Henry Fool 1997 CD1
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You want some?
You're dead motherfucker! Keep runnin'!
Where the hell have you been?
-Mom, come on and eat! -I'm not hungry.
-Then why did I cook? -I don't know why you cooked.
I don't know why you bother.
God! I want to get fucked.
Get up off your knees.
Where do you have to go to get a six-pack of beer around here?
-Say something. -She's mute.
Kiss my ass.
Centuries ago, it had an 'e' at the end.
-Where do you come from? -Nowhere in particular.
I go where I will and I do what I can.
That's why I'm in trouble.
I'm sort of what you might call...
Why are you in trouble?
An honest man is always in trouble, Simon.
How do you know my name?
I am not retarded.
Yeah, well. I'll take your word for that.
Keep them with you at all times...
if you feel you've got something to say and you can't get it out.
You stop and write it down, okay?
What are these?
My life's work.
What have you done?
I've been bad.
But why brag?
The details of my exploits are only a pretext for a...
far more expansive consideration of general truths.
What is this?
It's a philosophy.
A politics, if you will.
A literature of protest.
A novel of ideas.
A pornographic magazine of truly comic-book proportions.
It is in the end whatever the hell I want it to be.
And when I'm through with it it's gonna blow a hole this wide...
straight through the world's idea of itself.
They're throwing bottles at your house.
Come on, let's go break their arms.
I don't want trouble.
Once, I forget where I was, Central America, maybe...
somewhere hot. Stupid job, bad pay.
Dangerous location, the water was so foul they wouldn't piss on it.
A crowd of drunken motherfuckers, hired by the local drug cartel...
shows up at my hotel room and threatens to tear me limb from limb.
And I say:
You got me outnumbered 4 to 1. You're gonna kill me here tonight...
and not a soul in this dimly-lit world is gonna notice that I'm gone.
But one of you...
one of you is gonna have his eye torn out."
I repeat myself.
"One of you jerks, is gonna have his eye ripped out of its socket.
I promise. It's a small thing, perhaps, all things considered.
But I will succeed.
Because it's the only thing I have left to do in this world.
So, just take a good look at one another one last time...
and think it over a few minutes more."
And then, what happened?
here I am...
Did you throw up all over some girl?
They were throwing bottles at the house, you know.
She's got some ex-con in it she met at the bar.
Tattoos all over himself and big, red, bloated nose.
Did you take your pills?
You want me to tell her to be quiet?
What's the use? She might as well get it while she can.
She's not always gonna have the ass she has now, you know? That's life.
Good morning, Simon.
A glorious day, huh? Here, have a doughnut.
Can you lend me US$ 2O?
Where's the library in this scrappy little burg?
Down the highway about a mile and a half, then make a left.
Excellent. I'm polishing up the final chapters of my confession...
and I need a reasonably well-stocked...
I wanted to...
Can I take this?
I'll correct the spell.
-Simon, who did this to you? -I was gonna tear out their eyes.
-Who's eyes? -I told them. Like you said.
I knew I could do it.
You should take him home. He smells like a toilet.
Mr. Fool, what is this?
-It's poetry. -Are you sure?
Of course I'm sure. I've corrected the spelling myself.
It made my daughter sing.
-Keep still. -Let me do it.
Fine. You do it, Simon. I don't care.
Mom! Simon's got a broken rib and dislocated shoulder...
and he won't let me disinfect a gash in his head.
-Fay, just take him to the hospital! -He won't go!
Simon Grim, you go to the hospital with Fay right now, you hear me?
We gotta talk.
What the hell were you trying to do when you wrote this thing?
-Nothing. -You wrote it in iambic pentameter.
-Iambic what? -Verse.
Look, in my opinion this is pretty powerful stuff.
Though your spelling is Neanderthal and your reasoning a little naive...
your instincts are profound. But the thing needs to be more cohesive.
It can be expanded, followed-thru, unified. See where I'm getting at?
Are you willing to commit yourself to this?
To really work on it, to give it it's due on the face of adversity...
and discouragement, to rise up to the challenge you yourself accept?
And don't give me that wonder struck 'I'm only a humble garbage man'.
It hurts to breathe.
Of course it does.
Have a drink.
Do you find me attractive?
-I look young for my age, don't I? -How old are you?
How old do you think I am?
You look young.
I don't know. Young.
But how? Do I look more like 2O or, you know, 3O?
Listen, you geek. After a couple of drinks, people mistake me for 18.
Warren... are you a registered voter?
