The Trouble with Harry

Synopsis: There is a dead well-dressed man in a meadow clearing in the hills above a small Vermont town. Captain Albert Wiles, who stumbles across the body and finds by the man's identification that his name is Harry Worp, believes he accidentally shot Harry dead while he was hunting rabbits. Captain Wiles wants to hide the body as he feels it is an easier way to deal with the situation than tell the authorities. While Captain Wiles is in the adjacent forest, he sees other people stumble across Harry, most of whom don't seem to know him or care or notice that he's dead. One person who does see Captain Wiles there is spinster Ivy Gravely, who vows to keep the Captain's secret about Harry. Captain Wiles also Secretly sees a young single mother, Jennifer Rogers, who is the one person who does seem to know Harry and seems happy that he's dead. Later, another person who stumbles across both Harry and Captain Wiles is struggling artist Sam Marlowe, to who Captain Wiles tells the entire story of what h
Genre: Comedy, Mystery
Director(s): Alfred Hitchcock
Production: MCA Universal Home Video
  Won 1 Golden Globe. Another 4 nominations.
 
IMDB:
7.1
Rotten Tomatoes:
90%
PG
Year:
1955
99 min
1,238 Views


OK! I know how to handle your type.

Well, old faithful,|that's your shooting for the day.

If we haven't rung up|at least two rabbits,

we deserve to go home empty-handed.

Yeah, still, blessed are they|who expect nothing.

for they shall not be disappointed.

Mm. Fewer things in life give a man|more pleasure than hunting.

It satisfies his primitive nature,

striding through the woods,|picking up his kill.

Well, come on, old faithful.

There's plump rabbits|waiting for the frying pan.

If this can had four legs and a tail,|we'd be eating it tonight.

Clean through the heart.

For rice cake! I've done him in.

Cor.

A harmless pot-shot at a rabbit|and I'm a murderer, a killer.

Mother always said|I'd come to a bad end.

What in Hades were you doing here|anyway?

I can't say that I've seen you|around here before.

No. If you're going to get yourself|shot, do it where you're known.

"Mr Harry Worp,

87 Maple Avenue,|Boston, Massachusetts. "

Worp, you're a long way from home.

With the looks of it, you won't|get back for Christmas, now.

We're going to have a cold,|hard winter.

Mm. You might keep here a long time,|an awful long time.

Too long for me, Harry.

Yes.

Captain Wiles?

Yes, ma'am?

What seems to be the trouble,|Captain?

It's what you might call|an unavoidable accident.

- He's dead.|- Yes.

I would say that he was. Of course,|that's an unprofessional opinion.

Yeah. Did you...|did you know him, Miss Gravely?

- No. Doesn't live around here.|- Well, he died around here.

- That's what counts now.|- Embarrassing.

What do you plan to do with him,|Captain?

Miss Gravely, without cutting the hem|off truth's garment,

I'm gonna hide him, cover him up,

forget him.

Are you never going to inform|the police, Captain?

No. Forget you saw me, Miss Gravely.

Chase it out of your mind, for|heaven's sake, it was an accident.

He was poking around the clearing|and I thought he was a rabbit.

It was a human error.|Ah, now, please, don't...

Don't say anything to anybody,|Miss Gravely.

Do as you think best, Captain.

I'm sure you must have met|many similar situations

in your travels in foreign lands.

- Yeah, I've seen much worse things.|- I certainly won't say anything.

Much worse things.|I remember when I was on the Orinoco.

We had a Turk, a great, big Turk,|running amuck with a machete -

Captain, if I were going to hide|an accident, I shouldn't delay.

Oh. Oh.|You're right as rain, Miss Gravely.

Yes. You know something?|I'm glad I met you today.

I feel better for telling someone|as warm,

tender, understanding as yourself.

Well, on the contrary, Captain. It...

It...

I'm certainly glad|if I helped you, Captain.

Perhaps you would care to come over|for some blueberry muffins

and coffee later on,|high-bush blueberries?

Ah, well. This is certainly something|of an interesting surprise.

- And maybe some elderberry wine.|- Oh!

