Dramatic instrumental music:
Lively instrumental music:
Lively instrumental music continues:
Audience murmuring:
Actor grunts:
ACTOR: Cooperative as ever, Abigail.
WOMAN: Whispering: It's the worst play I've ever seen.
MAN: I can't believe Sidney Bruhl wrote it.
MAN: Good evening, Mr. Bruhl. How's it going?
TV chatter:
TV COMEDIAN: You want to be alone.
The lines are trouble.
But you don't have to look your best.
Phone rings:
Screams:
Sidney? Darling?
Darling, I've been so anxious. How's it going?
What do you mean it's a disaster?
You always think that on opening night.
Of course it's not a disaster. They're laughing, aren't they?
Sidney?
Are they laughing?
Sweetheart ....
Sidney ....
Are they laughing at all?
Handcuffs snapping:
My God.
Who could ever have believed it would end this way?
Who? Who?
Audience clapping:
SEYMOUR: Bruhl, you want to know who? I'll tell you who.
My lawyer, my accountant...
My proctologist, even my goddamn wife.
She said, "You produce another crock by that putz Sidney...
"you deserve to go broke."
Even my goddamn wife!
She should know, Seymour. It's her money.
Putz!
Listen, pal, you and me been in this business a long time, right?
Long enough to know it ain 't your opening night crowd...
That hands down the verdict.
So just relax, kid.
Count your loot, and drink your orange blossom.
Thanks, Burt.
BURT: The critics are gonna love you. You got my promise, okay?
Here we go.
TV HOST: Our drama critic, Stewart Klein.
KLEIN: Sidney Bruhl's new play...
Which opened tonight at the music box is billed as a comedy-thriller.
So much for truth in advertising.
TV knob clicking:
Well, theater lovers, there is bad news tonight.
Bad sets, bad costumes, bad direction, bad actors...
And from playwright Sidney Bruhl, a spectacularly bad play.
Sidney Bruhl's new whodunit Murder Most Fair...
Opened tonight at the music box.
But there's no point in you folks going there...
'cause I'm gonna tell you who done it.
Sidney Bruhl done it.
And what's inexcusable is he done it in public.
They weren't real raves, Sidney, but they certainly weren't what I call bad.
I'm doing the only sensible thing. I'm getting pissed!
SIDNEY: And I 'll see you in Easthampton in the morning.
STATION ANNOUNCER: Westhampton.
Glass shattering:
Solemn instrumental music:
CONDUCTOR: Easthampton, Easthampton.
Solemn instrumental music continues:
CABBY: That'll be $52.
Screams:
Yelling: Every time I come in this bloody house, you scream!
Let me help you, darling.
I have been through the worst opening night of my life...
And that is no small boast.
I was called a putz by Seymour Starger...
And I had to come back home on a bloody train!
MYRA: Why didn't you take a limousine?
SIDNEY: Because I can't afford a limousine!
You can. I can, and everything I have is yours--
Don't you understand? I want to pay for my own limousines!
Myra, I have had four bombs in a row!
And you know, they deserved to bomb, because they stank!
Murder Most Fair was total shit! Because I'm written out.
Out!
I can no longer cut it, my darling.
Do you know what happened to me tonight?
I passed out in the train, and I came to in the terminus at Montauk.
End of the line!
Bloody symbolic.
By Christ, this has been some kind of Walpurgisnacht.
MYRA: Oh, darling.
I won't let you do this to yourself. Darling, listen to me.
Darling, you're a wonderful, wonderful writer!
You are just going through a streak of bad luck!
And to add bloody insult to injury...
This came to the theater tonight.
SIDNEY: Tonight! MYRA: What, darling? What?
SIDNEY: This is what.
A thriller in two acts. One set, five characters.
A juicy murder in Act One, terror in Act Two.
An ironic and astonishing resolution, good dialogue...
Laughs in all the right places, very commercial, and easy to cast!
MYRA: What's funny?
"What's funny?" I'll tell you what's funny!
It was written by some ignorant, infant asshole...
In the seminar I gave last year at college! Name of...
Clifford Anderson.
Listen to this. Listen to this.
Blah-blah-blah ....
"Without your guidance and inspiration .... "
Blah-blah-blah ....
"...therefore, it is only fitting...
"that you should be the first person to read it.
"If you find it .... "
Blah-blah-blah ....
"...your own great work, I'll consider my time well-spent...
"and the fee for the seminar more than adequately rewarded."
Why, darling, that's very nice. Touching, isn't it?
"PS!
"Please excuse the carbon copy. The local Xerox machine is on the fritz...
"and I couldn't stand the thought of waiting a few days...
"to send my firstborn child off to its spiritual father."
Wouldn't you like to throw up?
Little son of a bitch even types well.
Sidney breathing heavily:
Wait a minute.
Not so little.
I think I remember him.
Obese.
Yes, I do remember him.
He was the glandular case that sat in the front...
And never took his piggy little eyes off me.
Darling, is it really that good?
Stammering: Is it really that good? It couldn't be, could it?
I mean, a first attempt by a total amateur?
I'll tell you how good that is.
Even a gifted director couldn't hurt it.
Myra ....
MYRA: Do you realize this is the first opening night ever...
That I couldn't be with you? Darling, I felt so bad.
MYRA: Darling, I was so anxious. SIDNEY: I know.
I should have given more thought about you being left at home.
SIDNEY: Myra? MYRA: Yes, darling?
SIDNEY: Myra. MYRA: Yes?
I must be able to trust you, darling.
You cannot smoke. You know that, don't you?
SIDNEY: You taking your pills? MYRA: No.
Now, everything's going to be all right provided you take reasonable precautions.
Don't make me worry about you every time you're out of my sight.
Darling, I am so sorry, but I was so anxious.
SIDNEY: That's not your job, anxiety.
Anxiety's my job, you got that?
I've got that, darling.
Kissing:
MYRA: How does Mr. Anderson's play read when you're sober?
It's worse than I thought. It's flawless.
MYRA: So ....
So maybe you should do something about it.
What I should do is beat the fat bastard on the head...
With that mace over there...
Burying him in a hole big enough to accommodate his bloat...
And then send his little masterpiece off under my own name.
Sidney chuckling:
-There's the best idea I've had in 10 years. -Yes, darling, it's so unfair, isn't it?
I mean, what's the point in owning a mace if you don't use it?
Myra laughs:
MYRA: Do you know what I was thinking last night?
Why don't you produce the play?
You've been involved in production for over 20 years.
You certainly know as much about it as Seymour Starger.
SIDNEY: Darling, though I might be capable of killing Clifford Anderson...
I am not up to the criminal behavior of a Broadway producer.
I dare say not.
Have you thought about collaboration?
I don't want any help in killing Clifford Anderson.
-I want to strike the blow myself. -Darling, seriously.
Have you thought about collaborating on the play on Deathtrap?
If it's as good as you say it is...
It wouldn't hurt if it got some of that Sidney Bruhl polish and pizzazz.
What do you think, my darling darling?
Don 't tell me that an absolute amateur wouldn 't be thrilled...
At the chance of working with you.
SIDNEY: You mean, I sex it up a little and then split it 50-50?
And of course I 'd get top billing.
MYRA: Why not? On the basis of who you are.
SIDNEY: You sure you don't mean who I was?
MYRA: Sidney!
You were and are the author of The Murder Game...
The longest-running thriller in the history of Broadway.
God.
I hadn't realized.
You mind the failure as much as I do, don't you Myra?
I expect it was rather fun being married to that Sidney Bruhl.
Oh, well ....
Nothing recedes like success.
Darling, call him.
-Call him now. Where does he live? -Up in Quogue.
You don't like the mace?
No, definitely not. Blood on the carpet.
The next day Helga Ten Dorp's out there, picking up psychic vibrations.
Helga Ten Dorp from Holland? I hardly think that's likely.
I knew it!
I knew you were bored the other night at Nan's.
Darling, they never stop talking about her.
Helga Ten Dorp, she's taking the Prisky Cottage for six months.
Paul Wyman 's representing her a big book and US Promotion.
My God, Paul was impersonating her for 20 minutes the other night.
Is that what he was doing?
I thought he was finally coming out of the closet.
Anyway, about Miss Ten Dorp...
I don't think Paul's agency would handle her if she weren't genuine.
Oh, listen, Nan and Tom had her over for dinner last week.
She told Tom all about his backaches...
All about the money he lost in Silver Futures...
And all about his father's thing for tall women.
And she found a set of keys that Nan lost in 1969, darling.
