My OperaSimon Bended - beauty beast is the best.
Saturday, April 1, 2006 4:58:50 PM
New Polish bodybuilding champ Szymon Gięty (Simon Bended).
Beauty beast is the best.
Beauty beast is the best.
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Catch-22
Sunday, March 26, 2006 9:07:57 PM
Joseph Heller (1923-1999)
The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he's on.
Quotes from "Catch-22"
"Where were you born?"
"On a battlefield."
"No, no. In what state were you born?"
"In a state of innocence."
* * *
Yossarian: Those bastards are trying to kill me.
Milo: No one is trying to kill you sweetheart. Now eat your dessert like a good boy.
Yossarian: Oh yeah? Then why are they shooting at me Milo?
Dobbs: They're shooting at everyone Yossarian.
Yossarian: And what difference does that make?
Dobbs: Look Yossarian, suppose, I mean just suppose everyone thought the same way you do.
Yossarian: Then I'd be a damn fool to think any different.
* * *
Yossarian: "I don't want to wear a uniform any more."
* * *
"Men," he began his address to the officers, measuring his pauses carefully. "You're American officers. The officers of no other country in the world can make that statement. Think about it." He waited a moment to permit them to think about it."
* * *
"We'll allocate a minute and a half for you in the schedule. Will a minute and a half be enough?"
"Yes, sir. If it doesn't include the time necessary to excuse the atheists from the room and admit the enlisted men."
Colonel Cathcart stopped in his tracks. "What atheists?" he bellowed defensively, his whole manner changing in a flash to one of virtuous and belligerrent denial. "There are no atheists in my outfit! Atheism is against the law, isn't it?"
"No, sir."
"It isn't?" The colonel was surprised. "Then it's un-American, isn't it?"
"I'm not sure, sir," answered the chaplain.
"Well, I am!" the colonel declared. "I'm not going to disrupt our religious services just to accommodate a bunch of lousy atheists. They're getting no special privileges from me. They can stay right where they are and pray with the rest of us. And what's this about enlisted men? Just how the hell do they get into this act?"
The chaplain felt his face flush. "I'm sorry, sir. I just assumed you would want the enlisted men to be present, since they would be going along on the same mission."
"Well, I don't. They've got a God and chaplain of their own, haven't they?"
"No, sir."
"What are you talking about? You mean they pray to same God we do?"
"Yes, sir."
"And He listens?"
"I think so, sir."
"Well I'll be damned..."
* * *
"Bomb bay clear," Sergeant Knight in the back would announce.
"Did we hit the bridge?" McWatt would ask.
"I couldn't see, sir, I kept getting bounce back here pretty hard and I couldn't see. Everything's covered with smoke now and I can't see."
"Hey, Aarfy, did the bombs hit the target?"
"What target?" Captain Aardvaark, Yossarian's plump, pipe-smoking navigator would say from the confusion of maps he had created at Yossarian's side at the nose of the ship. "I don't think we're at the target yet, are we?"
"Yossarian, did the bombs hit the target?"
"What bombs?" answered Yossarian, whose only concern had been the flak.
"Oh well," McWatt would sing, "what the hell."
* * *
"You're wasting your time," Doc Daneeka was forced to tell him.
"Can't you ground someone's who's crazy?"
"Oh sure, I have to. There's a rule saying I have to ground anyone who's crazy."
"Then why don't you ground me. Ask Clevinger."
"Clevinger? Where is Clevinger? You find Clevinger and I'll ask him."
"Then ask any of the others. They'll tell you how crazy I am."
"They're crazy."
"Then why don't you ground them?"
"Why don't they ask me to ground them?"
"Because they're crazy, that's why."
"Of course they're crazy," Doc Daneeka replied. "I just told you they're crazy didn't I? And you can't let crazy people decide whether you're crazy or not can you?"
* * *
Yossarian looked at him soberly and tried another approach. "Is Orr crazy?"
"He sure is," Doc Daneeka said.
"Can you ground him?"
"I sure can but first he has to ask me to. That's part of the rule."
"Then why doesn't he ask you to?"
"Because he's crazy," Doc Daneeka said. "He has to be crazy to keep flying combat missions after all the close calls he's had. Sure I can ground Orr. But first he has to ask me to."
"That's all he has to do to be grounded?"
"That's all. Let him ask me."
"And then you can ground him?" Yossarian asked.
"No, then I can't ground him."
"You mean there's a catch?"
"Sure there is a catch," Doc Daneeka replied. "Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy."
* * *
There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, that specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane, he had to fly them. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of the clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.
"That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed.
"It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka replied.
* * *
"Daneeka was telling the truth," ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen admitted. "Forty missions is all you have to fly as far as Twenty-seventh Air Force Headquarters is concerned."
Yossarian was jubilant. "Then I can go home right? I've got forty-eight."
"No, you can't go home," ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen corrected him. "Are you crazy of something?"
"Why not?"
"Catch-22."
"Catch-22?" Yoassarian was stunned. "What the hell has Catch-22 got to do with it?"
"Catch-22," Doc Daneeka answered patiently, when Hungry Joe had flown Yossarian back to Pianosa, "says you've always got to do what your commanding officer tells you to."
"But Twenty-seventh Air Force says I can go home with forty missions."
"But they don't say you have to go home. And regulations do say you have to obey every order. That's the catch. Even if the colonel were disobeying a Twenty-seventh Air Force order by making you fly more missions. you'd still have to fly them, or you'd be guilty of disobeying an order of his. And then Twenty-seventh Air Force Headquarters would really jump on you."
Yossarian slumped with disappointment. "Then I really do have to fly the fifty missions don't I?" he grieved.
"The fifty-five," Doc Daneeka correct him.
"What fifty-five?"
"The fifty-five the colonel wants all of you to fly."
* * *
"What would they do to me," he asked in confidential tones, "if I refuse to fly them?"
"We'd probably shoot you," ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen replied.
"We?" Yossarian cried in surprise. "What do you mean we? Since when are you on their side?"
* * *
"Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn't punish you?" said the corporal who could take shorthand reading from his steno pad.
"All right," said the colonel. "Just what the hell did you mean?"
"I didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"When," asked the colonel.
"When what, sir?"
"Now you're asking me questions again."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
"When didn't you say we couldn't punish you? Don't you understand my question?"
"No, sir, I don't understand."
"You've just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question."
"But how can I answer it?"
"That's another question you're asking me."
"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't know how to answer it. I never said you couldn't punish me."
"Now you're telling us what you did say. I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it."
Clevinger took a deep breath. "I always didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"That's much better, Mr. Clevinger, even though it's a bare-faced lie. Didn't you whisper that we couldn't punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don't like? What's his name?"
"Yossarian, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf said.
"Yes, Yossarian. That's right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of name is Yossarian?"
Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his fingertips. "It's Yossarian's name, sir," he explained
* * *
There were too many dangers for Yossarian to keep track of. There was Hitler, Mussolini and Tojo, and they were all out to kill him. There was Lieutenant Scheisskopf with his fanatism for parades and there was the bloated colonel with his big fat moustache and his fanatism for retribution, and they wanted to kill him, too. There was Appleby, Havermeyer, Black and Korn. There was Nurse Cramer and Nurse Duckett, who he was almost certain wanted him dead, and there was the Texan and the C.I.D. man about whom he had no doubt. There were bartenders, bricklayers and bus conductors all over the world who wanted him dead, landlords and tenants, traitors and patriots, lynchers, leeches, and lackeys, and they were all out to bump him off...
* * *
"Beat it," said the doctor on duty there, who was doing a crossword puzzle.
"We can't tell him to beat it," said a corporal. "There's a new directive out about abdominal complaints. We have to keep them under observation five days because so many of them have been dying after we tell them to beat it."
"Alright," grumbled the doctor. "Keep him under observation for five days and then tell him to beat it."
* * *
Colonel Moodus checked his roster. "This one is Yossarian, Dad. He gets a Distinguished Flying Cross."
"Well, I'll be damned," mumbled General Dreedle, and his ruddy monolithic face softened with amusement. "Why aren't you wearing clothes, Yossarian?"
"I don't want to."
"What do you mean you don't want to? Why the hell don't you want to?"
"I just don't want to, sir."
"Why isn't he wearing clothes?" General Dreedle demanded over to shoulder of Colonel Cathcart.
"He's talking to you," Colonel Korn whispered over Colonel Cathcart's shoulder from behind, jabbing his elbow sharply into Colonel Cathcart's back.
"Why isn't he wearing clothes," Colonel Cathcart demanded of Colonel Korn with a look of acute pain, tenderly nursing the spot Colonel Korn had just jabbed him.
"Why isn't he wearing clothes," Colonel Korn demanded of Captain Piltchard and Captain Wren.
"A man was killed in his plane over Avignon last week and bled all over him," Captain Wren replied. "He swears he's never going to wear a uniform ever again."
"A man was killed in his plane over Avignon last week and bled all over him," Colonel Korn reported directly to General Dreedle. "His uniform hasn't come back from the laundry yet."
"Where are his other uniforms?"
"They're in the laundry, too."
"What about his underwear?" General Dreedle demanded.
"All his underwear's in the laundry, too," answered Colonel Korn.
