Big Eyes Page #11

TIPSY MAN:

We got in early. We own three.

(HE TURNS)

Thanks, doll.

He tosses his empty to a PASSING LADY. We reveal the waitress

is... Margaret. She carries a tray of pigs-in-a-blanket.

Margaret looks shell-shocked -- faking a happy party face.

A burst of LAUGHTER. Margaret turns.

39.

Walter and a group ROAR at a joke. A SEXY GIRL hands Walter

one of the promo posters. He beams and lays it across her

back... hugging her waist to "steady" himself as he signs.

BACK ON MARGARET

She frowns. Dee-Ann slides into view, slurping champagne.

DEE-ANN

Hey, baby! Killer party! It's a hap-

pen-ing...! So, where's your stuff?

MARGARET:

(NERVOUS)

Oh. Um, we decided that this would be

Walter's show --

DEE-ANN

(SUSPICIOUS)

Oh "we" did?? And why would "we" do

that??

MARGARET:

Well... he's more established.

DEE-ANN

Please! Is that you talking, or did

you just turn into a little felt

puppet with someone's hand up your

ass?

Margaret is befuddled.

Dee-Ann scopes out the artwork.

DEE-ANN

It's strange... Walter doesn't strike

me as the cute hungry kitten type...

Margaret grimaces.

MARGARET:

Thanks for coming.

Margaret grabs a drink and hurries away.

Dee-Ann stands there, irked.

Margaret cuts over to Walter. We MOVE IN TIGHT ON THE COUPLE.

He grins and grabs her.

WALTER:

Ah, my sweet! Are you enjoying the

scene?

(he gives her a kiss)

EVERYONE!

(MORE)

40.

WALTER (CONT'D)

Give a hand to my beautiful wife.

Without her, none of tonight would be

possible!

The crowd APPLAUDS politely, condescendingly.

Margaret smiles strangely. The Tipsy Man leans in.

TIPSY MAN:

Your husband's quite a talent.

(PLEASANT)

Do you paint, too?

Margaret freezes up, terribly awkward.

MARGARET:

I don't... know.

AT WALTER:

A NOSY GUY corners him in front of a painted child.

NOSY GUY:

I'm curious about your technique. How

long did that piece take to execute?

WALTER:

That? Oh, wow. Probably... months.

First the thinking, the sketching, and

then time with just me and the oils.

NOSY GUY:

"Oils"? But isn't that acrylic...?

Huh? Walter glances at the painting, startled.

WALTER:

Oh --! You mean that painting! Uhh,

sorry! It's like a jumble of ideas,

rattling around in my brain!

Beat.

NOSY GUY:

So where do you get your ideas?

WALTER:

What do you mean?

NOSY GUY:

I mean --

(confused at this confusion)

Why are they... images of children?

Yikes. Walter starts to sweat. He didn't think this through.

41.

WALTER:

Well, er, I've just always loved kids.

Though mostly I was influenced by my

darling daughter...

An odd beat.

WALTER:

I remember when she was a baby...

Walter gets a far-off look.

WALTER:

Yeah. Cute little thing. I'd stare

into those big orbs. Sometimes I'd

get out my Brownie and snap a photo...

but... that's not subjective. You

know? It doesn't capture your

feelings. So that's when I started

painting her...

We hold on Walter, unsure where reality begins and ends...

CUT TO:

INT. BERKELEY APARTMENT - DAY

CU on a fuzzy TV SCREEN: A PRIGGISH MAN is griping. The

screen is captioned "JOHN CANADAY, NY TIMES ART CRITIC"

CANADAY (ON TV)

Keane's work is completely without

distinction. He is not a member of

the Society of Western Artists. He

has won no awards. He's only

noteworthy for his appearances in a

certain newspaper's gossip column!

(EXASPERATED)

Mr. Keane is why society NEEDS critics!

To protect them from such atrocities!

Walter gapes at the TV, outraged. He suddenly grabs a PHONE.

IN THE LIVING ROOM

Jane is BANGING on a closed door.

JANE:

Mom! I wanna come in.

MARGARET (O.S.)

Uhh, you can't. Mommy's busy.

JANE:

(she BANGS again)

Let me in! What are you doing in

there? Why's the door always locked?

42.

Walter enters -- and reacts. He glides over to the girl.

WALTER:

Janie, sweetie, you need to respect

your mother's privacy. Sometimes

grownups need alone time.

(HE WINKS)

Is that the ice cream truck? Why don't

you go get yourself a fudgesicle?

Walter tosses her a dime. She peers warily, then leaves.

He waits a beat -- then pulls out a KEY. Walter discreetly

unlocks the painting room.

INT. APARTMENT PAINTING ROOM - SAME TIME

It's a factory. Big Eyes are everywhere. Margaret frenziedly

works, surrounded by half-done canvases, solvents, easels.

She's in a bathrobe -- a cigarette hanging from her lips.

Startled, she looks up to see Walter.

He gazes at all the art. At the bulbous faces, eyes watery

and submissive, trapped in muddy yellows and dire browns. And

then... Walter grins broadly.

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