Man on the Moon

FADE IN:

INT. VOID - DAY

Standing in a nonexistent set is ANDY KAUFMAN, looking a bit

nervous. Wide-eyed, tentative, he stares at us with a

needy, unsettling cuteness. His hair is slicked-down, and

he wears the "FRIENDLY WORLD" costume from the Andy Kaufman

special.

Finally, Andy speaks -- in a peculiar FOREIGN ACCENT.

ANDY (AS FOREIGN MAN)

Hallo. I am Andy. Welcoom to my

movie.

(beat; he gets

upset)

I hoped the story of my life would

be nice...but it turned out

terrible! It is all LIES! Tings

are mixed up... real people I knew

play different people. WHAT A MESS!

So I broke into Universal and cut

out the junk. Now it's much

shorter. In fact, this is the end

of the movie. So tanks for comink!

Bye-bye!

Andy puts a needle on a phonograph, and swelling CLOSING

CREDITS MUSIC starts to play. FINAL CREDITS roll.

Andy stands frozen, awkwardly looking at the audience.

Every time the music ends he picks up the needle and

restarts the music. He does that as many times as the

credits require.

Finally, CREDITS END. And then--a sly smile. He leans in.

DROPS HIS ACCENT and WHISPERS.

ANDY (AS REGULAR VOICE)

Okay! Just my friends are left. I

wanted to get rid of those other

people... they would have laughed in

the wrong places.

(beat)

I was only kidding about the

movie... it's actually PRETTY GOOD!

It shows everything... from me as a

little boy until my death --

(his eyes pop; he

covers his mouth)

Oops!! I wasn't supposed to talk

about that! Oh. Eh, uh, we better

just begin. It starts back in Great

Neck, Long Island...

Andy turns to a primitive 16mm PROJECTOR and turns it on.

WHIR! He smiles at the flickering light.

ANDY:

Oh, yes. I remember it well...

We PUSH INTO the white light. It fills our frame, blazing

whiter, whiter...

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. KAUFMAN HOUSE - 1957 - DAY

A BLACK AND WHITE image slowly becomes COLOR. Great Neck,

1957. An upper-class Jewish neighborhood. In the street,

crewcut BOYS play t-ball, laughing and shouting. A fat

convertible pulls up to the smallest house, and STANLEY

KAUFMAN, 40, gets out. Still in his suit, he's a well-

meaning slave to his job -- tired, responsible.

Stanley goes over to admire the t-ball game. At bat is his

son MICHAEL, 6, a natural charmer. Michael swings -- crack!

-- and hits a solid single. Stanley smiles.

STANLEY:

That's my boy! Good swingin',

kiddo.

(warm beat; then a

look)

Hey -- Michael... where's your

brother?

MICHAEL:

He's inside.

Instantly -- Stanley's mood turns black. He frowns angrily,

then snatches his briefcase and marches in.

INT. KAUFMAN HOUSE, KITCHEN - 1957 - DAY

Baby CAROL is crying. Mom JANICE, 35, quickly peels

carrots, trying to get dinner made. Stanley marches past.

STANLEY:

Is he in his room?

JANICE:

Of course he's in his room.

(aggravated)

All his "friends" are in there.

Stanley glowers. He huffs upstairs.

INT. KAUFMAN HOUSE, HALLWAY - 1957 - DAY

Stanley hurries up to Andy's shut door. We hear little Andy

doing VOICES.

ANDY (O.S.)

(as WORRIED GIRL)

But professor, why are the monsters

growing so big?

(now as BRITISH

PROFESSOR)

It's something in the jungle water.

I need to crack the secret code.

Stanley rolls his eyes. He opens the door...

INT. KAUFMAN HOUSE, ANDY'S ROOM - 1957 - DAY

...revealing ANDY, 8, performing for the wall. Andy is

happy and enthusiastic... as long as he's acting.

ANDY:

(as BRITISH

PROFESSOR)

Maybe I should talk to the natives.

(as dancing NATIVES)

Shoom boom boo ba! Shoom boom boo

ba --

STANLEY:

Andy!

