tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32351339726125218332024-02-08T12:26:13.954-08:00Scripts of Joel Coen and Ethan CoenEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-42523398509499584922007-05-17T14:18:00.006-07:002007-05-17T14:28:49.934-07:00"O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU""O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU"<br /><br /> By<br /><br /> Ethan Coen and Joel Coen<br /><br /> BLACK<br /><br /> In black, we hear a chain-gang chant, many voices together, <br /> spaced around the unison strike of picks against rock. A <br /> title burns in:<br /><br /> O muse! <br /> Sing in me, and through me tell the story <br /> Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending... <br /> A wanderer, harried for years on end...<br /><br /> On the sound of an impact we cut to:<br /><br /> A PICK<br /><br /> splitting a rock.<br /><br /> As the chant continues, wider angles show the chain-gang at <br /> work. They are black men in bleached and faded stripes, <br /> chained together, working under a brutal midday sun.<br /><br /> It is flat delta countryside; the straight-ruled road <br /> stretches to infinity. Mounted guards with shotguns lazily <br /> patrol the line.<br /><br /> The chain-gang chant is regular and, it seems, timeless.<br /><br /> We slowly fade out, returning to<br /><br /> BLACK<br /><br /> The last of the voices fades.<br /><br /> After a long beat we hear the guitar introduction to Harry <br /> McClintock's 'The Big Rock Candy Mountain.'<br /><br /> A WHEAT FIELD<br /><br /> A road cuts across the middle background. Noonday sun beats <br /> down.<br /><br /> We hear the distant picks and shovels of men at work and <br /> see, rising above ground level, the occasional upraised pick <br /> and spade heaving dirt. Men are digging a ditch alongside <br /> the road.<br /><br /> After a long beat, three men pop up in the wheat field in <br /> the middle foreground. They wear faded stripes and grey duck-<br /> billed caps. They scurry abreast toward the camera, throwing <br /> an occasional glance back at the ditch-diggers. A clanking <br /> sound accompanies their run. Oddly, the wheat between them <br /> sweeps down as they run. After a brief sprint they drop back <br /> down into the wheat.<br /><br /> In the background a man enters frame left, strolling along <br /> the road, wearing a khaki uniform and sunglasses, a shotgun <br /> resting against one shoulder. He glances idly down into the <br /> ditch and strolls on out of frame right.<br /><br /> The three men rise back up from the wheat and, clanking, <br /> resume their sprint.<br /><br /> THREE PAIRS OF EYES<br /><br /> They are topped by three cap bills, and peer out from behind <br /> a blind of greenery. We hear distant whistling.<br /><br /> The men are looking at a weathered barn. A young boy, <br /> whistling, is heading down the road that leads away from the <br /> barn, jiggling the traces of the old plough horse that leads <br /> him. He turns a corner and is gone.<br /><br /> BARNYARD<br /><br /> The three clanking men (we can now see their leg irons) are <br /> awkwardly chasing a chicken around the yard. The squawking <br /> yardbird doesn't need to move much to elude the three bunched <br /> men.<br /><br /> COUNTRY LANE<br /><br /> It curves in a gentle S into the background. It is sun-<br /> dappled, pretty.<br /><br /> We hear clanking footsteps approaching at a trot.<br /><br /> The three men enter in the foreground and trot on down the <br /> lane. The leftmost has a flapping chicken tucked under one <br /> arm.<br /><br /> AFTERNOON CAMPFIRE<br /><br /> The three men sit in a side-by-side arc around a dying fire, <br /> one of them contentedly picking his teeth with a small chicken <br /> bone, another wiping grease off his chin with a sleeve, the <br /> third idly poking at the fire with a spit.<br /><br /> Each of them, still bound by chains, clinks as he moves.<br /><br /> One of them abruptly cocks his head, listening.<br /><br /> The others notice his attitude and also freeze, listening.<br /><br /> We hear the distant baying of hounds.<br /><br /> ROLLING HILLS<br /><br /> From high on a ridge we see the three chained men running <br /> toward us.<br /><br /> In addition to their clanks we hear a distant chugging sound.<br /><br /> TRACKING<br /><br /> Laterally with the clanking, running feet.<br /><br /> The chugging sound is very loud.<br /><br /> RUNNING<br /><br /> Next to a freight train. A boxcar door is open.<br /><br /> INSIDE THE BOXCAR<br /><br /> The lead convict hooks an elbow in and starts hauling himself <br /> up, his two clanking friends keeping pace outside.<br /><br /> Six hobos sit in the boxcar, lounging against sacks of <br /> O'Daniel's Flour. They impassively watch the convict clamber <br /> in as his two confederates run to keep up.<br /><br /> The convict hauls himself to his feet. In spite of his stubble <br /> he has carefully tended hair and a pencil mustache. He is <br /> Everett.<br /><br /> As he dusts himself off:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Say, uh, any a you boys smithies?<br /><br /> The hobos stare.<br /><br /> Everett gives an ingratiating smile as, behind him, the second <br /> convict starts to haul himself into the boxcar, the third <br /> convict still keeping pace outside.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Or, if not smithies per se, were you <br /> otherwise trained in the metallurgic <br /> arts before straitened circumstances <br /> forced you into a life of aimless <br /> wanderin'?<br /><br /> The convict running outside the boxcar door stumbles and <br /> disappears and the middle convict is yanked out immediately <br /> after. Everett, just finishing his speech, flips forward in <br /> turn, smashes his chin onto the floor and is sucked out the <br /> open doorway, his clawing fingernails leaving parallel grooves <br /> on the boxcar floorboards.<br /><br /> The hobos impassively watch.<br /><br /> OUTSIDE<br /><br /> The three men tumble, clanking, down the track embankment.<br /><br /> Squush - they come to a rest in swampland at the bottom.<br /><br /> They shake their heads clear, then rise to their feet in the <br /> muck and watch the train recede.<br /><br /> Its fading clatter leaves the baying of hounds.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Jesus - can't I count on you people?<br /><br /> The second con is Delmar.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Sorry, Everett.<br /><br /> Everett looks desperately about.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> All right - if we take off through <br /> that bayou-<br /><br /> The third con, Pete, bald but also with beard stubble, angrily <br /> cuts in.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Wait a minute! Who elected you leader <br /> a this outfit?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, Pete, I just figured it should <br /> be the one with capacity for abstract <br /> thought. But if that ain't the <br /> consensus view, hell, let's put her <br /> to a vote!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Suits me! I'm votin' for yours truly!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well I'm votin' for yours truly too!<br /><br /> Both men look interrogatively to Delmar.<br /><br /> He looks from Pete to Everett, and nods agreeably.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Okay - I'm with you fellas.<br /><br /> Everett makes a sudden hushing gesture and all listen.<br /><br /> The baying of hounds is louder now, but through it we hear a <br /> distant scrape of metal against metal, like the workings of <br /> a rusty pump. The men turn in unison to look up the track.<br /><br /> A small, distant form is moving slowly up the track toward <br /> them.<br /><br /> As it draws closer it resolves into a human-propelled flatcar. <br /> An ancient black man rhythmically pumps its long seesaw <br /> handle.<br /><br /> The three convicts look out at the swampland which begins to <br /> show movement, the bowing grass trampled by men and dogs.<br /><br /> The flatcar draws even and slows.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Mind if we join you, ol' timer?<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> Join me, my sons.<br /><br /> The three men clamber aboard and the old man resumes pumping.<br /><br /> The three men exchange glances; Delmar waves a clanking hand <br /> before the old man's milky eyes. No reaction.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> You work for the railroad, grandpa?<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> I work for no man.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Got a name, do ya?<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> I have no name.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, that right there may be why <br /> you've had difficulty finding gainful <br /> employment. Ya see, in the mart of <br /> competitive commerce, the-<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> You seek a great fortune, you three <br /> who are now in chains...<br /><br /> The men fall silent.<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> And you will find a fortune - though <br /> it will not be the fortune you seek...<br /><br /> The three convicts, faces upturned, listen raptly to the <br /> blind prophet.<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> ...But first, first you must travel <br /> a long and difficult road - a road <br /> fraught with peril, uh-huh, and <br /> pregnant with adventure. You shall <br /> see things wonderful to tell. You <br /> shall see a cow on the roof of a <br /> cottonhouse, uh-huh, and oh, so many <br /> startlements...<br /><br /> The cloudy eyes of the old man stare sightlessly down the <br /> track as the seesaw handle rises and falls through frame.<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> ...I cannot say how long this road <br /> shall be. But fear not the obstacles <br /> in your path, for Fate has vouchsafed <br /> your reward. And though the road <br /> may wind, and yea, your hearts grow <br /> weary, still shall ye foller the <br /> way, even unto your salvation.<br /><br /> The old man pumps - reek-a reek-a reek-a - as all contemplate <br /> his words.<br /><br /> Loud and sudden:<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> IZZAT CLEAR?<br /><br /> The men start, then mumble polite acknowledgement.<br /><br /> The railroad tracks wind to the setting sun. Reek-a reek-a <br /> reek-a - the flatcar rolls, in wide shot, toward the golden <br /> horizon.<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> DAY<br /><br /> A hot dusty road leading up to a lone farmhouse.<br /><br /> The three men walk, clanking and abreast.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> How'd he know about the treasure?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Don't know, Delmar-though the blind <br /> are reputed to possess sensitivities <br /> compensatin' for their lack of sight, <br /> even to the point of developing para-<br /> normal psychic powers. Now clearly, <br /> seein' the future would fall neatly <br /> into that ka-taggery. It's not so <br /> surprising, then, if an organism <br /> deprived of earthly vision-<br /><br /> PETE<br /> He said we wouldn't get it! He said <br /> we wouldn't get the treasure we seek!<br /><br /> Everett grows testy:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well what does he know - he's an <br /> ignorant old man! Jesus, Pete, I'm <br /> telling you I buried it myself, and <br /> if your cousin still runs this-here <br /> horse farm and has a forge and some <br /> shoein' impediments to restore our <br /> liberty of movement-<br /><br /> Bang! A rifle shot kicks up dust in front of the men.<br /><br /> CHILD'S VOICE<br /> Hold it rah chair!<br /><br /> The front of the farm house shows only a harshly shaded front <br /> porch and a dark screen door.<br /><br /> The screen door swings open and a child emerges on to the <br /> porch and steps down into the sunlight, holding a gun almost <br /> bigger than he is. The grimy-faced boy, about eight years <br /> old, wears tattered overalls.<br /><br /> CHILD<br /> You men from the bank?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> You Wash's boy?<br /><br /> CHILD<br /> Yassir! And Daddy tolt me I'm to <br /> shoot whosoever from the bank!<br /><br /> He pokes his rifle at the three men, who raise their hands.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well, we ain't from no bank, young <br /> feller.<br /><br /> CHILD<br /> Yassir! I'm also suppose to shoot <br /> folks servin' papers!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well we ain't got no papers.<br /><br /> CHILD<br /> Yassir! I nicked the census man!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> There's a good boy. Is your daddy <br /> about?<br /><br /> THE BACK OF THE HOUSE<br /><br /> Wash Hogwallop, a sour-looking bald man, sits near a rusted <br /> bathtub in a yard littered with ancient car parts and farm <br /> implements overgrown with weeds. He is whittling artlessly <br /> at a stick.<br /><br /> He glances up as the three convicts clank around the corner, <br /> then returns to his whittling.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> 'Lo, Pete. Hooor yer friends?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pleased to make your acquaintance, <br /> Mister Hogwallop. M'name's Ulysses <br /> Everett McGill.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> 'N I'm Delmar O'Donnell.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> How ya been, Wash? Been what, twelve, <br /> thirteen year'n?<br /><br /> Still looking sourly at his whittling:<br /><br /> WASH<br /> You've grown chatty.<br /><br /> He tosses the stick aside and sighs.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> I expect you'll want them chains <br /> knocked off.<br /><br /> THE HOGWALLOP KITCHEN<br /><br /> The four men and little boy sit around the kitchen table <br /> eating stew. A Sears Roebuck catalogue on the boy's chair <br /> brings him to table height. The cons are now rid of their <br /> chains and are dressed in ill-fitting farmer's wear.<br /><br /> WASH<br /><br /> They foreclosed on Cousin Vester. He hanged himself a year <br /> come May.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> And Uncle Ratliff?<br /><br /> WASH<br /> The anthrax took most of his cows. <br /> The rest don't milk, and he lost a <br /> boy to mumps.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Where's Cora, Cousin Wash?<br /><br /> Wash glances at the little boy.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> Couldn't say. Mrs. Hogwallop up and <br /> R-U-N-N-O-F-T.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Mm. Must've been lookin' for answers.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> Possibly. Good riddance, far as I'm <br /> concerned...<br /><br /> The three men slurp their stew.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> I do miss her cookin' though.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> This stew's awful good.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> Think so?<br /><br /> He sniffs dubiously at his spoon.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> I slaughtered this horse last Tuesday; <br /> 'm afraid she's startin' to turn.<br /><br /> LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> Later. The four men sit about listening to a big box radio. <br /> Wash is whittling once again; Everett dips his comb into a <br /> pomade jar and carefully works on his hair; Pete is digging <br /> around with a toothpick; Delmar dreamily waves one hand in <br /> time to the music.<br /><br /> The music ends.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER<br /> Well, that's the last number for <br /> tonight's 'Pass the Biscuits Pappy <br /> O'Daniel Flour Hour.' This is Pappy <br /> O'Daniel, hopin' you folks been <br /> enjoyin' that good old-timey music, <br /> and remember, when you're fixin' to <br /> fry up some flapjacks or bake a mess <br /> a biscuits, use cool clear water and <br /> good pure Pappy O'Daniel flour for <br /> that 'Pass the Biscuits, Pappy' <br /> flavor. So tune in next week folks, <br /> and till then whyncha turn to your <br /> better half and sing along with Pappy: <br /> 'You are my sunshine, my only <br /> sunshine...'<br /><br /> Everett clears his throat.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, guess I'll be turning in...<br /><br /> He screws the lid back on the pomade.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Say, Cousin Wash, I guess it'd be <br /> the acme of foolishness to inquire <br /> if you had a hairnet.<br /><br /> WASH<br /> Got a bunch in yon byurra. Mrs. <br /> Hogwallop's, matter of fact. <br /> Hepyaseff; I won't be needin' 'em.<br /><br /> THE THREE MEN<br /><br /> Sleeping in a hayloft. Everett wears a hairnet over his <br /> painstakingly arranged hair.<br /><br /> Pete snores on the inhale. Delmar whistles on the exhale.<br /><br /> A spotlight plays over the hayloft ceiling and a voice booms:<br /><br /> BULLHORN VOICE<br /> All right boys, itsy authorities.<br /><br /> The three men rouse themselves.<br /><br /> BULLHORN VOICE<br /> We gotcha surrounded. Just come on <br /> out grabbin' air!<br /><br /> Everett shrugs his shoulders and peeks down into the barnyard.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Damn! We're in a tight spot!<br /><br /> From high we see a foreshortened lawman holding a bullhorn <br /> surrounded by armed deputies.<br /><br /> Next to the man with the bullhorn, a tin-starred sheriff <br /> watches impassively through mirrored sunglasses, a bloodhound <br /> drooling at his side.<br /><br /> MAN WITH BULLHORN<br /> And don't try nothin' fancy - your <br /> sitchy-ation is purt nigh hopeless.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> What inna Sam Hill...?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pete's cousin turned us in for the <br /> bounty!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> The hell you say! Wash is kin!<br /><br /> An unamplified voice echoes up from the yard:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Sorry Pete! I know we're kin! But <br /> they got this Depression on, and I <br /> gotta do fer me and mine!<br /><br /> Pete screams down from the hayport:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> I'M GONNA KILL YOU, JUDAS ISCARIOT <br /> HOGWALLOP! YOU MIS'ABLE HOSS-EATIN' <br /> SONOFABITCH! YOU-<br /><br /> RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT- Everett pulls Pete down as a tommy gun spits <br /> lead into the hayloft.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Damn! We're in a tight spot!<br /><br /> Pete is enraged:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Damn his eyes! Pa always said never <br /> trust a Hogwallop-COME'N GET US, <br /> COPPERS!<br /><br /> BULLHORN VOICE<br /> So be it! You boys're leavin' us no <br /> choice but to smoke you out.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Oh no! Lord have mercy!<br /><br /> Men approach the barn with torches.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> What do we do now, Everett?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Fire! I hate fire!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> YOU LOUSY TIN-WEARIN' MOTHERLESS<br /> BARNBURNIN' COCKROACHES-<br /><br /> Everett cuts in, his voice breaking:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> NOW HOLD ON, BOYS-AINTCHA EVER HEARD <br /> OF A NEGOTIATION? MAYBE WE CAN TALK <br /> THIS THING OUT!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Yeah, let's negotiate 'em, Everett.<br /><br /> The hayloft is filling with smoke. Flames lick downstairs.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> YOU LOUSY YELLA-BELLIED LOW-DOWN <br /> SKUNKS-<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Now hold on, Pete, we gotta speak <br /> with one voice here - CAREFUL WITH <br /> THAT FIRE NOW, BOYS!<br /><br /> Pete grabs a flaming faggot and hurls it down at the deputized <br /> congregation.<br /><br /> It lands harmlessly in some scattered straw.<br /><br /> BULLHORN VOICE<br /> You choose it, boys - the prison <br /> farm or the pearly gates!<br /><br /> The straw curls, lights, and the fire scuttles over to a <br /> parked Black Maria.<br /><br /> With a loud airy WHOOOF! the undercarriage of the police van <br /> pops into flame.<br /><br /> The man with the bullhorn sees it.<br /><br /> MAN WITH BULLHORN<br /> Holy Saint Christopher - OUTA THAT <br /> VEHICLE, CHAMP, SHE'S LICKIN' FAR!<br /><br /> Tommy guns are stored in the back of the van. The drum of <br /> one starts spinning.<br /><br /> Flames lick up the outside of the van as - chinka-chinka-<br /> chinka - bullet holes walk across the body.<br /><br /> MAN WITH BULLHORN<br /> Take cover, boys, THAT AIN'T POPCORN!<br /><br /> Yelling men scurry away.<br /><br /> The vehicle rocks and chatters under the force of the many <br /> tommy guns now firing inside. Tires pop, hiss and settle; <br /> doors pop open; glass shatters.<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> Who's that?<br /><br /> An oncoming car is bouncing crazily across the yard, horn <br /> blaring. Deputies leap out of its path.<br /><br /> The car shoots past the chattering van which still bucks and <br /> bounces on its shocks, its interior strobing and flashing as <br /> if filled with trapped lightning.<br /><br /> The speeding car heads directly for the flaming barn door <br /> and crashes through in a shower of sparks.<br /><br /> The car brakes inside the barn and the driver's door flies <br /> open. The little Hogwallop boy yells over the roar of the <br /> flames:<br /><br /> BOY<br /> Come on, boys! I'm gonna R-U-N-N-O-F-<br /> T!<br /><br /> Pete, Everett and Delmar pile in.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> You should be in bed, little fella.<br /><br /> The doors slam shut and the boy grinds into gear. He has <br /> wood blocks strapped to his feet so that he can reach <br /> accelerator, brake and clutch. He sits on a Sears Roebuck <br /> catalogue to give him a view over the dash.<br /><br /> BOY<br /> You ain't the boss a me!<br /><br /> The car speeds for the far wall, sheeted in flame, and bursts <br /> through.<br /><br /> COUNTRY ROAD - DAY<br /><br /> The little Hogwallop boy walks away in long shot down the <br /> middle of the empty road. His walk is unsteady, the wood <br /> blocks still strapped to his feet.<br /><br /> He turns to face us and hollers:<br /><br /> BOY<br /> You candy-butted car-thievin' so's <br /> 'n so's! I curse yer names!<br /><br /> Pete enters in the foreground and throws a dirt clod at the <br /> boy. It lands shy as Pete yells:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Go back home'n mind yer pa!<br /><br /> We pan Pete over to the shoulder where the car is stopped, <br /> its hood propped open. Everett and Delmar are looking at the <br /> engine.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> What's the damn problem?<br /><br /> DRYGOODS STORE<br /><br /> The proprietor is a bespectacled middle-aged man wearing <br /> sleeve garters and a visor. Behind him are stacked, among <br /> other necessaries, sacks of O'Daniel Flour. He pushes a small <br /> tin across the counter.<br /><br /> PROPRIETOR<br /> I can get the part from Bristol; <br /> it'll take two weeks. Here's your <br /> pomade.<br /><br /> Everett is stunned.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Two weeks! That don't do me no good!<br /><br /> PROPRIETOR<br /> Nearest Ford auto man's Bristol.<br /><br /> Everett picks up the tin.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hold on there - I don't want this <br /> pomade, I want Dapper Dan.<br /><br /> PROPRIETOR<br /> I don't carry Dapper Dan. I carry <br /> Fop.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> No! I don't want Fop! Goddamnit - I <br /> use Dapper Dan!<br /><br /> PROPRIETOR<br /> Watch your language, young fellow, <br /> this is a public market. Now, if you <br /> want Dapper Dan I can order it for <br /> you, have it in a couple of weeks.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, ain't this place a geographical <br /> oddity-two weeks from everywhere! <br /> Forget it! Just the dozen hairnets!<br /><br /> PETE AND DELMAR<br /><br /> On a wooded hillside. They sit at a twig fire, roasting a <br /> small creature on a spit.<br /><br /> EVERETT (O.S.)<br /> It didn't look like a one-horse <br /> town...<br /><br /> He stalks into frame and plops disgustedly down by the fire.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...but try getting a decent hair <br /> jelly.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Gopher, Everett?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> And no transmission belt for two <br /> weeks neither.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Huh?! They dam that river on the <br /> 21st. Today's the 17th!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Don't I know it.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> We got but four days to get to that <br /> treasure! After that, it'll be at <br /> the bottom of a lake!<br /><br /> He grimly shakes his head.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> We ain't gonna make it walkin'.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Gopher, Everett?<br /><br /> Everett has taken out a can of near-empty Dapper Dan. He <br /> scrapes the last of it onto his comb and starts combing his <br /> hair.<br /><br /> We hear distant singing - one lone tenor voice.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, you're right there, but the <br /> ol' tactician's already got a plan-<br /><br /> Everett fishes a gold watch from his pocket and tosses it to <br /> Pete.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> -for the transportation, that is; I <br /> don't know how I'm gonna keep my <br /> coiffure in order.<br /><br /> Pete looks at the watch, puzzled.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> How's this a plan? How're we gonna <br /> get a car?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Sell that. I figured it could only <br /> have painful associations for Wash.<br /><br /> Pete pops the front and reads the inscription.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> To Washington Bartholomew Hogwallop. <br /> From his loving Cora. Ay-More Fie-<br /> dellis.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> It was in his bureau.<br /><br /> He screws the lid back on the pomade.<br /><br /> Delmar whistles appreciatively.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> You got light fingers, Everett. <br /> Gopher?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> You mis'able little sneak thief...<br /><br /> He lurches threateningly to his feet.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> You stole from my kin!<br /><br /> Everett scrambles up.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Who was fixing to betray us!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> You didn't know that at the time!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> So I borrowed it till I did know!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> That don't make no sense!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pete, it's a fool looks for logic in <br /> the chambers of the human heart. <br /> What the hell's that singing?<br /><br /> We can make out the words now, sung by the lone tenor.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Oh Brothers, let's go down, come on <br /> down, don't you wanna go down...<br /><br /> People in white robes are drifting down the hill, through <br /> the woods behind the campsite. They join in with the lead <br /> voice:<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> Oh Brothers, let's go down, down to <br /> the river to pray...<br /><br /> Delmar gazes wonderingly at the white-robed figures as he <br /> answers Everett:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Appears to be... some kinda... con-<br /> gur-gation. Care for some gopher?<br /><br /> Everett too watches the white-robed people following in the <br /> wake of the tenor. He answers absently:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> No, thank you Delmar - a third of a <br /> gopher would only rouse my appetite <br /> without beddin' her back down.<br /><br /> There are more and more white robes drifting through the <br /> woods, all of them strangely oblivious to the three men.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> You can have the whole thing - me'n <br /> Pete already had one...<br /><br /> There is an endless stream now, drifting through the <br /> foreground, the background, the campsite itself.<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> Oh, sisters, let's go down, come on <br /> down, don't you want to go down...<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> We ran acrost a gopher village...<br /><br /> The drifting worshipers wear beatific expressions. One only, <br /> a middle-aged woman, notices the three convicts around whom <br /> the rest of the flock blindly drifts. She calls to them:<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Come with us, brothers! Join us and <br /> be saved!<br /><br /> THE RIVER<br /><br /> White robes stream down the hill, out of the woods, and down <br /> the riverbank. The voices swell in a great chorus:<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> We went down to the river one day, <br /> Studying about that good old way, <br /> And who shall wear that robe and <br /> crown, Oh Lord, show us the way...<br /><br /> We are booming down to reveal a minister in the foreground. <br /> He stands belly-deep in the river, easing a white-robed man <br /> back-down into the water. Behind him a line of robed singers <br /> lengthens steadily as people stream out of the woods.<br /><br /> Pete, Delmar and Everett emerge from the woods and gaze down <br /> at the river. White-robed people continue to drift past them.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I guess hard times flush the chumps. <br /> Everybody's lookin' for answers, and <br /> there's always-<br /><br /> Delmar wades out into the stream, cutting in line.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Where the hell's he goin'?<br /><br /> Delmar has reached the minister and holds his nose as the <br /> minister incantates over him and lowers him into the water.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Well, I'll be a sonofabitch. Delmar's <br /> been saved!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pete, don't be ignorant-<br /><br /> Delmar is slogging back through the water.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well that's it boys, I been redeemed! <br /> The preacher warshed away all my <br /> sins and transgressions. It's the <br /> straight-and-narrow from here on out <br /> and heaven everlasting's my reward!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Delmar what the hell are you talking <br /> about? - We got bigger fish to fry-<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Preacher said my sins are warshed <br /> away, including that Piggly Wiggly I <br /> knocked over in Yazoo!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I thought you said you were innocent <br /> a those charges.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well I was lyin' - and I'm proud to <br /> say that that sin's been warshed <br /> away too! Neither God nor man's got <br /> nothin' on me now! Come on in, boys, <br /> the water's fine!<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> The smoldering twig fire. A bloodhound on a leash circles <br /> into frame, its tail fiercely wagging.<br /><br /> We follow it as, nose to the ground and straining against <br /> its leash, it waddles over to an empty tin of Dapper Dan <br /> pomade.<br /><br /> A VOICE<br /> All tight, boys! We got the scent!<br /><br /> A CAR<br /><br /> Everett drives, shaking his head with a forebearing smile. <br /> Pete, sitting next to him, and Delmar, in back, are both <br /> dripping wet.<br /><br /> Pete is sullen:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> The preacher said it absolved us.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> For him, not for the law! I'm <br /> surprised at you, Pete. Hell, I gave <br /> you credit for more brains than <br /> Delmar.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> But there were witnesses, saw us <br /> redeemed!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> That's not the issue, Delmar. Even <br /> if it did put you square with the <br /> Lord, the State of Mississippi is <br /> more hardnosed.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> You should a joined us, Everett. It <br /> couldn't a hurt none.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Hell, at least it woulda washed away <br /> the stink of that pomade.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Join you two ignorant fools in a <br /> ridiculous superstition? Thank you <br /> anyway. And I like the smell of my <br /> hair treatment - the pleasing odor <br /> is half the point.<br /><br /> He shakes his head and laughs.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Baptism. You two are just dumber'n a <br /> bag of hammers. Well, I guess you're <br /> my cross to bear-<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Pull over, Everett - let's give that <br /> colored boy a lift.<br /><br /> A thirtyish black man in worn go-to-meetin' clothes stands <br /> on the shoulder, waggling his thumb at the passing car. He <br /> grabs his battered guitar case as the car pulls over and <br /> trots up to the open window.<br /><br /> HITCHHIKER<br /> You folks goin' through Tishamingo?<br /><br /> Delmar pushes open the back door.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Sure, hop in.<br /><br /> Everett looks at the man in the rearview mirror as he pulls <br /> out.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> How ya doin', boy? Name's Everett, <br /> and these two soggy sonsabitches are <br /> Pete and Delmar. Keep your fingers <br /> away from Pete's mouth-he ain't had <br /> nothin' to eat for the last thirteen <br /> years but prison food, gopher, and a <br /> little greasy horse.<br /><br /> HITCHHIKER<br /> Thank you fuh the lif', suh. M'names <br /> Tommy. Tommy Johnson.<br /><br /> Delmar is genuinely friendly:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> How ya doin', Tommy. I haven't seen <br /> a house in miles. What're you doin' <br /> out in the middle of nowhere?<br /><br /> Tommy is matter-of-fact:<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> I had to be at that crossroads las' <br /> midnight to sell mah soul to the <br /> devil.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well ain't it a small world, <br /> spiritually speakin'! Pete and Delmar <br /> just been baptized and saved! I guess <br /> I'm the only one here who remains <br /> unaffiliated!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> This ain't no laughin' matter, <br /> Everett.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> What'd the devil give you for your <br /> soul, Tommy?<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> He taught me to play this guitar <br /> real good.<br /><br /> Delmar is horrified:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Oh, son! For that you traded your <br /> everlastin' soul?!<br /><br /> Tommy shrugs.<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> I wudden usin' it.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> I always wondered-what's the devil <br /> look like?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, of course there's all manner <br /> of lesser imps'n demons, Pete, but <br /> the Great Satan hisself is red and <br /> scaly with a bifurcated tail and <br /> carries a hayfork.<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> Oh no! No suh! He's white-white as <br /> you folks, with mirrors for eyes an' <br /> a big hollow voice an' allus travels <br /> with a mean old hound.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> And he told you to go to Tishamingo?<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> No suh, that was mah idea. I heard <br /> they's a man there pays folks money <br /> to sing into a can. They say he pays <br /> extra effen you play real good.<br /><br /> Everett's eyes narrow as he studies the man in the rearview.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> How much does he pay?<br /><br /> TISHAMINGO<br /><br /> The car is pulling into the parking lot of a single-story <br /> cement-block building with a hundred-foot antenna and a <br /> handpainted sign:<br /><br /> WEZY <br /> LISTENING AIN'T NEVER BEEN <br /> SO EASY NOR <br /> SO FINE<br /><br /> As the men get out of the car, Everett snaps his suspenders.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> All right boys, just follow my lead.<br /><br /> INSIDE<br /><br /> Everett strides up to a portly middle-aged man who wears <br /> dark glasses and holds a white cane.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Who's the honcho around here?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I am. Hur you?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well sir, my name is Jordan Rivers <br /> and these here are the Soggy Bottom <br /> Boys outta Cottonelia Mississippi-<br /> Songs of Salvation to Salve the Soul. <br /> We hear you pay good money to sing <br /> into a can.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well that all depends. You boys do <br /> Negro songs?<br /><br /> Everett grimaces, thinking.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Sir, we are Negroes. All except our <br /> a-cump- uh, company-accompluh- uh, <br /> the fella that plays the gui-tar.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well, I don't record Negro songs. <br /> I'm lookin' for some ol'-timey <br /> material. Why, people just can't <br /> get enough of it since we started <br /> broadcastin' the 'Pappy O'Daniel <br /> Flour Hour', so thanks for stoppin' <br /> by, but-<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Sir, the Soggy Bottom Boys been <br /> steeped in ol'-timey material. Heck, <br /> you're silly with it, aintcha boys?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> That's right!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> That's right! We ain't really Negroes!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> All except fer our a-cump-uh-nust!<br /><br /> THE STUDIO<br /><br /> The three singing convicts form a semi-circle behind Tommy, <br /> who plays his guitar into a can microphone. They are <br /> performing a hot and harmonized version of 'Man of Constant <br /> Sorrow'.<br /><br /> When they finish Everett whoops and slaps Tommy on the back.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hot damn, boy, I almost believe you <br /> did sell your soul to the devil!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Boys, that was some mighty fine <br /> pickin' and singin'. You just sign <br /> these papers and I'll give you ten <br /> dollars apiece.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Okay sir, but Mert and Aloysius'll <br /> have to scratch Xes - only four of <br /> us can write.<br /><br /> THE LOT<br /><br /> A caravan of two oversize cars is pulling into the lot just <br /> as Tommy and the three convicts burst out of the station <br /> door, whooping it up.<br /><br /> A sixty-year-old man in enormous seersucker pants held up by <br /> suspenders and the outward pressure of a blooming belly is <br /> getting out of the first car. His face is familiar from <br /> countless sacks of Pass the Biscuits Pappy O'Daniel Flour.<br /><br /> Delmar waves a fistful of money at him.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Hey mister! I don't mean to be tellin' <br /> tales out a school, but there's a <br /> man in there hands out ten dollars <br /> to anyone sings into his can!<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> I'm not here to make a record, ya <br /> dumb cracker, they broadcast me out <br /> on the radio.<br /><br /> A big shambling man of about thirty has followed him out of <br /> the car. He has the sloping shoulders, the pasty skin, and <br /> the aimlessly bobbing head of an intellectual flyweight.<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> That's Governor Menelaus 'Pass the <br /> Biscuits, Pappy' O'Daniel, and he'd <br /> sure 'preciate it if you ate his <br /> farina and voted him a second term.<br /><br /> Two other members of the retinue, older men whose girth rivals <br /> the governor's, are Eckard and Spivey.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Finest governor we've ever had in <br /> M'sippi.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> In any state.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Oh Lord yes, any parish'r precinct; <br /> I was makin' the larger point.<br /><br /> As Pappy brushes by them, Junior wheedles:<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> Aintcha gonna press the flesh, Pappy, <br /> do a little politickin'?<br /><br /> Pappy slaps at the young man with his hat.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> I'll press your flesh, you dimwitted <br /> sonofabitch - you don't tell your <br /> pappy how to cawt the elect 'rate!<br /><br /> Pappy waves his hat at the radio building as singers in faux <br /> hillbilly outfits with various musical instrument cases get <br /> out of the second car.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> We ain't one-at-a-timin' here, we <br /> mass communicatin'!<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Oh, yes, assa parful new force.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Mm-mm.<br /><br /> The men head for the station, with Junior lagging.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Shake a leg, Junior! Thank God your <br /> mama died givin' birth-if she'd a <br /> seen ya she'd a died of shame...<br /><br /> A CAMPFIRE<br /><br /> It is night.<br /><br /> Tommy sits in the background, playing and singing a slow <br /> blues. The three convicts, holding coffee cups, gaze into <br /> the fire.<br /><br /> Over the dreamy song:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Why don't we bed down out here <br /> tonight?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Yeah, it stinks in that ol' barn.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Suits me...<br /><br /> He stretches out.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pretty soon it'll be nothin' but <br /> feather beds'n silk sheets.<br /><br /> Pete swishes his coffee as he stares into the blaze.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> A million dollars.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Million point two.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Five... hunnert... thousand... each.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Four hundred, Delmar.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Izzat right?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> What're you gonna do with your share <br /> of the treasure, Pete?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Go out west somewhere, open a fine <br /> restaurant. I'm gonna be the maider <br /> dee. Greet all the swells, go to <br /> work ever' day in a bowtie and tuxedo, <br /> an' all the staff'll all say Yassir <br /> and Nawsir and in a Jiffy Pete...<br /><br /> He gives his coffee a thoughtful swish and murmurs:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> An' all my meals for free...<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> What about you, Delmar? What're you <br /> gonna do with your share a that dough?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Visit those foreclosin' sonofaguns <br /> down at the Indianola Savings and <br /> Loan and slap that cash down on the <br /> barrelhead and buy back the family <br /> farm. Hell, you ain't no kind of man <br /> if you ain't got land.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> What about you, Everett? What'd you <br /> have in mind when you stoled it in <br /> the first place?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Me? Oh, I didn't have no plan. Still <br /> don't, really.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Well that hardly sounds like you...<br /><br /> A distant Voice:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> All right, boys, itsy authorities!<br /><br /> The three men tense up. Tommy stops singing.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Your sitchy-ation is purt nigh <br /> hopeless!<br /><br /> Pete shovels dirt onto the fire as Delmar and Everett scramble <br /> to peek over a low ridge.<br /><br /> Their point-of-view shows a lone barn with their car parked <br /> to one side. Various police vehicles have pulled up facing <br /> the barn, and armed men, their backs to us, train guns on <br /> it, some taking cover on the near side of their parked cars.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Damn! They found our car!<br /><br /> The man with the bullhorn continues, directing his comments <br /> at the distant barn:<br /><br /> MAN<br /> We ain't got the time-and nary <br /> inclination-to gentle you boys no <br /> further!<br /><br /> The three convicts notice the sheriff who once again stands <br /> impassively next to the man with the bullhorn, holding a <br /> leash against which a bloodhound strains.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> It's either the penal farm or the <br /> fires of damnation-makes no nevermind <br /> to me!<br /><br /> The sheriff makes a signal to a man holding a torch, who <br /> skitters up to the barn and lights it.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Damn! We gotta skedaddle!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I left my pomade in that car! Maybe <br /> I can creep up!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Don't be a fool, Everett, we gotta R-<br /> U-N-O-F-F-T, but pronto!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Where's Tommy?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Already lit out, scared out of his <br /> wits. Let's go!<br /><br /> DAYTIME ROAD<br /><br /> The three men shuffle down the dusty road.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> The hell it ain't square one! Ain't <br /> no one gonna pick up three filthy <br /> unshaved hitchhikers, and one of 'em <br /> a know-it-all that can't keep his <br /> trap shut!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pete, the personal rancor reflected <br /> in that remark I don't intend to <br /> dignify with comment, but I would <br /> like to address your general attitude <br /> of hopeless negativism. Consider the <br /> lilies a the goddamn field, or-hell!- <br /> take a look at Delmar here as your <br /> paradigm a hope.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Yeah, look at me.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Now you may call it an unreasoning <br /> optimism. You may call it obtuse. <br /> But the plain fact is we still have... <br /> close to... close to...<br /><br /> He loses his drift as all three men turn, reacting to the <br /> sound of an approaching speeding car.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...close to... three days... before <br /> they dam that river...<br /><br /> The car comes into view cornering on two wheels. It crashes <br /> back onto all four and, as it speeds along, dollar bills <br /> snap and flutter out its windows. The car roars up to the <br /> three men as Delmar waggles a hopeful thumb. It screeches to <br /> a halt.<br /><br /> The driver, a young man in a sharp suit with a round, babylike <br /> face, leans over to call through the passenger window.<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> Is this the road to Itta Bena?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Uh... Itta Bena...<br /><br /> Delmar plucks a fluttering dollar bill out of the air and <br /> looks at it wonderingly. He holds it stretched between two <br /> hands, brings the two sides together, then gives it an <br /> appraising pop.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Itta Bena, now, uh, that would be...<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Isn't it, uh...<br /><br /> Like a child gazing at soap bubbles, Delmar looks around at <br /> the wafting currency, and yanks another fluttering bill out <br /> of the air.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I'm thinkin' it's uh, you could take <br /> this road to, uh...<br /><br /> There is the sound of a distant siren.<br /><br /> The driver, still patiently leaning over to hear out the two <br /> brainwrackers, shoots a quick look in his rearview mirror.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> ...Nah, that ain't right... I'm <br /> thinkin' of...<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...I believe, unless I'm very much <br /> mistaken - see, we've been away for <br /> several years, uh...<br /><br /> The driver pushes open the passenger door.<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> Hop on in while you give it a think.<br /><br /> The three men climb in and the car squeals out.<br /><br /> INT. CAR<br /><br /> The driver shoots a glance up to the rearview mirror as the <br /> sirens grow louder, then gropes inside his coat.<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> Any a you boys know your way around <br /> a Walther PPK?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well now, that's where we cain't <br /> help ya. I don't believe it's in <br /> Mississippi.<br /><br /> The man stops withdrawing the gun and appraises his <br /> passengers. Delmar reacts to the paper currency fluttering <br /> inside the car:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Friend, some of your folding money <br /> has come unstowed.<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> Just stuff it down that sack there. <br /> You boys aren't badmen, I take it?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well, funny you should ask-I was <br /> bad, till yesterday, but me'n Pete <br /> here been saved. My name's Delmar, <br /> and that there's Everett.<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> George Nelson. It's a pleasure.<br /><br /> He opens his door and steps onto the running board, giving <br /> Everett a casual:<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> Grab the tiller, will ya buddy?<br /><br /> Everett slides over, startled. George Nelson, now fully <br /> outside and facing the pursuit vehicles, has one hand clamped <br /> on the car roof and waves to Delmar with the other.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> Hand up that Thompson, Jack.<br /><br /> Delmar gropes in the footwell.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Say, what line of work are you in, <br /> George?<br /><br /> EXT. CAR<br /><br /> Nelson sends a spray of bullets back at the pursuit car.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> COME AND GET ME, COPPERS! YOU <br /> FLATFOOTED LAMEBRAINED SOFT-ASSED <br /> SONOFABITCHES! NO ONE CAN CATCH ME! <br /> I'M GEORGE NELSON! I'M BIGGER THAN <br /> ANY JOHN LAW EVER LIVED! HA-HA-HA-HA-<br /> HA! I'M TEN-AND-A-HALF FEET TALL AND <br /> AIN'T YET FULLY GROWED!<br /><br /> Nelson fires wildly as the pursuit cars gain on him, returning <br /> fire. He suddenly notices a herd of cattle grazing at the <br /> roadside and murmurs:<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> ...cows...<br /><br /> He swings the tommy gun over with a whoop.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> I hate cows worse than coppers!<br /><br /> He lets loose a spray. One of the cows drops and the rest <br /> stampede toward the road.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Aww, George, not the livestock.<br /><br /> Energized, Nelson resumes bellowing:<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> HA-HA! COME ON YOU MISERABLE SALARIED <br /> SONSABITCHES! COME AND GET ME!<br /><br /> In bovine ignorance of the conventions of high-speed police <br /> pursuit, some of the cows have wandered up onto the road. <br /> The lead police car broadsides one. George Nelson, cackling <br /> wildly, fires into the air as his car recedes.<br /><br /> SMALL TOWN<br /><br /> The car is speeding into town, dodging and weaving through <br /> light traffic as George fires into the air - perhaps a means <br /> of clearing a path, perhaps an expression of high spirits.<br /><br /> The car screeches to a halt and George hops out, and the <br /> three convicts emerge to follow him.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> COME ON BOYS! WE'RE GOIN' FOR THE <br /> RECORD-THREE BANKS IN TWO HOURS!<br /><br /> Jowls shaking in a full run, George Nelson bursts through <br /> the door of the bank, followed by the three men.<br /><br /> He fires into the ceiling and leaps up onto a table.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> OKAY FOLKS! HOLD THE APPLAUSE AND <br /> DROP YER DRAWERS - I'M GEORGE NELSON <br /> AND I'M HERE TO SACK THE CITY A ITTA <br /> BENA!<br /><br /> He leaps down, fires into the air again, and sweeps a young <br /> woman standing in line into a full V-J dip, kissing her on <br /> the lips.<br /><br /> Delmar nudges Everett.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> He's a live wire though, ain't he?<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> Thanky dear! All the money in the <br /> bag, and you can tell your grandkids <br /> you were done by the best! I'M GEORGE <br /> NELSON AND I'M FEELIN' TEN FEET TALL!<br /><br /> He winks at the three men who obediently wait.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> It's a kick and a quarter, ain't it <br /> boys?<br /><br /> Distant sirens again.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pardon me, George, but have you got <br /> a plan for gettin' outa here?<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> Sure boys, here's m'plan!<br /><br /> He whips open his suitcoat to reveal a half-dozen sticks of <br /> dynamite.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> They ain't never seen ordnance like <br /> this! WELL, THANK YOU, FOLKS, AND <br /> REMEMBER: JESUS SAVES, BUT GEORGE <br /> NELSON WITHDRAWS! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-<br /> HA! GO FETCH THE AUTO-VOITURE, PETE!<br /><br /> He sends a burst into the ceiling, and heads for the door as <br /> customers murmur.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> ...it's Babyface Nelson...<br /><br /> George whirls.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> WHO SAID THAT?!<br /><br /> The customers stare mutely back.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> WHAT IGNORANT LOWDOWN SLANDERIZING <br /> SONOFABITCH SAID THAT?! MY NAME IS <br /> GEORGE NELSON, GET ME?!<br /><br /> The customers shuffle their feet and glance uncomfortably <br /> about. Delmar lays a hand on George's shoulder and tries to <br /> steer him toward the door.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> They didn't mean anything by it, <br /> George.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> GEORGE NELSON! NOT BABYFACE! YOU <br /> REMEMBER AND YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS! <br /> I'M GEORGE NELSON, BORN TO RAISE <br /> HELL!<br /><br /> OUTSIDE THE BANK<br /><br /> The siren grows louder as the four men emerge.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You gotta be a little tolerant, <br /> George; all these poor folk know is <br /> the legend. Hell, they can't be <br /> expected to appreciate the complex <br /> individual underneath- <br /><br /> NELSON<br /> Aww, I'm all right-<br /><br /> He shrugs off Everett's hand and lights the fuse on a stick <br /> of dynamite.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> This'll put me right back on top!<br /><br /> The car squeals up and, as sirens approach once again, the <br /> three men pile in.<br /><br /> NELSON<br /> OR-VOIR, ITTA BENA! GEORGE NELSON <br /> THANKS YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!<br /><br /> As the car peels out - KA-BOOM! - the dynamite blows a crater <br /> in the street behind.<br /><br /> CAMPFIRE<br /><br /> It is night.<br /><br /> George Nelson, now strangely quiet, holds a coffee cup and <br /> stares gloomily into the fire.<br /><br /> After a long beat, Delmar, also staring into the fire, slaps <br /> one knee and ejaculates:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Damn but that was some fun though, <br /> won it George?!<br /><br /> George responds, barely audible and without brightening:<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> ...yeah...<br /><br /> Everett and Pete exchange significant looks. Delmar, however, <br /> is less sensitive to the Babyface's mood.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Almost makes me wish I hadn't been <br /> saved! Jackin' up banks - I can see <br /> how a fella could derive a lot a <br /> pleasure and satisfaction out of it!<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> ...it's okay...<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Whoa doggies!<br /><br /> At length George swishes the coffee around his cup, shrugs, <br /> tosses the coffee and rises.<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> ...Well, I'm takin' off.<br /><br /> He digs into a pocket and tosses his car keys to a dumbfounded <br /> Delmar.<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> You boys can have the automobile.<br /><br /> Glassy-eyed, he continues to dig in his pockets and lets his <br /> money fall to the ground.<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> 'N might as well take my share a the <br /> riches.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> What the - where you goin', George?<br /><br /> George has turned woodenly and walks away, leaving the <br /> campfire's flickering circle of light.<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> ...I dunno... who cares...<br /><br /> Delmar stares at Everett, who looks appraisingly at George's <br /> retreating back. Pete scrambles to pick up the loose money.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Now wuddya suppose is eatin' George?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well ya know, Delmar, they say that <br /> with a thrill-seekin' personality, <br /> what goes up must come down. Top of <br /> the world one minute, haunted by <br /> megrims the next. Yep, it's like our <br /> friend George is a alley cat and his <br /> own damn humors're swingin' him by <br /> the tail. But don't worry, Delmar; <br /> he'll be back on top again. I don't <br /> think we've heard the last of George <br /> Nelson.<br /><br /> Delmar, gazing out at the blackness that has closed over <br /> George Nelson, hasn't really been listening. He turns sadly <br /> back.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Damn! I liked George.<br /><br /> A FIELD<br /><br /> A ploughing farmer has paused to look for the source of <br /> distant string-band music, growing closer. There is also an <br /> approaching amplified voice:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Don't be saps for Pappy; vote for <br /> Stokes and responsible gummint!<br /><br /> A stakebed truck approaches along the road bordering the <br /> field. It is festooned with Stokes banners showing the <br /> candidate holding high a broom. Pickers perform in the bed <br /> of the truck, along with a dancer doing a two-step as he <br /> pushes a broom. A midget in overalls waves his arms, as if <br /> conducting the music.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> He's against the Innarests and for <br /> the little man!<br /><br /> This, the driver's voice, is amplified through a flared <br /> speaker mounted on the roof of the cab. As the oncoming truck <br /> draws near, the midget bellows out at the farmer, who has <br /> removed his hat to scratch his forehead.<br /><br /> MIDGET<br /> Greetings, brother! Vote for Stokes!<br /><br /> The voice tails away:<br /><br /> MIDGET<br /> Clean gummint is yours for the askin'!<br /><br /> Our pan with the passing truck comes to rest on the WEZY <br /> radio building.<br /><br /> INSIDE<br /><br /> We are pulling back from a close shot of the portly blind <br /> man.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Hang on! Lemme slap up a wire.<br /><br /> He turns away to load a recording as he talks into a <br /> microphone.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Folks, here's my cousin Ezzard's <br /> niece Eudora from out Greenwood doin' <br /> a little number with her cousin Tom-<br /> Tom which I predict you're just gonna <br /> enjoy thoroughly.<br /><br /> He switches off the microphone as the song, a duet of 'I'll <br /> Fly Away', scratchily issues from a monitor. He turns his <br /> attention back to a well-dressed man sitting nearby.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Now what can I do you for, Mister <br /> French?<br /><br /> FRENCH<br /> How can I lay hold a the Soggy Bottom <br /> Boys?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Soggy Bottom Boys - I don't precisely <br /> recollect, uh -<br /><br /> FRENCH<br /> They cut a record in here, few days <br /> ago, old-timey harmony thing with a <br /> guitar Accump-accump-uh-<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Oh I remember 'em, colored fellas I <br /> believe, swell bunch a boys, sung <br /> into yon can and skedaddled.<br /><br /> FRENCH<br /> Well that record has just gone through <br /> the goddamn roof! They're playin' it <br /> as far away as Mobile! The whole <br /> damn state's goin' ape!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> It was a powerful air.<br /><br /> FRENCH<br /> Hot damn, we gotta find those boys! <br /> Sign 'em to a big fat contract! Hell's <br /> bells, Mr. Lunn, if we don't the <br /> goddamn competition will!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Oh mercy, yes. You gotta beat that <br /> competition.<br /><br /> 'I'll Fly Away' mixes up to play full over the following.<br /><br /> MONTAGE<br /><br /> - The three men walk down a flat delta road, the sun <br /> shimmering off the rough pavement. Their bank loot, wrapped <br /> in a bandanna, is knotted to the end of a stick slung over <br /> Delmar's shoulder.<br /><br /> - A different road under a threatening sky. The three men <br /> stand in the middle distance, waiting. In the foreground two <br /> little black boys are walking home, each carrying a block of <br /> ice. A horse-drawn cart rumbles in from offscreen and Everett <br /> waggles his thumb. Thunder rumbles.<br /><br /> - A spinning 78 on a green felt turntable. The crude black <br /> label identifies it as 'Man of Constant Sorrow' by the Soggy <br /> Bottom Boys.<br /><br /> - A high shot looking down through the rain past the dripping <br /> eave of a barn, under which Everett, Pete and Delmar have <br /> taken cover. The three hold their coats pinched shut at the <br /> neck as they look forlornly up at the weather.<br /><br /> - The three men walk along a red dirt road elevated through <br /> a bayou.<br /><br /> - The three men sit around a campfire. Everett sits on a <br /> stump, expressively telling a ghost story as Pete and Delmar <br /> gaze at him from below, wide-eyed and rapt.<br /><br /> - The three men walk past a cotton field dotted with burst <br /> pods.<br /><br /> - A Woolworth's interior. A sad-faced woman in a calico dress <br /> addresses the clerk:<br /><br /> SAD-FACED WOMAN<br /> Do you have the Soggy Bottom Boys <br /> performing 'Man of Constant Sorrow'?<br /><br /> CLERK<br /> No, ma'am, we had a new shipment in <br /> yesterday but we just can't keep it <br /> on the shelves.<br /><br /> The sad-faced woman is crestfallen.<br /><br /> SAD-FACED WOMAN<br /> Oh, mercy. Then - just the purple <br /> toilet water.<br /><br /> - The three men walk down a road excavated through banks of <br /> clay, from which gnarled tree roots protrude.<br /><br /> - A pie rests on a windowsill, steam wafting from it. A hand <br /> enters from below the sill outside and disappears with the <br /> pie. A moment later we see Everett's and Pete's backs as <br /> they scamper away across the yard. A short beat, and then <br /> Delmar peeks over the sill. He ducks back down and then his <br /> hand reaches up to leave a dollar bill. Moments later we see <br /> him scampering away after Pete and Everett.<br /><br /> - Another campfire. The three men sit around it laughing as <br /> they enjoy the pie, each with a slab on a plate improvised <br /> of old newspaper. Everett finishes his piece, licks his thumb <br /> and tosses the newspaper onto the fire.<br /><br /> We jump in to look at the soiled newspaper as flame begins <br /> to curl its edge. A story is headlined 'TVA Finalizing Plans <br /> for Flooding of Arktabutta Valley'. The flame curls the page <br /> away, briefly revealing the page beneath - with a story <br /> headlined 'Soggy Bottom Boys a Sensation - But Who Are They?' - <br /> before it too is consumed.<br /><br /> - A little general store. We are very high, looking down at <br /> a foreshortened Everett, Pete, Delmar and store clerk, who <br /> is wielding a long telescoping pole that stretches toward <br /> us. Everett is pointing up, directing the man with the pole. <br /> He moves it tentatively to and fro until, at a certain point, <br /> Everett nods vigorously.<br /><br /> A reverse shows the end of the pole - a long stock-pincher - <br /> as it closes over a tin of Dapper Dan pomade, resting on a <br /> high shelf.<br /><br /> The exterior of the store shows it to be on a corner of a <br /> little crossroads town. The three men are emerging from the <br /> store just as a car pulls up to one of the two bubble-topped <br /> gas pumps out front. A fancyman in a boater hat gets out of <br /> the car and heads for the store, passing the three; Everett <br /> glances at him and, as the man disappears inside, he dives <br /> into his car, waving for Delmar and Pete to follow. Delmar, <br /> initially reluctant, is hauled into the car by Pete, and the <br /> men take off.<br /><br /> - The spinning 78 recording, as the song enters its last <br /> verse.<br /><br /> - A spinning car wheel.<br /><br /> - A panoramic boom up as the car toodles away, down a road <br /> that winds through scrub grass toward a distant sunset.<br /><br /> THE CAR<br /><br /> The three men are driving through the heat of the day. Everett <br /> drives; Pete is slouched in the front passenger seat; Delmar, <br /> in back, picks out 'I'll Fly Away' on a banjo.<br /><br /> Pete listens to something, squints, tilts his head.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> ...Shutup, Delmar.<br /><br /> Delmar and Everett exchange glances; Everett shrugs and Delmar <br /> desists.<br /><br /> We can faintly hear a high, unearthly singing. Barely human, <br /> the sound seems to agitate Pete. He looks desperately out <br /> the window.<br /><br /> His hinging point-of-view shows, down the declivity from the <br /> road and half hidden by trees, three women washing clothes <br /> in the river.<br /><br /> Pete's reaction is enormous. He jams a fist into his mouth, <br /> eyes widening. He yanks the fist out and screams:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> PULL OVER!<br /><br /> Everett, startled, does so.<br /><br /> EXT.<br /><br /> Before the car has even come to a stop Pete's door flies <br /> open and he is stumbling down the bank to the river.<br /><br /> Everett and Delmar follow more casually, Everett chuckling.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I guess o' Pete's got the itch.<br /><br /> AT THE RIVER<br /><br /> The unearthly singing, full volume here, comes from the three <br /> women, beautiful but marked by an otherworldly langor as <br /> they dunk clothes in the stream and beat them against rocks.<br /><br /> Pete is all awkward smiles and deep, burning eyes:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Howdy do, ladies. Name of Pete!<br /><br /> Strangely, the three laundresses do not answer, though they <br /> do smile at him as they continue to sing.<br /><br /> Pete tries again as he reaches into their laundry basket:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Maybe I could help you with the, uh-<br /><br /> He realizes he is holding ladies' undergarments.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Ahem. I, uh...<br /><br /> He drops them back in the basket.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> I don't believe I've, uh, heard that <br /> song before...<br /><br /> Everett and Delmar have arrived; Everett is loud and jovial:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Aintcha gonna innerduce us, Pete?<br /><br /> Pete's eyes stay glued on the women as he hisses out of the <br /> corner of his mouth:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Don't know their names. I seen 'em <br /> first!<br /><br /> Everett laughs lightly.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Ladies, you'll have to pardon my <br /> friend here; Pete is dirt-ignorant <br /> and unschooled in the social arts. <br /> My name on the other hand is Ulysses <br /> Everett McGill and you ladies are <br /> about the three prettiest water lilies <br /> it's ever been my privilege to admire.<br /><br /> None of the women respond but, as all continue to sing, one <br /> brings a jug marked with three Xes to Everett.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Why, thank you dear, that's very, <br /> uh...<br /><br /> He takes a swig.<br /><br /> EVERETTE<br /> Mm. Corn licker, I guess, uh, the <br /> preferred local uh...<br /><br /> He passes the jug to Pete as the woman runs her fingers <br /> through his hair.<br /><br /> The other two women are approaching to likewise tousle Pete <br /> and Delmar.<br /><br /> Delmar's woman caresses his face and, by squeezing his cheeks, <br /> smushes his mouth into a pucker.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Pleased to meet you, ma'am.<br /><br /> The singing continues. The stream gurgles. Somewhere, in the <br /> distance, flies lazily buzz.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Damn!<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> FADE IN<br /><br /> CLOSE ON DELMAR<br /><br /> We are very tight. Delmar's eyes are closed. We hear loud <br /> snoring. At length his eyelids flutter open, but the snoring <br /> continues.<br /><br /> Delmar groggily props himself on one elbow.<br /><br /> It is late afternoon. He is still on the riverbank. Everett <br /> snores nearby.<br /><br /> The ladies are gone. The hamper of laundry is gone. Pete is <br /> gone.<br /><br /> After looking blearily about for a moment, Delmar starts and <br /> staggers to his feet.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Holy Saint Christopher!<br /><br /> He toes Everett urgently in the ribs.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Whuhh...<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Oh sweet Lord, Everett, looka this!<br /><br /> Pete's clothes are laid out on the ground, not in a heap, <br /> but mimicking the human shape, as if he had been simply <br /> vaporized fron within them.<br /><br /> Everett rouses himself and looks at the clothes: He scans <br /> the opposite river bank.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> PETE! Where the heck are ya! We ain't <br /> got time for your shenanigans!<br /><br /> Delmar stares horrified at the pile of clothes: a spot in <br /> the middle of the shirt is rising and falling, rising and <br /> falling.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Sweet Jesus, Everett! They left his <br /> heart!<br /><br /> Everett joins Delmar to look. The rhythmic rising and falling <br /> now travels up the shirt. A large yellow toad sticks its <br /> head out from under the collar.<br /><br /> Delmar keens. Everett is bewildered.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> What on earth is goin' on here! What's <br /> got into you, Delmar!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Caintcha see it Everett! Them sigh-<br /> reens did this to Pete! They loved <br /> him up an' turned him into a horney-<br /> toad!<br /><br /> The toad hops down the river bank.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Pete! Come back!<br /><br /> He slides down the bank after the toad, Everett watching in <br /> perturbation.<br /><br /> The toad plops into the river and Delmar dives in after him. <br /> He emerges a moment later with the toad wriggling in his <br /> hand.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Don't worry, Pete! It's me, Delmar! <br /> Oh Everett! What're we gonna do?!<br /><br /> DRIVING<br /><br /> We hear soft whimpering as Everett drives, sneaking worried <br /> glances over at the passenger seat.<br /><br /> Delmar has the toad in his lap. He whimpers as he pets it.<br /><br /> Everett hesitantly offers:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...I'm not sure that's Pete.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Course it's Pete! Look at 'im!<br /><br /> The frog croaks.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> We gotta find some kinda wizard can <br /> change 'im back!<br /><br /> A beat. Delmar continues to whimper.<br /><br /> Everett squints and shakes his head.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...I'm just not sure that's Pete.<br /><br /> FINE RESTAURANT<br /><br /> The tables are formally laid with linen. Delmar and Everett <br /> sit at a table, a shoebox between them, deep in conversation.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You can't display a toad in a fine <br /> restaurant like this! Why, the good <br /> folks here'd go right off their feed!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> I just don't think it's right, keepin' <br /> him under wraps like we's ashamed of <br /> him.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well if that is Pete I am ashamed of <br /> him. The way I see it he got what <br /> he deserved - fornicating with some <br /> whore a Babylon. These things-<br /><br /> He points a knife at the shoebox.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> -don't happen for no reason, Delmar.<br /> Obviously it's some kind of judgment <br /> on Pete's character.<br /><br /> ANOTHER PATRON<br /><br /> We are looking over the shoulder of a broad-shouldered man <br /> in a cream-colored suit and a shirt with powder-blue collar. <br /> He is digging into a huge plateful of steak and eggs. Sensing <br /> something, he looks up, cocks his head, and then slowly turns <br /> to look back.<br /><br /> He thus reveals a cream-colored eyepatch with powder-blue <br /> trim; his good eye is looking intently off - at Everett and <br /> Delmar, who continue arguing, out of earshot.<br /><br /> BACK TO EVERETT AND DELMAR<br /><br /> Still heatedly discussing.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> The two of us was fixing to fornicate!<br /><br /> The waitress has just arrived for their order. Everett gives <br /> her an ingratiating laugh:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Heh-heh. You'll have to excuse my <br /> rusticated friend here, unaccustomed <br /> as he is to city manners.<br /><br /> He ostentatiously fans some of his money.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well mamzel I guess we'll have a <br /> couple a steaks and some gratinated <br /> potatoes and wash it down with your <br /> finest bubbly wine-<br /><br /> BIG MAN<br /><br /> Watching Everett fan his money. The big man stops chewing <br /> and slowly raises his napkin to his lips to give them a dainty <br /> pat.<br /><br /> BACK TO EVERETT AND DELMAR<br /><br /> As Everett closes his menu.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...And I don't suppose the chef'd <br /> have any nits or grubs in the pantry, <br /> or - naw, never mind, just bring me <br /> a couple leafs a raw cabbage.<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> Yes sir.<br /><br /> The big man appears as she leaves.<br /><br /> BIG MAN<br /> Don't believe I've seen you boys <br /> around here before! Allow me <br /> t'innerduce myself: name of Daniel <br /> Teague, known in these precincts as <br /> Big Dan Teague or, to those who're <br /> pressed for time, Big Dan toot court.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> How d'you do, Big Dan. I'm Ulysses <br /> Everett McGill; this is my associate <br /> Delmar O'Donnell. I sense that, <br /> like me, you are endowed with the <br /> gift of gab.<br /><br /> Big Dan chuckles as he draws up a chair.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> I flatter myself that such is the <br /> case; in my line of work it's plumb <br /> necessary. The one thing you don't <br /> want is air in the conversation.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Once again we find ourselves in <br /> agreement. What kind of work do you <br /> do, Big Dan?<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> Sales, Mr. McGill, sales! And what <br /> do I sell? The Truth! Ever' blessed <br /> word of it, from Genesee on down to <br /> Revelations! That's right, the word <br /> of God, which let me add there is <br /> damn good money in during these days <br /> of woe and want! Folks're lookin' <br /> for answers and Big Dan Teague sells <br /> the only book that's got 'em! What <br /> do you do - you and your tongue-tied <br /> friend?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Uh, we uh-<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> We're adventurers, sir, currently <br /> pursuin' a certain opportunity but <br /> open to others as well.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> I like your style, young man, so I'm <br /> gonna propose you a proposition. You <br /> cover my check so I don't have to <br /> run back up to my room, have your <br /> waitress wrap your dinner picnic-<br /> style, and we'll retire to more <br /> private environs where I will explain <br /> to you how vast amounts of money can <br /> be made in the service of God Amighty.<br /><br /> Everett rises and digs in his pocket.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, why not. If nothing else I <br /> could use some civilized conversation.<br /><br /> As the three men start to move off, Big Dan gives Delmar a <br /> tilt of the head and a crinkling smile.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> Don't forget your shoebox, friend.<br /><br /> We hear bellowing issuing from a curtained private dining-<br /> room.<br /><br /> INSIDE THE PRIVATE ROOM<br /><br /> Pappy O'Daniel sits smoking a cigar, nursing a glass of <br /> whiskey, and soliciting the counsel of his overweight retinue.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Languishing! Goddamn campaign is <br /> languishing! We need a shot inna <br /> arm! Hear me, boys? Inna goddamn <br /> ARM! Election held tomorra, that <br /> sonofabitch Stokes would win it in a <br /> walk!<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> Well he's the reform candidate, Daddy.<br /><br /> Pappy narrows his eyes at him, wondering what he's getting <br /> at.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> ...Yeah?<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> Well people like that reform. Maybe <br /> we should get us some.<br /><br /> Pappy whips off his hat and slaps at Junior with it.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> I'll reform you, you soft-headed <br /> sonofabitch! How we gonna run reform <br /> when we're the damn incumbent!<br /><br /> He glares around the table.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Zat the best idea any you boys can <br /> come up with? REEform?! Weepin' Jesus <br /> on the cross! Eckard, you may as <br /> well start draftin' my concession <br /> speech right now.<br /><br /> Eckard grunts as he starts to rise.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Okay, Pappy.<br /><br /> Pappy whips him back down with his hat.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> I'm just makin' a point, you stupid <br /> sonofabitch!<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Okay, Pappy.<br /><br /> As he settles back Eckard looks around the table and helpfully <br /> relays:<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Pappy just makin' a point here, boys.<br /><br /> A MEADOW<br /><br /> The car boosted from the general store has been pulled off <br /> the road and parked a few yards into a field littered with <br /> bluebonnets and rimmed with moss-dripping oak.<br /><br /> Everett, Delmar and Big Dan sit on a blanket around a large <br /> picnic hamper. Big Dan is just sucking the last piece of <br /> chicken off a bone.<br /><br /> He tosses the bone over his shoulder, belches, and sighs.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> Thankee boys for throwin' in that <br /> fricasee. I'm a man a large appetite <br /> and even with lunch under my belt I <br /> was feeling a mite peckish.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Our pleasure, Big Dan.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> And thank you as well for that <br /> conversational hiatus; I generally <br /> refrain from speech while engaged in <br /> gustation. There are those who attempt <br /> both at the same time but I find it <br /> course and vulgar. Now where were <br /> we?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Makin' money in the Lord's service.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> You don't say much friend, but when <br /> you do it's to the point and I salute <br /> you for it.<br /><br /> Delmar is pleased and embarrassed.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Oh, it weren't nothin', I-<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> Yes, Bible sales. The trade is not a <br /> complicated one; there're but two <br /> things to learn. One bein' where to <br /> find your wholesaler - word of God <br /> in bulk as it were. Two bein' how to <br /> reckanize your customer - who're you <br /> dealin' with? - an exercise in <br /> psychology so to speak.<br /><br /> He rises to his feet and tosses down his napkin.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> And it is that which I propose to <br /> give you a lesson in right now.<br /><br /> He reaches up and with one hand easily rips a stout limb off <br /> a tree. He casually strips its twigs.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I like to think that I'm a pretty <br /> astute observer of the human scene.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> No doubt, brother - I figured as <br /> much back there in the restaurant. <br /> That's why I invited you out here <br /> for this advanced tutorial.<br /><br /> His club is ready. He swings at Delmar who staggers back <br /> with a grunt.<br /><br /> Everett wears a puzzled smile.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...What's goin' on, Big Dan?<br /><br /> Delmar, though stunned, is faster to size things up. He <br /> charges Big Dan and wraps his arms around him.<br /><br /> Delmar roars.<br /><br /> Big Dan rears back and whacks at his head.<br /><br /> Everett is still puzzled, but willing to be instructed:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Big Dan, what're you doin'?<br /><br /> Big Dan walks awkwardly over to Everett with Delmar still <br /> attached to him like a hunting dog locked on to a bear. Big <br /> Dan takes a break from whacking at Delmar to deliver a blow <br /> to Everett.<br /><br /> The blow catches Everett on the chin and sends him reeling.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> It's all about money, boys! Atsy <br /> answer! Dough re mi!<br /><br /> Big Dan bear hugs Delmar and tosses him away. He whacks <br /> Everett into a semi-conscious heap and then paws through his <br /> pockets.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> Do unto others before they do unto <br /> you!<br /><br /> He pulls out their wad of cash.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> I'll just take your show cards...<br /><br /> He walks over to Delmar who is on the ground moaning, and <br /> kicks him several times.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> ...and whatever you got in the hole.<br /><br /> He takes Delmar's shoebox and flips off the top.<br /><br /> Inside is a bed of straw with the toad resting on it.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> What the...<br /><br /> He pokes around the straw with his finger; nothing else <br /> inside.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> It's nothin' but a damn toad!<br /><br /> Delmar, moaning, looks blearily up through swollen eyes.<br /><br /> Big Dan has the toad in his enormous fist.<br /><br /> Delmar moans through cracked and bloody lips:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> No... you don't understand...<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> Don't you boys know these things <br /> give ya warts?<br /><br /> He squeezes the frog, crushing it, and tosses it away against <br /> a tree.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Oh Lord... Pete...<br /><br /> Big Dan is over at the car, cranking it up.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> End of lesson.<br /><br /> He climbs in.<br /><br /> BIG DAN<br /> So long, boys! Hee-hee! See ya in <br /> the funny papers!<br /><br /> The car belches and pops and toodles off down the road.<br /><br /> Delmar staggers to his feet and stumbles over to the carcass <br /> of the frog, weeping.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Pete... Pete... Pete...<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> PAN DOWN FROM BLACK TO BRING IN A TORCH<br /><br /> Flickering in the night. We hear the rumble of distant thunder <br /> as the continued pan down brings the torch's bearer into <br /> frame - a man with the slavering grin of the dim-witted <br /> sadist. He watches as we hear:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Where are they?!<br /><br /> There is the sound of a lash and a scream.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Talk, you unreconstructed whelp of a <br /> whore! Where they headed?<br /><br /> Another lash brings another scream.<br /><br /> The screams come from Pete. His arms, stretched high over <br /> his head, are tied to a tree limb. His interrogator wields a <br /> bullwhip.<br /><br /> INTERROGATOR<br /> Your screams ain't gonna save your <br /> flesh! Only your tongue is, boy!<br /><br /> Another lash, another scream.<br /><br /> INTERROGATOR<br /> Where they headed!<br /><br /> A third man walks into the torchlight, a hound drooling at <br /> his heels. He is Cooley, the sheriff with mirrored sunglasses <br /> whom we remember from previous barn confrontations.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Lump. I.O.<br /><br /> The two men acknowledge by backing away from Pete.<br /><br /> We hear a pat... pat... and then the accelerating pitter-<br /> patter of arriving rain.<br /><br /> Cooley looks up.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Sweet summer rain. Like God's own <br /> mercy.<br /><br /> He looks back down at Pete.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Your two friends have abandoned you, <br /> Pete. They don't seem to care 'bout <br /> your hide.<br /><br /> He shrugs, looks off.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> ...Okay.<br /><br /> Looking up, into black: a rope is tossed up - it recedes out <br /> of the torchlight into black night - and then drops back <br /> down into the light, a noose bouncing at its end.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Stairway to heaven, Pete.<br /><br /> The two henchmen fit the noose over Pete's neck. Cooley licks <br /> his lips. His dog slobbers.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> We shall all meet, by and by.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Goddamnit!<br /><br /> Cooley holds up one hand. The two men pause in fitting the <br /> noose.<br /><br /> Pete is sobbing:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Godfer gimme!<br /><br /> Thunder crashes.<br /><br /> BACK OF A HAYTRUCK<br /><br /> Everett and Delmar sit disconsolately on a haybale as the <br /> stakebed truck bounces along a rough country road. They are <br /> both ill-kempt and heavily bruised.<br /><br /> Though still an undammable river of verbiage, Everett now <br /> seems to be talking out of weary habit, not conviction:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Believe me, Delmar, he would've wanted <br /> us to press on. Pete, rest his soul, <br /> was one sour-assed sonofabitch and <br /> not given to acts of pointless <br /> sentimentality.<br /><br /> Delmar doggedly shakes his head.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> It just don't seem right, diggin' up <br /> that treasure without him.<br /><br /> We distantly hear picks ringing and male chanting. Hollow-<br /> eyed, Everett tries to convince himself as much as Delmar:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Maybe it's for the best that Pete <br /> was squushed. Why, he was barely a <br /> sentient bein'. Now, soon as we clean <br /> ourselves up, get a little smell'um <br /> in our hair, we're just gonna feel a <br /> hunnert per cent better about <br /> ourselves and about...<br /><br /> His voice trails away as he looks out at the road.<br /><br /> They are passing a line of chained men in prison stripes and <br /> duck-billed caps wielding pickaxes and shovels at the side <br /> of the road. Guards bearing shotguns amble back and forth.<br /><br /> As he stares at the line of men Everett tries to pick up his <br /> thread:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...and about... life in general...<br /><br /> The prisoners look like phantoms in the heat and dust.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Jesus. We must be near Parchman Farm.<br /><br /> The men, giving throat to a dolorous chain-gang chant, do <br /> not look up at the passing haytruck.<br /><br /> Everett is haunted:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Sorry sonsabitches... Seems like a <br /> year ago we bust off the farm...<br /><br /> The last man in line swings his pick and, as he grows smaller, <br /> looks up. Everett stares.<br /><br /> It is Pete.<br /><br /> Lone and lorn, he returns Everett's slack-jawed stare until <br /> heat ripples and the truck's dusty wake dissolve him away.<br /><br /> Everett blinks.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pete have a brother?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Not that I'm aware.<br /><br /> Everett shakes his head as if to clear it.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Heat must be gettin' to me.<br /><br /> The truck rattles on.<br /><br /> TOWN SQUARE<br /><br /> Ithaca, Mississippi. On a bunting-covered stage a pencil-<br /> necked man with round rimless glasses addresses a crowd of <br /> rustics.<br /><br /> The pencil-neck is identified on posters as 'Homer Stokes, <br /> Friend of the Little Man', and, in life as in the pictures, <br /> he shakes a broom over his head. A midget in overalls stands <br /> next to him.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> And I say to you that the great state <br /> a Mississippi cannot afford four <br /> more years a Pappy O'Daniel - four <br /> more years a cronyism, nepotism, <br /> rascalism and service to the <br /> Innarests! The choice, she's a clear <br /> 'un: Pappy O'Daniel, slave a the <br /> Innarests; Homer Stokes, servant a <br /> the little man! Ain't that right, <br /> little fella?<br /><br /> The midget enthusiastically seconds:<br /><br /> MIDGET<br /> He ain't lyin'!<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> When the litle man says jump, Homer <br /> Stokes says how high? And, ladies'n <br /> jettymens, the little man has <br /> admonished me to grasp the broom a -<br /> ree-form and sweep this state clean!<br /><br /> The midget waves his little midget broom in time with Stoke's <br /> waves.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> It's gonna be back to the flour mill, <br /> Pappy! The Innarests can take care a <br /> theyselves! Come Tuesday, we gonna <br /> sweep the rascals out! Clean gummint - <br /> yours for the askin'!<br /><br /> He beams amid cheers and then, as three girls in gingham <br /> frocks run out to join him:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> An' now - the little Wharvey gals! <br /> Whatcha got for us, darlin's?<br /><br /> The oldest girl is about ten.<br /><br /> LITTLE GIRL<br /> 'In the Highways'!<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> That's fine.<br /><br /> The haytruck has pulled into the square and Everett and Delmar <br /> are climbing out.<br /><br /> Everett stares at the stage.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Wharvey gals?! Did he just say the <br /> little Wharvey gals?<br /><br /> Delmar shrugs. For some reason, Everett is enraged:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Goddamnit all!<br /><br /> Onstage, the three girls are singing in untrained but <br /> enthusiastic harmony:<br /><br /> GIRLS<br /> In the highways, In the hedges...<br /><br /> Everett stomps toward the stage, fighting his way through <br /> the crowd. Puzzled, Delmar follows.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> You know them gals, Everett?<br /><br /> Everett reaches the stage and climbs up into the wings just <br /> as the song ends. The midget starts buck-dancing to a fiddle <br /> tune as the three little girls, filing off, notice Everett.<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> Daddy!<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> He ain't our daddy!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hell I ain't! Whatsis 'Wharvey' gals? - <br /> Your name's McGill!<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> No sir! Not since you got hit by a <br /> train!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> What're you talkin' about - I wasn't <br /> hit by a train!<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> Mama said you was hit by a train!<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> Blooey!<br /><br /> OLDEST<br /> Nothin' left!<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> Just a grease spot on the L&N!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Damnit, I never been hit by any train!<br /><br /> OLDEST<br /> At's right! So Mama's got us back to <br /> Wharvey!<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> That's a maiden name.<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> You got a maiden name, Daddy?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> No, Daddy ain't got a maiden name; <br /> ya see -<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> That's your misfortune!<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> At's right! And now Mama's got a new <br /> beau!<br /><br /> OLDEST<br /> He's a suitor!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Yeah, I know 'bout that.<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> Mama says he's bona fide!<br /><br /> This worries Everett:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hm. He give her a ring?<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> Yassir, big'un!<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> Gotta gem!<br /><br /> OLDEST<br /> Mama checked it!<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> It's bona fide!<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> He's a suitor!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hm. What's his name?<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> Vernon T. Waldrip.<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> Uncle Vernon.<br /><br /> OLDEST<br /> Till tomorrow.<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> Then he's gonna be Daddy!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I'm the only damn daddy you got! I'm <br /> the damn paterfamilias!<br /><br /> OLDEST<br /> Yeah, but you ain't bona fide!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hm. Where's your mama?<br /><br /> Stokes is announcing from the stage:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> And now let's fetch back the Wharvey <br /> gals to sing 'I'll Fly Away'.<br /><br /> The girls call over their shoulders as they run back onstage:<br /><br /> MIDDLE<br /> She's at the five and dime.<br /><br /> YOUNGEST<br /> Buyin' nipples!<br /><br /> WOOLWORTH'S<br /><br /> The faces of a six-year-old girl and her four-year-old sister <br /> light up.<br /><br /> GIRLS<br /> Daddy!<br /><br /> Next to them is a two-year-old girl with a string wrapped <br /> around her waist. The other end of the string is held by a <br /> woman in her thirties with a haggard, careworn face. The <br /> woman also holds a babe-in-arms.<br /><br /> Everett, entering, goggles at the infant.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Who the hell is that?!<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Starla Wharvey.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Starla McGill you mean! How come you <br /> never told me about her?<br /><br /> SIX-YEAR-OLD<br /> 'Cause you was hit by a train.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> And that's another thing - why're <br /> you tellin' our gals I was hit by a <br /> train!<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Lotta respectable people been hit by <br /> trains. Judge Hobby over in Cookeville <br /> was hit by a train. What was I <br /> supposed to tell 'em - that you was <br /> sent to the penal farm and I divorced <br /> you from shame?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well - I take your point. But it <br /> leaves me in a damned awkward position <br /> vis-a-vis my progeny.<br /><br /> A man in a straw boater joins them.<br /><br /> BOATER<br /> 'Lo Penny... This gentleman bothering <br /> you?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You Waldrip?<br /><br /> BOATER<br /> That's right.<br /><br /> Everett sniffs and, catching a scent, squints.<br /><br /> Waldrip's hair, protruding from under his boater, is plastered <br /> against his scalp.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...Have you been using my hair <br /> treatment?<br /><br /> WALDRIP<br /> Your hair treatment?!<br /><br /> Everett covers his anger with an exaggerated politeness.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> S'cuse me...<br /><br /> He draws Penny aside.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, I got news for you case you <br /> hadn't noticed - I wasn't hit by a <br /> train. And I've traveled many a weary <br /> mile to be back with my wife and six <br /> daughters.<br /><br /> SIX-YEAR-OLD<br /> Seven, Daddy!<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That ain't your daddy, Alvinelle. <br /> Your daddy was hit by a train.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Now Penny, stop that!<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> No - you stop it! Vernon here's got <br /> a job. Vernon's got prospects. He's <br /> bona fide! What're you?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I'll tell you what I am - I'm the <br /> paterfamilias! You can't marry him!<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> I can and I am and I will - tomorrow! <br /> I gotta think about the little Wharvey <br /> gals! They look to me for answers! <br /> Vernon can s'port 'em and buy 'em <br /> lessons on the clarinet! The only <br /> good thing you ever did for the gals <br /> was get his by that train!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...Why you... lyin,... unconstant... <br /> succubus!<br /><br /> WALDRIP<br /> You can't swear at my fiancee!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Oh yeah? Well you can't marry my <br /> wife!<br /><br /> With this he takes a wild swing which Waldrip easily eludes. <br /> Waldrip adapts a Marquess of Queensbury stance and prances <br /> about, delivering stinging punches to the nose of a stunned <br /> and outclassed Everett.<br /><br /> A crowd is gathering and voices murmur:<br /><br /> BYSTANDERS<br /> Who is that man?<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> He's not my husband. Just a drifter, <br /> I guess... Just some no-account <br /> drifter...<br /><br /> EXT. WOOLWORTH'S<br /><br /> Its glass doors swing open and Everett is hurled out and <br /> bellyflops into the dust of the street.<br /><br /> BRAWNY MANAGER<br /> ...And stay out of Woolworth's!<br /><br /> MOVIE THEATER<br /><br /> Romantic music tinnily plays as Delmar and Everett watch, <br /> Everett slumped down and angrily hissing:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Deceitful! Two-faced! She-Woman! <br /> Never trust a female, Delmar! Remember <br /> that one simple precept and your <br /> time with me will not have been ill <br /> spent!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Okay, Everett.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hit by a train! Truth means nothin' <br /> to Woman, Delmar. Triumph a the <br /> subjective! You ever been with a <br /> woman?<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well, uh, I - I gotta get the family <br /> farm back before I can start thinkin' <br /> about that.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well that's right! If then! Believe <br /> me, Delmar, Woman is the most fiendish <br /> instrument of torture ever devised <br /> to bedevil the days a man!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Everett, I never figured you for a <br /> paterfamilias.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Oh-ho-ho yes, I've spread my seed. <br /> And you see what it, uh... what it's <br /> earned me... Now what in the...<br /><br /> The screen is flickering down to black as the music slows to <br /> sludge and stops.<br /><br /> The theater is dark and quiet.<br /><br /> Everett and Delmar, and the rest of the sparse audience, <br /> look restively about.<br /><br /> A man carrying a shotgun enters the auditorium.<br /><br /> He walks halfway down the aisle and stops several rows behind <br /> Delmar and Everett. He scans the theater, then brings a <br /> whistle to his lips.<br /><br /> At his whistle the back doors burst open and a line of chained <br /> men trot in at double-time. With much clanking they file <br /> into one row and then, that row filled, the one behind it. <br /> They remain silently on their feet.<br /><br /> The first guard and two others who escorted in the convicts <br /> scan the theater. The first guard again blows his whistle.<br /><br /> The two rows of chained men sit.<br /><br /> After another silence:<br /><br /> FIRST GUARD<br /> ...Okay boys! Enjoy yer pickcha show!<br /><br /> One more whistle cues the movie to grind back up to speed.<br /><br /> A hissing whisper from behind draws Everett and Delmar's <br /> attention:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Do not seek the treasure! It's a <br /> bushwhack!<br /><br /> Everett and Delmar turn and stare, saucer-eyed. In the middle <br /> of the frontmost row of convicts sits Pete - bald, haunted <br /> Pete.<br /><br /> After a long, disbelieving stare:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> ...Pete?<br /><br /> Pete whispers again, urgently:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> They're fixin' a ambush! Do not seek <br /> the treasure!<br /><br /> Everett, jaw hanging open, can only stare, as if at a ghost. <br /> Delmar stares also, but finally brings out another:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> ...Pete?<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Do not seek the treasure!<br /><br /> Everett's face remains frozen in horrified disbelief, but <br /> Delmar finally accepts Pete's corporeal reality.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> We thought you was a toad!<br /><br /> Pete squints and cocks his head as if to say, What was that?<br /><br /> Delmar repeats the whisper slowly and with exaggerated mouth <br /> movements:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> We thought... you was... a toad!<br /><br /> Pete shakes his head - didn't catch it - and repeats, also <br /> overarticulating:<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Do not... seek... the treasure!<br /><br /> A guard murmurs:<br /><br /> GUARD<br /> Quiet there. Watcha pickcha.<br /><br /> VERANDA<br /><br /> Pappy O'Daniel sits on the veranda of the Governor's Mansion, <br /> smoking a cigar and sipping from a glass of bourbon as the <br /> evening sun goes down.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> I signed that bill! I signed a dozen <br /> a those aggi-culture bills! Everyone <br /> knows I'm a friend a the fahmuh! <br /> What do I gotta do, start diddlin' <br /> livestock?!<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> We cain't do that, Daddy, we might <br /> offend our constichency.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> We ain't got a constichency! Stokes <br /> got a constichency!<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Them straw polls is ugly.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Stokes is pullin' ah pants down.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Gonna pluck us off the tit.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Pappy gonna be sittin' there pants <br /> down and Stokes at the table soppin' <br /> up the gravy.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Latch right on to that tit.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Wipin' little circles with his bread.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Suckin' away.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Well, it's a well-run campaign, <br /> midget'n broom'n whatnot.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Devil his due.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Helluva awgazation.<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> Say, I gotten idee.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> What sat, Junior?<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> We could hire us a little fella even <br /> smaller'n Stokes's.<br /><br /> Pappy whips at him with his hat.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Y'ignorant slope-shouldered sack a <br /> guts! Why we'd look like a buncha <br /> satchel-ass Johnnie-Come-Latelies <br /> braggin' on our own midget! Don't <br /> matter how stumpy! And that's the <br /> goddamn problem right there - people <br /> think this Stokes got fresh ideas, <br /> he's oh coorant and we the past.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Problem a p'seption.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Ass right.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Reason why he's pullin' ah pants <br /> down.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Gonna paddle ah little bee-hind.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Ain't gonna paddle it; he's gonna <br /> kick it real hard.<br /><br /> With his mouth forming an O around his dropping cigar, Pappy <br /> looks sadly from one to the other, like a spectator at a <br /> particularly boring tennis match.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> No, I believe he's a-gonna paddle <br /> it.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Well now, I don't believe assa <br /> property scription.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Well, that's how I characterize it.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Well, I believe it's mawva kickin' <br /> sichation.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Pullin' ah pants down...<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Wipin' little circles with his <br /> bread...<br /><br /> A NOOSE<br /><br /> In slow motion it is dropping... dropping... dropping through <br /> the night. We hear distant thunder and the howl of a hound. <br /> The sounds recede, and the black background dissolves into a <br /> pan down from a raftered ceiling as the noose fades away.<br /><br /> The continued pan down shows that we are in a barracks-like <br /> cabin. It is night. Convicts are ranged in bunk-beds. Their <br /> snores stand out against the chirp of crickets.<br /><br /> In the upper berth of the foreground bed is Pete. His hands <br /> are clasped behind his head. A manacle and chain links one <br /> wrist to a rail that serves as headboard.<br /><br /> He stares up, haunted, at the phantom noose.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> I could not gaze upon that far <br /> shore...<br /><br /> He reacts quizically to a whispered:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Pete!<br /><br /> A moment later Everett rises over the lip of his bed. His <br /> face is blacked and he sways as if standing on a boat.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hold still.<br /><br /> He is raising a large, long-armed, short-nosed pincering <br /> tool. He locks the nose onto Pete's chain and levers the <br /> arms. As his hand chinks free, Pete does not react to his <br /> newfound liberty.<br /><br /> We hear an agonized voice from off as Everett continues to <br /> sway:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> ...Cain't stand much longer.<br /><br /> Pete's eyes burn into Everett's.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> It was a moment a weakness!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Quitcha babblin' Pete - time to <br /> skedaddle.<br /><br /> THE THREE MEN<br /><br /> We track with them as they walk through the moonlit woods. <br /> Delmar's and Everett's faces are thoroughly blacked; Pete is <br /> just finishing blacking his, and he hands the shoe polish <br /> back to Everett.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> They lured me out for a bathe, then <br /> they dunked me'n trussed me up like <br /> a hog and turned me in for the bounty.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I shoulda guessed it - typical womanly <br /> behavior. Just lucky we left before <br /> they came for us.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> We didn't abandon you, Pete, we just <br /> thought you was a toad.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> No, they never did turn me into a <br /> toad.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Well that was our mistake then. And <br /> then we was beat up by a bible <br /> salesman and banished from <br /> Woolworth's. I don't know if it's <br /> the one branch or all of 'em.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Well I - I ain't had it easy either, <br /> boys. Uh, frankly, I - well I spilled <br /> my guts about the treasure.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Huh?!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Awful sorry I betrayed you fellas; <br /> must be my Hogwallop blood.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Aw, that's all right, Pete.<br /><br /> Pete is shaking his head, miserable.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> It's awful white of ya to take it <br /> like that, Everett. I feel wretched, <br /> spoilin' yer play for a million <br /> dollars'n point two. It's been eatin' <br /> at my guts.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Aw, that's all right.<br /><br /> Pete starts weeping.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> You boys're true friends!<br /><br /> He hugs a stunned Delmar.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> You're m'boon companions!<br /><br /> He hugs Everett, who looks profoundly uncomfortable.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Pete, uh, I don't want ya to beat <br /> yourself up about this thing...<br /><br /> PETE<br /> I cain't help it, but that's a <br /> wonderful thing to say!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, but Pete...<br /><br /> He clears his throat.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Uh, the fact of the matter is - well, <br /> damnit, there ain't no treasure!<br /><br /> Now it is Pete's turn to be stunned. He and Delmar stare at <br /> Everett.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Fact of the matter - there never <br /> was!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> But... but...<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> So - where's all the money from your <br /> armored-car job?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I never knocked over any armored-<br /> car. I was sent up for practicing <br /> law without a license.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> But...<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Damnit, I just hadda bust out! My <br /> wife wrote me she was gettin' married! <br /> I gotta stop it!<br /><br /> Pete stares vacantly off.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> ...No treasure... I had two weeks <br /> left on my sentence...<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I couldn't wait two weeks! She's <br /> gettin' married tomorra!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> ...With my added time for the escape, <br /> I don't get out now 'til 1987... <br /> I'll be eighty-four years old.<br /><br /> Delmar, not angry himself, is trying to work it out.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Huh. I guess they'll tack on fifty <br /> years for me too.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Boys, we was chained together. I <br /> hadda tell ya somethin'. Bustin' out <br /> alone was not a option!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> ...Eighty-four years old.<br /><br /> Delmar brightens.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> I'll only be eighty-two.<br /><br /> Pete lunges at Everett.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> YOU RUINED MY LIFE!<br /><br /> He tackles him and, with his hands wrapped round Everett's <br /> throat, the two roll over.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> (strangled)<br /> Pete... I do apologize.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Eighty-four years old! I'll be gummin' <br /> pab-you-lum!<br /><br /> They have rolled through some brush and their bodies are now <br /> halfway into a clearing. They abruptly stop.<br /><br /> Pete, lying on top of Everett, looks up, startled by loud <br /> chanting. Everett, lying on his back, tries to see as well, <br /> his eyes rolling back in his head.<br /><br /> Their point-of-view shows a great open field where men in <br /> bedsheets parade in formation before a huge fiery cross.<br /><br /> Pete and Everett hastily crabwalk back into the bushes and <br /> then push through with Delmar.<br /><br /> The ranks of hooded men, chanting in a high hillbilly wail, <br /> intersect and shuffle like a marching band at halftime. At <br /> length they stop in perfect formation, still chanting, to <br /> face the Imperial Wizard, who stands in front of the burning <br /> cross dressed in a red satin robe and hood trimmed with gold.<br /><br /> An aisle leads through the middle of the formation to the <br /> burning cross, before which a gibbet has been erected. The <br /> backmost row has stopped, facing away, only a few yards from <br /> the bushes that hide Delmar, Pete and Everett.<br /><br /> As the chanting continues, two Klansmen lead a black man, <br /> whom they grasp by either arm, up the aisle toward the gibbet.<br /><br /> BLACK MAN<br /> I ain't never harmed any you <br /> gentlemen!<br /><br /> Everett hisses:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> It's Tommy! They got Tommy!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Oh my God!<br /><br /> It is indeed Tommy Johnson.<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> I ain't never harmed nobody!<br /><br /> Pete is staring aghast at the makeshift gibbet.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> The noose. Sweet Jesus! We gotta <br /> save 'im!<br /><br /> A broad-shouldered man in the middle of the ranks of Klansmen, <br /> sensing something, slowly turns to look back over his <br /> shoulder. He thus reveals that his hood has only one eye-<br /> hole.<br /><br /> He slowly draws off his hood. It is, of course, Big Dan <br /> Teague. His one good eye looks about; his other eye, now <br /> revealed, is hideously clouded and stares up and off in fixed <br /> sightlessness.<br /><br /> Everett, still crouched behind the bushes, notices something. <br /> He hisses and points.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> The color guard.<br /><br /> Off to one side is a robed and hooded three-man color guard <br /> displaying a Confederate flag.<br /><br /> In front of the crowd the Imperial Wizard raises one satin-<br /> draped arm, and the chanting stops.<br /><br /> WIZARD<br /> Brothers! We are foregathered here <br /> to preserve our hallowed culture'n <br /> heritage! From intrusions, inclusions <br /> and dilutions! Of culluh! Of creed! <br /> Of our ol'-time religion!<br /><br /> Over in the bushes Everett, Delmar and Pete are straightening <br /> up and adjusting their appropriated robes and hoods, having <br /> disposed of the color guard.<br /><br /> WIZARD<br /> We aim to pull evil up by the root! <br /> Before it chokes out the flower of <br /> our culture'n heritage! And our women! <br /> Let's not forget those ladies, y'all, <br /> lookin' to us for p'tection! From <br /> darkies! From Jews! From Papists! <br /> And from all those smart-ass folk <br /> say we come descended from the <br /> monkeys! That's not my culture'n <br /> heritage!<br /><br /> A roar from the crowd.<br /><br /> WIZARD<br /> Izzat your culture'n heritage?<br /><br /> Another roar.<br /><br /> WIZARD<br /> And so... we gonna hang us a neegra!<br /><br /> A huge roar - and now the ranks resume their chanting.<br /><br /> The color guard hustles up the aisle to draw up behind the <br /> two men leading Tommy to the gibbet. Everett hisses:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hey Tommy! It's us!<br /><br /> Behind Everett in the deep background someone emerges from <br /> the ranks into the middle aisle. He approaches with a strong, <br /> purposeful stride - Big Dan Teague, bareheaded, holding his <br /> hood under his arm.<br /><br /> Everett hisses again:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hey Tommy!<br /><br /> Tommy looks back over his shoulder.<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> Everett is oblivious to the big man approaching from behind.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> It's us! We come to rescue ya!<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> That's mighty kind of ya boys, but I <br /> don't think nothin's gonna save me <br /> now - the devil's come to collect <br /> his due!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Tommy, you don't wanna get hanged!<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> Naw I don't guess I do, but that's <br /> the way it seems to be workin' out.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Listen to me, Tommy, I got a plan -<br /><br /> Whoosh - arriving Big Dan whips the hood from Everett's head. <br /> Everett is exposed - in blackface.<br /><br /> The chanting abruptly stops. The crowd is stunned.<br /><br /> Big Dan whips off the other two hoods - Delmar and Pete, in <br /> blackface.<br /><br /> From the crowd:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> The color guard is colored!<br /><br /> Big Dan roars.<br /><br /> The crowd roars.<br /><br /> Everett screams:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Run, boys!<br /><br /> Pandemonium breaks out, and the Imperial Wizard takes off <br /> his red satin hood for a better view.<br /><br /> He is the reform candidate Homer Stokes. Next to him, his <br /> midget also pulls of his midget hood.<br /><br /> Stokes is peeved.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Who made them the color guard?<br /><br /> Everett, Pete, Tommy and Delmar, bearing the Confederate <br /> flag, are retreating across the neutral ground separating <br /> the mob of Klansmen from the burning cross. The mob pursues <br /> in full cry.<br /><br /> When the intruders reach the foot of the cross, Delmar turns. <br /> He javelins the flagpole up and out toward the pursuing crowd.<br /><br /> Homer Stokes is mortified.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Damn! Can't let that flag touch the <br /> ground!<br /><br /> The crowd gasps and watches, heads tilted back, in silence.<br /><br /> The only sound is the fluttering flag.<br /><br /> Homer Stokes' eyes rise, hesitate and start to fall as the <br /> flag reaches its zenith and starts to descend.<br /><br /> We boom down with the hurtling flag toward a sea of upturned <br /> white hoods. Dead in the middle is bareheaded Dan Teague.<br /><br /> His arms are tensed out at his sides like a waiting kick-off <br /> returner. He squints up with his one good eye, judging <br /> distance and trajectory.<br /><br /> From somewhere we hear a loud BOINK, as of a wire popping.<br /><br /> The flag flutters.<br /><br /> The crowd is silent.<br /><br /> Big Dan sets and...<br /><br /> WHAP! He snaps his hands up and together.<br /><br /> He has caught the flagpole. The flag has not touched the <br /> ground.<br /><br /> The crowd cheers.<br /><br /> Big Dan looks around, beaming acknowledgement of the cheers.<br /><br /> From somewhere, another BOINK.<br /><br /> As Big Dan's look reaches front again, his smile fades.<br /><br /> His eye tracks up - up-<br /><br /> CREEEEEEK! The fiery cross is twisting and starting to fall.<br /><br /> At the foot of the cross Everett snaps its last guy wire <br /> with his pincers - BOINK - and the four men sprint off.<br /><br /> WHOOOOSH - As the crowd scatters, the cross descends toward <br /> Big Dan, frozen, looking up.<br /><br /> It crashes in a shower of sparks and embers that obliterates <br /> Big Dan Teague.<br /><br /> A PACKARD<br /><br /> It is pulling up in front of a town hall from which party <br /> sounds filter out.<br /><br /> Pappy O'Daniel emerges from the car with his retinue - Eckard, <br /> Spivey and Junior.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> I'm sayin' we har this man away.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Assa good idea, Pappy.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Helluva idea.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Cain't beat 'em, join 'em.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Have him join us, run our campaign <br /> 'stead a that pencil-neck's.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Enticements a power, wealth, settera.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> No one says no to Pappy O'Daniel.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Oh gracious no. Not with his <br /> blandishments.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Powas p'suasion.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> What's his name again?<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Campaign manager? Waldrip.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Vernon Waldrip.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Vernon T. Waldrip.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Hmm... His folks from out Tuscarora?<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Tuscarora? Might be. I b'lieve they <br /> is.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Not a doubt in my mind.<br /><br /> Pappy is disgusted:<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> You don't know where his goddamn <br /> folks from; you speakin' outcha <br /> asshole.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Well now Pappy I wouldn't put it <br /> that strong...<br /><br /> As the three men make their way up the steps, Eckard's voice <br /> is fading:<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> ...but p'haps yaw right...<br /><br /> In wide shot, they disappear into the building.<br /><br /> A reverse shows the wide shot to have been the point-of-view <br /> of Everett, Pete, Delmar and Tommy, who peek out from the <br /> mouth of an alley. Everett hisses his intelligence:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, it's a invitation-only affair; <br /> we'll have to sneak in through the <br /> service entrance-<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Wait a minute - who elected you leader <br /> a this outfit? Since we been followin' <br /> your lead we got nothin' but trouble! <br /> I gotten this close to bein' strung <br /> up, n'consumed in a fire, 'n whipped <br /> no end, 'n sunstroked, 'n soggied -<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> 'N turned into a frog -<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> He was never turned into a frog!<br /><br /> Delmar sulks:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Almost loved up though.<br /><br /> Everett is stunned.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> So you're against me now, too!... Is <br /> that how it is, boys?<br /><br /> Silence. No one wants to meet Everett's eye. He is saddened.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> The whole world and God Almighty... <br /> and now you. Well, maybe I deserve <br /> this. Boys, I... I know I've made <br /> some tactical mistakes. But if you'll <br /> just stick with me; I need your help. <br /> And I've got a plan. Believe me, <br /> boys, we can fix this thing! I can <br /> get my wife back! We can get outta <br /> here!<br /><br /> Headlights play; the men suck back into the alley as a car <br /> passes by.<br /><br /> The car tools up to the banquet hall and Homer Stokes emerges <br /> with his midget. The midget tosses his balled-up white hood <br /> into the car and both men shrug into their suitcoats.<br /><br /> Stokes is angry:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> ...goddamn disgrace. Made a travesty <br /> of the entire evenin'...<br /><br /> They too start up the stairs. Stokes's pace is brisk and the <br /> midget hops awkwardly to keep up.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> ...what I wouldn't give to get my <br /> hands on those agitators. Whoever <br /> heard a such behavior. Even among <br /> culluds. Or mulattos, maybe - I <br /> suspect some miscegenation in their <br /> heritage... how else you goin' explain <br /> it - usin' the Confed'it flag as a <br /> missile...<br /><br /> BANQUET HALL KITCHEN<br /><br /> Everett, Pete, Delmar and Tommy are entering through the <br /> back door. The blackface has been scrubbed off but all four <br /> now wear long gray beards as disguise, clumsily affixed with <br /> spirit gum. Each is carrying a musical-instrument case.<br /><br /> They elbow past the bustling kitchen help.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Scuse me... scuse me... we're the <br /> next act...<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Everett, my beard itches.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> This is crazy. No one's ever gonna <br /> believe we're a real band.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> No, this is gonna work! I just gotta <br /> get close enough to talk to her. <br /> Takin' off with us is got a lot more <br /> future in it than marrying a guy <br /> named Waldrip. I'm goddamn bona <br /> fide. I've got the answers!<br /><br /> HEAD TABLE<br /><br /> Out in the banquet hall Penny and Waldrip sit side-by-side <br /> at the head table, surrounded by the Wharvey gals. Penny and <br /> Waldrip are facing the hall with their backs to the stage as <br /> the four bearded band members - Everett, Pete, Delmar and <br /> Tommy - take their places.<br /><br /> Pappy O'Daniel stands by Waldrip's chair with an arm draped <br /> over his shoulder, leaning in to murmur confidentially. <br /> Waldrip sits stiffly erect as he listens, frowning at a spot <br /> in space.<br /><br /> Suddenly Waldrip erupts:<br /><br /> WALDRIP<br /> Well that's a improper suggestion! <br /> I can't switch sides in the middle <br /> of a campaign! Especially to work <br /> for a man who lacks moral fibre!<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Moral fibre?!<br /><br /> He waves his cane, outraged.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> You pasty-faced sonofabitch, I <br /> invented moral fibre!<br /><br /> Up on the stage, the band has launched into a song.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Pappy O'Daniel was displayin' <br /> rectitude and high-mindedness when <br /> that pencil-neck you work for was <br /> still messin' his drawers!<br /><br /> A hissed Voice:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Psst! Penny! Hey! Up here!<br /><br /> As the two men continue to exchange sharp words, penny turns <br /> her head to look steeply up over her shoulder.<br /><br /> Everett is up onstage just behind her. As the rest of the <br /> band continues to play, he is parting his beard to hiss down <br /> at her:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Penny! It's me!<br /><br /> Dismayed, she shakes her head and tries to unobtrusively <br /> wave him away. He is undeterred:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> No, Penny, listen! We're leavin' the <br /> state! Pusuin' opportunities in <br /> another venue! I got big plans! Not <br /> minstrelsy; this-here's just a dodge - <br /> I'm gonna be a dentist! I know a guy <br /> who'll print me up a license! I wanna <br /> be what you want me to be, honey! I <br /> want you and the gals to come with <br /> me!<br /><br /> She shakes her head vigorously and looks down at her plate <br /> as Everett continues pleading to her back:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> They're my daughters, Penny! I'm the <br /> king a this goddamn castle!<br /><br /> Stokes has ambled up to the head table.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> What're you doin' here, Pappy? I <br /> guess someone let on there was free <br /> liquor, heh-heh.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Yeah, you'll be laughin' out the <br /> other side your face come November.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Pappy O'Daniel be laughing' then.<br /><br /> SPIVEY<br /> Not out the other side his face, <br /> though.<br /><br /> ECKARD<br /> Oh no, no, just the reg'la side -<br /><br /> This byplay is interrupted by a roar from the crowd.<br /><br /> The band has launched into 'Man of Constant Sorrow', <br /> precipitating the huge reaction. Everett, still trying to <br /> get Penny's attention, looks up, stunned at the ovation.<br /><br /> Cry from the crowd:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Hot damn! Itsa Soggy Bottom Boys!<br /><br /> Everett and the boys, still singing, exchange bemused looks. <br /> A shrug, and they lean into the song with a will.<br /><br /> Everett performs an impromptu buck-and-wing, bringing the <br /> crowd to new heights of hysteria.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Holy-moly. These boys're a hit!<br /><br /> JUNIOR<br /> But Pappy, they's inter-grated.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Well I guess folks don't mind they's <br /> integrated.<br /><br /> Stokes is also staring at the band, frowning. He murmurs to <br /> himself:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Wait a minute...<br /><br /> Everett catches Stokes' look. The two men look at each other, <br /> aghast.<br /><br /> Stokes raises his voice accusingly:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> ...you's miscegenated! All you boys! <br /> Miscegenated!<br /><br /> Everett raises the volume of his singing. Stokes cries out:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Get me a mike-a-phone!<br /><br /> A mike is thrust into his hand and he bellows into it, <br /> overwhelming the music, which the boys eventually abandon. <br /> Stokes continues bellowing into the silence:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> These boys is not white! These boys <br /> is not white! Hell, they ain't even <br /> ol'-timey! I happen to know, ladies'n <br /> gentlemen, this band a miscreants <br /> here, this very evening, they <br /> interfered with a lynch mob inna <br /> performance of its duties!<br /><br /> The crowd stares at him, stone-faced. Stokes plows on:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> It's true! I b'long to a certain <br /> society, I don't believe I gotta <br /> mention its name, heh-heh...<br /><br /> Nobody joins in the laugh; Stokes slowly strangles on it.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> ...Ahem. And these boys here trampled <br /> all over our venerated observances <br /> an' rich'ls! Now this-here music is <br /> over! I aim to -<br /><br /> Boos start up among the crowd.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> I aim to hand these boys over to - <br /> listen to me, folks!<br /><br /> The boos are growing in volume. There are cries of 'More <br /> music!' and even one 'Shut up, pencil-neck!'<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Listen to me! These boys desecrated <br /> a fiery cross!<br /><br /> More boos. Waldrip approaches and nudges the microphone away <br /> to murmur confidentially in Stokes' ear. Stokes excitedly <br /> retrieves the mike and struggles to be heard:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> And they convicts! Fugitives, folks, <br /> escaped off the farm!<br /><br /> This cuts no ice; the boos have become overwhelming.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Folks, these boys gotta be remanded <br /> the 'thorities! Criminals! And I <br /> happen to have it from the highest <br /> authority that that Neegra sold his <br /> soul to the devil!<br /><br /> He is hit by a tomato.<br /><br /> The boos are deafening; the Soggy Bottom Boys, sensing <br /> opportunity, launch back into the interrupted verse of 'Man <br /> of Constant Sorrow'. The boos become wild cheers.<br /><br /> Stokes is being pelted by foodstuffs. Shielding himself with <br /> one arm, he bellows into the mike:<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Is you <br /> is or is you ain't my constichency?<br /><br /> INT. RUSTIC CABIN<br /><br /> Far up some sleepy holler. An old man in overalls and his <br /> wife sit hunched before a crystal set, listening to the tinny <br /> voice. They look at each other wordlessly, look back at the <br /> crystal set.<br /><br /> BACK TO BANQUET HALL<br /><br /> Stokes is almost drowned out by the music as his midget looks <br /> apprehensively on.<br /><br /> STOKES<br /> Is you is or is you ain't -<br /><br /> A disgruntled audience member yanks out the microphone plug; <br /> Stokes continues to mouth the inaudible words.<br /><br /> Pappy is considering the crowd.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Goddamn! Oppitunity knocks!<br /><br /> He starts clambering up onto the stage.<br /><br /> Two men advance through the clapping audience holding high <br /> either end of an eight-foot rail. When they reach Stokes, <br /> other audience members help load him onto the rail.<br /><br /> Onstage, Pappy claps along with the audience.<br /><br /> As they play, the band members fearfully eye Pappy, who <br /> advances on them.<br /><br /> Pappy joyfully shakes his fat ass in time to the music and <br /> does a little two-step. The audience roars. The band relaxes, <br /> performing with even more gusto.<br /><br /> Stokes is being through the crowd on the rail, jeered at and <br /> pelted with comestibles until he bangs out the exit.<br /><br /> As the songs rolls into its big finish the audience roars <br /> approval, and Pappy elbows in to the microphone, beaming.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> That's fine, that's fine!...<br /><br /> He drops one arm around Everett, the other around Delmar.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> ...Ladies'n gentlemens here and <br /> listenin' at home, the great state <br /> of Mississippi (Pappy O'Daniel, <br /> Gov'nor) thanks the Soggy Bottom <br /> Boys for that won-a-ful performance!<br /><br /> Cheers.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Now it looks like the only man in <br /> our great state who ain't a music <br /> luvva, is my esteemed opponent in <br /> the upcomin', Homer Stokes -<br /><br /> Boos.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Yeah, well, they ain't no accountin' <br /> f'taste. It sounded t'me like he <br /> harbored some kind a hateful grudge <br /> against the Soggy Bottom Boys on <br /> account a their rough'n rowdy past.<br /><br /> Boos.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Sounds like Homer Stokes is the kinda <br /> fella gonna cast the first stone!<br /><br /> Boos.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Well I'm with you folks. I'm a f'give <br /> and f'get Christian. And I say, well, <br /> if their rambunctiousness and <br /> misdemeanorin' is behind 'em - It <br /> is, ain't it, boys?<br /><br /> Everett hesitates, not sure where this is going.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Sure is, Governor.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Why then I say, by the par vested in <br /> me, these boys is hereby pardoned!<br /><br /> Loud cheers prod Pappy to another level of inspiration:<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> And furthermore, in the second Pappy <br /> O'Daniel administration, why, these <br /> boys - is gonna be my brain trust!<br /><br /> Raucous cheers.<br /><br /> The band beams, but Delmar leans into Everett, worried:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> What sat mean exactly, Everett?<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, you'n me'n Pete'n Tommy are <br /> gonna be the power behind the throne <br /> so to speak.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Oh, okay.<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> So now, without further ado, and by <br /> way of endorsin' my candidacy, the <br /> Soggy Bottom Boys is gonna lead us <br /> all in a chorus of 'You Are My <br /> Sunshine' - ain't ya, boys?<br /><br /> He gives Everett a meaningful look, which Everett holds for <br /> a considering beat.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...Governor - that's one of our <br /> favorites!<br /><br /> Pappy returns a considered appraisal:<br /><br /> PAPPY<br /> Son, you gonna go far.<br /><br /> The song begins.<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> The steps of the meeting hall. People stream out of the <br /> concert into the warm summer night.<br /><br /> Everett, now relieved of his beard, is walking down the steps <br /> with Penny.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> I guess Vernon T. Waldrip is gonna <br /> be goin' on relief. Maybe I'll be <br /> able to throw a little patronage his <br /> way, get the man a job diggin' ditches <br /> or rounding up stray dogs.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Is the marriage off then, Miz Wharvey?<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> McGill. No, the marriage'll take <br /> place as planned.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Just a little change of cast. Me and <br /> the little lady are gonna pick up <br /> the pieces'n retie the knot, <br /> mixaphorically speakin'. You boys're <br /> invited, of course. Hell, you're <br /> best men! Already got the rings.<br /><br /> He raises Penny's left hand with his own to display their <br /> wedding bands - but Penny's finger is bare.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Where's your ring, honey?<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> I ain't worn it since our divorce <br /> came through. It must still be in <br /> the rolltop in the old cabin. Never <br /> thought I'd need it; Vernon bought <br /> one encrusted with jewels.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hell, now's the time to buy it off <br /> him cheap.<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> We ain't gettin' married with his <br /> ring! You said you'd changed!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Aw, honey, our ring is just a old <br /> pewter thing -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> Ain't gonna be no weddin'.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> It's just a symbol, honey -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> No weddin'.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> We'll go fetch it with ya, Everett.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Honey, it's just - Shutup, Delmar -<br /> it's just -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> I have spoken my piece and counted <br /> to three.<br /><br /> She walks off.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Oh, goddamnit! She counted to three! <br /> Sonofabitch! You know how far that <br /> cabin is?!<br /><br /> His attention, and everyone else's, is drawn by a procession <br /> on the street below. A crowd carrying torches jogs behind a <br /> man in clanking leg irons and wrist manacles who is being <br /> escorted by four policemen trotting alongside, their <br /> nightsticks held across their chests in riot-ready formation.<br /><br /> Everett and the rest of the Soggy Bottom Boys descend the <br /> last couple of steps to meet the oncoming criminal. Delmar <br /> cries out:<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> George!<br /><br /> It is indeed George Nelson, grinning and game despite his <br /> heavy restraints.<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> 'Lo, boys! Well, these little men <br /> finally caught up with the criminal <br /> a the century! Looks like the chair <br /> for George Nelson. Yup! Gonna <br /> electrify me! I'm gonna go off like <br /> a Roman candle! Twenty thousand <br /> volts chasin' the rabbit through <br /> yours truly! Gonna shoot sparks out <br /> the top of my head and lightning <br /> from my fingertips!<br /><br /> As he passes he turns to call back over his shoulder:<br /><br /> GEORGE<br /> Yessir! Gonna suck all the power <br /> right outa the state! Goddamn, boys, <br /> I'm on top of the world! I'M GEORGE <br /> NELSON AND I'M FEELIN' TEN FEET TALL!<br /><br /> Delmar, smiling, shakes his head as he watches him go.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Looks like George is right back on <br /> top again.<br /><br /> BLACK<br /><br /> In the black we hear snuffling, growing louder, closer, <br /> slobberier.<br /><br /> A crack of light. We are inside a cupboard. Its door is being <br /> nosed open by an eagerly sniffing snout.<br /><br /> As the door swings wide the inside of the cupboard is washed <br /> with light. It contains, next to a tangled bunch of hairnets, <br /> several neatly stacked tins of Dapper Dan pomade.<br /><br /> PINEY WOODS<br /><br /> Everett, Pete, Delmar and Tommy are walking through the woods.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, at least you boys'll get to <br /> see the old manse - the home where I <br /> spent so many happy days in the bosom <br /> of my family - a refugium, if you <br /> will - with a mighty oak tree out <br /> front and a happy little tire swing...<br /><br /> They emerge into a clearing. The cabin stands before them. <br /> It is indeed a peaceful-looking haven with a mighty oak tree <br /> in front. There is, however, no tire swing; instead, three <br /> nooses hang from one stout limb.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> Where's the happy little tire swing?<br /><br /> Two shotgun-wielding goons fall in behind the four men and <br /> push them forward.<br /><br /> Moving forward reveals, next to the oak tree, three fresh-<br /> dug graves. Standing at the far lip of each grave is a rough <br /> pine coffin.<br /><br /> The sheriff with mirrored sunglasses, Cooley, steps off the <br /> porch, the drooling hound at his heels.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> End of the road, boys. It's had its <br /> twists and turns -<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Waitaminute -<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> - but now it deposits you here.<br /><br /> The goons are shoving them toward the tree. Three <br /> gravediggers, having just finished their work, emerge from <br /> the three graves. They are shirtless black men with bandannas <br /> round their necks.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Waitaminute -<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> You have eluded fate - and eluded me - <br /> for the last time. Tie their hands, <br /> boys.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You can't do this -<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Didn't know you'd be bringin' a <br /> friend. Well, he'll have to wait <br /> his turn -<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Hang on there -<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> - and share one of your graves.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You can't do this - we just been <br /> pardoned! By the Governer himself!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> It went out over the radio!<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Is that right?<br /><br /> The leering goons, who have been lashing the men's wrists <br /> behind their backs, pause, their sadism stymied. They look <br /> to Cooley for guidance.<br /><br /> So too does the drooling hound.<br /><br /> Silence.<br /><br /> Finally:<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> ...Too bad we don't have a radio.<br /><br /> The goons recover their leering grins and resume their happy <br /> task.<br /><br /> The gravediggers stand next to the graves, leaning on their <br /> shovels. They begin to sing a slow and dirgelike 'You've Got <br /> to Walk That Lonesome Valley'. Sweat glistens on them and <br /> trickles down their faces like tears.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> God have Mercy!<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> It ain't fittin'!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> It ain't the law!<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> The law. Well the law is a human <br /> institution.<br /><br /> Cooley gives the faintest smile.<br /><br /> COOLEY<br /> Perhaps you should take a moment for <br /> your prayers.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Oh my God! Everett!<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> I'm sorry we got you into this, Tommy.<br /><br /> PETE<br /> Good Lord, what do we do?<br /><br /> Pete is in tears. Tommy is terrified. Delmar bows his head <br /> to silently pray.<br /><br /> Everett bows his head as well. He murmurs:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Oh Lord, please look down and <br /> recognize us poor sinners... please <br /> Lord...<br /><br /> The singing of the gravediggers begins a mournful swell.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...I just want to see my daughters <br /> again. Oh Lord, I've been separated <br /> from my family for so long...<br /><br /> The mournfully building song is now supported by a bass more <br /> palpable than audible - the song, it seems, rising out of <br /> the earth itself.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...I know I've been guilty of pride <br /> and sharp dealing. I'm sorry that I <br /> turned my back on you, Lord. Please <br /> forgive me, and help us, Lord, and I <br /> swear I'll mend my ways... For the <br /> sake of my family... For Tommy's <br /> sake, and Delmar's, and Pete's...<br /><br /> The rumble is building.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...Let me see my daughters again. <br /> Please, Lord, help us... Please help <br /> us...<br /><br /> The rumble erupts into a deafening roar.<br /><br /> A wall of water is crashing through the hollow.<br /><br /> It engulfs everything and everybody. The cabin itself is <br /> ripped away; the Soggy Bottom Boys are knocked off their <br /> feet and all is noise and confusion.<br /><br /> UNDERWATER<br /><br /> A silent world. Everett tumbles in the current in natural <br /> slow motion.<br /><br /> Suspended around him are scores of tins of Dapper Dan pomade.<br /><br /> Other objects spin slowly by; framed sepia-tinted family <br /> portraits, tree limbs, a fishing pole, an outhouse door, a <br /> frying pan, a noose, an old banjo, the wild-eyed frantically <br /> paddling bloodhound, a tire with a rope tied around it.<br /><br /> FURTHER DOWNHILL<br /><br /> The churning torrent opens into a lowland to become a newly <br /> created river, fast-moving but no longer violent.<br /><br /> After a beat of hold on the rippling waters, the surface is <br /> broken by the up-bob of a pine coffin.<br /><br /> The coffin floats downstream for a beat and then Everett <br /> pops out of the water next to it, gasping for air, shaking <br /> his head clear of water, and moving his shoulders to finish <br /> freeing himself from the rope round his wrists.<br /><br /> Pete and Delmar emerge nearby, gasping for air.<br /><br /> The men hang onto the coffin, which bears them downstream. <br /> Dazed, they look around.<br /><br /> The inundated valley shows only the occasional roof- or <br /> treetop poking out of the newly formed river. All is quiet <br /> except for the gurgle of water.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> A miracle! It was a miracle!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Aw, don't be ignorant, Delmar. I <br /> told you they was gonna flood this <br /> valley.<br /><br /> DELMAR<br /> That ain't it!<br /><br /> PETE<br /> We prayed to God and he pitied us!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> It just never fails; once again you <br /> two hayseeds are showin' how much <br /> you want for innalect. There's a <br /> perfectly scientific explanation for <br /> what just happened -<br /><br /> PETE<br /> That ain't the tune you were singin' <br /> back there at the gallows!<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well any human being will cast about <br /> in a moment of stress. No, the fact <br /> is, they're flooding this valley so <br /> they can hydro-electric up the whole <br /> durned state...<br /><br /> Everett waxes smug:<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Yessir, the South is gonna change. <br /> Everything's gonna be put on <br /> electricity and run on a payin' basis. <br /> Out with the old spiritual mumbo-<br /> jumbo, the superstitions and the <br /> backward ways. We're gonna see a <br /> brave new world where they run <br /> everyone a wire and hook us all up <br /> to a grid. Yessir, a veritable age <br /> of reason - like the one they had in <br /> France - and not a moment too soon...<br /><br /> His voice trails off as he notices something.<br /><br /> A cottonhouse in the middle of the river is submerged to its <br /> eaves. A cow has taken refuge on its roof. It stands staring <br /> at Everett, who returns the stare.<br /><br /> He shakes off the vision and clears his throat.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Not a moment too soon. Say, there's <br /> Tommy!<br /><br /> Tommy has indeed just surfaced downstream, clinging to a <br /> half-submerged piece of furniture.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> What you ridin' there, Tommy?<br /><br /> The furniture beneath him begins to rotate in the current <br /> and, to keep his head above water, Tommy climbs in place <br /> like a hamster on a wheel. As the chest exposes its ribbed <br /> upper half:<br /><br /> TOMMY<br /> Rolltop desk...<br /><br /> STREET<br /><br /> Everett and Penny walk arm in arm, the seven Wharvey gals <br /> behind. The girls sing 'Angel Band' as the grown-ups talk.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> All's well that ends well, as the <br /> poet says.<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That's right, honey.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> But I don't mind telling you, I'm <br /> awful pleased my adventuring days is <br /> at an end...<br /><br /> He fumbles in his pocket.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...Time for this old boy to enjoy <br /> some repose.<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That's good, honey.