FADE IN: 1. BLACK SCREEN NARRATOR This story is about Howard Beale who was the network news anchorman on UBS-TV -- A BANK OF FOUR COLOR TELEVISION ON MONITORS It is 7:14 P.M., Monday, September 22, 1975, and we are watching the network news programs on CBS, NBC, ABC and UBS-TV, the network of our story. The AUDIO is OFF; and head shots of WALTER CRONKITE, JOHN CHANCELLOR, HOWARD K. SMITH and HARRY REASONER, and of course, the anchorman of our network, HOWARD BEALE, silently flit and flicker across the four television screens, interspersed with the news of the day -- President Ford's new Energy Program, a hearing on Patty Hearst's bail, truce violations in Beirut, busing trouble in Boston.... NARRATION continues OVER -- NARRATOR -- in his time, Howard Beale had been a mandarin of television, the grand old man of news, with a HUT rating of 16 and a 28 audience share -- CAMERA MOVES IN to isolate HOWARD BEALE, who is everything an anchorman should be -- 58 years old silver-haired, magisterial, dignified to the point of divinity. NARRATION continues OVER -- NARRATOR -- in 1969, however, he fell to a 22 share, and, by 1972, he was down to a 15 share. In 1973, his wife died, and he was left a childless widower with an 8 rating and a 12 share. He became morose and isolated, began to drink heavily, and, on September 22, 1975, he was fired, effective in two weeks. The news was broken to him by Max Schumacher -- 2. EXT. 5TH AVE. SOUTH OF 57TH STREET - NIGHT 11:30 P.M. The area is deserted except for a few STROLLERS window-shopping the department stores. And way down near 55th Street, TWO roaring drunk middle- aged men, HOWARD BEALE and MAX SCHUMACHER, reeling along and hooting it up. NARRATION continues OVER -- NARRATOR -- who was president of the News Division at UBS and an old friend. The two men got properly pissed -- CLOSER SHOT of HOWARD and MAX (who is a craggy, lumbering, rough-hewn, 51-year-old man), thoroughly plastered and on a drunken laughing jag -- HOWARD (clutching the corner mailbox to keep from falling) When was this? MAX 1951 -- HOWARD I was at CBS with Ed Murrow in 1951. Didn't you join Murrow in 1951? -- MAX Must've been 1950 then. I was at NBC. Morning News. Associate producer. I was a kid, twenty-six years old. Anyway, they were building the lower level on the George Washington Bridge, and we were doing a remote there. Except nobody told me! -- For some reason, this knocks them out. HOWARD, wheezing with suppressed laughter, clutches the mailbox. MAX has to shout to get the rest of the story out -- MAX -- ten after seven in the morning -- I get a call -- "Where the hell are you? -- You're supposed to be on the George Washington Bridge!" -- I jump out of bed -- throw my raincoat over my pajamas -- run down the stairs -- I get out in the street -- I flag a cab -- I jump in -- I say: "Take me to the middle of the George Washington Bridge!" -- It's too much again. The TWO MEN dissolve into silent wheezing spasms of laughter -- MAX (tears streaming down his cheeks) -- the driver turns around -- he says -- don't do it, buddy -- (so weak now he can barely talk) -- he says -- you're a young man -- you got your whole life ahead of you -- He can't go on. He stomps around on the sidewalk. HOWARD clutches the mailbox. 3. INT. A BAR - 3:00 A.M. Any bar. Mostly empty. MAX and HOWARD in a booth, so sodden drunk they are sober -- HOWARD I'm going to kill myself -- MAX Oh, shit, Howard -- HOWARD I'm going to blow my brains out right on the air, right in the middle of the seven o'clock news. MAX You'll get a hell of a rating, I'll tell you that, a fifty share easy -- HOWARD You think so? MAX We could make a series out of it. Suicide of the Week. Hell, why limit ourselves? Execution of the Week -- the Madame Defarge Show! Every Sunday night, bring your knitting and watch somebody get guillotined, hung, electrocuted, gassed. For a logo, we'll have some brute with a black hood over his head. Think of the spin-offs -- Rape of the Week -- HOWARD (beginning to get caught up in the idea) Terrorist of the Week? MAX Beautiful! HOWARD How about Coliseum '74? Every week we throw some Christians to the lions! -- MAX Fantastic! The Death Hour! I love it! Suicides, assassinations, mad bombers, Mafia hitmen, murder in the barbershop, human sacrifices in witches' covens, automobile smashups. The Death Hour! A great Sunday night show for the whole family. We'll wipe fucking Disney right off the air -- They snigger and snort. HOWARD lays his head down on the booth's table and verges on sleep -- 4. INT. HOWARD'S BEDROOM - 4:30 A.M. - DARK HOWARD, fully clothed, sprawled asleep on his still- covered bed in the dark bedroom. Suddenly, he sits bolt upright, SCREAMING out against unseen terrors -- 5. INT. HOWARD'S APARTMENT HOUSE - LANDING OUTSIDE HIS DOOR - 8:00 A.M. - TUESDAY, SEPT. 24 -- as HOWARD'S HOUSEKEEPER, a middle-aged lady, lets herself into INT. HOWARD'S APARTMENT - ENTRANCE FOYER The HOUSEKEEPER, unbuttoning her coat, is greeted by the sound of a raucous clock ALARM, relentlessly BUZZING O.S. She crosses the -- INT. LIVING ROOM -- and opens the blinds letting in an eruption of daylight. The shrill BUZZING getting louder, she proceeds into the -- INT. BACK FOYER -- where she pauses to look into the bedroom, the door being ajar; the BUZZING is coming from here -- HOUSEKEEPER'S P.O.V -- HOWARD BEALE, still wearing the clothes he wore last night, curled in a position of fetal helplessness on the floor in the far corner of the room -- HOUSEKEEPER (after a moment) Are you all right, Mr. Beale? HOWARD (opens one eye) I'm fine, thank you, Mrs. Merryman -- With some effort, he contrives to get to his feet as the HOUSEKEEPER crosses to the alarm clock and turns it off -- 6. CREDITS AND MUSIC ERUPT ONTO THE SCREEN TITLE: "N E T W O R K" UNDER AND INTERSPERSED WITH CREDITS, a montage of scenes, occasionally audible, on this seemingly routine day -- 7. INT. HOWARD BEALE'S OFFICE - 5TH FLOOR - 9:20 A.M. A small, unpretentious office, cluttered with books, magazines, periodicals, photographs and awards on the walls, various mementos here and there. HOWARD (necktied and in shirtsleeves), behind his desk, rattling away his copy for that evening's broadcast on his typewriter -- pauses to pour himself a quick shot of Scotch -- 8. INT. THE NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM - ROOM 517 - 10:30 A.M. The common room off which Howard's office debouches. A large room compactly filled with the desks of producers, associate producers, head writer and writers, production assistants, etc. The walls are festooned like bulletin boards with sheaves of newspaper pages and cutouts and reams of wire releases (there are two wire machines in a corner). Large blowups of HOWARD BEALE are prominently displayed. There are small, shelved libraries of books, directories and magazines here and there. And the ever-present bank of four television monitors; and, Since it is 10:30 A.M., Tuesday, September 23, 1975, and, since the AUDIO is OFF, the screens silently flicker with whatever was on that day at that time. HOWARD comes out of his office, crosses through the general HUM of informal industry, an occasional TYPEWRITER CLACKING, a more than occasional phone ringing, as the Nightly News Room PERSONNEL, all in their 20's and 30's, move, MURMUR, confer about their businesses. HOWARD BEALE makes for a ledge of reference books to check out some fact. He spread the reference book out on an unoccupied desk. SOMEONE in b.g. tells him he's wanted on the phone. He nods, takes the call at the desk he is at. Throughout, he belts away at his glass of booze -- 9. INT. OFFICE OF THE EXEC. PRODUCER OF UBS - NETWORK NEWS - UBS BUILDING - 5TH FLOOR - 1:00 P.M. - TUESDAY Another smallish office debouching off the main room like Howard's, absolutely jammed with nine PEOPLE, a couple of them standing, the others sitting wherever they can. The executive producer, HARRY HUNTER (early 40's), is behind the desk. HOWARD BEALE sits on the small, Finnish modern couch, flanked by an ASSOCIATE PRODUCER and a MAN from the Graphics Department. Aside from BEALE and HUNTER, everybody else is in their 20's or early 30's, and, with the same exceptions, they're all casually dressed. This is the daily run-down meeting at which the schedule for that evening's broadcast is roughed out, and it sounds something like this -- HOWARD (reaching for the bottle of booze on HUNTER'S desk to refill his glass) -- let's do the Lennon deportation at the end of three -- HARRY HUNTER That strong enough to bump? HOWARD (sipping his booze) In one then, I'll do a lead on Sarah Jane Moore to Mayberry in San Francisco -- ASSOCIATE PRODUCER The film I saw was the Chief of Detectives -- GRAPHICS MAN I think we got maybe ten seconds on the shooting itself -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT The whole thing is one-twenty-five -- HOWARD What does that come out? PRODUCTION ASSISTANT About four-fifty -- ASSOCIATE PRODUCER Are we using Squeaky Fromme? HARRY HUNTER Let's do that in two -- Squeaky -- Ford at the airport - bump. Now. we using a map going into San Francisco? GRAPHICS MAN I prefer a news-pix -- HOWARD pours himself another shot of booze and sips it -- HOWARD What've we got left? PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Gun control, Patty Hearst affidavit, guerillas in Chad, OPEC in Vienna -- 10. INT. 4TH FLOOR CORRIDOR - UBS BUILDING - 6:28 P.14. - TUESDAY LOOKING INTO the small network-news make-up room where HOWARD BEALE is standing, Kleenex tucked into his shirt collar, getting a few last whisks from the MAKE-UP LADY. Finished, HOWARD pulls the Kleenex from his collar, takes a last sip from a glass of booze on the make-up shelf, gathers his papers and exits, turns and enters -- 11. INT. NETWORK NEWS STUDIO - 4TH FLOOR. Typical Newsroom studio -- cameras, cables, wall maps, flats and propping, etc. HOWARD nods, smiles to various PERSONNEL -- CAMERAMEN, ASSISTANT DIRECTORS, ASSOCIATE PRODUCERS -- as he makes his way to his desk facing Camera One. He sits, prepares his papers, looks up to the control room, nods -- MUSIC ABRUPTLY OUT: END OF CREDITS: 12. INT. CONTROL ROOM - 4th FLOOR The clock wall reads: 6:30. Typical control room. A room-length double bank of television monitors including two color monitor screens, the show monitor and the pre-set monitor. Before this array of TV screens sits the DIRECTOR, flanked on his left by the PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (GIRL) who stop-watches the show, and on his right by the TECHNICAL DIRECTOR who operates a special board of buttons and knobs. (On the TECHNICAL DIRECTOR's right sits the LIGHTING DIRECTOR). At the moment, the show monitor has the network's Washington correspondent, JACK SNOWDEN, doing a follow-up on the attempted assassination of President Ford in San Francisco -- SNOWDEN (ON MONITOR) -- the first attempt on President Ford's life was eighteen days ago -- and again yesterday in San Francisco -- DIRECTOR (murmuring into his mike) -- Lou, kick that little thing shut on ground level -- SNOWDEN (ON MONITOR) -- In spite of two attempts -- The show monitor screen has switched over to show film of President Ford arriving at the San Francisco airport -- SNOWDEN (V.O. ON MONITOR) -- Mr. Ford says he will not become -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (murmurs) -- forty seconds -- DIRECTOR (murmurs into mike) -- twenty seconds to one -- DIRECTOR -- one -- HOWARD BEALE'S image suddenly flips on-screen -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT -- thirty seconds to commercial freeze -- DIRECTOR -- head roll -- TECHNICAL DIRECTOR -- rolling-- The DIRECTOR and TECHNICAL DIRECTOR turn in their seats to join HARRY HUNTER and his SECRETARY in a brief gossip -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) Ladies and gentlemen, I would like at this moment to announce that I will be retiring from this program in two weeks' time because of poor ratings -- The DIRECTOR has whispered something to HARRY HUNTER'S SECRETARY which occasions sniggers from the SECRETARY and from HARRY HUNTER. The TECHNICAL DIRECTOR stands to get in on the joke -- ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (to DIRECTOR) -- what'd you say? -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) -- and since this show was the only thing I had going for me in my life, I have decided to kill myself -- HARRY HUNTER'S SECRETARY murmurs something which causes HARRY HUNTER to burst into laughter -- ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (to the DIRECTOR) -- so