with me, for Christ's sake.

We gotta talk.



I can't.



- Where are you going?

- Home.












I love him, too.

You married a great guy.



Fuck you, Jack.



That won't do it.



That won't get rid of me.



You're my friend.



I'm going to come after you.



Hey, how can you leave me

at a time like this?



I need you.



I need you.



I thought you might need a lift.



Is everything all right?



Hey, Henry.



Give me your hand.



That morning I wept.



I wept because I loved the streets

that took me away from Henry...



and would lead me back to him.



I wept because the process

by which I had become a woman...



was painful.



I wept because from now on...



I would weep less.



I wept because I had lost my pain...


Special help by SergeiK