My default position on movies is to ignore romantic comedies and chick flicks, most of which are formulaic and silly, usually on purpose. My snooty self prefers intelligent movies — thoughtful films that tell plausible stories in a satisfying manner. In my experience, the good ones come in all genres except rom-coms and chick flicks.
Sometimes, a single scene stands out. I’ve featured some of my favorite movie scenes previously on this blog, namely here, here, and here.
Below are more gems, in my subjective opinion.
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“I Want My Two Hundred Dollahs.”
From “Paper Moon,” 1973
(In 1936, grifter Moses Pray and nine-year-old orphan Addie Loggins are having lunch in a Kansas diner while waiting for the train that will take Addie to live with her aunt in Missouri. Addie’s mother Essie May recently died in a car wreck, and Moze, who once had a fling with Essie May, has accepted $200 in hush money from the family of the driver.)
Addie (Tatum O’Neal): How good you know my mama?
Moze (Ryan O’Neal, Tatum’s real father): Good enough to know you can be real proud of all the happiness she give to people. Eat your Coney Island.
Addie: You meet her in a barroom?
Moze: Why would you have a question like that?
Addie: I hear Miss Ollie talk to the neighbor lady. They was wonderin’ if you’re my pa.
Moze: Well, don’t the world have a wild imagination. Now eat your Coney Island.
Addie after a long pause: You my pa?
Moze: ‘Course I ain’t your pa. (He pauses.) I’ll getcha some relish. (He retrieves a jar of relish from the next table and spoons some on her hot dog.) There ya are. Coney Island’s no good without relish.
(Addie looks at the hot dog, then glares at Moze.)
Moze: Now, look, I know how ya feel. I lost my ma, too. Even lost my pa. Don’t know where my sister is… Look, I wish I could tell ya I’m your pa, but it just ain’t like that.
Addie: Ya met her in a barroom.
Moze: Just ‘cause a man meets a woman in a barroom don’t mean he’s your pa. Eat your Coney Island.
Addie: Well, then, if you ain’t my pa, I want my two hundred dollahs.
Moze: How’s that?
Addie: I want my two hundred dollahs. I heard you through the door talkin’ to that man, and it’s my money you got, and I want it.
Moze: Now, just hold on a second.
Addie: I want my money. (Then louder) You took my two hundred dollahs!
Moze, as others in the diner turn to look at them: Quiet down, ya hear?
Addie, louder: I want my two hundred dollahs!
Moze: Alright, alright, just hold on. (He smiles at the other customers, then turns back to Addie.) Let me explain somethin’ to ya.
Addie: It ain’t as how you was my pa. That’d be different.
Moze: Well I AIN’T your pa, so get it out of your head, you understand? I don’t care what those neighbor ladies said.
Addie: I LOOK like ya.
Moze: You don’t look nothin’ like me. You don’t look no more like me than that Coney Island. Eat the damn thing, will ya?
Addie: We got the same jaw.
Moze: Lots o’ people got the same jaw.
Addie: But it’s possible, ain’t it?
Moze: No, it AIN’T possible.
Addie: THEN I WANT MY TWO HUNDRED DOLLAHS!
Moze: Alright, maybe we got the same jaw. Same jaw don’t mean the same blood. I know a woman looks like a bullfrog, but she ain’t the damn thing’s mother.
Addie: But you met my mama in a barroom.
Moze: For God’s sake, you think ever’body gets met in a barroom gets a baby?
Addie: It’s possible.
Moze: Dammit, child, anything’s possible, but possible don’t make it true.
Addie, loudly: Then I want my money! (All the other customers are looking at them.)
Moze: Will you quiet down! (Then in a low voice) You don’t have no appreciation, that’s the trouble with you. Maybe I did get some money from that man. Well, you’re entitled to that. And I’m entitled to my share for getting’ it, ain’t I? I mean, if it weren’t for me, where’d you be? Some orphan home, that’s where. You think them folks’d spend a penny to send you east? No sir. But who got you a ticket to Saint Joe? Who got you a Nehi and a Coney Island? And I threw in twenty dollahs extra, plus 85 cents for the telegram. Without me, you wouldn’t have any of that. I didn’t have to take ya at all, but I took ya, didn’t I? (He pauses.) Well, I think that’s fair enough. And we’re all better off. You get to Saint Joe, an’ I get a better car. Fair’s fair. Now drink your Nehi and eat your Coney Island.
