Barton Fink Page #14

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Still snuffling:

BARTON:

Sure, Charlie.

CHARLIE:

Funny, huh, when everything that's important

to a guy, everything he wants to keep from

a lifetime - when he can fit it into a little

box like that. I guess . . . I guess it's

kind of pathetic.

Wallowing in self-pity:

BARTON:

It's more than I've got.

CHARLIE:

Well, keep it for me. Maybe it'll bring

you good luck. Yeah, it'll help you finish

your script. You'll think about me . . .

He thumps his chest.

. . . Make me your wrestler. Then you'll

lick that story of yours.

Barton is tearfully sincere:

BARTON:

Thanks, Charlie.

Charlie solemnly thrusts out his hand.

CHARLIE:

Yeah, well, see you soon, friend. You're

gonna be fine.

Barton shakes. As they walk to the door:

BARTON:

You'll be back?

CHARLIE:

Don't worry about that, compadre. I'll

be back.

Barton shuts the door behind Charlie, locks it, and turns around.

HIS POV:

The room. The bed. The blood-stained mattress.

Barton wlaks across the room and sits carefully at the edge of the bed,

avoiding the rust-colored stain. For a long beat, he sits still, but some-

thing is building inside..

Finally, when we hear the distant ding of the elevator arriving for Charlie,

it erupts:

Barton sobs, with the unself-conscious grief of an abandoned child.

HIGH WIDE SHOT:

Barton weeping, alone on the bed, next to the rust-colored stain.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

BATHING BEAUTY:

With the fade in, the sound of the surf mixes up.

We pan down the picture to discover that a snapshot has been tucked into a

corner of the picture frame: it is the snap of Charlie, smiling and waving,

with his foot up on the running board of the 1939 Ford roadster.

BARTON:

Sitting at the desk, staring at the picture. From his glazed eyes and the

way his mouth hangs open, we may assume he has been staring at the picture

for some time.

He notices something on the desk and picks it up.

HIS POV:

The Holy Bible - Placed by the Gideons.

Barton opens it, randomly, to the Book of Daniel. The text is set in

ornately Gothic type.

5. And the king, Nebuchadnezzar, answered and said to the

Chaldeans, I recall not my dream; if ye will not make

known unto me my dream, and its interpretation, ye shall

be cut in pieces, and of your tents shall be made a dunghill.

BARTON:

Staring at the passage. His mouth hangs open.

THE BIBLE:

Barton riffles to the first page.

In bold type at the top:

THE BOOK OF GENESIS

Underneath, in the same ornately Gothic type:

Chapter One

1. Fade in on a tenement building on Manhattan's Lower

East Side. Faint traffic noise is audible;

2. As is the cry of fishmongers.

BARTON:

Squinting at the page through bloodshot eyes.

His mouth hangs open.

BARTON'S ROOM - DAY

At the cut the harsh clackety-clack of typing bangs in. Sunlight burns

against the sheers of Barton's window, making it a painfully bright patch

in the room which itself remains fairly dim.

Barton sits at the secretary, typing furiously.

He finishes a page, yanks it out of the carriage, and places it face-down

on a short stack of face-down pages.

He feeds in a blank sheet and resumes his rapid typing. He is sweating,

unshaven, and more haggard even than when we left him the previous night.

The telephone rings. After several rings Barton stops typing and answers

it, absently, still looking at his work. His voice is hoarse.

BARTON:

Hello . . . Chet . . . Who? . . .

He puts the receiver down on the desk, leans over the typewriter, and

examines something he has just written.

He picks the phone back up and listens for a beat.

. . . No, don't send them up here.

I'll be right down.

ELEVATOR:

A small oscillating fan whirs up in a corner of the elevator.

We pan down to Barton, who is riding down with Pete, the old elevator

operator. Barton's voice is hoarse with fatigue.

BARTON:

. . . You read the Bible, Pete?

PETE:

Holy Bible?

BARTON:

Yeah.

PETE:

I think so . . . Anyway, I've heard

about it.

Barton nods.

They ride for a beat.

LOBBY:

Late afternoon sun slants in from one side. The lobby has the same golden

ambiance as when first we saw it.

Barton is walking toward two wing chairs in the shadows, from which two men

in suits are rising. One is tall, the other short.

POLICEMAN:

Fink?

BARTON:

Yeah.

POLICEMAN 2

Detective Mastrionotti.

POLICEMAN 1

Detective Deutsch.

MASTRIONOTTI:

L.A.P.D.

BARTON:

Uh-huh.

All three sit in ancient maroon swing chairs. Mastrionotti perches on the

edge of his chair; Deutsch slumps back in the shadows, studying Barton.

DEUTSCH:

Got a couple questions to ask ya.

MASTRIONOTTI:

What do you do, Fink?

Still hoarse:

BARTON:

I write.

DEUTSCH:

Oh yeah? What kind of write?

BARTON:

Well as a matter of fact, I write for

the pictures.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Big f***in' deal.

DEUTSCH:

You want my partner to kiss your ass?

MASTRIONOTTI:

Would that be good enough for ya?

BARTON:

No, I - I didn't mean to sound -

DEUTSCH:

What DID you mean?

BARTON:

I - I've got respect for - for working

guys, like you -

MASTRIONOTTI:

Jesus! Ain't that a load off! You live

in 605?

BARTON:

Yeah.

DEUTSCH:

How long you been up there, Fink?

BARTON:

A week, eight, nine days -

MASTRIONOTTI:

Is this multiple choice?

BARTON:

Nine days - Tuesday -

DEUTSCH:

You know this slob?

He is holding a small black-and-white photograph out toward Barton.

There is a long beat as Barton studies the picture.

BARTON:

. . . Yeah, he . . . he lives next

door to me.

MASTRIONOTTI:

That's right, Fink, he lives next door

to you.

DEUTSCH:

Ever talk to him?

BARTON:

. . . Once or twice. His name is Charlie

Meadows.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Yeah, and I'm Buck Rogers.

DEUTSCH:

His name is Mundt. Karl Mundt.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Also known as Madman Mundt.

DEUTSCH:

He's a little funny in the head.

BARTON:

What did . . . What did he -

MASTRIONOTTI:

Funny. As in, he likes to ventilate

people with a shotgun and then cut their

heads off.

DEUTSCH:

Yeah, he's funny that way.

BARTON:

I . . .

MASTRIONOTTI:

Started in Kansas City. Couple of

housewives.

DEUTSCH:

Couple of days ago we see the same M.O.

out in Los Feliz.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Doctor. Ear, nose and throat man,.

DEUTSCH:

All of which he's now missin'.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Well, some of his throat was there.

DEUTSCH:

Physician, heal thyself.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Good luck with no f***in' head.

DEUTSCH:

Anyway.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Hollywood precinct finds another stiff

yesterday. Not too far from here. This

one's better looking than the doc.

DEUTSCH:

Female caucasian, thirty years old. Nice

tits. No head. You ever see Mundt with

anyone meets that description?

MASTRIONOTTI:

But, you know, with the head still on.

BARTON:

. . . No. I never saw him with anyone

else.

DEUTSCH:

So. You talked to Mundt, what about?

BARTON:

Nothing, really. Said he was in the insurance

business.

Deutsch indicates Mastrionotti.

DEUTSCH:

Yeah, and he's Buck Rogers.

MASTRIONOTTI:

No reputable company would hire a guy like

that.

BARTON:

Well that's what he said.

DEUTSCH:

What else?

BARTON:

He . . . I'm trying to think . . . Nothing,

really . . . He . . . He said he liked Jack

Oakie pictures.

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