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ALVY: What's going on? GOD: I am the Lord God, and I am for all time creating man and woman. ALVY: Well, don't put the sexual organs and the excretory ones so close together -- it'll only cause trouble. GOD: You're telling me how to do it? ROBIN: You're not just going to give him a penis, are you? GOD: Yes -- why? ROBIN: I think it's unfair unless they both have penises. ALVY: That's crazy. ROBIN: No. ALVY: There won't be good sex. It'll be like a sword fight. GOD: Stop arguing. I'm God. ALVY: And make both sex drives equal. Don't make the guy's stronger. GOD: Everyone'll go around screwing. ALVY: There'll be less wars. ROBIN: She's built for vaginal or clitoral orgasm, right? GOD: You can have any kind you want. ALVY: Naturally. ROBIN: Naturally. After ten years of sex I finally had an orgasm and my analyst said it was the wrong kind. GOD: There's no wrong kind. They all ad-lib argument. ROB: Hebrew School, Max. ALVY: Yeah. They taught us how to write backwards. ANNIE: You Jews don't believe in an afterlife, right? ROB: I do, he doesn't. ALVY: As long as it's not spent in Pittsburgh. ANNIE: You were taught there's a hell. Street elevator conveniently rises, devil on it. DEVIL: Give you a quick tour of Hell. Nine layers. DAY/INT. ELEVATOR. They get on. SHOT of their faces as they descend, red flame effect on it. DEVIL: Going down. Layer one. People who make money off religion, bad surgeons, and people who say, "right on." Layer two. The Military, Oil Companies, and gossip columnists. ROB: Layer three. The National Rifle Association. ANNIE: Layer four. People who act cute, homicidal maniacs, and advertising men. ALVY: Layer five. Organized crime, fascist dictators, and people who don't appreciate oral sex. ANNIE: Layer six. Guys who walk in the streets playing loud portable radios, bad interior decorators, and disc jockeys. Elevator seems to stop, Nixon gets on. NIXON: Joe McCarthy, please. ROB: Layer seven. FBI informers, CIA assassins, and fast food chains. ALVY: Layer eight. Prison guards, people who try to be funny with waiters, and the guy who invented double knits. DEVIL: (Nixon exits) Layer nine. Politicians, torturers, and contemporary architects. DAY/EXT. BURGER 'N BUN. Cut to the threesome on the street ROB: Let's go in there. (pointing to sign) Burger 'N Bun. ALVY: No, I can't. I can't eat at a place that spells "and" 'n, for cute purposes. Ham 'n eggs. ANNIE: I want some real junk food anyhow. DAY/INT. RESTAURANT. CUT TO them eating up in a cheap joint. ALVY: (anxiety) This stuff is such crap. We're shoveling this garbage into our bodies. ANNIE: Yeah, but it tastes so good. ALVY: I know, but cream cheese and ice cream ... it forms a thick crust around my heart-- ROB: Can't you relax, Max. ALVY: I can't eat this. I'll die at forty-five. They'll have to send the Roto Rooter man to open my arteries. ANNIE: There's no proven connection between cholesterol and heart attacks. ALVY: Sure, because you're a woman. They can't get heart attacks before menopause. ROB: Max, where do you come up with these crack-pot theories? ALVY: My aorta will turn into the Elgin Marble. They'll have to chip the cream cheese off with a chisel. An argument between a big bully-type man and an elderly man has been growing where they share a table. It is ad lib over some minor subject and we pick up common conflict lines like: "Don't tell me I'll make as much noise as I want." "Who are you pushing?" Alvy Rob and Annie watch. ALVY: That big guy is trouble. ROB: Max, it's not our business. ALVY: We're obligated to help the old man. ROB: Max, it's between them -- they're probably father and son, O.K.? ANNIE: I don't think so. ROB: Max, you, me and the old man, between the three of us there's gonna be ninety teeth on the floor. ALVY: (interceding) Hey, fella, why don't you give this guy a break? Carl, the bully, turns on Alvy, violently rising, napkin down, the usual. ROB: (following bravely but scared) Buddy -- he's only kidding. He grabs Rob. ALVY: You know what tear gas is? (pulls pen out) You think I'm fooling around? They slap it from his hand easily. Someone switches out a razor. Totally death-like moment. CARL: Hey -- are you the guy on television? ALVY: Me? CARL: That's right! Hey! I seen this guy! You're on television, right? OLD MAN: He is? CARL: That's right! He's a TV star! OLD MAN: You're a TV star? ALVY: That's right. You're hitting a celebrity, which is a federal offense. CARL: This guy's a funny guy. He's a funny guy! OLD MAN: Yeah? CARL: (turning to Rob) You on television too? ROB: Yeah! Me too! I do game shows, quiz shows -- soaps! OLD MAN: Can I get an autograph? CARL: He's a TV star! You know, my wife thinks you're sexy. ROB: I'm a TV star too! CARL: She thinks you're sexy -- can you believe that shit?
The Pantheon |
