The Lost Weekend (1945): There's Only One Don Part 3

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The clip There's only one Don Part 3 from The Lost Weekend (1945) That's a sad final word, Don. Look at it...
The clip There's only one Don Part 3 from The Lost Weekend (1945) That's a sad final word, Don. Look at it this way, Helen. This business is just a formality. Don Birnam is dead already. He died over this weekend. Did he? What did he die of? Of a lot of things. Of alcohol, of moral anemia, of fear, of shame, of D.T.'s. Oh, that Don Birnam. And now you want to kill the other one. What other? There were two Dons. You told me so yourself. Don the drunk and Don the writer. Let's not go back to a fancy figure of speech. There's only one Don, he's through. Don. I'm all right, I have enough strength left... I know you have. I can see it. Don't waste it on pulling a trigger, Don. No, let me get it over with or do you want me to give you another one of my promises that I never keep? I don't want you to give me your promise, I don't want you to give your promise to anybody but Don Birnam. It's too late. I wouldn't know how to start. The only way to start is to stop. There is no cure besides just stopping. Can't be done. Other people have stopped. People with a purpose, with something to do. You've got talent and ambition. Talent. Ambition. That's dead long ago. That's drowned. That's drifting around with a bloated belly on a lake of alcohol. No it isn't. You still have it. Quit trying to stall me Helen. It's too late. There's no more writing left in me, it's gone. What do you expect, a miracle? Yes, Yes, yes! If I could just make you... Who is it? It's me, Mr. Birnam. What is it, Nat? I got somethin' for you, Mr. Birnam. I hope I ain't intrudin. What is it? You know when you had that accident? Afterward I found this floatin' around on the Nile. She writes pretty good. I oiled her up a little. And I didn't oil her up so you can hock her. I'll take it, Nat. Hello, Miss. Thank you, Nat. How are all them lilacs in Ohio? Well Don, here it is. What do you say now? Say about what? This. Someone, somewhere, sent it back. Why? Because he means you to stay alive, because he wants you to write. I didn't ask for a big miracle. Write! With these hands? And a brain that's all out of focus? It'll clear up again. You'll be well.