Pleasantville Page #16

INT. SODA SHOP.

The door opens and she sticks her head inside. Most of the

place is dark except for one streak of sunlight shining

through the window near the back of the store. Betty glances

around. The little bell JINGLES as she enters.

MR. JOHNSON (OS)

We're closed right now ...

DIFFERENT ANGLE.

He sits in front of a small easel near the back, staring at a

board which doubles as a canvas. Mr. Johnson glances over his

shoulder and recognizes Betty in the doorway.

MR. JOHNSON

Oh, hi ...

BETTY:

(turning to leave)

I'm sorry ...

MR. JOHNSON

No, no ... Come on in.

REVERSE ANGLE.

He gets up from his stool and crosses toward the door, still

holding the palette in his hand. Betty stares at the "Cubist

Christmas" in the window.

BETTY:

I just thought ... It's beautiful.

MR. JOHNSON

Thanks.

Their eyes lock for a second. Sort of a clutzy silence. Mr.

Johnson motions toward his easel.

MR. JOHNSON (CONT)

I was just trying to do one of these

"still lifes."

He sighs and looks behind him. Next to the easel is a bowl of

GRAY FRUIT.

MR. JOHNSON (CONT)

Having kind of a tough time.

BETTY:

I think it looks nice.

MR. JOHNSON

Well ...

(shrugs)

Here's what it's s'posed to look like.

He leads her over to the table and points down at the art

book. It's open to a Cezanne that nearly burns off the page.

BETTY:

Oh my ...

CLOSER.

They are standing almost on top of each other gazing down at

the book. Neither one of them moves. Betty almost disappears

into the pictures--drawn by a strange new world.

MR. JOHNSON

Here. Look at this.

He turns to Kandinsky--a massive swirl of color. The image is

nearly electric.

BETTY:

(breathless)

Where'd you get this?

MR. JOHNSON

Bud brought it to me.

BETTY:

Bud?

MR. JOHNSON

Here's my favorite.

INSERT. BOOK.

He turns the page near the back to one of Picasso's "Weeping

Women." The woman is rendered in pink and red and green. Her

head is a large sphere, laying "peacefully" on her own

shoulder.

MR. JOHNSON

What do you think?

She doesn't answer ...

MR. JOHNSON (CONT)

Isn't it great how she's resting like

that?

BETTY:

(faintly)

She's crying.

WIDER.

Mr. Johnson looks down at the painting.

MR. JOHNSON

What?

BETTY:

She's crying.

MR. JOHNSON

No she's not.

BETTY:

Yes she is.

He looks up at her ...

REVERSE ANGLE.

A single tear is running down Betty's cheek. She senses it

and reaches up to wipe it quickly away, but instead of just

wiping the tear, she takes off a huge swath of GRAY MAKE-UP.

A long strip of PINK FLESH is revealed underneath.

ANGLE. MR. JOHNSON.

He stares up at her in amazement.

ANGLE. BETTY.

She senses something and glances down at her hand. Her

fingertips are covered in GRAY MAKE-UP. Betty turns and bolts

for the door.

WIDER.

MR. JOHNSON

(following her)

Wait ...

BETTY:

I've got to go ...

MR. JOHNSON

It's alright.

He stops her near the door and she turns her face toward the

wall. Mr. Johnson touches her shoulder.

MR. JOHNSON (CONT)

It's alright. Let me see.

BETTY:

(shame)

No ...

He reaches up and gently touches her chin. Mr. Johnson moves

around to glimpse the other side of her cheek.

MR. JOHNSON

It's beautiful.

CLOSER ...

She freezes like that for a moment, then slowly, haltingly,

turns toward him. THE COLOR of her real flesh is revealed

underneath. Betty stands there exposed.

MR. JOHNSON

(a whisper)

... It's beautiful.

She swallows, not sure what to do. Betty glances down.

MR. JOHNSON (CONT)

You shouldn't cover that up.

Mr. Johnson reaches over to the little napkin dispenser on

the counter and pulls one out. He leans forward and dabs at

the tears beneath Betty's eyes. Then slowly, gently, he

starts to wipe the makeup off her cheek.

CLOSER STILL ...

She recoils a bit, tensing up, then just looks at him. Mr.

Johnson is gazing at her "true color" with wonder and

acceptance. She hesitates for an instant, then seems to make

a decision. Betty slowly turns her face to the side, exposing

her flesh all the way down to the neck. Mr. Johnson continues

to wipe off the make up in larger and larger strokes as the

beautiful pink flesh begins to emerge ...

CUT TO:

INT. JENNIFER'S (MARY SUE'S) ROOM. NIGHT.

She lies on her bed, reading the same book she was browsing

earlier. Jennifer seems strangely engrossed as she flips the

pages, lying on her stomach, scouring every word. After a

moment or two she gets restless and shifts position, lifting

the book. The cover is plainly visible: "LADY CHATTERLY'S

LOVER."

CLOSER.

She doesn't have enough light so Jennifer rises from the bed

and crosses to "her" desk. She sits in the chair and flattens

the book in front of her. Jennifer is deep into the plot and

doesn't even look up as she flicks on the desk lamp. She

could almost be studying algebra as she sits upright at the

little desk.

DIFFERENT ANGLE.

She flips the page and peers more intently. Her hair is

bothering her so she pulls it back and knots it in a pony

tail. After a little while her eyes begin to get more tired

and she looks up and blinks a couple of times. Jennifer

notices something across the desk.

REVERSE ANGLE.

A pair of Mary Sue's glasses are neatly folded in front of

her. Jennifer reaches out, puts them on her head, glances

back down at the print.

JENNIFER:

(impressed)

Hunh.

She can see much clearer now. Jennifer folds her hands in

front of her and doesn't even realize that she has mimicked

the PHOTOGRAPH OF MARY SUE THAT SITS BESIDE HER IN A SILVER

FRAME. The face is the same, but that's to be expected. So is

the pony tail, the glasses, the posture and the studious look

on her face. Jennifer turns the page engrossed in her novel

when there is a loud TAP on the window.

She rises from the desk and pulls back the curtain. Jennifer

slides open the window.

EXT. PARKER HOUSE.

Biff stands on the front lawn tossing pebbles at the window.

BIFF:

Mary Sue--C'mon ...

JENNIFER:

(leaning out the window)

What are you doing?

BIFF:

(jiggling in anticipation)

It's six-thirty ...

JENNIFER:

So.

BIFF:

We were gonna ... You know ...

He jiggles some more.

JENNIFER:

Oh.

(remembering)

I can't.

BIFF:

Why not?

She glances down at her book.

JENNIFER:

I'm busy.

BIFF:

(surprised)

With what?

INT. JENNIFER'S ROOM.

She hesitates for a second then glances back at the desk. Her

own image in the silver frame stares back at her. The hair is

pulled back in a pony tail. The glasses sit on the front of

her nose.

JENNIFER:

(turning to Biff)

I'm studying.

She thinks about it for a moment, then suddenly smiles. Biff

stands dumbfounded on the sidewalk as Jennifer reaches up and

quietly closes the window ...

CUT TO:

EXT. LOVER'S LANE. NIGHT.

David and Margaret sit on the edge of the grass, looking out

across the water. Even in the moonlight, the COLORS are

vivid. David still clutches the gardenia in his hand, taking

a long hit like an Opium addict.

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