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> And you were right about that ring. <br /> Any other weddin' band would not do. <br /> But this-here was foreordained, honey; <br /> fate was a-smilin' on me, and ya <br /> have to have confidence -<br /><br /> He is slipping it onto her hand.<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That's not my ring.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> - in the gods - Huh?<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That's not my ring.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Not your...<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That's one of Aunt Hurlene's.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You said it was in the rolltop desk!<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> I said I thought it was in the rolltop <br /> desk.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You said -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> Or, it might a been under the <br /> mattress.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> You -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> Or in my chiffonier. I don't know.<br /><br /> Everett shakes his head.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well, I'm sorry honey -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> Well, we need that ring.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well now honey, that ring is at the <br /> bottom of a pretty durned big lake.<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> A 9,000-hectacre lake, honey.<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> I don't care if it's ninety thousand.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Yes, but honey -<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> That wasn't my doing...<br /><br /> Indignation quickens her pace. Everett keeps up, and the two <br /> are pulling forward out of frame.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Course not, honey, but...<br /><br /> We are now on the Wharvey gals who follow in a ragged bunch, <br /> still singing. From somewhere distant, through the song, we <br /> can just hear a rhythmic clack of metal on metal.<br /><br /> The second-to-last girl is the oldest; she holds a piece of <br /> string along which we travel, still listening to Penny and <br /> Everett, off:<br /><br /> PENNY<br /> I counted to three, honey.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> Well sure, honey, but...<br /><br /> We reach the end of the piece of string; it is wrapped around <br /> the waist of the toddler, who lingers in frame. She gazes <br /> down a quiet street at the edge of town that ends in an open <br /> field.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...finding one little ring in the <br /> middle of all that water...<br /><br /> His voice, and that of the singing girls, recedes.<br /><br /> EVERETT<br /> ...that is one hell of a heroic <br /> task...<br /><br /> The string is given a tug and the little girl waddles out of <br /> frame.<br /><br /> A train track is thus revealed in the distance. The rhythmic <br /> clack is from the hand-pumped flatcar.<br /><br /> The blind seer pumps the car along the distant track, singing <br /> harmony under the Wharvey gals' receding voices.<br /><br /> THE END<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> O Brother Where Art Thou?<br /><br />Writers : Joel Coen Ethan Coen<br />Genres : Adventure Comedy CrimeEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-47846840827791634882007-05-17T14:18:00.005-07:002007-05-17T14:27:44.401-07:00"THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE""THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE"<br /><br /> BY<br /><br /> Ethan Coen & Joel Coen<br /><br /> <br /><br /> Black.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Yeah, I worked in a barbershop. But <br /> I never considered myself a barber...<br /><br /> We track back from a barber's pole.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I stumbled into it--well, married <br /> into it more precisely...<br /><br /> We track back from a shopkeeper's bell triggered by an opening <br /> door. The pull back and tilt down show the top of the head <br /> of a customer entering in slow motion.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I wasn't my establishment. Like <br /> the fella says, I only work here...<br /><br /> We track along a shelf backed by a mirror and holding pomade, <br /> aftershave, hair tonic, a whisk brush.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...The dump was 200 feet square, <br /> with five chairs, or stations as we <br /> call 'em, even though there were <br /> only two of us working...<br /><br /> We track in on a big man in a barber's smock scissoring across <br /> a lock of hair that he pulls taut between two fingers of one <br /> hand. In slow motion, he laughs and chats.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Frank Raffo, my brother-in-law, <br /> was the principal barber. And man, <br /> could he talk...<br /><br /> Another man in a barber's smock is running electric clippers <br /> across a child's head. A cigarette between his lips.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Now maybe if you're eleven or <br /> twelve years old, Frank's got an <br /> interesting point of view, but <br /> sometimes it got on my nerves. Not <br /> that I'd complain, mind you. Like I <br /> said, he was the principal barber. <br /> Frank's father August--they called <br /> him Guzzi--had worked the heads up <br /> in Santa Rosa for thirty-five years <br /> until his ticker stopped in the middle <br /> of a Junior Flat Top. He left the <br /> shop to Frankie free and clear. And <br /> that seemed to satisfy all of Frank's <br /> ambitions: cutting the hair and <br /> chewing the fat. Me, I don't talk <br /> much...<br /><br /> He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and taps its ash into <br /> a tray.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I just cut the hair...<br /><br /> LATE IN THE DAY<br /><br /> The barbershop is empty of customers. Late sun slants in <br /> through the front window. The two barbers--the narrator and <br /> his brother-in-law--sit in two of the barber chairs, idly <br /> reading magazines.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Says here that the Russians exploded <br /> n A-bomb and there's not a damn thing <br /> we can do about it.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> How d'ya like them apples?<br /><br /> Beat.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...Ed?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Russians exploded an A-bomb.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> (shaking his head)<br /> Jesus...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Now, being a barber is a lot like <br /> being a barman or a soda-jerk; there's <br /> not much to it once you've learned <br /> the basic moves. For the kids there's <br /> the Butch, or the Heinie...<br /><br /> We cut to examples of the haircuts as they are ticked off:<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...the Flat Top, the Ivy, the Crew, <br /> the Vanguard, the Junior Contour <br /> and, occasionally, the Executive <br /> Contour. Adults get variations on <br /> the same, along with the Duck Butt, <br /> the Timberline...<br /><br /> Ed trims the fringe around a balding head.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and something we call the Alpine <br /> Rope Toss.<br /><br /> He snips one long lonely strand of hair and carefully drapes <br /> it across a bald pate.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I lived in a little bungalow on <br /> Napa Street. The place was OK, I <br /> guess; it had an electric ice box, <br /> gas hearth, and a garbage grinder <br /> build into the sink. You might say I <br /> had it made.<br /><br /> We float slowly toward a white bungalow on a quiet street as <br /> a black coupe pulls into the driveway.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Oh yeah. There was one other <br /> thing...<br /><br /> We track in through a bedroom door to discover a woman putting <br /> on a girdle.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Doris kept the books at <br /> Nirdlinger's, a small department <br /> store on Main Street. Unlike me, <br /> Doris liked the work, accounting; <br /> she liked knowing where everything <br /> stood. And she got a ten per cent <br /> employee discount on whatever she <br /> wanted--nylon stockings...<br /><br /> Close on her legs as she rolls up a stocking and clips it to <br /> the garter.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...make-up, and perfume...<br /><br /> Close on an atomiser misting her bosom with Jungle Gardenia <br /> by Tuvache.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...She wore a lot of perfume.<br /><br /> Doris in a flouncy dress is setting coasters on a coffee <br /> table.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Doris's boss, Big Dave Brewster, <br /> was married to Ann Nirdlinger, the <br /> department store heiress. Tonight <br /> they were coming over for dinner--as <br /> Doris said, we were 'entertaining'...<br /><br /> Ed sits on the living-room davenport in an uncomfortable <br /> suit, smoking.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Me, I don't like entertaining.<br /><br /> The doorbell rings.<br /><br /> THE DOOR<br /><br /> Ed opens it to reveal a large man in a suit and his demure, <br /> bird-like wife.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> How ya doin', Ed?<br /><br /> ED<br /> OK. Take your coat, Ann?<br /><br /> DINNER TABLE<br /><br /> The two couples are in the middle of the meal.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Japs had us pinned down in Buna for <br /> something like six weeks. Well, I <br /> gotta tell ya, I thought *we* had it <br /> tough, but, Jesus, we had supply. <br /> *They* were eating grubs, nuts, <br /> thistles. When we finally up and <br /> bust off the beach we found Arnie <br /> Bragg, kid missing on recon; the <br /> Japs had *eaten* the sonofabitch, if <br /> you'll pardon the, uh... And this <br /> was a scrawny, pimply kid too, nothin' <br /> to write home about. I mean, I never <br /> would've, ya know, so what do I say, <br /> honey? When I don't like dinner, <br /> what do I say?<br /><br /> Ann smiles wanly.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I say, Jesus, honey, Arnie Bragg--<br /> *again*?!<br /><br /> He roars with laughter.<br /><br /> Ed gives an acknowledging smile.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Arnie Bragg--*again*?!<br /><br /> He dries his eyes with the corner of a napkin.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Were you in the service, Ed?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No, Dave, I wasn't.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Ed was 4F on account of his fallen <br /> arches.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Mm, that's tough.<br /><br /> FRONT PORCH<br /><br /> Ed is standing alone on the porch, watching the sun go down. <br /> Crickets chirp. From inside the house we hear laughter and <br /> clattering dishes.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Yeah... I guess Doris liked all <br /> that he-man stuff. Sometimes I had <br /> the feeling that she and Big Dave <br /> were a lot closer than they let on...<br /><br /> He turns and looks through the screen door into the house.<br /><br /> Across the dim living room we can see a sliver of the brightly <br /> lit kitchen. Big Dave, wearing a frilly apron, stands at the <br /> counter drying dishes. His broad back heaves with laughter <br /> while Doris, just hidden by the wall, chats away, handing <br /> dishes across.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...The signs were all there plain <br /> enough--not that I was gonna prance <br /> about it, mind you. It's a free <br /> country.<br /><br /> Footsteps approach the front porch.<br /><br /> With the squeak of the screen door, Big Dave emerges.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Holding down the porch area?<br /><br /> Ed gives a half-grin of wry acknowledgement. Big Dave relaxes, <br /> forearms against the porch railing, gazing out at the front <br /> lawn.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...That's quite a wife you got there.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Mm.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> She's a rare one.<br /><br /> ED<br /> How's business, Dave?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Couldn't be better. These're boom <br /> times in retailing. We're opening <br /> another store, Big Dave's Annex, <br /> there on Garson. This is strictly <br /> haberdashery--casual wear, pyjamas, <br /> ladies' foundations and undergarments. <br /> Matter of fact, I'm thinking of making <br /> Doris the comptroller. How're things <br /> at the, uh, the barbershop?<br /><br /> ED<br /> All right, I guess.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Fine. Fine. Well, you might want <br /> to drop by the Annex when we open, <br /> update your suit--'course, you're in <br /> the smock all day.<br /><br /> He chuckles.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Say, where do you get those things <br /> anyway?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Specialty store down in Sacramento.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> There is a silence. At length, gazing out at the lawn, Big <br /> Dave clears his throat.<br /><br /> CHURCH<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Doris and I went to church once a <br /> week...<br /><br /> We are tilting down a long stained-glass window depicting <br /> the resurrection of Christ.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Usually Tuesday night...<br /><br /> Faintly, we hear an amplified voice:<br /><br /> CALLER<br /> I... seven...<br /><br /> Ed sits at a long table, staring at the window, a lit <br /> cigarette in his mouth.<br /><br /> CALLER<br /> ...Bee... Four...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Doris wasn't big on divine worship...<br /><br /> Doris is concentrating on the six cards spread in front of <br /> her.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and I doubt if she believed in <br /> life everlasting; she'd most likely <br /> tell you that our reward is on this <br /> earth and bingo is probably the extent <br /> of it...<br /><br /> Still focused on her cards, Doris mutters to Ed:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Watch your card, honey.<br /><br /> CALLER<br /> I... sixteen...<br /><br /> Ed continues to gaze off at the window, smoke pluming from <br /> his cigarette.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I wasn't crazy about the game, but, <br /> I don't know, it made her happy, and <br /> I found the setting peaceful.<br /><br /> CALLER<br /> Gee... nine...<br /><br /> Doris sucks in her breath.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Jesus, bingo--BINGO!<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> Sun slants in through the big window at the end of the day. <br /> Ed sweeps hair trimmings, looking intently down at the floor, <br /> a cigarette dangling from his lip. Frank sits on one of the <br /> vinyl waiting chairs, talking at Ed's back.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...so you tie your own flies, Ed. I <br /> mean, if you're really serious. You <br /> tie your own flies, you do a--I know <br /> it's matickless, I know, people say, <br /> hey, you can buy flies at the store--<br /> but you can buy your fish at the <br /> store, Ed, you see what I'm saying?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> The point is there's a certain art <br /> to the process. The point is not <br /> merely to provide, and let me point <br /> out, these fish are not as dumb as <br /> you might think.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Sportsmanship! That's my point. June <br /> fly, Ed? Mosquito? Which of these? <br /> Well, what fish do you seek?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Sure, go to the store. Go there, <br /> describe to the man where you will <br /> be fishing, and for what, and the <br /> weather conditions, sun, no sun, <br /> whatnot, and so forth, and then you <br /> might as well have the man go ahead <br /> and sell you the goddamn FISH, Ed...<br /><br /> We see a black-suited figure approaching through the windows <br /> at the far end of the shop. He is almost blown out by the <br /> late-day sunlight hitting the window.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...My point is, this is a man who <br /> knows nothing no matter how much you <br /> tell him, so sell him the goddamn <br /> FISH, Ed.<br /><br /> The bell over the front door tinkles, and the swarthy middle-<br /> aged man walks in. He is well dressed--perhaps a little too <br /> snazzily for this small town--and has a sporty pencil <br /> mustache.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> OK, boys, which of you gets the <br /> privilege?<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> We're just closing, friend.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Oh, happy days! I wish I was doing <br /> well enough to turn away business! <br /> More power to ya, brother! The public <br /> be damned!<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Hey, what's your problem, friend? <br /> This is a business establishment <br /> with posted hours--<br /><br /> Ed cuts in with a jerk of the head.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'll take care of him, go ahead, <br /> Frank. Have a seat, mister.<br /><br /> Frank looks sourly at the stranger.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...You sure, Eddie?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah, yeah--go home.<br /><br /> As Frank leaves:<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> In your ear, mister.<br /><br /> The stranger chuckles.<br /><br /> STRANGER<br /> Oh, those fiery Mediterraneans. Say! <br /> Not so fast there, brother--<br /><br /> Ed has switched on the clippers, but the stranger waves him <br /> back; he lifts off a toupee.<br /><br /> STRANGER<br /> ...Pretty good, huh? Fools even the <br /> experts. 100 percent human hair, <br /> handcrafted by Jacques of San <br /> Francisco, and I'd hate to have to <br /> tell you what I paid for it.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> STRANGER<br /> Yes, it's a nice rug. I'm paying for <br /> it down on the installment plan...<br /><br /> Ed starts to trim the stranger's fringe.<br /><br /> STRANGER<br /> ...A lot of folks live with the pate <br /> exposed. They say the dames think <br /> it's sexy. But for my money it's <br /> just not good grooming--and grooming, <br /> my friend, is probably the most <br /> important thing in business--after <br /> personality, of course...<br /><br /> He twists around to offer his hand.<br /><br /> STRANGER<br /> ...Creighton Tolliver, pleased to <br /> know ya.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ed Crane. What brings you to Santa <br /> Rosa?<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> A goose, friend. I was chasing a <br /> wild goose. Ed, have you ever heard <br /> of venture capital?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh--<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Well, it's the wildest goose there <br /> is. Risk money. Very speculative. <br /> Except, Ed, in certain situations, <br /> it's not, see? I thought I had a <br /> prospect here. Well, I make the haul <br /> up and this lousy so-and-so tells me <br /> his situation has changed--all his <br /> capital's gonna be tied up in <br /> expansion plans of his own. Thank <br /> you, mother! Pop goes another bubble! <br /> It's only the biggest business <br /> opportunity since Henry Ford and I <br /> can't seem to interest a soul!<br /><br /> ED<br /> That right.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> It's called dry cleaning. You heard <br /> me right, brother, 'dry cleaning'--<br /> wash without water, no suds, no <br /> tumble, no stress on the clothes. <br /> It's all done with chemicals, friend, <br /> and your garments end up crisp and <br /> fresh. And here's the capper: no <br /> shrinkage.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Huh.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> That's right! Dry cleaning--remember <br /> the name. It's going to revolutionize <br /> the laundry industry, and those that <br /> get in early are gonna bear the fruit <br /> away. All I need is $10,000 to open <br /> my first store, then I use its cash <br /> flow to finance another, and so on--<br /> leap frog, bootstrap myself a whole <br /> chain. Well, me and a partner. <br /> Cleanliness, friend. There's money <br /> in it. There's a future. There's <br /> room to grow... Say, that's looking <br /> pretty good. Let's see it with the <br /> hairpiece on...<br /><br /> BATHROOM DOORWAY<br /><br /> It is evening. Ed leans against the bathroom doorjamb <br /> contemplatively off, hands thrust into his pockets, a <br /> cigarette between his lips pluming smoke.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Dry cleaning...<br /><br /> The reverse show Doris soaking in the tub, reading a magazine.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Was I crazy to be thinking about <br /> it? Was he a huckster, or opportunity, <br /> the real McCoy?<br /><br /> Ed takes the cigarette from his mouth, exhales.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...My first instinct was, no, no, <br /> the whole idea was nuts. But maybe <br /> that was the instinct that kept me <br /> locked up in the barbershop, nose <br /> against the exit, afraid to try <br /> turning the knob. What if I could <br /> get the money?<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Honey?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Mm.<br /><br /> She lifts one leg and rests the heel on the rim of the tub.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Shave my legs, will ya?<br /><br /> Ed saunters over, perches on the tub and puts the cigarette <br /> back in his mouth to free his hands. He picks up a bar of <br /> soap and starts soaping the leg.<br /><br /> He sets down the soap and picks up a safety razor.<br /><br /> The razor takes long slow strokes along the lather, dark <br /> bits of hair flecking the white foam.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...It was clean. No water. Chemicals.<br /><br /> He shakes the razor in the tub. Shavings float away across <br /> the soap-slicked water.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> (absently, as she <br /> reads)<br /> Gimme a drag.<br /><br /> Ed pulls the cigarette from his mouth between two fingers, <br /> uses the two fingers to flip it over, and holds it for Doris <br /> as she sucks.<br /><br /> He brings the cigarette, now marked with lipstick, back to <br /> his own mouth. She murmurs:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...Love ya, honey.<br /><br /> A DOOR<br /><br /> We hear a voice, muffled through the door, breaking into <br /> laughter.<br /><br /> A hand enters to knock.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Yeah, come in.<br /><br /> The door swings open to show Creighton in his shirtsleeves <br /> sitting on the bed, talking on the phone. A tray of room-<br /> service dishes sits near him.<br /><br /> He is bald; his hairpiece sits on the pillow next to him.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> (into the phone)<br /> OK... yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.<br /><br /> He hangs up, looks quizzically at Ed.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...Oh, I thought you were the <br /> porter... Can I help you?<br /><br /> Ed stands awkwardly by the door.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I'm, uh, Ed.<br /><br /> The stranger's look does not show recognition.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Ed Crane. Remember? Today?<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Sorry, friend, I, uh, you got me at <br /> a disadvantage.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'm, uh, I'm--the barber.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Jesus! The barber! I'll be a <br /> sonofagun. Why didn't you say so? <br /> 'Course--the barber.<br /><br /> Ed nods, his smile faint and forced.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...I didn't recognize you without <br /> the smock. Did I--damn--did I leave <br /> something at the shop?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No. I might be interested in that, <br /> uh, business proposition--<br /><br /> Creighton, surprised, quickly picks up his hairpiece and <br /> arranges it on his head.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> You got the dough?!<br /><br /> ED<br /> I can get it, yeah.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Come in, come in, siddown over there. <br /> Coffee?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No. I--tell me--<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Sure.<br /><br /> ED<br /> What's involved, aside from putting <br /> up the money? What're you looking <br /> for the partner to do?<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Do? Hell, nothing. Well, you'll want <br /> to keep tabs on your investment, of <br /> course, but I'm looking for a silent <br /> partner. I've done the research, <br /> I've contacted the vendors, the deal <br /> is set. I'm just looking for venture <br /> capital, friend. Disappear if you <br /> want, check in whenever you like--I <br /> want the dough; I don't take <br /> attendance.<br /><br /> ED<br /> And how do we share--<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Fifty-fifty, straight down the line. <br /> You and me. Finance and expertise. <br /> So--you've got the dough then, do <br /> ya?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'll have it in a week.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Well, I'll be damned. The barber! <br /> And I thought this trip was a bust. <br /> Well...<br /><br /> He reaches for a bottle of bonded whiskey on the night stand <br /> and hands Ed a glass.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...it just goes to show, when one <br /> door slams shut, another one opens. <br /> Here's to ya, uh...<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ed.<br /><br /> They both knock back the whiskey. Creighton leans back and <br /> gives Ed a heavy-lidded stare, a faint smile on his lips, <br /> his hairpiece slightly askew.<br /><br /> Ed stares back.<br /><br /> After a beat, without taking his eyes of Ed, Creighton reaches <br /> up and loosens his tie. An almost imperceptible wink.<br /><br /> Ed stares.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Was that a pass?<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> (hoarsely)<br /> Maybe.<br /><br /> ED<br /> You're out of line, mister.<br /><br /> Creighton throws up his hands apologetically.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> No problem!<br /><br /> ED<br /> Way out of line.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Right! Strictly business.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON TYPEWRITTEN NOTE<br /><br /> It says:<br /><br /> I KNOW ABOUT YOU AND DORIS CRANE. COOPERATE OR ED CRANE <br /> WILL KNOW. YOUR WIFE WILL KNOW. EVERYONE WILL KNOW. GATHER <br /> $10,000 AND AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.<br /><br /> A hand pulls the note out of a typewriter carriage.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I sent it to Dave the next morning. <br /> And I waited.<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> We are looking down at the top of an eight-year-old's crew <br /> cut as clippers buzz its perimeter.<br /><br /> Frank reads a magazine. The youngster reads a comic as Ed <br /> works his head.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Frank.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> ED<br /> This hair.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...You ever wonder about it?<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Whuddya mean?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't know... How it keeps on <br /> coming. It just keeps growing.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Yeah--lucky for us, huh, pal?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No, I mean it's growing, it's part <br /> of us. And we cut it off. And throw <br /> it away.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Come on, Eddie, you're gonna scare <br /> the kid.<br /><br /> Ed shuts off the clippers and give the apron a flap.<br /><br /> ED<br /> OK, bud, you're through.<br /><br /> The kid hops down, still reading his comic, and ambles out <br /> the door. Ed gives Frank a considering stare.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I'm gonna take his hair and throw <br /> it out in the dirt.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> What the--<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'm gonna mingle it with common house <br /> dirt.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> What the hell are you talking about?<br /><br /> Ed turns back to the counter to hang up his clippers.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't know. Skip it.<br /><br /> EXT. ED'S HOUSE<br /><br /> It is twilight. Ed lifts the latch on the front gate and, <br /> cigarette in his mouth, heads up the walk.<br /><br /> Music filters out from the house.<br /><br /> INT. ED'S HOUSE<br /><br /> Ed walks though the living room, hands in his pockets. The <br /> music emanates from a radio in the bedroom.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Ed?<br /><br /> A track forward reveals Doris sitting at a vanity, doing her <br /> hair. Her dress is half zipped at the back.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...Gimme a zip.<br /><br /> Ed walks over behind her.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Where you going?<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Me? Us! The party at Nirdlinger's--I <br /> told you last week, for the Christmas <br /> Push.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah, right.<br /><br /> We are close on the zipper as Ed's hand takes the tab, pauses, <br /> the lowers it slightly. Her back blooms through the dark <br /> fabric of the dress.<br /><br /> He slides the zipper up, and Doris reaches for a perfume <br /> atomizer.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Come on, get ready. It's important.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Nah, go ahead. I'm not big on parties.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Oh, don't be a grump.<br /><br /> SALES FLOOR<br /><br /> It is festooned with streamers.<br /><br /> Ed leans against a wall, one hand dug into a pocket, the <br /> other bringing a cigarette to his lips.<br /><br /> Band music plays and Nirdlinger's employees whirl on the <br /> dance floor. Bobby-soxed teenagers Lindy-hop and pass palms <br /> over their knees.<br /><br /> A thin young man in a sports coat stands next to Ed, watching, <br /> his Adam's apple bobbing.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Wild, man!<br /><br /> He goes out onto the dance floor. Ed, left by himself, gazes <br /> across the floor.<br /><br /> His view, broken by dancers' crosses, shows Big Dave worriedly <br /> talking to Doris.<br /><br /> Doris reacts angrily.<br /><br /> Big Dave morosely absorbs the angry words from Doris. He <br /> glances up toward Ed and notices his gaze with consternation. <br /> He gives Doris a jerk of the head, and she too looks over.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> You in ladies' wear?<br /><br /> The young man with the Adam's apple is back, looking out at <br /> the floor, snapping his fingers.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Haven't I seen you up in ladies' <br /> wear?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't work here. My wife does.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Uh-huh. Some beat, huh?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Check out the rack on that broad in <br /> the angora.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> A hand is laid on Ed's shoulder. It is Big Dave; he leans in <br /> to murmur:<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Ed. Can I talk to you?<br /><br /> BIG DAVE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Music from the party drifts in only faintly. The office is <br /> built into a corner of the sales floor. It is dominated by a <br /> large desk. A large window on the far side affords a partial <br /> view of the floor.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Siddown. Siddown...<br /><br /> Ed sits in a leather chair in front of the desk. Dave fumbles <br /> nervously on top of the desk for a cigar. He trims the end <br /> of the cigar with a short double-bladed knife with a steel <br /> grip.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Souveniered it off a Jap in New <br /> Guinea.<br /><br /> He hands one cigar to Ed, takes one for himself, then drags <br /> up a chair to face Ed's.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I guess you're wondering what <br /> Doris was so hot about.<br /><br /> The office is dark, the only illumination coming from the <br /> window onto the bright sales floor behind Big Dave. Ed leans <br /> forward for Dave to light his cigar.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...These're Havanas. Romeo and <br /> Juliets. Private stock.<br /><br /> Dave, having lit Ed's cigar, draws nervously on his own.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Ed, I...<br /><br /> ED<br /> What is it, Dave?<br /><br /> Dave breaks down, weeping. He buries his face in his hands, <br /> the burning cigar in his right hand perilously close to his <br /> hair.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Ed, I've been weak...<br /><br /> His shoulders heave.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I've, uh... I've, uh... thanks.<br /><br /> Ed has taken Dave's cigar so that he won't burn himself.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I've, uh... Oh, Jesus. I've been <br /> carrying on with a married woman. <br /> Uh, no one you know. And now the, uh--<br /> what is it they say?--the--the--the <br /> chickens are coming home to roost.<br /><br /> Ed awkwardly holds the two burning cigars.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Hell, I, I'm not proud of it. But, <br /> uh, that's not the worst of it. I <br /> got a note. A blackmail note. You <br /> know, come across or everybody knows.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Well, you know what that would do to <br /> me.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I guess it would be pretty awkward.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Awkward?! Ann'd throw me out on my <br /> keister! Hell, it's her family's <br /> store--*her* store. I serve at the <br /> indulgence of the goddamn ownership, <br /> Ed.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> I only work here! And the lady's <br /> husband would know... Oh, Jesus.<br /><br /> ED<br /> How much to they want, Dave?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> $10,000! I don't know what to do, <br /> Ed. I don't know what I *can* do. <br /> Even though I know who the sonofabitch <br /> is.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...You know... who *who* is?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> The sonofabitch. The blackmailer. <br /> It's, uh, it's no one you know. It's <br /> a businessman from Sacramento. A <br /> goddamn pansy, Ed. He tried to rope <br /> me into some crackpot scheme; I heard <br /> him out and then told him to go to <br /> hell. And the very next day, the <br /> very next day, Ed, I get blackmailed <br /> for the same amount.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Would he... it sounds pretty obvious.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Well, I guess he don't care that <br /> it's obvious.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Mm. How, uh... how did he know that--<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> He's staying at the hotel I've gone <br /> to with, uh, with the lady in <br /> question. Must've seen us.<br /><br /> Big Dave blows his nose, reaches to take his cigar from Ed.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Thanks...<br /><br /> He exhales with a long sigh.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Oh, Jesus.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Why don't you just pay him, Dave?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> That's my capitalization on the Annex! <br /> *My* operation, Ed! Christ almighty. <br /> That's what I was just talking to <br /> Doris about, a way of getting the <br /> money from the store that we could <br /> hide from Ann.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Mm.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Embezzling, Ed. From my own goddamn <br /> wife!<br /><br /> He give a tearful chuckle.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Doris, she was pretty hot about <br /> that. God bless her. She doesn't <br /> know I'm telling you this--she's mad <br /> enough already. But Jesus, Ed, you're <br /> the only one I can talk to. I'm, I'm <br /> sorry I... I better get back to the <br /> party.<br /><br /> He rises and clears his throat as he rubs the tears from his <br /> face.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I look all right?<br /><br /> PULLING ED<br /><br /> He has left the office to wander through an adjacent room <br /> lit only by spill from the party. It is the music department; <br /> pianos and spinets are arranged across the floor.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> In a way I felt bad for Big Dave. I <br /> knew the ten grand was going to pinch <br /> him where it hurt...<br /><br /> Ed sits on a piano stool next to a standing ashtray. He takes <br /> out a cigarette, lights it off his cigar, stubs out the cigar.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...But Doris was two-timing me and I <br /> guess, somewhere, that pinched a <br /> little too.<br /><br /> His attention is caught by a distant knock of wood. Someone <br /> is raising the key-guard on a piano across the room.<br /><br /> The person can only be seen only obscurely, from three-<br /> quarters behind, through the sales floor's jumble of <br /> haphazardly arranged instruments. The person begins to play.<br /><br /> Ed listens. The piece is slow, sweet, almost a lullaby.<br /><br /> The player, unaware that there is an audience, plays on, and <br /> Ed listens, eyes narrowed against the smoke curling past his <br /> face.<br /><br /> The piece ends.<br /><br /> ED<br /> That was pretty.<br /><br /> The player turns, surprised. It is a young woman.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Did you make that up?<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> Oh, no. That was written by Mr Ludwig <br /> van Beethoven.<br /><br /> Ed nods recognition of the name.<br /><br /> ED<br /> That was quite something.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> He wrote some beautiful piano sonatas.<br /><br /> ED<br /> That was something. I'm Ed Crane.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> I know who you are, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> His look shows surprise.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> ...My father used to take me with <br /> him when he got his hair cut. Walter <br /> Abundas?<br /><br /> Ed's head tilts back in acknowledgment.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> ...I'm Rachel Abundas. Everyone calls <br /> me Birdy.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Sorry, I just didn't remember.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Oh, that's all right. You can't be <br /> expected to remember every skinny <br /> girl who comes in with her dad.<br /><br /> Ed give a wry smile.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...You don't like the music out there?<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> It's OK, I guess. No, I don't really. <br /> I'm not big on music, ordinarily.<br /><br /> A woman calls sharply from offscreen:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Ed.<br /><br /> He looks.<br /><br /> Silhouetted in the doorway to the party room is Doris, coat <br /> over her arm, purse in hand.<br /><br /> ED'S CAR<br /><br /> Doris and Ed are driving home.<br /><br /> Doris draws heavily on a cigarette, looking flintily out at <br /> the road.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...What a knucklehead.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Who?<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Dave.<br /><br /> ED<br /> How's that?<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Ahh...<br /><br /> She waves angrily.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...Money problems. He's thinking <br /> about canceling the Annex.<br /><br /> ED<br /> So?<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> *That means I don't run Nirdlinger's!*<br /><br /> ED<br /> Mm.<br /><br /> They ride in silence for a beat. Doris shakes her head.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...What a knucklehead.<br /><br /> STREET<br /><br /> As the car roars past and into the distance.<br /><br /> ANOTHER STREET<br /><br /> It is day. We are looking from inside a parked car toward a <br /> hotel entrance. Big Dave emerges from the hotel, gets into a <br /> Packard and drives off.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Big Dave did it, though...<br /><br /> Ed, sitting in his car, is watching.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I sent a note telling him where <br /> to drop the money...<br /><br /> HOTEL HALLWAY<br /><br /> Ed emerges from a stairwell and goes to a standing ashtray <br /> by the elevator.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and he did. He came across.<br /><br /> Ed reaches into the trash hole in the ashtray column and <br /> pulls out a Nirdlinger's bag.<br /><br /> He goes back to the stairwell.<br /><br /> ANOTHER FLOOR<br /><br /> Ed emerges from the stairwell, goes to a door and knocks.<br /><br /> The door swings open.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Yeah, good, how are ya, come in...<br /><br /> Ed follows him into the room.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...You bring a check?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Cash.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Cash?!<br /><br /> He gives Ed a look.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...Usually we do this kind of thing <br /> with a bank draft. But cash--that's <br /> fine--it's all the same in the end--<br /> dough's dough, huh?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Sure.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> I got the paperwork here. Partnership <br /> papers here, they reflect our <br /> agreement: fifty-fifty on the net, I <br /> supply professional services, you <br /> supply the capital. I'll give you a <br /> receipt on the dough there, huh?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Pretty straightforward, but I don't <br /> know if you wanna show this stuff to <br /> a lawyer--<br /><br /> ED<br /> It's OK.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Yeah, screw 'em, huh? Pay 'em to <br /> tangle it up and then you pay 'em to <br /> untangle it, what's the point?<br /><br /> He perspires as he counts the money.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...Just a second here, I'll give you <br /> a receipt on the, uh... Whoa, <br /> Nellie... Oh, by the way, we didn't <br /> talk about this, I, uh, I think I'm <br /> gonna call the place Tolliver's, <br /> after me, you know, I didn't think <br /> you were much interested in, uh--<br /><br /> ED<br /> That'll be fine.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Yeah, good. Lemme just, uh...<br /><br /> He wipes his brow, finishes counting.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> ...Yeah, that's it. As per our <br /> discussion.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> Creighton hands Ed an executed agreement and a receipt.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> Well, there it is. Writ large in <br /> legal escriture, next step is--<br /><br /> ED<br /> Look, uh... Creighton...<br /><br /> He gives Creighton a level stare, smoke pluming from the <br /> cigarette planted in his mouth.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...You're not gonna screw me on this?<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> *Screw* you--Jesus! Take it to a <br /> lawyer! No, I insist! This is *dry* <br /> cleaning, this is not some fly-by-<br /> night thing here! I must say, I've <br /> been an entrepreneur for thirteen <br /> years and I've never--<br /><br /> ED<br /> All right.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> And I've never been asked--Look, you <br /> want the dough back? You know who I <br /> am! You--<br /><br /> ED<br /> OK.<br /><br /> Creighton mops his brow again.<br /><br /> CREIGHTON<br /> So, uh... Tolliver's is OK then?<br /><br /> CAR<br /><br /> Ed drives with the usual cigarette in his mouth. Doris sits <br /> next to him. Rural scenery slips by in the background.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> The next day was Saturday. We were <br /> going to a reception for Doris' cousin <br /> Gina, who'd just married a wop vintner <br /> out near Modesto. Doris didn't much <br /> feel like going, and I didn't either, <br /> but, like she said, we had a <br /> Commitment.<br /><br /> Doris gazes stonily out at the road. At length:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...I hate wops.<br /><br /> Ed gives her a brief glance. Doris glares at him.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...What's so damn strange about that?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I didn't say a word.<br /><br /> She looks back out at the road.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...*You* didn't have to grow up with <br /> 'em.<br /><br /> This brings nothing from Ed. Doris shakes her head.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...Family. Boy.<br /><br /> BY A BARN<br /><br /> Wops in Sunday clothing greet each other around tables piled <br /> with food.<br /><br /> A small child runs up to his mother, yanks on her dress and <br /> screams:<br /><br /> CHILD<br /> He's ridin' Garibaldi! Uncle Frankie's <br /> ridin' Garibaldi!<br /><br /> Surrounded by cheering children, with a jug of wine slung <br /> over his shoulder, Frank is riding an enormous pig. He slaps <br /> at the pig's ass with a large straw hat.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> That was when she started drinking.<br /><br /> Doris is standing by one of the tables, drinking red wine <br /> from a water glass. Ed stands nearby.<br /><br /> A large woman hugs Doris.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> How you doin', Doris, you been OK?<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> How're you, Constanza?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Oh, you know, I got my healt'. And <br /> how you been, uh...<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ed.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Ed. How's a business?<br /><br /> ED<br /> OK.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> (to Doris)<br /> He's a barber, right? It's a good <br /> trade. So how come you got no kids?<br /><br /> PICNIC TABLE<br /><br /> A group of kids pulls Frank, laughing, by the hand toward a <br /> picnic table set out with pies in a row.<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> Uncle Frankie's gotta join! Wait for <br /> Frankie!<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> No, come on, kids--I just ate lunch!<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> No, no--Uncle Frankie's gotta join!<br /><br /> An old man stands by with a stopwatch.<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> Ready...<br /><br /> He clicks the timer.<br /><br /> OLD MAN<br /> ...Go!<br /><br /> Frank and the line of children plunge their faces into the <br /> line of blueberry pies.<br /><br /> The other picnickers cheer them on.<br /><br /> ELSEWHERE<br /><br /> Ed and Doris approach the innocent-looking young couple <br /> accepting congratulations.<br /><br /> Doris, holding her empty glass, is not a happy drunk:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> 'Gratulations, Gina. It's so goddamn <br /> wonderful.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Congratulations, Gina.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Life is so goddamn wonderful, you <br /> almost won't believe it.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Honey...<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> It's just a goddamn bowl of cherries, <br /> I'm sure.<br /><br /> Ed tries to lead her away.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Honey...<br /><br /> Doris calls back over her shoulder:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Congratulations on your goddamn <br /> cherries!<br /><br /> As Ed and Doris recede we hear her petulant:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...Leggo my goddamn elbow.<br /><br /> ELSEWHERE<br /><br /> In a long shot we see Frank at the crest of a hill, staggering <br /> slowly, painfully, toward a tree. In his right hand he <br /> clutches a trophy.<br /><br /> When he reaches the tree he swings his free hand up against <br /> it, leans forward, and vomits.<br /><br /> CAR<br /><br /> Late afternoon, driving home.<br /><br /> Ed drives. Doris sits in the front passenger seat, snoring <br /> lightly. Frank sits in the back seat hugging his trophy to <br /> his chest, eyes closed, murmuring:<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> I never wanna see another blueberry <br /> pie...<br /><br /> Silence.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...I never even wanna hear those <br /> words.<br /><br /> Doris moans.<br /><br /> More silence.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...Don't says those words, Ed.<br /><br /> EXT. BUNGALOW<br /><br /> It is twilight. Ed's coupe is parked in the driveway. He is <br /> just rounding the back of the car to open the passenger-side <br /> door. He pulls Doris from the car, half asleep, half drunk.<br /><br /> INT. BUNGALOW<br /><br /> The door swings open and Ed stumbles in supporting Doris, <br /> who has one arm draped around his neck. He helps her into <br /> the bedroom and eases her onto the bed.<br /><br /> He sits on the edge of the bed and looks down at her.<br /><br /> Shadows from branches just outside wave across her face. She <br /> is breathing through her open mouth; her face is moist with <br /> perspiration.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I'd met Doris blind on a double-date <br /> with a loudmouthed buddy of mine who <br /> was seeing a friend of hers from <br /> work. We went to a movie; Doris had <br /> a flask; we killed it. She could put <br /> it away. At the end of the night she <br /> said she liked it I didn't talk much. <br /> A couple weeks later she suggested--<br /><br /> A harsh jangle from the telephone. Doris moans but does not <br /> wake; Ed rises and does to the living room and picks up the <br /> phone.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Ed, it's Big Dave. I gotta talk to <br /> you.<br /><br /> ED<br /> What--now?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Please, Ed.<br /><br /> ED<br /> But it's...<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Please, Ed.<br /><br /> Ed sighs.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Your place?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> I'm at Nirdlinger's. Let yourself <br /> in.<br /><br /> ED<br /> OK.<br /><br /> He hangs up.<br /><br /> He nudges Doris.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Honey.<br /><br /> She murmurs.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Honey.<br /><br /> She rolls away and burrows into a pillow.<br /><br /> Ed opens her purse and pokes through it.<br /><br /> NIRDLINGER'S<br /><br /> We are looking over Ed's shoulder as he hesitantly swings <br /> open a door.<br /><br /> It reveals Big Dave's office, quiet and rather dark.<br /><br /> A down-facing banker's lamp on the desk illuminates Big Dave's <br /> hands on the desktop.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Dave?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> Come on in.<br /><br /> Ed enters, sits.<br /><br /> An awkward silence.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...What's the problem, Big Dave?<br /><br /> Another silence.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I'm ruined.<br /><br /> His hands writhe on the desktop.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...It ruined me. This money. No annex. <br /> I'm all shot to hell.<br /><br /> ED<br /> So you paid the guy?<br /><br /> Big Dave stares without speaking.<br /><br /> After a long beat:<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...What kind of man *are* you?<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> What kind of man *are* you?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Big Dave--<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> I'd understand if you'd walked in <br /> here. Socked me in the nose. Whatever. <br /> I deserved it.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I, uh...<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> I'm not proud of what I did. But <br /> *you*.<br /><br /> No one talks.<br /><br /> Big Dave sighs.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Yeah, I paid up. As you well know. <br /> And then I went and found the pansy.<br /><br /> He looks at Ed.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Got nothin' to say, huh? Yeah, <br /> well, you already know the story. I <br /> didn't, I hadda beat it out of the <br /> pansy. *Your* money.<br /><br /> No response.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...What kind of man *are* you?<br /><br /> Big Dave rises.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...Well.<br /><br /> He crosses around the desk and adds, sadly:<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...I'm all shot to hell.<br /><br /> Ed starts to rise, but Big Dave is already looming over him. <br /> Big Dave bear-hugs him and then spins him into a wall.<br /><br /> Ed hits the wall and bounces off, back into Big Dave. Big <br /> Dave wallops him in the stomach. Ed doubles over.<br /><br /> DAVE<br /> ...What kind of man *are* you?<br /><br /> Big Dave hurls him against the desk, then slams his face <br /> against the desktop. Ed's hands scrabble at the top of the <br /> desk as Big Dave grabs him by the neck and lifts. He slams <br /> him face-first into the window between the office and the <br /> dark sales floor.<br /><br /> Ed twists around, the back of his head now pressed against <br /> the glass. Big Dave's hands lock around his throat.<br /><br /> Big Dave sweats and strains.<br /><br /> A crack shoots up the pane of glass.<br /><br /> Ed's hand sweeps up and plunges something into Big Dave's <br /> neck.<br /><br /> Big Dave grunts and turns away, gurgling. His hands go up to <br /> his throat.<br /><br /> Ed watches. He is holding Big Dave's cigar trimmer.<br /><br /> Big Dave takes a couple of deliberate steps backward, his <br /> head twisted away.<br /><br /> He falls back, tripped up by a chair, which spins him face-<br /> down onto the floor.<br /><br /> Big Dave crawls away face-down across the floor, on his knees <br /> but with his hands still at his throat. His face and knees <br /> awkwardly support his weight as if he were pushing something <br /> across the floor with his nose.<br /><br /> He reaches a corner but still pushes forward, wedging himself <br /> in, legs still scraping away as if to push himself through <br /> the wall. Blood is pooling out from under him.<br /><br /> Big Dave's legs are still working. His gurgling continues.<br /><br /> Ed watches.<br /><br /> Big Dave's legs start to move furiously. They convulse. His <br /> whole body shakes as he goes into shock.<br /><br /> Ed watches.<br /><br /> Big Dave stops shaking. He remains wedged awkwardly into the <br /> corner, face-down. He is still.<br /><br /> The room is very quiet.<br /><br /> Ed looks down at his hands.<br /><br /> He walks across the room, pushes the door open and walks <br /> across the darkened sales floor.<br /><br /> EXT. STORE<br /><br /> Ed walks to his car. He does not look about, is not <br /> particularly furtive. He gets into the car. He starts the <br /> ignition.<br /><br /> EXT. HOUSE<br /><br /> He pulls up, sits motionless for a beat. Gradually, something <br /> draws his attention; he cocks his head and looks up through <br /> the windshield.<br /><br /> A branch creaks and sways in the breeze.<br /><br /> INT. HOUSE<br /><br /> Ed gets into bed next to Doris. He stares at the ceiling. <br /> Wind rustles outside.<br /><br /> The shadow of a branch on the ceiling nods in time with the <br /> wind.<br /><br /> He looks at Doris.<br /><br /> Her face is still lightly sheened with sweat but her mouth <br /> is closed now, her breathing more peaceful. The leafy shadows <br /> play over her face.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...It was only a couple of weeks <br /> after we met that Doris suggested <br /> getting married. I said, Don't you <br /> wanna get to know me more? She said, <br /> Why, does it get better? She looked <br /> at me like I was a dope, which I've <br /> never really minded from her. And <br /> she had a point, I guess. We knew <br /> each other as well then as now...<br /><br /> He is gazing at her.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Anyway, well enough.<br /><br /> Sound and image face.<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> The next day.<br /><br /> Ed cuts hair, a cigarette between his lips.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Holy-moly, do I got a headache.<br /><br /> Frank is giving a haircut as well.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...How you today, Ed?<br /><br /> ED<br /> OK.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> You don't got a headache?<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Nah.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Damn, I got a headache to beat the <br /> band.<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> Ed sits in his chair, hands folded in his lap, head tilted <br /> back, eyes closed.<br /><br /> We hold on Ed as we hear a clipper buzzing and Frank talking <br /> to someone in his chair.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Ya can't pump it. Did ya pump it? <br /> That'll just flood it.<br /><br /> CUSTOMER<br /> Ya gotta pump it. Ya can't just hold <br /> it down. *That'll* flood it.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> You crazy? You pumped it?<br /><br /> CUSTOMER<br /> Well, ya can't hold it down.<br /><br /> There is the jingle of the door bell. Ed opens his eyes.<br /><br /> Two men in fedoras are entering.<br /><br /> Ed starts to rise.<br /><br /> MAN 1<br /> Ed Crane?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Right.<br /><br /> MAN 1<br /> Come on outside.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Sure.<br /><br /> OUTSIDE<br /><br /> The two men are staring at the sidewalk, smoking, hesitant <br /> to speak. One of them finally comes up with an icebreaker:<br /><br /> MAN 2<br /> ...So you're a barber, huh?<br /><br /> ED<br /> That's right.<br /><br /> MAN 1<br /> I'm Officer Persky. This is Krebs.<br /><br /> Ed nods toward their car:<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...We goin'?<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> Huh? No.<br /><br /> Beat.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> ...Cigarette?<br /><br /> Ed holds up one hand with its smoking cigarette.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Right. Uh... Pete's got some news <br /> for you.<br /><br /> His partner gives Persky a dirty look.<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> ...Look, pal, it's a tough break, <br /> but, uh... well damnit, your wife's <br /> been pinched.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> They sent us to tell ya.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> They sent us to tell ya. We pulled <br /> the detail.<br /><br /> ED<br /> My *wife*?<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Yeah, uh, they brung her to the county <br /> jail, uh...<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> Homicide.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Well, embezzlement. And homicide. A <br /> guy named David Brewster. He's, uh... <br /> He's the decedent.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't understand.<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> He's the dead guy.<br /><br /> Ed stares at him.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> ...Yeah, it's a tough break.<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> Visiting ends at five. Too late today. <br /> You can see her tomorrow.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Sorry, pal. They sent us to tell ya.<br /><br /> He shakes his head.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> ...Crap detail.<br /><br /> RESIDENTIAL STREET<br /><br /> It is evening. Ed is pulling up to a house on a tree-lined <br /> street similar to his own. He gets out of his car and goes <br /> up the walk, and a man sitting on the porch swing holds up a <br /> hand of greeting.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> 'Lo, Ed.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Hello, Walter.<br /><br /> He steps up on the porch.<br /><br /> The man is holding a tumbler of whiskey and ice that clinks <br /> as the swing moves. His skin glistens with drinker's sweat, <br /> and he has the slightly expansive manner of someone who's <br /> put at least a couple away.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Have a seat.<br /><br /> Ed glances around but the swing is the only seat. He sits <br /> next to Walter.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Thanks. Thanks for seeing me, at <br /> home.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Oh, hell. Drink?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No thanks.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Sure you don't need one?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'm fine.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> OK. Boy. Jesus!<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah. What do I, uh...<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well, of course, I, uh, it's out of <br /> my league, criminal stuff. I do, uh, <br /> probate, real estate, title search, <br /> uh... I'd be absolutely worthless, <br /> something like this. Absolutely <br /> worthless.<br /><br /> He belches.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> 'Scuse me, just finished dinner. Um. <br /> Frankly, Doris'd be better off with <br /> the county defender.<br /><br /> ED<br /> He a good man?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Bert's OK, sure, he's a good man. I <br /> won't kid you though, Ed, nobody <br /> around here has any experience with <br /> this kind of, er... And I hear they're <br /> bringing a prosecutor up from <br /> Sacramento. Capital offense. Taking <br /> it seriously... Hmm...<br /><br /> ED<br /> So--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Taking it seriously.<br /><br /> ED<br /> So, who should I--<br /><br /> The front door opens and someone speaks through the screen:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> You want any coffee, Dad?<br /><br /> Ed looks around at the voice.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Oh, hello, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> She steps out: it is Birdy Abundas.<br /><br /> Ed rises, and they awkwardly shake hands.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Hello, Rachel.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> I'm so sorry... I was sorry to hear.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah. Thanks.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Coffee, Ed?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'm fine. Thanks.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> No thanks, honey.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> OK. Nice to see you, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> They watch her go back in.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Damnit! She's a good kid.<br /><br /> Ed nods.<br /><br /> A beat.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...So, uh, who should I--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well, there's Lloyd Garroway in San <br /> Francisco. Probity--you know, no one <br /> ever said anything iffy about Lloyd <br /> Garroway. Conservative. Jury might <br /> like that. Might like that here.<br /><br /> He takes a sip of his drink.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> ...Probity.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh. Is he the best then, for, <br /> uh...<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well, the best, the money-is-no-object <br /> best, for a criminal case, any lawyer <br /> would tell you Freddy Riedenschneider. <br /> Out of Sacramento. 'Course, I don't <br /> know how you're fixed for money.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh. He's the, uh...<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah, the best.<br /><br /> He sniffs.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> ...Yeah, Riedenschneider. Wish I <br /> could tell you more. Hell, I wish I <br /> could handle it myself. But I'd be <br /> absolutely worthless for this kind <br /> of thing.<br /><br /> He takes a musing sip.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> ...Criminal matter? Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider.<br /><br /> He thinks.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> ...No question about it.<br /><br /> ED AT A TABLE<br /><br /> It is a long table with chairs stretching down both sides, <br /> one side for prisoners, the other for visitors. The room is <br /> empty except for a guard and an elderly woman who sits across <br /> from a younger woman at the far end of the table. The younger <br /> woman, in a prison smock, is wailing. The elderly woman is <br /> holding her hand.<br /><br /> Ed sits across from an empty chair, clutching a flower-printed <br /> toiletries kit. There are echoing voices suggesting large <br /> spaces outside the room.<br /><br /> He sits and waits.<br /><br /> Approaching footsteps.<br /><br /> The door opens. A large prison matron steps aside to let <br /> Doris enter.<br /><br /> Doris looks lost in a prison-issue jumper that is too big <br /> for her. Her hair is uncurled and bedraggled. Not only is <br /> she not made-up, she has a couple of bruises and a cut on <br /> her lip.<br /><br /> As Ed stands, she gives a hollow look around.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Honey... I brought your make-up.<br /><br /> She looks at him.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Honey.<br /><br /> ED<br /> How are you?<br /><br /> She shrugs.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> I don't know what's going on. I--<br /><br /> ED<br /> What happened to you?<br /><br /> She shakes her head.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...I don't know what happened to Big <br /> Dave. I know some of it. <br /> Irregularities in my books, they <br /> said. Can I explain it.<br /><br /> ED<br /> You don't have to--<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> I helped him cook the books, Ed. I <br /> did do that.<br /><br /> ED<br /> You don't have to tell them anything. <br /> We're getting you a lawyer.<br /><br /> Doris doesn't seem to be listening. She sighs:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> I know all about that. But I don't <br /> know how much to tell them.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Don't tell 'em anything. We're getting <br /> you Freddy Riedenschneider.<br /><br /> Doris finally looks at him.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Should I... should I tell you why?<br /><br /> ED<br /> You don't have to tell me anything.<br /><br /> Her gaze drifts away again. She notices the sobbing woman.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Jesus Christ.<br /><br /> Doris looks around and laughs.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> ...My books used to be perfect. Anyone <br /> could open them up, make sense of <br /> the whole goddamn store.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Honey...<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> I knew we'd pay for it.<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> Ed sits in a waiting-customer chair, wearing his smock. Frank <br /> paces in front of him. He smacks a fist into his palm.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> This is what family is for, Ed! This <br /> is when ya come together!<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Close ranks! Goddamnit! Those sons <br /> of bitches!<br /><br /> ED<br /> Frank, uh, you know I'll try to <br /> contribute, but, uh--Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider--<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> I don't care what it costs! This is <br /> when ya come together!<br /><br /> ED<br /> That's very generous.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> The hell with it, Eddie!<br /><br /> BANK<br /><br /> Ed and Frank sit waiting on a bench in the high-vaulted lobby. <br /> Frank looks uncomfortable in an ill-fitting suit. As they <br /> wait, he looks nervously about.<br /><br /> In a hushed voice:<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> They're just people like you and me, <br /> Ed. Remember that.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Just people. They gotta put up the <br /> big front so that people will trust <br /> them with their money. This is why <br /> the big lobby, Ed. But they put their <br /> pants on one leg at a time. Just <br /> like you and me.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> They too use the toilet, Ed. In spite <br /> of appearances. And their money will <br /> be secured by the barbershop. A rock. <br /> A *rock*, the barbershop. I mean, <br /> how long has *this* place been here?<br /><br /> A door opens. A conservatively dressed man of late middle <br /> age emerges.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Mr Raffo?<br /><br /> Frank hops to his feet.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Yes, sir.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Could you come with me please?<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Sure. Can Ed come too?<br /><br /> The man looks dubiously at Ed.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Mr...?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Crane. Ed Crane.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> You also have an interest in the <br /> securing property?<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> He's a barber.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Ah.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Second chair.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Not an owner.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> No, he's family, he's my brother-in-<br /> law.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Ah-hah. It would be best if he waited <br /> here.<br /><br /> He goes to the glass-paned doorway to his office, Frank <br /> trailing dejectedly behind. They enter, the door closes, and <br /> we hear their muffled voices from inside, the sense of the <br /> words lost.<br /><br /> Ed sits and watches the two men perform their pantomime of <br /> business: Frank nervously reads documents with one hand cupped <br /> to his forehead for concentration; the banker passes <br /> successive documents across his desk with a word of <br /> explanation for each as Frank signs.<br /><br /> Ed takes out a cigarette and lights it, watching impassively.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> The barbershop. Doris and Frank's <br /> father had worked thirty years to <br /> own it free and clear. Now it got <br /> signed over to the bank, and the <br /> bank signed some money over to Frank, <br /> and Frank signed the money over...<br /><br /> TRACKING POINT OF VIEW<br /><br /> It is midday. We are tracking along the sidewalk toward a <br /> long cream-colored Packard parked at the curb. A couple of <br /> kids have stopped to peer into the car's windows; the car is <br /> no doubt the fanciest in town.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...to Freddy Riedenschneider, who <br /> got into town two days later...<br /><br /> Ed, coming up the sidewalk, looks up at the storefront: a <br /> restaurant with a large window with a plush red drape that <br /> obscures the interior. Gilt lettering on the window spells <br /> out "DaVinci's".<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and told me to meet him at <br /> DaVinci's for lunch.<br /><br /> TRACKING POINT OF VIEW<br /><br /> Inside the restaurant. We are tracking toward a table whose <br /> lone occupant sits with his back to us holding open a menu <br /> as he orders from a facing waitress:<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...not fried, poached. Three of 'em <br /> for two minutes. A strip steak medium <br /> rare, flapjacks, potatoes, tomato <br /> juice, and plenty of hot coffee.<br /><br /> He flips the menu over.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...Do you have prairie oysters?<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> No, sir.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Then bring me a fruit cocktail while <br /> I wait.<br /><br /> He looks up at Ed.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...You're Ed Crane?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah--<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Barber, right? I'm Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider. Hungry? They tell <br /> me the chow's OK here. I made some <br /> inquiries.<br /><br /> ED<br /> No thanks, I--<br /><br /> The waitress sets a fruit cocktail in front of <br /> Riedenschneider.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Look, I don't wanna waste your time <br /> so I'll eat while we talk. Ya mind? <br /> *You* don't mind. So while I'm in <br /> town I'll be staying at the Hotel <br /> Metropole, the Turandot Suite. Yeah, <br /> it's goofy, the suites're named after <br /> operas; room's OK though, I poked <br /> around. I'm having 'em hold it for <br /> me on account of I'll be back and <br /> forth. In addition to my retainer, <br /> you're paying hotel, living expenses, <br /> secretarial, private eye if we need <br /> to make inquiries, headshrinker should <br /> we go that way. We'll talk about <br /> appeals if, as and when. For right <br /> now, has she confessed?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No. Of course not. She didn't do it.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Good! That helps. Not that she didn't <br /> do it, that she didn't confess. Of <br /> course, there's ways to deal with a <br /> confession, but that's good!--one <br /> less thing to think about. Now. <br /> Interview. I'm seeing her tomorrow. <br /> You should be there. Three o'clock. <br /> One more thing: you keep your mouth <br /> shut. I get the lay of the land, I <br /> tell *you* what to say. No talking <br /> out of school. What's out of school? <br /> Everything's out of school. I do the <br /> talking; you keep your trap shut. <br /> I'm an attorney, you're a barber; <br /> you don't know anything. Understood?<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...OK.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Good! Any questions give me a ring--<br /> Turandot suite; if I'm out leave a <br /> message. You sure you don't want <br /> anything? No?<br /><br /> He points a finger at Ed.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...You're OK, pal. You're OK, she's <br /> OK. Everything's gonna be hunky-dory.<br /><br /> The waitress puts down a plate of steak and eggs.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...And the flapjacks, honey.<br /><br /> DRIVING POINT OF VIEW<br /><br /> We are looking at pedestrians on the sidewalk through the <br /> windshield of a moving car.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> All going about their business. It <br /> seemed like I knew a secret--a bigger <br /> one even then what had really happened <br /> to Big Dave, something none of them <br /> knew...<br /><br /> On Ed, driving.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Like I had made it to the outside, <br /> somehow, and they were all still <br /> struggling, way down below.<br /><br /> ED IN BED<br /><br /> Arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.<br /><br /> On the ceiling is the moving shadow of a tree limb.<br /><br /> A distant, muffled knock.<br /><br /> Ed turns his head.<br /><br /> FRONT DOOR<br /><br /> Ed opens it as he finishes cinching a bathrobe.<br /><br /> The woman waiting on the front porch is dressed in black: a <br /> black dress and a black veiled hat that is too big for her <br /> bird-like frame.<br /><br /> Wind rustles in the trees behind her.<br /><br /> She stares at Ed.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ann.<br /><br /> For the first time, we hear her speak, in a low, tremulous <br /> voice:<br /><br /> ANN<br /> Hello, Ed.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ann. Will you come in?<br /><br /> She shakes her head.<br /><br /> ANN<br /> ...No, No, it's very late.<br /><br /> Ed nods.<br /><br /> After an uncomfortable beat, through which she continues to <br /> stare:<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I'm so sorry about your loss.<br /><br /> ANN<br /> Yes. Thank you.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Of course, you know, Doris had nothing <br /> to do with it. Nothing at all.<br /><br /> She lays a black-gloved hand on his arm.<br /><br /> ANN<br /> Oh, I know. Don't worry, Ed. I came <br /> to tell you...<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yes, Ann?<br /><br /> ANN<br /> And you should tell Doris...<br /><br /> She falls silent. The trees behind her rustle.<br /><br /> She gives a wary look back. Then, confidingly, to Ed:<br /><br /> ANN<br /> ...You know how Big Dave loved <br /> camping. And the out-of-doors.<br /><br /> Ed is puzzled:<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yes?<br /><br /> ANN<br /> We went camping last summer. In <br /> Eugene, Oregon. *Outside* of Eugene, <br /> Ed.<br /><br /> She gives him a searching look, hoping, it seems, that he <br /> will find this significant.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Yes?<br /><br /> ANN<br /> At night, there were lights--we both <br /> saw them. We never told anyone, <br /> outside of our official report.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ann--<br /><br /> ANN<br /> A spacecraft. I saw the creatures. <br /> They led Big Dave onto the craft. He <br /> never told anyone what they did, <br /> outside of his report. Of course he <br /> told *me*. No one else.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ann--<br /><br /> ANN<br /> The government knows. I cannot repeat <br /> it to you. But this thing goes deep, <br /> Ed. This was not your wife. I goes <br /> deep, and involves the government. <br /> There is a great deal of fear. You <br /> know how certain circles would find <br /> it--the knowledge--a threat. They <br /> try to limit it, and--<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ann, will you come in, sit down, <br /> maybe have a drink?<br /><br /> ANN<br /> Sometimes knowledge is a curse, Ed. <br /> After this happened, things changed. <br /> Big Dave... he never touched me again.<br /><br /> Ed says nothing.<br /><br /> She touches his arm.<br /><br /> ANN<br /> ...Tell Doris not to worry. I know <br /> it wasn't her. Perhaps this will <br /> bring it out, finally. Perhaps now <br /> it will all come out.<br /><br /> She turns and heads down the walk.<br /><br /> Her high-heeled footsteps echo on the walk, then the sidewalk, <br /> then are lost in the rustle of leaves.<br /><br /> Ed watches her go: a small black figure, growing smaller.<br /><br /> PRISON MEETING ROOM<br /><br /> It is an unadorned room with a simple wooden table and chairs. <br /> One high window lets in a shaft of sunlight.<br /><br /> Ed and Doris sit at the table; Freddy Riedenschneider stands <br /> to one side staring up at the high window, hands dug into <br /> his pockets.<br /><br /> All three are motionless for a long beat. Finally:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...It stinks.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> But it's true.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> I don't care it's true, it's not <br /> true; it stinks. You say he was being <br /> blackmailed; by who? You don't know. <br /> For having an affair; with who? You <br /> don't know. Did anyone else know <br /> about it? Probably not; you don't <br /> know.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I knew about it. Big Dave told me <br /> about it, and the spot he was putting <br /> himself in by getting the money.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Terrific. Your husband backs you up. <br /> That's terrific.<br /><br /> He starts pacing.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...You've gotta give me something to <br /> work with. Freddy Riedenschneider is <br /> good, but he's not a magician. He <br /> can't just wave his little wand in <br /> the air and make a plausible defense <br /> materialize. Look. Look at what the <br /> other side is gonna run at us. They <br /> got the company books, prepared by <br /> you--*cooked* by you--that's Motive. <br /> They got a murder scene *you* had <br /> access to. That's Opportunity. They <br /> got that little trimmer thing he was <br /> stabbed in the throat with--a *dame's* <br /> weapon--<br /><br /> ED<br /> It was Big Dave's.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> --don't interrupt me--that's Means. <br /> They got a fine upstanding pillar of <br /> the business community as a victim, <br /> and then they got *you*, a disgruntled <br /> number-juggling underling who on the <br /> day in question was drunk as a skunk <br /> and whose alibi for the time in <br /> question is being passed out at home, <br /> alone.<br /><br /> ED<br /> *I* was with her.<br /><br /> Riedenschneider gives him a hard look.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Like I say, it stinks.<br /><br /> Another long pause.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I killed him.<br /><br /> Riedenschneider eyes him. Wheels start turning.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> OK, we forget the blackmail. *You* <br /> killed him. How come?<br /><br /> ED<br /> He and Doris... were having an affair.<br /><br /> Doris eyes him. His manner does not reveal anything.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> OK, how did you know?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I... just knew. A husband knows.<br /><br /> Riedenschneider rolls his eyes.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Will anyone else say they knew?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't know. I don't think so.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> How did you get into the store?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I took Doris's keys.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Will anyone say they saw you there? <br /> On your way there? In there? On your <br /> was back?<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I don't think so.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Will anyone corroborate and goddamn <br /> part of your story at all?<br /><br /> Ed returns Riedenschneider's stare. Riedenschneider resumes <br /> pacing.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Come on, people. You can't help <br /> each other like that. Let's be <br /> realistic now. Let's look at our <br /> options. Well, frankly, I don't *see* <br /> any options.<br /><br /> A nod of the head indicates Doris:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...I cannot present Story A.<br /><br /> Another nod indicates Ed:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...I cannot present Story B. I could <br /> plead you for a nutcase but you look <br /> too composed. I could offer a guilty <br /> plea and in return they don't give <br /> you the juice, but I don't think you <br /> want to spend the rest of your life <br /> in Chino and I know you didn't hire <br /> Freddy Riedenschneider to hold your <br /> hand at a sentencing hearing. Hell, <br /> you could've gotten Lloyd Garroway <br /> for that. No, we're not giving up <br /> yet; you hired Freddy Riedenschneider, <br /> it means you're *not* throwing in <br /> the towel. I litigate, I don't <br /> capitulate. All right, no options, <br /> we gotta think. All right, we go <br /> back to the blackmail thing. It <br /> titillates, it's open ended...<br /><br /> His pacing becomes more animated.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...And it makes *him* the bad guy--<br /> ya dig around, ya never know, <br /> something unsavory from his past, he <br /> approaches you to help with the money, <br /> it's too late, his past comes back <br /> to haunt him, who's to say...<br /><br /> He is heading for the door.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Yeah. OK. Forget the jealous <br /> husband thing, that's silly; we're <br /> going with the blackmail. I'll be in <br /> touch.<br /><br /> The door slams.<br /><br /> HOTEL LOBBY<br /><br /> The camera drifts in toward the reception desk. Ed talks to <br /> the clerk behind the desk, but the scene plays silently; we <br /> hear only Ed's narration.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Of course, there was *one* person <br /> who could confirm Doris's story, or <br /> plenty of it: the dry-cleaning <br /> pansy...<br /><br /> The desk clerk is shaking his head.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...But he'd left the hotel, skipped <br /> out on his bill...<br /><br /> HALLWAY<br /><br /> It is a rooming-house hallway. A stern middle-aged woman is <br /> on the hall telephone. This too plays silently under the <br /> narration.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> He'd also disappeared from the <br /> residence he gave me...<br /><br /> ED'S LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> We are drifting in toward Ed, who nods at the telephone and <br /> then cradles it. He stares down at the business card he holds.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...owing two month's rent. How could <br /> I have been so stupid. Handing over <br /> $10,000. For a piece of paper. And <br /> the man gone... like a ghost...<br /><br /> PULLING BACK FROM ED<br /><br /> In a different living room. He sits on a sofa, hands clasped <br /> behind his head, listening. For the first time, as the voice-<br /> over continues, we hear atmosphere from the scene: piano <br /> music.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...disappeared into thin air, <br /> vaporized, like the Nips at Nagasaki. <br /> Gone now. All gone. The money gone. <br /> Big Dave gone. Doris going. How could <br /> I have been so stupid?<br /><br /> The continuing pull-back reveals Walter Abundas on a nearby <br /> chair, also listening as Birdy plays.<br /><br /> Walter holds a drink in one hand; he is nodding; his eyelids <br /> droop. As the piano piece reaches its mournful conclusion <br /> his chin alights on his chest, his eyelids tremble closed, <br /> and he starts lightly to snore.<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> The distinctive buzz of electric hairclippers bangs in at <br /> the cut. Ed and Frank stand behind their respective chairs, <br /> administering haircuts.<br /><br /> The customer in Ed's chair is in white shirtsleeves that do <br /> not hide rolls of fat. He has a hot towel over his face that <br /> does not slow his speech, although it does muffle it to some <br /> extent:<br /><br /> CUSTOMER<br /> She makes this stuff, she calls it <br /> gatto, it's got egg in there, it's <br /> got sugar, it's got--it's cake, <br /> basically, except she calls it gatto. <br /> Like if you don't call it cake maybe <br /> you won't put on any weight, like I <br /> need to eat gatto, you know what I'm <br /> saying? This stuff, if I've had a <br /> square meal, I've had my steak and <br /> potatoes, I can just have another <br /> cup of coffee afterward, I won't ask <br /> for the desert if it's not there...<br /><br /> His voice turns into a drone under the narration.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Sooner or later everyone needs a <br /> haircut...<br /><br /> CUSTOMER<br /> Got the recipe from a magazine, <br /> woman's magazine...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> We were working for the bank now. We <br /> kept cutting the hair, trying to <br /> stay afloat, make the payments, tread <br /> water, day by day, day by day...<br /><br /> CRANE DOWN<br /><br /> Inside a courtroom we boom down toward the defendant's table, <br /> the fat customer's drone turning into the drone of the bailiff <br /> reading an indictment. Doris stands next to Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Most people think someone's accused <br /> of a crime, they haul 'em in and <br /> bring 'em to trial, but it's not <br /> like that, it's not that fast. The <br /> wheels of justice turn slow...<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> ...did willfully and with malice <br /> aforethought take the life of one <br /> David Allen Brewster, a human being...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> They have an arraignment, and then <br /> the indictment, and they entertain <br /> motions to dismiss, and postpone, <br /> and change the venue, and alter this <br /> and that and the other. They empanel <br /> a jury, which brings more motions, <br /> and they set a trial date and then <br /> change the date, and then often as <br /> not they'll change it again.<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> What say you to these charges?<br /><br /> Our boom down has ended close on Doris. We hear Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider, off:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> We plead not guilty, your honor.<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> Booming down toward the fat man.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> And through all of it we cut the <br /> hair.<br /><br /> CUSTOMER<br /> I say, Honey, if you're gonna make a <br /> cobbler, make a little bit of cobbler, <br /> don't put a whole pan in front of me <br /> and tell me it's not gonna be any <br /> good when it's cold...<br /><br /> OPERA SINGERS<br /><br /> We are panning photographic portraits of opera singers in <br /> character, wearing the wardrobe of different eras, armies, <br /> dukedoms, and boudoirs, and displaying the heights and depths <br /> of various emotions, their mouths stretched wide in song. We <br /> pan off the pictures to discover that we are in a hotel room, <br /> floating in toward a bed on which Freddy Riedenschneider, a <br /> mask over his eyes, slumbers.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Meanwhile, Freddy Riedenschneider <br /> slept at the Metropole...<br /><br /> RESTAURANT<br /><br /> Tracking in toward Freddy Riedenschneider, who sits twirling <br /> spaghetti with a fork against a spoon.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and shoveled it in at DaVinci's.<br /><br /> LATERAL TRACK<br /><br /> From inside a car. Pedestrians bustle along a sidewalk. Among <br /> them scurries a weedy little man who has one hand clamped to <br /> the crown of his hat to keep it in place in a stiff wind.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> He'd brought in a private investigator <br /> from Sacramento...<br /><br /> LATERAL TRACK<br /><br /> Moving the opposite way. A different day, but again a crowd <br /> moves along the sidewalk, and among them the little man <br /> scuttles in the opposite direction, hand still raised to his <br /> hat, his forearm and the tilt of his head largely obscuring <br /> his face.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...to nose around into Big Dave's <br /> past.<br /><br /> PUSHING IN TO ED<br /><br /> In the Abundas living room again, again listening to Birdy <br /> at the piano, but now the two of them are alone.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I found myself more and more going <br /> over to the Abundas's. It was a <br /> routine we fell into, most every <br /> evening. I even went when Walter was <br /> away on his research trips. He was a <br /> genealogist, had traced back his <br /> side of the family seven generations, <br /> his late wife's, eight. It seemed <br /> like a screwy hobby. But then maybe <br /> all hobbies are. Maybe Walter found <br /> something there, in the old county <br /> courthouses, hospital file rooms, <br /> city archives, property rolls, <br /> registries, something maybe like <br /> what I found listening to Birdy play. <br /> Some kind of escape. Some kind of <br /> peace...<br /><br /> The piano music ends in a sustain which begins to fade, but <br /> then is snapped by a sharp clang.<br /><br /> PRISON DOOR SWINGS OPEN<br /><br /> We are pushing into the high-windowed prison meeting room. <br /> None of its three occupants is moving.<br /><br /> The tableau consists of Doris staring down at the table; the <br /> private investigator sitting on a straightbacked chair tipped <br /> back against a wall, his arms folded across his chest, his <br /> fedora pushed back on his head, a toothpick clamped between <br /> his teeth; and Freddy Riedenschneider, standing, hands clasped <br /> behind his back, gazing with a distant smile up into the <br /> shaft of light that slants through the high window.<br /><br /> A warder shuts the door behind Ed.<br /><br /> Doris and the private investigator turn to note his entrance; <br /> Riedenschneider does not.<br /><br /> Ed pulls out a chair across from Doris, clasps his hands on <br /> top of hers.<br /><br /> ED<br /> 'Lo, honey.<br /><br /> She looks at his hands on top of hers.<br /><br /> A long beat.<br /><br /> Still gazing up into the shaft of light, Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider announces:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...They got this guy, in Germany. <br /> Fritz something-or-other. Or is it. <br /> Maybe it's Werner. Anyway, he's got <br /> this theory, you wanna test something, <br /> you know, scientifically--how the <br /> planets go round the sun, what <br /> sunspots are made of, why the water <br /> comes out of the tap--well, you gotta <br /> look at it. But sometimes, you look <br /> at it, your looking *changes* it. Ya <br /> can't know the reality of what <br /> happened, or what *would've* happened <br /> if you hadden a stuck in your goddamn <br /> schnozz. So there *is* no 'what <br /> happened.' Not in any sense that we <br /> can grasp with our puny minds. Because <br /> our minds... out minds get in the <br /> way. Looking at something changes <br /> it. They call it the 'Uncertainty <br /> Principle.' Sure, it sounds screwy, <br /> but even Einstein says the guy's on <br /> to something.<br /><br /> His gaze up at the window breaks. He strolls around the room, <br /> still smiling.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Science. Perception. Reality. <br /> Doubt...<br /><br /> He stops to examine a bur on his fingernail.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Reasonable doubt. I'm sayin', <br /> sometimes, the more you look, the <br /> less you really know. It's a fact. A <br /> proved fact. In a way, it's the only <br /> fact there is. This heinie even wrote <br /> it out in numbers.<br /><br /> He looks up at the private detective.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Burns?<br /><br /> With a slight weight shift, Burns tips his chair so that its <br /> front legs slap down onto the floor. He fishes a small <br /> notebook from an inside pocket.<br /><br /> His boredom is profound; his only concession to performance <br /> is to move the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the <br /> other where, perhaps, it will less inhibit speech.<br /><br /> BURNS<br /> Subject: David Allen Brewster. Born: <br /> Cincinnati, 1911. Father: insurance <br /> salesman; mother: homemaker. One <br /> year Case Western University on <br /> football scholarship. Flunks out. <br /> 1931: retail appliance salesman in <br /> Barnhoff's department store, <br /> Cincinnati. 1933: meets Ann <br /> Nirdlinger, married later that year, <br /> moves here. 1935: arrested on an <br /> assault complaint; complainant, an <br /> organizer for the ILGWU, has a broken <br /> nose, couple of ribs, wife's family <br /> intercedes, some kind of settlement, <br /> charges dropped. 1936: another assault <br /> beef, bar altercation--<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Yeah, yeah, couple of fistfights. Go <br /> to his service record.<br /><br /> Burns looks at him sourly. He flips a couple of pages.<br /><br /> BURNS<br /> ...Inducted March 15, 1942, assigned <br /> to fifth fleet US Navy, petty officer <br /> first class, serves in clerical <br /> capacity in US naval shipyards in <br /> San Diego, one fistfight broken up <br /> by MPs, no court martial, honorable <br /> discharge May 8, 1945. Since then <br /> he's been clean.<br /><br /> Riedenschneider nods, smiling.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Thank you, Burns, get lost.<br /><br /> Burns pockets his notebook, adjusts his hat, jams his hands <br /> into his pockets, and ambles out of the room.<br /><br /> The slam of the door leaves quiet.<br /><br /> At length:<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...So?<br /><br /> Riedenschneider's fixed smile now fades.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> So? *So?!* This could be your dolly's <br /> ticket out of the deathhouse, so!<br /><br /> Ed and Doris look at each other.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I don't get it.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Look, chum, this is a guy, from what <br /> I understand, told everybody he was <br /> a war hero, right? Island hopping, <br /> practically liberated the Pacific <br /> all by himself with a knife in one <br /> hand and a gun in the other and twenty <br /> yards of Jap guts between his teeth.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> And now it turns out this dope spent <br /> the war sitting on his ass in some <br /> boatyard in San Diego. You asked for <br /> blackmail, let me give you blackmail: <br /> Mr Hale-Fellow-Well-Met, about to <br /> open his own business here, has been <br /> lying to everybody in this town for <br /> the last four years, probably <br /> including half the people sitting on <br /> that jury. Well, it finally caught <br /> up with him--these dopes, it always <br /> does; someone threatened to spill <br /> it. Somebody knew his dirty little <br /> secret, just like your wife says. <br /> They called, they demanded money...<br /><br /> He is looking at Doris.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Did Big Dave mention that it was <br /> something about his war service? I <br /> don't know, I wasn't there, *you'll* <br /> have to tell *us*. Maybe he specified, <br /> maybe he didn't; I'm not putting <br /> words in your mouth; the point is <br /> that this liar, this cynical <br /> manipulator, this man who through <br /> his lies sneered and belittled the <br /> sacrifice and heroism of all our <br /> boys who *did* serve and bleed and <br /> puke and die on foreign shores, and <br /> who made a fool out of this entire <br /> town, turns to *you* to help him out <br /> of his jam. Fat-assed sonofabitch!<br /><br /> ED<br /> So... who... who actually--<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Who? *Who?!* I don't know who! But <br /> the point is that if Mr Prosecutor <br /> over there had devoted half the time <br /> he's spent persecuting *this* woman <br /> to even the most cursory investigation <br /> of this schmoe's past, then we might <br /> *know* who! But we can't *know* what <br /> really happened! Because of Fritz, <br /> or Werner, or whatever the hell his <br /> name is! And because Me Prosecutor <br /> is *also* a lazy fat-assed sonofabitch <br /> who decided it's easier to victimize <br /> your wife! Because it's easier *not* <br /> to look! Because the more you look, <br /> the less you know! But the beauty of <br /> it is, we don't *gotta* know! We <br /> just gotta show that, goddamnit, <br /> *they* don't know. Reasonable doubt. <br /> Science. The atom. *You* explain it <br /> to me. Go ahead. Try.<br /><br /> He chuckles as he heads for the door.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...Yeah, Freddy Riedenschneider sees <br /> daylight. We got a real shot at this, <br /> folks. Let's not get cocky.<br /><br /> The door shuts behind him.<br /><br /> Doris stares down at the table, as at the head of the scene.<br /><br /> A silent beat; a smile starts to tug at the corners of her <br /> mouth.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Honey...?<br /><br /> The smile twitches, and then stays. Doris starts to laugh. <br /> Ed frowns.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Honey?<br /><br /> Her laughter builds, almost to hysteria. Finally it subsides <br /> and, still staring at the tabletop and smiling, she shakes <br /> her head:<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> What a dope.<br /><br /> ABUNDAS LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> Ed sits listening as Birdy plays. She talks, after a moment, <br /> her eyes on the sheet music:<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> He was deaf when he wrote this.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Who?<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Beethoven. He created it, and yet he <br /> never actually heard it. I suppose <br /> he heard it all in his head, somehow.<br /><br /> Over her continued playing:<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> So maybe Riedenschneider could get <br /> Doris off. Maybe it would all work <br /> out. And I thought--I hoped--that <br /> maybe there was a way out for me as <br /> well...<br /><br /> A SIGN<br /><br /> The cardboard sign on an easel says "COME ONE, COME ALL / <br /> PETALUMA HIGH SCHOOL TALENT SHOW / WEDNESDAY APRIL 29, 1949, <br /> 8:00 P.M.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> The girl had talent, anyone could <br /> see that. And *she* wasn't some fly-<br /> by-nighter, she was just a good clean <br /> kid...<br /><br /> SCHOOL GYMNASIUM<br /><br /> A young man holding a saxophone is just leaving the makeshift <br /> stage to a smattering of applause. Birdy walks out to the <br /> baby grand that has been set out center stage.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...If she was going to have a career <br /> she'd need a responsible adult looking <br /> out for her...<br /><br /> We track up the rows of folding chairs that have been set <br /> out on the gym floor for the audience of students and parents, <br /> many of whom fan themselves with programs. We come to rest <br /> on Ed.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...some kind of... manager. She'd <br /> have contracts to look at, be going <br /> on tours, playing on the radio maybe. <br /> I could help her sort through all of <br /> that, without charging her an arm <br /> and a leg, just enough to get by...<br /><br /> Birdy begins to play for the quietly attentive audience.<br /><br /> EXT. SCHOOL<br /><br /> Ed is among the crowd streaming from the gym into the warm <br /> summer night. He looks around the parking lot.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I could afford to charge less <br /> than the usual manager, not having <br /> to put up a big front like a lot of <br /> these phonies. And I could be with <br /> her, enough to keep myself feeling <br /> OK...<br /><br /> A trace of a frown as he spots her leaning against a car, <br /> laughing, passing a cigarette back and forth with another <br /> student--a boy.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Why couldn't that work?... Why <br /> not?...<br /><br /> Birdy's easy smile remains as Ed approaches, but the boy's <br /> drops; he puts on a face more suitable for meeting adults.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Hi, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Hello, Birdy. I thought that was <br /> very good.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Oh, in there? I messed up a little <br /> bit in the scherzo. I guess, if nobody <br /> noticed, it's OK. Mr Crane, this is <br /> Tony, a friend of mine. Tony, Mr <br /> Crane.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Hello, Tony.<br /><br /> TONY<br /> Hello, sir.<br /><br /> Silence. The teens wait for the adult to direct the <br /> conversation; Ed has nothing to say. At length, he clears <br /> his throat.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Well, congratulations. I guess <br /> I'll be getting home.<br /><br /> TONY<br /> Nice to meet you, sir.<br /><br /> TURANDOT SUITE<br /><br /> It is morning. We are tracking past an unmade bed toward the <br /> bathroom, where we hear water running.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Anyway, that's what I was thinking <br /> about in the days leading up to the <br /> trial. It seemed like once that was <br /> over, I'd be ready for a new start. <br /> Freddy Riedenschneider was very <br /> optimistic. He was busy preparing...<br /><br /> We have rounded the open bathroom door to find Riedenschneider <br /> hunched over the sink, toothbrush in hand, spitting out water. <br /> He rises, looks at himself in the mirror, sprinkles some <br /> tonic in his hair.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...And finally it came... the first <br /> day of the trial...<br /><br /> Riedenschneider runs his fingers through his hair.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...What Riedenschneider called the <br /> Big Show.<br /><br /> He straightens his tie, gives his neck a twist.<br /><br /> COURTROOM<br /><br /> We are close on the back of Riedenschneider's gleaming hair. <br /> He is sitting at the defense table.<br /><br /> There is a murmur of a crowd that has yet to be called to <br /> order.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Where's the judge? How come there's <br /> no judge?<br /><br /> Ed and Frank sit next to each other in the first gallery row <br /> directly behind Riedenschneider.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...Where's the judge, Ed?<br /><br /> Ed shrugs. Frank looks at Riedenschneider's back.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...How come the judge doesn't come <br /> out?<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> The judge comes in last. He'll come <br /> in when Doris gets here.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> So where's Doris? I thought we started <br /> at ten. Hey, Riedenschneider, where's <br /> Doris?<br /><br /> Riedenschneider is curt:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> She's late.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> Late? How can she be late?<br /><br /> Riedenschneider doesn't answer; Frank turns to Ed.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...She's in prison, Ed. None of *us* <br /> are in prison, and yet we're not <br /> late. We're on time, Ed. How can <br /> Doris be late? What, they don't have <br /> wake-up calls?<br /><br /> The murmur of the crowd subsides as a door behind the judge's <br /> bench opens and the judge hurriedly enters.<br /><br /> The gallery rises but the judge quickly waves them back down <br /> and, rather than seating himself, leans forward over his <br /> desk to give a peremptory beckoning wave to Riedenschneider <br /> and the prosecutor.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Counselors.<br /><br /> Riedenschneider, puzzled, approaches the bench, as does his <br /> counterpart from the other table. The judge, still leaning <br /> forward, speaks to them in a low voice that is not audible <br /> from the gallery.<br /><br /> The crowd has started murmuring again, also in hushed tones. <br /> Frank leans in toward Ed.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> What's going on, Ed? I thought there <br /> would be arguments. The bailiff, and <br /> so forth...<br /><br /> Ed, also puzzled, is watching Riedenschneider, who suddenly <br /> stiffens. As the judge continues to talk, Riedenschneider <br /> looks back over his shoulder at Ed.<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> ...Ed, what is this? Is this <br /> procedure?<br /><br /> The two lawyers nod at the judge and walk back to their <br /> respective tables. The judge now summons a uniformed man <br /> standing to one side.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Bailiff.<br /><br /> As the judge and the bailiff confer, Riedenschneider looks <br /> down at his desk and, for something to do, straightens various <br /> papers.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> I don't understand... We had a real <br /> shot at it... We could have won this <br /> thing...<br /><br /> The Bailiff Announces:<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> In the matter of the State of <br /> California versus Doris Crane, Case <br /> Number 87249 assigned to this Superior <br /> Court...<br /><br /> As the bailiff drones, Riedenschneider shakes his head.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...It doesn't make any sense...<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> Late afternoon sun slants in.<br /><br /> The shop, not open for business, is very still. Ed, in his <br /> courtroom suit, sits in one of the vinyl chairs that line <br /> the wall, hunched forward, forearms on his knees.<br /><br /> Frank, also still in his suit, is up in one of the barber <br /> chairs, one hand cupped to his forehead, weeping.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> She'd hanged herself. I'd brought <br /> her a dress to wear to court and <br /> she'd used the belt. I didn't <br /> understand it either. At first I <br /> thought maybe it had something to do <br /> with me, that she'd figured out <br /> somehow how I fit into it and couldn't <br /> stand it, couldn't stand knowing...<br /><br /> BEDROOM<br /><br /> Night. Ed is in bed, staring at the ceiling.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...That wasn't it, I would find out <br /> later. For now, everything just seemed <br /> ruined...<br /><br /> METROPOLE LOBBY<br /><br /> Riedenschneider is at the cashier's desk, checking out. Behind <br /> him a bellman's cart is piled high with his bags.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Freddy Riedenschneider went back <br /> to Sacramento still shaking his head, <br /> saying it was the biggest <br /> disappointment of his professional <br /> career...<br /><br /> FRANK'S HOUSE<br /><br /> Day. Frank's kitchen.<br /><br /> Frank sits at his kitchen table, staring, in a bathrobe thrown <br /> over his pyjamas, unshaven.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Frankie fell to pieces. I suspect <br /> he was drinking; anyway, he stopped <br /> coming to work...<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> Ed, in his smock, works on a customer.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...That left me to keep the place <br /> going, or the bank would've taken <br /> it.<br /><br /> As he uses the electric clippers, a cigarette plumes between <br /> his lips. He squints against the smoke drifting past his <br /> eyes.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...*I* was the principal barber now. <br /> I hired a new man for the second <br /> chair...<br /><br /> Ed's former chair is indeed being manned by a newcomer, a <br /> gangly young man who animatedly chats up his customer.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I'd hired the guy who did the <br /> least gabbing when he came in for an <br /> interview. But I guess the new man <br /> had only kept quiet because he was <br /> nervous; once he had the job, he <br /> talked from the minute I opened the <br /> shop in the morning...<br /><br /> EXT. BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> It is evening. Ed is locking the barbershop as, next to him <br /> on the sidewalk, the new man continues to chat, gesticulating <br /> to illustrate his store.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...until I locked up at night. For <br /> all I know, he talked to himself on <br /> the way home.<br /><br /> STREET<br /><br /> Ed walks along the sidewalk.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...When *I* walked home, it seemed <br /> like everyone avoided looking at <br /> me...<br /><br /> Indeed, none of the passers-by establish eye contact; their <br /> averted eyes make the crowd a faceless throng.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...as if I'd caught some disease. <br /> This thing with Doris, nobody wanted <br /> to talk about it; it was like I was <br /> a ghost walking down the street...<br /><br /> HOUSE<br /><br /> As Ed lets himself in.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...And when I got home now, the place <br /> felt empty.<br /><br /> He sits on the couch and, after a beat, takes a cigarette <br /> pack from his pocket and taps out a smoke.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I sat in the house, but there was <br /> nobody there. I was a ghost; I didn't <br /> see anyone; no one saw me...<br /><br /> BARBERSHOP<br /><br /> Ed is in his smock again, operating the clippers.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I was the barber.<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> The drone of the clippers has continued over the black. A <br /> voice fades up:<br /><br /> VOICE 1<br /> So two blocks later I look at the <br /> change she gave me and, golly, I'm <br /> two bits short.<br /><br /> VOICE 2<br /> Two bits short.<br /><br /> VOICE 1<br /> So I walk back over to Linton's, <br /> find this gal--big argument; she <br /> doesn't even recall the transaction.<br /><br /> VOICE 2<br /> No recollection.<br /><br /> VOICE 1<br /> Doesn't recall the transaction, no <br /> recollection, so I said, Look, dear...<br /><br /> FADE IN<br /><br /> We are looking at a magazine story. Its headline, over an <br /> illustration of a cresting wave, is: WAVE OF THE FUTURE.<br /><br /> Underneath are black-and-white photographs of heavy equipment <br /> and racks of clothing on motorized tracks. Subheadlines read: <br /> NEXT TO GODLINESS - Dry Cleaning Sweeps The Nation - The <br /> Thoroughly Modern Way To Clean.<br /><br /> Ed sits in one of the vinyl chairs, staring at Life magazine. <br /> The offscreen conversation drones on as the new man works on <br /> a customer.<br /><br /> NEW MAN<br /> ...go ahead, look at the menu, if <br /> you're in before six o'clock it's <br /> the, whatchamacallit, the--<br /><br /> CUSTOMER<br /> Early Bird Special.<br /><br /> NEW MAN<br /> What? Yeah, the Early Riser...<br /><br /> Ed flips the pages of the magazine, and stops on a photograph <br /> of a dark desert landscape with one bright light hovering in <br /> the sky. The caption underneath: ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Crane?<br /><br /> Ed looks up.<br /><br /> A man in a black suit and fedora has directed the question <br /> at the new man, who looks up from his gabbling, momentarily <br /> slackjawed.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I'm Crane.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> My name is Diedrickson. County medical <br /> examiner.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah?<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> Just came for an informal chat...<br /><br /> Diedrickson looks around uncomfortably.<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...Why don't I buy you a drink?<br /><br /> Ed rises from his chair and, as he unbuttons his smock, <br /> addresses the new man, who still gapes.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Dwight, you OK here for a few minutes?<br /><br /> DWIGHT<br /> Whuh--uh, yeah, sure Ed, take your <br /> time.<br /><br /> BAR<br /><br /> It is late afternoon, dusty and empty.<br /><br /> Ed and Diedrickson sit on adjacent stools, Diedrickson cocking <br /> his hat lower to its man-sitting-at-a-bar position.<br /><br /> As the bartender approaches:<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> Rye.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Just coffee.<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> You sure you don't want something <br /> stiffer?<br /><br /> Ed shrugs and shakes his head.<br /><br /> BARTENDER<br /> Coffee it is.<br /><br /> He leaves. Diedrickson interlaces his fingers on the bartop <br /> and stares at them. After a beat:<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...County M. E. does an autopsy on <br /> anyone who dies in custody. I don't <br /> know if you knew that. It's routine.<br /><br /> Ed doesn't answer. Diedrickson, after some more staring at <br /> his hands, plows on:<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...Doesn't become a matter of public <br /> record unless there's foul play. <br /> However. I don't believe I'm <br /> *prohibited* from telling you this. <br /> I guess I'm not obliged to tell you, <br /> either. I don't exactly know. But <br /> if *I* were the man, I'd want to be <br /> told.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Told what?<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> I, uh... thanks.<br /><br /> The bartender has set down the drinks.<br /><br /> Diedrickson waits for him to leave. He takes a hit from his <br /> glass. Finally:<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...I'm sorry to add to your burden, <br /> Crane, but I'd want to know it it <br /> was me. Your wife was pregnant. First <br /> trimester.<br /><br /> A pause.<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...Well, there it is.<br /><br /> Another pause.<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...I'm sorry.<br /><br /> He mutters to himself:<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...Hell, I hope I've done the right <br /> thing.<br /><br /> ED<br /> My wife and I had not... performed <br /> the sex act in many years.<br /><br /> Diedrickson stiffens.<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> (murmuring)<br /> ...Jesus.<br /> (aloud)<br /> ...Well, that's not really my <br /> business.<br /><br /> He is hastily digging for money.<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...I'm sorry. Well, there it is.<br /><br /> He leaves a couple of bills on the bar and mumbles as he <br /> leaves:<br /><br /> DIEDRICKSON<br /> ...Good luck, Crane.<br /><br /> His retreating footsteps echo down the bar.<br /><br /> APARTMENT HALLWAY<br /><br /> It is a dingy hallway lit by bare bulbs. Ed stands in the <br /> middle background, knocking on a door.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Doris and I had never really talked <br /> much. I don't think that's a bad <br /> thing, necessarily. But it was funny: <br /> now I wanted to talk--now, with <br /> everyone gone. I was alone, with <br /> secrets I didn't want and no one to <br /> tell them to anyway.<br /><br /> The door opens and Ed is admitted by the unseen tenant.<br /><br /> APARTMENT<br /><br /> We hear a low murmuring as we slowly pan the apartment. It <br /> is overfurnished with heavy, ornate chairs, sideboards, chests <br /> too big for the space and all going too seed. Surface areas <br /> are covered with yellowing lacework or exotic brocades; the <br /> one lamp has a veil thrown over it to further scrim down its <br /> feeble light.<br /><br /> Our pan brings us onto Ed seated at a small card table across <br /> from a small elderly woman in a shawl who is the source of <br /> the murmuring. Her eyes are squeezed shut in concentration <br /> as she mumbles.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I visited a woman who was supposed <br /> to have powers in communicating with <br /> those who had passed across, as she <br /> called it. She said that people who <br /> passed across were picky about who <br /> they'd communicate with, not like <br /> most people you run into on this <br /> side...<br /><br /> The woman opens her eyes and looks at Ed.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Giff me your hant.<br /><br /> Ed places his hand in the center of the table.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...so you needed a guide who they <br /> didn't mind talking to, someone with <br /> a gift for talking to souls...<br /><br /> Ed looks at the woman's spotted and vein-lined hand as it <br /> rests upon his. Her mumbling resumes.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Well, first she told me that my <br /> wife was in a peaceful place, that <br /> our souls were still connected by <br /> some spiritual bond, that she had <br /> never stopped loving me even though <br /> she'd done some things she wasn't <br /> proud of...<br /><br /> Ed looks up at the old woman.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...She was reading me like a book.<br /><br /> She is stealing a glance at Ed to check his reaction.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...And then she started talking about <br /> 'Dolores' this and 'Dolores' that <br /> and was there anything I wanted to <br /> tell 'Dolores,' and I knew I'd just <br /> be telling it to the old bat. And <br /> even if somehow Doris could hear, it <br /> wouldn't be on account of this so-<br /> called medium.<br /><br /> APARTMENT HALLWAY<br /><br /> Ed is leaving.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> She was a phony. Just another gabber.<br /><br /> EXT. TENEMENT<br /><br /> Ed emerges from the building.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I was turning into Ann Nirdlinger, <br /> Big Dave's wife. I had to turn my <br /> back on the old lady, on the veils, <br /> on the ghosts, on the dead, before <br /> they all sucked me in...<br /><br /> Ed disappears into the night.<br /><br /> ABUNDAS HOUSE<br /><br /> It is night. We are looking through the screen door. Walter <br /> Abundas sits in yellow lamplight by a small table on the <br /> side of the staircase, over which papers are strewn. He is <br /> murmuring into the telephone as he examines the papers, <br /> glasses halfway down his nose, a drink in one hand.<br /><br /> Ed's hand enters to rap on the door. Walter looks up, sets <br /> the phone down and comes to the door.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Ed, how're you holding up?<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'm OK, Walter, thanks.<br /><br /> Walter opens the door to him.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm so damn sorry about your loss. <br /> Terrible thing. Just damn terrible.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Birdy's in the parlor--I'm on long <br /> distance here.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Sure, Walter. Thanks.<br /><br /> PARLOR<br /><br /> Birdy also has papers spread across a table in front of her: <br /> homework. She looks up at Ed's entrance.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Hello, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Hello, Birdy.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> We haven't seen you since... I'm <br /> terribly sorry.<br /><br /> Ed sits across from her.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> We've certainly missed you.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Birdy, I've been doing a lot of <br /> thinking. There are a lot of things <br /> that haven't worked out for me. Life <br /> has dealt me some bum cards...<br /><br /> He is loading a cigarette into his mouth.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...or maybe I just haven't played <br /> 'em right, I don't know. But you're--<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Pop doesn't like people smoking in <br /> here.<br /><br /> Ed stares. This takes a moment to register.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Oh. Sorry.<br /><br /> Birdy lowers her voice:<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Sometimes I have a cigarette in here <br /> when he's away. Never when he's in <br /> the house. He can smell it a mile <br /> off.<br /><br /> Ed is pocketing the cigarette.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Sure... Sure, it's his house.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> That's what he keeps telling me.<br /><br /> Ed smiles thinly.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Anyway, uh... my point is you're <br /> young. A kid really, your whole life <br /> ahead of you. But it's not too soon <br /> to start thinking... to start making <br /> opportunities for yourself. Before <br /> it all washes away.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Well, sure, I guess. Pop says so <br /> too. I work pretty hard at school.<br /><br /> ED<br /> That's swell. However, the music, if <br /> you want to pursue it, well, the <br /> lessons from Mrs Swan, they'll only <br /> take you so far. There's this guy in <br /> San Francisco, I've made inquiries, <br /> everybody says he's the best. Trained <br /> lots of people who've gone on to <br /> have big concert careers, symphony <br /> orchestras, the works. His name is <br /> Jacques Carcanogues. I'm not sure <br /> I'm pronouncing it right. Anyway, <br /> he's a Frenchman.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Boy.<br /><br /> ED<br /> You've got talent, anyone could see <br /> that. And he's the best. If he thinks <br /> a student has talent, he'll take 'em <br /> on for next to nothing. You're a <br /> cinch to be accepted, I could cover <br /> the cost of the lessons, like I said, <br /> it's pretty modest--<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Oh, Mr Crane--<br /><br /> ED<br /> I have to do it. I can't stand by <br /> and watch more things go down the <br /> drain. You're young, you don't <br /> understand.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Geez, Mr Crane, I don't know. I hadn't <br /> really thought about a career or <br /> stuff.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I know you haven't. Look, just go <br /> meet him as a favor to me. I talked <br /> to this guy. Hope I pronounced his <br /> name right. He sounded very busy, <br /> but he's not a bad egg; he loosened <br /> up a little when I told him how <br /> talented you are. He agreed to see <br /> you this Saturday. He said maybe you <br /> were a diamond in the rough. His <br /> words.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Geez, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Just see him, as a favor to me.<br /><br /> STUDIO WAITING ROOM<br /><br /> It is a small square room with straightbacked chairs set <br /> against the walls. At the far end of the room a door leads <br /> to a studio from which piano music dully emanates; it is a <br /> fast and difficult piece of music.<br /><br /> Ed sits waiting. He is the only adult; two or three youngsters <br /> of different ages sit apparently waiting for their lessons.<br /><br /> Ed looks at one of the waiting boys in a white shirt and bow <br /> tie. He is perhaps eleven. His hair is greased back in a <br /> Junior Contour.<br /><br /> Another boy, in a cardigan sweater, sports a Butch.<br /><br /> The piano piece is ending. There is the murmur of voices. <br /> Dull footsteps.<br /><br /> The studio door swings open.<br /><br /> A small man in a rumpled black suit smudged with cigarette <br /> ash is bowing Birdy out the door. He has a goatee and a <br /> knotted foulard. His eyes flit over the waiting room and <br /> settle on Ed.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> ...You are ze fahzer?<br /><br /> ED<br /> No. Uh... family friend.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I am Carcanogues.<br /><br /> He smiles at Birdy.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...You wait, my dear?<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Sure, Mr K.<br /><br /> A jerk of Carcanogues' head bids Ed rise.<br /><br /> STUDIO<br /><br /> Ed enters, uncomfortable. He looks around, taking in the <br /> high-ceilinged space, which is dominated by a grand piano.<br /><br /> Carcanogues has followed him and now runs water from a tap.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> I speak to you on ze phone, non? You <br /> have a special interest in music?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Ah yes, a music lover.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Well, I don't pretend to be an expert.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Ah.<br /><br /> He uncaps a small bottle of pills, shakes two into his palm, <br /> tosses them back and washes them down.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> ...Ah-hah.<br /><br /> He twists a cigarette into a long holder, sticks it in his <br /> mouth and lights it.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> ...Mm.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Well? How'd she do?<br /><br /> This elicits a Gallic frown of consideration.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Ze girl?... She seems like a very <br /> nice girl. She *plays*, monsieur, <br /> like a very nice girl. Ztinks. Very <br /> nice girl. However, ztinks.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't understand.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Is not so hard to understand. Her <br /> playing, very polite.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Did she make mistakes?<br /><br /> Another gallic moue:<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Mistake, no, it says E-flat, she <br /> plays E-flat. Ping-ping. Hit the <br /> right note, always. Very proper.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I don't understand, no mistakes, <br /> she's just a kid--I thought you taught <br /> the, uh, the--<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Ah, but that is just what I cannot <br /> teach. I cannot teach her to have a <br /> soul. Look, monsieur, play the piano, <br /> is not about the fingers. *Done* <br /> with the fingers, yes. But the music, <br /> she is inside. Inside, monsieur...<br /><br /> A two-handed gesture, indicating his heart.<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> ...The music start here...<br /><br /> He waggles his fingers:<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> ...come out through here; then, <br /> maybe...<br /><br /> His wave takes in the heavens:<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> ...she can go up there.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Well, look, I don't claim to be an <br /> expert--<br /><br /> CARCANOGUES<br /> Then you listen to me, for I am <br /> expert. That girl, she give me a <br /> headache. She cannot play. Nice girl. <br /> Very clever hands. Nice girl. Someday, <br /> I think, maybe, she make a very good <br /> typist.<br /><br /> DRIVING<br /><br /> We are driving through the rural countryside of northern <br /> California. It is a two-lane road with little traffic. Sun <br /> strobes the car through the passing trees.<br /><br /> Ed drives, glaring. Birdy, next to him, seems unperturbed, <br /> ever cheerful.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> ...I stank, didn't I?<br /><br /> ED<br /> He didn't say that.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> But more or less.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Look, I'm no expert, but--<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> It doesn't matter, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> ED<br /> I'm sure there's a dozen teachers <br /> better than this clown. More <br /> qualified. Goddamn phony.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> But it doesn't matter. Really, I'm <br /> not interested in playing music <br /> professionally.<br /><br /> Ed looks at her.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> ...I'm not certain I'll have a career <br /> at all, and if I do, I'll probably <br /> be a veterinarian.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Uh-huh.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> I do appreciate the interest you've <br /> taken, though.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Ah... it's nothing.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> I'm only sorry that I didn't play <br /> better for you. I know it would've <br /> made you happy. You know what you <br /> are?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Huh.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> You're an enthusiast.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Huh. Yeah. Maybe...<br /><br /> He loads a cigarette into his mouth.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...I guess I've been all wet.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> But I do appreciate it, Mr Crane...<br /><br /> She reaches over to touch his thigh.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> ...I wanted to make you happy.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Birdy--<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> It's OK...<br /><br /> She is leaning over his lap.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> ...I want to do it, Mr Crane.<br /><br /> Ed is shocked:<br /><br /> ED<br /> Birdy!<br /><br /> He reaches awkwardly, wanting to push her away but not wanting <br /> to be violent.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...No, please.<br /><br /> BIRDY<br /> Please, Mr Crane, it's OK, please--<br /><br /> The blare of an oncoming horn.<br /><br /> Ed looks up, one hand struggling with Birdy, the other on <br /> the wheel.<br /><br /> The oncoming car.<br /><br /> Ed swerves, tires screech into a skid, Birdy screams.<br /><br /> CRASH: the car hits a roadside tree.<br /><br /> BLACK.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> Time slows down right before an <br /> accident, and I had time to think <br /> about things. I thought about what <br /> an undertaker had told me once--that <br /> your hair keeps growing, for a while <br /> anyway, after you die...<br /><br /> A hubcap is skipping in slow motion along the road and then <br /> off the road, down an embankment.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and then it stops. I thought, <br /> what keeps it growing? Is it like a <br /> plant in soil? What goes out of the <br /> soil? The soul? And when does the <br /> hair realize that it's gone?<br /><br /> We are high, looking down at Ed, who is motionless, head <br /> resting on the steering wheel of the stopped car. We boom <br /> down toward his, slowly rotating as we move in. As we move <br /> we lose focus; Ed becomes more and more blurry.<br /><br /> The blurry shape is now slowly spinning away from us, a bright <br /> revolving disc spinning up into the darkness until it <br /> disappears, leaving only black.<br /><br /> FADE IN<br /><br /> Ed sits on the front porch of his bungalow, smoking a <br /> cigarette in the late afternoon light.<br /><br /> A dog barks next door; a distant screen door slams; children <br /> are playing somewhere up the street.<br /><br /> Ed looks down at his watch. It is 5:30.<br /><br /> Something attracts his attention: at the foot of his driveway <br /> stands a man in a cream-colored suit and hat. He is a small <br /> figure, perfectly still, staring at the gravel driveway.<br /><br /> After a beat he lifts up a small clipboard, squints at the <br /> house, and jots something down.<br /><br /> He finishes writing, screws the lid back onto his pen, and <br /> is sticking it into a breast pocket when he realizes he is <br /> being watched. His manner instantly warms.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Hello!<br /><br /> ED<br /> Hello.<br /><br /> The man starts up the walk.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I notice you still have peastone in <br /> your driveway.<br /><br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well, of course, you don't have to <br /> rejuvenate that once every couple of <br /> years, don't you, when the peastone <br /> thins out.<br /><br /> Ed shrugs.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...Where does it go, huh? Like the <br /> odd sock. But you *know* where it <br /> goes--you probably pick pieces of it <br /> off your lawn all the time, churn it <br /> up with your lawn mower, sweep it <br /> off the walk here--pain in the neck.<br /><br /> Ed shrugs again.<br /><br /> ED<br /> Doesn't bother me.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well, have you ever considered tar <br /> Macadam? People think it's just for <br /> public works and commercial purposes, <br /> roads, parking lots, so forth...<br /><br /> A car pulls into the drive.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...but we have the technology now to <br /> bring it to the homeowner, the <br /> individual consumer, at a very <br /> reasonable price.<br /><br /> Doris emerges from the car.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...Mind if I show you the <br /> specifications?--Evening, ma'am.<br /><br /> Doris gives him a hard look.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> What're *you* selling?<br /><br /> The man gives a practiced laugh.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well, ma'am, I was just telling your <br /> husband here about tar Macadam, for <br /> your home driveway here--these are <br /> the specs...<br /><br /> Doris takes the brochure he has pulled from a small case.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...It's the modern way to--<br /><br /> Doris tears the brochure in half and hands it back.<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Get lost.<br /><br /> The man gazes at her. His smile fades fast and he and Doris <br /> stare at each other, two hard cases.<br /><br /> He turns stiffly and stalks off.<br /><br /> Once his gaze has broken, Doris turns as well. She stalks up <br /> the stairs to the porch and bangs through the screen front <br /> door of the house, letting it slam behind her.<br /><br /> Quiet, early evening.<br /><br /> Ed sits, smoking.<br /><br /> At length he rises and goes in to the house.<br /><br /> INT. BUNGALOW<br /><br /> It is dim, no lights on yet. We hear banging and clomping <br /> from the kitchen.<br /><br /> Doris emerges with a clinking sound, chasing ice cubes around <br /> a drink with a swizzle stick. Her face is still hard-set.<br /><br /> With a groan of its old upholstery springs she sits onto the <br /> couch.<br /><br /> Ed sits as well. He draws on his cigarette, drags an ashtray <br /> closer on the coffee table.<br /><br /> She sips. He puffs.<br /><br /> ED<br /> ...Doris--<br /><br /> DORIS<br /> Nah, don't say anything. I'm alright.<br /><br /> The sit. The light is failing. The clink of ice cubes.<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> In the black we hear machine noise of indistinct origin. As <br /> the noise becomes more defined we also hear shouting, faint, <br /> distant:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Are you there? Are you awake?<br /><br /> A blurry white disc is fading up. As it focuses it resolves <br /> into the reflector worn by a white-robed doctor, leaning in <br /> close.<br /><br /> He leans away, murmuring:<br /><br /> DOCTOR<br /> He's coming around. Can you talk, <br /> sir? These men have to talk.<br /><br /> Ed is lying in a hospital bed. His face is bandaged and one <br /> side is grotesquely swollen. The machine noise is life <br /> support.<br /><br /> DOCTOR<br /> ...Sir? Are you awake? He's awake.<br /><br /> Two police officers, Persky and Krebs, lean in.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Are you awake?... Is he awake?<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> Crane? We have to tell you, as soon <br /> as you're conscious--is he conscious?<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> His eyes are open.<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> Uh... you're under arrest.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> As soon as the doctor lets us, we <br /> gotta move you. Does he understand <br /> that? We're supposed to tell him. <br /> Are you conscious?<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> You'll go to the prison hospital.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Under arrest for murder.<br /><br /> Ed's speech is thickened by injuries and anesthesia:<br /><br /> ED<br /> Birdy... I didn't mean to--<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> What'd he say?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Birdy...<br /><br /> DOCTOR<br /> Birdy. The girl. No, the girl's OK. <br /> Broken clavicle.<br /><br /> The doctor leans in.<br /><br /> DOCTOR<br /> ...That's the collarbone, Crane. <br /> Broken. She's OK though.<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> So he understands? He's under arrest <br /> for murder?<br /><br /> ED<br /> Big Dave.<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> What'd he say? Does he understand?<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> He said OK. Is that what he said?<br /><br /> Krebs raises his voice:<br /><br /> KREBS<br /> You're under arrest for the murder <br /> of Creighton Tolliver! Do you <br /> understand?<br /><br /> The voices are fading away:<br /><br /> PERSKY<br /> ...Does he understand?...<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> UNDERWATER<br /><br /> Light glimmers in water. We are drifting down, down, down.<br /><br /> We bring in languidly waving arms--the arms of a child, waving <br /> to keep himself submerged. It is a ten-year-old boy staring, <br /> wide-eyed, at something in front of him. Bubbles <br /> intermittently stream from his open mouth.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> The pansy. A kid diving at a waterhole <br /> outside of town had found his car...<br /><br /> The reverse shows the car, also submerged, with Creighton <br /> Tolliver inside, also wide-eyed, his hairpiece attached at <br /> only one corner, the rest of it waving free.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...They'd winched it out...<br /><br /> TRACKING<br /><br /> We are tracking laterally across a line of faces: seated <br /> men. The men rise.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and found he'd been beaten, just <br /> like Big Dave said--beaten to death...<br /><br /> We arc around a judge entering the chamber through the small <br /> door behind his raised bench.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Inside the briefcase were the <br /> partnership papers I'd signed...<br /><br /> The judge seats himself and we resume out lateral track on <br /> the jury, now reseating itself.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...showing that I'd given him ten <br /> grand. For the district attorney...<br /><br /> In response to a prompt from the judge the district attorney <br /> rises to read the charge. His voice plays distantly, muted, <br /> the words not discernible under the continuing voice-over.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...that made it fall into place: I'd <br /> gotten Doris to steal the money, the <br /> pansy had gotten wise somehow, and <br /> I'd had to kill him to cover my <br /> tracks. I was in a spot. I called in <br /> Freddy Riedenschneider...<br /><br /> Riedenschneider rises into frame at the defense table. As he <br /> listens to the charge:<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...and signed the house over to him. <br /> He said he didn't ordinarily work <br /> that cheap, but he figured he owed <br /> me something since the last one hadn't <br /> played out...<br /><br /> The drone of the D.A. has ended and Riedenschneider's echoing <br /> voice drops into the hole:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Not guilty, your honor...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> I tried to tell him the whole story, <br /> but Riedenschneider stopped me. He <br /> said the story made his head hurt, <br /> and anyway he didn't see any way of <br /> using it without putting me on the <br /> hot seat for the murder of Big Dave...<br /><br /> Riedenschneider claps Ed reassuringly on the shoulder as he <br /> sits next to him. Ed still wears a cast on one arm and one <br /> leg.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...He told me not to worry, though, <br /> said he'd think of something, Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider wouldn't let me down.<br /><br /> JAIL<br /><br /> We are tracking in on Ed, lying on the bunk in his cell.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...They put me on twenty-four-hour <br /> deathwatch...<br /><br /> A reverse track shows a guard on a tilted-back straightbacked <br /> chair, outside the cell door, staring at Ed.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...so that I couldn't Cheat Justice <br /> like they said my wife had done...<br /><br /> COURTROOM<br /><br /> The district attorney is rising again, this time to address <br /> the jury.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...But in front of the jury they had <br /> it that Doris was a saint; the whole <br /> plan had been mine, I was a Svengali <br /> who'd forced Doris to join my criminal <br /> enterprise...<br /><br /> The district attorney is pointing at Ed.<br /><br /> DISTRICT ATTORNEY<br /> ...cynically used his own wife as a <br /> cat's paw in a scheme of diabolical <br /> cunning...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> On and on it went, how I'd used Doris <br /> and then let her take the fall. That <br /> stuff smarted because some of it was <br /> close to being true...<br /><br /> The district attorney seats himself. The jury's eyes turn to <br /> Freddy Riedenschneider, who studies the tabletop in front of <br /> him, either digesting the D.A.'s opening statement, or seeking <br /> inspiration for his own.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...And then it was Freddy <br /> Riedenschneider's turn.<br /><br /> Riedenschneider rises, paces, begins to talk.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I gotta hand it to him, he tossed <br /> a lot of sand in their eyes. He talked <br /> about how I'd lost my place in the <br /> universe...<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...a puny player on the great world's <br /> stage...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...how I was too ordinary to be the <br /> criminal mastermind the D.A. made me <br /> out to be, how there was some greater <br /> scheme at work that the state had <br /> yet to unravel, and he threw in some <br /> of the old truth stuff he hadn't had <br /> a chance to trot out for Doris...<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...who among us is in a position to <br /> say...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...He told them to look at me--look <br /> at me close. That the closer they <br /> looked the less sense it would all <br /> make, that I wasn't the kind of guy <br /> to kill a guy, that I was the barber, <br /> for Christ's sake...<br /><br /> We pan the jury, solemnly listening to Riedenschneider.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I was just like them, an ordinary <br /> man, guilty of living in a world <br /> that had no place for me, guilty of <br /> wanting to be a dry cleaner, sure, <br /> but not of murder...<br /><br /> Riedenschneider is striding energetically into the foreground <br /> to point a finger directly at Ed's face.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...He said I *was* Modern Man, and <br /> if they voted to convict me, well, <br /> they'd be practically cinching the <br /> noose around their own necks. He <br /> told them to look not at the facts <br /> but at the meaning of the facts, and <br /> then he said the facts *had* no <br /> meaning. It was a pretty good speech, <br /> and even had me going...<br /><br /> A tap on the shoulder turns Ed around.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...until Frankie interrupted it.<br /><br /> Frank socks Ed, sending him clattering to the floor.<br /><br /> A bailiff immediately restrains him, but Frank looms over <br /> Ed, bellowing through tears:<br /><br /> FRANK<br /> What kind of man *are* you? What <br /> kind of man *are* you?<br /><br /> Riedenschneider interposes his body between Frank's and Ed's, <br /> loudly protesting:<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> Move for a mistrial, your honor! <br /> Move for a mistrial! This outrageous <br /> display cannot help but prejudice...<br /><br /> Ed moves to get up, but Riedenschneider, with a sidelong <br /> glance and furtive gesture, motions for him to stay on the <br /> floor.<br /><br /> RIEDENSCHNEIDER<br /> ...and inflame the passions of these <br /> twelve fine men and women...<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Well, he got his mistrial, but <br /> the well had run dry. There was <br /> nothing left to mortgage; <br /> Riedenschneider went home and the <br /> court appointed Lloyd Garroway...<br /><br /> Ed is now standing next to a distinguished older gentleman <br /> who enters the plea in the new trial:<br /><br /> GARROWAY<br /> Your honor, we plead guilty, with <br /> extenuating circumstances.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...who threw me on the mercy of the <br /> court. It was my only chance, he <br /> said. I guess that meant I never had <br /> a chance...<br /><br /> The judge starts droning the sentence:<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> ...a menace to society... a predator <br /> on his own wife, his business <br /> associates, on an innocent young <br /> girl... social contract... line <br /> crossed... the offender forfeits the <br /> right to his own life... I hereby <br /> order that you be taken to a place <br /> of confinement...<br /><br /> PRISON HALLWAY<br /><br /> We are tracking down the hall.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> He wasn't buying any of that Modern <br /> Man stuff, or the uncertainty stuff, <br /> or any of the mercy stuff either. <br /> No, he was going by the book, and <br /> the book said I got the chair...<br /><br /> Ed is in the cell at the end of the hall, lying on his bunk, <br /> hands clasped behind his head.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...so here I am. At first I didn't <br /> know how I got here. I knew step by <br /> step of course, which is what I've <br /> told you, step by step; but I couldn't <br /> see any pattern...<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> Ed sits at the little table next to his bunk, writing.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Now that I'm near the end, I'm <br /> glad that this men's magazine paid <br /> me to tell my story. Writing it has <br /> helped me sort it all out. They're <br /> paying five cents a word, so you'll <br /> pardon me if sometimes I've told you <br /> more than you wanted to know...<br /><br /> Recent issues of the magazine, Gent, and its sister <br /> publication Nugget lie on the little desk. Their lurid covers <br /> depict feature stories like I WAS ABDUCTED BY ALIENS and <br /> AFTER TEN YEARS OF NORMAL LIFE, I DISCOVER I AM AN ESCAPED <br /> LUNATIC.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...But now, all the disconnected <br /> things seems to hook up.