VERDOUX: You’d better go before your philosophy corrupts me.
Girl walkes to the door, turns and smiles at him as she exits, saying ‘Goodnight’.
I quote a few of the censors’ objections to the above scene:
‘The dialogue between Verdoux and the girl, “To be out on a night like this, you must be an optimist” as well as the dialogue, “How long have you been at this game?” and, “An attractive girl like you would have done better”, should be changed.
‘We would like to state that the reference to the Salvation Army is likely, in our opinion, to give offence to that group.’
Towards the end of my script, Verdoux, after many adventures, meets the girl again. He is down and out, but she is quite prosperous. The censors objected to her prosperity. The scene is as follows:
Fade into exterior of café. Verdoux is sitting at a table reading a news-paper about the war being imminent in Europe. He pays his bill and leaves. As he crosses the road he is almost run down by a smart limousine which swerves to the kerb. The chauffeur stops and toots his horn, and from the limousine window a gloved hand beckons to him, and to his surprise he sees at the window of the limousine the girl he once befriended smiling at him. She is elegantly dressed.
GIRL: How do you do, Mr Philanthropist.
Verdoux is puzzled.
GIRL [continuing]: Don’t you remember me? You took me to your apartment… one rainy night.
VERDOUX [surprised]: Really?
GIRL: And after feeding me and giving me money, you sent me on my way like a good little girl.
VERDOUX [humorously]: I must have been a fool.
GIRL [sincerely]: No, you were very kind – where are you going?
VERDOUX: Nowhere.
GIRL: Get in.
verdoux steps into car.
Interior of limousine.
GIRL [to chauffeur]: To the Café LaFarge… I still think you don’t remember me… but why should you?
VERDOUX [looking at her admiringly]: There is every apparent reason why I should.
GIRL [smiles]: Don’t you remember? The night we met… I was just out of jail.
Verdoux puts finger to lips.
VERDOUX: Shhh! [He points to chauffeur, then feels glass.] It’s all right… the window’s up.[He looks at her bewildered.] But you… all this…[indicating car]. What’s happened?
GIRL: The old story… from rags to riches. After I saw you, my luck changed. I met someone very rich – a munitions manufacturer.
VERDOUX: That’s the business I should, have been in. What sort of chap is he?
GIRL: Very kind and generous, but in business he’s quite ruthless.
VERDOUX: Business is a ruthless business, my dear… Do you love him?
GIRL: No, but that’s what keeps him interested.
The censors’ objections to the above scenes were as follows:
‘Please change the underlined dialogue: “You sent me on my way like a good little girl”, and the rejoinder, “I must have been a fool”; this to get away from the present suggestive flavour of the dialogue; and please inject into the dialogue some reference to the munitions manufacturer as the girl’s fiancé; this, to avoid the suggestion that the girl is now a kept woman.’
Other objections were to other scenes and sundry bits of business. I quote:
There will be no vulgar emphasis on the ‘outlandish curves, both in front and behind’, of the middle-aged woman.
There must be nothing offensive in the costumes or dance routines of the show girls. Specifically, there must be no showing of the bare leg above the garter.
The joke about ‘scraping her bottom’ is unacceptable.
There should be no showing of, or suggestion of, toilets in the bathroom.
Please change the word ‘voluptuous’ in Verdoux’s speech.
The letter concluded by stating that they would be only too happy to place themselves at my disposal to discuss the matter and that it might be possible to bring the story within the requirements of the Production Code without seriously impairing its entertainment value. So I presented myself at the Breen Office and was ushered into the presence of Mr Breen. A moment later one of Mr Breen’s assistants, a tall, dour young man, appeared. His tone was anything but friendly.
‘What have you against the Catholic Church?’ he said.
‘Why do you ask?’ I replied.
‘Here,’ he said, slamming a copy of my script on the table and turning its pages. ‘The scene in the condemned cell where the criminal Verdoux says to the priest: “What can I do for you, my good man?” ’
‘Well, isn’t he a good man?’
‘That’s facetious,’ he said, waving a disparaging hand.
‘I find nothing facetious in calling a man “good”,’ I answered.
As we went on discussing, I found myself enacting a sort of Shavian dialogue with him.
‘You don’t call a priest “a good man”, you call him “Father”.’
‘Very well, we’ll call him “Father”,’ I said.
‘And this line,’ said he, pointing on another page. ‘You have the priest say: “I’ve come to ask you to make your peace with God.” And Verdoux replies: “I am at peace with God, my conflict is with man.” You know that’s persiflage.’
‘You have a right to your opinion,’ I continued. ‘I also have a right to mine.’
‘And this,’ he interrupted, reading from the script. ‘The priest says: “Have you no remorse for your sins?” And Verdoux answers: “Who knows what sin is, born as it was from Heaven, from God’s fallen angel, who knows what mysterious destiny it serves?” ’
‘I believe that sin is just as great a mystery as virtue,’ I answered.
‘That’s a lot of pseudo-philosophizing,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Then you have Verdoux look at the priest and say: “What would you be doing without sin?” ’
‘I admit that line is a little controversial, but after all it is supposed to be ironically humorous and will not be addressed to the priest in a disrespectful way.’
‘But you have Verdoux continually scoring off the priest.’
‘What do you want the priest to play, a comedy part?’
‘Of course not, but why don’t you give him some worth-while answer?’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘the criminal is going to his death and attempts to go with bravado. The priest is dignified throughout and