what'd she say? -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) -- I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to blow my brains out right on this program a week from today -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (frowning and very puzzled indeed by this diversion from the script) -- ten seconds to commercial -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) -- so tune in next Tuesday. That'll give the public relations people a week to promote the show, and we ought to get a hell of a rating with that, a fifty share easy -- A bewildered PRODUCTION ASSISTANT nudges the DIRECTOR, who wheels back to his mike -- DIRECTOR (into mike) -- and -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (to the DIRECTOR) Listen, did you hear that? -- DIRECTOR Take VTA. The monitor screen erupts into a commercial for cat food. AUDIO MAN (leaning in from his glassed-in cubicle) What was that about? PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (to the DIRECTOR) Howard just said he was going to blow his brains out next Tuesday. DIRECTOR What're you talking about? PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Didn't you hear him? He just said -- HARRY HUNTER What's wrong now? PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Howard just said he was going to kill himself next Tuesday. HARRY HUNTER What do you mean Howard just said he was going to kill himself next Tuesday? PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (nervously riffling through her script) He was supposed to do a tag on Ron Nesson and into commercial -- AUDIO MAN (from his doorway) He said tune in next Tuesday, I'm going to shoot myself -- Everybody's attention is now on the double bank of black-and-white monitor screens showing various parts of the studio, all of which show agitated behavior. Several of the screens show HOWARD at his desk in vehement discussion with a clearly startled FLOOR MANAGER with headset and no less startled ASSOCIATE PRODUCER -- DIRECTOR (on mike to FLOOR MANAGER) What the hell's going on? On the pre-set monitor screen, the FLOOR MANAGER with headset looks up -- FLOOR MANAGER (ON SCREEN) (voice booming into the control room) I don't know. He just said he was going to blow his brains out -- DIRECTOR (into mike) What the hell's this all about, Howard? HOWARD (ON MONITOR) (shouting at the floor PERSONNEL gathering around him) Will you get the hell out of here? We'll be back on air in a couple of seconds! DIRECTOR (roaring into the mike) What the fuck's going on, Howard? HOWARD (ON MONITOR) I can't hear you -- DIRECTOR (bawling at the AUDIO MAN) Put the studio mike on! AUDIO MAN We're back on in eleven seconds -- SLOCUM (on floor) They want to know what the fuck is going on, Howard. HOWARD (on monitor) I can't hear you. DIRECTOR (bawling at the Audio man) Put the studio mike on! AUDIO MAN We're back on in eleven seconds. ASSOCIATE PRODUCER Harry, I think we better get him off -- HARRY HUNTER (roaring at the Audio Man) Turn his mike off! AUDIO MAN (now back in the control room) What the hell's going on? HARRY HUNTER (raging) Turn the fucking sound off, you stupid son of a bitch! This is going out live! PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (stop-watching) Three -- two -- one -- DIRECTOR Take 2 -- At which point, the TECHNICAL DIRECTOR pushes a button; the jangling cat food commercial flips off the show monitor to be instantly replaced by a scene of gathering bedlam around HOWARD'S desk. The AUDIO MAN flees in panic back to the cubicle to turn off the audio but not before HARRY HUNTER and the DIRECTOR going out live to 67 affiliates can be heard booming: HARRY HUNTER Chrissakes! Black it out! This is going out live to sixty-seven fucking affiliates ! Shit! DIRECTOR This is the dumbest thing I ever saw! -- 13. INT. MAX SCHUMACHER'S OFFICE - FIFTH FLOOR - ROOM 509 MAX SCHUMACHER, behind his desk staring petrified at his office console on which pandemonium ha broken out. The FLOOR MANAGER and the ASSOCIATE PRODUCER and now an ELECTRICIAN are trying to pull HOWARD away from his desk and HOWARD is trying to hit anybody he can with an ineffective right hand haymaker -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) Get the fuck away from me! OTHER VOICES (ON MONITOR) (coming from all directions) -- cut the show! -- -- get him out of there! -- -- go to standby! -- -- for Chrissakes, you stupid -- MAX'S PHONE RINGS -- MAX (grabs the phone) How the hell do I know? -- (he hangs up, seizes another phone, barks:) Give me the network news control room! On the MONITOR SCREEN, hysteria is clearly dominating. The SCREEN has suddenly leaped into a fragment of the just-done cat food COMMERCIAL, then a jarring shot of the bedlam of the studio floor. This particular camera seems unattended as it begins to PAN dementedly back and forth showing the confusion on the studio floor. Then abruptly the SCREEN is filled with Vice President designate Nelson Rockefeller testifying before the Senate Rules Committee -- MAX (shouting into phone) Black it out! The SCREEN abruptly goes into BLACK as MAX slashes his phone back into its cradle. His PHONE promptly RINGS again, but MAX is already headed for the door. The SCREEN goes into STANDBY. His SQUAWK BOX suddenly blares -- SQUAWK BOX What the hell happened, Max? -- MAX (shouting as he exits) How the hell do I know? I'm going down now! He strides into -- 14. INT. ROOM 509 - COMMON ROOM OF NEWS EXECUTIVE OFFICES A large common room where all the SECRETARIES of the News Division EXECUTIVES have their desks. It is empty now except for one SECRETARY just now putting the cover on her typewriter. MAX strides through and exits into -- 15. INT. FIFTH FLOOR CORRIDOR A long institutional corridor -- part of an endless maze of similar corridors -- with offices and technical rooms debouching on both sides. The corridor has begun to fill up with video-tape OPERATORS and other News Division PERSONNEL who happen to be working late -- all of whom are either wondering what happened or are telling others what happened. MAX yanks an exit door open and disappears down a flight of steps to emerge into -- 16. INT. FOURTH FLOOR CORRIDOR -- which leads directly to the doors for the control room and for the studio. Coming out of the control room is the TECHNICAL DIRECTOR, who, on spotting MAX striding down the corridor to him, says -- TECHNICAL DIRECTOR Jesus Christ, Mr. Schumacher! -- He follows MAX into the -- 17. INT. STUDIO Everything seems to have quieted a bit, the hysteria down to mumbles and murmurs and occasional sounds of laughter. TELEPHONES are shrilly and incessantly RINGING. In the far corner of the studio sits HOWARD BEALE surrounded by HARRY HUNTER, the DIRECTOR, the ASSOCIATE PRODUCER, the PRODUCTION ASSISTANT, and the FLOOR MANAGER. CAMERAMEN, GRIPS and other FLOOR PERSONNEL are gathered in a FLUX of little clumps around the studio murmuring and muttering and giggling over the whole absurd episode MAX heads straight for the GROUP around HOWARD. They part to let him in -- HARRY HUNTER (to MAX) Tom Cabell wants you to call as soon as you come in -- MAX nods, stares at HOWARD -- VOICE (O.S.) Harry! Joe Sweeney on the phone! -- HARRY HUNTER (bawls back) I'm not taking any more calls! Tell them Mr. Schumacher's here! They can talk to him! MAX (staring at HOWARD) Howard, you have got to be out of your ever-loving mind. Are you drunk? (to the others) How much boozing has he been doing today? PHONES O.S. RING and RING. VOICES O.S. SHOUT -- VOICES (O.S.) -- Mr. Schumacher, Mr. Cabell on the phone! -- -- Mr. Schumacher! Mr. Zangwill for you! -- -- Harry! Mr. Thackeray on Three! -- HOWARD slowly looks up to MAX who is still staring at him. He suddenly smiles broadly at MAX and winks. VOICES (O.S.) -- Harry! Thackeray wants to talk to you right now! -- -- Mr. Schumacher! Mr. Gianini wants to talk to you! -- MAX (to HARRY HUNTER) You better get hold of Mr. Chaney and Frank Hackett -- 18. INT. FIFTH FLOOR - UBS BUILDING - ELEVATOR AREA - 10:47 P.M. FRANK HACKETT, Executive Senior Vice President of the network, 41 years old, one of the new cool young breed of management/merchandising executives, wearing a tuxedo -- (he had been pulled out of a dinner party in Westchester by this unfortunate business) -- comes out of the elevator and turns briskly into -- 19. INT. FIFTH FLOOR CORRIDOR -- which is clotted with network EXECUTIVES of assorted sizes and ages. HACKETT, en route to Room 509, which is clearly the humming hub of activity up here, pauses to comment to one of the EXECUTIVES -- HACKETT Lou, can't we clear out that downstairs lobby? There must be a hundred people down there, every TV station and wire service in the city. I could barely get in -- LOU How'm I going to clear them out, Frank? HACKETT murmurs and peels his way into -- 20. INT. ROOM 509 - EXECUTIVES' OFFICES OF THE NEWS DIVISION HACKETT enters the common room, off which debouch the offices of the President of News (MAX SCHUMACHER), the VP News Division (ROBERT MCDONOUGH), the VP Public Relations News Division (MILTON STEINMAN), the VP Legal Affairs News Division (WALTER GIANINI), VP Owned Stations News (EMIL DUBROVNIK), General Manager News, Radio (MICHAEL SANDIES) -- all of whom are here and a number of other network EXECUTIVES. The VP Sales (JOE DONNELLY) is just taking the phone from the VP News Sales (RICHMOND KETTERING) who is seated at the desk of the secretary for VP Public Relations News Division -- DONNELLY (on phone) -- how many spots were wiped out? -- HACKETT (to GIANINI, who is seated at another secretary's desk studying a typescript of the aborted news show) Anything litigable? -- GIANINI Not so far -- DONNELLY (on phone) -- We had to abort the show. Ed, what else could we do? We'll make good, don't worry about it -- HACKETT (to ARTHUR ZANGWILL, VP Standards and Practices, now coming out of MAX's office) Is Nelson in there? ZANGWILL He's talking to Wheeler. So far, over nine hundred fucking phone calls complaining about the foul language -- HACKETT (mutters) Shit -- P.R. MAN (in b.g. on phone) -- come on, Mickey, what page are you putting it on?! -- HACKETT is already crossing into -- 21. INT. MAX'S OFFICE -- which is pretty well jammed with NELSON CHANEY (President of the network), 52, a patrician, sitting behind MAX's desk and on the phone, looking up to note HACKETT's arrival -- CHANEY (on phone) Frank Hackett just walked in -- MILTON STEINMAN (VP Public Relations News Division), early 50's, a rumpled, ordinarily amiable man, is standing by the desk on the phone to someone at CBS -- STEINMAN (on phone) I can't release the tape, Marty, we're still studying it ourselves -- A P.R. MAN sticks his head into the office P.R. MAN (calling to STEINMAN) ABC again, wants the tape -- STEINMAN Tell him to go fuck himself (to phone) And that goes for you too, Marty -- HACKETT (to HOWARD BEALE, sitting on the couch) You're off the air as of now. CHANEY (extending his phone to HACKETT) He wants to talk to you -- HACKETT (to MAX, leaning against a wall) Who's replacing Beale tomorrow? MAX We're flying up Snowden from Washington. STEINMAN (leaning across HACKETT to turn up the volume knob on Max's desk) All right, everybody hold it. Let's see how the other networks handled this -- He is referring to the four television monitors -- three on the wall and a large office console monitor of UBS-TV, now blurting out their respective commercials -- THACKERAY (VP Stations Relations, lounging in the doorway) The ten o'clock news opened with it -- HACKETT (on phone) Walter's drafted a statement, I haven't seen it yet -- I just got here, John, I was at a dinner party -- Suddenly, the faces of DAVE MARASH and ROLAND SMITH and CHUCK SCARBOROUGH and ROGER GRIMSBY and BILL BEUTEL and the UBS local news anchorman, TIM HALLOWAY, are on the screen. Affable DAVE MARASH on the CBS monitor is saying: MARASH (affably) An unusual thing happened at one of our sister networks, UBS, this evening -- ROGER GRIMSBY (almost simultaneously) Howard Beale, one of television's most esteemed newscasters -- CHUCK SCARBOROUGH Howard Beale interrupted his network news program tonight to announce -- HACKETT (mutters) Shit -- TIM HALLOWAY Secretary of State Henry Kissinger made a forceful address before the United Nations General Assembly -- HACKETT (to MAX) How are we handling it? MAX Halloway's going to make a brief statement at the end of the show to the effect Howard's been under great personal stress, et cetera HACKETT reaches to click off the bank of monitor screens. They abruptly go black. HACKETT (on phone) I'll