"That sounds like a lot of crap to me," General Dreedle declared.
"It is a lot of crap, sir," Yossarian said.
* * *
"Don't you worry, sir," Colonel Cathcart promised General Dreedle with a threatening look at Yossarian. "You have my personal word for it that this man will be severely punished."
"What the hell do I care if he's punished or not?" General Dreedle replied with surprise and irritation. "He's just won a medal. If he wants to receive it without any clothes on, what the hell business is it of yours?"
"Those are my sentiments exactly, sir," Colonel Cathcart echoed with resounding enthusiasm and mopped his brow with a damp white handkerchief. "But would you say that, sir, even in the light of General Peckem's recent memorandum on the subject of proper military attire in combat areas?"
"Peckem?" General Dreedle's face clouded.
"Yes, sir, sir," said Colonel Cathcart obsequiously. "General Peckem even recommends that we send our men into combat in full-dress uniform so they'll make a good impression on the enemy when they're shot down."
* * *
"Who is this man?"
"M-major Danby, sir," Colonel Cathcart stammered, "My group operations officer."
"Take him out and shoot him," General Dreedle demanded.
"S-sir?"
"I said take him out and shoot him. Can't you hear?"
"Yes, sir!" Colonel Cathcart responded smartly, swallowing hard, and turned in a brisk manner to his chauffeur and his meteorologist. "Take Major Danby out and shoot him."
"S-sir?" his chauffeur and meteorologist stammered.
"I said take Major Danby out and and shoot him," Colonel Cathcart snapped. "Can't you hear?"
"I think you'd better wait a minute, Dad," [Colonel Moodus] suggested hesitantly. "I don't think you can shoot him."
General Dreedle was infuriated by his intervention. "Who the hell says I can't?" he thundered pugnaciously in a voice loud enough to rattle the whole building. "Why the hell can't I? You mean I can't shoot anyone I want to? Is that a fact?" he inquired, his rage tamed by curiosity.
"Yes, Dad. I'm afraid it is."
"I guess you think you're pretty goddamn smart, don't you?"
* * *
"I don't understand why you buy eggs at seven cents a piece in Malta and sell them for five cents."
"I do it to make a profit."
"But how can you make a profit? You lose two cents an egg."
"But I make a profit of three and a quarter cents an egg by selling them at four and a quarter cents an egg to the people in Malta I buy them from for seven cents an egg. Of course, I don't make the profit. The syndicate makes the profit. And everybody has a share."
Yossarian felt he was beginning to understand. "And the people you sell the eggs to at four and a quarter cents a piece make a profit of two and three quarter cents a piece when they sell them back to you at seven cents a piece. Is that right? Why don't you sell the eggs directly to you and eliminate the people you buy them from?"
"Because I am the people I buy them from," Milo explained. "I make a profit of three and a quarter cents a piece when I sell them to me and a profit of two and three quarter cents apiece when I buy them back from me. That's a total profit of six cents an egg. I lose only two cents an egg when I sell them to the mess halls at five cents apiece, and that's how I can make a profit buying eggs for seven cents apiece and selling them for five cents apiece. I pay only one cent a piece at the hen when I buy them in Sicily."
"In Malta," Yossarian corrected. "You buy your eggs in Malta, not Sicily."
Milo chortled proudly. "I don't buy eggs from Malta," he confessed... "I buy them in Sicily at one cent apiece and transfer them to Malta secretly at four and a half cents apiece in order to get the price of eggs up to seven cents when people come to Malta looking for them."
* * *
"Then you do make a profit for yourself," Yossarian declared.
"Of course I do. But it all goes to the syndicate. And everybody has a share. Don't you understand? It's exactly what happens with those plum tomatoes I sell to Colonel Cathcart."
* * *
Milo was Sir Major Milo Minderbinder in Malta... Milo had been knighted, commissioned a major in Royal Welsh Fusiliers and named assistant Governor General of Malta because he had brought the egg trade there... Milo was Vice-Shah of Oran. Milo was not only the Vice-Shah of Oran, as it turned out, but also the Caliph of Baghdad, the Imam of Damascus and the Shiek of Araby. Milo was the corn god, the rain god and the rice god...
* * *
"America," he said, "will lose the war. And Italy will win it."
"America is the stongest and most prosperous nation on earth," Nately informed him with lofty fervor and dignity. "And the American fighting man is second to none."
"Exactly," agreed the old man pleasantly, with a hint of taunting amusement. "Italy, on the other hand, is one of the least properous nations on earth. And the Italian fighting man is probably second to all. And that's exactly why my country is doing so well in this war while your country is doing so poorly."
"I'm sorry I laughed at you. But Italy was occupied by the Germans and is now being occupied by us. You don't call that doing very well, do you?"
"But of course I do," exclaimed the old man cheerfully. "The Germans are being driven out, and we're still here. In a few years, you will be gone, too, and we will still be here. You see, Italy is really a very poor and weak country, and that's what makes us so strong. Italian soldiers are not dying anymore. But American and German soldiers are. I call that doing extremely well. Yes, I'm quite certain Italy will survive this war and still be in existence long after your own country has been destroyed."
"America is not going to be destroyed!" he shouted passionately.
"Never?" prodded the old man softly.
"Well..." Nately faltered.
"Rome was destroyed, Greece was destroyed, Persia was destroyed, Spain was destroyed. All great countries are destroyed. Why not yours? How much longer do you really think your own country will last? Forever? Keep in mind that the earth itself is destined to be destroyed by the sun in twenty-five million years or so."
* * *
"You put so much stock in winning wars. The real trick lies in losing wars, in knowing which wars can be lost. Italy has been losing wars for centuries, and just see how spendidly we've done nonetheless. France wins wars and is in a continual state of crisis. Germany loses and prospers. Look at our own recent history. Italy won a war in Ethiopia and promptly stumbled into serious trouble. Victory gave us such insane delusions of grandeur that we helped start a world war we hadn't a chance of winning. But now that we're losing again, everything has taken a turn for the better, and we will certainly come out on top again if we succeed in being defeated."
* * *
"Anything worth living for," Nately said, "is worth dying for."
"And anything worth dying for," answered the sacrilegious old man, "is certainly worth living for."
* * *
Milo contracted with the Amercian military authorities to bomb the German-held highway bridge at Orvieto and with the German military authorities to defend the highway bridge at Orvieto with antiaircraft fire against his own attack. His fee for attacking the bridge for America was the total cost of the operation plus six percent, and his fee from Germany for defending the bridge was the same cost-plus-six agreement augmented by a merit bonus of a thousand dollars for every American plane he shot down.
The arrangments were fair to both sides. Since Milo did have freedom of passage everywhere, his planes were able to steal over in a sneak attack without alerting the German aircraft gunners; and since Milo knew about the attack, he was able to alert the German antiaircraft gunners in sufficient time for them to begin firing accurately the moment the planes came into range.
... one night, after a sumptuous evening meal, all Milo's fighters and bombers took off, joined in formation directly overhead and began dropping bombs on the group. he had landed another contract with the Germans, this time to bomb his own outfit. Milo's planes separated in a well-coordinated attack and bombed the fuel stocks and the ordance pump, the repair hangars and the B-25 bombers resting on the lollipop-shaped hardstands at the field. His crew spared the landing strip and the mess halls so that they could land safely when their work was done and enjoy a hot snack before retiring. They bomb with their landing lights on, since no one was shooting back. They bombed all four squadrons, the officer's club and the Group Headquarters building.
This time Milo had gone too far. Bombing his own men and planes was more than even the most phlegmatic observer could stomach, and it looked like the end for him. High-ranking government officials poured in to investigate. Newspapers inveighed against Milo with glaring headlines, and Congressmen denoucned the atrocity in stentorian wrath and clamored for punishment.
"In a democracy, the government is the people," Milo explained. "We're people, aren't we?" So we might just as well keep the money and eliminate the middleman. Frankly, I'd like to see the government get out of war altogether and leave the whole field to private industry. If we pay the government everything we owe it, we'll only be encouraging governmental control and discouraging other individuals from bombing their own men and planes. We'll be taking away their incentive."
* * *
"Why don't you sell your cotton to the government?"
Milo vetoed the idea brusquely. "It's a matter of principle," he explained firmly. "The government has no business in business, and I would be the last person in the world to ever try to involve the government in a business of mine. But the business of the government is business," he remembered alertly, and continued with elation. "Calvin Coolidge said that, and Calvin Coolidge was a President, so it must be true. And the government does have the responsibility of buying all the Egyptian cotton I've got that no one else wants so I can make a profit, doesn't it? But how will I get the government to do it?"
"Bribe it."
"Bribe it!" Milo was outraged and almost lost his balance and broke his neck again. "Shame on you," he scolded severely, breathing virtuous fire down and upward into his rusty mustache through his billowing nostrils and prim lips. "Bribery is against the law, and you know it. But it's not against the law to make a profit, isn't it? So it can't be against the law for me to bribe someone in order to make a fair profit, can it? No, of course not! But how would I know who to bribe?"
"Oh you don't worry about that. You make the bribe big enough and they will find you. Just make sure you do everything right out in the open. Let everyone know exactly what you want and how much you're willing to pay for it. The first time you act guilty or ashamed, you might get into trouble."
