Teddy Pasternak at 2013-01-26 21:41:28:

I don't mind at all! The more the merrier. Let's see who can come up with the most interesting interpretation of the word “agent” :) Well, what can I say about this scene, it's so well-written and performed. We get all this background on Michael in a rapid-fire, hilarious conversation with setups and comebacks on a par with an Abbott & Costello routine, plus a great ending line with “Oh yeah?” throwing it over to Dorothy in the next shot. The conflict and drama in this scene comes not from one character being right and the other wrong, but from the fact that they tackle the same problem from different places. They have the same goal: get Michael work. We empathize with Michael because of his dedication to his craft, and also with George who has to deal with his difficult client. It would have been easier to write one character as the good guy and the other as the bad guy, but it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting and engaging. Tootsie (1982), Screenplay by Larry Gelbart and Murray Schisgal, story by Don McGuire and Larry Gelbart. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnHqiipcw6g INT. GEORGE GREY’S OFFICE - DAY George Grey is around 50, impeccably dressed, talking on the phone. As Michael enters: GEORGE (into phone): Hold on a second. (pushes hold) Michael, can you wait outside, please? I’m talking to the Coast. MICHAEL: This is a coast, too, George. New York is a coast! GEORGE: Wait a minute. (releases “hold;” then, into phone) Sy, listen -- (beat) Sy? (into intercom) Margaret, get him back, will you? I cut myself off. MICHAEL: Terry Bishop is doing “The Iceman Cometh.” Why didn’t you send me up for that, George? You’re my agent, too. GEORGE: Stuart Pressman wanted a name. MICHAEL: Terry Bishop is a name? GEORGE: No. Michael Dorsey is a name. When you want to send a steak back, Michael Dorsey is a name. Excuse me. I didn’t mean that. That was a rotten thing to say. Let me start again. People know Terry Bishop. He was on a top rated “soap.” Millions of people watch him. MICHAEL: And that qualifies him to ruin “Iceman Cometh?” GEORGE: Look, I can’t have this conversation. You want to do socially significant theater in Syracuse for $35 a week? That’s your affair... Stuart Pressman wants a name, that’s his affair. I know this will disgust you, but a lot of people are in this business to make money. MICHAEL: Don’t make me sound like some flake, George, I’d like to make money, too. GEORGE: Oh, really? The Harlem Theater for The Blind? Strindberg in the park? The People’s Workshop in Syracuse? MICHAEL: Don’t knock Syracuse. It was a revolutionary idea. For one dollar you could see great plays. “Woizeck,” “The Lower Depths,” Gerhart Hauptman’s “The Weavers.” GEORGE: Oh, I didn’t know about Gerhart Hauptman’s “The Weavers.” Very shrewd career move. MICHAEL: I got great reviews from the New York critics in Syracuse. Not that that’s why I did it -- GEORGE: -- No, of course not. God forbid you should lose your standing as a cult failure. MICHAEL (gently): Do you think I’m a failure, George? GEORGE:I will not get sucked into this discussion! Hand me the little bottle that says Bufferin. MICHAEL (handing it): I sent you a play to read, a play that’s got a great part for me in it. Did you read it? GEORGE (flinging bottle): Where do you come off sending me an unproduced play that you want to star in? Hand me that Bufferin again. I’m your agent, not your mother. I’m not supposed to produce your roommate’s play so you can star in it. I’m supposed to field offers. MICHAEL: Who told you that? The agent fairy? I’m talking about a significant piece of work that has something to say that’s significant! GEORGE: Nobody wants to do that play! No one is going to produce a play about a couple who move back to Love Canal! MICHAEL: But that actually happened! GEORGE: Who gives a damn! No one wants to pay $20 to watch people living next to chemical wastes! They can see that in New Jersey. MICHAEL: I give a damn! No one will do the play? I’ll do the play! I’ll raise the money! Forget about “Iceman Cometh,” I’ll do anything! Send me up for a pilot, a TV movie-- GEORGE: I can’t. MICHAEL: Why? GEORGE: Because no one wants to work with you. There! MICHAEL (slowly): I don’t understand. Why shouldn’t they want me. I kill myself to get a part right. GEORGE: Yes, but you kill everyone else, too. A guy’s got four weeks to put on a play -- he doesn’t want to argue about whether Tolstoy can walk if he’s dying. MICHAEL: That was two years ago. The guy was an idiot. GEORGE: They can’t all be idiots. You argue with everyone. You’re a brilliant actor, Michael, but you’ve got one of the worst reputations in town. No one will touch you. I’ve told you to get some therapy. MICHAEL: Are you saying... what are you saying? That no one in New York will work with me? GEORGE: No. That’s too limiting. No one in Hollywood will work with you either. I can’t even send you up for a commercial. You played a tomato for 30 seconds and they went a half day over because you didn’t agree with the blocking. MICHAEL: It wasn’t logical. GEORGE (screaming): You were a tomato! A tomato doesn’t have logical blocking! A tomato can’t move! MICHAEL (eagerly): That’s what I said. GEORGE (closing his eyes): Michael... Michael... frankly, it’s nice for me to have an artist who says “screw you” to everyone. It gives me credibility as an agent. But for you -- MICHAEL (quietly determined): -- George, I’m going to raise $8,000 and I’m going to do Jeff’s play. GEORGE (shaking his head): Michael, you haven’t been listening. You’re not going to raise 25 cents. (slowly) No one will hire you. MICHAEL: Oh yeah? EXT. MADISON AVENUE - LONG LENS - DAY Teaming with people, coming an going. The focus gradually forces us to notice one woman moving toward us unsteadily on high heels. She is Michael.