call you back, John. (returns the phone to its cradle, regards the gathered EXECUTIVES) All right. We've got a stockholders' meeting tomorrow at which we're going to announce the restructuring of management plan, and I don't want this grotesque incident to interfere with that. I'll suggest Mr. Ruddy open with a short statement washing this whole thing off, and, you, Max, better have some answers in case some of those nuts that always come to stockholders' meetings -- MAX (back to leaning against the wall) Mr. Beale has been under great personal and professional pressures -- HACKETT (exploding) I've got some goddam surprises for you too, Schumacher! I've had it up to here with your cruddy division and its annual thirty-three million dollar deficit! -- MAX Keep your hands off my news division Frank. We're responsible to corporate level, not to you. HACKETT We'll goddam well see about that! CHANEY All right, take it easy. Right now, how' re we going to get Beale out of here? I understand there's at least a hundred reporters and camera crews ings -- HERRON (buzzing the projectionist) Diana asked if she could sit in on this -- MAX Fine -- (sits, calls to DIANA) How's it going? DIANA shrugs, smiles. The lights in the room go down. A shaft of light shoots out from the projection room. The PHONE at MAX's elbow BUZZES. HE picks it up -- MAX (murmurs into phone) Max Schumacher -- I'm glad I got you, John. Listen, I got into a hassle with Frank Hackett last night over the Howard Beale thing, and he made a crack about the stockholders' meeting this afternoon. He said something about having some surprises for me. Is there something going on, John, I don't know about? ... John, I'm counting on you and Mr. Ruddy to back me up against that son of a bitch Okay, see you this afternoon -- He hangs up, leans back, watches the documentary film which has just begun. ON SCREEN, a handsome black woman in her early 30's -- MAX Who's that, Laureen Hobbs? HERRON Yeah. -- is sitting in a typical panel discussion grouping, flanked by three MEN and a WOMAN, two white, two black, all very urban guerilla, in fatigues, sun glasses and combat boots. MISS HOBBS looks calmly into camera and says: LAUREEN HOBBS (ON SCREEN) The Communist Party believes that the most pressing political necessity today is the consolidation of the revolutionary, radical and democratic movements into a United Front -- The PHONE BUZZES softly. MAX picks it up -- MAX (murmurs into phone) Yeah? ... Oh, goddamit, when, Louise? Well, did he say anything? ... All right, thanks. (hangs up, promptly picks up again) Four-eight-oh-seven -- LAUREEN HOBBS (ON SCREEN) (in b.g.) Repression is the response of an increasingly desperate, imperialist ruling clique. Indeed, the entire apparatus of the bourgeois-democratic state especially its judicial systems and its prisons is disintegrating -- MAX (on phone) Harry, Howard left my house about ten minutes ago presumably headed here. Let me know as soon as he gets here. LAUREEN HOBBS (ON SCREEN) (in b.g.) The fascist thrust must be resisted in its incipient stages by the broadest possible coalition -- 25. INT. SCREENING ROOM 7 - TWENTY MINUTES LATER Room still dark. ON SCREEN, NUMBERED WHITE LEADER is rolling down -- HERRON What we're going to see now is something really sensational. The Flagstaff Independent Bank in Arizona was ripped off last week by a terrorist group called the Ecumenical Liberation Army, and they themselves actually took movies of the rip-off while they were ripping it off. It's in black and white, but wait'll you see it -- The SCREEN suddenly erupts into film of the interior of a bank being entered in the wake of THREE MEN, two of them black, and TWO WOMEN, one black and one white. They disperse to various parts of the bank as if they were here on legitimate business -- DIANA The Ecumenical Liberation Army -- is that the one that kidnapped Patty Hearst? HERRON No, that's the Symbionese Liberation Army. This is the Ecumenical Liberation Army. They're the ones who kidnapped Mary Ann Gifford three weeks ago. There's a hell of a lot of liberation armies in the revolutionary underground and a lot of kidnapped heiresses. That's Mary Ann Gifford -- This last in reference to the young white woman on screen who is lugging a shopping bag as she joins a line at a teller's window -- DIANA You mean, they actually shot this film while they were ripping off the bank? HERRON Yeah, wait'll you see it. I don't know whether to edit or leave it raw like this. That's the Great Ahmed Khan; he's the leader -- ON SCREEN, the film has gone out of focus a couple of times and bounced meaninglessly around the bank and finally settled on a large, powerful black man at one of the desks, presumably writing out a series of deposit slips -- DIANA This is terrific stuff. Where did you get it? HERRON I got everything through Laureen Hobbs. She's my contact for all this stuff. DIANA I thought she was straight Communist Party. HERRON Right. But she's trying to unify all the factions in the underground, so she knows everybody. ON SCREEN, the CAMERA has whooshed amateurishly about, unfocuses and focuses again to pick up MARY ANN GIFFORD bending over her shopping bag and pulling out a Czech service submachine gun 9 Parabellum which she points to the ceiling and apparently fires; the FILM is silent, but the reactions of everyone around suggest clearly something was fired. The FILM gets fragmented and panicky about here, as does the activity in the bank. The PHONE at MAX's elbow BUZZES. MAX picks it up. MAX (on the phone, while in b.g. a bank hold- up goes on screen) Yeah? ... All right, put him on -- 26. INT. THE NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM - ROOM 517 HARRY HUNTER, on phone, is using an empty desk in the main room. Normal news room activity in b.g. -- HARRY HUNTER (on phone, leans back to call into HOWARD'S office) Howard -- I've got Max on four, would you pick up? -- 27. INT. HOWARD'S OFFICE HOWARD (picking up phone) Listen, Max, I'd like another shot -- 28. INT. SCREENING ROOM 7 The silent footage of the frenetic bank robbery is still going on in b.g. MAX (on phone) Oh, come on, Howard -- 29. INT. HOWARD'S OFFICE HOWARD (on phone) I don't mean the whole show. I'd just like to come on, make some kind of brief farewell statement and then turn the show over to Jack Snowden. I have eleven years at this network, Max. I have some standing in this industry. I don't want to go out like a clown. It'll be simple and dignified. You and Harry can check the copy 30. INT. NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM ACROSS HARRY HUNTER on phone, looking through the open door of HOWARD's office to HOWARD at his desk in b.g. HARRY HUNTER (on phone) -- I think it'll take the strain off the show, Max. How much time do you want, Howard? HOWARD (in b.g., on phone) A minute forty-five, maybe two HARRY HUNTER All right, I'll give you two on the top, then we'll go to Jack Snowden with the Kissinger UN speech -- 31. INT. SCREENING ROOM 7 The show is over, the room lights are on. In b.g., DIANA and HERRON stand, murmur to each other -- MAX (on phone) And no booze today, Howard -- In b.g., DIANA and HERRON move for the door, wave good- byes. MAX waves slackly in return. He can't help noticing as DIANA leaves that she has the most beautiful ass ever seen on a VP Programs -- 32. INT. HOWARD'S OFFICE HOWARD (on phone) No booze -- And hangs up. For a moment, he just sits, scowling and making curious little grimaces. Then he stands, removes his jacket, dumps it on a chair. He rolls his sleeves up and suddenly makes a strange little GRUNT. He sits behind his desk, fits a piece of paper into the machine and then, again, suddenly, he makes a strange little GROWL -- 33. INT. NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM Our PRODUCTION ASSISTANT, remembered perhaps from the control room scene, passes HOWARD's open door and is given pause by the strange little noises coming from HOWARD's office. She stands in the doorway a moment watching HOWARD GRUNTING, GROWLING and SNARLING as he CLACKS away at the typewriter -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT You all right, Mr. Beale? (BEALE nods) You want me to close your door, Mr. Beale? (HOWARD nods, types away, GRUNTS, GROWLS) The PRODUCTION ASSISTANT closes the door. 34. INT. 14TH FLOOR - UBS BUILDING - ELEVATOR AREA DIANA and HERRON come out of one of the elevators and turn left to the glass doors marked: DEPARTMENT OF PROGRAMMING. They continue into -- 35. INT. PROGRAMMING DEPARTMENT - RECEPTION AREA (Needless to say, there is no one at the receptionist's desk.) DIANA and HERRON head down -- 36. INT. PROGRAMMING DEPARTMENT - CORRIDOR DIANA pauses en route to lean into one of the offices -- DIANA George, can you come in my office for a minute? She and HERRON continue on, turn into -- 37. INT. PROGRAMMING DEPARTMENT - COMMON ROOM Where the SECRETARIES are all slaving away, reading magazines and chatting among themselves. An occasional PHONE RINGS. At the far end of the room, a chunky WOMAN in her late 30's is instructing her SECRETARY in something. DIANA hails her -- DIANA Barbara, is Tommy around anywhere? BARBARA (in b.g.) I think so. DIANA I'd like to see the two of you for a moment -- She leads HERRON now into -- 38. INT. DIANA'S SECRETARY'S OFFICE The SECRETARY hands a sheaf of telephone messages to DIANA which she carries with her into -- 39. INT. DIANA'S OFFICE DIANA enters, followed by HERRON. She sits, skims through her messages. The office is executive-size, windows looking out on the canyons of glass and stone skyscrapers on Sixth Avenue, desk piled high with scripts. GEORGE BOSCH (VP Program Development East Coast), a slight, balding man of 39, enters the office, nods to HERRON, takes a seat; and is immediately followed by BARBARA SCHLESINGER (Head of the Story Department), the chunky lady just called in by DIANA, and TOMMY PELLEGRINO (Assistant VP Programs), 36, swarthy, coifed and mustachioed. They find seats on the chairs, the small couch. HERRON remains standing -- DIANA (introducing) This is Bill Herron from our West Coast Special Programs Department -- Barbara Schlesinger -- George Bosch -- Tommy Pellegrino -- Look, I just saw some rough footage of a special Bill's doing on the revolutionary underground. Most of it's tedious stuff of Laureen Hobbs and four fatigue jackets muttering mutilated Marxism. But he's got about eight minutes of a bank robbery that is absolutely sensational. Authentic stuff. Actually shot while the robbery was going on. Remember the Mary Ann Gifford kidnapping? Well, it's that bunch of nuts. She's in the film shooting off machine guns. Really terrific footage. I think we can get a hell of a movie of the week out of it, maybe even a series. PELLEGRINO A series out of what? What're we talking about? DIANA Look, we've got a bunch of hobgoblin radicals called the Ecumenical Liberation Army who go around taking home movies of themselves robbing banks. Maybe they'll take movies of themselves kidnapping heiresses, hijacking 747's, bombing bridges, assassinating ambassadors. We'd open each week's segment with that authentic footage, hire a couple of writers to write some story behind that footage, and we've got ourselves a series. BOSCH A series about a bunch of bank- robbing guerillas? SCHLESINGER What're we going to call it -- the Mao Tse Tung Hour? DIANA Why not? They've got Strike Force, Task Force, SWAT -- why not Che Guevara and his own little mod squad? Listen, I sent you all a concept analysis report yesterday. Did any of you read it? (apparently not) Well, in a nutshell, it said the American people are turning sullen. They've been clobbered on all sides by Vietnam, Watergate, the inflation, the depression. They've turned off, shot up, and they've fucked themselves limp. And nothing helps. Evil still triumphs over all, Christ is a dope-dealing pimp, even sin turned out to be impotent. The whole world seems to be going nuts and flipping off into space like an abandoned balloon. So -- this concept analysis report concludes -- the American people want somebody to articulate their rage for them. I've been telling you people since I took this job six months ago that I want angry shows. I don't want conventional programming on this network. I want counter-culture. I want anti-establishment. She closes the door. DIANA Now, I don't want to play butch boss with you people. But when I took over this department, it had the worst programming record in television history. This network hasn't one show in the top twenty. This network is