Addie: I — want — my — two hundred dollahs.
Moze: I don’t HAVE two hundred dollars no more, and you KNOW it!
Addie, menacingly: If you don’t give me my two hundred dollahs, I’m gonna tell a policeman how ya got it. And he’s make ya give it to me, ‘cause it’s mine.
Moze: But — I — don’t — HAVE IT.
Addie: Then — GIT IT.
(The waitress approaches and addresses Addie.)
Waitress: How we doin’, angel pie? We gonna have a little dessert after we finish up our hot dog?
Addie, staring at Moze: I dunno.
Waitress: What d’ya say, daddy? Whyn’t we get Precious here a little dessert if she eats her dog?
Moze, staring back at Addie: Her name ain’t Precious.
———
“The Prize is Winning.”
From “Bite the Bullet,” 1975
(In 1906, somewhere in the American west, 15 contestants are competing for a large cash prize in a grueling, 700-mile cross country horse race, sponsored by a newspaper. One night during the race, former Rough Rider Sam Clayton and an aging cowboy known only as “Mister” have made camp together. Mister is weak and exhausted, and he admits he has a heart condition.)
Clayton (Gene Hackman) covering Mister with a blanket: Why would a sick old man like you get tangled up in all this? Why in the name of sweet Jesus? What is so important about this gut-twisting, back-busting, man-killing goddamn race? The money?
Mister (Ben Johnson): The prize.
Clayton: The prize IS the money.
Mister: The prize is winning. Lose, you’re nothing. Who remembers a loser, or even cares? Win, you’re somebody. What you done, it’s printed. It’s in the newspaper. And when it’s printed, it ain’t brag. It’s real. Suddenly, everybody knows you, or wants to. Strangers shakin’ your hand. “Pleased to know you. Have a drink. Have a cigar. Meet the wife.” Everybody’s friendly and welcome. And I got a lifetime hunger for being welcome.
Clayton: No family?
Mister, gesturing toward his horse: Him. You know saddle tramps. They sign on, drive the beef a thousand miles. Make your mark, draw your pay, and move on to the next ranch. Another roundup, another drive. Hired, fired and move on.
Clayton: Well, it never bothered me none.
Mister: No, me, neither — when I was 30 years lighter.
Clayton: Ever prospected? Ever hit pay dirt?
Mister: I’ve dug for gold, silver, lead, mercury. I’ve dug more holes than a whole regiment of gophers. Ain’t never dug out a decent day’s wage yet. God, what ain’t I tried? Pony Express rider, Overland Stage driver, lawman, gambler. River man, rancher, rodeo hand, barman, spittoon man, old man. Nothing much to remember. Of course, ain’t nothing much to forget, neither. (He pulls the blanket closer and chuckles.) Nobody’s got much use for an old man. Can’t blame ’em much. That’s why I’m gonna win me this here newspaper race. When I cross that finish line, I get to be a big man. Top man. A man to remember.
(Mister turns and looks up at Clayton, then slowly closes his eyes and slumps over, dead. Clayton stands for a moment in respectful silence.)
Clayton: I didn’t even know your name, Mister.
———
“You Smart College Guys!”
From Mister Roberts, 1955
(During World War II, the captain of a cargo ship refuses to allow his cargo officer, Lt. Roberts, to transfer to a fighting ship. Captain Morton also refuses to grant long-overdue liberty to the ship’s crew. The ship is in port, and Roberts has convinced one of Morton’s superiors to give the men a night ashore anyway. Morton is furious.)
A sailor on deck, expecting to hear that liberty will be announced: Here we go! Here we go!
Morton: This is the captain speaking. l just found out that there’s men on this vessel expecting liberty. I don’t know how this rumor got around, but I’d like to clear it up right now. On account of cargo requirements and security conditions… which have just come to my personal attention… there will be no liberty while in this here port! That is all. (Morton turns off the microphone and looks at his watch. There is a loud banging on his door.) Come in, Mr. Roberts. Twenty-eight seconds! Pretty good time. You see, l’ve been expecting you.
Lt. junior-grade Doug Roberts (Henry Fonda): Okay, when does this crew get liberty?
Morton: ln the first place, just kindly hold your tongue. l’m still Captain here.
Roberts: When are you gonna let this crew ashore?
