The Cat's Meow

Stop pushing.

Stop pushing.

Please, calm down.

In November of 1924,

during a weekend yacht party

bound for San Diego,

a mysterious death occurred

within the Hollywood community.

However, there was no coverage

in the press, no police action,

and of the 1 4 passengers

on board,

only one was ever questioned

by authorities.

Little evidence exists now,

or existed at the time,

to support any version

of those weekend events.

History has been written

in whispers.

This is the whisper

told most often.

The yacht, you see,

belonged to

William Randolph Hearst.

Only in a place like this

do reporters and autograph hounds

have absolutely no scruples about

stampeding mourners at a funeral.

Welcome to Hollywood,

a land just off the coast

of the planet earth.

After we all leave,

the man in the box

will disappear.

Just his ashes

will remain.

After all, it's fire

that can hurt you, not ashes.

...you're listening to KFI.

And stay tuned

for our weekend music marathon,

with our own

KFI studio orchestra.

I fear this bizarre

yet fascinating town,

but I can't leave it.

You see, I'm never quite certain

if I'm visiting the zoo,

or if I'm one

of the animals in a cage.

Don't you dare!

I will not be seen arriving early.

Yes, ma'am.

I want to avoid

the solution to this riddle

but the man in the box

forces us to confront it.

All of us were there

that weekend.

Stop!

I am not here.

The birthday boy is early.

He must be anxious.

My God, this thing

must be 200 feet.

- 220.

- He owns that?

And the ocean it's sitting in

and the sky above.

What are you doing?!

The old boy should give you the ship

as a birthday present, Tom.

We could sell it and

get the studio out of hock.

Don't be melodramatic,

George, no one's in hock.

We're not far away.

I don't know about this new strategy.

It's like I told you,

people's tastes have changed.

They want to read more modern stories.

Contemporary, adult.

Like the kind you read

in Hearst's magazines.

Will it be like this

all the way to San Diego and back?

Besides, he has a lot

of other assets to offer.

Yeah, cash.

I still don't think it's

the right time. Too obvious.

Relax, George.

No one's going to be obvious.

Business. Business.

Yes, take that bag.

Kono, a starving man

eats the wooden planks

of his log cabin.

- Is that funny?

- No, Mr. Chaplin. Not funny.

Don't hold back.

Tell me what you really think.

Huh? Hmm?

Don't tell me

Elinor Glyn has arrived on time?

Good God,

perhaps even early?

Oh... all right then.

Hello, you little bastard.

The "little" I object to.

I see your young passion flame

is not accompanying you.

Lita? She's not here?

I seem to have forgotten her.

Let's keep it

that way, shall we?

Oh my God!

...they cost him a fortune.

Mr. Chaplin, it is an honor,

and I mean a true honor

to meet you, sir.

Louella Parsons.

I write for Mr. Hearst's paper

the New York American.

I've been there a whole year.

Louella Parsons of the East,

meet Elinor Glyn of the West.

Elinor is the finest and naughtiest

writer in the entire world.

Oh, you don't have to tell me that.

I wish I could be introduced

as being "of the West."

Whatever makes you happy, dear.

Well,

I'll leave you two alone.

I have something-or-other

to attend to.

Mr. Chaplin, did you happen

to notice the rave review

I gave your last picture,

"A Woman of Paris"?

Yes, I did.

Thank you, that was most kind.

So deserved, so deserved.

It just stinks

that nobody went to see it.

At least you won't lose your shirt

on the next picture too.

I hear at least you have

the good sense to be in this one.

"The Gold Rush."

I hear that's just a hint

as to how much

this picture is costing you.

Oh, there's the birthday boy!

- Marion, sweetheart.

- Happy birthday.

Thank you. It's not until

tomorrow but I always love it

when a beautiful girl kisses me.

- Wow, look at you!

- Thanks.

We should try to find

a naval picture for you,

so we can get

this look on film.

- What do you think, George?

- Absolutely.

- Drinks?

- A natural comic too.

- Thanks.

- So, where's our captain?

He'll be down

in a minute.

...if I'm truly

going to make a difference,

is a daily column

with my name on top,

marking the place

where both the people

in the audience

and on the screen

can come together

to read the truth,

not just vicious gossip

and innuendo.

Keep after old WR,

I'm sure he'll come around.

I plan to, believe you me.

Take you, for example.

I want you to know that l, for one,

am so sorry about your difficulties

with your little co-star,

this little girl, Lita...

Oh! We're here.

- Allow me.

- Yes, it's... moving.

Oh! So, Mr. Chaplin,

if you ever need a sympathetic

person to confide in, I'm all ears.

After all, you'll need

someone on your side

when the shocking truth emerges.

Thank you very much, Ms. Parsons.

- Lolly.

- Hmm?

Lolly. All my close friends

call me Lolly.

- Lolly.

- Um-hmm.

So, Mr. Chaplin...

Goddamn

son of a b*tch!

If you kids'll

excuse me again for a sec.

- Charlie, how are you?

- Safe, for the moment.

You know George Thomas,

my business partner?

- George.

- Charlie.

This is Miss Margaret Livingston,

George's guest and a delightful actress.

- Charmed, I'm sure.

- Me too.

- And Mrs. Ince?

- Couldn't make it,

one of our boys

isn't feeling well.

- Sorry to hear that.

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