Network

Network   

Screenplay by                             Paddy Chayefsky

Produced by                               Howard Gottfried

Directed by                                Sidney Lumet

Cast List:

Faye Dunaway                          Diana Christenson

William Holden                        Max Schumacher

Peter Finch                               Howard Beale

Robert Duvall                          Frank Hackett

Wesley Addy                            Nelson Chaney

Ned Beatty                               Arthur Jensen

Arthur Burghardt                     Great Ahmed Khan

Bill Burroughs                          TV Director

John Carpenter                                   George Bosch

Jordan Charney                                   Harry Hunter
 
FADE IN:

BLACK SCREEN

NARRATOR

This story is about Howard Beale who was the network news anchorman on UBS-TV –

A BANK OF FOUR COLOR TELEVISION ON MONITORS

It is 7:14 P.M., Monday, September 22, 1975, and we are watching the network news programs on CBS, NBC, ABC and UBS-TV, the network of our story. The AUDIO is OFF; and head shots of WALTER CRONKITE, JOHN CHANCELLOR, HOWARD K. SMITH and HARRY REASONER, and of course, the anchorman of our network, HOWARD BEALE, silently flit and flicker across the four television screens, interspersed with the news of the day – President Ford's new Energy Program, a hearing on Patty Hearst's bail, truce violations in Beirut, busing trouble in Boston.... NARRATION continues OVER –

NARRATOR

– in his time, Howard Beale had been a mandarin of television, the grand old man of news, with a HUT rating of 16 and a 28 audience share –

CAMERA MOVES IN to isolate Howard Beale, who is everything an anchorman should be – 58 years old silver-haired, magisterial, dignified to the point of divinity. NARRATION continues OVER –

NARRATOR

– in 1969, however, he fell to a 22 share, and, by 1972, he was down to a 15 share. In 1973, his wife died, and he was left a childless widower with an 8 rating and a 12 share. He became morose and isolated, began to drink heavily, and, on September 22, 1975, he was fired, effective in two weeks. The news was broken to him by Max Schumacher –

EXT. 5TH AVE. SOUTH OF 57TH STREET – NIGHT

11:30 P.M. The area is deserted except for a few STROLLERS window-shopping the department stores. And way down near 55th Street, TWO roaring drunk middle-aged men, Howard Beale and MAX SCHUMACHER, reeling along and hooting it up. NARRATION continues OVER –

NARRATOR

– who was president of the News Division at UBS and an old friend. The two men got properly pissed –

CLOSER SHOT of Howard and Max (who is a craggy, lumbering, rough-hewn, 51-year-old man), thoroughly plastered and on a drunken laughing jag –

HOWARD

(clutching the corner mailbox to keep from falling)

When was this?

MAX

1951 –

HOWARD

I was at CBS with Ed Murrow in 1951. Didn't you join Murrow in 1951? –

MAX

Must've been 1950 then. I was at NBC. Morning News. Associate producer. I was a kid, twenty-six years old. Anyway, they were building the lower level on the George Washington Bridge, and we were doing a remote there. Except nobody told me! –

For some reason, this knocks them out. Howard, wheezing with suppressed laughter, clutches the mailbox. Max has to shout to get the rest of the story out –

MAX

– ten after seven in the morning – I get a call – "Where the hell are you? – You're supposed to be on the George Washington Bridge!" – I jump out of bed – throw my raincoat over my pajamas – run down the stairs – I get out in the street – I flag a cab – I jump in – I say: "Take me to the middle of the George Washington Bridge!" –

It's too much again. The two men dissolve into silent wheezing spasms of laughter –

MAX
(tears streaming down his cheeks)

– the driver turns around – he says – don't do it, buddy –

(so weak now he can barely talk)

– he says – you're a young man – you got your whole life ahead of you –

He can't go on. He stomps around on the sidewalk. Howard clutches the mailbox.

INT. A BAR – 3:00 A.M.

Any bar. Mostly empty. Max and Howard in a booth, so sodden drunk they are sober –

HOWARD

I'm going to kill myself –

MAX
Oh, shit, Howard –

HOWARD

I'm going to blow my brains out right on the air, right in the middle of the seven o'clock news.

MAX

You'll get a hell of a rating, I'll tell you that, a fifty share easy –

HOWARD

You think so?

MAX

We could make a series out of it. Suicide of the Week. Hell, why limit ourselves? Execution of the Week – the Madame Defarge Show! Every Sunday night, bring your knitting and watch somebody get guillotined, hung, electrocuted, gassed. For a logo, we'll have some brute with a black hood over his head. Think of the spin-offs – Rape of the Week –

HOWARD

(beginning to get caught up in the idea)

Terrorist of the Week?

MAX

Beautiful!

HOWARD

How about Coliseum '74? Every week we throw some Christians to the lions! –

MAX

Fantastic! The Death Hour! I love it! Suicides, assassinations, mad bombers, Mafia hitmen, murder in the barbershop, human sacrifices in witches' covens, automobile smashups. The Death Hour! A great Sunday night show for the whole family. We'll wipe fucking Disney right off the air –

They snigger and snort. Howard lays his head down on the booth's table and verges on sleep –

INT. HOWARD'S BEDROOM – 4:30 A.M. – DARK

Howard, fully clothed, sprawled asleep on his still-covered bed in the dark bedroom. Suddenly, he sits bolt upright, SCREAMING out against unseen terrors –

INT. HOWARD'S APARTMENT HOUSE – LANDING OUTSIDE HIS DOOR – 8:00 A.M. – TUESDAY, SEPT. 24

– as HOWARD'S HOUSEKEEPER, a middle-aged lady, lets herself into:

INT. HOWARD'S APARTMENT – ENTRANCE FOYER

The Housekeeper, unbuttoning her coat, is greeted by the sound of a raucous clock ALARM, relentlessly BUZZING O.S. She crosses the –

INT. LIVING ROOM

– and opens the blinds letting in an eruption of daylight. The shrill BUZZING getting louder, she proceeds into the –

INT. BACK FOYER

– where she pauses to look into the bedroom, the door being ajar; the BUZZING is coming from here –

HOUSEKEEPER'S P.O.V – HOWARD BEALE

Still wearing the clothes he wore last night, curled in a position of fetal helplessness on the floor in the far corner of the room –

HOUSEKEEPER

(after a moment)

Are you all right, Mr. Beale?

HOWARD

(opens one eye)

I'm fine, thank you, Mrs. Merryman –

With some effort, he contrives to get to his feet as the Housekeeper crosses to the alarm clock and turns it off –

CREDITS AND MUSIC ERUPT ONTO THE SCREEN

TITLE: "N E T W O R K"

UNDER AND INTERSPERSED WITH CREDITS, a montage of scenes, occasionally audible, on this seemingly routine day –