<br /><br /> Ed sets aside the pen, lies down on his bunk, and closes his <br /> eyes.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...That's the funny thing about going <br /> away, knowing the date you're gonna <br /> die--and the men's magazine wanted <br /> me to tell how that felt...<br /><br /> We hear a pulsing treble hum. Ed opens his eyes.<br /><br /> The door to his cell is open.<br /><br /> He rises and goes through the door.<br /><br /> PRISON HALLWAY<br /><br /> Ed, alone, walks down the hallway. The pulsing treble hum is <br /> louder.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Well, it's like pulling away from <br /> the maze. While you're in the maze <br /> you go through willy-nilly, turning <br /> where you think you have to turn, <br /> banging into dead ends, one thing <br /> after another...<br /><br /> PRISON YARD<br /><br /> Ed emerges into the empty prison yard ringed by high stone <br /> walls. A hard spotlight shines down from above. Ed squints <br /> into it.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...But get some distance on it, and <br /> all those twists and turns, why, <br /> they're the shape of your life. It's <br /> hard to explain...<br /><br /> The spotlight is from a hovering flying saucer. We see its <br /> revolving underside and, as it irregularly cants, a bit of <br /> its top bubble.<br /><br /> After spinning briefly, it tips and flies away, carrying the <br /> tremolo hum with it.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...But seeing it whole gives you <br /> some peace.<br /><br /> Ed turns and re-enters the prison.<br /><br /> ED'S CELL<br /><br /> Ed is lying on his bunk, eyes closed, hands clasped behind <br /> his head. A hand enters to shake him awake.<br /><br /> Three men loom over him: two guards and another man wearing <br /> a surplice and holding a bible.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...The men's magazine also asked <br /> about remorse. Yeah, I guess I'm <br /> sorry about the pain I caused other <br /> people...<br /><br /> PRISON HALLWAY<br /><br /> He is walking the last mile.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...but I don't regret anything. Not <br /> a thing. I used to. I used to regret <br /> being the barber.<br /><br /> A door at the end opens:<br /><br /> An electric chair. Straps open, and waiting:<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I dont know where I'm being taken.<br /><br /> Ed is placed in the chair.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...I don't know what waits for me, <br /> beyond the earth and sky. But I'm <br /> not afraid to go.<br /><br /> A man stoops at his feet. He has a bucket of water and a <br /> straight razor.<br /><br /> He waggles the razor in the water and starts shaving a patch <br /> of Ed's calf.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Maybe the things I don't understand <br /> will be clearer there, like when a <br /> fog blows away...<br /><br /> Ed watches as the razor makes the trip from his leg to the <br /> bucket of water, which begins to spot with small floating <br /> hairs.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...Maybe Doris will be there.<br /><br /> They are strapping him in, connecting the electrodes.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...And maybe there I can tell her...<br /><br /> The men withdraw.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...all those things...<br /><br /> A thin man in a dark suit and fedora stands by the switch. <br /> As he reaches for the switch, Ed looks up into the light.<br /><br /> ED (V.O.)<br /> ...they don't have words for here.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> Man Who Wasn't There, The<br /><br />Writers : Joel Coen Ethan Coen<br />Genres : Comedy Drama CrimeEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-48914569468845520042007-05-17T14:18:00.004-07:002007-05-17T14:26:34.779-07:00"THE LADYKILLERS""THE LADYKILLERS"<br /><br /> Screenplay by<br /><br /> Joel Coen and Ethan Coen<br /><br /> Based on the 1955 movie<br /><br /> "The Ladykillers"<br /><br /> by William Rose<br /><br /> <br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - DAY<br /><br /> A BOAT<br /><br /> Specifically, a garbage scow.<br /><br /> We see it from ON HIGH, chugging down the placid but mighty <br /> Mississippi.<br /><br /> Head credits play over COVERAGE of the garbage scow. No sound, <br /> except for an incongruously heroic score.<br /><br /> The COVERAGE is a little rough, coarse-grained; along with <br /> the overbearing score it almost suggests an industrial film <br /> rather than a feature.<br /><br /> One piece of sound -- the toot of the boat's horn -- is <br /> obviously library. And not a new library either.<br /><br /> The garbage scow passes under a bridge spanning the broad, <br /> sluggish waters, and proceeds on to its landfill, a steaming <br /> river island. Disturbed gulls and other scavenger birds rise <br /> from where they were picking through trash. Their squawks, <br /> like the boat horn, are not quite believable as SYNC.<br /><br /> The head credits end as the anthemic music resolves.<br /><br /> EXT. SAUCIER, MISSISSIPPI - DAY<br /><br /> AN OLD HOUND DOG<br /><br /> lies on the weather-grayed and -roughened planking of a front <br /> porch. The porch is half-shaded from the noonday sun. It is <br /> quiet except for the chirr of heat bugs, close by, and, very <br /> distant, many voices in chorus, engaged in divine worship in <br /> a Baptist church sufficiently far away that vagaries of breeze <br /> fan them in and out of audibility.<br /><br /> We once again hear the toot of the scow's horn, distant now <br /> and played as real, not slapdash effect. At this, the dog <br /> lifts his nose to catch the breeze, sniffs, and then, whining, <br /> lowers his head to the floor and covers his snout with his <br /> forepaws. He huffs briefly and goes to sleep.<br /><br /> We DRIFT UP to show that the dog is sleeping before the<br /><br /> SAUCIER WORM STORE<br /><br /> Your source for worms, lures, etcetera, etcetera...<br /><br /> We TRAVEL OVER TO REVEAL that the modest one-story structure <br /> houses two establishments; its other front door leads to the<br /><br /> SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING.<br /><br /> A campaign sign in the window on the municipal side shows a <br /> black man of late middle-age beaming and giving the viewer a <br /> thumbs-up:<br /><br /> RE-ELECT WAYNE WYNER SHERIFF/He Is Too Old to Go to Work.<br /><br /> INT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY<br /><br /> We hear snoring on top of a low, steady hissing sound.<br /><br /> We are DRIFTING toward the door of the lock-up, which stands <br /> open. The small cell is empty, its bed neatly made.<br /><br /> A KEY<br /><br /> We are ARCING slowly around a jailer's key on a ring that <br /> hangs from a nail. The OFFSCREEN snoring and whirring <br /> continues.<br /><br /> The TRACK'S SHIFTING ANGLE now makes the light catch a spider <br /> web spun between the key and the wall.<br /><br /> POLICE SCANNER<br /><br /> We DRIFT across the face of the radio. The peaceful steady <br /> hissing jumps in louder at the CUT: it is uninterrupted: a <br /> transmissionless, crimeless, misdemeanorless idle radio hiss.<br /><br /> The snoring is also louder here. As we TRAVEL OFF the radio <br /> we are COMING ONTO a pair of feet propped up on the desktop.<br /><br /> They belong to SHERIFF WYNER, tipped back in his chair, <br /> fingers laced on his chest, head lolling forward.<br /><br /> As the MOVING CAMERA FINALLY ENDS on him, there is the ring <br /> of a telephone -- muffled, not present.<br /><br /> It nevertheless rouses the sheriff who almost strangles on a <br /> snore as he awakes, and then rocks forward to pick up his <br /> phone.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Sheriff Wyner...<br /><br /> The muffled ringing continues; the sheriff looks, puzzled, <br /> at the phone. Now the ringing stops and we hear a muffled <br /> voice next door:<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Worms.<br /><br /> The sheriff replaces the phone, leans back again, adjusts <br /> his hat, and is about to go back to sleep when we hear the <br /> front door open.<br /><br /> The sheriff looks and reacts with genuine, if momentary, <br /> fear.<br /><br /> He manages to compose himself and give the intruder a smile:<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Afternoon, Miz Munson.<br /><br /> Entering is an elderly black woman in a floral print dress <br /> and fruited bonnet.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Afternoon, Sheriff. You know the <br /> Funthes boy?<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> ...Mackatee Funthes?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> No no, WeeMack! Mackatee's eldest!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Oh yeah, believe I do.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well, he's a good boy but he done <br /> gone down to the Costco in Pascagoula <br /> and got hisself a blastah -- and he <br /> been playin' that music!<br /><br /> Wyner is not sure where this is going:<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Uh-huh...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Loud!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Well--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> "Left my wallet in El Segundo!"<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> He--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Songs like that!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Uh-huh...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Hippity-hop music!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> I could--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You know they call it hippity-hop <br /> music, but it don't make me wanna go <br /> hippity-hop!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> No ma'am--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> And Othar don't like that music <br /> neither!<br /><br /> Sheriff Wyner now displays an exaggerated solicitousness:<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> It's been disturbin' Othar then, has <br /> it?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> How could it help but do! That kind <br /> of music! You know what they call <br /> colored folks in them songs? Have <br /> you got any idea?<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> I don't think I--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> NIGGAZ! I don't wanna say the word. <br /> I won't say it twice, I'll tell you <br /> that. I say it one time.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Yes ma'am.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> In the course a swearin' out my <br /> complaint.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Yes'm--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> NIGGAZ! Two thousand years after <br /> Jesus! Thirty years after Martin <br /> Luther King! The age of Montel! Sweet <br /> lord a-mercy, izzat where we at?<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Mm-mm--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> WeeMack down to Pascagoula buyin' a <br /> big thumpy stereo player?! So he can <br /> listen to that word in the house <br /> next to mine? Sheriff, you gotta <br /> help that boy!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Help him?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You gotta take an innarest! EXTEND <br /> that helpin' hand!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> (dubious)<br /> Well, we're here to help...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well God bless ya. Don't wanna be <br /> tried and found wantin'.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> No ma'am.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Many many tunkalow parzen, Sheriff <br /> Wyner. Many many tunkalow parzen!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Many what ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You have been tried and found wanting. <br /> Don't want that writin' on the wall!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> No ma'am--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Feast a Balthazar!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Mm-hm.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> John The Apostle said: Behold there <br /> is a stranger in our midst, come to <br /> destroy us!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Yes ma'am.<br /><br /> EXT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson closes the door behind her. She wags a paper fan <br /> and mutters:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> He's a good man. Just needs <br /> instruction. Dog, you in peoples' <br /> way.<br /><br /> The dog stirs with a whine and ambles off.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> With a neatly tended garden. It is the last house on a street <br /> of other similarly modest but well maintained homes; beyond <br /> it the street disappears down a bluff. The empty space beyond <br /> suggests a wide river, and indeed we can see the top of an <br /> anchored, gaudily painted paddle-boat poking over the rise. <br /> The paddle-boat is apparently anchored at the near bank of <br /> the river.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is entering by the gate. She stops in the garden <br /> and stoops to pull a tiny weed marring the otherwise perfect <br /> row of flowers.<br /><br /> I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson lets herself in. A cat lopes up to her, the bell <br /> around its neck tinkling, and leans mewing into her leg.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You need somethin' to eat, Angel?<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson hand-cranks a can opener around a tin of cat <br /> food.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm... gizzards...<br /><br /> The cat paces back and forth between her legs, leaning into <br /> them and purring, responding to the snap of tin as the cover <br /> comes off the can.<br /><br /> The can contains cubed processed gizzard in a gelatinous <br /> medium like the stuff that clings to gefilte fish.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Above the fireplace is an oil portrait of a serious-looking <br /> black man of late middle-age with a neatly groomed mustache <br /> starting to gray. A couple of candles sit on the mantel below <br /> the portrait, giving it the semblance of a shrine.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson enters and lights the candles.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Othar, I went'n complained about <br /> WeeMack, I hope it'll do some good. <br /> That boy hangin' by a thread! Over <br /> the pit! Fiery pit! "I Left My Wallet <br /> in El Segundo"!<br /><br /> She shakes out the match and sits in a rocker and takes up <br /> her knitting. As she sits she gives an audible groan.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Sixty-seven years of life, forty-<br /> six years of marriage, you mean to <br /> tell me you never one time suffered <br /> from piles? It's the human condition, <br /> most humans anyway. Like that ball <br /> player said: world's got two kinds <br /> of folks -- them that's got piles <br /> and them that's gonna get 'em. But <br /> you was always healthy as an ox...<br /><br /> There is the distant moan of a riverboat horn.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Passed on before you got piles. <br /> Mmmmhmm. Thank the Lord you wasn't <br /> sick. You don't wanna sicken 'n die. <br /> No, you wanna pass nice 'n peaceful... <br /> go to sleep one night, wake up in <br /> the glory land... woof...<br /><br /> A gust of wind hums under the eaves; the candles below the <br /> portrait flicker. As Mrs. Munson looks around the room, <br /> vaguely towards the ceiling, sensing a negative aura, the <br /> cat arches its back and hisses.<br /><br /> At this moment the doorbell rings.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Well who's that now, Pickles?<br /><br /> She grunts as she hoists herself out of the chair.<br /><br /> I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT<br /><br /> She opens the door--<br /><br /> A draft--<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The candles below the portrait of Othar go out, sending up <br /> thin wisps of smoke.<br /><br /> I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT<br /><br /> The cat shrieks and bolts out the door, past the man on the <br /> stoop: GOLDTHWAIT HIGGINSON DORR, III.<br /><br /> He is a middle-aged Southern gentleman wearing a panama hat <br /> and a cape over a cream-colored suit. He has dark circles <br /> under his eyes. The smile he attempts, mournful yet courtly, <br /> is wiped away by:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> PICKLES!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Go get 'im!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I do beg your pardon?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Go get Pickles, I didn't let 'im <br /> out!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> (tasting the name)<br /> Pickles...<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> Dorr walks down the stoop followed by the old lady.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Oh, he's up the tree again. Your <br /> gonna have to shimmy on up.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I am so terribly sorry, madam. But <br /> won't the feline eventually tire of <br /> his lonely perch and, pining for his <br /> master's affection, return on his <br /> own initiative?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Huh? No, he won't come down less you <br /> fetch him. He'd set there til Gabriel <br /> blows his horn if someone didn't <br /> shimmy up. Up with you now!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well then couldn't we perhaps offer <br /> him kitty treats and enticements, or <br /> if not foodstuffs perhaps squeaky <br /> little toys of the kind formerly <br /> manufactured in Hong Kong but now <br /> produced in the other so-called <br /> "Little Tigers"...<br /><br /> His fingers form the quotes.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...of the Pacific Rim? The point <br /> bein', do we have to actually ascend <br /> the tree--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Look, I don't want no doubletalk. If <br /> you ain't gonna fetch him down I <br /> guess I gotta call the po-lice...<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Police...<br /><br /> His face darkens.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> They ain't gonna be happy. Every <br /> time they come fetch him down they <br /> swear they won't do it no more...<br /><br /> Dorr casts his hat aside and starts awkwardly climbing the <br /> tree. He gasps as he climbs:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> No need to call the authorities. I <br /> did this often as a youth -- why, I <br /> was a positive lemur... Here, kitty...<br /><br /> The cat backs away down a branch, arching its back and <br /> hissing.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Don't upset him, now!<br /><br /> Dorr, on his stomach, inches after the cat, grunting:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I wouldn't dream of it... harmless <br /> little felix domesticus... Come to <br /> G.H...<br /><br /> The branch breaks, hinging down to slam Dorr face-first into <br /> the trunk, from where he drops the rest of the way to the <br /> ground.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Othar's portrait, upside-down, seems to be looking bemusedly <br /> down on us.<br /><br /> An OBJECTIVE ANGLE shows Dorr lying on the couch, a damp <br /> washcloth on his forehead, eyes rolled back to look at the <br /> picture.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is entering with a cup of tea. Dorr swings his <br /> feet out to sit up and accept the tea.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I thank you, madam, for your act of <br /> kindness.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well you let him out.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I certainly did and I do apologize <br /> no end. Allow me to present myself, <br /> uh, formally: Goldthwait Higginson <br /> Dorr, Ph.D.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> What, like Elmer?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Beg your pardon, ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Fudd?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> No no, Ph.D. is a mark of academic <br /> attainment. It is a degree of higher <br /> learning bestowed, in my case, in <br /> recognition of my mastery of the <br /> antique languages of Latin and Greek. <br /> I also hold a number of other advanced <br /> degrees including the baccalaureate <br /> from a school in Paris, France, called <br /> the Sorbonne.<br /><br /> Munson chuckles.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Sore bone, well I guess that's <br /> appropriate. You ever study at Bob <br /> Jones University?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I have not had that privilege.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> It's a bible school, only the finest <br /> in the country. I send them five <br /> dollars every month.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> That's very gener--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I'm on their mailing list. I'm an <br /> Angel.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Indeed.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> They list my name in the newsletter, <br /> every issue. I got the literature <br /> here, you wanna examine it.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Perhaps when my head has recovered <br /> from its... buffeting. Mrs. Munson, <br /> are you at all curious as to why I <br /> darkened your door, as the expression <br /> has it, on this lovely camelia-scented <br /> morn?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I was wondering, til you let Pickles <br /> out. Then in all the excitement--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I quite understand. The fact is that <br /> I saw the sign on your window <br /> advertising a room to let, and it is <br /> the only such sign among the houses <br /> of this charming, charming street.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Yeah, I got a room. I'm lookin' for <br /> a quiet tenant. Fifteen dollars a <br /> week<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I quite understand. Madam, you are <br /> addressing a man who is quiet -- and <br /> yet not quiet, if I may offer a <br /> riddle...<br /><br /> He sets down the teacup and rises.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Perhaps you can show me the room, <br /> Mrs. Munson, and allow me to explain.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well you can see the room, but I <br /> don't like double-talk.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson precedes him...<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE - NIGHT<br /><br /> ...up the stairs.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> You see, madam, I am currently on <br /> sabbatical from the institution where <br /> I teach -- the University of <br /> Mississippi at Hattiesburg. I am <br /> taking a year off to indulge my <br /> passion -- I don't believe that is <br /> too strong a word -- for the music <br /> of the Renaissance. I perform in -- <br /> and have the honor of directing -- a <br /> period instrument ensemble that <br /> performs at Renaissance fairs and <br /> other cultural fora...<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - DORR'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> They enter a small bedroom. There is a small bed on a brass <br /> frame, a chair, a wash basin, and cheerful yellow chintz <br /> drapes on the window. Dorr appreciatively takes it in.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...thoo-out central and southern <br /> Mississippi. We perform on the <br /> instruments for which the music was <br /> originally composed, in the belief <br /> that... that... Why, this is lovely...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Wait a minute. You got some kind of <br /> band?<br /><br /> Dorr once again wiggles quotes with his fingers:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> The word "band" would be, in this <br /> context, something of an anachronism. <br /> Though we do play together -- hence <br /> the word "ensemble" -- the nature of <br /> the music is such that one would <br /> hesitate to apply the epithet "band" <br /> with its connotations of jangling <br /> rhythm and ear-popping amplification.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> So you don't play hippity-hop, "I <br /> Left My Wallet in El Segundo," songs <br /> with the titles spelt all funny?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Madam, I shudder. I quake. The <br /> revulsion I feel for modern popular <br /> music, and all other manifestations <br /> of contemporary decay, is, I have no <br /> doubt, the equal of y'own. Why, we <br /> play music that was composed to the <br /> greater glory of God. Devotional <br /> music. Church music.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Gospel music?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well-inspired by the gospels, <br /> certainly. The vintage, of course, <br /> is no more recent than the Rococo.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Rococo, huh? Well, I guess that'd be <br /> okay.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> But I certainly don't propose to <br /> inflict our rehearsals on you. May I <br /> enquire -- do you have a root cellar?<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> Dorr ducks while descending the steep, narrow stair in order <br /> to avoid an overhead beam. He is followed by Mrs. Munson.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes, yes, yes, this looks promising...<br /><br /> He pulls on a hanging string to light a bare bulb overhead.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Little dank, ain't it?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh, indeed, but that only improves <br /> the acoustics...<br /><br /> He experimentally claps his hands.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Marvelous. These earthen walls <br /> are ideal for baffling the higher <br /> registers of the, uh, lute and, uh, <br /> sackbutt. That's why so much music <br /> of the cinquecento was played in <br /> crypts and catacombs. Yes, this will <br /> do nicely...<br /><br /> He dry-washes his hands with enthusiasm, but his tone remains <br /> mournful.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...This is perfect. This is more <br /> than perfect. I can scarcely contain <br /> my glee.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You containing it okay.<br /><br /> He starts to peel cash out of a large, well-worn billfold:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Allow me to pay you a week in advance. <br /> Allow me to pay you two weeks in <br /> advance. Allow me to pay you a month <br /> in advance. I cannot countenance the <br /> thought of these charming apartments <br /> being tenanted by someone <br /> unappreciative of their special je <br /> ne sais quoi.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> That would be a shame.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> TRACKING ON A GARBAGE CART<br /><br /> On the cart is a boombox. It is playing "I Left My Wallet in <br /> El Segundo."<br /><br /> It is being pushed through a casino empty of customers.<br /><br /> As the cart stops and a wastebasket is emptied into it:<br /><br /> VOICE (V.O.)<br /> You gotta peel this shit out sticks <br /> to the bottom.<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> shows two youngish black men in the khaki uniforms of <br /> custodians. Emptying the wastebasket is WEEMACK-MACKATEE <br /> FUNTHES. He is instructing GAWAIN MACSAM.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...You wouldn't believe this shit, <br /> sometimes even out here on the casino <br /> floor you gonna find sanitary napkin <br /> shit stuck there, Tucks, I don't <br /> know what the fuck people do while <br /> they're gambling here man.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I ain't peelin' funky shit with my <br /> human hands, man. That's a <br /> prescription for disease and viruses <br /> and shit, attackin' y'insides.<br /><br /> As they roll on we see more of the gambling floor, which is <br /> on something less than the scale of a Las Vegas casino. The <br /> floor is not yet open and dealers stack and count chips at <br /> the tables, pit bosses with clipboards looking over their <br /> shoulders. Other dealers strap on visors and sleeve garters, <br /> preparing to work.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> You gotta do it. Mr. Gudge checks <br /> everything. Man is a motherfuck. <br /> Shit -- looka this.<br /><br /> After a furtive look around he plucks a chip from the next <br /> wastebasket and slips it in his pocket.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...You keep an eye out, man. I found <br /> a hundred-dollar chip once.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Fuck that, man. I ain't pawin' through <br /> used Tucks for a fi' dollar chip.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> I said it was a hundred.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Man, your guts gonna turn to soup'n <br /> leak outcha fuckin' asshole.<br /><br /> SERVICE HALL<br /><br /> The cart jitters loudly on the dimpled plastic floor.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> This tunnel leads back onto land. To <br /> the office for all the people work <br /> for Mannex. Mannex Corporation. Owns <br /> the Lady Luck 'n three other boats...<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY<br /><br /> The two men are entering a windowless fluorescent-lit office <br /> area. A row of wooden office doors and one heavy steel door.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...This is where they think on their <br /> corporate shit, Gudge and them.<br /><br /> He stops to empty a wastebasket.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...The lights is ugly but it ain't <br /> as many Tucks.<br /><br /> He bangs on the steel door:<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...YO, motherfuck! Lemme in!<br /><br /> MUFFLED VOICE (O.S.)<br /> What's the password?<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> Kiss my ass.<br /><br /> We hear a deep chuckle and the door, steel reinforced, swings <br /> open.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - COUNTING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> The two men enter, WeeMack nodding at the security man <br /> (ELRON).<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> This is where they count the dough. <br /> You try to take any of it Elron there <br /> shoot your ass.<br /><br /> Again the security man chuckles. WeeMack picks up some fast-<br /> food wrappers.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...This place is a fuckin' pigsty. <br /> You a pig, man, nothin' but a squeaky <br /> ol' motherfuckin' pig...<br /><br /> Elron chuckles. He is an enormously fat man; his chuckles <br /> come from deep, deep in his chest.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...You got fuckin' Kocoa Krispies in <br /> ya uniform man, still got breakfast <br /> there and you eatin' motherfuckin' <br /> lunch.<br /><br /> Elron uses one hand to swipe crumbs off his uniform shirt, <br /> chuckling.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...You a disgrace before motherfuckin' <br /> God...<br /><br /> Elron chuckles.<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> ...You a motherfuck-- oh, hello Mr. <br /> Gudge, how we be this mornin'?<br /><br /> A man in a buttoned white shirt nods at him.<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Funthes. How's the new man?<br /><br /> WEEMACK<br /> He is a cleaning motherfucker, man!<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Is that a fact.<br /><br /> INT. SOUNDSTAGE - SMOKING FIELD SET - DAY<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE<br /><br /> It is a ruin of a field; charred trees point bare and gnarled <br /> limbs toward a gray sky; smoke drifts across the desolate <br /> waste.<br /><br /> Something is bounding towards us from the deep background. <br /> We BOOM DOWN as it approaches: a bulldog, running avidly <br /> toward us on its stumpy little legs.<br /><br /> An OFFSCREEN male voice (CLARK PANCAKE):<br /><br /> PANCAKE (O.S.)<br /> One, Mountain!<br /><br /> There is an explosion that showers dirt in front of the dog <br /> and makes it veer. Something strapped around the dog's neck <br /> bounces as he runs.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Scrub two! Scrub three! Four, <br /> Mountain!<br /><br /> Another explosion makes the dog veer back so that it once <br /> again bears on us. The thing that has been bouncing around <br /> its neck flies off.<br /><br /> Our CONTINUING BOOM DOWN has brought us to ground level just <br /> as the dog arrives in front of us to feed at a dog food bowl <br /> in the foreground. The yellow plastic bowl has a K-Ration <br /> logo facing us.<br /><br /> We hear another OFFSCREEN voice (DIRECTOR):<br /><br /> DIRECTOR (O.S.)<br /> Cut, goddamnit. His canteen fell <br /> off.<br /><br /> The Director's feet enter in the foreground. He hooks the <br /> dogs belly with one foot and hoists it roughly away from the <br /> bowl. We<br /><br /> CUT UP TO:<br /><br /> The DIRECTOR. He scowls down at the animal.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> ...Props!<br /><br /> A man in a Hemingway field-jacket with multiple pockets, and <br /> also a loaded utility belt, trots up toward him, his belt <br /> jangling as he runs. This is CLARK PANCAKE.<br /><br /> Pancake is a florid beer-bellied man in his late fifties. He <br /> has a full blond-grey Grizzly Adams beard and wears multi-<br /> pocketed shorts that form an ensemble with his Hemingway <br /> jacket.<br /><br /> The director is angry.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> ...The goddamn thing's canteen fell <br /> off. It would have been a good take.<br /><br /> Pancake is unperturbed.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Okay. Okay. We're prepared for that...<br /><br /> He hits a button on the radio on his belt and talks into his <br /> headset:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ... Mountain, bring Otto with the <br /> apparatus.<br /><br /> PULLING ANOTHER BULLDOG<br /><br /> He strains at his lead, muscling forward as quickly as his <br /> minder and his own stumpy little legs will allow.<br /><br /> He peers through the two goggly eyeholes of an antique leather <br /> gas mask, its pignose breathing apparatus covering his own <br /> snout. His phlegmy breathing is amplified by the device.<br /><br /> We TILT UP the lead to show his minder, MOUNTAIN GIRL. She <br /> is a solid woman in her late forties with freckles beginning <br /> to merge into age spots. Her long straw-colored hair is <br /> tightly braided into Heidi pigtails bound with red ribbon. <br /> Otherwise her dress is unadorned.<br /><br /> The director squints at the dog.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> What the hell is this?<br /><br /> Pancake's manner is professorial:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> World War I vintage gas mask. It's <br /> authentic. Strapped on, of course, <br /> so it can't fall off. The animal is <br /> free to be as active as he wants, <br /> doesn't inhibit his movement, and I <br /> think it really sells the whole <br /> doughboy thing--<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> It looks like a fucking joke.<br /><br /> Pancake stares at the director for a moment and, though not <br /> doing anything, makes a sound of concentrated effort:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Nnnnrnff!<br /><br /> The director squints at him:<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> What?<br /><br /> Pancake comes out of his trance, or whatever it was:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> No, nothing, uh... you're absolutely <br /> right, the gas mask is a whimsical <br /> concept--<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> How the hell does it eat when it <br /> gets to the Kennel Rations?<br /><br /> The dog looks up from person to person as each speaks, <br /> twisting its neck to peer through the eyeholes. Its breathing <br /> is growing louder.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, you're absolutely right–-<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Don't let the client see this.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Of course not, that would be <br /> inappropriate--<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Or the Humane fucker.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> No no--<br /><br /> The dog gets down on its knees, slowly, like a camel, <br /> breathing ever more loudly.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> They'll shut the fucking spot down, <br /> Pancake. Put the goddamn canteen <br /> back on. That says he's a soldier. <br /> Dented tin canteen. Just tie the <br /> damn thing to his collar.<br /><br /> The dog flops over into the mud.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Easiest thing in the world. I just <br /> thought -- but the canteen is much <br /> better. Good concept. Let's go with <br /> that--<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> What's he doing?<br /><br /> The dog has started to convulse.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, he's uh... Just breathe <br /> normally, Otto.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> The fucking dog can't breathe.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Oh, he can breathe, that thing is -- <br /> just breathe normally, Otto.<br /><br /> The dog's breath is rasping and horrible.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> The fucking dog cannot breathe! Get <br /> that fucking thing off him!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Of course. Easiest thing in the world.<br /><br /> He stoops and fiddles at the straps.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...It's on good and tight, I, uh... <br /> Just breathe normally, Otto.<br /><br /> He starts thumping at his pockets.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Get the fucking thing off him!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Don't have my Leatherman. Mountain! <br /> Give me your Leatherman! Chop chop!<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Get the fucking thing off him! Chitra, <br /> make sure the Humane fucker doesn't <br /> come over here! Bring him to craft <br /> services!<br /><br /> As he makes to scoop up the dog:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Good idea! Ice water, treats-–<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Not the dog, you idiot! The Humane <br /> fucker! Distract him!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Right! Of course!<br /><br /> He goes back to work on the mask.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Oh my god, he's bleeding!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> No, that's me -- I -- the <br /> Leatherman... here we go.<br /><br /> His hand gouting blood, he finally manages to get the gas <br /> mask off.<br /><br /> A crowd is starting to gather and gape. The director barks <br /> at a grip:<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Put up a couple solids here -- I <br /> don't want the client seeing this!<br /><br /> Pancake thumps on the inert dog's chest.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Come on, Otto!<br /><br /> DIRECTOR<br /> Otto is fucking dead!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Mountain, have electric run me a <br /> stinger! Don't give up on me, Otto! <br /> Mountain, I need two live leads!<br /><br /> More people crowd in to look.<br /><br /> MOUNTAIN GIRL<br /> Clark, the gennie's a hundred yards <br /> away!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Goddamnit! Otto's gonna have brain <br /> damage in about ninety seconds! Okay!<br /><br /> He pulls the dog's lips back, exposing its teeth and slobbered <br /> tongue.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Kiss of life!<br /><br /> He sucks in a deep breath and starts mouth-to-mouthing the <br /> beast.<br /><br /> EXT. FOOTBALL FIELD - DAY<br /><br /> POV<br /><br /> We are looking out from inside a football helmet; we hear <br /> the super-present breathing of the helmet's occupant. Just <br /> over the breathing we can hear the muffled shouting of a <br /> snap count.<br /><br /> We are in a crouch position looking downfield. At the call <br /> of "Hike!" we and everyone on the field spring into action.<br /><br /> We sprint downfield, the breathing becoming even louder. A <br /> very big person downfield is sprinting toward us.<br /><br /> After several yards, still on the move, we PAN quickly around <br /> to look back for the quarterback. Barely visible among <br /> converging bodies, he is releasing the football toward someone <br /> else.<br /><br /> Easing up on the run we PAN BACK around to look downfield <br /> just as the oncoming defender is upon us and -- CRUNCH -- <br /> slams into us. A STROBING PAN leaves us looking up at the <br /> sky. Our loud breathing has stopped.<br /><br /> After a long beat the breathing resumes with a raggedy labored <br /> inhale. It continues irregularly. Another helmeted player <br /> appears above us to peer down into our helmet. He extends a <br /> hand to help us up.<br /><br /> HUDDLE<br /><br /> We are looking back and forth around the circle at our <br /> gathered teammates.<br /><br /> QUARTERBACK<br /> Delta thirty-seven. On four!<br /><br /> All, with a simultaneous hand clap:<br /><br /> TEAM<br /> Huh!<br /><br /> LINE OF SCRIMMAGE<br /><br /> Lined up opposite us is a snarling defender.<br /><br /> Once again, over loud breathing, we can just hear the shouted <br /> count.<br /><br /> At "Hike!" we straighten to meet the defensive lineman lunging <br /> at us. His mouthpiece clatters against ours and in horrific <br /> CLOSE-UP he strains against us, his animal gurgles of effort <br /> audible over our own ragged breath.<br /><br /> With a primal roar from the defenseman our POV tips back and <br /> up, BOOMING DOWN to stop with a CRUNCH against the ground, <br /> staring up. Once again our breathing has stopped.<br /><br /> After a beat a foot is planted on our helmet as a looming <br /> running back steps on us in his charge downfield. He is <br /> pursued by defenders some of whom leap over us and some of <br /> whom by the sound of it step on various body parts.<br /><br /> HUDDLE<br /><br /> The same back-and-forth PAN.<br /><br /> QUARTERBACK<br /> Okay, Epsilon twenty-two! You the <br /> man!... Hey! BUTTHEAD!<br /><br /> This brings our wandering attention PANNING back to the <br /> quarterback:<br /><br /> QUARTERBACK<br /> You the man!<br /><br /> A very, very present VOICE (HUDSON):<br /><br /> HUDSON (O.S.)<br /> Me the man?<br /><br /> TEAM<br /> Huh!<br /><br /> LINE OF SCRIMMAGE<br /><br /> The same breathing and count.<br /><br /> On "Hike!" we sprint downfield.<br /><br /> The same distant defender sprinting toward us.<br /><br /> We hear low but very present a dismayed:<br /><br /> HUDSON (O.S.)<br /> Unh... oh no...<br /><br /> Our breathing is torn by rasping wheezes of effort as we <br /> continue to run.<br /><br /> We look back.<br /><br /> Every player is looking directly at us.<br /><br /> A huge spiralling football coming at us -- too close, too <br /> soon -- and--<br /><br /> BONK!<br /><br /> It bounces off our mouth guard and flies up.<br /><br /> HUDSON (O.S.)<br /> ...shit...<br /><br /> We are looking forward just as<br /><br /> CRUNCH!<br /><br /> We are hit by the defender.<br /><br /> We once again land face-up.<br /><br /> Very steeply FORESHORTENED, right over us, we see the defender <br /> juggling the live ball.<br /><br /> With a moan, our own hand reaches weakly up towards the ball <br /> and the high, distant defender.<br /><br /> He finally gathers in the ball and securely tucks it, and <br /> starts back upfield.<br /><br /> We climb wearily to our feet. We look back upfield just in <br /> time to see the defender start an elaborate victory dance in <br /> the end zone. He pauses for a moment to point a gloved hand <br /> directly at us, then resumes his strut.<br /><br /> Shouting from the sidelines brings our PANNING attention <br /> over.<br /><br /> The coach, face twisted with fury, is shouting at us and <br /> using his clipboard to wave us off the field.<br /><br /> We trot toward the sidelines.<br /><br /> All of our teammates stare at us –- some in shock, some in <br /> anger, some in pity.<br /><br /> At the sideline bench our POV swings round as we seat ourself. <br /> A hand reaches up to the mouth guard to pull off the helmet <br /> and we<br /><br /> MATCH CUT TO:<br /><br /> Our first OBJECTIVE SHOT as the player (HUDSON) finishes <br /> pulling off his helmet. He is a big blond boy. His entire <br /> body, including his face, is solidly built.<br /><br /> An offscreen Voice:<br /><br /> COACH (O.S.)<br /> Hudson!<br /><br /> The boy, Hudson, turns to look, and we cut to one last<br /><br /> POV<br /><br /> The COACH is striding up, swinging his clipboard at the <br /> camera: with a loud CRUNCH! it brings on:<br /><br /> BLACK<br /><br /> EXT. MINI-MALL / HI-HO DONUT - DAY<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE<br /><br /> It is a typical sunbaked concrete strip mall with a Seven-<br /> Eleven, a launderette, and a Hi-Ho Donut. The Hi-Ho Donut <br /> sign shows a pink donut with sprinkles and says in much <br /> smaller lettering: And Croissants.<br /><br /> A beat-up Impala pulls into the lot, pulsing hip-hop music. <br /> After a long rumbling idle the ignition is killed. Both front <br /> doors open. Two BLACK KIDS get out and look around with a <br /> manner that is if anything too casual.<br /><br /> INT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY<br /><br /> There is faint muzak and loud air-conditioner hum. Glass <br /> cases display donuts identified as GLAZED, JELLY, and FANCIES. <br /> Fancies ooze yellow goo. The jelly on the jelly donuts is <br /> developing a crust of age. The glazed also look moth-eaten.<br /><br /> One customer, a disheveled older man, sits at one of the <br /> little formica tables staring into a coffee cup. Next to the <br /> coffee is a brown paper bag from which a straw protrudes.<br /><br /> Behind the counter is a middle-aged VIETNAMESE WOMAN in a <br /> neat white blouse.<br /><br /> The two youths enter pulling out enormous handguns from <br /> underneath their windbreakers.<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> All right Dragon Lady, give us all <br /> the fuckin' money!<br /><br /> The woman stares blankly.<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> We want that donut money!<br /><br /> VIETNAMESE WOMAN<br /> Yao gin nyap!<br /><br /> A man appears from the kitchen in back. He is a middle-aged <br /> Vietnamese gentleman in a crisply pressed khaki leisure suit. <br /> An ascot is knotted at his neck. He wears aviator eyeglasses. <br /> In his mouth smolders a half-burned-down filterless cigarette. <br /> This, we shall learn later, is THE GENERAL.<br /><br /> YOUTH #2<br /> Okay papa-san, we want that donut <br /> money.<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> And we ain't fuckin' around, Mr. Hi-<br /> Ho.<br /><br /> VIETNAMESE WOMAN<br /> Hi-Ho.<br /><br /> The two youths look at her briefly. Nothing else is <br /> forthcoming.<br /><br /> The drunk looks up from his paper bag.<br /><br /> YOUTH #2<br /> Look, this fuckin' thing, it ain't <br /> complicated. You give us all the <br /> fuckin money, you don't get shot in <br /> the head, you make more donuts, get <br /> more money. That's how it works, <br /> see?<br /><br /> The General stares at him. As with his wife, none of it seems <br /> to register; unlike his wife, he seems unperturbed.<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> Give us the money!<br /><br /> He is pointing the gun directly at the General's head.<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> ...You got three fuckin' seconds. <br /> You understand one-two-three? I'm <br /> gonna count one-two-three and then <br /> shoot. Okay? Three sec–- huh!<br /><br /> The General has swung his fist up to hook two fingers inside <br /> the youth's nostrils. His gun clatters to the floor. The <br /> fingers are way, way up his nose. Only one knuckle shows on <br /> each finger.<br /><br /> The youth is staring cross-eyed at his own nose.<br /><br /> His friend is also stupefied.<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> (very nasal)<br /> His fingers are way the fuck up my <br /> nose.<br /><br /> YOUTH #2<br /> GET... YA FINGAS... OUT... THE <br /> MAN'S... NOSE!<br /><br /> The General still impassively sucks on his cigarette. The <br /> first youth is on the verge of tears:<br /><br /> YOUTH #1<br /> I think they're in my brain, man...<br /><br /> YOUTH #2<br /> MOTHERFUCK!<br /><br /> He raises his gun to start firing.<br /><br /> As he does so the General uses his hook-hold on the other <br /> youth's nose to slam his head backwards, down into some <br /> Fancies.<br /><br /> The door opens and a customer walks in, a semi-elderly lady <br /> with a cane.<br /><br /> Youth #2, eyes rolling, wildly swings to cover the door, <br /> then back to the General who has his friend's head pressed <br /> into the Fancies, then uncertainly over to the Vietnamese <br /> woman who is loudly yelling at him in Vietnamese.<br /><br /> Cigarette still dangling from his lower lip, the General <br /> calmly plucks a pot of coffee from the coffee warmer and <br /> tosses it into Youth #2's face.<br /><br /> Youth #2 screams.<br /><br /> EXT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE<br /><br /> The car is still pulsing hip-hop music. Youth #2 stumbles <br /> out of the Hi-Ho, hands covering his face and sinks to his <br /> knees.<br /><br /> INT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY<br /><br /> The General now has the first youth's face pressed into the <br /> Fancies from behind. Without disturbing his smoking, the <br /> General repeatedly kicks the youth in the ass.<br /><br /> His wife, muttering irritably in Vietnamese, is wheeling a <br /> water bucket and mop to where the floor is covered with <br /> coffee.<br /><br /> INT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> At the CUT many voices are swelling in a song of worship. It <br /> is a black Baptist church, and the music has great energy.<br /><br /> The white-robed choir finishes singing; a preacher takes the <br /> podium.<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> I know you all remember that when <br /> Moses came down the mountain, carrying <br /> the word a God, come down that Sinai <br /> peak, he caught those Israelites red-<br /> handed. What he catch 'em doin'? He <br /> caught 'em worshipping a golden calf.<br /><br /> Shouts of "That's right!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...He caught 'em with their backs <br /> turned on God!<br /><br /> More shouts of "That's right!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...He caught 'em worshipping a FALSE <br /> God! A God of EARTHLY things! He <br /> caught them Israelites in DECLINE!<br /><br /> "He caught 'em!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...Because backslidin' is DECLINE, <br /> brothers and sisters! You hear talk <br /> these days, and I know you've heard <br /> this talk, you hear talk of DECLINE, <br /> well all that means is we done turned <br /> our back on God!<br /><br /> "That's right!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...People say civilization doin' <br /> this, civilization doin' that, <br /> civilization in DECLINE! Well it <br /> ain't no civilization! It ain't no <br /> them! It's US, brothers and sisters!<br /><br /> "Amen!"<br /><br /> We are TRACKING among the congregants, disproportionately <br /> women, mostly of middle age and elderly, mostly wearing <br /> elaborate go-to-church hats.<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...It's what's in our hearts, each <br /> and every one of us when we like <br /> them Israelites! Slidin' awa-a-a-ay <br /> down that Godly slope, slippin' and <br /> slidin' toward the mire and muck a <br /> the stinkhole of greed -- that's <br /> DECLINE!<br /><br /> "That's decline!"<br /><br /> The CONTINUING TRACK brings us onto Mrs. Munson, wearing, <br /> like most of her peers, an oversized hat; hers is adorned <br /> with a great deal of plastic fruit.<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...And what did Moses do when he saw <br /> those declinin' backslidin' never-<br /> mindin' sinners?<br /><br /> "What he do?"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...Moses SMOTE those sinners in his <br /> wrath yes he did!<br /><br /> "Yes he did!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...Y'all know what smote is! I smite! <br /> You smite! He smites! We done smote!<br /><br /> "That's right!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...To smite is to go UPSIDE the head!<br /><br /> "Uh-huh!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...Because sometimes, brothers and <br /> sisters, that is the ONLY way!<br /><br /> "Yes it is!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...To smite is to reMIND! We got to <br /> STOP that decline! And scramble back <br /> UP to the face a the almighty Gyod!<br /><br /> "Amen!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...'Stead a worshippin' that GOLDEN <br /> calf, that earthly TRASH on that <br /> GARBAGE island! That GARBAGE island <br /> in that shadowland WAY outside the <br /> Kingdom a God!<br /><br /> "Way outside!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...That GARBAGE island where scavenger <br /> birds feast on the bones a the <br /> backslidin' damned!<br /><br /> "Yes they do!"<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> ...And so, let us pray...<br /><br /> EXT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> It is a white clapboard country church. The preacher stands <br /> at the door chatting with the congregants filing out.<br /><br /> WOMAN #1<br /> You preach a wonderful sermon, Brother <br /> Cleothus.<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> Why thank you, Sister Rose.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> That man has a lot to say.<br /><br /> WOMAN #1<br /> Yes he does.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> And every word of it the truth.<br /><br /> WOMAN #2<br /> Mm-mm. Jesus well pleased with him.<br /><br /> WOMAN #3<br /> Deed he is.<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> Oh now ladies...<br /><br /> WOMAN #3<br /> Pleased as he can be.<br /><br /> WOMAN #1<br /> Mm-mm.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Stout, too.<br /><br /> WOMAN #1<br /> Mm-mm.<br /><br /> PREACHER<br /> Oh now you gracious ladies.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is at the kitchen table. She folds a five dollar <br /> bill into a sheet of paper, raising her voice as she does <br /> so:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> It was a good sermon. That man has a <br /> lot to say.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> We have CUT to the portrait of Othar over the mantel. He <br /> does not answer.<br /><br /> From the kitchen:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON'S VOICE (O.S.)<br /> ...Stout, too. It would've been a <br /> comfort to you...<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson has stuffed the paper-enclosed bill into an <br /> envelope, which she is now laboriously addressing to Bob <br /> Jones University.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> And the choir was all in good voice. <br /> Mm-mm-<br /><br /> There is a knock at the door.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Who could that--<br /><br /> The cat yowls and hisses.<br /><br /> I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - DAY<br /><br /> As Mrs. Munson swings open the door.<br /><br /> G.H. Dorr stands on the stoop mournfully dry-washing his <br /> hands and obsequiously ducking his head.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> My dear Mrs. Munson, I do so hope <br /> this is not an inopportune time for <br /> our first practice--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Somebody die?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I beg your-- Oh!<br /><br /> He looks back at the long black vintage Lincoln hearse parked <br /> at the curb behind him.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...No no, no bereavement, though it <br /> is so kind of you to enquire. No, <br /> the hearse is simply a vehicle <br /> commodious enough to accommodate all <br /> of the members of our ensemble. And <br /> of course our instruments, contrived <br /> in an age ignorant of <br /> miniaturization...<br /><br /> He turns and gestures at the vehicle.<br /><br /> At his sign, Gawain, the custodian, emerges from the driver's <br /> side.<br /><br /> Clark Pancake emerges from the front passenger side.<br /><br /> The General, wearing a different but equally pressed khaki <br /> suit and ascot, and with a smoking cigarette in his lips, <br /> emerges from a back door.<br /><br /> Gawain goes to the back of the hearse and opens its hatch to <br /> let out Lump Hudson, the football player.<br /><br /> Lump helps unload five large and oddly shaped instrument <br /> cases, each man taking one except for Lump himself, who <br /> carries two. As the parade of losers and misfits winds its <br /> way up the walk:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Let me introduce you to my friends, <br /> my colleagues, these devoted and <br /> passionate musicians... This is Gawain <br /> MacSam, our bassoonist...<br /><br /> Gawain nods as he passes by.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...General Nguyen Pham Doc, viola da <br /> gamba...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> No smoking in this house.<br /><br /> The General tosses his cigarette away and bows stiffly as he <br /> passes.<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> So sorry.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Clark Pancake -- a multi-<br /> instrumentalist, but with his <br /> remarkable embosser Clark specializes <br /> in wind instruments, and is especially <br /> accomplished on the French horn...<br /><br /> He nods, passes.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...And, finally, Aloysius "Lump" <br /> Hudson. Lump is our sackbuttist and -- <br /> thank you, Lump -- I see you've also <br /> brought my fiddle...<br /><br /> As he hands Dorr the violin case:<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Here's your fiddle, Doctor.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson sizes up the group.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You ain't gonna make a racket, are <br /> ya?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh no. Oh no no no no no. No, we <br /> shall recuse ourselves to the basement <br /> where we shall be -- I think here <br /> the expression is uniquely <br /> appropriate...<br /><br /> He gives a sickly smile.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...as quiet as the crypt.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Hmph.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> The General stands stock still, his nose an inch away from <br /> the earthen wall, studying it, squinting through the smoke <br /> of the cigarette pinched between his lips.<br /><br /> The rest of the men are opening their cases and taking out <br /> the instruments. Gawain's case contains, however, not a <br /> musical instrument but a boombox and several tapes. He loads <br /> one of the tapes into the machine.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> What do you think, General? Present <br /> any problems?<br /><br /> After a beat the General turns away from the wall to give <br /> Dorr a look into which one might read anything, or nothing.<br /><br /> Gawain hits play on the boombox and the cellar is filled <br /> with the fussy strains of baroque chamber music.<br /><br /> Dorr nods.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Good then.<br /><br /> He spreads a map open on the sackbutt case.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...All right, gentlemen, why don't <br /> we all crowd around and go over the <br /> plan.<br /><br /> The biggest feature on the map is a wavy, roughly north-south <br /> pair of lines: a river. A boat icon sits at one edge and <br /> from it a dotted rectangle extends inland.<br /><br /> Dorr taps at the boat icon with his fiddle bow.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...This, gentlemen, is the Lady Luck, <br /> gambling den, cash cow, Sodom of the <br /> Mississippi delta -- and the focus <br /> of our little exercise. Here is <br /> Orchard Street...<br /><br /> He is tracing a street that parallels the dotted rectangle <br /> extending from the boat. The street is lined by small house <br /> icons on either side; the bow comes to rest on one of those <br /> icons.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...and here is the residence of Marva <br /> Munson, the charming lady whom y'all <br /> met moments ago. Gentlemen...<br /><br /> Bow taps emphasize:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...You... are... here. Now. This <br /> brings us to this square...<br /><br /> The bow indicates it, and then withdraws.<br /><br /> Dorr uses the bow as a swagger stick to punctuate as he begins <br /> to pace.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Gentlemen, I believe you are all <br /> aware that the Solons of the State <br /> of Mississippi, to wit, its <br /> legislature, have decreed that no <br /> gaming establishment shall be erected <br /> within its borders upon dry land. <br /> They may, however, legally float <br /> upon any watercourse defining a state <br /> boundary. But while the gambling <br /> activity itself is restricted to <br /> riverboats, no such restriction <br /> applies to the functions ancillary <br /> to this cash besotted bidnis. The <br /> casino's offices, locker rooms, <br /> facilities to cook and clean, and <br /> most importantly its counting houses-<br /> the reinforced, secret, and super <br /> secure repositories of the lucre -- <br /> may all be situated... wherever. <br /> Gawain -- where is wherever?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Say wha?<br /><br /> Dorr's smug smile fades. Testily:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Where is the money?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Oh. End of every shift pit boss brings <br /> the cash down to the hold of the <br /> ship in the locked cash box; once a <br /> day all the cash boxes're moved to <br /> the counting room.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And where is the counting room?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Well, uh... in that square there. <br /> Where you pointing.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And what, to flog a horse that if <br /> not at this point dead is in mortal <br /> danger of expirin', does the dotted <br /> square represent?<br /><br /> Gawain hesitates, the question's obviousness suggesting to <br /> him some trick.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...Offices. Underground.<br /><br /> Dorr's eyes close. A smile of feline contentment curls his <br /> lips. He murmurs:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Underground... Mmm... During the <br /> casino's hours of operation the door <br /> to the counting room is fiercely <br /> guarded, and the door itself is of <br /> redoubtable Pittsburgh steel; when <br /> the casino is closed the entire <br /> underground complex is locked up and <br /> the armed guard retreats to the <br /> casino's main entrance. There, then, <br /> far from the guard, reposes the money, <br /> cosseted behind a five-inch-thick <br /> steel portal, yes, but the walls, <br /> gentlemen, the walls of that room, <br /> are but humble masonry, behind which <br /> is only the soft loamy soil deposited <br /> over the centuries by Ol' Man, the <br /> meanderin' Mississip', as it fanned <br /> its way back and forth across this <br /> great alluvial plain...<br /><br /> He has pried a fistfull of dirt from the cellar wall.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...This earth.<br /><br /> He crumbles it, letting it sift to the floor, and then, <br /> pleased with himself, he smiles.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Any questions?<br /><br /> Lump looks around, then hesitantly raises his hand.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Yes, Lump?<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> What, uh... what does "cosseted" <br /> mean?<br /><br /> Once again Dorr's smile fades. He does not dignify the <br /> question with answer.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> The General here, whose curriculum <br /> vitae compahends massive tunneling <br /> experience thoo the soil of his native <br /> French-Indochina, will direct our <br /> little ol' tunnelin' operation.<br /><br /> The General acknowledges with a curt nod.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Clark Pancake, while a master of <br /> none, is a jack of all those trades <br /> corollary to our aim. He will be <br /> doin' such fabricatin' and demolition <br /> work as our little caper shall <br /> require.<br /><br /> Clark acknowledges verbally:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Happy to be on board.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gawain is the proverbial "inside <br /> man". He has managed to secure a <br /> berth on the custodial staff of the <br /> Lady Luck, thereby placin' himself <br /> in a position to perform certain <br /> chores whose precise nature needn't <br /> detain us here, but whose performance <br /> shall guide this expedition to its <br /> happy conclusion.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Ya damn skippy.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And this brings us to Lump. To look <br /> at Lump you might wonder, what <br /> function could he possibly fill, <br /> what specialized expertise could he <br /> possibly offer, to our merry little <br /> ol' band a miscreants. Well gentlemen, <br /> in a project of such magnitude and <br /> such risks, it is traditional -- <br /> nay, it is imperative -- to enlist <br /> the services of a hooligan, a goon, <br /> an ape, a physical brute, who will <br /> be our security, our fist, our <br /> batterin' ram. Lump is our blunt <br /> instrument, and on all our behalfs I <br /> wish him a warm Mississippi welcome.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Thanks, Professor.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well gentlemen, here you are, men of <br /> different backgrounds and differing <br /> talents, men with, in fact only two <br /> things in common: one, you all saw <br /> fit to answer my little advertisement <br /> in the Memphis Scimitar, and, two, <br /> you are all going to be, in <br /> consequence, very very incredibly <br /> rich. Let us revel in our adventure, <br /> gentlemen. Let us make beautiful <br /> music together. And above all, <br /> gentlemen, let us keep it to <br /> ourselves. What we say in this root <br /> cellar, let it stay in this root <br /> cellar.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> There's no "I" in "team".<br /><br /> All stare at him.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Lump has a very excellent point.<br /><br /> The music swells, supported now by a male chorus that has <br /> the spirited manliness of the Red Army choir. We<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - BASEMENT - NIGHT<br /><br /> The men at work, tunneling.<br /><br /> The cat sits on the cellar floor, head cocked, gazing at the <br /> hole now opened in the wall.<br /><br /> Lump, in a sleeveless undershirt, glistening with sweat, <br /> wields a pickaxe at the forward point.<br /><br /> At the mouth of the hole Clark Pancake shovels dirt into a <br /> heavy plastic refuse bag held open by Gawain.<br /><br /> G.H. Dorr sits on a camp chair, one hand idly waving time to <br /> the music, reading an old and yellowed tome with half-glasses <br /> perched midway down his nose.<br /><br /> The General hops nimbly out of the tunnel and unzips and <br /> steps out of his all-in-one to reveal, underneath, his neatly <br /> pressed leisure suit and ascot.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Later, Dorr stands at the head of the cellar stairs, looking <br /> around the empty parlor. He gives a nod down the stairs and <br /> the men troop up past him, carrying sacks of earth.<br /><br /> Over the mantelpiece, the eternal flame of the devotional <br /> candle almost animating his features, Othar seems to watch <br /> the men as they cross to the front door.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> The men load the earth into the hearse.<br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - NIGHT<br /><br /> We are at the Mississippi bridge that we saw in the prologue <br /> to the movie, but now, in dead of night, deserted.<br /><br /> The hearse is pulling up at the middle of the bridge and <br /> dimming its lights. The men emerge; when they open the back <br /> of the hearse to pull out the sacks, the cat bounds out to <br /> watch from a distance.<br /><br /> We watch the men from HIGH, ANGLED DOWN along the masonry of <br /> a tower that stands in the middle of the suspension bridge. <br /> An ornamental gargoyle leers in the foreground.<br /><br /> The garbage scow is approaching. We hear the low toot of its <br /> horn as it nears the bridge.<br /><br /> Lump is poised with the first sack hugged to his chest, <br /> leaning over the railing.<br /><br /> The nose of the barge enters below us.<br /><br /> Lump releases the sack.<br /><br /> We watch it drop dead away like a bomb from an airplane.<br /><br /> It thuds distantly onto the barge. The next sack has been <br /> passed up to Lump and is released.<br /><br /> The cat watches. Its orange eyes blink. Its pupils adjust.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> A PULL BACK shows that the cat is in fact back in the <br /> basement.<br /><br /> Its POV: continued tunneling.<br /><br /> Back to the cat, watching, then turning its head at a noise:<br /><br /> At the head of the stairs, the cellar door is opening.<br /><br /> A whistle from the General and Lump and Clark Pancake scramble <br /> from the tunnel. They whip a curtain over its opening and <br /> all men grab up their instruments as Dorr, covering with a <br /> cough, turns off the CD player.<br /><br /> The General, his ever-present cigarette smoldering between <br /> his lips, tongue-and-lips it up and backwards so that it is <br /> inside his mouth, which he now closes.<br /><br /> Marva Munson is heavily and carefully descending the stairs. <br /> As the men come into view they are looking up at her, Lump <br /> holding his sackbutt but still glistening with sweat and <br /> smeared with dirt.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> That's okay, don't stop on account <br /> of me.<br /><br /> Lump looks around, saucer-eyed, then blows gamely into his <br /> sackbutt. It sounds like goose farts until Dorr waves him <br /> down.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> No no, madam, we were about to take <br /> a break anyway. The glissandi on <br /> this particular piece are technically <br /> very demanding and I think we would <br /> all welcome a moment of relaxation.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Huh. I just thought you might like <br /> to see-what a you gotten up to, honey? <br /> Why you sweatin' like that.<br /><br /> It is directed at Lump, who looks down at his own sweat-<br /> stained undershirt.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> I, uh...<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> That man plays one bitch barrelful a <br /> sackbutt. Ain't no one can blow the <br /> tenor sackbutt like Lump, hoowee! <br /> goes at that thing like it was a pu-- <br /> uh, like it was a woman! Goddamn! He--<br /><br /> She cuffs him on the head.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You mind! I don't want that kind of <br /> talk in my home, even in the root <br /> cellar. This is a Christian house, <br /> boy, none of that hippity-hop <br /> language.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Sadly, Gawain is given to--<br /><br /> WHAP! She slaps Gawain again.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Sometimes it's the only way!<br /><br /> He untenses after what seemed like the final blow, but -- <br /> WHAP! -- she slaps him again.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...I'm tryin' to help you, son!<br /><br /> WHAP!<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Better yaself!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> As well you should, ma'am. But Gawain <br /> at times is so far transported by <br /> his love of the music of the early <br /> Renaissance as to--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Don't make no never-mind he's <br /> transported!<br /><br /> Dorr has her by the elbow and is ushering her back up the <br /> stairs.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I understand your--<br /><br /> She pulls her elbow away and sniffs.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You been smokin'?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Certainly not, madam. I understand <br /> your indignation. And I was offering <br /> explanation, not excuse. I myself am <br /> offended by those who cannot find <br /> the proper words to express themselves <br /> and have recourse to--<br /><br /> Gawain calls up the stairs:<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Don't you be explainin' me, dawg! <br /> You can't look into my mind, cape <br /> man!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes, yes...<br /><br /> Dorr's tone is soothing as he shuts the door at the top of <br /> the stairs.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...A fiery lad! But then Youth is <br /> fiery! A fact often remarked upon by <br /> the poets of the Romantic era.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> My youth I was in church, I wasn't <br /> walkin' around fiery. Youth ain't no <br /> excuse for nothin'! Well, anyway... <br /> only came down to show you the fife.<br /><br /> She hands him a thick, roughly whittled piece of cane. Dorr <br /> holds it, looks at it dumbly. He is, for the first time that <br /> we have seen anyway, non-plussed.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Othar's fife. He burned his own.<br /><br /> Dorr tries to summon conversation as the two sit with their <br /> backs to the fireplace:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Did he?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-hm. I thought maybe bein' a musical <br /> man you'd be interested.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh, I am indeed--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Cut it himself and burned the holes. <br /> Israelites called it a kalil.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Ah.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Kalil, fife, same thing. You can <br /> read about it in the Bible. Ain't <br /> nothin' new under the sun.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Indeed not.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Gone these twenty years. He was some <br /> kind of man.<br /><br /> From Othar's POV, slightly high, we see them both twist in <br /> their chairs to look up at the portrait.<br /><br /> REVERSE of the portrait, LOW ANGLE. Othar looks down at us <br /> with what appears to be bemusement.<br /><br /> Marva Munson and Dorr gaze up at the portrait for a motionless <br /> beat. At length, Marva Munson sighs:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Blowed the kalil.<br /><br /> Dorr's eyes remain on the picture as he inquires:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...I don't suppose Othar ever turned <br /> his hand -- or, uh, heh-heh-heh, <br /> turned his lip -- to the shofar?<br /><br /> Prompted by her silence, he adds:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...The ceremonial ram's horn, sounded <br /> by the priests of the Hebrews?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I don't know nothin' 'bout that. <br /> Othar didn't study no shofar, to the <br /> extent a my knowledge. The kalil was <br /> good enough for my Othar...<br /><br /> She gazes at the portrait.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Some kind of man.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> TRACKING BEHIND A SASHAYING ASS<br /><br /> following a woman in a red dress.<br /><br /> GAWAIN (O.S.)<br /> Hey baby, don't be cruel. Jus' sneak <br /> one little peek...<br /><br /> The woman looks back over her shoulder, smiling, as she <br /> continues to walk.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...Don't let this uniform fool ya--<br /><br /> REVERSE PULLING TRACK<br /><br /> leads Gawain MacSam, pushing his wheeled trash bin.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You don't need to be gamblin', honey, <br /> you lookin' at a sure thing. They <br /> call me Mr. 21, baby, 'cause that's <br /> how I measure up. I am the original <br /> black Jack, honey, accept no <br /> substitutions. You can pull my lever <br /> all day long, sweet mama, I ain't <br /> never gonna come up lemons. That's <br /> right, sugar, you can blow on my <br /> dice any ol' time.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - GUDGE'S OFFICE - DAY<br /><br /> Gudge has his feet up on the desk and is filing his nails <br /> with an emery board.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> But Mr. Gudge, she had an ass that <br /> could pull a bus. This lady was fine, <br /> fine, dandy, divine.<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> I don't care how big her ass was, <br /> MacSam. You're fired.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Say what?<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> There is no fraternizing with <br /> customers on the Lady Luck. Clean <br /> out your locker.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> But Gudge–-<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Get out of here. You're fired.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You can't fire me. I sue your ass!<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Sue me? For what?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Sue you for fuckin' punitive damages, <br /> man!<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Punitive damages.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Ya damn skippy. I know you firin' my <br /> ass 'cause I'm black!<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Everyone on the custodial staff is <br /> black, MacSam. Your replacement's <br /> gonna be black. His replacement will <br /> no doubt be black.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Fuckin' judge is gonna be black, <br /> motherfucker, that's who gonna be <br /> black! You gonna stand tall before <br /> the man!<br /><br /> EXT. WAFFLE HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> VERY HIGH ANGLE<br /><br /> We are looking down past the distinctive pylon-mounted yellow <br /> letters: WAFFLE.<br /><br /> INT. WAFFLE HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> The band of miscreants is seated around a table with cups of <br /> coffee. Dorr's wardrobe makes no concession to the informality <br /> of the setting; he still wears his cape and a black string <br /> tie. His manner is more mournful even than usual:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh my. Oh my my my my my. This is a <br /> severe setback. I am distraught. I <br /> am more than distraught, I am <br /> devastated. Oh my, this is quite the <br /> monkey-wrench heaved into the <br /> meticulously engineered construct of <br /> our little escapade.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Yeah, it fucks things up.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I am beside myself. I am at a positive <br /> loss for words.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You still talkin' okay though.<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> Have you all decided?<br /><br /> Dorr's intensely mournful agitation is brought to bear upon <br /> her:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh madam, we must have waffles. We <br /> must all have waffles forthwith!<br /><br /> They hand in their menus.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Oh we must think. We must all <br /> have waffles and think, each and <br /> every one of us to the very best of <br /> his ability! Perhaps if you apologized <br /> to the man and gave him flowers, or <br /> perhaps a fruit basket, with a card <br /> depicting a misty seascape and <br /> inscribed with a sentiment.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Shit, man, it ain't about apologizin'! <br /> He fired me 'cause I'm black!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> He can't do that. You could sue him. <br /> Open and shut case.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Fuckin' A.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> This is not 1952.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Man's a fuckin' bigot.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well then, perhaps, surely, a <br /> chocolate assortment has been known <br /> to warm the heart of even the most <br /> hardened misanthrope, especially if <br /> it's a premium chocolate, imported, <br /> say, from Switzerland, or the <br /> Netherlands, or some other of the so-<br /> called "Low" countries be they Dutch <br /> or Flemish or Walloon--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Walloon my ass, the man ain't gonna <br /> roll over for a fuckin' candy bar!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> I'm afraid there's a setback on the <br /> tunneling front too. We've run into <br /> a pretty large rock, and--<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> -- Rock!<br /><br /> All turn to look at the General. He continues to stare at a <br /> spot in space. He slowly releases some inhaled cigarette <br /> smoke, murmuring:<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> ...Very bad.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh my my, it seems that the poet was <br /> right: Troubles never singly come.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Oh, we can get through the rock, no <br /> worries there. Simplest thing in the <br /> world. Why we blow right through it; <br /> I've got a pyro license, we bore a <br /> hole in the rock, pack in a little <br /> plastique; igneous blows pretty good, <br /> and we--<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Is he gonna want a piece of the <br /> action?<br /><br /> All turn to look at Lump.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Who?<br /><br /> Lump hesitates, looking at the inquiring faces that surround <br /> him.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> ...Igneous?<br /><br /> A female Voice:<br /><br /> MOUNTAIN GIRL (O.S.)<br /> Hello Clark. Am I ordering the prima <br /> cord?<br /><br /> The men look up at her.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Yes, Mountain, we were just talking <br /> about that, and some plastique.<br /><br /> All the men are staring at her, agog.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...The fuck is this?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> This is Mountain Girl. Mountain is <br /> my right hand. She helps me with <br /> ordnance. Helps me with damn near <br /> everything.<br /><br /> The men stare.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...You brought your bitch to the <br /> waffle house?!<br /><br /> There is tension in the air. Dorr clears his throat.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I confess myself to be puzzled as <br /> well. I thought we all understood <br /> that, so far as our little enterprise <br /> is concerned, mum, as the saying <br /> would have it, is the word--<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Of course. I understand that. But <br /> this is Mountain...<br /><br /> He chuckles.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...I don't keep secrets from Mountain. <br /> That's not how you maintain a loving, <br /> caring relationship.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...You brought your bitch to the <br /> waffle house?<br /><br /> He looks around.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...Man brings his bitch to the waffle <br /> house!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Look, you, I'll thank you to stop <br /> referring to Mountain that way. She's <br /> the other half of my life.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Everybody lookin' at me like I'm a <br /> fuck-up, losin' that sorry-ass job, <br /> and this motherfucker bring his bitch <br /> to the waffle house!<br /><br /> Pancake lunges across the table, sending dishes clattering <br /> to the floor as he grabs Gawain by the shirt.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> You son of a bitch punk! Shut your <br /> goddamn mouth!<br /><br /> He shakes him vigorously and rears back to take a swing at <br /> him.<br /><br /> Gawain draws a gun.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Come and get me motherfuck! Come on, <br /> baby, let's get it on!<br /><br /> Mountain starts screaming.<br /><br /> People look, aghast.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gentlemen, please!<br /><br /> The other men pry Pancake and Gawain apart.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Gentlemen, this sort of behavior <br /> does you no credit in the eyes of <br /> your colleagues, or in those of the <br /> other patrons of this waffle house!<br /><br /> Pancake grumbles as he composes himself and straighten his <br /> clothes.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Nobody talks to Mountain Girl <br /> that way. She had an abusive family!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Fuck you, man.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Little punk. I got syrup on my safari <br /> jacket.<br /><br /> He embraces Mountain, who continues to sob quietly.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gentlemen, I propose that we consider <br /> the matter of this woman, Mountain <br /> Water, to be--<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Mountain Girl.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I am so very sorry. I propose that <br /> we consider this matter to be closed, <br /> and we shall chose to trust her, <br /> since we now have no choice, and <br /> since she shall share only in Mr. <br /> Pancake's portion of the booty.<br /><br /> Over the shoulder of the quietly weeping Mountain Girl:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Of course. Wouldn't have it any other <br /> way.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Damn right you won't.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Up yours, punk.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gentlemen! And the manner of disposing <br /> of our igneous impediment is also <br /> settled. That leaves only the question <br /> of Gawain retrieving his job.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Couldn't you just bribe the guy?<br /><br /> All turn to look at Lump.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Othar looks serenely down from his spot over the mantelpiece. <br /> Marva Munson knits; G.H. Dorr sits nodding over an ancient <br /> volume of half-forgotten lore, reading glasses perched midway <br /> down his nose. Curtains waft lazily in the summer night <br /> breeze.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...You just a readin' fool, ain't <br /> you Mr. Dorr.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes yes, I must confess, madam, that <br /> often I feel more at home in these <br /> ancient volumes than I do in the <br /> hustle-bustle of our modern world. <br /> To me, paradoxically, the literature <br /> of the so-called "dead tongues" has <br /> more currency than this mornin's <br /> newspaper.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-mm.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> In these books...<br /><br /> He removes his glasses and lazily twirls them.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...In these volumes, there is the <br /> accum'lated wisdom a mankind which <br /> succours me when the day is hard or <br /> the night lonely and long.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Wisdom of mankind, what about the <br /> wisdom of the Lord?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh yes, the Good Book, mm. I have <br /> found reward in its pages. But for <br /> me there are other good books as <br /> well; the heavy volumes of Antiquity, <br /> freighted with the insights of Man's <br /> glorious age. And then of course I <br /> love, love, love the works of Mr. Ed <br /> G'Allan Poe.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I know who he is. Kinda creepy.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh no, madam, noooo. Not of this <br /> world, true; he lived in a dream, an <br /> ancient dream...<br /><br /> Dorr himself is lost in a dream:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "Helen, they beauty is to me Like <br /> those Nicean barks a yore That gently, <br /> o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, <br /> wayworn wanderer bore To his own <br /> native shore... "<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Who was Helen? She wasn't a loose <br /> woman, was she? Some kinda whore a <br /> Babylon?<br /><br /> Dorr is still lost:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> One doesn't know who Helen was, though <br /> I picture her as bein' very, very <br /> extremely... pale.<br /><br /> He comes to himself, focuses on Mrs. Munson.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Miz Munson, I was tryin' to think <br /> of some way of expressin' my gratitude <br /> to you for takin' in...<br /><br /> He chuckles.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...this weary, wayworn wanderer...<br /><br /> The Professor takes a small ticket envelope from where it <br /> had served as bookmark, and hands it across.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...It's just a modest little ol' <br /> present, why it's practically nothing <br /> at all.<br /><br /> Beaming, she takes two tickets out of the envelope and <br /> inspects them.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Oh Mr. Dorr, why you are such a <br /> gallant man...<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh no madam, I blush. I melt. No, I <br /> just happened to hear of this gospel <br /> concert tomorrow night, The Mighty <br /> Mighty Clouds of Joy, and I thought <br /> you and a friend from church, <br /> perhaps...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Othar loved that music... Yes, I got <br /> a widow-lady friend...<br /><br /> DORR<br /> The concert is up in Memphis, but I <br /> have arranged for a car service to <br /> transport you thither and, needless <br /> to say, back home at the concert's <br /> termination. My friends and I will <br /> be rehearsing here tomorrow evening <br /> so you needn't worry about the <br /> security of your charming little old <br /> house...<br /><br /> There is a knock at the door.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Huh? Excuse me.<br /><br /> I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson swings the door open to Sheriff Wyner. His squad <br /> car is parked at the curb.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Sheriff Wyner, how you doin'...<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Professor's eyes widen with concern as he hears the <br /> voices, off:<br /><br /> SHERIFF (O.S.)<br /> Evenin', Miz Munson, I just came <br /> by...<br /><br /> I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT<br /><br /> The sheriff is tipping his hat and already backing away, <br /> trying to make his visit brief:<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> ...to let you know I had a word with <br /> WeeMack. He says he gonna comply <br /> with your request, keep the music <br /> down and neighborly.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-hm.<br /><br /> He calls from the bottom of the stoop:<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> So you have a pleasant evening now, <br /> and just let us know--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Hang on there, Sheriff, somebody I <br /> want you to meet.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Ma'am, I'm a little pressed for time--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Why, you chasin' a gang of bank <br /> robbers? Get on in here say hello.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Voices approach:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...We was just havin' tea, talkin' <br /> about Othar--<br /><br /> The two enter and Mrs. Munson stops short, looking.<br /><br /> The living room is empty. Even the Professor's teacup is <br /> gone.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Hm... Bussed his own dishes. You <br /> can always tell a gentleman.<br /><br /> The sheriff, hat in hand, gazes about.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Someone was here, ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-hm, with me'n Othar.<br /><br /> Once again, he tries to excuse himself:<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Well, maybe I'll catch him next <br /> time...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Come on up to his room.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - DORR'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The door opens and the two look in.<br /><br /> The neatly made bed next to the small, barren dresser.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm, he's neat.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Very neat.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Probably went down to the cellar to <br /> play with his friends.<br /><br /> She turns.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Ma'am, I really have to...<br /><br /> POV FROM UNDER THE BED<br /><br /> Top-teased by a dust ruffle in the foreground, we see Mrs. <br /> Munson's heavy orthopedic shoes turning to pass Sheriff <br /> Wyner's shiny black boots.<br /><br /> REVERSE<br /><br /> shows Dorr, cheek pressed to the floor, his teacup and saucer <br /> under the bed with him.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> ...be gettin' back...<br /><br /> BACK TO NORMAL PERSPECTIVE<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is about to go out the door but notices something:<br /><br /> A corner of the Professor's cape, protruding from under the <br /> end of the bed.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> What the...<br /><br /> BACK TO DORR<br /><br /> fearfully watching.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The heavy orthopedic shoes approach, and then, with loud Mr. <br /> Mogul sounds of effort, Mrs. Munson's hands and knees hit <br /> the floor.<br /><br /> Her head drops in to view to peer in, her own cheek against <br /> the floorboards.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...What the... Why, Professor!<br /><br /> We see the Sheriff watching and his HIGH POV of Mrs. Munson's <br /> enormous ass.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...What you doin' havin' tea down <br /> there?!<br /><br /> Dorr makes silent hand waves to disavow his own presence.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson roars with laughter.<br /><br /> With difficulty she pushes herself back upright, still <br /> laughing.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Land of Goshen! Get out from under <br /> there!<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Miz Munson, my pager just went off...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Why of all the...<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE/FOYER - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Sheriff is already backing down the stairs:<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> 'Fraid I gotta respond...<br /><br /> He opens the front door and calls up:<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> ...I'll try to meet your friend some <br /> other time.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - DORR'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Dorr shimmies out from under the bed.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well that was very... refreshing... <br /> As you know...<br /><br /> He gets to his feet, slaps dust from the front of his pants.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...we academics are inordinately <br /> fond of wedgin' ourselves into <br /> confined spaces. At Yale the students <br /> will see how many of their number <br /> they can enclose in a telephone booth; <br /> Harvard, a broom closet.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Why I never!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> There was the goldfish-swallowin' <br /> craze, of course, a different but <br /> related phenomenon... Ahem... I hope <br /> I didn't spill any tea...<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - GUDGE'S OFFICE - DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE ON A BOX OF CHOCOLATES<br /><br /> The box is being pulled open.<br /><br /> GUDGE (O.S.)<br /> What the hell is this?<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> shows Gawain in Mr. Gudge's office as Gudge, behind the desk, <br /> looks at the gift-wrapped box.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> It's just my way of sayin', well, <br /> goddamnit, I don't know what it's <br /> like walkin' in your shoes, bein' <br /> all tightass and all, and you don't <br /> know what it's like to walk in my <br /> shoes, but, well...<br /><br /> Gudge is opening a card that was inside the box. Its floral <br /> front says in gold script, "I'm Sorry... If I hurt your <br /> feelings... "<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...You know, there's the custodian, <br /> and then there's the man inside the <br /> custodian, y'understand what I'm <br /> sayin'...<br /><br /> Gudge opens the card. Inside is a hundred-dollar bill.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...and that man has needs, dig, and <br /> I guess those needs, Mr. Gudge, which <br /> they usually involve women with big <br /> asses, well those motherfuckin' needs <br /> sometimes well up over the custodian <br /> like the motherfuckin' Johnstown <br /> Flood. But my point is it ain't gonna <br /> happen again. Not if it's humanly <br /> possible...<br /><br /> Gudge reads the card, flips it over to look at its back.<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Hmm...<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> But Jesus, if you'd seen the ass on <br /> that girl, Mr. Gudge, you'd a wanted <br /> her sitting on your face too.<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> Well, we're all human.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Ya damn skippy.<br /><br /> GUDGE<br /> This apology buys you a one-week <br /> probationary period. Stay away from <br /> the customers, MacSam.<br /><br /> INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT<br /><br /> Pancake is on his stomach, wearing goggles, boring a hole <br /> into a rock face with a power drill.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> We hear the whine of the drill faintly here, all but covered <br /> by the sound of the chamber music on the boom box.<br /><br /> The other men sit around. Dorr gives a casual glance at his <br /> watch as the whine subsides.<br /><br /> Pancake emerges from the tunnel covered with grime.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> The drill bit's getting awfully hot. <br /> Gawain, maybe you could fill a hudson <br /> sprayer and spritz it down while I <br /> drill.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Fuck you, man, I ain't your house <br /> nigger. I'm the inside man!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Look, are you gonna have a bug up <br /> your ass for the rest of the time we <br /> work together?<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> I'll get the sprayer.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> No no, me and this gentleman here <br /> have to get square. Let me tell you <br /> something, MacSam. You wanna know <br /> something?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I don't wanna know shit from you.<br /><br /> Pancake leans against the wall and pushes his goggles up on <br /> his forehead, leaving raccoon eyes.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> I'm gonna tell you how I came down <br /> to Mississippi. Wasn't born here, <br /> you know. I'm from Scranton, <br /> Pennsylvania...<br /><br /> Abruptly, he stares off into space.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Nnnff!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> Pancake's eyes regain their focus:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Scranton, Pennsylvania. Came down <br /> here in 1964. Greyhound Bus. With <br /> the Freedom Riders. You know who the <br /> Freedom Riders were, MacSam?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I don't give a shit who they were. <br /> Just tell me when they gonna leave.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> The Freedom Riders, my fine young <br /> man, were a group of concerned <br /> liberals from up North -- whites, <br /> Negros, and yes, Jewish people -- <br /> all working together, just like we <br /> are here. Concerned citizens who <br /> came down here so that local black <br /> people could have their civil <br /> liberties. So that people like you <br /> could have the vote.<br /><br /> All look at Pancake. Quiet, except for the delicate chamber <br /> music.<br /><br /> Gawain's tone softens:<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...You know what, man?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> What, brother?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I don't vote. So fuck you.<br /><br /> Pancake darkens:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Why you fucking--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> And the bus you rode in on!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> That's it!<br /><br /> He peels off his coat.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Let's step outside, MacSam!<br /><br /> There is a knock on the cellar door. The men freeze <br /> momentarily, then scramble for their instruments. The General <br /> flips his cigarette backwards into his mouth.<br /><br /> Dorr turns off the boom box, then calls:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes, madam?<br /><br /> The door opens and Mrs. Munson comes down the stairs, holding <br /> a large plate covered by a checked napkin.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> My friend Mrs. Funthes is here so <br /> I'm about to go on out. I just wanted <br /> to leave y'all with some cinnamon <br /> cookies...<br /><br /> She takes the napkin off and carries the plate from person <br /> to person; each obediently takes a cookie with a murmured <br /> "Thank you, ma'am."<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Y'all sound pretty good. It'd be <br /> nice if you'd come by the church <br /> some day, give us a recital.<br /><br /> Dorr takes her by the arm and escorts her back to the stairs.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh madam, you are too kind. Our music, <br /> however, is -- how shall I put it? -- <br /> rather Roman in its outlook; many of <br /> our pieces were commissioned by the <br /> Holy See.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Oh, I see all right, but we don't <br /> make a big whoop-dee-do about <br /> denominations; everybody welcome at <br /> our church. We've had Methodists <br /> come in. Episcopals. Even had a Jew <br /> come in once with a guitar back in <br /> the sixties.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Indeed. Excuse me, one moment, ma'am, <br /> and I shall see you off...<br /><br /> They have reached the top of the stairs and the Professor <br /> ushers her out but stays behind himself. He turns to address <br /> the rest of the men below:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...If you gentlemen can labor <br /> harmoniously in the course of my <br /> absence, then perhaps upon my return <br /> we shall be prepared to explode that <br /> vexin' ol' piece a igneous.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> He's the motherfuckin' piece of <br /> igneous.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Professor emerges from the cellar. Mrs. Munson awaits <br /> with her friend who is likewise togged out in fancy Sunday <br /> dress and carrying a shiny black purse.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Professor, this is Rosalie Funthes, <br /> Rosalie, Professor G.H. Dorr, Ph.D.<br /><br /> ROSALIE<br /> Oh my, that's an awful lot of letters.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well of course in my youth I was <br /> simply known as Goldthwait...<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> Pancake is taking the boom box off the table to clear some <br /> space.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> All right, safety meeting, let's <br /> listen up. General, could you hand <br /> me the prima cord and the compound <br /> there. Before we set the charge we'll <br /> run through our procedure.<br /><br /> Various paraphernalia are laid out on the table.<br /><br /> The cat sits in a corner of the cellar, watching carefully <br /> and, it seems, listening attentively.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...I have earplugs for whoever wants <br /> them. Just wedge them in your ears. <br /> Now here we have -- not yet, Lump.<br /><br /> Lump stops putting in his earplugs.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Now. Prima cord. Gelatinite. C4. <br /> Time comes, we pack the hole in the <br /> rock with the C4 and insert two leads. <br /> A...<br /><br /> He holds up one lead.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...and B.<br /><br /> He holds up the other lead.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Charge comes from a battery that <br /> is inside this plunger. Ordinary <br /> auto battery, you can pick it up at <br /> Sears, easiest thing in the world...<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> A black town car idles at the curb. Dorr is just escorting <br /> the two ladies out the front door and down the stoop.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I remember my father telling me -- <br /> and it is one of the few memories I <br /> retain of the man, from one of his <br /> visits home, and how I do cherish it -- <br /> he said, "Goldthwait, you are not <br /> formed as other little boys."<br /><br /> ROSALIE<br /> Mm-mm.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> He a man of learnin'?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> G.H. number two was self-educated; <br /> he had no career, as such, though <br /> the state recognized the breadth of <br /> his readin' by making him librarian <br /> at the state nervous hospital in <br /> Meridian, where he was a distinguished <br /> inmate.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> Pancake sets down the two electrical leads and picks up a <br /> hammer.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> This is the same procedure we will <br /> be using when we collapse the tunnel <br /> after entering the casino vault and <br /> returning to the root cellar.<br /><br /> He looks pointedly at Gawain.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...This is for your own protection, <br /> so pay close attention. Once these <br /> materials are combined only the <br /> professionals may handle them. That <br /> means me, or the General. Separately <br /> they are harmless-completely inert. <br /> Why, you could light this stuff on <br /> fire, hit it with a hammer--<br /><br /> He swings the hammer down onto the plastique--<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> --and there is the dull thud of an explosion and the house's <br /> windows rattle in their frames.<br /><br /> The Professor, at the open door of the car into which the <br /> two ladies have just sat, looks up at the house, as do the <br /> ladies.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...What in the name of heaven was <br /> that?<br /><br /> Dorr stares at the house, appalled.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I'm... quite sure... that there is... <br /> no cause for alarm...<br /><br /> He struggles for self-possession.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Why, I'm not even absolutely <br /> certain that I heard anything at <br /> all.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Didn't hear anything?!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well, something, perhaps, but...<br /><br /> Marva Munson starts to get out of the car.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...nothing that need discompose us, <br /> was the sense I was trying to <br /> convey...<br /><br /> He urges her back into her seat.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Miz Munson, I will not have you <br /> missing your musical recital. Why, <br /> you go ahead now. Miz Funthes, you <br /> as well, I beg of you...<br /><br /> He is backing up the walk.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...I shall call the gas company, or <br /> the water company, or whatever <br /> subterranean utility is implicated <br /> in this little... occurrence... I <br /> shall see to the matter... as only a <br /> highly educated classicist could.<br /><br /> At the door now, he gives the two women peering out the car <br /> window a smiling but vigorous wave away, which they do not <br /> heed, and then he enters.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The room is filled with smoke.<br /><br /> Othar, slightly askew over the mantel, looks a little huffy.<br /><br /> We hear clomping and screaming on the cellar stairs.<br /><br /> Lump bursts out, shrieking:<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Blood, Professor! Oh my God! Blood!<br /><br /> The General comes bounding up the stairs like a panther, a <br /> cigarette burning in his lips. He lands catlike in the living <br /> room, glides to the blubbering Lump, grabs one shoulder firmly <br /> with one hand, and with the other slaps him sharply, once <br /> forehand, once backhand.<br /><br /> Lump stares at him, shocked, his blubbering cut short.<br /><br /> More noise is coming from the stairs:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...why, it's nothing to make a fuss <br /> about. Perfectly all right... happens <br /> all the time...<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...You gotta go find it, dipshit!<br /><br /> Pancake emerges from the stairwell, his hair singed, his <br /> face and the front of his jumpsuit darkened by the blast. He <br /> is clutching one hand with the other.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...No, no. Really, I'm perfectly all <br /> right.<br /><br /> Gawain has ascended just behind to hector him over his <br /> shoulder:<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Perfectly all right? You just blew <br /> your fucking finger off!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Sure, but--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Well get back down there and find <br /> it, man! I ain't pickin' up your <br /> goddamn finger!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I gather there was a premature <br /> detonation--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> They can sew that shit back on, jack! <br /> Like that guy his wife cut his dick <br /> off! Just sewed that motherfucker <br /> back on!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Of course. Simplest thing in the <br /> world. Microsurgery--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Saw that motherfucker in a porno! <br /> Thing still works!<br /><br /> Pancake is pale from loss of blood and his pontifications <br /> lack full conviction:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Oh yes, they have remarkable abilities <br /> in the, uh...<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> Quiet.<br /><br /> The two women sit in the idling car, looking at the house.<br /><br /> From the house there is very muted bellowing.<br /><br /> Still looking toward the house, Mrs. Munson offers a word of <br /> explanation to her friend:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> They using the house to practice <br /> music a the rococo.<br /><br /> ROSALIE<br /> Mmmm-hm.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The cat, with a human finger in its mouth, sidles cautiously <br /> to one side, warily eying someone.<br /><br /> VOICES (O.S.)<br /> Get him!<br /><br /> The General, pluming cigarette in his mouth, tensed arms <br /> extended outwards, sidles cautiously to cut him off.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I propose that we get our fallen <br /> comrade to the hospital, and the <br /> General shall follow when he manages <br /> to recover the severed digit.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> I don't know what all the fuss is <br /> about.<br /><br /> The cat jumps.<br /><br /> The General leaps to follow.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> The two women looking.<br /><br /> The front door of the house opens. Lump, the Professor, and <br /> Gawain emerge, escorting Pancake. Just before Gawain finishes <br /> closing the door the cat slips out.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> PICKLES!<br /><br /> The door is yanked fully open and the General races out after <br /> the cat.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...You catch Pickles now!<br /><br /> The cat races across the lawn and, with no break in stride, <br /> up his favorite tree.<br /><br /> The General follows and, also without breaking stride, <br /> clambers up the tree after it.<br /><br /> Tree limbs shake with activity hidden by the leaves. We hear <br /> the hiss of the cat.<br /><br /> The men are bundling Pancake into the hearse. Dorr calls to <br /> the women before climbing in:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> The house is perfectly in order, but <br /> we need medical attention for Mr. <br /> Pancake who, during the disturbance, <br /> pinched his finger in a valve of the <br /> sackbutt.<br /><br /> The cat leaps out of the tree and runs away down the road.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You let the cat out!<br /><br /> The General leaps out of the tree to land catlike on the <br /> street, arms tensed, casts a look both ways, and then pursues <br /> the animal down the road. We hear the retreating padding <br /> footsteps of all six feet.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> The General is even now exercising <br /> every effort to retrieve your <br /> mischievous little pet. Please go, <br /> go and enjoy your concert, and we <br /> shall see you later in the evening. <br /> Au revoir, mes dames!<br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - NIGHT<br /><br /> A new day. The garbage scow chugs down the mighty Mississippi. <br /> It toots its horn.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> CLOSE ON SCHEMATIC MAP<br /><br /> It shows the underground complex and, stretching towards it <br /> in a line drawn with a blunt pencil, is the tunnel. It is <br /> now almost to the vault.<br /><br /> A violin bow enters to tap at the line.<br /><br /> DORR (O.S.)<br /> Despite our little setback we find <br /> ourselves on schedule to penetrate <br /> the vault...<br /><br /> The bow taps at the vault outline.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...here, this afternoon, having <br /> successfully blasted that little ol' <br /> rock to pieces during Miz Munson's <br /> choir practice.<br /><br /> The violin bow withdraws.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Clark, perhaps you can run us <br /> through the game plan for what remains <br /> of our tunnelin'.<br /><br /> A bandaged hand enters frame and a finger-stump points at <br /> the end of the penciled line.<br /><br /> PANCAKE (O.S.)<br /> Of course. Why, it's child's play <br /> now, easiest thing in the world. <br /> Only a couple of feet separate us <br /> from the vault...<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> The men are clustered around the map, spread out on the <br /> sackbutt case in the cellar. Clark continues:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Just the usual spadework until we <br /> hit the masonry of the vault, and <br /> then we drill through.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And will you be able to wield the <br /> drill with your maimed extremity?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Oh, I should think so, it's only one <br /> finger. Inhibits me in doing finer <br /> work, of course. I'll always have to <br /> live with that... Ahem. Maybe, and <br /> I'm just thinking out loud here, <br /> maybe since, as you say, it will <br /> present problems later...<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes, Clark?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, maybe -- and this is something <br /> I've talked over with Mountain Girl, <br /> and she agrees with me, so it's not <br /> just one person's opinion -- maybe I <br /> should get a little extra compensation <br /> for the accident.<br /><br /> A long, stony silence.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Somewhat larger share. Why, if <br /> this were any other line of work I'd <br /> be getting workmen's comp, wouldn't <br /> I? Might even have a pretty good <br /> lawsuit.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You gonna sue yaself for blowin' off <br /> your finger?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well that is simply asinine--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes but you see, Clark, this is not <br /> what you just called "some other <br /> line of work."<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> But if it were--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> This is a criminal enterprise, not <br /> to put too fine a point on it, <br /> entailin' all manner a risks not <br /> involved in honest labor. Governmental <br /> regulations an' civic safeguards <br /> cannot be assumed to apply to <br /> antisocial pursuits.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Yeah, but he lost his finger.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> We don't give a shit! Man can blow <br /> his own dick off, don't make no <br /> nevermind to us! We don't gotta pay <br /> the man for goin' around blowin' off <br /> body parts! Getcha head outcha ass, <br /> man!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Look, you--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I think that in this instance Gawain <br /> has a very excellent point. I--<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> No extra share!<br /><br /> All stop and stare at the General.<br /><br /> Clark grumbles:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, okay, majority rules, like I <br /> say, it was just a trial balloon. <br /> Hand's not so bad really, I even get <br /> some phantom feeling.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You pull on your prick you get phantom <br /> feeling. Greedy motherfuck.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Now that that matter is settled, let <br /> us synchronize our watches before <br /> Gawain reports to work. In... twenty <br /> seconds... it will be twelve-sixteen <br /> exactly... fifteen...<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> It will be twelve-fifteen?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> No, in fifteen seconds -- now eleven <br /> seconds -- it will be twelve-<br /> sixteen... eight...<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Professor?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Six... five -- yes, Lump?<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> I don't have a watch.<br /><br /> EXT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> It is the weathered doorway to the main entrance of the Lady <br /> Luck. A hand enters to rap.<br /><br /> ELRON (O.S.)<br /> Yeah?<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Me, dickwad.<br /><br /> A low, chesty chuckle. The door swings open and Gawain enters.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> RUMBLING WHEELS ON NUBBY FLOOR<br /><br /> A garbage bin is being wheeled across the empty casino floor.<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> Gawain is wheeling it. He is approaching the tunnel to the <br /> corporate annex.<br /><br /> BACK TO THE WHEELS<br /><br /> As they roll down the tunnel.<br /><br /> INT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> Loud singing at the cut. We are looking at Mrs. Munson in <br /> the middle of the choir, holding forth in song.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY<br /><br /> Gawain leans back against the wall next to the vault door, <br /> arms folded across his chest. Faintly, from inside the vault, <br /> we hear the whine of a power tool. Gawain leans over and <br /> punches the button on boom box that hangs from the rolling <br /> garbage bin. The hallway pulses with "I Left My Wallet In El <br /> Segundo."<br /><br /> INT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> More singing, Mrs. Munson and the rest of the choir now <br /> clapping as they sing.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> The power-tool whine is louder here. We are looking at a <br /> patch of wall.<br /><br /> After a beat, and with a loud rev as resistance gives way, a <br /> drill bit emerges from the wall, spitting out bits of the <br /> masonry.<br /><br /> The drill withdraws.<br /><br /> After a beat, hammer blows.<br /><br /> The chunk of masonry begins to buckle.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY<br /><br /> The General opens the door, still somehow immaculately <br /> groomed. Gawain enters.<br /><br /> INT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> The gospel number rising to climax, supported by the organist <br /> and the rest of the congregation.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> Clark and Lump, covered in dirt and plaster dust, have started <br /> stuffing bundled bills and small sacks into large garbage <br /> bags. An irregular hole, about three feet across, gapes in <br /> the far wall.<br /><br /> Gawain punches off the boombox, looking at all the money.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Well ain't that somethin'.<br /><br /> Clark suddenly freezes in the act of collecting money. He <br /> straightens slowly.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Hnnnn. Arrunggggh! Rnffff.<br /><br /> He stands stock still, wincing, gazing off into space.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Mmmmnggh!<br /><br /> He whispers hoarsely, urgently:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...IBS!<br /><br /> The other men look at him.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...Say what?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> IBS! Irritable Bowel Syndrome! Is <br /> there a men's room down here?!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Oh man, you shouldn't be using the <br /> men's room--<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Or a lady's room! IBS! Quickly!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You shoulda shit back in the house, <br /> man! We don't want Elron finding you <br /> in the goddamn crapper!<br /><br /> Clark's voice is still hoarse. He does small knee bends of <br /> urgency:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> No choice! Quickly! It's a medical <br /> condition!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You are disgusting, man. All right, <br /> follow me.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> We are CLOSE ON Gawain peering anxiously to one side.<br /><br /> He turns and peers the other way.<br /><br /> We hear a toilet flush and, after a beat, Clark emerges from <br /> the men's room door next to which Gawain stands. His manner <br /> is now completely relaxed.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Feel thirty pounds lighter.<br /><br /> They start walking back to the vault.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Thank you for being so <br /> understanding. Not everyone is, of <br /> course, which is why the biggest <br /> challenge of IBS is educating the <br /> public. Afflicts over two million <br /> people yet most of us have never <br /> heard of it. And it strikes without <br /> regard to age, gender or race.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Oh fuck, man, I don't wanna know <br /> about it.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> That's the kind of attitude we're <br /> fighting.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Well maybe you should sign me up, <br /> man, 'cause you startin' to irritate <br /> my bowel.<br /><br /> INT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> The choir finishes a number and sits -- all except for Marva <br /> Munson, who unties the knot on her robe at the nape of her <br /> neck, slips it off and, with murmured goodbyes, slips away.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> As the two men enter Clark is still holding forth:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...I guess I never told you, that's <br /> how Mountain Girl and I met. They <br /> had an IBS Weekend at Grossinger's, <br /> in the Catskills. Of course the <br /> tourist business up there has <br /> suffered, with the demise of the <br /> Borscht Belt. So they have different <br /> promotions, mixers, so on. This was <br /> a weekend for Irritable Bowel singles <br /> to meet and support each other and <br /> share stories.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Man, I don't wanna hear a single one <br /> a them stories.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, some of them are very--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Not one fuckin' story! You one fucked-<br /> up motherfucker! You--<br /><br /> They stop short, looking:<br /><br /> The General and Lump are standing in the middle of the floor, <br /> stock still, each clutching a bag of money, staring up at <br /> the same corner of the ceiling.<br /><br /> Lump turns to Clark and Gawain.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Hey, lookit that.<br /><br /> Gawain and Clark join them in the middle of the vault and <br /> look up at the corner of the ceiling.<br /><br /> A small video camera, aimed squarely at the four men.<br /><br /> THROUGH THE CAMERA<br /><br /> Black-and-white video, very WIDE ANGLE HIGH SHOT, of the <br /> four motionless men below goggling up at the lens. Smoke <br /> plumes from the General's cigarette.<br /><br /> BACK TO NORMAL PERSPECTIVE<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Huh. Looks like an Ikegami.<br /><br /> He slips on his reading glasses as he gets a leg up on a <br /> shelf just below the camera and hoists himself. He peers in <br /> at the lens.<br /><br /> THROUGH THE LENS<br /><br /> Clark looming into EXTREME CLOSE SHOT.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Oh yeah. Mm-hm. I'm not sure <br /> whether it's broadcasting...<br /><br /> NORMAL PERSPECTIVE<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Um-hm... No...<br /><br /> He is fingering the back of the camera.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Hard wire...<br /><br /> Down below, Gawain looks at the wire snaking along the seam <br /> of wall and ceiling. At the opposite corner it travels down <br /> the joint of the two walls.<br /><br /> He traces its path down and then across one wall at chair-<br /> rail height towards the door. The other men follow in an <br /> anxious herd as he traces one finger along it.<br /><br /> Just before reaching the vault door the wire goes through <br /> the wall in a hole finished off with a grommet. Gawain goes <br /> out the vault door...<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY<br /><br /> ...and picks up the line where it emerges on the other side, <br /> travels down to the joint of wall and floor, and then <br /> continues along the floor. Gawain follows it and the other <br /> men continue to follow him.<br /><br /> He traces it anxiously down the hall in a hunched lope. The <br /> other men scuttle behind into...<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - MONITOR ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> The wire winds around into the room, back up to chair-rail <br /> height, along one wall, behind some cabinetry which Gawain <br /> hurries past to find it again on the far side, and then down <br /> to a video recorder.<br /><br /> It is not, however, hooked up to the video recorder: its <br /> pronged end swings loose just by where it would be plugged <br /> in.<br /><br /> Inside the video recorder is a casette, which Gawain ejects. <br /> The men crowd to look over his shoulder as he examines it:<br /><br /> "Shevann's Schvanz".<br /><br /> There is a pile of other videos by the monitor: "Charlayne <br /> and the Chocolate Factory," "Big Dick Blaque's Big Night <br /> Out," "Lemme Tell Ya 'Bout Black Chicks," "Anus & Andy." <br /> Just next to the pile is an old bowl of Kocoa Krispies.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> The General climbs into the tunnel with a garbage bagful of <br /> money, followed by Lump, likewise encumbered. Lump hands <br /> back out a satchel to Gawain, who sets it on the vault floor <br /> by the hole. From the way he handles it, it is quite heavy. <br /> Pancake, also with a bag of money, is getting ready to climb <br /> in:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Look, I didn't choose to have IBS--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Shut the fuck up!<br /><br /> Lump hands Gawain a smaller, lighter satchel which he likewise <br /> sets on the floor.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> There's no cure, you know. Only <br /> control. Lifelong condition. Not <br /> complaining, just fact. And I did <br /> meet Mountain.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Grab your bag and get in that fucking <br /> hole!<br /><br /> EXT. CHURCH - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is leaving, with singing still audible from the <br /> service that continues inside.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> We are looking from inside the tunnel towards its mouth, <br /> where the Professor stoops slightly to peer in, anxiously <br /> dry-washing his hands.<br /><br /> A REVERSE shows the hunched-over men scuttling along the <br /> tunnel towards us, holding large garbage sacks.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Welcome back, gentlemen, mission <br /> accomplished I see. I am so very <br /> very delighted...<br /><br /> He gives a hand down to each man as he exits the tunnel.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Congratulations. Congratulations. <br /> I have some cold duck on ice for the <br /> occasion.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Maybe we could have something to <br /> drink, too.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> Gawain, left behind, is muttering to himself as he uses a <br /> trowel and other instruments from his satchel to patch up <br /> the hole at his end of the tunnel.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Motherfucker can't stop talking, <br /> can't stop shitting. Motherfucker <br /> tell everyone about his motherfuckin' <br /> asshole. No one gives a shit about <br /> his asshole. Nobody interested in <br /> another man's asshole. Or his bitch's.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is letting herself in.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> The men are sitting around the table, champagne glasses <br /> raised. On the table sits the money, stacked in orderly piles.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gentlemen, to we few. We who have <br /> shared each other's company, each <br /> other's care, each other's joy, and <br /> who now reap the fruits of our <br /> communal effits, shoulder to shoulder, <br /> from each accordin' to his abilities <br /> so forth whatnot. We have had our <br /> little diffences along the way, it's <br /> true, but I like to think they have <br /> only made us value one another the <br /> more, each coming to understand and <br /> appreciate the other's unique <br /> qualities, potencies, and, yes, <br /> foibles. I suggest that we shall <br /> look back upon this caper one day, <br /> one distant day, grandchildren dandled <br /> upon our knee, and perhaps a tear <br /> will form, and we shall say, Well, <br /> with wit, and grit, and no small <br /> amount of courage, we accomplished <br /> something on that day, a feat of <br /> derring-do, an enterprise not ignoble -- <br /> we, merry band, unbound by the <br /> constraints of society and the <br /> prejudices of the common ruck, we <br /> happy few. Gentlemen -- to us!<br /><br /> MEN<br /> To us!<br /><br /> They clink.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY<br /><br /> Upstairs Mrs. Munson runs water into a teapot, humming to <br /> herself.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> Having finished patching, Gawain starts painting. He turns <br /> on his boombox, and out comes the big bassy "I Left My Wallet <br /> in El Segundo."<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> The men, having drunk deep, are setting down their glasses. <br /> Pancake looks at his watch with some concern.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Charge should've gone off already.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I do beg your pardon?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> The charge to collapse the tunnel. I <br /> set it for eight minutes.<br /><br /> Dorr looks at his watch.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well that time, and more, has most <br /> certainly elapsed.<br /><br /> FROM INSIDE THE TUNNEL<br /><br /> Looking toward the mouth. The men stoop over and peek <br /> fearfully in.<br /><br /> They again stand upright. A silence.<br /><br /> Dorr clears his throat.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I need not remind you of the <br /> importance of obliterating any trace <br /> of a connection between the vault <br /> and this house. It was of the essence <br /> of this plan that it should appear <br /> that the money had simply vanished. <br /> Without a trace. Spirited away, as <br /> it were, by ghosts.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Of course. I understand.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> The conundrum of the undisturbed yet <br /> empty vault, the unsolvable riddle <br /> of the sealed yet violated sanctum, <br /> is of the utmost importance not only <br /> to make our caper innelectually <br /> satisfying. It is also exigent as a <br /> matter of practical fact: I remind <br /> you that if a tunnel is ever found <br /> leading to this house, this house's <br /> owner knows all of your names.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> She certainly does.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Therefore -- to draw the unavoidable <br /> conclusion -- someone shall have to <br /> reenter the tunnel to reset that <br /> charge.<br /><br /> INT. TUNNEL - DAY<br /><br /> Pancake, hunched over, scurries along the tunnel. He reaches <br /> the remnants of a large rock, where the tunnel grows smaller.<br /><br /> He drops to crawl position and elbows his way forward, <br /> toolbelt clanking along.<br /><br /> We are getting closer and closer to a muffled but thuddingly <br /> bassy "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo."<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> The music loudly present at the cut. Gawain takes a handheld <br /> blowdryer out of his satchel and flips it on, directing it <br /> at the fresh paint on the wall whose repairs are now <br /> invisible.<br /><br /> INT. TUNNEL - DAY<br /><br /> Music once again muffled. Pancake has reached a little LED-<br /> displaying timer with leads trailing off of it.<br /><br /> He grabs it, puts on his reading glasses, squints.<br /><br /> The display shows: TIME REMAINING: 00:12.<br /><br /> The colons in the display rhythmically blink, but the number <br /> does not advance. For some reason, stuck.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Huh.<br /><br /> He reaches to his tool belt, pulls out his Leatherman.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is setting places at a large table. There are <br /> about a dozen place settings.<br /><br /> INT. TUNNEL - DAY<br /><br /> Pancake now has a mini-mag light clenched between his teeth, <br /> aimed down at the timer. He opens the phillips head on his <br /> Leatherman but abruptly stops and stares off into space.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Nnnnrungh...<br /><br /> He is squinting with pain.<br /><br /> The muffled hip-hop song is beginning to recede.<br /><br /> INT. VAULT - DAY<br /><br /> Gawain is wheeling his garbage cart out the door. The vault <br /> is completely empty but looks completely undisturbed.<br /><br /> He closes the heavy vault door behind him, leaving quiet.<br /><br /> INT. TUNNEL - DAY<br /><br /> Quiet here as well, now. Pancake's moan trails off to nothing. <br /> He relaxes. The moment, whatever it was, has passed.<br /><br /> He looks back down at the unit, flicks it with his finger, <br /> and it emits a soft beep.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> He squints at the back of the unit.<br /><br /> As it beeps again, he turns the unit over to look at its <br /> face.<br /><br /> The readout now says: 00:10.<br /><br /> As he watches, peering down through the bottom of his glasses, <br /> it continues to advance with a beep as each second slips by: <br /> 9... 8...<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...What the--<br /><br /> His eyes widen and he frantically shakes the unit. It <br /> continues beeping. He briefly and sloppily tries to fit the <br /> phillips head into one of the four screws on the back of the <br /> unit but immediately gives up and starts a panicked wriggle <br /> back up the tunnel, whimpering.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> Gawain is wheeling his garbage cart past Elron.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is placing the last piece of silverware, just <br /> so.<br /><br /> INT. TUNNEL - DAY<br /><br /> Pancake is in full panicked awkward flight as--<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> --BOOM! We CUT TO the cellar and Pancake is shot out the <br /> tunnel like a human cannonball, trailing a comet-tail of <br /> dirt, dust, and debris that wafts what were neatly stacked <br /> bills up into the air.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> The portrait of Othar jostles back to square. He now looks a <br /> little angry.<br /><br /> The cat arches her back, emitting a startled yowl.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson stands, frozen, then looks slowly around, trying <br /> to assimilate what has just happened.<br /><br /> INT. CASINO - DAY<br /><br /> Gawain and Elron are staring at each other, frozen, also <br /> reacting to what just happened.<br /><br /> Finally:<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...You just fart?<br /><br /> ELRON<br /> Heh-heh-heh.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is looking at the cellar door. Dust drifts out <br /> from under it.<br /><br /> She takes a slow step towards it. Another step. She opens <br /> the door.<br /><br /> There is no visibility in the cellar due to swirling clay <br /> dust.<br /><br /> She takes one step down the stairs, waving at the air in <br /> front of her face.<br /><br /> Paper money wafts in and out of the dust.<br /><br /> We hear Voices:<br /><br /> PANCAKE (O.S.)<br /> Perfectly all right. Not a problem.<br /><br /> LUMP (O.S.)<br /> Well there sure as shit ain't no <br /> tunnel left.<br /><br /> The clearing dust reveals the caped Professor anxiously <br /> dancing from foot to foot, gathering money out of the air. <br /> As he reaches up to grab a bill that has him facing up in <br /> Mrs. Munson's direction, he freezes.<br /><br /> His POV reveals her through dissipating dust.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Professor, I'm surprised.<br /><br /> There is a long beat, through which all stare at her.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Properly speaking, madam, we have <br /> been surprised; you are taken aback. <br /> Though I acknowledge that the sense <br /> you intend is gaining currency through <br /> increasing use.<br /><br /> Further dissipation of the dust reveals how much money there <br /> is, settling now to cover the floor of the cellar.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...You have returned from your <br /> devotions betimes.<br /><br /> We hear the ring of the doorbell.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I hadda fix tea. I wanna talk to <br /> you, Professor, don't you be leavin'. <br /> And don't make any more noise! And <br /> you!<br /><br /> She points at the General who, in the excitement, has <br /> neglected to hide his ever-present cigarette.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...I told you, I don't want any <br /> smokin' in here!<br /><br /> She clomps upstairs and shuts the cellar door.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> We PULL HER towards the front door, angry and lost in thought. <br /> Her look softens somewhat as she opens the door.<br /><br /> It is a chattering infestation of hens: all of her friends <br /> from church push in wearing church dresses and elaborate <br /> hats.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> The men are still frozen looking up toward the door. The <br /> muted cackle of church ladies.<br /><br /> The men gradually unfreeze.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> She saw everything. She saw our <br /> hole...<br /><br /> He turns to Dorr, near tears:<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> ...She saw our hole, Professor!<br /><br /> Dorr rubs his hands anxiously, thinking:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes... Yes...<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> What do we do?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well, first, my dear boy, we follow <br /> the General's example...<br /><br /> The General remains staring up at the door, frozen but for <br /> the smoke pluming from the cigarette in his mouth.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...and refrain from panic. Secondly, <br /> we cooly, calmly, collectedly think... <br /> think...<br /><br /> The gaze of all the men drifts back up to the cellar door, <br /> and we look down at them, gazing up.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> The chattering ladies are gathered at the table, Mrs. Munson <br /> pouring them tea.<br /><br /> The cellar door creaks noisily -- one might almost say <br /> gothically -- ajar, and the Professor peers out with an <br /> ingratiating smile.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Hsst... Madam...<br /><br /> The chattering abates and the ladies all look at him. His <br /> smile broadens into ghastliness and he crooks a finger toward <br /> Mrs. Munson.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Mrs. Munson, if I might have a <br /> word...<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You get back down those stairs!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I assure you I shall be--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Hush! Down those stairs! We havin' <br /> tea now! I be down shortly.<br /><br /> He nods meekly and retreats, easing the door creakily shut.<br /><br /> The ladies look inquisitively at Mrs. Munson as his footsteps <br /> are heard descending the stair.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...He's the tenant.<br /><br /> LADIES<br /> Mm-hm.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR DAY<br /><br /> As the Professor rejoins the still staring and silent group. <br /> The money has been picked up and is once again in stacks <br /> upon the table.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> She shall be down shortly...<br /><br /> Explaining, he indicates upstairs with a jerk of the head:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Tea. Dainties.<br /><br /> The men nod, murmuring.<br /><br /> The cellar door squeaks open. There is the clomp of careful <br /> footsteps on the stair.<br /><br /> Using only tongue and teeth, the General flips his smoking <br /> cigarette inwards into his mouth and gives Mrs. Munson his <br /> usual deadpan look.<br /><br /> She halts halfway down the stairs, still wearing an apron <br /> and holding a spatula.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I don't know what you boys been up <br /> to but I wasn't born yesterday and I <br /> know mischief when I see it. Now I <br /> want an explanation, but first I <br /> want you boys to get your fannies up <br /> here with y'alls period instruments. <br /> I been tellin' the ladies about your <br /> music and they wanna hear you play.<br /><br /> She turns to head back up the stairs but abruptly stops to <br /> turn and give the General a hard look which he innocently <br /> returns.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Hmph.<br /><br /> She turns again and clomps back up the stairs.<br /><br /> The General opens his mouth and, again without using his <br /> hands, restores his cigarette to its usual place on his lower <br /> lip.<br /><br /> Lump is fretful:<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Professor?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes, Lump?<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> I can't really play the buttsack.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> The cellar door opens and the men troop out, G.H. Dorr leading <br /> and the other men following rather sheepishly behind.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Madame -- or rather, mesdames -- you <br /> will have to accept our apologies <br /> for failing to perform since, as you <br /> see, we are shorthanded. Gawain is <br /> still at work and we could no more <br /> play with one part tacit than a horse <br /> could canter shy one leg.<br /><br /> LADIES<br /> Mm-hmm.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Hmph.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Perhaps I could offer as a poor but <br /> ready substitute a brief poetic <br /> recital. Though I don't pretend to <br /> great oratorical skills, I will <br /> happily present, with your ladies' <br /> permission, verse from the unquiet <br /> mind of Mr. Ed G'Allan Poe.<br /><br /> Lump, Pancake, and the General sit and awkwardly accept dainty <br /> teacups.<br /><br /> The Professor rises, spreads his hand, and pronounces:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ..."Ladies, thy beauty is to me Like <br /> those Nicean barks of yore..."<br /><br /> CLOSE-UPS of the various ladies, some sipping tea or slowly <br /> munching biscuits, but all eyes glued to the declaiming man <br /> in the cape.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "That gently, o'er a perfumed sea <br /> The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To <br /> his own native shore... "<br /><br /> Murmuring Voice:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Amen.<br /><br /> A slurp of tea from another quarter.<br /><br /> Dorr bears on:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "On desperate seas long wont to roam, <br /> Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, <br /> Thy Naiad airs have brought me home <br /> To the glory that was Greece And the <br /> grandeur that was Rome... "<br /><br /> A long silence.<br /><br /> Then, scattered:<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> Mm-mm. Glory hallelujah.<br /><br /> A lady holding a teacup turns to the General:<br /><br /> LADY<br /> That was soooome poem.<br /><br /> The General stares at her.<br /><br /> LADY<br /> ...You know any?<br /><br /> We hear the front door opening and Gawain enters, still <br /> wearing his Lady Luck custodial uniform. He looks.<br /><br /> His POV: church ladies with teacups and his comrades seated <br /> among them, also holding teacups and scones.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Y'all been celebratin'?.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - LATER (EVENING)<br /><br /> The bustling and chattering ladies are just finishing leaving; <br /> Mrs. Munson is seeing them off at the door. Evening is <br /> gathering, and we hear the lonely toot of the distant garbage <br /> scow.<br /><br /> The men as well stand by the door and, affecting good cheer, <br /> wave off the departing ladies.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Goodbye, ladies. We had such a <br /> pleasant time.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson closes the door and her manner instantly darkens.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Now, I wanna know what's goin' on.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes indeed, and the thirst for <br /> knowledge is a very commendable thing. <br /> Though in this instance, I believe <br /> when you hear the explanation, you <br /> will laugh riotously, slappin' your <br /> knee and perhaps even wipin' away a <br /> giddy tear, relieved of your former <br /> concern.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Hmph.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> You see Lump here is an enthusiastic <br /> collector of Indian arrowheads and, <br /> having found one simply lying on <br /> your cellar floor, a particularly <br /> rare artifact of the Natchez tribe, <br /> he enlisted us in an all-out effort <br /> to sift through the subsoil in search <br /> of others. Well, in doing so, we <br /> apparently hit a motherlode of natural <br /> gas -- I myself became acutely aware <br /> of the smell of "rotten eggs" -- and <br /> it was at just this unfortunate moment <br /> that the General here violated one <br /> of the cardinal rules of this house <br /> and lit himself a cigarette.<br /><br /> The General stiffly bows:<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> So sorry.<br /><br /> The Professor, nodding, smiling, and dry-washing his hands, <br /> continues to look at Mrs. Munson, though his story, <br /> apparently, has ended.<br /><br /> She returns his ingratiating look with a stare.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...What about all that money?<br /><br /> Dorr's smile fades.