by Nora Ephron
JOHN COTTER raises his hand. Projection: JOHN COTTER 1943–1991.
HAP HAIRSTON raises his hand. Projection: HAP HAIRSTON 1949–2002.
McALARY raises his hand. Projection: MIKE McALARY 1957–1998.
And then the sound of bagpipes and everyone sings “Wild Rover”:
JOHN COTTER: (Sings.)
I’ll go home to my parents,
Confess what I’ve done,
And ask them to pardon
Their prodigal son,
ENSEMBLE: (Sings.)
And when they’ve caressed me
As oft times before,
I never will play
The wild rover no more.
And it’s no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
Will I play the wild rover,
No never no more.
And it’s no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
Will I play the wild rover,
No never no more.
CURTAIN
The Screenwriter
When Harry Met Sally …
FADE IN:
DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE
of an OLDER COUPLE, a MAN and a WOMAN. They’re sitting together on a love seat looking straight at the CAMERA.
MAN: I was sitting with my friend Arthur Kornblum, in a restaurant, it was a Horn and Hardart cafeteria, and this beautiful girl walked in— (He points to the woman beside him.) —and I turned to Arthur and I said, “Arthur, you see that girl? I’m going to marry her.” And two weeks later we were married. And it’s over fifty years later and we’re still married.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
EXTERIOR. UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO CAMPUS—DAY
CARD: UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO—1977
A couple in a clinch.
The young man involved is named HARRY BURNS. He’s twenty-six years old, just graduated from law school. Wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
He’s kissing a young woman named AMANDA. She has long, straight hair that she irons. She’s about twenty. The embrace is fairly melodramatic. They pull back to look at one another.
AMANDA: I love you.
HARRY: I love you.
They begin to kiss again.
A car pulls up right beside them. Stops. Sits there.
Driving the car is SALLY ALBRIGHT. She’s twenty-one years old. She’s very pretty although not necessarily in an obvious way. She sits there waiting for the kiss to end. It doesn’t end. She clears her throat.
AMANDA sees SALLY, and she and HARRY move over to the car.
AMANDA: Oh. Hi, Sally. Sally, this is Harry Burns. Harry, this is Sally Albright.
HARRY: Nice to meet you.
They shake hands.
SALLY: (To HARRY.) You want to drive the first shift?
HARRY: No, no, you’re there already, you can start.
SALLY: Back’s open.
HARRY looks meaningfully at AMANDA.
Then he starts to put his stuff—a duffel bag, a box of records—into the backseat of the car, where SALLY’s stuff is, too—suitcases, stereo speakers, a guitar, boxes of books, a small TV.
AMANDA: Call me.
HARRY: I’ll call as soon as I get there.
AMANDA: Call me from the road.
HARRY: I’ll call before that.
HARRY and AMANDA exchange longing looks outside the car.
AMANDA: I love you.
HARRY: I love you.
They kiss again.
SALLY sits waiting, waiting. She shifts position and accidentally-on-purpose hits the car HORN, which beeps and startles AMANDA and HARRY into breaking off their clinch.
SALLY: Sorry.
HARRY: I miss you already.
AMANDA: I miss you. HARRY: Bye.
HARRY gets into the car, and AMANDA watches it pull away.
CUT TO:
INTERIOR. CAR—DAY
HARRY takes out a bunch of grapes, starts to eat them.
SALLY: I have it all figured out. It’s an eighteen-hour trip, which breaks down to six shifts of three hours each. Or, alternatively, we could break it down by mileage. There’s a map on the visor that I’ve marked to show the locations where we change shifts.
HARRY: (Offering her one.) Grape?
SALLY: No. I don’t like to eat between meals.
HARRY spits a grape seed out the window, which doesn’t happen to be down.
HARRY: I’ll roll down the window.
After a lengthy silence.
Why don’t you tell me the story of your life.
SALLY: The story of my life.
HARRY: We’ve got eighteen hours to kill before we hit New York.
SALLY: The story of my life isn’t even going to get us out of Chicago. I mean, nothing’s happened to me yet. That’s why I’m going to New York.
HARRY: So something can happen to you?
SALLY: Yes.
HARRY: Like what?
