State of the Union

Synopsis: Kay Thordyke loves Grant Matthews and helps him become Republican nominee for President. The party machine begins to worry as Grant begins to speak for himself. At an important dinner his wife Mary condemns corrupt politicians and Grant learns to speak out even more boldly..
Genre: Comedy, Drama
Director(s): Frank Capra
Production: MGM
124 min




Here's the doc.

What's the verdict, Doc?

Can't last

another 24 hours.

Any chance of us making

the early edition?

He'd want to.

What about some pictures,

last-moment stuff?


Good afternoon,

Miss Thorndyke.

Your father...

I heard your verdict,

Dr. Crane.

That's the daughter.

She's tougher than

the old man.

Get out.

But, Mr. Thorndyke, I...

Out! Out, I say.

Stupid nurses, doctors.


How are you feeling, Sam?

Oh, this blasted thing's

eating my guts away.

Did you see that editorial

in the Albany paper?

That fella won't take orders.

Fire him.

I did.

That's my girl.

The White House called

to ask about you.

He should call.

If those Republicans hadn't

knifed me,

he wouldn't be

in the White House.

I'd be dying there.

Well, well, well. What else?

Longstreet called.

Longstreet? That buzzard.

Made me an offer

for the papers.

Willing to keep my name

on the masthead, he says.

I'll keep it there, Sam.

You don't need Longstreet

or anyone else.

Kay, I used to hate you

for being a girl.

I always wanted

a son like me.

But you're bigger

than any son.

A woman's body with

a man's brains.

My brains. Use them.

You'll make the White House,

Kay, one way or another.

The Republican Party

owe us that. Don't forget it.

I won't forget it.

That's my girl.

Men are weak,

vain, idealistic.

Can't stand pain.

Can't stand pain any longer...


Women are the only realists.

Until they get sentimental.

Don't you ever

get sentimental, Kay.

I never have.



Goodbye, girl.

I guess I'll call it a day.

You're the chief

from herein.

I'm gonna miss you, Sam.

Yeah, yeah.

You'll be all right.

You'll be all right.

Make those heads roll.

Make those heads roll.

Don't go in there.

But, Miss...

Oh, good heavens!

Oh, Doctor!


Call the police!




Oh, Doctor.

Lose your stomach,

Mr. MacManus?

Mr. Hawkins' office, please.

First door

to your right.

Thank you.

Hi, Scylla.

Hi, Charybdis.

Well, if it isn't the

poor man's Drew Pearson.

Hey, new talent.

You better go in

before we have

a new columnist.

Wait a minute.

Who's in there

with the lion-tamer?

Team secret.

Came in through

the fire escape.



Tailored politician?



Republican politician?

What else?

Tailored worried

Republican politician?

All politicians are

worried today.

Jim Conover.

Announce me.

Spike MacManus.

Send him in.

If I had your number,

I'd call you and tell you

who's gonna be

the next President

of the United States.

I know. Truman.

You want the walls

to cave in around here?

I'll see you later.

Hello, boss.

Hello, Jim, what's cooking?

You'll be. If one word

of my being here

gets out.

Hey, boss,

the freedom of the press.

If you must grace your column

with my name, it's Conover.


You've spelt it "Canover",

"Can opener",

everything but Conover.

Don't squawk,

I haven't spelt it

"Conniver" yet.

Let's skip the jokes.

Jim, you know the

Republican Convention this

year can end in a deadlock.

I don't know anything.

My uncle with the

two heads does.


He tells me they're following

the usual Republican policy:

The Tafts, Deweys, Stassens,

and Vandenbergs

may knock each other

out of the running

even before the Convention.

Thus providing

a perfect track

for a dark horse.

Which leaves you,

Mr. Conover,

a fight manager looking

for a good heavyweight

who can punch.

Jim, I think

I have your man.

Yeah, you

and everybody else.

This is Kay Thorndyke,

not everybody else.

I'm sorry, Kay, it's just

that you have to show me.

I'm from Missouri.


If you were from Missouri,

you'd have a job

in Washington.

Lay off, Spike.

All right, let's have it, Kay.

Who's your man?

Item one:
born in Nevada.

But there's never been

a western president.

There are Americans

out there, too.

Item two:

sold newspapers,

worked his way through school.

Item three:
good war record.

Partisaned Lafayette

Escadrille WWI,

decorated by

three governments.

Ancient history.

Item four:
started the

two-by-four airplane factory

and ran it into

the biggest thing

in aviation today.

Look at me

when I'm talking to you.

First industrialist to

introduce labor-management

plant administration.

He's never even been

threatened with a strike.

He'd have labor in one pocket,

big business in the other.

Are you interested?

No. What's Horatio Alger

look like?

Women have been crazy

about him all his life,

if that's what you mean.

Well, that lets me out.

And men?

Part owner of a ball club.

Ever run for office?

Not even for dog catcher.

Hates politics.

Then what's given him

this presidential yen?

Oh, he hasn't got it yet.

You're going to

give him that.

On the newsstands tomorrow.

"Our planes have wings

but not our ideas."

You could make him

the next president, Jim.

Kay, I'm not

terribly impressed.

I never am by amateurs.

But if you and Grant Matthews

happen to be in Washington,

and knock on my door

to get out of the rain...

But I have been trying

to make this clear

all afternoon.

I don't want to be

President of

the United States.

Guess the job isn't

big enough for him, boss.

President. Holy smoke.

Why, when I was a kid,

my dad took me on

a two-day trip

just to look at

President Taft.

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Anthony Veiller

Anthony Veiller (23 June 1903 – 27 June 1965) was an American screenwriter and film producer. The son of the screenwriter Bayard Veiller and the English actress Margaret Wycherly, Anthony Veiller wrote for 41 films between 1934 and 1964. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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