Malcolm X Page #8

As the Clipper surfaces in Harlem, pulls up to the 125th

Street station.

EXT. 125TH STREET STATION - P.M.

Malcolm, out of uniform and dressed in his zoot suit, comes

down from the Park Avenue station in Harlem. He is hit with

the sights and sounds.

Everything delights him: the noise, the lights, the women,

the pimps, the signs, the windows, the crowds, the laughter,

the music.

ANGLE - CROWD

A CROWD OF PEOPLE run by Malcolm yelling and screaming.

CROWD:

The Brown Bomber, The Brown Bomber,

Joe Louis, the heavyweight champion

of the world. Joe got the belt back.

Lawd have mercy. Great day in the

morning.

CLOSE - MALCOLM

He runs after them.

EXT. 125TH AND LENOX AVENUE

All traffic has stopped, there is a huge spontaneous

celebration going on. Black folks are everywhere, it seems

as if all of Harlem is out on the streets. The citizens of

Harlem are hugging, kissing, drinking, dancing, folks are

hanging from street lamps, yelling out their windows, holding

up hand-made JOE LOUIS banners, everyone has great reason to

be joyous. The heavyweight champion of the world is a BLACK

MAN -- JOE LOUIS, THE BROWN BOMBER, he has regained his

championship.

CLOSE:
- MALCOLM

Malcolm quickly looks at his watch, he's running late for

his train, as he fights his way through the crowd like a

salmon going upstream, the CAMERA CRANES up to see him

eventually get lost in a sea of BLACK HUMANITY "cutting

loose."

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

EXT. SEVENTH AVENUE - NIGHT

Malcolm, newly conked and sharp as a tack (zoot suit, trouser

crease like a knife's edge, orange knob-toed shoes) walks

toward his goal:

Small's Paradise.

The street is crowded with PEOPLE, KIDS and HUSTLERS.

YOUNG HOOKER:

Slow down, daddy, what's your hurry?

Lemme show you somepin brand new.

Malcolm smiles "No thanks" keeps moving.

HUSTLER:

Hey, man, hundred-dollar ring --

diamond; and a ninety dollar watch.

Take the both of them for a quarter;

twenty-five bucks.

Malcolm waves; he's not having any. Goes on.

EXT. SMALL'S PARADISE - NIGHT

Before entering, Malcolm sharps himself a bit, picking off

some lint, cocking his hat. And enters.

INT. SMALL'S PARADISE - NIGHT

The restaurant is crowded, both at the bar and at the tables

beyond.

The immediate impression is of subdued well-being, of decorum,

of easy affluence. This is the world Malcolm wants into. He

digs it, drinking in its details.

ANGLE - BAR

A big man, FOX, accidentally bumps into Malcolm almost

knocking over.

MALCOLM:

The word is excuse me.

FOX:

Look, country boy, you shouldn't

have been in my way.

Everyone becomes quiet in the bar.

FOX:

So what are you gonna do? Go run

home to your Mama.

Malcolm grabs a bottle off the bar counter and with lightning

speed brings it crashing down on Fox's head. As he lays on

the floor with head bleeding, Malcolm kicks him in the stomach

two times. It's done, the fight is over and people pull him

off of Fox.

MALCOLM:

Don't ever again in life step on my

Florsheims again, and never talk-

bout my mother.

ANGLE WITH MALCOLM AND THE BARTENDER

MALCOLM:

Gimme a whiskey.

BARTENDER pours him a double.

MALCOLM:

I ordered a single, Jack.

BARTENDER:

The double's on that gentleman. Jack!

He points.

ARCHIE AT THE TABLE - FROM MALCOLM'S POV

The elderly man nods. He is big, he is very black. The same

color as Malcolm's father.

CLOSE - MALCOLM

He raises his glass, toasts Archie and downs it. Then leaning

into the bar, asks:

MALCOLM:

Who is he, man?

BARTENDER:

That's West Indian Archie.

MALCOLM:

Whut's he do?

The bartender would not normally answer this, but Malcolm is

the man of the moment, so the bartender speaks:

BARTENDER:

This and that.

Malcolm nods, then looks over again at Archie -- in

appreciation.

Archie wiggles a finger for him to come over.

AT ARCHIE'S TABLE

Malcolm is standing.

ARCHIE:

Sit down. We ain't fixing to eat

you. You look brand new in town.

Pretty handy with a bottle.

MALCOLM:

He had it coming.

Malcolm sits. There are no introductions. He just nods at

SAMMY and CADILLAC.

ARCHIE:

What they call you?

MALCOLM:

Red, and I ain't no punk.

ARCHIE:

You better not be. Cause if a cat

toe you down in this town, you better

stand up or make tracks.

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