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Ah. The money. The money is... <br /> Mr. Pancake's.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> That's right.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> He only just re-mortgaged his house <br /> in order to pay for the procedure <br /> that will correct the wandering eye <br /> of his common-law wife, Mountain <br /> Water, who suffers from astygmia and <br /> strabismus and a general curdling of <br /> the vitreous jelly. Mr. Pancake <br /> however is an ardent foe of the <br /> federal reserve and is in fact one <br /> of those eccentrics about whom one <br /> occasionally reads, hoarding his <br /> entire life savings either under the <br /> proverbial mattress or, as in Mr. <br /> Pancake's case, in a Hefty bag that <br /> is his constant companion.<br /><br /> Under her stare, he elaborates:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Steel Sack.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Don't trust the banks. Never have.<br /><br /> She thinks, decides.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> This don't smell right. I'm callin' <br /> Sheriff Wyner.<br /><br /> A chorus of gasps.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Madam -- if you please. Yes! Yes! It <br /> was a lie! A fantastic tale! You <br /> have us! Dead to rights! But please <br /> allow me to tell you the truth -- in <br /> private.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - EVENING<br /><br /> He escorts her to sit beneath the portrait of Othar, sits <br /> across from her, and leans confidentially in.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Madam...<br /><br /> He agonizes. The words do not come easy.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...What I am about to reveal to you, <br /> you may find... shocking. Mrs. Munson, <br /> I must tell you that we are not... <br /> what we appear.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-hm.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> We are not in fact musicians of the <br /> late Renaissance. Nor of the early <br /> or mid period. We are, in fact... <br /> criminals! Desperate men, madam! We <br /> have tunneled into the nearby offices <br /> of the Lady Luck gambling emporium <br /> and have relieved it of its treasure!<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Lord have mercy!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> It is true that the Lady Luck is a <br /> den of iniquity, a painted harlot <br /> luring people into sin and exciting <br /> the vice of greed with her false <br /> promise of easy winnings. Oh, her <br /> gains are ill-gotten, yes, but I <br /> offer no excuses -- save one! We men <br /> have each pledged half of our share <br /> of the booty to a charitable <br /> institution -- the General, to a <br /> placement service for Southeast Asian <br /> refugees; Mr. Pancake to the Blue <br /> Ridge Parkway Conservancy; and Lump <br /> to the United Jewish Appeal. As <br /> compensation for use of your house <br /> we had planned to donate a full share <br /> to Bob Jones University, without <br /> burdening you with guilty knowledge <br /> by informing you of same. But you <br /> have wrested the information from <br /> me! Now it is all on the table. Now <br /> you have it, the whole story, the <br /> awful truth.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Stolen money!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes, yes, shamefully I admit it, <br /> yes! But find the victim, Mrs. Munson, <br /> I challenge you! Even the casino <br /> itself, that riparian Gomorra, shall <br /> suffer no harm! It has an insurance <br /> company, a financial behemoth that <br /> will cheerfully replenish its depleted <br /> vaults! That is its function! And <br /> the insurance company itself is made <br /> up of tens and tens of thousands of <br /> policy-holders so that -- we have <br /> done the calculations, Mrs. Munson! -- <br /> so that at the end of the day, at <br /> the final reckoning, each policy-<br /> holder shall have contributed only <br /> one penny -- one single solitary <br /> cent -- to the satisfaction of this <br /> claim.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Just one penny?<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Think of it, Mrs. Munson! One cent <br /> from thousands upon thousands of <br /> people so that Bob Jones University <br /> can continue on its mission! Why, I <br /> have no doubt that, were the policy-<br /> holders aware of the existence of <br /> that august institution, why, each <br /> and every one of them would have <br /> volunteered some token amount to the <br /> furtherance of its aims!<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well that's prob'ly true...<br /><br /> The Professor, warming, has resumed dry-washing his hands:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes madam, sadly, the criminal stain <br /> is upon my soul, but the benefit <br /> shall accrue to any number of worthy <br /> causes. As long, that is, as the <br /> secret stays with us. And I, surely, <br /> shall not be the one to divulge it.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson nods, musing.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well... it's hard to see the harm in <br /> it... One penny...<br /><br /> Her gaze drifts around the room, a smile beginning to warm <br /> her face. The smile freezes, though, as her look catches on <br /> something.<br /><br /> Her POV: Othar, above the mantle, looks down with a <br /> disapproving scowl.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...I'm sorry, Professor.<br /><br /> Dorr is taken aback:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Excuse me, ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> No. It's wrong. Don't you be leadin' <br /> me into temptation.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Madam, I must strenuously protest--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> No, it's just plain wrong. Stealin'. <br /> I know your intentions were good, <br /> and I won't call the police if you <br /> give the money back. But I gotta see <br /> that you do it.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Madam--<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> And all a you gotta go to church <br /> with me next Sunday.<br /><br /> The Professor is incredulous:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And... engage in divine worship?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I made up my mind. You can double-<br /> talk all you want, but its church or <br /> the county jail.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> But--<br /><br /> She rises.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You think it over. I gotta feed the <br /> cat.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> The men all sit around the card table, lit from below by an <br /> oil lamp. The General is neatly packing the stacks of <br /> banknotes into the sackbutt case.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Motherfuck!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes. Unfortunately, Mrs. Munson has <br /> rather complicated the situation--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I know how to discomplicate it! Put <br /> a cap in the old lady's head! Then <br /> everything simple again!<br /><br /> The group lapses into silence, considering. Even Gawain needs <br /> a moment to digest the horror that he himself has proposed.<br /><br /> The Professor is solemn:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Not easy to do. Many reasons. <br /> Practical ones: a quiet neighborhood, <br /> a sleepy town. Reasons of moral <br /> repugnance: a harmless woman, a deed <br /> conceived and executed in cold blood. <br /> No, Gawain; would that it were simple!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Well -- fuck, man! What we gonna do, <br /> give the money back and go to church?!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I shudder. I quake.<br /><br /> He turns to the General.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...You sir, are a Buddhist. Is there <br /> not a middle way?<br /><br /> The General grunts as he closes the clasps on the sackbutt <br /> case full of money:<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> Must float like a leaf on the river <br /> of life. And kill old lady.<br /><br /> The men murmur.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well... I suppose you are right. It <br /> is the active nature of the crime, <br /> though, that so horrifies -- the <br /> squeezing of the trigger, the plunging <br /> of the knife. But, think a moment -- <br /> look at the other tools we have at <br /> hand.<br /><br /> He looks around.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...We have the cellar. We have masonry <br /> and trowel. Perhaps we could simply... <br /> immure her.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Sure, easiest thing in the world. I <br /> could whip up a little mortar in one <br /> of those snow saucers, lay the bricks, <br /> anchor in some chains, Mountain has <br /> a source for the manacles...<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Ahh but gentlemen, we delude <br /> ourselves. Think of the woman's <br /> piteous moans as we lay tier upon <br /> tier of brick. Think of her <br /> lamentations as we fit the last brick <br /> into place, appealing to our better <br /> selves, the higher angels of our <br /> nature, our recollections of our own <br /> sainted mothers... No, I fear that <br /> we lack the sand to commit such an <br /> act. No... no... shortest and most <br /> painless is best. Let us confront <br /> reality. Gawain's gun... the retort <br /> muffled by a pillow... into the <br /> brain... the affair of an instant. <br /> The only question is... who wields <br /> the weapon.<br /><br /> He looks around the table. Silence. No volunteers.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...I believe it is traditional, in <br /> such circumstances, to draw straws.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, sure, fair enough.<br /><br /> He takes a broom leaning against the wall, bends back and <br /> snaps a handful of its bristles.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...I'm thinking, though, that since <br /> I lost my finger -- I mean, literally <br /> lost it because of that goddamn cat -- <br /> maybe I should be excused from this <br /> thing. Hard for me to squeeze a <br /> trigger anyway--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You one whiney motherfucker! I squeeze <br /> your nutsack you keep that up!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Listen, punk--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gentlemen, no special pleading, no <br /> exceptions. It's in the nature of <br /> the situation that we would all prefer <br /> to be excused.<br /><br /> Pancake grumbles as he counts out five bristles, takes one <br /> and snaps it in half, displaying the short straw to the group, <br /> and then hands the four long and one short to the Professor:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Well, okay... it was just a trial <br /> balloon...<br /><br /> With a flap of his cape the professor jumbles the straws and <br /> encloses them in one hand.<br /><br /> Sweaty CLOSE-UPS. Each man stares at the straws. Some <br /> hesitant, some resolute, they draw:<br /><br /> First, the General: long straw. His reaction: impassive.<br /><br /> Next, Lump: long straw. His reaction: relieved.<br /><br /> Next, Pancake. Long straw.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Long straw. You all see it. All your <br /> fuss over nothing, punk.<br /><br /> Two straws left. Gawain stares at them, licks his lips.<br /><br /> He reaches for one straw, touches it, hesitates.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> ...Motherfucker...<br /><br /> He touches the other straw, hesitates.<br /><br /> He goes back to the first straw, closes his hand around it, <br /> closes his eyes, and pulls.<br /><br /> He lifts the straw into frame before his squeezed-shut eyes, <br /> raises his eyebrows, and slowly opens fluttering eyelids to <br /> look: short straw.<br /><br /> The Professor, smiling, opens his fist to confirm that he <br /> holds the last long one.<br /><br /> Gawain moans.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> PULLING HIM UP THE STAIRS<br /><br /> Slowly, slowly, Gawain mounts the cellar stairs. Behind him, <br /> gathered in a semi-circle and looking up from the foot of <br /> the stairs, the other men wait.<br /><br /> As he plants one plodding foot in front of the other Gawain <br /> raises the gun, slides back its primer to make sure there is <br /> a round in the chamber, and then slides it shut as he reaches <br /> the door.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> In the foreground Mrs. Munson sits knitting, humming an old <br /> temperance tune. In the background the cellar door swings <br /> open. Marva Munson doesn't notice; her knitting needles <br /> continue their rhythmic clack.<br /><br /> We PULL Gawain, gun at the ready, as he takes slow, cautious <br /> steps across the floor.<br /><br /> We INTERCUT his POV of the back of the old lady's head, bowed <br /> over her knitting.<br /><br /> As Gawain passes the sofa he picks up a cushion and buries <br /> in it his hand holding the gun.<br /><br /> He looks back up at the old lady. But now, still cautiously <br /> approaching, he cocks his head, his expression bemused.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> nearing the old lady is now different somehow. The perspective <br /> is somewhat lower; the humming woman sounds not quite the <br /> same; the rocking chair and the room itself are subtly <br /> different.<br /><br /> WHEN WE CUT BACK TO GAWAIN<br /><br /> he is a runty, TEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD walking slowly across the <br /> floor; he is cradling not a gun in a pillow but a squirming <br /> little puppy dog.<br /><br /> The dog yips; the woman turns to look at us. It is not Mrs. <br /> Munson, but another black woman of about the same age.<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> What you got there, Gawain?<br /><br /> CHILD GAWAIN<br /> Why -- nothin', mama.<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> Nothin' my ass! You got a dog there!<br /><br /> CHILD GAWAIN<br /> No, Mama!<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> A filthy noisy little pest of a puppy <br /> dog gonna shit all over the house!<br /><br /> CHILD GAWAIN<br /> He won't shit in the house, Mama, <br /> I'm gonna train him, I promise, gonna <br /> train him real good--<br /><br /> WHAP! She cuffs him on the side of his head.<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> I'm gonna train you real good! I <br /> told you don't bring no stray dogs <br /> into this house!<br /><br /> WHAP! Another slap.<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> ...You wait til your Daddy gets home, <br /> he gonna lay into you proper!<br /><br /> WHAP!<br /><br /> The little boy, weeping, throws his arms around his mother:<br /><br /> CHILD GAWAIN<br /> Please don't hurt me no more! I love <br /> you, Mama!<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> Daddy gonna kick your ass!<br /><br /> WHAP!<br /><br /> MAMA<br /> ...Bringin' in a filthy dirty dog!<br /><br /> WHAP! Gawain's little brothers and sisters, drawn by the <br /> commotion, have gathered excitedly to watch.<br /><br /> SISTER<br /> Mama's whuppin' Gawain's ass!<br /><br /> BROTHER<br /> (eagerly)<br /> Ain't you gonna use the strap, Mama?<br /><br /> WHAP! WHAP! Gawain is sobbing:<br /><br /> CHILD GAWAIN<br /> Please don't hurt me, Mama!<br /><br /> Now it is the adult Gawain blubbering.<br /><br /> The clack of knitting needles stops and Mrs. Munson turns to <br /> look.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> What you doin'? What you doin' with <br /> my pillow there?<br /><br /> He surreptitiously slides the gun into his pocket, sniveling:<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I'm sorry, ma'am, I--<br /><br /> WHAP! She cuffs him on the side of the head.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I'm displeased with you! Colored boy <br /> like you, falling in with that trash <br /> downstairs!<br /><br /> WHAP!<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Ashamed a yourself! Didn't your <br /> mama raise you right!<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> Gawain is tramping down the stairs.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I can't do it!<br /><br /> The men are stunned.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Why... this is most... irregular.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> She reminds me of my mama. I can't <br /> shoot my mama! You motherfuckers <br /> just draw straws again.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Wait a minute. You've got to accept <br /> your responsibilities, young man.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> Fuck you. And your irritated bowel. <br /> I can't shoot that old lady.<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> Must shoot!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Now look here, it's the easiest thing <br /> in the world. Pretend her head is a <br /> casaba melon, and the gun is a melon-<br /> baller, and--<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> What the fuck you talkin' about, <br /> man? You think this a melon-baller, <br /> you do it, man!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> My my, this is most irregular.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Look, with equal rights come equal <br /> responsibilities--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> I'm afraid that Mr. Pancake is right, <br /> my dear fellow. We cannot draw straws <br /> again; the exercise loses all <br /> credibility if you show that the <br /> loser can simply beg off doing the <br /> job.<br /><br /> GENERAL<br /> Must shoot!<br /><br /> Gawain shoves the gun toward Pancake.<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> She just an old colored lady to you -- <br /> you do it, man!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Why you sniveling little coward!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> What you say, you whiney motherfucker? <br /> I come up your irritated ass with <br /> this -- motherfuckin' gun--<br /><br /> He is waving the gun.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> You think you scare me, you mewling <br /> punk! You don't scare me! Bull Connor <br /> and all his dogs didn't scare me!<br /><br /> He shoves Gawain.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Be a man!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You fuck!<br /><br /> He shoves him back.<br /><br /> Pancake shoves:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Be a man!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> You ain't no fuckin' man, fuckin' a <br /> sixty-year-old lady in pigtails!<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> WHY YOU BASTARD PUNK! MOUNTAIN GIRL <br /> IS FIFTY-THREE!<br /><br /> They are shoving each other now, getting into it.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...SHE COULD RIDE YOUR ASS TO JELLY!<br /><br /> He lunges at him with a bear hug and his inertia sends both <br /> men tumbling to the floor, where they roll and wrestle.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Gentlemen, please!<br /><br /> GAWAIN<br /> I seen Virginia hams I'd rather stick <br /> my dick in than your old--<br /><br /> BANG! A muffled gunshot.<br /><br /> Quiet.<br /><br /> The two men have stopped rolling.<br /><br /> They stare at each other where they lie, Pancake on top.<br /><br /> At length:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Oh my god...<br /><br /> Horrified, he slowly rises.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...I think he's hit!<br /><br /> The men gather round and look down.<br /><br /> Gawain still stares up at the ceiling.<br /><br /> Pancake stoops, waves his hand in front of his eyes. No <br /> reaction.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...I'll just check the carotid artery.<br /><br /> He checks the carotid artery.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...That's a negative.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Oh, fuck.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh my.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Is he dead, Professor?<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Sure he's dead. I checked his carotid <br /> artery.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well this is most irregular. We will <br /> need a Hefty bag.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> THE CELLAR DOOR<br /><br /> Creaking open. The Professor, Lump, and the General peek <br /> out.<br /><br /> The living room is empty but a sliver of the kitchen is <br /> visible; its light is on, and we can hear water running.<br /><br /> Dorr hisses:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> She is in the kitchen. I shall <br /> distract her while you steal out <br /> with the carcass.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT<br /><br /> Dorr enters breezily; Mrs. Munson is at the sink, filling a <br /> teapot.<br /><br /> Dorr positions himself so that, to talk to him, Mrs. Munson <br /> has her back to the living room.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Well, my dear Mrs. Munson, I have <br /> outlined your position to my <br /> colleagues and I now return to you <br /> to return our collective verdict.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-hmm.<br /><br /> Behind her, the General peers around the corner and starts a <br /> catlike advance across the living room.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> There was much spirited discussion <br /> and an atmosphere of frank give-and-<br /> take. Some of our number were <br /> initially appalled at your proposal <br /> that we simply return the money; <br /> some were more receptive.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I don't care they was receptive or <br /> not!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And that attitude, madam, was a factor <br /> in our discussions. To a man, I must <br /> say, they were devastated at the <br /> prospect of not being able to <br /> contribute to their respective <br /> charities.<br /><br /> The General signals to Lump who now crosses the living room <br /> with a big garbage bag slung over one shoulder in a fireman's <br /> carry.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well that is a shame.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Indeed. But at the end of the day, <br /> your position prevailed, and the men <br /> have decided that we shall return <br /> the money -- every last cent of it! -- <br /> and attend Sunday services, rather <br /> than spend the remainder of our years <br /> wasting away in the Mississippi Men's <br /> Correctional Facility. Though that <br /> was the original preference of some.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well I'm glad y'all came to see the <br /> light, anyway. I'm gonna have some <br /> tea and go to bed.<br /><br /> The Professor, seeing that the General and Lump have made it <br /> out the door, is anxious to wind things up:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> So the money shall be returned <br /> tomorrow at the opening of the casino <br /> office. Enjoy your tea, madam...<br /><br /> Backing out, he looks to one side.<br /><br /> Through the living room window he can see the hearse pulling <br /> away from the curb. There is another car -- an old Volkswagon <br /> microbus -- slowly tooling the opposite way down the street.<br /><br /> Dorr looks back to Mrs. Munson.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...and congratulations on having <br /> recalled to the fold five poor, <br /> confused sheep who had momentarily <br /> strayed.<br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - NIGHT<br /><br /> We are at the middle of the bridge, the tower gargoyle looking <br /> blankly down at the doings below.<br /><br /> In the misty night Lump and the General are braced over the <br /> railing, looking down, each holding one of the feet that <br /> protrude from the Hefty bag cinched around Gawain's ankles. <br /> A cigarette burns on the General's lower lip. Behind the two <br /> men we can see the idling hearse.<br /><br /> There is the toot of the garbage scow. Lump and the General <br /> release Gawain's feet.<br /><br /> Their POV shows the sack receding and flumping into the <br /> garbage piled onto the scow that slips by below.<br /><br /> A flock of scavenger birds, disturbed by the impact, lifts <br /> off the scow with angry caws.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Dorr skulks at a corner of the living room's picture window, <br /> peering out at the street.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> DOOR'S POV<br /><br /> The Volkswagon microbus again cruises slowly down the street <br /> in the same direction as previously; apparently it has been <br /> circling.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Professor scowls.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> DORR'S POV<br /><br /> The hearse pulls up to the curb.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Professor clomps down the cellar stairs. Pancake is <br /> loading their digging implements into a satchel.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> They back yet?<br /><br /> Dorr is absent:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Yes... yes, they just arrived.<br /><br /> Pancake straightens from the satchel.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Good. I'll go dump these in the <br /> hearse.<br /><br /> He mounts the stairs with a satchel in either hand. We can <br /> hear the front door opening as the other men enter.<br /><br /> Dorr, bemused, but apparently moved by a hunch, advances <br /> slowly to the sackbutt case.<br /><br /> He slides the catch that lets its spring clasp pop up.<br /><br /> He lifts the lid.<br /><br /> Mother Jones magazine. Piles of Mother Jones magazines.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> What in heaven's name...<br /><br /> He riffles a pile, confirming that it is in fact all magazine, <br /> no money.<br /><br /> Lump and the General are clomping down the stairs.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...General!<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> We are PULLING Clark down the street, a satchel in either <br /> hand.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The microbus, parked halfway down the block, ominously idling.<br /><br /> THE BUS<br /><br /> We are CLOSE on its side-view mirror. Someone leans from the <br /> driver's seat for a view into the mirror, and in the mirror <br /> we see her, pigtails swinging: Mountain Girl.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> Clark Pancake, still rather small, approaching up the empty <br /> street.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /><br /> PULLING him again. A smile is beginning to play at the corners <br /> of his mouth.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> No extra share, huh...<br /><br /> The smile abruptly fades.<br /><br /> He stops in his tracks for no discernible reason. At length:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Nnnrnf.<br /><br /> He pants.<br /><br /> Behind him, in the deep background, we see the General <br /> bounding into the street and silently toward us.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Oof!<br /><br /> The moment passes. Pancake shakes his head, as if to clear <br /> it, and resumes his walk.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> We are nearing the bus.<br /><br /> THE BUS<br /><br /> Mountain Girl sits in the idling bus, waiting.<br /><br /> With a thunk and a gentle rock of the bus, we hear its back <br /> doors opening, and Pancake's voice.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Mountain.<br /><br /> MOUNTAIN GIRL<br /> Clark.<br /><br /> We hear an oof! of exertion as Pancake hoists each of the <br /> two satchels into the back. The oofs are followed by:<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> ...Nnrungh! Aaarmh... Ninnnff... <br /> Offffflleghhll...<br /><br /> MOUNTAIN GIRL<br /> IBS, dear?<br /><br /> WE CUT TO:<br /><br /> THE BACK OF THE BUS<br /><br /> to show Pancake being garotted by the General.<br /><br /> PANCAKE<br /> Nnnnnmmmmfffgh!<br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - NIGHT<br /><br /> The tower gargoyle stares sightlessly down.<br /><br /> Lump and the General are at their accustomed place, each <br /> holding a foot shod in a large hiking boot.<br /><br /> Behind them we see the hearse idling.<br /><br /> Near them on the bridge, both hands grasping the railing as <br /> he gazes dreamily out into the night, is the Professor.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "...Like those Nicean barks of yore <br /> That gently, o'er a perfumed sea..."<br /><br /> We hear the toot of the boat's horn and the men drop the <br /> body.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Quick! Grab Clark!<br /><br /> They quickly stoop and grab another bag-swaddled body out of <br /> which even larger hiking boots protrude.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "...The weary, wayworn wanderer <br /> bore... "<br /><br /> They drop the second body.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "...To his own native shore."<br /><br /> We hear the distant flump and the cawing of scavenger birds.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> CLOSE ON A FIST<br /><br /> With three protruding straws.<br /><br /> SWEATING CLOSE-UPS:<br /><br /> Lump picks a long straw: relief.<br /><br /> The General picks a short straw. A short grunt.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Excellent. I believe, at last, we <br /> have the right man for the job.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson lies on her back gently snoring. At the open <br /> window, sheers ripple in the evening breeze.<br /><br /> A large clock ticks upon the mantle. It is almost one o'clock.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> THE CELLAR DOOR<br /><br /> It creaks open. The General looks stealthily out. A cigarette <br /> in his mouth plumes smoke.<br /><br /> He pushes the door fully open, emerges.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson's snore catches on an inhale. She mutters <br /> something, sighs, and resumes snoring.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE - NIGHT<br /><br /> The General treads lightly, noiselessly, up the stairway <br /> leading to the second floor. He slides one hand into his <br /> jacket, pulls out a garotte.<br /><br /> With the faintest whoosh he whips it in a complicated loop <br /> and snags the other handle with his other hand.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT<br /><br /> The General emerges from the staircase and advances on the <br /> closed bedroom door. As he reaches for the knob he performs <br /> the no-handed flip of the burning cigarette into his mouth.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> The door swings noiselessly open. The General pauses to <br /> survey:<br /><br /> The still room. The ticking clock. Mrs. Munson, a large <br /> sleeping mound upon the bed.<br /><br /> The General advances, raising the garotte in both hands.<br /><br /> He closes on her sleeping form.<br /><br /> The garotte is lowered toward her exposed neck.<br /><br /> It is a foot -- half a foot -- inches-away...<br /><br /> Somewhere a muted gear ratchets and triggers the toll of--<br /><br /> The clock, striking one. It is a cuckoo clock but, instead <br /> of a bird emerging, a berobed Jesus comes out with his hand <br /> resting on the head of a child who gazes up in adoration.<br /><br /> The General starts at the noise and then suddenly freezes, <br /> his eyes widening.<br /><br /> Jesus retreats back into the clock.<br /><br /> The General has swallowed his cigarette.<br /><br /> He reaches up to his throat, panicked. In a silent frenzy, <br /> he yanks loose his ascot.<br /><br /> He gazes wildly about.<br /><br /> He reaches for the water glass at Mrs. Munson's bedside.<br /><br /> He tips it back into his mouth. There is a rattling sound.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The uptilted water glass is sending false teeth -- full uppers <br /> and lowers -- rattling toward his face.<br /><br /> THE GENERAL<br /><br /> He frantically -- but still noiselessly -- sets the glass <br /> back down. Wildly looks about, one hand clamped to his throat.<br /><br /> A mad but silent dash for the door.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT<br /><br /> Plunging for the head of the stairs--<br /><br /> --a brief yowl from the cat--<br /><br /> --recoiling from where its tail has been stepped on, a hiss <br /> and a flash of its claws at the General's leg--<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE/LIVING ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> --and he falls down the stairs, each thudding impact bouncing <br /> his body like a rag doll's.<br /><br /> At the bottom of the stairs he lies still.<br /><br /> A CLOSE-UP shows his head bent at an unnatural angle, <br /> unblinking eyes staring. Traces of smoke wisp from each <br /> nostril and his open mouth.<br /><br /> Over the mantle, Othar returns the dead man's stare. He looks <br /> somewhat smug.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT<br /><br /> The Professor and Lump, responding to the noise, look slowly <br /> up toward the ceiling.<br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - NIGHT<br /><br /> The body is laid out in a garbage bag by the rail.<br /><br /> The Professor stands looking at it, contemplatively.<br /><br /> Lump stands looking at it, contemplatively.<br /><br /> The cat sits nearby on its haunches looking at it, <br /> impassively.<br /><br /> The professor muses:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...T'was our até brought us to this <br /> pass...<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> What, Professor?<br /><br /> There is the toot! of an approaching scow. Dorr's manner is <br /> still absent, his regard still on the corpse:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Our overweening pride... The old <br /> woman is a more potent antagonist <br /> than one had imagined...<br /><br /> He rouses himself, goes over to the bagged corpse. Lump <br /> follows him and the two men hoist the body over the rail.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Now, Lump, I'm afraid it falls to <br /> you to finish the job.<br /><br /> They let the body fall onto the scow passing below.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...The comedy must end.<br /><br /> The Professor turns to Lump and tries to hand him Gawain's <br /> gun, but Lump, uncomfortable, declines to take it.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> ...Professor, I been doing some <br /> thinking.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Maybe she's right! Maybe we should <br /> be going to church!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Oh dear, Lump. I feared that those <br /> would be your words. Not that I don't <br /> appreciate your giving the matter <br /> the benefit of your thought. But <br /> please recall, young man, our <br /> respective functions in this <br /> enterprise. I am a professor, the <br /> professor as you yourself so often <br /> say, the thinker, the "brains of the <br /> operation," trained in fact in the <br /> arts of cogitation. You, Lump, are <br /> the goon, the hooligan, the dumb <br /> brute whose actions must be directed <br /> by a higher intelligence.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Yeah, I know, but--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> No buts, dear boy! Do not repeat the <br /> error of thinking! Now is the moment <br /> of praxis! Now, my dear boy, you <br /> must act!<br /><br /> Lump reluctantly takes the gun that the Professor thrusts <br /> upon him.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> I can't do it, Professor! A nice old <br /> lady like that!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Think of the riches, Lump, that you <br /> and I alone shall divide! Recall the <br /> dream of wealth untold that first <br /> drew you to this enterprise!<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> But--<br /><br /> DORR<br /> And reflect also that if you decline <br /> to act, forcing me to do so, then <br /> you shall no longer have any <br /> entitlement to the money! Your offices <br /> shall have been nugatory!<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> You mean -- you mean -- you're gonna <br /> kill her?!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Of course! My hand would be forced!<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> I can't let you do that, Professor! <br /> A nice old lady like that!<br /><br /> DORR<br /> You?! Allow? Not allow? What <br /> presumption! You stupid boy! You <br /> very very extremely stupid boy!<br /><br /> We hear the toot of an approaching scow -- this one very <br /> long, sustained under all of the following:<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> Oh yeah?<br /><br /> He points the gun at the Professor and--<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> ...Well who looks stupid now?<br /><br /> --squeezes -- click -- on an empty chamber.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> He turns the gun to have a look.<br /><br /> LUMP<br /> ...No bullets?<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> shows the foreshortened barrel as he experimentally squeezes <br /> the trigger.<br /><br /> WE CUT TO:<br /><br /> the Professor on the BANG! and, after a sad shake of his <br /> head,<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> Lump in time to see him finish toppling back over the rail.<br /><br /> The scow-horn ends.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> Perhaps... it had to be thus.<br /><br /> He goes to the railing to look down.<br /><br /> Lump, face-up on a pile of garbage, glides away. Disturbed <br /> birds flap upward.<br /><br /> The professor muses:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "...Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche <br /> How statue-like I see thee stand..."<br /><br /> His gaze rises with the ascending birds.<br /><br /> Among the white gulls is one black bird. The Professor eyes <br /> it as it rises past him.<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Hm. A raven?<br /><br /> FROM VERY HIGH<br /><br /> we look down on the Professor, the black bird rising to perch <br /> on the gargoyle on the suspension tower in the foreground.<br /><br /> The bird settles on a loose, teetering piece of masonry.<br /><br /> BACK TO THE PROFESSOR<br /><br /> looking at the receding red light on the bridge of the <br /> receding scow:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> "...The agate lamp within thy hand... <br /> "<br /><br /> BACK HIGH<br /><br /> The teetering chunk of masonry tips away and the perchless <br /> bird flaps off.<br /><br /> BACK TO THE PROFESSOR<br /><br /> very dreamy: he sees something in the distance, beyond time <br /> and space:<br /><br /> DORR<br /> ...Ah, Psyche! from the regions which <br /> Are Holy land!"<br /><br /> This is punctuated by the crunching impact of masonry scoring <br /> a direct hit on his head. He falls over the rail.<br /><br /> His cape snags on the railing and he hangs limp and lifeless. <br /> Directly below his dangling body the stern of Lump's barge <br /> is slipping away to leave black waters and the clanking of <br /> chains.<br /><br /> The fabric of the Professor's cape begins to tear. His body <br /> drops in fits and starts as the fabric gives way.<br /><br /> Finally the body rips free. It falls away from us. As it <br /> does so the clanking chains are pulling into view the second-<br /> banger -- a garbage barge being chain-towed by the receding <br /> scow.<br /><br /> Dorr's body lands neatly on the barge.<br /><br /> A gust of wind.<br /><br /> The cape flaps free of the railing and is wind-tossed away <br /> amidst the cawing birds.<br /><br /> The cat, watching, blinks.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - DAY<br /><br /> DRINKING GLASS<br /><br /> It is resting on the very edge of the night table -- <br /> protruding, in fact, past the table's edge.<br /><br /> It is morning. We hear rustling from the bed.<br /><br /> Hands reach INTO FRAME and hesitate, finding the glass empty <br /> of water and precariously perched.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON (O.S.)<br /> Hmm.<br /><br /> The hands tip the glass and take the teeth. We hear <br /> complicated oral noises.<br /><br /> EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> The door opens away to reveal the morning paper lying on the <br /> stoop. Mrs. Munson leans INTO FRAME to pick it up and we <br /> ADJUST as she straightens to have a look:<br /><br /> The headline says: $2.6 MILLION DISAPPEARS FROM LADY LUCK <br /> CASINO. The subhead: POLICE BAFFLED.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Mm-hm.<br /><br /> INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is walking down the stairs.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Professor!<br /><br /> She stops midway down and looks:<br /><br /> The empty cellar.<br /><br /> Money stacked neatly on the card table.<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson sadly shakes her head.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Hmm. Couldn't face the music.<br /><br /> EXT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is climbing the porch in her Sunday best. She <br /> feints at the dog who lies curled in the sun:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Scoot now! Outa the way!<br /><br /> INT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY<br /><br /> The sheriff is busy on the phone; there is a DEPUTY today <br /> also on the phone. The sheriff, seeing Mrs. Munson enter, <br /> covers the phone with one hand.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Miz Munson.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Sheriff, I gotta make a statement.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Could it possibly wait, ma'am? We're <br /> a little busy today.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I guess it can wait, but it's about <br /> that casino money.<br /><br /> The sheriff exchanges a significant look with the deputy, <br /> then murmurs into the phone:<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Call you right back.<br /><br /> He cradles the phone and smiles at Mrs. Munson.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> ...You know something about it?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Something? Everything! I got it at <br /> home.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> You... you have what at home, now?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> The money. Two point six million <br /> dollars. Down in my root cellar. All <br /> stacked up nice and neat.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Mm-hmm.<br /><br /> The deputy pauses to look up from his phone:<br /><br /> DEPUTY<br /> How'd it get there, Marva?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Bunch a desperate men that stole it <br /> put it there, that's how! They was <br /> musicians of the Renaissance period, <br /> played the sackbutt and so on -- <br /> well, it turns out they really <br /> couldn't play, although they could <br /> recite poems to break your heart. <br /> Their ringleader speaks in dead <br /> tongues.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Does he now.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I tried to get you to see him! That <br /> night?<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Oh yes.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I had to yell at 'em 'bout stealin' <br /> all that money and I guess I made <br /> 'em feel pretty bad 'cause they picked <br /> up and left without takin' the money. <br /> But I was peeved with 'em, Sheriff, <br /> they'd been up to all sorts of <br /> mischief, come close to blowin' up <br /> the house, disturbed Othar no end.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Angry, was he?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Wouldn't you be? All that racket!<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> I expect so.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> And they let Pickles out too!<br /><br /> The sheriff sighs.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> So you want us to go fetch him.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> No, he's back, but what you want me <br /> to do with the money?<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Well...<br /><br /> He and the deputy exchange looks. The sheriff looks back at <br /> Mrs. Munson.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> ...Why don't you just keep it, Miz <br /> Munson.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Keep it?<br /><br /> DEPUTY<br /> You keep it, Marva.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Well... I know it's only a penny <br /> offa everybody's policy...<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> How's that ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> I know folks don't much care. Could <br /> I... You s'pose I could...<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Yes ma'am?<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Could I give it all to Bob Jones <br /> University?<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> That'd be nice, ma'am.<br /><br /> She picks up her handbag and heads for the door.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Well, long as everybody knows.<br /><br /> SHERIFF WYNER<br /> Thank you for the information, ma'am.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> You're welcome, sheriff. Just doin' <br /> my duty.<br /><br /> EXT. SAUCIER, MISSISSIPPI - DAY<br /><br /> Mrs. Munson is walking home. It is a beautiful spring day.<br /><br /> From far off, wafting toward us on the breeze, we can hear <br /> the church chorus singing. Mrs. Munson joins in. She has a <br /> strong voice:<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> Leaning, Leaning, Safe and secure <br /> from all harm. Lean on Jesus, Lean <br /> on Jesus, Leaning on the everlasting <br /> arm.<br /><br /> She turns up the walk to her house.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...What a fellowship, What a peace <br /> of mind, Safe and secure from all <br /> harm. Lean on Jesus, Lean on Jesus, <br /> Leaning on the everlasting arm...<br /><br /> When she opens the front door the cat slips out.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Pickles!<br /><br /> It races off down the street.<br /><br /> MRS. MUNSON<br /> ...Pickles!<br /><br /> EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - DAY<br /><br /> Pickles scurries along the walkway. We hear the toot! of an <br /> approaching scow.<br /><br /> The cat reaches the middle of the bridge. He sticks his head <br /> through the bars of the railing.<br /><br /> When we CUT CLOSE on the cat as he looks down at the water, <br /> we see that he holds in his mouth a human finger.<br /><br /> As the scow passes underneath, the cat opens its mouth and <br /> lets the finger drop.<br /><br /> The finger falls away and is barely visible by the time it <br /> hits the scow.<br /><br /> The cat looks up INTO THE LENS, and blinks. Its sideways <br /> irises adjust.<br /><br /> The scow is gliding away. With the low mournful toot of its <br /> horn we tilt up the river to the great garbage island where <br /> scavenger birds pick through the trash.<br /><br /> THE END<br /><br /> <br /><br /> Ladykillers, The<br /><br />Writers : William Rose Joel Coen Ethan Coen<br />Genres : Comedy CrimeEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-5386849291602023742007-05-17T14:18:00.003-07:002007-05-17T14:25:33.672-07:00"INTOLERABLE CRUELTY""INTOLERABLE CRUELTY"<br /><br /> Screenplay by<br /><br /> Robert Ramsey, Matthew Stone<br /><br /> Ethan Coen & Joel Coen<br /><br /> Based on a story by<br /><br /> Robert Ramsey, Matthew Stone<br /><br /> and John Romano<br /><br /> FIRST DRAFT<br /><br /> 3/25/97<br /><br /> <br /><br /> BEVERLY HILLS STREET - NIGHT<br /><br /> It is late night, and deserted. Engine noise approaches; <br /> headlights appear; as the car draws closer we hear singing.<br /><br /> It is a Mercedes convertible and as it roars by, the singing -- <br /> a sloppy baritone and a giggling soprano -- whooshes by with <br /> it.<br /><br /> We hold as another car approaches. This one is a conservative <br /> sedan, whose occupant does not sing.<br /><br /> INSIDE THE CONVERTIBLE<br /><br /> The middle-aged driver is in a tuxedo with a rumpled shirt <br /> and cocked bow tie. He is flushed, a Rogue forelock bouncing <br /> over his forehead, and he merrily sings "Casey Jones" along <br /> with the passenger, a young woman in a party dress who <br /> squeals, rocks with the motion of the car, and <br /> enthusiastically pipes in on the chorus.<br /><br /> ANOTHER EMPTY STREET<br /><br /> The convertible makes a hot turn onto the street and <br /> approaches with its singing.<br /><br /> REVERSE<br /><br /> The car enters and roars away. After a beat of quiet, the <br /> conservative sedan enters and recedes.<br /><br /> BEACH<br /><br /> We are at the Malibu Guest Quarters Motel. The singing, <br /> squealing Mercedes screeches into the lot and rocks to a <br /> halt.<br /><br /> The young woman staggers out still giggling, and holding a <br /> half-empty bottle of champagne.<br /><br /> The man tosses her a key with a large plastic tag.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Number Seven.<br /><br /> She trots away.<br /><br /> The man twists his rear-view mirror to look at himself. He <br /> straightens his bow tie. He puffs his bounding forelock with <br /> one finger, nods his head to make it bounce, grins <br /> approvingly, and cocks a pistol-finger at his own reflection.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Zing!<br /><br /> MOTEL ROOM<br /><br /> The man enters and looks around. The young woman's dress is <br /> tossed onto the bed but she is nowhere to be seen.<br /><br /> The man pulls an imaginary train whistle.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Choo! Choo!...<br /><br /> He looks around, in a closet, under the bed.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I'm a locomotive, baby! I'm the Wabash <br /> cannonball! I'm a hunka-hunka <br /> burninnnnn' love! I got fire in my <br /> boiler and a fuh -- a fuh --<br /><br /> He is reacting to a long leg which pokes out from behind the <br /> window curtain.<br /><br /> A salacious smiles spreads across his lips. He pulls on the <br /> cord to draw back the curtain and reveal the young woman in <br /> red panties and a bra and a saucily cocked conductor's cap.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> Tickets, please.<br /><br /> The man is stripping off his clothes.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Excuse me, Miss, is this the train <br /> to Ecsssstasy?<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> Pull in your ears, Rexie -- you're <br /> comin' to a tunnel!<br /><br /> Rex lunges at the young woman and they tumble onto the bed <br /> just as --<br /><br /> CRASH -- the door is kicked open and a short stocky black <br /> man built like a bulldog and wearing a porkpie hat rushes <br /> into the room with a video camera glued to his eye. He looks <br /> like Clarence Thomas with a mustache.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I'm gonna nail your ass!<br /><br /> The young woman screams, clutching the sheets to her naked <br /> bosom. Rex leaps from the bed, still clad only in his <br /> chemindefer boxers, and darts around the room seeking egress.<br /><br /> The man with the video charges around the room following Rex<br /><br /> THE VIDEO IMAGE<br /><br /> Rex is stumbling around the room in a panic, looking for his <br /> clothing. The camera swish-pans back to the young woman still <br /> screaming in the bed.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I'm gonna nail your ass!!<br /><br /> We swish-pan back to Rex as he bends over to pick up his <br /> trousers, mooning us.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I'm gonna nail your ass!<br /><br /> PULL BACK FROM THE VIDEO IMAGE<br /><br /> To reveal that we are in the detective -- Gus Petch's -- <br /> office.<br /><br /> GUS<br /> I nailed his ass.<br /><br /> Faintly, from the television monitor we hear screaming and <br /> mayhem.<br /><br /> WOMAN'S VOICE<br /> Trains...<br /><br /> THE WOMAN<br /><br /> Watching the monitor, MARYLIN REXROTH is a sensual beauty, <br /> with intelligence and class. She watches the monitor without <br /> expression.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> ...I thought he'd outgrown trains.<br /><br /> Gus Petch sits behind a desk.<br /><br /> GUS<br /> They never grow-up, lady. They just <br /> get tubby. Me, I've always had ample <br /> proportions. But it's all muscle -- <br /> I'm hard as a rock. I'm not on of <br /> these cream puff sit-behind-a desk <br /> private dicks; I'm an assnailer<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> So I see.<br /><br /> Faintly, from the monitor:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I'm gonna nail your ass.<br /><br /> We hear the Young Woman SQUEAL. Marylin reacts.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Hard to believe that's the best he <br /> could do.<br /><br /> GUS<br /> Probably you're the best he could <br /> do.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Oh. Thank you.<br /><br /> GUS<br /> You're takin' it pretty well. I seen <br /> 'em weep like they'd hired me to <br /> prove their husbands weren't fooling <br /> around. And I seen 'em celebrate. <br /> Like I just handed 'em a winning <br /> lottery ticket.<br /><br /> Marylin turns her attention back to the screen.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm just enjoying the movie.<br /><br /> TRACKING SHOT<br /><br /> All from the perspective of a moving automobile.<br /><br /> The moving shots show mansions, palm trees, boutiques; we <br /> pass joggers, strolling businessmen holding cellular phones <br /> to their ears, male models working as waiters at sidewalk <br /> cafes, young women on roller blades who turn, smile, and <br /> wave at the camera. It is la dolce vita Los Angeles style.<br /><br /> THE DRIVER<br /><br /> A handsome, fortyish man in a town car talks into cellular <br /> phone. This is MILES MASSEY.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- hello Marjory, any messages? Yeah? <br /> Yeah? Yeah. Yeah. Have Wrigley look <br /> up Oliphant v. Oliphant for its <br /> relevance to the Chapman filing. She <br /> took the kids where? Tahoe? Which <br /> side of Tahoe. Great. If the cruise <br /> goes all the way around the lake, <br /> she left the state and she's in <br /> breach. She can't leave the state. <br /> Tell Wrigley to prepare a filing to <br /> attach everything. Primary residence, <br /> autos, stocks...<br /> (Beat)<br /> Sure. Put him through.<br /> (Beat)<br /> Hello Ross. What? She's sleeping <br /> with the nanny? Well, you're <br /> separated. She can sleep with -- is <br /> this the one you slept with? Oh. A <br /> guy? Interesting career choice. Hmmm? <br /> Yes. I know you want her dead. <br /> Everyone in your tax bracket wants <br /> their ex wives dead.<br /><br /> EXT. BEVERLY HILLS MANSE<br /><br /> Rex is trying his key in the front door of his house. Finding <br /> it doesn't, work he rattles the knob, then leans on the <br /> doorbell.<br /><br /> We hear distant chimes.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Honey! ...Honey?!<br /><br /> Finally, through the intercom:<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Rex. Get away from the door.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Look, Marylin, can't we have a <br /> civilized discussion about this?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> We are. And it's winding down.<br /><br /> REX<br /> But Marylin, you know a divorce would <br /> ruin me right now. Everything I have -- <br /> everything we have -- is tied up in <br /> my business. The business is my entire <br /> life.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Are you forgetting about the Atcheson, <br /> Topeka and the Santa Fe?<br /><br /> REX<br /> Marylin?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Rex. Go away. I don't want to have <br /> to sic the dogs on you.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Dogs?<br /><br /> From inside the house we hear the menacing sound of LARGE <br /> DOGS BARKING.<br /><br /> LETTERING<br /><br /> On an interior wall; it says MASSEY, MEYERSON, SLOAN & <br /> GURALNICK.<br /><br /> A pull back shows that we are in a waiting room, and a <br /> receptionist leans over her partition to chirp at Rex Rexroth.<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> Mr. Massey will be right with you.<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY MEYERSON CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Miles addresses a group of young Attorneys at the firm.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> The problem is that everyone is <br /> willing to compromise. That's the <br /> problem with the institution of <br /> marriage -- it's based on compromise. <br /> Even through its dissolution. One <br /> attorney will try to score some <br /> points, the opposition will try to <br /> impeach. The process will find an <br /> equilibrium point determined by the <br /> skill of the opposing lawyers, and <br /> then each party will walk away with <br /> their portion of the "goodies." Some <br /> say, "Life is compromise." But at <br /> Massey Myerson we believe life is <br /> struggle and the ultimate destruction <br /> of your opponent.<br /><br /> The Receptionist pokes her head into the conference room.<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> Your eleven o'clock is here.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Ladies and Gentlemen -- we will <br /> continue this at the Associates <br /> Meeting next Friday. In the meantime, <br /> I want you to consider this... Ivan <br /> the Terrible, Henry the VIII, Attila <br /> the Hun -- what did they have in <br /> common?<br /><br /> As he exits.<br /><br /> ASSOCIATE<br /> Middle names?<br /><br /> MILES MASSEY'S OFFICE<br /><br /> You may have seen it in the issue before last of "World of <br /> Interiors." There's a Rothko on the wall, an Elle Bleu humidor <br /> on the desk, peonies in the vase, and the diploma is from <br /> Yale.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mr. Rexroth.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Rex, please.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Miles Massey. Please sit, relax, and <br /> consider this office your office, <br /> your haven, your war room -- for the <br /> duration of the campaign.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Thank you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Now Rex.<br /><br /> He leans back in the leather executive chair behind his desk, <br /> makes a steeple of his fingers, and dons his look of deepest <br /> concern.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- Tell me your troubles.<br /><br /> Rex, nervous, laughs ruefully.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Jeez. Where do I start?<br /><br /> Miles gives an encouraging, rueful smile in return.<br /><br /> REX<br /> ...Well, my wife has me between a <br /> rock and a hard place.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That's her job. You have to respect <br /> that.<br /><br /> REX<br /> When I first met Marylin -- Well, we <br /> were crazy about each other. Not <br /> emotionally, of course. We just <br /> couldn't keep our hands off each <br /> other.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mm.<br /><br /> REX<br /> But then... But then...<br /><br /> Quietly.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Time marches on. Ardor cools.<br /><br /> REX<br /> No. Not exactly. It didn't exactly <br /> cool. Marylin is a knock-out. And <br /> very sexy -- but -- there's a lot of <br /> it out there.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Ah.<br /><br /> REX<br /> You know what I mean when I say "it."<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Gotcha. No need to get anatomically <br /> correct with me, Rex.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Seems like there's more of it than <br /> ever before --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Well, with the expanding global <br /> population -- Let me ask you this -- <br /> your wife. Has she pursued the <br /> opportunities which must present <br /> themselves to the "knock-out, sexy <br /> woman" you described?<br /><br /> REX<br /> I don't know. I can assume...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Not in court you can't. Has she <br /> retained counsel?<br /><br /> REX<br /> I'm not sure.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And your wife is aware of or has <br /> evidence of your activities?<br /><br /> REX<br /> Video.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mmm... And to cut to the chase, <br /> forensically speaking -- is there a <br /> pre-nup?<br /><br /> Rex hangs his head.<br /><br /> Miles sighs sympathetically.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> The fault, dear Brutus, is not in <br /> our stars, but in ourselves. Well, <br /> let me ask you this: what kind of <br /> settlement do you seek? What are, <br /> for you, the parameters of the <br /> possible?<br /><br /> REX<br /> That's the problem. I can't afford <br /> to give her anything.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Nothing?<br /><br /> REX<br /> I know that sounds rough but I'm <br /> about to close on a deal to develop <br /> some mini-malls, and I'm mortgaged <br /> up to my ass. If this deal goes south, <br /> I'm ruined -- I'll lose millions.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> So, you propose that in spite of <br /> demonstrable infidelity on your part, <br /> your unoffending wife should be tossed <br /> out on her ear?<br /><br /> REX<br /> Well -- is that possible?<br /><br /> Miles smiles at him.<br /><br /> EXT. RUNNING PATH - SAN VICENTE BLVD. - MORNING<br /><br /> Marylin power walks along the San Vicente Bike Path with her <br /> friends SARAH SORKIN and RAMONA BARCELONA. It's early, but <br /> the path is crowded with bikers, bladers, runners, power <br /> walkers, wheelchair racers etc. Ramona pushes her infant in <br /> a baby jogger.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> You want to come out to the beach <br /> house tomorrow?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I didn't know Barry had a beach house.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Neither did I until my lawyer found <br /> it -- quite a paper trail -- he had <br /> it in the dog's name.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> So who'd you hire?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Ruth Rabino.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> She's a legend. Didn't she do Kravis <br /> or a Pearlman? She definitely did a <br /> Factor.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> She did a Harriman.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Wow.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> In the words of my Private <br /> Investigator, we're going to nail <br /> his ass.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> I've been trying to nail George's <br /> for years, but he's very careful. <br /> I'll just keep having children. I <br /> think I'm pregnant, by the way.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Ramona! Don't get Mia Farrow on us.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Three is not Farrow.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Who's Rex's guy?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles Massey.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Of Massey Myerson?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Do you know him?<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> By reputation. He got Ann Rumsey <br /> that cute little island of George's.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> George was so impressed he hired him <br /> when he divorced his second.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Muriel Rumsey.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Who's she?<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Now? She's a night manager at <br /> McDonalds.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> You should have tried to get pregnant <br /> Marylin -- solidify your position.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> No.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> You like kids.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I can't have a baby with a man I <br /> don't love... And I can't submit a <br /> child to divorce.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> It's not so bad these days. Kids <br /> like joint custody. Two sets of toys.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Maybe next time.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Maybe.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> We do have a man for you.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Thorstenson Gieselensen. He just <br /> separated from his third. He's in <br /> fish. He is fish.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> She's keeping his name. And one of <br /> his planes. And all seven of his <br /> children<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> And only two are hers.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Please. I'm not seeing anyone until <br /> this is over. One husband at a time.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> I wish I had your discipline.<br /><br /> A COURTROOM<br /><br /> We are close on the person on the witness stand, a woman in <br /> her 60's.<br /><br /> LAWYER<br /> Mrs. Guttman, you have testified <br /> that you were your husband's sexual <br /> slave for thirty-six years, ever <br /> since you were married --<br /><br /> WITNESS<br /> Except for two years when he was in <br /> the Navy, in Korea.<br /><br /> LAWYER<br /> Prior to your marriage, what was <br /> your profession?<br /><br /> WITNESS<br /> I was a hostess. For Trans-World <br /> Airlines.<br /><br /> LAWYER<br /> What is your husband's profession?<br /><br /> WITNESS<br /> He manufactures staples and industrial <br /> brad-tacks. He's very successful.<br /><br /> JUMP BACK<br /><br /> At the counsel's table in the foreground Miles chats, voice <br /> lowered with WRIGLEY, a boyish, bespectacled junior associate. <br /> Beyond them we see the woman on the witness stand continuing <br /> her testimony.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Wait... He wants to give her...?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Nothing.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> And she has...?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Video.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> What the fuck...?<br /><br /> Miles turns to Wrigley with a look of indignation. He gestures <br /> to their surroundings.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Wrigley!<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Sorry.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Sometimes I have serious doubts about <br /> you.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> I am very sorry.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Am I mentoring the wrong mentee?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> No. You're not.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I could be mentoring Kramer. Kramer <br /> clerked for Scalia.<br /><br /> Wrigley looks suicidal.<br /><br /> BACKGROUND LAWYER (O.S.)<br /> Couldn't you simply walk away from <br /> this abusive relationship?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> No, he had the videos...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Anyway, I need a challenge. This --<br /><br /> He waves dismissively at the courtroom.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- is not a challenge. I need <br /> something I can sink my teeth into, <br /> professionally speaking.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> He would invite these girls home <br /> from the staple factory to our <br /> condominium in Palm Springs. He had <br /> a device he called the Intruder.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Mr. Massey! I ask again, if you have <br /> any questions for the complainant.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I'm sorry, your honor, I was just <br /> conferring with my associate...<br /><br /> He rises.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Now then, Mrs. Guttman. Do you know <br /> a gentleman named Morris Rudnick?<br /><br /> MRS. GUTTMAN<br /> Well, yes, Morris is my accountant.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (sadly)<br /> Accountant.<br /><br /> He reaches back and Wrigley puts a manila file in his hand.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> We would like to offer these <br /> photographs into evidence...<br /><br /> WAITING ROOM - MASSEY MEYSERSON<br /><br /> The receptionist leans over her partition to chirp at Marylin <br /> and her attorney Ruth Rabinow. Ruth is a sturdy woman in her <br /> late 60's. If Mrs. Guttman had gone to law school...<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> Mr. Massey will see you now.<br /><br /> CONFERENCE ROOM<br /><br /> In the middle of the Massy Meyerson conference table is a <br /> large fruit and pastry plate.<br /><br /> The door swings open. Miles rises.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> ...Ruth!<br /><br /> They shake hands.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- Ruth Rabinow, this is Rex Rexroth. <br /> And you must be Mrs. Rexroth.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> And you must be Mr. Massey.<br /><br /> They appraise each other for a beat. They are impressed and, <br /> they are impressive. As they settle in:<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Sadly)<br /> Hello, Rex.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Marylin.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Are you alright? You lost weight.<br /><br /> REX<br /> My whole metabolism is -- off.<br /><br /> Miles has been staring at Marylin. She notices this, and <br /> smiles shyly. He snaps out of it.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> So, Ruth. How's Sam?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Sam is Sam. He's taking up fly <br /> fishing. He's in a yert in Montana.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> A yert.<br /> (To Rex)<br /> Ruth is a living legend, Rex. At a <br /> time when most women are in Boca, <br /> having early bird specials -- she's <br /> working so her husband can be in <br /> Montana. In a yert.<br /><br /> REX<br /> What's a yert?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> (Dryly)<br /> I ran into your mother at the <br /> radiologist last week.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What?!<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Oh, just a routine mammogram. She <br /> said to say hello. She's going to <br /> Positano with your brother's family.<br /><br /> A tight, terse smile from Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> How nice.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Positano is beautiful. Remember when <br /> we were there, Rex? We stayed in the <br /> Santo Pietro? That hotel on the cliff?<br /><br /> REX<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> They drift for a moment.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> So, Miles. If you have a proposal, <br /> let's hear it.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> At this point my client is still <br /> prepared to consider reconciliation.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> My client has ruled that out.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> My client is prepared to entertain <br /> an amicable dissolution of the <br /> marriage without prejudice.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> That's delusional.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> My client proposes a thirty day <br /> cooling off period.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> My client feels sufficiently <br /> dispassionate.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> My client asks that you not initiate <br /> proceedings pending his setting <br /> certain affairs in order.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Ha Ha.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (conceding the point)<br /> Heh heh.<br /><br /> REX<br /> What's so goddamn funny?<br /><br /> Miles lays a hand on his arm.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Please -- let me handle this.<br /><br /> He puts the clipboard away and looks carefully at Ruth.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- So much for the icebreakers. <br /> What're you after, Ruth?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> My client is prepared to settle for <br /> fifty percent of the marital assets.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Why only fifty percent, Ruth? Why <br /> not ask for a hundred percent?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Oh brother. Here we go.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Why not a hundred and fifty percent?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Yes. Maybe you're right, Miles. Maybe <br /> we're being too conservative. Seventy <br /> five percent.<br /><br /> Rex winces. Rubs his stomach. Marylin leans forward and <br /> whispers to him.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Do you need a Tagamet?<br /><br /> REX<br /> You have some?<br /><br /> She removes a pack of the tablets from her purse, along with <br /> several vials of prescription drugs.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> These are yours.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Not according to Mrs. Rabinow.<br /><br /> She hands the pills to a grateful Rex. Their hands touch for <br /> a moment.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Have you been taking your digestive <br /> enzymes?<br /><br /> REX<br /> (Contrite)<br /> Sometimes I forget.<br /><br /> She looks at him like a concerned parent. Miles and Ruth <br /> watch the interaction.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (To the attorneys)<br /> I'm sorry. Where were we?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> We were about to request the primary <br /> residence, and thirty percent of the <br /> remaining assets.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Are you familiar with Kirshner?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Kirshner does not apply. Kirshner <br /> was in Kentucky.<br /><br /> REX<br /> What's Kirshner?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Please -- let me handle this. Okay, <br /> Ruth, forget Kirshner -- what's your <br /> bottom line?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> The primary residence and FORTY <br /> percent of the remaining assets. <br /> You're becoming tedious Miles.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Aren't we going in the wrong <br /> direction?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Shhh. Please. Let me do my job.<br /> (To Ruth)<br /> Buy a clue, Ruthie. Have you forgotten <br /> about Kirshner?<br /><br /> Ruth stands and closes her attaché case.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> See you at the preliminary.<br /><br /> Miles calls to Ruth's retreating back.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Fine. We'll eat all the pastry.<br /><br /> Going through the door, Ruth doesn't react, but Marylin <br /> following, glances back -- bemused, but with a trace of a <br /> smile.<br /><br /> Rex swallows two more tablets. He sits, looking despondent.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I think that went as well as could <br /> be expected.<br /><br /> REX<br /> She always looked out for me.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And she had private investigators <br /> assisting her.<br /><br /> REX<br /> (Sentimental)<br /> She brought my digestive enzymes.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> In anticipation of making you sick.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Maybe I should reconsider my...<br /><br /> Miles looks at him. Shakes his head, sadly.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> A superficial display of marital <br /> solicitude, and you lose your resolve? <br /> Rex. I underestimated you. But I'm <br /> your attorney, and if you choose to <br /> reward her for that mediocre charade <br /> of spousal concern...<br /><br /> He shrugs, helplessly.<br /><br /> REX<br /> You're right. Screw her.<br /><br /> INT. GYM - CLOSE ON<br /><br /> A woman walking across a gymnasium floor. Suddenly, she's <br /> assaulted by a huge, grotesquely garbed assailant. His sweats <br /> barely cover his massive, overdeveloped musculature. On his <br /> head, a ski mask stretches over a padded football helmet. He <br /> grabs the woman, yanks her back towards him. She reacts <br /> swiftly. With a ferocious "NO," she stomps on his foot, and <br /> smashes him in the face. The mugger raises his hands in a <br /> gesture of submission.<br /><br /> APPLAUSE<br /><br /> We pull back and see that we are in a Self Defense Class. <br /> Two instructors, two "muggers" and ten women students all <br /> wearing T-shirts with the words IMPACT-Personal Safety. <br /> Marylin and Sarah sit against the wall.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't know what his game is. He <br /> dismissed every one of Ruth's <br /> proposals. And Sarah, we weren't <br /> unreasonable.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Well what does he want?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't know. Ruth kept her cool, <br /> but I could tell she was surprised.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> He has a reputation for being tough.<br /><br /> Marylin watches as a new "victim" begin her walk across the <br /> gym.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Grinning)<br /> Lilly's up.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Oh, God!<br /><br /> The mugger emerges from his station and makes his way toward <br /> the "victim." She glances over her shoulder, and at the sight <br /> of the monster bearing down on her, screams and runs to the <br /> exit. Marylin and Sarah giggle, but reproachful looks from <br /> the other students force them to affect concerned looks.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Whispers)<br /> Every week --<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> I'm dying.<br /><br /> The two Instructors and the Mugger try to coax the sobbing <br /> woman back into the room. They clasp her in an empathic group <br /> hug.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Anyway, even Rex seemed perplexed by <br /> his intransigence. If I didn't know <br /> better, I'd swear Massey had some <br /> personal investment in my ruination.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> So where are you now?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Well, if he continues to maintain <br /> this position -- we're in court.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Shit.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Get this! He called and invited me <br /> to dinner.<br /><br /> The INSTRUCTOR, a vivacious phys ed major, approaches Marylin.<br /><br /> INSTRUCTOR<br /> Marylin? Ready.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure.<br /><br /> Marylin gets up and coolly walks to center stage, passing <br /> the traumatized Lilly.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> That's completely odd.<br /><br /> Marylin begins the Victim walk. The Mugger quickly moves up <br /> from the rear.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (To Sarah)<br /> I know. That's why I accepted. Find <br /> out what's up with this clown.<br /><br /> The Mugger is upon her. He grabs her hair. She stomps his <br /> foot, and smoothly wheels around SMASHING him in the nose <br /> with her elbow, while KNEEING HIM in the groin.<br /><br /> The women Cheer.<br /><br /> INSTRUCTOR<br /> That was excellent, Marylin. But you <br /> forgot to yell "no."<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Ah.<br /> (Calmly, to the Mugger)<br /> No.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ELEGANT RESTAURANT - EVENING<br /><br /> Miles rises from his seat as Marylin enters.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mrs. Rexroth. Thank you for coming.<br /><br /> The Maitre d' is pulling out a chair for her.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I have to admit. I was curious. And <br /> hungry.<br /><br /> MAITRE D'<br /> Something to start? Some wine, <br /> perhaps?<br /><br /> Miles glances at the wine list.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> French?<br /> (She smiles)<br /> Bordeaux? Hmmm. Chateau Margaux '57.<br /><br /> Miles nods at the maitre d' who returns the nod and withdraws.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I assume this is on Rex?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Isn't everything?<br /><br /> Miles regards her.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Your husband told me you were <br /> beautiful, but I was unprepared.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> "Dismiss your vows, your feigned <br /> tears, your flattery, for where a <br /> heart is hard, they make no battery."<br /><br /> Miles leans back, props his chin on one fist, and considers <br /> her.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Simon & Garfunkel?<br /><br /> She laughs.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Do you have a hard heart, Marylin.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Did you see the tape?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Not yet.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> See the tape. Then we can discuss my <br /> heart.<br /><br /> A waiter appears and pour a taste of wine which Miles sips <br /> and -- He nods at the waiter who pours two glasses.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Tell me Mr. Massey. What was your <br /> performance about this afternoon?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What does your lawyer think?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Ruth says you've been too successful, <br /> that you're bored, complacent, and <br /> you're on your way down.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> But you don't agree?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> How do you know?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Why would you be here?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I told you. I was hungry.<br /><br /> FLAP a menu enters frame. It is handed to Marylin; another <br /> is handed to Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I'll have the tournedos of beef. And <br /> the lady will have the same?<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> I assume you're a carnivore.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I know you do.<br /><br /> She addresses the waiter.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Risotto with white truffles, please.<br /><br /> Miles looks at her with appreciation.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> "Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at <br /> first sight?"<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You didn't ask me here to pick me <br /> up. You could get in trouble for <br /> that.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Not really. You're not my client. <br /> Freedom of association. Big issue <br /> with the First Amendment fans. Want <br /> to go to Hawaii for the weekend?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Have you ever been married, Miles?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You don't believe in it.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> As a matter of fact, I'm a huge fan.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You just haven't met the right person.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. I haven't. Have you?<br /><br /> She regards him for a moment.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> All right, Miles. Let me tell you <br /> everything you THINK you know. I was <br /> married to Rex for a long time. I <br /> was an excellent wife, a partner, a <br /> lover, a hostess and a friend. There <br /> was only one thing I did wrong during <br /> the five years we were together. I <br /> got five years older. Think he should <br /> be able to ditch me for that?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> He wants a reconciliation.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> See the tape. Then we can discuss <br /> reconciliation. Rex screwed up and I <br /> nailed his ass. Now I'm going to <br /> have it mounted and have my <br /> girlfriends over to throw darts at <br /> it. Then I'm getting on with my life. <br /> That's all I'm after.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Gotcha.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> What is it you're after, Miles?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Oh, I'm a lot like you -- just looking <br /> for an ass to mount.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Well, don't look at mine!<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Oyez. Oyez. Family court for the <br /> fifth district of Los Angeles County <br /> is now in session.<br /><br /> COURT ROOM<br /><br /> A large black woman in judicial robes and raiment enters <br /> from behind the Solomonic Platform.<br /><br /> CLERK<br /> -- The Honorable Marva Munson <br /> presiding. All rise.<br /><br /> Massey, Wrigley, and Rex Rexroth in between, rise. Rex and <br /> Wrigley remain respectfully standing, facing forward, as <br /> they whisper out of the side of their mouths:<br /><br /> REX<br /> Have you sat before her before?<br /><br /> Wrigley considers.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> -- the judge sits. We argue. We argue <br /> before her. She sits before us.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Okay. Has she sat before you before?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> You can't sit before her. That's the <br /> rule! She sits before we argue!<br /><br /> Miles glances over and hisses:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Shut! Up!<br /><br /> A GAVEL CRASHES<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> We are on a close lateral track of the jurors faces as they <br /> sit, with earphones on, in the darkened courtroom, illuminated <br /> by a flickering TV monitor.<br /><br /> Leaking tinnily through the headsets we hear a very faint:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I'm gonna nail your ass.<br /><br /> The track ends over at Marylin's table, where Marylin also <br /> wearing headphones, looks on with studied stoicism. Ruth <br /> lays a consoling hand on her shoulder.<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> Marylin Rexroth now struggles to maintain her composure on <br /> the witness stand. She is modestly dressed and her attitude <br /> is one of shocked, wounded innocence.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I was devastated. Of course.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Thank you, Mrs. Rexroth.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Mr. Massey, any questions?<br /><br /> Miles soberly rises.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mmmm --<br /><br /> He paces, hands clasped behind his back, affecting to be <br /> lost in thought.<br /><br /> Marylin watches him.<br /><br /> Finally Miles, still pacing, declaims:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> "Dismiss your vows, your feigned <br /> tears, your flattery, for where a <br /> heart is hard, they make no <br /> battery..."<br /><br /> Marylin looks up from her handkerchief with a look of startled <br /> irritation. Miles stops pacing and turns to face her with a <br /> faint smile.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Do you know those lines, Mrs. Rexroth?<br /><br /> Marylin examines him with guarded eyes. Ruth sensing something <br /> unscripted going on, tries to cut it off.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Objection, your honor!<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Grounds?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Uh... poetry recitation.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Let me rephrase. Mrs. Rexroth, how <br /> high is that wall around your heart?<br /><br /> Marylin eyes him suspiciously.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Your honor, this is harassment! Arid <br /> frankly it's still a little...<br /><br /> She flutters one hand.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> ...arty farty!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Rephrase. Mrs. Rexroth, have you <br /> ever been in love?<br /><br /> Marylin hesitates, gives a "what does this mean look" to <br /> Ruth. She returns a "beats me."<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes. I loved my husband, Rex.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And you've always loved him?<br /><br /> Smiles slips out:<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> "Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at <br /> first sight?"<br /><br /> Miles returns a fleeting smile.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And you hoped to spend the rest of <br /> your life with him?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes. Why is that so difficult for <br /> you to understand?<br /><br /> She looks at Rex with tender sorrow.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Rex was -- is -- a very appealing <br /> man. I am sorry I couldn't...<br /> (Tearing up)<br /> I tried my best.<br /><br /> Miles almost smiles. She's good.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That'll be all Mrs. Rexroth. Please <br /> forgive me for causing you additional <br /> anguish.<br /> (To the Judge)<br /> Thank you, Your Honor. No further <br /> questions.<br /><br /> A Bailiff offers to help Marylin off the stand. She politely <br /> and courageously declines.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Who's next, Mrs. Rabinow.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> We rest, Your Honor.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Mr. Massey?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes, Your honor. I call Patricia <br /> Kennedy DeCordoba Isenberg.<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> Patricia Kennedy DeCordoba Isenberg.<br /><br /> Marylin, in the process of reseating herself behind her table, <br /> pauses.<br /><br /> Ruth notices this and leans in.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Who's that?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Jesus.<br /><br /> An attractive woman in her mid fifties advances to be sworn. <br /> She was a beauty, but her glory days are past and she's not <br /> taking it well. She looks tense and slightly hypo-manic. She <br /> speaks in a breathy, giggly voice, and smiles frequently for <br /> no apparent reason.<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> Mrs. Isenberg.<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Banderas.<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> Mrs. Banderas, do you solemnly swear <br /> that the testimony you are about to <br /> give shall be the truth, the whole <br /> truth, and nothing but the truth so <br /> help you God?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Yes, Mr. Bailiff. I do.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Now, Mrs. Banderas. What is your <br /> relationship to Mrs. Rexroth.<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> We don't have much of a relationship <br /> anymore. I haven't seen her since <br /> before she married Rex. We had some <br /> very nice times prior to that. We <br /> were quite close.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> Is this a lover?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Please!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And how would you define your <br /> relationship to Mrs. Rexroth. You <br /> know -- you are her...?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Mother?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> What?!<br /><br /> Marylin sighs.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Her Mother?<br /><br /> Patricia smiles coyly. Gives Marylin a silly little wave by <br /> way of greeting.<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Hi, Sweetie.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hard to believe I know. I'm sure you <br /> are frequently mistaken for sisters.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Mumbles)<br /> He'll regret this.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Have you ever met Mr. Rexroth?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> No. I haven't. But I've been out of <br /> town.<br /> (Little girlish wave)<br /> Hello, Rex. Hello there.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You were never invited to meet your <br /> son-in-law?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> No. Uh uh. I don't think so. Hmm? <br /> No. Well... no.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Objection, Your Honor. This isn't <br /> about Mrs. Rexroth's filial <br /> obligations.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Sustained.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Did you know Mrs. Rexroth was married?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Of course. Of course she was married. <br /> What else would she be? Single? I <br /> don't think so.<br /><br /> She laughs merrily at some private joke between her and her <br /> psyche.<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Let me tell you something about Patty.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Who's "Patty."<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Oh. That's her name. Patricia. Like <br /> mine. I was Pat and she was Patty. <br /> But she changed it after seeing "Some <br /> Like It Hot." To Marylin. After <br /> Marylin Monroe.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I see. And what were you going to <br /> tell us about Patty slash Marylin?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> When she was a tiny girl? And people <br /> asked her what she wanted to be when <br /> she grew up? She never said the usual <br /> things little girls say -- like -- <br /> nurse -- ballerina -- anchorwoman? <br /> She always said --<br /> (Very Shirley Temple)<br /> "When I grow up, I want to be <br /> divorced."<br /><br /> She laughs happily at the memory.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Divorce was her childhood aspiration?<br /><br /> PATRICIA<br /> Well, not just divorce. She used to <br /> say "I want to be divorced from some <br /> big dumb rich guy..." And I guess <br /> her dream is coming true.<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> I'm happy for you Patty<br /><br /> INT. SARAH SORKIN'S BEACH HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> Pasta being cooked. Salad being tossed. Wine glasses are <br /> filled. It's Girl's Night at the beach.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It was like that scene in The <br /> Godfather. Frankie Pentangeli is <br /> called to testify against the Family. <br /> And he's in court, and he looks into <br /> the spectators gallery, and sees his <br /> Brother. They brought the brother <br /> from Sicily. And Frankie can't say a <br /> word. He can't testify. That's what <br /> it was like seeing Pat in there. I <br /> couldn't even have Ruth cross examine <br /> her.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Why do you think she did it?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Shrugs)<br /> Maybe she wanted a free trip to LA. <br /> Maybe they offered her money. Massey <br /> is very seductive. Who knows.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Maybe they put a horse head in her <br /> bed?<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> That stinks. They left you with <br /> absolutely nothing. It makes you <br /> wonder about the entire legal system. <br /> Like Rodney King.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> They bought her speech. If I was <br /> only in it for Rex's money, he <br /> shouldn't have to give me any.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> That doesn't make sense. It's like <br /> punishing you for being goal oriented.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Well, you can live here as long as <br /> you want. Do you have any plans?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Nothing specific, but I'll have my <br /> own place soon.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> So, Marylin. Is that what you said <br /> when you were a little girl?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Probably. Every woman in my life was <br /> divorced at least twice. What was I <br /> supposed to say. Anthropologist?<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> I begged you to have a baby!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> In the Godfather, after the courtroom <br /> scene, Frankie Pentangeli opens his <br /> veins in the bathtub.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> You're not...<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> No. I'll see some blood before this <br /> is over, but it won't be mine.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. GIANT MOCK TUDOR - BEVERLY HILLS<br /><br /> Miles is at his weekly chess game with his college friend, <br /> DR. KENNETH BECK, a disaffected plastic surgeon. Miles, Cohiba <br /> in hand, studies the board. Dr. Ken sips his Merlot. Moves a <br /> piece.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She got absolutely nothing. Zero. <br /> Zip.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> So. I won't be seeing her? Your <br /> clients usually visit me after the <br /> settlement.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Not this one. Not unless her HMO <br /> covers plastic surgery, which, <br /> incidentally, she does not need.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Everyone needs plastic surgery. You <br /> need it.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I don't need it.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> You want Botox?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What the hell is Botox?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> It's a form of botulism. I just inject <br /> it into your forehead, and it <br /> paralyzes your eyebrows so you can't <br /> raise them...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Why in God's name would I want...?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> No frown lines.<br /> (Notices Miles watch)<br /> New watch?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> It's a LeCoultre Revers. You can <br /> flip the face, and set it for two <br /> time zones.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Why would you need two time zones? <br /> You never leave Beverly Hills.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> It was a gift from a client.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Set one side for Bel Air.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Botox. Christ. We had aspirations <br /> when we were in college.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> We did not.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You were going to be a Cardiac <br /> Surgeon. I was going to clerk for <br /> the Supreme Court.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> I was going to play golf. You were <br /> going to have Asian girlfriends.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Denial is not a river in Egypt.<br /><br /> Kenneth moves a chess piece.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> You're in check.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I should be in therapy.<br /><br /> INT. MILES MASSEY'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Miles addresses BONNIE DONOVAN, a client.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes. Your husband did show remarkable <br /> foresight in taking those pictures. <br /> And, yes, absent a swimming pool, <br /> the presence of the pool man would <br /> appear to be suspicious. But Bonnie, <br /> who is the real victim here? Let me <br /> suggest the following. Your husband, <br /> who on a prior occasion slapped you -- <br /> beat you --<br /><br /> BONNIE<br /> (Reacts)<br /> Well, I wouldn't say --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Your husband, who has beaten you -- <br /> repeatedly --<br /><br /> BONNIE<br /> He --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Please -- was at the time brandishing <br /> your firearm, trying in his rage to <br /> shoot an acquaintance -- friend of <br /> long standing --<br /><br /> BONNIE<br /> They hate each other --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> So he says now! But if not for your <br /> cool headed intervention, his tantrum <br /> might have ended this schmoe's life <br /> and ruined his own... As for the <br /> sexual indiscretion which he imagined <br /> had taken place, wasn't it in fact <br /> he who had been sleeping with the <br /> pool man?<br /><br /> He stares contemplatively at the ceiling and, after a beat, <br /> responds to the silence:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Am I going to far here?<br /><br /> A squawk box interrupts with a female voice.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Mr. Massey, Mr. Meyerson would like <br /> to see you when you have a moment.<br /><br /> Miles is surprised.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Herb wants to see me?<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> When you have a moment.<br /><br /> INT. OFFICE<br /><br /> Slatted shades are drawn against the sun. It is dim, gloomy. <br /> We can just make out the shape of an ancient man -- small, <br /> hunched -- seated behind an enormous desk. A gallows shape <br /> next to him is hard to make out; it is tall, rail thin and <br /> fixed with a swinging, glinting appendage.<br /><br /> A voice -- old, dry, rasping, lightly accented of a long-<br /> gone Brooklyn boyhood -- seems disembodied and sourceless, <br /> as if it is the voice of the gloom itself.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Thoity-six objections sustained, <br /> tree overruled; fawteen summary <br /> judgements sought, toiteen ranite, <br /> eighteen movments to voice fuh <br /> respondent's prejudice, eighteen <br /> ranite which is a hunnut pissent<br /><br /> An arm is being extended toward us and the glinting appendage <br /> swings with it: we see that it is an IV which snakes down <br /> and into the hunched man's suit sleeve.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> -- Twelve cawt days on the Rexrawt <br /> case alone; tree hunut'n twenty <br /> billable hours paralegal soivicies; <br /> four hunnut'n two billable associate <br /> counsel and consultative; six hunnut'n <br /> eighty billable at full attorney <br /> rate and eightyfive lunches charged.<br /><br /> Miles takes the man's offered hand, withered and roped with <br /> veins, and accepts its clammy shake.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> -- Counseluh, you are the engine <br /> that drives this foim --<br /><br /> He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, and runs a <br /> tongue over his sandpapery lips. He is wearing oversize Swifty-<br /> Lazar style glasses, heavily tinted in spite of the dark.<br /><br /> At length<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Thank you Herb.<br /><br /> INT. MILES OFFICE<br /><br /> Miles sits behind his desk, fingers steepled, staring at <br /> nothing, a haunted look on his face.<br /><br /> His intercom SQUAWKS:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Mr. Massey --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Please! No calls! I'm feeling very <br /> fragile.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I'm sorry, Mr. Massey, but I felt <br /> certain you'd want to know -- Marylin <br /> Rexroth wants to see you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin Rexroth? When does she --<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> She's here now.<br /><br /> INT. PRIVATE BATHROOM<br /><br /> Miles runs his fingers through his hair, carefully examining <br /> himself in the mirror. Suavely smiling.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin! How nice.<br /><br /> He clears his throat, begins again with lower pitch, suave <br /> smile still in place<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin! How lovely, uh --<br /><br /> He runs a finger across his teeth, which squeak, then puts <br /> back the suave smile<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- Marylin! What a pleasure --<br /><br /> DOORWAY<br /><br /> On Miles as he opens the door, suavely smiling.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin, what a pleas -- who the <br /> fuck are you?<br /><br /> Facing him in the doorway is a large roughly handsome middle <br /> aged man in a business suit.<br /><br /> Just behind him is Marylin Rexroth, looking as coolly <br /> beautiful as ever. She smoothly puts in:<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles, how nice of you to see us -- <br /> may I introduce Howard D. Doyle of <br /> Doyle Oil.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> I told you we know each other, baby. <br /> Mr. Massey represented my ex-brother-<br /> in law. Martin Reiser?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Oh. Right. Won't you have a seat?<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> After you, Doll.<br /><br /> Marylin glides into the office. Seats herself on the couch. <br /> Doyle sits next to her, one proprietary hand on her knee.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And how is Mrs. Reiser?<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Few suicide attempts, little inpatient <br /> stint. Naturally, she misses her <br /> kids. Six weekends a year and <br /> alternate Yom Kippurs seemed harsh <br /> to us but -- hey -- all's fair. <br /> Anyhoo, she lives with a "nurse," <br /> takes her meds and goes to <br /> occupational therapy at a local <br /> sheltered workshop.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> So she's uh, flourishing?<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> She makes felt wallets. Got one right <br /> here.<br /><br /> Doyle pulls out a deranged piece of felt stuffed with money.<br /><br /> Most of the contents slip to the floor.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Yeah. I know. Leather would be more <br /> practical, but whatcha gonna do?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles, I know you're busy and that <br /> you charge by the hour so I'll come <br /> to the point. Howard and I are <br /> planning to marry.<br /><br /> Miles is stunned.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Muh -- Well, uh -- Huh?<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Yep. My divorce just came through. <br /> Shoulda called you. Coulda cut a <br /> better deal! My wife still has health <br /> insurance and gets to see the <br /> children. But, I don't know. Guess <br /> I'm just a softie. After all Amanda <br /> and me were together for -- what -- <br /> you'd know better than me, Marylin. <br /> She was your best friend.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Thinks)<br /> Sixteen years? Howard Jr. is fourteen <br /> and Mandy must be what -- twelve?<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> (To Miles)<br /> Here. Got pictures.<br /><br /> He removes a family photo from the felt wallet. It's of Howard <br /> and two fat teenagers. Apparently the former Mrs. Doyle was <br /> cut out, but an ear and part of a hairdo are sill visible in <br /> the shot.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I... uh guess congratulations are in <br /> order.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Well -- Marylin and Rex broke up <br /> and...<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Honey, I don't think this is really <br /> relevant to...<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> ...and one day, this sweet girl calls <br /> me, asks me to lunch. Just a shoulder <br /> to cry on deal. One thing leads to <br /> another and before I know it --<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> -- we realized we'd always been very <br /> attracted to one another.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No!<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> I had no idea until after, but --<br /><br /> He looks at her with predatory lust.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Baby. You are so HOT!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Coy)<br /> Howard!<br /><br /> He pulls her close to him and plants a massive kiss on her.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What a touching story.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> You know, Miles, after my wife -- <br /> wife's mastectomy -- things were <br /> never the same. This might sound <br /> cold, well, maybe not to you, Massey, <br /> but...<br /> (man to man)<br /> I like my women with two boobs.<br /><br /> Miles flashes Marylin a "you are KIDDING" look, but she <br /> assiduously avoids eye contact.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Howard and I are here, Miles, because <br /> I have learned through bitter <br /> experience that when it comes to <br /> matrimonial law, you are the very <br /> best.<br /><br /> Miles acknowledges this with a curt nod.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> As you are well aware, my previous <br /> marriage ended with an unjustified <br /> strain on my reputation My motives <br /> were questioned. I was slandered in <br /> court.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> You did good, Massey!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Therefore in an effort to remove any <br /> trace of suspicion from my sweet <br /> Howard -- I wish to execute a pre-<br /> nuptial agreement.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> And -- there's no talking her out of <br /> it. Believe me, I've tried.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> They say the Massey pre-nup has never <br /> been penetrated.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> She said "penetrate." Heh heh heh.<br /><br /> He gropes her. She giggles like a teenager.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Oh, for the love of...<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> That is true, isn't it Miles? Your <br /> pre-nup is the best there is?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That is correct. Not to blow my own <br /> horn, but they devote an entire <br /> semester to it at Harvard Law.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Harvard? Whoa, Daddy!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I just want to make sure that you <br /> both --<br /><br /> He eyes Marylin.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- understand what you're asking for <br /> here. The Massey pre-nup provides <br /> that in the event of a dissolution <br /> of the marriage for any reason, both <br /> parties shall leave it with whatever <br /> they brought in, and earned during. <br /> No one can profit from the marriage. <br /> The pre-nup protects the wealthier <br /> party.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Well -- at the moment, that'd be me.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And without it, that party is exposed -- <br /> a sitting duck. No wriggle room.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> A Wriggle Room! Maybe we should put <br /> that in the Malibu house. Screw the <br /> screening room!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (slightly sickened)<br /> -- and we are sure...<br /><br /> Eyes boring into Marylin.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- we are both sure that's what we <br /> want?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Absolutely.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Course I can't do much "wriggling" <br /> if you tie me up like that again. <br /> Massey -- this is one bad bad little <br /> girl.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (laughing)<br /> We'd better go before we get thrown <br /> out.<br /><br /> ELEVATOR BANK<br /><br /> Marylin and Howard wait for an elevator as Miles trots out <br /> to catch them.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Excuse me, Mr. Doyle, if I could <br /> just borrow your charming fiancee <br /> for a moment.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> What part?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I'd just like to have a word with <br /> her.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Why not? I'm going to have her for a <br /> lifetime.<br /><br /> Miles drags her to the side as Doyle checks his Sports Pager.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What are you doing?<br /><br /> She backs up as he tries to close the space between them.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Getting married.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> To him? He's a sick freak.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> He's passionate.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Passionate! He's a pervert. He should <br /> have to register when he moves.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> All girls enjoy a little rough trade <br /> from time to time.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin! Listen to me.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> No. You listen to me.<br /> (Very quiet and <br /> deliberate)<br /> You busted me, Miles. You left me <br /> with nothing! What did you expect me <br /> to do? Get a degree in counseling? <br /> Write a book about table linen? <br /> Because that's what wives do when <br /> they get dumped, and frankly, I'm <br /> not quite ready for that.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> But why him?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> We told you. We realized we've always <br /> been in love.<br /><br /> He has backed her against the wall of an alcove which shelters <br /> a flowering ficus.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> The Massey pre-nup has never been <br /> pene -- successfully challenged.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> So I hear. Is that all?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No, that's not all.<br /><br /> He moves to kiss her.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You fascinate me.<br /><br /> She deftly slides out of the way. Miles watches her as she <br /> heads down the hall. As she gets on the elevator, Howard <br /> grabs her butt with one hand, while giving Miles a high sign <br /> with the other.<br /><br /> INT. HOWARD'S HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> Miles stares at the chessboard.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Do you think I'm going to end up <br /> like Herb Myerson, with a colostomy <br /> bag instead of a family?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Got any symptoms?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes. The inability to experience <br /> pleasure.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Oh. That.<br /> (beat)<br /> Don't waste time with your queen.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> The Center Counter Defense. The thing <br /> is not to move your queen too early.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She can't really love that idiot, <br /> can she?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> What?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin Rexroth. She came into my <br /> office and signed a pre-nup with <br /> Howard Doyle.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Doyle Oil?<br /> (Miles nods)<br /> A Massey Pre-nup?<br /> (Miles nods again)<br /> She loves him.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> He's the wrong man.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Miles! Don't waste time with someone <br /> else's queen, either.<br /><br /> EXT. A WEDDING BOWER - AKA CHUPPA<br /><br /> From behind the bower, RABBI BOLENSKY emerges, strumming his <br /> guitar and singing:<br /><br /> BOLENSKY<br /> Parsley sage, rosemary and thyme -- <br /> Remember me to one who lives there...<br /><br /> A pullback reveals Howard D. Doyle before the altar with <br /> Marylin. He is in a tuxedo and yarmulke. She is dressed in a <br /> simple, Kennedy-type gown.<br /><br /> BOLENSKY<br /> -- she once was a true love of mine.<br /><br /> The last arpeggiated chord rings out; birds tweet, everyone <br /> sits.<br /><br /> As Miles and Wrigley seat themselves, Wrigley is sniffling.<br /><br /> Miles is irritated.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What the hell is wrong with you?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> I can't help it. Even with the <br /> business we're in, I -- it gets me <br /> every time. It's so -- optimistic.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Is she going through with it?<br /><br /> As the crowd quiets with the end of the song, Wrigley murmurs:<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> If she's not going through with it, <br /> she's cutting it awful close.<br /><br /> RABBI BOLENSKY<br /> Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme. <br /> Ingredients. Spices. Spicy ingredients <br /> for the banquet we call -- life. <br /> Marriage is like a Great Feast. <br /> Courtship is the Appetizer. A small <br /> mixed green taste of things to come. <br /> The Early Years -- The First Course -- <br /> a carefully poached fish dish <br /> dependent on freshness and delicate <br /> handling. Or perhaps a light pasta -- <br /> a tortellini stuffed with cheese and <br /> hope.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> (Whispers, to Miles)<br /> You have any gum or mints?<br /><br /> RABBI<br /> The main course -- Mature Love -- a <br /> hearty stew, cooked slowly in the <br /> oven of companionship until the meat <br /> falls off the bone. And then -- <br /> dessert. The reward for years spent <br /> together -- the sweetness of a Life <br /> Well Lived. A sorbet of grandchildren, <br /> followed by the decafe demitasse of <br /> retirement.<br /><br /> There is silence, broken only by the twitter of birds and <br /> the restlessness of a hungry audience.<br /><br /> Finally:<br /><br /> RABBI BOLENKSY<br /> Do you Chaim David Doyle, take Marylin <br /> to be the Barbara to your Wolfgang <br /> though the lean years as well as <br /> those that are heavily marbled?<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> I do.<br /><br /> RABBI BOLENSKY<br /> And do you, Marylin Rexroth, take <br /> Chaim to be the roux in your bechamel? <br /> The stock in your sauce?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I do.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Argh.<br /><br /> Heads turn. Miles bites a knuckle. Birds twitter.<br /><br /> RABBI BOLENSKY<br /> Then, by the power vested in me by <br /> the state of California, and as the <br /> maitre'd in the Prix Fixe Four Star <br /> Restaurant of Life, I now pronounce <br /> you -- man and wife...<br /><br /> A kiss. Cheers. Applause.<br /><br /> A RECEPTION ON THE GROUNDS<br /><br /> Rabbi Bolensky strolls through the crowd with a heaping <br /> platter of smoked salmon.<br /><br /> Miles is darkly brooding as Wrigley opens a Tiffany box to <br /> show him the contents.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> What do you think?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What are they?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Berry spoons.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Spoons! Honestly Wrigley, I'm <br /> surprised at you. What is this? Some <br /> Martha Stewart suggestion? Those are <br /> the most cockamamie things I've ever --<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Miles -- why so angry?<br /><br /> Miles sounds wistful:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Why couldn't we be the club sandwich?<br /><br /> Ding Ding -- Howard D. is tapping a knife against his wine <br /> glass. The crowd quiets.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls: <br /> I have something to say to my bride.<br /><br /> Howard D. turns to one side to address Marylin, taking one <br /> of her hands between his paws, as she beams up at him.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> -- Darling, like the rabbi said... <br /> life is a banquet, A Grand Bouffe, <br /> and Marylin, darling... I just want <br /> you to know that I am IN the kitchen <br /> and I CAN STAND THE HEAT!<br /><br /> Laughter from the gallery.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> And I'm going to start this marriage <br /> by EATING MY WORDS. Because the hot <br /> hors d'oerve of this love story is -- <br /> Pre-nup Primavera!<br /><br /> He reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws a piece of <br /> paper.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> Carmine! Bring on the Pesto!<br /><br /> A Caterer places a plate and a bowl of sauce in front of <br /> Doyle. Marylin looks on, surprised and bemused.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> -- This is for you, darling.<br /><br /> He starts tearing strips off the piece of paper, dipping <br /> them into the sauce, and eating them. His mouth stuffed with <br /> paper, Doyle repeats:<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> -- this is for you, Darling.<br /><br /> The crowd is murmuring--the murmurs grow in volume -- a <br /> smattering of applause -- cheers -- more applause -- wild <br /> cheers. Slowly rhythmically, Miles starts thumping his hand <br /> together, nodding comprehension.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Brilliant.<br /><br /> Next to him Wrigley is puzzled.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Why is he doing that?<br /><br /> Miles' hand-clapping accelerates.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Brilliant. It's brilliant. He's eating <br /> the pre-nup.<br /><br /> Wrigley's eyes widen. He looks back at Doyle eating the paper.<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> This is for you, Darling!<br /><br /> Wrigley bursts into tears.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> That's -- the most romantic thing <br /> I've ever seen -- in my LIFE!<br /><br /> DOYLE<br /> THIS IS FOR YOU, DARLING!<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> Marylin stands at the punch bowl accepting congratulations.<br /><br /> Miles approaches and draws her aside.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I'd like to offer my congratulations. <br /> That was a beautiful gesture of <br /> Howard's.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Howard is a beautiful person.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes. He's a diamond in the rough. <br /> And I have a feeling that someday <br /> soon you'll be taking that diamond <br /> and leaving the rough.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles. Miles. Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I am thrilled for you, but tell me <br /> this... How'd you get Howard to do <br /> it? I've addressed enough juries to <br /> appreciate the power of suggestion, <br /> but it seemed like he thought it was <br /> his own idea.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It was his idea. It was a gesture of <br /> love and trust. Be happy for me, <br /> Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Well, when this goes south -- promise <br /> you'll have dinner with me?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (She holds a plate of <br /> food for him)<br /> Have you tried the duck?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I figure a couple of months. That's <br /> how long it should take for the ink <br /> on the settlement to dry.<br /><br /> He takes the plate of food from her.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It has bones. Be sure to swallow <br /> one.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Although knowing you as I do -- there <br /> will be no settlement. This time it <br /> will be complete and total <br /> annihilation.<br /><br /> With a ROAR we CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. LEAR JET COCKPIT<br /><br /> A uniformed pilot and copilot are cruising the corporate jet <br /> high above a vast ocean of clouds. The pilot is wearing a <br /> headset. After a long moment of listening he shakes his head.<br /><br /> PILOT<br /> Jesus --<br /><br /> CO-PILOT<br /> What --?<br /><br /> PILOT<br /> -- I've heard some -- I've heard <br /> some sick things -- in my --<br /><br /> CO-PILOT<br /> What?!<br /><br /> The pilot reaches above his head and throws a small toggle <br /> switch and the cockpit is Awash with the sound of screaming, <br /> laughter and music:<br /><br /> MALE VOICE<br /> Oh Casey Jones was the rounder's <br /> name, T'was on the 6:02 that he rode <br /> to fame!<br /><br /> INT. CABIN OF LEAR JET<br /><br /> Screaming with laughter, two naked damsels in conductor's <br /> caps are pushing Rex Rexroth around the cabin on a miniature <br /> locomotive. He is wearing his railroad boxers and bellowing <br /> "The Ballad of Casey Jones."<br /><br /> BACK TO THE COCKPIT<br /><br /> CO-PILOT<br /> Who is that guy?<br /><br /> PILOT<br /> Rex Rexroth, the mini-mall king. <br /> Getting to be the richest man on the <br /> West Coast, from what they say.<br /><br /> The copilot shakes his head.<br /><br /> CO-PILOT<br /> Jesus.<br /><br /> FROM THE SPEAKER<br /> Hup! Come all you rounders if you <br /> wanna hear...<br /><br /> CO-PILOT<br /> Why're they going to Muncie?<br /><br /> The pilot shrugs.<br /><br /> PILOT<br /> He's thinking of buying Indiana.<br /><br /> EXTERIOR<br /><br /> WHOOOSH -- the plane roars away.<br /><br /> INT. MILES OFFICE<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And of course we shall have to <br /> litigate. Sentence. Paragraph.<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> A secretary seated by his desk is taking notes.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- Naturally the first concern for <br /> both parties is the welfare of little <br /> Wendell junior. Nevertheless, we <br /> question whether the continuing <br /> expenses for his special ed classes <br /> are truly justified given the great <br /> strides --<br /><br /> Wrigley enters.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> I'm sorry I'm late. I was having <br /> lunch with Ruth Rabinow's assistant. <br /> Guess what? Marylin Rexroth is <br /> divorced!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (Delighted)<br /> HA!<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> ...and I hear she's richer than <br /> Croesus.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Ah, but is she richer than Mrs. <br /> Croesus?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> She could buy and sell you ten times <br /> over.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She deserves every penny. They pay <br /> great athletes a fortune. Well, <br /> Marylin Rexroth is an athlete at the <br /> peak of her power.<br /><br /> He hits the call button.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Get me Marylin Rexroth Doyle.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> What...?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She owes me a meal.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> I'd stay away from her, Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I know you would, Wrigley. But would <br /> Kramer?<br /><br /> We hear the Receptionist Voice:<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> Mrs. Doyle for you.<br /><br /> INT. FANCY RESTAURANT<br /><br /> We move in on one of the tables where Marylin and Miles sit <br /> as a waiter pours them champagne.<br /><br /> WAITER<br /> Le Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin, 1982.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Thank you. I'll take care of it.<br /><br /> As he fill Marylin's glass: Raises his own in a toast.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> To victory.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't feel victorious Miles. I <br /> feel betrayed, abandoned and <br /> humiliated. I have pictures of him <br /> with another woman...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> More pictures? My God, Marylin. You <br /> can open an erotic art gallery.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Did you invite me here to score some <br /> cheap laughs.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. Just to comfort you, and <br /> appreciate you --<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Reproachfully)<br /> You really think I engineered the <br /> whole thing. You think the marriage <br /> and the divorce was part of some <br /> scheme. You came here to celebrate <br /> because you think I'm without morality <br /> or soul. You --<br /> (With difficulty)<br /> sound like my mother.<br /><br /> The Waiter hands Miles a menu.<br /><br /> WAITER<br /> Should we order?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes, I -- well, I'm not really...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Not hungry, huh? Neither am I.<br /><br /> A long pensive moment.<br /><br /> Miles reaches across the table and takes her hand. She lets <br /> him. He strokes it.<br /><br /> INT. CAR<br /><br /> Miles drives. Marylin sits silently looking out the window.<br /><br /> DOYLE MANSION<br /><br /> Miles pulls up to the huge house.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Thank you. And good-night.<br /><br /> He takes her hand again.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin --<br /><br /> She puts a finger to his lips.<br /><br /> Sadly, Miles relinquishes her hand.<br /><br /> She exits the car and walks up to the front door. Miles <br /> watches her go.<br /><br /> INT. BEDROOM - MASSEY MANSION<br /><br /> We hear Court TV on in the background. Miles alone in bed, <br /> reading Art In America.<br /><br /> ON THE TV<br /><br /> A Witness is being examined by the Prosecutor:<br /><br /> PROSECUTOR<br /> ...and he asked you if...?<br /><br /> WITNESS<br /> ..if I reckon I could find someone <br /> to keel him his wife.<br /><br /> PROSECUTOR<br /> Who asked you this?<br /><br /> WITNESS<br /> Dean Leonard. Da defendant.<br /> (Points to the <br /> defendant)<br /> That guy!<br /><br /> CLAP OF THUNDER -- BOLT OF LIGHTNING<br /><br /> In a boiling night sky.<br /><br /> There are distant, echoing wails.<br /><br /> WOOZY DUTCH TRACK<br /><br /> Along a pointing suitcoated arm.<br /><br /> SANDPAPERY VOICE<br /> Eighteen hunnut billable hours. Twelve <br /> hunnut'n twenty-one motions tuh <br /> void...<br /><br /> The woozy track finds the cadaverous hand at the end of the <br /> arm with an IV tube swinging from it. Miles stands next to <br /> the arm. He's holding an assault type weapon.<br /><br /> SANDPAPERY VOICE<br /> ...five nunnut'n sixty faw summary <br /> judgenents. A hunnut'n twenty-nine <br /> thousand four hunnut'n seventeen <br /> lunches charged...<br /><br /> Miles shoots -- Bonnie falls. Then Mrs. Guttman. Marylin is <br /> next. Miles hesitates.<br /><br /> SANDPAPERY VOICE<br /> Counseluh? Counseluh?<br /><br /> Miles points the gun at Herb.<br /><br /> RING. RING. RING.<br /><br /> MILES BEDROOM<br /><br /> He bolts up in bed, sweating.<br /><br /> RING<br /><br /> He gazes stuporously about, reaching for the ringing phone.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hello?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes? Marylin?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You're right about me. I am worthless. <br /> I am nothing. I don't deserve to <br /> live.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin? When did I say...?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't blame them for betraying me. <br /> I don't blame Rex, or Howard or my <br /> father. You see, Miles, I'm going to <br /> tell you something about me. Something <br /> you may or may not know. I suck!<br /><br /> We hear the SCREECH of Tires.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (yelling at someone)<br /> Screw you, asswipe!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin? Forgive me but are you -- <br /> drunk?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> A little.<br /> (Scream)<br /> You get out of the car. That's right, <br /> Fuctard. I'm talkin' to you!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You shouldn't be driving. Where are <br /> you?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm on Sunset. Near the Beverly Hills <br /> hotel. Wanna meet me for a drink in <br /> the Polo...?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I live right near there. The 800 <br /> Block of Maple. Come here. Marylin -- <br /> come here right now before -- just <br /> come here.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Okay. Should I stop at Starbucks and <br /> pick up a blended for --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. Don't stop.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Okay Miles.<br /><br /> INT. DEN - MASSEY MANSION<br /><br /> Marylin sits in the den. She's had some coffee and, although <br /> teary and disheveled, is no longer psychotic.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I just cried when I got home. Somehow, <br /> your disdain for me -- I'm pretty <br /> tough Miles, but I'm human. All my <br /> life people have been ascribing these <br /> terrible motives to me. I used to <br /> think they were jealous, or they <br /> didn't understand, but... I dunno. <br /> Maybe others see something in me. <br /> Something I'm not even aware of. <br /> Anyway, thank you for letting me <br /> come here. I guess I was a little <br /> drunk.<br /><br /> She takes the coffee cup and has a sip. She looks like a <br /> lost waif.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You have a very nice home, Miles. <br /> Very inviting.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Thank you.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You have wonderful art. I love that <br /> lithograph. Hockney?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes. I just got that, actually. It <br /> was a gift.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> From a -- girlfriend.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. No. I don't have a... no. It was <br /> from a client.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> No kidding. I'll bet you have some <br /> very grateful clients. What'd Rex <br /> buy you?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Rex sent me two humidors full of pre-<br /> Castro Cubans.<br /><br /> Marylin looks at a photograph Miles has on a side table.<br /><br /> A WOMAN AND TWO SMALL BOYS.<br /><br /> The Woman has her arm around one of them. The other stands <br /> close to her. Smiling, but awkward and tentative.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Is that you?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Me. Yes.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Oh. And that is -- mom?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yeah. Mom. Mom and brother.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You look like you were a very <br /> sensitive child. You have expressive <br /> eyes.<br /><br /> Miles walks over to look at the picture.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hmmm...<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> And your mother was very beautiful. <br /> She must be proud of you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She never particularly cared for me.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> She didn't love you?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. She loved me. She would never <br /> not love her son. She just didn't... <br /> I wasn't her "type." She said I was <br /> a very, colicky baby. You know? <br /> Difficult. Not a good sleeper? Didn't <br /> eat well? We got off to a bad start, <br /> and she never seemed to recoup --<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> She held that against you?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Apparently she was very disappointed.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Boy. Boy, oh boy.<br /><br /> Marylin looks at the picture again. And yes -- you can see <br /> how hesitant Miles was. Marylin is moved. A flash of something <br /> genuine crosses her face.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> And here I thought my mother was...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Your mother was.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Oh right. You met Patricia.<br /><br /> She takes a sip of coffee. Regards Miles.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> We're damaged goods.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No, we're not!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> We are, Miles. You know I'm right. <br /> There's something "off" about you <br /> and me Miles. And maybe it isn't <br /> because of these women -- maybe they <br /> were just extremely insightful and <br /> recognized our "deficiencies" very <br /> early on. Maybe...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That is bullshit! Mine is a bitch <br /> and yours is a psycho. I can't believe <br /> you're saying this, Marylin! There's <br /> nothing wrong with us. We're <br /> attractive and charismatic and <br /> successful and... I like us.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm sorry Miles. You shouldn't listen <br /> to me. I'm sure you have a very <br /> fulfilling life. I'd better go. I'm <br /> depressing.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Thank you for the coffee. It's very <br /> robust.<br /><br /> She stands. Picks up her purse. Walks over to him with an <br /> outstretched hand.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Friends?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Don't go. Stay with me for a while.<br /><br /> He doesn't release her hand. Instead he draws her to him, <br /> and kisses her. She kisses him. He kisses her back. She...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Mile and Marylin -- making love.<br /><br /> LATER<br /><br /> They are in post coital wrap.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I have to say -- I'm speechless. No. <br /> I'm never speechless.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm a little embarrassed. I'm not <br /> used to losing control with such -- <br /> volume.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> And I'm not used to -- Marylin -- <br /> there's something I want to ask you.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> What is it Miles?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I want... I want to...<br /><br /> She waits, puzzled.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I want to be your -- your wife.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No... That wasn't right. I want YOU <br /> to be MY wife.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Did you just propose to me?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes. I am. What else could those <br /> words mean? I believe we belong <br /> together and we can make one another <br /> happy. And we should be happy because <br /> happiness is better than the <br /> alternative which is -- just jump in <br /> any old time, Marylin. You have more <br /> experience at this than I do.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes? Yes, you do have more experience?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes, Miles. I accept.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You do?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Do you want me to sleep on it?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Do you want to sleep on it?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No ma'am. I have been asleep all my <br /> life up to this moment. Marylin, <br /> will you marry me?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes. Again.<br /><br /> They kiss.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I don't have a ring!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I know.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I have a watch.<br /><br /> She laughs. Kisses him.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm happy.<br /><br /> INT. CHAPEL<br /><br /> Miles and Kenneth wait. Dressed in suits. Miles looks nervous.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> I'm happy for you, pal.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Thanks, buddy.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Is she Asian?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Asian? No.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Well... I'm still...<br /><br /> Wrigley, rushes in, carrying a briefcase.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Wrigley?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Kenneth this is my associate, Wrigley. <br /> Wrigley this is my friend, Dr. Beck.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> The plastic surgeon! I read about <br /> you in LA Style.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Do you have it?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> I have it.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You have the pre-nup?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> No. I have the ring. Was I supposed <br /> to have a pre-nup?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. You have the ring. Wrigley has <br /> the pre-nup.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Oh. I thought maybe --<br /> (He sees someone)<br /> Gee!<br /><br /> Marylin enters. She looks outstanding. Her friends, Sarah <br /> Sorkin and Ramona Barcelona (who is now visibly pregnant) <br /> accompany her.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Dr. Beck!<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Sarah! How are you?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You know each other? Of course you <br /> do.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> You're Dr. Beck? I have an appointment <br /> to see you in March. Right after I <br /> lose the babyweight. Which of course, <br /> will be after I have the baby...<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Sarah Sorkin. Ramona Barcelona -- <br /> this is Miles Massey.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Hello Miles.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Congratulations Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hi. Hello.<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> Marylin. You know my young associate, <br /> Wrigley.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I do. He was at my divorce and my <br /> wedding. What would a marital related <br /> event be without Wrigley?<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> It has become a tradition, hasn't <br /> it?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I loved the berry spoons.<br /> (Wrigley beams)<br /> I didn't have any. Thank you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Well, Wrigley brought something else <br /> for you today, darling.<br /><br /> Wrigley pulls a sheaf of papers from the briefcase.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> This -- is the Massey Pre-nup.<br /><br /> Wrigley hastily pulls a ballpoint from his pocket and clicks <br /> it. Miles grabs the pre-nup, and as he turns to Marylin, his <br /> tone softens.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin, you're welcome to examine <br /> it, but as you know -- it's iron <br /> clad.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> It is. It's famous.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> I tried to reach Ruth, but we couldn't <br /> get her.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> We wanted Ruth here for your <br /> protection as well --<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> The Judge is here. Over here, Judge <br /> Munson.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Wasn't she the Judge at my divorce <br /> hearing?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes. Short notice you know, but I <br /> think there's nice closure to it. <br /> Hello Judge Muson. A pleasure as <br /> always.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> What's up with you two.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> We're getting married.<br /><br /> Judge laughs.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> What's the gag?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> A gag? No.<br /><br /> Marylin looks at the pre-nup. Then pulls Miles aside.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Excuse me, Judge Muson.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> You got it, Patty.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (To Miles)<br /> You brought a pre-nup to our wedding?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes.<br /> (She isn't having the <br /> expected reaction)<br /> It's for your protection, sweetheart. <br /> You're the one with the -- the...<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> -- the coin?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles. I don't want to sign this. I <br /> want this marriage to be different. <br /> Okay. Judge Munsen and Wrigley are <br /> here, but other than that...<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> Should I go out for a smoke?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. Judge -- just a sec. But Marylin, <br /> if we sign it, I can't hope to benefit <br /> from the marriage.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Sadly)<br /> Oh Miles!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What I mean is, your wealth is <br /> completely protected.<br /><br /> As if a lead veil had been drawn across. She looks deep into <br /> his eyes. Into his soul.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles. Listen to me. You are about <br /> to become my husband. I don't want <br /> to be protected from you. I want to <br /> be protected for you.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> (Moved)<br /> Ohhh...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> But?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I want this to be a marriage based <br /> on love, trust and community property. <br /> That's all I've ever wanted.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> But Marylin, without this, you're <br /> completely exposed.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I want to be exposed.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> You're vulnerable.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It's about time.<br /><br /> JUDGE<br /> You're a sitting duck.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (To Miles, with great <br /> affection)<br /> Quack.<br /><br /> INT. CHAPEL<br /><br /> Miles and Marylin stand before the alter.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> Do you, Miles Herbert Massey of Massey <br /> Meyerson take Marylin Hamilton-Rexroth-<br /> Doyle?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> "Doyle", to be your lawful wedded <br /> wife to --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I do, yah I do, uh huh --<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> Let me finish!<br /><br /> She glares at Miles.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> -- Jesus! Haven't you ever been <br /> married before?<br /><br /> Chastened, Miles bows his head.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> -- To have and hold, to love and to <br /> cherish, till death do you part?<br /><br /> There is a long beat, through which Miles stares at his shoes.<br /><br /> Marylin looks at him.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> -- I do.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> And do you, Marylin Hamilton-Rexroth <br /> Doyle, take Miles Herbert Massey of <br /> Massey Meyerson, to be your lawful <br /> wedded husband, to have and to hold, <br /> to love and to cherish, till death <br /> do you part?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I do.<br /><br /> JUDGE MUNSON<br /> I now pronounce you man and wife.<br /><br /> Wrigley bursts into tears.<br /><br /> THE MARRIED MASSEY MONTAGE<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY HOUSE - MORNING<br /><br /> Miles and Marylin asleep in bed. The ALARM RINGS. Miles wakes, <br /> turns to his beautiful wife -- kisses her good morning.<br /><br /> She gives him a sleepy Smile.<br /><br /> Miles dressing for work. Marylin, in a Sabia Rosa bathrobe <br /> places a tray with coffee next to him. He holds up two ties <br /> for her-approval. She selects one. He puts it on.<br /><br /> Miles and Marylin reading Newspapers while eating breakfast. <br /> She serves him a bowl of fruit and indicates Wrigley's berry <br /> spoons. They laugh heartily.<br /><br /> Marylin waves good bye as Miles backs drives to the office. <br /> She waves at the gardeners who blow palm fronds around the <br /> lawn.<br /><br /> MILES OFFICE<br /><br /> He has managed to fill his credenza with pictures of married <br /> life. Due to its brevity -- these pictures are uneventful, <br /> the Massey's wear the same outfit in most of them.<br /><br /> Miles works. He is interrupted by the voice of his SECRETARY.<br /><br /> SECRETARY<br /> I have Mrs. Massey on line one for <br /> you.<br /><br /> Miles picks up.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mom...?<br /><br /> He laughs and laughs. We hear Marylin's laughter coming <br /> through the receiver.<br /><br /> Miles exits a flower store with a bouquet of tulips. Marylin <br /> at the doorway, greets Miles as he arrives home.<br /><br /> As Miles changes into his casual after work outfit, (khakis?) <br /> Marylin sits at the edge of the bed. He's telling her about <br /> his day, and she is rapt with attention.<br /><br /> The Massey's have a candlelit dinner of fish and pasta. The <br /> tulips are in the middle of the table.<br /><br /> Miles and Marylin snuggle on a couch and watch Seinfeld. <br /> Miles in bed on the new Frette Linen. A few too many pillows, <br /> but he's making it work. Marylin enters the bedroom in a <br /> nightshirt that is the perfect combination of innocence and <br /> nastiness. He puts down his book as she gets into bed with <br /> him.<br /><br /> They gaze at one another -- the picture of contentment and <br /> impending lust.<br /><br /> CLICK - LIGHTS OUT<br /><br /> EXT. MASSEY MYERSON - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Miles is addressing the young associates.