Batman Page #17

A SQUAD OF GOONS enters behind him. Some of them are

carrying large cartons. They lock the entry doors, place a

"CLOSED" sign in front of them, and begin uncrating LARGE

CANS OF BLACK PAINT.

The JOKER steps up onto the ramp, examines the artwork with

an appreciative eye.

JOKER:

Okay, boys, let's broaden our minds.

He stops in front of an Ingres odalisque. Stands back a

pace or two to get a better look. Then pulls out a STRAIGHT

RAZOR and cuts a LONG DIAGONAL GASH in the canvas.

He ambles up the ramp, stepping over collapsed patrons,

pausing at every fourth or fifth painting. Monet water

lilies, a Degas ballerina -- all get the razor treatment.

Behind him his CRONIES work their way up the ramp, HEAVING

BLACK PAINT on every canvas the JOKER has missed.

He c*cks an eyebrow at Edvard Munch's "THE SCREAM."

JOKER (cont.)

I kinda like this one. Leave it.

INT. TEA ROOM - A MOMENT LATER - EVENING

VICKI at her table, still wearing the gas mask, scared as

hell. The overhead lights wink out and the room goes dark.

The JOKER saunters over and pulls up a chair.

JOKER:

I think it's safe to take that off.

VICKI recognizes the deranged smile instantly. She removes

the gas mask, tries to gather her wits.

JOKER (cont.)

You're quite beautiful.

VICKI:

... Thank you.

JOKER:

Unfortunate, but I think we can work

around it.

He sets a couple of CANDLESTICKS on the table and reaches

for his lighter. A LONG JET OF FLAME shoots out, Jerry

Lewis-style, as he lights the candles.

JOKER (cont.)

You're Vicki Vale. I guess you know

who I am. -- Is this your

portfolio?

She nods. He opens it, begins leafing through the record of

VICKI's career. Newspaper photos from the Globe, at first.

Then fashion layouts, magazine covers of celebrities.

Artier B&W shots from VICKI's first couple of exhibitions.

JOKER (cont.)

Crap. Crap. Crap, crap, crap...

Ahhh. Now here's what caught my eye.

He's come to the COMBAT PHOTOS from Corto Maltese.

JOKER (cont.)

The panic. The bloody skulls. The

armless screaming fellows... you

know, the atrocities.

(smirking)

Somehow, when you shoot it, it all

comes out so clean, so lovely.

VICKI is squirming, but she doesn't think it wise to debate

the point. Not with this lunatic, anyway.

JOKER (cont.)

I guess I'm just an old cornball,

but... I live for beauty. I look

around at my little city, it gets me

down.

(indicating the photos)

We don't have anything like this.

Well, it came to me that what this

city needs... is beautification. Kind

of a big makeover.

(enraptured)

Miss Vale, I finally realized that

one man can make a difference. You

know the saying. "In his image...

created he them"?

VICKI gazes at the awful face of this deranged visionary,

getting more frightened by the minute.

VICKI:

And you want a --

JOKER:

A visual record, yes. A before-and-

after kind of thing.

(leaning closer)

This could make your reputation.

Her first impulse is to get up and run. But she fights the

impulse. She won't run... not until she gets this maniac

on film. She reaches for her camera bag.

VICKI:

Maybe we should start with a

portrait of the artist. People might

like to see the face behind the

makeup.

JOKER:

(momentarily puzzled)

... Behind the makeup?

Then it sinks in. By candlelight, in the darkened

restaurant, with his pancake makeup and his black rinse

job, he looks practically normal. VICKI must think she's

looking at his real face!

JOKER (cont.)

Oh. Yes. I see what you mean.

He finds a pitcher, pours a glass of water, and very

carefully SETS IT ON THE TABLE in front of VICKI. Then --

suddenly, inexplicably -- HE BARKS AT HER:

JOKER (cont.)

Silly little TWIT -- I can't take

you ANYWHERE!

He sits back and grins expectantly. VICKI is thoroughly

nonplussed by this bizarre outburst. A moment passes.

He obviously wants her to do something, but she hasn't

got a clue as to what it is. Growing impatient now, he

POINTS at the WATER GLASS:

JOKER (cont.)

Well? What are you waiting for??

Now VICKI gets the point. She picks up the glass and HURLS

ITS CONTENTS in THE JOKER'S FACE.

His hands go up. He writhes. He shrieks -- like the Wicked

Witch of the West dissolving. He reaches for a napkin to

wipe his face clean... and begins to CACKLE.

His awful white-and-green clown's face revealed behind the

running makeup, he LEERS at her.

JOKER (cont.)

You see, Miss Vale -- that was my

makeup.

(leaning forward)

What do you think?

VICKI is repulsed, but she's determined to tough it out.

VICKI:

I've seen worse. Much worse.

JOKER:

Strong stomach, huh? I like that in

a woman. -- Maybe we can do business

after all.

He seems to have calmed down a bit. It's almost as if he's

coming on to her. But just then, a tiny BELL sounds behind

them... and a VOICE intrudes:

VOICE:

Jack?

The JOKER turns. ALICIA steps out of a ROOFTOP ELEVATOR and

moves toward them, drugged, wraithlike. She's still wearing

the porcelain DOLL'S MASK we saw earlier.

JOKER:

(to VICKI)

Christ, it's my girlfriend.

(to ALICIA)

WHAT?

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