 which suggest a curious, macabre pas de deux. When  the chair finally reaches the wall, it shoots sideways across the floor and  comes to a stop ten feet away, hopelessly out of reach. Strangelove,  exhausted and dejected, pulls himself up so that he is sitting on the floor,  his back against the wall at the far end of the War Room. He stares for a  moment at the surreal activity occurring there, the pie fight appearing like  a distant, blurry, white blizzard. The camera moves in on Strangelove as he  gazes, expressionless now, at the distant fray. Then, unobserved by him, his  right hand slowly rises, moves to the inner pocket of his jacket and, with  considerable stealth, withdraws a German Luger pistol and moves the barrel  toward his right temple. The hand holding the pistol is seized at the last  minute by the free hand and both grapple for its control. The hand grasping  the wrist prevails and is able to deflect the pistols aim so that when it  goes off with a tremendous roar, it misses the temple. The explosion  reverberates with such volume that the pie fight freezes. A tableau, of white  and ghostly aspect: Strangelove stares for a moment before realizing that he  has gained the upper hand. "Gentlemen," he calls out to them. "Enough of  these childish games. Vee hab vork to do. Azzemble here pleeze!" For a  moment, no one moves. Then a solitary figure breaks rank: It is General  Turgidson, who walks across the room to the wheelchair and pushes it over to  the stricken Strangelove. "May I help you into your chair, Doctor?" he asks.  He begins wheeling Strangelove across the War Room floor, which is now about  half a foot deep in custard pie. They move slowly until they reach the  president and the Russian ambassador who are sitting crosslegged, facing each  other, building a sandcastle. "What in Sam Hill..." mutters General  Turgidson. "Ach," says Strangelove. "I think their minds have snapped under  the strain. Perhaps they will have to be institutionalized." As they near the  pie