"I wish you'd come with me." Milo remarked. "I won't feel safe among people who take bribes. They're no better than a bunch of crooks."
"You'll be alright," Yossarian assured him with confidence. "If you run into trouble, just tell everybody that the security of the country requires a strong domestic Egyptian-cotton speculating industry."
"It does," Milo informed him solemnly. "A strong Egyptian-cotton speculating industry means a much stronger America."
"Of course it does. And if that doesn't work, point out the great number of American families that depend on it for income."
"A great many American families do depend on it for income."
"You see?" said Yossarian. "You're much better at it than I am. You almost make it sound true."
"It is true."
* * *
Milo: "I wished you'd put your uniform on instead of going around naked that way. You might start a trend, and then I'll never get rid of all these goldarned cotton."
* * *
"If he wasn't a chaplain," General Dreedle muttered, "I'd have him taken outside and shot."
"He's not a chaplain," Colonel Carthcart advised helpfully.
"Isn't he? Then why the hell does he wear that cross on his collar if he's not a chaplain?"
"He doesn't wear a cross on his collar, sir. He wears a silver leaf. He's a lieutenant colonel."
"You've got a chaplain who's a lieutenant colonel?" inquired General Dreedle with amazement.
"Oh no, sir. My chaplain is only a captain."
"Then why the hell does he wear a silver leaf on his collar if he's only a captain?"
"He doesn't wear a silver lead on his collar, sir. He wears a cross."
"Go away from me now, you son of a bitch."
* * *
"The trouble with you is that you think you're too good for all the conventions of society. You probably think you're too good for me too, just because I arrived at puberty late. Well, do you know what you are? You're a frustrated, unhappy, disillusioned, undisciplined, maladjusted young man!" Major Sanderson's disposition seemed to mellow as he reeled off the incomplimentary adjectives.
"Yes, sir," Yossarian agreed carefully. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right. You're immature. You've been unable to adjust to the idea of war."
"Yes, sir."
"You have a morbid aversion to dying. You probably resent the fact that you're at war and might get your head blown off any second."
"I more than resent it, sir. I'm absolutely incensed."
"You have deep-seated survival anxieties. And you don't like bigots, bullies, snobs or hypocrites. Subconsciously there are many people you hate."
"Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously."
"You're antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated or deceived. Violence depresses you. Slums depress you. Greed depresses you. Crime depresses you. Corruption depresses you. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if you're a manic-depressive!"
"Yes, sir. Perhaps I am."
"Don't try to deny it."
"I'm not denying it, sir," said Yossarian, pleased with the miraculous rapport that finally existed between them. "I agree with all you've said."
"Then you admit you're crazy, do you?"
"Crazy?" Yossarian was shocked. "What are you talking about? Why am I crazy? You're the one who's crazy!"
Major Sanderson turned red with indignation again and crashed both fists down upon his thighs. "Calling me crazy," he shouted in a sputtering rage, "is a typically sadistic and vindictive paranoaic reaction! You really are crazy!"
"Then why don't you send me home?"
"And I'm going to send you home!"
"They're going to send me home!" Yossarian announced jubilantly as he hobbled back into the ward
* * *
The Germans are on the defensive everywhere! There's no more Luftwaffe left!" he wailed. He seemed ready to burst into tears. "The whole Gothic line is in danger of collapsing!"
"So?" asked Yossarian. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" Doc Daneeka cried. "If something doesn't happen soon, Germany may surrender. And then we'll all be sent to the Pacific!"
Yossarian gawked at Doc Daneeka in grotesque dismay. "Are you crazy? Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yeah, it's easy for you to laugh," Doc Daneeka sneered.
"Who the hell is laughing?"
"At least you've got a chance. You're in combat and might get killed. But what about me? I've got nothing to hope for."
"You're out of your goddamn head!" Yossarian shouted at him emphatically, seizing him by the shirt front. "Do you know that? Now keep your stupid mouth shut and listen to me."
Doc Daneeka wrenched himself away. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. I'm a licensed physician."
"Then keep your stupid licensed physician's mouth shut and listen to what they told me up at the hospital. I'm crazy. Did you know that?"
So?"
"Really crazy."
So?"
"I'm nuts. Cuckoo. Don't you understand? I'm off my rocker. They sent someone else home in my place by mistake. They've got a licensed physician up at the hospital who examined me, and that was his verdict. I'm really insane."
"So?"
"So?" Yossarian was puzzled by Doc Danneka's inability to comprehend. "Don't you see what that means? Now you can take me off combat duty and send me home. They're no going to send a crazy man out to be killed, are they?"
"Who else will go?"
* * *
Colonel Carthcart was so upset by the deaths of Kid Sampson and McWatt that he raised the missions to sixty-five. (...) When Colonel Carthcart learned that Doc Daneeka too had been killed in McWatt's plane, he increased the number of missions to seventy.
* * *
"Goddammit," [said Doc Daneeka] "what's the matter with you two men anyway? It just isn't right for a person to have a low temperature all the time and walk around with a stuffed nose. Just look how cold I am right now. You're sure you're not holding anything back?"
"You're dead, sir," one of his two enlisted men explained.
Doc Daneeka jerked his head up quickly with resentful distrust. "What's that?"
"You're dead, sir," repeated the other. "That's probably the reason you always feel so cold."
"That's right, sir. You've probably been dead all this time and we just didn't detect it."
"What the hell are you both talking about?"
"It's true, sir," said one of the enlisted men. "The records show that you went up in McWatt's plane to collect some flight time. You didn't come down in a parachute, so you must have been killed in the crash."
"That's right, sir," said the other. "You ought to be glad you've got any temperature at all."
Doc Daneeka's mind was reeling in confusion. "Have you both gone crazy?" he demanded. "I'm going to report this whole insubordinate incident to Sergeant Towser."
"Sergeant Towser's the one who told us about it," said either Gus or Wes. "The War Department's even going to notify your wife."
* * *
"Chaplain, we charge you formally with being Washington Irving and taking capricious and unlicensed liberties in censoring the letters of officers and enlisted men. Are you guilty or innocent?"
"Innocent, sir." The chaplain licked dry lips with a dry tongue and leaned forward in suspense on the edge of his chair.
"Guilty," said the colonel.
"Guilty," said the major.
"Guilty it is, then," remarked the office without insignia."Chaplain, we accuse you also of the commission of crimes and infractions we don't even know about yet. Guilty of innocent?"
"I don't know, sir. How can I say if you don't tell me what they are?"
"How can we tell you if we don't know?"
"Guilty," decided the colonel.
"Sure he's guilty," agreed the major. "If they're his crimes and infractions, he must have committed them."
"Guilty it is then," chanted the officer without insignia, and moved off to the side of the room. "He's all yours, Colonel."
"Thank you," commended the colonel. "You did a very good job." He turned to the chaplain. "Okay, Chaplain, the jig's up. Take a walk."
The chaplain did not understand. "What do you wish me to do?"
"Go on, beat it, I told you!" the colonel roared, jerking a thumb over his shoulder angrily. "Get the hell out of here."
"Aren't you even going to punish me?" he inquired with querulous surprise.
"You're damned right we're going to punish you. But we're certainly not going to let you hang around while we decide how and when to do it. So get going. Hit the road."
* * *
"General Scheisskopf?" [General Peckem] inquired unsuspectingly of the sergeant in his new office who brought him word of the order that had come in that morning. "You mean Colonel Scheisskopf, don't you?"
"No, sir. General Scheisskopf. he was promoted to general this morning, sir."
"Well, that's certainly curious! Scheisskopf? A general? What grade?"
"Lieutenant general, sir, and - "
"Lieutenant general!"
"Yes, sir, and he wants you to issue no orders to anyone in your command without first clearing them through him."
"Well, I'll be damned..."
* * *
"There must have been a reason," Yossarian persisted, pounding his fist into his hand. "They couldn't just barge in here and chase everyone out."
"No reason," wailed the old woman. "No reason."
"What right did they have?"
"Catch-22."
"What?" Yossarian froze in his tracks with fear and alarm and felt hiw while body begin to tingle. "What did you say?"
"Catch-22," the old woman repeated, rocking her head up and down. "Catch-22. Catch-22 says they have a right to do anything we can't stop them from doing."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Yossarian shouted at her in bewildered, furious protest. "How did you know it was Catch-22? Who the hell told you it was Catch-22?"
"The soldiers with the hard white hats a clubs. The girls were crying. 'Did we do anything wrong?' they said. The men said no and pushed them away out the door with the ends of their clubs. 'Then why are you chasing us out?' the girls said. 'Catch-22,' the men said. 'What right do you have?' the girls said. 'Catch-22,' the men said. All they kept saying was 'Catch-22, Catch-22.' What does it mean, Catch-22? What is Catch-22?"
"Didn't they show it to you?" Yossarian demanded, stamping about in ager and distress. "Didn't you even make them read it?"
"They don't have to show us Catch-22," the old woman answered. "The law says they don't have to."
"What law says they don't have to?"
"Catch-22."
* * *
"There was, of course, a catch. Catch-22?" inquired Yossarian.
