The Apartment (1960)
C.C. Baxter: You hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you.
Fran Kubelik: Shut up and deal...
C.C. Baxter: The mirror... it's broken.
Fran Kubelik: Yes, I know. I like it that way. Makes me look the way I feel.
C.C. Baxter: That's the way it crumbles... cookie-wise.
Fran Kubelik: When you're in love with a married man, you shouldn't wear mascara.
C.C. Baxter: Ya know, I used to live like Robinson Crusoe; I mean, shipwrecked among 8 million people. And then one day I saw a footprint in the sand, and there you were.
Margie MacDougall: [outside Baxter's apartment on Christmas Eve, after leaving a bar] Night like this, it sorta spooks you, walking into an empty apartment.
C.C. Baxter: I said I had no family; I didn't say I had an empty apartment.
C.C. Baxter: Sorry, Mr. Sheldrake.
J.D. Sheldrake: What do you mean, sorry?
C.C. Baxter: You're not going to bring anybody to my apartment.
J.D. Sheldrake: I'm not just bringing anybody; I'm bringing Miss Kubelik.
C.C. Baxter: Especially not Miss Kubelik.
J.D. Sheldrake: How's that again?
C.C. Baxter: [firmly] No key.
J.D. Sheldrake: Baxter, I picked you for my team because I thought you were a very bright young man. Do you realize what you're doing? Not to me, but to yourself? Normally, it takes years to work your way up to the twenty-seventh floor. But it only takes thirty seconds to be out on the street again. You dig?
C.C. Baxter: I dig.
J.D. Sheldrake: So what's it going to be?
[Baxter slowly reaches into his pocket for a key and drops it on Sheldrake's desk]
J.D. Sheldrake: Now you're being bright.
C.C. Baxter: Thank you, sir.
[Baxter goes back into his office, looks around, then reaches into his closet for his coat and hat. Sheldrake comes in moments later]
J.D. Sheldrake: Say, Baxter, you gave me the wrong key.
C.C. Baxter: No, I didn't.
J.D. Sheldrake: But this is the key to the executive washroom.
C.C. Baxter: That's right, Mr. Sheldrake. I won't be needing it because I'm all washed up around here.
J.D. Sheldrake: What's gotten into you, Baxter?
C.C. Baxter: Just following doctor's orders. I've decided to become a "mensch". You know what that means? A human being.
J.D. Sheldrake: Now, hold on, Baxter...
C.C. Baxter: Save it. The old payola won't work anymore. Goodbye, Mr. Sheldrake.
J.D. Sheldrake: Ya know, you see a girl a couple of times a week, just for laughs, and right away they think you're gonna divorce your wife. Now I ask you, is that fair?
C.C. Baxter: No, sir, it's very unfair... Especially to your wife.
Fran Kubelik: He's a taker.
C.C. Baxter: A what?
Fran Kubelik: Some people take, some people get took. And they know they're getting took and there's nothing they can do about it.
C.C. Baxter: Miss Kubelik, one doesn't get to be a second administrative assistant around here unless he's a pretty good judge of character, and as far as I'm concerned you're tops. I mean, decency-wise and otherwise-wise.
Fran Kubelik: Would you mind opening the window?
C.C. Baxter: Now don't go getting any ideas, Miss Kubelik.
Fran Kubelik: I just want some fresh air.
C.C. Baxter: It's only one story down. The best you can do is break a leg.
Fran Kubelik: So they'll shoot me - like a horse.
C.C. Baxter: Please, Miss Kubelik, you got to promise me you won't do anything foolish.
Fran Kubelik: Who'd care?
C.C. Baxter: I would.
Fran Kubelik: Why can't I ever fall in love with someone nice like you?
Fran Kubelik: Why do people have to love people anyway?
C.C. Baxter: Mrs. MacDougall, I think it is only fair to warn you that you are now alone with a notorious sexpot.
Margie MacDougall: No kidding.
Fran Kubelik: I never catch colds.
C.C. Baxter: Really? I was reading some figures from the Sickness and Accident Claims Division. You know that the average New Yorker between the ages of twenty and fifty has two and a half colds a year?
Fran Kubelik: That makes me feel just terrible.
C.C. Baxter: Why?
Fran Kubelik: Well, to make the figures come out even, if I have no colds a year, some poor slob must have five colds a year.
C.C. Baxter: [sheepishly] Yeah... it's me.
C.C. Baxter: [narrating] On November 1st, 1959, the population of New York City was 8,042,783. If you laid all these people end to end, figuring an average height of five feet six and a half inches, they would reach from Times Square to the outskirts of Karachi, Pakistan. I know facts like this because I work for an insurance company - Consolidated Life of New York. We're one of the top five companies in the country. Our home office has 31,259 employees, which is more than the entire population of uhh... Natchez, Mississippi. I work on the 19th floor. Ordinary Policy Department, Premium Accounting Division, Section W, desk number 861.
