An office in
a London ad agency, two women are in mid-conversation. Andy
is very animated, Phoebe is less so.
ANDY: ...so he wants
to see the notebook computer...
PHOEB: Who does?
ANDY: The client...
what's his name, the inventor, you know.
PHOEB: Oh, him.
ANDY: The client. So,
a notebook computer with butterflies flitting about it, you know,
soft focus, all that, fields, and this dreamy eyed man, an American,
you know, weary in love -- his words, the client's -- writing
a letter on this machine, you know...
PHOEB: Typical
American Male, to be weary in love. Always too much effort, too much
effort into everything. An English male hardly knows what love is,
far be it from him to wear himself out with it.
ANDY: As I was
saying... so he's writing a letter, we must presume it is a love
letter because there's a Beethoven's Pastorale underscore, or like
that, and he's teary-eyed and has beautiful brown curly hair, and
music swells, swells, and boom, he presses a single stroke command
and it prints on his Diconix portable printer...
PHOEB: In the meadow?
ANDY: Batteries,
Phoeb, get a life... and the camera zooms in and there's this
absolutely stunning cursive script, with tiny nuances and
imperfections, just like handwriting, and then we watch him sign
it...
PHOEB: For a personal
touch.
ANDY: ...he signs it
and the printed script matches his own, perfectly! Overlay:
"The Personal Touch" --- thanks, Phoeb --- "Your
Private Life goes Public with Manuscript"... music fades,
butterflies, closeup of big brown eyes with wrinkles at the corners.
Weeping world-wide.
PHOEB: It's awful,
Andy, mock AT&T. Gawpy and maudlin.
ANDY: That's what he
wants, though, or something like it.
PHOEB: Who does?
ANDY: The client...
what's his name, Rodrick... you know.
PHOEB: Wait. How do
we know he's American?
ANDY: Who?
PHOEB: The man in the
ad.
ANDY: He doesn't need
to be American, just look like one, you know, American-looking.
PHOEB: No, I don't.
ANDY: Square jaw,
stubble, blue-jeans, hairy chest, you know.
PHOEB: And why
love-letters? I hate the whole idea.
ANDY: I think it
sells... meadows, Beethoven. Where are you today, anyway? Okay, so
maybe Ravel, something like Bolero, camera swoops down from the sky
at our American Hero at a picnic table, or like that, you know, and
he's typing away, lyrical, inspired, flash cuts of gorgeous
chestnut-haired Virginia beauty laughing in front of fountain...
PHOEB: A fountain?
ANDY: Fountains are
sexual...
PHOEB: Sexual?
ANDY: ... camera
keeps swooping... Print!... camera swoops around and we catch a
glimpse of this magnificently calligraphed letter, and at first, you
know, we say, well, I must have seen it wrong, but on the second
pass we see it, and we see him sign it and it all pops, bam!
Technology! More flash cuts as he moistens the envelope, chestnut
beauty, coy looks, sparkling wine and fire-light, camera swoops up
until we see him as just a dot in a gigantic meadow, you know, and
the overlay "The Perfect Pen for that Special Letter ---
Manuscript"
PHOEB: Is he still
weary with love?
ANDY: Not anymore,
he's written his letter, it refreshes him.
PHOEB: Can't we put
him in an office, at least?
ANDY: Rodrick, or
whatever, wants butterflies. An office? Come on, Phoeb...
PHOEB: With
butterflies. Okay, an outdoor cafe.
ANDY: And he wants
solitude, solitude for days.
PHOEB: A terrifically
unpopular outdoor cafe.
ANDY: I'm doing all
the work here, you know, you're making me do all the work.
PHOEB: In the Sahara.
ANDY: Okay, not
Ravel, Stravinski, throbbing, pulsing rhythms, erratic and
sensual... baa, daditat, da, doo, di, daddooodita... you know, he's
typing furiously, flash cuts of a Slavic wedding, swirling skirts
and crashing glassware, you know, he's sweating, sweat on his
brow...
PHOEB: Weary in
love...
ANDY: ...losened
tie...
PHOEB: We're still in
the meadow?
ANDY: Okay, no tie,
but his shirt is open, all the way, you know, and his chest is
glistening -- that's good -- remember that, and his expression is
intense, and print! and the handwriting is just as expressive and
implusive and dynamic as the music, and bam! He whips out his
fountain pen...
PHOEB: Oh, I got it.
ANDY: ...and like a
sword his signs his name, slashing into the paper, dynamic, male,
decisive... got what?
PHOEB: About
fountains.
ANDY: Overlay:
"The Passionate Pen is Tamed at Last, Manuscript!" Sudden,
stirring crescendo, camera angles up to the clouds, flash! Out!
Black! Single drum beat.
PHOEB: How about
crashing glassware?
ANDY: Huh?
PHOEB: Instead of a
drum beat.
ANDY: You are less
than no help at all. You are a black hole of imagination. What is
the matter with you? This is a client for days here, this is a
product of our dreams, this is like selling milk in your coffee,
what is the difficulty Miss Weary with Love?
PHOEB: It seems
silly.
ANDY: What does?
PHOEB: Computerized
handwriting. It doesn't stir me. Certainly not with love letters.
ANDY: It's what he
wants.
PHOEB: English
females, on the other hand... (she drifts off)
ANDY: What? What?
PHOEB: Are -- at
least some of them -- perfectly capable of being weary with love,
and I for one, having reached that state of perfection, would not be
inclined to write love letters, by hand, by machine or otherwise.
Having achieved a certain kind of success in business, I am now
expected by some in the community to also have a relationship --
preferably a family-oriented one, but definately a sexual one, hence
the truncated euphenism "relationship" -- and that
regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I resent the pressure,
and I certainly am very weary indeed of applying the very same
identical pressure at large to the Weeping World, as you so aptly
put it.
ANDY: Is something
wrong?
PHOEB: I am being
followed.
ANDY: Oh, that's
lovely, what's his name?
PHOEB: He's American.
ANDY: And weary with
effort?
PHOEB: He is.
Terrifically.
ANDY: And writing
love letters?
PHOEB: Prolifically.
ANDY: By hand?
PHOEB: Who can tell
anymore?
ANDY: That's true,
deception in love will increase twofold.
PHOEB: That's
conservative.
ANDY: But if we don't
do the ad someone else will...
PHOEB: ...and love
will be trivialized beyond repair.
ANDY: You're so
dramatic.
PHOEB: I don't know
why this upsets me so.
ANDY: The ad?
PHOEB: The American.
Both.