"Of course," Colonel Korn answered pleasantly... "After all, we can't simply send you home for refusing to fly more missions and keep the rest of the men here, can we? That would hardly be fair to them... You know, you really have been making things terribly difficult for Colonel Cathcart. The men are unhappy and morale is beginning to deteriorate. And it's all your fault."
"It's your fault," Yossarian argued, "for raising the number of missions."
"No, it's your fault for refusing to fly them," Colonel Korn retorted. "The men were perfectly content to fly as many missions as we asked as long as they thought they had no alternative, Now you've given they hope, and they're unhappy. So the blame is all yours."
"Doesn't he know there's a way going on?" Colonel Cathcart, still stamping back and forth, demanded morosely without looking at Yossarian.
Further Info
Joseph_Heller - Wikipedia
Joseph Heller's site
Closing Time with Joseph Heller
The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he's on.
Quotes from "Catch-22"
"Where were you born?"
"On a battlefield."
"No, no. In what state were you born?"
"In a state of innocence."
* * *
Yossarian: Those bastards are trying to kill me.
Milo: No one is trying to kill you sweetheart. Now eat your dessert like a good boy.
Yossarian: Oh yeah? Then why are they shooting at me Milo?
Dobbs: They're shooting at everyone Yossarian.
Yossarian: And what difference does that make?
Dobbs: Look Yossarian, suppose, I mean just suppose everyone thought the same way you do.
Yossarian: Then I'd be a damn fool to think any different.
* * *
Yossarian: "I don't want to wear a uniform any more."
* * *
"Men," he began his address to the officers, measuring his pauses carefully. "You're American officers. The officers of no other country in the world can make that statement. Think about it." He waited a moment to permit them to think about it."
* * *
"We'll allocate a minute and a half for you in the schedule. Will a minute and a half be enough?"
"Yes, sir. If it doesn't include the time necessary to excuse the atheists from the room and admit the enlisted men."
Colonel Cathcart stopped in his tracks. "What atheists?" he bellowed defensively, his whole manner changing in a flash to one of virtuous and belligerrent denial. "There are no atheists in my outfit! Atheism is against the law, isn't it?"
"No, sir."
"It isn't?" The colonel was surprised. "Then it's un-American, isn't it?"
"I'm not sure, sir," answered the chaplain.
"Well, I am!" the colonel declared. "I'm not going to disrupt our religious services just to accommodate a bunch of lousy atheists. They're getting no special privileges from me. They can stay right where they are and pray with the rest of us. And what's this about enlisted men? Just how the hell do they get into this act?"
The chaplain felt his face flush. "I'm sorry, sir. I just assumed you would want the enlisted men to be present, since they would be going along on the same mission."
"Well, I don't. They've got a God and chaplain of their own, haven't they?"
"No, sir."
"What are you talking about? You mean they pray to same God we do?"
"Yes, sir."
"And He listens?"
"I think so, sir."
"Well I'll be damned..."
* * *
"Bomb bay clear," Sergeant Knight in the back would announce.
"Did we hit the bridge?" McWatt would ask.
"I couldn't see, sir, I kept getting bounce back here pretty hard and I couldn't see. Everything's covered with smoke now and I can't see."
"Hey, Aarfy, did the bombs hit the target?"
"What target?" Captain Aardvaark, Yossarian's plump, pipe-smoking navigator would say from the confusion of maps he had created at Yossarian's side at the nose of the ship. "I don't think we're at the target yet, are we?"
"Yossarian, did the bombs hit the target?"
"What bombs?" answered Yossarian, whose only concern had been the flak.
"Oh well," McWatt would sing, "what the hell."
* * *
"You're wasting your time," Doc Daneeka was forced to tell him.
"Can't you ground someone's who's crazy?"
"Oh sure, I have to. There's a rule saying I have to ground anyone who's crazy."
"Then why don't you ground me. Ask Clevinger."
"Clevinger? Where is Clevinger? You find Clevinger and I'll ask him."
"Then ask any of the others. They'll tell you how crazy I am."
"They're crazy."
"Then why don't you ground them?"
"Why don't they ask me to ground them?"
"Because they're crazy, that's why."
"Of course they're crazy," Doc Daneeka replied. "I just told you they're crazy didn't I? And you can't let crazy people decide whether you're crazy or not can you?"
* * *
Yossarian looked at him soberly and tried another approach. "Is Orr crazy?"
"He sure is," Doc Daneeka said.
"Can you ground him?"
"I sure can but first he has to ask me to. That's part of the rule."
"Then why doesn't he ask you to?"
"Because he's crazy," Doc Daneeka said. "He has to be crazy to keep flying combat missions after all the close calls he's had. Sure I can ground Orr. But first he has to ask me to."
"That's all he has to do to be grounded?"
"That's all. Let him ask me."
"And then you can ground him?" Yossarian asked.
"No, then I can't ground him."
"You mean there's a catch?"
"Sure there is a catch," Doc Daneeka replied. "Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy."
* * *
There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, that specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane, he had to fly them. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of the clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.
"That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed.
"It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka replied.
* * *
"Daneeka was telling the truth," ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen admitted. "Forty missions is all you have to fly as far as Twenty-seventh Air Force Headquarters is concerned."
Yossarian was jubilant. "Then I can go home right? I've got forty-eight."
"No, you can't go home," ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen corrected him. "Are you crazy of something?"
"Why not?"
"Catch-22."
"Catch-22?" Yoassarian was stunned. "What the hell has Catch-22 got to do with it?"
"Catch-22," Doc Daneeka answered patiently, when Hungry Joe had flown Yossarian back to Pianosa, "says you've always got to do what your commanding officer tells you to."
"But Twenty-seventh Air Force says I can go home with forty missions."
"But they don't say you have to go home. And regulations do say you have to obey every order. That's the catch. Even if the colonel were disobeying a Twenty-seventh Air Force order by making you fly more missions. you'd still have to fly them, or you'd be guilty of disobeying an order of his. And then Twenty-seventh Air Force Headquarters would really jump on you."
Yossarian slumped with disappointment. "Then I really do have to fly the fifty missions don't I?" he grieved.
"The fifty-five," Doc Daneeka correct him.
"What fifty-five?"
"The fifty-five the colonel wants all of you to fly."
* * *
"What would they do to me," he asked in confidential tones, "if I refuse to fly them?"
"We'd probably shoot you," ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen replied.
"We?" Yossarian cried in surprise. "What do you mean we? Since when are you on their side?"
* * *
"Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn't punish you?" said the corporal who could take shorthand reading from his steno pad.
"All right," said the colonel. "Just what the hell did you mean?"
"I didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"When," asked the colonel.
"When what, sir?"
"Now you're asking me questions again."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
"When didn't you say we couldn't punish you? Don't you understand my question?"
"No, sir, I don't understand."
"You've just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question."
"But how can I answer it?"
"That's another question you're asking me."
"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't know how to answer it. I never said you couldn't punish me."
"Now you're telling us what you did say. I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it."
Clevinger took a deep breath. "I always didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"That's much better, Mr. Clevinger, even though it's a bare-faced lie. Didn't you whisper that we couldn't punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don't like? What's his name?"
"Yossarian, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf said.
"Yes, Yossarian. That's right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of name is Yossarian?"
Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his fingertips. "It's Yossarian's name, sir," he explained
* * *
There were too many dangers for Yossarian to keep track of. There was Hitler, Mussolini and Tojo, and they were all out to kill him. There was Lieutenant Scheisskopf with his fanatism for parades and there was the bloated colonel with his big fat moustache and his fanatism for retribution, and they wanted to kill him, too. There was Appleby, Havermeyer, Black and Korn. There was Nurse Cramer and Nurse Duckett, who he was almost certain wanted him dead, and there was the Texan and the C.I.D. man about whom he had no doubt. There were bartenders, bricklayers and bus conductors all over the world who wanted him dead, landlords and tenants, traitors and patriots, lynchers, leeches, and lackeys, and they were all out to bump him off...
* * *
"Beat it," said the doctor on duty there, who was doing a crossword puzzle.
"We can't tell him to beat it," said a corporal. "There's a new directive out about abdominal complaints. We have to keep them under observation five days because so many of them have been dying after we tell them to beat it."
"Alright," grumbled the doctor. "Keep him under observation for five days and then tell him to beat it."
* * *
Colonel Moodus checked his roster. "This one is Yossarian, Dad. He gets a Distinguished Flying Cross."
"Well, I'll be damned," mumbled General Dreedle, and his ruddy monolithic face softened with amusement. "Why aren't you wearing clothes, Yossarian?"
"I don't want to."
"What do you mean you don't want to? Why the hell don't you want to?"
"I just don't want to, sir."
"Why isn't he wearing clothes?" General Dreedle demanded over to shoulder of Colonel Cathcart.
"He's talking to you," Colonel Korn whispered over Colonel Cathcart's shoulder from behind, jabbing his elbow sharply into Colonel Cathcart's back.
"Why isn't he wearing clothes," Colonel Cathcart demanded of Colonel Korn with a look of acute pain, tenderly nursing the spot Colonel Korn had just jabbed him.
"Why isn't he wearing clothes," Colonel Korn demanded of Captain Piltchard and Captain Wren.
"A man was killed in his plane over Avignon last week and bled all over him," Captain Wren replied. "He swears he's never going to wear a uniform ever again."
