Brazil Page #5

KURTZMAN:

Perhaps the machine's on the blink!

It keeps picking up old films. That

can't he right, can it?

SAM:

It's not the machine. There's a

mismatch on the personnel code

numbers... Ah there we go! That's a

B58/732 when it should be a T47/215

... Tuttle ... he should have £31.06,

debited against his account for

electrical procedures, not Buttle.

KURTZMAN:

Oh my God, a mistake!

SAM:

It's not our mistake!

KURTZMAN:

(eagerly)

Isn't it? Whose is it?

SAM:

Information Retrieval.

KURTZMAN:

Oh, good!

SAM:

Expediting has put in for electrical

procedures in respect of Buttle,

Archibald, shoe repair operative, but

Security has invoiced Admin for

Tuttle, Archibald, heating engineer

SAM is still punching keys.

KURTZMAN:

What a relief! I don't know what I'd

do if you ever got promoted.

SAM:

Don't worry.

KURTZMAN:

But if they did promote you

SAM:

I've told you before. I'd turn it

down.

KURTZMAN:

Would you really, Sam?

SAM:

Really.

KURTZMAN:

(churned up)

You've been promoted.

KURTZMAN hands SAM a sheet of printed paper. SAM takes the

paper, not pleased, and glances at it.

CLOSE UP of paper: "LOWRY, S. (RECORDS. MIN OF INF.)

TRANSFER TO INFORMATION RETRIEVAL - (Expediting, Security

Level 3).

KURTZMAN:

It's your mother isn't it? Pulling

strings again.

SAM:

(explodes)

What a B*TCH!

27 INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICEDAY 27

CUT TO an old WOMAN's face reflected in triplicate in a

three-panelled mirror. A pair of MAN's hands have a grip

on her flabby cheeks, pulling them out several inches on

either side of her face. When I say several inches that's

just what I mean. Not only are her jowls being stretched

like silly putty but they are also being wrapped around to

the back of her neck to demonstrate how tight and smooth

her face can be made by DOCTOR who is prattling on over

this freak show.

DOCTOR:

Now, when you come in tomorrow, Mrs

Lowry, we'll make a little tuck here

... and there ...

CUT TO WIDE SHOT of DOCTOR's surgery. It looks a bit like

a cross between an operating theatre and a boudoir. The

cold steel, glass and plastic surfaces are badly disguised

with pastel coloured chintz and satin. At the dressing

table sits the old WOMAN, SAM'S MOTHER. Behind her stands

the DOCTOR. He is much like his surgery. He has tailored

his surgical garments like a gigolo's dressing gown. It

seems that he has done a bit of tuck-taking on himself.

There is a certain plastic smoothness to his skin, but all

in all he has been fairly successful. SAM is pacing

around, raving.

SAM:

(angrily)

I just wish you would stop

interfering, mother! I don't want

promotion. I'm happy where I am.

MOTHER:

No you're not. Jack Lint is a lesson

to you - he never had your brains but

he's got the ambition. You haven't

got the ambition but luckily you've

got me. And Mr Helpmann. Mr Helpmann

was very close -

DOCTOR:

Now, Mrs Lowry, don't get upset

(so SAM)

Please wait in reception, Mr Lowry,

you're giving her wrinkles.

MOTHER:

You see!

SAM:

(groans)

DOCTOR:

Now Mrs Lowry, try to relax. You must

trust me. I'll make you twenty years

younger ...

SAM:

Huh!

DOCTOR:

(giving Sam a dirty look)

... twenty-five if we just drain the

excess fluid from the pouches ...

MOTHER:

Dr Jaffe, you're a genius. Would you

like to be Surgeon General? Four

Star. I know everybody.

DOCTOR:

Well they won't know you when I've

finished with you.

The DOCTOR reaches into his smock pocket for a coloured

marker. He starts colouring up her face with strokes of

different coloured markers.

DOCTOR:

First we must eliminate the excess

derma ... so! ... Then the flaccid

tissues under the eyes ... And now

the forehead ... Zip! I lift the

wrinkles and worry lines right up

into the wi- into the hairline, comme

ca ...

SAM looks disgusted.

DOCTOR:

And now the template ... There ...

there ... there ... Now a bit of

sticky ... There we go!

(triumphantly)

Already she is twice as beautiful as

she was before - voila!

The DOCTOR moves his body aside, revealing MRS LOWRY's

face, covered with coloured lines and wrapped in

cellophane held in shape by cellotape. SAM stares at her.

SAM:

My God, it works.

28 INT. POSH RESTAURANT (ENTRANCE) DAY 28

The conversation between SAM and his MOTHER takes place

while they are going through the sort of security checks

familiar at airports. They are, however, just outside the

velvet rope of the posh restaurant.

MOTHER:

(in full flow)

Mr Helpmann was very close to your

poor father. He was very close to me.

Still is. He'll take you under his

wing at Information Retrieval. You'll

like it when you get there.

SAM:

You're not listening, mother.

A warning buzzer goes off as MOTHER's handbag goes thru

security check. It turns out to have been activated by a

gaily wrapped package. A SECURITY GUARD relieves her of it

and unwraps the package which contains the same kind of

executive toy which we have seen twice before.

MOTHER:

It's a present for my son.

She takes the toy back and hands it to SAM.

MOTHER:

I hope you like it. It's very

exclusive.

SAM:

What is it?

MOTHER:

It's something for executives.

At this point the MAITRE D arrives on the scene.

MAITRE D:

Madam Lowry, how exquisite to see you

again. Merry Christmas.

He pulls aside he velvet rope with a grand flourish. He

looks disdainfully at SAM's unfashionable clerk's suite

MOTHER:

Hello, Spiro. Merry Christmas.

SPIRO:

(blocking Sam's way)

I'm sorry but ...

MOTHER:

You remember Samuel, my son.

SPIRO:

{suddenly unctious)

Oh, but of course ...

MOTHER:

We're meeting Mrs Terrain.

SAM:

Are we?

SPIRO:

Ah yes, the lady is waiting.

SPIRO leads the way. SAM and his MOTHER follow, across the

restaurant which is much like the Palm Court at the Plaza

New York. Trellises, marble columns, antique mirroring,

potted palms combine to impress us with their

sophistication and taste. A string quartet can just be

made out against the far wall. Except for the unfortunate

intrusion of metal tubing and ducting brutally thrusting

across areas of the ceiling, occasionally penetrating

right through the middle of a particularly valuable-

looking mirror, the general effect is one of confident

wealth and breeding. SAM, MOTHER and MAITRE D make their

way across the room. The waltzing strains of the string

quartet accompanying them.

CUT to group of tables with diners. At one of them sits a

wealthy-looking OLDER WOMAN with a rather plain-looking

DAUGHTER in her 20s. The OLDER WOMAN is easily

distinguished from the other clientele by a large bandage

that covers a goodish part of her head. The two of them

(the MOTHER and DAUGHTER, not the MOTHER and bandage) are

perusing the menus. SAM notes the DAUGHTER, unpleased.

SAM:

Mother, I thought we were going to be

able to talk .... Oh God, she's got

what's he name with her.

SAM and his MOTHER arrive at the table.

MRS TERRAIN:

Ida! Sam!

MOTHER:

Alma, how are you? You're looking

wonderful! Hello, Shirley.

SHIRLEY:

(shy to Sam)

Salt?

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