Killers Kill, Dead Men Die
Oscar: There's only two types of people in this town: the Killers and the Killed. If you're not the one, you're gonna end up the other.
Jimmy: What about the dames, chief? Where do they fit in?
Oscar: Have you seen the dames in this town? Warm beneath the sheets, hot under the collar, and ice-cold under the skin... That reminds me—I've got an appointment. Don't wait up, fellas. I might be a while
THE CRIME SCENE.
On a hard bed of wet L.A. pavement, Oscar (Bruce Willis) has begun his eternal rest. The doll with the .44 (Kirsten Dunst) appears to be none other than Laura Lydeker, an heiress whose father owns half the lemon trees in the state of California and whose mother owns the other half.
THE LADIES OF L.A. IN POWDER ROOM.
Socialite Eve Greeley-Waddington (Anjelica Huston) finds it amusing, but not surprising, that the Lydeker name has arisen in connection with the murder of a low-life shamus. "Lemons grow on trees, reputations, decidedly, do not." Estelle Willisford (Sharon Stone), of the department-store Willisfords, could not agree more, once she's through applying lip paint. And if Ethel Barringsley (Diane Lane) seems less than enthralled by the topic at hand, she probably has her reasons—and damned interesting ones, at that.
THE INTERROGATION.
Detective James Archer (Alec Baldwin), of the L.A.P.D. homicide squad, hears out the soliloquy of surprise informant Muriel Slade (Jennifer Connelly), twin sister of the murdered man. Beat cop Mack Shaughnessy (Aaron Eckhart) keeps a grip on his stick, just in case her tale starts making even more sense.
Champ turned trainer Mike "Tiny" Galento (Sylvester Stallone) has taught Sugar Foot Robinson (Djimon Hounsou) the true meaning of boxing: when they tell you to take out your opponent in the fourth, you take him out in the fourth, and you don't ask questions—got it? Bootlegger turned trainer Magic Pete (Forest Whitaker) has similarly instructed his fighter, School Boy Simmons (Robert Downey Jr.), that the only sweet thing about "the sweet science" is the wad of bills they hand you during the post-fight rubdown. Tonight's wad will be fat indeed. The lady in red (Jessica Biel) doesn't mind if you take a dive, so long as you can keep her neck in chinchilla. Private eye Jimmy (Tobey Maguire) has made the scene because he knows Oscar placed a not-so-friendly wager on tonight's entertainment. He knows something else too: dead men don't collect their winnings.Spin dissolve to …
Making like lovebirds, undercover police detectives Sloan (Ed Norton) and Minsky (Kate Winslet) are working the Hotel La Brea on a tip. The place is a rattrap, but that's why they're here: to trap rats. And, with any luck, exterminate them. The owner, blind racketeer Marlon Doppel (Robert De Niro), knows who offed poor Oscar, but he's not saying. Neither is Muriel Slade (Jennifer Connelly), who has so deftly misled the law for reasons having to do with saving her own skin. The languid drink of water in the corner (Julianne Moore) is content to know not much of anything beyond which gentleman will take on the job of keeping her in silk. Tilda Lydeker (Helen Mirren) arrives in search of answers, unaware that she may be checking in one last time before checking out for good.
END OF THE PARTY.
THE SHOOT-OUT. EXT. HOTEL LA BREA, FIRE ESCAPE—NIGHT
Is this a flashback, or did the projectionist mix up the reels? Even the director can't be sure. Back at the Hotel La Brea, undercover cop Minsky (Kate Winslet) would like a word with Tilda (Helen Mirren), but if not, the flatfoot femme is more than happy to let her lady pistol do the talking for both of them. And when her pistol starts talking … well, like a lot of ladies, it's hard to shut up.Once the cartridges are emptied, we find two beauties taking the big sleep in the L.A. night. A sleep that won't be haunted by the secret Tilda is taking with her to the Lydeker-family mausoleum (a ways down Halcyon Lane from Oscar's sorry plot). A sleep that won't be disturbed by the visage of the man she may or may not have hired—for a cost beyond price—to plug poor Oscar. A mad face, leering and twisted. And the most devilish eyebrows. It is the face of …
… the face of this man (Jack Nicholson), who kills for love, or money, or some combination of the two. Or maybe it's just for kicks. Wherever people try to make themselves into something good and decent, wherever a man tries to make that one last score, wherever a woman feels like yielding to a fellow, he is there. In a town where the law is kill or be killed, die or die later, he is always watching, always waiting for his chance, and revealing himself only in the final reel, with the City of So-Called Angels spreading below him like a still-warm bloodslick.Forget it, Oscar. It's … somewhere.Pull back to reveal: a wild, unpruned lemon grove.
::La niña Tere, I (heart) Vanity Fair::