an industry joke. We better start putting together one winner for next September. I want a show developed, based on the activities of a terrorist group. Joseph Stalin and his merry band of Bolsheviks. I want ideas from you people. And, by the way, the next time I send an audience research report around, you all better read it, or I'll sack the fucking lot of you, is that clear? (apparently, it is. She turns to HERRON) I'll be out on the coast in four weeks. Can you set up a meeting with Laureen Hobbs for me? HERRON Sure. 40. INT. A BANQUET ROOM - NEW YORK HILTON - WEDNESDAY - 3:00 P.M. LONG SHOT. A stockholders' meeting. Standing room only. Some 200 STOCKHOLDERS seated in the audience; others standing around the walls. On the rostrum, a phalanx of UBS CORPORATE EXECUTIVES, seated in three rows, including EDWARD RUDDY, Chairman of the Board, the PRESIDENTS and SENIOR VICE-PRESIDENTS of the other divisions and other groups -- the UBS Records Group, the UBS Publishing Group, the UBS Theater Chain, etc. Representing the network are NELSON CHANEY and the divisional heads -- GEORGE NICHOLS, President of the Radio Division; NORMAN MOLDANIAN, President Owned Stations; General Counsel WALTER AMUNDSEN, and, of course, MAX SCHUMACHER, President of the News Division. FRANK HACKETT, Senior Executive Vice President UBS-TV, is at the lectern making the annual report -- HACKETT (in the droning manner of such reports) ... but the business of management is management; and, at the time C. C. and A. took control, the UBS-TV network was foundering with less than seven percent of national television revenues, most network programs being sold at station rates. I am therefore pleased to announce I am submitting to the Board of Directors a plan for the coordination of the main profit centers, and with the specific intention of making each division more responsive to management -- ANOTHER ANGLE SINGLING OUT MAX SCHUMACHER in the second row of the phalanx of EXECUTIVES, bored with the proceedings, and whispering to NELSON CHANEY seated beside him. INCLUDE in frame the 67 year old, silver- haired Brahmin of television, EDWARD RUDDY, who is seated in the front row. HACKETT in b.g. It is some twenty minutes later -- HACKETT (reading from his report) ... point one. The division producing the lowest rate of return has been the News Division -- MAX suddenly begins paying attention -- HACKETT -- with its 98 million dollar budget and its average annual deficit of 32 million. To me, it is inconceivable such a wanton fiscal affront go unresisted -- ANOTHER ANGLE ACROSS HACKETT with a smoldering MAX SCHUMACHER in b.g. -- HACKETT -- The new plan calls for local news to be transferred to Owned Stations Divisions -- MAX in b.g., stares angrily down his row towards NORMAN MOLDANIAN, who studiously avoids his eye -- HACKETT -- News-Radio would be transferred to the UBS Radio Division -- ACROSS MAX turning in his seat to scowl at GEORGE NICHOLS in the row behind him -- HACKETT (in b.g.) -- and, in effect, the News Division would be reduced -- MAX leaning forward trying to catch the eye of EDWARD RUDDY in the front row. RUDDY is staring stonily ahead -- HACKETT -- from an independent division to a department accountable to network -- MAX is about ready to blow his stack -- 41. INT. BANQUET ROOM - NEW YORK HILTON - WEDNESDAY - 5:30 PM. The stockholders' meeting is over. The floor is a swirling CRUSH of STOCKHOLDERS mingling with EXECUTIVES. MAX SCHUMACHER is elbowing his way through the crowded aisle to get to where EDWARD RUDDY is chatting away with a COUPLE of STOCKHOLDERS -- MAX (to RUDDY) What was that all about, Ed? -- RUDDY (turning to MAX, urbane) This is not the time, Max. MAX (barely containing himself) Why wasn't I told about this? Why was I led onto that podium and publicly guillotined in front of the stockholders? Goddammit, I spoke to John Wheeler this morning, and he assured me the News Division was safe. Are you trying to get me to resign? It's a hell of a way to do it. RUDDY (silken murmur) We'll talk about this tomorrow at our regular morning meeting. RUDDY turns back to the clutch of STOCKHOLDERS around him. MAX wheels away in a rage -- 42. EXT. NEW YORK HILTON HOTEL - SIXTH AVENUE - DUSK The Sixth Avenue entrance to the hotel. Taxis pulling in, disgorging PEOPLE; taxis pulling out with new fares. MAX comes striding out of the hotel, sore as a boil. PAN HIM as he bulls his way through the line of taxis and across jammed, clanging 5:50 P.M. Sixth Avenue -- 43. INT. UBS BUILDING - 5TH FLOOR CORRIDOR MAX, steaming, strides down the corridor to -- 44. INT. ROOM 509 - NEWS DIV. EXECUTIVE OFFICES Empty except for perhaps one SECRETARY pecking away at her typewriter. MAX strides across and into -- 45. INT. MAX'S OFFICE MAX takes off his jacket, throws it on the couch, sits behind his desk. But he's too steamed to stay there long. A moment later, he's up again, strides around, a caged lion. He thumps his desk angrily, strides around, then whips his jacket up from the couch and strides out -- 46. INT. CONTROL ROOM - NETWORK NEWS SHOW The wall CLOCK reads 6:28. The DIRECTOR, TECHNICAL DIRECTOR, LIGHTING DIRECTOR and PRODUCTION ASSISTANT are at their long shelf in front of the double bank of television monitors. The AUDIO MAN is off in his glassed-in cubicle. HARRY HUNTER and his SECRETARY and the UNIT MANAGER are on the raised level in the back. HUNTER is on the phone, looks up as the door to the control room opens, and MAX, carrying his jacket, comes in. Curious looks from the PERSONNEL here; presidents of news rarely come down to the control room. HUNTER finishes his phone call, offers his seat to MAX, but MAX prefers standing in the back -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT ... five seconds -- LIGHTING DIRECTOR -- picture's too thick -- DIRECTOR -- coming to -- and one -- The show monitor, which has been showing color patterns, now suddenly flicks on to show HOWARD BEALE as he looks up from the sheaf of papers on his desk and says: HOWARD (ON MONITOR) Good evening. Today is Wednesday, September the twenty-fourth, and this is my last broadcast. Yesterday, I announced on this program that I would commit public suicide, admittedly an act of madness. Well, I'll tell you what happened -- I just ran out of bullshit -- HARRY HUNTER All right, cut him off. The MONITOR SCREEN goes black. MAX (from the back wall) Leave him on -- HOWARD's image promptly flicks back on -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) (looking O.S.) Am I still on the air? Everybody in the control room looks to MAX -- MAX If this is how he wants to go out, this is how he goes out. HOWARD (ON MONITOR) I don't know any other way to say it except I just ran out of bull- shit ... The PHONE RINGS. HUNTER picks it up. ANOTHER PHONE RINGS. HUNTER'S SECRETARY picks it up. HUNTER (on first phone) Look, Mr. Schumacher's right here, do you want to talk to him? (extends the phone to MAX) HOWARD (ON MONITOR) Bullshit is all the reasons we give for living, and, if we can't think up any reasons of our own, we always have the God bullshit -- HUNTER'S SECRETARY (awe) Holy Mary Mother of Christ -- MAX (on phone) Yeah, what is it, Tom? -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) We don't know why the hell we're going through all this pointless pain, humiliation and decay, so there better be someone somewhere who does know; that's the God bullshit -- MAX (on phone) He's saying life is bullshit, and it is, so what're you screaming about? -- He hangs up. The PHONE promptly RINGS again. HUNTER'S SECRETARY picks it up. (HUNTER is on the phone that rang before.) HOWARD (ON MONITOR) If you don't like the God bullshit, how about the man bullshit? Man is a noble creature who can order his own world, who needs God? HUNTER'S SECRETARY (to MAX) Mr. Amundsen for you, Mr. Schumacher. MAX I'm not taking calls. HOWARD (ON MONITOR) Well, if there's anybody out there who can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me man is a noble creature, that man is full of bullshit -- DIRECTOR (staring in awe at HOWARD on the screen) I know he's sober, so he's got to be just plain nuts -- (starts to giggle) HARRY HUNTER (screaming) What's so goddam funny? DIRECTOR I can't help it, Harry, it's funny -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) I don't have any kids -- A PHONE RINGS. HUNTER'S SECRETARY picks it up. HARRY HUNTER Max, this is going out live to sixty-seven affiliates -- MAX Leave him on. HOWARD (ON MONITOR) -- and I was married for thirty- three years of shrill, shrieking fraud -- A breathless and distraught YOUNG WOMAN bursts into the control room. YOUNG WOMAN Mr. Hackett's trying to get through to you -- MAX Tell Mr. Hackett to go fuck himself -- 47. INT. DIANA'S OFFICE DIANA, sitting alone in her office, watching HOWARD BEALE on her office console -- HOWARD (ON CONSOLE) I don't have any bullshit left. I just ran out of it, you see -- 48. INT. CONTROL ROOM - NETWORK NEWS SHOW -- as FRANK HACKETT and his assistant, TOM CABELL, wrench the door open and stride in -- HACKETT (roaring) Get him off! Are you people nuts?! The TECHNICAL DIRECTOR taps a button, and the SCREEN mercifully goes black. 49. INT. LOBBY - UBS BUILDING . White-haired, patrician EDWARD RUDDY, Chairman of the Board, impeccably groomed, fastidious in a light topcoat, making his way through the absolute CRUSH of NEWSPAPER PEOPLE, WIRE SERVICE PEOPLE, CAMERA CREWS from CBS, NBC, ABC, from the local stations, WPIX, WOR-TV, METROMEDIA, and from Channel 13, the educa- tional channel. A half dozen SECURITY GUARDS protect the elevators, and three more help RUDDY get through the GLARING CAMERA LIGHTS and the horde of REPORTERS thrusting mikes at him -- RUDDY (moving through the crowd) -- I'm sorry, I don't have all the facts yet -- 50. INT. 20TH FLOOR - LOBBY, LOUNGE, CORRIDOR MAX, standing by the deserted reception desk, in the empty, silent lounge. This is the top-management floor, and the decor, which is posh-austere, reflects the eminence of the top executives who have their offices here. It is all silent and empty now, cathedral, hushed, echoing. Way down at the far end of the corridor, the double doors of the corner office open, and NELSON CHANEY leans out and beckons to MAX, who starts down the plush carpeting in response -- 51. INT. MR. RUDDY'S OFFICE Large, regal. Impressionist originals on those walls which are not glass through which the crepuscular grandeur of New York at night can be seen. RUDDY sits behind his desk. JOHN WHEELER, 59, silent, forceful, lounges in one of the several leather chairs. The door opens, and NELSON CHANEY and MAX SCHUMACHER come in. Everybody nods at everybody else. MAX slumps into a leather chair. RUDDY (murmurs to CHANEY) I'll want to see Mr. Beale after this. CHANEY promptly picks up a corner phone and calls down to the Fourteenth Floor. RUDDY (regards MAX briefly, murmurs) The way I hear it, Max, you're primarily responsible for this colossally stupid prank. Is that the fact, Max? MAX That's the fact. RUDDY It was unconscionable. There doesn't seem to be anything more to say. MAX I have something to say, Ed. I'd like to know why that whole debasement of the News Division announced at the stockholders' meeting today was kept secret from me. You and I go back twenty years, Ed. I took this job with your personal assurance that you would back my autonomy against any encroachment. But ever since CCA acquired control of the UBS Systems ten months ago, Hackett's been taking over everything. Who the hell's running this network, you or some conglomerate called CCA? I mean, you're the Chairman of the Systems Group, and Frank Hackett's just CCA's hatchet man. Nelson here -- for Pete's sake, he's the president of the network -- he hasn't got anything to say about anything anymore. Who the hell's running this company, you or CCA? RUDDY (murmurs) I told you at the stockholders' meeting, Max, that we would discuss all that at our regular meeting tomorrow morning. If you had been patient, I would've explained to you that I too thought Frank Hackett precipitate and that the reorgani- zation of the News Division would not be executed until everyone, specifically you, Max, had been consulted and satisfied. Instead, you sulked off like a child and engaged this network in a shocking and disgraceful episode. Your position here is no longer tenable regardless of how management is restructured. I expect you to bring in your resignation at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, and we will coordinate our statements to the least detriment of