Big Eyes Page #12

WALTER:

Whew! Out of this world...!

MARGARET:

(BOTHERED)

I dunno. I'm not really comfortable

with this. Jane and I used to be so

close... but -- now...

WALTER:

Ah, Jane's grand! She's eating ice

cream! She has new shoes. She has a

college fund.

Beat.

MARGARET:

Maybe I'm lightheaded from the

turpentine. I've been in here all day.

WALTER:

Well I don't want you feeling like a

prisoner. Take a break!

Walter glances at one PAINTING -- then does a take.

ANGLE - PAINTING

It's a child in a rusty alley, staring, aching for compassion.

And, starting to cry. A single tear streams down her cheek.

43.

WALTER:

Is that a tear...? You've gone deep!

Margaret bites her fingers, worried.

MARGARET:

Do you -- like it?

WALTER:

I love it! ...How'd you get the eyes

so lifelike? Is it the highlights?

MARGARET:

(PROUD)

No. The secret is the shadow. I

shadowed the eyelid.

Margaret smiles shyly. Walter smiles back, full of warmth.

He takes her face in his hands.

WALTER:

I owe you an apology. I was initially

dismissive of your kids, those emotion-

wrenching blobs of humanity... but

they have a real strength.

MARGARET:

(SHE LAUGHS)

Is that your best version of

sincerity?

WALTER:

I'm trying! Ah, you know me. See --

this is why I need your help! I want

to go on tv, to defend our art.

MARGARET:

You're going to be on television?!

WALTER:

Yes! But... what will I say??

(BEAT)

Meaning -- what compels me... to

paint... these paintings??

A bizarre pause. The two of them look around the room. At

all the Big Eyes peering down at them.

MARGARET:

Maybe you have an unhealthy obsession

with little girls.

WALTER:

Cute.

44.

MARGARET:

(SHE SNICKERS)

I guess you've painted yourself into a

corner.

WALTER:

Funny! Keep 'em coming! You're a

regular Steve Allen. You want heat

this winter? Help me out!

MARGARET:

Walter... art is personal.

Walter picks up a picture of TWO LITTLE GIRLS IN TUTUS. He

stares, perplexed.

WALTER:

What would make a grown man paint a

picture like this?!

No answer. He thinks of stories, wheels spinning.

WALTER:

I grew up, surrounded by six sisters.

(NO GOOD)

I grew up in an orphanage?

(STRUGGLING)

I grew up... in a world where adults

had vanished, and children and kittens

ran wild over the desolate landscape!

Margaret smiles.

MARGARET:

What about your Paris street scenes?

Why do you paint those?

WALTER:

Well, because... I lived it! I

experienced it!

MARGARET:

(calling his bluff)

And was it really all sun-dappled

streets and flower vendors?

Huh? Walter stares off at the Waifs. They peer out from

broken windows... chain-link fences...

And then -- he gets it.

WALTER:

Well -- NO! Of course not. It was

after the War. There was destruction

everywhere...

(PAUSE)

(MORE)

45.

WALTER (CONT'D)

I traveled the Continent. The ravages

were horrifying...

CUT TO:

INSERT - FULL FRAME TV SCREEN

Walter is on TV, on a LOCAL PUBLIC AFFAIRS SHOW. He's coated

with makeup, sitting rigidly, fingers gripping his chair.

WALTER (ON TV)

My psyche was scarred in my art

student days. Nothing in my life has

ever made such an impact as the sight

of the children:
War-wracked

innocents, without homes, without

parents, fighting over garbage...

He sits in a half-circle of PROPER WOMEN, who are spellbound.

WALTER (ON TV)

Goaded by a frantic despair, I

sketched these dirty, ragged little

victims... with their bruised minds

and bodies, their matted hair and

runny noses. There my life as a

painter began in earnest.

Walter sadly looks up to the HOST.

The man is shellshocked. Mute. Walter waits, then sighs.

WALTER (ON TV)

The insane, inhuman cruelty inflicted

upon these children cut deeply into my

being. From that moment on, I painted

the lost children with the eyes.

Those eyes that forever retained their

haunting quality.

The ladies are stricken. A few dab their eyes.

CUT TO:

EXT. SAN FRANCISCO - DAY

Keane posters get RIPPED off a wall.

RIPPED off a mailbox. PULLED off a construction site!

EXT. KEANE GALLERY - NEXT DAY

Walter strides along, a bounce to his step. He reaches the

gallery -- then stops, dumbfounded. It's PACKED with PEOPLE!

Not rich, but regular folks, gawking at the art.

46.

Wow. A sweet moment... then some TOURISTS see Walter and

happily accost him: "Walter Keane!" "Mr. Keane!" They thrust

papers and POSTERS at him to autograph.

Walter grins and scribbles his signature. Glancing over their

shoulders, he sees Ruben down the block, standing outside his

own gallery. Gaping in disbelief.

Walter chuckles... then flips him off. Ruben's face falls.

INT. KEANE GALLERY - SAME TIME

Walter pushes through, shaking hands, greeting the CUSTOMERS:

Rate this script:3.5 / 2 votes