Batman Page #16

Television sets all over Gotham, as startled citizens react

to the JOKER's maniacal promo.

JOKER:

I know what you're saying. Where can

I buy these fine, fine products?

Well, that's the gag, folks, you

never know. Chances are... you've

bought 'em already!!!

As his RANT CONTINUES, we SEE:

- A YOUNG MAN watching the bedroom TV as he dresses for

a date. He's got an aerosol deodorant can poised under

one arm, ready to spray. He looks down at the can,

suddenly uncertain. Could it be...?

- A FAMILY in their kitchen, eyeing a 12-inch portable

as MOM serves dinner. They dig in automatically, then

FREEZE with their forks in midair.

- A MIDDLE-AGED MATRON at the living-room TV. Shocked,

she calls to her husband -- and gets no reply. We

FOLLOW HER to the bathroom door.

On the floor she sees AN OVERTURNED SHAMPOO BOTTLE.

Then:
her HUSBAND, slumped down in the tub, a lethal

GRIN on his face. She lets out a SHRIEK.

INT. WAYNE MANOR - STUDY - NIGHT

ALFRED THE BUTLER in a crouch, glued to the tube.

ALFRED:

... Sir!

HIS POV:
THE JOKER in tight closeup. Offscreen, an INFANT

begins to squall. THE JOKER c*cks an eyebrow.

JOKER:

Baby's got a tummyache? Here's

something that'll fix him quick!

He tosses a JOKER PRODUCT out of frame. Then -- leering --

he gives the camera a BIG JUICY WINK.

JOKER (cont.)

Now on your grocer's shelf. So

remember -- use Joker brand -- and

put on a happy face!!

MUSIC UP. VIDEO SNOW fills the screen as the jammed

transmission end. ALFRED looks over his shoulder.

TRACK IN ON THE GRIM, DETERMINED FACE OF BRUCE WAYNE.

SERIES OF SHOTS:

- The Gotham Globe cartwheeling into frame:

PANIC GRIPS GOTHAM

Contaminated Products Claim 72 Lives

WHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS "JOKER"?

- An ANCHORWOMAN on the evening news. Her complexion is

curiously sallow. BLACK BAGS show under her eyes.

ANCHORWOMAN:

... sixteen new deaths, with no clues

as to the Joker's identity or

demands. The list at potentially

lethal products now includes:

perfume -- mascara -- cold cream --

- The makeover counter at Bloomingdale's. SECURITY

GUARDS rush to the scene as THREE MATRONLY CUSTOMERS

go into simultaneous smiling fits.

- An ANCHORMAN with a BIG UGLY ZIT on his nose:

ANCHORMAN:

Men's cologne toothpaste mouthwash

-- underarm deodorant --

- A SUBWAY CAR jammed with STRAPHANGERS. HUGE PATCHES OF

SWEAT under every arm. The doors slide open; ONCOMING

PASSENGERS RECOIL VISIBLY at the unendurable stench.

- The original ANCHORWOMAN, whose look is now 100%

natural. Her hair is frizzy. Her eyebrows are missing

altogether. Every wrinkle on her face is plainly

visible.

ANCHORWOMAN:

Hair spray -- eyebrow pencil --

moisturizing cream --

- A LARGE DRUGSTORE. CASHIERS sit idly by the registers.

The store is utterly devoid of customers.

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET - DUSK

From across the street we see VICKI headed down the

sidewalk toward a museum. A GLOVED HAND reaches for a pay

phone.

VOICE:

She's outside the Fluegelheim.

INT. ALICIA HUNT'S PENTHOUSE - THAT MOMENT

A BONE-WHITE HAND slams a phone receiver down. THE JOKER is

at his vanity. He's rinsed his hair black. He's applying

pounds of pancake makeup to his bleached face, his puckered

cheeks. In the right light he could almost pass for human.

In all the city, he's the only person still using

cosmetics.

A DREAMY, DRUGGED VOICE intrudes:

ALICIA:

Jack? Who was that?

As he looks up at the mirror, we get a quick glimpse of

ALICIA behind him. The voice, the long blonde hair, are

unmistakable. But for some reason, ALICIA'S FACE is

COVERED... by a SHINY WHITE PORCELAIN DOLL'S MASK.

JOKER:

Get dressed. We're going out.

INT. FLUEGELHEIM MUSEUM - EVENING

A Gotham landmark, the Fluegelheim looks like something

Frank Lloyd Wright would've dreamed up -- a large open

atrium encircled by a stucco RAMP, which spirals up along

the interior walls to the CEILING four stories above. You

walk up this gently-inclined ramp to view the paintings.

INT. FLUEGELHEIM - ROOFTOP TEA ROOM - EVENING

The upper terminus of the ramp opens on an airy, fern-

filled dining room popular with tourists and elderly

matrons who work up an appetite looking at art. VICKI

enters, camera bag slung over one shoulder, portfolio in

hand.

VICKI:

I'm meeting Mr. Wayne. Is he here?

MAITRE D'

No, but your table is ready.

INT. TEA ROOM - TWENTY MINUTES LATER - EVENING

VICKI, sipping on a gin and tonic, checks her watch. A

WAITER brings her a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper,

bearing a single word: URGENT.

WAITER:

Miss Vale, this just arrived for

you.

As the WAITER leaves, she tears off the wrapper. Inside is

a small white box and a NOTE -- SCRIBBLED IN CRAYON.

DEAR V. VALE,

PUT THIS ON RIGHT NOW.

Unsigned, of course. VICKI, puzzled, opens the box to find

a MINIATURE GAS MASK.

She hears a strange HISSING NOISE. A few feet away, GREEN

SMOKE is billowing out of an air-conditioning vent.

TRAYS OF FOOD CRASH TO THE FLOOR as WAITERS pass out. ART

LOVERS drop forks, go face down in their pasta salad.

VICKI hurriedly fits the gas mask over her nose and mouth.

Within seconds, she's the only one conscious in the room.

INT. MUSEUM - THAT MOMENT

GREEN SMOKE plumes up toward the ceiling as we TILT DOWN

toward the floor of the atrium. PATRONS and SECURITY GUARDS

lie sprawled on the floor, twisted at odd angles, out cold.

The mist is beginning to clear now. The doors swing open

and in strolls THE JOKER, looking quite dapper in his

street makeup and BIG PURPLE PIMP'S HAT.

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