plinytheelder_t at 2013-01-26 23:24:00:

Like many things in the Matrix, the word Agent has two meanings. Here, Smith embodies an agent of the law in his role to maintain order in the Matrix. But it's also a term in artificial intelligence research, where it refers to autonomous entities that interact with and directs the environment in which they operates. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4D7cPH7DHgA



	INT.  INTERROGATION ROOM - CLOSE ON CAMERA MONITOR

	A wide angle view of a white roon, where Neo is sitting at
	a table alone.

	We MOVE INTO the monitor, ENTERING the room as if the
	monitor were a window.

	At the same moment, the door opens and the agents enter.

	Smith sits down across from Neo.  A thick manila envelope
	slaps down on the table between them.

	Neo glances at the name on the file: "Anderson, Thomas 
	A."

					AGENT SMITH
			As you can see, we've had our eye
			on you for some time now, Mr.
			Anderson.

	He opens the file.  Paper rattle marks the silence as he
	flips several pages.  Neo cannot tell if he is looking at
	the file or at him.

					AGENT SMITH
			It seems that you have been living
			two lives.  In one life, you are
			Thomas A. Anderson, program writer
			for a respectable software
			company.  You have a social
			security number, you pay your
			taxes and you help your land lady
			carry out her garbage.

	The pages continue to turn.

					AGENT SMITH
			The other life is lived in
			computers where you go by the
			hacker alias Neo, and are guilty
			of virtually every computer crime
			we have a law for, including the
			unauthorized use of the D.M.V.
			system for the removal of
			automobile boots.

	Neo feels himself sinking into a pit of shit.

					AGENT SMITH
			One of these,lives has a future.
			One of them does not.

	He closes the file.

					AGENT SMITH
			I'm going to be as forthcoming as
			I can be, Mr. Anderson.  You are
			here because we need your help.

	He removes his sunglasses; his eyes are an unnatural ice-
	blue.

					AGENT SMITH
			We know that you have been
			contacted by a certain individual.
			A man who calls himself Morpheus.
			Whatever you think you know about
			this man is irrelevant to the fact
			that he is wanted for acts of
			terrorism in more countries than
			any other man in the world.  He is
			considered by many authorities to
			be the most dangerous man alive.

	He leans closer.

					AGENT SMITH
			My colleagues believe that I am
			wasting my time with you, but I
			believe you want to do the right
			thing.  It is obvious that you are
			an intelligent man, Mr. Anderson,
			and that you are interested in the
			future.  That is why I believe you
			are ready to put your past
			mistakes behind you and get on
			with your life.

	Neo tries to match his stare.

					AGENT SMITH
			We are willing to wipe the slate
			clean, to give you a fresh start
			and all we are asking in return is
			your cooperation in bringing a
			known terrorist to justice.

	Neo nods to himself.

					NEO
			Yeah.  Wow.  That sounds like a
			real good deal.  But I think I
			have a better one.  How about I
			give you the finger --

	He does.

					NEO
			And you can cram that file up your
			Secret Service sphincter.

	Agent Smith puts his glasses back on.

					AGENT SMITH
			You disappoint me, Mr. Anderson.

					NEO
			You ain't seen nothing yet.

					AGENT SMITH
			The irony of your situation is
			that you have no choice.

					NEO
			You can't scare me with this
			gestapo crap.  I know my rights.
			I want my phone call.

	Agent Smith smiles.

					AGENT SMITH
			And tell me, Mr. Anderson, what
			good is a phone call iy you are
			unable to speak?

	The question unnerves Neo and strangely, he begins to
	feel the muscles in his jaw tighten.

	The standing agents snicker, watching Neo's confusion
	grow into panic.

	Neo feels his lips grow soft and sticky as they slowly
	seal shut, melding into each other until all trace of his
	mouth is gone.