"A man was killed in his plane over Avignon last week and bled all over him," Colonel Korn reported directly to General Dreedle. "His uniform hasn't come back from the laundry yet."
"Where are his other uniforms?"
"They're in the laundry, too."
"What about his underwear?" General Dreedle demanded.
"All his underwear's in the laundry, too," answered Colonel Korn.
"That sounds like a lot of crap to me," General Dreedle declared.
"It is a lot of crap, sir," Yossarian said.
* * *
"Don't you worry, sir," Colonel Cathcart promised General Dreedle with a threatening look at Yossarian. "You have my personal word for it that this man will be severely punished."
"What the hell do I care if he's punished or not?" General Dreedle replied with surprise and irritation. "He's just won a medal. If he wants to receive it without any clothes on, what the hell business is it of yours?"
"Those are my sentiments exactly, sir," Colonel Cathcart echoed with resounding enthusiasm and mopped his brow with a damp white handkerchief. "But would you say that, sir, even in the light of General Peckem's recent memorandum on the subject of proper military attire in combat areas?"
"Peckem?" General Dreedle's face clouded.
"Yes, sir, sir," said Colonel Cathcart obsequiously. "General Peckem even recommends that we send our men into combat in full-dress uniform so they'll make a good impression on the enemy when they're shot down."
* * *
"Who is this man?"
"M-major Danby, sir," Colonel Cathcart stammered, "My group operations officer."
"Take him out and shoot him," General Dreedle demanded.
"S-sir?"
"I said take him out and shoot him. Can't you hear?"
"Yes, sir!" Colonel Cathcart responded smartly, swallowing hard, and turned in a brisk manner to his chauffeur and his meteorologist. "Take Major Danby out and shoot him."
"S-sir?" his chauffeur and meteorologist stammered.
"I said take Major Danby out and and shoot him," Colonel Cathcart snapped. "Can't you hear?"
"I think you'd better wait a minute, Dad," [Colonel Moodus] suggested hesitantly. "I don't think you can shoot him."
General Dreedle was infuriated by his intervention. "Who the hell says I can't?" he thundered pugnaciously in a voice loud enough to rattle the whole building. "Why the hell can't I? You mean I can't shoot anyone I want to? Is that a fact?" he inquired, his rage tamed by curiosity.
"Yes, Dad. I'm afraid it is."
"I guess you think you're pretty goddamn smart, don't you?"
* * *
"I don't understand why you buy eggs at seven cents a piece in Malta and sell them for five cents."
"I do it to make a profit."
"But how can you make a profit? You lose two cents an egg."
"But I make a profit of three and a quarter cents an egg by selling them at four and a quarter cents an egg to the people in Malta I buy them from for seven cents an egg. Of course, I don't make the profit. The syndicate makes the profit. And everybody has a share."
Yossarian felt he was beginning to understand. "And the people you sell the eggs to at four and a quarter cents a piece make a profit of two and three quarter cents a piece when they sell them back to you at seven cents a piece. Is that right? Why don't you sell the eggs directly to you and eliminate the people you buy them from?"
"Because I am the people I buy them from," Milo explained. "I make a profit of three and a quarter cents a piece when I sell them to me and a profit of two and three quarter cents apiece when I buy them back from me. That's a total profit of six cents an egg. I lose only two cents an egg when I sell them to the mess halls at five cents apiece, and that's how I can make a profit buying eggs for seven cents apiece and selling them for five cents apiece. I pay only one cent a piece at the hen when I buy them in Sicily."
"In Malta," Yossarian corrected. "You buy your eggs in Malta, not Sicily."
Milo chortled proudly. "I don't buy eggs from Malta," he confessed... "I buy them in Sicily at one cent apiece and transfer them to Malta secretly at four and a half cents apiece in order to get the price of eggs up to seven cents when people come to Malta looking for them."
* * *
"Then you do make a profit for yourself," Yossarian declared.
"Of course I do. But it all goes to the syndicate. And everybody has a share. Don't you understand? It's exactly what happens with those plum tomatoes I sell to Colonel Cathcart."
* * *
Milo was Sir Major Milo Minderbinder in Malta... Milo had been knighted, commissioned a major in Royal Welsh Fusiliers and named assistant Governor General of Malta because he had brought the egg trade there... Milo was Vice-Shah of Oran. Milo was not only the Vice-Shah of Oran, as it turned out, but also the Caliph of Baghdad, the Imam of Damascus and the Shiek of Araby. Milo was the corn god, the rain god and the rice god...
* * *
"America," he said, "will lose the war. And Italy will win it."
"America is the stongest and most prosperous nation on earth," Nately informed him with lofty fervor and dignity. "And the American fighting man is second to none."
"Exactly," agreed the old man pleasantly, with a hint of taunting amusement. "Italy, on the other hand, is one of the least properous nations on earth. And the Italian fighting man is probably second to all. And that's exactly why my country is doing so well in this war while your country is doing so poorly."
"I'm sorry I laughed at you. But Italy was occupied by the Germans and is now being occupied by us. You don't call that doing very well, do you?"
"But of course I do," exclaimed the old man cheerfully. "The Germans are being driven out, and we're still here. In a few years, you will be gone, too, and we will still be here. You see, Italy is really a very poor and weak country, and that's what makes us so strong. Italian soldiers are not dying anymore. But American and German soldiers are. I call that doing extremely well. Yes, I'm quite certain Italy will survive this war and still be in existence long after your own country has been destroyed."
"America is not going to be destroyed!" he shouted passionately.
"Never?" prodded the old man softly.
"Well..." Nately faltered.
"Rome was destroyed, Greece was destroyed, Persia was destroyed, Spain was destroyed. All great countries are destroyed. Why not yours? How much longer do you really think your own country will last? Forever? Keep in mind that the earth itself is destined to be destroyed by the sun in twenty-five million years or so."
* * *
"You put so much stock in winning wars. The real trick lies in losing wars, in knowing which wars can be lost. Italy has been losing wars for centuries, and just see how spendidly we've done nonetheless. France wins wars and is in a continual state of crisis. Germany loses and prospers. Look at our own recent history. Italy won a war in Ethiopia and promptly stumbled into serious trouble. Victory gave us such insane delusions of grandeur that we helped start a world war we hadn't a chance of winning. But now that we're losing again, everything has taken a turn for the better, and we will certainly come out on top again if we succeed in being defeated."
* * *
"Anything worth living for," Nately said, "is worth dying for."
"And anything worth dying for," answered the sacrilegious old man, "is certainly worth living for."
* * *
Milo contracted with the Amercian military authorities to bomb the German-held highway bridge at Orvieto and with the German military authorities to defend the highway bridge at Orvieto with antiaircraft fire against his own attack. His fee for attacking the bridge for America was the total cost of the operation plus six percent, and his fee from Germany for defending the bridge was the same cost-plus-six agreement augmented by a merit bonus of a thousand dollars for every American plane he shot down.
The arrangments were fair to both sides. Since Milo did have freedom of passage everywhere, his planes were able to steal over in a sneak attack without alerting the German aircraft gunners; and since Milo knew about the attack, he was able to alert the German antiaircraft gunners in sufficient time for them to begin firing accurately the moment the planes came into range.
... one night, after a sumptuous evening meal, all Milo's fighters and bombers took off, joined in formation directly overhead and began dropping bombs on the group. he had landed another contract with the Germans, this time to bomb his own outfit. Milo's planes separated in a well-coordinated attack and bombed the fuel stocks and the ordance pump, the repair hangars and the B-25 bombers resting on the lollipop-shaped hardstands at the field. His crew spared the landing strip and the mess halls so that they could land safely when their work was done and enjoy a hot snack before retiring. They bomb with their landing lights on, since no one was shooting back. They bombed all four squadrons, the officer's club and the Group Headquarters building.
This time Milo had gone too far. Bombing his own men and planes was more than even the most phlegmatic observer could stomach, and it looked like the end for him. High-ranking government officials poured in to investigate. Newspapers inveighed against Milo with glaring headlines, and Congressmen denoucned the atrocity in stentorian wrath and clamored for punishment.
"In a democracy, the government is the people," Milo explained. "We're people, aren't we?" So we might just as well keep the money and eliminate the middleman. Frankly, I'd like to see the government get out of war altogether and leave the whole field to private industry. If we pay the government everything we owe it, we'll only be encouraging governmental control and discouraging other individuals from bombing their own men and planes. We'll be taking away their incentive."
* * *
"Why don't you sell your cotton to the government?"
Milo vetoed the idea brusquely. "It's a matter of principle," he explained firmly. "The government has no business in business, and I would be the last person in the world to ever try to involve the government in a business of mine. But the business of the government is business," he remembered alertly, and continued with elation. "Calvin Coolidge said that, and Calvin Coolidge was a President, so it must be true. And the government does have the responsibility of buying all the Egyptian cotton I've got that no one else wants so I can make a profit, doesn't it? But how will I get the government to do it?"
"Bribe it."
"Bribe it!" Milo was outraged and almost lost his balance and broke his neck again. "Shame on you," he scolded severely, breathing virtuous fire down and upward into his rusty mustache through his billowing nostrils and prim lips. "Bribery is against the law, and you know it. But it's not against the law to make a profit, isn't it? So it can't be against the law for me to bribe someone in order to make a fair profit, can it? No, of course not! But how would I know who to bribe?"