Morton: l’m not. lt was not my idea coming to this liberty port. lt seems one of my officers arranged it with a certain port director. Gave him a bottle of scotch whiskey, compliments of the Captain. The port director was kind enough to send me a thank-you note… along with our order. Sit down, Mr. Roberts. Now, l admit l was a little provoked about not being consulted. Then l got to thinking. Maybe we ought to come to this port… so as you and me could have a talk.
Roberts: All right. Take it out on me, but not the men. (A band can be heard playing onshore) Don’t you hear that music? Don’t you know it’s tearing the guys apart? They’re breakable, Captain! l promise you.
Morton: Now you listen to me. l’ve got two things l want to show you. That is the cap of a full commander. l’m going to wear that cap some day, and you’re going to help me. lt won’t do any harm to tell you that you helped me win that palm tree by working cargo. Don’t let this go to your head. When Admiral Finchley awarded me that palm tree, he said, ”You’ve got a good cargo officer. Keep him at it. You’re going places.” And l went right out and bought that hat. And nobody is gonna stand between me and that hat! Certainly not you. Now last week it was agreed that there was to be no more of these ”disharmony” letters.
Roberts: l didn’t say that.
Morton: And what do l find on my desk this morning? Another one. lt says here, ”friction between me and the commanding officer.” That ain’t goin’ in, Mister.
Roberts: How are you gonna stop it?
Morton: l ain’t. You are. Just how much do you want this crew to have a liberty? Enough to stop this ”friction”? Enough to stop writing letters, ever? ‘Cause that’s the only way this crew is going to get ashore, this day or any other day. Now we’ve had our little chat. What do you say?
Roberts: How did you get in the Navy? How did you get on our side? You ignorant, arrogant, ambitious — keeping men in prison ’cause you got a palm tree for the work they did! l don’t know which l hate worse, you or that other malignant growth… How’d you ever get to be commander of a ship? l realize in wartime they have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, but where’d they ever scrape you up?
Morton: There’s just one thing left for you, mister. A general court-martial!
Roberts: Fine, court-martial me! l’m asking for it! lf l can’t get transferred, l’ll get court-martialed! l’m fed up! You’ll need a witness. Call your messenger. l’ll say it over again in front of him. Go on, call him! You want me to call him?
Morton: You’re a smart boy, Roberts. But l know how to take care of smart boys. l hate your guts, you smart college guys! l’ve been seeing your kind around since l was ten years old, working as a busboy. ”Oh, busboy, it seems my friend has thrown up on the table. ”Clean up that mess, boy, will you?” And then when l went to sea as a steward, people poking at you with umbrellas. ”Oh, boy! You, boy! Careful with that luggage, boy!” And l took it. l took it for years! But l don’t have to take it anymore! There’s a war on, and l’m captain of this vessel. Now you can take it for a change. The worst l can do to you is to keep you right here, mister! And here is where you’re going to stay! Now, get out!
Roberts: What do you want for liberty, Captain?
Morton: You are through writing letters, ever.
Roberts: Okay.
Morton: And that’s not all. You’re through talking back to me in front of the crew. When l give an order, you jump!
Roberts: ls that all, Captain?
Morton: No. Anyone know you’re in here?
Roberts: No one.
Morton: Good. Then you’re not to go blabbing this around to anyone, ever. Might not sound so good. l don’t want you to take credit for getting this —
Roberts: You think l’m doing this for credit? You think l’d let anyone know?
Morton: l’ve gotta make sure.
Roberts: You’ve got my word, that’s all.
Morton: Your word! You college boys make such a great show of keeping your word. (He turns on the PA system and picks up the microphone) Now hear this! This is the captain speaking. l’ve got further word on the subject of liberty. lt gives me great pleasure to announce liberty for the starboard section —
Roberts: The whole crew, or there’s no deal! l mean it!
Morton into the microphone: Correction. Liberty for the entire crew will commence immediately. (Loud cheers erupt around the ship.)
Roberts: You don’t have to tell them again. They heard you.
————-
“That’s Envy, My Dear.”
From “Harvey,” 1950
(In Charlie’s Bar, a doctor and a nurse are trying to convince Elwood P. Dowd, whose best friend is an invisible six-foot-tall rabbit named Harvey, to return with them to Chumley’s Rest, a sanitarium. While they are dancing, Elwood wanders out into the alley. The doctor and the nurse quickly follow him.)
Dr. Sanderson (Charles Drake): Where’re you going, Mr. Dowd?