SALLY: Like I’m going to go to journalism school to become a reporter.
HARRY: So you can write about things that happen to other people.
SALLY: (After a beat.) That’s one way to look at it.
HARRY: Suppose nothing happens to you. Suppose you live there your whole life and nothing happens. You never meet anyone, you never become anything, and finally you die one of those New York deaths where nobody notices for two weeks until the smell drifts out into the hallway.
SALLY looks over at HARRY. Who am I stuck in this car with? She looks back at the road.
EXTERIOR. CAR—TRAVELING SHOT—DAY
As the car turns onto the highway.
SALLY: (Voice-over.) Amanda mentioned you had a dark side.
HARRY: That’s what drew her to me.
SALLY: Your dark side?
HARRY: Sure. Why? Don’t you have a dark side? I know, you’re probably one of those cheerful people who dot their “i’s” with little hearts.
SALLY: (Defensively.) I have just as much of a dark side as the next person—
HARRY: (Pleased with himself.) Oh, really? When I buy a new book, I read the last page first. That way, in case I die before I finish, I know how it ends. That, my friend, is a dark side.
SALLY: (Irritated now.) That doesn’t mean you’re deep or anything. I mean, yes, basically I’m a happy person …
HARRY: (Cheerfully.) So am I.
SALLY: … and I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with that.
HARRY: Of course not. You’re too busy being happy. Do you ever think about death?
SALLY: Yes.
HARRY: Sure you do. A fleeting thought that drifts in and out of the transom of your mind. I spend hours, I spend days—
SALLY: (Interrupting.) —and you think this makes you a better person?
HARRY: Look, when the shit comes down, I’m going to be prepared and you’re not, that’s all I’m saying.
SALLY: And in the meantime, you’re going to ruin your whole life waiting for it.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXTERIOR. CAR—DAY
The car tooling along a beautiful stretch of highway.
SALLY: (Voice-over.) You’re wrong.
HARRY: (Voice-over.) I’m not wrong.
SALLY: (Voice-over.) You’re wrong.
HARRY: (Voice-over.) He wants her to leave. That’s why he puts her on the plane.
SALLY: (Voice-over.) I don’t think she wants to stay.
HARRY: (Voice-over.) Of course she wants to stay. Wouldn’t you rather be with Humphrey Bogart than that other guy?
EXTERIOR.—CAR EXITING (INDUSTRIAL)—MAGIC HOUR
EXTERIOR.—DINER—NIGHT
SALLY’s car rounds the corner near some refinery tanks, heads into a diner parking lot.
SALLY: (Voice-over.) I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in Casablanca married to a man who runs a bar. That probably sounds very snobbish to you, but I don’t.
The car pulls up in front of a diner straight out of the fifties, HARRY driv ing.
HARRY: (Voice-over.) You’d r
ather have a passionless marriage—
SALLY: (Voice-over.) —and be First Lady of Czechoslovakia—
HARRY: (Voice-over.) —than live with the man …
INTERIOR. CAR—NIGHT
HARRY: … you’ve had the greatest sex of your life with, just because he owns a bar and that’s all he does.
SALLY: Yes, and so would any woman in her right mind. Women are very practical.
SALLY takes out a can of hairspray, sprays her hair.
Even Ingrid Bergman, which is why she gets on that plane at the end of the movie.
EXTERIOR. DINER PARKING LOT—NIGHT
HARRY: (Getting out of car.) Oh, I understand.
SALLY: (Getting out of car.) What? What?
HARRY: Nothing.
HARRY crosses toward the diner. SALLY follows after him.
SALLY: What?
HARRY: Forget about it.
SALLY: What? What? Forget about what?
He doesn’t answer and heads up the stairs to the diner, SALLY following.
Now just tell me.
HARRY: Obviously you haven’t had great sex.
He goes inside the diner. She follows.
INTERIOR. DINER—NIGHT
HARRY: (To the hostess.) Table for two.
SALLY: Yes, I have.
HARRY: No, you haven’t.
He crosses away from her toward the table.
SALLY: It just so happens I have had plenty of good sex.
This doesn’t go unheard by the hostess and other diners. SALLY walks to the table, sits down.
HARRY: With whom?
SALLY: What?