"Oh you don't worry about that. You make the bribe big enough and they will find you. Just make sure you do everything right out in the open. Let everyone know exactly what you want and how much you're willing to pay for it. The first time you act guilty or ashamed, you might get into trouble."
"I wish you'd come with me." Milo remarked. "I won't feel safe among people who take bribes. They're no better than a bunch of crooks."
"You'll be alright," Yossarian assured him with confidence. "If you run into trouble, just tell everybody that the security of the country requires a strong domestic Egyptian-cotton speculating industry."
"It does," Milo informed him solemnly. "A strong Egyptian-cotton speculating industry means a much stronger America."
"Of course it does. And if that doesn't work, point out the great number of American families that depend on it for income."
"A great many American families do depend on it for income."
"You see?" said Yossarian. "You're much better at it than I am. You almost make it sound true."
"It is true."
* * *
Milo: "I wished you'd put your uniform on instead of going around naked that way. You might start a trend, and then I'll never get rid of all these goldarned cotton."
* * *
"If he wasn't a chaplain," General Dreedle muttered, "I'd have him taken outside and shot."
"He's not a chaplain," Colonel Carthcart advised helpfully.
"Isn't he? Then why the hell does he wear that cross on his collar if he's not a chaplain?"
"He doesn't wear a cross on his collar, sir. He wears a silver leaf. He's a lieutenant colonel."
"You've got a chaplain who's a lieutenant colonel?" inquired General Dreedle with amazement.
"Oh no, sir. My chaplain is only a captain."
"Then why the hell does he wear a silver leaf on his collar if he's only a captain?"
"He doesn't wear a silver lead on his collar, sir. He wears a cross."
"Go away from me now, you son of a bitch."
* * *
"The trouble with you is that you think you're too good for all the conventions of society. You probably think you're too good for me too, just because I arrived at puberty late. Well, do you know what you are? You're a frustrated, unhappy, disillusioned, undisciplined, maladjusted young man!" Major Sanderson's disposition seemed to mellow as he reeled off the incomplimentary adjectives.
"Yes, sir," Yossarian agreed carefully. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right. You're immature. You've been unable to adjust to the idea of war."
"Yes, sir."
"You have a morbid aversion to dying. You probably resent the fact that you're at war and might get your head blown off any second."
"I more than resent it, sir. I'm absolutely incensed."
"You have deep-seated survival anxieties. And you don't like bigots, bullies, snobs or hypocrites. Subconsciously there are many people you hate."
"Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously."
"You're antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated or deceived. Violence depresses you. Slums depress you. Greed depresses you. Crime depresses you. Corruption depresses you. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if you're a manic-depressive!"
"Yes, sir. Perhaps I am."
"Don't try to deny it."
"I'm not denying it, sir," said Yossarian, pleased with the miraculous rapport that finally existed between them. "I agree with all you've said."
"Then you admit you're crazy, do you?"
"Crazy?" Yossarian was shocked. "What are you talking about? Why am I crazy? You're the one who's crazy!"
Major Sanderson turned red with indignation again and crashed both fists down upon his thighs. "Calling me crazy," he shouted in a sputtering rage, "is a typically sadistic and vindictive paranoaic reaction! You really are crazy!"
"Then why don't you send me home?"
"And I'm going to send you home!"
"They're going to send me home!" Yossarian announced jubilantly as he hobbled back into the ward
* * *
The Germans are on the defensive everywhere! There's no more Luftwaffe left!" he wailed. He seemed ready to burst into tears. "The whole Gothic line is in danger of collapsing!"
"So?" asked Yossarian. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" Doc Daneeka cried. "If something doesn't happen soon, Germany may surrender. And then we'll all be sent to the Pacific!"
Yossarian gawked at Doc Daneeka in grotesque dismay. "Are you crazy? Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yeah, it's easy for you to laugh," Doc Daneeka sneered.
"Who the hell is laughing?"
"At least you've got a chance. You're in combat and might get killed. But what about me? I've got nothing to hope for."
"You're out of your goddamn head!" Yossarian shouted at him emphatically, seizing him by the shirt front. "Do you know that? Now keep your stupid mouth shut and listen to me."
Doc Daneeka wrenched himself away. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. I'm a licensed physician."
"Then keep your stupid licensed physician's mouth shut and listen to what they told me up at the hospital. I'm crazy. Did you know that?"
So?"
"Really crazy."
So?"
"I'm nuts. Cuckoo. Don't you understand? I'm off my rocker. They sent someone else home in my place by mistake. They've got a licensed physician up at the hospital who examined me, and that was his verdict. I'm really insane."
"So?"
"So?" Yossarian was puzzled by Doc Danneka's inability to comprehend. "Don't you see what that means? Now you can take me off combat duty and send me home. They're no going to send a crazy man out to be killed, are they?"
"Who else will go?"
* * *
Colonel Carthcart was so upset by the deaths of Kid Sampson and McWatt that he raised the missions to sixty-five. (...) When Colonel Carthcart learned that Doc Daneeka too had been killed in McWatt's plane, he increased the number of missions to seventy.
* * *
"Goddammit," [said Doc Daneeka] "what's the matter with you two men anyway? It just isn't right for a person to have a low temperature all the time and walk around with a stuffed nose. Just look how cold I am right now. You're sure you're not holding anything back?"
"You're dead, sir," one of his two enlisted men explained.
Doc Daneeka jerked his head up quickly with resentful distrust. "What's that?"
"You're dead, sir," repeated the other. "That's probably the reason you always feel so cold."
"That's right, sir. You've probably been dead all this time and we just didn't detect it."
"What the hell are you both talking about?"
"It's true, sir," said one of the enlisted men. "The records show that you went up in McWatt's plane to collect some flight time. You didn't come down in a parachute, so you must have been killed in the crash."
"That's right, sir," said the other. "You ought to be glad you've got any temperature at all."
Doc Daneeka's mind was reeling in confusion. "Have you both gone crazy?" he demanded. "I'm going to report this whole insubordinate incident to Sergeant Towser."
"Sergeant Towser's the one who told us about it," said either Gus or Wes. "The War Department's even going to notify your wife."
* * *
"Chaplain, we charge you formally with being Washington Irving and taking capricious and unlicensed liberties in censoring the letters of officers and enlisted men. Are you guilty or innocent?"
"Innocent, sir." The chaplain licked dry lips with a dry tongue and leaned forward in suspense on the edge of his chair.
"Guilty," said the colonel.
"Guilty," said the major.
"Guilty it is, then," remarked the office without insignia."Chaplain, we accuse you also of the commission of crimes and infractions we don't even know about yet. Guilty of innocent?"
"I don't know, sir. How can I say if you don't tell me what they are?"
"How can we tell you if we don't know?"
"Guilty," decided the colonel.
"Sure he's guilty," agreed the major. "If they're his crimes and infractions, he must have committed them."
"Guilty it is then," chanted the officer without insignia, and moved off to the side of the room. "He's all yours, Colonel."
"Thank you," commended the colonel. "You did a very good job." He turned to the chaplain. "Okay, Chaplain, the jig's up. Take a walk."
The chaplain did not understand. "What do you wish me to do?"
"Go on, beat it, I told you!" the colonel roared, jerking a thumb over his shoulder angrily. "Get the hell out of here."
"Aren't you even going to punish me?" he inquired with querulous surprise.
"You're damned right we're going to punish you. But we're certainly not going to let you hang around while we decide how and when to do it. So get going. Hit the road."
* * *
"General Scheisskopf?" [General Peckem] inquired unsuspectingly of the sergeant in his new office who brought him word of the order that had come in that morning. "You mean Colonel Scheisskopf, don't you?"
"No, sir. General Scheisskopf. he was promoted to general this morning, sir."
"Well, that's certainly curious! Scheisskopf? A general? What grade?"
"Lieutenant general, sir, and - "
"Lieutenant general!"
"Yes, sir, and he wants you to issue no orders to anyone in your command without first clearing them through him."
"Well, I'll be damned..."
* * *
"There must have been a reason," Yossarian persisted, pounding his fist into his hand. "They couldn't just barge in here and chase everyone out."
"No reason," wailed the old woman. "No reason."
"What right did they have?"
"Catch-22."
"What?" Yossarian froze in his tracks with fear and alarm and felt hiw while body begin to tingle. "What did you say?"
"Catch-22," the old woman repeated, rocking her head up and down. "Catch-22. Catch-22 says they have a right to do anything we can't stop them from doing."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Yossarian shouted at her in bewildered, furious protest. "How did you know it was Catch-22? Who the hell told you it was Catch-22?"
"The soldiers with the hard white hats a clubs. The girls were crying. 'Did we do anything wrong?' they said. The men said no and pushed them away out the door with the ends of their clubs. 'Then why are you chasing us out?' the girls said. 'Catch-22,' the men said. 'What right do you have?' the girls said. 'Catch-22,' the men said. All they kept saying was 'Catch-22, Catch-22.' What does it mean, Catch-22? What is Catch-22?"
"Didn't they show it to you?" Yossarian demanded, stamping about in ager and distress. "Didn't you even make them read it?"