everyone. (to WHEELER) Bob McDonough will take over the News Division till we sort all this out. (WHEELER nods. RUDDY turns to CHANEY still in the corner of the room on the phone) I'd like to see Mr. Beale now -- CHANEY (on phone) They're looking for him, Ed. They don't know where he is -- 52. INT. LOBBY - UBS BUILDING HOWARD BEALE, bleached almost white by the GLARE of the CAMERA LIGHTS, and almost totally obscured by the tidal CRUSH of cameras, REPORTERS, SECURITY GUARDS around him -- HOWARD -- every day, five days a week, for fifteen years, I've been sitting behind that desk -- the dispassionate pundit -- 53. INT. DIANA'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM DIANA, naked, sitting on the edge of her bed in a dark bedroom, watching HOWARD BEALE's impromptu press conference on television -- HOWARD (on TV screen) -- reporting with seemly detachment the daily parade of lunacies that constitute the news -- and -- Also on the bed is a naked young STUD, who isn't really that interested in the 11:00 News. He is fondling, fingering, noodling and nuzzling DIANA with the clear intention of mounting her -- HOWARD (on TV screen) -- just once I wanted to say what I really felt -- The young STUD is getting around to nibbling at DIANA's breasts -- DIANA (watching the TV set with single-minded intensity) Knock it off, Arthur -- 54. EXT. UBS BUILDING - 9:00 A.M., THURSDAY, SEPT. 25 - DAY Bright morning sunshine. DIANA, in a pants suit and carrying half a dozen scripts, enters the building -- 55. INT. UBS BUILDING - LOBBY DIANA, pausing at the newsstand to pick up the morning papers, which she reads en route to the elevators -- 56. INT. UBS BUILDING - 14TH FLOOR - 9:15 A.M. DIANA briskly enters through the door marked: DEPARTMENT OF PROGRAMMING, and whisks off down the corridor -- 57. INT. PROGRAMMING DEPARTMENT - COMMON ROOM DIANA crosses to her own office. THREE SECRETARIES, including DIANA's, are abuzz in a corner over last night's Howard Beale show. DIANA'S SECRETARY scurries to follow DIANA as, in b.g., BARBARA SCHLESINGER comes out of her office carrying four scripts -- 58. INT. DIANA'S OUTER OFFICE DIANA, rummaging through the papers on top of the SECRETARY's desk as the SECRETARY enters -- DIANA Did the overnight ratings come in yet? SECRETARY They're on your desk. DIANA Have you still got yesterday's overnights around? SECRETARY Shall I bring them in? DIANA Yeah -- She exits into -- 59. INT. DIANA'S OFFICE Morning SUNLIGHT blasting in. DIANA moves to her desk, stands behind it, scanning the front pages of the newspapers piled on her desk, then sits and studies the overnight ratings also on her desk. The SECRETARY enters with yesterday's overnights, a sheet of paper, which she extends to DIANA, who promptly studies them. The SECRETARY exits as BARBARA SCHLESINGER enters, sinks onto a chair with a sigh -- SCHLESINGER These are those four outlines submitted by Universal for an hour series. You needn't bother to read them. I'll tell them to you. The first one is set in a large Eastern law school, pre- sumably Harvard. The series is irresistibly entitled The Young Lawyers. The running characters are a crusty but benign ex-Supreme Court Justice, presumably Oliver Wendell Holmes by way of Dr. Zorba. There is a beautiful girl graduate student and the local district attorney who is brilliant and sometimes cuts corners -- DIANA (studying the overnights) Next one -- SCHLESINGER The second one is called The Amazon Squad -- DIANA (studying the overnights) Lady cops? SCHLESINGER The running characters are a crusty but benign police lieutenant who's always getting heat from the Commissioner, a hard-nosed, hard- drinking detective who thinks women belong in the kitchen, and a brilliant and beautiful young girl cop fighting the feminist battle on the force -- DIANA (now studying the front page of the Daily News) We're up to our ears in lady cop shows. SCHLESINGER The next one is another investi- gative reporter show. A crusty but benign managing editor who's always getting heat from the publisher -- DIANA The Arabs have decided to jack up the price of oil another twenty per cent, and the C.I.A. has been caught opening Senator Humphrey's mail, there's a civil war in Angola, another one in Beirut, New York City's facing default, they've finally caught up with Patricia Hearst, and -- (she flips the Daily News over so BARBARA can read it) -- the whole front page of the Daily News is Howard Beale. ACROSS BARBARA SCHLESINGER, half-standing so she can read the newspaper and showing the front page of the Daily News -- which consists of a 3/4 page blowup of HOWARD BEALE topped by a 52 point black banner headline: -- BEALE FIRED -- DIANA -- it was also a two-column story on page one of the Times -- (calls to her SECRETARY) Helen, call Mr. Hackett's office, see if he can give me a few minutes this morning -- 60. INT. ROOM 520 - THE NETWORK NEWS ROOM - 9:30 A.M. MAX SCHUMACHER and BOB McDONOUGH (mid-40's) enter. The Network News Room is something less than Front Page, but, nevertheless, a news room. It's a long, large, windowless room, some 40 desks, mostly unoccupied, a wire room, typewriters and banks of television monitors on the wall. At the moment, work has stopped, and the ENTIRE PERSONNEL of the news room, some 60 PEOPLE -- EXECUTIVES and SECRETARIES, PRODUCERS, ASSISTANT PRODUCERS, HEAD WRITERS, WRITERS, DUTY AND ASSIGNMENT EDITORS, and DESK ASSISTANTS, ARTISTS, and FILM AND TAPE EDITORS, REPORTERS, NEWSCASTERS and CAMERA AND AUDIO MEN -- are all gathered, standing and sitting about to hear MAX say -- MAX Ladies and gentlemen, I've been at this network twelve years, and it's been on the whole a ball -- VOICE (in b.g.) Louder -- MAX (louder) -- and I want to thank you all. Bob McDonough here will be taking over for me for the time being, and, much as I hate to admit it, I'm sure everything will go along just fine without me -- 61. INT. UBS BUILDING - 15TH FLOOR - 10:00 A.M. DIANA turning into -- 62. INT. HACKETT'S OUTER OFFICE The SECRETARY waves DIANA straight into -- 63. INT. HACKETT'S OFFICE where HACKETT sits unhappily at his desk poring over memos from his Stations Relations Department and reports from his Sales Department. HACKETT (not bothering to look up) KTNS Kansas City refuses to carry our network news any more unless Beale is taken off the air -- DIANA (drops the sheet of paper on HACKETT's desk) Did you see the overnights on the Network News? It has an 8 in New York and a 9 in L.A. and a 27 share in both cities. Last night, Howard Beale went on the air and yelled bullshit for two minutes, and I can tell you right now that tonight's show will get a 30 share at least. I think we've lucked into something. HACKETT Oh, for God's sakes, are you suggesting we put that lunatic back on the air yelling bullshit? DIANA Yes, I think we should put Beale back on the air tonight and keep him On. Did you see the Times this morning? Did you see the News? We've got press coverage on this you couldn't buy for a million dollars. Frank, that dumb show jumped five rating points in one night! Tonight's show has got to be at least fifteen! We just increased our audience by twenty or thirty million people in one night. You're not going to get something like this dumped in your lap for the rest of your days, and you just can't piss it away! Howard Beale got up there last night and said what every American feels -- that he's tired of all the bullshit. He's articulating the popular rage. I want that show, Frank. I can turn that show into the biggest smash in television. HACKETT What do you mean, you want that show? It's a news show. It's not your department. DIANA I see Howard Beale as a latter-day prophet, a magnificent messianic figure, inveighing against the hypocrisies of our times, a strip Savonarola, Monday through Friday. I tell you, Frank, that could just go through the roof. And I'm talking about a six dollar cost per thousand show! I'm talking about a hundred, a hundred thirty thousand dollar minutes! Do you want to figure out the revenues of a strip show that sells for a hundred thousand bucks a minute? One show like that could pull this whole network right out of the hole! Now, Frank, it's being handed to us on a plate; let's not blow it! HACKETT's intercom BUZZES. HACKETT (on intercom) Yes? ... Tell him I'll be a few minutes. (clicks off, regards DIANA) Let me think it over. DIANA Frank, let's not go to committee about this. It's twenty after ten, and we want Beale in that studio by half-past six. We don't want to lose the momentum -- HACKETT For God's sakes, Diana, we're talking about putting a manifestly irresponsible man on national television. I'd like to talk to Legal Affairs at least. And Herb Thackeray and certainly Joe Donnelly and Standards and Practices. And you know I'm going to be eyeball to eyeball with Mr. Ruddy on this. If I'm going to the mat with Ruddy, I want to make sure of some of my ground. I'm the one whose ass is going on the line. I'll get back to you, Diana. 64. INT. EXECUTIVE DINING ROOM - 12:20 P.M. A large room of white-linened tables, almost empty save for the five men at one of the window tables, with the spectacular view of midtown Manhattan. The five are FRANK HACKETT, NELSON CHANEY, WALTER AMUNDSEN (General Counsel Network,) ARTHUR ZANGWILL (VP Standards and Practices,) and JOE DONNELLY (VP Sales). CHANEY (who is standing) I don't believe this! I don't believe the top brass of a national television network are sitting around their Caesar salads -- HACKETT The top brass of a bankrupt national television network, with projected losses of close to a hundred and fifty million dollars this year. CHANEY I don't care how bankrupt! You can't seriously be proposing and the rest of us seriously consider- ing putting on a pornographic network news show! The FCC will kill us! HACKETT Sit down, Nelson. The FCC can't do anything except rap our knuckles. CHANEY sits. AMUNDSEN I don't even want to think about the litigious possibilities, Frank. We could be up to our ears in lawsuits. CHANEY The affiliates won't carry it -- HACKETT The affiliates will kiss your ass if you can hand them a hit show. CHANEY The popular reaction -- HACKETT We don't know the popular reaction. That's what we have to find out. CHANEY The New York Times -- HACKETT The New York Times doesn't advertise on our network. CHANEY (stands) All I know is that this violates every canon of respectable broad- casting. HACKETT We're not a respectable network. We're a whorehouse network, and we have to take whatever we can get. CHANEY Well, I don't want any part of it. I don't fancy myself the president of a whorehouse. HACKETT That's very commendable of you, Nelson. Now, sit down. Your indignation has been duly recorded, you can always resign tomorrow. CHANEY sits. HACKETT Look, what in substance are we proposing? -- merely to add editorial comment to our network news show. Brinkley, Sevareid, and Reasoner all have their comments. So now Howard Beale will have his. I think we ought to give it a shot. Let's see what happens tonight. DONNELLY Well, I don't want to be the Babylonian messenger who has to tell Max Schumacher about this. HACKETT (flagging a WAITER) Max Schumacher doesn't work at this network any more. Mr. Ruddy fired him last night. (to the WAITER) A telephone, please -- (to his COLLEAGUES) Bob McDonoguh's running the News Division now -- A phone is placed before HACKETT, who promptly picks it up and murmurs: HACKETT (on phone) Bob McDonough in News, please -- 65. INT. MAX'S OFFICE - 1:40 P.M. MAX is on the phone and cleaning out his desk and office at the same time. There are empty cartons everywhere into which MAX is dumping his files. There are piles of files on his desk, which he is skimming through even as he talks on the phone -- MAX (on phone) -- I'm just fine financially, Fred. I cashed in my stock options back in April when CC and A took over the network (his other phone BUZZES) That's my other phone, Fred, thanks for calling -- (hangs up, picks up the other phone) Max Schumacher . .. Hi, Dick, how's everything at NBC? -- HOWARD BEALE walks in, carrying an 8 x 12 photograph -- MAX I don't know, Dick. I might teach, I might write a book, whatever the hell one does when one approaches the autumn of one's years -- HOWARD puts the photograph on the desk in front of MAX. MAX (studying the photograph) My God, is that me? Was I ever that young? (on phone) Howard just showed me a picture of the whole Ed Murrow gang when I was at CBS. My God, Bob Trout, Harry Reasoner, Cronkite, Hollenbeck, and that's you, Howard, right? -- I'll see you, Dick -- Hangs up. HOWARD (points to the photo) You remember this kid? He's the kid I think you once sent out to interview Cleveland Amory on vivisection -- MAX (beginning to shake with laughter) That's him -- that's him -- They both begin wheezing with laughter. MILTON STEINMAN pokes his head in -- STEINMAN What the hell's so funny? 