They were right there under the clothes dryer.
You know, right this minute...
She's probably down there with her radar picking up your blips.
My word.
SIDNEY: That does give one pause. MYRA: She's really fantastic.
The European police believe implicitly in her, darling.
That's half of why she's here.
She's supposed to be arresting up from pointing at murderers.
Myra chuckles:
Is the larder up to another pot of tea?
Look, the same bloody key ring from both Millie and Tom.
Myra laughing:
MYRA: Darling you know, I really do think that you should call Mr. Anderson.
Wait a minute.
The fat one didn't stay the full week...
And his name was Quincy .... Something beginning with a "q".
Anderson. Anderson.
I wonder if Anderson was the one with the stammer.
Myra chuckles:
My God, they all seem so dim and underdone.
Will you listen to me? Did you hear what I said?
I think you should call Mr. Anderson. You have not got a thing to lose.
SIDNEY: Myra. MYRA: What?
Have I gone through everything?
Yours and mine?
Is that why you want me to phone this guy?
No, darling, it's not the money. I'm okay, which means you're okay, dopey.
Darling, you're a writer. All writers go through periods like this.
All you need is a change of pace. Anything.
A collaboration.
To work with someone young. Younger. Don't you see?
By teaching Mr. Anderson, you'll get yourself started again.
Darling, really, I think it is a god-sent opportunity.
I really do. Call him.
The mace would be quicker.
Sidney, be serious.
Sidney, what's the matter with you?
Oh, my God.
My god. You did have a bad night, didn't you?
Myra laughs:
I think that you're thinking that after last night...
You actually would kill to have another hit play.
Do you know what this play would net it's author in today's market?
Between $3 and $5 million.
And that is without the Deathtrap T-shirts.
Now, if that isn't a thinking man's motive for murder...
I don't know what is.
"362-1894."
Punching number into telephone:
Hello.
Is this, Clifford Anderson?
Sidney Bruhl.
Yes, I have and I must say, in all sincerity...
This is a very promising first draft.
A trifle unsteady at the odd moment but it has all the makings.
Yes. I know that feeling so well.
I thought The Murder Game was finished the first time around...
But I gave it to someone with real theater experience.
They took it in hand and helped me revise it.
I hate to think what would've happened if I had sent it out in its original form.
Sidney chuckles:
Actually, it was George S. Kaufman.
Yes, but he wouldn 't take any credit, though I urged him to.
But, listen, what sort of reaction have you had from other people?
Oh, no one at all?
Well, that's very flattering.
I mean, but you must've shown it to someone.
I mean, your wife, your friends, other people at the seminar?
I see. That sounds like an ideal situation for a writer.
Yeah.
Yes, of course. Yes, another thriller.
It's about a woman with ESP.
It's based on Helga Ten Dorp.
You know, the Dutch psychic? She's a neighbor of ours.
It's called The Frowning Wife.
Yes, that's just a working title.
I loved Deathtrap, incidentally. Both the title and the play.
Yes, I have...
But I mean too many to go over on the phone.
As a matter of fact, I'm free this evening.
Yes. Why don't you drive over? It's not very far.
Sidney exclaiming:
I tell you what, you get a train...
And I'll come and pick you up at the Easthampton station.
All right? The what?
The 7:29. That'll be fine.
Stammering: And would you bring the original copy with you?
Yes.
I think it's best that we have two copies to read from.
And the carbon's a little bit hard on these weary old eyes.
Yes, we'll make that 7:29.
Yes. Well, I 'll see you then.
And, Clifford, I may be a few minutes late...
I have some errands to run.
So wait for me by the station and I'll be along eventually.
I'll be in a brown Mercedes.
Yes. All right. Bye-bye, then. I'll see you later.
What errands do you have to run?
I thought you said something about library books.
Picking them up, taking them back.
No, I didn't.
Stammering: I don't think I did.
-I thought you did. -I did?
The Xerox has been mended.
But he wants to wait a couple of days in case I have any small suggestions.
No one else has read it.
No one else even knows he's working on it.
He's house-sitting for a couple who are in Europe...
And he's unmarried.
His car is in the garage for repairs.
So, no one will see you picking him up.
That's right.
Why did you ask him to bring the original?
Because we need two copies.
I don't want him leaning over my shoulder all evening...
Jeering at my ring around the collar, do I?
Won't he have another carbon copy lying around somewhere?
And notes and rough drafts and outlines.
And on opening night of my dazzling triumph...
His gray-haired old mother will come tearing down the aisle screaming...
Closely followed by the Quogue and Easthampton police departments ....
Hi, Mr. Bruhl.
Doorknob clicking:
Clifford exclaiming:
This is beautiful.
I frequently fantasize about high-tech, something you just hose down.
MYRA: Hello.
Here we are, darling.
This is Clifford Anderson. My wife Myra.
CLIFFORD: Hi. Pleasure to meet you.
So nice of you to come, Mr. Anderson.
No, I am very proud to be asked.
Oh, boy!
Clifford whistles:
CLIFFORD: Is this the mace that was used in Murderous Child?
SIDNEY: Yes.
And this small one here? That's the dagger from The Murder Game.
CLIFFORD: WOW!
SIDNEY: Be careful. It's sharp.
The prop one was substituted in the second act.
Clifford exclaiming:
CLIFFORD: In for the Kill, right? SIDNEY: Yes.
MYRA: The train must've been late.
Was it?
No, Mr. Bruhl was. Train was on time.
I had to get some gas...
And Frank insisted on poking around under the hood for 10 minutes.
CLIFFORD: Oh, my God!
Do you know that Gunpoint is the first play that I ever saw?
I was 12 years old.
SIDNEY: If you're trying to depress me, you're right on target.
I'm sorry.
No, really, that's how I got hooked on thrillers.
Angel Street did it to me. "Bella, where is that grocery bill?
"What have you done with it, you poor, wretched creature?"
I Was 15.
MYRA: Sounds like an awful disease...
That's passed down from generation to generation.
Yes, it's called "thrilleritis malignus."
The fevered pursuit of the one-set, five-character moneymaker.
I'm not pursuing money, Mr. Bruhl.
I'd like some if I could have a place like this to work in...
But that isn't why that I wrote Deathtrap.
You're infected, all right. But you're still in the early stages.
Clifford chuckles:
-Would you like a drink? -Yes, can I have some ginger ale?
-Sidney, would you like a scotch? -I'll have a ginger ale, too, darling.
CLIFFORD: Are these from your plays? SIDNEY: Good god, no.
I haven't written that many.
Friends give me things, you know, and I prowl the antique shops.
Now there's a disease.
SIDNEY: I found that one the other day in Sag Harbor.
-18th century Burma. -That is beautiful.
As you can see, I'm taking very good care of my spiritual child.
-Lock and key. -I've got the original.
It's not in a binder though for the Xeroxing.
-Makes no never-mind. -Thank you.
-I've got the first draft here, too. -How many did you do?
Just the one. It's kind of a mess...
But I think you can decipher it. I've cut some scenes.
I thought there was a Diane-and-Carlo scene...
I wasn't seeing before the murder.
CLIFFORD: That's right! I thought the act might run too long.
Good instinct. What do you have there?
I've got the outline, from which I've departed considerably, though.
I made it the way that you suggested .... Thank you.
Page per scene, loose leaf.
And I've got some notes that I've jotted down but never got to use.
Everything was in one envelope so I just grabbed it.
It's a two-hour walk to the station, so I had to leave right after we spoke.
Two hours.
To Deathtrap.
-Deathtrap. -Deathtrap!
It'll be toasted with more than ginger ale someday...
If Sidney's right about it and I'm sure that he is.
I'll be quiet.
SIDNEY: Darling, this is Clifford's first play and I am its first reader.
I wonder if he wouldn 't rather this discussion was just...
Between us two hacks.
Of course.
This okay?
-Don't be embarrassed to say so. -No, I don't mind Mrs. Bruhl being here.
In fact, I like it. Makes me feel a little less as though...
I've been summoned to the principal's office.
You're welcome to read the play too if you'd like to.
I'd like to. Thank you.
SIDNEY: I wish you'd mentioned on the phone that you wanted Myra to read it.
I have asked you to bring another carbon.
I don't have another one, but she can read this one...
And we could pass the pages back and forth.
I can move over here next to you.
You don't have another carbon?
CLIFFORD: I just have the one.
I thought I 'd Xerox the originals--
SIDNEY: Wait a second. I want to think.
Let me think for a moment.
Mr. Anderson, Sidney is simply bursting with creative ideas about your play.