Fran Kubelik: Just because I wear a uniform doesn't make me a girl scout.
Kirkeby: Premium-wise and billing-wise, we are eighteen percent ahead of last year, October-wise.
Fran Kubelik: What's a tennis racket doing in the kitchen?
C.C. Baxter: Tennis racket? Oh, I remember, I was cooking myself an Italian dinner.
[Fran looks confused]
C.C. Baxter: I use it to strain the spaghetti.
Margie MacDougall: 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring... nothin'... no action... dullsville!
C.C. Baxter: I know how you feel, Miss Kubelik. You think it's the end of the world - but it's not, really. I went through exactly the same thing myself.
Fran Kubelik: You did?
C.C. Baxter: Well, maybe not exactly - I tried to do it with a gun.
Fran Kubelik: Over a girl?
C.C. Baxter: Worse than that - She was the wife of my best friend. And I was mad for her, but I knew it was hopeless. So I decided to end it all. I went to a pawnshop and bought a forty-five automatic and drove up to Eden Park. Do you know Cincinnati?
Fran Kubelik: No, I don't.
C.C. Baxter: Anyway, I parked the car and loaded the gun... Well, you read in the papers all the time that people shoot themselves, but believe me, it's not that easy. I mean, how do you do it?
[cocks his finger, and points to his temple]
C.C. Baxter: Here?
[points to his mouth]
C.C. Baxter: Or here?
[points to his chest]
C.C. Baxter: Or here? You know where I finally shot myself?
Fran Kubelik: Where?
C.C. Baxter: [indicating kneecap] Here.
Fran Kubelik: In the knee?
C.C. Baxter: Uh-huh. While I was sitting there, trying to make my mind up, a cop stuck his head in the car, because I was illegally parked. So I started to hide the gun under the seat and it went off - pow!
Fran Kubelik: [laughing] That's terrible.
C.C. Baxter: Yeah. Took me a year before I could bend my knee - but I got over the girl in three weeks. She still lives in Cincinnati, has four kids, gained twenty pounds. She sends me a fruit cake every Christmas.
Dr. Dreyfuss: [entering his apartment, he suddenly hears loud music starting from next door] Mildred! He's at it again.
Fran Kubelik: I'd like to spell it out for you... only I can't spell!
Mrs. Lieberman: Good evening Mr. Baxter.
C.C. Baxter: Evening, Mrs. Lieberman.
Mrs. Lieberman: Some weather we're having.
C.C. Baxter: Yeah.
Mrs. Lieberman: Must be from all that mishegaas at Cape Canaveral.
Dr. Dreyfuss: I don't know what you did to that girl in there - and don't tell me - but it was bound to happen, the way you carry on. Live now, pay later. Diner's Club! Why don't you grow up, Baxter? Be a mensch! You know what that means?
C.C. Baxter: I'm not sure.
Dr. Dreyfuss: A mensch - a human being! So you got off easy this time. so you were lucky.
C.C. Baxter: Yeah, wasn't I?
J.D. Sheldrake: Here's a hundred bucks, Fran. Buy yourself something nice.
Kirkeby: Say, why don't we have ourselves a party, the four of us?
C.C. Baxter: No.
[Kirkeby suddenly sees Fran sleeping in the bedroom]
Kirkeby: [laughs] Well, I don't blame ya. So you hit the jackpot, eh kid? I mean Kubelik-wise.
[Baxter pushes Kirkeby out the door]
Kirkeby: Now don't worry, I won't say a word to anybody.
[with the door almost shut, Kirkeby pushes in one last time]
Kirkeby: Stay with it, buddy boy.
C.C. Baxter: [Opens his bedroom door, tosses a pair of gloves in, and is about to step out, but he has seen Fran lying on the bed] All right, Miss Kubelik, get up.
[No response from the unconscious Fran]
C.C. Baxter: It's past checking-out time. The management would greatly appreciate it if you would get the hell out of here!
[Still no response]
C.C. Baxter: I used to like you. I used to like you a lot. But it's all over between us. So beat it!
C.C. Baxter: O-U-T, out!
C.C. Baxter: C'mon, wake up!
[Tries to drag her out, and she falls limp. Then he catches sight of the bottle of sleeping pills]
C.C. Baxter: Oh, my God...!
Mrs. Sheldrake: What is it, Jeff? Who's on the phone?
J.D. Sheldrake: One of our employees had an accident. I don't know why they bother me with these things on Christmas day.
Margie MacDougall: You married?
C.C. Baxter: Nope.
Margie MacDougall: Family?
C.C. Baxter: Nope.
Margie MacDougall: Night like this, sorta spooks you walking home to an empty apartment.
C.C. Baxter: I said I had no family, I didn't say I had an empty apartment.