Barton Fink Page #18

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He taps distastefully at the script on his desk, which has a slightly

charred title page.

. . . I gotta tell you, Fink. It won't wash.

BARTON:

With all due respect, sir, I think it's the

best work I've done.

LIPNIK:

Don't gas me, Fink. If you're opinion mattered,

then I guess I'd resign and let YOU run the the

studio. It doesn't and you won't, and the

lunatics are not going to run THIS particular

asylum. So let's put a stop to THAT rumor right

now.

Listlessly:

BARTON:

Yes sir.

LIPNIK:

I had to call Beery this morning, let him know

we were pushing the picture back. After all I'd

told him about quality, about that Barton Fink

feeling. How disappointed we were. Wally was

heartbroken. The man was devastated. He was -

well, I didn't actuall call him, Lou did. But

that's a fair dexcription, isn't it Lou?

LOU:

Yes, Colonel.

LIPNIK:

Hell, I could take you through it step by step,

explain why your story stinks, but I won't

insult your intelligence. Well all right, first

of all:
This is a wrestling picture; the audiece

wants to see action, drama, wrestling, and plenty

of it. They don't wanna see a guy wrestling with

his soul - well, all right, a little bit, for the

critics - but you make it the carrot that wags the

dog. Too much of it and they head for exits and I

don't blame 'em. There's plenty of poetry right

inside that ring, Fink. Look at "Hell Ten Feet

Square".

LOU:

"Blood, Sweat, and Canvas".

LIPNIK:

Look at "Blood, Sweat, and Canvas". These are big

movies, Fink. About big men, in tights - both

physically and mentally. But especially physically.

We don't put Wallace Beery in some fruity movie

about suffering - I thought we were together on that.

BARTON:

I'm sorry if I let you down.

LIPNIK:

You didn't let ME down. Or even Lou. We don't live

or die by what you scribble, Fink. You let Ben Geisler

down. He like you. Trusted you. And that's why he's

gone. Fired. that guy had a heart as big as the

outdoors, and you f***ed him. He tried to convince

me to fire you too, but that would be too easy. No,

you're under contract and you're gonna stay that way.

Anything you write will be the property of Capitol

Pictures. And Capitol Pictures will not produce

anything you write. Not until you grow up a little.

You ain't no writer, Fink - you're a goddamn write-off.

BARTON:

I tried to show you something beautiful. Something

about all of US -

This sets Lipnik off:

LIPNIK:

You arrogant sonofabitch! You think you're the

only writer who can give me that Barton Fink

feeling?! I got twenty writers under contract

that I cna ask for a Fink-type thing from. You

swell-headed hypocrite! You just don't get it,

do you? You think the whole world revolves inside

whatever rattles inside that little kike head of

yours. Get him outta my sight, Lou. Make sure he

stays in town, though; he's still under contract.

I want you in town, Fink, and outta my sight. Now

get lost. There's a war on.

THE SURF:

Crashing against the Pacific shore.

THE BEACH:

At midday, almost deserted. In the distance we see Barton walking. The

paper-wrapped parcel swings from the twine in his left hand.

BARTON:

He walks a few more paces and sits down on the sand, looking out to see.

His gaze shifts to one side.

HIS POV:

Down the beach, a bathing beauty walks along the edge of the water. She

looks much like the picture on the wall in Barton's hotel room.

BARTON:

He stares, transfixed, at the woman.

THE WOMAN:

Very beautiful, backlit by the sun, approaching.

BARTON:

Following her with his eyes.

THE WOMAN:

Her eyes meet Barton's. She says something, but her voice is lost in the

crash of the surf.

Barton cups a hand to his ear.

BEAUTY:

I said it's a beautiful day . . .

BARTON:

Yes . . . It is . . .

BEAUTY:

What's in the box?

Barton shrugs and shakes his head.

BARTON:

I don't know.

BEAUTY:

Isn't it yours?

BARTON:

I . . . I don't know . . .

She nods and sits down on the sand svereal paces away from him, facing the

water but looking back over her shoulder at Barton.

. . . You're very beautiful. Are you in

pictures?

She laughs.

BEAUTY:

Don't be silly.

She turns away to look out at the sea.

WIDER:

Facing the ocean. Barton sits in the middle foreground, back to us, the box

in the sand next to him.

The bathing beauty sits, back to us, in the middle background.

The surf pounds.

The sun sparkles off the water.

The End

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