HARRY: With whom have you had this great sex?
SALLY: (Embarrassed.) I’m not going to tell you that.
HARRY: Fine. Don’t tell me.
A long silence. HARRY looks at the menu. SALLY opens hers but doesn’t read it.
SALLY: Shel Gordon.
HARRY: Shel. Sheldon? No. You did not have great sex with Sheldon.
SALLY: I did too.
HARRY: No, you didn’t. A Sheldon can do your taxes. If you need a root canal, Sheldon is your man, but humping and pumping is not Sheldon’s strong suit. It’s the name. “Do it to me, Sheldon.” “You’re an animal, Sheldon.” “Ride me, big Sheldon.” It doesn’t work.
A WAITRESS approaches the table.
WAITRESS: What can I get you?
HARRY: I’ll have the Number Three.
The WAITRESS turns to SALLY.
SALLY: I’d like the chef salad, please, with the oil and vinegar on the side. And the apple pie à la mode.
WAITRESS: (Writing.) Chef and apple à la mode.
SALLY: But I’d like the pie heated, and I don’t want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side. And I’d like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it. If not, then no ice cream, just whipped cream, but only if it’s real. If it’s out of a can, then nothing.
WAITRESS: Not even the pie?
SALLY: No, just the pie. But then not heated.
As the WAITRESS leaves, HARRY stares in disbelief at SALLY.
What?
HARRY: Nothing. Nothing. So how come you broke up with Sheldon?
SALLY: How do you know we broke up?
HARRY: Because if you didn’t break up, you wouldn’t be with me, you’d be off with Sheldon the Wonder Schlong.
SALLY: First of all, I’m not with you. And second of all, it’s none of your business why we broke up.
HARRY: You’re right, you’re right. I don’t want to know. After a beat:
SALLY: Well, if you must know, it was because he was very jealous and I had these Days of the Week underpants.
HARRY: (Makes a buzzer sound.) I’m sorry, I need a judge’s ruling on this. Days of the Week underpants?
SALLY: Yes. They had the days of the week on them, I thought they were sort of funny—and one day Sheldon says to me, “You never wear Sunday.” He’s all suspicious. Where was Sunday? Where had I left Sunday? And I told him, and he didn’t believe me.
HARRY: What?
SALLY: They don’t make Sunday.
HARRY: Why not?
SALLY: Because of God.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXTERIOR. DINER—NIGHT—REESTABLISH
INTERIOR. DINER—NIGHT
They are finishing their meal. SALLY figures out her portion of the bill.
SALLY: Fifteen percent of my share is … (Writes.) Six-ninety … leave seven….
She notices HARRY just staring at her.
(Thinking she might have some food on her face, she nervously wipes.)
What? Do I have something on my face?
HARRY: You’re a very attractive person.
SALLY: Thank you.
HARRY: Amanda never said how attractive you were.
SALLY: Well, maybe she doesn’t think I’m attractive.
HARRY: I don’t think it’s a matter of opinion. Empirically, you are attractive.
They get up to leave.
SALLY: Amanda is my friend.
HARRY throws down a crumpled bill, and they head for the door. HARRY: So?
SALLY: So you’re going with her.
HARRY: So?
SALLY: So you’re coming on to me.
EXTERIOR. DINER—NIGHT
HARRY: (Coming out of door.) No, I wasn’t.
SALLY looks at him.
What? Can’t a man say a woman is attractive without it being a come-on?
HARRY walks to the driver’s side as SALLY is unlocking the passenger door.
All right, all right.
Both walk into the foreground, meeting. SALLY moves away from him, upset.
Let’s just say, just for the sake of argument, that it was a come-on. Okay. What do you want me to do about it? I take it back, okay? I take it back.
SALLY: You can’t take it back.
HARRY: Why not?
SALLY: Because it’s already out there.
An awkward pause.
HARRY: Oh, jeez. What are we supposed to do? Call the cops? It’s already out there!
SALLY: Just let it lie, okay?
HARRY: Great! Let it lie. That’s my policy. That’s what I always say.
They both get in the car.
INTERIOR. CAR—NIGHT
HARRY: Let it lie. (Beat.) Want to spend the night in a motel?
