O Brother, Where Art Thou? Page #4

THE RIVER:

White robes stream down the hill, out of the woods, and down

the riverbank. The voices swell in a great chorus:

VOICES:

We went down to the river one day,

Studying about that good old way,

And who shall wear that robe and

crown, Oh Lord, show us the way...

We are booming down to reveal a minister in the foreground.

He stands belly-deep in the river, easing a white-robed man

back-down into the water. Behind him a line of robed singers

lengthens steadily as people stream out of the woods.

Pete, Delmar and Everett emerge from the woods and gaze down

at the river. White-robed people continue to drift past them.

EVERETT:

I guess hard times flush the chumps.

Everybody's lookin' for answers, and

there's always-

Delmar wades out into the stream, cutting in line.

EVERETT:

Where the hell's he goin'?

Delmar has reached the minister and holds his nose as the

minister incantates over him and lowers him into the water.

PETE:

Well, I'll be a sonofabitch. Delmar's

been saved!

EVERETT:

Pete, don't be ignorant-

Delmar is slogging back through the water.

DELMAR:

Well that's it boys, I been redeemed!

The preacher warshed away all my

sins and transgressions. It's the

straight-and-narrow from here on out

and heaven everlasting's my reward!

EVERETT:

Delmar what the hell are you talking

about? - We got bigger fish to fry-

DELMAR:

Preacher said my sins are warshed

away, including that Piggly Wiggly I

knocked over in Yazoo!

EVERETT:

I thought you said you were innocent

a those charges.

DELMAR:

Well I was lyin' - and I'm proud to

say that that sin's been warshed

away too! Neither God nor man's got

nothin' on me now! Come on in, boys,

the water's fine!

LATER:

The smoldering twig fire. A bloodhound on a leash circles

into frame, its tail fiercely wagging.

We follow it as, nose to the ground and straining against

its leash, it waddles over to an empty tin of Dapper Dan

pomade.

A VOICE:

All tight, boys! We got the scent!

A CAR:

Everett drives, shaking his head with a forebearing smile.

Pete, sitting next to him, and Delmar, in back, are both

dripping wet.

Pete is sullen:

PETE:

The preacher said it absolved us.

EVERETT:

For him, not for the law! I'm

surprised at you, Pete. Hell, I gave

you credit for more brains than

Delmar.

DELMAR:

But there were witnesses, saw us

redeemed!

EVERETT:

That's not the issue, Delmar. Even

if it did put you square with the

Lord, the State of Mississippi is

more hardnosed.

DELMAR:

You should a joined us, Everett. It

couldn't a hurt none.

PETE:

Hell, at least it woulda washed away

the stink of that pomade.

EVERETT:

Join you two ignorant fools in a

ridiculous superstition? Thank you

anyway. And I like the smell of my

hair treatment - the pleasing odor

is half the point.

He shakes his head and laughs.

EVERETT:

Baptism. You two are just dumber'n a

bag of hammers. Well, I guess you're

my cross to bear-

DELMAR:

Pull over, Everett - let's give that

colored boy a lift.

A thirtyish black man in worn go-to-meetin' clothes stands

on the shoulder, waggling his thumb at the passing car. He

grabs his battered guitar case as the car pulls over and

trots up to the open window.

HITCHHIKER:

You folks goin' through Tishamingo?

Delmar pushes open the back door.

DELMAR:

Sure, hop in.

Everett looks at the man in the rearview mirror as he pulls

out.

EVERETT:

How ya doin', boy? Name's Everett,

and these two soggy sonsabitches are

Pete and Delmar. Keep your fingers

away from Pete's mouth-he ain't had

nothin' to eat for the last thirteen

years but prison food, gopher, and a

little greasy horse.

HITCHHIKER:

Thank you fuh the lif', suh. M'names

Tommy. Tommy Johnson.

Delmar is genuinely friendly:

DELMAR:

How ya doin', Tommy. I haven't seen

a house in miles. What're you doin'

out in the middle of nowhere?

Tommy is matter-of-fact:

TOMMY:

I had to be at that crossroads las'

midnight to sell mah soul to the

devil.

EVERETT:

Well ain't it a small world,

spiritually speakin'! Pete and Delmar

just been baptized and saved! I guess

I'm the only one here who remains

unaffiliated!

DELMAR:

This ain't no laughin' matter,

Everett.

EVERETT:

What'd the devil give you for your

soul, Tommy?

TOMMY:

He taught me to play this guitar

real good.

Delmar is horrified:

DELMAR:

Oh, son! For that you traded your

everlastin' soul?!

Tommy shrugs.

TOMMY:

I wudden usin' it.

PETE:

I always wondered-what's the devil

look like?

EVERETT:

Well, of course there's all manner

of lesser imps'n demons, Pete, but

the Great Satan hisself is red and

scaly with a bifurcated tail and

carries a hayfork.

TOMMY:

Oh no! No suh! He's white-white as

you folks, with mirrors for eyes an'

a big hollow voice an' allus travels

with a mean old hound.

PETE:

And he told you to go to Tishamingo?

TOMMY:

No suh, that was mah idea. I heard

they's a man there pays folks money

to sing into a can. They say he pays

extra effen you play real good.

Everett's eyes narrow as he studies the man in the rearview.

EVERETT:

How much does he pay?

TISHAMINGO:

The car is pulling into the parking lot of a single-story

cement-block building with a hundred-foot antenna and a

handpainted sign:

WEZY:

LISTENING AIN'T NEVER BEEN

SO EASY NOR:

SO FINE:

As the men get out of the car, Everett snaps his suspenders.

EVERETT:

All right boys, just follow my lead.

INSIDE:

Everett strides up to a portly middle-aged man who wears

dark glasses and holds a white cane.

EVERETT:

Who's the honcho around here?

MAN:

I am. Hur you?

EVERETT:

Well sir, my name is Jordan Rivers

and these here are the Soggy Bottom

Boys outta Cottonelia Mississippi-

Songs of Salvation to Salve the Soul.

We hear you pay good money to sing

into a can.

MAN:

Well that all depends. You boys do

Negro songs?

Everett grimaces, thinking.

EVERETT:

Sir, we are Negroes. All except our

a-cump- uh, company-accompluh- uh,

the fella that plays the gui-tar.

MAN:

Well, I don't record Negro songs.

I'm lookin' for some ol'-timey

material. Why, people just can't

get enough of it since we started

broadcastin' the 'Pappy O'Daniel

Flour Hour', so thanks for stoppin'

by, but-

EVERETT:

Sir, the Soggy Bottom Boys been

steeped in ol'-timey material. Heck,

you're silly with it, aintcha boys?

PETE:

That's right!

DELMAR:

That's right! We ain't really Negroes!

PETE:

All except fer our a-cump-uh-nust!

THE STUDIO:

The three singing convicts form a semi-circle behind Tommy,

who plays his guitar into a can microphone. They are

performing a hot and harmonized version of 'Man of Constant

Sorrow'.

When they finish Everett whoops and slaps Tommy on the back.

EVERETT:

Hot damn, boy, I almost believe you

did sell your soul to the devil!

MAN:

Boys, that was some mighty fine

pickin' and singin'. You just sign

these papers and I'll give you ten

dollars apiece.

EVERETT:

Okay sir, but Mert and Aloysius'll

have to scratch Xes - only four of

us can write.

THE LOT:

A caravan of two oversize cars is pulling into the lot just

as Tommy and the three convicts burst out of the station

door, whooping it up.

Rate this script:4.5 / 6 votes