	Wild with fear, he lunges for the door but the agents
	restrain him holding him in the chair.

					AGENT SMITH
			You are going to help us, Mr.
			Anderson, whether you want to or
			not.

	Smith nods and the other two rip open his shirt.

	From a case taken out of his suit coat, Smith removes a
	long, fiber-optic wire tap.

	Neo struggles helplessly as Smith dangles the wire over
	his exposed abdomen.  Horrified, he watches as the
	electronic device animates, become an organic creature
	that resembles a hybrid of an insect and a fluke worm.

	Thin, whisker-like tendrils reach out and probe into
	Neo's navel.  He bucks wildly as Smith drops the creature
	which looks for a moment like an uncut umbilical cord --

	Before it begins to burrow its, tail thrashing as it
	worms its way inside.


	INT.  NEO'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

	Screaming, Neo bolts upright in bed.

	He realizes that he is home.  Was it a dream?  His mouth
	is normal.  His stomach looks fine.  He starts to take a
	deep, everything-is-okay breath, when --

	The PHONE RINGS.

churnage at 2013-01-27 09:10:37:

From "Catch Me If You Can"... FBI Agent Carl Hanratty catches up to the "reformed" conman Frank Abagnale, Jr., who appears to making a run for it again (dressed again as an airline pilot)... The revelation is that these two antagonists who have been battling throughout the movie are more alike than different... http://movieclips.com/8Yb75-catch-me-if-you-can-movie-nobodys-chasing-you/ Carl Hanratty: [Frank is making one last attempt to run by impersonating a pilot once again. Carl catches up with him at Dulles Airport] How'd you do it, Frank? How'd you pass the bar in Louisiana? Frank Abagnale, Jr.: [Frank continues to walk. Carl walks several paces behind] What are you doing here? Carl Hanratty: Listen... Frank Abagnale, Jr.: I'm sorry I put you through all this. Carl Hanratty: You go back to Europe, you're gonna die in Perpignan Prison. You try to run here in the States, we'll send you back to Atlanta for 50 years. Frank Abagnale, Jr.: I know that. Carl Hanratty: I spent four years trying to arrange your release. Had to convince my bosses at the FBI and the Attorney General of the United States you wouldn't run. Frank Abagnale, Jr.: Why'd you do it? Carl Hanratty: You're just a kid. Frank Abagnale, Jr.: I'm not your kid. You said you were going to Chicago. Carl Hanratty: My daughter can't see me this weekend. She's going skiing. Frank Abagnale, Jr.: You said she was four years old. You're lying. Carl Hanratty: She was four when I left. Now she's 15. My wife's been remarried for 11 years. I see Grace every now and again. Frank Abagnale, Jr.: I don't understand. Carl Hanratty: Sure you do. Sometimes, it's easier living the lie. [Frank stops, Carl catches up] Carl Hanratty: I'm going to let you fly tonight, Frank. I'm not even going to try to stop you. That's because I know you'll be back on Monday. Frank Abagnale, Jr.: Yeah? How do you know I'll come back? Carl Hanratty: Frank, look. Nobody's chasing you.

Teddy Pasternak at 2013-01-27 17:07:37:

Real Estate Agent! American Beauty (1999), written by Alan Ball. http://cli.ps/KmTU EXT. SALE HOUSE - BACK YARD - LATER Carolyn stands by the pool next to two fortyish WOMEN. CAROLYN: You know, you could have some really fun backyard get-togethers out here. WOMAN #1: The ad said this pool was "lagoon-like." There's nothing "lagoon-like" about it. Except for maybe the bugs. WOMAN #2: There's not even any plants out here. CAROLYN (re: shrub): What do you call this? Is this not a plant? If you have a problem with the plants, I can always call my landscape architect. Solved. WOMAN #2: I mean, I think "lagoon," I think waterfall, I think tropical. This is a cement hole. A beat. CAROLYN: I have some tiki torches in the garage. INT. SALE HOUSE - SUN ROOM - LATER Carolyn enters, alone. She's furious. She locks the sliding glass door and starts to pull the vertical blinds shut, then stops. Standing very still, with the blinds casting shadows across her face, she starts to cry: brief, staccato SOBS that seemingly escape against her will. Suddenly she SLAPS herself, hard. CAROLYN: Shut up. Stop it. You... Weak! But the tears continue. She SLAPS herself again. CAROLYN (CONT'D): Weak. Baby. Shut up. Shut up! Shut up! She SLAPS herself repeatedly until she stops crying. She stands there, taking deep breaths until she has everything under control, then pulls the blinds shut, once again all business. She walks out calmly, leaving us alone in the dark, empty room.