66. INT. ROOM 509 - EXECUTIVE OFFICES, NEWS DIVISION BOB McDONOUGH (VP Network News and interim head of the division) enters, frowning. There is a clot of PEOPLE spilling out from MAX SCHUMACHER's office from whence sounds of LAUGHTER and SHOUTING emanate. Even the SECRETARIES have left their desks to share the fun. McDONOUGH, wondering what the hell it's all about, makes his way through the CRUSH at the door, murmuring: "Excuse me ... sorry, honey ... etc." When he finally gets through the outer office and into -- 67. INT. MAX'S OFFICE -- what he sees is a room filled with News Executives -- MAX, HOWARD, HARRY HUNTER, WALTER GIANINI (Legal Affairs), MICHAEL SANDIES, MILTON STEINMAN, and a COUPLE of younger PRODUCERS, delightedly listening to this gang of middle-aged men remembering their maverick days -- MAX -- I jump out of bed in my pajamas! I grab my raincoat, run down the stairs, run out into the middle of the street, flag a cab. I jump in, I yell: "Take me to the middle of the George Washington Bridge!" -- HOWL of LAUGHTER -- MAX -- The driver turns around, he says: "Don't do it, kid, you got your whole life ahead of you!" The room ROCKS with LAUGHTER. When it subsides, BOB McDONOUGH, standing in the doorway, says: McDONOUGH Well, if you think that's funny, wait'll you hear this. I've just come down from Frank Hackett's office, and he wants to put Howard back on the air tonight. Apparently, the ratings jumped five points last night, and he wants Howard to go back on and do his angry-man thing. STEINMAN What're you talking about? McDONOUGH I'm telling you -- they want Howard to go on yelling bullshit. They want Howard to go on spontaneously letting out his anger, a latter-day prophet, denouncing the hypocrisies of our times -- HOWARD Hey, that sounds pretty good -- MAX Who's this they? McDONOUGH Hackett. Chaney was there, the Legal Affairs guy, and that girl from Programming. MAX Christenson? What's she got to do with it? GIANINI (in b.g.) You're kidding, aren't you, Bob? McDONOUGH I'm not kidding. I told them: "We're running a news department down there, not a circus. And Howard Beale isn't a bearded lady. And if you think I'll go along with this bastardization of the news, you can have my resignation along with Max Schumacher's right now. And I think I'm speaking for Howard Beale and everybody else down there in News. HOWARD Hold it, McDonough, that's my job you're turning down. I'll go nuts without some kind of work. What's wrong with being an angry prophet denouncing the hypocrisies of our times? What do you think, Max? MAX Do you want to be an angry prophet denouncing the hypocrisies of our times? HOWARD Yeah, I think I'd like to be an angry prophet denouncing the hypocrisies of our times. MAX Then grab it. 68. INT. 5TH FLOOR CORRIDOR - 3:00 P.M. MR. RUDDY, slim, slight, white-haired, imperially elegant in banker's gray, comes down the corridor towards Room 509. A VIDEOTAPE MAN, popping out of one of the rooms that debouch off this corridor, quickly stops, stands still -- VIDEOTAPE MAN (murmurs) Afternoon, Mr. Ruddy -- RUDDY (murmurs) Good afternoon. He passes on towards -- 69. INT. ROOM 509 as RUDDY enters. The SIX SECRETARIES pecking away at their typewriters all pause to murmur awed -- SECRETARIES Good afternoon, Mr. Ruddy -- Good afternoon, Mr. Ruddy -- etc. -- as RUDDY passes through to -- 70. INT. MAX'S OUTER OFFICE where MITZI (MAX'S SECRETARY), at her desk, murmurs: MITZI He's waiting for you, Mr. Ruddy -- RUDDY (murmurs) Thank you. He goes into -- 71. INT. MAX'S OFFICE -- and closes the door. RUDDY Nelson Chaney tells me Beale may actually go on the air this evening. MAX As far as I know, Howard's going to do it. Are you going to sit still for this, Ed? RUDDY (takes a folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket) Yes. I think Hackett's overstepped himself. There's some kind of corporate maneuvering going on, Max. Hackett is clearly forcing a confrontation. That would account for his behavior at the stockholders' meeting. However, I think he's making a serious mistake with this Beale business. C. C. and A. would never make such an open act of brigandage, especially against the News Division. They are specifically enjoined against any manipulation of the News Division in the consent decree. I suspect C. C. and A. will be upset by Hackett's presumptuousness, certainly Mr. Jensen will. So I'm going to let Hackett have his head for awhile. He just might lose it over this Beale business. (places the paper on MAX's desk) I'd like you to reconsider your resignation. (moves to the couch, sits, crosses his legs, murmurs) I have to assume Hackett wouldn't take such steps without some support on the C. C. and A. board. I'll have to go directly to Mr. Jensen. When that happens, I'm going to need every friend I've got. And I certainly don't want Hackett's people in all the divisional positions. So I'd like you to stay on, Max. MAX Of course, Ed. RUDDY (stands) Thank you, Max. He opens the door and leaves. 72. INT. MAX'S OFFICE - WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 1 - 7:00 P.M. MAX sitting alone behind his desk in a dark office lit only by his desk lamp, watching the Network News Show starring HOWARD BEALE on his office console -- NARRATOR The initial response to the new Howard Beale was not auspicatory. The press was without exception hostile and industry reaction negative. The ratings for the Thursday and Friday show were both 14 and with a 37 share, but Monday's rating dropped two points, clearly suggesting the novelty had worn off -- On the office console, HOWARD BEALE doesn't seem too much different than he had always been. He scowls, frowns, seems to be muttering -- NARRATOR -- Indeed, Howard Beale played his new role of latter-day prophet poorly. He was, after all, a newsman, not an actor. He was uncertain, uncomfortable, sometimes inaudible. The general feeling around the network was that this new Howard Beale would be aborted in a matter of days -- 73. INT. MAX'S OFFICE - LATER On the office console, the Network News Show has come to an end; the CLOSING THEME MUSIC emerges into SOUND, and the show's CREDITS begin to roll. MAX clicks off the set, folds his hands on the desk and sits glumly regarding his folded hands. After a moment, he becomes aware of another presence in the room and looks to the doorway where DIANA CHRISTENSON is standing, wearing a white blouse and dark slacks and carrying her jacket and purse. If we haven't already noticed how attractive she is, we do now -- standing as she is, framed in the doorway, backlit by the lights of the deserted common room, suddenly sensuous, even voluptuous. DIANA (entering the office) Did you know there are a number of psychics working as licensed brokers on Wall Street? (she sits across from MAX, fishes a cigarette out of her purse) Some of them counsel their clients by use of Tarot cards. They're all pretty successful, even in a bear market and selling short. I met one of them a couple of weeks ago and thought of doing a show around her -- The Wayward Witch of Wall Street, something like that. But, of course, if her tips were any good, she could wreck the market. So I called her this morning and asked her how she was on predicting the future. She said she was occasionally prescient. "For example", she said, "I just had a fleeting vision of you sitting in an office with a craggy middle-aged man with whom you are or will be emotionally involved." And here I am. MAX She does all this with Tarot cards? DIANA No, this one operates on parapsychology. She has trance- like episodes and feels things in her energy field. I think this lady can be very useful to you, Max. MAX In what way? DIANA Well, you put on news shows, and here's someone who can predict tomorrow's news for you. Her name, aptly enough, is Sibyl. Sybil the Soothsayer. You could give her two minutes of trance at the end of a Howard Beale show, say once a week, Friday, which is suggestively occult, and she could oraculate. Then next week, everyone tunes in to see how good her predictions were. MAX Maybe she could do the weather. DIANA (smiles) Your network news show is going to need some help, Max, if it's going to hold. Beale doesn't do the angry man thing well at all. He's too kvetchy. He's being irascible. We want a prophet, not a curmudgeon. He should do more apocalyptic doom. I think you should take on a couple of writers to write some jeremiads for him. I see you don't fancy my suggestions. MAX Hell, you're not being serious, are you? DIANA Oh, I'm serious. The fact is, I could make your Beale show the highest-rated news show in television, if you'd let me have a crack at it. MAX What do you mean, have a crack at it? DIANA I'd like to program it for you, develop it. I wouldn't interfere with the actual news. But teevee is show biz, Max, and even the News has to have a little showmanship. MAX My God, you are serious. DIANA I watched your six o'clock news today -- it's straight tabloid. You had a minute and a half on that lady riding a bike naked in Central Park. On the other hand, you had less than a minute of hard national and international news. It was all sex, scandal, brutal crimes, sports, children with incurable diseases and lost puppies. So I don't think I'll listen to any protestations of high standards of journalism. You're right down in the street soliciting audiences like the rest of us. All I'm saying is, if you're going to hustle, at least do it right. I'm going to bring this up at tomorrow's network meeting, but I don't like network hassles, and I was hoping you and I could work this out between us. That's why I'm here right now. MAX (sighs) And I was hoping you were looking for an emotional involvement with a craggy middle-aged man. DIANA I wouldn't rule that out entirely. They appraise each other for a moment; clearly, there are the possibilities of something more than a professional relationship here. MAX Well, Diana, you bring all your ideas up at the meeting tomorrow. Because, if you don't, I will. I think Howard is making a goddam fool of himself, and so does everybody Howard and I know in this industry. It was a fluke. It didn't work. Tomorrow, Howard goes back to the old format and this gutter depravity comes to an end. DIANA (smiles, stands) Okay. She leans forward to flick her ash into MAX's desk ash tray. Half-shaded as she is by the cone of light issuing from the desk lamp, it is nipple-clear she is bra-less, and MAX cannot help but note the assertive swells of her body. DIANA moves languidly to the door and would leave but MAX suddenly says: MAX I don't get it, Diana. You hung around till half-past seven and came all the way down here just to pitch a couple of loony show biz ideas when you knew goddam well I'd laugh you out of this office. I don't get it. What's your scam in this anyway? DIANA moves back to the desk and crushes her cigarette out in the desk tray. DIANA Max, I don't know why you suddenly changed your mind about resigning, but I do know Hackett's going to throw you out on your ass in January. My little visit here tonight was just a courtesy made out of respect for your stature in the industry and because I've personally admired you ever since I was a kid majoring in speech at the University of Missouri. But sooner or later, now or in January, with or without you, I'm going to take over your network news show, and I figured I might as well start tonight. MAX I think I once gave a lecture at the University of Missouri. DIANA I was in the audience. I had a terrible schoolgirl crush on you for a couple of months. She smiles, glides to the doorway again. MAX Listen, if we can get back for a moment to that gypsy who predicted all that about emotional involvements and middle-aged men -- what're you doing for dinner tonight? DIANA pauses in the doorway, and then moves back briskly to the desk, picks up the telephone receiver, taps out a telephone number, waits for a moment -- DIANA (on phone) I can't make it tonight, luv, call me tomorrow. She returns the receiver to its cradle, looks at MAX; their eyes lock. MAX Do you have any favorite restaurant? DIANA I eat anything. MAX Son of a bitch, I get the feeling I'm being made. DIANA You sure are. MAX I better warn