And finally... Host Ellen DeGeneres shares a word or two with Martin Scorsese prior to his Oscar win. Photograph: Mark J Terrill/AP
Being a conversation between St Martin (the patron saint of the eternally denied) and Marty Scorsese, the director of The Departed, in the 24 hours before the awarding of the Oscar for best director, February 25 2007.
SCENE ONE: The dawn of the day, 2.23am, in a great Beverly Hills hotel.
Marty cannot sleep:
MARTY: There! Two 23! That damn Jim Carrey film is right. Everywhere I'm seeing 23 - which means I'll be second or third. I knew I should never have come.
MARTIN: Hush, child. Go to sleep. You knew you would come. You're the one who finds a way to get every review ahead of anyone else.
MARTY: And what good does it do me? I torture myself. You know, really, I wish I had been... a country doctor.
MARTIN: You would have worried your patients to death. Go to sleep.
MARTY: It's all very well for you to be soothing. Saints sleep - I've noticed that. I don't sleep.
MARTIN: Draw your own conclusions. Look, my son, what does it matter - this tomorrow?
MARTY: It's today already.
MARTIN: Very well. But you know, don't you?
MARTY: I don't know what I know. What am I supposed to know?
MARTIN: The great work. It is in the bank, as they say. Mean Streets...
MARTY: Uh-huh.
MARTIN: Taxi Driver ...
MARTY: Yeah.
MARTIN: (sleepy)... Er,
MARTY (prompting): Raging Bull?
MARTIN: I was going to say New York New York.
MARTY: Oh, you liked that? You really liked that? I never realised you liked that. What did you like about that one?
MARTIN: Well...
MARTY: Because, actually, I hardly remember that one.
MARTIN: I know.
MARTY (chuckling): I was pretty far out then.
MARTIN: My boy, I remember the times when it was said you probably would not live long. I believe you sometimes said it yourself.
MARTY: It's true - I wasn't well. To tell you the truth, I thought they would have given me best director way back then when I might have just stopped breathing.
MARTIN: Or talking.
MARTY: I talk too much, is that what you're saying?
MARTIN: For one who has a breathing problem.
MARTY: Interesting idea. Anyway, the list.
MARTIN: What? I need to sleep, you know. I have to look after you tomorrow.
MARTY: The list of my great films, the ones I should have got an Oscar for long ago. I mean, don't stop now.
MARTIN: Ah, well, GoodFellas...
MARTY: Go on.
MARTIN: I'm very sleepy.
MARTY: You're going to leave me at GoodFellas? Some kind of guardian angel you are.
MARTIN: That's five, my boy, five films. And think who else never won Best Director... Hitchcock, Hawks, Lubitsch... (he falls asleep counting sheep).
SCENE TWO: In a limousine, in a traffic jam, on the way to the Kodak Theatre. MARTY and MARTIN are sitting in the back.
MARTY: I told you! We'll never make it. This is like the start of 8 1/2. What time is it?
MARTIN: Three twenty three.
MARTY: What did I tell you?
MARTIN: All the clocks are set at something twenty three. It's a gimmick for the picture.
MARTY: Really? That is cool. Why don't I get publicity like that?
MARTIN: We are early.
MARTY: We are? How close is it?
MARTIN: Two or three blocks away.
MARTY: You know, I'll tell you the honest truth. I got in the car, in the limo, and I knew I would just as soon have told the guy, drive out to Malibu, and we'll just blow the day. Hang the Oscars up. I mean, do I owe them? How many times have I been and done the good loser grin.
MARTIN: It has taught you so much about acting.
MARTY: And the mortification of the soul - don't forget that.
MARTIN: I never forget that. But you didn't tell the driver.
MARTY: I came that close.
MARTIN: That's drama for you. Or is it melodrama? - I forget.
MARTY: I'll tell you what melodrama is. This morning I get a call from Sid Ganis, president of the Academy. I have one of the hot camera seats.
MARTIN: You deserve it.
MARTY: Thank you! So every time they come out of a segment there's Marty, small and grey, screwed to his seat, sitting with his rosary beads.
MARTIN: I'm sure they took the image from your American Express commercial.
MARTY: Are they looking at me, or what? Am I the only one there? So everyone's gonna say, there's Marty going out of his mind with apprehension.
MARTIN: You could pretend to be asleep.
MARTY: What!
MARTIN: Gently dosing. Or reading a book.
MARTY: Are you out of your mind? I have to show I care. Unless I care, they can't strip the skin from my face. You know nothing about being a Catholic!
MARTIN: Sorry, old chap. There's this new thing with saints - we have to be neutral.
MARTY: Fucking Swedish is what you are!
MARTIN: Do calm down. Do you have an iPod? You could listen to opera, or something.
MARTY: So what do I do when it's best director.
MARTIN: You could chat to Peter O'Toole. You know if he loses tonight it's his eighth loss.
MARTY: He loses. Forest Whitaker is my man. You know who gave Forest his break?
MARTIN: No, I don't think so.
MARTY: It was me. The Color of Money. The time Newman won.
MARTIN: I think I missed that one.
MARTY: Paul had lost six times before I brought him home.
MARTIN: Six? Two times three.
SCENE THREE: At the Kodak Theater. As he dreaded, MARTY 's seat is on the end of a front row.
MARTY: You see! Every shot of the audience I'm on camera.
MARTIN: Perhaps you're going to win, old boy.
MARTY: For The Departed? You would want to win for that? Do you think I don't get the point? I mean, do you think I'm really stupid?
MARTIN: I heard a rumour that The Departed might get best picture, too.
MARTY: That would be a disgrace. You see, for Taxi Driver I don't get nominated. And then I win for The Departed. Do you not see the insult in that? I am going to leave.
MARTIN: You can't. Your limo won't be back for hours.
MARTY: I do not have to sit here and take more of their crap. I know what it is, they'll have me trembling on the edge of my seat - I'll be a wreck - and they'll say: "And the Oscar goes to... Stephen Frears..."
MARTIN: Hmm. Who's that a few rows back?
MARTY: That's Francis, Francis Coppola.
MARTIN: And who's that next to him?
MARTY: That's George Lucas.
MARTIN: I wonder why they are here.
MARTY: Whatddya mean?
MARTIN: I see them, and I ask myself what would they be here for?
MARTY: Presenting something, I suppose.
MARTIN: But what?
MARTY: Oh my God!
MARTIN: Has the penny dropped?
MARTY: You mean?
MARTIN: Don't blurt it out. But I'd say it's a nice touch, wouldn't you?
MARTY: Oh, Jesus, I am struck dumb.
MARTIN (to himself): I doubt it.
MARTY sits there in silence and then tears well up. It sinks in on him not just that he's won but that two colleagues from the beginning have elected to honour him. He realises that it doesn't matter if it's The Departed. It's for everything. But then he broods further and his natural suspiciousness sets in.
MARTY: You know what this means?
MARTIN: It means they love you.
MARTY: Don't give me that. So they are here. Francis has flown down from San Francisco.
MARTIN : Yes?
MARTY: It's a fix. They know it's me.
MARTIN: Possibly.
MARTY: Tell me, you're a saint. You're the expert. But if it's a fix, should I be here?
