A Hollywood True Story: Difference between revisions

1:10: <blockquote>'Behind the desk, there's a wall of pigeonholes, each one bearing a room number.  You sign the guest register and walk outside by a small fenced-in swimming pool and pass an ice machine and a laundry cart and walk up a stairway to your room.  You unlock the door and find rows of dead bodies stacked up to the ceiling.  Should you call the front desk to complain?  These things are hard to decide. Courage and wisdom in conflict.  Rain falls on the roofs of the other motel rooms where your enemies sleep.'</blockquote>

6:40: Winston got a wealthy producer, Gustav Weinberg, interested.

Over breakfast, Weinberg recommended additions to the script which Joe

disliked but felt he had to accommodate, 'and began that insidious

12:30: <blockquote>'You're alone in a motel room.  You've just finished driving from a town you left that morning.  Your room faces a parking lot, a field, with cars and trucks passing on the highway in the distance. You're tired and go into the bathroom, where you see glasses covered in plastic, each bar of soap individually wrapped, and a paper seal over the toilet.  You gaze into the mirror and hear a toilet flush in the next room.  The motels and gas stations and fast food joints all seem the same, and you get the feeling you're going nowhere, making no progress, traveling on a revolving road.'</blockquote>

23:10: <blockquote>'It's winter, the sky is gray, your car is pleasantly warm, your instrument panel with light green colored needles is backlit in blue, the air outside is filled with light swirling flakes of snow. Where are you going?  What can you possibly accomplish?  You could turn around, but what would be gained by going back?  Maybe you should just stay on this road and avoid making any decision at all.

<p>'At a red light, you stop next to a storefront.  In the window, you see statues of the Madonna, a copy of Leonardo's painting of the Last Supper, decorative crucifixes, rosary beads, chalices, prayer books, everything old and dusty.  Later, at a truck stop, a fly falls into your cup of coffee.  You lift it out with a spoon and lay it down on your napkin.  It dries itself and flies away.

<p>'Back on the road, you see what appears to be the carcass of a dead animal or a baby wrapped in a blanket, and you feel a hollowness in the pit of your stomach, but it turns out to be a shredded rag, and this hallucination of seeing death on the highway repeats itself again and again.'</blockquote>