you I don't do anything on the first date. DIANA We'll see. She moves for the door. MAX stares down at his desk. MAX (mutters) Schmuck, what're you getting into? He sighs, stands, flicks off his desk lamp. 74. INT. A RESTAURANT MAX and DIANA at the end of their dinner. In fact, MAX is flagging a WAITER for two coffees, black -- DIANA (plying away at her ice cream) You're married, surely. MAX Twenty-six years. I have a married daughter in Seattle who's six months pregnant, and a younger girl who starts at Northwestern in January. DIANA -- Well, Max, here we are -- middle-aged man reaffirming his middle-aged manhood and a terrified young woman with a father complex. What sort of script do you think we can make out of this? MAX Terrified, are you? DIANA (pushes her ice cream away, regards him affably) Terrified out of my skull, man. I'm the hip generation, man, right on, cool, groovy, the greening of America, man, remember all that? God, what humbugs we were. In my first year at college, I lived in a commune, dropped acid daily, joined four radical groups and fucked myself silly on a bare wooden floor while somebody chanted Sufi sutras. I lost six weeks of my sophomore year because they put me away for trying to jump off the top floor of the Administration Building. I've been on the top floor ever since. Don't open any windows around me because I just might jump out. Am I scaring you off? MAX No. DIANA I was married for four years and pretended to be happy and had six years of analysis and pretended to be sane. My husband ran off with his boyfriend, and I had an affair with my analyst. He told me I was the worst lay he had ever had. I can't tell you how many men have told me what a lousy lay I am. I apparently have a masculine temperament. I arouse quickly, consummate prematurely, and can't wait to get my clothes back on and get out of that bedroom. I seem to be inept at everything except my work. I'm goddam good at my work and so I confine myself to that. All I want out of life is a 30 share and a 20 rating. The WAITER brings the coffee. MAX (sipping coffee) The corridor gossip says you're Frank Hackett's backstage girl. DIANA (sipping coffee, smiles) I'm not. Frank's a corporation man, body and soul. He surrendered his spirit to C. C. and A. years ago. He's a marketing-merchandising management machine, precision- tooled for corporate success. He's married to one C. C. and A. board member's daughter, he attends another board member's church, his children aged two and five are already enrolled in a third board member's alma mater. He has no loves, lusts or allegiances that are not consummately directed towards becoming a C. C. and A. board member himself. So why should he bother with me? I'm not even a stockholder. MAX How about your loves, lusts and allegiances? They smile at each other. DIANA Is your wife in town? MAX Yes. DIANA Well, then, we better go to my place. 75. INT. DIANA'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM Dark. Blinds drawn. MAX and DIANA lying naked on a maelstrom of sheets, both still puffing from what must have been an ebullient bout in the sack -- DIANA Wow, and you were the guy who kept telling me how he was going to be a grandfather in three months. MAX Hell, you were the girl who kept telling me what a lousy lay she was. She bounces out of bed and stands naked in the shadowed darkness, arms akimbo, looking happily down at MAX on the bed. DIANA All right, enough of this love-making. Are you going to let me take over your network news show or not? MAX (laughs) Forget it. Tomorrow, Howard Beale goes back to being a straight anchorman. I'll tell him first thing tomorrow morning. 76. INT. HOWARD BEALE'S BEDROOM HOWARD BEALE, fast asleep in his dark, empty, hushed room. HOWARD (suddenly) I can't hear you. You'll have to speak a little louder. He gets up on one elbow, eyes still closed, cocks his head as if he were listening to someone mumbling from the rocking chair across the room. HOWARD You're kidding. How the hell would I know what the truth is? He sits up, gets out of bed, walks around and perches on the foot of the bed, stares at the empty rocker, nods his head as if he is following a complicated argument -- HOWARD What the hell is this, the burning bush? For God's sake, I'm not Moses -- Whoever he thinks he is talking to apparently gets up and crosses the room to the overstuffed chair and sits there, since HOWARD follows this movement with his eyes and finally gets up and perches on the side of his bed in order to continue the curious conversation. HOWARD Why me? I'm a deteriorating old man. HOWARD listens, sighs, shrugs: HOWARD Okay. 77. EXT. UBS BUILDING - THURSDAY, OCT. 2, 9:00 A.M. - DAY Bright sunny day to establish the next morning. 78. INT. ROOM 517 - NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM MAX enters. The usual morning hum of activity. PHONES RING. HARRY HUNTER, going over some wire releases with his HEAD WRITER, looks up as MAX approaches -- MAX Howard in his office? (HUNTER nods) Harry, I'm killing this whole screwball angry prophet thing. We're going back to straight news as of tonight's show. HUNTER Okay. MAX veers off for -- 79. INT. HOWARD'S OFFICE HOWARD at his typewriter, clicking away. MAX leans in through the open doorway -- MAX Howard, we're going back to straight news tonight. You don't have to be the mad prophet any more. HOWARD turns to regard MAX in the doorway with a sweet smile. HOWARD I must go on with what I'm doing, Max. I have been called. This is my witness, and I must make it. This gives MAX pause, to say the least. MAX You must make what, Howard? HOWARD I must make my witness. I must lead the people from the waters. I must stay their stampede to the sea. MAX takes a step into the office and closes the door. MAX You must stay their what, Howard? HOWARD I must stay their headlong suicidal stampede to the sea. MAX (regards Howard for a moment) Well, hallelujah, Howard, are you putting me on or have you flipped or what? HOWARD (serenely) I have heard voices, Max. MAX You have heard voices. Swell. What kind of voices, Howard? Still small voices in the night or the mighty thunder of God? Howard, you've finally done it. You've gone over the edge. You're nuts. HOWARD I have been called. This is my witness, and I must make it. MAX Not on my goddam network news show. He opens the door, goes back into -- 80. INT. NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM -- where he stops, turns and wheels back to HOWARD's office -- MAX Now, look, Howard, I'm not kidding around about this. You go back to being a straight anchorman tonight. I'm the voice you're hearing now, and this voice is telling you we're doing a straight news show from now on. Okay? HOWARD seems not to have heard him, continues pecking away at his typewriter. MAX scowls, turns, exits -- 81. INT. NETWORK NEWS CONTROL ROOM The wall CLOCK says 6:29. The control room STAFF are all at their posts murmuring away. HARRY HUNTER is on the phone -- HUNTER (muttering into phone) Max, I'm telling you he's fine. He's been sharp all day, he's been funny as hell. He had everybody cracking up at the rundown meeting ... I told him, I told him ... 82. INT. NETWORK NEWS CONTROL ROOM - LATER On the SHOW MONITOR, HOWARD BEALE at his desk, shuffles his papers, looks up for his cue. The wall CLOCK clicks to 6:30, the DIRECTOR murmurs into his mike. HOWARD looks out from the screen to his vast audience and says: HOWARD (ON MONITOR) Last night, I was awakened from a fitful sleep at shortly after two o'clock in the morning by a shrill, sibilant, faceless voice that was sitting in my rocking chair. I couldn't make it out at first in the dark bedroom. I said: "I'm sorry, you'll have to talk a little louder." And the Voice said to me: "I want you to tell the people the truth, not an easy thing to do; because the people don't want to know the truth." I said: "You're kidding. How the hell would I know what the truth is?" I mean, you have to picture me sitting there on the foot of the bed talking to an empty rocking chair. I said to myself: "Howard, you are some kind of banjo-brain sitting here talking to an empty chair." But the Voice said to me: "Don't worry about the truth. I'll put the words in your mouth." And I said: "What is this, the burning bush? For God's sake, I'm not Moses." And the Voice said to me: "And I'm not God, what's that got to do with it --" 83. INT. NETWORK NEWS CONTROL ROOM HARRY HUNTER still on the phone as the rest of the control room STAFF just sit there staring at HOWARD on the MONITOR -- HUNTER (on phone) What do you want me to do? -- 84. INT. MAX'S OFFICE MAX behind his desk on his phone, chin cupped in his right hand, staring glumly at HOWARD on his CONSOLE -- MAX (on phone) Nothing -- HOWARD (ON CONSOLE) And the Voice said to me: "We're not talking about eternal truth or absolute truth or ultimate truth! We're talking about impermanent, transient, human truth! I don't expect you people to be capable of truth! But, goddamit, you're at least capable of self-preservation! That's good enough! I want you to go out and tell the people to preserve themselves -- " MAX (mutters on phone) Right now, I'm trying to remember the name of that psychiatrist that took care of him when his wife died -- 85. INT. STUDIO - NETWORK NEWS TIGHT SHOT OF HOWARD, his voice rising, his eyes glowing with increasing fervor -- HOWARD (growing fervor) And I said to the Voice: "Why me?" And the Voice said: "Because you're on television, dummy! -- " 86. INT. DIANA'S OFFICE DIANA watching HOWARD on her CONSOLE -- DIANA Beautiful! HOWARD (ON CONSOLE) "You have forty million Americans listening to you; after tonight's show, you could have fifty million. For Pete's sake, I don't expect you to walk the land in sackcloth and ashes preaching the Armageddon. You're on Teevee, man! -- " 87. INT. MAX'S OFFICE MAX, no longer on the phone, is leafing through a loose-leaf address book -- HOWARD (ON CONSOLE) So I thought about it for a moment -- MAX taps out a telephone number on his private line -- HOWARD (ON CONSOLE) And then I said: "Okay -- " MAX (on phone) Doctor Sindell? My name is Max Schumacher, I'm at the Union Broadcasting Systems, and I hope you remember me? I'm a friend of Howard Beale whom you treated for a few months last year -- 88. INT. FIFTH FLOOR CORRIDOR as HOWARD and HARRY HUNTER, followed by the rest of the control room STAFF, come out of the stairway and head down the corridor to -- 89. INT. ROOM 517 - NIGHTLY NEWS ROOM where HUNTER and HOWARD move towards HOWARD's office while the rest of the control room CREW disperse to their own desks and to exchange muttered comments with those Nightly News PERSONNEL still at their desks. HOWARD walks straight as a ramrod, eyes uplifted, serene to the point of beatitude. He and HUNTER go into -- 90. INT. HOWARD'S OFFICE where MAX is sitting, waiting on the couch. He stands -- MAX Close the door, Harry -- HUNTER does so. MAX Sit down, Howard. Howard, I'm taking you off the air. I called your psychiatrist. HOWARD (serene, sits behind his desk) What's happening to me, Max, isn't mensurate in psychiatric terms. MAX I think you're having a breakdown, require treatment, and Dr. Sindell agrees. HOWARD This is not a psychotic episode. It is a cleansing moment of clarity. (stands, an imbued man) I am imbued, Max. I am imbued with some special spirit. It's not a religious feeling at all. It is a shocking eruption of great electrical energy: I feel vivid and flashing as if suddenly I had been plugged into some great cosmic electromagnetic field. I feel connected to all living things, to flowers, birds, to all the animals of the world and even to some great unseen living force, what I think the Hindus call prana. He stands rigidly erect, his eyes staring mindlessly out, his face revealing the anguish of so transcendental a state. HOWARD It is not a breakdown. I have never felt so orderly in my life! It is a shattering and beautiful sensation! It is the exalted flow of the space-time continuum, save that it is spaceless and timeless and of such loveliness! I feel on the verge of some great ultimate truth. He stares haggardly at MAX, his breath coming with great difficulty now; he shouts: HOWARD You will not take me off the air for now or for any other spaceless time! He promptly falls in a dead swoon onto the floor. MAX (hurrying to his friend's prostrate form) Jesus Christ -- HUNTER (from the door) Is he okay? MAX (bent over HOWARD) He's breathing anyway. I'll have to take him to my house again for the night -- A CRASH OF THUNDER -- 