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Why would you want to hear my story
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Why would you want to hear my story? Do we know each other? Do we like each other? Let me...

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Boris Yellnikoff: [to audience] Why would you want to hear my story? Do we know each other? Do we like each other? Let me tell you right off, ok... I'm not a like-able guy. Charm has never been a priority with me. And just so you know, this is not the feel good movie of the year. So if you're one of those idiots who needs to feel good, go get yourself a foot massage. Boy on Street: Mommy, that man's talking to himself. Boy's Mother: Come on, Justin. Boris Yellnikoff: [to audience] What the hell does it all mean anyhow? Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing comes to anything. And yet, there's no shortage of idiots to babble. Not me. I have a vision. I'm discussing you. Your friends. Your coworkers. Your newspapers. The TV. Everybody's happy to talk. Full of misinformation. Morality, science, religion, politics, sports, love, your portfolio, your children, health. Christ, if I have to eat nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day to live, I don't wanna live. I hate goddamn fruits and vegetables. And your omega 3's, and the treadmill, and the cardiogram, and the mammogram, and the pelvic sonogram, and oh my god the-the-the colonoscopy, and with it all the day still comes where they put you in a box, and its on to the next generation of idiots, who'll also tell you all about life and define for you what's appropriate. My father committed suicide because the morning newspapers depressed him. And could you blame him? With the horror, and corruption, and ignorance, and poverty, and genocide, and AIDS, and global warming, and terrorism, and-and the family value morons, and the gun morons. "The horror," Kurtz said at the end of Heart of Darkness, "the horror." Lucky Kurtz didn't have the Times delivered in the jungle. Ugh... then he'd see some horror. But what do you do? You read about some massacre in Darfur or some school bus gets blown up, and you go "Oh my God, the horror," and then you turn the page and finish your eggs from the free range chickens. Because what can you do. It's overwhelming! I tried to commit suicide myself. Obviously, it didn't work out. But why do you even want to hear about all this? Christ, you got your own problems. I'm sure your all obsessed with any number of sad little hopes and dreams. Your predictably unsatisfying love lives, your failed business ventures. "Oh, if only I'd bought that stock! If only I-if only I purchased THAT house years ago! If only I'd made a move on THAT woman." If this, if that. You know what? Gimmie a break with your could have's and should have's. Like my mother used to say, "If my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a trolley car." My mother didn't have wheels. She had varicose veins. Still, the woman gave birth to a brilliant mind. I was considered for a Nobel Prize in physics... I didn't get it. But, you know, its all politics. It's like every other phony honor. Incidentally, don't think I'm-I'm bitter because of some personal setback. By the standards of a mindless, barbaric civilization, I've been pretty lucky. I was married to a beautiful woman who had family money. For years we lived on Beekman Place. I taught at Columbia. String theory.