I've never seen him so enthusiastic. He gets so many plays...
From aspiring playwrights, supposedly ready for production...
And usually he just laughs and says the most disparaging things.
I know he could improve your play tremendously.
He could turn it into a hit that would run for years...
And make more than enough money for everyone concerned...
-Is this what you meant by "I'll be quiet"? -I will not be quiet.
I'm gonna say something that's been on my mind for sometime.
It's wrong of you to expect Sidney...
To give you the fruit of his years of experience...
His hard-earned knowledge, without any quid pro quo...
As if that stupid seminar were still in session.
CLIFFORD: He offered--
But it's wrong of you to have made that offer Sydney...
I am the one whose feet are on the ground, whose eye is on the checkbook.
I'm gonna make a suggestion to you Sydney and it's gonna come as a big shock to you.
But I'm going to make it anyway and I want you to give it your grave, earnest and your thoughtful consideration.
Will you do that for me, Sidney?
Will you give me? Will you promise that you'll do it for me?
Sighs:
Put aside the play you're working on. Yes.
Yes.
Put aside the play about Helga Ten Dorp...
And how she finds keys under clothes dryers and murderers.
Put it aside and work with Mr. Anderson on his play.
Collaborate with him. That's the suggestion I'm making, Sidney.
That's what I think is the fair, the sensible, the rational thing to do.
Deathtrap by Clifford Anderson and Sidney Bruhl.
-Put aside The Drowning Wife? -I thought it was "frowning."
Frowning? What sort of title is that? The Drowning Wife.
No, Sidney, it will keep.
Sidney, people are always interested in psychics...
Who can point at someone and say, "That man murdered that man!"
Myra pants:
Anyway, Sidney, please, put it aside. Please, Sidney.
Do for Mr. Anderson what George S. Kaufman did for you.
SYDNEY: That was a very persuasive speech, Myra...
And obviously sincerely felt.
Although, how it sounded to Clifford--
I sort of feel as though I'm on the spot here.
Yes, you are, really. Myra has put you there.
As a matter of fact, she has put us both there.
I just thought I should bring it up now. Right now before anything--
May I just say, first of all...
I'm overwhelmed.
I mean, I'm really honored and staggered...
That Sidney Bruhl would actually consider the ....
There I was, I was 12 years old.
I was sitting in that theater and now I'm here considering the chance--
We get the gist of the message, Clifford.
But you see, the thing is ....
Look, it's as if I went to a doctor.
One of the world's leading specialists and he recommended surgery.
Even with all my respect for his eminence, his experience...
I still want to get a second opinion, wouldn't I?
I'm sure that your ideas are terrific...
And when I hear them, I'm probably going to say:
"Why didn't I think of doing it that way?"
But I think you're right, Mrs. Bruhl.
I don't think it would be fair for me to hear them now...
Without some sort of an understanding or arrangement.
And to be perfectly honest with you, without having heard them...
I really feel that Deathtrap is pretty good as it is.
What I ought to do, I think, is just Xerox a few copies...
And send them off to those agents that you recommended in the seminar.
And if they say it needs major rewriting...
I'll be back begging you to do what Mrs. Bruhl suggested.
We can make whatever arrangement you think is fair at that time.
Maybe the same one you had with Mr. Kaufman.
-I really hope I haven't offended you. -Not at all.
Myra: Oh Mr. Anderson.
Please. Agents only know about contracts, not about creative--
Yelling: Don't, Myra!
MYRA: Like my husband. SIDNEY: Don't beg!
He'll think he has the wealth of the Indies...
And we're Mr. And Mrs. Long John Silver.
I would never think anything like that, Mr. Bruhl.
I am very grateful to you for going out of your way to help me.
SIDNEY: But the truth is I'm not really.
Myra here has just been rattling on for a moment.
The fact is, I do not wish to set aside a play...
As timely and inventive as The Drowning Wife...
In order to do wet-nurse work on something as speculative as Deathtrap.
Why don't you ....
Myra, sit down. Don't hover.
Sit down.
Do as you said. Show it to some agents...
And then, if you decide that a major rewrite is in order...
Get in touch.
Who knows, I might hit a snag. It's happened before.
CLIFFORD: Thank you, I will.
SIDNEY: Though, I doubt that I shall, this time.
I already have The Drowning Wife completely outlined...
And I'm halfway through it.
And I have a play ready to go next...
Based on the life of Harry Houdini.
There's been so much television stuff on Houdini.
SIDNEY: Yes, lousy stuff. Phony and pathetic.
In reality, Houdini 's life was extraordinarily dramatic.
He's always been an idol of mine.
SIDNEY: These are a pair of his handcuffs. MYRA: Sidney.
He always made his own magical apparatus.
Did you know that?
Extraordinary craftsmanship. Take a look.
-Sidney. -Sit down, Myra.
MYRA: My God, Sidney, for God's sakes...
I don't even believe what you're thinking. Can I talk to you?
I must apologize for Myra's suspicions, Clifford.
But a few years back, we had a nasty experience...
With a plagiaristic playwright, whose name we will not mention.
So, now, she gets alarmed...
If I so much as tell a fellow writer what language I'm writing in.
Don't take it personally.
Have a good look at those. They're quite remarkable.
They really seem like very solid, escape-proof cuffs.
SIDNEY: Give them a try. CLIFFORD: You mean put them on?
They cost me $1,300.
Clifford exclaiming:
Let's see.
Handcuffs rattling:
Handcuffs snapping:
-Firmly manacled? -Yeah, it sure seems that way.
CLIFFORD: Now turn your wrists like this.
Turn, press, pull.
No, you're not doing it right. So it'll all be in one single moment.
SIDNEY: Turn, press, pull. CLIFFORD: Turn, press, pull.
CLIFFORD: I guess I'm just not Houdini. SIDNEY: It's okay. I have the keys here.
Somewhere.
-Don't fuss with them, you'll ruin them. -Sorry.
Key. Where are you, little brass key?
I wonder if I put it up there somewhere.
Sidney whistling:
I forgot to mention that I should be getting a phone call any minute now.
There's a girl that's coming to see me at 8:30.
It's about what time it is now, isn't it?
You see, I couldn't reach her before I took off...
So I just left her a note in the hall mirror...
Telling her where I am and giving her this number.
So she can call and find out what train I'll be taking back...
So she can pick me up at the station.
I mean, one two-hour walk a day is just about enough for me.
So I hope you find the key pretty soon...
Otherwise you'll have to hold the phone for me.
How's she going to get in to read the note?
She has a key.
You said you didn't know anyone in Quogue...
Except a few tradespeople.
No, she's from Islip. Her name is Marietta Klenofski.
She teaches at Stoney Brook. Phys. Ed.
SIDNEY: How did you get this number? It's not listed.
I've had it for a long time.
See, I got it from Mrs. Beecham at the university.
I'm very friendly with her.
That's before I decided to send Deathtrap to the music box.
CLIFFORD: Beecham?
Yes, the short red-haired lady with the hearing aid.
I hope she gave you the right number because we changed it a few weeks ago.
An obscene caller was boring us...
And I don't remember notifying old Southampton College.
What number did you give Mrs. Klenofski?
I don't remember.
324-3049...
SIDNEY: or 324-5457? CLIFFORD: The first one, it was 3049.
The new one.
I must have notified the university and completely forgot about it.
How strange and how untypical of me.
Could you go on looking for the key, please?
SIDNEY: Certainly. MYRA: Sidney?
SIDNEY: What? MYRA: My heart won't take it.
SIDNEY: Did you take your pill?
Why are you so anxious?
You must know that I 'II find the key here somewhere.
Key rattling:
Myra exclaiming:
All laughing in relief:
Egads, I do believe that you two thought...
I was going to take that mace and do a Vincent Price, didn't you?
You can't write a play like that and not have a mind that envisions possibilities.
SIDNEY: True, very true. I'm paranoid myself.
What's your excuse, O loyal and loving wife?
-Mr. Bruhl? -Eleven years of tender marital relations...
And she apparently believes me capable of, well ....
There's a lesson in there somewhere, isn't there?
Here we are, Clifford, uncuff yourself.
Deathtrap is promising, but not that promising.
Good.
I think your best invention so far is the name, Marietta Klenofski.
-It's lovely. Congratulations. -Thanks.
Mrs. Beecham's hearing aid, however, that was a bit heavy.
I hoped it was the kind of fine detail that you always told us to try for.
Are you sure this is the right key?
Egads, Houdini opened them in a milk can 10 feet under water--
Crashing:
Myra screaming:
Shut up, Myra.
