A Serious Man Page #9

Larry.

Larry glares at Sy.

Sy smiles at him, sadly. He reaches over and rests a hand on Larry’s.

. . . I find, sometimes, if I count to ten.

A beat.

...One...two...three...faw...Orsilently. . .

Long beat.

Judith

Really, to keep things on an even keel, especially now,

leading up to Danny’s bar mitzvah—

Sy

A child’s bar mitzvah, Larry! A child’s bar mitzvah, Larry!

Judith

Sy and I think it’s best if you move out of the house.

Larry

. . . Move out?!

Sy

It makes eminent sense.

Judith

Things can’t continue as they—

Larry

Move out! Where would I go?!

Sy

Well, for instance, the Jolly Roger is quite livable. Not

expensive, and the rooms are eminently habitable.

Judith

This would allow you to visit the kids.

Sy

There’s convenience in its fava. There’s a pool—

Larry

Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to move in with Sy?

Judith and Sy gape.

After a beat:

Judith

Larry!

Sy

Larry, you’re jesting!

Judith

Larry, there is much to accomplish before that can happen.

Sy sadly shakes his head.

Sy

Larry, Larry, Larry. I think, really, the Jolly Roger is the

appropriate coss of action.

He shrugs.

. . . Ithas a pool.

IN BLACK AND WHITE: A BRAIN

It sits in in a large fishbowl, bathed in clear fluid.

The brain pulses, alive. Leads connect it to various pieces of gear outside the fishbowl.

Brain and appurtenances are on a dais of sorts dressed out with bunting.

Oddly, the picture is scored with cantorial singing.

The brain seems to be giving orders to people who wear imperfectly form-fitting 1950’s

uniforms of the future. After receiving their instructions the minions of the brain bow to

it and leave. They are succeeded by two leather-helmeted thugs, big and heavy though

lacking muscle definition, who escort a resisting handsome man before the brain. The

handsome man, hands tied behind his back, gazes defiantly up at the brain which in

some fashion addresses him.

We hear blows and voices over the cantorial music:

Danny

Stop it!

Sarah

Creep f***er!

Danny

Stop it! I’m getting it! I’m gonna get it!

Wider shows that the brain is on television, which Danny has muted while he plays the

Cantor Youssele Rosenblatt record and drills his Torah portion. He and Sarah are in a

stand-off, hands tensed either to deliver or ward off blows.

Sarah

Brat!

Larry enters.

Larry

What’s going on?

Sarah

Brat!

Larry enters.

Larry

What’s going on?

Sarah

(leaving)

Nothing.

Larry

What was that?

Danny

Nothing.

Larry

How’s the haftorah coming? Can you maybe use the hi-fi?

Danny

What?

We hear the doorbell off. Larry indicates the portable record player.

Larry

Can I borrow this? I’m taking some stuff. To, you know,

the Jolly Rodger.

Danny

Sure Dad.

On TV the handsome man shouts defiance at the brain.

From off, Sarah projects:

Sarah

Dad. Chinese guy.

ASIAN MAN:

A middle-aged Korean man, well groomed, in a nicely cut suit and with a jeweled tie-aged Korean man, well groomed, in a nicely cut suit and with a jeweled tiepin.

Man

Culcha clash.

He bangs the knuckles of two fists, illustrating.

. . . Culcha clash.

He faces Larry in the driveway. Larry’s car is half-loaded with open boxes that are

haphazardly stuffed with clothing and effects.

Larry is leaning against the hood, arms folded, gazing at the man, unimpressed. A beat.

Finally he bestirs himself.

Larry

With all respect, Mr. Park, I don’t think it’s that.

Mr. Park

Yes.

Larry

No. It would be a culture clash if it were the custom in

your land to bribe people for grades.

Mr. Park

Yes.

Larry

So—you’re saying it is the custom?

Mr. Park

No. This is defamation. Grounds for lawsuit.

Larry

You—let me get this straight—you’re threatening to sue

me for defaming your son?

Mr. Park

Yes.

Larry

But it would—

Mr. Brandt

Is this man bothering you.

Mr. Brandt is on the strip of lawn separating the two neighbors’ driveways. He is giving

Mr. Park a hard stare.

Larry

Is he bothering me? No. We’re fine. Thank you, Mr.

Brandt.

Mr. Brandt, not entirely convinced, withdraws, glaring at the Korean.

Larry turns back to Mr. Park.

. . . I, uh. . . See, if it were defamation there would have to

be someone I was defaming him to, or I. . . All right, I. . .

let’s keep it simple. I could pretend the money never

appeared. That’s not defaming anyone.

Mr. Park

Yes. And passing grade.

Larry

Passing grade.

Mr. Park

Yes.

Larry

Or you’ll sue me.

Mr. Park

For taking money.

Larry

So. . . he did leave the money.

Mr. Park

This is defamation.

Larry

Look. It doesn’t make sense. Either he left the money or

he didn’t—

Look. It doesn’t make sense. Either he left the money or

he didn’t—

Mr. Park

Please. Accept mystery.

Larry

You can’t have it both ways! If—

Mr. Park

Why not.

Larry stares.

We hear Sidor Belarsky music.

RECORD PLAYER:

Sidor Belarsky’s singing crosses the cut. The tone arm of Danny’s portable record

player rides on a spinning LP.

Wider shows Larry grading bluebooks at a small formica table crowded into a corner of

his motel room. It is a depressingly generic budget motel room of the mid-sixties with

cheaply paneled walls, thin carpet, formica night tables, plastic lamps, and twin beds

with stained nubby bedspreads.

The phone rings.

Larry

Hello. . .

He brightens.

. . . Fine, Mimi, how are you?. . . Uh-huh. . . No, it’s not

that bad. . . It’s not that bad. . . There’s a pool. . .

Arthur emerges from an alcove in the dim depths of the room that has a dressing-room

mirror and apparently connects to the bathroom. He has a hand towel pressed to the

back of his neck.

. . . Oh sure, that sounds great. . . Oh, great, then I’ll bring

Danny. . .

LAKE NOKOMIS:

A crowded beach—children cavorting, adults lounging, much sun, few umbrellas. Red

floats strung with red nylon rope define a swimming area; beyond it people dive from an

anchored raft.

Splashing and children’s laughter slap off the surface of the lake.

WOODS:

Above the lake. The beach noise has some distance and a faintly bizarre canyon echo.

Very present, in contrast, is the rustle of breeze in trees. It is dark here with intense hot

spots where the sun sifts through the leaf cover.

We are close on Danny who sits leaned back against a tree. After a very long beat he

slowly exhales, a small amount of smoke feathering out with his breath.

Voice

Gimme that f***er.

Danny passes the joint to Ronnie Nudell who sits opposite.

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