Transcript

-Total delusions of grandeur. -Completely. Why would you want to hear my story? Do we know each other? Do we like each other? Let me tell you right off, okay? l'm not a likeable guy. Charm has never been a priority with me. And just so you know, this is not the feel-good movie of the year. So if you're one of those idiots who needs to feel good, go get yourself a foot massage. -Mom, that man's talking to himself! -Come away, Justin. What the hell does it all mean anyhow? Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing comes to anything, and yet there's no shortage of idiots to babble. Not me. l have a vision. l'm discussing you. Your friends, your co-workers, your newspapers, the TV. Everybody's happy to talk, full of misinformation. Morality, science, religion, politics, sports, love. Your portfolio, your children, health. Christ. lf l have to eat nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day to live, l don't want to live. l hate goddamn fruits and vegetables. And your omega-3's and the treadmill and the cardiogram and the mammogram and the pelvic sonogram and, oh, my God, the colonoscopy! And with it all, the day still comes when they put you in a box and it's on to the next generation of idiots who'll also tell you all about life and define for you what's appropriate. My father committed suicide because the morning newspapers depressed him. And could you blame him? With the horror and corruption and ignorance and poverty and genocide and AlDS and global warming and terrorism and the family-value morons and the gun morons! "The horror," Kurtz said at the end of Heart of Darkness. "The horror." Lucky Kurtz didn't have the Times delivered in the jungle, then he'd see some horror. But what do you do? You read about some massacre in Darfur or some school bus gets blown up, and you go, "Oh, my God, the horror!" And then you turn the page and finish your eggs from free-range chickens. Because what can you do? lt's overwhelming. l tried to commit suicide myself. Obviously, it didn'twork out. But why do you even want to hear about all this? Christ, you got your own problems. l'm sure you're all obsessed with any number of sad little hopes and dreams. Your predictably unsatistying love lives. Your failed business ventures. "Oh, if only l'd bought that stock!" "lf only l had purchased that house years ago!" "lf only l had made a move on that woman." lf this, if that. You know what? Give me a break with your "could haves" and "should haves." Like my mother used to say, "lf my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a trolley car." My mother didn't have wheels. She had varicose veins. Still, the woman gave birth to a brilliant mind. l was considered for a Nobel Prize in physics. l didn't get it. But, you know, it's all politics, just like every other phony honor. lncidentally, don't think l'm bitter because of some personal setback. By the standards of a mindless, barbaric civilization, l've been pretty lucky. l was married to a beautiful woman, who had family money. For years we lived on Beekman Place. l taught at Columbia. String theory. What's the matter, Boris? l'm dying! What is it? l'm dying! Should l call an ambulance? No! No, not now! No, not tonight! l mean, eventually! -Boris, everybody dies. -lt's unacceptable! Your panic attacks are getting more frequent and more intense. You have to go back on your medicine. l'm not going back on my goddamn medicine. l won't have my mind befuddled by chemicals when l'm the only one who sees the whole picture for exactly what it is. Where's the goddamn vodka? Boris, l have clients to see tomorrow morning. -lt is 4:00 a.m.! -Clients. Right. Wealthy bankers. To design their chic apartment, to fill it full of art and expensive possessions, so they can flaunt their money and be in the top 1% of this shameful, violent, prejudiced, illiterate, sexually repressed, self-righteous nation! Christ, it is 4:00 a.m. Can you spare me this sophomoric tirade! l'm a man with a huge worldview. l'm surrounded by microbes! And what about me? Am l a microbe? ls our son at Yale a microbe? Let's face it, Jessica, okay? Our marriage hasn't been a garden of roses. Botanically speaking, you're more of a Venus flytrap. You are a very difficult man to live with. -ls that why you had an affeir? -l didn't have an affeir. ltwas a brief interlude of infidelity, and it happened years ago. You still can't forget it! l see everything so clearly now. Everything! -l married you for all the wrong reasons. -What's that supposed to mean? You're brilliant. l wanted someone to talk to. You loved classical music, you loved art, you loved literature. You loved sex! You loved me! Those sound like pretty good reasons to me! Yes! Exactly! That's the problem! That's the problem! ltwas rational, it made sense! l don't know what went wrong. When you examine it, there is so much right about us. On paperwe're ideal. But life isn't on paper. Boris? Boris, what are you doing? Close the window! Boris! Can you believe l hit the canopy? l hit the goddamn canopy. Months in the hospital! Moron doctors! Look. Look at this limp. l never had a limp before. Meanwhile, l divorced Jessica, moved downtown and gave up. l eke out a meager living teaching chess to incompetent zombies. Checkmate, you little patzer. Hey! He's only eight years old, Mr. Yellnikoff. You're supposed to be teaching him... He'll be an incompetent idiot at 58. More important than how l make my living, is why l bother to live at all. Nights, l have trouble sleeping and hang out on Mott Street, trying to explain to cretins that while a black man got into the White House he still can't get a cab in New York. Almost 100 years after the abolition of slavery, a man couldn't play a game of baseball in the big leagues if his skin colorwas black. You're harping on one point. Oh, good. Okay, forget blacks. Take Jews. -What? -Here we go. For years they restricted the number of Jews in schools, medical schools. ln America, as much as they hated blacks, they hate Jews even more. Blacks they were scared had too big a penis. Jews they hated, even with little penises. For God's sake, l'm eating here. You! l've been looking for you. -l want to talk to you. -Who are you? Did you pick up a chessboard full of pieces and hit my son with it at his lesson today? That idiot's your son? Do me a favor. Don't send that cretin to me anymore. l can't teach an empty-headed zombie chess. l'll have you know that he is a very bright child. ln your opinion. ln your opinion. Which is skewed, because he's your unfortunate issue. So you threw a chessboard at him? l didn't throw it at him. l picked up the board and dumped the pieces on his head as an object lesson to shake him out of his vegetable torpor. You wait until my husband gets back from Florida. -What's he doing in Florida without you? -He will punch you in the nose. Her husband's in Fort Lauderdale. He's probably hanging outwith naked coeds on spring break. He tells her it's a business trip. Your son's an imbecile. Teach him tiddlywinks, not chess. You handled that beautifully, Boris. You know, you should open the Boris Yellnikoff Charm School. Let's get out of here. lt's late. l'm tired. Good night, Boris. What? What are you doing? Where are you going? That's it? -Sir? -Hey! What? What the hell are you doing? My God, you scared me. For God's sake! You creep up on me like that, you little vagrant. What do you want? Can you help me get something to eat? Oh, God, no, l don't carry any money. Now, come on, you can tell that to your partner, wherever he's hiding. -Please, l'm so hungry! -Back up! Back up! l haven't had anything to eat all day. l think l'm going to faint. Yeah, listen, l'm wise to that scam, little girl, okay? l know about professional beggar school. Please, l'm desperate. God, stop that! You look terrible! What's wrong with you? Just... All right.

Clip duration: 512 seconds
Views: 279
Timestamp in movie: 00h 00m 00s
Uploaded: 12 December, 2020
Genres: comedy, romance
Summary: Whatever Works explores the relationship between a crotchety misanthrope, Boris and a naïve, impressionable young runaway from the south, Melody. When Melody's uptight parents arrive in New York to rescue her, they are quickly drawn into wildly unexpected romantic entanglements. Everyone discovers that finding love is just a combination of lucky chance and appreciating the value of "whatever works."


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