Clifford choking:
Myra continues screaming:
Clifford grunting and groaning:
Shut up, Myra!
Sidney grunting:
Sidney panting:
Right on the rug. One point for neatness.
Solemn instrumental music:
SIDNEY: My darling, your heart seems to have held up quite well.
It can convalesce on the Riviera.
SIDNEY: After the opening of Deathtrap. MYRA: We'll go to prison for life.
No, we will not. A young would-be playwright...
Walks away from his house-sitting job.
SIDNEY: The police won't even yawn. MYRA: Leaving his clothes and typewriter.
SIDNEY: Why not? Who can figure kids these days, especially, would-be artists?
Maybe he realized he wasn 't going to make it...
So he ran off to preach ecology...
Or join the Reverend Moon. Who knows?
MYRA: What are you going to do with him? SIDNEY: Bury him behind the garage.
No. In the vegetable patch. Easier digging.
Why don't you take a brandy or something, darling?
I am going to be a winner again.
I'm going to be the envy of all the people I envy.
All your dear friends are going to see you...
Living on my money.
Solemn instrumental music continues:
Myra, would you mind helping me carry the body, please?
Myra, it's done.
There's no point in my getting a hernia.
Shouting: Myra, come and help me carry the bloody body! Hurry up!
Take this other end.
Quickly.
Come on!
Myra screams:
Whispers: Don't drop the dead.
Come on, now.
Thank God, he wasn't the fat one.
SIDNEY: Did you scrape your shoes off before you came in?
We're out one rug...
But I saw some lovely ones at Bloomingdale's the other day.
I've tidied up the study, darling. All the props are back--
I have a feeling you're about to deliver a speech.
I've just been trying to understand how you could do it, Sidney...
Bearing in mind your disappointments...
Your embarrassment...
At our financial situation but I can't.
And I don't know how you're gonna be able to feel like a winner.
I mean, we both know that it's his play. I can't understand that either.
Myra sniffling:
YOU are...
Completely alien to me, Sidney.
And that just can't be since 5:00.
You must always have been very different from the man I thought you were.
I don't think the police are going to be as disinterested as you do either...
So I wouldn't want anything to happen that would embarrass you...
Or look like we're being suspicious if they came to question us.
How could they? He disappeared in Quogue.
This is Easthampton.
By checking into his past associations.
His name and address were on the return envelope, weren't they, honey?
Anybody at the theater last night could have seen it and remembered it.
If they do come, I'll simply say that he did write to me...
Asking for a secretarial position.
He sent me his resume and I threw it away...
Which I know I shouldn't have done...
But then I've been so busy night and day writing this play.
Now which one was he? Was he the fat one? The thin one?
Or was he this one? This one?
Yes, the one who is so interested in the Hare Krishna movement.
Sidney ....
In a month or so, if we haven't been arrested ....
Sidney!
-What? -I want you to leave.
I want you to leave.
We'll have arguments in people's living rooms.
You can write them for us, little tiffs about money...
Or you ogling Nan Wesson.
I wish you could take the vegetable patch with you...
But since you can't, you'll buy it from me, okay?
As soon as the money starts rolling in before you go to the Riviera...
You'll buy the goddamn vegetable patch...
You'll buy the house, you'll buy the whole 9.3 acres.
We could get Buck Raymond or Maury Escher to set a fair price.
SIDNEY: Darling, you've had such a painful--
Yelling: Don't touch me!
SIDNEY: You have been through a shocking and painful experience...
And you are not yourself.
Neither am I.
Behind all the Sidney Bruhl dialogue, I am peeing the Sidney Bruhl pants.
I'm terrified of being caught and absolutely guilt-ridden...
About having been insane enough to do it.
I'm gonna give half the money to the New Dramatists' League.
I swear it.
Now is no time to talk about it. Anything.
I mean, in a week or so, when we 're both ourselves again...
Everything will look a lot cheerier.
You are yourself right now and so am I.
Doorbell ringing:
Go ahead.
"He sent me a resume, Officer."
It's Lottie and Ralph, come to yammer about the party.
It's probably Helga Ten Dorp and her famous pointing finger.
Doorbell ringing:
It is Lottie and Ralph. Damn them.
I've got to let them in. Are you up to facing them?
-No. You go upstairs. -Alone?
Jesus Christ.
Dear--
HELGA: It's only me.
I am your neighbor from the House of Prisky.
Please, will you let me come in?
HELGA: Hello. SIDNEY: Hello.
I'm Helga Ten Dorp, Mr. Bruhl.
It's most urgent I speak to you.
I called information, but that lady will not tell your number.
Please, will you let me come in?
Yes, please.
I am friend and client of Paul Wyman.
I apologize for so late I'm coming, but you will forgive...
When I makes the explaining. You forgive my costume.
I do running morning and night. This shines in dark.
HELGA: I don't get hit by traffic, yeah. SIDNEY: Yeah.
There's a room with pain.
No, not kitchen, no.
SIDNEY: Excuse me, Miss Ten Dorp.
Pain.
Just like I sees them.
Whispers: Oh, my God.
Pain! Pain! Pain!
SIDNEY: Neither of us--
Why keep you such pain-covered things?
Those? They're antiques and souvenirs from my plays.
-I'm a playwright. -Ja, Sidney Bruhl.
Paul Wyman tells me. Paul sells my book when finished.
SIDNEY: This is my wife, Myra. MYRA: How do you do?
My dear, what gives you such pain, dear lady?
MYRA: Nothing. Really. HELGA: No, something pains you.
Paul tells you of me? I am Helga Ten Dorp.
I am psychic.
-Yes, he told us. I wanted to talk to-- -I always know I feels the pain from here.
And more than pain.
Since 8:30, when begins The Merv Griffin Show.
-I'm on next week, you will watch. -Yes, certainly.
Will you make a note of that, Myra?
Thursday night, I calls the information, but the lady will not tell me number.
I say, "It's urgent, you must tell me. I'm Helga Ten Dorp. I'm psychic."
She says, "Guess the number."
I try, but I see only the 324, which is everybody.
Because the pain gets worse.
HELGA: And more than pain. MYRA: More than pain?
HELGA: Ja, something else here.
Something frightening.
HELGA: No, thank you, it will interfere. SIDNEY: What will?
The drink you were about to offer me.
Must keep unclouded, the head. Never drink.
-Were you going to offer her a drink? -Yeah.
HELGA: Was used many times by beautiful woman, but only pretending.
That's fantastic.
That was used every night in my play The Murder Game...
By Tallulah, a beautiful actress.
HELGA: Will be used again by another woman...
Not in play, but because of play.
Because of play, another woman uses this knife.
-You must put away these things. -Yes, I will.
In a month or so, I'm going to sell the whole collection.
-I'm fed up with them anyway. -Maybe too late.
Listen, my dears, I do not enjoy to make unhappy people...
But I must speak when I see something, ja?
There's danger here. Much danger to you and to you.
There's death in this room.
Something that invites death, that carries death.
It's a deathtrap.
And what is this in English, the deathtrap?
Yes, that's the title of my new play.
That's where you're getting it from. There is a death in the play.
That's what you're responding to. I work at that desk over there.
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
-It feels like real death. -I try to be convincing.
I act everything out as I write it.
Man in boots. Young man.
Watch out for him. Here in this room he attacks you.
-He attacks me? -Ja, with one of those.
Comes as friend to help you, to ....
To work with you, but attacks.
Is confusion here. Young man in boots.
He sits in this chair and he talks of two people.
Smith and Colonna? No, one person.
Small, black, buns over ears. No, ribbon?
Is in your play, is such a black man, this Smith Colonna?
No, I don't know that name. Do you know that name, darling? Colonna?
MYRA: No, I don't know that name. HELGA: Remember what else I tell you.
Dagger is used again by woman because of play.
And the man in boots attacks you. Of these two things I'm certain.
All else is confusing.
-But the pain is less now, ja? -Ja. No, yes!
I mean, no. I never had any pain to begin with, really.
What an extraordinary gift. I've always--
I've always been skeptical about ESP, but after this ....
Tonight, not in many years have I had such a feeling.
Like I was 20 again.
Have you always had this gift?
-Ever since childhood? -Especially in childhood.
My parents didn't wrap Christmas presents.
Why wasting paper?
And then later, you know, in my teen ages, walking with boys.
Such images.
Would you like that drink now? I'd very much like to talk to you.
Thank you, you know, but I must go to house. I am very tired.
But you will come and take dinner with me sometime?