After all, we've been neighbours|for nearly three years now and...

we've never exchanged social calls.

You're right.|It's high time I paid a call.

- What time?|- Oh, say, early this afternoon.

I'll be there with a clean shirt|and a hungry face.

Do that.

You better be going now. Don't want|to be an accessory after the fact.

You are a considerate man,|Captain Wiles.

- Goodbye.|- Goodbye.

We're almost there, Mommy!

Here he is, Mommy. Here he is.

- What did I tell ya, Mommy?|- Don't touch it, Arnie.

- There he is.|- No. It can't be! Harry!

Harry, thank Providence,|the last of Harry.

- Who's Providence, Mommy?|- A very good friend.

- Don't you know who it is?|- You said Harry.

- Can't you remember, Arnie?|- Why don't he get up and move?

He's asleep.

He's in a deep sleep,|a deep, wonderful sleep.

How'd he hurt his head?

Putting it where it wasn't wanted,|would be my guess.

- Will it get better?|- Not if we're lucky.

Let's run home|and I'll make you some lemonade.

Will lemonade put me in a wonderful,|deep, deep sleep, Mommy?

No, Arnie, but it's better|than no lemonade.

- I don't understand that.|- Never mind. Forget you saw him.

- Is there a special way to forget?|- Just think of something else.

- I'll try not to see him tomorrow.|- That's a good boy, Arnie.

Now, let's run home|and get that lemonade.

She won't care what I do with him.

Couldn't have had more people here|if I'd sold tickets.

What's the big attraction, I wonder?

This could turn out to be|the luckiest day of my life.

I'll just wait till the whole world|comes to pay their last respects.

Sooner or later one of them has|to turn out to be the Deputy Sheriff.

# Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Flaggin' the train that's going home

# Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Never no more, no more to roam

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Got a sweet gal who's on my mind

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Back to the gal I left behind

# Got no baggage

# Just got my fare

# But all I need yes, indeed

# Is waitin' for me there|Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Oh how I love that choo-choo sound

# Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Flaggin' the train|that's homeward bound

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Got a sweet gal who's on my mind

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Back to the gal I left behind

# Got no baggage

# Just got my fare

# But all I need yes, indeed

# Is waitin' for me there #

Hello, Mr Marlowe.

Wiggy, you haven't sold a painting.|All my pictures in the same place.

So few cars. They don't... I guess|the cider takes their attention.

Cider, indeed.|Throw it away! Drink it.

- No, I hate cider.|- Not a picture sold.

I'm sorry, Mr Marlowe. Let's get|a look at your new one. Hold it up.

What good would it do? You don't|deserve to see it. How will I eat?

Mr Wiggs always used to thump|his stomach when he got mad.

He busted somethin' inside once.

You think we'd do any better|on 5th Avenue?

If there's more people there.

Oh, lots of people. Hundreds|and thousands and billions of people.

- It might be better then.|- But what sort of people, Wiggy?

What breed? I'll tell you.

They're little people,|little people with hats on.

How are your cigarettes?

I'll buy the other half tomorrow.

What does your son do with all those|old cars he always works on?

He sells 'em. Mechanical antiques.|Doesn't make much, needs the money.

Hm. Doesn't he get paid|for being deputy sheriff?

Piecework.|Gets paid by the arrest, I think.

Ah, Mr Marlowe, it's wonderful.

- I've been in a tortured mood.|- What is it?

Good old Wiggy, my sternest critic.

I don't understand it but I think|it's beautiful. Mrs Rogers agrees.

- Oh? You talk about me?|- Well, I...

She's the pretty woman|with the little boy, isn't she?

Mm-hm.|I only brought up your name once

when we were talking|about strange people.

- Huh?|- That is, strangers.

- Oh.|- People she hadn't met yet.

What does the pretty,|little thing say about me?

Nothin'.

I think we better discuss business.|Here, my shopping list.

I'll go in and start puttin' it up.

Wiggy, how do you spell Tuscaloosa?

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote

John Michael Hayes

John Michael Hayes (11 May 1919 – 19 November 2008) was an American screenwriter, who scripted several of Alfred Hitchcock's films in the 1950s. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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