Jim Sheridan Is a Man,
Do You Hear Me

Friday, November 4th, 2005 5:18 PM
Jim Sheridan: Curtis, this is Jim. You're in for it now, you bloody wanker. You think you're the only man who can make a movie about a rapper, now then? Do you? Well that's a load of shite if I've ever heard one. Who in the hell do you think you are anyway? A fucking director? Go piss in a fucking cup and drink it, and that's what I think of your fucking movie about a rapper then, boy. You filthy twat. You think I'm fucking impressed by your bloody Acadamy Award? Shove it up your arse, you goddamned eejit.
(pause)
And if you're listening Rebecca, that man you're with is a bloody sod then, cuttie. But then you're no better, are you? Having a bastard child with a man twice your age. Whore.
(pause)
You better mind yourself, Hanson. You just wait until I post up my numbers. 8 Mile is a wretched pile, mate. It belongs in the fucking shitter with everything else that comes out of your stupid head. Kiss my arse. You're a sack of cocks. Good day.

* * *

Saturday, November 5th, 2005 1:40 PM
Jim Sheridan: Curtis, I know you're fucking listening. Bloody coward. Won't even pick up the phone. Well, you listen up then. You listen up with those big, dumb American ears of yours. My rapper movie is going to bloody wreck yours.
(pause)
Have you ever worked with Daniel Day-Lewis, you cock?
(long pause, heavy breathing)
No. You haven't. Do you know why?
(pause)
Because you're the rope of steaming shite that hangs from a dog's arse. That's what he told me himself. I've got his fucking cell phone number, Curtis. I can call him whenever the fuck I want. I've got his bloody email, you sloppy twat. He's the most respected actor in the history of cinema. Who have you got then? Kim Basinger?
(heavy breathing)
That slag? She's no Daniel Day-Lewis. Is she, Curtis? Is she? You fucking waste. Piss on you. Good day.

* * *

Sunday, November 6th, 2005 10:51 AM
Jim Sheridan: Gammy wanker.
(pause)
Good day.

* * *

Monday, November 7th, 2005 7:36 PM
Rebecca Yeldham: Hello?
Jim Sheridan: (silence)
Rebecca Yeldham: Hello? Who's there?
Jim Sheridan: (silence)
Rebecca Yeldham: I hear you breathing. Jim? Is that you?
Jim Sheridan: No.
Rebecca Yeldham: (silence)
Jim Sherican: (silence)
Rebecca Yeldham: Jim, you listen to me right now. If you don't stop calling this house right now, so help me, I will call the police. I will have this reported. I will sell the story to every fucking newspaper and magazine, and I will expose you for the rat shit, drunken, Irish, son-of-a-bitch, asshole, bastard that you are. I have a baby in this house who isn't even a year old yet, and I don't need you calling and screaming on our fucking answering machine like a fucking mental lunatic. I don't care about your fucking rapper movie. Curtis doesn't care about your rapper movie. We're over rappers. They're not cool anymore. Do you understand?
Jim Sheridan: (long pause) You're a know-nothing bitch. Good day.

* * *

Wednesday, November 9th, 2005 4:48 AM
Jim Sheridan: (whispering) Get ready to be bloody arse-raped today, you couple of horse cunts. I hope you choke on your bloody breakfast, and I'll fucking see you in hell. Good day.

* * *

Wednesday, November 9th, 2005 12:09 PM
AT&T: AT&T, this is Carolyn. How may I help you today?
Curtis Hanson: Carolyn, I'm being harassed, and I would like it to end. I know who's doing it, but I don't know what number or numbers he's calling from.
AT&T: Can I have your name and ten-digit telephone number, please?
Curtis Hanson: Curtis Hanson. ###-###-####.
AT&T: Thank you, Mr. Hanson. When did you last receive a harassing call?
Curtis Hanson: This morning.
AT&T: Do you know around what time?
Curtis Hanson: It was early. The machine picked it up. Around five this morning I think.
AT&T: All right. And you said you don't know who is making these calls?
Curtis Hanson: No. I know who's calling, but I don't know anything else.
AT&T: (pause) All right, sir, the best we can do is monitor your calls in the event that he calls back.
Curtis Hanson: And what if he never calls back?
AT&T: I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing more we can do. If he threatened you in any way, I would suggest you contact the local authorities and proceed from there.
Curtis Hanson: (long pause) Fine.

* * *

Monday, November 14th, 2005 11:46 PM
Curtis Hanson: Hello?
Jim Sheridan: (silence)
Curtis Hanson: (silence)
Jim Sheridan: (heavy breathing)
Curtis Hanson: Jim, you listen to me, you son of a fuck. This better be the last fucking time you ever call this house. I've got the phone company tracing my calls. You got that? Don't call here again.
(pause)
You still there, you miserable, irrelevant failure?
(pause)
I had lunch with Philip Kaufman today. Who'd you have lunch with? Huh? Your beast-faced daughters?
(pause)
Philip and I agreed that In America was gay, and then he showed me the weekend grosses. You can't post shit. You couldn't pull in an audience to save your fucking life. And don't feed me that shit about all you're critical acclaim. I got the Oscar, I got the reviews, and I got the numbers. I've got everything you wish you could have. Isn't that right, you pathetic cocksucker?
(pause)
What do you have to say for yourself? Huh? You fat fucking lush. Say something.
Jim Sheridan: Jim Sheridan is a man. Do you hear me? I am a man! I have everything I want! I've worked harder than anyone! I've done more than anyone!
Curtis Hanson: Shut up. You're a bloated whale. You know that? I'm hanging up this phone, Jim, and I never want to hear from you again.
Jim Sheridan: (silence)