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> For the first time in my life, I <br /> stand before you naked... <br /> vulnerable... and in love. Love. A <br /> word matrimonial lawyers shy away <br /> from. Ironic isn't it -- that I have <br /> been frightened of this emotion which <br /> is, in a sense, the seed of my <br /> livelihood. But today, I am here to <br /> tell you: Love should cause us no <br /> fear. Love should cause us no shame. <br /> Love... is good.<br /> (He lets it sink in)<br /> Let me ask you a question. When our <br /> clients come to us confused, angry, <br /> hurting because their flame of love <br /> is fluttering and threatens to die -- <br /> should we seek to extinguish that <br /> flame, so that we can sift through <br /> the smoldering wreckage for our paltry <br /> reward? Or should we seek to fan <br /> this precious flame -- this most <br /> precious flame -- back to loving, <br /> roaring life?<br /><br /> The young associates look confused. Wrigley raises his hand.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Extinguish?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Should we counsel fear -- or trust? <br /> Should we seek to destroy -- or to <br /> build? Should we meet our clients' <br /> problems with cynicism -- or with <br /> love?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (another raised hand)<br /> Kramer?<br /><br /> KRAMER<br /> Build?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> The decision of course, is each of <br /> ours. For my part, I have made the <br /> leap of love, and there is no going <br /> back --<br /><br /> Herb Myserson sits in the back of the room. He watches, <br /> breathing heavily.<br /><br /> INT. DEN - MASSEY HOUSE<br /><br /> Miles and Marylin watching a cable movie crowded together on <br /> the small sofa.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm sorry. I'm squishing you. I'll <br /> move to the...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No. Stay. I want you close to me. <br /> This couch is wrong. It's not a <br /> "married couch."<br /><br /> He surveys his surroundings with a critical eye.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Honey, I could sit...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> In fact, this is not a married house -- <br /> it's a bachelor pad.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Hardly. You have six bedrooms<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I know. But I've converted most of <br /> them into ridiculous "Guy" rooms -- <br /> a billiard room, a card room, a gym -- <br /> Honey, want you to go out, as soon <br /> as you feel up to it -- and buy <br /> married things. Woman things. <br /> Personalize it. Marylinize it. Make <br /> this your house.<br /><br /> He hands her a credit card.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Here's my card. Spend as much as you <br /> want. We get mileage.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Well, I suppose I could "girly" it <br /> up for you with a little Fortuny, <br /> and some passementerie --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Good.<br /> (Beat)<br /> Are those foods?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Fabric and fringe.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Exactly. And then -- maybe -- not <br /> right away -- There's a room right <br /> off the bedroom -- It would be perfect <br /> for a nursery.<br /> (He takes her hands)<br /> It's a walk in humidor right now -- <br /> but if I took out the refrigeration <br /> unit --<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I think a nursery should be right <br /> off the master suite. My parents put <br /> mine in the guest house. Apparently <br /> they did have a Fisher Price intercom, <br /> but my mother turned it off when I <br /> was seven months old because I was <br /> so --<br /><br /> She stops him with a kiss.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You want children, don't you?<br /><br /> INT. QUATRAIN ANTIQUES - DAY<br /><br /> A pricey antique store near Melrose.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> You said 'yes' didn't you?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I said yes.<br /><br /> She picks up an antique Chinese bowl.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Is this Ming?<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> It's not Ming. It's Tong.<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Is Tong older than Ming?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I think Ming is older than Tong.<br /> (To the Salesman <br /> hovering nearby)<br /> What is this?<br /><br /> SALESMAN<br /> That is a Chinese Prayer Bowl. It's <br /> Chen dynasty.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Ok. I'll take it.<br /><br /> He sets it aside next to the formidable pile of loot the <br /> girls have accumulated.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I can't do this anymore. Let's get <br /> some lunch.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> What about rugs? I thought we were <br /> stopping at Mansour?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Right.<br /><br /> SALESMAN<br /> (To Marylin)<br /> And will this be check or --?<br /><br /> She hands him the Platinum Visa.<br /><br /> SALESMAN<br /> (Glances at it)<br /> Very good, Mrs. Massey.<br /><br /> He trots off with the card.<br /><br /> Marylin absently fingers an antique guided candelabra.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (Sigh)<br /> Well. He said to "make the house <br /> mine."<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> Oh boy. If he only knew.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yeah. I guess. You know --<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> What?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> He's not what I expected. He's very -- <br /> he's so -- happy.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> But you're going through with it?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes, yes, it's just -- you know I've <br /> never been the first wife. Rex was <br /> married before me.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> So what?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles is different. He's still so <br /> idealistic.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Well, that's about to change big <br /> time.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> He has no cynicism or anger. For <br /> once I'm not the repository of rage <br /> at some other woman.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Soon, you'll have your own rage!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I guess.<br /><br /> INT. FLOWER STORE - EVENING<br /><br /> Miles is buying a huge bouquet of flowers. As he exits he is <br /> stopped by a WOMAN. She is in her 40's but looks older.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Wait. I know you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> You're Miles Massey! You probably <br /> don't recognize me. The drugs made <br /> me put on weight and grow facial <br /> hair.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Excuse me?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> You ruined my life you sonofabitch. <br /> Gimme those.<br /><br /> She grabs the flowers. Pulls petal off one of the roses and <br /> eats it.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> But my brother got you. He got you, <br /> you slimeball.<br /><br /> A NURSE runs over.<br /><br /> NURSE<br /> Emily!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What are you...<br /> (To the nurse)<br /> Is she yours?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Howard Doyle is my brother? You know <br /> my brother, Howard Doyle. You do <br /> know my brother, don't you?<br /><br /> NURSE<br /> I'm sorry, Sir. Emily. Give the man <br /> back.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes, I know Howard Doyle.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> He tricked you. With a phony wife <br /> and a fake pre-nup. Howard Doyle. He <br /> got you. You married Marylin, didn't <br /> you? You thought she had money. HA <br /> HA HA. Howard Doyle made you think <br /> that because of what you did to me. <br /> And to Marylin Rexroth. Yeah. I heard <br /> all about it. My brother Howard Doyle <br /> got you.<br /> (singsong)<br /> Neener neener neener.<br /><br /> INT. RUTH RABINOW'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Ruth calmly watches Miles ranting around her office.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> He divorced his wife -- he married <br /> Marylin -- he divorced Marylin -- <br /> and he -- remarried his WIFE? What <br /> kind of sick --<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Marylin was friends with Howard and <br /> Amanda Doyle. They don't like the <br /> way you operate. They helped her.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> He never ate the pre-nup, did he!<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> I have no idea what Howard Doyle <br /> eats. I'm not a damn dietician.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Did Marylin end up with money?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> She's YOUR wife. Why don't you ask <br /> her? Anyway, I assume she signed the <br /> highly over rated Massey pre-nup.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I don't have a pre-nup<br /><br /> Miles hangs his head. Ruth sighs sympathetically.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> ...The fault, dear Brutus, is not in <br /> our stars...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Don't give me that crap. That's MY <br /> crap.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> And it's good!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I'll have you suspended. I'll have <br /> you disbarred.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Don't threaten me, Miles. I did <br /> nothing illegal.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> ...why did she do it, Ruth? Why?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> That's attorney client privilege.<br /> (As she goes back <br /> into her work)<br /> Sorry, Miles. But as a great and <br /> clever man once said, What's good <br /> for the goose --<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> Marylin greets him at the door.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Hi.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hello Marylin.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I have a surprise for you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I bet.<br /><br /> She brings him inside. The place has been massively <br /> accessorized. Antiques, rugs, lamps and assorted tasteful <br /> chatchkies. There is a new Biedermeyer couch in the den.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Ta Da.<br /><br /> Miles looks at it, expressionless.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You don't like it?<br /><br /> He stares at her -- a very dark look.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You don't like me?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (Flatly)<br /> I love you. I want to have your baby.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> What's wrong Miles? Did I spend too <br /> much?<br /><br /> She retrieves all the receipts from her purse.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles. I have a very good relationship <br /> with all the salesmen. I can return <br /> everything.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Can you Marylin? Can you return the <br /> trust? Can you return the hopes? The <br /> dreams? Can you just...<br /> (Bitterly)<br /> SEND IT ALL BACK FOR STORE CREDIT?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles? You're scaring me.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (Pulls himself together)<br /> I'm sorry, Darling. I love it. It's <br /> chic and timeless and elegant and <br /> eclectic and. It's you, Marylin. It <br /> is YOU.<br /><br /> INT. KITCHEN<br /><br /> Marylin is on the phone with Ruth.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> But Ruth -- things have changed -- <br /> yes -- yes I understand. But you see -- <br /> I couldn't file, did I? And maybe I <br /> wasn't going to file. Maybe -- maybe <br /> Ruth -- Yes. Okay.<br /><br /> OUTSIDE BEDROOM - MASSEY HOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> The bedroom door is closed. Marylin knocks repeatedly.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles? Open the door, Miles. Please <br /> open the door. I want to talk to <br /> you. Miles? I'm coming in. Here I <br /> come.<br /><br /> She pushes the door open. No Miles in sight. On the bed, <br /> scrawled on a piece of mMm stationery, taped to one of the <br /> mMm Frette pillows -- a note which reads -- "If you prick <br /> us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If <br /> you poison us, do we not die? AND IF YOU WRONG US SHALL WE <br /> NOT REVENGE?"<br /><br /> INT. KENNETH'S HOUSE<br /><br /> Kenneth stares at the chessboard. Court TV is on the <br /> background.<br /><br /> TV SCREEN<br /><br /> COURT TV REPORTER<br /><br /> We are back at the Trial of New Jersey v. Medrano. Mr. Medrano <br /> is accused of killing his wife, Alicia in 1992. He claims it <br /> was suicide. Let's return to the courtroom.<br /><br /> See the action in the courtroom --<br /><br /> The Prosecutor shows the jury an extremely large handgun.<br /><br /> PROSECUTOR<br /> How far would this gun have to be in <br /> order to inflict a wound without <br /> leaving powder burns on the scalp.<br /><br /> EXPERT WITNESS<br /> Approximately three feet.<br /><br /> PROSECUTOR<br /> And how could Mrs. Medrano shoot <br /> herself in the back of the head from <br /> a distance of three feet?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Really long arms?<br /><br /> He moves a piece.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> They won't get a conviction. The <br /> husband called it in as a suicide. <br /> The forensic guys weren't thinking <br /> murder. I'm sure some of the evidence <br /> was compromised.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> It's your move, Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (Sadly)<br /> I already made my move, Kenneth.<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY HOUSE<br /><br /> A private yoga class. Marylin, Sarah and Ramona are in the <br /> plow position. The yuppie Sikh instructor places his weight <br /> on Sarah.<br /><br /> SARAH<br /> Vishu! Knock it off. That hurts.<br /><br /> VISHNU<br /> Breathe through it.<br /><br /> Sarah tries a few deep breaths. Marylin concentrates hard.<br /><br /> VISHNU<br /> That's good, Marylin.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't even know where he is. He <br /> looked so devastated. If I could <br /> just talk to him for a few minutes.<br /><br /> SFX DOORBELL<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Was that the bell?<br /><br /> RAMONA<br /> It sounded like a bell.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'll be right back.<br /><br /> INT. HALLWAY - MASSEY HOUSE<br /><br /> Marylin walks to the door. Opens it. Two POLICE OFFICERS.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes? Can I help you?<br /><br /> POLICE OFFICER<br /> Marylin Hamilton Rexroth Doyle Massey?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes.<br /><br /> POLICE OFFICER<br /> We have a warrant for your arrest.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> What?<br /><br /> INT. POLICE STATION - MONTAGE - DAY<br /><br /> Marylin is photographed front and profile. She is finger <br /> printed; she is searched and relieved of her jewelry; and <br /> finally, she is throw into a holding tank with several other <br /> women -- trapped. She clings despondently to the bars.<br /><br /> INT. POLICE STATION - DAY<br /><br /> Ruth is admitted to the holding area.<br /><br /> INT. HOLDING TANK - DAY<br /><br /> A Police Officer walks down the hall. Unlocks the door.<br /><br /> POLICE OFFICER<br /> You can go now, Mrs. Massey. Someone <br /> made bail.<br /><br /> Marylin exits.<br /><br /> INT. RUTH'S CAR<br /><br /> Marylin sits next to Ruth.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Forgery and Fraud?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> You used his credit card.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> He told me to -- he said he wanted <br /> me to --<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Quite a little shopping spree. How <br /> do you spend six figures in less <br /> than six hours? Oh, never mind I've <br /> seen it before. I've seen everything.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Do you think he set me up? Do you <br /> think that was his intention?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Like I know his intention? Or yours <br /> for that matter?<br /> (Sighs)<br /> I should join Sam. I'm too old for <br /> this bullshit.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> He never even asked. He just assumed --<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> He was right, wasn't he?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> So. Now what?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Now? Well, Marylin, now you cut a <br /> deal or find out how Jean Harris <br /> made it work for her.<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> Miles opens the door. Marylin is standing there.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Well. Well. Well. Look who made bail!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> May I come in?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I don't know. Maybe I should grab my <br /> mace. I'm a civil attorney. I have <br /> little experience with "the criminal <br /> mind."<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'd just like to pick up a few of my <br /> things<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I don't believe you have "things."<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> On the contrary. We're married and <br /> we have no pre-nup, so a case could <br /> be made that everything in here is <br /> mine.<br /><br /> Marylin walks into the den. Sits on the new sofa.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Comfy!<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What do you want?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I want to nail you ass.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Are you threatening me, because I'm <br /> sure that's a violation of the terms <br /> of your bail.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm reporting you to the IRS.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> The IRS? They owe me. I'm expecting <br /> a refund.<br /><br /> He laughs. She looks at him, dead serious.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I'm clean with the IRS. I've reported <br /> every dollar I've ever made. Try <br /> again, girlfriend.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm not talking about dollars, <br /> studmuffin. I'm talking about --<br /><br /> She opens a humidor and takes out a Cigar.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> STUFF.<br /> (Chomping on the Cigar)<br /> Got a light?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> What kind of "stuff?"<br /><br /> She reaches into her purse. Pulls out a Dunhill and expertly <br /> lights the cigar.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Arty Farty stuff.<br /> (Pointing to the <br /> Hockney)<br /> Lithographs and pre Castro Cubans. <br /> Watches and mileage on private jets. <br /> Stuff, Miles. Stuff you get from <br /> grateful clients.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Those are gifts.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Salary. Unreported income.<br /> (Glancing at his watch)<br /> By the way, what time IS it on <br /> Bellagio Road?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You can't prove anything.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't have to. That's what the IRS <br /> guys do. And they do it with great <br /> zeal. See, they work at these tortuous <br /> civil service jobs, and when five <br /> hundred dollar an hour boys like you <br /> take their trade out in luxury <br /> goodies, these saps feel.. well, <br /> they feel like saps. And they feel <br /> bitter and they feel vengeful and <br /> they feel WRATH.<br /> (Puffing on the cigar)<br /> What is this? A Romeo and Julieta?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You're out of your league, Marylin. <br /> Rexroth was a primate. I'm a <br /> professional.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I know. So am I, right? And so is <br /> Agent Wilson of the Internal Revenue <br /> Service. He's a dedicated, underpaid <br /> graduate of Southwestern University -- <br /> very tenacious, and never more so <br /> than when he's dealing with an <br /> unscrupulous colleague.<br /> (She stands to leave)<br /> I think it's only fair to warn you: <br /> I'm going to file an action, Miles. <br /> And after a decent interval I plan <br /> to have Ruth seek an injunction that <br /> will forbid your approach within 500 <br /> feet of my house.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Meaning my house.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I believe the residence will be part <br /> of the settlement.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Did our marriage ever mean anything <br /> to you?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Drop the bogus forgery charge and <br /> I'll forget about your generous <br /> friends slash clients.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That's blackmail.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> That's marriage.<br /><br /> She gives him a peck on the cheek. As she leaves:<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You'll always be my favorite husband.<br /><br /> Miles sits dejectedly on the new sofa looking at the <br /> paintings. He looks at the watch. And the cigars. And the <br /> picture of his mother.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Pity you can't be here. You'd enjoy <br /> this.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON A BAG OF FLUIDS<br /><br /> We pull back from the milky yellowish bag of fluid to show <br /> that a nurse is unhooking and removing it from under Herb <br /> Meyerson's wheelchair where it collects drainage.<br /><br /> She now places it up on the IV gantry and connects, and swaps <br /> the now empty drip under the wheelchair to collect drainage. <br /> We are once again in Herb Meyerson's gloomy office, its <br /> venetians blocking most of the light and making Herb a dark, <br /> enigmatic figure.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> This woman has humbled, shamed and <br /> disgrazed the entire foim.<br /><br /> A reverse shows Miles standing in front of Herb's desk.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Yes Herb,<br /><br /> HERB<br /> Counseluh, this foim deals in powuh. <br /> This foim deals in p'seption. This <br /> foim cannot prospuh... nor long <br /> endowwa. if it is p'seeved as dancin' <br /> to the music..<br /><br /> He waves his free arm to the beat of music unheard.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> -- of the hoidy-goidy.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I understand Herb... I just... for <br /> the first time in my career -- I <br /> don't know what to do. I'm a patsy. <br /> A sitting duck. I'm lost.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> Lost! I'll tell you what you can do, <br /> you can --<br /><br /> He brings himself up short and turns to the nurse.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> -- leave us.<br /><br /> She heads for the door.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> -- You can act like a man. Let me <br /> tell you sumpn, smart guy. You tawt <br /> you had it all figgud out. Trust. <br /> Marriage. All ya goddamn love love <br /> love. Well now you lissean me. I'm <br /> gonna talk to you about the goddamn <br /> LAW.<br /><br /> He climbs unsteadily to his feet and tries to pace, <br /> gesticulating, with the IV swaying dangerously behind him.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> -- We SOIVE THE LAW! We HONUH the <br /> law! We make our goddamn bread and <br /> BUTTUH by the law! And sometimes, <br /> counseluh, we OBEY THE LAW --<br /><br /> He pauses to let this sink in.<br /><br /> HERB<br /> -- but conseluh -- This is not one a <br /> those times.<br /><br /> INT. BEDROOM - MASSEY HOUSE<br /><br /> Miles is in bed, morosely watching Court TV.<br /><br /> TV SCREEN<br /><br /> Close on NIKKI ROSEN - A COURT TV ANCHOR<br /><br /> NIKKI<br /> We are interrupting our scheduled <br /> weekend coverage because we have <br /> just received word there is a verdict <br /> in the Kentucky v Leonard Case. We <br /> now join the case -- live.<br /><br /> THE COURTROOM<br /><br /> BAILIFF<br /> (Reads)<br /> Of the charges of murder in the first <br /> degree, we the jury find the defendant -- <br /> not guilty.<br /><br /> THE STUDIO<br /><br /> Nikki speaks to her Guest Host.<br /><br /> NIKKI<br /> He got away with it.<br /><br /> GUEST<br /> Simpson started a trend.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CLOSE ON<br /><br /> An edgy looking gangster, JOE. He is perspiring heavily. He <br /> breathes through his mouth with the rasping wheeze of an <br /> asthmatic.<br /><br /> His labored breath rattles as he stares across the table at <br /> someone off. At length, a voice:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> ...Are you Joe?<br /><br /> Still staring, but perhaps by way of answer, the gangster <br /> raises an inhaler, sticks it in his mouth, and squeezes. <br /> WHUSH.<br /><br /> GANGSTER<br /> ...Dumbarton?<br /><br /> A reverse shows Miles seated across a small round table in a <br /> seedy low-lit clam house. Photos of Ted Kennedy and the Pope <br /> adorn the walls..<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I am here representing Mr. Dumbarton, <br /> on a... matter of some delicacy.<br /><br /> GANGSTER<br /> Who's the pigeon?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Excuse me?<br /><br /> GANGSTER<br /> Who do you want me to kill?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Well -- I, uh, that is to say Mr. <br /> Dumbarton -- would like you to uh, <br /> neutralize a, uh, business associate <br /> by the name of Marylin Rexroth Doyle <br /> Massey uh Dumbart -- uh, Massey.<br /><br /> GANGSTER<br /> Is that... one person?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Here's her picture...<br /><br /> He is shoving an envelope across the table.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> ...and the address where she's <br /> staying. It's the residence of a Mr. <br /> Massey. Uh, Dumbarton. Massey. Uh, <br /> it's not Mr. Dumbarton's house. Though <br /> he's not involved. And because of an <br /> impending legal action this needs to <br /> happen within a certain... time frame. <br /> Uh... on an expedited basis.<br /><br /> The gangster stares expressionlessly. He raises the inhaler <br /> again and, with his eyes still on Miles, squeezes. WHUSH.<br /><br /> GANGSTER<br /> You're in a rush.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Mr. Dumbarton is, yes.<br /><br /> A long beat. Finally, Miles explodes<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She won't suffer, will she?<br /><br /> He bites a knuckle, gazing fearfully at the gangster. The <br /> gangster stares impassively back.<br /><br /> GANGSTER<br /> ...not unless you pay extra.<br /><br /> INT. REX REXROTH MANSION<br /><br /> An enormous oak paneled room. Furnished with chairs sofas <br /> and a huge circular bed. A fire roars in the far corner. On <br /> the wall above the bed a film loop is being projected -- <br /> soft core pornographic images.<br /><br /> On the bed, Rex is surrounded by three naked beauties, smeared <br /> in cola dust and wearing conductor caps.<br /><br /> REX<br /> I've been working on the railroad --<br /><br /> TARTS<br /> All the livelong day!<br /><br /> REX<br /> I've been working on the railroad<br /><br /> TARTS<br /> Just to pass the time away!<br /><br /> REX<br /> Can'tcha hear the whistle... the <br /> whistle... AWWWWWWW.<br /><br /> Rex hunches over, clutching his left arm.<br /><br /> One by one, the girls stop dancing and stare. There is a <br /> somber silence, broken by another.<br /><br /> REX<br /> Awwwwwww --<br /><br /> The girls are all watching now. One of them steps forward.<br /><br /> TART<br /> -- Whatsa matter, Rexie?<br /><br /> INT. KENNETH'S HOUSE<br /><br /> A guest room. Dark, dirty and filled with empty bottles of <br /> expensive French wine.<br /><br /> We hear a phone ringing in a different room. It rings several <br /> times.<br /><br /> The figure on the bed stirs, rolls over, moans, clamps a <br /> pillow over his head.<br /><br /> The ring of the distant telephone is interrupted and we hear <br /> a muffled voice:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Hello. Yes, he's here. Just a minute --<br /><br /> We hear approaching footsteps and Kenneth enters the <br /> background, knotting a bathrobe. He turns on the light in <br /> the room.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Miles. It's for you.<br /><br /> The figure on the couch pulls away the pillow. It is indeed <br /> Miles Massey. He blearily takes the offered phone.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hello. Yes -- what?! Yes -- I see --<br /><br /> After another listening beat he drops the phone away. He <br /> remains staring dully out into space.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> My God.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> What?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That was Marvin Untermeyer.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Yes?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> He was Rex Rexroth's personal <br /> attorney.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> What do you mean, was.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Rex just had a massive coronary. In <br /> the middle of a business meeting. <br /> He's dead.<br /><br /> Kenneth is mildly puzzled.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> I'm sorry to hear that. But you <br /> weren't close, were you?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marvin says that Rex's will is four <br /> years old. He never redrafted it.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Yes.<br /><br /> Miles voice is still flat, expressionless:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Everything goes to Marylin.<br /><br /> He looks up a at Kenneth.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> She's rich. We're still married. We <br /> have no pre-nup.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> So, that's good, right?<br /><br /> MINUTES LATER<br /><br /> Miles paces with the telephone. He punches numbers with the <br /> thumb of the hand holding the phone; his other hand holds a <br /> coffee cup from which he takes trembling slurps.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> This is Joe. Wuddya need?<br /><br /> Then a beep.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Joe. This is Mr. uh... friend of -- <br /> we met. This is to instruct you it's <br /> No Go! Do you understand me?! NO GO <br /> on Marylin Rexroth Doyle -- No Go.<br /><br /> He slams down the phone.<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Who was that?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> That was -- oh, shit. What if he's <br /> on his way over there?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> Consumed with remorse, Miles moans.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin! What have I done?<br /><br /> KENNETH<br /> I don't know, but don't call me <br /> Marylin.<br /><br /> MILES CAR<br /><br /> Miles drives, speeding, taking corners hard while punching <br /> numbers into his car phone.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Get her out, buy some time; get her <br /> out --<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY MANSION - NIGHT<br /><br /> In the bedroom, the phone starts ringing. A hand enters to <br /> pick it up. We follow the hand up to reveal<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Hello?<br /><br /> MILES SPEEDING CAR<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Miles? Miles! Where have you been? <br /> I've been trying to get in touch.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You have to leave the house <br /> immediately!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I will, Miles. I will leave. But <br /> Miles --<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No buts. Now. Out.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Just listen to me. I'm sorry, Miles. <br /> It's true that my initial intention <br /> was to...<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Please! Leave the house.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I fell in love Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> So did I. Now pack up a few basics <br /> and --<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You do? You do love me?<br /><br /> MASSEY MANSION<br /><br /> Marylin hangs up the phone.<br /><br /> She walks slowly around the room, pausing at the mantelpiece <br /> to pick up a framed picture of Miles, which she <br /> contemplatively regards.<br /><br /> We pan with her continued walk to bring Joe into frame. He <br /> stands with his back pressed to the wall. She's started for <br /> a moment, but quickly recoups:<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Whoever sent you, I'll pay double.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> Mr. Dumbarton.<br /><br /> She shows him the picture of Miles.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Is this Mr. Dumbarton?<br /><br /> JOE<br /> No...<br /><br /> She cocks an eye at him.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> That's his lawyer.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Triple!<br /><br /> JOE<br /> Who's the pigeon?<br /><br /> We faintly hear a car screeching to a halt.<br /><br /> EXT. MASSEY MANSION<br /><br /> Massey exits the car. He clutches a can of mace.<br /><br /> INT. MANSION<br /><br /> We hear a key scrape in the lock. The front door swings open <br /> onto a dark foyer as Miles tiptoes in.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> (Whispers)<br /> Marylin?<br /><br /> DINING ROOM<br /><br /> Miles tiptoes through, looking warily about. He backs through <br /> the swinging doors connecting to the kitchen. Finds himself <br /> face to face with Joe.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Joe! Thank God you're in time. You're <br /> not in time. I'm in time. Thank God <br /> I'm in time.<br /><br /> Joe stares at him.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> It's a no go! Get it? No one any the <br /> wiser. Okay!<br /><br /> He makes a cow-herding motion with his hands.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You can go home now! Goodbye! Thanks <br /> so much!<br /><br /> Joe takes out his gun.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> No no! No contract! It's all over.<br /><br /> This has no effect on Joe who is unscrewing his silencer.<br /><br /> Miles is exasperated. Suddenly -- Marylin appears.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It's a no go, Joe.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It's okay Joe.<br /><br /> Joe glances at both of them with barely concealed contempt.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Wait! He works for YOU?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Now. But first, he worked for you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You were going to have this thug...?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Wait just a second there. You sent <br /> him here. You unearthed this <br /> pestilence.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> You're calling me a pestilence? That's <br /> a hoot!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> (To Joe)<br /> I'm sorry. That was unkind and -- <br /> but, we changed our minds.<br /> (To Miles)<br /> Did you really mean what you said on <br /> the phone. It wasn't because you <br /> found out about Rex?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Nonono. Marylin -- I'm your husband. <br /> I'd be entitled to Rex's money. No <br /> matter what happened to you.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> That's true.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> Lemme tell you something. You are <br /> the pestilence. I'm the exterminator.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Oh Joe, be happy for us. I'll pay <br /> you the twenty thousand.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> It was fifty for you.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> (To Miles)<br /> That's cause you're a lawyer. I gave <br /> her the lawyer discount.<br /> (Looks at Marylin)<br /> But I shouldn't of. Cause you're a <br /> whore. A whore who worships the <br /> dollar.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Well, actually, all whores worship <br /> the dollar, if you want to get <br /> technical.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> Shut up. I was a lawyer. Just like <br /> you. And my clients? Whores just <br /> like you.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Were you with a firm?<br /><br /> JOE<br /> Kaplan.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Kaplan? I know Kaplan. Wait. You're <br /> Joe Gittelson? I knew you looked -- <br /> You were great -- we studied you.<br /><br /> JOE<br /> Twenty years in "matrimonial law" <br /> and it made me sick.<br /> (He wheezes)<br /> I broke up homes and families, never <br /> givin' it a second thought. Till one <br /> day. I had an epiphany. You know <br /> what that is?<br /> (They nod)<br /> Came with a damn stigmata if you can <br /> believe that! I said to myself -- <br /> Joe -- everyone you see wants blood. <br /> Everyone wants their ex's dead. So <br /> why jerk around with rest. You wanna <br /> best serve your clients? Kill em.<br /><br /> Joe is raising the gun at Miles. Miles sprays him with Mace.<br /><br /> BANG -- Joe fires blindly, scrunching his eyes against the <br /> chemical, sucking for breath like a jet engine revving for a <br /> take-off.<br /><br /> SLAM -- Marylin elbows him in the face, breaking his nose. <br /> She finishes with a solid groin kick. It slows him down, but <br /> doesn't stop him.<br /><br /> Joe stumbles a bit, but regains his footing.<br /><br /> BANG -- Joe is rampaging around the room, still firing, <br /> thumping at his chest with his free hand for his inhaler. <br /> Marylin runs to Miles. He takes her hand and they run toward <br /> the door, seeking egress.<br /><br /> BANG -- still firing, he pulls out the inhaler but blindly <br /> bobbles it.<br /><br /> Joe reaches with his gun hand to keep the inhaler from <br /> falling. He momentarily bobbles both gun and inhaler.<br /><br /> Miles pops up in front of him.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Marylin. Run. I'll distract him.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I'm not leaving you. I took self <br /> defense<br /><br /> Joe recovers and raises the gun to his mouth as he points <br /> the inhaler at Miles.<br /><br /> He squeezes -- WHUSH -- Miles squints against the asthma <br /> mist and lets out a horrified:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Joe!<br /><br /> BANG! The off-screen gunshot is followed by the sound of a <br /> body dropping heavily to the floor.<br /><br /> Silence.<br /><br /> Marylin runs over to Miles. They look sadly down at the floor.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> WE told him it was no go...<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY MYERSON CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Wrigley sits bouncing the steepled fingers of one hand against <br /> the other.<br /><br /> Miles sits gazing sadly out the window.<br /><br /> The room is empty.<br /><br /> There is the whir of ventilation.<br /><br /> The click of the door attracts both their attention and brings <br /> them to their feet.<br /><br /> Marylin walks in, chic and beautiful as ever, followed by <br /> Ruth, who sits next to her, places her attaché case on the <br /> table top, and snaps its clasps.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Alright.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Ruth.<br /><br /> Miles and Marylin are looking at each other. Quietly:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hello Marylin.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Hello Miles.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Hard to believe this is the way it <br /> will end up for us.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> It's not something I wanted either.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> But then -- I guess -- something <br /> inside me died when I realized that <br /> you'd hired a goon to kill me.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Yes. I know. It's exactly how I felt <br /> when I realized you'd hired the goon <br /> to kill...<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Now you both wait a minute. Nobody <br /> hired anyone to kill anyone.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Hear, hear.<br /><br /> There is an uncomfortable shifting in seats. Wrigley looks <br /> at Miles.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> Apparently, from what I can gather, <br /> a burglar broke into your house -- <br /> became despondent over his lifestyle <br /> and shot himself.<br /><br /> Miles is still looking at Marylin.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Where does that leave us?<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> We've outlined a settlement...<br /><br /> She pushes a piece of paper across the table.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> We think it's more than generous.<br /><br /> Miles ignores the paper, which lies unclaimed on the middle <br /> of the table. He looks at Marylin.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> My client is prepared to consider a <br /> reconciliation.<br /><br /> Marylin looks a Miles.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> How could I trust you, after... after <br /> all of this.<br /><br /> Miles, staring at Marylin, cuts in:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You wounded me first, Marylin.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Your forgetting Rex Rexroth?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You're forgetting Howard Doyle?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Forgery? Fraud?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Income tax evasion?<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Murder?<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Murder!<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> I don't see how we can ever find our <br /> way back from...<br /><br /> Miles, with his eyes still on Marylin, reaches into his suit <br /> coat. He withdraws a piece of paper, spreads it flat on the <br /> table in front of him and, still gazing at her:<br /><br /> MILES<br /> You know... there's nothing in the <br /> Massey pre-nup that says it can't be <br /> executed after the parties wed.<br /><br /> He decisively clicks the button on a ballpoint pen, looks <br /> down at the paper in front of him and scribbles his name.<br /><br /> He pushes the paper across the table toward Marylin.<br /><br /> Gazing at him, seeking the truth in his eyes, she absently <br /> picks up the paper.<br /><br /> There is a long silence. We hear only the hum of ventilation, <br /> and Wrigley's quiet snuffling.<br /><br /> Ruth is looking down her nose through her glasses -- over <br /> Marylin's shoulder -- at the sheet of paper. Marylin however, <br /> looks only at Miles.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> It's the Massey pre-nup --<br /><br /> Marylin rips the paper in half.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> (bored)<br /> O-kay. I'm going back to the office<br /><br /> Wrigley sobs openly.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Come on Wrigley, I'll buy you a drink <br /> and an anti depressant.<br /><br /> WRIGLEY<br /> No one will ever love me that way.<br /><br /> RUTH<br /> Not if you're lucky. No.<br /><br /> Miles rises slowly to his feet.<br /><br /> He puts his knuckles on the tabletop and leans forward.<br /><br /> Marylin rises slowly to her feet.<br /><br /> She leans forward.<br /><br /> They kiss.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Let's go home.<br /><br /> EXT. MASSEY HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> We hear a SMASHING -- BREAKING.<br /><br /> Gardeners look up briefly from the leaf blowing -- but quickly <br /> prioritize and continue blasting sycamore leaves from one <br /> end of the yard to the other.<br /><br /> TRACK THROUGH HOUSE TO<br /><br /> INT. MASSEY BEDROOM<br /><br /> The smashing is becoming louder.<br /><br /> AN AXE<br /><br /> Breaks the beautiful wood panelling in the room next to the <br /> master suite.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Wait. Just wait for one minute. Sweet <br /> Jesus, are you crazy?<br /><br /> CONSTRUCTION WORKER LOOKS UP<br /><br /> he's the one wielding the axe. His co-worker casts a look in <br /> our direction.<br /><br /> MILES<br /><br /> reaches under the rubble and removes one box of Cohiba <br /> Especials.<br /><br /> CONSTRUCTION WORKER<br /> Sorry, Mr. Massey. Thought you cleared <br /> that shit out.<br /><br /> CONSTRUCTION WORKER #2<br /> You know, man... those things'll <br /> kill ya. I know all you old boomer <br /> potheads like em. They're illegal, <br /> and you get to put em in fancy boxes -- <br /> but -- shit man! It's still tobacco.<br /><br /> ON MARYLIN<br /><br /> Mightily pregnant.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> You know, sweets, he's right.<br /><br /> Miles casts a rueful look at the cigars.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Pre-Castro.<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Fine. They were created during a <br /> dictatorship.<br /> (Placing a protective <br /> hand on her BIG belly)<br /> What if something happened to you? <br /> What would I tell little Gus when he <br /> asked "what was my daddy like?"<br /><br /> Miles looks at the box, then at his wife. He tosses the box <br /> to the concerned construction worker.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Here, buddy. These are for you.<br /><br /> The construction worker gives him a very hostile look.<br /><br /> CONSTRUCTION WORKER<br /> (Mumbles)<br /> Great. Now I can die.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> Well. You'd say "they devoted a whole <br /> semester at Harvard to your Dad. But <br /> your Mom was the one that ever only <br /> nailed his ass."<br /><br /> MARYLIN<br /> Sweet.<br /><br /> MILES<br /> I thought so.<br /><br /> FADE OUT:<br /><br /> THE END<br /><br /> <br /><br /> Intolerable Cruelty<br /><br />Writers : Matthew Stone John Romano Robert Ramsey Ethan Coen Joel Coen<br />Genres : Comedy Romance CrimeEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-47041221763596436282007-05-17T14:18:00.002-07:002007-05-17T14:22:56.181-07:00"THE HUDSUCKER PROXY""THE HUDSUCKER PROXY"<br /><br /> Written by<br /><br /> Ethan Coen, Joel Coen, and Sam Raimi<br /><br /> September 1992 Draft<br /><br /> <br /><br /> BLACK<br /><br /> No image. A bleak WIND MOANS. HOLD.<br /><br /> With a STINGING CHORD we --<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CITY SKYLINE - NIGHT (CIRCA 1958)<br /><br /> Lights twinkle. Snow falls. The WIND MOANS.<br /><br /> After a beat, the voice of an elderly black man:<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> The's right... New York.<br /><br /> We are TRACKING HIGH THROUGH the night sky. From the streets <br /> far below we hear the sounds of TRAFFIC muffled by the falling <br /> snow, and the DISTANT sound of many VOICES SINGING.<br /><br /> We are DRIFTING AMONG the buildings; the tops of skyscrapers <br /> slip by left and right.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> It's 1958 -- anyway, for a few mo' <br /> minutes it is. Come midnight it's <br /> gonna be 1959. A whole 'nother <br /> feelin'. The New Year. The future...<br /><br /> The SINGING, a little MORE AUDIBLE, but still not close, is <br /> "Auld Lang Syne."<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...Yeah ole daddy Earth fixin' to <br /> start one mo' trip 'round the sun, <br /> an' evvybody hopin' this ride 'round <br /> be a little mo' giddy, a little mo' <br /> gay...<br /><br /> We are MOVING IN TOWARDS a particular skyscraper. At its top <br /> is a large illuminated clock.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> Yep...<br /><br /> We hear a SERIES OF POPPING sounds.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...All over town champagne corks is <br /> a-poppin'.<br /><br /> A big band WALTZ MIXES UP on the track.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...Over in the Waldorf the big shots <br /> is dancin' to the strains of Guy <br /> Lombardo... Down in Times Square the <br /> little folks is a-watchin' and a-<br /> waitin' fo' that big ball to drop...<br /><br /> The LOMBARDO MUSIC gives way to the CHANTING of a distant <br /> CROWD: "Sixty! Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight!"<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...They all tryin' to catch holt a <br /> one moment of time...<br /><br /> The CHANTING has MIXED back DOWN AGAIN TO leave only the <br /> WIND. Still TRACKING IN TOWARD the top of the skyscraper, we <br /> begin to hear the TICK of its enormous CLOCK. The clock reads <br /> a minute to twelve. Above it, in neon, a company's name: <br /> "HUDSUCKER INDUSTRIES." Below it, in neon, the company's <br /> motto: "THE FUTURE IS NOW."<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...to be able to say -- 'Right now! <br /> This is it! I got it!' 'Course by <br /> then it'll be past.<br /> (more cheerfully)<br /> But they all happy, evvybody havin' <br /> a good time.<br /><br /> We are MOVING IN ON a darkened penthouse window next to the <br /> clock. The window starts to open.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...Well, almost evvybody. They's a <br /> few lost souls floatin' 'round out <br /> there...<br /><br /> A young man is crawling out of the window onto the ledge. <br /> With the opening of the window, "AULD LANG SYNE" filters out <br /> with greater volume.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...This one's Norville Barnes.<br /><br /> The man gingerly straightens up on the ledge. He is perhaps <br /> in his late twenties. He wears a leather apron. Printed on <br /> the apron: "HUDSUCKER MAIL ROOM/The Future is Now."<br /><br /> He looks with nervous determination into the void.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...Let's move in for a closer look.<br /><br /> The CAMERA obliges. We TRACK IN SLOWLY, ENDING VERY CLOSE.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...That office he jes stepped out of <br /> is the office of the president of <br /> Hudsucker Industries. It's his <br /> office...<br /><br /> Norville sways in anguish as the TICKING of the CLOCK grows <br /> louder and the WIND blows in his face.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...How'd he get so high? An' why is <br /> he feelin' so low? Is he really gonna <br /> do it -- is Norville really gonna <br /> jelly up the sidewalk?<br /><br /> Norville is tensing his body, peering out over the ledge, <br /> preparing to make a swan dive into oblivion -- but the <br /> CAMERA'S continued MOVEMENT is LOSING him FROM FRAME.<br /><br /> We are MOVING IN ON the enormous CLOCK, whose MECHANICAL <br /> THRUM becomes very loud indeed.<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...Well the future, that's something <br /> you can't never tell about...<br /><br /> The second hand of the clock is nearing the twelve -- bare <br /> seconds to midnight. Distant CHANTING from Times Square MIXES <br /> UP: "Nine! Eight! Seven!"<br /><br /> NARRATOR (V.O.)<br /> ...But the past... That's another <br /> story...<br /><br /> OVER BLACK<br /><br /> The HUM of the CLOCK SINKS UNDER the HISS of an AIRBRAKE and <br /> GRINDING GEARS as we...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> DESTINATION DISPLAY<br /><br /> On the front of a bus just rocking to a halt. The display <br /> says "MUNCIE-NEW YORK."<br /><br /> LINE OF BAGS<br /><br /> is being set out on the pavement. A man with the cuffs of a <br /> redcap uniform swings one into the f.g.:<br /><br /> It has a sticker on it: CLASS OF '58, and below an <br /> illustration of crossed right and left hands, their thumbs <br /> hooked and fingers spread like wings: MUNCIE COLLEGE OF <br /> BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION.<br /><br /> After a beat the hand of its claimant ENTERS to pick it up.<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> STREET<br /><br /> FOLLOWING the bag as its owner carries it down the street. <br /> He pauses, sets it down.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /><br /> Fresh-faced, eager -- NORVILLE BARNES. He is gazing off at:<br /><br /> WESSELS EMPLOYMENT AGENCY<br /><br /> The sign is over a ground floor office; an exterior clock <br /> shows 9:00. A curtain is just being pulled open in its picture <br /> window to reveal a great job board. It is like the departures <br /> board in a great train station, with each of its individual <br /> entries flipping over occasionally to reveal a new <br /> opportunity. On offer are jobs like: PASTRY CHEF, STEAMFITTER, <br /> LAY-OUT MAN, GRAVEDIGGER, etc.<br /><br /> REVERSE<br /><br /> On the small crowd gathered to, like Norville, watch the <br /> board -- men in search of jobs, of various classes and <br /> vocations, but alike in their intent gaze, their hands dug <br /> into their pockets, their hats pushed back on their heads, <br /> bobbing occasionally to get a better view of the chattering <br /> board. Men occasionally head for the office as they see a <br /> prospect they like.<br /><br /> Norville stands pat, watching.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> An entry flips over to reveal EXECUTIVE VICE PRESIDENT.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He brightens.<br /><br /> BOARD<br /><br /> We PAN ALONG the executive entry to EXPERIENCE REQUIRED.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He frowns.<br /><br /> Around him, the crowd is thinning out as men trot in to apply <br /> for their respective jobs.<br /><br /> We see other entries: JUNIOR EXECUTIVE. PAN TO EXPERIENCE <br /> ONLY. EXECUTIVE MANAGER... MUST HAVE EXPERIENCE. <br /> BUSINESSMAN... EXPERIENCED.<br /><br /> The CROSS-CUTTING ENDS in a wash of SUPER-IMPOSITIONS PANNING <br /> OVER Norviille, now alone on the sidewalk:<br /><br /> EXPERIENCED ONLY... EXPERIENCED... EXPERIENCED... <br /> EXPERIENCED...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT - EXECUTIVE<br /><br /> A middle-aged, mousy-looking man in a conservative suit and <br /> wire-rimmed spectacles is addressing his remarks to someone <br /> O.S. Behind the Executive we see only the skyline of New <br /> York City.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> -- So in the third quarter we saw no <br /> signs of weakening. We're up 18 <br /> percent over last year's third quarter <br /> gross and, needless to say, that's a <br /> new record...<br /><br /> TRACKING<br /><br /> DOWN the LENGTH OF the board room table. Executives line <br /> either side. We are APPROACHING the man at the far end of <br /> the table, to whom the report is being directed.<br /><br /> He is late middle-aged, dressed expensively but <br /> conservatively, his attention smilingly fixed on the Executive <br /> who drones on.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> ...The competition continues to flag <br /> and we continue to take up the slack. <br /> Market share in most divisions is <br /> increasing and we've opened seven <br /> new regional offices...<br /><br /> The TRACK has ENDED IN a CLOSEUP of the man at the end of <br /> the table, who still smiles benignantly at the droning <br /> Executive. The smile is serene, almost otherwordly.<br /><br /> This is WARING HUDSUCKER.<br /><br /> REPORTING EXECUTIVE<br /><br /> He drones on.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> ...Our international division has <br /> also shown vigorous upward movement <br /> in the past six months and we're <br /> looking at some exciting things in <br /> R&D...<br /><br /> The CAMERA SLOWLY PANS OFF the droning Executive as the big <br /> man's attention apparently wanders; we FRAME UP ON the picture <br /> window skyline of New York.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (V.O.)<br /> Sub-franchising. Don't talk to me <br /> about sub-franchising; we're making <br /> so much money in sub-franchising it <br /> isn't even funny.<br /><br /> FOLDED-BACK WANT ADS<br /><br /> A hand with pencil goes down a list of positions, ticking <br /> each one: STREETSWEEPER -- EXPERIENCED; LINOTYPE MAN --<br /> EXPERIENCED; CANTOR (REFORM) -- EXPERIENCED; SPARRING PARTNER -- <br /> EXPERIENCED.<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> Norville, sitting at a coffeeshop counter, sets the pencil <br /> down. His chin is sunk disconsolately into his palm.<br /><br /> His hat is pushed back dejectedly on his head. He idly stirs <br /> his coffee with his spoon.<br /><br /> He takes one last gulp of the coffee, then sets the cup down <br /> on the want ads, stands, and digs into his pocket for change, <br /> turning it inside-out.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON COUNTER<br /><br /> As Norville puts all his change on the counter. His hand <br /> hesitates; he takes a little of it back. He LEAVES FRAME.<br /><br /> A waitress's hand ENTERS from the far side of the counter. <br /> She clears away the saucer, then the cup -- which has been <br /> resting on the want ads. It leaves a perfect brown circle <br /> around one entry:<br /><br /> THE FUTURE IS NOW.<br /> Start building yours at Hudsucker Industries.<br /> Low pay. Long Hours.<br /> NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY.<br /> Apply Personnel, 285 Madison Avenue.<br /><br /> As we hear the COFFEESHOP DOOR OPENING O.S., a draft wafts <br /> the sheet of newspaper off the counter and OUT OF FRAME.<br /><br /> NEW YORK CITY SKYLINE<br /><br /> Again LOOKING THROUGH the WINDOW as, O.S., the reporting <br /> Executive drones on.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...Our owned-and-operateds are <br /> performing far above expectations <br /> both here and abroad, and the Federal <br /> Tax Act of 1958 is giving us a swell <br /> writeoff on our plant and heavies...<br /><br /> WARING HUDSUCKER<br /><br /> looks dreamily out the window. His attention returns to the <br /> droning Executive and the benignant smile returns to his <br /> lips.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> ...The news in the money market isn't <br /> good -- it's excellent...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NORVILLE'S BACK<br /><br /> He walks dejectedly down the street, hands shoved into his <br /> pockets.<br /><br /> A sheet of newspaper eddies INTO FRAME. The wind tosses it <br /> this way and that.<br /><br /> Slap! -- It plasters against another pedestrian, who bats it <br /> away.<br /><br /> The newspaper eddies around some more, then plasters against <br /> Norville.<br /><br /> He peels it off and is about to toss it away but stops, <br /> noticing something.<br /><br /> NEWSPAPER SCRAP<br /><br /> It is a section of the want ads. One entry is perfectly <br /> circled by a coffee stain.<br /><br /> BACK TO NORVILLE<br /><br /> He looks up from the paper. There is purpose in his gaze. <br /> Wind whips his hair.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT - WARING HUDSUCKER<br /><br /> As the Executive drones on, O.S., Hudsucker is carefully <br /> winding his wristwatch.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...Our nominees and assigns continue <br /> to multiply and expand extending our <br /> influence regionally, nationally and <br /> globally. So, third quarter and year-<br /> to-date, we've set a new record for <br /> sales...<br /><br /> Hudsucker looks up from his watch, smiles, runs his palms <br /> back over his fringe of hair.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...new record in gross...<br /><br /> Hudsucker pulls his sleeve cuffs to expose just the right <br /> amount under the suit.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...new record in pre-tax earnings...<br /><br /> Hudsucker takes one puff from his cigar and carefully sets <br /> it in his ashtray.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...new record in after-tax profit...<br /><br /> He deliberately unstraps his wristwatch and looks at its <br /> face.<br /><br /> The sweep second hand is starting the last revolution that <br /> will end at precisely noon.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...and our stock has split twice <br /> this year...<br /><br /> Hudsucker lays the watch carefully on the table.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE (O.S.)<br /> ...In short...<br /><br /> Savoring a pause, the Executive looks around the board table.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> ...we're loaded.<br /><br /> This draws an appreciative chuckle from the board. It is cut <br /> off by:<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Ahem...<br /><br /> The board turns expectantly to Hudsucker, who sits in the <br /> f.g. Beyond him is the length of the board table and the <br /> large picture window. He rises to his feet, slowly and <br /> deliberately, and rubs his palms together.<br /><br /> He swings his chair out.<br /><br /> He steps up onto the chair.<br /><br /> The board stares.<br /><br /> He steps up from the chair onto the board table.<br /><br /> The heads of the board members swing up in unison.<br /><br /> Hudsucker is FRAMED FROM MID-TORSO DOWN. He shakes the tension <br /> loose from each leg, then waggles both arms dangling at his <br /> sides, like an athlete preparing for a sprint.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> ...Mr. Hudsucker?<br /><br /> CLOSE ON WANT ADS<br /><br /> THE CIRCLED AD<br /><br /> THE FUTURE IS NOW.<br /> Start building yours at Hudsucker Industries.<br /> Low pay. Long Hours.<br /> NO EXPERIENCED NECESSARY.<br /> Apply Personnel, 285 Madison Avenue.<br /><br /> The hand holding the paper DROPS AWAY and we TILT UP, as <br /> Norville walks AWAY FROM us into the b.g., towards the office <br /> building across the street. Its street number tops its <br /> imposing entryway in large gilt letters: 285.<br /><br /> We continue TILTING UP the length of the skyscraper, to reveal <br /> a huge clock capping its facade. Above the clock is the <br /> identification "HUDSUCKER INDUSTRIES." Below the clock is <br /> the motto "THE FUTURE IS NOW."<br /><br /> The huge clock's sweep second hand is just approaching the <br /> position that will make the time 12:00 sharp.<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> As the second hand hits the twelve, the CLOCK TOLLS, the <br /> board room WINDOW SHATTERS and Waring Hudsucker comes flying <br /> out.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...<br /><br /> SECRETARIAL AREA<br /><br /> Somewhere in the Hudsucker Building. A secretary sits typing <br /> next to an open window, finished pages sitting stacked beside <br /> her. As we hear ANOTHER TOLL of the CLOCK.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh...<br /><br /> As Hudsucker shoots past the window, his draft sends the <br /> stack of papers wafting this way and that. As the secretary <br /> turns to look out the window, FREEZE FRAME (wafting papers <br /> have their motion arrested) and SUPER A TITLE.<br /><br /> TRACKING<br /><br /> WITH Hudsucker, the building slipping by behind him. As he <br /> yells he calmly runs his palms back over his fringe of hair. <br /> The CLOCK TOLLS.<br /><br /> FREEZE FRAME and SUPER A TITLE.<br /><br /> HOT DOG VENDOR<br /><br /> on the street, handing a steaming frank to a customer who is <br /> handing him some change. As we hear the APPROACHING HUDSUCKER, <br /> both men look up. As the CLOCK TOLLS:<br /><br /> FREEZE FRAME and SUPER A TITLE.<br /><br /> PASSERBY ON SIDEWALK<br /><br /> The man, wearing a fedora, is in the f.g. of an EXTREME LOW <br /> ANGLE whose b.g. is the bottom three or four stories of the <br /> Hudsucker Building.<br /><br /> The passerby reacts to the approaching yell, looking up just <br /> as Hudsucker ENTERS FRAME.<br /><br /> FREEZE FRAME to suspend Hudsucker a good twenty feet above <br /> the sidewalk, arms and legs splayed, comically arrested. The <br /> passerby is frozen in an attitude of surprise and disbelief.<br /><br /> SUPER the title of the film: THE HUDSUCKER PROXY.<br /><br /> UNFREEZE to send Hudsucker plummeting THROUGH the FRAME to <br /> his rendezvous with the sidewalk, BELOW FRAME.<br /><br /> DUTCH ANGLE<br /><br /> The Hudsucker Building lists up into the distance. A woman <br /> in a fancy fruited hat with a black veil rises INTO FRAME AT <br /> an OPPOSING SLANT. Looking down at the sidewalk, she sends <br /> two dismayed hands to her cheek and screeeeeeeeeams.<br /><br /> DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:<br /><br /> EXT. TOP FLOOR<br /><br /> With the LAST TOLL of the CLOCK punctuating the CUT, we are <br /> FLOATING IN TOWARDS the shattered board room window.<br /><br /> The woman's SCREAM on the street below is FAINT, ECHOING, <br /> MIXING INTO the sound of an APPROACHING SIREN.<br /><br /> THROUGH the window we see the BOARD MEMBERS still sitting <br /> around the table, paralyzed in attitudes of horror and <br /> disbelief. All stare at the shattered window in the f.g.<br /><br /> At the far end of the table, Hudsucker's chair is empty and <br /> oddly askew. His cigar still smokes in its ashtray.<br /><br /> There are dust footprints down the middle of the long oak <br /> table.<br /><br /> One Executive sits with a pluming cigarette held halfway to <br /> his mouth; another holds a carafe suspended on its way to <br /> his water glass; another holds his spectacles inches from <br /> his nose.<br /><br /> We hear only the HUM of the HUDSUCKER CLOCK.<br /><br /> SID MUSSBURGER ENTERS FRAME at the window. He is a tall middle-<br /> aged executive with lean and rugged good looks and a <br /> commanding presence.<br /><br /> He knocks a last piece of glass out of the sill with his <br /> knuckle, looks out, grunts, and draws his head back in.<br /><br /> The CAMERA FOLLOWS him INTO the room. The other board members' <br /> heads swivel to watch him, all staring, searching desperately <br /> for some hint as to the fate of their fallen leader. <br /> Apparently, some absurd hope still lingers.<br /><br /> Mussburger perches on the board table by his own chair.<br /><br /> He reaches over to pluck the smoking cigar from the suicide's <br /> ashtray.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Pity to waste a whole Monte Cristo.<br /><br /> The other board members unfreeze, their worst fears confirmed.<br /><br /> AN EXECUTIVE<br /> He could've opened the window.<br /><br /> ELDERLY EXECUTIVE<br /> Waring Hudsucker never did anything <br /> the easy way.<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> My God, why?! Why did he do it?!<br /> Things were going so well!<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> What am I a headshrinker? Maybe the <br /> man was unhappy.<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> He didn't look unhappy!<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> Yeah, well, he didn't look rich.<br /><br /> ELDERY EXECUTIVE<br /> Waring Hudsucker was never an easy <br /> man to figure out.<br /> (reminiscing)<br /> He built this company with his bare <br /> hands. Every step he took was a step <br /> up. Except of course this last one.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure, he was a swell guy, but <br /> when the president, chairman of the <br /> board and holder of eighty-seven <br /> percent of the company's stock drops <br /> forty-four floors --<br /><br /> PRECISE EXECUTIVE<br /> Forty-five --<br /><br /> ELDERY EXECUTIVE<br /> Counting the mezzanine --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> -- Then the company has a problem.<br /> Stillson, what exactly is the <br /> disposition of Waring's stock?<br /><br /> STILLSON<br /> Well, as you know, Hud left no will <br /> and had no family. The company bylaws <br /> are quite clear in that event. His <br /> entire portfolio will be converted <br /> to common stock and will be sold <br /> over the counter as of the first of <br /> the fiscal year following his demise.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Meaning?<br /><br /> STILLSON<br /> Meaning simply that Waring's stock, <br /> and control of the company, will be <br /> available to the public on January <br /> first.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> You mean to tell me that any slob in <br /> a smelly T-shirt will be able to buy <br /> Hudsucker stock?<br /><br /> Stillson shrugs.<br /><br /> STILLSON<br /> The company bylaws are quite clear.<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> My God! You're animals! How can you <br /> discuss his stock when the man has <br /> just leapt forty-five floors --<br /><br /> PRECISE EXECUTIVE<br /> Forty-four --<br /><br /> ELDERLY EXECUTIVE<br /> -- Not counting the mezzanine.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Quit showboating, Addison, the man <br /> is gone. The question now is whether <br /> we're going to let John Q. Public <br /> waltz in and buy 87 percent of our <br /> company.<br /><br /> PIPE-SMOKING EXECUTIVE<br /> What're you suggesting, Sidney?<br /> Certainly we can't afford to buy a <br /> controlling interest.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Not while the stock is this strong.<br /> How long before Hud's paper hits the <br /> market?<br /><br /> STILLSON<br /> January first.<br /><br /> AN EXECUTIVE<br /> Thirty days.<br /><br /> ANOTHER EXECUTIVE<br /> Four weeks.<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> A month at the most.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> One month to make the blue-chip <br /> investment of the century look like <br /> a round-trip ticket on the Titanic.<br /><br /> AN EXECUTIVE<br /> We play up the fact that Hud is dead.<br /><br /> ALL<br /> (in unison)<br /> Long live the Hud!!<br /><br /> ANOTHER EXECUTIVE<br /> We depress the stock --<br /><br /> YET ANOTHER EXECUTIVE<br /> -- to the point where we can buy <br /> fifty-percent.<br /><br /> PRECISE EXECUTIVE<br /> Fifty-one.<br /><br /> ELDERLY EXECUTIVE<br /> Not counting the mezzanine.<br /><br /> CAUTIOUS EXECUTIVE<br /> It could work.<br /><br /> OPTIMISTIC EXECUTIVE<br /> It should work.<br /><br /> PRACTICAL EXECUTIVE<br /> It would work.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> (at ticker tape machine)<br /> It's working already. Waring Hudsucker <br /> is abstract art on Madison Avenue. <br /> All we need now is a new president <br /> who will inspire real panic in our <br /> stockholders.<br /><br /> ENTHUSIASTIC EXECUTIVE<br /> Yeah, a puppet!<br /><br /> ANOTHER EXECUTIVE<br /> A proxy!<br /><br /> YET ANOTHER EXECUTIVE<br /> A pawn!<br /><br /> Mussburger strides across the room from the still CHATTERING <br /> TICKER TAPE MACHINE and lowers himself into Waring Hudsucker's <br /> chair. He takes a last puff from his cigar and slowly exhales <br /> a cloud of smoke.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure. Some jerk we can really <br /> push around.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> SWINGING STEEL DOORS<br /><br /> that read, "MAILROOM." They burst open as Norville, who wears <br /> a mail clerk's leather apron, imprinted: HUDSUCKER <br /> MAILROOM/The Future is Now. The hellish mailroom is criss-<br /> crossed by pipes that emit HISSING jets of STEAM.<br /><br /> As he wheels a piled-high mail cart down the aisle, Norville <br /> is accompanied by an orientation AGENT who bellows at him <br /> over the clamor and roar of many men laboring in the bowels <br /> of a great corporation.<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> You punch in at 8:30 every morning <br /> except you punch in at 7:30 following <br /> a business holiday unless it's a <br /> Monday and then you punch in at eight <br /> o'clock! You punch in at 7:45 <br /> whenever we work extended day and <br /> you punch out at the regular time <br /> unless you've worked through lunch!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> What's exte --<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> Punch in late and they dock ya!<br /><br /> People on either side bellow at Norville and stuff envelopes <br /> and packages under his elbows, into his pockets, under his <br /> chin, between his clenched teeth, etc.<br /><br /> FIRST SCREAMER<br /> This goes to seven! Mr. Mutuszak!<br /> Urgent!<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> Incoming articles, get a voucher!<br /> Outgoing articles, provide a voucher! <br /> Move any article without a voucher <br /> and they dock ya!<br /><br /> SECOND SCREAMER<br /> Take this up to the secretarial pool <br /> on three! Right away! Don't break <br /> it!<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> Letter size a green voucher! Folder <br /> size a yellow voucher! Parcel size a <br /> maroon voucher!<br /><br /> THIRD SCREAMER<br /> This one's for Morgatross! Chop chop!<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> Wrong color voucher and they dock <br /> ya! Six-seven-eight-seven-zero-four-<br /> niner-alpha-slash-six! That is your <br /> employee number! It will not be <br /> repeated! Without your employee number <br /> you cannot cash your paycheck!<br /><br /> FOURTH SCREAMER<br /> This goes up to twenty-seven! If <br /> there's no one there bring it down <br /> to eighteen! Have 'em sign the waiver! <br /> DON'T COME BACK DOWN HERE WITHOUT A <br /> SIGNED WAIVER!!<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> Inter-office mail is code 37! INTRA-<br /> office mail is 37-dash-3! Outside <br /> mail is 3-dash 37! Code it wrong and <br /> they dock ya!<br /><br /> FIFTH SCREAMER<br /> I was supposed to have this on twenty-<br /> eight ten minutes ago! Cover for me!<br /><br /> AGENT<br /> This has been your orientation! Is <br /> there anything you do not understand? <br /> Is there anything you understand <br /> only partially? If you have not been <br /> fully oriented -- if there is <br /> something you do not understand in <br /> all of its particulars you must file <br /> a complaint with personnel! File a <br /> faulty complaint... and they dock <br /> ya!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> standing in front of a shelf of cubbyholes. As we FOLLOW his <br /> hand drawing an 8 X 10 envelope across the line of <br /> alphabetized mail slots. The envelope is addressed to Max <br /> Kloppitt, Jr.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (muttering to himself)<br /> ...Bring it down to fif(?)... <br /> fifteen... sign the voucher, uh, <br /> waiver... cover for Mr. Anatole... <br /> he's a swell guy... Morgatross... <br /> He was on, uh...<br /><br /> He is COASTING ACROSS the "K" mail slots, finally COMES TO <br /> Max Kloppitt, Sr. His hand moves to the next slot, Max <br /> Kloppitt, Jr. This slot is half the size of all the others. <br /> The envelope will not fit in.<br /><br /> He frowns.<br /><br /> He is about to fold the envelope, but notices something <br /> stamped in red on its face. DO NOT FOLD.<br /><br /> Norville frowns. As he stares at the envelope, we see <br /> envelopes swishing across the f.g., whipping one by one in <br /> rapid succession, left to right.<br /><br /> CLOSEUP - ANCIENT SORTER<br /><br /> An old man sitting at the adjacent shelf, sorting mail.<br /><br /> Without ever even looking up, with a constant high-speed <br /> back and forth flicking of his right hand, he is whisking <br /> pieces of mail one by one out of the pile of mail in his <br /> left hand.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER'S SHELF<br /><br /> As his letters fly furiously but neatly into their mail slots.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He raises his voice over the mailroom din:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Say, what do you do when the envelope <br /> is too big for the slot?<br /><br /> The ANCIENT SORTER considers this as he continues whisking <br /> his mail.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> Well... if ya fold 'em, they fire <br /> ya...<br /><br /> Whisk. Whisk. Whisk.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> ...I usually throw 'em out.<br /><br /> Norville takes out a pencil and writes on the face of the <br /> envelope:<br /><br /> INSERT - LETTER<br /><br /> Dear Mr. Kloppit, Please give this letter to your son. Thank <br /> you, Norville Barnes.<br /><br /> After a moment he adds:<br /><br /> Your friend in the mailroom.<br /><br /> BACK TO SCENE<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (talking as he writes)<br /> Just got hired today!<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> Terrific.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Ya know, entry level!<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> Tell me about it.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I got big ideas, though!<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> I'm sure you do.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> For instance, take a look at this <br /> sweet baby...<br /><br /> Norville is taking an envelope from his pocket and handing <br /> it to the Ancient Sorter.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...you look like you can keep a <br /> secret...<br /><br /> The Ancient Sorter is pulling a ragged piece of paper from <br /> the envelope. On the paper is a crudely-drawn circle.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Something I developed myself. <br /> Yessir, this is my ticket upstairs.<br /><br /> The Ancient Sorter looks questioningly from the circle to <br /> Norville.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (explains)<br /> ...You know, for kids!<br /><br /> The Ancient Sorter nods with feigned understanding as Norville <br /> takes the paper back.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> Terrific.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> So ya see, I won't be in the mailroom <br /> long.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> (deadpan)<br /> Nooo, I don't guess you will be.<br /><br /> He resumes his sorting.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> How long've you been down here?<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> Forty-eight years...<br /><br /> Whisk. Whisk.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> ...Next year they move me up to <br /> parcels...<br /><br /> Whisk. Whisk. Whisk.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> ...If I'm lucky.<br /><br /> A BELL CLANGS.<br /><br /> The PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM SPUTTERS to life.<br /><br /> PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM (V.O.)<br /> Attention Hudsucker employees. We <br /> regretfully announce that at 12:01 <br /> this afternoon, Hudsucker time, Waring <br /> Hudsucker, Founder, President, and <br /> Chairman of the Board of Hudsucker <br /> Industries, merged with the infinite. <br /> To mark this occasion of corporate <br /> loss, we ask that all employees <br /> observe a moment of silent <br /> contemplation.<br /><br /> All HUBBUB ABRUPTLY STOPS and the sounds of HEAVY MACHINERY, <br /> HISSING STEAM PIPES, and GENERATORS WIND DOWN TO leave total <br /> SILENCE. After a moment:<br /><br /> PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM (V.O.)<br /> ...Thank you for your kind attention. <br /> This moment has been duly-noted on <br /> your time cards and will be deducted <br /> from your pay. That is all.<br /><br /> The MACHINERY GROANS back INTO ACTION and the people return <br /> to their jobs just as:<br /><br /> A STEAM WHISTLE SCREECHES.<br /><br /> ALARM BELLS go OFF.<br /><br /> From the PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM:<br /><br /> PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM (V.O.)<br /> 'Blue letter! Blue letter!'<br /><br /> The mail room is thrown into pandemonium.<br /><br /> VARIOUS VOICES<br /> Blue letter...! It's a blue letter...! <br /> They're bringing down a blue letter!<br /><br /> One MAN spins to face the CAMERA, his hands pressed over his <br /> ears. STEAM JETS and HISSES behind him.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Blue letter!!<br /><br /> Animated for the first time:<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> Jumpin' Jehosephat, a blue letter!<br /><br /> Mail carts and other paraphernalia are abruptly swept out of <br /> the crowded aisle to form a clear path running down to an <br /> elevator in the b.g.<br /><br /> With a SIREN SOUND, a light above the elevator goes on.<br /><br /> The elevator door sweeps open. It reveals a wall into which <br /> a four-foot high hinged door is set.<br /><br /> This door swings open and an old dwarf emerges: Old man <br /> HUTCHINSON, the boss of the mailroom. He emerges from the <br /> blinding light of the interior of the elevator.<br /><br /> He is holding aloft a letter.<br /><br /> He takes loping drawf strides down the aisle.<br /><br /> CLOSEUP - LETTER<br /><br /> TRACKING ON letter as Hutchinson bears it along. In the b.g., <br /> the faces that the letter passes are agog.<br /><br /> CROSSCUT the approaching blue letter WITH: Norville and the <br /> Ancient Sorter.<br /><br /> BACK TO SCENE<br /><br /> The Ancient Sorter is leaning over to whisper into Norville's <br /> ear.<br /><br /> ANCIENT SORTER<br /> It's a blue letter... top, top <br /> level... confidential communication <br /> between the brass... usually bad <br /> news... they hate blue letters <br /> upstairs... Hate 'em!<br /><br /> Norville gulps.<br /><br /> HUTCHINSON<br /> You!<br /><br /> Norville looks over his shoulder, but the Ancient Sorter has <br /> disappeared.<br /><br /> HUTCHINSON<br /> ...Yeah, you! Barnes!<br /><br /> As he points, the people around Norville shrink away.<br /><br /> HUTCHINSON<br /> ...You don't look busy! Think you <br /> can handle a blue letter?<br /> (laughs sadistically)<br /> ...This letter was sent down this <br /> morning by the big guy himself! 'At's <br /> right, Waring Hudsucker! It's <br /> addressed to Sid Mussburger! <br /> Hudsucker's right-hand man! It's a <br /> blue letter! That means you put it <br /> right in Mussburger's hand. No <br /> secretaries! No receptionists! No <br /> colleagues! No excuses!<br /><br /> DRAMATIC TRACK IN ON Norville. As Hutchinson talks, he thrusts <br /> the blue letter into Norville's face. Norville looks at it <br /> with terrific apprehension. As Hutchinson's speech ends, we <br /> are TIGHT ON Norville's sweating face.<br /><br /> COMPLEMENTARY TIGHT DUTCH ANGLE ON HUTCHINSON<br /><br /> We can see the veins in his eyes, the veins in his nose, the <br /> hairs in his ears.<br /><br /> HUTCHINSON<br /> Mussburger!!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ELEVATOR DOORS<br /><br /> ROCKETING OPEN. We MOVE IN ON the young elevator operator <br /> who leers INTO CAMERA. He wears a brass-buttoned uniform, <br /> white gloves and a pillbox hat. The name BUZZ is stitched <br /> onto his breast pocket.<br /><br /> As Norville enters the elevators:<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Hiya, buddy! The name is Buzz, I got <br /> the fuzz...<br /><br /> He lifts his pillbox hat to reveal a white crewcut, then <br /> lets the elastic chin strap snap the cap back down onto his <br /> head.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...I make the elevator do what she <br /> duzz!<br /><br /> He holds out his hand but as Norville reaches to shake it he <br /> snaps it away and pats down his crewcut:<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...Hang it up to dry.<br /><br /> He cackles and powers the ELEVATOR into GEAR. Norville's <br /> knees buckle under a huge upward surge; Buzz is accustomed <br /> to it.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...What's your pleasure, buddy?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (regaining his balance)<br /> Forty-fourth floor, and it's very --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Forty-four, the top brass floor say, <br /> buddy! What takes fifty years to get <br /> up to the top floor and thirty seconds <br /> to get down?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Waring Hudsucker! Na-ha-ha-ha-ha! <br /> Say, buddy!<br /><br /> With a powerful DOWN-SHIFTING SOUND, Buzz brakes the elevator <br /> to a sharp halt. Norville continues upward with the inertia, <br /> painfully smacking his head against a corner of the elevator.<br /><br /> Buzz opens the door and a couple of people enter.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Mr. Kline, up to nine. Mrs. Dell, <br /> personnel. Mr. Levin, thirty-seven.<br /><br /> MR. LEVIN<br /> Thirty-six.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Walk down. Ladies and gentlemen, <br /> step to the rear; here comes <br /> gargantuan Mr. Grier.<br /><br /> An obese MAN enters, smoking a cigar:<br /><br /> FAT MAN<br /> Buzz.<br /><br /> Buzz has already thrown the doors shut and sent the elevator <br /> into its power-rise. Norville, bracing himself now, sinks <br /> only a little under the G-force.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Say, buddy! Who's the most liquid <br /> businessman on the street?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, I --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Waring Hudsucker! Na-ha-ha-ha-ha!<br /> Say, buddy! When is the sidewalk <br /> fully dressed? When it's 'wearing' <br /> Hudsucker! Na-ha-ha-ha!<br /><br /> He turns to look at Norville.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...Ya get it, buddy, it's a pun, <br /> it's a knee-slapper, it's a play on <br /> Jesus, Joseph and Mary, is that a <br /> blue letter?!<br /><br /> All heads in the elevator turn, aghast, to look, and those <br /> near Norville shrink away.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...Cripes a'mighty, whyn't ya tell a <br /> guy?! Hold on, folks, we're express <br /> to the top floor!<br /><br /> The ELEVATOR SCREAMS into overdrive and we:<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ELEVATOR DOORS<br /><br /> Sweeping open. Norville staggers out.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> (hissing)<br /> Good luck, buddy!<br /><br /> The door sweeps shut. Norville looks nervously around.<br /><br /> Behind him the elevator doors suddenly open again.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> -- You'll need it!<br /><br /> The elevator doors slam shut and we hear its ENGINES SCREAM <br /> as it power-dives away.<br /><br /> Norville turns toward the executive offices.<br /><br /> Plush, thick-carpeted silence.<br /><br /> Norville starts walking.<br /><br /> A SCRAPING SOUND stands out in the high-powered executive <br /> quiet. Norville looks to one side.<br /><br /> A workman in painter's overalls squats in front of a pair of <br /> heavy oak doors. With a razor blade he is scraping off the <br /> name "WARING HUDSUCKER."<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Mr. Mussburger's office?<br /><br /> The scraper looks sullenly over his shoulder at Norville.<br /><br /> With a jerk of his thumb he indicates the direction.<br /><br /> Norville enters the adjacent office.<br /><br /> OUTER OFFICE<br /><br /> Two secretaries are in Mussburger's outer reception office. <br /> The first is a filing secretary who stands frozen in the <br /> f.g., her hand poised over an open drawer to deposit a folder, <br /> as she stares at Norville with an amused and supercilious <br /> sneer which stays pasted on throughout.<br /><br /> The second secretary -- the RECEPTIONIST -- is seated behind <br /> a desk in the b.g. that flanks the door to Mussburger's <br /> private office. The Receptionist sits with her hands clasped <br /> on the desk, staring at Norville with the hunch-shouldered <br /> down-from-under look of a patient vulture.<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> Do you have an appointment?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Uhh, no, I --<br /><br /> The filing secretary sneers.<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> Shall we look in the book, hmmmmmmmmm?<br /><br /> She opens an enormous leather-bound book with yellowed crinkly <br /> pages.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> No, ma'am, ya see, I wouldn't be in <br /> the --<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> We don't seem to be in the boooook.<br /><br /> Norville is groping in his apron pocket.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> No, ma'am, ya see I don't have an --<br /><br /> RECEPTIONIST<br /> If we had an appointment we'd be in <br /> the booook.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I know but ya see I have this -- <br /> here it is, this letter --<br /><br /> A low, unearthly WAIL fills the room, the sound of a million <br /> souls moaning in purgatory.<br /><br /> The Receptionist looks up.<br /><br /> FAST TRACK IN ON SNEERING FILE SECRETARY<br /><br /> who is no longer sneering. Her mouth is stretched wide as <br /> she wails and her finger points...<br /><br /> FAST TRACK IN ON BLUE LETTER<br /><br /> that Norville holds innocently at his side.<br /><br /> BACK TO TRACK IN ON WAILING SECRETARY<br /><br /> As her wail becomes deafening and we TRACK INTO her mouth <br /> and the SCREEN GOES BLACK and:<br /><br /> CLICK<br /><br /> The blackness and the wailing are both cut short by the sound <br /> of a DOOR OPENING. We are:<br /><br /> INT. MUSSBURGER'S OFFICE<br /><br /> its door swinging open to admit Norville.<br /><br /> In the b.g., in the outer office, we can see the filing <br /> secretary leaning back motionless in a chair with a damp rag <br /> draped across her forehead. The Receptionist is fanning her <br /> with a towel.<br /><br /> The door closes behind Norville.<br /><br /> We hear a rhythmic CLICK-CLICK-CLICK and the HUM of <br /> VENTILATION.<br /><br /> NORVILLE'S POV<br /><br /> Across miles of carpet is a huge executive desk, behind which <br /> is a large executive chair facing the window. From above the <br /> back of the chair cigar smoke wreathes up. A telephone cord <br /> snakes around to the man sitting in the chair, hidden from <br /> us. On the desktop is a perpetual motion machine of large <br /> swinging ball bearings. Click-click-click.<br /><br /> A TICKERTAPE MACHINE occasionally BURPS information in the <br /> far corner of the office.<br /><br /> A huge MECHANICAL ARM -- the sweep second hand of the <br /> Hudsucker clock on the facade of the building -- RUMBLES by <br /> immediately outside the window, describing an arc that throws <br /> a moving shadow across the office.<br /><br /> His BACK TO us, into the phone:<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> -- Sure sure, Parkinson's stupid but <br /> he's ambitious, too hard to control...<br /><br /> He swivels around to face Norville, who stands deferentially <br /> at the door. Still listening at the phone, Mussburger waves <br /> Norville forward.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...No! Not McClanahan; sure he bungled <br /> the Teleyard merger, but that means <br /> he's got something to prove...<br /><br /> He covers the mouth piece.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Who let you in?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I --<br /><br /> Into the phone:<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Atwater? Tremendous. Except I fired <br /> him last week --<br /><br /> The INTERCOM BUZZES fiercely.<br /><br /> VOICE (V.O.)<br /> Mr. Bumstead is waiting downstairs.<br /><br /> Mussburger hits the intercom.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Tell him I'll be right there...<br /> (looks at Norville)<br /> Well, what is it?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I --<br /><br /> But Mussburger is listening to the TINNY VOICE issuing from <br /> the PHONE.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> You, maybe you're the company's <br /> biggest moron. We can't use Morris, <br /> he's been with us too long, he's a <br /> nice guy, too many friends. Matter <br /> of fact, why don't you fire him. No -- <br /> scratch that; I'll fire him.<br /> (looks up at Norville)<br /> ...Make it fast, make it fast.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You --<br /><br /> The INTERCOM SQUAWKS.<br /><br /> VOICE (V.O.)<br /> Mr. Bumstead is getting very --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> I'll be right there. Give him a <br /> magazine.<br /> (to Norville)<br /> ...What're you, a mute?<br /><br /> The second PHONE on Mussburger's desk RINGS.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Yeah, how's the stock doing?<br /> ...Bad, huh? Well it's not bad enough.<br /> (into the first phone)<br /> ...Look, chump, either you find me a <br /> grade A ding-dong or you can tender <br /> your key to the executive washroom.<br /> (into the second phone)<br /> And that goes double for you.<br /> (into the first phone)<br /> Ear-clay?<br /> (into both phones)<br /> Ood-gay!<br /> (slams down both <br /> phones, looks at <br /> Norville)<br /> This better be good. I'm in a bad <br /> mood.<br /><br /> Norville clears his throat.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, sir. I've got something for <br /> you from the mailroom, but first if <br /> I could just take a minute or so <br /> from your very busy time...<br /><br /> He reaches into his mailroom apron and hands a scrap of paper <br /> across the desk to Mussburger, who stares, frozen, at <br /> Norville, making no move to take the paper.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...to show you a, uh...<br /><br /> Norville, undaunted, holds up the paper since Mussburger <br /> will not take it. Mussburger doesn't even look at it; his <br /> eyes are locked on Norville's. Mussburger smolders.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...a little something I've been <br /> working on for the last two or three <br /> years...<br /><br /> Mussburger's burning eyes finally shift momentarily to look <br /> at the crudely drawn circle; he looks back incredulously at <br /> Norville.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...You know, for kids! Which is <br /> perfect for Hudsucker -- not that I <br /> claim to be any great genius; like <br /> they say, inspiration is 99 percent <br /> perspiration, and in my case I'd say <br /> it's at least twice that, but I gotta <br /> tell ya, Mr. Mussburger, sir, this <br /> sweet baby --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Wait a minute!<br /><br /> Sudden quiet.<br /><br /> With one last click the perpetual motion ball bearings <br /> abruptly stop.<br /><br /> As Mussburger's eyes burn in on him, Norville stands mute <br /> and paralyzed.<br /><br /> His eyes locked on Norville's, Mussburger circles the desk. <br /> He stands toe-to-toe with Norville.<br /><br /> He thrusts his face into Norville's, whose head moves <br /> reflexively back. Mussburger's nose is almost touching <br /> Norville's, his eyes are burning, searching, studying, <br /> evaluating.<br /><br /> Finally he draws his head back.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Hmmm...<br /><br /> With one hand he thrusts his cigar into Norville's gaping <br /> mouth. With his other hand he raises Norville's chin so that <br /> his teeth clench it.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Umm-hmm...<br /><br /> He steps back, eyes still on Norville.<br /><br /> He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating his chair <br /> behind the desk.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Siddown.<br /><br /> Norville, his lips puckered around the unaccustomed ciger, <br /> looks bemusedly from the chair to Mussburger.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Go ahead. Try it on.<br /><br /> Norville obeys, reluctantly, stiffly.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Put your feet up.<br /><br /> Norville is again reluctant.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Go ahead.<br /><br /> Norville obeys. Mussburger studies.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Hmmmm... Let's get to know one <br /> another, shall we?<br /><br /> Norville's eyes squint against the cigar smoke wreathing <br /> from between his teeth. Mussburger seems to relax.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Let's chat!<br /> (beams)<br /> ...Man to man!<br /><br /> Norville beams.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...You weren't blessed with much...<br /><br /> He waves vaguely towards his head and searches for a <br /> euphemism.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...education, were you?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, I'm a college graduate --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> All right, but you didn't excel in <br /> your studies...?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, I made the dean's list.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> (worried)<br /> Hmmm.<br /><br /> Norville sputters out some more cigar smoke.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> At the Muncie College of Business <br /> Administration.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> (relieved)<br /> Sure, sure. And did your classmates <br /> there call you 'jerk' or...<br /> (searches again)<br /> ...'schmoe'?<br /><br /> Norville shakes his head.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...'Shnook'? 'Dope'? 'Dipstick'? <br /> 'Lamebrain'?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> No, sir.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Not even behind your back?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Sir! They voted me most likely to <br /> succeed!<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> (curtly)<br /> You're fired.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But, sir! --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Get your feet off that desk.<br /><br /> As he struggles to comply:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Get out of my sight.<br /><br /> Norville, squinting against the cigar smoke, pulls the cigar <br /> out of his mouth as he doubles forward, feet still up, groping <br /> for a place to set down the cigar. He sets it blindly on a <br /> loose stack of papers.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> My God! The Bumstead contracts!!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> The top page radiates a circle of incipient flame from the <br /> cigar's live end.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> You nitwit! I worked for three years <br /> on this deal!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> Norville runs across the office to a large water cooler.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> I'll take care of it. Just get out!<br /><br /> Mussburger plucks the cigar off the contract and tosses it <br /> into a wastebasket. He pats the fingertips of one hand against <br /> his tongue and then efficiently pats out the crinkling orange <br /> circle on the top sheet of the contract.<br /><br /> At the other end of the office, Norville is wrapping his <br /> arms around the glass water tank, which he pulls off its <br /> base. He runs back across the vast expanse of office toward <br /> the desk, hugging the water tank whose WATER GLOOB-GLOOBS <br /> out its open bottom and splashes down onto his pumping knees.<br /><br /> As he reaches the desk, the near-empty tank is now light <br /> enough for him to hoist with one arm, which he does, and <br /> cups his other hand under it to catch its last glub of water. <br /> He tosses the TANK to the floor where --<br /><br /> CRASH -- it SHATTERS, and stands looking about for a place <br /> to dump his handful of water.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Why you nitwit. You almost destroyed <br /> the most sensitive deal of my career!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> He is reacting to the wastebasket on his side of the desk, <br /> which Mussburger cannot see.<br /><br /> It is sprouting flame, at which Norville ineffectually flecks <br /> his remaining drops of water.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Now out of here! Out!<br /><br /> Norville is already running to the window, which he runs <br /> both palms over, desperately seeking a way to open it.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Not that way! Through the door!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But, sir!<br /><br /> The windows do not open. Norville furiously stomps on the <br /> flames in the wastebasket and -- his foot sticks.<br /><br /> Further stomping only makes the flaming wastebasket roar up <br /> and down with his foot.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Right away, buster! Out of my office!<br /><br /> Norville has dropped to the floor, trying to wrench the <br /> flaming wastebasket off his leg.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Up on your feet! We don't crawl at <br /> Hudsucker Industries!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Sir, my leg is on fire!<br /><br /> Norville finally succeeds in getting the flaming wastebasket <br /> off his foot. Now the problem is what to do with it.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Get out of this office, you dithering <br /> nincompoop!<br /><br /> Norville picks up the flaming trash receptacle.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> He winds up and throws it through the closed window.<br /><br /> The GLASS SHATTERS and the flaming basket plummets to <br /> oblivion.<br /><br /> With the picture window broken a FEROCIOUS DRAFT ROARS through <br /> the penthouse office.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT - BUMSTEAD CONTRACTS<br /><br /> On the desk. The pages are sucked away by the draft.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> My God! The Bumstead contracts!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> Mussburger lunges for the contracts as they are sucked out <br /> the window.<br /><br /> He runs, jumps onto the sill, grabs -- his fist clenches <br /> around one wafting page -- he is about to fall --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Eeeeeeaaaahhhhh!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. EXECUTIVE WAITING ROOM<br /><br /> BUMSTEAD, a short, fat, heavily perspiring executive, is <br /> screaming at an O.S. secretary. He holds a pot of coffee in <br /> one hand and a copy of Boy's Life in the other.<br /><br /> BUMSTEAD<br /> No magazine. No coffee. Mussburger! <br /> I wanna see Mussburger! Or did he <br /> jump out a window too?!<br /><br /> In the window behind him we see loose sheets of paper <br /> fluttering down.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Desperately hanging onto Mussburger by his legs.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Don't worry, Mr. Mussburger! I gotcha. <br /> I gotcha by your pants!<br /><br /> Mussburger's screaming abruptly stops.<br /><br /> CLOSEUP - MUSSBURGER'S HORROR-STRICKEN FACE REMEMBERING (THE <br /> SCREEN GOES WATERY):<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> is in a basement tailor shop. LUIGI, an old Italian tailor, <br /> is just running his tape up Mussburger's inseam.<br /><br /> LUIGI<br /> Meester Moosaburger, I give-a you <br /> pants a nice-a dooble stitch. Make <br /> 'em strong, and they look-a real <br /> sharp.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> (barking)<br /> No! Single stitch is fine.<br /><br /> LUIGI<br /> (begging)<br /> But please-a, Meester Moosaburger, <br /> the dooble stitch she last-a forever --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Why on earth would I need a double <br /> stitch? To pad your bill? Single <br /> stitch is fine!<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> CLOSEUP OF PANICKED MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Damn!<br /><br /> We hear a LOUD TEARING sound O.S. Mussburger drops a few <br /> inches.<br /><br /> QUICK WIPE TO:<br /><br /> LUIGI AT HIS SEWING MACHINE<br /><br /> LUIGI<br /> (musing to himself)<br /> What the heck. Meester Moosaburger <br /> such a nice-a guy, I give him dooble <br /> steech-a anyway. Assa some-a strong-<br /> a steech-a, you bet!<br /><br /> BACK TO MUSSBURGER'S PANTS<br /><br /> The tearing fabric abruptly catches and stops; the rest of <br /> the pants hold intact.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> sighs with relief.<br /><br /> He looks up.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Norville's arms are wrapped around Mussburger's ankles; the <br /> heels of Mussburger's shoes are digging into his face.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> Looking. Thinking.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Struggling to hold on.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> Calm. Contemplating.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Hmmm...<br /><br /> He absently removes a cigar from his breast pocket and sticks <br /> it in his mouth. He holds his lighter under the cigar, not <br /> noticing that the flame is pointing the wrong way.<br /><br /> He looks at Norville.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> His face drawn with effort, still struggling to hang on.<br /><br /> A PULL BACK FROM the EXTREME CLOSE SHOT REVEALS, however, <br /> that Norville's arms are now wrapped around -- emptiness.<br /><br /> Mussburger's legs are gone.<br /><br /> Norville throws his head back and laughs, it seems, insanely -- <br /> but CONTINUED PULL BACK REVEALS that Norville is merely <br /> pantomiming the adventure for the benefit of the board <br /> members, including Mussburger. They stand around Mussburger's <br /> office, laughing gaily. All safe now, no harm done. This <br /> inaugurates:<br /><br /> LAUGHING MONTAGE<br /><br /> Montage silent but for MUSIC.<br /><br /> A) Norville is entertaining the board with his depiction of <br /> the near-disaster. Mussburger is slapping him merrily on the <br /> back.<br /><br /> B) CLOSE SHOT - Board member laughing.<br /><br /> C) Another board member. Laughing.<br /><br /> D) Mussburger. Laughing.<br /><br /> E) Norville laughing.<br /><br /> F) FREEZE FRAME ON Norville's laughing face.<br /><br /> ANGLE<br /><br /> PULL BACK to reveal that the frozen picture is the newspaper <br /> photo on the front page of the Manhattan Argus.<br /><br /> Its headline reads: UNTRIED YOUTH TO HELM HUDSUCKER.<br /><br /> The subhead reads: Stockholders Wary. The sub-subhead reads: <br /> Meteoric Rise From Mailroom.<br /><br /> The article is under the byline of Amy Archer.<br /><br /> CONTINUED PULL BACK REVEALS that we are looking at the <br /> newspaper OVER someone's SHOULDER. The person swivels around <br /> and away -- his face now TO us, we see that it is Norville <br /> looking at the newspaper. He throws his head back and laughs <br /> merrily.<br /><br /> As he laughs -- thwock -- a steaming towel is thrown onto <br /> his face and he continues to swivel. CONTINUED PULL BACK <br /> REVEALS that he is in a barber chair.<br /><br /> His head drops back and OUT OF FRAME as the swiveling chair <br /> is cranked down, but immediately -- still spinning --<br /><br /> -- his head reappears as the chair is cranked up again.<br /><br /> Still laughing, Norville is now freshly shaven and has a <br /> slicked-back haircut, heavy with pomade.<br /><br /> FREEZE ON Norville's laughing face.<br /><br /> ANGLE<br /><br /> PULL BACK to reveal it is another front page photo next to <br /> the headline: Hud Board To Street: GIVE MAN FROM MUNCIE A <br /> CHANCE. Subhead: Has Fresh Ideas.<br /><br /> CONTINUED PULL BACK REVEALS that the paper is lying on a <br /> chair. Norville's mailroom apron is tossed onto the chair to <br /> cover it.<br /><br /> PAN TO where the apron was tossed from. Norville stands on a <br /> tailor's stage, laughing, as the tailor, also laughing, takes <br /> his measurements. Norville in shirtsleeves, boxer shorts, <br /> hose stockings and garters.<br /><br /> The tailor rises, laughing merrily, throwing up his arms and <br /> spreading them wide with hands stretching the measuring tape.<br /><br /> Norville laughs merrily and also throws his arms up wide.<br /><br /> BOARD MEMBER<br /><br /> laughs merrily, his arms thrown wide, tickertape stretching <br /> between his hands. He joyously tosses away the tickertape.<br /><br /> FLOOR<br /><br /> where the tickertape lands on a pile of previously discharged <br /> tape.<br /><br /> PAN UP to reveal that the tickertape continues to burp its <br /> disastrous tale of good news for the board.<br /><br /> PAN UP FURTHER to reveal that the machine is in Mussburger's <br /> office. At the far end of the room, behind his desk, <br /> Mussburger laughs as he looks at a newspaper.<br /><br /> TRACK IN TOWARDS him.<br /><br /> On his desk the perpetual ballbearings swing; outside his <br /> window the sweep second hand of the Hudsucker clock rumbles <br /> by, sweeping a shadow across the floor. Evil prevails.<br /><br /> As Mussburger opens the newspaper, the CONTINUED TRACK IN <br /> shows its front page headline: HUD STOCK DIPS. Subhead: Just <br /> Good Is He?<br /><br /> TRACK IN ON the front page photo: Norville laughing, his <br /> chin propped in his hand.<br /><br /> PHOTOGRAPH<br /><br /> COMES TO LIFE and Norville unfreezes, laughing.<br /><br /> We are now TRACKING BACK FROM him. He sits behind a huge oak <br /> desk, newly coifed and tailored.<br /><br /> The brass plaque on the desk confirms that he is in the OFFICE <br /> OF THE PRESIDENT.<br /><br /> TRACK BACK CONTINUES THROUGH the large elegant office, leaving <br /> Norville looking quite small IN LONG SHOT.<br /><br /> His LAUGHTER ECHOES in the bright bare office.<br /><br /> Norville's laughter is just winding down, leaving him <br /> exhausted, as if he has been laughing nonstop for several <br /> days. He finally sighs and wipes a tear from his eye.<br /><br /> FADE OUT:<br /><br /> FADE IN:<br /><br /> NEW YORK SKYLINE - DAY<br /><br /> In the skyline we can see the Hudsucker building topped by <br /> the Hudsucker clock.<br /><br /> A cigar ENTERS FRAME in the f.g., then the face of the man <br /> smoking it. Staring contemplatively at the Hudsucker building, <br /> he takes a puff from the cigar and then plucks it from his <br /> mouth and waves it, as if painting a headline.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> 'The Einstein of Enterprise.' 'The <br /> Edison of Industry.' 'The Billion-<br /> Dollar Cranium'... 'Idea Man'!<br /> (exploding)<br /> And not one of you mugs has given me <br /> a story on him!!<br /><br /> REVERSE<br /><br /> shows the Editors glassed-in office filled with REPORTERS <br /> for the staff meeting. Although they listen quietly, they <br /> are more bored than attentive.<br /><br /> THROUGH the glass walls we can see the furious activity of <br /> an army of reporters, editors, and copy boys waging the never-<br /> ending battle to put out a quality daily newspaper.<br /><br /> The Editor slams a newspaper down onto his desk in disgust.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Facts, figures, charts! They never <br /> sold a newspaper! I read this <br /> morning's edition of the Argus and <br /> let me tell you something: I'd wrap <br /> a fish in it! I'd use it as kindling! <br /> Hell, I'd even train my poodle with <br /> it if he wasn't a French poodle and <br /> more partial to the pages of Paree <br /> Soir! But I sure wouldn't shell out <br /> a hard-earned nickel to read the <br /> dadblamed thing!<br /><br /> REPORTER<br /> Come on, chief, give us a break.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Suuuure, Tibbs, take a break! Go to <br /> Florida! Lie in the sun! Wait for a <br /> coconut to drop, file a story on it -- <br /> it'll be more of a grabber than your <br /> piece on the commie grain surplus! <br /> The human angle! That's what sells <br /> papers! We need a front page with <br /> heart and the whole idea of the 'Idea <br /> Man' idea can put it there!<br /><br /> REPORTER #2<br /> Chief, if we had more access --<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Yeah, and if a frog had wings he <br /> wouldn't bump his ass a-hoppin'! I <br /> don't want excuses, I want results!<br /><br /> Whack! --<br /><br /> Without even looking in its direction, the Editor has slammed <br /> down the lid of the cigar box on his desk, towards which one <br /> Reporter's hand had been idly reaching.<br /><br /> The Reporter jerks his fingers away as the Editor spares the <br /> briefest moment to glare at him.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> I wanna know what makes the Idea Man <br /> tick! Where is he from? Where is he <br /> going? I wanna know everything about <br /> this guy! Has he got a girl? Has he <br /> got parents?<br /><br /> REPORTER #3<br /> Everybody has parents.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> All right, how many? How 'bout it, <br /> Parkinson, you've been awful quiet <br /> over there.<br /><br /> PARKINSON<br /> Uhhh...<br /><br /> REPORTER NEXT TO HIM<br /> Still waters run deep, chief.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> The only thing that runs deep with <br /> Parkinson is the holes in his ears.<br /> Yes, the Idea Man! What're his hopes <br /> and dreams, his desires and <br /> aspirations? Does he think all the <br /> time or does he set aside a certain <br /> portion of the day? How tall is he <br /> and what's his shoe size? Where does <br /> he sleep and what does he eat for <br /> breakfast? Does he put jam on his <br /> toast or doesn't he put jam on his <br /> toast, and if not why not and since <br /> when?<br /><br /> He thrust his face into that of the Reporter.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> ...Well?!!<br /><br /> No answer.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> ...Ahh, you're useless. Yes, Idea <br /> Man! Creator! Innovator! Cerebrator! <br /> Tycoon!--<br /><br /> WOMAN (O.S.)<br /> Fake.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Huhh!!<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /><br /> Star reporter AMY ARCHER -- attractive, smartly-dressed.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I tell ya the guy's a phony.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Phony, huh?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> As a three-dollar bill.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Sez who?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Sez me! Amy Archer. Why is he an <br /> Idea Man -- because Hudsucker says <br /> he is? What're his ideas? Why won't <br /> they let anyone interview him?...<br /><br /> One Reporter is leaning into another to keep his voice low:<br /><br /> REPORTER<br /> Five bucks says she mentions her <br /> Pulitzer.<br /><br /> OTHER REPORTER<br /> Again? You're on.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (as she picks up the <br /> morning paper)<br /> ...And just take a look at the mug <br /> on this guy -- the jutting eyebrows, <br /> the simian forehead, the idiotic <br /> grin. Why he has a face only a mother <br /> could love --<br /><br /> Whack! The Editor has slammed down the cigar box lid again <br /> but: Amy, smiling, raises a cigar INTO FRAME having beaten <br /> him.<br /><br /> She tosses it to the Reporter who failed to get one.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...On payday! The only story here is <br /> how this guy made a monkey out of <br /> you, Al.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Yeah, well, monkey or not I'm still <br /> editor of this rag. Amy, I thought <br /> you were doing that piece on the <br /> F.B.I. -- J. Edgar Hoover: When Will <br /> He Marry?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I filed it yesterday.<br /><br /> EDITOR<br /> Well, do a follow-up: Hoover: Hero <br /> or Mama's Boy? The rest of you bums <br /> get up off your brains and get me <br /> that Idea Man story!<br /><br /> REPORTERS<br /> All right, chief... We'll do our <br /> best, chief... I'll give it a shot, <br /> chief...<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (at the door)<br /> Al, he's the bunk.<br /><br /> Slam!<br /><br /> One of the wagering Reporters grins at the other, who is <br /> taking out a five dollar bill.<br /><br /> The door bursts open and Amy sticks her head in.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I'll stake my Pulitzer on it!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ELEVATOR DOORS<br /><br /> Sweeping open to reveal the leering face of Buzz, the elevator <br /> gnat.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Say, buddy! Where'd ya get the new <br /> duds?<br /><br /> Norville is entering the elevator in his new executive outfit.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...and say, buddy! How'd old <br /> bucketbutt like his blue letter?<br /> Na-ha-ha-ha-ha! Did he bust a gut? <br /> Did he die? Did he -- Well, hello, <br /> Mr. Mussburger, sir...<br /><br /> Buzz is instant decorum as Mussburger enters the elevator.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...How're you this fine morning, <br /> sir?<br /><br /> Norville has been worriedly patting at his pockets since the <br /> mention of the blue letter.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> That reminds me, Mr. Mu... uh, Sid. <br /> I never did give you that--<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> (to Buzz)<br /> Lobby. We haven't got all day.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Right away, Mr. Mussburger sir.<br /><br /> As he talks, Mussburger pats at his suit pocket, takes out a <br /> cigar, inspects it.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Well I'm starved. I understand it'll <br /> be quite an affair this afternoon, <br /> and the executive roast tom turkey <br /> at the Bohemian Grove redefines the <br /> word superb.<br /><br /> He puts the cigar in his mouth and Buzz's hand is right there <br /> with a lighter.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> My pleasure, sir.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Roast tom turkey. Gee, I'm hungry <br /> too --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure...<br /><br /> The elevator doors open.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> It's been a pleasure serving you, <br /> Mr. Mussburger.<br /><br /> Buzz turns to Norville. He is puzzled but trying to hide it:<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...and it's been a pleasure serving <br /> you too, uh... buddy.<br /><br /> MR. MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> is already striding through the lobby; Norville has to lope <br /> to catch up.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Say, Mr. Muss -- uh, Sid! Shouldn't <br /> we be a little bit concerned with <br /> the downward spiral of our stock <br /> these last few days? I mean, you're <br /> the expert, but at the Muncie College <br /> of Business Administration they told <br /> us --<br /><br /> Mussburger gives an artificially hearty laugh and claps <br /> Norville on the shoulder.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Relax, Norville. It's only natural <br /> in a period of transition for the <br /> more nervous element to run for cover.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Okay, Sid. Like I said, you're the <br /> expert, but --<br /><br /> EXT. SIDEWALK<br /><br /> Norville is still loping behind Mussburger, trying to keep <br /> up with his long strides.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...You don't happen to remember the <br /> plan I outlined to you the day I set <br /> fire to your off -- uh, the day I <br /> was promoted?<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> I do remember and I was impressed.<br /> Anyway, that's all forgotten now. <br /> Driver!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Thank you, Sid, but the reason I <br /> mention it is, it would require such <br /> a small capital investment -- again, <br /> you're the expert here --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Damnit, where's my car!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- But there's such an enormous <br /> potential profit-wise given the <br /> demographics -- baby boom --<br /> discretionary income in the burgeoning <br /> middle class --<br /><br /> A black limousine pulls up to the curb.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Finally.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- So if you think it's appropriate, <br /> I'd like to bounce the idea off a <br /> few people at lunch --<br /><br /> Mussburger is getting into the back seat --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure, tell whoever you want...<br /><br /> And, to Norville's surprise, slamming the door shut behind <br /> him.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...And I'd like to hear more about <br /> it at some point, too.<br /><br /> SCREEEECH -- the CAR pulls away. Norville is left talking to <br /> himself on the empty sidewalk.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But, Sid, I thought you and I were...<br /><br /> DOORMAN<br /> Say, bud, could you keep the sidewalk <br /> clear here?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But I'm the president of this -- <br /> aww, forget it.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. COFFEE SHOP<br /><br /> A cheap coffee shop a half-flight down from the street.<br /><br /> We are LOOKING ACROSS an elbow of the coffee shop counter. <br /> In the middle b.g., Norville sits dejectedly stirring a cup <br /> of coffee.<br /><br /> Behind him, THROUGH the window wells, we see the back and <br /> forth feet of pedestrians bustling by on the sidewalk.<br /><br /> In the extreme f.g. sit two steaming mugs of coffee.<br /><br /> They belong to two VETERANS of the coffee shop, who, from <br /> O.S., narrate the scene.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> I got gas, Bennie.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Yeah, tell me about it.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> No kiddin', Bennie. I got gas.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Ya get the special?<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Fah from it...<br /><br /> He gives a low whistle under his breath as a woman enters <br /> from the street and hesitates by the door, looking around. <br /> Still attractive but looking somewhat down-at-the-heels, it <br /> is Amy Archer.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> ...Enter the dame.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> There's one in every story.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Ten bucks says she's looking for a <br /> handout.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Twenty bucks says not here she don't <br /> find one.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> She's looking for her mark.<br /><br /> The woman's eyes settle on Norville, and she heads for the <br /> empty stool next to his.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> She finds him.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> She sits down.<br /><br /> The woman says something to the counter waitress, who exits.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> ...and awduhs a light lunch.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> She looks in her purse...<br /><br /> She is holding her wallet upside down.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> ...No money.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> The mark notices.<br /><br /> Beat. Norville, however, is not noticing: He is staring <br /> intently at his coffee spoon, his hat pushed back on his <br /> head, his other hand propping up a cheekbone; the woman's <br /> presence does not seem to have registered yet.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> ...He's not noticing, Benny.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Maybe he's wise.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> He don't look wise.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Plan two: Here come the waterworks.<br /><br /> The woman starts crying.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Yellowstone.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Old Faithful.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Hello, Niagara.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> He notices.<br /><br /> As the woman cries, she accidentally-on-purpose jostles <br /> Norville and he finally does indeed notice.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> He's concerned.<br /><br /> The woman mouths words at Norville who reacts sympathetically <br /> and waves his hands at the waitress.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> She explains her perdicament, and...<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 & #2 (O.S.)<br /> (in unison)<br /> ...entuh the light lunch.<br /><br /> The waitress is entering to set a plate in front of the woman.<br /><br /> The woman continues to talk to Norville, smiling wanly at <br /> him.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> She's got other problems, of course...<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> ...Her mother needs an operation...<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> ...adenoids.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> No, Bennie: Lumbago.<br /><br /> Veteran #1's enunciation of "lumbago" falls into perfect <br /> sync with the woman's moving lips.<br /><br /> Norville is listening sympathetically, but he suddenly notices <br /> his watch.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> (alarmed)<br /> She's losing him, Bennie.<br /><br /> Norville is rising to his feet.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Maybe he's wise.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> He don't look wise.<br /><br /> As Norville turns to leave:<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> How does she pull this out?<br /><br /> She puts the back of her hand dramatically to her forehead.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> (disbelieving)<br /> She isn't!<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> (thrilled)<br /> She is!<br /><br /> And indeed she does: Faint dead away, falling backwards on <br /> the stool, so that Norville has no choice but to catch her.<br /><br /> Norville holds her awkwardly, looking around for help.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> She's good, Bennie.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> She's damn good, Lou.<br /><br /> A WAITRESS enters extreme f.g. to BLOCK OUR VIEW of the <br /> swooned woman and the embarrassed Norville. The Waitress is <br /> FACING the CAMERA and the two O.S. Veterans; the CROPPING <br /> gives us only her torso and the steaming pot of coffee she <br /> holds.<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> (bored, nasal voice)<br /> Can I get you boys anything else?<br /><br /> REVERSE ANGLE<br /><br /> Back of the Waitress's torso in f.g.; on either side beyond <br /> her, the two Veterans are looking up at her O.S. face. They <br /> sport extremely bored expressions, topped by "cabbie" caps.<br /><br /> VETERAN #1<br /> Bromo.<br /><br /> Beat.<br /><br /> VETERAN #2<br /> ...Bromo.<br /><br /> INT. NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Looking at its frosted-glass door; the sign painter is just <br /> finishing lettering in: NORVILLE BARNES, President.<br /><br /> The sign painter makes way as we see Norville's shadow <br /> approaching; even from inside the room we can hear that he <br /> is WHEEZING HEAVILY. He is apparently carrying the girl, <br /> cradled in his arms. He tries to reach down to get the <br /> doorknob; can't manage it; turns to press his back against <br /> the door and get the knob with his other hand.<br /><br /> The door opens as Norville swings around to enter. He is <br /> wheezing like a gas pipe about to explode.<br /><br /> He swings around to kick the door shut. We see that the <br /> lettering on the door is now terribly smudged; we also see, <br /> in wet ink, on the seat of Norville's pants: senraB ellivroN <br /> tnediserP.<br /><br /> Weakly, still cradled in Norville's arms:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I'm sorry we had to take the stairs. <br /> It was just that horrible little <br /> elevator boy...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Not at all. You're light as a feather.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (pointing languorously)<br /> The couch, please.<br /><br /> Still wheezing horribly, Norville staggers over to the couch <br /> and deposits her gently on it. He straightens up and looks <br /> at her.<br /><br /> NORVILLE'S POV<br /><br /> She is smiling wanly AT the CAMERA. The entire IMAGE PULSATES <br /> as the blood pounds behind Norville's eyeballs.<br /><br /> We hear the LOUD, RASPING of his BREATH, resonating inside <br /> his head. Amy is talking but her voice is barely audible, as <br /> if coming from a long way away.<br /><br /> BACK TO SCENE<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Just a minute.<br /><br /> He perches drunkenly on the edge of the couch and puts his <br /> head between his knees, still fighting for breath.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I don't know what came over me. I <br /> suppose it was the shock of eating <br /> after so long without; the enzymes <br /> kicking in after so long, or whatever. <br /> But then you couldn't possibly know <br /> what it is to be tired and hungry...<br /><br /> Speaking into his knees as he wheezes:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Hungry, anyway.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I don't want to bore you with all <br /> the sordid details of my life; it's <br /> not a happy story...<br /><br /> Norville rises and starts putting throw pillows behind her <br /> head.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Suffice it to say that I'm jobless -- <br /> though not for want of trying, that <br /> I'm friendless, with no one to -- <br /> thank you -- take care of me; and <br /> that had you not come along at just <br /> exactly the moment that you did --<br /><br /> She screams, staring down at the couch.<br /><br /> Norville jumps, startled, then looks where she is looking.<br /><br /> On the white sofa cushion where he had been sitting is <br /> printed, in wet ink, right side around: NORVILLE BARNES, <br /> President.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Norville, I didn't know you were <br /> president here!<br /><br /> Norville stares dumbfounded at the sofa cushion. When the <br /> nickel finally drops, he spins around to try to look at the <br /> seat of his pants.<br /><br /> Distracted but still modest:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, it's nothing really. Just <br /> determination and hard work...<br /><br /> He unbuckles his trousers.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Of course, when I started in the <br /> mailroom last Tuesday I thought it <br /> might take more time --<br /><br /> Buzz enters holding a brown paper bag.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Say, buddy, here's the whiskey you <br /> asked f --<br /><br /> He freezes, taking in the scene: Amy reclining on the couch; <br /> Norville standing in front of her with his pants around his <br /> ankles, still breathing heavily; the bottle of whiskey in <br /> his own hand.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (flustered)<br /> Thank you, Buzz, just leave it on <br /> the desk.<br /><br /> Leering:<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Happy days, buddy...<br /><br /> As he turns to leave:<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...and I'll tell your secretary you're <br /> not to be disturbed. Yowzuh!!<br /><br /> He snaps the elastic strap under his chin.<br /><br /> After the doors shut behind Buzz:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (shuddering)<br /> What a horrible little person.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, Buzz is pretty harmless, really --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> At any rate I arrived in town not <br /> ten days ago, full of dreams and <br /> aspirations, anxious to make my way <br /> in the world --<br /><br /> Norville pours a glass of whiskey and brings it over to her.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> A little naive perhaps but -- thank <br /> you -- armed with determination, a <br /> solid work ethic, and an indomitable <br /> belief in the future --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I myself --<br /><br /> He crosses back to the desk.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Only to have that belief, that <br /> unsullied optimism, dashed against <br /> the marble and mortar of the modern <br /> work place --<br /><br /> Norville takes a cigarette from a large wood cigarette box <br /> on the desk and sticks it in his mouth.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Cigarette?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> No thank you. Seek and ye shall find, <br /> work and ye shall prosper -- these <br /> were the watch words of my education, <br /> the ethics of my tender years --<br /><br /> OVER NORVILLE'S SHOULDER<br /><br /> He has been pushing the box towards her. The box tilts lazily <br /> forward and then disappears over the far lip of the desk. We <br /> hear the THUD of the BOX landing amid the pitter-patter of <br /> cigarettes raining onto the carpet.<br /><br /> Amy's brow crinkles. Continuing:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- these were the values that were <br /> instilled in me while I was growing <br /> up in a little town you've probably <br /> never heard of --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Mind if I join you?<br /><br /> He is pouring himself a drink.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Be my guest. A little town you've <br /> probably --<br /><br /> He tosses back his drink, gags, looks at Amy with his eyes <br /> bulging.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> Once again her IMAGE PULSATES. There is a ROARING SOUND and <br /> an AIRY STEAM WHISTLE as she silently moves her lips.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> He waves his arms and talks with a <br /> thick rasp as he staggers to his <br /> feet.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Excuse me -- I -- executive <br /> washroom...<br /><br /> He staggers out a side door.<br /><br /> On his exit Amy leaps to her feet and scurries over to his <br /> desk. At the top of her voice:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Are you all right?...<br /><br /> She throws open the top desk drawer. Inside two lonely lead <br /> pencils roll through the otherwise empty drawer.<br /><br /> Amy expertly flips a cigarette into her mouth and strikes a <br /> match off the desktop.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Is it your lunch? The chicken a <br /> la king?<br /><br /> From the washroom:<br /><br /> NORVILLE (O.S.)<br /> No, I --<br /><br /> Amy throws open another drawer, empty except for an <br /> appointment book. As she hurriedly flips through page after <br /> blank page an arctic WIND WHISTLES emptiness. One page only <br /> has a notation: 11:45. Address Wilkie Grammar School Junior <br /> Achievers Club.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Is the a la king repeating on you?<br /><br /> Amy shoves the appointment book back into the drawer.<br /><br /> NORVILLE (O.S.)<br /> ...I'm fine, I... You were saying?<br /><br /> She mutters:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Values... watchwords... uh, tender <br /> years...<br /> (aloud)<br /> -- A little town you've probably <br /> never heard of...<br /><br /> She hastily stubs out her cigarette and waves her hand to <br /> disperse the smoke.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Muncie, Indiana.<br /><br /> She scurries back across the room as we hear the FAUCET BEING <br /> TURNED OFF: she re-strikes her languid pose on the couch <br /> just as the washroom door opens.<br /><br /> Norville gapes, one hand pressing a dripping rag to his <br /> forehead.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You're from Muncie?!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Why yes, do you know it?<br /><br /> Norville starts making pumping motions with his fists and <br /> loud syncopated grunting noises. Amy gapes at him.<br /><br /> He starts singing, off-key:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> 'Fight on fight on dear old Muncie <br /> Fight on -- Hoist the gold and blue <br /> You'll be tattered, torn and hurtin'<br /> Once 'The Munce' is done with you!'<br /><br /> Amy lamely fakes singing along, coming in louder on the last, <br /> obvious rhyme. Norville jumps an octave on it; she quickly <br /> follows sit, also pumping her fists.<br /><br /> As Norville crosses his hands and locks thumbs in front of <br /> his nose to make bird wings of his extended fingers:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Goooooooo Eagles!<br /><br /> Amy awkwardly imitates.<br /><br /> Norville excitedly sits behind his desk.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...A Muncie girl! Talk about the <br /> cat's pyjamas! Tell you what, Amy.<br /> I'm gonna cancel the rest of my <br /> appointments this afternoon and get <br /> you a job here at the Hud.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Oh, no, really, I --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Don't bother to thank me, it's the <br /> easiest thing in the world. Matter <br /> of fact, I know where a vacancy just <br /> came up.<br /><br /> He hits the intercom.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Mail room.<br /><br /> To Amy:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...This'll only take a moment.<br /><br /> INTERCOM (V.O.)<br /> Yeah?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Good afternoon to ya, this is Norville <br /> Barnes --<br /><br /> INTERCOM (V.O.)<br /> Barnes! Where the hell have you been! <br /> And where's my voucher?!<br /><br /> Norville thumps at his pockets.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Well, I'm not sure where I --<br /><br /> INTERCOM (V.O.)<br /> I need that voucher! I told you a <br /> week ago it was important!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But look, I'm president of the company <br /> now and I --<br /><br /> INTERCOM (V.O.)<br /> I don't care if you're president of <br /> the company! I need that voucher! <br /> Now!<br /><br /> CLICK. The intercom goes dead.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, of all the foolish... Listen, do <br /> you take shorthand? Are you familiar <br /> with the mimeograph machine?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Of course -- I went to the Muncie, <br /> uh, Secretarial Polytechnic!<br /><br /> Norville excitedly smacks a fist into a palm.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- A Muncie girl! Can you beat that!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well, I just don't know how to thank <br /> you, Mr. Barnes --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Please! Norville!<br /><br /> As he reaches to shake:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...It's my pleasure!<br /><br /> She reaches for his hand but Norville snatches it away and, <br /> winking at her, hooks thumbs in front of his nose and makes <br /> wings of his fingers.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Gooooooo Eagles!<br /><br /> AMY<br /><br /> likewise hooks her thumbs in front of her nose, makes wings, <br /> and, winking back:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Gooooooooo Eagles!<br /><br /> But we PULL BACK to reveal that the girl is now in a newspaper <br /> office, demonstrating the fight sign to SMITTY, a reporter <br /> wearing a fedora with a bent-back brim. Smitty howls with <br /> laughter.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> (wheezing)<br /> ...Once 'The Munce'... Holy...<br /><br /> Amy sits down behind a typewriter and, as she starts typing <br /> at 80 words per minute:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> And is this guy from chumpsville?!<br /> I pulled the old mother routine --<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Adenoids?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Lumbago.<br /><br /> Behind her an ancient man wearing an inksman's visor and <br /> sleeve garters toils over a large checkerboarded surface <br /> over which he shuffles letter blocks and black spaces.<br /><br /> Smitty gives a low whistle.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> That gag's got whiskers on it!<br /><br /> The PHONE RINGS and Smitty reaches for it.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I'm telling you, Smitty, the board <br /> of Hudsucker is up to something --<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> (into phone)<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> ANCIENT PUZZLER<br /> Say, Amy, what's a six-letter word <br /> for an affliction of the hypothalmus?<br /><br /> Without a break in her typing:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- And it's a cinch -- Goiter -- <br /> it's a cinch this guy isn't in on <br /> it. How much time to make the Late <br /> Final?<br /><br /> Smitty holds the phone away from his ear.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Chief.<br /><br /> Still typing, Amy whistles and nods to her shoulder.<br /><br /> Smitty tucks the phone into it as she continues typing.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Hiya, Chief, just the person I wanted <br /> to apologize to...<br /><br /> Smitty is looking at his watch.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> About seven minutes.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (still typing)<br /> Yeah, I was all wet about your idea <br /> man... Well, thanks for being so <br /> generous... It is human, and you are <br /> divine... No, he's no faker. He's <br /> the 100% real McCoy beware-of-<br /> imitations genuine article: the guy <br /> is a real moron --<br /><br /> To the Ancient Puzzler:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- as in a five-letter word for <br /> imbecile --<br /><br /> Back into phone:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- as pure a specimen as I've ever <br /> run across... Am I sure he's a nitwit? <br /> Heck, if working at the Argus doesn't <br /> make me an expert then my name isn't <br /> Amy Archer and I've never won the <br /> Pulitzer Prize...<br /><br /> Her eyes narrow.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...In 1957... My series on the <br /> reunited triplets -- come on down <br /> here, hammerhead, and I'll show it <br /> to ya...<br /><br /> ANCIENT PUZZLER<br /> Amy, what's a three-letter word for <br /> a flightless bird?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Not now, Morris, I'm busy -- That's <br /> right, I said hammerhead, as in a <br /> ten-letter word for a smug bullying <br /> self-important newspaperman --<br /><br /> To Morris:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- Gnu --<br /><br /> Into phone:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- who couldn't find --<br /><br /> To Morris:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- That's G-N-U --<br /><br /> Into phone:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- couldn't find the Empire State <br /> Building with a compass, a road map <br /> and a native guide.<br /><br /> To Morris:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- or emu.<br /><br /> She slams down the phone. To Smitty:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...And that's just the potatoes, <br /> Smitty, here comes the gravy: The <br /> chump really likes me. A Muncie girl!<br /><br /> Smitty bursts out laughing.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Better off falling for a rattlesnake.<br /><br /> As she continues to type:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I'm tellin' ya, this guy's just the <br /> patsy and I'm gonna find out what <br /> for. There's a real story, Smitty, <br /> some kind of plot, a setup, a cabal, <br /> a -- oh, and say, did I tell ya?!<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> He didn't offer you money.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> A sawbuck!<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Ten dollars? Let's grab a highball!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> On Norville Barnes!<br /><br /> She rips the page out of the typewriter, swivels in her chair <br /> to FACE CAMERA as we TRACK IN CLOSE and she hollers:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Copy!<br /><br /> DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:<br /><br /> PRESSES<br /><br /> rolling, churning out great quantities of newsprint.<br /><br /> Papers piling up one on top of the other, very many, very <br /> quickly.<br /><br /> DELIVERY MAN<br /><br /> throwing a baled stack of papers off the back of his truck.<br /><br /> BALED PAPER<br /><br /> rolling into the f.g. A hand ENTERS FRAME to snip its wires <br /> and wipe off the top paper.<br /><br /> PAPER BOY<br /><br /> wearing an apron and a little paper boy cap, mouthing "Extra! <br /> Extra!" as he holds one of the papers aloft.<br /><br /> PAN UP his arm TO the newspaper and, BEYOND it, the towering <br /> Hudsucker Building.<br /><br /> All of the above --<br /><br /> DISSOLVING WITH:<br /><br /> NEWSPAPER<br /><br /> spinning TOWARDS the CAMERA and STOPPING FULL FRAME.<br /><br /> Its headline, over a picture of Norville smiling, is "IMBECILE <br /> HEADS HUDSUCKER." The subheadline: "Not a Brain in his Head."<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE - NEWSPAPER<br /><br /> is angrily slammed down to reveal that Norville has been <br /> reading the inside.<br /><br /> His face twisting with fury, he leans forward and hits the <br /> intercom.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Miss Smith, can you come in please <br /> to take a letter...<br /><br /> Muttering to himself:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...of all the cockamamie...<br /><br /> Amy is bustling in holding a steno pad and a pencil.<br /><br /> As she seats herself in front of his desk, he rises to pace <br /> behind it.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Did you happen to see the front <br /> page of today's Manhattan Argus?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well, I... didn't bother to read the <br /> article. I didn't think the picture <br /> did you justice.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> The picture was fine! It's what that <br /> knuckle-headed dame wrote underneath! <br /> Of all the irresponsible... Amy, <br /> take this down: Dear Miss Archer. I <br /> call you 'Miss' because you seem to <br /> have 'missed' the boat completely on <br /> this one! How on earth would you <br /> know whether I'm an imbecile when <br /> you don't even have the guts to come <br /> in here and interview me man to man! <br /> No, change 'guts' to 'courage.' No, <br /> make it 'common decency.' These wild <br /> speculations about my intelligence --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- or lack thereof?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (nodding)<br /> -- these preposterous inventions, <br /> would be better suited to the pages <br /> of Amazing Tales Magazine. If the <br /> editors of the Manhattan Argus see <br /> fit to publish the rantings of a <br /> disordered mind, perhaps they will <br /> see fit to publish this letter! But <br /> I doubt it. I most seriously doubt <br /> it. As I doubt also that you could <br /> find a home at Amazing Tales, a <br /> periodical which I have enjoyed for <br /> many years. Yours sincerely, et <br /> cetera.<br /><br /> He drifts into thought.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Is that all, Mr. Barnes?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Well, you know me, Amy, at least <br /> better than that that dame does. Do <br /> you think I'm an imbecile?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I'm sure I --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Go on, tell the truth; I trust you <br /> and I put a lot of stock in your <br /> opinion.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well, I --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh sure, you're biased -- you're a <br /> fellow Muncian. But would an imbecile <br /> come up with this?<br /><br /> He whips the cover sheet off a display pad resting on an <br /> easel to reveal a large piece of graph paper with a circle <br /> rendered onto it.<br /><br /> Amy looks, puzzled, from the circle to Norville's proudly <br /> beaming face.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...I designed it myself and this is <br /> just the sweet baby that can put <br /> Hudsucker right back on top.<br /><br /> Amy is bewildered. Norville explains:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...You know! For kids!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Why don't I just type this up...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Aww, naw, Amy, that won't be <br /> necessary. I shouldn't send it; she's <br /> just doing her job, I guess.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well, I don't know; maybe she does <br /> deserve it. Maybe she should've come <br /> in to face you man to man.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, she probably had a deadline...<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Sure, but -- she could still have <br /> gotten your side for the record!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, it's done now -- what's the <br /> use of grousing about it. Forget the <br /> letter, Amy, I just had to blow off <br /> some steam...<br /><br /> She gets up to leave, and is heading for the door when <br /> Norville adds:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...She's probably just a little <br /> confused.<br /><br /> Amy turns at the door.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Confused?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Yeah, you know, probably one of these <br /> fast-talking career gals, thinks <br /> she's one of the boys. Probably is <br /> one of the boys, if you know what I <br /> mean.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (through clenched <br /> teeth)<br /> I'm quite sure I don't know what you <br /> mean.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Yeah, you know. Suffers from one of <br /> these complexes they have nowadays. <br /> Seems pretty obvious, doesn't it? <br /> She's probably very unattractive and <br /> bitter about it.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Oh, is that it!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Yeah, you know. Probably dresses in <br /> men's clothing, swaps drinks with <br /> the guys at the local watering hole, <br /> and hobnobs with some smooth talking <br /> heel in the newsroom named Biff or <br /> Smoocher or...<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Smitty.