Brazil Page #6

MRS TERRAIN:

(to Shirley)

Not yet.

(to Sam and Mother)

Happy Christmas, Sam.

She hands SAM a gaily wrapped package which obviously

contains the same executive toy.

MOTHER:

Sorry we're late. Shall we order? Get

it out of the way. What are you going

to have Alma?

She starts to hunt through the huge menu the MAITRE D has

just handed her with full colour photos of the splendid

dishes available.

MRS TERRAIN:

I can't make up my mind whether to

have a number one or a number two.

What do you recommend, Spiro?

SPIRO:

(conspiratorially)

Between you and me, Madam, today the

number two.

MRS TERRAIN:

Thank you, Spiro. Shirley, what are

you going to have?

SHIRLEY:

(panics quietly)

SPIRO:

(conspiratorially)

Between you and me, Mademoiselle,

today the number one. Madam Lowry?

MOTHER:

Oh, to hell with the diet, a number

eight, please.

SPIRO:

A most perceptive choice, Madam, if I

may say so.

(to Sam)

Monsieur?

SAM:

(brusquely)

A steak, please. Rare.

(to his mother)

Mother, I need to ...

SPIRO:

(piqued)

Monsieur. Quel numero.

SAM:

(handing back menu)

I don't know which numero.

SPIRO:

(writing on pad)

Numero, trois.

EVERYONE is a bit embarrassed here. MOTHER gives SAM a

withering look. SPIRO stalks away.

MOTHER:

(trying to restart things)

Alma, you wicked thing ...

(indicating bandages)

you've started your treatment.

MRS TERRAIN:

You noticed.

(enthusiastically)

I must tell you all about it.

SAM:

(to his mother)

Mother, will you listen to

At this moment the food arrives. SPIRO elaborately lifts

off the silver covers and with a flourish distributes the

plates of food. Each order looks identical - a big splodge

of brown lumpy stuff. The only differences between the

lumps are the Identifying photographs on sticks stuck in

each. The beautiful colour photos match the photos which

were on the menus.

SPIRO:

(showing off that he

remembers who's ordered

what)

Numero huit, braised veal in wine

sauce.

(he sets it in front of

Sam's Mother)

MRS TERRAIN:

It's too exciting. I've left Dr Jaffe

and gone to Dr. Chapman.

SPIRO:

Numero deux, duck a l'orange.

(he sets it in front of Mrs

Terrain)

MOTHER:

The acid man?

MRS TERRAIN:

Really, Ida, just because his

techniques are revolutionary ... I

don't go around calling Dr Jaffe the

knife man.

SPIRO:

Numero une, crevettes à la

mayonaaise.

(he sets it in front of

Shirley)

MOTHER:

I'm sorry Alma, I didn't mean to

sound so ...

MRS TERRAIN:

That's all right Ida ... it's just

that he's such an artist. To him,

cutting is so crude ... so primitive.

SPIRO:

Numero trois, steak.

(He sets this in front of

Sam)

Monsieur, Mesdames, Bon appetit.

ALL BUT SAM:

Merci.

MRS TERRAIN:

Acid on the other hand, can be used

for such wonderfully subtle shading,

such delicate nuances - just like a

Rembrant etching ... and it's so much

quicker. Why, if it weren't for a

teensy-weensy complication - the

doctor said it could have happened to

anyone - I would have had these

bandages off yesterday.

SHIRLEY:

(to Sam, after attracting

her mother's attention and

receiving a nod)

Salt?

They are just about to dip into their respective splodges

when there is a terrific explosion - a huge hole is

blasted out of the wall to the kitchen. Chaos erupts

around the carnage as WAITERS try putting out the flames

with extinguishers. PEOPLE, bloody and dying, are moaning.

The DINERS not actually affected by the blast look up for

a moment and then, with a few raised eyebrows, go back to

their meals.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE EXPLOSION.

MOTHER:

What were we saying?

SAM:

(picking bomb debris out of

his brown lump)

This isn't rare!

MOTHER:

By the way, I saw a wonderful idea

for Christmas presents at the

chemists. Gift tokens. Medical gift

tokens.

MRS TERRAIN:

Oh, that sounds marvellous.

MOTHER:

Yes, they're good at any doctor's and

at many of the major hospitals - and

they're accepted for gynecological

complications including Caesarian

section.

SAM, in the act of taking in another forkful of his

unappetising meal, drops his form in disgust

SAM:

Look - please - I'm sorry - but

honestly, mother, this is -

MOTHER.

I quite agree! - It's impossible!

MOTHER raises her arm to gain the attention of the MAITRE

D who is frantically trying to deal with the emergency.

The activity in the background has increased throughout

the conversation. The fire-brigade has arrived with sirens

blaring. Ministry TROOPS have charged in and are arresting

WAITERS. Stretchers have been bought in for the injured

and these are being rushed past our little GROUP's table.

The MAITRE D comes to the table, his DJ now blood-

spattered.

MAITRE D:

I am sorry, Madam ... I don't know

what to say ... this very rarely

happens to us - I'll do what I can

straight away

He hurries away.

MRS TERRAIN:

Really, Sam - when are you going to

do something about these terrorists?

SAM:

What? Now? It's my lunch hour.

MOTHER:

Actually, Alma, that's one of the

little things I was dying to tell you

... Sam's been promoted to

Information Retrieval.

SAM:

(angry and surprised)

Mother!

MRS TERRAIN:

Oh that's wonderful! Congratulations

Sam...

SHIRLEY:

You can show those f***ing murderous

bastards a thing or two.

MRS TERRAIN:

(shocked and embarrassed)

Shirley!

SAM:

Stop this!

(leaping to his feet)

I'm not being promoted. I'm not going

to Information Retrieval!

(he scrumples promotion

notification which he has

been holding and throws it

on the floor)

If I want you to stick your oar in,

mother, I'll tell you where to stick

it!

EVERYBODY is shocked. He recovers his composure slightly.

Embarrassed, he bends, and picks up the ball of paper

which he starts smoothing back into Its flat state.

SHIRLEY:

(back to her uncertain

form)

Pepper...?

SAM:

Look - I've got to get back -

As SAM goes, MAITRE D reappears with a group of WAITERS -

those remaining unarrested - whom he has organised to gut

up a folding screen around the table. This cuts of the

sight if not the noise of the VICTIMS of the explosion.

MOTHER:

Sam ... you haven't had dessert.

SAM:

I'm sorry. I don' t want dessert. I

don't want promotion. I don't want

anything.

MOTHER:

Don't be childish, Samuel. Of course

you want something. You must have

hopes, wishes, dreams.

Their voices have been rising towards a shout in order to

rise above the volume of the growing chaos around them.

SAM:

(shouts loud)

NO, NOTHING. NOT EVEN DREAMS!

29 EXT. BRILLIANT SKY DAY 29

SAM as his dream-self rises INTO SHOT, his wings straining

as he tows the floating cage imprisoning the GIRL. They

are rising up and away from the monolithic stone

skyscrapers that stretch away below them.

SAM:

I'm taking you to a safe place. A

place where they will never be able

to get at us ... ever.

An eyeball is scanning the sky. PULLING BACK we see it is

but one of thousands, tightly packed side by side forming

a landscape that extends as far as we can see. As SAM and

the GIRL in her cage come into view it becomes apparent

just how big these eyeballs are - they are gigantic -

about 10 feet in diameter. All of them follow SAM as he

comes to rest on a platform high atop a column that rises

from the centre of this bizarre place.

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