Barton Fink Page #12

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CHARLIE:

Are you sure -

BARTON:

No . . . no . . .

Barton is nodding as he shuts the door in Charlie's face.

He walks back into the room.

HIS POV:

Audrey's corpse, in long shot, face up on the bed.

BARTON:

He walks toward the bed, wheels before he reaches it, and starts back toward

the door.

He stops short and turns back again to the room. He averts his eyes - as it

happens, toward the secretary.

He walks stiffly over and sits, his back to Audrey.

CLOSE ON BARTON:

As he sits in. He stares emptily down at the desk, in shock, totally shut

down. Behind him, we can see Audrey on the bed.

He stares for a long beat.

Strange, involuntary noises come from his throat. He is not in control.

Becoming aware of the noise he is making, he stops.

He lurches to his feet.

THE DOORWAY:

As Barton enters, opens the door, and sticks his head out.

HALLWAY:

Barton peers out the see if the coast is clear.

HIS POV:

The long hallway.

In the deep background, Chet, the night clerk, is stooping in front of a

door to pick up a pair of shoes. Next to him is a castored shoe caddy.

All of the doorways between us and Chet are empty of shoes.

CHET:

Close on him as, mid-stoop, he looks up.

CHET'S POV

Up the long hall. In the deep background a door is closing.

CHET:

He pauses, then straightens up and puts the shoes on the shoe caddy. It

squeaks as he pushes it on down the hall.

BARTON'S ROOM

Barton stands at the door, listening to a very faint squeak. Eventually it

becomes inaudible.

He cracks the door again, looks out, and exits.

HALLWAY:

Barton goes to Charlie's room and knocks.

Footfalls end as the door is cracked open.

CHARLIE:

Barton. Are you all right?

BARTON:

No . . . Can I come in?

CHARLIE:

Why don't we go to your room-

BARTON:

Charlie, I'm in trouble. You've

gotta help me.

Once again he is breathing hard.

Charlie steps out into the hall and shuts the door behind him.

CHARLIE:

Get a grip on yourself, brother.

Whatever the problem is, we'll sort

it out.

BARTON:

Charlie, I'm in trouble - something

horrible's happened - I've gotta call

the police . . .

Charlie leads him towards his room.

. . . Will you stay with me till they

get here?

CHARLIE:

Don't worry about it, Barton. We can

sort it-

He is pushing Barton's door open, but Barton grabs an elbow to stop him.

BARTON:

Before you go in - I didn't do this. I

don't know how it happened, but I didn't

. . . I want you to know that . . .

Charlie looks into his eyes. For a moment the two men stare at each other -

Charlie's look inquisitive, Barton's supplicating.

Finally, Charlie nods.

CHARLIE:

Okay.

He turns and pushes open the door.

BARTON'S ROOM

The two men enter.

Barton lingers by the door. Charlie walks into the foreground to look off

toward the bed.

His eyes widen and he screams.

He turns and disappears into the bathroom. We hear vomiting, then the flush

of a toilet.

CHARLIE:

Jesus . . . Jesus . . . Jesus have mercy . . .

His reaction has not encouraged Barton, who is more and more agitated.

Charlie emerges from the bathroom, sweating.

. . . Jesus, Barton, what the hell is this?

What're we gonna do?

BARTON:

I've gotta call the police - or you could call

for me -

CHARLIE:

Hold on -

BARTON:

You gotta believe me -

CHARLIE:

Hold on -

BARTON:

I didn't do this, I did NOT do this -

CHARLIE:

Hold on. Stop. Take a deep breath. Tell

me what happened.

BARTON:

I don't know! I woke up, she was . . . God,

you gotta believe me!

Charlie, in spite of himself, is sneaking horrified glances back into the

room.

CHARLIE:

I believe you, brother, but this don't look

good.

BARTON:

We gotta call the police -

CHARLIE:

Hold on. I said hold on, so hold on.

BARTON:

Yeah.

CHARLIE:

What do you think happened?

BARTON:

I don't know! Maybe it was her . . . boyfriend.

I passed out. I don't know. Won't the police

be able to -

CHARLIE:

Stop with the police! Wake up, friend! This does

not look good! They hang people for this!

BARTON:

But I didn't do it - don't you believe me?

CHARLIE:

I believe you - I KNOW you. But why should the

police?

Barton gives him a dumb stare.

. . . Did you . . . Barton, between you and me,

dis you have sexual intercourse?

Barton stares at Charlie. He swallows.

Charlie shakes his head.

Jesus . . . They can tell that . . .

BARTON:

They GOTTA believe me, Charlie! They gotta have

mercy!

CHARLIE:

You're in pictures, Barton. Even if you got

cleared eventually, this would ruin you.

He turns and starts toward the bed.

. . . Wait in the bathroom.

BATHROOM:

Later. Barton, still in his underwear, sits leaning against the wall,

staring glassily at his feet.

From the other room we hear the creak of bedsprings and the sounds of bed

clothes being torn off.

Finally there is a last creak of bedsprings and the sound of Charlie

grunting under great weight.

We hear heavy footsteps approaching.

Barton looks up through the open bathroom door.

HIS POV:

Charlie is groping for the front doorknob, cradling the sheet-swaddled body

in his arms.

BACK TO BARTON:

His neck goes rubbery. His eyes roll up. His head lolls back to hit the

wall.

BLACK:

Slap! Slap!

We are low on Charlie, who is following through on a slap and backing away,

having aroused Barton. Charlie is now wearing pants but is still in his

sleeveless tee, which has blood flecks across the belly.

CHARLIE:

You passed out.

Barton looks groggily up.

BARTON:

. . . Uh-huh . . . Where's Audrey?

CHARLIE:

She's dead, Barton! If that was her name.

TRACKING IN ON BARTON

He stares at Charlie.

CHARLIE (off)

Barton, listen to me. You gotta act like

nothing's happened. Put this totally out

of your head. I know that's hard, but your

play from here on out is just to go about

business as usual. Give us some time to

sort this out . . .

Barton looks at his watch.

THE WATCH:

7:
45.

CHARLIE (off)

. . . Just put it out of you head . . .

TRACKING:

Toward a pool set in a grand yard with shaped hedges and statuary set amid

palms trees.

Sunlight glitters angrily off the water; we are approaching Jack Lipnik who

sits poolside in a white deck chair.

LIPNIK:

Bart! So happy to see ya!

REVERSE:

Pulling Barton, who is being escorted by Lou Breeze.

Barton is haggard, sunken eyes squinting against too much sun.

LIPNIK:

Sit! Talk! Relax for a minute, then

talk! Drink?

As Barton sits:

BARTON:

Yeah . . . rye whiskey?

LIPNIK:

Boy! You writers! Work hard, play hard!

That's what I hear, anyway . . .

He laughs, then barks at Lou Breeze.

. . . Lou.

Lou exits.

LIPNIK:

Anyway. Ben Geisler tells me things're

going along great. Thimks we've got a

real winner in this one. And let me tell

you something, I'm counting on it. I've

taken an interest. Not to interfere, mind

you - hardly seems necessary in your case.

A writer - a storyteller - of your stature.

Givitta me in bold strokes, Bart. Gimme

the broad outlines. I'm sitting in the

audience, the lights go down, Capitol logo

comes up . . . you're on!

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