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Exactly. And I bet she's ugly.<br /> Real ugly. Otherwise, why wouldn't <br /> they print her picture next to her <br /> byline?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Maybe she puts her work ahead of her <br /> personal appearance.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I bet that's exactly what she tells <br /> herself! But you and I both know <br /> she's just a dried-up bitter old <br /> maid. Say, how about you and I grab <br /> a little dinner and a show after <br /> work? I was thinking maybe The King <br /> and I --<br /><br /> Whap! Amy slaps him.<br /><br /> He stares.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...How about Oklahoma?<br /><br /> As she stalks out of the office:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Norville Barnes, you don't know a <br /> thing about that woman! You don't <br /> know who she really is! And only a <br /> numbskull thinks he knows things <br /> about things he knows nothing about!<br /><br /> He stares, rubbing his cheek.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Say, what gives?<br /><br /> WHISTLE<br /><br /> SHRIEKING.<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> CLOCK<br /><br /> Reading five o'clock.<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> WORKERS<br /><br /> Rising from their desks, collecting personal effects, putting <br /> on their hats and coats.<br /><br /> TIME CLOCK<br /><br /> Busy hands punch out.<br /><br /> INT. EMPTY HALLWAY<br /><br /> Of the executive floor. A security man walks down the hall, <br /> whistling, swinging a ring of keys. After he passes the door <br /> to the ladies' room it opens, Amy peeks out, emerges, goes <br /> into Norville's office.<br /><br /> INT. NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> She goes to the desk, takes out the appointment book, flips <br /> through it.<br /><br /> BOOK<br /><br /> Still empty except for the one date with the Wilkie Grammer <br /> School Junior Achievers Club, which now has a red line drawn <br /> across it with the notation CANCELED.<br /><br /> AMY<br /><br /> looks around the office -- notices something.<br /><br /> DOOR<br /><br /> Set into the wall to one side it is topped by a small plaque: <br /> AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.<br /><br /> Amy tries the knob, which turns, and enters.<br /><br /> INT. ROOM<br /><br /> It is big and dim, several stories high, with spiral <br /> staircases reaching into, and catwalks criss-crossing, the <br /> gloom above. It is filled with contraptions -- works, cogs, <br /> gears. There is no window, but on what would be the window <br /> wall there is an enormous iron ring with a metal rod sweeping <br /> an interior circle. It is the backside of the great Hudsucker <br /> clock.<br /><br /> Amy gazes about. She crosses to a door opposite the one she <br /> entered from.<br /><br /> She stoops to peek through its keyhole.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> We are LOOKING INTO Sidney J. Mussburger's office.<br /><br /> Mussburger sits at his desk barking into a Dictaphone.<br /><br /> CLICK-CLICK-CLICK -- the PERPETUAL MOTION BALLS on his desk <br /> are going full-tilt; THRUMMMMMMM -- the CLOCK'S exterior <br /> second hand sweeps a shadow across the office.<br /><br /> Mussburger, it seems, never sleeps.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Memo. From the desk of Sidney J.<br /> Mussburger. Executive order number <br /> 530 slash A49. To: Director of the <br /> Jacksonville Facility. Copies to: <br /> Legal Affairs, Business Affairs, <br /> Central Files. Re: Movement of Raw <br /> Materials from the Huron Facility. <br /> Due to unfavorable news in the slag <br /> markets, Jacksonville inventory must <br /> be reduced by 15 percent with overflow <br /> diverted to the Waukegan Stamping <br /> Facility. Memo. From the desk of <br /> Sidney J. Mussburger. Executive order <br /> number 530 slash A50. To: Director <br /> of --<br /><br /> BACK TO SCENE<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Watchoo doin' down they, Miss Archuh?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Huh?!<br /><br /> She straightens and turns.<br /><br /> Facing her is a very old BLACK MAN in a janitor's jumpsuit <br /> with HUDSUCKER INDUSTRIES/The Future Is Now emblazoned across <br /> it. We might recognize his voice as that of the narrator who <br /> opened the movie.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Who are you? How did you know who I <br /> am?<br /><br /> MOSES (BLACK MAN)<br /> Ah guess ole Moses knows jes about <br /> ever'thing, leastways if it concerns <br /> Hudsuckuh.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> But -- who are you -- what d'you do <br /> here?<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> Ah keeps the ol' circle turning -- <br /> this ol' clock needs plenty o' care. <br /> Time is money, Miss Archuh, and money -- <br /> it drives that ol' global economy <br /> and keeps big Daddy Earth a-spinnin' <br /> on 'roun'. Ya see, without that <br /> capital fo'mation --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Yeah, yeah. Say, you won't tell anyone <br /> about me, will you?<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> I don't tell no one nothin' lessen <br /> they ask. Thatches ain't ole Moses' <br /> way.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> So if you know everything about <br /> Hudsucker, tell me why the Board <br /> decided to make Norville Barnes <br /> president.<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> Well, that even surprised ole Moses <br /> at fust. I didn't think the Board <br /> was that smart.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> That smart?!<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> But then I figured it out: they did <br /> it 'cause they figured young Norville <br /> for an imbecile. Like some othuh <br /> people ah know.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Why on earth would they want a nitwit <br /> to be president?<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> 'Cause they's little pigglies!<br /> They's tryin' to inspire panic, make <br /> that stock git cheap so's they can <br /> snitch it all up fo' themselves! But <br /> Norville, he's got some tricks up <br /> his sleeve, he does...<br /><br /> He draws a circle with his finger in the air.<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> ...you know, fo' kids? Yeah, he's a <br /> smart one, that Norville, heh-heh, <br /> he's a caution. Wal, some folks is <br /> square, an' some is hip --<br /><br /> To punctuate, he gives a little jerk of his hips.<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> ...But I guess you don't really know <br /> him any better than that board does, <br /> do ya, Miss Archuh?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well, maybe I --<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> An' only some kind a knucklehead <br /> thinks she knows things 'bout things <br /> she, uh -- when she don't, uh -- <br /> How'd that go?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (bristling)<br /> It's hardly the same --<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> Why you don't even know y'own self -- <br /> you ain't exactly the genuine article <br /> are you, Miss Archuh?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well, in connection with my job, <br /> sometimes I have to go undercover as <br /> it were --<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> I don't mean that! Why you pretendin' <br /> to be such a hard ol' sourpuss! Ain't <br /> never gonna make you happy! Never <br /> made Warin' happy.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (uncomfortably)<br /> I'm happy enough.<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> (chuckles)<br /> Okay, Miss Archuh.<br /> (turns and walks away)<br /> ...I got gears to see to.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (calls after him)<br /> I'm plenty happy!<br /><br /> She is answered only by WHIRRING MACHINERY.<br /><br /> MOSES<br /><br /> Elsewhere in the great room, he is hunkered down next to a <br /> catchment which he buffs with a greasy rag. Amy's VOICE ECHOES <br /> UP:<br /><br /> AMY (O.S.)<br /> ...Hello?<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> (muttering to himself)<br /> Them po' young folks. Looks like <br /> Norville's in fo' the same kind o' <br /> heartache ol' Warin' had. But then, <br /> she never axed me 'bout dat...<br /><br /> As OMINOUS MUSIC SWELLS, we --<br /><br /> FADE OUT:<br /><br /> FADE IN:<br /><br /> INT. CHIEF'S OFFICE<br /><br /> He slams down a typescript.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> I can't print this!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Why not, it's all true! The board is <br /> using this poor guy! They're <br /> depressing the stock so they can buy <br /> it cheap!<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> It's pure speculation! Why, they'd <br /> have my butt in a satchel!<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> (chuckling)<br /> Ol' satchel-butt...<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I know they're gonna buy that stock --<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> You don't know anything! Fact is <br /> they haven't bought it! The stock is <br /> cheap, Archer! What're they waiting <br /> for?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I don't know...<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Amy's hunches are usually pretty <br /> good, Chief.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> You don't accuse someone of stock <br /> manipulation on a hunch, Ignatz!<br /> The readers of the Manhattan Argus <br /> aren't interested in sensationalism, <br /> gossip and unsupported speculation. <br /> Facts, figures -- those are the tools <br /> of the newspaper trade! Why it's <br /> almost as if you're trying to take <br /> the heat off this Barnes numbskull -- <br /> like you've gone all soft on him!<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Come on, Chief, that's a low blow.<br /> Archer's not gonna go goey for a <br /> corn-fed idiot.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> All right, I was out of line. But <br /> you're out of line with this stock <br /> swindle story. Gimme some more of <br /> that Moron-from-Sheboygan stuff --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Muncie.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Whatever. That's what sells <br /> newspapers.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I've got an even hotter story --<br /> The Sap from the City Desk.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Watch it, Archer --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> It's about a dimwitted editor who --<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> Easy, Amy...<br /><br /> He gives her a companionable goose.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> ...Let's grab a highball and calm <br /> down.<br /><br /> She whirls and slaps him.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Back off -- smoocher!<br /><br /> Smitty rubs his cheek, staring as she storms off.<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> (angry)<br /> Say, what gives?<br /><br /> ENGRAVED INVITATION<br /><br /> IT READS:<br /><br /> Sidney J. Mussburger President Norville Barnes and The Board <br /> of Hudsucker Industries CORDIALLY INVITE YOU TO The Annual <br /> Fancy-Dress Hudsucker Christmas Gala Music, Dancing, <br /> Refreshments (Dainties) Formal Evening Attire de Rigeuer. <br /><br /> The MUSIC OVER the invitation -- "WE WISH YOU A MERRY <br /> CHRISTMAS" -- SEGUES INTO the dance music of the Hudsucker <br /> Chamber Orchestra.<br /><br /> DANCING COUPLES<br /><br /> FILL the SCREEN; we GLIDE AMONG them and FINALLY COME to <br /> follow one couple: Norville and MRS. MUSSBURGER, a large <br /> middle-aged woman of the Margaret Dumont-mold in an <br /> elaborately flowered and old-fashioned evening gown, low-cut <br /> in spite of her overly-heavy figure. She wears a large <br /> flowered hat with a rolled-up veil.<br /><br /> MRS. MUSSBURGER<br /> -- So we'd gone out to the Hamptons <br /> and the garden was in positive ruins!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> That must have been quite a <br /> disappointment, Mrs. Mussburger.<br /><br /> MRS. MUSSBURGER<br /> Disappointment? J'etais destroyee! I <br /> was in bed for a week! Positively <br /> sick with fury! I called in the <br /> gardener and said, 'Monsieur Gonzalez, <br /> either those azaleas come up next <br /> spring or you are terminee!<br /><br /> She throws her head back and roars with laughter.<br /><br /> ANGLE - THEIR FEET<br /><br /> As the large woman leans back to laugh, her feet stay planted <br /> on the ground and Norville's rise to be dragged with his <br /> toes scraping the floor through the continuing dance.<br /><br /> MRS. MUSSBURGER<br /> I'm brushing up on my French with <br /> the most charming man, Pierre of <br /> Fifth Avenue. Do you know him?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I haven't had --<br /><br /> MRS. MUSSBURGER<br /> Sidney and I are planning a trip to <br /> Paris and points continental --<br /> Aren't we, dear?<br /><br /> Mussburger has ENTERED FRAME.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure. I'm going to borrow <br /> Norville for a while, if you don't <br /> mind, dear.<br /><br /> MIXING DOWN as they leave her:<br /><br /> MRS. MUSSBURGER<br /> Well, frankly, I...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You have a charming wife, Mr.<br /> Muss -- uh, Sid.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> So they tell me. Norville, let me <br /> shepherd you through some of the <br /> introductions here. Try not to talk <br /> too much; some of our biggest <br /> stockholders are, uh -- scratch that: <br /> Say whatever you want.<br /><br /> ENTRYWAY<br /><br /> As Amy enters in a simple yet stunning evening gown. She <br /> looks around the room, then starts across the crowded floor <br /> towards the punch bowl.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> As Mussburger introduces him to a tall, imposing BUSINESSMAN <br /> in a tuxedo and a ten-gallon hat.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Norville Barnes, allow me to introduce <br /> Mr. Zebulon Cardozo, one of Hudsucker <br /> Industries largest and most loyal <br /> stockholders.<br /><br /> Ignoring Norville's proffered hand:<br /><br /> CARDOZO (BUSINESSMAN)<br /> Dammit boy, what's this I hear about <br /> you bein' an embecile? What the hell <br /> is ailin' ya?! A week ago my stock <br /> was worth twice what it is now! I'm <br /> considering dumping the whole shootin' <br /> match, unless I see some vast <br /> improvement! Dammit, boy, It's a <br /> range war! Either you pull our wagons <br /> into a circle or I'm pullin' out of <br /> the wagon train!<br /><br /> Norville gives him a forced but hearty laugh of reassurance.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> No need for concern, sir; it's only <br /> natural in a period of transition <br /> for the more timid element to run <br /> for cover --<br /><br /> CARDOZO<br /> So I'm yella, am I?!!<br /><br /> He starts peeling off his tuxedo jacket:<br /><br /> CARDOZO<br /> ...We'll see who's yella!!<br /><br /> His WIFE, a small wiry woman, steps in as Mussburger starts <br /> dragging Norville away.<br /><br /> MRS. CARDOZO<br /> Zebulon, you mind now and quit bein' <br /> sech an ole grizzly.<br /><br /> As he reluctantly starts shrugging back into the jacket:<br /><br /> CARDOZO<br /> Aww, I wasn't gonna hurt the boy, <br /> Lorelei...<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER AND NORVILLE<br /><br /> As they make their way through the room Norville is mopping <br /> at his brow with a handkerchief.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I'm sorry, Sid, I thought maybe if I <br /> showed him the long view we might --<br /><br /> Thump! Dabbing at his brow, Norville has walked square into <br /> the back of a debonaire man holding a martini.<br /><br /> The drink sloshes and the man turns testily to face him.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Norville, this is Thorstensen <br /> Finlandsen, who heads a radical <br /> splinter group of disgruntled <br /> investors.<br /><br /> Norville nervously pumps Findlandsen's hand.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Hello, Mr. Finlandsen, so sorry to <br /> meet you -- uh, happy to walk into y -- <br /> uh, pleased to make your --<br /><br /> Findlandsen raises his hand to look quizzically at Norville's <br /> handkerchief which he now holds himself, apparently having <br /> been given it during the handshake.<br /><br /> He hands it back to Norville.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Thank you, sir...<br /><br /> He stuffs it nervously into his outside breast pocket as <br /> Findlandsen stares at him. Mussburger stands watching in the <br /> executive at-ease, hands dug into his pockets.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...I understand your concern about <br /> the down-ward, you know, but I think <br /> you'll find under our strong new <br /> leadership...<br /><br /> As Norville's hand drops from his breast pocket the <br /> handkerchief, perhaps caught on his sleeve, whips out of the <br /> pocket and follows his hand down.<br /><br /> Findlandsen looks down and Norville follows his look, and <br /> stoops BELOW FRAME to retrieve the hanky.<br /><br /> Findlandsen leans quizzically forward and peers down at <br /> Norville, who continues, O.S.<br /><br /> NORVILLE (O.S.)<br /> We anticipate, in short order, an <br /> upward...<br /><br /> In rapid fire, Norville straightens up into -- crunch -- <br /> Findlandsen, whose head snaps back, eyes rolling, a hand <br /> pressed to his nose, drink sloshing; Norville, one hand <br /> pressed to the back of his own head and the other wildly <br /> waving his hanky for balance, takes a staggering step forward <br /> onto the toe of an elegantly-gowned MRS. FINDLANDSEN.<br /><br /> MRS. FINDLANDSEN<br /> Ahhh!<br /><br /> There is a drum roll and, as the lights dim:<br /><br /> EMCEE<br /><br /> grabs the large old-fashioned microphone in front of the <br /> band and grins.<br /><br /> EMCEE<br /> Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished <br /> members of the Hudsucker board. I <br /> give you the king of swing, the rajah <br /> of romance, the incredible, the <br /> unforgettable Mister Vic... Tenetta!<br /><br /> Vic Tenetta takes the microphone from the Emcee who backs <br /> away, applauding as Tenetta starts to croon. He wears a white <br /> dinner jacket. His jet black hair sweeps out over his forehead <br /> in a roguishly pompadoured mat; one forelock droops and <br /> bounces across his forehead.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> SEVERAL BOARD MEMBERS<br /><br /> Clustered in a dim corner of the room, smoking cigars.<br /><br /> In the b.g., brilliantly spotlit, Vic Tenetta continues his <br /> song.<br /><br /> As Mussburger joins them:<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #1<br /> How's it going, Mr. Mussburger?<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Bad.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #2<br /> Good.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> But not bad enough.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #3<br /> Too bad.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> It could be better, it could be worse.<br /><br /> ALL THREE EXECUTIVES<br /> Hmmmmmm.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> The stock's got to drop another five <br /> points if we expect to get controlling <br /> interest. Norville tells me he's got <br /> some hot idea. Can't be good.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #1<br /> Then it can't be bad!<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #2<br /> Couldn't be better if it couldn't be <br /> worse.<br /><br /> ALL<br /> Hmmmmmm.<br /><br /> EXT. PENTHOUSE - TERRACE<br /><br /> where the PARTY NOISE is DISTANT, TENETTA'S SONG just <br /> FILTERING OUT.<br /><br /> We are on a FULL SHOT of the back of a man who stands facing <br /> the twinkling cityscape, but in an odd, leanedback posture, <br /> with one hand reaching up to his hidden face, his other hand <br /> pressed against the small of his back, like a man with a <br /> stiff neck tossing back a drink.<br /><br /> REVERSE<br /><br /> Amy, having just emerged onto the terrace, squints at him.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Norville?<br /><br /> He turns and we see that it is indeed Norville, holding a <br /> dripping icepack against one eye.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...What happened?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh. Nothing, really, just... the <br /> more timid investors are no longer <br /> running for cover.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Let me look.<br /><br /> He does.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Sid found me the icepack.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Let me hold it, or you'll have a <br /> real shiner.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Thanks. People seem to be pretty hot <br /> over this imbecile story.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...I'm sorry.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, it isn't your fault, Amy.<br /> You're the one person who's been <br /> standing by me through all this.<br /><br /> As she rolls the pack gently across his eye:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Norville... there's something I have <br /> to tell you. You see, I'm not really <br /> a secretary.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I know that, Amy.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...You do?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I understand that you're not very <br /> skilled yet in the secretarial arts. <br /> I'm not that skilled as president. <br /> Oh sure, I put up a big front --<br /> (massages his eye)<br /> -- not that everyone's buying it.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I believe in you, Norville --<br /> At least I believe in your... <br /> intentions --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, I don't blame them, really. I <br /> guess I have sort of made a mess of <br /> things. These folks have to protect <br /> their investment. Most of them are <br /> very nice people --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Norville, you can't trust people <br /> here like you did in Muncie...<br /><br /> They gaze out at the city.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Certain people are --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Didja ever go to the top of old man <br /> Larson's feed tower and look out <br /> over the town?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You know, on farm route 17.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Oh yes! In Muncie!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> No! In Vidalia! Farm Route 17!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Uh -- Yes. Seventeen. Yes, I -- well <br /> no, I -- I never really... There's a <br /> place I go now, the cutest little <br /> place near my apartment in Greenwich <br /> Village. It's called Ann's 440. It's <br /> a beatnik bar.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You don't say.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Yes, you can get carrot juice or <br /> Italian coffee, and the people there -- <br /> well, none of them quite fit in. <br /> You'd love it -- why don't you come <br /> there with me -- they're having a <br /> marathon poetry reading on New Year's <br /> Eve. I go every year.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (puzzled)<br /> Every year?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well -- this year -- if it's good I <br /> plan to make it a tradition. Uh, my <br /> it certainly is beautiful --<br /><br /> She nods out at the city to avoid Norville's quizzical look.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...The people look like ants.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, the Hindus say -- and the <br /> beatniks also -- that in the next <br /> life some of us will come back as <br /> ants. Some will be butterflies.<br /> Others will be elephants or creatures <br /> of the sea.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> What a beautiful thought.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> What do you think you were in your <br /> previous life, Amy?<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Oh, I don't know. Maybe I was just a <br /> fast-talking career gal who thought <br /> she was one of the boys --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh no, Amy, pardon me for saying so <br /> but I find that very farfetched.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Norville, there really is something <br /> I have to tell you --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> That kind of person would come back <br /> as a wildebeest, or a warthog. No, I <br /> think it more likely that you were a <br /> gazelle, with long, graceful legs, <br /> gamboling through the underbrush. <br /> Perhaps we met once, a chance <br /> encounter in a forest glade. I must <br /> have been an antelope or an ibex. <br /> What times we must have had -- <br /> foraging together for sustenance, <br /> picking the grubs and burrs from one <br /> another's coats. Or perhaps we simply <br /> touched our horns briefly and went <br /> our separate ways...<br /><br /> AMY<br /> I wish it were that simple, Norville. <br /> I wish I was still a gazelle, and <br /> you were an antelope or an ibex.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, can I at least call you deer? <br /> Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Seriously, Amy, the <br /> whole thing is what your beatnik <br /> friends call 'karma' -- the great <br /> circle of life, death and rebirth.<br /><br /> Morosely:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Yeah, I think I've heard of that.<br /> What goes around comes around.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> That's it. A great wheel that gives <br /> us each what we deserve...<br /><br /> He slaps his fist into his palm.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Tomorrow's my big presentation to <br /> the board. I've gotta show Sidney <br /> and the guys that I deserve all their <br /> confidence!<br /><br /> Sadly:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Oh, Norville --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Kiss me once, Amy! Kiss me once for <br /> luck!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Sure, Norville, sure...<br /><br /> She gives him a peck. They look at each other.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Oh, Norville!<br /><br /> She embraces him. They kiss again.<br /><br /> Norville's eyes widen.<br /><br /> VIC TENETTA<br /><br /> Crooning the end of his song.<br /><br /> DANCING COUPLES<br /><br /> Turn to the bandstand and applaud.<br /><br /> NORVILLE AND AMY<br /><br /> In the midst of a passionate kiss.<br /><br /> FADE OUT:<br /><br /> FADE IN:<br /><br /> DOUBLE OAK DOORS<br /><br /> Labeled "Executive Conference Room." A secretary is hanging <br /> up a sign that reads: "Quiet Please! Board Meeting in <br /> Session."<br /><br /> INT. BOARDROOM - CLOSE ON NORVILLE<br /><br /> Chest and up. His upper torso is swaying, his shoulders <br /> rhythmically rolling as he talks. We hear a WHOOSH WHOOSH <br /> sound from O.S.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- So we have economy, simplicity, <br /> low production cost and the potential <br /> for mass appeal, and all that spells <br /> out great profitability...<br /><br /> CLOSE ON MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> Staring. Holding a just-lighted but forgotten cigar in one <br /> hand, and a still burning match in the other.<br /><br /> NORVILLE (O.S.)<br /> ...I had the boys down at R & D throw <br /> together this prototype so that our <br /> discussion here could have some <br /> focus...<br /><br /> BOARD<br /><br /> Staring, mouths hanging open, in arrested motion much like <br /> when Waring Hudsucker jumped out the window at the previous <br /> board meeting.<br /><br /> NORVILLE (O.S.)<br /> ...and to give you gentlemen of the <br /> Board a first-hand look at just how <br /> exciting this gizmo is...<br /><br /> WIDER ON NORVILLE<br /><br /> Still gyrating. We now see that he has accelerated the hula <br /> hoop around his waist to quite a good speed.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...It's fun, it's healthy, it's good <br /> exercise; kids'll just love it, and <br /> we put a little sand inside to make <br /> the whole experience more pleasant. <br /> And the great part is we won't have <br /> to charge an arm and a leg!<br /><br /> Mussburger's forgotten match has burned down to his <br /> fingertips. With a wince, he shakes it out.<br /><br /> The Board is staring.<br /><br /> ELDERLY EXECUTIVE<br /> Yeah but... What is it?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #2<br /> Does it have rules?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #3<br /> Can more than one play?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #4<br /> (to #3)<br /> What makes you think it's a game?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #3<br /> Is it a game?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #5<br /> Will it break?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #6<br /> It better break eventually!<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #2<br /> Is there an object?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #3<br /> Are you supposed to make it fly off?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #5<br /> Does it come with batteries?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #4<br /> Could we charge extra for them?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #7<br /> Is it safe for toddlers?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #3<br /> How can you tell when you're done?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #2<br /> How do you make it stop?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #1<br /> Is that a girl's model or a boy's?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #3<br /> Can a parent assemble it??<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #7<br /> What if you get tired before it's <br /> done?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #6<br /> Is there a larger model for the obese?<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE #4<br /> Can you do it around your neck?<br /><br /> ELDERLY EXECUTIVE<br /> And finally... what is it?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You know, for kids! It's... it's ... <br /> well, it's...<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> It's brilliant.<br /><br /> The Board looks at Mussburger.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...It's genius. It's just exactly <br /> what Hudsucker needs at this juncture. <br /> Sure, sure, a blind man could tell <br /> you that there's an enormous demand <br /> for this, uh...<br /><br /> He smiles weakly at Norville.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Congratulations, kid, you've really <br /> outdone yourself. Reinvented the <br /> wheel. I'm going to recommend to the <br /> Board that we proceed immediately <br /> with this, uh... with the, uh... <br /> that the dingus be mass-produced <br /> with all deliberate speed. Of course, <br /> as president of the company the <br /> ultimate decision is yours.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well... I'm for it...<br /><br /> As furiously BUSY MUSIC STARTS:<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> TELETYPE<br /><br /> Furiously PRINTING out "EXECUTIVE DIRECTIVE #37451-JL7.<br /><br /> A hand ENTERS FRAME and rips the directive from the teletype, <br /> then hurriedly rolls it into a cylinder and slips it into a <br /> cylindrical metal capsule.<br /><br /> The capsule is popped into a pneumatic tube.<br /><br /> ANGLE - LENGTH OF PNEUMATIC PIPING<br /><br /> somewhere in the labyrinthine substructure of the Hudsucker <br /> Building. We hear a MISSILE furiously HURTLING towards us, <br /> inside the pipe, and ROCKETING by.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON ANOTHER LENGTH OF PIPING<br /><br /> Once again we hear the CAPSULE APPROACH and ROCKET past.<br /><br /> BLINDING RED LIGHTS<br /><br /> as a SIREN BLARES. On a huge board that says HUDSUCKER DESIGN <br /> DEPARTMENT, flashing red letters announce: INCOMING DIRECTIVE!<br /><br /> The pneumatic tube spout shoots out a cylinder, and a hand <br /> eagerly picks it up and yanks it OUT OF FRAME.<br /><br /> A technician in white laboratory smock is reading the <br /> directive as several other white-jacketed technicians crowd <br /> their heads around his shoulders, also reading.<br /><br /> All of their eye and head motions synchronize as they eagerly <br /> read, devouring the document line by line.<br /><br /> A large sheet of graph paper is whipped down on top of a <br /> drafting table. Under the caption OVERHEAD ANGLE is a perfect <br /> circle. Under the caption HORIZONTAL is a horizontal line. <br /> Under the caption VERTICAL SIDE ANGLE is a vertical line.<br /><br /> EXTREME LOW ANGLE - SEVERAL TECHNICIANS<br /><br /> looking thoughtfully down at the rendering. The head <br /> technician is stroking his beard and nodding.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> RENDERING<br /><br /> as a hand ENTERS FRAME and stamps the drawing approved.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> TWO MORE LENGTHS OF PNEUMATIC PIPE<br /><br /> as we hear the CYLINDER ROCKETING by.<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> FROSTED DOUBLE GLASS DOORS<br /><br /> Lettered on the frosted glass is: "ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT <br /> Creative Bullpen." In sharp silhouette on the frosted glass <br /> we can see the three admen working inside.<br /><br /> Two pace back and forth, smoking cigarettes, as they toss <br /> out ideas. The third sits slumped in front of a silhouette <br /> typewriter, his head resting on one hand, his other hand <br /> resting on a half-empty bottle of whiskey.<br /><br /> In the f.g., outside the frosted glass and so not in <br /> silhouette, sits a bored secretary reading War and Peace, <br /> Volume One.<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> We'll call it the Flying Donut!<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> The Dancing Dingus!<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> The Jerky Circle!<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> PNEUMATIC PIPING<br /><br /> With the cylinder rocketing by.<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> "ACCOUNTING DEPARTMENT" WALL PLAQUE<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> HUGE POSTER<br /><br /> Up on the wall of the accounting floor is an enormous <br /> reproduction of the design department's rendering of the <br /> hula hoop. Over the poster is an enormous banner: "WHAT WILL <br /> THIS COST?"<br /><br /> PAN FROM the poster TO a HIGH ANGLE SHOT of a floor full of <br /> accountants sitting at their rows and rows of desks; all are <br /> looking up at the wall poster as they operate their manual <br /> adding machines to the same beat.<br /><br /> All accountants wear identical vests, shirtsleeves, garters, <br /> visors and spectacles.<br /><br /> The head accountant stands in front of the room overseeing <br /> their efforts. He wears a full three-piece suit, a visor and <br /> a pince-nez.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> HUGE BOOK<br /><br /> Being dropped onto a desk. Its cover reads: SUMMARY OF COST <br /> ANALYSIS.<br /><br /> The book is opened and its pages, filled with rows of numbers, <br /> are flipped to the last page where we QUICKLY PAN DOWN TO <br /> the bottom line: Unit Cost... $0.59 Suggested Retail... $0.79<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /><br /> Looking down at the book as the head accountant hovers over <br /> his shoulder, waiting for his reaction.<br /><br /> The executive grimly shakes his head.<br /><br /> BACK TO BOOK<br /><br /> As the accountant's hand ENTERS FRAME to scratch in "$1" in <br /> front of the suggested retail of $0.79.<br /><br /> A hand ENTERS FRAME to stamp the bottom line: APPROVED.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ROCKETING PNEUMATIC PIPES<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT CREATIVE BULLPEN<br /><br /> The secretary in the f.g. is now reading War and Peace, Volume <br /> Two.<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Something short.<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Sharp.<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Snappy.<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> With a little jazz.<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> The Shazzammeter!<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> The Hipster!<br /><br /> Drawing a circle in the air:<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> The Daddy-Oh!<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> The Circle-o'-Gaiety!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ROCKETING PIPES<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> MEN<br /><br /> in asbestos suits throwing down their visors as they scurry <br /> and dive for cover behind banks of sandbags. A fierce <br /> EXPLOSION harshly illuminates the sandbags. As the EXPLOSION <br /> SUBSIDES:<br /><br /> The workmen cautiously peek out over the sandbags, then flip <br /> back their visors and rise to their feet.<br /><br /> THEIR POV<br /><br /> Bouncing among the flaming debris of the explosion is a hula <br /> hoop, still intact.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ROCKETING PIPES<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT CREATIVE BULLPEN<br /><br /> The secretary in the f.g. is now reading Anna Karenina.<br /><br /> The silhouetted ad men, frustrated and hoarse, are still at <br /> it.<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> The Hoopsucker!<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> The Hudswinger!<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> The Hoop-dee-doo!<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> The Hudsucker Hoop!<br /><br /> The third ad man, slouched motionless at the typewriter up <br /> until now, finally raises his head.<br /><br /> AD MAN #3 (O.S.)<br /> Fellas. Fellas!<br /><br /> AD MAN #1 (O.S.)<br /> Ya got somethin'?<br /><br /> AD MAN #2 (O.S.)<br /> Ya got somethin'?!<br /><br /> AD MAN #3 (O.S.)<br /> Fellas! I got somethin'!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> PIECE OF ART PAPER<br /><br /> Printed at the top: Hudsucker Industries Proudly Presents<br /><br /> PAN DOWN to reveal: THE HULA HOOP<br /><br /> PAN DOWN to reveal:<br /><br /> An artist's hand working in fast motion to render the hula <br /> hoop logo: A grinning, healthy 1950s boy with a spray of <br /> freckles, one fist thrown forward, the other behind, as if <br /> doing an athletic frug, a hula hoop spinning with action <br /> lines around his waist.<br /><br /> In seconds the artist has completed the logo and now, also <br /> in fast motion, he writes the slogan on either side of the <br /> boy: "You know... For Kids!"<br /><br /> As the page is ripped off the art pad:<br /><br /> MATCH CUT TO:<br /><br /> PAGE<br /><br /> being carried away in a continuous motion by an engineer who <br /> looks at it, nodding. We see that we are now in an enormous <br /> plant area. The engineer, grimy from his labors in this sweaty <br /> industrial realm, reaches up to pull an enormous lever.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> MACHINES<br /><br /> GRINDING into motion.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> DONUT SPOUT<br /><br /> As it begins to spit hula hoops in massive numbers.<br /><br /> The hoops are spit onto a long metal arm where they rest, <br /> hanging.<br /><br /> A bale of hula hoops is loaded into a Hudsucker truck to <br /> complete its load. The truck door is slammed shut.<br /><br /> IRON GRILL<br /><br /> is thrown up to reveal the display window of a shop just <br /> opening for the day.<br /><br /> In the window is an enormous hula hoop display, with various <br /> hoops strung up on wire in front of a large cardboard diorama -- <br /> "You know... for Kids!"<br /><br /> Reflected in the display window we see crowds of people <br /> scurrying by, indifferent to the display. Inside the shop we <br /> see the proprietor by the cash register, his chin propped <br /> glumly in his hands.<br /><br /> INT. NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Norville sits anxiously awaiting the verdict of Amy who sits <br /> hunched over the ticker-tape machine, studying the emerging <br /> tape. Amy finally looks up at Norville and sadly shakes her <br /> head.<br /><br /> BACK TO SHOP WINDOW<br /><br /> Crowds still scurry indifferently by. The shopkeeper stands <br /> idly in his doorway, smoking a cigarette.<br /><br /> We TRACK IN ON the cardboard display. The displayed price of <br /> $1.79 has been crossed out. Underneath it, inked in: "Reduced: <br /> $1.59."<br /><br /> INT. NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Norville is nervously pacing. Amy still studies the ticker-<br /> tape. Once again she is forced to shake her head sadly.<br /><br /> BACK TO SHOP'S PRICE DISPLAY<br /><br /> The old $1.59 is suddenly covered as the hand ENTERS FRAME <br /> to slap on a sticker: $1.49. A beat. The hand ENTERS FRAME <br /> to slap on a new sticker: $1.29. Then in rapid-fire <br /> succession: $0.99. $0.79. $0.49. Two for $0.25. Free with <br /> any purchase.<br /><br /> ALLEY BEHIND SHOP<br /><br /> where garbage and garbage cans sit waiting for collection:<br /><br /> Hands appear at the back door of a shop hurling a clutch of <br /> hoops towards the trash heap. One errant hoop rolls towards <br /> the mouth of the alley.<br /><br /> The mouth of the alley. The escaped hula hoop emerges and <br /> starts rolling down the street.<br /><br /> HULA HOOP<br /><br /> It rolls across the street. CARS VIOLENTLY BRAKE to avoid <br /> it.<br /><br /> It rounds a corner and rolls up to a little boy, rolls in a <br /> circle around him, and finally wobbles to the pavement.<br /><br /> The little boy looks at it, steps inside it, raises it to <br /> his hips and starts hula hooping. Somewhere a BELL is RINGING.<br /><br /> INT. NEARBY SCHOOLHOUSE<br /><br /> where the BELL is RINGING, the front doors fly open and <br /> hundreds of schoolchildren run out, screaming, heading home, <br /> but all in a dense pack.<br /><br /> The screaming pack of schoolchildren round a corner and -- <br /> stop short, their screams abruptly halting.<br /><br /> They are staring, fascinated, at the hula-hooping youngster.<br /><br /> The children are dumbfounded. It is a moment the likes of <br /> which they have never dreamed.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> SCREAMING PACK<br /><br /> once again running, maniacal, possessed. We don't know where <br /> they are running, but we can guess.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> STORE<br /><br /> Jam-packed with screaming children, grabbing hula hoops off <br /> the shelves.<br /><br /> BACK TO NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Norville sits slumped behind his desk, his head resting on <br /> the desktop, utterly dejected.<br /><br /> Suddenly the TICKER-TAPE HUMS to life and starts spitting <br /> tape. Amy looks at it with mounting excitement. Finally she <br /> looks breathlessly up:<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Norville!<br /><br /> Norville lifts his head from the desktop. A piece of scrap <br /> paper is sticking to his cheek. Dramatic FANFARE MUSIC STARTS <br /> TO SWELL.<br /><br /> We HOLD ON Norville's expectant face. We HOLD. The MUSIC <br /> BUILDS. We HOLD. We:<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NEWSREEL TITLE<br /><br /> We can see the "Tidbits of Time" logo as a solemn-voiced <br /> announcer intones:<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> Rockwell News presents... 'Tidbits <br /> of Time!' World news in pictures, we <br /> kid you not.<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> Picture dissolves to a pan up the Hudsucker Building.<br /><br /> Cut to candid film of Norville getting out of a car, noticing <br /> the camera, grinning and waving as he walks, and taking a <br /> pratfall.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> ...What began as the brainchild of <br /> this Madison Avenue whiz kid is now <br /> a craze sweeping the nation. The <br /> 'hula hoop,' product of Hudsucker <br /> Industries, is a recreational device <br /> that some experts predict may eclipse <br /> the television as a means of <br /> entertainment...<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> A television sits against a neutral b.g. A hula hoop rolls <br /> into frame and bumps the TV, pushing it out of frame.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> ...This dancing dingus of delight, <br /> this jerky circle of gaiety, is <br /> proving to be the toy of choice of <br /> most American youngsters. -- Whoa-<br /> ho! Did I say youngsters?! Here's <br /> mom, taking a break from her household <br /> chores...<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> A woman switches off her vacuum cleaner, takes a hula hoop <br /> that is conveniently leaning against a nearby wall, and starts <br /> hula hooping.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> ...and even dad is 'swinging' into <br /> the act!<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> In the office, dad, smoking a pipe, is also hula hooping.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> ...and so the congratulations pour <br /> in for up-and-comer Norville Barnes, <br /> inventor of the hoop -- including <br /> one very special call!<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> In jerky cinema-verite footage, a woman is excitedly sticking <br /> her head in Norville's door.<br /><br /> WOMAN (V.O.)<br /> He's on! He's on the line!<br /><br /> Swish over to Norville, agog, who picks up his phone and, <br /> voice breaking:<br /><br /> NORVILLE (V.O.)<br /> ...Hello?<br /><br /> CRACKLING VOICE (V.O.)<br /> Hello, Norville. This is the <br /> President...<br /><br /> A half-wipe leaves a split screen with half of the screen <br /> remaining Norville, the other half becoming a still of Ike <br /> standing in a tank turret, pointing commandingly.<br /><br /> Under the photo: VOICE OF GENERAL DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER.<br /><br /> NORVILLE (V.O.)<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> IKE (V.O.)<br /> ...I just wanted to congratulate <br /> you. I'm very proud of you, <br /> Norville...<br /><br /> NORVILLE (V.O.)<br /> Oh my God, sir!<br /><br /> IKE (V.O.)<br /> ...Mrs. Eisenhower is very proud of <br /> you. The American people are very <br /> proud of you.<br /><br /> Flash bulb explosion effects a...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Facing a battery of REPORTERS at a news conference.<br /><br /> REPORTER #1<br /> Mr. Barnes, how'd ya come up with <br /> the idea for the hula hoop?<br /><br /> Norville is holding one hand up to shield his eyes from the <br /> unaccustomed light. Amy stands next to him, beaming.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, it was no great idea, really. <br /> A thing like this, it takes a whole <br /> company to put it together, and I'm <br /> just grateful for the opportunity --<br /><br /> REPORTER #2<br /> Mr. Barnes, did you have any idea <br /> there'd be such a huge response?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, frankly, I don't think anybody <br /> expected this much hoopla --<br /><br /> He is surprised by a burst of laughter.<br /><br /> REPORTER #3<br /> 'Hoopla on the hula hoop' -- can we <br /> quote you on that, Mr. Barnes?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well sure, I guess --<br /><br /> REPORTER #4<br /> Mr. Barnes, are you thinking of giving <br /> yourself a nice fat raise?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Ha-ha-ha-ha. Come on, guys...<br /><br /> Flash bulb explosion effects a...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NEWSREEL<br /><br /> A scientist with a Van Dyke beard, wearing a laboratory smock, <br /> is facing the camera. Behind him we see other scientists <br /> studying a hoop that has been hooked up to a gyroscopic-<br /> looking device that analyzes its various movements and <br /> properties.<br /><br /> NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> What scientific principle explains <br /> the mind-bending motion of this <br /> whipping wheel of wonder?<br /><br /> A title supered over the Scientist's chest identifies him as <br /> Professor Erwin Schweide.<br /><br /> SCIENTIST (V.O.)<br /> Ze dinkus is kvite zimple, really.<br /> It operates on ze same principle zat <br /> keeps ze earth spinning 'round ze <br /> sun, and zat keeps you from flying <br /> off ze earth into ze coldest reaches <br /> of outer space vere you vood die <br /> like a miserable shvine! Yes, ze <br /> principle is ze same, except for ze <br /> piece of grrrit zey put in to make <br /> ze whole experience more pleasant --<br /><br /> TRACKING IN TO:<br /><br /> INT. NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> The mean laugh. Norville, behind his desk in LONG SHOT, <br /> laughing, as we begin to TRACK IN. There is something <br /> disconcerting about his laugh -- it is harder, more <br /> businesslike, colder than the dopey laugh that accompanied <br /> his elevation to the presidency. Or perhaps it is only our <br /> imagination, for while still some distance away from him:<br /><br /> Flash bulb explosion effects a...<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> NEWS CONFERENCE<br /><br /> Newsmen follow Norville as he walks through the lobby of the <br /> Hudsucker Building.<br /><br /> REPORTER #1<br /> Mr. Barnes, did the board consider <br /> you an 'idea man' when they promoted <br /> you from the mail room?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, I guess so -- I don't think <br /> they promoted me because they thought <br /> I was a jerk.<br /><br /> REPORTER #2<br /> Mr. Barnes, what's the next big idea <br /> for you and Hudsucker Industries?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Jeez, I don't know. An idea like <br /> this sweet baby doesn't just come <br /> overnight...<br /><br /> REPORTER<br /> Mr. Barnes, are you --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- Although I'll tell you one thing: <br /> I certainly didn't expect all this <br /> 'hoopla'!<br /><br /> This TIRED old joke brings some polite laughter.<br /><br /> Norville is smiling as he enters the elevator. As its doors <br /> start to close, leaving Amy behind:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...And you can quote me on that!<br /><br /> Flash bulb explosion effects a...<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> NEWSREEL<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> Yes, it's hula hula everywhere! From <br /> the cocktail parties of the Park <br /> Avenue smart set...<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> A group of people in formal evening wear are sipping highballs <br /> and chatting as they keep hoops in motion 'round their waists.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> ...to sweethearts who want to be <br /> married in the 'swing' of things...<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> A young couple stands before the altar hula hooping.<br /><br /> ANNOUNCER (V.O.)<br /> ...To our friend the Negro, in the <br /> heart of the dark continent.<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> Pan down from elephant to two natives hula hooping as they <br /> grin into the newsreel camera.<br /><br /> TRACKING IN ON:<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> The mean laugh. Yes, as we draw closer, it seems clear that <br /> his laugh is colder than before.<br /><br /> Flash bulb explosion effects a...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Sitting in a barber chair, face lathered up, as Reporters <br /> crowd in.<br /><br /> REPORTER #1<br /> Mr. Barnes, Mr. Barnes, Rumpus <br /> magazine has called you the most <br /> eligible bachelor of the year, and <br /> the society pages have been linking <br /> you with high-fashion model Za-Za. <br /> Would you care to comment?<br /><br /> A burning cigar emerges from the lather around Norville's <br /> face. It waggles as he talks.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> There's no truth to the rumors; we're <br /> just dear friends...<br /><br /> He looks to one side.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Isn't that right, Za-Za?<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> ZA-ZA. Standing nearby. Every man's dream, in a tarty sort <br /> of way.<br /><br /> ZA-ZA<br /> (sexily)<br /> Gr-r-r-r-r-r-r-oww!<br /><br /> The newsmen react.<br /><br /> REPORTER #2<br /> Ho-leeee!<br /><br /> REPORTER #3<br /> Mr. Barnes, whither Hudsucker?<br /> Whither Norville Barnes?<br /><br /> REPORTER #4<br /> How do you respond to the charges <br /> that you're out of ideas? Has Norville <br /> Barnes run dry?<br /><br /> The barber is periodically pinching Norville's nose to shave <br /> under it; as he alternately pinches and releases, Norville's <br /> voice breaks from nasal to normal and back.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Not at all. Why, just this week I <br /> came up with several new sweet ideas. <br /> A larger model hula hoop for the <br /> portly. A battery option for the <br /> lazy and handicapped. A model with <br /> more sand for hard-of-hearing. I'm <br /> earning my keep.<br /><br /> REPORTER #5<br /> Speaking of that, Mr. Barnes, do you <br /> expect to get a raise?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, by anyone's account I've saved <br /> Hudsucker Industries; our stock is <br /> worth more than it's ever been. So, <br /> yes, I expect to be compensated for <br /> that.<br /><br /> END TRACK IN ON:<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> The mean laugh. FURTHER TRACK IN ON Norville ENDS in CLOSE <br /> SHOT, his hands clasped on the desktop in front of him, as <br /> he finishes his hard, square-jawed, man-on-top laugh, gazing <br /> flintily INTO the CAMERA.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!<br /><br /> PULL BACK FROM:<br /><br /> WEEPING EXECUTIVE<br /><br /> The PULL BACK FROM a blubbering executive REVEALS that we <br /> are at a Board meeting. All of the Board members sit around <br /> the table except for Mussburger, who, a towel around his <br /> waist, is receiving a choppity-chop massage on a padded table <br /> from a muscular man in a bulging T-shirt.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Pull yourself together, Addison.<br /><br /> Addison snuffles.<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> Nobody told me! Nobody told me!<br /> You sold all of our stock?<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> We dumped the whole load. Now quit <br /> showboating, Addison --<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> I had twenty thousand shares! I'd be <br /> a millionaire now!<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure, we'd all be millionaires. <br /> There's no point in looking back. At <br /> the time, Stilson thought dumping <br /> our position would panic the market, <br /> further depress the stock -- then <br /> we'd buy it all back, and more of <br /> course, once it got cheap --<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> Cheap! Cheap! It's never been more <br /> valuable! And I'm ruined! Ruined!<br /><br /> He climbs up onto the board table.<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> I'm getting off this merry-go-round!<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> Addison!<br /><br /> ANOTHER EXECUTIVE<br /> Myron!<br /><br /> ADDISON<br /> Aaaaahhh!<br /><br /> He runs down the length of the table and hurls himself toward <br /> the window and:<br /><br /> Thwok!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER'S OFFICE - ANGLE FROM OUTSIDE<br /><br /> LOOKING IN, as Addison flattens against the f.g. glass, his <br /> face squushing, his outflung hands likewise.<br /><br /> All stare in horror for a long silent beat.<br /><br /> With the sound of a SQUEEGEE being drawn across glass, <br /> Addison, still frozen, slides down the window, hits the floor, <br /> and falls stiffly back like a fallen tree.<br /><br /> Mussburger sits up and sticks a cigar into his mouth.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Plexiglas. Had it installed last <br /> week.<br /><br /> EXECUTIVE<br /> ...Myron?<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> All right, so the kid caught a wave. <br /> So right now he and his dingus are <br /> on top. Well, this too shall pass. <br /> Myrtle J. Mussburger didn't raise <br /> her boy to go knockkneed at the first <br /> sign of adversity. I say, we made <br /> this kid and we can break him. I <br /> say, the higher he climbs, the harder <br /> he drops. I say, yes, the kid has a <br /> future, and in it I see shame, <br /> dishonor, ignominy and disgrace.<br /><br /> Sure, sure, the wheel turns, the music plays, and our spin <br /> ain't over yet.<br /><br /> NORVILLE'S OFFICE<br /><br /> A small chamber orchestra, the musicians in tails, sit playing <br /> "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik". Norville, eyes closed, reclines in <br /> his desk chair, one uniformed woman stooping in front of <br /> him, manicuring his nails, another, behind, massaging his <br /> temples. A tailor is pinning up his pant cuffs.<br /><br /> A French sculptor wearing a white smock, a beret, and a goatee <br /> squints at Norville and chisels at a block of marble with a <br /> stone chisel and hammer.<br /><br /> A GOON sits off to one side, hat insolently atop his head, <br /> reading the funny papers.<br /><br /> At length Norville stirs, opens his eyes, sits bolt upright, <br /> batting away the hands of the manicurist and temple-massager.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Hold it!...<br /><br /> The musicians' playing dribbles away to silence.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Nobody move, nobody breathe...<br /><br /> All sit frozen. You could hear a pin drop.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...An idea... is coming...<br /><br /> Eyes narrowed, he gazes off into space, squinting for his <br /> idea.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON TAILOR'S KIT<br /><br /> A straight pin is rolling across the top -- it drops off --<br /><br /> EXTREME CLOSE ON FLOOR<br /><br /> Where the PIN -- PING! -- hits.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Deflates. He glares at the tailor.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> It's gone now.<br /><br /> The musicians resume playing. Everyone else resumes work. <br /> The INTERCOM BUZZES and a female voice announces:<br /><br /> FEMALE (V.O.)<br /> Miss Amy here to see you.<br /><br /> Norville leans forward to hit his intercom.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Is she in the book? --<br /><br /> The door bursts open and Amy storms in.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> For Pete's sake, Norville!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh! Hello, Amy -- was it -- I thought <br /> she said, Mamie --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Never mind about that...<br /><br /> She shakes a piece of paper at Norville.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...You know what those nincompoops <br /> in the boardroom are doing?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well, I wouldn't call them nincom --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> They're going to discharge eight <br /> percent of the work force here at <br /> Hudsucker. Why, in New York alone <br /> that means eighteen hundred people <br /> out of work, people with wives and <br /> children and families --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Well yes, we're pruning away some of <br /> the dead wood, but if --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> You mean you know about this?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Know about it? You think the Board <br /> would do anything like this without <br /> my authorization? No, this was my <br /> idea from the start.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Your i --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> We have to be realistic, Amy. You <br /> know things have slowed down a little <br /> here at Hudsucker --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> You're awful kind to yourself, <br /> Norville Barnes -- the fact is you've <br /> slowed down, sitting up here like a <br /> sultan, not doing a lick of work! <br /> Why you know it's ideas that are the <br /> lifeblood of industry and you haven't <br /> come up with one since the hoop and <br /> the reason's plain to see! You've <br /> forgotten what made your ideas <br /> exciting for you in the first place -- <br /> it wasn't for the fame and the wealth <br /> and the mindless adulation of -- <br /> would you get out of here?!<br /><br /> This was addressed to the chamber orchestra, whose playing <br /> dribbles off. They look inquisitively at Norville, then rise <br /> to pack up their instruments and sheepishly leave the office.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...I've been watching you, Norville <br /> Barnes, even though you've been trying <br /> to avoid me --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Now, Aim --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Shutup! -- and don't think I haven't <br /> noticed how you've changed. I used <br /> to think you were a swell guy -- <br /> well, to be honest I thought you <br /> were an imbecile --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Now, Aim --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Shutup! -- but then I figured out <br /> you were a swell guy, a little slow <br /> maybe, but a swell guy! Well, maybe <br /> you're not so slow, but you're not <br /> so swell either and it looks like <br /> you're an imbecile after --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Now, Aim --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Shutup! -- after all! You haven't <br /> talked to me for a week and now I'm <br /> going to say my piece. I've got a <br /> prediction for you, Norville Barnes: <br /> I predict that since you've decided <br /> to dedicate yourself to greed and <br /> sloth and everything bad, you're <br /> going to lose all the good things <br /> that your good ideas brought you.<br /> You're going to throw them all away <br /> chasing after money and ease and the <br /> respect of a Board that wouldn't <br /> give you the time of day if you... <br /> if you...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Worked in a watch factory?<br /><br /> The Goon looks up from his funnies.<br /><br /> GOON<br /> Huh-huh-huh!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> (to the Goon)<br /> Shutup!<br /> (to Norville)<br /> Exactly! Don't you remember how you <br /> used to feel about the hoop? You <br /> told me you were gonna bring a smile <br /> to the hips of everyone in America, <br /> regardless of race, creed or color. <br /> Finally there'd be a thingamajig <br /> that would bring everyone together -- <br /> even if it kept 'em apart, spacially -- <br /> you know, for kids? Your words, <br /> Norville, not mine. I used to love <br /> Norville Barnes -- yes, love him! -- <br /> when he was just a swell kid with <br /> hot ideas who was in over his head, <br /> but now your head is too big to be <br /> in over!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Now, Amy --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Consider this my resignation --<br /><br /> Thwock -- She slaps him.<br /><br /> The bodyguard is on his feet.<br /><br /> GOON<br /> Hey!!<br /><br /> Crack -- Amy kicks him hard in the shin.<br /><br /> GOON<br /> ...Awooooo!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- Effective immediately!!<br /><br /> She strides to the door, leaving Norville rubbing his cheek <br /> and the Goon hopping around on one leg.<br /><br /> FADE OUT:<br /><br /> FADE IN:<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT - PICTURE OF AMY<br /><br /> PULL BACK SHOWS it to be her identification in her Hudsucker <br /> personnel file.<br /><br /> A hand brings INTO FRAME another picture of her -- this one <br /> a newspaper clipping. She stands on a podium accepting an <br /> award; standing behind her are middle-aged identical triplets. <br /> The caption says, "Amy Archer of the Manhattan Argus Receives <br /> Pulitzer Prize."<br /><br /> WIDER ANGLE<br /><br /> We are in Mussburger's office. Mussburger is seated at his <br /> desk looking at the file picture and clipping; the sign <br /> letterer/scraper is leaning over his shoulder, having just <br /> put them down.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Hmmm... Thank you, Aloysius. This <br /> may be useful.<br /><br /> Aloysious nods wordlessly and turns to leave.<br /><br /> As we TRACK IN ON the picture of Amy, we:<br /><br /> FADE OUT:<br /><br /> FADE UP TO:<br /><br /> PERFECT WHITE<br /><br /> After a beat, a woman ENTERS against the unblemished white <br /> background, dressed in a flowing white dance robe, trailing <br /> a long, diaphanous veil. She performs a flowingly sensuous <br /> dance moderne; the MUSIC is a sensuous saxophone solo with <br /> lasciviously bending blue notes.<br /><br /> After the woman has been dancing for several beats Norville <br /> enters, dancing after her, pursuing her. He is wearing a <br /> coatless suit, his sleeves rolled up, his thin tie loosened.<br /><br /> The woman dances around him, letting her diaphanous veil <br /> trail sinuously around his body.<br /><br /> We hear an ECHOING voice:<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Buddy... Say, buddy...<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT - NORVILLE<br /><br /> Sitting in his desk chair, sheened with sweat, eyes closed, <br /> licking his lips.<br /><br /> CLOSER NOW:<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Buddy... Ya busy?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Huh-whuh?<br /><br /> He opens his eyes and looks stuporously about.<br /><br /> Buzz is grinning down at him in his little pillbox elevator <br /> cap.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Looks like ya nodded off there, buddy! <br /> Say, ya got a minute?<br /><br /> Norville clears his throat.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, uh... Buzz... Is it important?<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> I like to think so! It's this little <br /> idea I been working on!<br /><br /> He turns an easel to face the desk.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...Ya see, I don't intend to be an <br /> elevator boy forever! Take a look at <br /> this sweet baby!<br /><br /> The easel displays an oversized sheet of graph paper.<br /><br /> Onto it has been rendered a top view, which is a perfect <br /> circle, and a side view, which is a vertical line.<br /><br /> Norville gazes stupidly at the circle.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...Ya get it, buddy? Incredibly <br /> convenient, isn't it? Ya see --<br /><br /> He produces a tall glass of lemonade with a straw sitting in <br /> it.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> -- this is how it works, it's these <br /> little ridges on the side that give <br /> it its whammy! See, ya don't have to <br /> drink like this anymore --<br /><br /> He holds his head over the glass to drink from the vertical <br /> straw.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> -- Now you can drink like this --<br /><br /> He bends the straw to drink from it at the horizontal.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> ...I call it the Buzz-Sucker, get <br /> it, buddy? -- After me! Buzz! Why, <br /> people are just dyin' for a product <br /> like this, and the great thing is we <br /> won't have to charge an arm and a --<br /><br /> Norville, who has been stewing, finally barks:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Wait a minute!<br /><br /> He grabs the lemonade glass, looks at it, sneering.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Why, this is worthless.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Huh?! But, buddy --<br /><br /> Norville yanks the straw out and crumples it up.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> This is the most idiotic thing I've <br /> ever seen in my life!<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Yeah, but, buddy --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Nobody wants a hare-brained product <br /> like this! Ya see, Buzz, it lacks <br /> the creative spark, the unalloyed <br /> genius that made, uh...<br /><br /> He pauses to belch.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...say, the hula hoop such a success.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> But, buddy --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> And what do you mean barging in here <br /> and taking up my valuable time! I've <br /> got a company to run here --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> But, buddy, you were --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- I can't have every deadbeat on <br /> the Hudsucker payroll pestering me <br /> with their idiotic brainwaves!<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Geez, I'm sorry, buddy --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> An example must be made!<br /><br /> Buzz looks over his shoulder, turns back to Norville.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Wuddya mean, buddy?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Fired! You're fired! Is that plain <br /> enough for you, buster!<br /><br /> Buzz's jaw drops. His elastic chin strap snaps under the <br /> pressure.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Awwww, buddy --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> And don't call me buddy! Out of here! <br /> Out!<br /><br /> Buzz sinks to his knees, weeping. He clutches pathetically <br /> at Norville's pants legs.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Aw, please, sir -- this job, it's <br /> all I got!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Get up!<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> I understand if ya don't like the <br /> Buzz-Sucker! Just lemme keep my job, <br /> I'm prayin' to ya!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> We don't crawl at Hudsucker <br /> Industries! Get out of my office!<br /> Leave your uniform in the locker <br /> room!<br /><br /> Buzz stumbles away, still weeping.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> I'm sorry, buddy... I'm sorry...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Buzz... off! Ha-ha-ha-ha!<br /><br /> As we TRACK IN ON Norville, laughing, there is a low, <br /> unearthly RUMBLE, and his face seems to DISSOLVE INTO:<br /><br /> FLAMES<br /><br /> We PULL BACK FROM the flame of Sid Mussburger's oversized <br /> lighter as he finishes lighting a cigar.<br /><br /> He is sitting alone in the boardroom, but its door swings <br /> open and Norville enters wearing plaid knickers, a little <br /> cap, and a knit shirt that shows his waist starting to bulge. <br /> He has a full golf bag over his shoulder.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Sorry I'm late, Sid. That back nine <br /> at Riverdale is really murder.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Sure, sure, it's a tough course. <br /> Well thanks for coming, kid. I thought <br /> the board room would be a swell place <br /> to chat undisturbed -- it seems we're <br /> having some security problems here <br /> at the Hud.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Ya don't say.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Mm. Ordinarily I wouldn't bother you <br /> with it, but -- this is embarrassing, <br /> kid -- it seems to concern you <br /> directly.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> How's that, Sid?<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> It's not important in itself --<br /> some elevator boy you fired came to <br /> me claiming you'd stolen the idea <br /> for the, uh, the hoop dingus from <br /> him --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Huh?! He -- no, I -- he's just -- <br /> maybe I was a little rough on the <br /> boy, ya see I --<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Ah forget it, kid, ya don't have to <br /> explain to me. He's a little person. <br /> He's nothing. Like I say, ordinarily <br /> it would just be a nuisance. But it <br /> seems -- well, there was a spy in <br /> the company...<br /><br /> He is shoving a file towards Norville, who opens it.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Sure, sure, we tried to kill the <br /> story. But her newspaper won't play <br /> ball... Looks like her story's coming <br /> out...<br /><br /> We TRACK DOWN the length of the board room table TOWARD <br /> Norville, who stares horrified at the file.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...See, kid, the problem the Board'll <br /> have... you hired this woman. Kept <br /> her on, while she made a chump out <br /> of you. Serious error of judgment... <br /> I mean, business is war, kid -- ya <br /> take no prisoners, ya get no second <br /> chances. And a boner like this... <br /> I'm afraid when the Board meets, <br /> after New Year's, your position... <br /> well, it looks like you're finished... <br /> stick a fork in ya, you're done... <br /> washed up...<br /><br /> We LOSE Mussburger FROM FRAME as we TIGHTEN FURTHER ON <br /> Norville, Mussburger continuing off:<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER (O.S.)<br /> ...I'm sorry, kid. I understand this <br /> dolly who betrayed you, she used to <br /> be a friend of yours...<br /><br /> Norville is slowly dragging the golf cap off his head.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER (O.S.)<br /> ...And this elevator dope used to be <br /> a friend, too...<br /><br /> Norville stares, perfectly still.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER (O.S.)<br /> ...Well, they've got your throat <br /> pretty well slit. And when you're <br /> dead, ya stay dead. Ya don't believe <br /> me, ask Waring Hudsucker... Yeah, <br /> looks like curtains. Well, <br /> condolences, kid...<br /><br /> Norville's IMAGE TURNS TO:<br /><br /> BLACK-AND-WHITE IMAGE OF NORVILLE<br /><br /> We PULL BACK to show that it is on the front page of the <br /> Manhattan Argus.<br /><br /> The headline, in screaming nine-point type:<br /><br /> FAKE!<br /><br /> Next to the picture of Norville is the subhead: Idea Man a <br /> Fraud.<br /><br /> Next to the sub-subhead is a picture of Buzz in his elevator-<br /> operator's pillbox hat: Stole Hoop Idea from Genius Elevator <br /> Jockey Clarence "Buzz" Gunderson.<br /><br /> AMY (O.S.)<br /> You can't print that!<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> He grins wolfishly.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> We are printing it! She's hittin'<br /> the streets this evening --<br /><br /> SWISH PAN TO:<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> -- and she's dynamite!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> But, Al, it's the bunk! Norville <br /> showed me his design for the whatsit <br /> the day I met him! Why Buzz couldn't <br /> have invented it -- look at the man -- <br /> he's an imbecile!<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Archer, you're a broken record. Fact <br /> is Gunderson did design it -- <br /> apparently he's some kind of prodigy --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Says who?!<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> You're not the only one with sources, <br /> Amy --<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Smith has a source on the Hud board -- <br /> very senior, very hushhush --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Yeah, and I'll bet his initials are <br /> Sidney J. Mussburger!<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> You've lost it, Aim. You've gone <br /> soft by the looks of it -- soft on <br /> the dummy from Dubuque --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Muncie!<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Whatever! It's no dig on you, Archer, <br /> but this story is hot and you're no <br /> longer on top of it. Why, it's the <br /> scoop of the century -- the other <br /> papers won't have the Gunderson dope <br /> 'til tomorrow -- The Allemeinischer <br /> Zeitung, Le Figaro, they'll be choking <br /> on our dust come mornin' --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> You're fools, both of you! It's <br /> obvious they're out to crucify <br /> Norville! They're trying to destroy <br /> him!<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> (gently)<br /> Amy -- take a break. You've worked <br /> hard on this story -- heck, you broke <br /> it for us! But it's passed you by <br /> and Smith here has taken up the slack.<br /><br /> She is near tears.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> You want slack, I'll give you slack. <br /> You're not putting me out to pasture, <br /> Al, I quit! Consider this my <br /> resignation --<br /><br /> She turns to Smitty --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> -- effective immediately!<br /><br /> -- and swings -- but he catches her before contact, holds <br /> her by the wrist, and sneers:<br /><br /> SMITTY<br /> ...Soft.<br /><br /> Amy swings her free arm to -- thwack -- blindside his other <br /> cheek.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> In flickering black-and-white, he is lying on a couch that <br /> has been brought into his office, gazing listlessly at a <br /> bend straw, being interviewed by someone O.S. The footage is <br /> rough, taking a moment to find focus; the sound is TINNY.<br /><br /> GERMAN VOICE (V.O.)<br /> Dell me vat is first zing droppensie <br /> head ven I menzhon ze vord... Zex?<br /><br /> NORVILLE (V.O.)<br /> (listlessly)<br /> Aww, what's the difference.<br /><br /> BOARD MEMBER<br /><br /> Sitting in a darkened board room, gazing off at a screen <br /> that sends flickering light onto his face.<br /><br /> GERMAN VOICE (V.O.)<br /> Und ven I zpeak of authority?<br /><br /> NORVILLE (V.O.)<br /> Awww, I dunno.<br /><br /> BACK TO SCREEN<br /><br /> GERMAN VOICE (V.O.)<br /> Eggzplain please ze zignifikanz of <br /> ze straw.<br /><br /> NORVILLE (V.O.)<br /> Nuthin', really.<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> A shadow is thrown across the screen as a figure steps into <br /> the beam. He throws the sharp silhouette of a strict Freudian <br /> ANALYST: Van Dyke beard, pince-nez with chain trailing down <br /> to his vest, one thumb hooked into the vest, the other hand <br /> holding a cigar wreathing smoke, which he waves for emphasis.<br /><br /> ANALYST<br /> Patient dizplayed liztlessness, <br /> apathy, gloomy indifference und vas <br /> blue und mopey.<br /><br /> The image on screen cuts to four inkblots. The Analyst sweeps <br /> in a pointer and thwoks each image as he comments on it.<br /><br /> ANALYST<br /> ...Ven asked vut four Rhorschach <br /> stains reprezented, patient replied, <br /> 'Nussink much,' 'I don't know,' 'Chust <br /> a blotch,' und 'Sure beats me.'<br /><br /> ANOTHER ANGLE<br /><br /> The image onscreen cuts to a close shot of Norville on the <br /> couch, mouth listlessly agape.<br /><br /> ANALYST<br /> ...Patient shows no ambition, no get-<br /> up-und-go, no vim. He is riding ze <br /> grand loopen-ze-loop --<br /><br /> Image cuts to a sine wave on a graph, the top of which is <br /> labeled "Euphoria," the bottom of which is labeled "Despair," <br /> and a reference line through the middle labeled "Normal." <br /> There is an X on the declining side of the wave, near but <br /> not yet at the bottom, which is labeled "Patient."<br /><br /> ANALYST<br /> -- zat goes from ze peak of delusional <br /> gaiety to ze trrrroff of dezbair. <br /> Patient is now near -- but not yet <br /> at! -- ze lowest point; ven he <br /> reachensies bottom he may errrrrupt <br /> und pose danger to himself und uzzers.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> Casually puffing on a cigar.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Diagnosis, Dr. Bromfenbrenner?<br /><br /> BROMFENBRENNER (ANALYST)<br /> Patient is eine manic-depressive <br /> paranoid type B, mit acute schizoid <br /> tendencies.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> So patient is...?<br /><br /> He interrogatively twirls a finger 'round his temple.<br /><br /> BROMFENBRENNER<br /> Prezizely. Knots.<br /><br /> The board murmurs.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Prescription?<br /><br /> BROMFENBRENNER<br /> Sree sinks! Kommitment. <br /> Electroconfulsif therapy. Maintenance <br /> in eine zecure wazility.<br /><br /> As he scores each point it is illustrated on the screen behind <br /> him: A patient is forced into a straitjacket by two brawny, <br /> unshaven attendants; electricity arcs between two leads on a <br /> wire cap being wielded by a technician; and lastly, a steel-<br /> barred door is slammed shut behind a stooped and broken <br /> patient who is led, shuffling, away.<br /><br /> Here the FILM runs out, CHATTERING, and the screen goes white.<br /><br /> The projector is shut off and the lights go on.<br /><br /> The board politely applauds.<br /><br /> INT. BAR - CLOSE ON BARMAN<br /><br /> He has a Vandyke beard and wears a cut-off sweatshirt and <br /> dungarees and dark glasses, and has the phone wedged into <br /> his shoulder as he tears open a large cardboard box.<br /><br /> BARMAN<br /> Yeah, just get down here -- he says <br /> he's a friend of yours... He won't <br /> say, but man, is he from squaresville.<br /><br /> He hangs up and we HINGE WITH him to bring the length of the <br /> bar into view. Norville dishevelled, is on the other side <br /> bellowing.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I want a martini! It's New Year's <br /> Eve and I want a Martini!<br /><br /> BARMAN<br /> Daddy, it's like I been tellin' ya --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I thought you served misfits here!<br /><br /> The barman is taking rolled-up blow-beepers out of the <br /> cardboard box and loading them into tumblers to set along <br /> the bar.<br /><br /> BARMAN<br /> Yeah, daddy, that's a roger, but we <br /> don't sell alcohol.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> What kind of bar is it if ya can't <br /> get a martini?!<br /><br /> BARMAN<br /> It's a juice and coffee bar, man, <br /> like I been tellin' ya --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> I want a martini! On this bar, right <br /> now! I've had a martini in every bar <br /> on the way down here, and I'm not <br /> about to --<br /><br /> BARMAN<br /> Martinis are for squares, man.<br /><br /> Suddenly enraged:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> What'd you call me?!<br /><br /> He starts awkwardly peeling off his suit coat.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...You son of a --<br /><br /> AMY (O.S.)<br /> Norville!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Huh?!<br /><br /> He looks stupidly about, the shoulders of his coat down around <br /> his elbows. He sees Amy rushing up.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...Oh, it's you! Lookin' for a nitwit <br /> to buy your lunch?!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Oh Norville, I --<br /><br /> Norville's attention has already left her. He looks for the <br /> missing bartender.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> (swaying)<br /> Barman! Set'm up, fella!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Norville, I'm sorry, I... I tried to <br /> tell you... so many times... It's <br /> hard to admit when you've been wrong. <br /> If you could just... find it in your <br /> heart to -- to give me another chance --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Hey! Where's that martini?!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Just give me another chance, Norville -- <br /> I can help you fight this thing. I <br /> know this last story was a lie! We <br /> can prove it! We can --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Aww, what's the difference. I'm all <br /> washed up... When you're dead, ya <br /> stay dead... Hey, fella!<br /><br /> AMY<br /> Well that just about does it! I've <br /> seen Norville Barnes, the young man <br /> in a big hurry, and I've seen Norville <br /> Barnes the self-important heel, but <br /> I've never seen Norville Barnes the <br /> quitter, and I don't like it!<br /><br /> She starts pumping her arms, slowly chanting.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Fight on, fight on, dear old <br /> Muncie.<br /><br /> She steps back off the stool. Norville watches her dully, <br /> his head swaying.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ...Fight on, hoist the gold and blue; <br /> You'll be tattered, torn and hurtin'<br /> Once 'The Munce' is done with you! <br /> Goooooo Eagles!<br /><br /> She looks hopefully for some effect, but after staring at <br /> her for a slack-jawed beat Norville can only bring out:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> You lied to me! I can't believe you <br /> lied to me! a Muncie girl!<br /><br /> He lurches off his stool toward the door. Watching him, <br /> despair fights with confusion on Amy's face.<br /><br /> AMY<br /> But Norville... I...<br /><br /> She realizes that, though shattered, he is still the simple <br /> innocent she loved --<br /><br /> AMY<br /> ... Oh, Norville!<br /><br /> -- and bursts into tears.<br /><br /> Two loud REVELERS reel INTO FRAME, one of them uncurling a <br /> blow-beeper at the weeping Amy.<br /><br /> REVELER #1<br /> Happy Newby-Newby-New!<br /><br /> REVELER #2<br /> 1959 we dig you the most!<br /><br /> EXT. ANNE'S<br /><br /> As Norville exits. It is night, snowing.<br /><br /> We PAN WITH Norville OFF the bar facade and, ENDING the PAN <br /> in the f.g.:<br /><br /> NEWSPAPER<br /><br /> WIPES UP INTO FRAME. Next to a picture of Norville is the <br /> headline "MUNCIE MENTAL CASE." The subhead: "Hud Chief to <br /> Tend Daisies." Sub-subhead: "Headshrinker Calls Him Walking <br /> Time Bomb."<br /><br /> NEWSIE (O.S.)<br /> Extra! Extra! New Year's Eve Edition!<br /><br /> Norville's hand ENTERS FRAME to push the newspaper away and <br /> leave us looking up the empty street. Norville's back ENTERS <br /> as he stumbles off alone up the street, pulling up his coat <br /> collar as he recedes, the NEWSIE's VOICE continuing:<br /><br /> NEWSIE (O.S.)<br /> ...Ring out the old! Ring in the <br /> new!<br /><br /> CLOSE ON NORVILLE<br /><br /> trudging. VOICES WELL UP, ECHOING. A face looms with each <br /> voice, hellishly lit, superimposed over the walking Norville:<br /><br /> VOICES (V.O.)<br /> ...You're not so slow but you're not <br /> so swell either and it looks like <br /> you're an imbecile after all!... <br /> Noooo, I don't guess you will be <br /> here long... Sure, sure, but even <br /> there they called you dipstick... <br /> lamebrain... dope... schmoe... And <br /> is this sap from chumpsville?!... <br /> imbecile after all... Norville, you <br /> let me down... You let Mrs. Eisenhower <br /> down... You let the American people <br /> down... imbecile after all... <br /> imbecile... I predict you're going <br /> to lose all the good things your <br /> ideas brought you... Please, buddy...! <br /> When you're dead, ya stay dead... <br /> Sure, sure, the kid's screwy -- it's <br /> official...<br /><br /> This last voice and supered face is Mussburger's.<br /><br /> Norville DISSOLVES away to leave us ON Sidney in the:<br /><br /> INT. BOARDROOM<br /><br /> Hellishly bottom-lit board members sit around the table, <br /> conical New Year's hats on their heads. Mussburger, the only <br /> one not wearing a cap, waves his cigar as he continues to <br /> talk:<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...The barred-window boys are out <br /> looking for him now, and we'll see <br /> how Wall Street likes the news that <br /> the President of Hudsucker Industries <br /> is headed for the booby-hatch. Why, <br /> when the doc gets through with him <br /> he'll need diapers and a dribble <br /> cup...<br /><br /> The board murmurs appreciatively.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> ...Let me remind you that our secret <br /> post-New Year's party will be held <br /> in the office of the President shortly <br /> after midnight tonight. Remember, <br /> it's strictly stag, so leave the <br /> wives at home; we'll be showing some <br /> films and, yes, gentlemen, there <br /> will be exotic dancers.<br /><br /> Louder murmuring. One board member leers, a trace of spittle <br /> at the corner of his mouth.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /> Well, if that's all...<br /><br /> With an unnatural rumble he straightens his papers and we...<br /><br /> JUMP UP TO:<br /><br /> HIGH NIGHTMARISH DUTCH ANGLE<br /><br /> of the assembled around the table.<br /><br /> ALL<br /> Long live the Hud!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Norville trudges on, faster, sweatier.<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Ring out the old! Ring in the new...!<br /><br /> People come and go, laughing, talking, blowing noisemakers, <br /> making merry.<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> ...Ring out the old! Ring in the <br /> new! Ring out the --<br /><br /> Thoomp!! Norville has run into someone. He looks up, dazed.<br /><br /> VOICE (O.S.)<br /> Hey, watch where you're -- Say, buddy!<br /><br /> It is Buzz, the elevator boy, dressed in an ill-fitting tuxedo <br /> and a conical party hat. Za-Za is on his arm, towering over <br /> him, leering at Norville.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- Uh... Buzz, I'm sorry, I -- Buzz, <br /> you gotta forgive me! I shouldn't a <br /> fired you, I didn't know what I was <br /> doing! I was a little funny in the <br /> head, I --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Aw, buddy, I don't care about that.<br /><br /> Norville is stunned.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...You don't?<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Nah, that's all forgotten.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> ...It is?<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Sure, Mr. Muss -- uh, Sid said I <br /> could have the job back.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Absolutely, Buzz, I'm glad he --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> But he told me you stole that swell <br /> hoop idea from me. What gives!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But, Buzz --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Say, that was a swell idea!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But, Buzz, you know I never --<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> And Sid says you stole it!<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> But Buzz --<br /><br /> ZA-ZA<br /> Well wuddya waiting for, Clarence --<br /> ? Pop him one!<br /><br /> Boffo!<br /><br /> Buzz swings and Norville hits the snow hard.<br /><br /> BUZZ<br /> Think about that, idea man!!<br /><br /> Norville groggily raises his head.<br /><br /> PASSERBY<br /> Say, isn't he that lunatic?<br /><br /> Norville looks dopily up at the people in furs and party <br /> hats starting to gather.<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> ...that big-shot faker... the Wall <br /> Street fraud guy... nuttier than a <br /> fruitcake... they say he's a menace... <br /> wuddya waitin' for, call a cop!...<br /><br /> We hear SIRENS.<br /><br /> Norville staggers to his feet. The crowd cringes.<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> ...He's on his feet... We can take <br /> him!<br /><br /> Norville bursts through the crowd, running.<br /><br /> Buzz starts giving chase, followed by the braver souls, <br /> followed by the entire mob.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> runs, gasping, turning a corner.<br /><br /> VOICES<br /> ...Down here! He went down here!<br /><br /> Behind Norville, the crowd rounds the corner, led by Buzz.<br /><br /> A VAN is SCREECHING to a halt and out jump two burly unshaven <br /> men in white, one of them holding open a straitjacket, the <br /> other carrying a large butterfly net. They join in the chase.<br /><br /> Norville turns down an alley. A DRUNK drooping off a lamppost <br /> gaily waves a bottle at him.<br /><br /> DRUNK<br /> Ring out the old! Ring in the new!<br /><br /> The crowd is running past the mouth of the alley, missing <br /> the turn-off.<br /><br /> LIMESTONE FLOOR<br /><br /> Norville, gasping, crashes down INTO FRAME, his hands breaking <br /> his fall against the limestone. The CAMERA SPINS NINETY <br /> DEGREES to reveal that it is not floor but wall he has run <br /> into and is now leaning against. Norville looks up, sweating, <br /> gasping.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The massive Hudsucker Building looms dizzily up towards the <br /> stars, capped by the huge Hudsucker Clock.<br /><br /> DISTANT VOICES (O.S.)<br /> Ring out the old! Ring in the new!<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER LOBBY<br /><br /> Norville staggers in. A gust of icy air that comes in with <br /> him flaps a dropcloth off a huge shape that dominates the <br /> lobby:<br /><br /> It is the heroic statue of Norville that we earlier saw him <br /> posing for.<br /><br /> Norville reels over to it, stares dumbly.<br /><br /> STATUE<br /><br /> Mutely -- mockingly -- dignified.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He staggers off to the elevators.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER'S OFFICE<br /><br /> We are TRACKING ACROSS the office TOWARD Mussburger, his <br /> feet up on his desk, laughing demonically, smoking his cigar. <br /> CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK -- the PERPETUAL MOTION BALLS swing <br /> on his desk; THRUMMMMM -- the SWEEP SECOND HAND of the clock, <br /> illuminated now, casts a moving shadow that rolls across the <br /> floor. Evil prevails.<br /><br /> A piece of paper and a pencil lie on his desk; as we APPROACH <br /> WE PAN DOWN and SWING AROUND to read it, LOSING Mussburger <br /> but still hearing his LAUGHTER.<br /><br /> MOVING IN ON THE PAPER:<br /><br /> Musssucker Industries. Hudberger Industries. Sidsucker <br /> Industries. This last alternative has been circled in red. <br /> Below it has been scribbled:<br /><br /> Sidney J. Mussburger, President.<br /><br /> Evil LAUGHTER. Sweeping shadows.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> NORVILLE'S OFFICE DOOR<br /><br /> We are TRACKING IN TOWARD the back of Aloysius, the sign <br /> painter, who is stooped in front of the door. He looks back <br /> over his shoulder, leering PAST the CAMERA, to reveal his <br /> work: Under PRESIDENT Norville's name has been scraped away, <br /> and painted in is SIDNEY J. MUSSBUR...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He pushes past the sign painter.<br /><br /> INT. OFFICE<br /><br /> Dark and empty. Norville is peeling off his coat as he <br /> staggers over to the closet.<br /><br /> We can hear DISTANT REVELRY and the STRAINS of "AULD LANG <br /> SYNE."<br /><br /> Norville has pulled his old mailroom apron from the closet <br /> and is putting it on: HUDSUCKER MAIL ROOM/The Future Is Now.<br /><br /> Norville looks at the door.<br /><br /> THROUGH the glass we see the tail of the last R of <br /> "Mussburger" being painted into place.<br /><br /> Norville throws open the window.<br /><br /> WIND WHISTLES.<br /><br /> He climbs out.<br /><br /> LEDGE<br /><br /> Norville, back against the wall, looks cautiously down.<br /><br /> We hear DISTANT CHANTING:<br /><br /> VOICES (V.O.)<br /> Ten... nine... eight... seven...<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> A sickening drop. Receding snowflakes. On the street far, <br /> far below, a lone car's headlights cut through the falling <br /> snow.<br /><br /> VOICES (V.O.)<br /> Six... five... four...<br /><br /> WIDER ON NORVILLE<br /><br /> We are FLOATING IN; it is the SHOT with which the movie began. <br /> The sweep second hand of the Hudsucker Clock is approaching <br /> the 12 of midnight, the New Year. In sync with the clock the <br /> CHANTING continues:<br /><br /> VOICES (V.O.)<br /> Three... two...<br /><br /> We have COME IN CLOSE ON Norville. A lone tear runs down his <br /> cheek.<br /><br /> VOICES (V.O.)<br /> ...One...<br /><br /> BONG! The toll is right at Norville's ear. Startled, he <br /> reaches up to press hands against his ears. Distantly:<br /><br /> VOICES (V.O.)<br /> Happy New Year!<br /><br /> BONG!!<br /><br /> He can't stand it. Whimpering, hands to his ears, he edges <br /> his way back toward the window.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The open window at a steep angle. Someone inside slides it <br /> shut.<br /><br /> BACK TO SCENE<br /><br /> Norville waves.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> No --<br /><br /> BONG!!<br /><br /> His gesticulation and a shuffle step upset his balance -- he <br /> trips -- falls -- catches the ledge --<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> -- No, please!<br /><br /> He is hanging onto the icy ledge by his fingertips. His feet <br /> dangle away. Snow falls.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> Looking STEEPLY UP.<br /><br /> CLOCK<br /><br /> Its second hand is making its descent.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Falling.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> Laughing.<br /><br /> SECOND HAND<br /><br /> Descending.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Falling, turning lazily in the air -- and suddenly, with a <br /> great moaning sound -- he stops, suspended in mid-air, head <br /> down, feet in the air.<br /><br /> It is much like the freeze frame on Waring Hudsucker that <br /> the title of the film was supered over.<br /><br /> He waves his arms, to no effect, looks around.<br /><br /> PEOPLE IN STREET<br /><br /> Frozen in attitudes of laughter, celebration. Snow sifts <br /> silently down around their motionless bodies.<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER<br /><br /> In his office, frozen with an idiotic laugh pasted to his <br /> face.<br /><br /> HIS PERPETUAL MOTION BALLS<br /><br /> Frozen, one ball swung out but suspended, hanging at the <br /> apex of its arc. Outside the great arched window, snow falls.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He alone can move, but doesn't fall. He looks awkwardly about, <br /> his body in a dive-bomber attitude, canted steeply down.<br /><br /> EXT. HUDSUCKER CLOCK<br /><br /> Its sweep second hand is arrested on its downward sweep.<br /><br /> WHINING NOISES emanate from within.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT - GREAT GEAR<br /><br /> The broom handle has been jammed between two cogs, stopping <br /> them. We PULL BACK ALONG the handle to reveal Moses, who has <br /> thrust it there, and who now TURNS back over his shoulder to <br /> address the CAMERA.<br /><br /> MOSES<br /> Strictly speakin', I'm never spozed <br /> to do this but... have you got a <br /> better idea?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> Twisting back to look up over his shoulder; there is a DISTANT -- <br /> very distant -- SINGING.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> Looking up the length of the Hudsucker Building. Someone or <br /> something wrapped in white is flying toward us, coming down <br /> from the stars.<br /><br /> We can make out a male voice, accompanied by STRUMMING:<br /><br /> VOICE (V.O.)<br /> She'll be comin' around the mountain <br /> when she comes, She'll be comin' <br /> around the mountain when she comes...<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /><br /> He gapes.<br /><br /> ANGEL<br /><br /> -- For it is an Angel, arrives. He is a balding man, wearing <br /> rimless glasses, in a white robe, large feathery wings <br /> sprouting from his back and beating heavily until he comes <br /> to rest, in midair. He puts aside the harp he has been <br /> strumming on a nearby windowsill.<br /><br /> ANGEL<br /> Love that tune. How ya doin', kid?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Mr... Mr. Hudsucker?<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER (ANGEL)<br /> Ta-daaaa!<br /><br /> Presenting himself, he spreads his arms and stamps his forward <br /> foot, forgetting that there is nothing beneath his foot to <br /> stamp. He lurches forward, momentarily losing his balance.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Wooooo!<br /><br /> He rights himself. The halo spinning lazily over his head <br /> has been jarred askew. With a flick of his forefinger he <br /> rights it.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...How d'ya like this thing? They're <br /> all wearin' em upstairs now.<br /><br /> He blows a dismissive raspberry.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...It's a fad.<br /><br /> He pats at his robe, produces a white cigar.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Anyway. I hear you've been having, <br /> uh...<br /><br /> He casually flicks his thumb out of his fist, lighting it. <br /> He lights the cigar off his thumb, takes a puff.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Been having some problems with <br /> the board. The more things change, <br /> know what Iyayayeeeeee...<br /><br /> Pain reminds him that he has forgotten to extinguish his <br /> flaming thumb, which he now waves frantically about.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Jesus Christopher -- That smarts... <br /> Where was I? Oh yeah, the board. I <br /> guess Sidney's been puttin' the screws <br /> to ya, huh, Norman?<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Norville.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Mm. Well, say what you like about<br /> the man's ethics, he's a balls-to-<br /> the-wall businessman. Beat ya any <br /> way he can. Straight for the jugular. <br /> Very effective.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Yes sir...<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Anyway. Any particular reason you <br /> didn't give him my Blue Letter? I <br /> mean, Jesus, Norman, just a dying <br /> man's last words and wishes, no big <br /> deal.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Huh? Oh, geez, Mr. Hudsucker, I <br /> apologize, there was an awful lot of <br /> excitement and I guess I must've <br /> mislaid --<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> It's sittin' in your apron pocket, <br /> right where you left it. Imbecile.<br /><br /> Norville reaches in and -- pulls out the wrinkled Blue Letter.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Oh, geez.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Failure to deliver a Blue Letter is <br /> grounds for dismissal.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Geez, I --<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Ah, it's New Year's, I'm not gonna <br /> add to your woes. I'm just saying.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Yessir.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Well, why don't ya read it.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Sir?<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Yeah, go ahead. Might learn somethin'.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> Yes sir...<br /><br /> He tears open the envelope, reads:<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> 'From the desk of Waring Hudsucker. <br /> To. Sidney J. Mussburger. Regarding. <br /> My demise. Dear Sid. By the time you <br /> read this, I will have joined the <br /> organization upstairs -- an exciting <br /> new beginning. I will retain fond <br /> memories of the many years you and I --<br /> '<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Yeah, yeah, it's the standard <br /> resignation boilerplate -- go down <br /> to the second paragraph.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> 'Many years, uh... I know that you <br /> will be wondering why I have decided <br /> to move on, ending my tenure at <br /> Hudsucker, and here on Earth. You <br /> will be thinking, Why now, when things <br /> are going so well? Granted, from the <br /> standpoint of our balance sheet and <br /> financials, sure, sure, we're doing <br /> fine. However, Sid. These things <br /> have long since ceased to give me <br /> pleasure. I look at myself now and <br /> no longer see the idealistic young <br /> man who started this company. Now I <br /> see only an empty shell whom others <br /> call a 'success.' How has this come <br /> to pass? When and why did I trade <br /> all of my hopes, dreams and <br /> aspirations, for the emptiness of <br /> power and wealth? What the heck have <br /> I done?<br /><br /> As Norville reads Hudsucker casually examines his fingernails, <br /> then pats down a yawn.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> '...Looking back now, Sid, I see <br /> that I allowed time and age to corrupt <br /> my dreams. Instead of fiercely <br /> guarding what was timeless inside of <br /> myself, I let the hubbub of earthly <br /> commerce erode my character, and <br /> dissolve my better self. How is it <br /> that some manage to preserve <br /> themselves where I have failed? <br /> Sidney, I do not know. Perhaps if <br /> others love you, you may more securely <br /> love yourself -- but I am alone. I <br /> loved a woman once, Sid, as you well <br /> know -- a beautiful, vibrant lady, <br /> an angel who in her wisdom saw fit <br /> to choose you instead of I...'<br /><br /> Norville is interrupted by loud blubbering. He looks up.<br /><br /> Hudsucker is weeping loudly into a white handkerchief.<br /><br /> He saws at his nose, gives it a loud honk, and urgently <br /> quavers in a voice strangled with emotion:<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Skip this part...<br /><br /> He waves his hankie in get-on-with-it circles.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Last paragraph, last paragraph.<br /><br /> Norville looks down the page.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> '...And so, Sid, the future does not <br /> belong to such as I -- nor even you. <br /> We have made our compromises with <br /> time. The future belongs to the young, <br /> who may more energetically wage the <br /> battle against corruption. <br /> Accordingly, in the spirit of hope, <br /> and the ringing in of the new, I <br /> hereby bequeath my entire interest <br /> in the company, and my seat on the <br /> board, to whomever is Hudsucker's <br /> most recent employee at the time of <br /> my demise. I know this will disappoint <br /> you -- you, Sid, who have served so <br /> diligently and for so long. But --'<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> -- tough titty toenails!<br /><br /> He roars with laughter.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...That'll show the bastard!<br /><br /> He merrily wipes his eyes.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Yeah, go ahead.<br /><br /> NORVILLE<br /> '...But Sid, let me urge you to work <br /> closely with the new president, and <br /> to keep giving Hudsucker Industries <br /> all your energies -- but not your <br /> soul. For while we must strive for <br /> success, we must not worship it. <br /> Long live the Hud. Waring <br /> Hudsucker...'<br /><br /> Norville gives a musingly appreciative nod.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Geez.<br /><br /> Pleased with himself:<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Yup. It's all there. Well, see that <br /> it gets delivered in the morning.<br /><br /> Hudsucker picks up his lyre and heads back up toward the <br /> stars.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> Sheeel beeee...<br /><br /> MUSSBURGER'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Mussburger still sits frozen in his chair. Outside the great <br /> arched window Hudsucker rises, through the falling snow, on <br /> his way back to the heavens.<br /><br /> HUDSUCKER<br /> ...Ridin' six white horses, She'll <br /> be ridin' six white horses She'll be <br /> ridin' six white horses When she <br /> comes...<br /><br /> We hear a great WRENCHING SOUND from the GEAR ROOM next door.<br /><br /> GEAR ROOM<br /><br /> Moses pries the broom handle loose from the Great Gear.<br /><br /> With a LOW MOAN the CLOCKWORKS start to shudder and turn --<br /><br /> SWEEP SECOND HAND<br /><br /> Lurching forward --<br /><br /> PERPETUAL MOTION BALL<br /><br /> Swinging down --<br /><br /> EXT. PAVEMENT<br /><br /> As Norville falls the last few feet and lands on his face <br /> with one last mighty BONG of the HUDSUCKER CLOCK.<br /><br /> BOOM DOWN<br /><br /> FROM a tavern sign that says ANN'S 440, DOWN TO the front <br /> door, which Norville is entering.<br /><br /> INT. ANN'S<br /><br /> Sitting halfway down the bar is Amy, staring morosely into a <br /> coffee cup. AT the CUT we are TRACKING BACK, PULLING AWAY <br /> FROM her.<br /><br /> Norville enters, comes up next to her and makes the Go Eagles <br /> sign, hooking his thumbs in front of his nose and spreading <br /> his fingers.<br /><br /> Two familiar voices narrate the scene, sounding a little <br /> tipsy:<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> What the heck's he doin', Benny?<br /><br /> Amy looks at Norville, startled. After a moment she <br /> reciprocates the sign.<br /><br /> BENNY (O.S.)<br /> What the heck's she doin', Lou?<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> What the heck they doin'?<br /><br /> Norville and Amy embrace.<br /><br /> BENNY (O.S.)<br /> You know what they're doin' now, <br /> Lou.<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> This I know, Benny.<br /><br /> BENNY (O.S.)<br /> This you're familia' with.<br /><br /> Our PULL BACK ENDS LOOKING ACROSS an elbow of the bar, TOWARDS <br /> Norville and Amy, now in WIDE SHOT. Resting on the bar in <br /> the extreme f.g. are two champagne glasses, half-full of <br /> fizzing champagne.<br /><br /> Norville and Amy kiss.<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> ...Geez.<br /><br /> BENNY (O.S.)<br /> ...Geez.<br /><br /> We hear LABORED, RASPY BREATHING.<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> ...Y'all right, Benny?<br /><br /> In a quavering voice:<br /><br /> BENNY (O.S.)<br /> ...Yeah, I'm... It's just... It's <br /> beautiful, Lou!<br /><br /> Lou also is beginning to sound choked up:<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> It is beautiful, Benny.<br /><br /> Almost weeping as Norville and Amy continue their embrace:<br /><br /> BENNY (O.S.)<br /> ...It's the most beautiful t'ing I <br /> ever saw.<br /><br /> LOU (O.S.)<br /> It's the most beautiful t'ing I ever <br /> saw.<br /><br /> A BARTENDER ENTERS to BLOCK our VIEW of Norville and Amy.<br /><br /> He is youngish, with a beat goatee, wearing dungarees and a <br /> sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves. He looks to either side at <br /> Benny and Lou.<br /><br /> BARTENDER<br /> You cats comin' from a party?<br /><br /> BENNY<br /> Cabbies' affair.<br /><br /> LOU<br /> Hacks' New Year's gala.<br /><br /> BARTENDER<br /> Crazy. Get you anything else? Sangria? <br /> Carrot juice? Herbal tea?<br /><br /> REVERSE ANGLE<br /><br /> We see Benny and Lou are sitting side by side at the bar.<br /><br /> Lou wears a fake whispy beard and white eyebrows and a long <br /> flowing robe; he holds a fake scythe. On the bar next to him <br /> sits a large hourglass.<br /><br /> LOU<br /> Bromo.<br /><br /> Benny is wearing nothing but an oversized diaper, a baby <br /> bonnett and a sash across his hairy chest and thick belly <br /> that says "1959."<br /><br /> He chucks himself in the heart, cocks his head and sucks in <br /> air, then blows it back out.<br /><br /> BENNY<br /> ...Bromo.<br /><br /> BLUE LETTER<br /><br /> Lying on the boardroom table. As a hand enters to lay a <br /> wristwatch on the table next to it, we hear the voice of <br /> Moses, the old maintenance man.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> And so began 1959. The new year...<br /><br /> The hand reenters to lay down a wallet, and then to deposit <br /> a burning cigar in an ashtray.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...And the start of a new business <br /> cycle. When he learned that Norville <br /> owned the comp'ny, ol' Sidney was <br /> upset at first.<br /><br /> We TILT UP to show that Mussburger is walking toward the <br /> boardroom window. Board members silently remonstrate with <br /> him as he tries to wrench it open.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...It's a good thing Doc <br /> Bromfenbrenner was there...<br /><br /> Doctor Bromfenbrenner stands to one side watching, brow <br /> furrowed, a pencil pressed to his lips.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...'cause he was able to keep Sidney <br /> from harmin' his ol' self.<br /><br /> We...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> BARRED DOOR<br /><br /> being slammed behind Sidney who, straight-jacketed, is puffing <br /> on a cigar as he is led away.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...Now Norville, he went on an' ruled <br /> with wisdom and compassion...<br /><br /> BOARDROOM<br /><br /> Again. Norville is eagerly pointing at a design he has up on <br /> an easel: Under the heading BRAND NEW is a large circle. The <br /> side view is a flat line.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...and started dreamin' up them <br /> excitin' new ideas again. You know, <br /> for kids!<br /><br /> The board members look at the design, puzzled.<br /><br /> Norville takes a drop cloth off of a piece of plastic on a <br /> pedestal. He has the board's complete attention.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...An' that's the story of how <br /> Norville Barnes climbed away up to <br /> the forty-fourth floor of the <br /> Hudsucker Buildin'...<br /><br /> He picks up the plastic disc and as he sails it we...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> OUTSIDE<br /><br /> As it floats out the boardroom window.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...an' then fell all the way down, <br /> but didn't quite squish hisself.<br /><br /> We BOOM UP, AWAY FROM the boardroom, to the great Hudsucker <br /> Clock.<br /><br /> MOSES (V.O.)<br /> ...Ya know, they say there was a man <br /> who jumped from the fortyfifth <br /> floor... but that's another story. <br /> Heh-heh-heh! Ya-heh-heh-heh!<br /><br /> We FADE OUT on the clock as Moses' LAUGHTER grows distant <br /> and END MUSIC SWELLS.<br /><br /> THE END<br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> Hudsucker Proxy, The<br /><br />Writers : Joel Coen Ethan Coen Sam Raimi<br />Genres : Comedy Fantasy RomanceEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-60203768470373115552007-05-17T14:18:00.001-07:002007-05-17T14:21:40.580-07:00"BLOOD SIMPLE""BLOOD SIMPLE"<br /><br /> By<br /><br /> Joel Coen and Ethan Coen<br /><br /> LANDSCAPES<br /><br /> An opening voice-over plays against dissolving Texas <br /> landscapes--broad, bare, and lifeless.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> The world is full of complainers. <br /> But the fact is, nothing comes with <br /> a guarantee. I don't care if you're <br /> the Pope of Rome, President of the <br /> United States, or even Man of the <br /> Year--something can always go wrong. <br /> And go ahead, complain, tell your <br /> problems to your neighbor, ask for <br /> help--watch him fly. Now in Russia, <br /> they got it mapped out so that <br /> everyone pulls for everyone else--<br /> that's the theory, anyway. But what <br /> I know about is Texas...<br /><br /> CUT TO<br /><br /> ROAD NIGHT<br /><br /> We are rushing down a rain-swept country road, listening to <br /> the rhythmic swish of tires on wet asphalt.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> And down here... you're on your own.<br /><br /> INT. CAR NIGHT<br /><br /> We are looking at the backs of two people in the front seat--<br /> a man, driving, and a woman next to him.<br /><br /> Their conversation will be punctuated by the occasional glare <br /> of oncoming headlights and the roar of the car rushing by.<br /><br /> The windshield wipers wave a soporific beat. The conversation <br /> is halting, awkward.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> ...He gave me a little pearl-handled <br /> .38 for out first anniversary.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> ...Figured I'd better leave before I <br /> used it on him. I don't know how you <br /> can stand him.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well, I'm only an employee, I ain't <br /> married to him.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Yeah...<br /><br /> Pause, as an oncoming car passes. Finally:<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> ...I don't know. Sometimes I think <br /> there's something wrong with him. <br /> Like maybe he's sick? Mentally?... <br /> Or is it maybe me, do you think?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Listen, I ain't a marriage counselor. <br /> I don't know what goes on, I don't <br /> wanna know... But I like you. I always <br /> liked you...<br /><br /> Another car passes.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...What're you gonna do in Houston?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> I'll figure something out... How <br /> come you offered to drive me in this <br /> mess?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I told you. I like you.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> See, I never knew that.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Well now you do.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> ...Hell.<br /><br /> Another pause. Another car.<br /><br /> Suddenly:<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Stop the car, Ray!<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT BRAKE<br /><br /> Stamped on.<br /><br /> EXT. CAR<br /><br /> Low three-quarters on the car as it squeals to a halt.<br /><br /> A car that has been following screeches to a halt just behind <br /> it.<br /><br /> Both cars sit.<br /><br /> Rain patters.<br /><br /> INT. FIRST CAR<br /><br /> Close on the man, from behind.<br /><br /> He looks at the woman.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...Abby?<br /><br /> She doesn't answer. He turns to look back and we see his <br /> face, for the first time, in the headlights of the car behind.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The car behind them waiting, patiently. Rain drifts down <br /> past its headlights.<br /><br /> Finally it pulls out and passes them slowly, their headlights <br /> showing it to be a battered green Volkswagon. First the car <br /> itself, then its red taillights, disappear into the rain.<br /><br /> BACK TO THE MAN<br /><br /> Cutting between him and the woman, each from behind.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...You know that car?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> No.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> What's the matter?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> I don't know... I just think maybe <br /> I'm making a mistake...<br /><br /> She looks at the man.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> ...What was that back there?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Back where?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Sign.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I don't know. Motel... Abby--<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Ray. Did you mean that, what you <br /> said before, or were you just being <br /> a gentleman?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Abby, I like you, but it's no point <br /> starting anything now.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I mean, I ain't a marriage counselor--<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> The man is uncomfortable.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> ...What do you want to do?<br /><br /> The woman is uncomfortable. After a long pause:<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> ...What do you want to do?<br /><br /> MOTEL ROOM<br /><br /> Pulling back from RAY and ABBY in bed, making love.<br /><br /> The only light is from cars passing along the highway outside. <br /> Each sweeping light-by ends in black.<br /><br /> The pullback ends in a wide shot of the motel room. The black <br /> following the last car lingers.<br /><br /> A telephone rings.<br /><br /> SAME WIDE SHOT MORNING<br /><br /> Ray and Abby are asleep. On a nightstand next to the bed, <br /> the telephone is ringing.<br /><br /> Ray stirs, reaches for the phone.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Hello.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Having a good time?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...What? Who is this?<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I don't know, who's this?<br /><br /> A silence at both ends.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> ...You still there?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Yeah, I'm still here.<br /><br /> Ray listens to another silence. It ends with a disconnect.<br /><br /> Abby is stirring as Ray gets out of bed.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...Ray?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> What was that?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Your husband.<br /><br /> BAR BACK OFFICE NIGHT<br /><br /> We are tracking past a man seated behind a wooden desk, <br /> towards an 8 x 10 black-and-white photograph that has just <br /> been slapped down on the desktop.<br /><br /> The picture is of Abby and Ray in bed together in the motel <br /> room.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I know a place you can get that <br /> framed.<br /><br /> The voice is familiar as that of the narrator whose musings <br /> on life in Texas and the Soviet Union opened the movie.<br /><br /> We cut to him.<br /><br /> He is settling himself into a chair facing the desk. He is <br /> LOREN VISSER, a large unshaven man in a misshapen yellow <br /> leisure suit.<br /><br /> He smiles at the man behind the desk.<br /><br /> JULIAN MARTY<br /><br /> Sits staring down at the photograph. Behind him a window <br /> opens on the bar proper. Country-western music filters in <br /> from the bar.<br /><br /> Marty is not pleased.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What did you take these for?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> What do you mean...<br /><br /> He removes a pouch of tobacco from his breast pocket and <br /> nonchalantly starts rolling a cigarette.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...Just doin' my job.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> You called me, I knew they were there, <br /> so what do I need these for?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Well, I don't know... Call it a fringe <br /> benefit.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> How long did you watch her?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Most of the night...<br /><br /> He lights his cigarette, then slaps his lighter onto the <br /> desktop.<br /><br /> It is silver, engraved on the top with a lariat spelling out <br /> "Loren" in script, and on the side with a declaration that <br /> he is "Elks Man of the Year."<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...They'd just rest a few minutes <br /> and then get started again. Quite <br /> something.<br /><br /> Marty stares down at the photograph.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> You know in Greece they cut off the <br /> head of the messenger who brought <br /> bad news.<br /><br /> A smoke ring floats into frame from offscreen.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Now that don't make much sense.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> No. It just made them feel better.<br /><br /> Marty rises and goes to a safe behind his desk.<br /><br /> Visser laughs as he watches Marty.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Well first off, Julian, I don't know <br /> what the story is in Greece but in <br /> this state we got very definite laws <br /> about that...<br /><br /> Marty, hunched over the standing safe behind his desk, tosses <br /> in the photograph and takes out a pay envelope.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...Second place I ain't a messenger, <br /> I'm a private investigator. And third <br /> place--and most important--it ain't <br /> such bad news. I mean you thought he <br /> was a colored.<br /> (he laughs)<br /> ...You're always assumin' the worst...<br /><br /> Visser blows another smoke ring, pushes a fat finger through <br /> the middle of it, and beams at Marty.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...Anything else?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Yeah, don't come by here any more. <br /> If I need you again I know which <br /> rock to turn over.<br /><br /> Marty scales the pay envelope across the desk. It hits Visser <br /> in the chest and bounces to the floor.<br /><br /> Visser looks stonily down at the envelope; no expression for <br /> a beat. Then he roars with laughter.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> That's good... "which rock to turn <br /> over"... that's very good...<br /><br /> Sighing, he leans forward to pick up the envelope. He rises, <br /> straightens his cowboy hat, and walks over to a screen door <br /> letting out on the bar's back parking lot.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Well, gimme a call whenever you wanna <br /> cut off my head...<br /><br /> He pauses at the door, cocks his head, then turns back to <br /> the desk and picks up his cigarette lighter. Returning to <br /> the door:<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...I can crawl around without it.<br /><br /> The door slams shut behind him.<br /><br /> Marty scowls at the back door. After a moment he rises and <br /> crosses the office to the window looking out on the bar.<br /><br /> Over Marty's shoulder we see the long bar leading up to the <br /> window in perpendicular. The camera is tracking forward, <br /> past Marty, to frame on the window.<br /><br /> A black man is just now vaulting the near end of the bar, <br /> over onto the customer side.<br /><br /> MATCH CUT TO:<br /><br /> MARTY'S BAR<br /><br /> REVERSE ANGLE VAULTING MAN<br /><br /> Tracking back with him as he lands on the customer side and <br /> heads across the bar. This shot, from the other side of the <br /> back-office window, reveals the window to be one-way glass <br /> mirrored on this side<br /><br /> MEURICE, the black bartender, is muscular, about 200 pounds, <br /> dressed in white pants and a sleeveless T-shirt. He is making <br /> his way through the crowd towards the jukebox.<br /><br /> Another man stands in front of it examining the selections.<br /><br /> He deposits a quarter.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Hold it, hold it. What's tonight?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> What?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> What night is it?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> (studying Meurice)<br /> ...Friday?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Right. Friday night is Yankee night. <br /> Where're you from?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Lubbock?<br /><br /> Meurice shakes his head and punches the selector buttons on <br /> the jukebox.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Right. I'm from Detroit<br /> (turning to leave)<br /> It's a big city up north with tall <br /> buildings.<br /><br /> A Motown song drops. We track behind Meurice as he makes his <br /> way back toward the bar. When he reaches it, he claps a couple <br /> of people on the shoulder, who make way for him. He vaults <br /> back over the top, walks down the bar, and stops in from of <br /> an attractive white woman sitting on a bar stool and sipping <br /> a brandy.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Where was I?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> You we telling me about the Ring of <br /> Fire.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Yeah, well, I may be getting in over <br /> my head here, I mean you're the <br /> geologist, but my theory for what <br /> it's worth, you got all these <br /> volcanoes and each time one pops <br /> it's the equivalent of what, twenty, <br /> thirty megatons of TNT? Enough to <br /> light Las Vegas for how long? How <br /> many years? Course, I'm no <br /> mathematician but--<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Meurice.<br /><br /> Marty is approaching from the direction of the office.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Yeah, I know. Pour 'em short.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Has Ray come in yet?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> No, he's off tonight. Where was he <br /> last night?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> (glaring)<br /> How would I know?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> I don't know, didn't he call?<br /><br /> Marty loses his glare and his gaze drifts over to the woman. <br /> After an awkward pause, Meurice clears his throat.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Marty, I'd like you to meet an <br /> old friend of mine, Debra. Debra, <br /> this is Julian Marty, the dude I'm <br /> always talking about.<br /><br /> She is unselfconsciously returning Marty's stare.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> If he does come in I'm not here... <br /> What were you drinking, Debra?<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> Remy.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> You've got a very sophisticated <br /> palate.<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> Thanks.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Give Debra here another drink, and <br /> give me the usual.<br /><br /> Meurice walks down the bar.<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> ...What's a palate?<br /><br /> Marty studies her for a beat, she studies him, he smiles.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Listen, I got tickets for the Oilers <br /> and the Rams next week in the <br /> Astrodome. Ever sat on the fifty <br /> yard line?<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> I don't follow baseball.<br /><br /> Marty laughs.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> You won't have to. I'll explain what <br /> a palate is.<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> You won't have to. I just wanted to <br /> see if you knew.<br /><br /> Marty smiles bleakly. Debra drains her glass as Meurice <br /> returns. He sets another Cognac in front of Debra, and a <br /> glass of milk in front of Marty.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What's this?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> You said the usual--<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Red Label.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> (picking up the milk)<br /> Right. Sorry.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Pour that back.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> What.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Don't throw that out.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Right.<br /><br /> He wanders on down the bar; Marty's attention returns to the <br /> woman.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> So how long have you know Meurice?<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> About ten years.<br /><br /> Marty's attention is caught by something down the bar. He <br /> half-rises from his stool.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What--Waitaminute--What...<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> Meurice is pouring the milk down the sink. He looks innocently <br /> up.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> What.<br /><br /> BACK TO MARTY<br /><br /> Angry but not knowing what to say. He glances around the <br /> bar, sinks slowly back onto his stool.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Deuce in the corner needs help.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Right.<br /><br /> Marty sits staring across the bar for a moment, nods a couple <br /> of times at nothing in particular, then looks back at the <br /> woman.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...So what're you doing tonight?<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> Going out with Meurice.<br /><br /> Marty tosses a beer nut into his mouth.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Tell him you have a headache.<br /><br /> Debra gives him a level stare.<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> It'll pass.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> We don't seem to be communicating--<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> You want to hustle me. I don't want <br /> to be hustled. It's as simple as <br /> that. Now that I've communicated, <br /> why don't you leave?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> I own the place.<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> Christ, I'm getting bored.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> I'm not surprised, the company you've <br /> been keeping the last ten years.<br /><br /> They both fall silent as Meurice enters frame. He takes a <br /> bottle from the bar and pours himself a drink.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What's this?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> What.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> (pointing at Meurice's <br /> drink)<br /> This.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Jack Daniels. Don't worry, I'm paying <br /> for it.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> That's not the point.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> What's the point?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> The point is we don't serve niggers <br /> here.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Where?<br /> (he looks over his <br /> shoulder; up and <br /> down the bar)<br /> ...I'm very careful about that.<br /><br /> Marty tosses back Meurice's drink, then turns to Debra, <br /> smiling.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> He thinks I'm kidding. Everybody <br /> thinks I'm kidding;<br /> (as he turns to leave)<br /> if Ray comes in I'm not home.<br /><br /> Debra watches him go, then turns back to Meurice.<br /><br /> DEBRA<br /> Nice guy.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Not really. What'd you say your last <br /> name was?<br /><br /> MARTY'S HOUSE TRACKING DOWN HALLWAY<br /><br /> We are following a large German shepherd as it pads down the <br /> hall toward a warmly lit room at its end. We hear only the <br /> sound of the dog's paws on the hardwood floor, and the faint <br /> clicking of billiard balls.<br /><br /> BILLIARD ROOM<br /><br /> It is a paneled, carpeted room with black leather furniture <br /> and a nine-foot billiard table. Various stuffed animal <br /> trophies are scattered around the room, including a moose <br /> head mounted on one wall. Ray stands alone in the foreground, <br /> shooting pool, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. The room is <br /> very quiet.<br /><br /> In the background the German shepherd enters from the hallway, <br /> sits down in a corner, and benignly watches Ray.<br /><br /> UPSTAIRS BEDROOM<br /><br /> It is expensively appointed; a brightly lit woman's bedroom. <br /> Abby is opening a hinged drawer in a white antique bureau. <br /> She pulls out a leather handbag, gropes nervously through <br /> its contents, then puts it aside.<br /><br /> She crosses the room to a vanity table, takes a purse from <br /> underneath, and spills its contents out on top of the table.<br /><br /> BILLIARD ROOM<br /><br /> Ray pockets a couple of balls, looks over at the dog, then <br /> up at the wall at the far end of the room.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Hanging on the wall are a couple of framed photographs of <br /> Marty and Abby, taken a long time ago.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Staring at the pictures. He looks back down at the pool table.<br /><br /> UPSTAIRS BEDROOM<br /><br /> Abby is sitting on a large double bed. She puts aside another <br /> purse, rises and crosses the room hurriedly, and pushes back <br /> the sliding doors of a long wardrobe closet. The upper shelf <br /> is lined with handbags--fifteen or twenty of them. She grabs <br /> the first one, looks in, tosses it aside; grabs the second, <br /> looks--and stops.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> Inside the purse, a small pearl-handled gun.<br /><br /> BILLIARD ROOM<br /><br /> Ray is now standing in front of the pictures on the wall, <br /> looking from one to the next.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> A picture of Abby and Marty standing together on a Gulf beach. <br /> Marty is wearing a long velour beach robe, Abby is in a <br /> swimming suit. Ray's hand enters frame. He traces a finger <br /> down her leg.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> His head cocked to the side. After a moment his eyes shift.<br /><br /> EXTREME CLOSE SHOT PHOTO DETAIL<br /><br /> Of Marty's face. He is staring into the camera, at whoever <br /> took the picture. His head is thrown back slightly; he is <br /> laughing.<br /><br /> From offscreen in the quiet room we hear a static hum and <br /> then Abby's voice over an intercom.<br /><br /> ABBY'S VOICE<br /> Ray...?<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He turns from the photograph and walks to an intercom speaker <br /> next to the mounted moose's head. He presses the speaker <br /> button.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Yeah...<br /><br /> He idly takes his unlit cigarette and sticks it in the moose's <br /> mouth.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...You get what you wanted?<br /><br /> ABBY'S VOICE<br /> Yeah. Let's get out of here.<br /><br /> MARTY'S FRONT FOYER<br /><br /> We are looking across a dark, high-ceilinged foyer toward <br /> the front door. Ray leans against the doorjamb, in silhouette <br /> in the open doorway. He is facing a curved staircase that <br /> descends into the foyer. Abby appears at the second-floor <br /> landing and starts down the stairs.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Why d'you wanna leave all this?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> You kidding? I don't wanna leave all <br /> this, I just wanna leave Marty...<br /><br /> As she reaches the bottom of the stairs:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...Drive me to a motel?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> You can stay at my place, I'll drop <br /> you there.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Where... where you going?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> See a guy.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (nervously)<br /> Don't go to the bar, Ray. I know <br /> him, that ain't a good idea.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I just gotta see a guy.<br /><br /> MARTY'S BAR<br /><br /> The crowd has thinned out. Meurice and Debra are in the <br /> foreground.<br /><br /> Ray enters from the street and makes his way over to them.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Howdy stranger.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Meurice. Sorry I didn't show last <br /> night.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Wasn't too busy. You missed a good <br /> one, though. This white guy walks in <br /> about one o'clock, asks if we have a <br /> discount for alcoholics... I tell <br /> him to get lost, but Marty's sitting <br /> here listening and I can tell he's <br /> thinking that maybe it ain't such a <br /> bad idea...<br /><br /> He pours Debra another drink and starts to set one up for <br /> Ray.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Ray, this is Debra. She's a <br /> geologist. That's the theory of rocks.<br /><br /> Ray nods at Debra.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Is Marty here?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Not here tonight. Wasn't here last <br /> night. He's especially not back in <br /> his office.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (leaving)<br /> Thanks Meurice.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> For what?<br /><br /> EXT. BACK OF MARTY'S BAR<br /><br /> Marty is sitting on the stoop that descends from his back <br /> office to a graveled back parking lot; he is framed in the <br /> open doorway of his brightly lit office. He stares fixedly <br /> at something offscreen.<br /><br /> MARTY'S POV<br /><br /> In the middle distance a huge incinerator operates full blast. <br /> Orange flames lick out the sides; white smoke billows out <br /> the top. Two figures in silhouette are chucking garbage in <br /> through a large gate.<br /><br /> BACK TO MARTY<br /><br /> Behind him, in the office, we see the door from the bar open, <br /> and Ray entering.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Marty?<br /><br /> Marty looks over his shoulder, then back toward the furnace. <br /> Ray descends the stoop and stands in front of him.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Well...? What?<br /><br /> Marty stares past Ray across the parking lot.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What "what"?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Am I fired? You wanna hit me? What?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> I don't particularly want to talk to <br /> you.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Well... if you're not gonna fire me <br /> I might as well quit.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Fine. Suit yourself.<br /> (still staring fixedly <br /> at the furnace)<br /> ...Having a good time?<br /><br /> Ray tenses. There is a pause.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...I don't like this kind of talk.<br /><br /> Marty still stares at the furnace.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Then what'd you come here for?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (no more conciliation)<br /> You owe me for two weeks.<br /><br /> Marty shakes his head.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Nope. She's an expensive piece of <br /> ass...<br /><br /> He finally looks up at Ray.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...You get a refund though, if you <br /> tell me who else she's been sluicing.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I want that money. If you wanna tell <br /> me something, fine--<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What're you, a fucking marriage <br /> counselor?<br /><br /> Ray breaks into a strained half-smile.<br /><br /> Marty grins humorlessly back, mimicking Ray's smile.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What're you smiling at--I'm a funny <br /> guy, right, I'm an asshole? No, no, <br /> that's not what's funny. What's funny <br /> is her. What's funny is that I had <br /> you two followed because, if it isn't <br /> you, she's been sleeping with someone <br /> else...<br /><br /> He grabs a knee in each hand and leans forward, still looking <br /> at Ray. He is becoming only slightly more animated.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...What's really going to be funny <br /> is when she gives you that innocent <br /> look and says, What're you talking <br /> about, Ray, I haven't done anything <br /> funny...<br /><br /> He leans back again.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...But the funniest thing to me right <br /> now is that you think she came back <br /> here for you--*that's* what's funny.<br /><br /> Ray moves forward and Marty's eyes follow him as he <br /> approaches. Marty's smile abruptly turns to a look of <br /> apprehension. Ray enters frame and brushes past Marty as he <br /> walks up the stoop, and crosses the back office toward the <br /> bar.<br /><br /> Marty relaxes, and his gaze returns to the furnace.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...Come on this property again and <br /> I'll be forced to shoot you...<br /><br /> Ray opens the door to the bar and shuts it softly behind <br /> him.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...Fair notice.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE LATER<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT CEILING FAN<br /><br /> At the cut the music and all other bar noise drops out. We <br /> hear only the rhythmic whir of the fan. We tilt down from <br /> the ceiling fan to frame Marty, tilted back in his desk chair, <br /> staring up at the fan.<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> Marty...<br /><br /> WIDE SHOT THE OFFICE<br /><br /> Meurice is standing in the door to the bar. Far behind him <br /> we can see Debra waiting in the dimly lit, deserted bar.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...I thought you were dead. Going <br /> home?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> No. I think I'll stay right here in <br /> hell.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> (turning to leave)<br /> Kind of a bleak point of view there, <br /> isn't it Marty?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Meurice...<br /><br /> Meurice pauses in the doorway.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...I don't want that asshole near my <br /> money. I don't even want him in the <br /> bar.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> We get a lot of assholes in here, <br /> Marty.<br /><br /> Meurice and Debra can be heard leaving the bar. Marty looks <br /> down at the telephone in front of him on the desk, then picks <br /> up the receiver and dials. He tilts back in the chair and <br /> stares back up at the ceiling.<br /><br /> MARTY'S POV<br /><br /> The ceiling fan, turning slowly.<br /><br /> EXT. RAY'S BUNGALOW FROM INSIDE RAY'S CAR<br /><br /> In the foreground Ray sits behind the wheel of his parked <br /> car, slumped back against the seat. He is staring at his one-<br /> story bungalow, in which a couple of lights are burning. <br /> Inside we can faintly hear his telephone ringing.<br /><br /> It rings for a long time.<br /><br /> RAY'S LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE RINGING TELEPHONE<br /><br /> Abby's hand enters frame, hesitates, then after another ring <br /> picks up.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Hello?<br /><br /> The is no answer. From the other end we hear only the rhythmic <br /> whir of a ceiling fan.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Marty listens. He says nothing, still tilted back in his <br /> chair, staring at the ceiling.<br /><br /> RAY'S LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> Abby listens. She shifts the phone to her other ear, listening <br /> hard to the sound of the fan. There is another long pause.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...Marty?<br /><br /> The phone goes dead just as we hear the front door opening. <br /> Abby looks up as she cradles the phone.<br /><br /> Ray is standing in the doorway.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Who was it?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> What?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> On the phone. Was it for you?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I don't know, he didn't say anything.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Uh-huh. So how do you know it was a <br /> he?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (smiling)<br /> You got a girl--am I screwing <br /> something up by being here?<br /><br /> Ray leans against the door and folds his arms, watching Abby.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> No, am I?<br /><br /> Abby looks at him, puzzled. After an uncomfortable pause:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...I can find a place tomorrow, then <br /> I'll be outta your hair.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> If that's what you want to do, then <br /> you oughta do it. You, uh... you <br /> want the bed or the couch?<br /><br /> Abby shifts uneasily, looking at Ray.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Well... the couch would be all <br /> right...<br /><br /> RAY<br /> You can sleep on the bed if you want.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Well... I'm not gonna put you out of <br /> your bed...<br /><br /> RAY<br /> You wouldn't be putting me out.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...Well, I'd be okay in here--<br /><br /> Ray walks toward the bedroom.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Okay.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE LATER<br /><br /> Still tilted back in his chair, Marty stares glumly at the <br /> ceiling. The bar itself is completely still except the <br /> rhythmic whir of the fan.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT A CEILING FAN<br /><br /> Turning slowly. We tilt down from the fan to frame Abby, <br /> lying under a sheet on Ray's couch, staring up at the fan in <br /> the darkened living room. The room is still. We hear only <br /> the whir of the fan and the distant sound of crickets. Abby <br /> turns her head, looking offscreen.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> A ray of light slants up the hallway from the direction of <br /> the bedroom. The light is snapped off, leaving the hallway <br /> in darkness. We hear a faint cough and the creaking of <br /> bedsprings.<br /><br /> RAY'S BEDROOM<br /><br /> Ray lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.<br /><br /> RAY'S LIVING ROOM / HALLWAY<br /><br /> LONG SHOT THE LIVING ROOM FROM THE HALLWAY<br /><br /> Abby sits up. She stands and walks across the moonlit room <br /> toward the hallway. We pull her back down the hall toward <br /> the bedroom. She pauses in the bedroom doorway and looks <br /> down toward the bed.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Ray in bed, his eyes closed.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> We pull her as she enters the room, then tilt down with her <br /> as she hesitantly sits on the edge of the bed.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Close shot, Ray asleep.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Framed against a moonlit window from the shoulders up.<br /><br /> There is a long pause.<br /><br /> Ray's hand enters frame and pulls Abby down out of frame <br /> onto the bed. We hold on the moonlit window.<br /><br /> DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:<br /><br /> SAME WINDOW SAME ANGLE PRE-DAWN<br /><br /> Through the window the slow dissolve gradually defines the <br /> front lawn and the street beyond in the flat pre-dawn light. <br /> Abby rises into frame and quietly gets out of bed. The camera <br /> tracks behind her as she walks up the hallway into the living <br /> room.