I will tell you all my life. Is very interesting.
It make good play, but first book.
When you were a child, you lived in large house with yellow shutters. Ja?
-Yes. -Good night.
My dear, be careful.
SIDNEY: Right. No boots. Good night.
Good night. Remember, Thursday night.
Merv Griffin.
SIDNEY: Would you open the window, darling?
Sighing:
-Why don't you take a pill? -I don't want a pill.
I want a drink. I want a brandy.
No, I'll get it.
-Shall I bring one for you? -Bring the bottle.
Creaking:
Whispers: Sidney.
MYRA: Sidney!
Sidney!
Panting nervously:
-Whispers: There's something out there. -What?
-There's something out there. -Myra, now, come on.
MYRA: I heard it. Sidney, don't leave me. Don't leave me, Sidney.
Sidney, don't leave me, please. Sidney, please.
SIDNEY: Nothing's down there. MYRA: I heard it, Sidney. I heard it.
SIDNEY: Myra. MYRA: I heard it.
MYRA: No, Sidney. SIDNEY: Myra.
Sidney, I heard it.
SIDNEY: Myra, you're coming downstairs. MYRA: Sidney.
We've got to go...
MYRA: I don't want to go down.
...and get the brandy. Come on.
SIDNEY: Look, there's nothing-- MYRA: I'd rather not go.
SIDNEY: There is nothing there.
Now, you've got to go down there once and for all and satisfy me.
MYRA: No! SIDNEY: Then satisfy yourself.
SIDNEY: There is nothing down there. MYRA: There is something.
SIDNEY: It's just the wind.
It's just the wind. And it's blowing the leaves.
MYRA: Sidney, I don't want to do this.
-Blowing the leaves against the windows. -It's right here. I heard it.
Listen, love, you're overwrought and no wonder in the condition you're in.
-Come on, now. -I don't want to do this.
I cannot let you do this--
MYRA: Honey, I'm not gonna look. SIDNEY: You've got to look.
Look.
Myra shrieks:
SIDNEY: Nothing there.
See, it's nothing.
Let's have that drink.
It wasn't locked.
That's hardly surprising, everything considered.
Myra sighs:
SIDNEY: I suggest you sip this one. MYRA: Thank you.
Solemn instrumental music:
Myra laughs uncontrollably:
-I'm sorry. -I'm sorry.
Sidney.
What? What is it?
I have to say something.
-Sidney. -Yeah.
Part of me tonight .... Sidney.
Some terrible, unknown part of me ....
Oh, God.
...was hoping that you would do it.
At the same time that I was terrified that you would...
Part of me was really hoping.
Yeah, I saw your money. I saw the name and ....
You tried to stop me.
-I did? -Yes, you did your best.
Now, darling...
This was my doing and my doing alone.
Do you understand?
If anything goes wrong...
I don't want any confusion on that point, none whatsoever, darling.
None at all.
Romantic instrumental music:
But nothing will go wrong. I promise you.
Just believe in me, Myra. Please, believe in me.
MYRA: I believe you.
Both sighing and moaning:
SIDNEY: Do you think it's possible...
That murder is an aphrodisiac?
Myra chuckles:
Up we go.
Myra laughs:
SIDNEY: Look at that moon.
MYRA: Isn't that moon beautiful? SIDNEY: Isn't it beautiful?
Romantic instrumental music swells:
Open the window, darling.
Myra shrieks:
Tense instrumental music:
Myra screams:
Myra screaming continuously:
Listen, all I did was help carry you.
Tense instrumental music continues:
Myra gasping and choking:
Thud on the floor:
Footsteps approaching:
Light dramatic instrumental music:
It worked. She's dead.
Yes, of course.
She's had minor heart attacks over much less.
For future reference, Clifford, that Styrofoam log hurts.
Sorry.
You did it much harder than you did in the motel room.
What about that Helga Ten Dorp lady?
I almost had a heart attack out there myself, when she says I was going to attack you.
CLIFFORD: God. SIDNEY: "Ja, is a very confusing image."
Thank god for that.
Perhaps it's a good job she came.
Now she'll be telling everybody...
That she felt the physical pain of the oncoming attack.
Every little bit helps.
I've been telling people for days that Myra was a bit under the weather.
Oh, Christ.
If only that goddamned lousy production had worked...
Even halfway...
I'd have a movie sale.
There would have been enough. We could have just taken off.
It didn't work, Sidney.
And you knew it wasn't going to from the second week of rehearsal.
SIDNEY: I didn't want to kill her.
I didn't.
This is not exactly what they call involuntary homicide.
CLIFFORD: Let me get my things. SIDNEY: There's no hurry.
I'm going to wait a few minutes before I call the ambulance.
Also, we don't want anyone working miracles of resuscitation, do we?
Come and clean yourself up and give me a hand.
What if that Madame Ten Dorp comes back?
SIDNEY: I don't see why she should. The pain has stopped, hasn't it?
Cripes!
Why you burning it? There's nothing incriminating.
Still, I'll say I was getting rid of manuscripts as the grim reaper struck.
-Closer you stay to the truth, the better. -Farewell, Deathtrap.
Would that you were the genuine article.
I really am going to try something on ESP.
That was an impressive demonstration the lady gave...
Despite the mistakes.
I'm gonna make the call, so you go and get your things.
-How long you think it's gonna be? -At least two hours.
I may have to go with her. I don't know.
-Ciao. -Ciao.
The floorboards upstairs creak, so do a quick wash up...
Get into bed and stay there.
I'll buy that.
Footsteps on stairs:
Sobbing:
Hello? This is Sidney Bruhl.
I'm at 10, Hookpont Lane.
Could you please send an ambulance as quickly as possible?
My wife has had a coronary. Please, come immediately.
Thank you. Goodbye.
Blowing nose:
MINISTER: Accept the soul of our sister...
Myra Elizabeth Maxwell Bruhl...
In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.
Typewriter clacking:
That must have been quite a welfare office.
It was.
You know, everybody had a really poignant story.
They're creating the play, really. Just doing it for me.
-It just writes itself up. -Yeah, that's right.
-No notes? No outlines? -You know, this isn't a thriller, Sidney.
It's not dependent on intricate plotting and contrived theatrics.
I mean, see, these are real people.
I'm only bringing them on...
Letting them pour out their dreams and frustrations...
Like the clerks, with their pettiness and frustration...
And the clients with their bitterness and their battered self-esteem.
I really lost interest in thrillers. What I'm doing here is relevant.
Even though you said that word...
I am still going to let you stay here.
-Let me see a few pages. -I'd rather wait till the whole thing's done.
I'll give it to you in one glorious bundle. Do you mind?
Of course, what's another half-hour?
Nothing doing?
Why don't you have Helga Ten Dorp over?
Maybe talking with her might spark something.
You do like to live dangerously, don't you?
No way. I do not want her on the premises.
Never again, thank you.
Clifford chuckles:
Maybe not when the moon is full, but any other time, why not?
Look at the egg she laid on the Griffin Show. Pathetic.
Yes. She was pretty rattled.
Doorbell ringing:
I'll go.
We don't want to break the flow, do we, dear?
SIDNEY: Porter. PORTER: How are you, Sidney?
SIDNEY: I'm not too bad, thanks.
There are a couple of things.
I had to be in the area and I just decided to take a chance.
Thank you.
You feel up to a few papers?
I'd be glad of the break. Would you like some coffee?
Of course I would.
SIDNEY: This is Clifford Anderson, my secretary. My friend, Porter Milgrim.
-How do you do, sir? -How do you do?
SIDNEY: I would say my attorney, but he'd bill me.
PORTER: I'm going to bill you anyway. It's a business call.
Look at that. Isn't that a beauty?
SIDNEY: Partner's desk.
-Where did you find it? -I happened on it last week.
Makes more sense than cluttering up the place with two single ones.
And it is deductible, Porter.
CLIFFORD: Well, shouldn't I go get the groceries now? And you and Mr. Milgrim can talk in private.
-Would you mind? -No. I have to do it sometime.
Wait a second, Porter. Hold on, Clifford.
PORTER: Take your time, Sidney.
I haven 't started the clock yet.
I like this room. It has character.
It's a pleasure to be working here.
He's looking well.
Just in the last few days, really. You know, it was pretty bad last week.
He was crying every night. You could hear him through the walls.
He was drinking, too.
But he'll be all right. His work's a great solace to him.
$20 do it?
It should. We just need salad things, milk, paper napkins.
I'm going to Gibson's.
