The consequences of leading a fake life.
MAX
............................ But don't
worry about me. I'll manage.
I always have, always will. I'm
more concerned about you.
You're not the boozer type, so
I figure a year, maybe two before
you crack up or jump out your
fourteenth floor office window.
DIANA
(stands)
Stop selling, Max. I don't need
you.
DIANA
(cries out)
I don't want your pain. I don't
want your menopausal decay and
death! I don't need you, Max.
MAX
You need me badly! I'm your
last contact with human reality!
I love you, and that painful,
decaying menopausal love is the
only thing between you and the
shrieking nothingness you live
the rest of the day!
DIANA
Then don't leave me!
MAX
It's too late, Diana! There's
nothing left in you that I can live
with! You're one of Howard's
humanoids, and, if I stay with you,
I'll be destroyed! Like Howard
Beale was destroyed! Like Laureen
Hobbs was destroyed! Like
everything you and the institution
of television touch is destroyed!
You are television incarnate, Diana,
indifferent to suffering,
insensitive to joy. All of life is
reduced to the common rubble of
banality. War, murder, death are
all the same to you as bottles of
beer. The daily business of life is
a corrupt comedy. You even shatter
the sensations of time and space
into split-seconds and instant
replays. You are madness, Diana,
virulent madness, and everything you
touch dies with you. Well, not me!
Not while I can still feel pleasure
and pain and love!
MAX
It's a happy ending, Diana.
Wayward husband comes to his senses,
returns to his wife with whom he
has built a long and sustaining love.
Heartless young woman left alone
in her arctic desolation. Music
up with a swell. Final commercial.
And here are a few scenes from
next week's show.
