Mank Monologues

1930s Hollywood is re-evaluated through the eyes of scathing social critic and alcoholic screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz as he races to finish the screenplay of Yurttaş Kane

You cannot capture a man's entire life in two hours. All you can hope is to leave the impression of one.

Irving, you are a literate man. You know the difference between communism and socialism. In socialism, everyone shares the wealth. In communism, everyone shares the poverty.

I hope, if this gets made, you'll forgive me.

I've got a great idea for a picture, Louis. A picture I just know you're gonna love. It's a modern day version of Quixote!

Now I know none of you read, but you know what it's about. A deluded old nobleman, who tilts at windmills. So how might we update this story?

How about we make our Quixote… a newspaperman? Who else could make a living tilting at windmills? But that's not enough… no, he wants more than readership. He wants more than adulation, he wants love. So, he runs for public office, and because he's notably rich, he wins… no, w-w-w-wait a minute. Notably rich and powerful, can't win over an audience unless notably rich and powerful sees the error of his ways in the final reel. Notably rich and powerful and making no goddamn excuses for it is only admirable in real life. Isn't that right, Louis?

So what do we do? Anybody? We give him ideals! Ideals that any dirt-poor, depression-weary audience can identify with. Our Quixote is against crooked trusts, he's for the eight-hour workday, fair income tax, better schools. Why, he's even for government ownership of railroads. And you know what we call those people?

No, our Quixote, he's a two-fisted muckraker. In fact, someone predicts that he will one day win the presidency and bring about, get this...

… a socialist revolution!

Is it? Tell him, Willie. Tell him.

Upton Sinclair used exactly those words to describe a young William Randolph Hearst.

How do you do?

Our Quixote, he hungers, he thirsts, he lusts for the voters to love him, love him enough to make him president, but they won't. And they don't. How do you suppose that could happen? Could it be because, in their hearts, they know he values power over people?

Disillusioned in Congress, he authors not one single piece of legislation in two terms. Can you believe that? That'll take some writing. Placed in nomination for president… it's too radical for the boys in the back, his bid goes nowhere! But we're doing something. We're building sympathy!

Rejected, he flees to lotus land, where his faithful troll, Sancho, has prepared a mythical kingdom for…

Wait a minute. I forgot the love interest! Her name: Dulcinea.

Funny, adventurous, smarter than she acts. Ah, she's a... she's a showgirl! Beneath his social stratum, but that's okay because true love on the big screens, we all know is blind. And she... well, she loves him, too. So he takes her away to his m-mythical kingdom,

can I get a bicarb?

Now, along comes nemesis, that's Greek for any guy in a black hat, nemesis runs for governor, and he's a shoo-in to win. Why?

Because he's EXACTLY what our Don used to be! An idealist, ya get it? And not only that, nemesis is the same guy who once predicted that our Quixote would one day preside over a socialist revolution. Our Quixote looks into the mirror of his youth and decides to break this glass, a maddening reminder of who he once was. Assisted by his faithful Sancho

and armed w-with all the black magic at his command, he does just this. Destroying, in the process, not one man... but two.

Well, what do ya think, Louis? Hm? Do ya think it'll play?

Don't worry, folks. The white wine came up with the fish!

If I ever go to the electric chair, I'd like him to be sitting in my lap.

Irving, you are the shrewdest executive in this town. Why are you acting like some dumb ward heeler? You don't need my donation. You don't need anybody's. You have everything it takes right here.

Meaning you can make the world swear King Kong is ten stories tall and Mary Pickford a virgin at 40. Yet you can't convince starving voters that a turncoat socialist is a menace to everything Californians hold dear? You're barely trying.

I've never not been fired.

It's not as unpleasant as you might imagine. You worry too much. What do you do for pleasure?

That, my friend, is the magic of the movies.

As Pascal once said, "If only I'd had more time, I would have written a shorter letter."