SIDNEY: Got the keys to the car? And yogurt. Any flavor but prune.
It's nice meeting you, or see you later. Whichever it turns out to be.
Pleasant young fellow. Good-looking, too.
SIDNEY: I guess.
Do you think he's gay?
Didn't strike me that way.
SIDNEY: I have a sneaking suspicion he might be.
So long as he does his job and doesn't fly on little fairy wings into my chamber...
I suppose it's none of my business.
Besides, how people would talk if I 'd taken on a female secretary.
PORTER: If she were under 80. SIDNEY: That's why I called Clifford.
Good to see you looking so well, Sidney. That's the main reason I've come.
I was delegated by the Wesson's and the Harvey's.
That young man's been discouraging all callers...
And we were afraid you might be in worse shape than he was letting on.
Obviously that's not the case.
No, but I'm not up to socializing yet. But I am coming through.
The work is a great solace.
That's what he said.
Bring that damn thing out on the porch. Let's deal with it in the sunlight.
PORTER: Right.
PORTER: And the next item on the agenda is your will.
Now that Myra 's gone, you ought to look it over.
As it stands, if anything should happen to you...
Your cousins will inherit. You want to leave it that way?
-I'll deal with it later. You hang on to it. -Don't put it off.
This is the third item.
This is only approximately, because I don't have up-to-date appraisal...
On the real estate yet.
But this is what you can anticipate, roughly...
Give or take a few thousand dollars.
I had no idea there was this much.
PORTER: Well, old man, you've gotten off cheap.
SIDNEY: Yes, I'm aware of that.
PORTER: What's the procedure?
You dictate and he types?
SIDNEY: No, I type the first draft and then he types.
And types and types.
He also does the letters.
That what he was doing before, letters?
No. He's trying to write his own play.
PORTER: The seminar, of course. SIDNEY: Yes, he started yesterday.
Will probably finish tomorrow.
I hope he's not stealing your ESP idea.
Have you discussed it with him?
SIDNEY: What in the world makes you say that?
Whatever he was working on, he locked it up in this drawer.
Unobtrusively, but I noticed it.
No, not unobtrusively. Slyly.
Then again, maybe he was afraid you'd steal his idea.
SIDNEY: The dreams and frustrations of welfare workers?
-He worked in a welfare office? -That's where he was before.
Then it was only force of habit.
People in large offices often lock their desks.
I'm sorry if I worried you, Sidney.
The suspicious legal mind.
He's probably exactly what he seems: An honest and helpful young man.
-Completely trustworthy. -No doubt.
That check from the insurance company, has it come yet?
NO.
It's something you'd rather not do yourself.
Would you like me to get after them?
SIDNEY: Would you mind?
I'll write them first in the morning.
-I'd appreciate that. -When'll you come to town to have dinner?
In a week or two, I'll be ready to face the world again.
Good.
Good bye, Porter.
I'm proud of you, Sidney.
Tense instrumental music:
Shit!
Tense instrumental music continues:
Bloody old-world craftsmen.
Grunting:
Tires squealing:
SIDNEY: Where have you been? CLIFFORD: Gibson's.
Then I stopped by the jeans shop.
Got mauled by that bitch, Nan Wesson. She thinks I'm standing between you two.
SIDNEY: So you are, luv.
SIDNEY: I'll put away. CLIFFORD: I'll do it.
SIDNEY: No. You shopped. I'll put away.
I know you want to get back to your welfare office.
CLIFFORD: Only literarily.
Coins clinking:
Change is in the bowl.
Typewriter clacking:
Cliff, can you come in here a sec?
Where are you?
What's going on?
Hello?
-Where the hell were you? -Where the hell were you?
I thought you hadn't heard me.
So I ambled around through the dappled day.
I thought you might like one of these.
I had a sudden craving as in the commercials.
Typewriter clacking:
Sidney coughing:
SO...
You've lost your interest in thrillers?
Clifford grunting in agreement:
No taste for the intricate plotting, the two-dimensional characters.
You want to do something real and meaningful...
Socially relevant.
Give me a break, will you? Your idea will start coming in a minute.
Deathtrap.
"A thriller in two acts by Clifford Anderson.
"Characters: Julian Crane, a playwright.
"Doris Crane, his wife.
"Victor Madison, Crane's protÃ©gÃ©.
"Inga Van Bronk, a psychic.
"The action takes place in Julian Crane's study...
"in the Crane home in Easthampton, New York."
-How the hell did you-- -"Stage left!
"A brick fireplace. Practical to the extent that paper can be burned in it.
"Center stage, French doors, a post-colonial modification...
"opening out to a shrubbery-flanked patio.
"The room is decorated with a collection of antique weapons and shackles. "
A nice selection of which I'm about to use any minute, Clifford!
-Would you like me to explain? -That you're a lunatic with a death wish?
I've got the same wish you have. A success wish!
This is not going to bring you success!
This, you asshole, is going to bring you 20 to life in maximum security!
CLIFFORD: Listen to me. Come on.
It hit me that night when you were looking for the key...
This can make a terrific thriller.
-It will make a terrific thriller. -In which someone like me and like you...
Gives someone like Myra a fatal heart attack?
Absolutely right. At the end of act one.
Clifford, I hate to ask this...
But could you give me your own special definition of success?
Yelling: Being gangbanged in a shower in the state penitentiary?
-I knew you'd have reservations about it. -Reservations?
Shouting: I'm standing here petrified, stupefied, and horrified!
-How's that for bloody reservations? -Come on, Sidney, listen.
There is no way for anybody to prove what did or did not cause Myra...
To have a heart attack.
A playwright, a writer of thrillers...
-and living in Long Island! -Sidney, come on, baby.
If I could change things, I would, but I can't.
Look, it's got to be a playwright.
Who else can pretend to receive a finished work that can make lots of money?
A composer, a novelist .... Why am I discussing this?
Check. A surefire, smash-hit symphony.
Does a novelist or a composer know where to get a chain that squirts blood...
Or how to stage a convincing murder?
It has to be a playwright who writes thrillers...
Because Arthur Miller probably has old sample cases hanging on his wall.
I can make it Bridgehampton, not Easthampton.
Why make it anywhere? Why make it?
-Because it's there, Sidney. -That's mountains, not plays!
Yelling: Plays aren't there until some asshole writes them!
Come on.
Hey, come on.
It's all right. Just sit down.
It's all right.
Listen to me.
Think for a minute, all right?
Just think about everything that happened that night.
Ll
try to see it from an audience's point of view.
Everything that we did to convince Myra that she was seeing a real murder...
Would have exactly the same effect on an audience, wouldn't it?
Didn't we write a play, rehearse it? Didn't we plan it? Didn't we execute it?
Wasn't she the audience? We did it! And it worked.
It worked perfectly, and nobody can prove what really happened here. Nobody!
SIDNEY: What are you going to say to the men from the Times...
When they ask you: "Didn't you work for Sidney Bruhl?
"And didn't his wife have a heart attack at about the same time you came here?"
No comment.
I have a comment.
No! Absolutely and definitely no!
I have a name and a reputation.
Somewhat tattered, perhaps...
But still good for dinner invitations and summer seminars.
I wish to live out my years as the man who wrote The Murder Game...
Not as the faggot who knocked off his wife.
Why, look! A brick fireplace!
I wonder if it is practical to the extent that paper can burn in it.
Stop right where you are, fella.
You burn that and I'll go right out of here and write it someplace else.
Now, you give it to me.
Yelling: Give it to me!
Thank you.
You know, we really...
Really shouldn't get angry with each other. That's not what I want.
Of course not.
Let's talk about exactly what it is you do want.
Certainly.
I want a shortcut, Sidney...
And I don't give a shit whose property it cuts through, if you understand me.
You think that, that play, that wild concoction of--
Of truth, of fact.
SIDNEY: Clifford, my dear, those facts are the most outlandish and preposterous--
Set of circumstances entertaining enough...
To persuade an audience to suspend it's disbelief.
Opening lecture.
You're an excellent student, Clifford.
Student...
Companion...
Lover...
Collaborator.
We're going to write Deathtrap, Sidney.
You and me.
I t 's perfect.
What do you care if the publicity gets a little sticky?
Come on, don't be such an old nellie.
Just look around you! Jesus Christ. You don't have to read Hustler.
Just read Village Voice, People Magazine... Sidney, I'll tell you something.
Everything that you have ever thought of and a hell of a lot that you haven't...
Is in print and on the screen. I mean, babe, it is a tidal wave.
All the news is fit to print and show.
Sidney, nobody gives a shit who did what or who they did it to.