ANDY:

(startled)

Oh!

The boy suddenly turns off, becoming introverted... awkward.

Frustrated, Stanley stares at his son.

STANLEY:

Andy, this has to stop. Our house

isn't a television station. There

is not a camera in that wall.

Andy glances over at the wall. Hmm.

STANLEY (cont'd)

(trying to cope)

Son... listen to me. It isn't

healthy. You should be outside,

playing sports.

ANDY:

But I've got a sports show.

Championship wrestling, at five.

STANLEY:

(he blows his top)

You know that's not what I meant!

Look, I'm gonna put my foot down!

No more playing alone. You wanna

perform, you GOTTA have an audience!

ANDY:

(he points at the

wall)

B-but I have them.

STANLEY:

No! That is NOT an audience! That

is PLASTER! An audience is people

made of flesh! They -- live and

breathe! Got it?!

Andy thinks, considering his options. Then, he nods.

CUT TO:

INT. KAUFMAN HOUSE, FAMILY ROOM - 1957 - LATER THAT DAY

Baby Carol sits in her crib. Andy's hands suddenly YANK her

out.

INT. KAUFMAN HOUSE, ANDY'S ROOM - 1957 - DAY

Andy hurries in and plops Carol down on the floor. She

dutifully sits there, deadpan.

Andy returns to the center of the room. He resumes his

show.

ANDY:

(as KIDDIE SHOW

HOST)

And now, boys and girls! It's time

for... TV Fun House!

(he makes an

APPLAUSE SOUND)

Hi, everybody! Are you ready for a

singalong? I'll say the animal, and

you make his sound! Okay...? Okay!

(he starts to SING)

"Oh, the cow goes........."

Carol stares, unblinking. Then --

CAROL:

Moo.

ANDY:

(he smiles, pleased)

"And the dog goes......"

CAROL:

WOOF!

ANDY:

"And the cat says......"

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. NY NIGHTCLUB - 1975 - NIGHT

TIGHT on ANDY, now GROWN UP. 26-years-old, still performing

the song.

DRUNK AUDIENCE:

MEOW!!

WIDE - It's a small, hip New York nightclub.

ANDY:

"And the bird says..."

DRUNK AUDIENCE:

TWEET!!

ANDY:

"And the lion goes..."

DRUNK AUDIENCE:

ROAR!!

ANDY:

"And that's the way it goes!"

(he grins)

Thank you. Goodbye!

Andy waves and bows. There's faint scattered applause.

Andy sighs. An irritated MANAGER steps onstage. He shoots

Andy a disgruntled look, then takes the mike.

MANAGER:

The comedy stylings of Andy Kaufman,

Ladies and Gentlemen!

In the b.g., Andy starts packing up his props: Hand puppets,

conga drums, a phonograph... it all goes into a big bulky

case.

CUT TO:

INT. NY NIGHTCLUB - 1975 - LATER THAT NIGHT

The club is empty. At the bar, the manager cleans up. Andy

eagerly comes over. Offstage, his presence is soft, placid

-- his voice barely above a whisper.

ANDY:

So, Mr. Besserman, same slot

tomorrow...?

MANAGER:

(awkward)

Eh, I dunno... Andy. I'm...

thinkin' of letting you go...

ANDY:

You're firing me??

(beat)

You don't even pay me!

MANAGER:

Look -- I don't wanna seem

insulting. But... your act is like

amateur hour:
Singalongs...

puppets... playing records...

A stunned beat. Andy is hurt.

ANDY:

What do you want? "Take my wife,

please"??

MANAGER:

Sure! Comedy! Make jokes about the

traffic. Do impressions. Maybe a

little blue material...

ANDY:

I don't swear. I -- I don't do what

everyone else does!

MANAGER:

Well, everyone else gets this place

cookin'! Pal, it's hard for me to

move the booze when you're singin'

"Pop Goes The Weasel."

Andy stares, disheartened.

MANAGER (cont'd)

I'm sorry. You're finished here.

An uncomfortable beat -- and then Andy starts crying.

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