Pleasantville Page #14

BETTY:

(off his reaction)

What?

David shakes his head and forces a smile. He hands her the

compact so she can examine herself. Betty holds it up to her

face, turning her head first right, then left.

BETTY (CONT)

(beat)

Does it look okay?

DAVID:

Looks just like it did.

BETTY:

And they won't be able to tell?

DAVID:

(even quieter)

No ... They won't be able to tell.

Betty takes a deep breath and fluffs her hair. She grabs the

plate of Pineapple kabobs and heads for the door. Just before

she goes in, she pauses, then plasters on a big wide

"stewardess" smile ...

DAVID (CONT)

Wait.

BETTY:

(turning back)

What?

He wants to say something, but doesn't. David shakes his

head.

DAVID:

It's fine.

She smiles again and balances the tray in front of her.

BETTY:

Thank you.

DAVID:

(sadly)

Sure.

He watches as she opens the door, and marches in the room,

extending the little tray of hors d'oeuvres in front of

her ...

CUT TO:

INT. SODA SHOP. DAY.

Mr. Johnson is all alone in the shop, setting up the napkin

dispensers. He whistles BRUBECK'S "TAKE FIVE" when the screen

door slams behind him. Mr. Johnson looks up with a start.

MR. JOHNSON

Oh, hi.

DAVID:

(entering)

Hi.

MR. JOHNSON

Aren't you a little early?

DAVID:

(quietly)

I brought you something ... From the

library.

CLOSER. FOLLOWING DAVID.

He has a large book tucked under his arm that is easily three

feet long. Mr. Johnson looks at him a little intrigued as

David crosses to the counter.

DAVID:

It's an art book.

MR. JOHNSON

Oh my Gosh, Bud ...

DAVID:

Open it.

Mr. Johnson reaches out and opens the cover. After a beat,

his eyes widen.

DAVID (CONT)

I just thought since you liked

painting it might help to ...

Mr. Johnson gasps. It's quiet, and subtle, but it's still a

gasp. David looks over at him but he's lost in the pages.

HIS POV. (INSERT) ART BOOK ...

Massacio's "Expulsion of Adam and Eve' leaps off the pages in

vibrant, tortured color. The beauty of the garden is offset

by their agony and their shame. HE TURNS THE PAGE ...

Titian's "Venus to Utano". Soft, fleshy, in a rich golden

light. She is utterly real and entirely nude. The folds of

her flesh almost seem to glow ...

Rembrandt's "Self Portrait." Dark reds, umbers, blacks and

browns. He looks back at Mr. Johnson with pain and wisdom.

There's a brilliant light on his hair.

MR. JOHNSON (OS)

Mmmmgh ...

Faintly, almost imperceptibly, the SOUND of a rich ARIA

begins to UNDERSCORE THE IMAGES. It's so faint you can't be

sure you even hear it at all ... like you're hearing it with

your eyes.

He TURNS THE PAGES faster. Breugal's "Harvesters" ... Tumees

"Steam Train" ... Monet's "Cathedralo" ... Cezanne's

"Oranges" ... Mr. Johnson shuts the book.

WIDER. SODA SHOP.

They sit like that for a beat.

MR. JOHNSON

It's beautiful, Bud ...

He looks up at David, troubled.

DAVID:

What's wrong?

MR. JOHNSON

I'll never be able to do that.

DAVID:

Oh, well--you're just starting out.

I mean, you can't do it ...

MR. JOHNSON

No, that's not it.

Mr. Johnson shuts the book gently.

MR. JOHNSON (CONT)

Where am I going to see colors like

that?

ANGLE. DAVID.

What can he say. David looks over at Mr. Johnson who just

smiles and shrugs.

MR. JOHNSON

Must be awfully lucky to see colors

like that. I bet they don't even know

how lucky they are.

CLOSE UP. DAVID.

He just stares for a second.