All they want is to be in on it.
I mean, you killed your wife? That's okay.
Why don't you abuse your kids, poison the well, fuck bats?
As long as you get on television, talk about it afterwards.
You know I'm right, don't you?
Sidney, you ever hear of somebody turning down a party...
Where they think they can meet Nixon or Vesco...
Or any one of those big guys who got away with it?
Now, listen.
I've given this a lot of serious thought...
And I really think if there's some talk about us...
And about Myra, it can help the play.
Well ....
You really have given it some thought, haven't you?
Who knows? You may be right, but ....
But, what?
Let's be honest, Clifford, and I mean really honest.
If you had the choice between turning out just a hit play...
And turning out a hit play with dangerous origins...
You'd choose the latter, right?
Clever old Sid.
Now, level with me, luv.
Those little brushes with the authorities...
In your infancy, as it were...
Before you matured and settled down, so to speak...
Did any of the courts...
Or the social workers and the shrinks...
Did anybody ever use the word ....
What word, luv?
Sociopath.
Isn't that what it's called?
That's what it's called.
Does that word frighten you, Sidney?
No, it doesn't frighten me. It does, however...
Give me pause.
Clinically, it means, as I'm sure you know...
It means one who has no sense of moral obligation whatsoever.
Now, ii and I repeat, if...
I decide to kick over the traces and actually write Deathtrap ....
-With me? -Yes, of course, with you.
If I decided to enter into such a risky and exciting collaboration...
I wonder if ....
If, what?
I wonder if it would not be just a trifle starry-eyed of me...
To contemplate a partnership...
Where I could count on no sense of moral obligation whatsoever.
Are you trying to say that you don't think that you can trust me?
SIDNEY: How clearly you put it. CLIFFORD: That's up to you, Sidney.
But you can trust me.
You can always trust me.
Well, you'll have to be sure about one another thing.
And that is?
You just have to be sure that whatever happens, I need you.
For instance...
Like I need you now.
-Would you count the ways? -Sure.
One: It's a little academic, perhaps, but nevertheless, I know that...
Scene one is still coming out a little stilted and heavy-handed.
Of course, I could help you fix that.
Then do it.
God knows I could do with half the royalties...
Of a good, solid hit.
Porter just gave me the figures of Myra's estate.
It was a bit of a shock. Even smaller than I thought.
A lousy $42,000.
There 's the house and land, but I can't sell any acreage...
Until the will goes through probate...
And he says that will take nearly two years.
You're not going to live long on that much.
-What about the insurance? -Minimal.
My offer's open, Sidney.
I'll do it!
They can Wag their damn tongues off. I'll blush all the way to the bank.
CLIFFORD: You mean it?
Ta-da!
-Bruhl and Anderson. -Bruhl and Anderson.
We'll make it Bridgehampton, not Easthampton.
SIDNEY: What the hell, who cares?
God, I don't believe it. Me, Clifford Anderson, actually collaborating...
With Sidney Bruhl!
Don't kid a kidder, Cliff. That's from Act One.
SIDNEY: Here you go. CLIFFORD: Happy New Year.
Deathtrap.
Listen, I think we may have a problem with Act Two, 'cause ....
SIDNEY: How so?
We've got a murder in the first act, two murders, actually.
-I think that Act Two might be a letdown. -Not necessarily.
Maybe we should bring in a fifth character, a detective, a Long Island version...
-of the one they had in Dial M. -Inspector Hubbard.
I think the dame Inga Van Bronk should come in again.
Good. Now go on drafting Act One, and let me do the thinking about Act Two.
Suspenseful instrumental music:
Thunder rumbling:
Creaking:
Wind howling:
Thunder clapping:
Rustling:
Rain pattering:
Tapping on window:
It's Helga. It's only Helga, Mr. Bruhl.
You're not Mr. Bruhl!
CLIFFORD: Mr. Bruhl isn't here.
Is very wet.
CLIFFORD: Sorry. Why don't you come in?
Okay.
Mr. Bruhl will be back in a minute.
-You are .... -I'm Clifford Anderson. I'm his secretary.
I'm Helga Ten Dorp.
I'm psychic.
CLIFFORD: Yes, I know. Mr. Bruhl told me about you.
He said you were actually able to predict his wife 's death.
HELGA: Ja, was much pain right here.
Very sad. Such a nice lady.
This room.
He is well, Mr. Bruhl?
Yes, he's just fine.
He's gone out to dinner for the first time since ....
He'd be back by 10:00. Should be about that now.
It will be big storm. Much wind and rain, lightning and thunder.
-Again trees will fall. -Are you sure?
Ja, was on radio.
I come to borrow candles.
Are none in cottage.
You have?
I'm sure he must have some. Why don't you sit down, ma'am?
Thank you.
Boots?
You wear boots?
Yes, Practically everybody does. They're very comfortable.
You are for long time secretary to Mr. Bruhl?
No. Actually I came here about three weeks ago after his wife died.
Car approaching:
CLIFFORD: Excuse me.
Car door closes:
CLIFFORD: Mr. Bruhl. SIDNEY: Bloody bore Porter is.
Glad you're back. Miss Ten Dorp is here.
Helga, how nice to see you.
HELGA: How good you get home before storm.
Miss Ten Dorp says it's a bad one. She needs some candles. Do we have any?
Yes, there's some upstairs.
I saw you on The Merv Griffin Show.
It wasn't a very good night, was it? What is it?
This is the man I warn you of. Man in boots who attacks you.
Warn me? Oh, yes. In the turmoil of Myra's death--
Is he.
Candles are not why I come. I have many candles.
But again tonight, I feel danger here in this room.
The feeling, very strong. You should not have him here.
This is weird. This is absolutely amazing.
Do you know, I decided just tonight to dismiss him?
I was discussing this with my lawyer.
Now, I felt uneasy about him last week...
And I asked my lawyer to check on him.
HELGA: Smith Corona?
-Is his? -Why, yes.
Corona, not Colonna.
-You must send away this man at once. -I was going to.
Give him his notice, at least. I won't put it off since you've warned me.
But tell me, are you positive...
That you saw him attacking me?
Very sharp, very clear. Like TV with cable.
Thank you. Ja, I take two.
SIDNEY: There's plenty more. HELGA: Two is enough.
CLIFFORD: It's really blowing up out there.
HELGA: Ja, sometimes they get it right, these weathermen.
-You want I should stay? -No, there's no need.
-You're going to get very wet out there. -I'm not afraid of rain.
-Good night. -It was very nice meeting you.
CLIFFORD: She told you I'm man in boots who attacks you, ja?
She noticed them just before you came in.
SIDNEY: I told her you were teaching me karate...
And we were attacking each other all over the place.
The closer you stick to the truth, the better.
Old bat.
-I finished Act One. -Your evening was better spent than mine.
CLIFFORD: I've ended it with Julian on the phone.
"God, how can I go on without her?"
Yeah, he wants the doctor to think he's upset.
The dialogue's a bit Tin Pan Alley but your timing's good.
SIDNEY: I've got Act Two ready to go. CLIFFORD: Terrific.
At least I think I have.
There are two bits of business I'm not sure will work.
We'll try them, and if they do, we'll go through the whole thing scene by scene.
-It's really full of surprises. -Let's hear them.
Thunder clapping:
Shit, I'm fed up with this weather.
Cliff, check the upstairs windows, will you?
Footsteps on stairs:
CLIFFORD: Just made it. It's really going to be a bitch.
So, what's the bits, the business?
-They're in the final scene. -Yeah?
Victor has spilled the beans...
And our detective has come to beard Julian in his den. Right?
Julian goes berserk, shoots the detective in the left arm.
-Left. -But there's only one bullet in the gun.
I'll explain that later.
He's got to get to the upstage wall...
Grab a weapon, and finish him off.
Now, the first question is:
Can a one-armed inspector in very good physical condition...
Stop a two-armed, middle-aged playwright?
And the answer has to be no. So let's try it.
Me Julian, you detective.
SIDNEY: Right over here. CLIFFORD: Why?
Don't you remember the seminar? When in doubt, physicalize.
-Come on. -Okay.
All right, so my left arm is out of commission.
SIDNEY: You ready? Go!
Thunder clapping:
Sidney grunting:
Panting:
VoilÃ¡. It works.
CLIFFORD: I scratched your neck. SIDNEY: I'll survive.
Now, the next bit is less strenuous and very brief
Glad to hear it.
SIDNEY: Come up here.
Now I'm the detective and you're Julian.
