Paris - When It Sizzles

- Mr Benson...
- Yes?

This screenplay,
when does it have to be finished?

Well, let's see, today is Friday.
My friend and, in this case, patron
and producer Mr Alexander Meyerheim

arrives in Paris from Cannes
at ten o'clock on...

...Sunday morning.
Which happens to be Bastille Day.

Perfect! 10:01 we hand him
the completed script,

and then you and I celebrate. Drink
champagne, dance in the streets,

whatever they do on July 14th.
You're very kind but I have a date.
You haven't written anything at all?

You have a date?
You mean this entire movie
has to be done in two days?

Miss Simpson, if you aren't up to
your part of the job, tell me now.

- I can find someone else.
- No, I didn't mean that.

It's just that it's,
well, rather unusual, isn't it?

Not for me.
I imagine you've given it
a great deal of thought.

No, I haven't.
So what have you been doing?
What any red-blooded
American screenwriter

would or should have been doing
for the first 19 and a fraction weeks
of his employment.

Water-skiing in St Tropez,
lying in the sun in Antibes,
studying Greek.

There was this starlet
representing the Greek film industry

at the Cannes Festival.
Then, of course,
a few weeks unlearning Greek,

which involved
a considerable amount of vodka

and an unpremeditated trip to Madrid
for the bullfights,

which fortunately, since
I can't bear the sight of blood,

had long since gone on to Seville.
Weeks 17 and 18 were spent
in the casino at Monte Carlo,

in a somewhat ill-advised attempt
to win enough money

to buy back my $5,000-a-week,
plus expenses, contract

from my friend, employer and patron,
Mr Alexander Meyerheim,