Big Eyes Page #28

WALTER:

Why -- I created the children.

Walter starts to stand again -- but the Judge SLAMS his bench.

JUDGE:

The choreography is not necessary.

Just sit down and testify.

Oh. Walter sits, then gathers his thoughts...

We slowly PUSH IN. He smiles, wistfully...

WALTER:

I've had a wonderful life. I've been

an artist, a world traveler, a friend

of untold celebrities...

(he gets misty-eyed)

But when I look back at it all, when I

peer into my heart and define what

mattered...

(MORE)

106.

WALTER (CONT'D)

it is that I was dedicated to the

hungry children of the world.

(GENUINE)

It all began in Berlin. After World

War II...

DISSOLVE TO:

LATER:

WALTER:

...the orphans were clutching the

barbed wire. Their bodies lacerated,

their fingers scrawny, their eyes big

and helpless. Imploring me, begging

me... "Do something!"

(HUSHED)

"Do something."

DISSOLVE TO:

LATER:

WALTER:

...and then Miss Joan Crawford walked

up to me...

LATER:

WALTER:

...Kim Novak...

LATER:

WALTER:

...Liberace...

LATER:

WALTER:

...Wayne Newton...

LATER:

WALTER:

Miss Natalie Wood walked up and said,

"That is the greatest single painting

I have ever seen in my entire life."

The Judge is bored out of his mind.

LATER:

WALTER:

I was born in a small town. My father

made upholstery for the automobile

INDUSTRY --

107.

JUDGE:

You're done.

Walter stops, surprised.

WALTER:

B-but, I'm not finished --

JUDGE:

Actually, you are!

(he blows his stack)

I cannot stomach one more wild tangent

or shaggy dog tale. You're not

testifying -- you're filibustering!

The Federal Courts are overburdened

enough, without your docket-clogging

nonsense.

(BEAT)

We can stay here until we grow old and

die... but it's obvious that this case

boils down to your word versus Mrs.

Keane's word.

WALTER:

(HOPEFUL)

So... mistrial?

JUDGE:

NO! It's not a mistrial!! In my

opinion, there's only one way to clear

up this thicket. You are both going

to paint.

Walter gasps, stunned. All color drains from his face.

ANGLE - MARGARET

Her face lights up. She slowly breaks into a satisfied smile.

CUT TO:

INT. COURTROOM - LATER

The doors SLAM open. The Bailiff leads in a crew of COURT

DEPUTIES, all carrying ART SUPPLIES: Easels, brushes, paint...

BAILIFF:

Awright, bring those easels down.

Careful, don't bump anything... watch

it with those paint cans, I got some

newspaper on the floor down front...

The Jury is fascinated.

Margaret watches, quite eager. In the gallery, Jane grins.

But Walter is horrified. Trying not to tremble.

108.

DOWN FRONT:

The Bailiff directs the deputies, setting up TWO EASELS, back

to back. On each easel is placed a small square canvas.

The Judge addresses the room.

JUDGE:

Now, I'm not looking for a

masterpiece. I don't know much about

these things -- I'm a jurist, not an

art critic -- but, is one hour enough?

Margaret nods:
Sure.

Shaking, Walter barely moves his head.

JUDGE:

Okay then. You've both been provided

with identical supplies... so --

without any further business... Mrs.

Keane, Mr. Keane, the court is yours.

WIDE:

Margaret glances at Walter. What will he do?

Walter's face is grimly blank.

Margaret proceeds. Slowly, she pushes her chair from the

table and rises.

Walter doesn't move.

Margaret walks over to the closest EASEL, then sits. She ties

on a smock over her checkered dress.

THE JURORS:

crane their necks, intently curious.

MARGARET:

takes a pencil. She peeks over at Walter -- who's still glued

to his seat. His face tight, his expression queasy. Staring

off to some faraway place.

Margaret looks up at the CLOCK. 3:20.

Okay then. Totally calm, in a motion she's done so many

times, she focuses on the canvas and starts outlining a Waif.

Everybody watches. Effortlessly, she pencils the EYES. They

are enormous. The largest orbs she has ever done.

109.

WALTER:

looks ill. Wracked with uncertainty.

The Judge turns to him.

JUDGE:

Mr. Keane?

WALTER:

(FAINT)

I'm... setting the mood.

(WHISPERING)

Getting the... muse to strike...

JUDGE:

(BEAT)

Well, your muse has 58 minutes.

MARGARET:

fills in more detail. Ears... nose... then, little fingers

clutching a fence. The child is peeking over it, staring

right at us...

WALTER:

is melting down. In total crisis...

THE CLOCK'S

second hand sweeps around. It's 3:34...

THE JURORS:

look from Margaret to Walter. Why isn't he moving??

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