Mr. Smith Goes To Washington
The CAPITOL DOME at Washington fades in. It is night, and
the dome is flooded in light.
This view dissolves to the exterior of a Newspaper Office
WINDOW, seen at night. The letters on the window, illuminated
by a street light, are picked out with increasing
distinctness. They read: WASHINGTON POST-DISPATCH. This
dissolves into the NIGHT CITY EDITOR'S OFFICE, where a
lethargic, eyeshaded man behind a desk reaches for the
telephone which is ringing.
EDITOR:
(mechanically)
Desk--
(Then, perking up)
What?
Inside a PHONE BOOTH in a Hospital Corridor, where a nurse
seated at the corridor desk is visible through the glass
doors of the booth, a man is telephoning:
REPORTER:
Senator Samuel Foley--dead. Died a
minute ago--here at St. Vincent's.
At the bedside was state political
sidekick, Senator Joseph Paine--
And we see the HOSPITAL OFFICE where Senator Joseph Paine, a
trim, rather dignified man of fifty-eight, occupying the
desk of the nurse who stands by, is talking rapidly and
agitatedly into a phone.
PAINE:
(into the phone)
Long distance? Senator Joseph Paine
speaking. I want the Governor's
residence at Jackson City--Governor
Hubert Hopper. Hurry--
The scene dissolves into a skimming view of TELEPHONE WIRES
strung over a vast distance--and then into the BEDROOM of
Governor and Mrs. Hopper, where the Governor and his wife
are found in their twin beds, the room darkened. The buzzer
is sounding. Mrs. Emma Hopper, wife of the Governor, sits
bolt upright in the dark.
EMMA:
(a shrew)
I knew it! I knew a night's rest
wasn't possible in this house!
(As the buzzer is
heard again)
Hubert!
HUBERT:
(waking with a start,
bewildered)
Wha--? Yes, sweetheart-- Wha--?
EMMA:
That infernal phone!
HUBERT:
Yes, yes--phone, phone--
(Fumbling for the
light)
A--an outrage, pet--an outrage--I'll
look into this--
(Seizing the phone)
Hello--Joe!--What!--No! Not really!
Terrible!
EMMA:
What is it?
In the HOSPITAL ROOM, we see Paine on the phone.
PAINE:
It couldn't have come at a worse
time. Call Jim Taylor. Tell him I'm
taking a plane tonight for home.
In GOVERNOR HOPPER'S BEDROOM:
HUBERT:
(on the phone)
Yes, Joe, yes--right away.
(He hangs up--then
lifts the receiver
again and begins to
dial)
EMMA:
What is it?
HUBERT:
Sam Foley--dead!
EMMA:
Great saints!
HUBERT:
Of all the times! Of all the times!
Two months to the end of his term--
and Foley has to go and die on us--
EMMA:
Whom are you calling--in the dead of
night?
HUBERT:
Taylor, my dear.
EMMA:
Can't that wait, Hubert?
HUBERT:
No, no--believe me, pet--this is
*most* urgent--
(Into the phone)
Hello, hello. Is Taylor there?--
Governor Hopper. Quickly, please--
EMMA:
This isn't a home, it's the crossroads
of the world!
HUBERT:
Now, now, Emma, dear--you mustn't
forget we have been chosen by the
people of this commonwealth to--
EMMA:
(sharply)
Save that for the laying of
cornerstones, Hubert!
(Groaning)
Oh, that morning you looked in the
mirror and saw a statesman!
HUBERT:
Now, pet--
(Then, excitedly into
the phone)
Jim!
In political boss TAYLOR'S ROOM, we see JIM TAYLOR, a hard-
bitten, taciturn, impressive man in his fifties. At the
moment, he stands at a phone, in vest and rolled up sleeves,
a cigar between his fingers. Behind him, in a smoke-filled
room, man are seated at a card table from which Taylor
evidently has just risen.
TAYLOR:
What's up, Happy?
In HOPPER'S BEDROOM:
HUBERT:
Sam Foley--died tonight in Washington.
Joe just called. Can you imagine
anything more--?
In TAYLOR'S ROOM:
TAYLOR:
Died, huh? Well, take it easy, Happy.
Is Paine coming?--Good. Keep your
shirt on--and your mouth shut. No
statements.
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"Mr. Smith Goes To Washington" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/mr._smith_goes_to_washington_328>.
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