"They don't have to show us Catch-22," the old woman answered. "The law says they don't have to."
"What law says they don't have to?"
"Catch-22."
* * *
"There was, of course, a catch. Catch-22?" inquired Yossarian.
"Of course," Colonel Korn answered pleasantly... "After all, we can't simply send you home for refusing to fly more missions and keep the rest of the men here, can we? That would hardly be fair to them... You know, you really have been making things terribly difficult for Colonel Cathcart. The men are unhappy and morale is beginning to deteriorate. And it's all your fault."
"It's your fault," Yossarian argued, "for raising the number of missions."
"No, it's your fault for refusing to fly them," Colonel Korn retorted. "The men were perfectly content to fly as many missions as we asked as long as they thought they had no alternative, Now you've given they hope, and they're unhappy. So the blame is all yours."
"Doesn't he know there's a way going on?" Colonel Cathcart, still stamping back and forth, demanded morosely without looking at Yossarian.
"I'm quite sure he does," Colonel Korn answered. "That's probably why he refuses to fly them." "Doesn't it make any difference to him?" "Will the knowledge that there's a war going on weaken your decision to refuse to participate in it?" Colonel Korn inquired with sarcastic seriousness, mocking Colonel Cathcart. "No, sir," Yossarian replied. * * * "You know, in all fairness, we really haven't treated you too badly, have we? We've fed you and paid you on time. We gave you a medal and even made you a captain." "I never should have made him a captain," Colonel Cathcart exclaimed bitterly. "I should have given him a court-martial after he loused up that Ferrara mission and went around twice." "I told you not to promote him," said Colonel Korn, "but you wouldn't listen to me." "No you didn't. You told me to promote him, didn't you?" "I told you not to promote him. But you just didn't listen." "I should have listened." "You never listen to me," Colonel Korn persisted with relish. "That's the reason we're in this spot." "All right, gee whiz. Stop rubbing it in, will you?" * * * "Won't you fight for your country?" Colonel Korn demanded... "Won't you give up your life for Colonel Cathcart and me?" "What's that?" [Yossarian] exclaimed. "What have you and Colonel Cathcart got to do with my country? You're not the same." "How can you separate us?" Colonel Korn inquired with ironical tranquility. "That's right," Colonel Cathcart cried emphatically. "You're either for us or against us. There's no two way about it." "I'm afraid he's got you," added Colonel Korn. "You're either for us or against your country. It's as simple as that." "Oh, no, Colonel. I don't buy that. Colonel Korn was unruffled. "Neither do I, frankly, but everyone else will. So there are you." "You're a disgrace to your uniform!" Colonel Cathcart declared with blustering wrath to confront Yossarian for the first time. "I'd like to know how you ever got to be a captain, anyway." "You promoted him," Colonel Korn reminded sweetly, stifling a snicker. "Don't you remember?" "Well, I never should have done it." "I told you not to do it," Colonel Korn said. "But you just wouldn't listen to me." "Gee whzi, will you stop rubbing it in?" Colonel Cathcart cried. * * * It's part of the deal." "What deal?" "The deal I made with Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn. They'll let me go home a big hero if I say nice things about them to everybody and never criticize them to anyone for making the rest of the men flt more missions." "But that's terrible! That's a shameful scandalous deal, isn't it?" "Odious." "Then how could you agree to it?" "It's that or a court-martial, Chaplain." "You must do whatever you think is right, then." "Don't worry," Yossarian said with a sorrowful laugh after several moments has passed. "I'm not going to do it." "But you must do it. Really you must. I had no right to influence you. I really had no right to say anything." "You didn't influence me. Christ, Chaplain! Can you imagine that for a sin? Saving Colonel Cathcart's life! That's the one crime I don't want on my record. * * * "This is not World War One. You must never forget that we're at war with aggressors who would not let either one of us live if they won." "I know that," Yossarian replied tersely with a sudden surge of scowling annoyance. "Christ, Daby. I earned that medal I got, no matter what their reasons were for giving it to me. I've flown seventy goddam missions. Don't talk to me about fighting to save my country. I've been fighting all along to save my country. Now I'm going to fight a little to save myself. The country's not in danger any more, but I am." "The war's not over yet. The Germans are driving toward Antwerp." "The Germans will be beaten in a few months. And Japan will be beaten a few months after that. If I were to give up my life now, it wouldn't be for my country. It would be for Cathcart and Korn. So I'm turning my bombsight in for the duration. From now on I'm thinking only of me." "But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way." "Then I'd certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?" * * * "Goodbye, Yossarian," the chaplain called, "And good luck. I'll stay here and persevere, and we'll meet again when the fighting stops." "So long, Chaplain. Thanks Danby." "How do you feel, Yossarian?" "Fine. No. I'm very frightened." "That's good," said Major Danby. "It proves you're still alive. It won't be fun." Yossarian started out. "Yes, it will." "I mean it, Yossarian. You'll have to keep on your toes every minutes of every day. They'll bend heaven and earth to catch you." "I'll keep on my toes every minute." "You'll have to jump." "I'll jump." "Jump!" Major Danby cried. Yossarian jumped. Nately's whore was hiding just outside the door. The knife came down, missing him by inches, and he took off. = This is the end, Beautiful friend, This is the end, My only friend =
Further Info
Joseph_Heller - Wikipedia
Joseph Heller's site
Closing Time with Joseph Heller
No Spiders or Vampires Allowed (Quotes from "Life Is Beautiful")
Thursday, March 23, 2006 6:23:36 PM
"No Spiders or Vampires Allowed."
Quotes from
"Life Is Beautiful" (1997):
Giosué: [first line - narrating as an adult] This is a simple story...but not an easy one to tell.
* * *
Guido: Buon giorno, Principessa!
* * *
Guido: What kind of place is this? It's beautiful: Pigeons fly, women fall from the sky! I'm moving here!
* * *
Guido: You can't imagine how much I feel like making love to you. But I'll never tell anyone, especially not you. They'd have to torture me to make me say it.
Dora: Say what?
Guido: That I want to make love to you - not just once, but over and over again! But I'll never tell you that. I'd have to be crazy to tell you. I'd even make love to you now... right here for the rest of my life.
* * *
Guido: What are your political views?
Man: [to his two sons] Benito, Adolf! Sit Down!... Sorry Guido, what did you say?
* * *
Giosué: "No Jews or Dogs Allowed." Why do all the shops say, "No Jews Allowed"?
Guido: Oh, that. "Not Allowed" signs are the latest trend! The other day, I was in a shop with my friend the kangaroo, but their sign said, "No Kangaroos Allowed," and I said to my friend, "Well, what can I do? They don't allow kangaroos."
Giosué: Why doesn't our shop have a "Not Allowed" sign?
Guido: Well, tomorrow, we'll put one up. We won't let in anything we don't like. Why don't you like?
Giosué: Spiders.
Guido: Good. I don't like vampires. Tomorrow, we'll get sign: "No Spiders or Vampires Allowed."
* * *
Guido: [being shipped to a concentration camp] You've never ridden on a train, have you? They're fantastic! Everybody stands up, close together, and there are no seats!
Giosué: There aren't any seats?
Guido: Seats? On a train? It's obvious you've never ridden one before! No, everybody's packed in, standing up. Look at this line to get on! Hey, we've got tickets, save room for us!
* * *
Giosué: I didn't like the train.
Guido: [to his son] Me, neither. We'll take the bus back, okay?
Guido: [to the Nazis] Did you hear that? We're taking the bus back!
* * *
Guido: The prize is... the prize is...
Eliseo: A tank.
Guido: Yes! Yes, the prize is a tank.
Giosué: I already have one.
Guido: No, a real one.
Giosué: A real tank?
* * *
Giosué: [watching his uncle being sent to the gas chamber] Where is Uncle going?
Guido: Uh... oh, he's playing on a different team. Goodbye, Uncle!
Giosué: Goodbye, Uncle.
* * *
Bartolomeo: They are looking for someone who speaks German, to translate their instructions.
Guido: Me! I'll do it, I'll translate!
Bartolomeo: Do you speak German?
Guido: No.
* * *
Guido: [pretending to translate] The game starts now. You have to score one thousand points. If you do that, you take home a tank with a big gun. Each day we will announce the scores from that loudspeaker. The one who has the fewest points will have to wear a sign that says "Jackass" on his back. There are three ways to lose points. One, turning into a big crybaby. Two, telling us you want to see your mommy. Three, saying you're hungry and want something to eat.
* * *
Giosué: They turn us into buttons and soap.
Guido: Who told you that?
Giosué: An old man was crying. He said they turn us into buttons and soap. They burn us all up in ovens.
Guido: How ridiculous. They were just teasing you! There are wood ovens, but there are no people ovens. Putting people in ovens creates too much smoke.
* * *
Guido: [carrying his son through the camp] You are such a good boy. You sleep now. Dream sweet dreams. Maybe we are both dreaming. Maybe this is all a dream, and in the morning, Mommy will wake us up with milk and cookies. Then, after we eat, I will make love to her four or five times. If I can.
