Almost Famous Page #4

The kid nods, they walk.

BANGS (cont'd)

Well, your writing is damn good. It's

just a shame you missed out on rock

and roll.

WILLIAM:

I did?

BANGS:

Oh yeah. It's over.

WILLIAM:

Over?

BANGS:

Over. You got here just in time for

the death rattle, the last gasp, the

last grope.

WILLIAM:

Well. At least I'm here for that.

Bangs looks at the much smaller kid, shaking his head. It's

too late for newcomers. But if the kid's age is an issue, he

doesn't mention it. Like a machine-gun:

BANGS:

What do you type on?

WILLIAM:

Smith-Corona Galaxis Deluxe.

BANGS:

You like the new Lou Reed?

WILLIAM:

(automatic)

The early stuff. The new stuff, he's

trying to be Bowie, he should be

himself. I'm not a big Lou man.

BANGS:

Yeah, but if Bowie's doing Lou, and

Lou's Doing Bowie, Lou's still doing

Lou.

WILLIAM:

(standing his ground)

If you like Lou.

BANGS:

Take drugs?

WILLIAM:

No.

BANGS:

Smart kid. I used to do speed and

sometimes Nyquil and stay up all night

writing and writing, like 25 pages of

dribble about, you know, the Guess

Who, or Coltrane, just to write, you

know, with the music blasting...

WILLIAM:

Me too. The writing part...

For a moment, the serious demeanor dissolves and the oddest

thing happens. Bangs laughs. It's an odd and charming laugh,

the kind a tough guy keeps well-hidden. It surprised the kid,

who smiles back. Bangs stops at the corner, and offers a

pleasant but very final nod of the head.

BANGS:

Well, alright. It's been nice to meet

you. I'll see you around. Keep sending

me your stuff.

WILLIAM:

Okay. See you.

BANGS:

I can't stand here all day talking to

my many fans.

WIDE SHOT - SOLITUDE

But neither have anywhere to go on this early downtown morning.

They stand for a beat, hands in pockets, on this deserted

street. They are alone together, there's nobody else in sight.

23 INT. DINER -- DAY23

William listens intently as Lester eat a sandwich. His face

is an open book filling with words.

BANGS:

-- so anyway, you're from San Diego

and that's good. Because once you go

to L.A., you're gonna have friends

like crazy but they'll be fake friends,

they're gonna try to corrupt you. The

publicists! The bands! You got an

honest face, they're gonna tell you

everything. But you CANNOT make friends

with the rock stars.

The kid takes out a green collegiate notebook and gestures --

can I make a note? Bangs nods.

BANGS (cont'd)

Cannot make friends with the rock stars.

(savage bite)

That's what's important. If you're a rock

journalist, a true journalist -- first you

will never get paid much. But you will

get free records from the record company.

The kid's eyes widen. Bangs, in direct conflict with his brutal

writing style, is looking suspiciously like a compassionate

softie.

BANGS (cont'd)

And they'll buy you drinks, you'll meet

girls... they'll try to fly you places for

free.... offer you drugs... I know. It

sounds great. But they are not your

friends. These are people who want you

to write sanctimonious stories about the

genius of the rock stars and they will

ruin rock and roll and strangle everything

we love about it.

Privately, William thrills. We. Our. It all sounds great to

him. He listens to the grouping of the words, every one of

them. He madly scribbles.

BANGS (cont'd)

They are trying to buy respectability

for a form that is gloriously and

righteously -

The kid leans forward as Lester finds the right word.

BANGS (cont'd)

- dumb! And you're smart enough to

know that. And the day it ceases to

be dumb is the day it ceases to be

real. Right? And then it will just

Become an Industry of Cool.

WILLIAM:

... Industry... of... cool...

BANGS:

And that's what they want! And it's

happening right now. I'm telling you,

you're coming along at a very dangerous

time for rock and roll. The war is

over. They won. 99% of what passes

for rock now... SILENCE is much more

compelling. It's over. I think you

should turn around and go back and

be... a lawyer or something... but I

can see from your face that you won't.

I can pay you thirty-five bucks. Gimme

a thousand words on Black Sabbath.

WILLIAM:

(attempting cool)

An assignment.

LESTER:

Yeah. And you should build your

reputation on being honest... and

unmerciful.

WILLIAM:

(writing in notebook)

Honest... unmerciful...

BANGS:

And if you get into a jam -- call me.

I stay up late.

Bangs reaches across the table, and William watches as he

scribbles his number on the back of the kid's green collegiate

notebook. The notebook has just become valuable. They sit

together, listening to the beautiful and compelling silence.

24 INT. FAMILY CAR -- NIGHT24

Mom drives William to the San Diego Sports Arena. She looks

out the window at the adrenalized concert-goers. She feels

protective not just of her son, but an entire generation.

William goes over his questions for Black Sabbath.

ELAINE:

Look at this. An entire generation of

Cinderellas and there's no slipper

coming.

William looks out the window at the sign: TONIGHT - SOLD OUT -

BLACK SABBATH with special guest Stillwater.

WILLIAM:

You can drop me off here.

ELAINE:

Black. Sabbath. Just remember - you

wanted to be Atticus Finch in To Kill

a Mockingbird.

The kid doesn't answer. He silently goes over his questions.

ELAINE (cont'd)

As long as I know this is just a hobby,

I'll go along with it.

WILLIAM:

All I have to do is listen. That's

what Lester Bangs said.

ELAINE:

(dryly)

I'll be waiting right here at eleven

'o clock sharp. If you get lost, use

the family whistle.

He unhooks his seatbelt, stuffs his questions into an orange

canvas shoulder-bag and exits.

Elaine watches her son disappearing into the stony rock-concert

crowd. It's a windy night. Everything about this image

troubles her. She fights with herself, and then uses the family

whistle immediately. He turns.

ELAINE (cont'd)

(sweetly, too loud)

Don't take drugs!!

Fifteen concert-goers turn around instinctively, at the sound

of a Mother, and then identify William as the object of her

concern. All around him, we hear:

HAPPY CONCERT GOERS

Don't take drugs!!

He winces, nods and moves forward. Music echoes from the open

windows of many other cars.

25 EXT. SAN DIEGO SPORTS ARENA BACKSTAGE RAMP -- NIGHT 25

The kid tromps down the steep incline leading to a small steel

backstage arena door. He rings the buzzer. The door wheezes

open to reveal the keeper of the San Diego Sports Arena's

backstage list. Famous to all those who attempt to enter,

this is SCOTTY. He is a wiry, humorless man for whom

powerlessness is the theme of his life -- except for those few

hours he controls the list. Scotty is only forty but everything

about him screams that he's an angry sixty.

WILLIAM:

Hi. I'm William Miller and I'm here

from Creem Magazine to interview the

band Black Sabbath.

Scotty, immediately suspicious, moves to a nearby podium and

snaps through three clipboard pages. He moves back to the

door and grabs the handle.

SCOTTY:

Not on the list.

He shuts the door with finality. The kid stands silently for

a moment. He looks over his shoulder, at two chattering

Groupies watching his dilemma from the top of the ramp. They

look at him sympathetically, but he turns away. William rings

the buzzer again, withdrawing a copy of Creem from his bag.

The door opens.

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