Bug off, Vicky.
"Saving America from itself."
-What the fuck is this? -About the upcoming elections...
and Congressman Owen Feer, the good things he'll do for our country.
Yeah? Like what?
He wants to win back this country for us Americans, Warren.
And restore a kind of cultural and moral standard to our way of life.
What time does your kid go off to school?
How about I come over to your house later?
I don't know, Warren. I mean...
I mean it. I'm trying to change.
How dare you put something like this up where anyone can see it?
-It's poetry. -It's pornography!
A product of a diseased mind! You ought to be ashamed, Sr. Deng.
You see, Simon, there are three kinds of "there."
"There are the doughnuts."
Then there's their.
Which is the possessive.
"It is their doughnut."
T-H-E-Y, apostrophe, R-E.
"They're the doughnut people."
If you're gonna read Wordsworth, you better get a more updated edition.
This odoripherous tome you're so attached to doesn't have a prologue.
And you need notes, commentary.
I'll go to the library and I'll get you the best edition they have.
Thank you, but that's okay. I'll stop there on my way back from work.
From work? You can't go to work.
Oh, yeah. Maybe not today. But tomorrow, probably.
-My job? -Yeah.
You need time to write, Simon. To study, to reflect.
But I like my job.
A vocation like ours, Simon, is not a 9 to 5 thing.
You can't put a fence around a man's soul.
We think and feel when and where we think and feel.
We are the servants of our muse, and we toil where she commands.
Can I read your confession?
Not yet. Soon. We'll see.
-Is it almost finished? -In a piece of work like this, it's...
avocation like ours, it's...
you can't put a fence around a man's soul. What I'm trying to achieve...
takes a lifetime, really.
It's a life's work.
But soon. Don't worry about it. I'd appreciate your feedback.
I gotta go.
What are you doing here, Simon?
I'm writing a poem.
So what? It's not so great.
Is that him?
Pardon me, Simon.
Look, I'm the editor of a high-school newspaper...
One of the editors.
-One of the editors. And we... -You.
wanted to know if we can print your poem in this month's issue.
-Because I think it's great. -I don't.
-Who cares what you think? -Geez, you're a drag!
-Well known drag. -Please?
Mom, did you take your medication?
I guess so.
Good evening, Fay.
What do you want?
I've got these library books for Simon.
Leave them there on the cabinet.
Where is he?
Simon, are you a registered voter?
This year, when you go to the polls, consider congressman Owen.
He wants to restore America to its position of unmatched wealth...
power and opportunity.
To revitalize American civilization...
and lead the human race to even greater levels of freedom...
prosperity and security.
He's a good man.
I know a man.
His name is Angus James, and he is a big shot in the publishing business.
Smart, adventurous, tons of integrity.
When the time is right, I'll recommend he read your poem.
He'll respect my opinion.
That man was here again today looking for you.
A man? What man?
You know. That guy.
Why do they torment me like this? Why?
-They're like a bunch of mosquitoes. -What do they want from you?
They want to suffocate me, Simon. To extinguish me like a flame.
-Why? -They're afraid. That's why.
They're afraid of what I might do. What I might say, think!
They're afraid of my ideas. You and I are alike in this way, Simon.
We are outsiders. We think and feel too much and...
too deeply. And the world can't handle that.
Our mere existence is a threat to its illusion of security.
Sure, they'll name awing of a library after us when we're dead.
But now where we are alive, they want to burn us at the stake.
I made love to your mother about half an hour ago...
and now I'm beginning to think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea.
I mean to say that I think Fay may be jealous.
I don't want to think about this.
Bad move, Simon.
A poet's gotta be able to contemplate anything.
Am I really a poet?
Of course you are.
A great poet.
But you need experience.
You need to do something to be ashamed of once in awhile!
Come on. Let's go out.
Have you got any money?
That man is a bad influence.
-Hey, Simon. Wake up. -What's that?
It's a computer. You write on it.
-Here's the manual. -Where did you get it?
I stole it. Now, listen. Remember we discussed the need for cadence...
...to the readability of form. -Shit. Not you again.
-I cannot work on these conditions. -Yeah, get out of here, you freak!
-Get a life! -Eat shit 'n' die, Henry!
Beast! Fiend! Rapist!
Oh, shut up, mom.
I am not a rapist.
Shit. Come on. This way.
Keep a lookout.
What's going on?
So, you're an honest man. Why beat yourself up about it?
I don't know if there are grounds for faith. Is my vocation relevant?
Does it make a difference?
-A difference in what? -The world. The way it is.
Is this away to help relief suffering?
-Your vocation makes a difference. -How can you be so sure?
Because vocation is the difference. Only someone who cares doubts.
Listen, father. Have you got any money?
Let's go have a drink.
-Are you a registered voter? -I really don't know.
I could give you some information about congressman Owen Feer.
This man will make a big difference in the lives of every American.
-Pardon me, sir. -Fuck off!
What time does your mother get off? Fay, are you a registered voter?
Don't you dare talk to me that way. And keep your hands off my brother.
-Pearl, what are you doing here? -I'm watching her.
-You and Vicky got back together? -I got a regular job now.
I saw this retard on TV this morning.
He's gonna be the next president of the USA, Fay.
Keep dreaming, Warren. The guy's a nazi.
-I like him. -Give me a light.
He's a decent man. He takes complicated issues...
and he totally simplifies them. I appreciate that.
-You still sell dope? -No.
You know what the problem with this country is, Fay?
Me. I'm the problem. We live in a culture of poverty and crime...
where the work ethic is undermined...
and male responsibility is made irrelevant.
Come on, Pearl. Let's go play at my house.
If she gives you any trouble, just let me know, Fay.
-What do you mean, you quit? -I quit my job.
-Why? -For things I want to do.
Opportunity will step out of the way to let a man pass it by.
-Are you drunk? -Now you have to get a job.
I'm not getting a job.
-Who's gonna look after mom? -I will.
If you treat mom like a sick person...
she's gonna stay like, you know, a sick person.
Mom can't be left alone with no one to keep an eye on her.
Who's been keeping an eye on her while you're out getting fucked?
Simon? What are you doing here?
Henry, your parole officer came by again today.
He told me that if you don't call him he'll put you back in jail.
-He wants you to call him! -Simon?
He was talking to Mr. Deng too. I was thinking...
Simon, just shut the fuck up!
Forgive me, Simon. Look, do me a favor.
Do you have a library card?
Check this out for me. Milton. Seventeenth Century. English.
It's important my confession dig up the past...
comb previous evidence, help chart the historic and even the esthetic...
inevitability of my ideas. This place is crawling with chicks!
Wander around. Leer a little.
Feel them. Pose yourself on them.
-Now, listen. I gotta go. -Henry.
What did you do?
I got caught.
-How are you, Henry? -Peachy. Get me a light?
Have you found a job?
How about those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings? Have you gone over there?
What about that assistant librarian position you were to set me up with?
I tried, Henry. I really did.
-So, what happened? -Henry, with your background...
I mean, your record, they didn't think it would be right...
...to have you at the library. -Why not?
They think you'd be a bad influence on the kids.
So my word is not enough.
My promise, worthless.
The fact that I have served my time Nothing but the emblem of my...
...continuing guilt. -Apparently.
-What's that? -Nothing.
I'm creating my resume.
This computer has got a program especially for it.
Bought some special stationery too. It's scented. Look.
Can you type my poem into that thing?
-That's your poem? -Yeah.
Simon, mom's right about you.
A poem's supposed to be a small, delicate thing. Feminine, gentle.
Look at this. You made a fucking telephone book.
I was caught.
Yes. I was caught once.
In flagrante delictum screwing a 13 year old girl named Susan.
She was an ugly and mean-spirited kid.
But she knew how to play upon my weaknesses...
which, I admit...
are deep and many.
You appear shocked.
It was a pathetic little conspiracy. A transparently desperate attempt...
to discredit me and my ideas.
To label me a mere pedophile. As if I'd be ashamed of such a thing.
As if Socrates himself hadn't been taken out of circulation...
for corrupting the youth of Athens.
Seven years for one afternoon of blissful transgression.
But, what of it?
Prison is not so bad.
Particularly if one's free from the conventional horror of sodomy.
They were not lost years.
I put them to good use.
I began my major work, my Opus!
Believe me, Simon.
This incident with the girl...
pales to insignificance in the wider context of my career.
Nothing in comparison to the day my confession is unleashed.
We are told not to judge. But to forgive.
Not to look into our neighbor's eyes and find the bad. But the good.
This is difficult, I admit.
But having a good friend isn't always easy.
Yes, I see.
do you ever think that...
that Henry is...
He needs help. Our help.
The best parts of himself surface when he's helping others learn.
Let yourself be taught. Show your appreciation for his guidance.
In this way, perhaps...
there's hope for everyone.
The greats all say the same thing.
Little. And, what little there is to be said, is immense.
In other words, follow your own genius, to where it leads...
without regard for the apparent needs of the world at large...
which has no needs of such, but just moments of exhaustion...
in which it is incapable of prejudice.
We can only hope to collide with moments of unselfconsciousness...
...this divine fatigue, this... -Push over!
As I tried to make right in Paris:
"We know we have fallen, because we know who we are."
-When were you in Paris? -That's beside the point.
But did they listen to me? Of course not.
-You okay, Fay? -No, I'm not okay.
Your poem brought my period on a week and a half early.
So, just shut up. Everybody, just shut up!
-Simon, can I have your autograph? -Never let yourself be flattered.
-What of your friend, the publisher? -Who?
-Angus James. -How about sending the poem to him?
Because it's not done yet.
When is it gonna be done, Simon?
-I don't know. -You ought to be home writing.
-Instead of hanging with groupies. -I'm not a groupie.
-Pardon me. Is this your laptop? -The thing to do is to send...
parts of it to different magazines and literary channels first.
-You know, substantiate it. -What scatological mean?
A preoccupation with excrement. Why?
That's what the Board of Education called Simon's poem yesterday.
-Hello. -Yeah. I'm listening.
I'm Edna Rodriguez and I write for the "Queens County Examiner."
I was just wondering if I can have a word with Simon Grim?
You can't talk too long with him, because he writes all day.
That's all he does. Can you believe that? Simon, get down here!
Simon, Edna. She's from the newspaper.
The parent's association is calling your poem pornography.
The teachers are defending the students' rights to exercise...
critical taste and sensibility. The county agrees with the church and...
considers the poem emblematic of modern society's moral...
disintegration. How do you feel about these reactions to your poem?
Simon, answer the woman.
-I need my prescription pills. -Mom, Edna. Edna, mom.
Mrs. Grim, what was Simon like as a child?
-We all thought he was retarded. -Everyone did.
-Never said a word. -Masturbated constantly.
-Had no friends. -Till he met Henry.
"Dear Mr. Grim:
we here at the magazine consider ourselves open-minded...
and consistently print the work of the most brilliant young talent.
Every week we are forced to return writing which we cannot publish...
and include a brief but polite refusal.
But this tract you sent us demands a response as violent...
as the effect your words have had upon us.
Drop dead. Keep your day job.
Sincerely, the editors."
"De gustibus non disputandum est."
"You can't argue with taste?"
About taste. You can't argue about taste. My God, Simon...
The other 25 are almost as bad. I don't know why I bothered.
What do you mean, you don't know why you bothered?
You bother because you know the poem is excellent.
Of course you do.
I'm not so sure sometimes.
Can you sit there, look me in the eye and tell me it's not great?
That it is not a work of great lyrical beauty...
and ethical depth?
That it is not a profound meditation on the miracle of existence?
-I... -Can you?
-I can't. -So you see? You have no choice.
Can you recommend it to your friend, the publisher, Henry?
Can you recommend the poem to him?
-That might not be easy. -Why?
It's been a long time. My name might not carry as much weight as it did.
-But he's your friend, right? -We were close at one time.
You said he respected your opinion.
Opinions come and go.
To be honest, my ideas, my writing...
they've not always been received well...
or even calmly.
They're upsetting. I'm a controversial man.
You see, what I'm doing is too radical.
It'll take time for people to see its value.
It's ahead of its time, perhaps, or maybe just...
a recommendation from me might do you as much harm as it does good.
Henry, why can't I read the confession?
Because certain works need to be experienced all at once...
for one to appreciate the full force of its character.
Simon, wake up. The guy's in the dream world.
He's afraid that his reputation will not allow my work an honest chance.
-His reputation as what? -As a writer.
-Give me a break. -He's kind of like in exile...
marginalized on account of his ideas.
If he's such a genius, why doesn't he write books like you do?
He has. He's been working on it for years. It's just not published.
Yeah, I bet. It's probably disgusting.
It's quite serious and difficult piece of work, apparently.
Have you read it?
No. Not yet. Soon.
Certain work needs to be experienced all at once...
in order for one to appreciate the full force of its character.
Yeah, well. Whatever. Listen, Simon. Forget Henry.
Go to this Angus James yourself and get him to read the poem.
I'm going to fight for a job at the photo store and another at the bank.
Make sure mom takes the pills.
Please, don't stop.
That was nice.
Yes, it was nice.
But it was unremarkable.
Does that matter?
Hi, I'll take that.
Aren't you the messenger?
Well, then you must be here to fix the plumbing.
I'm here to see Mr. Angus James.
The book we know, Angus, will be a thing of the past in a few years.
Novels, articles, newspapers, Will all be downloaded onto a PC.
You're telling me to get out of the publishing business?
We've got to reinvent the publishing business for the electronic age.
I'm sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. There's a wound up garbage man...
that seems to have written a poem. A long poem.
And I recall how in last month's meeting you stressed the need...
for us to be on the lookout for more marginalized verse from...
un-established quarters of the American scene.
-Did I say that? -You did.
Okay, Laura. Make an appointment. Sometime next month.
So, how is the digital revolution is going to help me sell books?
Why can't I see him now?
Because he's a very important man, and...
I don't think people are gonna prefer reading books on televisions.
-It's not television... -It's interactive.
Angus, look. We have a number of charts here...
In every home in America, the PC is gonna be where the TV used to be.
And it'll be a direct connection to all forms of media.
An unprecedented transformation in American social life.
We'll become more informed, more literate, increasingly productive...
and, well, like I said, we have a number of charts.
I'm sorry to disturb you again, gentlemen, but...
I'll call security for this one. But before I do, I wanted to ask you...
just how marginal the undiscovered voice of American poetry should be?
-Pretty damn marginal, I think. -Downright controversial, probably.
-How's he striking? -He's denounced by the Local Board.
I read about him. He hangs around a delicatessen writing pornography.
Hello. Why do you think I should take my valuable time to read this?
-Because it's a masterpiece. -Really? Are you hearing this?
-He's adorable. -I wouldn't want to waste your time.
I'm sure not. I assume you can take some straightforward criticism.
Just say "yes."
Get him a coffee, Laura.
-Have a seat, Mr. Grim. -Hold my calls for half an hour.
-What about Steve? -He doesn't drink coffee. Do you?
-Henry, put those magazines back. -I'm just looking at the pictures.
-It's not good for you. -I learn so much from these magazines.
I refuse to discriminate between modes of knowing.
-You can't smoke in here anymore. -Why not?
It's the law.
This place is losing all its charm, Mr. Deng.
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Hitokiri Tenchu 1969 CD2
Hole in the Head A
Hollow The (2004)
Hollywood Ending CD1
Hollywood Ending CD2
Hollywood Homicide 2003 CD1
Hollywood Homicide 2003 CD2
Holy Matrimony (1994)
Holy Smoke CD1
Holy Smoke CD2
Home Alone 1990
Home Alone 2 - Lost in New York
Home Alone 3
Home Alone 4
Home At The End Of The World A
Home On The Range
Home from the Sea
Homem Que Copiava O 2003 CD1
Homem Que Copiava O 2003 CD2
Homme-orchestre L (Serge Korber 1970)
Homolka a Tobolka
Honeymoon Killers The
Hororr hotline (2001)
Horse Whisperer The CD1
Horse Whisperer The CD2
Horseman on the Roof The
Horses Mouth The
Hostile Waters 1997
Hot Chick The
Hot Wheels World Race CD1
Hot Wheels World Race CD2
Hound of Baskervilles The
Hour of the Wolf
House By The Cemetary The
House Of The Spirits CD1
House Of The Spirits CD2
House With The Windows That Laugh
House of 1000 Corpses
House of Frankenstein
House of Games (1987)
House of Mirth The
House of Sand and Fog 2003 CD1
House of Sand and Fog 2003 CD2
House of flying daggers
House of the Dead
House of the Flying Daggers
How Green Was My Valley
How The West Was Won 1962 CD1
How The West Was Won 1962 CD2
How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days
How to Beat the High Cost of Living
How to Keep My Love 2004
How to Murder Your Wife 1965
How to Steal a Million CD1
How to Steal a Million CD2
How to deal
Hratky s certem
Hudsucker Proxy The
Hulk The - Special Edition
Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam
Hum Kaun Hai
Hum Tumhare Hain Sanam
Human Beast The CD1
Human Beast The CD2
Hunchback of Notre Dame II The
Hunchback of Notre Dame The
Hundtricker the movie
Hunger The 1983
Hunt For Red October CD1
Hunt For Red October CD2
Huozhe (Lifetimes) CD1
Huozhe (Lifetimes) CD2
Hurricane The CD1
Hurricane The CD2
Hypnosis (Saimin 1999)
Hypnotic Doctor Sleep
Hypnotist The 1999
Hypo-Chondri-Cat The (1950)