<br /><br /> We follow her across the living room and move into a close <br /> shot on her hand as she reaches into her purse and withdraws <br /> a small plastic compact.<br /><br /> LOW-ANGLE CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> She flips open the compact, then, hearing something, looks <br /> up, squinting across the room.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> In the shadows at the far end of the room we can just see <br /> two pointed ears and a glittering pair of eyes. The German <br /> shepherd is panting softly.<br /><br /> OVER ABBY'S SHOULDER<br /><br /> As she peers into the shadows, her face reflected in the <br /> mirror of the open compact.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Opal--<br /><br /> In the mirror something moves just behind her. Abby starts <br /> to turn.<br /><br /> Marty's hand clamps over her mouth from behind. His other <br /> hand circles her waist. Abby struggles.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> (quietly)<br /> Lover-boy oughta lock his door...<br /><br /> Marty's hand drops from her waist to her thighs and slides <br /> under the robe.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...Lotta nuts out there.<br /><br /> Still holding her from behind, Marty forces her down on her <br /> knees. Abby's cries are muffled by the hand clamped over her <br /> mouth. Marty shoots a glance down the dark hallway. There is <br /> no movement.<br /><br /> Abby's hand is groping forward out of frame.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY'S PURSE<br /><br /> She upsets it. The contents spill out, among them a small <br /> pearl-handled revolver. Her hand gropes for the gun.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY AND MARTY<br /><br /> Marty yanks her to her feet, looking down the hallway.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Let's do it outside...<br /><br /> He is dragging her to the front door.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...in nature.<br /><br /> He pushes her through the screen door.<br /><br /> EXT. RAY'S BUNGALOW<br /><br /> The neighborhood is deserted and still. The streetlamps are <br /> still on. Marty and Abby stumble down the front stoop onto <br /> the lawn.<br /><br /> His hand is still clamped over her mouth. She reaches up, <br /> grabs a finger, and bends it back.<br /><br /> We hear the bone snap.<br /><br /> Marty screams. His hand drops. His other hand cuffs her on <br /> the side of the head, spinning her around.<br /><br /> Marty is now clutching his broken finger with his good hand. <br /> Abby kicks him in the groin.<br /><br /> He sinks to his knees, drops forward on one hand, and vomits.<br /><br /> FRONT STOOP<br /><br /> Ray is coming out the door, hitching up his pants. In his <br /> right hand he hold Abby's pearl-handled revolver.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /><br /> Slowly gets to his feet, looking at Ray.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> She has backed away from Marty and now stands on the lawn, <br /> breathing heavily. She looks from Ray to Marty.<br /><br /> BACK TO MARTY<br /><br /> Backing toward his car, a Cadillac parked at curbside, still <br /> looking at Ray. He turns to get into the car.<br /><br /> The German shepherd lopes across the lawn and takes a clean <br /> leap into the car through the open window on the passenger <br /> side.<br /><br /> Marty turns the ignition. The engine coughs and dies. He <br /> tries again; it starts.<br /><br /> The car roars up the street.<br /><br /> RAY<br /><br /> Watching the car. He looks at Abby.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> Still panting. Up the street we can hear Marty's car <br /> alternately racing and stopping, shifting in and out of gear. <br /> His engine rumble starts to grow louder again.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Like to have seen his face when he <br /> found the dead end.<br /><br /> In the background we see Marty's car roar by in the opposite <br /> direction.<br /><br /> MOUNT BONNEL EVENING<br /><br /> LATERAL TRACK<br /><br /> Moving past a row of cars parked on an overlook near the top <br /> of the mountain. Below we can see the lights of the city of <br /> Austin. The lot is littered with beer cans. We hear the sound <br /> of rock music coming from various car radios. Several <br /> teenagers lean against cars drinking beer; inside the cars <br /> we can see the vague forms of others.<br /><br /> TEENAGER<br /> Hey mister, how'd you break your <br /> pussyfinger?<br /><br /> His friends laugh.<br /><br /> TRACK PULLING MARTY<br /><br /> Ignoring the laughter as he walks past the cars, apparently <br /> looking for someone. His right index finger is taped up in <br /> an aluminum splint.<br /><br /> MARTY'S POV<br /><br /> At the end of a row of cars we see a green Volkswagon bug. <br /> Leaning against the hood is Visser, still dressed in his <br /> rumpled yellow suit. He is smoking a cigarette, talking to a <br /> sixteen-year-old girl in shorts and a tube top. When he <br /> notices Marty:<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (to the girl)<br /> Sorry sweetheart, my date is here...<br /><br /> The girl drifts off. Marty enters frame and Visser turns to <br /> him.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...She saw me rolling a cigarette <br /> and thought it was marijuana.<br /> (he laughs)<br /> I guess she thought I was a swinger.<br /><br /> Visser open the back door of the car. Marty ignores the <br /> invitation, walks around to the front on the passenger side <br /> and gets in.<br /><br /> INT. VISSER'S CAR<br /><br /> As Visser gets into the driver's seat. A small topless doll <br /> is suspended from the rearview mirror. Visser gives it a <br /> tap. As it swings back and forth two small lights, one behind <br /> each breast, blink on and off.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Idnat wild?<br /><br /> Both men sit watching the doll intently.<br /><br /> Finally Marty reaches up and stops its swinging with the <br /> rounded end of his splint. Visser eyes the splint.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (genially)<br /> Stick your finger up the wrong <br /> person's ass?<br /><br /> Marty is silent, but Visser is in a good mood.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> You know a friend of mine broke his <br /> hand a while back. Put in a cast. <br /> Very next day he takes a fall, <br /> protects his bad hand, falls on his <br /> good one, breaks that too. So now <br /> he's got two busted flippers and I <br /> say to him "Creighton, I hope your <br /> wife loves you. 'Cause for the next <br /> five weeks you cannot wipe your own <br /> goddamn ass..."<br /><br /> Overcome by laughter. Finally:<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...That's the test, ain't it? Test <br /> of true love--<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Got a job for you.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (settling down)<br /> ...Well, if the pay's right and it's <br /> legal I'll do it.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> It's not strictly legal.<br /><br /> Visser shrugs, lights up another cigarette with his <br /> fraternally inscribed lighter and drops the lighter onto the <br /> dashboard.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> If the pay's right I'll do it.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> It's, uh... it's in reference to <br /> that gentleman and my wife. The more <br /> I think about it the more irritated <br /> I get.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Yeah? Well how irritated are you?<br /><br /> Marty doesn't answer. Finally Visser laughs.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...Gee, I'm sorry to hear that. Can <br /> you tell me what you want me to do <br /> or is it a secret?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Listen, I'm not--this isn't a joke <br /> here.<br /><br /> Visser eyes him, still smiling. Finally he shrugs.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> You want me to kill 'em.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> I didn't say that.<br /> (a pause)<br /> Well?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Well what?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What do you think?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> You're an idiot.<br /><br /> Marty's shoulders slump. He seems less tense, almost relieved.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> So, uh... this wouldn't interest <br /> you.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> I didn't say that. All I said was <br /> you're an idiot. Hell, you been <br /> thinking about it so much it's driving <br /> you simple.<br /><br /> They are staring at each other.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Ten thousand dollars I'll give you.<br /><br /> Visser laughs again.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> I'm supposed to do a murder--two <br /> murders--and just trust you not to <br /> go simple on me and do something <br /> stupid. I mean real stupid. Now why <br /> should I trust you?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> For the money.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (sobering)<br /> The money. Yeah. That's a right smart <br /> of money...<br /><br /> He turns and gazes out the window.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...In Russia they make only fifty <br /> cents a day.<br /><br /> He falls silent again, still staring out the window<br /><br /> In the closeness of the car Marty is starting to sweat.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> (hoarsely)<br /> ...There's a big--<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (abruptly)<br /> I want you to go fishing.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...What?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Go down to Corpus for a few days. <br /> Get yourself noticed. I'll give you <br /> a call when it's done... You just <br /> find a way to cover that money.<br /><br /> Marty is slumped in his seat, not responding to the fact <br /> that Visser has just ended the conversation.<br /><br /> Finally he rouses himself and gets out of the car, leaving <br /> Visser staring at the door he has left open behind him.<br /><br /> After a moment we hear Marty's footsteps approaching again, <br /> and he leans back into the open door with an afterthought.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> I'll take care of the money, you <br /> just make sure those bodies aren't <br /> found... There's a...<br /><br /> These words are difficult to say.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...If you want, there's a big <br /> incinerator behind my place...<br /><br /> The two men look at each other. Marty leaves. After a moment, <br /> Visser leans over to grab the handle of the still open door.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (under his breath)<br /> Sweet Jesus, you are disgusting.<br /><br /> The door slams.<br /><br /> INT. EMPTY APARTMENT NIGHT<br /><br /> The apartment is dark. We are looking across a shadowy floor <br /> towards a large window, through which cold blue street light <br /> shines. Through the window we can see the facade of the <br /> building across the street; we are three or four floors up.<br /><br /> We can hear the animated, accented voice of an Hispanic woman <br /> approaching the apartment from the hallway behind us.<br /><br /> LANDLADY (O.S.)<br /> --big windows, paneleen and <br /> everytheen. So you want, like your <br /> own place? Like a Town House?<br /><br /> A crack of light shoots across the floor as we hear the <br /> apartment door open behind us. A figure enters frame. As it <br /> crosses into the shaft of light we see that it is Abby. She <br /> moves across the dark apartment, in silhouette against the <br /> window.<br /><br /> LANDLADY (O.S.)<br /> No one will bother you here, sweetie--<br /><br /> An overhead light is switched on and the room is bathed in <br /> light. Several feet from Abby, an old man in a dirty <br /> undershirt is asleep on a cot. Abby starts.<br /><br /> The old man grumbles, slowly sits up, squints.<br /><br /> With the light, the window behind Abby has become a mirror <br /> of the entire room, in which we now see the matronly Landlady <br /> standing by the wall switch.<br /><br /> The Landlady roars at the old man in Spanish. The man glowers <br /> at her. The Landlady looks back at Abby.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> (cheerful again)<br /> I show you around.<br /><br /> We follow Abby as she accompanies the landlady back into the <br /> short hallway-entrance foyer. Abby glances back at the old <br /> man.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Are you sure this is... Are you sure <br /> this apartment is vacant?... Mrs. <br /> Esteves?<br /><br /> The Landlady laughs cheerfully.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> Oh yes...<br /><br /> She gestures to a kitchen alcove on the left.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...That's the kitchen...<br /><br /> She turns and throws a few more barbs in Spanish back toward <br /> the old man, then opens a door on the right side of the foyer <br /> and enters the bathroom.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...This is the bathroom...<br /><br /> She flushes the toilet.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...The toilet works and everytheen...<br /><br /> She bustles out of the bathroom and takes the two short steps <br /> back into the main room. She gestures expansively.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...And here we are back in the liveen <br /> room.<br /><br /> She gives one vigorous stomp.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...Good floors. Gas heat.<br /><br /> She points.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...That's Mr. Garcia.<br /><br /> The old man is now sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a <br /> cigarette, looking for a place to put the ash. The Landlady <br /> snaps at him again in Spanish, and is again cheerful as she <br /> turns back to address Abby.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...I was just esplaineen to him that <br /> he moved out of here yesterday...<br /><br /> She walks to the apartment door.<br /><br /> LANDLADY<br /> ...You look around. Don't mind Mr. <br /> Garcia; he use do be my brother-in-<br /> law.<br /><br /> She walks out and shuts the door.<br /><br /> The room is quiet.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Staring at the door. She looks at Mr. Garcia, looks nervously <br /> around the apartment. She looks back at Mr. Garcia.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT MR. GARCIA<br /><br /> Staring vacantly at Abby. He blows a stream of smoke across <br /> the room. The ash falls off his cigarette.<br /><br /> STRIP BAR NIGHT<br /><br /> EXHORTER'S CUBICLE<br /><br /> Hunched over the public address microphone in his small <br /> cubicle of exhortation, is the middle-aged strip-bar barker. <br /> Years of service in the bar have left his exhortations <br /> depressingly bereft of conviction.<br /><br /> EXHORTER<br /> How 'bout it, gentlemen, let's show <br /> out appreciation for Lorraine up <br /> there, a registered nurse from Bolton, <br /> Texas, how 'bout it gentlemen, yeah...<br /><br /> THE BAR PROPER<br /><br /> Meurice is one of a line of men sitting at the bar, all <br /> looking intently at the same point off left. All of the men <br /> except Meurice are conservatively dressed and apparently <br /> well-to-do. An audio loop is blaring a bump-and-grind version <br /> of "Yellow Rose of Texas," punctuated by the crash of cymbals <br /> and the thumping of toms.<br /><br /> Abby enters and sits into an empty chair next to Meurice.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Looks like the state legislature is <br /> out of session.<br /><br /> Meurice continues to stare intently off.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> I thought this is where they met.<br /><br /> All of the heads at the bar start to swivel, including <br /> Meurice's. A couple of patrons hurriedly snatch their drinks <br /> off the bar.<br /><br /> In the extreme foreground a stripper dances on the top of <br /> the bar into frame. We crop her just above her white high-<br /> heeled cowboy boots and her bare calves.<br /><br /> The conversation continues with Abby looking at Meurice, but <br /> Meurice and everyone else at the bar looking up at a point <br /> somewhere above the stripper's calves.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Listen Meurice, you're gonna help me <br /> with a problem.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> I am?<br /><br /> The stripper drops a white leatherette vest onto the bar in <br /> the foreground. The audience cheers.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> You're gonna keep an eye on Marty <br /> and Ray, make sure nothing happens.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> It won't?<br /><br /> Two sheriff-star pasties drop onto the bar. The audience <br /> cheers.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Ever occur to you, Abby, that <br /> maybe I'm the wrong person to ask?<br /><br /> THE EXHORTER<br /><br /> Into his microphone.<br /><br /> EXHORTER<br /> Let's not sit on our wallets, <br /> gentlemen. Lorraine is up there <br /> dancing her heart out, and if you <br /> let that cash money set on your hip, <br /> you might just as well be broke...<br /><br /> ABBY AND MEURICE<br /><br /> She is rising to leave; he is still staring off.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Thanks, Meurice.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Any time. But you don't have to worry <br /> about a thing for a while. Marty <br /> went down to Corpus yesterday.<br /><br /> An old-west gunbelt hits the bar. The audience roars.<br /><br /> THE EXHORTER<br /><br /> Into his microphone.<br /><br /> EXHORTER<br /> And remember, gentlemen, we're always <br /> here, two to two, A.M. to P.M., three <br /> hundred and sixty-four days and <br /> Christmas, God willing and the creek <br /> don't rise...<br /><br /> RAY'S BEDROOM<br /><br /> The room is dark. We are looking across the room toward a <br /> moonlit window. Beyond, across the lawn, the lamplit street <br /> is empty.<br /><br /> Suddenly Abby sits bolt upright into frame from the bed below.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> He's in the house.<br /><br /> Offscreen we hear Ray stirring in bed.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> What's the matter?<br /><br /> Abby twists around to look down at him.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I could've sworn I heard something.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Door's locked. Nothing there.<br /><br /> He pulls her down out of frame and we hold on the window and <br /> the empty lamplit street. Then Abby rises back into frame, <br /> in silhouette against the window, looking down at Ray.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I knew it. 'Cause we wouldn't have <br /> heard anything if it was him. He's <br /> real careful. Fact is, he's anal.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Yeah, he told me once himself. He <br /> said to me...<br /><br /> She taps herself on the forehead.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ..."In here, Abby. In here... I'm <br /> anal."<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE RAY<br /><br /> Looking up at Abby.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (yawning)<br /> ...Well I'll be damned.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I couldn't believe it either...<br /><br /> SIDE ANGLE ABBY<br /><br /> Framed against the window, looking down at Ray.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...Me on the other hand, I got lots <br /> of personality...<br /><br /> She drops down onto the bed out of frame. The camera holds <br /> on the window through which we see the empty lamplit street.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Marty always said I had too much. <br /> 'Course he was never big on <br /> personality...<br /><br /> She rises back up into frame, in silhouette against the <br /> window.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...He sent me to a psychiatrist to <br /> see if he could calm me down some.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Yeah? What happened?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Psychiatrist said I was the healthiest <br /> person he'd ever met, so Marty fired <br /> him.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (sleepily)<br /> ...I don't know if you can fire a <br /> psychiatrist, exactly.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Well, I didn't see him anymore, I'll <br /> tell you that much.<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE RAY<br /><br /> His eyes half-closed.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I said, Marty, how come you're anal <br /> and I gotta go to the psychiatrist?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> What'd he say?<br /><br /> SIDE ANGLE ABBY<br /><br /> Framed against the window.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Nothing. He's like you, he doesn't <br /> say much.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (murmuring)<br /> Thanks.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Except when he doesn't say things <br /> they're usually nasty.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Mm-hmm.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> When you don't they're usually nice.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...You ever get tired?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. Mm-hmm.<br /><br /> Ray's hand rises into frame and coaxes Abby back down onto <br /> the bed, revealing, through the window, a green Volkswagon <br /> now parked at curbside on the lamplit street.<br /><br /> We hear the rustle of sheets.<br /><br /> As we hold on the window, we begin to hear the faint, distant <br /> sound of metal scraping against metal.<br /><br /> HALLWAY / LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> We track down the dark hallway into the living room. As the <br /> camera advances the sound of the scraping becomes louder.<br /><br /> We are moving across the living room up to the front door of <br /> the bungalow. The scraping is louder still as we finally <br /> frame on a close shot of the doorknob, which is jiggling <br /> ever so slightly.<br /><br /> We hear a click as the lock finally releases.<br /><br /> The door swings slowly open, revealing a man's hand on the <br /> outside doorknob. We follow the hand as the man advances <br /> slowly and quietly across the living room.<br /><br /> Abby's purse comes into frame, sitting on a bureau; next to <br /> it is a large tote bag. The hand rummages through the tote <br /> bag briefly, then the purse. The man withdraws Abby's pearl-<br /> handled revolver. He breaks it open.<br /><br /> LOW-ANGLE CLOSE SHOT THE MAN'S FACE<br /><br /> It is Visser. As we hear a click offscreen, his face glows a <br /> dim orange.<br /><br /> BACK TO HIS HANDS<br /><br /> His right holds the revolver, cylinder open, inside the purse. <br /> His left holds his cigarette lighter as he inspects the <br /> chamber. Three of the holes glint silver, the other three <br /> are black--empty.<br /><br /> We hear the faint creaking of bedsprings.<br /><br /> WIDE SHOT LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> Visser cocks his head, listening, and looks down the hallway. <br /> He takes a couple of quiet steps across the living room and, <br /> as the camera tracks up to him, opens the back door of the <br /> bungalow.<br /><br /> We follow him outside onto the lawn.<br /><br /> EXT. RAY'S BUNGALOW<br /><br /> We track behind him as he rounds the corner of the house and <br /> approaches the open window to Ray's bedroom. He slows, moves <br /> more cautiously, then sinks to his knees under the window. <br /> As he reaches into his breast pocket the camera continues <br /> tracking up to and over him, finally framing his POV through <br /> the window.<br /><br /> On the bed inside we can dimly see Abby and Ray, asleep.<br /><br /> We have been hearing a faint rumble, becoming louder and <br /> louder as if approaching from a distance. Just as the rumble <br /> becomes deafening a sudden bright flash of light illuminates <br /> the room, seeming to polarize the image of Abby and Ray in <br /> bed, and we:<br /><br /> CUT TO<br /><br /> EXT. PHONE BOOTH DAY<br /><br /> A huge truck roars by on the street behind Visser, and with <br /> it the deafening rumble recedes. It is a painfully bright <br /> day. Visser stands sweating in the phone booth with the <br /> receiver pressed to his ear. We hear the phone ringing at <br /> the other end.<br /><br /> Finally, it is picked up.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Hello.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Marty?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Yeah. Is it...<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Ya catch any fish?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...What?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Ya catch any fish?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Yeah...<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...What kind of fish?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Listen, what is it? Is it done?<br /><br /> Visser forces a chuckle.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...Yessir, you owe me some money.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE NIGHT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT TWO STRINGS OF FISH<br /><br /> Being plopped down onto Marty's desk.<br /><br /> WIDER THE OFFICE<br /><br /> Visser sits facing the desk. He lights himself a cigarette <br /> and sets the lighter down on the desk in front of him. Marty <br /> settles, fidgeting, into the chair behind it.<br /><br /> The bar is quiet, shut down. We hear only the whir of a fan <br /> somewhere offscreen. Marty and Visser are lit by a lamp on <br /> the desk between them. Light streams into the room from a <br /> bathroom in the background. Visser is looking at the dead <br /> fish.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (dully)<br /> They look good.<br /><br /> Marty half-rises from his seat and picks up one of the <br /> strings.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Want a couple?<br /><br /> He drops them on Visser's side of the desk. Visser's head <br /> draws back: he was only being polite.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Just the ten thousand'll be fine.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Got something to show me first?<br /><br /> Visser hands a 9 x 12 envelope across the desk. Marty stares <br /> at it for a moment, then quickly bends back the flap and <br /> takes out an 8 x 10 photograph.<br /><br /> THE PHOTOGRAPH<br /><br /> It is a black-and-white shot of Abby and Ray in Ray's bed. <br /> The sheet that partially covers them is pocked with three <br /> dark bullet holes and is stained with blood.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /><br /> Staring dully down at the picture.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Dead, huh?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> So it would seem.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE TOP OF THE DESK<br /><br /> Visser is pushing the fish away from his side of the desk <br /> with the eraser end of a pencil.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> What did you...<br /><br /> BACK TO MARTY<br /><br /> Still looking at the picture. He traces the outline of Abby's <br /> body with his finger.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...What did you do with the bodies?<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> It's taken care of. The less you <br /> know about it the better.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Jesus, I don't believe it...<br /><br /> Marty slips the picture back into its 9 x 12 envelope. His <br /> face is pale.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...I think I'm gonna be sick.<br /><br /> He rises and heads for the bathroom, still clutching the <br /> envelope.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER<br /><br /> As his eyes follow Marty's exit. The bathroom door doesn't <br /> close all the way; a narrow shaft of light slices the office <br /> from the bare bulb in the bathroom.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> I'll want that picture back...<br /><br /> He turns to look across the desk.<br /><br /> VISSER'S POV<br /><br /> The standing safe behind the desk.<br /><br /> BACK TO VISSER<br /><br /> Still looking at the safe. Beads of sweat have popped out on <br /> his forehead. He fans himself with his cowboy hat.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...and you did say somethin' about <br /> some money.<br /><br /> We hear a toilet flush offscreen.<br /><br /> LONG SHOT MARTY'S OFFICE<br /><br /> As he reenters the office.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Your money, yeah.<br /><br /> Visser stares dully down at the desktop.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Something I got to ask you, Marty. <br /> I've been very very careful. Have <br /> you been very very careful?<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Of course.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Nobody knows you hired me?<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE CORNER OF THE OFFICE<br /><br /> Marty is hunched over the open safe, still holding the <br /> envelope. Blocking Visser's view of the safe with his body, <br /> he slides the picture of Abby's and Ray's corpses from under <br /> the envelope into the safe, then withdraws two packets of <br /> money.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Don't be absurd, I wasn't about to <br /> tell anyone...<br /><br /> He shuts the safe and spins the dial.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...This is an illicit romance--we've <br /> got to trust each other to be <br /> discreet...<br /><br /> He walks across the room and throws the money and the envelope <br /> down on the desk.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...For richer, for poorer.<br /><br /> Visser looks from the money down at his hands. They are <br /> sweating.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Don't say that. Your marriages don't <br /> work out so hot...<br /><br /> He wipes his hands on his pants.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...How did you cover the money?<br /><br /> Marty sits and props his booted feet up on the desk.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> It's taken care of. The less you <br /> know about it the better.<br /><br /> He smiles.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...I just made a call about that. <br /> It'll look fine.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (shaking his head)<br /> I must've gone money simple. This <br /> kind of murder...<br /><br /> He nods toward the envelope on the desk.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...it's too damn risky.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Then you shouldn't have done it. <br /> Can't have it both ways.<br /><br /> He pushes the money across the desk with his boot.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...Count it if you want.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (reaching into his <br /> coat)<br /> Nah, I trust ya.<br /><br /> His hand comes out with a gun pointing at Marty and--BAM--he <br /> fires, an orange lick of flame spurting from the gun.<br /><br /> Both men sit frozen. Visser's hand is the only thing that <br /> moved.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT MARTY<br /><br /> Staring at Visser.<br /><br /> After the gun blast we hear only the whir of the fan.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER<br /><br /> Staring at Marty.<br /><br /> MED SHOT MARTY OVER VISSER'S SHOULDER<br /><br /> His eyes are now shut. Otherwise he hasn't moved. A blood <br /> stain is growing on the front of his shirt.<br /><br /> WIDE SHOT THE OFFICE<br /><br /> The two face each other across the desk. Visser's gun is <br /> still trained on Marty.<br /><br /> After a moment Visser starts fanning himself again with his <br /> cowboy hat. The only movement in the frame is the slow back-<br /> and-forth of the yellow hat, rhythmically in and out of shadow <br /> as it catches and loses the light from the desk lamp. There <br /> is a long pause.<br /><br /> Finally one of Marty's feet slips from the desk and hits the <br /> floor with a THUD.<br /><br /> Visser lays the gun on the desk.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER<br /><br /> As he reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws a <br /> handkerchief. He wipes his forehead, then picks up the gun <br /> and wipes it off. He leans down with the gun.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE GUN<br /><br /> As Visser places it deliberately on the floor near the desk. <br /> It is Abby's pearl-handled revolver.<br /><br /> THE DESKTOP FROM DESK LEVEL<br /><br /> As Visser straightens up in the foreground. From our head-on <br /> angle shooting across the desk we can see the bright metallic <br /> glint of Visser's cigarette lighter underneath the dead fish.<br /><br /> Visser's hands move over the near part of the desk, picking <br /> up the money and the 9 x 12 picture envelope.<br /><br /> EXTREME HIGH SHOT THE OFFICE<br /><br /> As Visser turns from the desk and walks across the room out <br /> of frame. We hear the back door opening.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> Who looks stupid now.<br /><br /> The door slams shut.<br /><br /> The only sound is the whir of the fan. A pause. The camera <br /> tracks slowly forward, tilting down to keep Marty and the <br /> desktop centered in frame. As the camera moves the noise of <br /> the fan grows louder. When Marty's body and the desk are <br /> directly beneath us, the blades of the ceiling fan cut across <br /> the immediate foreground and effect a:<br /><br /> WIPE TO:<br /><br /> MARTY'S BAR LATER<br /><br /> It is completely still. We are looking from the bar, across <br /> the dark empty floor, toward the pebbled windows at the front <br /> of the building that catch a hard blue light from the <br /> streetlamps outside. The jukebox in the middle distance glows <br /> in the darkness.<br /><br /> A pair of headlights catches the pebbled glass and grows <br /> brighter as we hear a car pull up to the bar and stop. We <br /> hear a car door open and shut, then the sound of feet on <br /> gravel. A huge shadow appears on the pebbled glass as the <br /> figure crosses in front of the headlights. The man tries the <br /> door, finds it locked, and walks back in front of the <br /> headlights to cup his hands at a window. He walks back to <br /> the door, and a moment later it swings open--framing him in <br /> the doorway in silhouette.<br /><br /> We follow him as he moves across the floor, behind the bar <br /> and up to the cash register. He switches on a small <br /> fluorescent light clamped to the top of the cash register. <br /> It is Ray.<br /><br /> He punches a key and the register rings open. He lifts up <br /> the empty cash drawer and takes some papers from underneath <br /> it.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> As he flips through the papers; bills, receipts, no money.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> As he finishes flipping through the papers.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (muttering)<br /> Damn...<br /><br /> He slips them back under the cash drawer and slams the <br /> register shut. Turning from the register he glances around <br /> the bar, the pauses, noticing something.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Light is spilling out from under the door to Marty's office.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> As he starts across the floor to Marty's office.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Marty...<br /><br /> He reaches the door and knocks sharply. No answer. He turns <br /> the knob.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Marty...<br /><br /> The door is locked. We hear the muffled whir of the ceiling <br /> fan inside.<br /><br /> A pause. Ray withdraws a ring of keys from his pocket and <br /> uses one on the door. The door swings open.<br /><br /> Over his shoulder we see Marty, still at his desk, his back <br /> to us. On foot is still propped on the desk.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> What's the matter, you deaf?<br /><br /> No answer.<br /><br /> Ray stumbles toward Marty.<br /><br /> He stumbles slightly and we hear the sharp blast of a gun <br /> and the sound of something metallic skating across the floor.<br /><br /> Ray, startled, steadies himself against the desk, then studies <br /> Marty.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> There is a dark pool of blood under Marty's chair.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He looks back up at Marty, then walks behind his chair and <br /> throws a wall switch. The room is bathed in light. His eyes <br /> still on Marty, Ray crosses behind the desk.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV TRACKING SHOT<br /><br /> The camera moves in a slow arc around the back of Marty's <br /> motionless head.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Still moving. He looks away from Marty, scans the floor. He <br /> gets down on his hands and knees and peers under the safe.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> There is a glinting silver circle in the darkness under the <br /> safe. It is the business end of the revolver that Ray half-<br /> stumbled over, half-kicked.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Still on his hands and knees. He reaches in and we hear a <br /> rattle as he gropes under the safe. He withdraws the gun, <br /> looks at it.<br /><br /> THE GUN<br /><br /> It is Abby's revolver.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> For a long moment he doesn't move. Then, slowly, he starts <br /> to get up.<br /><br /> WIDER<br /><br /> The desk, Marty behind it, Ray straightening behind him. Ray <br /> looks from the gun to Marty, slowly sets the gun down on the <br /> desk. A pause. He begins to hoist Marty from the chair.<br /><br /> There is noise from the bar, as of someone entering.<br /><br /> Ray reacts.<br /><br /> THE DOOR<br /><br /> Separating the bar and back office. Ray hurries to it.<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> Marty?<br /><br /> Footsteps approach the door.<br /><br /> EXTREME CLOSE SHOT RAY'S HAND ON THE DOOR BOLT<br /><br /> He turns it gently. The bolt clicks shut.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Meurice's footsteps draw nearer.<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> Marty, ya home?<br /><br /> There is a rap at the door; Ray stands frozen. The doorknob <br /> rattles. Ray reaches out compulsively to grab it, but stops <br /> himself before actually touching it.<br /><br /> Now Meurice's footsteps can be heard going casually back <br /> into the bar. We hold on Ray's rigidly set face.<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> What day is it today, Angie?<br /><br /> WOMAN (O.S.)<br /> Tuesday.<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> Tuesday is ladies' night.<br /><br /> WOMAN (O.S.)<br /> What?<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> Tuesday night is ladies' night. All <br /> your drinks are free.<br /><br /> We hear a record drop on the jukebox and a Motown song blares.<br /><br /> Ray crosses to Marty's chair and takes off his nylon <br /> windbreaker. He stoops down and tries to mop up the pool of <br /> blood with his windbreaker. This isn't going to work.<br /><br /> He rises and walks over to the bathroom, the windbreaker <br /> dripping blood.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE BATHROOM<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT FAUCET<br /><br /> The song continues faintly in the background. The faucet is <br /> turned on and Ray's hand enters frame, holding a dirty white <br /> towel under the stream of water.<br /><br /> BLOOD-SPATTERED FLOOR<br /><br /> The song continues in the background. Ray's hand enters frame <br /> holding the balled-up towel. His windbreaker is wrapped <br /> inside. The camera follows as he pushes it across the trail <br /> of dripped blood to the pool of blood under Marty's chair.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT MARTY<br /><br /> He still has not moved. Ray rises into frame and takes him <br /> under the armpits. He notices something on the desk in front <br /> of him.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE GUN ON THE DESK<br /><br /> Ray's hand enters frame and picks it up.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT MARTY'S COAT POCKET<br /><br /> Ray's hand enters frame and slips the gun into Marty's pocket. <br /> Marty is hoisted up.<br /><br /> EXT. BACK OF THE BAR / PARKING LOT<br /><br /> Ray appears in the doorway. The music from the bar, though <br /> fainter, can still be heard.<br /><br /> There are three or four wooden steps going down from the <br /> back door to the small gravel parking lot in back. Ray backs <br /> down the stairs; Marty's feet THUMP-THUMP-THUMP down the <br /> stairs after him.<br /><br /> The rear door of Ray's car is open. Ray heaves in Marty's <br /> torso. Marty's legs rest on the ground outside the car. Ray <br /> takes an ankle in each hand and pushes.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> As he shuts the door. He looks up across the parking lot.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The incinerator belching fire and smoke. We hear its distant <br /> roar over the bar song. We hear the car door slam.<br /><br /> HIGH-ANGLE TRACKING SHOT TOWARD INCINERATOR<br /><br /> We are looking down on Ray's car as the camera tracks behind <br /> it towards the incinerator. At the cut the roar of the <br /> incinerator is suddenly louder. It grows louder still as we <br /> approach it.<br /><br /> Ray's car draws even with the incinerator without slowing or <br /> stopping. The wadded-up towel is chucked out of his window <br /> into the fire. We hold on the fire as Ray's car rolls on out <br /> of frame.<br /><br /> INT. RAY'S CAR<br /><br /> As he drives down a deserted country highway. We hear the <br /> rhythmic sound of the wheels clomping over asphalt. The radio <br /> is broadcasting a fundamentalist's sermon, periodically <br /> interrupted by static. Ray is sweating.<br /><br /> EVANGELIST<br /> --so there were three signs, the <br /> second of which is Famine, this famine <br /> which I have already pointed out is <br /> devastatin' Africa and the Indian <br /> subcontinent. And the third of these <br /> signs is earthquakes. Now I don't <br /> know why he threw that in but if you <br /> talk to a geologist, and I've talked <br /> to many, he'll tell you that <br /> earthquake activity--<br /><br /> Ray twists around and looks in the back seat.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Marty is lying inert.<br /><br /> EVANGELIST<br /> --has increased almost eighty percent <br /> in the past two years, and what's <br /> more, in two years' time we'll be <br /> experiencin' what's knows as the <br /> Jupiter Effect--<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He looks back at the road. A car roars by.<br /><br /> EVANGELIST<br /> --wherein all the planets of the <br /> known universe will be aligned up <br /> causin' an incredible buildup of <br /> destructive gravitational force. Now <br /> in Matthew Chapter Six, Verse Eighteen <br /> the Lord out and tells us that these <br /> are the signs by which we shall know <br /> that He is at our door. There are <br /> many good people disagree with me, <br /> but it's my belief that this <br /> Antichrist is alive today and livin' <br /> somewhere in Europe, in that ten-<br /> nation alliance I spoke of, bein' <br /> groomed for his task--<br /><br /> Ray switches off the radio.<br /><br /> We hear the sound of faint, labored breathing.<br /><br /> EXTREME CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> His jaw tightens. He whips his head toward the back seat. <br /> His head snaps forward again and he slams on the brakes.<br /><br /> The car screeches to a halt.<br /><br /> EXT. HIGHWAY<br /><br /> LONG SHOT THE CAR<br /><br /> As Ray's door flies open. He is bolting from the car. The <br /> camera, at waist level, tracks toward him as he races out <br /> into the field that abuts the highway.<br /><br /> Fifty yards in he finally stops, panting, framed from a low <br /> angle. His breath vaporizes in the crisp night air. We hear <br /> only his breath and the chirring of crickets. He is looking <br /> back toward the road.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV LONG SHOT THE CAR<br /><br /> Standing abandoned on the shoulder of the deserted highway. <br /> Its headlights cast a lonely beam up the road. No movement.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> His panting slows. He is in a cold sweat. After a long moment, <br /> he starts walking slowly, reluctantly, back toward the car.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV TRACKING<br /><br /> Toward the car. Still no sign of movement.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He slows as he draws up to the back of the car. He looks in <br /> the back window.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV BACK SEAT OF THE CAR<br /><br /> It is empty.<br /><br /> The door on the highway side is ajar.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> No reaction.<br /><br /> He walks around the back of the car onto the highway. He <br /> looks up the road.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Marty is crawling up the road on his hands and knees, leaving <br /> a trail of blood. The headlights of Ray's car give a <br /> fantastically long shadow.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Still no reaction. He gets into the driver's seat and stares <br /> through the windshield as he gropes for the ignition key.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Marty, crawling.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He throws the car into drive, looks at his target, thinks--<br /> decides. He pulls the key out of the ignition and goes around <br /> to the trunk of the car. He opens it and pulls out a shovel.<br /><br /> MARTY LOW ANGLE<br /><br /> From in front. The headlights glare behind him. His breath <br /> vaporizes. In the background Ray is walking toward him, <br /> dragging the shovel, which scrapes along the asphalt. As Ray <br /> moves into the foreground and turns to face Marty only his <br /> lower legs and the shovel are in frame.<br /><br /> The shovel rises out of frame.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Both hands hold the shovel tensed over his shoulder. He stares <br /> down at Marty. A long pause. We hear a distant rumble.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY'S FEET<br /><br /> Inches away from Marty. Marty's hand slides forward and wraps <br /> around one of Ray's ankles.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He shudders. He adjusts his grip on the shovel.<br /><br /> The rumble grows louder.<br /><br /> RAY'S FEET<br /><br /> He jerks his foot away, breaking Marty's grasp.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Looks up from Marty. The rumble grows louder.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Headlight beams, although not yet the headlights themselves, <br /> are visible a long way down the road.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Staring down the road. Finally he lowers the shovel, walks <br /> back to the car and throws it viciously into the trunk, walks <br /> back up into the foreground and stoops down.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT MARTY<br /><br /> As Ray grabs him under the armpits and starts dragging him <br /> back to the car. Just before Ray heaves him into the back <br /> seat, Marty coughs weakly. A fine spray of blood comes out <br /> with the cough.<br /><br /> The engine rumble is quite loud now.<br /><br /> MED SHOT RAY FROM ACROSS THE ROOF OF THE CAR<br /><br /> As he slams the back door shut. He presses himself against <br /> the side of the car. Headlights glare over him; the truck <br /> roars by just behind him.<br /><br /> EXT. OPEN FIELD<br /><br /> FULL SHOT RAY'S CAR<br /><br /> Sudden quiet at the cut. We are looking at Ray's car in <br /> profile, parked in the middle of a deserted field. From <br /> offscreen we hear the sound of a shovel biting into earth.<br /><br /> We track laterally down the car, along the beam of its <br /> headlights, to finally frame Ray as he climbs out of the <br /> shallow grave he has just finished digging.<br /><br /> He plants the shovel and walks back to the car.<br /><br /> VERY WIDE SHOT<br /><br /> The grave in the middle background; the car's headlights <br /> beyond it.<br /><br /> Ray is dragging Marty toward the grave. He dumps him in.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT THE GRAVE<br /><br /> As Marty thumps to the bottom, face up.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> As he bends over to pick up the shovel, dripping sweat. We <br /> hear the shovel biting into earth.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT THE GRAVE<br /><br /> Ray, in the foreground, pitches the first shovelful of earth <br /> onto Marty. Marty moves slightly.<br /><br /> LOW SHOT RAY<br /><br /> As he pauses, looking down into the grave. He stoops down <br /> and resumes shoveling, bobbing in and out of frame as he <br /> hurls dirt into the grave.<br /><br /> BACK TO HIGH SHOT<br /><br /> As Ray shovels, Marty is moving under the loose dirt. A faint, <br /> inarticulate noise comes from the grave.<br /><br /> Almost imperceptibly, Marty's right arm starts to rise.<br /><br /> LOW SHOT FROM INSIDE THE GRAVE<br /><br /> Ray stands on the lip of the grave, hunched over his shovel, <br /> crisply illuminated by the headlights. In the shadowy <br /> foreground Marty's arm rises, extended toward Ray. He is <br /> clutching Abby's gun in his splint-fingered hand.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> As he straightens up and stands motionless, expressionless, <br /> watching Marty, making no attempt to get out of the way.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT MARTY<br /><br /> The gun extended into the foreground. His index finger <br /> splinted, he slides his middle finger over the trigger of <br /> the gun.<br /><br /> LOW SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Watching.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT MARTY<br /><br /> The gun trembling in the foreground. His knuckle whitens <br /> over the trigger.<br /><br /> The trigger releases and we hear the dull click of an empty <br /> chamber.<br /><br /> LOW SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Staring blankly down at Marty.<br /><br /> SIDE SHOT<br /><br /> Of Marty's gun hand as Ray slowly sinks down on the lip of <br /> the grave, bracing himself with the shovel. His hand reaches <br /> for Marty's. Marty squeezes off two more empty chambers. <br /> Ray's hand slowly closes over the barrel of the gun.<br /><br /> As he pulls, the gun slides from Marty's fingers.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE BLADE OF THE SHOVEL<br /><br /> Biting into the earth.<br /><br /> MED SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Furiously shoveling dirt into the grave.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT THE GRAVE<br /><br /> Marty barely visible under the dirt.<br /><br /> MED SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Shoveling, panting.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT THE GRAVE<br /><br /> Half full.<br /><br /> MED SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Working furiously. His breath comes in short gasps.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT THE GRAVE<br /><br /> It is filled. Ray is packing down the earth, slamming the <br /> shovel furiously against the bare patch of earth.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE BLADE OF THE SHOVEL<br /><br /> Being slammed down against the earth. Again and again.<br /><br /> EXT. OPEN FIELD SUNRISE<br /><br /> The staccato beat of the shovel slamming against earth drops <br /> out at the cut. There is perfect quiet. The sun is just <br /> peeping over the horizon. In the foreground Ray is sitting <br /> in the open door of his car, smoking a cigarette. His gaze <br /> is fixed on a spot offscreen.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> A house. Quite near by.<br /><br /> The house and its perfect green rectangle of lawn are set <br /> incongruously in the middle of the open field.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Staring, without emotion.<br /><br /> He takes one last, fierce drag on the cigarette, then flicks <br /> it away. He takes the shovel, walks over to the grave and <br /> stares at it for several seconds, shovel clasped firmly in <br /> both hands.<br /><br /> He walks back to the car.<br /><br /> HIGH SHOT<br /><br /> House, car and grave. Ray throws the shovel into the car, <br /> gets in, and turns the ignition.<br /><br /> The engine coughs weakly and dies.<br /><br /> He tries again. Same result.<br /><br /> One more time. The engine coughs, sputters, and fires to <br /> life. The car runs over the grave and rattles on across the <br /> rutted field towards the highway in the distance.<br /><br /> INT. RAY'S CAR DAWN<br /><br /> As Ray drives down the straight empty highway in the flat <br /> early-morning light.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Pale and unblinking.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV THE HIGHWAY<br /><br /> In the distance we see a beat-up white station wagon <br /> approaching. It's headlights wink on, then off again.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He squints at the approaching car.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The car is closer. It's headlights wink again.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> His jaw tightens. He stares intently at the car. Then, <br /> abruptly, he looks down at his dashboard.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT HEADLIGHT KNOB ON THE DASHBOARD<br /><br /> His headlights are on. Ray's hand enters frame and pushes in <br /> the knob.<br /><br /> SIDE ANGLE RAY<br /><br /> Watching the approaching station wagon. As it passes we catch <br /> a glimpse of its occupant. He grins and cocks a you-got-it <br /> finger at Ray before roaring out of frame.<br /><br /> EXT. DESERTED GAS STATION<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE<br /><br /> The station hasn't opened yet. Ray's car, empty, stands alone <br /> in the lot. Flat prairie stretches to the horizon. No movement <br /> in the frame.<br /><br /> At the cut we hear the faint sound of a phone ringing through <br /> a receiver. After four or five rings the phone is picked up <br /> and we begin a slow crane down.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (through phone; <br /> sleepily)<br /> Hello?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (present; very hoarsely)<br /> Abby... you all right?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Ray?... What time is it?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I don't know. It's early... I love <br /> you.<br /><br /> A beat.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...You all right?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I don't know. I better get off now.<br /><br /> The continuing crane down reveals Ray in a phone booth in <br /> the foreground.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Okay, see ya... Thanks, Ray.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Abby--<br /><br /> The phone disconnects.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Her sleeping head on a pillow. Offscreen we hear a door open <br /> and shut. A moment later Ray's dirt-caked hand comes into <br /> frame and gently brushes a wisp of hair back for Abby's face. <br /> We hear Ray walk across the apartment and a moment later the <br /> sound of water running.<br /><br /> Abby stirs. She looks offscreen.<br /><br /> LONG SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Standing in the doorway to the bathroom. He is wiping his <br /> hands on a towel.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (sleepily)<br /> ...Ray?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> You're bad.<br /><br /> Still half asleep, Abby smiles.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...What?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I said you're bad.<br /><br /> There is a long pause. Finally:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (smiling)<br /> ...You're bad too.<br /><br /> Ray swings a chair out and sits down behind a table at the <br /> far end of the room. He leans back and props his legs up on <br /> the table. He is staring across the room at Abby.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> We're both bad.<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> BLACK<br /><br /> As we hear the click of a pull-string the camera is dropping: <br /> down past an orange safe light, down the length of the string, <br /> down to a metal darkroom tray where two short strips of <br /> negative are burning.<br /><br /> Visser's hand and yellow sleeve cuff (now orange) enter frame, <br /> with an 8 x 10 black-and-white photograph. The photograph is <br /> dropped into the tray. As it burns we see that it is the <br /> same picture of Abby's and Ray's "corpses" as Visser showed <br /> Marty, except that in this print the bullet holes and blood <br /> are less convincingly brushed in.<br /><br /> Another print is dropped into the tray and ignites. In this <br /> one we see bullet holes but no blood.<br /><br /> A third print is dropped in and ignites. It is the original <br /> undoctored shot of Abby and Ray asleep in bed.<br /><br /> Visser's hands enter frame holding the picture-envelope that <br /> he took away from Marty's office. Visser rips it in half and <br /> is about to drop it into the tray, but stops abruptly.<br /><br /> There is posterboard, not a photograph, peeking out of the <br /> torn envelope.<br /><br /> Visser's hands pull the two halves of the placard from the <br /> envelope and fit them together. The stenciled 8 x 10 placard <br /> says: "All Employees Must Wash Hands Before Resuming Work."<br /><br /> LOW-ANGLE CLOSE SHOT VISSER<br /><br /> Staring at the placard in disbelief.<br /><br /> After a moment his hand rises into frame to deposit a <br /> cigarette in his mouth. His hand drops back down, groping in <br /> a pocket.<br /><br /> His hand jumps back into frame, empty; he thumps at his breast <br /> pockets; he can't find his lighter.<br /><br /> He wheels and exits frame. The light snaps off. A door slams <br /> shut.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> He has dozed off in his chair. Offscreen we hear a door slam, <br /> and his eyes open.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> Emerging from the bathroom. Her voice has a flat echo in the <br /> bare apartment.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Why didn't you get into bed?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (groggy)<br /> I didn't think I could sleep. I'm <br /> surprised you could. Are you all <br /> right?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Yeah...<br /><br /> She walks over and sits down on the bed.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...You called me this morning.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> Abby looks at him, expecting more. Finally:<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...I just wanted to let you know <br /> that everything was all right. I <br /> took care of everything. Now all we <br /> have to do is keep our heads.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...What do you mean?<br /><br /> Ray finally looks directly at her.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I know about it, Abby. I went to the <br /> bar last night.<br /><br /> Abby is looking at him in alarm.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> What happened?--Was Meurice there?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> He laughs shortly.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...He didn't see me, though. Nobody <br /> saw me.<br /><br /> The chair grates back as he stands up and looks vaguely around <br /> the room.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Is it cold in here?<br /><br /> Abby is looking at him nervously.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Well... what happened?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I cleaned it all up, but that ain't <br /> important...<br /><br /> He starts nervously pacing around the room, looking for <br /> something.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...What's important is what we do <br /> now; I mean we can't go around half-<br /> cocked. What we need is some time to <br /> think about this, figure it out...<br /><br /> He moves a packing crate aside, still hunting around the <br /> apartment.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Anyway, we got some time now. But <br /> we gotta be smart.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Ray--<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Abby, never point a gun at anyone <br /> unless you're gonna shoot him. And <br /> when you shoot him you better make <br /> sure he's dead...<br /><br /> Ray's pacing is more agitated as he looks distractedly around <br /> the apartment.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...because if he's not dead he's <br /> gonna get up and try and kill you.<br /><br /> He pauses, seemingly at a total loss.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...That's the only thing they told <br /> us in the service that was worth a <br /> goddamn--Where the hell's my <br /> windbreaker?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> What the hell happened, Ray?<br /><br /> Ray is walking to the window. Sunlight streams in around <br /> him.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> That ain't important. What's important <br /> is that we did it. That's the only <br /> thing that matters. We both did it <br /> for each other...<br /><br /> He stoops down to look through a pile of clothes by the <br /> window.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...That's what's important.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I don't know what you're talking <br /> about.<br /><br /> Ray's head snaps around. Staring at her he slowly rises to <br /> his feet and then remains still.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I... I mean what're you talking about, <br /> Ray? I haven't done anything funny.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...What was that?<br /><br /> Abby, startled, can't contain her agitation anymore.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (rapidly)<br /> Ray, I mean you ain't even acting <br /> like yourself. First you call me at <br /> five in the A.M. saying all kinds of <br /> nice things over the telephone and <br /> then you come charging in here scaring <br /> me half to death without even telling <br /> me what it is I'm supposed to be <br /> scared of. I gotta tell you it's <br /> extremely rattling.<br /><br /> RAY<br /><br /> We track toward him, isolating him against the window. He is <br /> perfectly still. For a long time he can't speak.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (quietly)<br /> ...Don't lie to me, Abby--<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Still worked up.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> How can I be lying if I don't even <br /> know--<br /><br /> The ring of the telephone cuts her off. She looks at the <br /> phone, pauses for a moment, then continues, struggling.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...I mean if you and him had a fight <br /> or something, I don't care, as long <br /> as you...<br /><br /> Her voice trails off.<br /><br /> The telephone won't stop ringing. Abby and Ray are staring <br /> at each other, seemingly oblivious to it. Finally:<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Pick it up.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT TELEPHONE<br /><br /> Still ringing. Abby's hand enters frame and picks it up.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> What.<br /><br /> Through the phone we hear only the rhythmic whir of a ceiling <br /> fan. Abby shifts the phone to her other ear, listening hard. <br /> It is the same sound we heard earlier when she picked up the <br /> phone at Ray's house.<br /><br /> As before, the line clicks dead.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (looking at Ray)<br /> ...Welp, that was him.<br /><br /> There is a long moment of silence. Then Ray's voice comes <br /> from across the room:<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Who?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Marty.<br /><br /> There is silence again.<br /><br /> LONG SHOT THE APARTMENT<br /><br /> Ray shifts in front of the window. He laughs humorlessly. <br /> The laugh stops abruptly.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...What's going on with you two?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (quietly)<br /> All right...<br /><br /> He starts across the room.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...You can call him back, whoever it <br /> was...<br /><br /> He is heading for the door.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...I'll get out of your way.<br /><br /> He pauses at the foyer and pulls Abby's gun out of his pocket. <br /> He sets it on a shelf by the door.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> Watching. We hear the door open.<br /><br /> RAY (O.S.)<br /> You left your weapon behind.<br /><br /> We hear the door slam shut.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT CEILING FAN<br /><br /> We hear the rhythmic whir of the fan. We tilt down from the <br /> ceiling to reveal that we are in the living room of Ray's <br /> bungalow.<br /><br /> In the foreground Visser sits in a chair with the cradled <br /> telephone in his lap, facing the front door, which stands <br /> open in the background. The contents of Abby's tote bag lie <br /> strewn on the bureau next to Visser. Her purse is not there. <br /> After a moment Visser rouses himself and starts to sweep the <br /> articles back into the tote bag.<br /><br /> INT. MEURICE'S APARTMENT DAY<br /><br /> LOW WIDE SHOT LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> It is dark, lit only by the morning light leaking in around <br /> the drawn blinds. It is a small modern apartment such as one <br /> sees in large apartment complexes--shag carpeting, built-in <br /> bar. In the extreme foreground the small red "Power" light <br /> of a telephone answering machine glows in the darkness.<br /><br /> The front door opens in the background, spilling bright <br /> sunlight. Meurice stoops down, picks up two newspapers, <br /> enters, and shuts the door. He walks toward the camera and <br /> his hand enters frame in extreme foreground to punch the <br /> rewind button on the machine. His hand leaves frame. A few <br /> pieces of mail are flipped down onto the machine table, piece <br /> by piece, as the machine rewinds. He reaches down again and <br /> hits playback. After a beep:<br /><br /> WOMAN'S VOICE<br /> Hi Meurice, this is Helene, Helene <br /> Trend, and I'm calling 'cause I wanna <br /> know just what the hell that remark <br /> you made about Sylvia's supposed to <br /> mean...<br /><br /> Mail continues to flip down onto the table, piece by piece.<br /><br /> WOMAN'S VOICE<br /> ...She says you're full of shit and <br /> frankly I believe her. And hey, I <br /> love you too. Sure. Anyway, you better <br /> call me soon because I'm going to <br /> South America tonight--you know, <br /> Uruguay?<br /><br /> Dial tone. Beep.<br /><br /> MARTY'S VOICE<br /> (barking)<br /> Listen asshole, you know who this <br /> is. I just got back from Corpus and <br /> there's a lot of money missing from <br /> the safe...<br /><br /> The mail stops dropping; Marty has Meurice's attention.<br /><br /> MARTY'S VOICE<br /> ...I'm not saying you took it but <br /> the place was your responsibility <br /> and I told you to keep an eye on <br /> your asshole friend. Don't--uh, don't <br /> come to the bar tonight, I've got a <br /> meeting. But tomorrow I want to have <br /> a word with you, and with Ray--if <br /> you can find him.<br /><br /> Dial tone. Beep.<br /><br /> Meurice's hand drops into frame.<br /><br /> WOMAN'S VOICE<br /> Meurice, where the hell have you <br /> been? I--<br /><br /> His finger presses the stop button.<br /><br /> MATCH CUT TO:<br /><br /> RAY'S FINGER<br /><br /> Pressing into a dark stain in the upholstery of the back <br /> seat of his car. When he raises it the fingertip is red--the <br /> seat still wet with blood.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Looking down at the seat. He backs out of the car and walks <br /> up the driveway to his house.<br /><br /> INT. RAY'S LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> As he comes through the screen door. It bangs shut behind <br /> him. As he crosses the living room we see, and he hears, <br /> Meurice's Trans Am pulling up and stopping at the foot of <br /> the lawn. Ray turns and looks out the window.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT CLOSET DOOR<br /><br /> Ray throws it open and hurriedly pulls out the first thing <br /> at hand--a sheet. We hear the door of the Trans Am open and <br /> slam shut.<br /><br /> EXT. RAY'S BUNGALOW<br /><br /> TRACKING SHOT ON RAY<br /><br /> Exiting the house as the screen door bangs and shudders behind <br /> him. He hurries down the walk.<br /><br /> TRACKING SHOT RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Meurice is rounding the bottom of the lawn and starting up <br /> the drive toward the incriminating car. Its back door is <br /> standing ajar.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> I hope you're planning on leaving <br /> town.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Reacting to the line as he reaches the car. He bends over to <br /> throw the sheet over the seat just as Meurice walks up behind <br /> him.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (his back to Meurice; <br /> arranging the sheet)<br /> Got a problem, Meurice?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> No, you do, cowboy. You been to the <br /> bar?<br /><br /> Ray is still hunched in the open doorway. He freezes <br /> momentarily in arranging the sheet.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Why?<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> You shouldn't have taken the money...<br /><br /> Ray doesn't reply or turn around. Meurice is getting more <br /> strident.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Look at me man, I'm serious. You <br /> broke in the bar and ripped off the <br /> safe...<br /><br /> Ray backs out of the car and turns around.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Abby warned me you were gonna <br /> make trouble. Trouble with you is, <br /> you're too fucking obvious; the only <br /> ones with the combination are me and <br /> you...<br /><br /> Ray looks evenly at Meurice. Behind him the sheet has been <br /> arranged over the seat. He puts an unlit cigarette in his <br /> mouth.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...and Abby. Maybe. But as far as <br /> I'm concerned that only leaves one <br /> fucking possibility.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (tonelessly)<br /> What's that?<br /><br /> Meurice reaches out and swipes the unlit cigarette out of <br /> Ray's mouth.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Those things are nothing but coffin <br /> nails.<br /><br /> He turns and stares down the street, exasperated.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Look. Personally I don't give a <br /> shit. I know Marty's a hard-on but <br /> you gotta do something. I don't know; <br /> give the money back, say you're sorry, <br /> or get the fuck out of here, or <br /> something...<br /><br /> Mow that his temper is gone, he realizes he has nothing much <br /> to say. He shakes his head and turns back down the drive, <br /> muttering as he lights himself Ray's cigarette.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...It's very humiliating, preaching <br /> about this shit.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Standing in front of the back door of his car, watching <br /> Meurice walk away. His right hand rises into frame to deposit <br /> another unlit cigarette in his mouth. Offscreen, Meurice <br /> calls from the end of the drive:<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> I'm not laughing at this, Ray Bob, <br /> so you know it's no fucking joke.<br /><br /> We hear his car door slam. After a moment Ray exits frame, <br /> heading for the house. The camera tracks slowly in to the <br /> back window of the car.<br /><br /> Traces of blood are starting to seep up from the upholstery <br /> into the sheet.<br /><br /> INT. MARTY'S HOUSE DAY<br /><br /> LOW WIDE SHOT FRONT FOYER<br /><br /> We are looking across the tiled floor toward the front <br /> doorway. The room has the dim gray cast of daytime inside a <br /> shuttered house. We hold on the empty foyer as we hear an <br /> intermittent high whining sound. We hear the padding of feet <br /> on carpet, and then the clatter of nails on tile as Opal, <br /> Marty's German shepherd, trots into frame and circles the <br /> foyer, still whining. She jumps up and scratches desperately <br /> at the front door.<br /><br /> A slow, rhythmic pounding is very faint on the track.<br /><br /> EXT. MARTY'S BAR DUSK<br /><br /> Abby has just gotten out of her car and is walking up to the <br /> front of the darkened bar. The faint, rhythmic thumping <br /> continues over the cut, its source somewhere offscreen. As <br /> Abby takes a key out of her purse and lets herself into the <br /> bar, the thumping stops.<br /><br /> INT. MARTY'S BAR<br /><br /> Abby switches on the lights, looks around, goes to the back-<br /> office door. Locked. As she fits her key into the lock:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (quietly)<br /> Marty?<br /><br /> The door swings open, fanning a shaft of light onto the <br /> darkened room.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE BATHROOM<br /><br /> We are looking from the inside at the bathroom door that <br /> won't close all the way. As the light fans into the office <br /> beyond and seeps in through the crack of the bathroom door, <br /> we see Visser's sleeve cuff and his hand pressing against <br /> the door, to hold it near-shut.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Standing in the office doorway. We pull her into the room. <br /> She stops abruptly, looking past the camera, and wrinkles <br /> her nose.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Marty's fish, now half-decayed, still lie on the desk.<br /><br /> Some of the desk drawers stand open, with some of their <br /> contents strewn across the surface of the desk.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She takes a step forward. We hear the crunch of glass <br /> underfoot. She looks down at the floor.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Shards of broken glass lie on the floor.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She looks up from the floor toward the back door.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The pane of the back-door window closest to the knob has <br /> been shattered from the outside, scattering broken glass <br /> into the office.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She crosses slowly to the desk, staring at the rotted fish. <br /> She looks up from the desk.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> On the standing safe behind the desk lies a white towel. <br /> Abby's hand enters frame ans picks up the towel.<br /><br /> In slow motion a hammer that's been wrapped inside slips out <br /> of the towel, falls end-over-end, hits the floor with a dull <br /> thud.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Stooping down to pick up the hammer. At eye level as she <br /> stoops down is the combination dial to the safe. The dial <br /> has been battered by the hammer. Abby looks from the hammer <br /> to the floor under the desk chair.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Blood stains.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> Staring down at the floor. She rises and looks at the desk. <br /> As she rises we hear glass under her feet.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The dead fish. Beyond them, on the floor around the desk, <br /> broken glass.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Staring.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The dead fish.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She seems to be falling slowly backwards. The camera falls <br /> with her, keeping her in close shot. Her head hits a pillow. <br /> We pull back slowly to reveal that she is lying on the bed <br /> in her apartment, staring across the room. She lies motionless <br /> on the bad, her eyes wide.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Across the darkened apartment we see the curtainless windows, <br /> and beyond them, across the lamplit street, the facade of <br /> the opposite building.<br /><br /> LONG SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Lying still. After a moment she gets out of bed, crosses to <br /> the front door of the apartment, locks it, then walks <br /> unsteadily back to the bed.<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> FADE IN:<br /><br /> SAME LONG SHOT ABBY IN BED<br /><br /> She opens her eyes, lies still for a moment, coughs. She <br /> gets out of bed and walks across the still dark apartment to <br /> the bathroom. She shuts the bathroom door.<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> Abby looks at herself in the mirror above the sink, then <br /> turns on the tap water. From a neighboring apartment we hear <br /> a dull rhythmic thumping on the wall. She pauses, listens <br /> for a moment, then starts to splash water on her face.<br /><br /> From somewhere offscreen we hear the sharp sound of glass <br /> shattering. It reverberates for a moment, then dies. Abby <br /> looks up at the bathroom door. We hear a scraping at the <br /> lock of her apartment door. Abby listens.<br /><br /> Suddenly we hear the lock springing open, and the front door <br /> swinging on its hinges.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Startled. She shuts off the water and stands motionless. <br /> Droplets of water are streaming down her face.<br /><br /> We hear the sound of footsteps in the next room, crunching <br /> across broken glass.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Ray...?<br /><br /> There is no answer. After a moment we hear bedsprings creak <br /> in the next room. Abby opens the bathroom door and walks <br /> out.<br /><br /> MAIN ROOM<br /><br /> A shaft of light slices across the floor from the open <br /> bathroom door. Broken glass glints on the floor. In the semi-<br /> darkness we can see that someone is sitting on the bed. The <br /> person looks up.<br /><br /> It is Marty.<br /><br /> Abby recoils.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> Lover-boy oughta lock his door.<br /><br /> Abby looks nervously at Marty. Droplets of water are still <br /> running down her face. She brushes one from her eye.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> I love you...<br /><br /> He smiles thinly.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...That's a stupid thing to say, <br /> right?<br /><br /> Abby takes a step back.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I... I love you too.<br /><br /> Still smiling, Marty shakes his head.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> No. You're just saying that because <br /> you're scared...<br /><br /> He stands. We hear glass under his feet. He unbuttons the <br /> middle button of his coat and reaches inside.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> ...You left your weapon behind.<br /><br /> He withdraws something from an inside pocket and tosses it <br /> to her.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY'S HANDS<br /><br /> As she catches the object. It is her compact.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> She looks from her hands up to Marty.<br /><br /> MARTY<br /> He'll kill you too.<br /><br /> Marty gags, leans forward, doubles over to vomit--blood.<br /><br /> The blood washes over the floor at his feet.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> Bolts upright in bead with a muffled groan. Sweat pours down <br /> her face. She brushes a drop of sweat from her eye and looks <br /> around.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Moonlight glints through the windows across the hardwood <br /> floor. Through the windows we can see the facade of the <br /> opposite building. The apartment is dark and still, just as <br /> we left it before she fell asleep.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She slumps back onto the bed. One hand gropes down out of <br /> frame and comes up holding an illuminated alarm clock. She <br /> looks at it, drops it back to the floor.<br /><br /> She turns on her side and stares across the room toward the <br /> window.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The window.<br /><br /> DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:<br /><br /> SAME WINDOW SAME ANGLE PRE-DAWN<br /><br /> It is still not quite light. The few lights that shined in <br /> the windows of the opposite building before are now off; the <br /> facade of the building is a flat, undetailed gray.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Still lying on her side on the bed, her eyes open, staring <br /> at the window.<br /><br /> BACK TO LONG SHOT WINDOW<br /><br /> After a moment Abby enters frame. She picks her coat off a <br /> chair and puts it on.<br /><br /> We hear a car door slam.<br /><br /> EXT. RAY'S BUNGALOW PRE-DAWN<br /><br /> Abby has just gotten out of her car in the foreground and is <br /> crossing the lawn to the house. Down the road the street <br /> lights are still on. One light burns in the house, in the <br /> window of Ray's bedroom. Abby approaches it.<br /><br /> THROUGH THE WINDOW<br /><br /> Over Abby's shoulder, as she leans against the sill of the <br /> open window and looks inside.<br /><br /> Ray sits on the bed in the empty room, smoking a cigarette, <br /> his profile to the window, gazing fixedly at the wall.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Ray.<br /><br /> Ray starts and looks toward the window, squinting.<br /><br /> INT. RAY'S BUNGALOW<br /><br /> WIDE SHOT LIVING ROOM<br /><br /> Abby is coming through the screen door. The room is strikingly <br /> bare of everything except furniture. All personal effects <br /> have been removed.<br /><br /> Abby looks around, bewildered, as Ray enters from the hallway.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...Where is everything?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> In the trunk.<br /><br /> Abby, still standing in front of the door, looks at him <br /> uncomprehendingly. Ray walks over to a couple of cardboard <br /> boxes stacked in the corner.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...In the car.<br /><br /> He ties a knot around the top carton with a piece of cord, <br /> then cuts the cord with a collapsible fishing knife.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...You leaving?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Isn't that what you want?<br /><br /> She slowly shakes her head.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Wanna come with me?<br /><br /> He leans back against the boxes, watching her.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...But first I gotta know what <br /> happened.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> What do you want to know?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> You broke into the bar. You wanted <br /> to get your money. You and Marty had <br /> a fight. Something happened...<br /><br /> Ray shakes his head, smiling. Abby squints at him, looking <br /> for help.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...I don't know, wasn't it you? Maybe <br /> a burglar broke in, and you found--<br /><br /> RAY<br /> With your gun?...<br /><br /> He puts the knife in his pocket and walks over to the door. <br /> As he approaches her:<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Nobody broke in, Abby. I'll tell <br /> you the truth...<br /><br /> Ray faces Abby in front of the door.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Truth is, I've felt sick the last <br /> couple of days. Can't eat... Can't <br /> sleep... When I try to I... Abby...<br /><br /> It's difficult to bring out. Ray's hand gropes for the cross-<br /> slat on the screen door. Finally:<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...The truth is... he was alive when <br /> I buried him.<br /><br /> Abby stares.<br /><br /> An object materializes in the sky beyond them. It is flipping <br /> end-over-end in slow motion, moving toward Abby and Ray and <br /> the screen door. Abby and Ray, each staring at the other, <br /> fail to notice until--<br /><br /> THWACK--it bounces off the screen.<br /><br /> Abby starts; Ray doesn't.<br /><br /> The spell is broken, Abby pushes hesitantly at the screen <br /> door. Ray's hand slides off the cross-slat; he makes no move <br /> to stop her.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE FRONT STOOP<br /><br /> As Abby steps over the rolled-up newspaper that hit the screen <br /> door.<br /><br /> TRACKING SHOT ON ABBY<br /><br /> Hurrying down the driveway to get to her car. A low rumble <br /> is building on the soundtrack. Abby glances at Ray's car as <br /> she passes it.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV TRACKING FORWARD THE CAR<br /><br /> More blood has seeped into and dried on the dropsheet covering <br /> the back seat. The bass rumble grows louder, punctuated by a <br /> rhythmic thumping.<br /><br /> EXT. MEURICE'S APARTMENT DAY<br /><br /> OVER ABBY'S SHOULDER<br /><br /> As she pounds frantically on the door--the sound continuing <br /> over the cut. After a moment the door edges open.<br /><br /> Meurice is standing in the doorway in a long bathrobe. A <br /> sleeper's blindfold is pushed up over his forehead.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Abby. What's the matter?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> I... I'm sorry, Meurice. I gotta <br /> talk to you... Can I come in?<br /><br /> He looks at her hard.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Yeah... yeah, come in...<br /><br /> He steps aside to let her pass.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...but I gotta tell ya...<br /><br /> INT. MEURICE'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> As Abby enters.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...I'm retired.<br /><br /> Meurice switches on a table lamp; the curtains are drawn <br /> against the sun. Abby follows Meurice over to the bar.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Jesus, I got a hangover. Want a drink?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> No, I--<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> Well I do...<br /><br /> He pours himself a drink.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...For you I answer the door. If you <br /> wanna stay here, that's fine. But <br /> I'm retired.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Something happened with Marty and <br /> Ray--<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> (sharply)<br /> Abby...<br /><br /> He glares at her.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Let me ask you one question...<br /><br /> He slams back the drink.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Why do you think I'm retired.<br /><br /> He grimaces.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Ray stole a shitload of money <br /> from Marty. Until both of 'em calm <br /> down I'm not getting involved.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> No Meurice, it's worse than that. <br /> Something really happened, I think <br /> Marty's dead--<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> What?! Did Ray tell you that?<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Sort of...<br /><br /> Meurice sits her down on the sofa.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> That's total bullshit. Marty called <br /> me after he was jacked up...<br /><br /> He tries to coax her into lying down.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...I mean, I don't know where he is, <br /> but he ain't dead.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Meurice--<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> You don't look too good. You sleep <br /> last night?<br /><br /> Her head meets an end cushion.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Meurice, you gotta help me...<br /><br /> Meurice rises from the sofa, sighs.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> All right. Just sit tight. Try to <br /> get some sleep...<br /><br /> He leans down to the table next to the sofa.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...I'll find Marty, find out what's <br /> going on.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Her head on the cushion. We hear engine rumble. Abby twists <br /> her head back, following Meurice. As we hear the table lamp <br /> being switched off we:<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. HIGHWAY NIGHT<br /><br /> POV FROM A CAR<br /><br /> The engine rumble continues over the cut. There is no other <br /> traffic on the highway. A light fog covers the road. A green <br /> highway sign says: "San Antonio 73 mi." We hear a car radio <br /> playing softly.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Driving. He is gently lit by the light from the dashboard. <br /> He reaches forward to turn off the radio. The only sound now <br /> is the hum of the engine and the rhythmic clomping of tires <br /> on pavement. The look and sound of the scene are close to <br /> those of the first scene of the movie.<br /><br /> Ray takes a cigarette out of his pocket and puts it in his <br /> mouth, but leaves it unlit.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The headlights of an approaching car materialize in the fog. <br /> The car passes with a roar.<br /><br /> Up ahead a traffic light is turning amber.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> The engine hum drops as he slows. We hear the low engine <br /> rumble and the squeaking brakes of another car. Ray is now <br /> stopped in front of the deserted intersection. He looks up <br /> in his rearview mirror.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Another car is stopped just behind him, the fog floating up <br /> past its headlights. The headlights halate in the fog; none <br /> of the rest of the car is visible.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> The unlit cigarette still in his mouth. He looks down from <br /> the rearview mirror to the intersection ahead of him. There <br /> is a long pause, during which we hear only the steady purr <br /> of Ray's car and the knocking rumble of the car behind him.<br /><br /> Ray looks up at the traffic light.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The light is just turning from red to green.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY'S FOOT ON BRAKE<br /><br /> He takes his foot off the brake, hesitates for a moment, the <br /> replaces it on the brake.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> He looks up in his rearview mirror.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The headlights of the other car remain motionless behind <br /> him. The car makes no move to pass.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He slowly takes the cigarette from his mouth and drops it <br /> onto the seat next to him. His eyes shift from the rearview <br /> mirror to the traffic light.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> Green fog floats past the green light.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> His face frozen. He turns slowly to look behind.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The other car is still motionless. We hear the muted rumble <br /> of its engine.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> His eyes shift back to the mirror. He gropes for his window <br /> handle and slowly rolls it down. He sticks out his left arm, <br /> eyes still on the rearview mirror, and waves for the other <br /> car to go around him.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> The other car remains still for a moment. White fog floats <br /> up beyond the red fog created by Ray's brake lights.<br /><br /> Finally the car pulls out slowly to the left to pass.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Watching the car pass.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> As the car pulls out into the light from the intersection <br /> and Ray's headlights, we see that it is a battered green <br /> Volkswagon. First the car itself, and then its red tail <br /> lights, disappear into the fog.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Watching, for a long moment.<br /><br /> Finally he takes his foot off the brake, turns the steering <br /> wheel hard left and hangs a U-turn.<br /><br /> MARTY'S LIVING ROOM WIDE<br /><br /> A light is switched on in the expensively appointed room. <br /> Meurice enters, walking silently on the carpet, looking around <br /> the room. He throws the light off at the far end and leaves.<br /><br /> MARTY'S BEDROOM WIDE<br /><br /> The door swings open. Meurice throws the switch near the <br /> door and the room is bathed in light. We are once again in <br /> the bedroom where we earlier saw Abby looking through her <br /> purses.<br /><br /> We start to hear the faint buzzing of a fly.<br /><br /> Meurice glances around, throws off the light, and shuts the <br /> door. Black.<br /><br /> MARTY'S OFFICE<br /><br /> Somewhere offscreen a light is switched on and we are looking <br /> in close shot at the dead fish.<br /><br /> The sound of the fly is louder with the cut.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Standing in the doorway from the bar, staring down at the <br /> fish.<br /><br /> WIDE SHOT THE OFFICE<br /><br /> Ray glances around at the broken glass lying on the floor. <br /> His gaze shifts to the safe and the hammer in front of it. <br /> He walks over to the safe and stoops down.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY AT SAFE<br /><br /> He works its battered dial and it swings open. He shuffles <br /> through the contents and brings out a small pile of <br /> photographs.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> As he flips through the photographs. The first four are Ray <br /> and Abby in the motel room bed. The last is a mounted 8 x <br /> 10: Abby and Marty on a Gulf beach.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> Looking.<br /><br /> HIS POV PICTURE DETAIL<br /><br /> Marty is still laughing.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY<br /><br /> He scowls at the shots Visser took, then puts them back in <br /> the safe. When his hand comes out he is holding another <br /> photograph--this one folded twice. He unfolds it.<br /><br /> RAY'S POV<br /><br /> His and Abby's corpses.<br /><br /> BACK TO RAY FROM ACROSS THE DESK<br /><br /> As he straightens slowly from the safe in the background.<br /><br /> At desk level, we again see the glint of Visser's lighter <br /> under the dead fish.<br /><br /> Ray crosses slowly around the desk into the foreground and <br /> lays the picture flat on the desktop. For a moment he stares <br /> down at it, then wheels abruptly and leaves frame.<br /><br /> INT. RAY'S CAR<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT RAY<br /><br /> Driving. He glances up in the rearview mirror.<br /><br /> MARTY'S KITCHEN<br /><br /> As Meurice enters and throws an overhead light. The white <br /> room is bathed in bright, shadowless light. As Meurice steps <br /> into the kitchen his foot strikes something on the floor <br /> below frame, which clatters hollowly away.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT PLASTIC DOG-FOOD BOWL<br /><br /> The empty bowl skids into a wall, bounces back, and wobbles, <br /> spinning on its bottom rim.<br /><br /> MARTY'S BILLIARD ROOM<br /><br /> DUTCH-TILT<br /><br /> TRACKING SHOT TOWARD MOUNTED MOOSE HEAD<br /><br /> On a low skewed axis the camera is tracking in toward the <br /> impassive trophy head on Marty's billiard-room wall.<br /><br /> The moose still has Ray's cigarette protruding from its mouth.<br /><br /> REVERSE TRACKING SHOT MEURICE<br /><br /> As he walks toward the moose, head cocked to one side, <br /> frowning quizzically up.<br /><br /> He hears something, and looks through the door to his left.<br /><br /> MEURICE'S POV<br /><br /> The long shadowy hall. We hear panting.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT MEURICE<br /><br /> Squinting.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Opal?<br /><br /> THE HALLWAY<br /><br /> A form starts to materialize in the shadows.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /><br /> Taking a step back.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The dog bounding down the hallway. Its panting has become a <br /> low growl.<br /><br /> FROM BEHIND MEURICE<br /><br /> He wrenches a cue stick from the rack and squares.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> Opal snarling, leaping.<br /><br /> INT. MEURICE'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT TOP OF A COFFEE TABLE<br /><br /> The splintered top half of the pool cue is slammed down to <br /> rest on top of the coffee table.<br /><br /> MEURICE (O.S.)<br /> Even the fucking dog's gone crazy...<br /><br /> MED SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Sitting on the sofa, looking down out of frame. Behind her <br /> Meurice agitatedly paces back and forth, waving the splintered <br /> bottom half of the cue stick. His voice is unnaturally loud.<br /><br /> MEURICE<br /> ...Something pretty fucking weird is <br /> going on. Put your coat on and I'll <br /> drop you at home. But don't talk to <br /> either of 'em until I do. And don't <br /> worry. Believe me. These things always <br /> have a logical explanation. Usually.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The splintered top half of the cue stick on the coffee table.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S HALLWAY<br /><br /> Abby approaches her door in the foreground and lets herself <br /> in.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> Looking toward the window. The room is dark. Through the <br /> window we see the facade of the building across the street. <br /> Abby enters frame in the foreground, in silhouette against <br /> the window, and throws an overhead light switch. The bright <br /> light reveals Ray standing by the window, looking out.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (abruptly)<br /> Turn it off.<br /><br /> Abby jumps, startled.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Ray...<br /><br /> EXT. ROOF OF FACING APARTMENT BUILDING<br /><br /> From the roof of the building across the street we are looking <br /> down on the facade of Abby's building. Most of its windows <br /> are dark, but in a brightly lit fourth-floor window we can <br /> clearly see Abby and Ray.<br /><br /> A man is on the roof in the foreground, hitching a rifle to <br /> his shoulder.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> Ray turns from the window which, with the switching on of <br /> the overhead light, has become a mirror of the interior of <br /> the apartment.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Just turn it off.<br /><br /> EXT. FACING ROOF<br /><br /> The light goes out in the apartment across the street; its <br /> window goes opaque.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> Dark now. Ray still stands by the window, looking out. Abby <br /> still stands by the light switch.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (answering a question)<br /> No curtains on the windows.<br /><br /> Abby is clearly apprehensive--about Ray, not about anything <br /> outside.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...So?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I think someone's watching.<br /><br /> Abby doesn't understand, and has had enough. As she throws <br /> the light back on:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> So what'll they see?<br /><br /> Ray turns angrily from the window.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Just leave it off. He can see in.<br /><br /> EXT. FACING ROOF<br /><br /> Ray and Abby are once again clearly visible. Ray is starting <br /> across the room.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> Abby takes a fearful step back as Ray strides toward the <br /> light switch, next to her.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (abruptly)<br /> --If you do anything the neighbors'll <br /> hear.<br /><br /> This brings Ray up short. He stares at Abby. It registers <br /> that it is him she's afraid of.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> You think...<br /><br /> He shakes his head.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> ...Abby. I meant it... when I <br /> called...<br /><br /> Abby takes another step back. Her voice comes out, after a <br /> pause, half-strangled:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...I love you too.<br /><br /> Ray winces. He slowly shakes his head with a pained half-<br /> smile.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Because you're scared.<br /><br /> We hear the dull report of a rifle and the deafening sound <br /> of shattering glass. The gun shot hits Ray in the back, <br /> knocking him to the floor. He lies still.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> She stares dumbly down at Ray. She looks slowly up to the <br /> window.<br /><br /> THE WINDOW<br /><br /> It has a gaping black hole. The sound of shattering glass <br /> still reverberates in the apartment. Small shards of glass <br /> chink down from the window and shatter on the floor.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Staring at the window, paralyzed--almost in a trance. Quiet <br /> except for the chinking of glass.<br /><br /> EXT. FACING ROOF<br /><br /> We are looking through the telescopic sight of a high-powered <br /> rifle. The rifle sweeps up from Ray's body across the brightly <br /> lit room, and centers Abby, still staring at the window, in <br /> the cross hairs.<br /><br /> INT. ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> We are looking past Abby toward the shattered window at the <br /> far end of the room. A brass lamp stands in the foreground, <br /> between Abby and the camera. Abby still stands paralyzed.<br /><br /> Glass has stopped chinking from the window to the floor; <br /> there is a painful silence.<br /><br /> Suddenly Abby dives to the floor just as CRASH the rest of <br /> the window falls away and PING the brass lamp somersaults <br /> toward us from the impact of the bullet.<br /><br /> The window is now completely gone--just a black hole in the <br /> brightly lit wall.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /><br /> Scrambles into a corner at the window end of the room. The <br /> only sound is her heavy breathing. She looks over at Ray, <br /> then up at the bulb on the ceiling.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV CEILING BULB<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Breathing heavily, almost hysterical. She looks down at the <br /> floor.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Ray is sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood and broken <br /> glass.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She reaches down and pulls off one of her shoes. She throws <br /> it at the ceiling bulb.<br /><br /> We hear the bulb shatter and the room goes black.<br /><br /> Abby rises and makes her way cautiously across the glass-<br /> littered floor toward Ray. She stoops over him.<br /><br /> LOW SHOT THE DARK APARTMENT<br /><br /> Its front door in background. Abby rises into frame and backs <br /> toward the doorway, staring down at the floor. One of her <br /> hands is covered with blood.<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> Ray--<br /><br /> She winces and almost loses her balance as we hear a piece <br /> of glass crunching under her bare floor. She turns and moves <br /> to the front door, favoring one foot, and throws the door <br /> open.<br /><br /> HALLWAY<br /><br /> Abby lurches from her apartment and pounds on the neighboring <br /> door. No answer. She pounds on the door across the hall.<br /><br /> OLD WOMAN'S VOICE<br /> (frightened, in Spanish)<br /> Get away! I'll call my son-in-law!<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> (groping for the words, <br /> in Spanish)<br /> No no--you don't understand--<br /><br /> OLD WOMAN'S VOICE<br /> (in Spanish)<br /> He has a gun!<br /><br /> Abby heads for the stairway at the far end of the hall. The <br /> heel of her shod foot is throwing her weight onto her bad <br /> foot; she kicks off the shoe.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> As she reaches the top of the stairs. She takes one step <br /> down, then brings herself up short. She looks over the railing <br /> down the stairwell. It is quiet. An innocent-sounding cough <br /> echoes somewhere in the building.<br /><br /> We hear the sound of footsteps from somewhere below.<br /><br /> Abby turns and hobbles back to her apartment. The bareness <br /> of the hallway sets off her abandoned shoe.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> As she enters and slams the door behind her. She scrabbles <br /> at the lock, finally manages to get it shut, then turns and <br /> looks frantically around.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Ray is lying still in the darkness.<br /><br /> We can hear footsteps approaching up the hallway.<br /><br /> Abby enters frame and kneels down next to Ray. She fumbles <br /> around him briefly in the darkness.<br /><br /> The doorknob rattles. Abby freezes, listening, trying to <br /> control her breath. After a moment we hear a scraping at the <br /> lock.<br /><br /> Abby moves to the bathroom adjoining the main room and shuts <br /> the door behind her.<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> It is very small. Abby presses her palms against the door <br /> and slowly eases her ear against the door to listen. The <br /> scraping in the apartment door lock continues. Sweat streams <br /> down Abby's face. She brushes a drop from her eye.<br /><br /> We hear the snap of the lock springing open, and the front <br /> door swinging on its hinges.<br /><br /> CLOSER ON ABBY<br /><br /> Her ear pressed to the door. From the next room we hear the <br /> sound of footsteps crunching across broken glass.<br /><br /> Abby backs away from the door, stares at it, then turns and <br /> moves to the bathroom window. She looks out.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> A sheer drop to the narrow backyard of the building four <br /> stories below. Next to Abby's window is another window, <br /> separated from hers only by the breadth of the wall, that <br /> separates the two apartments.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> Visser hunches, hands on knees, over Ray, who lies on the <br /> floor out of frame.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> (grimly)<br /> All right...<br /><br /> He hunkers down closer to Ray.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...You got some of my personal <br /> property.<br /><br /> He is rummaging through Ray's pockets but comes up empty-<br /> handed.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...One of you does.<br /><br /> Visser looks down at Ray, glances around the room, looks <br /> back down at Ray.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...I don't know what the hell you <br /> two thought you were gonna pull.<br /><br /> His hand, gripping something, flashes down out of frame. We <br /> hear a dull crunch.<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> Abby has drawn her head back from the bathroom window. She <br /> moves back to the door and braces herself against it.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> Visser straightens up from Ray's body. He drops something to <br /> the floor, out of frame, that lands with a thud.<br /><br /> He goes over to the light switch on the wall and flips it <br /> back and forth. No light.<br /><br /> He goes over to the brass lamp, sets it upright, tries its <br /> switch. Again nothing.<br /><br /> He disappears into the kitchenette as we hold on its open <br /> doorway. After a moment we hear a refrigerator hum as a cold <br /> blue light plays in the doorway. There is the rattle of a <br /> can being pulled off the refrigerator rack, and the snap of <br /> its pull-tab being opened. After a couple of audible slurps <br /> we hear the can go back on the rack and, as the blue light <br /> disappears, we hear the refrigerator door close.<br /><br /> Visser reappears in the doorway. He surveys the room, fixes <br /> on the bathroom door, goes over, turns the knob. The door <br /> swings open.<br /><br /> He walks in.<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> Visser looks around the cramped space. The shower curtain is <br /> drawn. He casually draws it back. The shower is empty.<br /><br /> He goes to the window and leans out.<br /><br /> VISSER'S POV<br /><br /> The sheer drop below; the other window to one side.<br /><br /> BACK TO VISSER<br /><br /> He draws his head back in, presses his palms against the <br /> adjacent wall, and eases his ear to the wall to listen.<br /><br /> Perfect quiet.<br /><br /> After a moment he goes back to the window, braces himself <br /> against the sash, and sticks his arm out--groping for the <br /> window of the adjacent apartment.<br /><br /> EXT. ABBY'S BUILDING / BATHROOM WINDOW<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER'S FACE<br /><br /> Pressing against the glass as he leans against the upper <br /> half of the bathroom window.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER'S HAND<br /><br /> It finds the adjacent window and starts to raise it.<br /><br /> BACK TO VISSER'S FACE<br /><br /> Again we see him through the window. His jaw is set as he <br /> gropes offscreen.<br /><br /> Suddenly his body jerks violently forward, his head smacking <br /> against the glass and cracking it.<br /><br /> QUICK CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. ADJACENT APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER'S HAND<br /><br /> Abby (out of frame) has grabbed it and now THUMP she slams <br /> the window down on his wrist, catching it between the window <br /> sash and sill.<br /><br /> Her other hand flashes across frame to THUNK pin Visser's <br /> hand to the sill with Ray's knife.<br /><br /> QUICK CUT:<br /><br /> BACK TO VISSER<br /><br /> We hear the shatter of glass as the shock causes his head to <br /> break through the window. His hand is nailed into the <br /> apartment next door. He is in pain.<br /><br /> ADJACENT APARTMENT<br /><br /> Abby back slowly from the window, staring at the hand. From <br /> the ground below we hear the faint and echoing sounds of the <br /> shards of glass shattering against pavement.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV THE WINDOW<br /><br /> Visser's pinned hand is writhing.<br /><br /> As we hear a muffled CRACK, a circle of light opens with a <br /> puff of plaster dust in the wall that separates the two <br /> apartments. A line of light shoots across the dark apartment <br /> from the bright bathroom next door.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Staring at the wall. We hear a second CRACK.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> A second hole has opened in the wall, letting through a second <br /> shaft of light.<br /><br /> Four more sharp reports in rapid succession: With each gun <br /> blast a bright circle opens and a new shaft of light <br /> penetrates the dark apartment.<br /><br /> Finally we hear the CLICK of an empty chamber, and the clatter <br /> of the empty gun being dropped to the floor of the bathroom <br /> next door.<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Staring at the lines of light that crisscross the apartment.<br /><br /> There is a long moment of silence, then a sudden THUMP.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV THE WALL<br /><br /> Six circles of light.<br /><br /> The circles go black momentarily as there is another THUMP. <br /> And another. Each time Visser pounds his fist against the <br /> wall, there is a muffled THUMP and his swinging arm strobes <br /> the bullet holes.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She turns and hobbles toward the door of apartment. The <br /> muffled thumping continues, as in her dream.<br /><br /> HALLWAY<br /><br /> As Abby emerges from the adjacent apartment. She stops and <br /> looks down the hall.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The stairway is at the far end of the hall. The door of her <br /> own darkened apartment stands slightly ajar.<br /><br /> ADJACENT APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT THE WALL<br /><br /> The bullet holes strobing. The pounding, more purposeful <br /> now, grows louder and more intense.<br /><br /> Finally, with a crash, Visser's fist penetrates the wall in <br /> an explosion of light and dust.<br /><br /> HALLWAY<br /><br /> We pull Abby as she limps hesitantly down the hall.<br /><br /> ADJACENT APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER'S HAND<br /><br /> Waving aimlessly through the ambient dust. He is blindly <br /> groping for the sill--and the knife that pins his other hand.<br /><br /> His outstretched middle finger just grazes the handle of the <br /> knife.<br /><br /> ABBY'S HALLWAY / APARTMENT<br /><br /> Pulling Abby as she draws even with the door of her apartment.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Her pearl-handled revolver sits on the shelf just inside the <br /> door, where Ray left it. It catches the light from the hall.<br /><br /> ADJACENT APARTMENT<br /><br /> EXTREME CLOSE SHOT VISSER'S FINGERTIPS<br /><br /> The side of his middle finger rubs against the knife handle; <br /> the tip of his index finger barely touches it. Visser's <br /> fingers are trembling, indicating that his arm is stretched <br /> to its uttermost.<br /><br /> A surge against the wall gives his fingers another inch or <br /> so and they curl around the handle of the knife.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> As she steps in from the hallway to pick up the gun. She <br /> looks around the apartment.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The window of the apartment, its glass now completely gone, <br /> lets in streetlight. Ray's corpse is a dark form in the middle <br /> of the floor. A bright shaft of light slices across the room <br /> from offscreen. It glints on the shards of glass that litter <br /> the floor, just as in Abby's dream.<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER<br /><br /> As he slowly, quietly draws his hand in from the hole in the <br /> wall. He is holding the knife.<br /><br /> He turns slowly to face the door, listening.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> She steadies herself against the wall and turns to look toward <br /> the bathroom.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> The bathroom door stands slightly ajar. The interior of the <br /> bathroom is a bright band in the shadowy recesses of the <br /> back of the apartment.<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT VISSER<br /><br /> Moving quietly toward the door.<br /><br /> ABBY'S APARTMENT<br /><br /> CLOSE SHOT ABBY<br /><br /> Staring, almost transfixed, at the bathroom door. She raises <br /> the gun, trembling, and trains it on the band of light.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> Visser's shadow falls across the crack in the doorway.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> She shifts the gun slightly and fires.<br /><br /> ABBY'S POV<br /><br /> With the roar of the gun, a small circle of light opens in <br /> the door. As the door waffles under the impact, we hear Visser <br /> collapsing behind it.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Leaning against the facing wall. She lowers the gun. She <br /> slides down the wall to finally rest seated on the floor. <br /> She brushes a drop of sweat from her eye.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> The cracked bathroom door spilling light.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> A pause. After a moment, her voice comes out half-choked:<br /><br /> ABBY<br /> ...I ain't afraid of you, Marty.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> The bathroom door. Quiet for a long moment.<br /><br /> Then, from inside the bathroom, we hear laughter.<br /><br /> BACK TO ABBY<br /><br /> Staring at the door. We hear the laughter subside, to leave <br /> the sound of labored breathing. Finally:<br /><br /> VISSER (O.S.)<br /> ...Well ma'am...<br /><br /> BATHROOM<br /><br /> Visser lies on his back, his head underneath the bathroom <br /> sink.<br /><br /> His good hand is pressed against his belly, which rises and <br /> falls with his heavy breathing. Blood seeps out between his <br /> fingers.<br /><br /> He is smiling.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /> ...If I see him, I'll sure give him <br /> the message.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> The underside of the sink, its convoluted chrome works beading <br /> moisture.<br /><br /> VISSER<br /><br /> Looking, with mild interest.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> A condensed droplet trickles down the chrome.<br /><br /> Directly overhead, it hangs for a moment from the lowest <br /> joint of the pipe.<br /><br /> It fattens, wavers, wavers--and falls, spelling...<br /><br /> FINIS.<br /><br /> [DELETED SCENE FROM 1st. DRAFT]<br /><br /> "...In an early draft of the script, Ray, the befuddled <br /> bartender who for want of a more compelling character served <br /> as our story's hero, fled the scene of the tale's protracted <br /> central murder and checked into a motel outside of San <br /> Antonio:"<br /><br /> MOTEL LOBBY DAY<br /><br /> DUSTY RHODES, a lean man with a weathered face and large <br /> Adam's apple, stands behind the Formica check-in counter. <br /> KYLE, a heavyset man of thirty wearing a feed cap, sits in <br /> the lobby's one piece of furniture, a beat-up leatherette <br /> sofa. He sips from a can of soda.<br /><br /> Ray, begrimed and haggard, enters out of the glare of the <br /> noonday sun.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> Hey there, stranger! What can I do <br /> you for?<br /><br /> RAY<br /> I need a room.<br /><br /> Calling out from the divan:<br /><br /> KYLE<br /> He needs a room, Dusty.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> I reckon I can hear him...<br /> (to Ray)<br /> ...Room rate's eight sixty-six a day <br /> plus sales tax, plus extra for the <br /> TV option.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> How much extra?<br /><br /> KYLE<br /> (calling out)<br /> He wants the TV option, Dusty.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> I reckon I can hear him. TV option, <br /> that's a dollar twenty, makes nine <br /> eighty-six plus tax.<br /><br /> KYLE<br /> (calling out)<br /> Tell him the channels, Dusty.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> Channels, we got two and six. Two <br /> don't come in so hot.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> Just a room then.<br /><br /> KYLE<br /> (calling out)<br /> He don't want the option, Dusty.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> I reckon I heard the man.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (after shooting Kyle <br /> an irritated glance)<br /> Does he work here?<br /><br /> KYLE<br /> (calling out)<br /> Sure don't.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> See, Wednesday's the special on RC <br /> Cola. I don't know if I explained <br /> about the TV option. If there's a TV <br /> in the room, you got to pay the <br /> option.<br /><br /> KYLE<br /> (calling out)<br /> And how many room got TV, Dusty?<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> Ever durned one.<br /><br /> RAY<br /> (gamely)<br /> Okay, I'll take the TV option.<br /><br /> RHODES<br /> Well see the thing about that is, <br /> we're booked.<br /><br /> "Looking at this scene now, years later, it strikes us that <br /> revising it out of existence, as we did, constituted too <br /> much rewriting. Indeed, the more prosaic scene we replaced <br /> it with, involving Ray stopped at a traffic light, can be <br /> found in the finished script but not in the finished movie. <br /> It was shot but then deleted in order to more quickly get to <br /> the carnage, which was the picture's raison d'^etre..."<br /><br /> JOEL & ETHAN COEN<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> Blood Simple<br /><br />Writers : Joel Coen Ethan Coen<br />Genres : Drama ThrillerEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3235133972612521833.post-51964870193824108212007-05-17T14:18:00.000-07:002007-05-17T14:20:38.469-07:00THE BIG LEBOWSKITHE BIG LEBOWSKI<br /><br />We are floating up a steep scrubby slope. We hear male voices <br />gently singing "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and a deep, affable, <br />Western-accented voice--Sam Elliot's, perhaps:<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> A way out west there was a fella, <br /> fella I want to tell you about, fella <br /> by the name of Jeff Lebowski. At <br /> least, that was the handle his lovin' <br /> parents gave him, but he never had <br /> much use for it himself. This <br /> Lebowski, he called himself the Dude. <br /> Now, Dude, that's a name no one would <br /> self-apply where I come from. But <br /> then, there was a lot about the Dude <br /> that didn't make a whole lot of sense <br /> to me. And a lot about where he <br /> lived, like- wise. But then again, <br /> maybe that's why I found the place <br /> s'durned innarestin'.<br /><br />We top the rise and the smoggy vastness of Los Angeles at <br />twilight stretches out before us.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> They call Los Angeles the City of <br /> Angels. I didn't find it to be that <br /> exactly, but I'll allow as there are <br /> some nice folks there. 'Course, I <br /> can't say I seen London, and I never <br /> been to France, and I ain't never <br /> seen no queen in her damn undies as <br /> the fella says. But I'll tell you <br /> what, after seeing Los Angeles and <br /> thisahere story I'm about to unfold--<br /> wal, I guess I seen somethin' ever' <br /> bit as stupefyin' as ya'd see in any <br /> a those other places, and in English <br /> too, so I can die with a smile on my <br /> face without feelin' like the good <br /> Lord gypped me.<br /><br />INTERIOR RALPH'S<br /><br />It is late, the supermarket all but deserted. We are tracking <br />in on a fortyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the <br />dairy case. He is the Dude. His rumpled look and relaxed <br />manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.<br /><br />He is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining their <br />expiration dates.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> Now this story I'm about to unfold <br /> took place back in the early nineties--<br /> just about the time of our conflict <br /> with Sad'm and the Eye-rackies. I <br /> only mention it 'cause some- times <br /> there's a man--I won't say a hee-ro, <br /> 'cause what's a hee-ro?--but sometimes <br /> there's a man.<br /><br />The Dude glances furtively about and then opens a quart of <br />milk. He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> And I'm talkin' about the Dude here-- <br /> sometimes there's a man who, wal, <br /> he's the man for his time'n place, <br /> he fits right in there--and that's <br /> the Dude, in Los Angeles.<br /><br />CHECKOUT GIRL<br /><br />She waits, arms folded. A small black-and white TV next to <br />her register shows George Bush on the White House lawn with <br />helicopter rotors spinning behind him.<br /><br /> GEORGE BUSH<br /> This aggression will not stand. . . <br /> This will not stand!<br /><br />The Dude, peeking over his shades, scribbles something at <br />the little customer's lectern. Milk beads his mustache.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> ...and even if he's a lazy man, and <br /> the Dude was certainly that--quite <br /> possibly the laziest in Los Angeles <br /> County.<br /><br />The Dude has his Ralph's Shopper's Club card to one side and <br />is making out a check to Ralph's for sixty-nine cents.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> ...which would place him high in the <br /> runnin' for laziest worldwide--but <br /> sometimes there's a man. . . sometimes <br /> there's a man.<br /><br />EXTERIOR RALPH'S<br /><br />Long shot of the glowing Ralph's. There are only two or <br />three cars parked in the huge lot.<br /><br /> VOICE-OVER<br /> Wal, I lost m'train of thought here. <br /> But--aw hell, I done innerduced him <br /> enough.<br /><br />The Dude is a small figure walking across the vast lot. <br />Next to him walks a Mexican carry-out boy in a red apron and <br />cap carrying a small brown bag holding the quart of milk. <br />The two men's footsteps echo in the still of the night.<br /><br />After a beat of walking the Dude offhandedly points.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's the LeBaron.<br /><br />DUDE'S HOUSE<br /><br />The Dude is going up the walkway of a small Venice bungalow <br />court. He holds the paper sack in one hand and a small <br />leatherette satchel in the other. He awkwardly hugs the <br />grocery bag against his chest as he turns a key in his door.<br /><br />INSIDE<br /><br />The Dude enters and flicks on a light.<br /><br />His head is grabbed from behind and tucked into an armpit. <br />We track with him as he is rushed through the living room, <br />his arm holding the satchel flailing away from his body. <br />Going into the bedroom the outflung satchel catches a piece <br />of doorframe and wallboard and rips through it, leaving a <br />hole.<br /><br />The Dude is propelled across the bedroom and on into a small <br />bathroom, the satchel once again taking away a piece of <br />doorframe. His head is plunged into the toilet. The paper <br />bag hugged to his chest explodes milk as it hits the toilet <br />rim and the satchel pulverizes tile as it crashes to the <br />floor.<br /><br />The Dude blows bubbles.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> We want that money, Lebowski. Bunny <br /> said you were good for it.<br /><br />Hands haul the Dude out of the toilet. The Dude blubbers and <br />gasps for air.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Where's the money, Lebowski!<br /><br />His head is plunged back into the toilet.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Where's the money, Lebowski!<br /><br />The hands haul him out again, dripping and gasping.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> WHERE'S THE FUCKING MONEY, SHITHEAD!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's uh, it's down there somewhere. <br /> Lemme take another look.<br /><br />His head is plunged back in.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Don't fuck with us. If your wife <br /> owes money to Jackie Treehorn, that <br /> means you owe money to Jackie <br /> Treehorn.<br /><br />The inquisitor hauls the Dude's head out one last time and <br />flops him over so that he sits on the floor, back against <br />the toilet.<br /><br />The Dude gropes back in the toilet with one hand.<br /><br />Looming over him is a strapping blond man.<br /><br />Beyond in the living room a young Chinese man unzips his fly <br />and walks over to a rug.<br /><br /> CHINESE MAN<br /> Ever thus to deadbeats, Lebowski.<br /><br />He starts peeing on the rug.<br /><br />The Dude's hand comes out of the toilet bowl with his <br />sunglasses.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, man. Don't do--<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> You see what happens? You see what <br /> happens, Lebowski?<br /><br />The Dude puts on his dripping sunglasses.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Look, nobody calls me Lebowski. You <br /> got the wrong guy. I'm the Dude, <br /> man.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> Your name is Lebowski. Your wife is <br /> Bunny.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Bunny? Look, moron.<br /><br />He holds up his hands.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You see a wedding ring? Does this <br /> place look like I'm fucking married? <br /> All my plants are dead!<br /><br />The blond man stoops to unzip the satchel. He pulls out a <br />bowling ball and examines it in the manner of a superstitious <br />native.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> The fuck is this?<br /><br />The Dude pats at his pockets, takes out a joint and lights <br />it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Obviously you're not a golfer.<br /><br />The blond man drops the ball which pulverizes more tile.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> Woo?<br /><br />The Chinese man is zipping his fly.<br /><br /> WOO<br /> Yeah?<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> Wasn't this guy supposed to be a <br /> millionaire?<br /><br /> WOO<br /> Uh?<br /><br />They both look around.<br /><br /> WOO<br /> Fuck.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> What do you think?<br /><br /> WOO<br /> He looks like a fuckin' loser.<br /><br />The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose with one finger <br />and peeks over them.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey. At least I'm housebroken.<br /><br />The two men look at each other. They turn to leave.<br /><br /> WOO<br /> Fuckin' waste of time.<br /><br />The blond man turns testily at the door.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> Thanks a lot, asshole.<br /><br /> ON THE DOOR SLAM WE CUT TO:<br /><br />BOWLING PINS<br /><br />Scattered by a strike.<br /><br />Music and head credits play over various bowling shots--pins <br />flying, bowlers hoisting balls, balls gliding down lanes, <br />sliding feet, graceful releases, ball return spinning up a <br />ball, fingers sliding into fingerholes, etc.<br /><br />The music turns into boomy source music, coming from a distant <br />jukebox, as the credits end over a clattering strike.<br /><br />A lanky blonde man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail <br />turns from the strike to walk back to the bench.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight. <br /> Mark it, Dude.<br /><br />We are tracking in on the circular bench towards a big man <br />nursing a large plastic cup of Bud. He has dark worried <br />eyes and a goatee. Hairy legs emerge from his khaki shorts. <br />He also wears a khaki army surplus shirt with the sleeves <br />cut off over an old bowling shirt. This is Walter. He <br />squints through the smoke from his own cigarette as he <br />addresses the Dude at the scoring table.<br /><br />The Dude, also holding a large plastic cup of Bud, wears <br />some of its foam on his mustache.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This was a valued rug.<br /><br />He elaborately clears his throat.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This was, uh--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah man, it really tied the room <br /> together--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This was a valued, uh.<br /><br />Donny, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next Walter.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What tied the room together, Dude?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Were you listening to the story, <br /> Donny?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Were you listening to the Dude's <br /> story?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> I was bowling--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> So you have no frame of reference, <br /> Donny. You're like a child who <br /> wanders in in the middle of a movie <br /> and wants to know--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What's your point, Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> There's no fucking reason--here's my <br /> point, Dude--there's no fucking reason--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Yeah Walter, what's your point?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What's the point of--we all know who <br /> was at fault, so what the fuck are <br /> you talking about?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh? No! What the fuck are you <br /> talking--I'm not--we're talking about <br /> unchecked aggression here--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What the fuck is he talking about?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> My rug.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Forget it, Donny. You're out of <br /> your element.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> This Chinaman who peed on my rug, I <br /> can't go give him a bill so what the <br /> fuck are you talking about?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What the fuck are you talking about?! <br /> This Chinaman is not the issue! I'm <br /> talking about drawing a line in the <br /> sand, Dude. Across this line you do <br /> not, uh--and also, Dude, Chinaman is <br /> not the preferred, uh. . . Asian- <br /> American. Please.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, this is not a guy who built <br /> the rail- roads, here, this is a guy <br /> who peed on my--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What the fuck are you--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, he peed on my rug--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> He peed on the Dude's rug--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT! This <br /> Chinaman is not the issue, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> So who--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Jeff Lebowski. Come on. This other <br /> Jeffrey Lebowski. The millionaire. <br /> He's gonna be easier to find anyway <br /> than these two, uh. these two . . . <br /> And he has the wealth, uh, the <br /> resources obviously, and there is no <br /> reason, no FUCKING reason, why his <br /> wife should go out and owe money and <br /> they pee on your rug. Am I wrong?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No, but--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Am I wrong!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, but--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Okay. That, uh.<br /><br />He elaborately clears his throat.<br /><br />That rap really tied the room together, did it not?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuckin' A.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> And this guy peed on it.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Donny! Please!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, I could find this Lebowski guy--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> His name is Lebowski? That's your <br /> name, Dude!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should <br /> compensate me for the fucking rug. <br /> I mean his wife goes out and owes <br /> money and they pee on my rug.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Thaaat's right Dude; they pee on <br /> your fucking Rug.<br /><br />CLOSE ON A PLAQUE<br /><br />We pull back from the name JEFFREY LEBOWSKI engraved in silver <br />to reveal that the plaque, from Variety Clubs International, <br />honors Lebowski as ACHIEVER OF THE YEAR.<br /><br />Reflected in the plaque we see the Dude entering the room <br />with a YOUNG MAN. We hear the two men talk:<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> And this is the study. You can see <br /> the various commendations, honorary <br /> degrees, et cetera.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yes, uh, very impressive.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Please, feel free to inspect them.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm not really, uh.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Please! Please!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br />We are panning the walls, looking at various citations and<br /><br />certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed offscreen:<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> That's the key to the city of <br /> Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski was <br /> given two years ago in recognition <br /> of his various civic, uh.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> That's a Los Angeles Chamber of <br /> Commerce Business Achiever award, <br /> which is given--not necessarily given <br /> every year! Given only when there's <br /> a worthy, somebody especially--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey, is this him with Nancy?<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> That is indeed Mr. Lebowski with the <br /> first lady, yes, taken when--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Lebowski on the right?<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Of course, Mr. Lebowski on the right, <br /> Mrs. Reagan on the left, taken when--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> He's handicapped, huh?<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes. And <br /> this picture was taken when Mrs. <br /> Reagan was first lady of the nation, <br /> yes, yes? Not of California.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Far out.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> And in fact he met privately with <br /> the President, though unfortunately <br /> there wasn't time for a photo <br /> opportunity.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Nancy's pretty good.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Wonderful woman. We were very--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Are these.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> These are Mr. Lebowski's children, <br /> so to speak--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Different mothers, huh?<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> No, they--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I guess he's pretty, uh, racially <br /> pretty cool--<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> They're not his, heh-heh, they're <br /> not literally his children; they're <br /> the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, <br /> inner-city children of promise but <br /> without the--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I see.<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> --without the means for higher <br /> education, so Mr. Lebowski has <br /> committed to sending all of them <br /> to college.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jeez. Think he's got room for one <br /> more?<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> One--oh! Heh-heh. You never went <br /> to college?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well, yeah I did, but I spent most <br /> of my time occupying various, um, <br /> administration buildings--<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Heh-heh--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> --smoking thai-stick, breaking into <br /> the ROTC--<br /><br /> YOUNG MAN<br /> Yes, heh--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> --and bowling. I'll tell you the <br /> truth, Brandt, I don't remember most <br /> of it.--Jeez! Fuck me!<br /><br />Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed <br />Life Magazine cover which is headlined ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI <br />ACHIEVER? Oddly, the Dude's sunglassed face is on it; we <br />realize that, under the magazine's logo and headline, the <br />display is mirrored.<br /><br />We hear the door open and the whine of a motor. The Dude, <br />wearing shorts and a bowling shirt, turns to look.<br /><br />So does Brandt, the young man we've been listening to. He <br />wears a suit and has his hands clasped in front of his groin.<br /><br />Entering the room is a fat sixtyish man in a motorized <br />wheelchair--Jeff Lebowski.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Okay sir, you're a Lebowski, I'm a <br /> Lebowski, that's terrific, I'm very <br /> busy so what can I do for you?<br /><br />He wheels himself behind a desk. The Dude sits facing him <br />as Brandt withdraws.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well sir, it's this rug I have, really <br /> tied the room together-<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> You told Brandt on the phone, he <br /> told me. So where do I fit in?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well they were looking for you, these <br /> two guys, they were trying to--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> I'll say it again, all right? You <br /> told Brandt. He told me. I know <br /> what happened. Yes? Yes?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> So you know they were trying to piss <br /> on your rug--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Did I urinate on your rug?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You mean, did you personally come <br /> and pee on my--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Hello! Do you speak English? Parla <br /> usted Inglese? I'll say it again. <br /> Did I urinate on your rug?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well no, like I said, Woo peed on <br /> the rug--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Hello! Hello! So every time--I <br /> just want to understand this, sir--<br /> every time a rug is micturated upon <br /> in this fair city, I have to <br /> compensate the--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Come on, man, I'm not trying to scam <br /> anybody here, I'm just--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> You're just looking for a handout <br /> like every other--are you employed, <br /> Mr. Lebowski?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Look, let me explain something. <br /> I'm not Mr. Lebowski; you're Mr. <br /> Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's <br /> what you call me. That, or Duder. <br /> His Dudeness. Or El Duderino, if, <br /> you know, you're not into the whole <br /> brevity thing--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Are you employed, sir?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Employed?<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> You don't go out and make a living <br /> dressed like that in the middle of a <br /> weekday.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Is this a--what day is this?<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> But I do work, so if you don't mind--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No, look. I do mind. The Dude minds. <br /> This will not stand, ya know, this <br /> will not stand, man. I mean, if <br /> your wife owes--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> My wife is not the issue here. I <br /> hope that my wife will someday learn <br /> to live on her allowance, which is <br /> ample, but if she doesn't, sir, that <br /> will be her problem, not mine, just <br /> as your rug is your problem, just as <br /> every bum's lot in life is his own <br /> responsibility regardless of whom he <br /> chooses to blame. I didn't blame <br /> anyone for the loss of my legs, some <br /> chinaman in Korea took them from me <br /> but I went out and achieved anyway. <br /> I can't solve your problems, sir, <br /> only you can.<br /><br />The Dude rises.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Ah fuck it.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Sure! Fuck it! That's your answer! <br /> Tattoo it on your forehead! Your <br /> answer to everything!<br /><br />The Dude is heading for the door.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Your "revolution" is over, Mr. <br /> Lebowski! Condolences! The bums <br /> lost!<br /><br />As the Dude opens the door.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> ...My advice is, do what your parents <br /> did! Get a job, sir! The bums will <br /> always lose-- do you hear me, <br /> Lebowski? THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS--<br /><br />The Dude shuts the door on the old man's bellowing to find <br />himself--<br /><br /> HALLWAY<br /> --in a high coffered hallway. Brandt <br /> is approaching.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Okay. The old man told me to take <br /> any rug in the house.<br /><br />WALKWAY<br /><br />A houseman with a rolled-up carpet on one shoulder goes down <br />a stone walk that winds through the back lawn, past a swimming <br />pool to a garage. Brandt and the Dude follow.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Manolo will load it into your car <br /> for you, uh, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's the LeBaron.<br /><br />DUDE'S POINT OF VIEW<br /><br />Tracking toward the pool. A young woman sits facing it, her <br />back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.<br /><br />Beyond her a black form floats in an inflatable chair in the <br />pool.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see <br /> you again some time, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the <br /> neighborhood, need to use the john.<br /><br />CLOSER TRACK<br /><br />Arcing around the woman's foot as she finishes painting the <br />nails emerald green.<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />Looking.<br /><br />WIDER<br /><br />The young woman looks up at him. She is in her early <br />twenties.<br /><br />She leans back and extends her leg toward the Dude.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> Blow on them.<br /><br />The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose and peeks over <br />them.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br />She waggles her foot and giggles.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> G'ahead. Blow.<br /><br />The Dude tentatively grabs hold of her extended foot.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You want me to blow on your toes?<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> Uh-huh. . . I can't blow that far.<br /><br />The Dude looks over at the pool.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You sure he won't mind?<br /><br />The man bobbing in the inflatable chair is passed out. He <br />is thin, in his thirties, with long stringy blond hair. He <br />wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket, open, <br />shirtless, exposing fine blond chest hair and pale skin. <br />One arm trails off into the water; next to it, an empty <br />whiskey bottle bobs.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> Dieter doesn't care about anything. <br /> He's a nihilist.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Practicing?<br /><br />The young woman smiles.<br /><br /> YOUNG WOMAN<br /> You're not blowing.<br /><br />Brandt nervously takes the Dude by the elbow.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Our guest has to be getting along, <br /> Mrs. Lebowski.<br /><br />The Dude grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still <br />looking at the young woman.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You're Bunny?<br /><br /> BUNNY<br /> I'll suck your cock for a thousand <br /> dollars.<br /><br />Brandt releases a gale of forced laughter:<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Ha-ha-ha-ha! Wonderful woman. Very <br /> free-spirited. We're all very fond <br /> of her.<br /><br /> BUNNY<br /> Brandt can't watch though. Or he <br /> has to pay a hundred.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That's marvelous.<br /><br />He continues to lead away the Dude, who looks back over his<br /><br />SHOULDER:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm just gonna find a cash machine.<br /><br />BOWLING PINS<br /><br />Scattered by a strike.<br /><br />THE BOWLERS<br /><br />Donny calls out from the bench:<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Grasshopper Dude--They're dead in <br /> the water!!<br /><br />As the Dude walks back to the scoring table he turns to <br />another team in black bowling shirts--the Cavaliers--that <br />shares the lane.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Your maples, Carl.<br /><br />Walter, just arriving, is carrying a leatherette satchel in <br />one hand and a large plastic carrier in the other.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Way to go, Dude. If you will it, it <br /> is no dream.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You're fucking twenty minutes late. <br /> What the fuck is that?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Theodore Herzel.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> State of Israel. If you will it, <br /> Dude, it is no--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What the fuck're you talking about? <br /> The carrier. What's in the fucking <br /> carrier?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh? Oh--Cynthia's Pomeranian. <br /> Can't leave him home alone or he <br /> eats the furniture.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What the fuck are you--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm saying, Cynthia's Pomeranian. <br /> I'm looking after it while Cynthia <br /> and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You brought a fucking Pomeranian <br /> bowling?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What do you mean "brought it bowling"? <br /> I didn't rent it shoes. I'm not <br /> buying it a fucking beer. He's not <br /> gonna take your fucking turn, Dude.<br /><br />He lets the small yapping dog out of the carrier. It scoots <br />around the bowling table, sniffing at bowlers and wagging <br />its tail.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey, man, if my fucking ex-wife asked <br /> me to take care of her fucking dog <br /> while she and her boyfriend went to <br /> Honolulu, I'd tell her to go fuck <br /> herself. Why can't she board it?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> First of all, Dude, you don't have <br /> an ex, secondly, it's a fucking show <br /> dog with fucking papers. You can't <br /> board it. It gets upset, its hair <br /> falls out.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey man--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fucking dog has papers, Dude.--Over <br /> the line!<br /><br />Smokey turns from his last roll to look at Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Smokey Huh?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Over the line, Smokey! I'm sorry. <br /> That's a foul.