That'll be all, Senator Sanders
SANDERS
You had Geithner sign a phony asset transfer
order--
GREGG
Senator--
SANDERS
You doctored the repos.
JOHNSON
Damnit Sanders!!
SANDERS
I'll ask for the fourth time. You ordered--
BERNANKE
You want answers?
SANDERS
I think I'm entitled to them.
BERNANKE
You want answers?!
SANDERS
I want the truth.
BERNANKE
You can't handle the truth!
(And nobody moves.)
BERNANKE
(continuing)
Son, we live in a world that has markets.
And those markets have to be guarded by banksters
with money. Who's gonna do it? You? You,
Senator Bunning? I have a greater
responsibility than you can possibly
fathom. You weep for capitalism and you
curse the banksters. You have that luxury.
You have the luxury of not knowing what I
know: That capitalism's death, while tragic,
probably saved jobs. And my existence,
while grotesque and incomprehensible to
you, saves jobs.
You don't want the truth. Because deep
down, in places you don't talk about at
parties, you want me at the wheel.
You need me there ...
We use words like 'growth','stability',
'profits'...we use these words as the
backbone to a life spent defending
something. You use 'em as a punchline.
I have neither the time nor the
inclination to audit myself for a man who
rises and sleeps under the blanket of the
very guarantees I provide, then questions the
manner in which I provide it. I'd prefer
you just said thank you and went on your
way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a
private sector job and stand a post. Either way, I
don't give a damn what you think you're
entitled to.
SANDERS
(quietly)
Did you doctor the repos?
BERNANKE
I did the job you sent me to do.
SANDERS
Did you doctor the repos?
BERNANKE
(pause)
You're goddamn right I did.
2 comments:
Dear Anonymous Monetarist, this is my first time here. I come from Jesee´s Cafe. And I have to oblige and say: of all the written word I come across, seldom I find idea and craftmanship amalgamate so beyond good. There is one of the top stairs of american and western ideosyncracy that resonates so in this piece or adaptation of yours; your writing has taken that vibrant moment of the seventh art and sculpt it into reality. Yes, it belongs to the collection of taboo americana. And yes it is what we just as grotesquely recognise to ignore - understood and interpreted in that as-good-as-Nicholson-can-get moment: to avoid to aknowledge because it is gross, as in repulsive. A bit like learning that we also hold the knife that slaughters that beast of which we buy a slice of, detachedly sitting in a compensated vaacum plastic wrap with lovely graphic designer art, in the civilised and euphemistic supermarket. I always wonder "I am so twisted?" Nah, its the yarn of hipocresy knitted within us.
Life imitates art imitating life.
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