EXT. MAIN STREET. LONG SHOT. DAY.

Margaret walks up the center of Main Street toward the CAMERA

with her books pressed against her chest. She passes the

drugstore, then the hardware store ... Far off in the

distance, a young man comes racing out of the soda shop,

pulling off his little paper hat as he goes. He comes running

up behind her as fast as he can.

CLOSER.

He takes a deep breath and tries to quiet the panting.

DAVID:

Hi.

MARGARET:

(turning/

lighting up)

Oh ... Hi.

DAVID:

(pause)

Look, I probably shouldn't be asking

you this--not knowing you that well

and all ...

Margaret stops in the street and turns to him.

DAVID (CONT)

It's just that my folks are gonna

stay home and they said I could use

their car.

(moment of truth/

abandoning his speech)

... You want to go out with me

tonight?

He wants to turn away but doesn't. David forces himself to

stare at her and all of a sudden she beams. It's the whitest,

pearliest smile in the world.

MARGARET:

(breathless)

Sure ... Where would we go?

DAVID:

(swallows)

... Lover's Lane?

CUT TO:

EXT. ELM STREET. DAY.

David comes flying around the corner in complete jubilation.

He vaults over a parking meter, swings around a lampost and

leaps off the bumper of a parked car. David hi-fives into the

air at no one in particular and sails over Mr. Simpson's

hedge almost decking him in the process.

DAVID:

(calling back)

Sorry ...

FOLLOWING DAVID.

He races across the street bobbing and weaving like an All

American fullback. David bounds up his front steps two at a

time flinging open the door.

INT. PARKER HOUSE. FOYER.

DAVID:

"Oh when the Saints ... Go Marching

in ..."

He lets the door slam behind him as he takes off his apron

and tosses it on the coat rack. David starts up the stairs,

when he HEARS a MAN'S VOICE coming from the living room.

MAN'S VOICE (OS)

Bud ...

He pauses a second and glances back.

MAN'S VOICE (CONT)

David ...

He peers into the living room. David goes a little grayer ...

HIS POV. TELEVISION.

Dick Van Dyke is looking back at him from the middle of the

TV screen. He seems to have a bit of a stubble.

DICK VAN DYKE:

Hello there.

DAVID:

(wary)

... Hi.

DICK VAN DYKE:

(stage whisper)

Well c'mere, young fella.

INT. LIVING ROOM.

David crosses slowly over to the TV set.

DICK VAN DYKE:

(big smile)

You know I've been thinkin' ... I

might have been a little "hasty"

the other day when you asked to come

home--just took me by such surprise,

ya know--ha ha ...

He gives a goony laugh. David just looks at him ...

DICK VAN DYKE (CONT)

So even though I can't make any

promises, well--I figured if you

asked me real nice--I might just be

willing to talk about it again.

DAVID:

(quickly)

I can't.

DICK VAN DYKE:

What?

DAVID:

Talk about it. Right now, I mean.

I got to ... um ...

The look turns suddenly dark and ominous.

DICK VAN DYKE:

Bud--I thought you wanted to come

home.

DAVID:

Oh ... I do. Yeah. It's just that I

told my "dad" I'd clean out the

rain gutters and Mr. Johnson wanted

me to ... to change the tape in the

register ...

DICK VAN DYKE:

(getting testy)

I'll be honest with you Bud. I'm

getting sorta concerned about what

I'm seeing in some of these

re-runs ...

DAVID:

Re-runs?

DICK VAN DYKE:

Like when Margaret Henderson makes

her cookies for Whitey.

(losing it a little)

... Those aren't your cookies Bud.

DAVID:

Oh, I know they're not. But I mean--

they're just "cookies" after all ...

DICK VAN DYKE:

Excuse me?

DAVID:

Well they're not just cookies. I

mean, they're great cookies ...

Look, I'd love to get into this

whole thing but I'm really running

late. Why don't we hook up tomorrow?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes