DALTON TRUMBO (O.S.)
Well, I think... money.
Jesus, here we go...
As they both zero in on:
Director Sam Wood, more than a little drunk.
Laugh it up. I had no crew! I
couldn’t work -
(shouting at Trumbo)
-- you wouldn’t work, God forbid
builders. What do set builders
have to do with writing?
What they build, you film. You
make all the money you possibly
can, so do I, why shouldn’t they?
And why can’t we help them? In the
-- said the Swimming Pool Soviet.
Sam. You won. The strike’s over,
the union’s history. We’ve all
gone back to being good little
honey and you --
(now, just a little sharp)
Trumbo’s fingers, which hold his cigarette. Wood does not
falter... CONVERSATIONS stop.
SAM WOOD (CONT’D)
EDWARD G. ROBINSON
(with jovial aplomb)
Sam, Sam, Sam, we’ve got to talk
disaster, who the hell wrote that
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