<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> Bullshit. Eight, Dude.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Excuse me! Mark it zero. Next frame.<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> Bullshit. Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This is not Nam. This is bowling. <br /> There are rules.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Come on Walter, it's just--it's <br /> Smokey. So his toe slipped over a <br /> little, it's just a game.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This is a league game. This <br /> determines who enters the next round-<br /> robin, am I wrong?<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> Yeah, but--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Am I wrong!?<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> Yeah, but I wasn't over. Gimme the <br /> marker, Dude, I'm marking it an <br /> eight.<br /><br />Walter takes out a gun.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Smokey my friend, you're entering a <br /> world of pain.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey Walter--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Mark that frame an eight, you're <br /> entering a world of pain.<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> I'm not--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> A world of pain.<br /><br />A manager in a bowling-shirt style uniform is running for a <br />phone.<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> Look Dude, I don't hold with this. <br /> This guy is your partner, you should--<br /><br />Walter primes the gun and points it at his head.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY? AM <br /> I THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO GIVES A SHIT <br /> ABOUT THE RULES? MARK IT ZERO!<br /><br />The Pomeranian is excitedly yapping at Walter's elbow, making <br />high body-twisting tail-wagging leaps.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, they're calling the cops, <br /> put the piece away.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> MARK IT ZERO!<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> Walter--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND HERE? <br /> MARK IT ZERO!!<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> All right! There it is! It's fucking <br /> zero!<br /><br />He points frantically at the score projected above the lane.<br /><br /> SMOKEY<br /> You happy, you crazy fuck?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This is a league game, Smokey!<br /><br />PARKING LOT<br /><br />Walter and the Dude walk to the Dude's car. The Pomeranian <br />trots happily behind Walter who totes the empty carrier.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, you can't do that. These <br /> guys're like me, they're pacificists. <br /> Smokey was a conscientious objector.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You know Dude, I myself dabbled with <br /> pacifism at one point. Not in Nam, <br /> of course--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> And you know Smokey has emotional <br /> problems!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You mean--beyond pacifism?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> He's fragile, man! He's very fragile!<br /><br />As the two men get into the car:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh. I did not know that. Well, <br /> it's water under the bridge. And we <br /> do enter the next round-robin, am I <br /> wrong?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No, you're not wrong--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Am I wrong!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You're not wrong, Walter, you're <br /> just an asshole.<br /><br />They watch a squad car take a squealing turn into the lot.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Okay then. We play Quintana and <br /> O'Brien next week. They'll be <br /> pushovers.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Just, just take it easy, Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That's your answer to everything, <br /> Dude. And let me point out--pacifism <br /> is not--look at our current situation <br /> with that camelfucker in Iraq--<br /> pacifism is not something to hide <br /> behind.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well, just take 't easy, man.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm perfectly calm, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah? Wavin' a gun around?!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> (smugly)<br /> Calmer than you are.<br /><br />-his irritates the Dude further.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Just take it easy, man!<br /><br />Walter is still smug.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Calmer than you are.<br /><br />DUDE'S HOUSE<br /><br />A large, brilliant Persian rug lies beneath the Dude's beat-<br />up old furniture.<br /><br />At the table next to the answering machine the Dude is mixing <br />kalhua, rum and milk.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Dude, this is Smokey. Look, I don't <br /> wanna be a hard-on about this, and I <br /> know it wasn't your fault, but I <br /> just thought it was fair to tell you <br /> that Gene and I will be submitting <br /> this to the League and asking them <br /> to set aside the round. Or maybe <br /> forfeit it to us--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Shit!<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> --so, like I say, just thought, you <br /> know, fair warning. Tell Walter.<br /><br />A beep.<br /><br /> ANOTHER VOICE<br /> Mr. Lebowski, this is Brandt at, uh, <br /> well--at Mr. Lebowski's office. <br /> Please call us as soon as is <br /> convenient.<br /><br />Beep.<br /><br /> ANOTHER VOICE<br /> Mr. Lebowski, this is Fred Dynarski <br /> with the Southern Cal Bowling League. <br /> I just got a, an informal report, <br /> uh, that a uh, a member of your team, <br /> uh, Walter Sobchak, drew a loaded <br /> weapon during league play--<br /><br />We hear the doorbell.<br /><br />THE DOOR<br /><br />It swings open to reveal a short, hairy, muscular but balding <br />middle-aged man in a black T-shirt and black cut-off jeans.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hiya Allan.<br /><br /> ALLAN<br /> Dude, I finally got the venue I <br /> wanted. I'm Performing my dance <br /> quintet--you know, my cycle--at Crane <br /> Jackson's Fountain Street Theatre on <br /> Tuesday night, and I'd love it if <br /> you came and gave me notes.<br /><br />The Dude takes a swig of his kalhua.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Sure Allan, I'll be there.<br /><br /> ALLAN<br /> Dude, uh, tomorrow is already the <br /> tenth.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, yeah I know. Okay.<br /><br /> ALLAN<br /> Just, uh, just slip the rent under <br /> my door.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, okay.<br /><br />BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM<br /><br />The voice continues on the machine.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> --serious infraction, and examine <br /> your standing. Thank you. Beep.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Mr. Lebowski, Brandt again. Please <br /> do call us when you get in and I'll <br /> send the limo. Let me assure you--I <br /> hope you're not avoiding this call <br /> because of the rug, which, I assure <br /> you, is not a problem. We need your <br /> help and, uh--well we would very <br /> much like to see you. Thank you. <br /> It's Brandt.<br /><br />TRACKING<br /><br />We are pushing Brandt down the high-ceilinged hallway. <br />Distantly, we hear a dolorous soprano. Brandt talks back <br />over<br /><br />HIS SHOULDER:<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> We've had some terrible news. Mr. <br /> Lebowski is in seclusion in the West <br /> Wing.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh.<br /><br />Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors. The music <br />washes over us as we enter a great study where Jeffrey <br />Lebowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares hauntedly <br />into a fire, listening to Lohengrin.<br /><br />BRANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Mr. Lebowski.<br /><br />Jeffrey Lebowski waves the Dude in without looking around.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> It's funny. I can look back on a <br /> life of achievement, on challenges <br /> met, competitors bested, obstacles <br /> overcome. I've accomplished more <br /> than most men, and without the use <br /> of my legs. What. . . What makes a <br /> man, Mr. Lebowski?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Dude.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I don't know, sir.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Is it. . . is it, being prepared to <br /> do the right thing? Whatever the <br /> price? Isn't that what makes a man?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Sure. That and a pair of testicles.<br /><br />Lebowski turns away from the Dude with a haunted stare, lost <br />in thought.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> You're joking. But perhaps you're <br /> right.<br /><br />The Dude thumps at his chest pocket.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Mind if I smoke a jay?<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Bunny.<br /><br />He turns back around and the firelight shows teartracks on <br />his cheeks.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> 'Scuse me?<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Bunny Lebowski. . . She is the light <br /> of my life. Are you surprised at my <br /> tears, sir?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuckin' A.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Strong men also cry. . . Strong men <br /> also cry.<br /><br />He clears his throat.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> I received this fax this morning.<br /><br />Brandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and <br />hands it to the Dude.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> As you can see, it is a ransom note. <br /> Sent by cowards. Men who are unable <br /> to achieve on a level field of play. <br /> Men who will not sign their names. <br /> Weaklings. Bums.<br /><br />THE DUDE EXAMINES THE FAX:<br /><br />WE HAVE BUNNY. GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-<br />CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. NO FUNNY STUFF.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Bummer.<br /><br />Lebowski looks soulfully at the Dude.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Brandt will fill you in on the <br /> details.<br /><br />He wheels his chair around to once again gaze into the fire. <br />Brandt tugs at the Dude's shirt and points him back to the <br />hall.<br /><br />HALLWAY<br /><br />The soprano's singing is once again faint. Brandt's voice <br />is hushed:<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Mr. Lebowski is prepared to make a <br /> generous offer to you to act as <br /> courier once we get instructions for <br /> the money.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Why me, man?<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> He suspects that the culprits might <br /> be the very people who, uh, soiled <br /> your rug, and you're in a unique <br /> position to confirm or, uh, disconfirm <br /> that suspicion.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> So he thinks it's the carpet-pissers, <br /> huh?<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Well Dude, we just don't know.<br /><br />BOWLING PINS<br /><br />CRASH--scattered by a strike, in slow motion.<br /><br />WIDER<br /><br />Still in slow motion. We are looking across the length of <br />the bowling alley at a tall, thin, Hispanic bowler displaying <br />perfect form. He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester stretch <br />bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each side.<br /><br />FAST TRACK IN<br /><br />On the Dude, sitting next to Walter in the molded plastic <br />chairs. The Dude is staring off towards the bowler.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fucking Quintana--that creep can <br /> roll, man--<br /><br />BACK TO THE BOWLER<br /><br />Displaying great slow-motion form as the Dude and Walter's <br />conversation continues over.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah, but he's a fucking pervert, <br /> Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> The man is a sex offender. With a <br /> record. Spent six months in Chino <br /> for exposing himself to an eight-<br /> year-old.<br /><br />FLASHBACK<br /><br />We see Quintana, in pressed jeans and a stretchy sweater, <br />walking up a stoop in a residential neighborhood and zinging <br />the bell.<br /><br />The VOICE-OVER conversation continues.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> When he moved down to Venice he had <br /> to go door-to-door to tell everyone <br /> he's a pederast.<br /><br />The door swings open and a beer-swilling middle-aged man <br />looks dully out at Quintana, who looks hesitantly up.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What's a pederast, Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shut the fuck up, Donny.<br /><br />PINS<br /><br />scattered by a strike.<br /><br />QUINTANA<br /><br />wheeling and thrusting a black gloved fist into the air.<br /><br />Stitched above the breast pocket of his all-in-one is his <br />first name, "Jesus".<br /><br />BACK TO WALTER AND THE DUDE<br /><br />They have been joined by Donny.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Anyway. How much they offer you?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Twenty grand. And of course I still <br /> keep the rug.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Just for making the hand-off?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah.<br /><br />He slips a little black box out of his shirt pocket.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> ...They gave Dude a beeper, so <br /> whenever these guys call--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What if it's during a game?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I told him if it was during league <br /> play--<br /><br />Donny has been watching Quintana.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> If what's during league play?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Life does not stop and start at your <br /> convenience, you miserable piece of <br /> shit.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What's wrong with Walter, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I figure it's easy money, it's all <br /> pretty harmless. I mean she probably <br /> kidnapped herself.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What do you mean, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Rug-peers did not do this. I mean <br /> look at it. Young trophy wife. <br /> Marries a guy for money but figures <br /> he isn't giving her enough. She <br /> owes money all over town--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That...fucking...bitch!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's all a goddamn fake. Like Lenin <br /> said, look for the person who will <br /> benefit. And you will, uh, you know, <br /> you'll, uh, you know what I'm trying <br /> to say--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> I am the Walrus.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That fucking bitch!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> I am the Walrus.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shut the fuck up, Donny! V.I. Lenin! <br /> Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What the fuck is he talking about?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That's fucking exactly what happened, <br /> Dude! That makes me fucking SICK!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, well, what do you care, Walter?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Yeah Dude, why is Walter so pissed <br /> off?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Those rich fucks! This whole fucking <br /> thing-- I did not watch my buddies <br /> die face down in the muck so that <br /> this fucking strumpet--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I don't see any connection to Vietnam, <br /> Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well, there isn't a literal <br /> connection, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, face it, there isn't any <br /> connection. It's your roll.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Have it your way. The point is--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's your roll--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> The fucking point is--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's your roll.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Are you ready to be fucked, man?<br /><br />They both look up.<br /><br />Quintana, on his way out, looks down at them from the lip of <br />the lanes. Over his polyester all-in-one he now wears a <br />windbreaker with a racing stripe and "Jesus" stitched on the <br />breast. He is holding a fancy black-and-red leather ball <br />satchel (perhaps a Sylvia Wein). Behind him stands his <br />partner, O'Brien, a short fat Irishman with tufted red hair.<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /> I see you rolled your way into the <br /> semis. Deos mio, man. Seamus and <br /> me, we're gonna fuck you up.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah well, that's just, ya know, <br /> like, your opinion, man.<br /><br />Quintana looks at Walter.<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /> Let me tell you something, bendeco. <br /> You pull any your crazy shit with <br /> us, you flash a piece out on the <br /> lanes, I'll take it away from you <br /> and stick it up your ass and pull <br /> the fucking trigger til it goes <br /> "click".<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jesus.<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /> You said it, man. Nobody fucks with <br /> the Jesus.<br /><br />Jesus walks away. Walter nods sadly.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Eight-year-olds, Dude.<br /><br />DUDE'S BUNGALOW<br /><br />We are looking down at the Dude who is prone on the rug. <br />His eyes are closed. He wears a Walkman headset. Leaking <br />tinnily through the headphones we can just hear an <br />intermittent clatter.<br /><br />In his outflung hand lies a cassette case labeled VENICE <br />BEACH LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987.<br /><br />The Dude absently licks his lips as we faintly hear a hall <br />rumbling down the lane. On its impact with the pins, the <br />Dude opens his eyes.<br /><br />He screams.<br /><br />A blonde woman looms over him. Next to her a young man <br />in paint-spattered denims stoops and swings something towards <br />the carrier.<br /><br />The sap catches the Dude on the chin and sends his head <br />thunking back onto the rug.<br /><br />A million stars explode against a field of black. We hear <br />the "La-la-la-la" of The Man in Me.<br /><br />The black field dissolves into the pattern of the rug. <br />The rug rolls away to reveal an aerial view of the city of <br />Los Angeles at twilight, moving below us at great speed.<br /><br />The Dude is flying over the city, his arms thrown out in <br />front of him, the wind whipping his hair and billowing his <br />bowling shirt. He looks up.<br /><br />Ahead the mysterious blonde woman wings away, riding on the <br />Dude's rug like a sheik on a magic carpet. She is outpacing <br />us, growing smaller.<br /><br />The Dude does a couple of lazy crawl strokes and then notices <br />that a bowling ball has materialized in his forward hand. <br />His bemusement turns to concern over the aerodynamic <br />implications just as the ball seems to suddenly assume its <br />weight, abruptly snapping his arm down, and him after it. He <br />is falling. From a high angle we see the Dude hurtling down <br />toward the city, dragged by the ball.<br /><br />A reverse looking up shows the Dude hurtling toward us <br />out of the inky sky, his eyes wide with horror. Led by <br />the bowling ball, he zooms past the camera leaving us in <br />black.<br /><br />We hear a distant rumble, like thunder. Dull reflections <br />materialize in the darkness. They are glints off the shiny <br />surface of an oncoming bowling ball.<br /><br />We pull back to reveal that the blackness was the inside of <br />a ball return, and the gleaming bowling ball is being <br />regurgitated up at us, overtaking us.<br /><br />The Dude looks up, up, up at the looming ball, its mass <br />rolling a huge shadow across his face.<br /><br />The gleaming ball shows three dead black holes rolling toward <br />us --finger holes.<br /><br />The largest--thumb--hole rolls directly over us, engulfing <br />us once again in black..<br /><br />The black rolls away and we are spinning--spinning down a <br />bowling lane--our point of view that of someone trapped in <br />the thumbhole of the rolling ball.<br /><br />We see the receding bowler spinning away. It is the blonde <br />woman, performing her follow-through.<br /><br />Floor spins up at us and then away; ceiling spins up and <br />away; the length of the alley with pins at the end; floor; <br />ceiling; approaching pins; again and again.<br /><br />We hit the pins and clatter into blackness. We hear pins <br />spin, hit each other and drop.<br /><br />We hear an irritating, insistent beeping.<br /><br />FADE IN<br /><br />We are close on the Dude, upside down. As the picture fades <br />in the bowling noises continue, but filtered and faint. <br />They come from the Dude's Walkman, the headset of which is <br />now askew, with one arm off his ear.<br /><br />As the Dude opens his eyes we spiral slowly upward to put <br />him right side around. His head is now resting against <br />hardwood floor, not rug.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh man.<br /><br />He raises himself onto his elbows and massages the <br />red lump on his jaw. The beeper on his belt is <br />blinking red in sync with the continuing irritating beeps.<br /><br />WIDE ON THE ROOM<br /><br />An end table is upset, but otherwise the furniture is <br />in place. The rug is gone.<br /><br />The Dude looks around. The bowling sounds continue. <br />The beeps continue.<br /><br />The phone starts to jangle.<br /><br />TRACK<br /><br />We push Brandt down the familiar marble hallway. <br />Again there is a distant aria. Brandt throws out a <br />wrist to look at his watch.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> They called about eighty minutes <br /> ago. They want you to take the money <br /> and drive north on the 4 5. They'll <br /> call you on the portable phone with <br /> instructions in about forty minutes. <br /> One person only or I'd go with you. <br /> They were very clear on that: one <br /> person only. What happened to your <br /> jaw?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, nothin', you know.<br /><br />They have reached the little desk outside of the big <br />Lebowski's office; Brandt opens its bottom drawer with a key <br />and takes out an attache case. He hands this to the Dude <br />along with a cellular phone in a battery-pack carrying case.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Here's the money, and the phone. <br /> Please, Dude, follow whatever <br /> instructions they give.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Her life is in your hands.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, man, don't say that..<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Mr. Lebowski asked me to repeat that: <br /> Her life is in your hands.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Shit.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Her life is in your hands, Dude. <br /> And report back to us as soon as <br /> it's done.<br /><br />DUDE'S CAR<br /><br />We pan off the Dude, driving, to his point of view through <br />the front windshield. The headlights play over Walter <br />standing waiting in front of the storefront of SOBCHAK <br />SECURITY. Though he is wearing khaki shorts and shirt, the <br />fact that he holds a battered brown briefcase makes him look <br />oddly like a commuter. He also holds an irregular shape <br />bundled in brown wrapping paper.<br /><br />The car stops in front of him and he opens the Dude's door <br />and hands in the briefcase.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Take the ringer. I'll drive.<br /><br />The Dude takes the briefcase and slides over.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The what?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> The ringer! The ringer, Dude! Have <br /> they called yet?<br /><br />The Dude opens the briefcase and paws bemusedly through it <br />as the car starts rolling.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What the hell is this?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> My dirty undies. Laundry, Dude. <br /> The whites.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Agh--<br /><br />He closes the briefcase.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, I'm sure there's a reason <br /> you brought your dirty undies--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Thaaaat's right, Dude. The weight. <br /> The ringer can't look empty.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter--what the fuck are you <br /> thinking?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well you're right, Dude, I got to <br /> thinking. I got to thinking why <br /> should we settle for a measly fucking <br /> twenty grand--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> We? What the fuck we? You said you <br /> just wanted to come along--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> My point, Dude, is why should we <br /> settle for twenty grand when we can <br /> keep the entire million. Am I wrong?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yes you're wrong. This isn't a <br /> fucking game, Walter--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> It is a fucking game. You said so <br /> yourself, Dude--she kidnapped herself--<br /><br /> DUDE '<br /> Yeah, but--<br /><br />The phone chirps. Dude grabs it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Dude here.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> (German accent)<br /> Who is this?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Dude the Bagman. Where do you want <br /> us to go?<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> ...Us?<br /> DUDE<br /><br />Shit. . . Uh, yeah, you know, me and the driver. I'm not <br />handling the money and driving the car and talking on the <br />phone all by my fucking--<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Shut the fuck up.<br /> (Beat)<br /> Hello?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah?<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Okay, listen--<br /><br />Walter looks over at the Dude and bellows:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude, are you fucking this up?<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Who is that?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The driver man, I told you--<br /><br />Click. Dial tone.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh shit. Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What the fuck is going on there?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> They hung up, Walter! You fucked it <br /> up! You fucked it up! Her life was <br /> in our hands!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Easy, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> We're screwed now! We don't get <br /> shit and they're gonna kill her! <br /> We're fucked, Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude, nothing is fucked. Come on. <br /> You're being very unDude. They'll <br /> call back. Look, she kidnapped her--<br /><br />The phone chirps.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Ya see? Nothing is fucked up here, <br /> Dude. Nothing is fucked. These <br /> guys are fucking amateurs--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Shutup, Walter! Don't fucking say <br /> peep when I'm doing business here.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> (patronizing)<br /> Okay Dude. Have it your way.<br /><br />The Dude unclips the phone from the battery pack.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> But they're amateurs.<br /><br />The Dude glares at Walter. Into the phone:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Dude here.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Okay, vee proceed. But only if there <br /> is no funny stuff.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> So no funny stuff. Okay?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey, just tell me where the fuck you <br /> want us to go.<br /><br />A HIGHWAY SIGN: SIMI VALLEY ROAD<br /><br />It flashes by in the headlights of the roaring car.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> That was the sign.<br /><br />Walter wrestles the car onto the two-lane road.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah. So as long as we get her back, <br /> nobody's in a position to complain. <br /> And we keep the baksheesh.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Terrific, Walter. But you haven't <br /> told me how we get her back. Where <br /> is she?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That's the simple part, Dude. When <br /> we make the handoff, I grab the guy <br /> and beat it out of him.<br /><br />He looks at the Dude.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> ...Huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah. That's a great plan, Walter. <br /> That's fucking ingenious, if I <br /> understand it correctly. That's a <br /> Swiss fucking watch.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Thaaat's right, Dude. The beauty of <br /> this is its simplicity. If the plan <br /> gets too complex something always <br /> goes wrong. If there's one thing I <br /> learned in Nam--<br /><br />The phone chirps.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Dude.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> You are approaching a vooden britch. <br /> When you cross it you srow ze bag <br /> from ze left vindow of ze moving <br /> kar. Do not slow down. Vee vatch <br /> you.<br /><br />Click. Dial tone.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> FUCK.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What'd he say? Where's the hand-<br /> off?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> There is no fucking hand-off, Walter! <br /> At a wooden bridge we throw the money <br /> out of the car!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> We throw the money out of the moving <br /> car!<br /><br />Walter stares dumbly for a beat.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> We can't do that, Dude. That fucks <br /> up our plan.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well call them up and explain it to <br /> 'em, Walter! Your plan is so fucking <br /> simple, I'm sure they'd fucking <br /> understand it! That's the beauty of <br /> it Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Wooden bridge, huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm throwing the money, Walter! <br /> We're not fucking around!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> The bridge is coming up! Gimme the <br /> ringer, Dude! Chop-chop!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuck that! I love you, Walter, but <br /> sooner or later you're gonna have to <br /> face the fact that you're a goddamn <br /> moron.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Okay, Dude. No time to argue. Here's <br /> the bridge--<br /><br />There is the bump and new steady of the car on the bridge. <br />The Dude is twisting around to pull the money briefcase from <br />the back seat. Walter reaches one arm across Dude's body to <br />grab the laundry.<br /><br />And there goes the ringer.<br /><br />He flings it out the window.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Your wheel, Dude! I'm rolling out!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What the fuck?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Your wheel! At fifteen em-pee-aitch <br /> I roll out! I double back, grab one <br /> of 'em and beat it out of him! The <br /> uzi!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uzi?<br /><br />Walter points across the seat at the paper-wrapped bundle.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You didn't think I was rolling out <br /> of here naked!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, please--<br /><br />Walter has flung open his door and is leaning halfway out <br />over the road.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fifteen! This is it, Dude! Let's <br /> take that hill!<br /><br />Walter rolls out with his parcel, giving a loud grunt as he <br />hits the pavement. The car swerves and lurches and the Dude, <br />cursing, takes the wheel.<br /><br />OUTSIDE<br /><br />Walter tumbles onto the shoulder and--RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!--muzzle <br />flashes tear open the wrapping paper.<br /><br />INSIDE THE CAR<br /><br />The car rocks and the Dude wrestles with the wheel.<br /><br />OUTSIDE<br /><br />The car clunks and screams around in a skid.<br /><br />INSIDE<br /><br />The Dude is thrown forward as the car hits something.<br /><br />OUTSIDE<br /><br />As the Dude struggles out holding the satchel of money. The <br />front of his car is crumpled into a tree. The car body saps <br />back to the left, where the rear wheel has been shot out.<br /><br />WALTER is just rising from the ground massaging an <br />injured knee.<br /><br />The Dude runs up the road toward the bridge, <br />frantically waving the satchel in the air.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> WE HAVE IT! WE HAVE IT!!<br /><br />There is a distant engine roar. A motorcycle bumps up onto <br />the road from the ravine under the bridge and, tires <br />squealing, skids around to speed away in the opposite <br />direction. It is closely followed by two more roaring <br />motorcycles.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> WE HAVE IT!!. . . We have it!<br /><br />The Dude and Walter stand in the middle of the road, watching <br />the three red tail lights fishtail away.<br /><br />AFTER A LONG STARING SILENCE:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Ahh fuck it, let's go bowling.<br /><br />BOWLING LANE<br /><br />A ball rumbles in to scatter ten pins.<br /><br />WALTER.<br /><br />He turns from the lane to where the Dude sits in the nook of <br />molded plastic chairs. The Dude listlessly holds the portable <br />phone in his lap. It is ringing.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Aitz chaim he, Dude. As the ex used <br /> to say.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What the fuck is that supposed to <br /> mean? What the fuck're we gonna <br /> tell Lebowski?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh? Oh, him, yeah. Well I don't <br /> see, um-- what exactly is the problem?<br /><br />The portable phone stops ringing.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh? The problem is--what do you <br /> mean what's the--there's no--we didn't--<br /> they're gonna kill that poor woman--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What the fuck're you talking about? <br /> That poor woman--that poor slut--<br /> kidnapped herself, Dude. You said <br /> so yourself--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No, Walter! I said I thought she <br /> kidnapped herself! You're the one <br /> who's so fucking certain--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That's right, Dude, 1 % certain--<br /><br />Donny is trotting excitedly up.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> They posted the next round of the <br /> tournament--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Donny, shut the f--when do we play?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> This Saturday. Quintana and--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Saturday! Well they'll have to <br /> reschedule.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, what'm I gonna tell Lebowski?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I told that fuck down at the league <br /> office-- who's in charge of <br /> scheduling?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Burkhalter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I told that kraut a fucking thousand <br /> times I don't roll on shabbas.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> It's already posted.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> WELL THEY CAN FUCKING UN-POST IT!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who gives a shit, Walter? What about <br /> that poor woman? What do we tell--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> C'mon Dude, eventually she'll get <br /> sick of her little game and, you <br /> know, wander back--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> How come you don't roll on Saturday, <br /> Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm shomer shabbas.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What's that, Walter?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, and in the meantime what do I <br /> tell Lebowski?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Saturday is shabbas. Jewish day of <br /> rest. Means I don't work, I don't <br /> drive a car, I don't fucking ride in <br /> a car, I don't handle money, I don't <br /> turn on the oven, and I sure as shit <br /> don't fucking roll!<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Sheesh.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, how--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shomer shabbas.<br /><br />The Dude gets to his feet with the portable phone.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> That's it. I'm out of here.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> For Christ's sake, Dude.<br /><br />Walter and Donny join the Dude as he walks out of the bowling <br />alley.<br /><br />Hell, you just tell him--well, you tell him, uh, we made the <br />hand-off, everything went, uh, you know--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Oh yeah, how'd it go?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Went alright. Dude's car got a little <br /> dinged up--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> But Walter, we didn't make the fucking <br /> hand- off! They didn't get, the <br /> fucking money and they're gonna--<br /> they're gonna--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah yeah, "kill that poor woman."<br /><br />He waves both arms as if conducting a symphony orchestra.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Kill that poor woman.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Walter, if you can't ride in a car, <br /> how d'you get around on Shammas--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Really, Dude, you surprise me. <br /> They're not gonna kill shit. They're <br /> not gonna do shit. What can they <br /> do? Fuckin' amateurs. And meanwhile, <br /> look at the bottom line. Who's <br /> sitting on a million fucking dollars? <br /> Am I wrong?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Who's got a fucking million fucking <br /> dollars parked in the trunk of our <br /> car out here?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> "Our" car, Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> And what do they got, Dude? My dirty <br /> undies. My fucking whites--Say, <br /> where is the car?<br /><br />The three bowlers, stopped at the edge of the lot, stare out <br />at an empty parking space.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Who has your undies, Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Where's your car, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You don't know, Walter? You seem to <br /> know the answer to everything else!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Hmm. Well, we were in a handicapped <br /> spot. It, uh, it was probably towed.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's been stolen, Walter! You fucking <br /> know it's been stolen!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well, certainly that's a possibility, <br /> Dude--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Aw, fuck it.<br /><br />The Dude walks away across the lot. The portable phone starts <br />ringing again.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Where you going, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm going home, Donny.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Your phone's ringing, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Thank you, Donny.<br /><br />DUDE'S LIVING ROOM<br /><br />The Dude is slumped disconsolately back in his easy chair, <br />fingers of one hand cupped over his sunglasses. Facing him <br />on the couch are two uniformed policeman, one middle-aged, <br />the other a fresh-faced rookie.<br /><br />At the cut the portable phone, in the Dude's lap, is chirping. <br />The Dude waits for the rings to end. When they do:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> 1972 Pontiac LeBaron.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> Color?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Green. Some brown, or, uh, rust, <br /> coloration.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> And was there anything of value in <br /> the car?<br /><br />DULLY:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh? Oh. Yeah. Tape deck. Couple <br /> of Creedence tapes. And there was <br /> a, uh. . . my briefcase.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> In the briefcase?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Papers. Just papers. You know, my <br /> papers. Business papers.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> And what do you do, sir?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm unemployed.<br /><br /> OLDER COP<br /> ...Most people, we're working nights, <br /> they offer us coffee.<br /><br />There is silence. Dude continues to stare at a spot on the <br />floor. The older cop stares at him.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> ...Me, I don't drink coffee. But <br /> it's nice when they offer.<br /><br />AT LENGTH:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> ...Also, my rug was stolen.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> Your rug was in the car.<br /><br />The Dude taps the floor with his foot.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No. Here.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> Separate incidents?<br /><br />The Dude stares at the floor.<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br /> OLDER COP<br /> Snap out of it, son.<br /><br />The home phone starts ringing--a ring distinct from the <br />chirp of the portable. The Dude makes no move to answer <br />it. Finally the rings stop as an answering machine kicks <br />on.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You find them much? Stolen cars?<br /><br />Dude's Voice on Machine The Dude's not in. Leave a message <br />after the beep. It takes a minute.<br /><br /> YOUNGER COP<br /> Sometimes. I wouldn't hold out much <br /> hope for the tape deck though. Or <br /> the Creedence tapes.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> And the, uh, the briefcase?<br /><br />Beep.<br /><br /> FEMALE VOICE ON MACHINE<br /> Mr. Lebowski, I'd like to see you. <br /> Call when you get home and I'll send <br /> a car for you. My name is Maude <br /> Lebowski. I'm the woman who took <br /> the rug.<br /><br />Beep. Dial tone.<br /><br /> OLDER COP<br /> Well, I guess we can close the file <br /> on that one.<br /><br />TRACKING FORWARD<br /><br />We are moving through the open living area of a large downtown <br />L.A. loft. A huge unfinished canvas, lit by standing <br />industrial lights, dominates one wall. The furnishings are <br />spare given the space. On the floor is the Dude's brilliant <br />rug.<br /><br />We hear a rumble like an approaching bowling ball. The Dude, <br />standing in the middle of the loft, looks into the murky <br />depths of the cavernous space.<br /><br />Something huge and white hurtles towards the Dude's head. <br />As it roars overhead he ducks, and spins to watch it pass.<br /><br />We see the backside of a naked woman in a sling suspended <br />from a ceiling track rumbling over a canvas that lies on the <br />floor. She is holding a paint bucket in one hand and a brush <br />in the other, with which she flicks paint down at the canvas.<br /><br />The Dude turns again as he hears running footsteps. Two <br />young men in paint-spattered shorts, T-shirts and sneakers <br />reach the sling shortly after it reaches the end of its track <br />and haul it back for another push.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I'll be with you in a minute, Mr. <br /> Lebowski.<br /><br />She rumbles by in another pass.<br /><br />All right, we'll do the blue tomorrow. Elfranco. Pedro. <br />Help me down.<br /><br />The two men help Maude out of her sling. She is naked <br />except for leather harness straps which ring her breasts <br />and wrap her thighs and give her something of a dominatrix <br />look.<br /><br />Does the female form make you uncomfor- table, Mr. Lebowski?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Is that what that's a picture of?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> In a sense, yes. Elfranco, my robe. <br /> My art has been commended as being <br /> strongly vaginal. Which bothers <br /> some men. The word itself makes <br /> some men uncomfortable. Vagina.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh yeah?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Yes, they don't like hearing it and <br /> find it difficult to say. Whereas <br /> without batting an eye a man will <br /> refer to his "dick" or his "rod" or <br /> his "Johnson".<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> "Johnson"?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Thank you.<br /><br />This to Elfranco, who has handed her a robe.<br /><br />All right, Mr. Lebowski, let's get down to cases. My father <br />told me he's agreed to let you have the rug, but it was a <br />gift from me to my late mother, and so was not his to give. <br />Now. As for this. . . "kidnapping"--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Yes, I know about it. And I know <br /> that you acted as courier. And let <br /> me tell you something: the whole <br /> thing stinks to high heaven.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Right, but let me explain something <br /> about that rug--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Do you like sex, Mr. Lebowski?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Excuse me?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Sex. The physical act of love. <br /> Coitus. Do you like it?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I was talking about my rug.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> You're not interested in sex?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You mean coitus?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> I like it too. It's a male myth <br /> about feminists that we hate sex. <br /> It can be a natural, zesty enterprise. <br /> But unfortunately there are some <br /> people--it is called satyriasis in <br /> men, nymphomania in women--who engage <br /> in it compulsively and without joy.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, no.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Yes Mr. Lebowski, these unfortunate <br /> souls cannot love in the true sense <br /> of the word. Our mutual acquaintance <br /> Bunny is one of these.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Listen, Maude, I'm sorry if your <br /> stepmother is a nympho, but I don't <br /> see what it has to do with--do you <br /> have any kalhua?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Take a look at this, sir.<br /><br />She is aiming a remote at a projection TV. The screen <br />flickers to life. A title card:<br /><br />JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS<br /><br />SECOND CARD:<br /><br />KARL HUNGUS<br /><br />AND<br /><br />BUNNY LAJOYA<br /><br />IN<br /><br />A THIRD CARD:<br /><br />LOGJAMMIN'<br /><br />The Dude is at the bar, a bottle of kalhua frozen halfway <br />to his glass.<br /><br />From the television set we hear a doorbell ring, and then a <br />door opening.<br /><br />On the TV screen the door opens to reveal a sallow-faced <br />man in blue coyer-alls. It is Dieter, the floater in <br />Lebowski's pool.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Hello. Nein dizbatcher says zere <br /> iss problem mit deine kable.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Shit, I know that guy. He's a <br /> nihilist.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> And you recognize her, of course.<br /><br />The girl answering the door is Bunny Lebowski.<br /><br />Bunny The TV is in here.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Za, okay, I bring mein toolz.<br /><br />Bunny This is my friend Shari. She just came over to use <br />the shower.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> (grimly)<br /> The story is ludicrous.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Mein nommen iss Karl. Is hard to <br /> verk in zese clozes--<br /><br />Maude switches off the set.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Lord. You can imagine where it goes <br /> from here.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> He fixes the cable?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Don't be fatuous, Jeffrey. Little <br /> matter to me that this woman chose <br /> to pursue a career<br /><br />in pornography, nor that she has been "banging" Jackie <br />Treehorn, to use the parlance of our times. However. I am <br />one of two trustees of the Lebowski Foundation, the other <br />being my father. The Foundation takes youngsters from Watts <br />and--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Shit yeah, the achievers.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, <br /> yes, and proud we are of all of them. <br /> I asked my father about his withdrawal <br /> of a million dollars from the <br /> Foundation account and he told me <br /> about this "abduction", but I tell <br /> you it is preposterous. This <br /> compulsive<br /><br />fornicator is taking my father for the proverbial ride.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, but my-<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> I'm getting to your rug. My father <br /> and I don't get along; he doesn't <br /> approve of my lifestyle and, needless <br /> to say, I don't approve of his. <br /> Still, I hardly wish to make my <br /> father's embezzlement a police matter, <br /> so I'm proposing that you try to <br /> recover the money from the people <br /> you delivered it to.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well--sure, I could do that--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> If you successfully do so, I will <br /> compensate you to the tune of 1% of <br /> the recovered sum.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> A hundred.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Thousand, yes, bones or clams or <br /> whatever you call them.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, but what about--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> --your rug, yes, well with that money <br /> you can buy any number of rugs that <br /> don't have sentimental value for me. <br /> And I am sorry about that crack on <br /> the jaw.<br /><br />The Dude fingers his jaw, where the lump from the sap has <br />all but disappeared.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh that's okay, I hardly even--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Here's the name and number of a doctor <br /> who will look at it for you. You <br /> will receive no bill. He's a good <br /> man, and thorough.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> That's really thoughtful but I--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Please see him, Jeffrey. He's a <br /> good man, and thorough.<br /><br />LIMO<br /><br />The Dude sits in back holding a White Russian, listening to <br />the chauffeur, a man of about the same age from whose livery <br />cap a ponytail emerges.<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> --So he says, "My son can't hold a <br /> job, my daughter's married to a <br /> fuckin' loser, and I got a rash on <br /> my ass so bad I can't hardly siddown. <br /> But you know me. I can't complain."<br /><br />THROUGH RASPING LAUGHTER:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuckin' A, man. I got a rash. <br /> Fuckin' A, man. I gotta tell ya <br /> Tony.<br /><br />He takes a sip of a freshly-mixed White Russian, which leaves <br />milk on his mustache.<br /><br />I was feeling really shitty earlier in the day, I'd lost a <br />little money, I was down in the dumps.<br /><br /> TONY<br /> Aw, forget about it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, man! Fuck it! I can't be <br /> worrying about that shit. Life goes <br /> on!<br /><br />The limo has rolled to a stop. The Dude gets out, still <br />holding his drink.<br /><br /> TONY<br /> Home sweet home, Mr. L. Who's your <br /> friend in the Volkswagon?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br />His eyes on the rearview mirror, Tony jerks a thumb over his <br />shoulder.<br /><br />He followed us here.<br /><br />The Dude turns to look.<br /><br />HIS POV<br /><br />Halfway up the block a Volkswagon bug has pulled over to the <br />curb. In the driver's seat we see a fat man's shape.<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />He scowls.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> When did he-<br /><br />The Dude is grabbed from behind and muscled away in a half-<br />nelson by another uniformed chauffeur.<br /><br /> SECOND CHAUFFEUR<br /> Into the limo, you sonofabitch. No <br /> arguments.<br /><br />As he is frog-marched towards another limo the Dude holds <br />his drink away from his chest and cups a hand underneath it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuck, man! There's a beverage here!<br /><br />The waiting limo's back door is flung open.<br /><br />INSIDE<br /><br />The Dude is shoved in and awkwardly takes a seat facing the <br />rear. The door is slammed behind him.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Start talking and talk fast you lousy <br /> bum!<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> We've been frantically trying to <br /> reach you, Dude.<br /><br />Brandt sits catty-corner from the Dude; directly across from <br />the Dude is the big Lebowski, a comforter across his knees.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Where's my goddamn money, you bum?!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well we--I don't--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> They did not receive the money, you <br /> nitwit! They did not receive the <br /> goddamn money. HER LIFE WAS IN YOUR <br /> HANDS!<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> This is our concern, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No, man, nothing is fucked here--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> NOTHING IS FUCKED! THE GODDAMN PLANE <br /> HAS CRASHED INTO THE MOUNTAIN!<br /><br />The Dude takes a hurried sip from his drink.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> C'mon man, who're you gonna believe? <br /> Those guys are--we dropped off the <br /> damn money--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> WHAT?!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I--the royal we, you know, the <br /> editorial--I dropped off the money, <br /> exactly as per--Look, I've got certain <br /> information, certain things have <br /> come to light, and uh, has it ever <br /> occurred to you, man, that given the <br /> nature of all this new shit, that, <br /> uh, instead of running around blaming <br /> me, that this whole thing might just <br /> be, not, you know, not just such a <br /> simple, but uh--you know?<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> What in God's holy name are you <br /> blathering about?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'll tell you what I'm blathering <br /> about! I got information--new shit <br /> has come to light and--shit, man! <br /> She kidnapped herself!<br /><br />Lebowski stares at him, dumbstruck. The Dude is encouraged.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well sure, look at it! Young trophy <br /> wife, I mean, in the parlance of our <br /> times, owes money all over town, <br /> including to known pornographers--<br /> and that's cool, that's cool-- but <br /> I'm saying, she needs money, and of <br /> course they're gonna say they didn't <br /> get it 'cause she wants more, man, <br /> she's gotta feed the monkey, I mean--<br /> hasn't that ever occurred to you...? <br /> Sir?<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> (quietly)<br /> No. No Mr. Lebowski, that had not <br /> occurred to me.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> That had not occurred to us, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well, okay, you're not privy to all <br /> the new shit, so uh, you know, but <br /> that's what you pay me for. Speaking <br /> of which, would it be possible for <br /> me to get my twenty grand in cash? <br /> I gotta check this with my accountant <br /> of course, but my concern is that, <br /> you know, it could bump me into a <br /> higher tax--<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Brandt, give him the envelope.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well, okay, if you've already made <br /> out the check. Brandt is handing <br /> him a letter-sized envelope which is <br /> distended by something inside.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> We received it this morning.<br /><br />The Dude, frowning, untucks its flap, takes out some cotton <br />wadding and unrolls it.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Since you have failed to achieve, <br /> even in the modest task that was <br /> your charge, since you have stolen <br /> my money, and since you have <br /> unrepentantly betrayed my trust.<br /><br />The wadding, undone, reveals a smaller wad of gauze taped up <br />inside. The Dude undoes the tape with his fingernails and <br />starts to unroll the inner package.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> I have no choice but to tell these <br /> bums that they should do whatever is <br /> necessary to recover their money <br /> from you, Jeffrey Lebowski. And <br /> with Brandt as my witness, tell you <br /> this: Any further harm visited upon <br /> Bunny, shall be visited tenfold upon <br /> your head.<br /><br />Between thumb and forefinger the Dude holds up the contents <br />of the package--a little toe, with emerald green nail polish.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> ...By God sir. I will not abide <br /> another toe.<br /><br />COFFEE SHOP<br /><br />The Dude and Walter sit at the counter, both staring off <br />into space, both absently stirring their coffee with little <br />clinking noises.<br /><br />AFTER A LONG BEAT:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That wasn't her toe.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Whose toe was it, Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> How the fuck should I know? I do <br /> know that nothing about it indicates--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The nail polish, Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fine, Dude. As if it's impossible <br /> to get some nail polish, apply it to <br /> someone else's toe--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Someone else's--where the fuck are <br /> they gonna--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You want a toe? I can get you a <br /> toe, believe me. There are ways, <br /> Dude. You don't wanna know about <br /> it, believe me.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> But Walter--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'll get you a toe by this <br /> afternoon--with nail polish. These <br /> fucking amateurs. They send us a <br /> toe, we're supposed to shit our- <br /> selves with fear. Jesus Christ. My <br /> point is--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> They're gonna kill her, Walter, and <br /> then they're gonna kill me--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well that's just, that's the stress <br /> talking, Dude. So far we have what <br /> looks to me like a series of <br /> victimless crimes--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What about the toe?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOE!<br /><br />A waitress enters.<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> Could you please keep your voices <br /> down--this is a family restaurant.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Oh, please dear! I've got news for <br /> you: the Supreme Court has roundly <br /> rejected prior restraint!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, this isn't a First Amendment <br /> thing.<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> Sir, if you don't calm down I'm going <br /> to have to ask you to leave.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Lady, I got buddies who died face-<br /> down in the muck so you and I could <br /> enjoy this family restaurant!<br /><br />THE DUDE GETS UP:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> All right, I'm leaving. I'm sorry <br /> ma'am.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Don't run away from this, Dude! <br /> Goddamnit, this affects all of us!<br /><br />The Dude has left frame; Walter calls after him:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Our basic freedoms!<br /><br />He looks defiantly around.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm staying. Finishing my coffee.<br /><br />He stirs the coffee, bopping his head in time to the Muzak, <br />affecting nonchalance.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Finishing my coffee.<br /><br />DUDE'S BATHROOM<br /><br />A dripping noise.<br /><br />The Dude sits in the bathtub, staring stuporously, a joint <br />pinched in one hand, a washcloth draped over his head.<br /><br />We hear the phone ringing in the other roam.<br /><br />The Dude is staring at his toes, which protrude from the <br />soapy water, splayed against the far side of the tub.<br /><br />After the Dude's outgoing message we hear:<br /><br /> VOICE THROUGH MACHINE<br /> Mr. Lebowski, this is Duty Officer <br /> Rolvaag of the L.A.P.D.<br /><br />The Dude looks stuporously up, his head swaying.<br /><br /> VOICE THROUGH MACHINE<br /> We've recovered your vehicle. It <br /> can be claimed at the North Hollywood <br /> Auto Circus there on Victory.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Far out. Far fuckin' out.<br /><br /> MESSAGE<br /> You'll just need to present a--<br /><br />The message is interrupted by loud smashing sounds, as of <br />someone applying a baseball bat to the answering machine.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hunh?<br /><br />He looks blearily at the open doorway.<br /><br />A tall man dressed in black leather with a cricket paddle is <br />striding across the living room towards the bathroom.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey! This is a private residence, <br /> man!<br /><br />The man has entered the bathroom and, in stride, swings the <br />cricket paddle up to smash the overhead light. Two other <br />men are entering behind him.<br /><br />The room is dark now except for spill from the living room; <br />the men are backlit shapes.<br /><br />One of them holds a string at the other end of which a small <br />animal skitters excitedly about the floor.<br /><br />The Dude looks curiously at the small, nattering animal.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Nice marmot.<br /><br />The man with the string scoops up the marmot and tosses it, <br />screaming, into the bathtub.<br /><br />The Dude screams.<br /><br />The marmot splashes frantically, biting at the Dude in a <br />frenzy of fearful aggression.<br /><br /> FIRST MAN<br /> Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.<br /><br />The Dude, screaming, grabs the lip of the tub and starts to <br />hoist himself up but the first man lays a palm on top of his <br />head and squishes him back into the water.<br /><br /> SECOND MAN<br /> You think veer kidding und making <br /> mit de funny stuff?<br /><br /> THIRD MAN<br /> Vee could do things you only dreamed <br /> of, Lebowski.<br /><br /> SECOND MAN<br /> Ja, vee could really do it, Lebowski. <br /> Vee belief in nossing.<br /><br />He scoops the marmot out of the water. It shakes itself <br />off, spraying the Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jesus!<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Vee belief in nossing, Lebowski! <br /> NOSSING!!<br /><br />The marmot, back on the floor, is skittering around, shaking <br />itself and convulsing in little sneezes.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jesus Christ!<br /><br /> FIRST MAN<br /> Tomorrow vee come back und cut off <br /> your chonson.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Excuse me?<br /><br /> FIRST MAN<br /> I SAY VEE CUT OFF YOUR CHONSON!<br /><br />The three men turn to leave. Over their retreating backs:<br /><br /> SECOND MAN<br /> Just sink about zat, Lebowski.<br /><br /> FIRST MAN<br /> Ja, your viggly penis, Lebowski.<br /><br /> SECOND MAN<br /> Ja, und maybe vee stamp on it und <br /> skvush it, Lebowski!<br /><br />NORTH HOLLYWOOD AUTO CIRCUS<br /><br />A policeman with a clipboard is leading the Dude through a <br />large parking lot.<br /><br /> POLICEMAN<br /> You're lucky she wasn't chopped, Mr. <br /> Lebowski. Must've been a joyride <br /> situation; they abandoned the car <br /> once they hit the retaining wall.<br /><br />They have reached the Dude's car. The driver's side <br />exterior has been scraped raw. The policeman hands the Dude <br />a door handle and an exterior rear-view mirror.<br /><br /> POLICEMAN<br /> These were on the road next to the <br /> car. You'll have to get in on the <br /> other side.<br /><br />The Dude climbs in the passenger side.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> My fucking briefcase! It's not here!<br /><br /> POLICEMAN<br /> Yeah, sorry, I saw that on the report. <br /> You're lucky they left the tape deck <br /> though.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> My fucking briefcase! Jesus--what's <br /> that smell?<br /><br /> POLICEMAN<br /> Uh, yeah. Probably a vagrant, slept <br /> in the car. Or perhaps just used it <br /> as a toilet, and moved on.<br /><br />The Dude tries to roll down the driver's window but it will <br />not go; he bellows through the glass:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> When will you find these guys? I <br /> mean, do you have any promising leads?<br /><br />The policeman laughs, agreeing broadly.<br /><br /> POLICEMAN<br /> Leads, yeah. I'll just check with <br /> the boys down at the Crime Lab. <br /> They've assigned four more detectives <br /> to the case, got us working in shifts.<br /><br />The Dude looks sadly through his window at the policeman <br />rocking back on his heels, his raucous laughter muffled by <br />the glass.<br /><br />BOWLING ALLEY BAR<br /><br />The Dude, Walter and Donny sit at the bar, the Dude with a <br />White Russian, Walter with a beer, and Donny eating beer <br />nuts.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> And then they're gonna stamp on it?!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Oh for Christ--will you shut the <br /> fuck up, Donny.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I figure my only hope is that the <br /> big Lebowski kills me before the <br /> Germans can cut my dick off.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Now that is ridiculous, Dude. No <br /> one is going to cut your dick off.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Thanks Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Not if I have anything to say about <br /> it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> (bitterly)<br /> Yeah, thanks Walter. That gives me <br /> a very secure feeling.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> That makes me feel all warm inside.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Now Dude--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> This whole fucking thing--I could <br /> be sitting here with just pee-stains <br /> on my rug.<br /><br />Walter sadly shakes his head.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fucking Germans. Nothing changes. <br /> Fucking Nazis.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> They were Nazis, Dude?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Come on, Donny, they were threatening <br /> castration!<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Are you gonna split hairs?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> No--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Am I wrong?<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Well--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> They're nihilists.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> They kept saying they believe in <br /> nothing.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Nihilists! Jesus.<br /><br />Walter looks haunted.<br /><br />Say what you like about the tenets of National Socialism, <br />Dude, at least it's an ethos.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> And let's also not forget--let's not <br /> forget, Dude--that keeping wildlife, <br /> an amphibious rodent, for uh, <br /> domestic, you know, within the city--<br /> that isn't legal either.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What're you, a fucking park ranger <br /> now?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> No, I'm--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who gives a shit about the fucking <br /> marmot!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> --We're sympathizing here, Dude--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuck your sympathy! I don't need <br /> your sympathy, man, I need my fucking <br /> Johnson!<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> What do you need that for, Dude?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You gotta buck up, man, you can't go <br /> into the tournament with this negative <br /> attitude--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuck the tournament! Fuck you, <br /> Walter!<br /><br />There is a moment of stunned silence.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fuck the tournament?!<br /><br />SAD; QUIET:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Okay Dude. I can see you don't want <br /> to be cheered up. C'mon Donny, let's <br /> go get a lane.<br /><br />They leave the Dude sitting morosely at the bar. As he stares<br /><br />DOWN INTO HIS EMPTY GLASS:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Another Caucasian, Gary.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Right, Dude.<br /><br />STILL STARING DOWN AT THE BAR:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Friends like these, huh Gary.<br /><br /> GARY<br /> That's right, Dude.<br /><br />The pop song on the jukebox has ended; someone puts on <br />"Tumbling Tumbleweeds."<br /><br />A man saunters up to the bar to take the stool that Walter <br />vacated. He is middle-aged, amiable, craggily handsome--Sam <br />Elliot, perhaps. He has a large Western-style mustache and <br />wears denims, a yoked shirt and a cowboy hat.<br /><br />TO THE BARTENDER:<br /><br /> MAN<br /> D'ya have a good sarsaparilla?<br /><br />We recognize the voice of The Stranger whose narration opened <br />the movie.<br /><br /> BARTENDER<br /> Sioux City Sarsaparilla.<br /><br />The Stranger nods.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> That's a good one.<br /><br />Waiting for his drink, he looks amiably around the bar. His <br />crinkled eyes settle on the Dude.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> How ya doin' there, Dude?<br /><br />The Dude, still staring down at his drink, shakes his head.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Ahh, not so good, man.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> One a those days, huh. Wal, a wiser <br /> fella than m'self once said, sometimes <br /> you eat the bar and sometimes the <br /> bar, wal, he eats you.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> (absently)<br /> Uh-huh. That some kind of Eastern <br /> thing?<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Far from it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Mm.<br /><br />The bartender puts a brown bottle and a frosted glass on the <br />bar in front of The Stranger, who touches his hat brim.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Much obliged.<br /><br />He looks back at the Dude.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> I like your style, Dude.<br /><br />THE DUDE LOOKS UP, ABSENTLY:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well I like your style too, man. <br /> Got a whole cowboy thing goin'.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Thankie. . . Just one thing, Dude. <br /> D'ya have to use s'many cuss words?<br /><br />The Dude looks at The Stranger as if just now noticing how <br />out of place the cowpoke is.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The fuck are you talking about?<br /><br />The Stranger chuckles indulgently and pushes off from the <br />bar.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Okay, have it your way.<br /><br />He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Take it easy, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah. Thanks man.<br /><br />He is gone. "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" is ending as we hear an <br />offscreen voice, breaking the spell:<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Dude! Dude!<br /><br />THE DUDE LOOKS:<br /><br />Tony, the unformed limo driver, is at the door of the bar, <br />beckoning.<br /><br />MAUDE'S LOFT<br /><br />She strides toward us, naked under a robe which she is just <br />cinching shut. Paint flecks her skin.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Jeffrey, you haven't gone to the <br /> doctor.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No it's fine, really, uh--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Do you have any news regarding my <br /> father's money?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I, uh... money, yeah, I gotta <br /> respecfully, 69 you know, tender my <br /> resignation on that matter, 'cause <br /> it looks like your mother really was <br /> kidnapped after all.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> She most certainly was not!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey man, why don't you fucking listen <br /> occasionally? You might learn <br /> something. Now I got--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> And please don't call her my mother.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Now I got--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> She is most definitely the perpetrator <br /> and not the victim.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm telling you, I got definitive <br /> evidence--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> From who?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The main guy, Dieter--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Dieter Hauff?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well--yeah, I guess--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Her "co-star" in the beaver picture?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Beaver? You mean vagina?--I mean, <br /> you know him?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Dieter has been on the fringes of--<br /> well, of everything in L.A., for <br /> about twenty years. Look at my LP's. <br /> Under 'Autobahn.'<br /><br />The Dude fingers through the albums filling one bookshelf.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> That was his group--they released <br /> one album in the mid-seventies.<br /><br />The Dude stops between two albums.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Roy Orbison. . . Pink Floyd.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Huh? Autobahn. A-u-t-o. Their <br /> music is a sort of--ugh--techno-pop.<br /><br />The Dude pulls out an album with a worn sleeve. On it is <br />the group's name, Autobahn, the album name, Nagelbett, and a <br />picture<br /><br />OF THREE YOUNG GERMANS, THEIR FOREHEADS LOOMING BELOW <br />SLICKED-<br /><br />back hair, gazing upward in thin-lipped epiphany. They are <br />wearing severe but modishly retro suits. Each has his name <br />under his picture--Dieter, Kieffer; and Franz. A bed of <br />nails is the only set dressing on the cyc.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jeez. I miss vinyl.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Is he pretending to be the abductor?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well...yeah--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Look, Jeffrey, you don't really <br /> kidnap someone that you're acquainted <br /> with. You can't get away with it if <br /> the hostage knows who you are.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well yeah...I know that.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> So Dieter has the money?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well, no, not exactly. It's a <br /> complicated case, Maude. Lotta ins. <br /> Lotta outs. And a lotta strands to <br /> keep in my head, man. Lotta strands <br /> in old Duder's--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Do you still have that doctor's <br /> number?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh? No, really, I don't even have <br /> the bruise any more, I--<br /><br />She is scribbling.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Please Jeffrey. I don't want to be <br /> responsible for any delayed after-<br /> effects.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Delayed after-eff--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> I want you to see him immediately.<br /><br />She is picking up a telephone.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> I'll see if he's available. He's a <br /> good man, and thorough.<br /><br />CLOSE SHOT THE DUDE<br /><br />His eyes are closed, a headset on, his shirt off. Leaking <br />tinnily through the headset we hear the opening bars of <br />"Comin' Up Around the Bend."<br /><br />Behind him, cropped so that we see only a little of his torso, <br />a white-smocked figure taps at the Dude's back. After a <br />moment the figure circles to one side, out of frame. His <br />hand reaches in to pull one arm of the headset away from the <br />Dude's ear, and as he does so the music issues more strongly.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> Could you slide your shorts down <br /> please, Mr. Lebowski?<br /><br />The Dude's eyes open.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh? No, she, she hit me right here.<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> I understand sir. Could you slide <br /> your shorts down please?<br /><br />DUDE'S CAR<br /><br />The Dude is driving home. A Creedence tape plays. The Dude <br />is sucking down a joint. He glances at the rear-view mirror--<br />and, noticing something, looks again.<br /><br />HIS POV<br /><br />A Volkswagon bug is following, a lone fat man driving.<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />His eyes still on the mirror, he absently takes the joint <br />between thumb and forefinger of his right hand and flicks it <br />out the driver's window--except that the window is not open. <br />The butt bounces off the glass and around the car, showering <br />sparks.<br /><br />DUDE'S CROTCH<br /><br />The glowing butt rolls down the car seat between his legs. <br />The Dude screams.<br /><br />THE STREET<br /><br />The car careens wildly as the surrounding traffic veers off <br />to, make way, horns blaring. The car finally spins and comes <br />to rest with its passenger side wrapped into a telephone <br />poll.<br /><br />INSIDE THE CAR<br /><br />The Dude frantically grabs at his door, which won't open, <br />and then slides over to push at the passenger door, which <br />also won't open.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuck Me.<br /><br />But he is sitting on the passenger side now, away from <br />the lit butt. He looks around for it.<br /><br />Smoke is wisping up from between the Driver's seat cushion <br />and back cushion.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuckola, man.<br /><br />He takes his beer and pours it in between the cushions. <br />There is a hissing sound. But there is a piece of paper <br />sticking out from between the cushions.<br /><br />The Dude pulls it out.<br /><br />It is lined spiral notebook paper, slightly singed and <br />dripping beer, covered with handwriting. In the upper right-<br />hand corner is the name Lawrence Sellers, and under that, <br />Mrs. Jamtoss 5th Period. The theme is titled "The Louisiana <br />Purchase." In red ink is a large circled D and some <br />handwritten marginal comments; misspelled words are circled <br />in red throughout.<br /><br />CRANE JACKSON'S FOUNTAIN STREET THEATER<br /><br />We are behind Walter, the Dude, and Donny, facing the stage <br />in the background where Allan, the Dude's balding landlord, <br />is performing a dance moderne.<br /><br />As Walter talks to the Dude he leans in to him, his voice <br />hushed, so as not to disturb the rest of the very sparse <br />audience.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> He lives in North Hollywood on <br /> Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The In-and-Out Burger is on Camrose.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Near the In-and-Out Burger--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Those are good burgers, Walter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shut the fuck up, Donny. This kid <br /> is in the ninth grade, Dude, and his <br /> father is--are you ready for this?--<br /> Arthur Digby Sellers.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who the fuck is that?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who the fuck is Arthur Digby Sellers?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Who the f--have you ever heard of a <br /> little show called Branded, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> All but one man died? There at Bitter <br /> Creek?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah yeah, I know the fucking show <br /> Walter, so what?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fucking Arthur Digby Sellers wrote <br /> 156 episodes, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> The bulk of the series.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Not exactly a lightweight.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> And yet his son is a fucking dunce.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah, go figure. Well we'll go out <br /> there after the, uh, the.<br /><br />He waves a hand vaguely toward the stage.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What have you. We'll, uh--<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> We'll be near the In-and-Out Burger.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shut the fuck up, Donny. We'll, uh, <br /> brace the kid--he'll be a pushover. <br /> We'll get that fucking money, if he <br /> hasn't spent it already. Million <br /> fucking clams. And yes, we'll be <br /> near the, uh--some burgers, some <br /> beers, a few laughs. Our fucking <br /> troubles are over, Dude.<br /><br />RESIDENTIAL AREA<br /><br />The Dude and Walter are pulling up in front of a dilapidated <br />house sitting on a scrubby lot. Parked incongruously in <br />front of the house is a brand new red Corvette.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Fuck me, man! That kid's already <br /> spent all the money!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Hardly Dude, a new 'vette? The kid's <br /> still got, oh, 96 to 97 thousand, <br /> depending on the options. Wait in <br /> the car, Donny.<br /><br />THE FRONT DOOR<br /><br />Walter rings the bell. It is opened by a matronly Spanish <br />woman.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Jace?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Hello, Pilar? My name is Walter <br /> Sobchak, we spoke on the phone, this <br /> is my associate Jeffrey Lebowski.<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Jace.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> May we uh, we wanted to talk about <br /> little Larry. May we come in?<br /><br /> WOMAN<br /> Jace.<br /><br />They enter a dim living room and stand, looking about, as <br />Pilar<br /><br />CALLS UP THE STAIRS:<br /><br /> PILAR<br /> Larry! Sweetie! Dat mang is here!<br /><br />There is a rhythmic compressor sound; Walter places it and <br />nudges the Dude. At the other end of the living room a man <br />lies on something that looks like a hospital gurney with its <br />midsection enclosed by a motorized stainless-steel bubble. <br />It is an iron lung, artificially breathing with distinct <br />hisses in and out.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That's him, Dude.<br /><br /> VIVA VOCE<br /> And a good day to you, sir.<br /><br /> PILAR<br /> See down, please.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Thank you, ma'am.<br /><br />He and the Dude sit on a sagging green sofa. In a lowered <br />voice, to Pilar:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Does he, uh. . . Is he still writing?<br /><br /> PILAR<br /> No, no. He has healt' problems.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br />HE BELLOWS ACROSS THE ROOM:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I just want to say, sir, that we're <br /> both enormous--on a personal level, <br /> Branded, especially the early <br /> episodes, has been a source of, uh, <br /> inspir---<br /><br />There are footsteps on the stairs. Larry, a fifteen-year-<br />old, looks at the two men.<br /><br /> PILAR<br /> See down, Sweetie. These are the <br /> policeman--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> No ma'am, I didn't mean to give the <br /> impression that we're police exactly. <br /> We're hoping that it will not be <br /> necessary to call the police.<br /><br />He adopts his command voice in turning to Larry:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> But that is up to little Larry here. <br /> Isn't it, Larry?<br /><br />Walter pops the latches on his attache case and takes out <br />the homework, which is now in a ziploc bag. He holds it out <br />at arm's length, displaying it to Larry.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Is this your homework, Larry?<br /><br />Larry does not respond.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Is this your homework, Larry?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Look, man, did you--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude, please!. . . Is this your <br /> homework, Larry?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Just ask him if he--ask him about <br /> the car, man!<br /><br />Walter is still holding out the homework.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Is this yours, Larry? Is this your <br /> homework, Larry?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Is the car out front yours?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Is this your homework, Larry?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> We know it's his fucking homework, <br /> Walter! Where's the fucking money, <br /> you little brat?<br /><br />Throughout Walter has been staring at Larry with the homework <br />extended towards him.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Look, Larry. . . Have you ever heard <br /> of Vietnam?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, for Christ's sake, Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You're going to enter a world of <br /> pain, son. We know that this is <br /> your homework. We know you stole a <br /> car--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> And the fucking money!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> And the fucking money. And we know <br /> that this is your homework, Larry.<br /><br />No answer.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You're gonna KILL your FATHER, Larry!.<br /><br />FINALLY, IN DISGUST:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Ah, this is pointless.<br /><br />As he shoves the homework back in the attache case:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> All right, Plan B. You might want <br /> to watch out the front window there, <br /> Larry.<br /><br />He is heading for the door. The Dude, puzzled, rises to <br />follow him.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This is what happens when you FUCK a <br /> STRANGER in the ASS, Larry.<br /><br />OUTSIDE<br /><br />Walter is striding down the lawn with his attache case like <br />an enraged encyclopedia salesman. Without looking back at, <br />the Dude, who follows:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fucking language problem, Dude.<br /><br />He pops the Dude's trunk, flings in the briefcase and takes <br />out a tire iron.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Maybe he'll understand this.<br /><br />He is walking over to the Corvette.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS, LARRY!<br /><br />CRASH! He swings the crowbar into the windshield, which <br />shatters.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS?!<br /><br />CRASH! He takes out the driver's window.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCK A <br /> STRANGER IN THE ASS!<br /><br />Lights are going on in houses down the street. Distant dogs <br />bark.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> HERE'S WHAT HAPPENS, LARRY!<br /><br />CRASH!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> HERE'S WHAT HAPPENS! FUCK A STRANGER <br /> IN THE ASS!<br /><br />CRASH!<br /><br />A man in a sleeveless T-shirt and boxer shorts has run over <br />behind Walter and grabbed him from behind on a backswing of <br />the crowbar.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> WHAT THE FUCK JOO DOING, MANG?!<br /><br />He wrestles the crowbar away from the startled Walter.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I JUS' BAWDEEZ FUCKEEN CAR LASS WEEK!<br /><br />Walter cringes before the enraged Mexican.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Hunh?<br /><br />The man looks about, wildly.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I KILL JOO, MANG! I--I KILL JOR <br /> FUCKEEN CAR!<br /><br />He runs over to the Dude's car.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No! No! NO! THAT'S NOT--<br /><br />CRASH! CRASH!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I FUCKEEN KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!<br /><br />CRASH!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!<br /><br />INSIDE THE CAR<br /><br />Glass rains in on a terrified, cringing, Donny.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!<br /><br /> ON A DEAFENING CRASH WE CUT TO:<br /><br />THE DUDE'S CAR<br /><br />We are looking into the car through the broken windshield as <br />it rattles down the freeway. Wind whistles through the caved-<br />in windows.<br /><br />The Dude drives, his jaw clenched, staring grimly out at the<br /><br />road. Walter, beside him, and Donny in the back seat, munch <br />'on In-and-Out Burgers.<br /><br />Creedence music plays above the bluster of wind.<br /><br />DUDE'S BUNGALOW<br /><br />As the Dude talks on the phone he is hammering a two-by-four <br />into the floor just inside, and parallel to, the front door.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I accept your apology. . . No I, I <br /> just want to handle it myself from <br /> now on. . . No. That has nothing to <br /> do with it. . . .Yes, it made it <br /> home, I'm calling from home. No, <br /> Walter, it didn't look like Larry <br /> was about to crack.<br /><br />He finishes hammering, rises and grabs a straightbacked chair <br />that stands nearby.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well that's your perception. . . <br /> Well you're right, Walter, and the <br /> unspoken Message is FUCK YOU AND <br /> LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. . . Yeah, <br /> I'll be at practice.<br /><br />He hangs up and has just finished sliding the chair into <br />place with its top under the doorknob and its legs braced <br />against the two-by-four, thus wedging the door closed, when <br />the door is opened--outwards. The chair clatters to the <br />floor.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br />Woo and the blond man who earlier peed on the rug stride in, <br />kicking the chair away.<br /><br /> WOO<br /> Pin your diapers on, Lebowski. Jackie<br /> Treehorn wants to see you.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> And we know which Lebowski you are, <br /> Lebowski.<br /><br /> WOO<br /> Yeah. Jackie Treehorn wants to talk <br /> to the deadbeat Lebowski.<br /><br /> BLOND MAN<br /> You're not dealing with morons here.<br /><br />BLACKNESS<br /><br />Out of the blackness something is falling toward us. It is <br />a woman, falling in slow motion, her limbs flailing, her <br />mouth contorted by either fear or ecstasy. She is topless. <br />She falls past the camera, leaving blackness, then after a <br />beat reappears, rising into the night sky.<br /><br />MALIBU BEACH<br /><br />A crowd of mostly tanned middle-aged men with blow-dried <br />hair, wearing jogging outfits and other expensively casual <br />attire, are blanket-tossing the squealing young woman in <br />nightmarish slow motion.<br /><br />WIDER<br /><br />It is a party, lit by festive beach lights and standing <br />kerosene heaters. 1960's mainstream jazz, of the Mancini-<br />Brubeck school, has been piped down to speakers on the beach'.<br /><br />In long shot now the woman rises, squealing, disappears <br />into darkness, descends into light, rises again.<br /><br />A man walks towards the camera through the pools of beach <br />light. He is handsome, fiftyish, wearing cotton twill pants <br />and a Turnbull & Asher shirt with a foulard knotted at the <br />neck. Behind him, the woman rises and falls, appears and <br />disappears.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Hello Dude, thanks for coming. I'm <br /> Jackie Treehorn.<br /><br />INSIDE THE BEACH HOUSE<br /><br />The Dude is looking around at the '60's modern decor.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> This is quite a pad you got here, <br /> man. Completely unspoiled.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> What's your drink, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> White Russian, thanks. How's the <br /> smut business, Jackie?<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> I wouldn't know, Dude. I deal in <br /> publishing, entertainment, political <br /> advocacy, and--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Which one was Logjammin'?<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> Regrettably, it's true, standards <br /> have fallen in adult entertainment. <br /> It's video, Dude. Now that we're <br /> competing with the amateurs, we can't <br /> afford to invest that little extra <br /> in story, production value, feeling.<br /><br />He taps his forehead with one finger.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> People forget that the brain is the <br /> biggest erogenous zone--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> On you, maybe.<br /><br />He hands him the drink.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> Of course, you do get the good with <br /> the bad. The new technology permits <br /> us to do exciting things with <br /> interactive erotic software. Wave <br /> of the future, Dude. 100% electronic.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh. Well, I still jerk off <br /> manually.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> Of course you do. I can see you're <br /> anxious for me to get to the point. <br /> Well Dude, here it is. Where's Bunny?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I thought you might know, man.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> Me? How would I know? The only <br /> reason she ran off was to get away <br /> from her rather sizable debt to me.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> But she hasn't run off, she's been--<br /><br />Treehorn waves this off.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> I've heard the kidnapping story, so <br /> save it. I know you're mixed up in <br /> all this, Dude, and I don't care <br /> what you're trying to take off her <br /> husband. That's your business. All <br /> I'm saying is, I want mine.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, well, right man, there are <br /> many facets to this, uh, you know, <br /> many interested parties. If I can <br /> find your money, man-- what's in it <br /> for the Dude?<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> Of course, there's that to discuss. <br /> Refill?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Does the Pope shit in the woods?<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> Let's say a 10% finder's fee?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Okay, Jackie, done. I like the way <br /> you do business. Your money is being <br /> held by a kid named Larry Sellers. <br /> He lives in North Hollywood, on <br /> Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger. <br /> A real fuckin' brat, but I'm sure <br /> your goons'll be able to get it off <br /> him, mean he's only fifteen and he's <br /> flunking social studies. So if you'll <br /> just write me a check for my ten per <br /> cent. . . of half a million. . . <br /> fifty grand.<br /><br />He is getting to his feet, but sways woozily.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'll go out and mingle.--Jesus, you <br /> mix a hell of a Caucasian, Jackie.<br /><br />The Dude shakes his head, tries to focus.<br /><br /> TREEHORN<br /> A fifteen-year-old? Is this your <br /> idea of a joke?<br /><br />Jackie Treehorn's image starts to swim. He is joined on <br />either side by Woo and the blond man, all three men looking <br />grimly down at the Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No funny stuff, Jackie. . . the kid's <br /> got it. Hiya, fellas. . . kid just <br /> wanted a car. All the Dude ever <br /> wanted. . . was his rug back. . . <br /> not greedy. . . it really.<br /><br />He squints at Jackie Treehorn, who swims in and out of focus. <br />Tied the room together.<br /><br />He tips forward, spilling his drink off the table.<br /><br />FROM UNDER THE GLASS COFFEE TABLE<br /><br />Looking up at the Dude as his face hits the glass and <br />squishes.<br /><br />FAST FADE OUT<br /><br />BLACK<br /><br /> THE STRANGER'S VOICE<br /> Darkness warshed over the Dude--<br /> darker'n a black steer's tookus on a <br /> moonless prairie night. There was <br /> no bottom.<br /><br />We hear a thundering bass.<br /><br />SCRATCHY WHITE TITLE CARD:<br /><br />JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS<br /><br />ANOTHER TITLE CARD:<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />AND<br /><br />MAUDE LEBOWSKI<br /><br />IN<br /><br />THIRD TITLE CARD:<br /><br />GUTTERBALLS<br /><br />The title logo is a suggestively upright bowling pin flanked <br />by a pair of bowling balls. The bending bass sound turns <br />into the lead-in to Kenny Rogers and the First Edition's <br />"Just Dropped In."<br /><br />The Dude is walking down a long corridor dressed as a cable <br />repairman. The Dude's face is washed with a brilliant light <br />as the corridor opens onto a gleaming bowling alley.<br /><br />In the center of the alley stands Maude Lebowski, singing <br />operatic harmony to the Kenny Rogers song. She wears an <br />armored breastplate and Norse headgear, has braided pigtails, <br />and holds a trident.<br /><br />The Dude stands behind her and, pressed up against her, helps <br />her with her follow-through as she releases a bowling ball.<br /><br />The lane is straddled by a line of chorines in spangly mini- <br />skirts, their arms akimbo, Busby-Berkley style, their legs <br />turning the lane into a tunnel leading to the pins at the <br />end.<br /><br />But it is no longer a bowling ball rolling between their <br />legs--it is the Dude himself, levitating inches off the lane, <br />the tools from his utility belt swinging free. He is face <br />down, his arms, torpedolike, pressed against his sides.<br /><br />His point of view shows the lane rushing by below, the little <br />ball-guide arrows zipping by.<br /><br />The Dude twists his body around, performing a barrel-roll so <br />that he is now gliding along the lane face-up.<br /><br />Now his point of view looks up the dresses of the passing <br />chorines.<br /><br />The Dude smiles dreamily and does a backstroke motion so <br />that he is once again gliding face-down. He looks forward <br />and his forward momentum blows back his hair.<br /><br />Coming at us, as we go through the last few pairs of legs, <br />are the approaching pins. We hit the pins, scattering them, <br />and rush on into black.<br /><br />A body drops down into the blackness in slow motion--a topless <br />woman, squealing, her legs kicking.<br /><br />As she drops out of frame, leaving blackness again, three <br />men are entering from the background, emerging into a pool <br />of light. It is the Germans, advancing ominously, wielding <br />oversized shears which they menacingly scissor.<br /><br />The Dude, now standing in a field of black, reacts to the <br />advancing Germans. He turns and runs, fists pumping.<br /><br />The scissoring sound of the shears turns into the whoosh of <br />car-bys. The field of black is punctured by headlights. <br />The Dude is running blearily down the middle of the Pacific <br />Coast Highway. Cars rush by on either side, horns blaring.<br /><br />With the BLOO-WHUP of a short siren blast, a squad car with <br />flashing gumballs pulls up.<br /><br />SQUAD CAR<br /><br />The Dude sits in the back seat, his head lolling with the <br />motion of the car as he blearily sings the theme of Branded:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> He was innocent. Not a charge was <br /> true. And they say he ran awaaaaaay.<br /><br />CHIEF'S OFFICE<br /><br />The Dude is hurled against the chief's desk, which he bounces <br />off of, to come to rest more or less seated in a facing chair.<br /><br />His wallet is tossed onto the desk.<br /><br />The chief leans forward, takes the wallet and sorts through <br />it with disgusted incredulity.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> This is your only I.D.?<br /><br />He is looking at the Ralph's Shopper's Club card.<br /> DUDE<br /> I know my rights.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> You don't know shit, Lebowski.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I want a fucking lawyer, man. I <br /> want Bill Kunstler.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> What are you, some kind of sad-assed <br /> refugee from the fucking sixties?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Mr. Treehorn tells us that he had to <br /> eject you from his garden party, <br /> that you were drunk and abusive.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> That guy treats women like objects, <br /> man.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Mr. Treehorn draws a lot of water in <br /> this town, Lebowski. You don't draw <br /> shit. We got a nice quiet beach <br /> community here, and I aim to keep it <br /> nice and quiet. So let me make <br /> something plain. I don't like you <br /> sucking around bothering our citizens, <br /> Lebowski. I don't like your jerk-<br /> off name, I don't like your jerk-off <br /> face, I don't like your jerk- off <br /> behavior, and I don't like you, jerk-<br /> off --do I make myself clear?<br /><br />The Dude stares.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.<br /><br />The Chief hurls his steaming mug of coffee at the Dude. It <br />hits him in the forehead with a thud, the scalding coffee <br />splashing everywhere.<br /><br />The Chief is already up off his chair, rounding the desk.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> --Ow! Fucking fascist!<br /><br />The Chief slaps him twice.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Stay out of Malibu, Lebowski!<br /><br />He kicks the chair out from under the Dude, and then starts <br />kicking at him.<br /><br /> CHIEF<br /> Stay out of Malibu, deadbeat! Keep <br /> your ugly fucking goldbricking ass <br /> out of my beach community!<br /><br />CAB<br /><br />The Dude, in the back seat of a taxicab that rocks and squeaks <br />with every bump, is gingerly touching at sore spots on his <br />face and scalp.<br /><br />"Peaceful Easy Feeling" is on the radio.<br /><br />DUDE'S POV<br /><br />The back of the driver, a large black man with rasta dreds <br />under a knit cap.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jesus, man, can you change the <br /> station?<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> Fuck you man! You don't like my <br /> fucking music, get your own fucking <br /> cab!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I've had a--<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> I pull over and kick your ass out, <br /> man!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> --had a rough night, and I hate the <br /> fucking Eagles, man--<br /><br /> DRIVER<br /> That's it! Outta this fucking cab!<br /><br />THE STREET<br /><br />The cab screeches over towards the curb. Another car, <br />oncoming, its radio blaring Metallica, speeds by.<br /><br />INSIDE THE OTHER CAR<br /><br />It is a red convertible. The driver, singing loudly and <br />badly along with the radio, her hair blowing in the wind, a <br />dreamy smile on her face as she speeds along, higher than a <br />kite, is Bunny Lebowski.<br /><br />THE FOOTWELL<br /><br />On the accelerator her right foot, in an open-toed bright <br />red high-heeled shoe, has five painted toes.<br /><br />When she downshifts her left foot enters to engage the clutch.<br /><br />Five more toes.<br /><br />DUDE'S BUNGALOW<br /><br />The Dude staggers in the open front door, one hand pressed <br />to a lump on his forehead, and looks around.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jesus.<br /><br />The place is a wreck. Furniture has been overturned, <br />upholstery slashed, drawers dumped.<br /><br />Quiet.<br /><br />The door to the bedroom starts to creak open.<br /><br />The Dude cringes.<br /><br />Maude emerges from the bedroom. She is wearing a bathrobe.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Jeffrey.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Maude?<br /><br />She pulls open the bathrobe as she approaches.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Love me.<br /><br />The Dude is stupefied.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> That's my robe.<br /><br /> THOOMP! ON THE EMBRACE WE CUT TO:<br /><br />BLACK<br /><br />After a beat, a long sigh, and then a voice from the <br />blackness:<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Tell me a little about yourself, <br /> Jeffrey.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well, uh. . . Not much to tell.<br /><br />A match is dragged across a headboard; the Dude is lighting <br />himself a joint. He shakes the match out to restore blackness <br />except for the glowing tip of the joint.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I was, uh, one of the authors of the <br /> Port Huron Statement.--The original <br /> Port Huron Statement.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Not the compromised second draft. <br /> And then I, uh. . . Ever hear of the <br /> Seattle Seven?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Mmnun.<br /><br />Click--the Dude turns on a bedside lamp. He and Maude lie <br />next to each other in bed.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> And then. . . let's see, I uh--music <br /> business briefly.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Oh?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah. Roadie for Metallica. Speed <br /> of Sound Tour.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Bunch of assholes. And then, you <br /> know, little of this, little of that. <br /> My career's, uh, slowed down a bit <br /> lately.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> What do you do for fun?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, you know, the usual. Bowl. <br /> Drive around. The occasional acid <br /> flashback.<br /><br />He climbs out of bed but Maude remains in it. She wedges a <br />pillow into the small of her back and clasps a hand on each <br />kneecap. She pulls her knees in toward her chest to keep <br />her pelvis raised.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> What happened to your house?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jackie Treehorn trashed the place. <br /> Wanted to save the finder's fee.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Finder's fee?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> He thought I had your father's money, <br /> so he got me out of the way while he <br /> looked for it.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> It's not my father's money, it's the <br /> Foundation's. Why did he think you <br /> had it? And who does?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Larry Sellers, a high-school kid. <br /> Real fucking brat.<br /><br />He picks a White Russian off the bedside table.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Jeffrey--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's a complicated case, Maude. <br /> Lotta ins, lotta outs. Fortunately <br /> I've been adhering to a pretty strict, <br /> uh, drug regimen to keep my mind, <br /> you know, limber. I'm real fucking <br /> close to your father's money, real <br /> fucking close. It's just--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> I keep telling you, it's the <br /> Foundation's money. Father doesn't <br /> have any.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh? He's fucking loaded.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> No no, the wealth was all Mother's.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> But your father--he runs stuff, he--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> We did let Father run one of the <br /> companies, briefly, but he didn't do <br /> very well at it.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> But he's--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> He helps administer the charities <br /> now, and I give him a reasonable <br /> allowance. He has no money of his <br /> own. I know how he likes to present <br /> himself; Father's weakness is vanity. <br /> Hence the slut.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh. Jeez. Well, so, did he--is <br /> that yoga?<br /><br />Throughout, Maude has been lying on her back with her knees <br />pulled in.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> It increases the chances of <br /> conception.<br /><br />The Dude spits some White Russian.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Increases?<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Well yes, what did you think this <br /> was all about? Fun and games?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well...no, of course not--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> I want a child.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, okay, but see, the Dude--<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Look, Jeffrey, I don't want a partner. <br /> In fact I don't want the father to <br /> be someone I have to see socially, <br /> or who'll have any interest in rearing <br /> the child himself.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh...<br /><br />Something occurs to him.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> So...that doctor.<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> Exactly. What happened to your face? <br /> Did Jackie Treehorn do that as well?<br /><br />The Dude is staring off into space, thinking. His answer is <br />absent.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> No, the, uh, police chief of Malibu. <br /> A real reactionary. . . So your <br /> father. . . Oh man, I get it!<br /><br /> MAUDE<br /> What?<br /><br />The Dude is leaving the bedroom.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, my thinking about the case, <br /> man, it had become uptight. Yeah. <br /> Your father--<br /><br />LIVING ROOM<br /><br />The Dude finishes punching a number into the phone.<br /><br /> PHONE VOICE<br /> This is Walter Sobchak. I'm not in; <br /> leave a message after the beep.<br /><br />FROM THE BEDROOM:<br /><br /> MAUDE'S VOICE<br /> What're you talking about?<br /><br />Beep.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, if you're there, pick up the <br /> fucking phone. Pick it up, Walter, <br /> this is an emergency. I'm not--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, listen, I'm at my place, I <br /> need you to come pick me up--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I can't drive, Dude, it's erev <br /> shabbas.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Erev shabbas. I can't drive. I'm <br /> not even supposed to pick up the <br /> phone, unless it's an emergency.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It is a fucking emergency.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I understand. That's why I picked <br /> up the phone.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> THEN WHY CAN'T YOU--fuck, never mind, <br /> just call Donny then, and ask him to--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude, I'm not supposed to make calls--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> WALTER, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WE GOTTA <br /> GO TO PASADENA! COME PICK ME UP OR <br /> I'M OFF THE FUCKING BOWLING TEAM!<br /><br /> MAUDE'S VOICE<br /> Jeffrey?<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />He emerges on his front stoop, pulling on a shirt. His <br />attention is caught by something down the street.<br /><br />HIS POV<br /><br />A car is parked halfway down the block. We can see the <br />shape of a fat man in the driver's seat.<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />Striding purposefully down the street.<br /><br />HIS POV<br /><br />The fat man leans forward and we hear the sound of the car's <br />ignition coughing, but the engine will not turn over. More <br />whines and coughs; no start.<br /><br />The man hurriedly fumbles in front of him. He brings up a <br />newspaper, which he holds before his face.<br /><br />THE DUDE<br /><br />As he gets to the car. He reaches through the open driver's <br />window and grabs the newspaper and hurls it to the ground. <br />He is revved with nervous energy.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Get out of that fucking car, man!<br /><br />The man nervously complies. The Dude flinches at the man's <br />movement as he gets out.<br /><br />The man cringes, reacting to the Dude's flinch.<br /><br />He is wearing a cheap blue serge suit. He is bald with a <br />short fringe and a mustache.<br /><br />The Dude shouts to cover his fear:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who the fuck are you, man! Come on, <br /> man!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Relax, man! No physical harm <br /> intended!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who the fuck are you? Why've you <br /> been following me? Come on, fuckhead!<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Hey, relax man, I'm a brother shamus.<br /><br />The Dude is stunned.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Brother Shamus? Like an Irish monk?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Irish m--What the fuck are you talking <br /> about? My name's Da Fino! I'm a <br /> private snoop! Like you, man!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> A dick, man! And let me tell you <br /> something: I dig your work. Playing <br /> one side against the other--in bed <br /> with everybody--fabulous stuff, man.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm not a--ah, fuck it, just stay <br /> away from my fucking lady friend, <br /> man.<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> Hey hey, I'm not messing with your <br /> special lady--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> She's not my special lady, she's my <br /> fucking lady friend. I'm just helping <br /> her conceive, man!<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> Hey, man, I'm not--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Who're you working for? Lebowski? <br /> Jackie Treehorn?<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> The Gundersons.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The? Who the fff--<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> The Gundersons. It's a wandering <br /> daughter job. Bunny Lebowski, man. <br /> Her real name is Fawn Gunderson. <br /> Her parents want her back.<br /><br />He is fumbling in his wallet.<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> See?<br /><br />The Dude looks at the picture.<br /><br />It is probably a school portrait, unmistakably Bunny, but <br />fresh-faced, much younger looking, with a corn-fed smile and <br />straight Partridge Family hair and bangs.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jesus fucking Christ.<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> Crazy, huh? Ran away a year ago.<br /><br />He is holding out another picture.<br /><br />The Gundersons told me to show her this when I found her. <br />The family farm.<br /><br />A bleak farmhouse and silo are the only features on a flat <br />snow-swept landscape.<br /><br />Outside of Moorhead, Minnesota. They think it'll make her <br />homesick.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Boy. How ya gonna keep 'em down on <br /> the farm once they seen Karl Hungus.<br /><br />He hands back the picture.<br /><br />She's been kidnapped, Da Fino. Or maybe not, but she's <br />definitely not around.<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> Fuck, man! That's terrible!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, it sucks.<br /><br /> DA FINO<br /> Well maybe you and me could pool our <br /> resources--trade information--<br /> professional courtesy--compeers, you <br /> know--<br /><br />We hear distant yapping, growing louder with the hum of an <br />approaching car.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, I get it. Fuck off, Da Fino. <br /> And stay away from my special la--<br /> from my fucking lady friend.<br /><br />The Dude steps out to meet Walter's car as it pulls up, its <br />passenger window open and the pomeranian leaning out and <br />yapping.<br /><br />DENNY'S<br /><br />Four people sit at a booth: Dieter, Kieffer, Franz, all in <br />black leather, and a young woman with long stringy blonde <br />hair, wearing torn and patched jeans and a ribbed sleeveless <br />tee-shirt, worn thin with age. She is apparently braless, <br />and is teutonically pale with birthmarks on her face and <br />arms.<br /><br />Notable is her camera-side leg, which ends in a bandage-<br />swaddled foot. Dried rust-colored blood stains the tip of <br />the bandage. The four are arguing, loudly, in German. <br />They seem very unhappy. A waitress enters with a checkpad <br />and pen.<br /><br /> WAITRESS<br /> You folks ready?<br /><br />The German shouting stops. Dieter looks sourly up.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> I haff lingenberry pancakes.<br /><br /> KIEFFER<br /> Lingenberry pancakes.<br /><br /> FRANZ<br /> Sree picks in blanket.<br /><br />The woman speaks to Dieter in German. He nods.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Lingenberry pancakes.<br /><br />WALTER'S CAR<br /><br />Walter's eyes are on the road as he listens, driving, to the <br />Dude, whose speech is occasionally punctuated by yaps from <br />the back seat.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I mean we totally fucked it up, man. <br /> We fucked up his pay-off. And got <br /> the kidnappers all pissed off, and <br /> the big Lebowski yelled at me a lot, <br /> but he didn't do anything. Huh?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Well it's, sometimes the cathartic, <br /> uh.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> I'm saying if he knows I'm a fuck-<br /> up, then why does he still leave me <br /> in charge of getting back his wife? <br /> Because he fucking doesn't want her <br /> back, man! He's had enough! He no <br /> longer digs her! It's all a show! <br /> But then, why didn't he give a shit <br /> about his million bucks? I mean, he <br /> knew we didn't hand off his briefcase, <br /> but he never asked for it back.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What's your point, Dude?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> His million bucks was never in it, <br /> man! There was no money in that <br /> briefcase! He was hoping they'd <br /> kill her! You throw out a ringer <br /> for a ringer!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Shit yeah!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Okay, but how does all this add up <br /> to an emergency?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Huh?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm saying, I see what you're getting <br /> at, Dude, he kept the money, but my <br /> point is, here we are, it's shabbas, <br /> the sabbath, which I'm allowed to <br /> break only if it's a matter of life <br /> and death--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, come off it. You're not <br /> even fucking Jewish, you're--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What the fuck are you talking about?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You're fucking Polish Catholic--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What the fuck are you talking about? <br /> I converted when I married Cynthia! <br /> Come on, Dude!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah, and you were--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> You know this!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> And you were divorced five fucking <br /> years ago.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah? What do you think happens <br /> when you get divorced? You turn in <br /> your library card? Get a new driver's <br /> license? Stop being Jewish?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> This driveway.<br /><br />AS HE TURNS:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'm as Jewish as fucking Tevye<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> It's just part of your whole sick <br /> Cynthia thing. Taking care of her <br /> fucking dog. Going to her fucking <br /> synagogue. You're living in the <br /> fucking past.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Three thousand years of beautiful <br /> tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax--<br /> YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I LIVE IN THE <br /> PAST! I--Jesus. What the hell <br /> happened?<br /><br />He is looking off as the car slows. The Dude looks where <br />Walter is looking.<br /><br />THE LEBOWSKI MANSION<br /><br />Walter's car pulls up the drive into the foreground and he <br />and the Dude get out.<br /><br />Both are gaping off at the front lawn.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Jesus Christ.<br /><br />THEIR POV<br /><br />Tire treads lead across the manicured front lawn to where a <br />little red sports car rests with its hood crumpled into a <br />palm trunk.<br /><br />TRACKING DOWN THE GREAT HALLWAY<br /><br />Through the French doors at its far end we can see Bunny, <br />naked, briefly bouncing on the diving board before splashing <br />into the illuminated pool outside. Heavy metal music filters <br />in from a boom box by the pool.<br /><br />Brandt, approaching, stoops and straightens, stoops and <br />straightens, picking up the discarded clothes that run the <br />length of the hall.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> He can't see you, Dude.<br /><br />We pull the Dude and Walter as they approach the doors to <br />the great study. Walter's dog follows, stiffly waving its <br />tail.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Where'd she been?<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Visiting friends of hers in Palm <br /> Springs. Just picked up and left, <br /> never bothered to tell us.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> But I guess she told Dieter.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Jesus, Dude! He never even kidnapped <br /> her.<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> Who's this gentleman, Dude?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Who'm I? I'm a fucking VETERAN!<br /><br /> BRANDT<br /> You shouldn't go in there, Dude! <br /> He's very angry!<br /><br />BANG--the Dude and Walter push through the double doors into--<br /><br />THE GREAT ROOM<br /><br />The big Lebowski turns at the sound of the door. His <br />wheelchair hums as he spins it around.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> (bitterly)<br /> Well, she's back. No thanks to you.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Where's the money, Lebowski?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> A MILLION BUCKS FROM FUCKING NEEDY <br /> LITTLE URBAN ACHIEVERS! YOU ARE <br /> SCUM, MAN!<br /><br />The dog yaps.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Who the hell is he?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'll tell you who I am! I'm the guy <br /> who's gonna KICK YOUR PHONY <br /> GOLDBRICKING ASS!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> We know the briefcase was empty, <br /> man. We know you kept the million <br /> bucks yourself.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Well, you have your story, I have <br /> mine. I say I entrusted the money <br /> to you, and you stole it.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> AS IF WE WOULD EVER DREAM OF TAKING <br /> YOUR BULLSHIT MONEY!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You thought Bunny'd been kidnapped <br /> and you could use it as a pretext to <br /> make some money disappear. All you <br /> needed was a sap to pin it on, and <br /> you'd just met me. You thought, <br /> hey, a deadbeat, a loser, someone <br /> the square community won't give a <br /> shit about.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Well? Aren't you?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well. . . yeah.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> All right, get out. Both of you.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Look at that fucking phony, Dude! <br /> Pretending to be a fucking <br /> millionaire!<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> I said out. Now.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Let me tell you something else. <br /> I've seen a lot of spinals, Dude, <br /> and this guy is a fake. A fucking <br /> goldbricker.<br /><br />He is crossing to Lebowski.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This guy fucking walks. I've never <br /> been more certain of anything in my <br /> life!<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Stay away from me, mister!<br /><br />Walter reaches around from behind and hoists the big Lebowski <br />out of the wheelchair by his armpits.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Walk, you fucking phony!<br /><br />The big Lebowski waggles helplessly, his rubbery feet grazing <br />the floor like a Raggedy Ann's. The pomeranian gaily leaps <br />and yaps.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Put me down, you son of a bitch!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> It's all over, man! We call your <br /> fucking bluff!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> WALTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! HE'S <br /> CRIPPLED! PUT HIM DOWN!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Sure, I'll put him down, Dude. RAUSS!<br /> ACHTUNG, BABY!!<br /><br />He shoves the big Lebowski forward and he crumples to the <br />floor, weeping.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Oh, shit.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> (sobbing)<br /> You're bullies! Cowards, both of <br /> you!<br /><br />Walter is abashed. The Big Lebowski flails about on the <br />floor.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Oh, shit.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> He can't walk, Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah, I can see that, Dude.<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> You monsters!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Help me put him back in his chair.<br /><br />Walter moves to comply.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shit, sorry man.<br /><br />THROUGH HIS TEARS:<br /><br /> LEBOWSKI<br /> Stay away from me! You bullies! <br /> You and these women! You won't leave <br /> a man his fucking balls!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter, you fuck!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shit, Dude, I didn't know. I <br /> wouldn't've done it if I knew he was <br /> a fucking crybaby.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> We're sorry, man. We're really sorry.<br /><br />The Dude has picked up the Big Lebowski's plaid lap warmer <br />and is frantically tucking it back in around his waist and <br />batting the dog away.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> There ya go. Sorry man.<br /><br />Walter, puzzled, hands on hips, stands over the big Lebowski.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shit. He didn't look like a spinal.<br /><br />TEN PINS<br /><br />Scattered at the cut.<br /><br />DUDE AND WALTER<br /><br />Each with a beer at the scoring table.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Sure you'll see some tank battles. <br /> But fighting in desert is very <br /> different from fighting in canopy <br /> jungle.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Uh-huh.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I mean 'Nam was a foot soldier's war <br /> whereas, uh, this thing should be a <br /> fucking cakewalk. I mean I had an <br /> M16, Jacko, not an Abrams fucking <br /> tank. Just me and Charlie, man, <br /> eyeball to eyeball.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> That's fuckin' combat. The man in <br /> the black pyjamas, Dude. Worthy <br /> fuckin' adversary.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Who's in pyjamas, Walter?<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shut the fuck up, Donny. Not a bunch <br /> of fig-eaters with towels on their <br /> heads tryin' to find reverse on a <br /> Soviet tank. This is not a worthy--<br /><br /> VOICE<br /> HEY!<br /><br />The Dude and Walter look.<br /><br />Quintana is bellowing from the lip of the lane, and is <br />restrained by O'Brien.<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /> What's this "day of rest" shit, man?!<br /><br />Walter looks at him innocently.<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /> What is this bullshit, man? I don't <br /> fucking care! It don't matter to <br /> Jesus! But you're not fooling me! <br /> You might fool the fucks in the league <br /> office, but you don't fool Jesus! <br /> It's bush league psych-out stuff! <br /> Laughable, man! I would've fucked <br /> you in the ass Saturday, I'll fuck <br /> you in the ass next Wednesday instead!<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /><br />He makes hip-grinding coital motions as O'Brien leads him <br />away.<br /><br /> QUINTANA<br /> You got a date Wednesday, man!<br /><br />Walter, his head cocked, and the Dude, peeking over his <br />shades, watch him go.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> He's cracking.<br /><br />BOWLING ALLEY PARKING LOT<br /><br />Donny, Walter and the Dude emerge from the alley, each holding <br />his leatherette ball satchel.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> A tree of life, Dude. To all who <br /> cling to it.<br /><br />They react to the droning synthesizer-based technopop coming <br />from a boom box.<br /><br />REVERSE<br /><br />Dieter, Kieffer and Franz, in shiny black leather, stand in <br />a line facing them in the all-but-deserted lot. Behind them <br />orange flames lick gently at the Dude's car, which has been <br />put to the torch. The orange flames glow on the men's <br />creaking leather. Next to the car are three motorcycles, <br />parked in a neat row. The Dude looks sadly at the burning <br />car.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> They finally did it. They killed my <br /> fucking car.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.<br /><br /> KIEFFER<br /> Ja, uzzervize vee kill ze girl.<br /><br /> FRANZ<br /> Ja, it seems you forgot our little <br /> deal, Lebowski.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You don't have the fucking girl, <br /> dipshits. We know you never did. <br /> So you've got nothin' on my Johnson.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /><br />The men in black, stunned, confer amongst themselves in <br />German. Under his breath:<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Are these the Nazis, Walter?<br /><br />Walter answers, also sotto voce, his eyes still on the three <br />men:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> They're nihilists, Donny, nothing to <br /> be afraid of.<br /><br />The Germans stop conferring.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Vee don't care. Vee still vant zat <br /> money or vee fuck you up.<br /><br /> KIEFFER<br /> Ja, vee still vant ze money. Vee <br /> sreaten you.<br /><br />He pulls an uzi from under his coat. It glints in the <br />firelight.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fuck you. Fuck the three of you.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey, cool it Walter.<br /><br />Walter ignores the Dude, addresses the Germans:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> There's no ransom if you don't have <br /> a fucking hostage. That's what ransom <br /> is. Those are the fucking rules.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Zere ARE no ROOLZ!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> NO RULES! YOU CABBAGE-EATING SONS-<br /> OF- BITCHES--<br /><br /> KIEFFER<br /> His girlfriend gafe up her toe! She <br /> sought we'd be getting million <br /> dollars! Iss not fair!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fair! WHO'S THE FUCKING NIHILIST <br /> HERE! WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCH OF <br /> FUCKING CRYBABIES?!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey, cool it Walter. Listen, pal, <br /> there never was any money. The big <br /> Lebowski gave me an empty briefcase, <br /> man, so take it up with him.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> AND I'D LIKE MY UNDIES BACK!<br /><br />The Germans confer again, in German.<br /><br />Donny is visibly frightened.<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> Are they gonna hurt us, Walter?<br /><br />WALTER 'S TONE IS GENTLE:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> They won't hurt us, Donny. These <br /> men are cowards.<br /><br />THE CONFERENCE ENDS:<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> Okay. Vee take ze money you haf on <br /> you und vee call it eefen.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Fuck you.<br /><br />The Dude is digging into his pocket.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Come on, Walter, we're ending this <br /> thing cheap.<br /><br />Walter's eyes, burning with hatred, are locked on Dieter's.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What's mine is mine.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Come on, Walter!.<br /><br />Louder, to the Germans, as he looks in his wallet:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Four dollars here!<br /><br />He inspects the change in his palm.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Almost five!<br /><br /> DONNY<br /> (tremulously)<br /> I got eighteen dollars, Dude.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> (grimly)<br /> What's mine is mine.<br /><br />With a ring of steel, Dieter produces a glinting saber.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN! VEE TAKE YOUR <br /> MONEY!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> (coolly)<br /> Come and get it.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Come and get it. Fucking nihilist.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> I FUCK YOU! I FUCK YOU!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Show me what you got. Nihilist. <br /> Dipshit with a nine-toed woman.<br /><br />In a rage, Dieter charges.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> I FUCK YOU! I FUCK YOU!<br /><br />WALTER<br /><br />hurls his leather satchel.<br /><br />KIEFFER<br /><br />Watching Dieter's charge, is caught off-guard. The bowling <br />ball thuds into his chest and lifts him off his feet.<br /><br />He falls back, his uzi clattering away.<br /><br />WALTER<br /><br />twists away as Dieter reaches him; grabs Dieter's head in <br />both hands; draws Dieter's head up to his mouth, which closes <br />on Dieter's ear.<br /><br />DUDE<br /><br />He rushes Franz but draws up short as Franz sends out karate <br />kicks, his leather pants squeaking and popping. Franz gives <br />a loud cry with each kick; the Dude leans back, throwing his <br />arms up, evading the kicks.<br /><br />WALTER<br /><br />His jaw is still clamped on Dieter's ear. Dieter draws his <br />saber against Walter's side, drawing blood.<br /><br />Walter doesn't react to the wound. Growling as Dieter <br />screams, he worries his ear, waggling his head with his jaws <br />clamped.<br /><br />THE SABER<br /><br />Dieter drops it.<br /><br />DUDE<br /><br />Awkwardly circling, evading Franz's kicks.<br /><br />WALTER<br /><br />still worrying the ear. With a tearing sound his head and <br />Dieter's separate.<br /><br />DIETER, EARLESS, SCREAMS:<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> I FUCK YOU! YOU CANNOT HURT ME! I <br /> BELIEF IN NUSSING!<br /><br />Walter spits his ear into his face.<br /><br />DUDE<br /><br />The Dude and Franz, both now panting heavily, have yet to <br />establish body contact. Franz continues to kick.<br /><br /> FRANZ<br /> VEAKLING!<br /><br />WALTER<br /><br />draws back his fist.<br /><br /> DIETER<br /> NUSSING!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> ANTI-SEMITE!<br /><br />Bam!--A powerhouse blow to the middle of his face drops Dieter <br />for the count.<br /><br />DUDE AND FRANZ<br /><br />With a piercing shriek Franz finally summons the nerve to <br />charge the Dude, hands raised to deliver karate blows.<br /><br />As he reaches the Dude--WHHAP--the boom box swings into <br />frame to smash him in the face. Its volume shoots up.<br /><br />Walter bashes him a few more times over the head. The music <br />screeches to static, then quiet. Laid out now, Franz too is <br />quiet.<br /><br />All quiet.<br /><br />Walter, panting, looks around.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> We've got a man down, Dude.<br /><br />With a hand pressed to his bleeding side he trots over to <br />Donny, who lies gasping on the ground.<br /><br />The Dude, also panting, rises and trots over.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hy God! They shot him, Walter!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> No Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> They shot Donny!<br /><br />Donny gasps for air. His eyes, wide, go from the Dude to <br />Walter. One hand still clutches his eighteen dollars.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> There weren't any shots.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Then what's...<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> It's a heart attack.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Wha.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Call the medics, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Wha. . . Donny--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Hurry Dude. I'd go but I'm pumping <br /> blood. Might pass out.<br /><br />The Dude runs into the lanes. Walter lays a reassuring hand <br />on Donny's shoulder.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Rest easy, good buddy, you're doing <br /> fine. We got help choppering in.<br /><br />FADE OUT<br /><br />HOLD IN BLACK<br /><br />THE DUDE AND WALTER<br /><br />---<br /><br />They sit side by side, forearms on knees, in a nondescript <br />waiting area. Walter bounces the fingertips of one hand off <br />those of the other. They sit. They wait.<br /><br />A tall thin man in a conservative black suit enters. He <br />eyes the Dude's bowling attire and sunglasses and Walter's <br />army surplus, but doesn't make an issue of it.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Hello, gentlemen. You are the <br /> bereaved?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah man.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Francis Donnelly. Pleased to meet <br /> you.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Jeffrey Lebowski.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Walter Sobchak.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> The Dude, actually. Is what, uh.<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> Excuse me?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Nothing.<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> Yes. I understand you're taking <br /> away the remains.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah.<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> We have the urn.<br /><br />He nods through a door. Another man in a black suit enters <br />to carefully deposit a large silver urn on the desktop.<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> And I assume this is credit card?<br /><br />He is vaguely handing a large leather folder across the desk <br />to whomever wants to take it.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah.<br /><br />He takes it, opens it, puts on reading glasses that sit <br />halfway down his nose, and inspects the bill with his head <br />pulled back for focus and cocked for concentration. Silence. <br />The Dude smiles at Donnelly. Donnelly gives back a <br />mortician's smile. At length Walter holds the bill towards <br />Donnelly, pointing.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> What's this?<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> That is for the urn.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Don't need it. We're scattering the <br /> ashes.<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> Yes, so we were informed. However, <br /> we must of course transmit the remains <br /> to you in a receptacle.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> This is a hundred and eighty dollars.<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> Yes sir. It is our most modestly <br /> priced receptacle.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Well can we--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> A hundred and eighty dollars?!<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> They range up to three thousand.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Yeah, but we're--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Can we just rent it from you?<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> Sir, this is a mortuary, not a rental <br /> house.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> We're scattering the fucking ashes!<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Walter--<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED DOESN'T <br /> MEAN WE'RE SAPS!<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> Sir, please lower your voice--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Hey man, don't you have something <br /> else you could put it in?<br /><br /> DONNELLY<br /> That is our most modestly priced <br /> receptacle.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> GODDAMNIT! IS THERE A RALPH'S AROUND <br /> HERE?!<br /><br />POINT DUME -- DAY<br /><br />It is a high, wind-swept bluff. Walter and the Dude walk <br />towards the lip of the bluff. Parked in the background is <br />one lonely car, Walter's.<br /><br />Walter is carrying a bright red coffee can with a blue plastic <br />lid. When they reach the edge the two men stand awkwardly <br />for a beat. Finally:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> I'll say a few words.<br /><br />The Dude clasps his hands in front of him. Walter clears <br />his throat.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Donny was a good bowler, and a good <br /> man. He was. . . He was one of us. <br /> He was a man who loved the outdoors, <br /> and bowling, and as a surfer explored <br /> the beaches of southern California <br /> from Redondo to Calabassos. And he <br /> was an avid bowler. And a good <br /> friend. He died--he died as so many <br /> of his generation, before his time. <br /> In your wisdom you took him, Lord. <br /> As you took so many bright flowering <br /> young men, at Khe San and Lan Doc <br /> and Hill 364. These young men gave <br /> their lives. And Donny too. Donny <br /> who. . . who loved bowling.<br /><br />Walter clears his throat.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> And so, Theodore--Donald--Karabotsos, <br /> in accordance with what we think <br /> your dying wishes might well have <br /> been, we commit your mortal remains <br /> to the bosom of.<br /><br />Walter is peeling the plastic lid off the coffee can.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> the Pacific Ocean, which you loved <br /> so well.<br /><br />AS HE SHAKES OUT THE ASHES:<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Goodnight, sweet prince.<br /><br />The wind has blown all of the ashes into the Dude, standing <br />just to the side of and behind Walter. The Dude stands, <br />frozen. Finished eulogizing, Walter looks back.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shit, I'm sorry Dude.<br /><br />He starts brushing off the Dude with his hands.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Goddamn wind.<br /><br />Heretofore motionless, the Dude finally explodes, slapping <br />Walter's hands away.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Goddamnit Walter! You fucking <br /> asshole!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude! Dude, I'm sorry!<br /><br />The Dude is near tears.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You make everything a fucking <br /> travesty!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude, I'm--it was an accident!<br /><br />The Dude gives Walter a furious shove.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What about that shit about Vietnam!<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Dude, I'm sorry--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> What the fuck does Vietnam have to <br /> do with anything! What the fuck <br /> were you talking about?!<br /><br />Walter for the first time is genuinely distressed, almost <br />lost.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Shit Dude, I'm sorry--<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> You're a fuck, Walter!<br /><br />He gives Walter a weaker shove. Walter seems dazed, then <br />wraps his arms around the Dude.<br /><br /> WALTER<br /> Awww, fuck it Dude. Let's go bowling.<br /><br />THE LANES THE DUDE AND WALTER BOWLING<br /><br />We watch each of them glide across the floor, release, follow <br />through--gracefully. We have never seen them bowl before. <br />They are quite good. Each wears a black armband on his <br />bowling shirt.<br /><br />BAR AREA<br /><br />The Dude walks up to the bar.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Two oat sodas, Gary.<br /><br /> GARY<br /> Right. Good luck tomorrow.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Thanks, man.<br /><br /> GARY<br /> Sorry to hear about Donny.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah. Well, you know, sometimes you <br /> eat the bear, and, uh.<br /><br />"Tumbling Tumbleweeds" has come up on the jukebox, and The <br />Stranger ambles up to the bar.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Howdy do, Dude.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Oh, hey man, how are ya? I wondered <br /> if I'd see you again.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Wouldn't miss the semis. How things <br /> been goin'?<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Ahh, you know. Strikes and gutters, <br /> ups and downs.<br /><br />The Stranger's eyes crinkle merrily.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Sure, I gotcha.<br /><br />The bartender has put two gleaming beers on the counter.<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Thanks, Gary...Take care, man, I <br /> gotta get back.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Sure. Take it easy, Dude--I know <br /> that you will.<br /><br />THE DUDE, LEAVING, NODS:<br /><br /> DUDE<br /> Yeah man. Well, you know, the Dude <br /> abides.<br /><br />Gazing after him, The Stranger drawls, savoring the words:<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> The Dude abides.<br /><br />He gives his head a shake of appreciation, then looks into <br />the camera.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> I don't know about you, but I take <br /> comfort in that. It's good knowin' <br /> he's out there, the Dude, takin' her <br /> easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I <br /> sure hope he makes The finals. Welp, <br /> that about does her, wraps her all <br /> up. Things seem to've worked out <br /> pretty good for the Dude'n Walter, <br /> and it was a purt good story, dontcha <br /> think? Made me laugh to beat the <br /> band. Parts, anyway. Course--I <br /> didn't like seein' Donny go. But <br /> then, happen to know that there's a <br /> little Lebowski on the way. I guess <br /> that's the way the whole durned human <br /> comedy keeps perpetuatin' it-self, <br /> down through the generations, westward <br /> the wagons, across the sands a time <br /> until-- aw, look at me, I'm ramblin' <br /> again. Wal, uh hope you folks enjoyed <br /> yourselves.<br /><br />He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip as we begin to pull <br />back.<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> Catch ya further on down the trail.<br /><br />As we pull away The Stranger swivels in to the bar. As his <br />voice fades:<br /><br /> THE STRANGER<br /> ...Say friend, ya got any more a <br /> that good sarsaparilla?...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> Big Lebowski, The<br /><br />Writers : Joel Coen Ethan Coen<br />Genres : Comedy Mystery ThrillerEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0