91. INT. MAX'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT THUNDER CRASHES outside. RAIN pelts against the windows. The room is dark. MAX and his wife, LOUISE, are fast asleep in their hushed room. CAMERA PANS, DOLLIES slowly out of the bedroom and into -- 92. INT. LIVING ROOM Dark, hushed, sleeping. HOWARD is asleep on the living room couch. Or rather he was asleep, for he now slowly sits up, then stands in his borrowed pajamas, goes to the hall closet, fetches out a raincoat, unchains, unbolts and unlocks the front door of the apartment, and goes out -- 93. EXT. A STREET IN THE EAST 60'S - OVERCAST DAY FRIDAY , OCTOBER 3 - 7:30 A.M. Another CRASH and RUMBLE of THUNDER. RAIN slashes through the streets. The sky is dark and lowering -- 94. INT. MAX'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM ALARM CLOCK BUZZING. MRS. LOUISE SCHUMACHER, a handsome matron of 50, clicks it off and gets out of bed. MAX turns in the bed, sleeps on. THUNDER and RAIN O.S. LOUISE starts sleepily for the bathroom, pauses, then goes out into the -- INT. BACK HALLWAY -- and down that to -- INT. LIVING ROOM -- where she stands, frowning. The couch, which had been made up for a bed, has clearly been slept in but is now empty. She looks back up the hallway to the guest bathroom. The door is open, and there is obviously nobody in the bathroom. She pads across the living room-dining room area and pokes her head into the kitchen, and then back to the back hallway, pauses a moment outside her daughter's closed bedroom door, opens it, looks in, closes it and then returns to -- INT. THE BEDROOM She sits on MAX's side of the bed, shakes him awake. LOUISE Wake up, Max, because Howard's gone. I'll make you some coffee. She moves off. MAX (mutters) Shit. He slowly sits up. 95. INT. FRANK HACKETT'S OFFICE HACKETT in a rage, shouting at MAX slumped in a soft chair. Others in the room are DIANA and HERB THACKERAY. HACKETT What do you mean you don't know where he is? The son of a bitch is a hit, goddammit! Over two thousand phone calls! Go down to the mailroom! As of this minute, over fourteen thousand telegrams! The response is sensational! Herb, tell him! -- THACKERAY starts to tell him, but HACKETT roars on -- HACKETT Herb's phone hasn't stopped ringing! Every goddam affiliate from Albuquerque to Sandusky! The response is sensational! The PHONE RINGS, HACKETT seizes it. HACKETT What? ... All right He hangs up, snaps at THACKERAY -- HACKETT It's your office, Herb. You better get back there. THACKERAY exits. HACKETT roars on -- HACKETT Moldanian called me! Joe Donnelly called me! We've got a goddam hit, goddam it! Diana, show him the Times! We even got an editorial in the holy goddam New York Times. "A Call to Morality!" That crazy son of a bitch, Beale, has caught on! So don't tell me you don't know where he is! MAX (roaring back) I don't know where he is! He may be jumping off a roof for all I know. The man is insane. He's no longer responsible for himself. He needs care and treatment. And all you grave-robbers care about is he's a hit! DIANA You know, Max, it's just possible that he isn't insane, that he is, in fact, imbued with some special spirit. MAX My God, I'm supposed to be the romantic; you're supposed to be the hard-bitten realist! DIANA All right. Howard Beale obviously fills a void. The audience out there obviously wants a prophet, even a manufactured one, even if he's as mad as Moses. By tomorrow, he'll have a 50 share, maybe even a 60 share. Howard Beale is processed instant God, and right now it looks like he may just go over bigger than Mary Tyler Moore. MAX I'm not putting Howard back on the air. DIANA It's not your show any more, Max, it's mine. MAX You're nuts. You're nuttier than Howard. HACKETT I gave her the show, Schumacher. I'm putting the network news show under programming. Mr. Ruddy has had a mild heart attack and is not taking calls. In his absence, I'm making all network decisions, including one I've been wanting to make a long time -- you're fired. I want you out of this building by noon. I'll leave word with the security guards to throw you out if you're still here. MAX Well, let's just say, fuck you, Hackett. You want me out, you're going to have to drag me out kicking and screaming. And the whole news division will walk out kicking and screaming with me. HACKETT You think they're going to quit their jobs for you. Not in this depression, buddy. MAX When Ruddy gets back, he'll have your ass. HACKETT I got a hit, Schumacher, and Ruddy doesn't count any more. He was hoping I'd fall on my face with this Beale show, but I didn't. It's a big, fat, big-titted hit, and I don't have to waffle around with Ruddy any more. If he wants to take me up before the C.C. and A. board, let him. And do you think Ruddy's stupid enough to go to the CCA board and say: "I'm taking our one hit show off the air?" And comes November Fourteen, I'm going to be standing up there at the annual CCA management review meeting, and I'm going to announce projected earnings for this network for the first time in five years. And, believe me, Mr. Jensen will be sitting there rocking back and forth in his little chair, and he's going to say: "That's very good, Frank, keep it up." So don't have any illusions about who's running this network from now on. You're fired. I want you out of your office before noon or I'll have you thrown out. (to DIANA) And you go along with this? DIANA Well, Max, I told you I didn't want a network hassle over this. I told you I'd much rather work the Beale show out just between the two of us. MAX (stands) Well, let's just say, fuck you too, honey. (to HACKETT) Howard Beale may be my best friend! I'll go to court. I'll put him in a hospital before I let you exploit him like a carnival freak. HACKETT You get your psychiatrists, and I'll get mine. MAX (heading for the door) I'm going to spread this whole reeking business in every paper and on every network, independent, group, and affiliated station in this country. I'm going to make a lot of noise about this. HACKETT Great! we need all the press we can get. MAX exits. HACKETT clicks his intercom. HACKETT (on intercom) Get me Mr. Cabell -- (to DIANA) Something going on between you and Schumacher? DIANA (sighs) Not any more. HACKETT (his PHONE BUZZES, he picks it up) Tom, Howard Beale has disappeared. Tell Harriman to prepare a big statement for the news media. And call the cops and tell them to find the crazy son of a bitch -- 96. EXT. UBS BUILDING - SIXTH AVENUE - NIGHT - 6:40 P.M. THUNDER CRASHES -- RAIN lashes the street. PEDESTRIANS struggle against the slashing rain. The streets gleam wetly, the heavy TRAFFIC heading uptown crushes and HONKS along, erratic enfilades of headlights in the shiny, black streets -- 97. CLOSER ANGLE of entrance to UBS Building. HOWARD BEALE, wearing a coat over his pajamas, drenched to the skin, his mop of gray hair plastered in streaks to his brow, hunched against the rain, climbs the steps and pushes the glass door at the entrance and goes into -- 98. INT. UBS BUILDING - LOBBY TWO SECURITY GUARDS at the desk watch HOWARD pass -- SECURITY GUARD How do you Mr. Beale? HOWARD stops, turns, stares haggardly at the SECURITY GUARD. HOWARD (mad as a loon) I have to make my witness. SECURITY GUARD (an agreeable fellow) Sure thing, Mr. Beale. HOWARD plods off to the elevators. 99. INT. NETWORK NEWS CONTROL ROOM Murmured, efficient activity as in previous scenes. DIANA stands in the back in the shadows. On the SHOW MONITOR, JACK SNOWDEN, BEALE's replacement, has been doing the news straight -- SNOWDEN (ON MONITOR) ... Oil ministers of the OPEC nations meeting in Vienna still haven't decided how much more to increase the price of oil next Wednesday. Iran and some of the Arab states want to jack up the price by as much as twenty percent -- PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Five seconds -- TECHNICAL DIRECTOR Twenty-five in Vienna -- DIRECTOR And ... two -- SNOWDEN (ON MONITOR) The Saudi Arabians are being more cautious. They just want a ten per- cent increase. More on that story from Edward Fletcher in Vienna -- All this is UNDER and OVERLAPPED by HARRY HUNTER answering a BUZZ on his phone -- HUNTER (on phone) Yeah? ... Okay -- (hangs up, to DIANA) He came in the building about five minutes ago. PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Ten seconds coming to one -- DIANA Tell Snowden if he comes in the studio to let him go on. HUNTER (to the STAGE MANAGER) Did you get that, Paul? The STAGE MANAGER nods, passes on the instructions to his A.D. on the studio floor. On the SHOW MONITOR, we see footage of the OPEC Vienna meeting. Lots of Arab headdresses and bearded Levantine faces at conference tables, and we are hearing the VOICE of Edward Fletcher in Vienna -- FLETCHER (ON MONITOR) This has probably been the most divisive meeting the oil-producing states have ever had. The thirteen nations of OPEC have still not been able to decide by how much to increase the price of oil -- On the SHOW MONITOR, the footage flicks to Sheik Zaki Yamani being interviewed by a corps of correspondents outside the meeting hall -- FLETCHER (V.O.) Saudi Arabian oil minister Sheik Zaki Yamani flew to London yesterday for further consultations with his government. He returned to the Vienna meetings today-- Nobody in the control room is paying too much attention to Yamani, they are all watching the double bank of black-and-white monitors which show HOWARD BEALE entering the studio, drenched, hunched, staring gauntly off into his own space, moving with single-minded purpose across the studio floor past cameras and ASSISTANT DIRECTORS, CAMERAMEN, SOUND MEN, ELECTRICIANS and ASSOCIATE PRODUCERS, to his desk which is being vacated for him by JACK SNOWDEN. On the SHOW MONITOR, the film clip of Yamani has come to an end. ASSISTANT DIRECTOR Ready 2. DIRECTOR Take 2. -- and, suddenly, the obsessed face of HOWARD BEALE, gaunt, haggard, red-eyed with unworldly fervor, hair streaked and plastered on his brow, manifestly mad, fills the MONITOR SCREEN. HOWARD (ON MONITOR) I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job, the dollar buys a nickel's worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter, punks are running wild in the streets, and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know the air's unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit and watch our tee-vees while some local newscaster tells us today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We all know things are bad. Worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything's going crazy. So we don't go out any more. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we live in gets smaller, and all we ask is please, at least leave us alone in our own living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my tee-vee and my hair-dryer and my steel- belted radials, and I won't say anything, just leave us alone. Well, I'm not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad -- ANOTHER ANGLE showing the rapt attention of the PEOPLE in the control room, especially of DIANA -- HOWARD I don't want you to riot. I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to write your congressmen. Because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the defense budget and the Russians and crime in the street. All I know is first you got to get mad. You've got to say: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this any more. I'm a human being, goddammit. My life has value." So I want you to get up now. I want you to get out of your chairs and go to the window. Right now. I want you to go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell. I want you to yell: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this any more!" DIANA (grabs HUNTER's shoulder) How many stations does this go out live to? HUNTER Sixty-seven. I know it goes out to Atlanta and Louisville, I think -- HOWARD (ON MONITOR) -- Get up from your chairs. Go to the window. Open it. Stick your head out and yell and keep yelling -- But DIANA has already left the control room and is scurrying down -- 100. INT. CORRIDOR -- yanking doors open, looking for a phone, which she finds in -- 101. INT. AN OFFICE DIANA (seizing the phone) Give me Stations Relations -- (the call goes through) Herb, this is Diana Christenson, are you watching because I want you to call every affiliate carrying this live -- I'll be right up -- 102. INT. ELEVATOR AREA - FIFTEENTH FLOOR DIANA bursts out of the just-arrived elevator and strides down to where a clot of EXECUTIVES and OFFICE PERSONNEL 