SALLY glares at him.
See what I did? I didn’t let it lie.
SALLY: Harry—
HARRY: I said I would and then I didn’t—
SALLY: Harry—
HARRY: I went the other way—
SALLY: Harry—
HARRY: What?
SALLY: We are just going to be friends, okay?
HARRY: Great. Friends. The best thing.
As the car starts up and pulls out, we—
CUT TO:
EXTERIOR. HIGHWAY—NIGHT
As the car tools along, we hear:
HARRY: (Voice-over.) You realize, of course, that we could never be friends.
SALLY: (Voice-over.) Why not?
INTERIOR. CAR—NIGHT
SALLY is driving.
HARRY: What I’m saying—and this is not a come-on in any way, shape, or form—is that men and women can’t be friends, because the sex part always gets in the way.
SALLY: That’s not true. I have a number of men friends and there’s no sex involved.
HARRY: No, you don’t.
SALLY: Yes, I do.
HARRY: No, you don’t.
SALLY: Yes, I do.
HARRY: You only think you do.
SALLY: You’re saying I’m having sex with these men without my knowledge?
HARRY: No, I’m saying they all want to have sex with you.
SALLY: They do not.
HARRY: Do too.
SALLY: They do not.
HARRY: Do too.
SALLY: How do you know?
HARRY: Because no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.
&nbs
p; SALLY: So you’re saying a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive.
HARRY: No. You pretty much want to nail them, too.
SALLY: What if they don’t want to have sex with you?
HARRY: Doesn’t matter, because the sex thing is already out there, so the friendship is ultimately doomed, and that is the end of the story.
SALLY: Well, I guess we’re not going to be friends, then.
HARRY: Guess not.
SALLY: That’s too bad. (Beat.) You were the only person I knew in New York.
Afterword
THIS SCREENPLAY HAS my name on it, but it was very much a collaboration, and before I write a word about the movie itself, I want to write about how it got started. It began in October 1984, when I got a call from my agent that Rob Reiner and his producing partner Andrew Scheinman wanted to have lunch to discuss a project. So we had a lunch, and they told me about an idea they had for a movie about a lawyer. I’ve forgotten the details. The point is, it didn’t interest me at all, and I couldn’t imagine why they’d thought of me in connection with it. I remember being slightly perplexed about whether to say straight off that the idea didn’t interest me or whether to play along for an hour so as not to have that horrible awkwardness that can happen when the meeting is over but the lunch must go on. I decided on the former; and we then spent the rest of the lunch talking about ourselves. Well, that isn’t entirely true: we spent the rest of the lunch talking about Rob and Andy. Rob was divorced, and Andy was a bachelor—and they were both extremely funny and candid about their lives as single men in Los Angeles. When the lunch ended, we still didn’t have an idea for a movie; but we decided to meet again the next time they were in New York.
And so, a month later, we got together. And threw around some more ideas, none of which I remember. But finally, Rob said he had an idea—he wanted to make a movie about a man and a woman who become friends, as opposed to lovers; they make a deliberate decision not to have sex because sex ruins everything; and then they have sex and it ruins everything. And I said, let’s do it.
So we made a deal, and in February, Andy and Rob came back to New York and we sat around for several days and they told me some things. Appalling things. They told me, for instance, that when they finished having sex, they wanted to get up out of bed and go home. (Which became: HARRY: “How long do I have to lie here and hold her before I can get up and go home? Is thirty seconds enough? … How long do you like to be held afterwards? All night, right? … Somewhere between thirty seconds and all night is your problem.” SALLY: “I don’t have a problem.”) They told me about the endless series of excuses they had concocted in order to make a middle-of-the-night getaway. (SALLY: “You know, I am so glad I never got involved with you. I just would have ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at three o’clock in the morning and go clean your andirons. And you don’t even have a fireplace. Not that I would know this.”) They also told me that the reason they thought men and women couldn’t be friends was that a man always wanted to sleep with a woman. Any woman. (HARRY: “No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.” SALLY: “So you’re saying a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive.” HARRY: “No. You pretty much want to nail them, too.”) I say that these things were appalling, but the truth is that they weren’t really a surprise; they were sort of my wildest nightmares of what men thought.