CLIFFORD: Okay. SIDNEY: Right.
Now take the ax off the wall.
CLIFFORD: This one? SIDNEY: Yeah.
Okay.
No, it doesn't look natural that way.
It feels natural this way.
-Try it the other way. -The other way.
No, it really doesn't feel natural this way.
All right. Put it back the way you had it, then.
-Yeah, feels better this way. -Good.
I'll tell you what, Cliff, put the ax down on the floor.
Suspenseful instrumental music:
Stand very still, Clifford.
We're going to say goodbye.
This weapon from gunpoint...
Is now full of live bullets, love.
I loaded it myself last night.
I just can't have the play written, Cliff.
And I honestly cannot think...
Of any other way to stop you but this.
And I do not wish to join...
All the ex-mistresses of ex-presidents...
And former CIA assassins and happy hookers...
Lining up to tell Tom Snyder...
And Phil Donahue how it was.
That's not my style.
It's just not me, is it, love?
It's not going to be you either, love...
Spending the next 25 years slaving away at crappy jobs for no money.
You have got a very firm grip on unreality, Sid.
46 years old, you're written out, you're practically broke.
I'm afraid I told you a little fib.
Between the insurance which arrived a few days ago...
And what Myra really left, I'll have about $1,000,000.
Plus, of course, this quite valuable property.
And I do hope to have another hit play someday.
Hope springs eternal.
-You shit! You'll never get away with this. -Why not?
Such wildly extenuating circumstances.
I asked Porter to have you checked out in Riverhead...
Do a serious rundown.
And I spent this evening listening to his report.
Porter was shocked...
Very disturbed at this possibly quite dangerous young man...
I had innocently taken into my place.
Porter insists that the sooner I send you packing, the better.
So I come home and I give you your notice.
But you become abusive and violent.
Luckily, I get to the gun.
I'm truly sorry, Cliff.
I shall miss you.
You opened up certain doors for me...
And for that I'm grateful.
God.
This is going to be even harder than I expected.
Good bye, Clifford.
Bye, Sidney.
Bang-bang.
Sorry the click is so anticlimactic, but I needed the bullets from that gun...
For this one.
Now sit down, dum-dum.
Yelling: Sit down! Right in that chair, thank you.
Reversal, Sidney. Remember?
You stressed it in the seminar, first day.
But you see, the problem was...
I had this terrific first act, I just couldn't think of what came next.
Dialogue's a snap for me, but I still have a little problem with plotting.
And that was very frustrating, particularly because I'm sharing bed and board...
With the old master plotter himself.
Let's see. I think you're about a 42 Regular.
Handcuffs rattling:
You can put your gun down, Sidney.
Unlock them, please.
Thunder clapping:
It's corny, but effective.
There I am with my problem.
See, Sidney's not going to help me, not voluntarily.
This I know 'cause Sidney uses three kinds of mouthwash...
And four kinds of deodorant. Not for him the whiff of scandal.
But I think to myself...
Is there a way that maybe I can harness that 17-jewel brain...
And get it to work for me unwittingly?
So I go on drafting Act One...
And every time I leave the room, I put it inconspicuously in the drawer.
So inconspicuously in fact...
That for a day-and-a-half, smart old Sidney doesn't even notice.
And then dull old Porter comes in and twigs right away.
What a relief. So on we go with my scenario.
You rifling my desk, confronting me with the evidence, etc.
-You're a prick, you know that? -Sticks and stones, Sidney.
Sidney, here we are, Bruhl and Anderson.
Now, I write, and Sidney thinks.
And I really don't sleep much. Last night, for example...
I hardly got a wink with all your elephantine tiptoeing around.
Tin Pan Alley dialogue? God, do you think I'm stupid?
That was dummy dialogue, dummy! To keep you comfy while you're plotting.
For every wooden line I wrote there, there's an aerial one up here.
I mean, I am going to burn this shit myself when I leave here.
Now you give me the key, please.
And you put them on.
And I do thank you for Act Two, Sidney...
But we're not going to have a Long Island detective.
Julian's lawyer is the fifth character.
Julian finds out in Scene One...
That Victor is actually writing the real Deathtrap about Doris' murder.
He pretends that he will collaborate, through the arm of the chair.
Don't be stupid. Put the handcuffs through the arm of the chair.
Thank you.
Yes. Old Julian pretends that he will collaborate.
Meanwhile, he has his lawyer do some checking up on Victor...
Knowing that there are some charges to be found...
Most of them very, very unfair.
Scene Two:
Julian sets Victor up for what will look like a murder in self-defense...
By getting him to act out bits of business from the play.
Grunting:
God, that's nice, Sidney.
I mean, wow! That is simple. It is workable. It's gonna play.
I'm really in your debt.
So Julian shoots Victor...
Who's a handsome, charming, wonderful kid...
That Julian has led astray, seduced.
You big creep.
But just then Inga Van Bronk and the lawyer come in.
She's called him because she's been getting bad vibes all night.
They met at Doris' funeral.
Victor lives just long enough to tell the truth about himself and Julian...
And about Doris' funeral.
And then Julian shoots himself.
Curtain.
Is that it?
CLIFFORD: What do you mean, "Is that it?" They're both dead dummy. The play's over.
Julian shoots himself?
That's exceedingly feeble, Clifford.
I'd be glad to think about it some more.
CLIFFORD: That's okay. I can fill in the holes.
Now, here 's the big surprise, Sidney. Are you ready?
I'm not gonna kill you.
I just wanted a hit play.
And I'm really not the total sociopath that you'd like to think.
Sidney, I'm gonna pack, I'm gonna call a cab...
And I hope that I can get one...
Otherwise you'll have to sit there this way all night.
When the cab is safely at the door...
I'm going to give you the key and unlock one wrist.
You will tell people that you gave me my notice.
I accepted it with grace.
But if you hassle me in any way...
You will be opening up a very messy can of worms.
If you don't bother me until the opening of Deathtrap...
I'll say, "Yes, I got the idea years ago.
"I worked for Sidney Bruhl for a few weeks, but I left...
"'cause I was so depressed at the way he kept humping beautiful women...
"out of grief for his wife."
Thunder clapping:
Clifford chuckles:
Electrical effects by God himself.
So long, Sidney. It's really been educational.
Fast-paced tense instrumental music:
SIDNEY: Cliff?
Cliff?
You can come down. Those were Houdini's handcuffs.
Fast-paced tense instrumental music continues:
Dramatic instrumental music:
Suspenseful instrumental music:
Stair creaks:
Fast-paced instrumental music:
Stair creaks:
Thunder clapping:
Tense instrumental music:
Clifford groans:
Hang in there, Long Island light.
Jesus!
They're gone.
SIDNEY: Shit!
Candles.
Matches.
Shit! Matches.
HELGA: Matches.
Candle.
I came to help. Such troubles.
But not trouble for you. Trouble from you.
SIDNEY: Strictly speaking, Helga...
I'd say we're both in a spot of trouble.
Now you will want to kill me, ja?
First Mrs. Bruhl. Somehow you do that. I'm right, ja? Then the boy ....
No! You've got it wrong.
He killed Myra. And tonight, he tried to kill me.
Then why you need burn evidence if evidence prove he did it?
Ja, I don't think.
SIDNEY: That's not evidence, Helga. It's a manuscript, a play.
A play? About death?
I will read.
You will not kill me with this beautiful woman's dagger!
I will not allow that!
I don't wish to make violence, Mr. Bruhl, but--
SIDNEY: There are no bullets in that gun. It's a stage prop.
If you don't believe me, check it out.
Ja, maybe I check it by pulling trigger.
SIDNEY: Suit yourself. But it's just as easy to check by--
If no bullets in gun, then you don't let me cross room to fireplace.
Helga screaming:
SIDNEY: I thought I heard the gun drop.
You dropped it, didn't you, Helga?
Thunder clapping:
Helga grunting:
Metallic clanging:
Grunting and groaning:
SIDNEY: Let go of the knife, Helga. Get back, Helga! Get back!
Get back!
Helga grunting:
Grunting and groaning:
Screaming:
Stage actor exclaiming:
Inga, you're well out of this.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: Bravo!
Audience applauding and cheering:
Audience whistling:
Helga baby, we've got ourselves a smash!
What a play you wrote!
We 're gonna make ourselves a fortune here.
Waste not, want not.
Dramatic instrumental music:
Applauding and cheering continues:
Lively instrumental music:
Lively instrumental music continues:
Dramatic instrumental music:
SDH subtitles conformed by SOFTITLER
English - SDH