Barton Fink Page #11

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MAYHEW:

Drown all those rascals . . .

BARTON:

I'm sorry, I just feel like -I know I

shouldn't ask, I just need some kind of

help, I just, I have a deadline tomorrow-

MAYHEW:

I said drown 'em all! Who is that?

There is more clatter.

Audrey's voice is hushed, close to the phone:

AUDREY:

All right Barton, I'll see if I can slip

away-

MAYHEW:

Who is that?! Gaddamn voices come into

the house . . . sons of b*tches . . .

BARTON:

If you could, I'd-

AUDREY:

If I can. He gets jealous; he-

MAYHEW:

Goddamn voices . . . DROWN 'EM!

BARTON:

I need help, Audrey.

AUDREY:

I'll try to slip out. If he quiets down,

passes out . . . I'm afraid he thinks -

well, he said you were a buffoon, Barton.

He becomes irrational-

MAYHEW:

Hesh up! Be still now! DROWN 'EM!

DROWN 'EM! DROWN-

WIDE ON THE ROOM

Later. It is quiet. We are craning down toward the bed, where Barton lies

stretched out, his head buried beneath a pillow as if to blot out the world.

The track reveals the wristwatch on Barton's dangled arm: 1:30.

THE HALLWAY:

At the end of the dimly lit corridor a red light blinks on over the

elevator, with a faint bell.

BACK TO BARTON:

With two violent and simultaneous motions he whips the pillow off his head

and throws out his other wrist to look at his watch.

There is a knock at the door.

Barton swings his feet off the bed.

THE DOORWAY:

Barton opens the door to Audrey.

AUDREY:

Hello, Barton.

BARTON:

Audrey, thank you for coming. Thank you.

I'm sorry to be such a . . . such a . . .

Thank you.

They enter the main room, where Audrey perches on the edge of the bed.

AUDREY:

Now that's all right, Barton. Everything'll

be all right.

BARTON:

Yes. Thank you. How's Bill?

AUDREY:

Oh, he's . . . he drifted off. He'll sleep

for a while now. What is it you have to do,

exactly?

Barton paces.

BARTON:

Well I have to come up with - an outline, I'd

guess you call it. The story. The whole

goddamn story. Soup to nuts. Three acts.

The whole goddamn-

AUDREY:

It's alright, Barton. You don't have to write

actual scenes?

BARTON:

No, but the whole goddamn - Audrey? Have you

ever had to read any of Bill's wrestling

scenarios?

Audrey laughs.

AUDREY:

Yes, I'm afraid I have.

BARTON:

What are they like? What are they about?

AUDREY:

Well, usually, they're . . . simply morality

tales. There's a good wrestler, and a bad

wrestler whom he confronts at the end. In

between, the good wrestler has a love interest

or a child he has to protect. Bill would usually

make the good wrestler a backwwods type, or a

convict. And sometimes, instead of a waif, he'd

have the wrestler protecting an idiot manchild.

The studio always hated that. Oh, some of the

scripts were so . . . spirited!

She laughs - then stops, realizing that she has laughed. She looks at

Barton.

. . . Barton.

She shakes her head.

. . . Look, it's really just a formula. You

don't have to type your soul into it. We'll

invent some names and a new setting. I'll

help you and it won't take any time at all.

I did it for Bill so many times -

Barton's pacing comes up short.

BARTON:

Did what for Bill?

Guardedly:

AUDREY:

Well . . . THIS.

BARTON:

You wrote his scripts for him?

AUDREY:

Well, the basic ideas were frequently his-

BARTON:

You wrote Bill's scripts! Jesus Christ,

you wrote his - what about before that?

AUDREY:

Before what?

BARTON:

Before Bill came to Hollywood.

Audrey is clearly reluctant to travel this path.

AUDREY:

Well, Bill was ALWAYS the author, so to

speak-

BARTON:

What do you mean so to speak?! Audrey,

how long have you been his . . . secretary?

AUDREY:

Barton, I think we should concentrate on

OUR little project-

BARTON:

I want to know how many of Bill's books

you wrote!

AUDREY:

Barton!

BARTON:

I want to know!

AUDREY:

Barton, honestly, only the last couple-

BARTON:

Hah!

AUDREY:

And my input was mostly . . . EDITORIAL,

really, when he'd been drinking-

BARTON:

I'll bet. Jesus - "The grand productive

days." What a goddamn phony.

He resumes pacing.

. . . W.P. Mayhew. Willam Goddamn Phony

Mayhew. All his guff about escape. Hah!

I'LL say he escaped!

Barton sighs and looks at his watch.

. . . Well, we don't have much time.

He sits down next to Audrey. Audrey's tone is gentle.

AUDREY:

It'll be fine . . . Don't judge him, Barton.

Don't condescend to him . . .

She strokes Barton's hair.

. . . It's not as simple as you think. I

helped Bill most by appreciating him, by

understanding him. We all need understanding,

Barton. Even you, tonight, it's all you

really need . . .

She kisses him.

As Barton tentatively responds, we are panning away.

We frame up on the door to the bathroom and track in toward the sink. We

can hear the creak of bedsprings and Audrey and Barton's breath, becoming

labored.

The continuing track brings us up to and over the lid of the sink to frame

up its drain, a perfect black circle in the porcelain white.

We track up to the drain and are enveloped by it as the sound of lovemaking

mixes into the groaning of pipes.

BLACK:

............................................................................

FADE IN:

BARTON:

The hum of a mosquito brings us out of the black and we are looking down at

Barton, in bed, asleep. It is dawn.

Barton's eyes snap open.

HIS POV:

The white ceiling. A humming black speck flits across the white.

BARTON:

Slowly, cautiously, he props himself up, his look following the sound of the

mosquito.

His gaze travels down and to one side and is arrested as the hum stops.

HIS POV:

Audrey lies facing away on her side of the bed, half covered by a blanket.

BARTON:

Gingerly, he reaches over and draws the blanket down Audrey's back.

HIS POV:

The alabaster white of Audrey's back.

The mosquito is feeding on it.

EXTREME CLOSE ON BARTON'S EYES

Looking.

EXTREME CLOSE ON THE MOSQUITO

Swelling with blood.

WIDER:

As Barton's hand comes through frame and slaps Audrey's back.

She doesn't react.

Barton draws his hand away. Audrey's back is smeared with blood.

ON BARTON:

He looks at his hand.

HIS POV:

His hand is dripping with blood. Too much blood.

BACK TO BARTON:

Eyes wide, he looks down at the bed.

HIS POV:

Blood seeps up into the sheet beneath the curve of Audrey's back.

BARTON:

He pulls Audrey's shoulder.

AUDREY:

She rolls onto her back. Her eyes are wide and lifeless.

Her stomach is nothing but blood. The top sheet, drawn to her waist is

drenched red and clings to her body.

BARTON:

He screams.

He screams again.

We hear rapid and heavy footfalls next door, a door opening and closing,

and then a loud banging on Barton's door.

Barton's head spins towards the door. He is momentarily frozen.

Another knock.

Barton leaps to his feet and hurries to the door.

THE DOORWAY:

Over Barton's shoulder as he cracks the door.

Charlie stands in the hall in his boxer shorts and a sleeveless tee.

CHARLIE:

Are you all right?

Barton stares dumbly for a moment.

. . . Can I come in?

BARTON:

No! . . . I'm fine. Thank you.

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