Barton Fink Page #15

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Mastrionotti looks at Deutsch. Deutsch looks at Mastrionotti. After a

beat, Mastrionotti looks back at Barton.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Ya know, Fink, ordinarily we say anything you

might remember could be helpful. But I'll be

frank with you:
That is not helpful.

DEUTSCH:

Ya see how he's not writing it down?

MASTRIONOTTI:

Fink. That's a Jewish name, isn't it?

BARTON:

Yeah.

Mastrionotti gets to his feet, looking around the lobby.

MASTRIONOTTI:

Yeah, I didn't think this dump was

restricted.

He digs in his pocket.

. . . Mundt has disappeared. I don't

think he'll be back. But . . .

He hands Barton a card.

. . . give me a call if you see him. Or

if you remember something that isn't totally

idiotic.

BARTON'S ROOM

We are tracking toward the paper-wrapped parcel that sits on the nightstand

next to Barton's bed.

Barton enters and picks it up. He holds it for a beat, looking at it, then

brings it over to the secretary and sits.

He shakes it.

No sound; whatever is inside is well packed.

Barton holds it up to his ear and listens for a long beat, as if it were a

seashell and he is listening for the surf.

Finally he puts it on his desk, beneath the picture of the bathing beauty,

and starts typing, quickly and steadily.

DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:

REVERSE:

Some time later; Barton still types. He is face to us; beyond him we can

see the bed with its rust-colored stain.

The phone rings. Barton ignores it. It continues to ring.

Barton rises and exits frame; we hold on to the bed in the background. We

hear Barton's footsteps on the bathroom tile as the phone continues ringing.

Barton sits back into frame stuffing cotton into each ear. He resumes

typing.

ANOTHER ANGLE:

Barton typing. The desk trembles under the working of the typewriter.

Charlie's parcel chatters.

Barton takes a finished page out of the carriage and places it face down on

the growing stack to his right. He feeds in a new page. We hear the muted

ding of the elevator down the hall. Barton resumes typing.

We hear a knock on Barton's door. Barton does not react, apparently not

hearing.

THE DOORWAY:

We are close on the bottom of the door. Someone in the hallway is sliding

a note beneath the door; then his shadow disappears and his footsteps

recede.

The note is a printed message headed: "While You Were Out . . . " Underneath

are the printed words: "You were called by" and, handwritten in the space

following:
"Mr. Ben Geisler."

Handwritten below, in the message space:

Thank you.

Lipnik loved your meeting.

Keep up the good work.

Barton's offscreen typing continues steadily.

FADE OUT:

HALLWAY:

A perfectly symmetrical wide low angle shot of the empty hall. Shoes are

set put in front of each door except for one in the middle background.

At the cut in we hear faint, regular typing.

We hold for a beat. There is no motion. The long, empty hall. The distant

typing.

We hold.

The typing stops. There is a beat of quiet.

It is broken by the sound of a door opening. It is the shoeless door in the

middle background.

A hand reaches out to place a pair of shoes in the doorway.

The hand withdraws.

The door closes.

A short beat of silence.

The distant typing resumes.

The long empty hall. The distant typing.

FADE OUT:

Over the black we hear the distant sound of a woman's voice, tinny and

indistict.

WOMAN:

Just a minute and I'll connect you . . .

FADE IN:

CLOSE ON BARTON:

His eyes are red-rimmed and wild. He sits on the edge of his bed holding

the phone to his ear.

His voice is unnaturally loud:

BARTON:

Hello? Operator! I can't . . . Oh!

He stops, reaches up, takes a cotton wad out of his ear.

We hear various clicks and clacks as the telephone lines switch, and then a

distant ring. The phone rings three or four times before it is answered by

a groggy voice.

VOICE:

. . . Hello.

BARTON:

Garland, it's me.

GARLAND:

Barton? What time is it? Are you all

right?

BARTON:

Yeah, I'm fine, Garland - I have to talk

to you. I'm calling long distance.

GARLAND:

Okay.

Muffled, we hear Garlend speaking to someone else.

. . . It's Barton. Calling long distance.

Back into the receiver:

. . . What is it Barton? Are you okay?

BARTON:

I'm fine, garland, but I have to talk with

you.

GARLAND:

Go ahead, son.

BARTON:

It's about what I'm writing, Garland. It's

really . . . I think it's really big.

GARLAND:

What do you mean, Barton?

BARTON:

Not big in the sense of large - although it's

that too. I mean important. This may be the

most IMPORTANT work I've done.

GARLAND:

Well, I'm . . . glad to hear that -

BARTON:

Very important, Garland. I just thought you

should know that. Whatever happens.

GARLAND:

. . . That's fine.

BARTON:

Have you read the Bible, Garland?

GARLAND:

. . . Barton, is everything okay?

BARTON:

Yes . . . Isn't it?

GARLAND:

Well, I'm just asking. You sound a

little -

Guardedly:

BARTON:

Sound a little what?

GARLAND:

Well, you just . . . sound a little -

Bitterly:

BARTON:

Thanks, Garland. Thanks for all the

encouragement.

He slams down the phone.

OVER HIS SHOULDER

A one-quarter shot on Barton from behind as he picks up the cotton wad and

sticks it back in his right ear.

He resumes typing, furiously.

After a beat he mutters, still typing.

BARTON:

. . . Nitwit.

THE BATHING BEAUTY

Later. We hear typing and the roar of the surf.'

CLOSE ON TYPEWRITER

We are extremely close on the key-strike area. As we cut in Barton is

typing:

p-o-s-t-c-a-r-d-.

The carriage returns a couple of times and T-H-E--E-N-D is typed in.

The paper is ripped out of the carriage.

CLOSE ON A STACK OF PAGES

Lying face down on the desk; the last page is added, face down, to the pile.

The pile is picked up, its edges are straightened with a couple of thumps

against the desktop, and then the pile is replaced on the desk, face up.

The title page reads:

THE BURLYMAN:

A Motion Picture Scenario

By

Barton Fink

Barton's right hand enters frame to deposit a small cotton wad on top of

the script.

Barton's left hand enters to deposit another small cotton wad on top of the

script.

We hear Barton walk away. We hear bath water run.

THE BATHING BEAUTY

Still looking out to sea.

USO HALL:

We are booming down to the dance floor as a raucous band plays an up-tempo

number.

BARTON:

Dancing animatedly, almost maniacally, his fingers jabbing the air.

The hall is crowded, but Barton is one of few men not in uniform.

USO GIRL:

Giggling, dancing opposite Barton.

GIRL:

You're cute!

BARTON:

Caught up in his dancing, oblivious to the girl.

A white uniformed arm reaches in to tap Barton on the shoulder.

SAILOR:

'Scuse me, buddy, mind if I cut in?

Barton glares at him.

BARTON:

This is MY dance, sailor!

SAILOR:

C'mon buddy, I'm shipping out tomorrow.

For some reason, Barton is angry.

BARTON:

I'm a writer! Celebrating the completion

of something GOOD! Do you understand

that, sailor? I'm a WRITER!

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