Roberto Benigni about cinema:
Roberto Benigni about Benigni:
Roberto Benigni (born October 27, 1952, in Misericordia, Arezzo, Tuscany, Italy) is an Italian film and television actor and director. Benigni is best known for his tragi-comedy "Life Is Beautiful" ("La Vita e bella" 1997) about a man who tries to protect his son during his internment at a Nazi concentration camp, by telling him that the Holocaust is an elaborate game and he must adhere very carefully to the rules to win. Benigni's father had spent two years in a concentration camp in Bergen-Belsen, and La Vita e bella is based in part on his father's experiences. The film was nominated for seven Academy Awards and won 3 Oscars for Best Foreign Language Film, Best Music (Nicola Piovani) and Best Actor (Benigni directed himself). His Oscar for Best Actor marked the second time that an actor had directed himself in an Academy Award winning performance (the other one was Laurence Olivier for "Hamlet" in 1948).
Benigni also directed "Il piccolo diavolo" (with Walter Matthau, 1988), "Johnny Stecchino"(1991), "The Monster" ("Il Mostro" 1994) and "Pinocchio" (2002). Benigni's wife, Nicoletta Braschi, has starred with him in most of the films he directed.
Benigni has starred in two films by American Director Jim Jarmusch. In "Down By Law" (1986) he plays Bob, the innocent abroad, convicted for murder, whose irrepressible good humour and optimism help him escape and find love (also starring Braschi as his beloved.) In "Night on Earth" (1991) he plays a cabby in Rome, causing his passenger, a priest, great discomfort by confessing his revolting sexual experiences. He also starred in the first of Jarmusch's series of short films "Coffee and Cigarettes" (1986).
Benigni became famous in the 1970s for a shocking TV series called "Televacca". The series was suspended due to censorship. Benigni was censored again in the 1980s for calling the Pope John Paul II something impolite during an important live TV show. His famously mangled English is a put-on, apparently. Benigni is also a well appreciated improvisatory poet, and is appreciated for his recitations of Dante's "Divina Commedia" by memory.
Quotes from
"Life Is Beautiful" (1997):
Giosué: [first line - narrating as an adult] This is a simple story...but not an easy one to tell.
* * *
Guido: Buon giorno, Principessa!
* * *
Guido: What kind of place is this? It's beautiful: Pigeons fly, women fall from the sky! I'm moving here!
* * *
Guido: You can't imagine how much I feel like making love to you. But I'll never tell anyone, especially not you. They'd have to torture me to make me say it.
Dora: Say what?
Guido: That I want to make love to you - not just once, but over and over again! But I'll never tell you that. I'd have to be crazy to tell you. I'd even make love to you now... right here for the rest of my life.
* * *
Guido: What are your political views?
Man: [to his two sons] Benito, Adolf! Sit Down!... Sorry Guido, what did you say?
* * *
Giosué: "No Jews or Dogs Allowed." Why do all the shops say, "No Jews Allowed"?
Guido: Oh, that. "Not Allowed" signs are the latest trend! The other day, I was in a shop with my friend the kangaroo, but their sign said, "No Kangaroos Allowed," and I said to my friend, "Well, what can I do? They don't allow kangaroos."
Giosué: Why doesn't our shop have a "Not Allowed" sign?
Guido: Well, tomorrow, we'll put one up. We won't let in anything we don't like. Why don't you like?
Giosué: Spiders.
Guido: Good. I don't like vampires. Tomorrow, we'll get sign: "No Spiders or Vampires Allowed."
* * *
Guido: [being shipped to a concentration camp] You've never ridden on a train, have you? They're fantastic! Everybody stands up, close together, and there are no seats!
Giosué: There aren't any seats?
Guido: Seats? On a train? It's obvious you've never ridden one before! No, everybody's packed in, standing up. Look at this line to get on! Hey, we've got tickets, save room for us!
* * *
Giosué: I didn't like the train.
Guido: [to his son] Me, neither. We'll take the bus back, okay?
Guido: [to the Nazis] Did you hear that? We're taking the bus back!
* * *
Guido: The prize is... the prize is...
Eliseo: A tank.
Guido: Yes! Yes, the prize is a tank.
Giosué: I already have one.
Guido: No, a real one.
Giosué: A real tank?
* * *
Giosué: [watching his uncle being sent to the gas chamber] Where is Uncle going?
Guido: Uh... oh, he's playing on a different team. Goodbye, Uncle!
Giosué: Goodbye, Uncle.
* * *
Bartolomeo: They are looking for someone who speaks German, to translate their instructions.
Guido: Me! I'll do it, I'll translate!
Bartolomeo: Do you speak German?
Guido: No.
* * *
Guido: [pretending to translate] The game starts now. You have to score one thousand points. If you do that, you take home a tank with a big gun. Each day we will announce the scores from that loudspeaker. The one who has the fewest points will have to wear a sign that says "Jackass" on his back. There are three ways to lose points. One, turning into a big crybaby. Two, telling us you want to see your mommy. Three, saying you're hungry and want something to eat.
* * *
Giosué: They turn us into buttons and soap.
Guido: Who told you that?
Giosué: An old man was crying. He said they turn us into buttons and soap. They burn us all up in ovens.
Guido: How ridiculous. They were just teasing you! There are wood ovens, but there are no people ovens. Putting people in ovens creates too much smoke.
* * *
Guido: [carrying his son through the camp] You are such a good boy. You sleep now. Dream sweet dreams. Maybe we are both dreaming. Maybe this is all a dream, and in the morning, Mommy will wake us up with milk and cookies. Then, after we eat, I will make love to her four or five times. If I can.
Roberto Benigni about cinema:
- When I first saw a Fellini movie, I came out of the movie theatre and decided to become a lawyer! I thought to myself, it's impossible to make something so beautiful!
- Fellini belongs to nature.
- For me, Fellini was like a watermelon. It is there. A watermelon cannot die.
- It's a real love story in an extreme situation, ... I was afraid of only one thing. I was afraid to offend the memory of survivors on Jewish people, which I respect so much.
- I am overjoyed and extremely grateful to receive this extraordinary honor, ... These awards fill my heart with happiness, knowing that people throughout Europe have been touched by our film.
- It's a sign of mediocrity when you demonstrate gratitude with moderation. (in "Newsweek")
- My duty is to try to reach beauty. Cinema is emotion. When you laugh you cry.
- Kubrick is like someone like Fellini, like Kafka, like someone who really dreamt for us and gave to us the key to understand something and the pleasure to tell the story.
- This is an homage to the master, because I love this movie, and, of course, making a movie -- a comedy about concentration camp, I watched this movie a lot of time.
Roberto Benigni about Benigni:
- My father was a farmer and my mother was a farmer, but, my childhood was very good. I am very grateful for my childhood, because it was full of gladness and good humanity.
- My mother brought me magicians and witches, because I was very ugly, really revolting. So she thought somebody had put a spell on me - this is the truth - so she made me drink some horrible terrifying potions, for year.
- The first movie I saw - and I don't know if it influenced me - was Ben Hur. We watched it outside in a corn field, and it ran backwards, so the first movie I ever saw was Ben Hur backwards.
- I remember in the circus learning that the clown was the prince, the high prince. I always thought that the high prince was the lion or the magician, but the clown is the most important.
- In Italy, the country where fascism was born, we have a particular relation with the Holocaust, but as a turning point in history it belongs to everybody in the world. It is a part of humanity.
Roberto Benigni (born October 27, 1952, in Misericordia, Arezzo, Tuscany, Italy) is an Italian film and television actor and director. Benigni is best known for his tragi-comedy "Life Is Beautiful" ("La Vita e bella" 1997) about a man who tries to protect his son during his internment at a Nazi concentration camp, by telling him that the Holocaust is an elaborate game and he must adhere very carefully to the rules to win. Benigni's father had spent two years in a concentration camp in Bergen-Belsen, and La Vita e bella is based in part on his father's experiences. The film was nominated for seven Academy Awards and won 3 Oscars for Best Foreign Language Film, Best Music (Nicola Piovani) and Best Actor (Benigni directed himself). His Oscar for Best Actor marked the second time that an actor had directed himself in an Academy Award winning performance (the other one was Laurence Olivier for "Hamlet" in 1948).
Benigni also directed "Il piccolo diavolo" (with Walter Matthau, 1988), "Johnny Stecchino"(1991), "The Monster" ("Il Mostro" 1994) and "Pinocchio" (2002). Benigni's wife, Nicoletta Braschi, has starred with him in most of the films he directed.
Benigni has starred in two films by American Director Jim Jarmusch. In "Down By Law" (1986) he plays Bob, the innocent abroad, convicted for murder, whose irrepressible good humour and optimism help him escape and find love (also starring Braschi as his beloved.) In "Night on Earth" (1991) he plays a cabby in Rome, causing his passenger, a priest, great discomfort by confessing his revolting sexual experiences. He also starred in the first of Jarmusch's series of short films "Coffee and Cigarettes" (1986).
Benigni became famous in the 1970s for a shocking TV series called "Televacca". The series was suspended due to censorship. Benigni was censored again in the 1980s for calling the Pope John Paul II something impolite during an important live TV show. His famously mangled English is a put-on, apparently. Benigni is also a well appreciated improvisatory poet, and is appreciated for his recitations of Dante's "Divina Commedia" by memory.
philips
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