Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

MAX YOU SLY PUSS
I was dreadful, Miss Channing. I have no right to be anyone's understudy, much less yours.
How can I repay the many others...
Except that the unreal seemed more real to me...
- The house looks lovely. - I like that girl.
Look closely, Eve. It's time you did.
Perhaps more than one. There's so much I want to know. I've heard your story in part.
You theater people always do. Nothing is forever in the theater.
- Remember, Karen? - I remember.
She did like you. She helped and trusted you.
A matter of opinion, granted.
I've earned my place - out of the sun.
You said yourself my inventory was in shape, all my merchandise put away.
She thinks only of me...
I've never seen her backstage, but with so many people loitering about... Well, well.
I must say, you can certainly tell Mr. Sampson's been gone a month.
- You repaid her by trying to win Bill. - That's not true!
I can't believe my ears!
You should know what it means to want a little peace and quiet.
Good evening, Mr. Richards. Mr. Fabian.
Oh, Addison, won't it be just perfect?
A great actress at the peak of her career. You have every reason for happiness.
She may be later than you think.
The Sarah Siddons Award is perhaps unknown to you.
Without that, you're not a woman.
Bill, oddly enough, refused to direct the play at first... with Eve in it.
Clyde Fitch, though you may not think so, was well before my time!
My name wouldn't mean anything. I room across the hall from Eve Harrington.
You've talked to that venomous fishwife DeWitt.
But I'd never known Lloyd to meddle as much with Bill's directing...
Everything's all right now.
Oh, oh.
Remind me to tell you about the time I looked into the heart of an artichoke.
Addison knows how Margo happened to miss that performance...
What of it?
And I shot my mouth off.
Just because you can't even work a zipper!
We're having everyone up after the performance.
We haven't finished with the embalming.
- Don't mix your metaphors. - I'll mix what I like!
...how would I do it? I'm less than nobody.
- Too bad. - I'm broken up about it.
That ex ship-news reporter. No body, no voice, all mind.
"I don't understand all these plays about love-starved Southern women."
- Hello. - We are ready with your call to Beverly Hills.
Just name it.
- He's the best. - He'll agree with you.
- But the raves about your performance... - An understudy's performance.
Oh, Margo, darling!
- I thought you were going to be late. - Well, I'm guest of honor!
Just like that, eh?
- Phoebe? - I call myself Phoebe.
And as for being fifth-rate...
He is the producer of the play which has won for Eve Harrington the Sarah Siddons Award.
- Well, she's your understudy. - Eve? My understudy? I had no idea.
How was Miss Caswell?
- Where has it been laid out? - It hasn't been laid out.
- Who will I ask? - I know all about the party. Eve wrote me.
It's only for the license. There's a three-day wait for blood tests.
Now, don't worry about your little charge. She'll be in safe hands.
I don't see why she hasn't given Addison heartburn.
- I'm in love with Margo. Hadn't you heard? - You hear all kinds of things.
You’re maudlin and full of self-pity You are magnificent
Not with me, you're no champion. You're stepping up.
How can you take offense at a kid trying to be like her ideal?
...her loyalty to her art...
I've got a box in the pantry.
No sense in sitting here. I'm gonna walk up about half a mile, just in case.
More than anything in this world, I love Bill. And I want Bill.
The four of you must have so much to say to each other with Mr. Sampson leaving.
- Congratulations, Eve. - Thank you, Karen.
I have a suggestion. There's really not very much time left.
Oh, Eve! I've heard the most wonderful things about your performance.
How could I miss her? Every night, every matinee.
This type is interested in art.
Eve? My understudy?
The point is this. In a cathedral, a ballpark or a penny arcade...
- What's all over? - The audition.
- Margo again. - And again and again.
And suddenly you're not saying what you mean, but what he means.
Performance number 1,000 of this one, if I play it that long...
Well, she's on her way with half the men in the joint.
Being violently ill to her tummy.
What else?
I knew it. I sensed it even as I finished dressing for that blasted party.
The seams.
Margo, I have lived in the theater as a Trappist monk lives in his faith.
Well, I can't yell out "butler", can I?
Answer my question. Weren't you paid to get out of town?
To find Eve?
- What's your being married got to do with it? - It means I've finally got a life to live.
And you pose as a playwright.
...after all you've done already.
...what's going on in that feverish little brain waiting in there.
Here we go...
- I'm sorry, I didn't... - Outside of a beehive, Margo...
Those years stretch as the years go on. I've seen it happen too often.
The remains of Margo Channing...
...and a professional manure-slinger named DeWitt!
"Belong" to you?
I'll just take this to the wardrobe mistress.
She never was or will be anything less or anything else.
Eve... I'm fond of Margo, too. But I know Margo. And every now and then...
Something about the good they leave behind. I played it once in rep in Wilkes-Barre.
The playwright doesn't make the performance. It doesn't just happen.
But how? The answer was buzzing around me like a fly.
Well, to the fact that she's so young, so feminine and so helpless.
Just like old girlfriends With hats on
But I will not have you sharpen them on me, or on Eve.