Beetlejuice Page #26

BEETLE JUICE / DANNY DEATH

I told you. I wouldn't

miss it.

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EXT:
THE TENT -- NIGHT

ADAM's orchard is now covered with a wooden platform, on which

half a dozen groaning tables have been laid out.

The DEETZ's party is comprised of three distinct groups: the

literary world (CHARLES), the art world (DELIA), and the DEATH

ROCKERS (LYDIA). These three groups mix rather better than one

would imagine. Certainly they're jostling one another to get at

the food.

CHARLES sits morosely alone near the corner of the tent, with a

pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea between his legs. A couple of

book types stand near him, exchanging glances over his head. As

CHARLES talks in his drunkeness, he stares up at the lighted

window of his study.

CHARLES:

If I put it in a book

nobody'd believe it.

The IRS shows up, no

warning, he's in there

for seven hours, hasn't

even come out to take

a piss, God knows what

he's looking for, God

knows what he's gonna

find.

BOOKY #1

They never throw you in

jail unless they're able

to prove fraud.

CHARLES half-laughs, half-moans, and sinks back in his chair.

BEETLE JUICE / IRS suddenly appears in the lighted window, and

waves to CHARLES.

INT:
THE BARN AND SCULPTURE GALLERY -- NIGHT

DELIA's sculptures, entirely too many of them, have been arranged

for maximum effect.

Two CRITICS stand in front of one of the more characteristic of

DELIA's pieces. They seem to be examining it intently. They

walk around it together. They come back to their original place.

CRITIC #1

Truly magnificent.

CRITIC #2

I know. I have never seen

such a pair of tits on a

sixteen-year-old.

Directly in their sight-line is LYDIA's friend TRIXIE.

TRIXIE gives a disgusted look to the CRITICS, knowing what

they're critiquing. She slouches towards LYDIA.

LYDIA is holding forth to a group of her friends.

LYDIA:

He is totally amazing. All

the time I was down at the

train station waiting for him,

he was out here with Delia's

creations. Danny Death said

they were realer than real

life.

DEATH ROCKER #1, who was probably LYDIA's boyfriend before she

came across DANNY DEATH, just looks disgusted.

DEATH ROCKER #1

(Sarcastic) God, he's smart.

They look like total pre-

tentious crap to me.

LYDIA:

Danny Death says that Delia

is working from a base of

total alienation.

TRIXIE:

So where is he now?

LYDIA:

Well, he's got this whole inner

life, and it's the true

reality, and sometimes it's

too much for him to deal

with. So he went to lie

down for a minute.

INT:
OTHO'S ROOM -- NIGHT

It's the room where all the guests have thrown their coats, which

are now heaped in a very substantial pile on OTHO's bed.

OTHO comes into the darkened room, and flicks on the light. He's

half-seas over already, and is brushing crumbs from his vest.

OTHO:

Oh God, I know it's at

the very bottom of the

pile.

Without regard for any of the other guests, he starts shoving the

other coats on the floor. After a few moments, he own coat is

revealed in all its peculiar splendor.

OTHO tries to lift his coat, but it won't come up from the bed.

OTHO pulls harder, and then sees that two rictored hands have a

vice-grip on the coat. The hood falls back and reveals the

stark, staring, and very deceased face of BEETLE JUICE / OLD

WOMAN.

OTHO falls back, but BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN remains in a

sitting position on the bed.

OTHO is now sober.

INT:
FOYER AND LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

DELIA is greeting late-arriving guests at the door. She is

wearing the muu-muu she found in her closet, tarted up with

jewelry and belts and other accessories. It is still, however, a

polyester blend muu-muu.

A richly-gowned MATRON is kissing DELIA on either cheek. As

DELIA pulls back, she says:

DELIA:

Just put your coat in

the room at the top of

the stairs.

MATRON:

I love your house. I

try to tell everybody

that Connecticut is not

the end of the world.

OTHO comes pounding down the stairs.

OTHO:

Delia, we have a little

problem.

INT:
KITCHEN -- NIGHT

Several GUESTS go out through the back door, past one of DELIA's

fellow artists, an anorexic chain-smoking action painter. She

leans against the stove, nearly crushed by a tweedy-looking

PUBLISHER.

PUBLISHER:

I have incredible respect

for the avant garde in

every field.

ARTIST:

Ever get planked in a

laundry room?

The PUBLISHER looks around the kitchen.

PUBLISHER:

Which door?

The ARTIST points to the laundry room door. As the two of them

sidle inside, CATHY enters the kitchen from the dining room.

CATHY:

I was looking for you

guys.

The ARTIST and the PUBLISHER stare at CATHY, as if they'd never

seen her before.

CATHY:

Oh, not you.

The ARTIST and the PUBLISHER look around the otherwise empty

kitchen, shrug, and disappear into the laundry room.

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