Elwood (James Stewart): I’m just looking for someone.
Sanderson: Why don’t you come back inside?
Elwood: Oh, all right, if you want me to. I — it seemed to be so pleasant out here. You know, you — you two looked very nice dancing together. I — I used to know a whole lot of dances. The, uh, Flea Hop, and — and, let’s see, uh — the Black Bottom. The Varsity Drag. I don’t know, I — I just don’t seem to have any time any more. I have so many things to do.
Nurse Kelly (Peggy Dow): What is it you do, Mr. Dowd?
Elwood: Oh, Harvey and I sit in the bars — and have a drink or two. Play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people, they turn toward mine, and they smile. And they’re saying, “We don’t know your name, mister, but you’re a very nice fellow.” (Elwood sits down on a bench and looks up at the night sky) Harvey and I — warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We’ve entered as strangers. Soon we have friends. And they come over and they — they sit with us, and they drink with us, and they talk to us. And they tell about the big terrible things they’ve done, and the big wonderful things they’ll do. (He smiles and looks at Sanderson and Kelly) Their hopes and their regrets, their loves and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then, I introduce them to Harvey. And he’s bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back, but that’s — that’s envy, my dear. There’s a little bit of envy in the best of us. That’s too bad. Isn’t it?
Sanderson: How did you happen to call him Harvey?
Elwood: Harvey’s his name.
Sanderson: How do you know that?
Elwood: Uh — there was a rather interesting coincidence on that, Doctor. One night several years ago, I was walking early in the evening down along Fairfax Street. Uh, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth. Do you know the block?
Sanderson: Yes, yes.
Elwood: I’d just put Ed Hickey into a taxi. Ed had been mixing his rye with his gin, and he — I just felt that he needed conveying. Well, anyway, I was walking down along the street, and I — I heard this voice saying, “Good evening, Mister Dowd.” Well, I — I turned around and here was this big six-foot rabbit leaning up against a lamp post. Now, I thought nothing of that, because when you’ve lived in a town as long as I’ve lived in this one, you get used to the fact that everybody knows your name. And naturally, I went over to chat with him. (Sanderson and Kelly lean in, listening intently) And — and he said to me, he said, “Ed Hickey was a little spiffed this evening, or could I be mistaken?” Well, of course, he was not mistaken. I think the world and all of Ed, but he was spiffed. Well, we talked like that for a while, and then — and then I said to him, I said, “You have the advantage on me. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.” And — and right back at me, he said, “What name do you like?” Well, I — I didn’t even have to think twice about that. Harvey’s always been my favorite name. So I said to him, I said, “Harvey.” And he — and this is the interesting thing about the whole thing — he said, “What a coincidence. My name happens to be Harvey.”
———
“We’ll Always Have Paris.”
From “Casablanca,” 1942
(In 1941 Casablanca, police try to arrest Czech resistance leader Victor Laszlo, but are stopped at gunpoint by American expatriate Rick Blaine. Blaine and Laszlo’s wife Ilsa are former lovers, and they are tempted to rekindle the romance. At the airport, police Captain Renault expects Rick and Ilsa to fly together to America. With one hand on the pistol in his pocket, Rick hands the Letters of Transit to the police captain.)
Rick (Humphrey Bogart): If you don’t mind, Louie, you fill in the names. (He smiles) That will make it even more official.
Renault (Claude Raines): You think of everything, don’t you?
Rick: And the names are Mr. and Mrs. Victor Laszlo.
Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman): But why MY name, Richard?
Rick: Because you’re getting on that plane.
Ilsa: I don’t understand. What about you?
Rick: I’m staying here with him [Renault] ’til the plane gets safely away.
Ilsa: No, Richard! No! What has happened to you? Last night, we said —
Rick: Last night, we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I’ve done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing: you’re getting on that plane with Victor where you belong.
Ilsa: But Richard, no, I — I —
Rick: Now, you’ve got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we’d both wind up in a concentration camp. Isn’t that true, Louie?
Renault: I’m afraid Major Strasser would insist.
Ilsa: You’re saying this only to make me go.
Rick: I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.
Ilsa, in tears: What about us?
Rick: We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have it — we’d — we’d lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.
Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.
Rick: And you never will. I’ve got a job to do too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that. (She is on the verge of crying, and he consoles her.) Now, now. (He raises her chin) Here’s looking at you, kid.
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