The Doors Page #2

WIFE & HUSBAND

Oh God, Oh God. Not the President

for Christ's sake. Oh God -- WHO'S

NEXT?

On Jim -- staring out the window. "Who's next!"

SONG:

Riders on the storm (4)

On the DESERT.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. VENICE BOARDWALK - LOS ANGELES - DAY (1965)

SUBTITLE READS:
VENICE, CALIFORNIA 1965

CREDITS continue to their conclusion as we segue into the

BLUENESS of VENICE, CALIFORNIA, 1965 -- the dawn of a new

age. All was possible.

Individual SHOTS of the BOARDWALK throbbing with a feast of

HIPPIES, head shops, ARTISTS drawing psychedelic murals, POT

SMOKERS, MUSCLE BUILDERS, tambourines accompanying the

transister radios on the Beach Boys and "I Got You Babe",

dogs chasing frisbees, BIKINI BODIES on the beach, LSD sold

over the counter... set to the upbeat chords of HELLO I LOVE

YOU:

DOORS SONG:

Hello I love you

Won't you tell me your name?

Hello I love you

Let me jump in your game

She's walking down the street

Blind to every eye she meets

Do you think you'll be the guy

To make the queen of the angels sigh?

JIM, in torn black chinos, no shirt, walking real slow past

it all, carrying a notebook of his own and a paperback of

Baudelaire, his eyes settling on...

A YOUNG BEAUTY and her yellow labrador -- a fashionable thin,

long, red-haired "20th century fox" in jeans moving through

the crowd...

He thinks about it -- a fraction of eternity -- and he's

off... after her.

EXT. VENICE CANAL - DAY

She moves along its banks, as if the universe moved to her

rhythm, turning once to look back. Jim caught in her eyes.

They're alone. Now he's the one seized by doubt. He slows,

pretends to take another interest.

DOORS SONG:

She holds her head so high

Like a statue in the sky

Her arms are wicked

And her legs are long

When she moves

My brain screams out this song

EXT. VENICE CANAL - ANOTHER CANAL - DAY

As she turns into another street, he resumes following her.

She gets to a house, goes in. There's a group of people

partying. He stops, watches.

DOORS SONG:

Sidewalk crouches at her feet

Like a dog that begs for something sweet

Do you hope to make her see you, fool?

Do you hope to pluck this dusky jewel?

EXT. PAMELA'S HOUSE - VENICE CANAL - THAT EVENING

The two story house has a quaint run-down charm. Friends

have dropped by, people smoking joints, beers.

She's on the upstairs balcony -- talking with a YOUNG MAN

(professor type) in his 30's, who passes her a joint.

JIM lurks in the shadows of the trees; he's been standing

outside watching... The MUSIC shifts to the quieter LOVE

STREET.

DOORS SONG:

She lives on Love Street

Lingers long on Love Street

She has a house and garden

I would like to see what happens

The YOUNG MAN gestures, and goes back inside the house. She's

alone now on the balcony, sitting on a kitchen table...

It's now or never. Jim scales the tree alongside the house

with the agility of a gymnast.

DOORS SONG:

She has robes and she has monkeys

Lazy diamond studded flunkies

She has wisdom and knows what to do

She has me and she has you

The girl's grinding up pot in an old shoebox with a spoon

and kitchen strainer. She looks up and sees his crotch three

feet from her face, balanced there effortlessly on the railing

like a highwire act, opens her mouth in surprise.

Jim drops softly to the balcony, a smile of disarming

gentleness.

JIM:

Hi...

GIRL:

Wow! Hi...

(looking at the tree)

You have a problem with doors?

JIM:

Waste of time...

His head cocked slightly onto his left shoulder, he drawls,

southern gentleman, polite, slow, thoughtful as if he had

all the time in the world, as if the guy would never come

back.

JIM:

I followed you... from the beach...

GIRL:

(impressed)

Wow! You followed me? Why?

JIM:

...cause... you're the one...

He moves. Kisses her swiftly, softly, right on the lips.

GIRL:

(mesmerized, awkward)

Wow... neat...

(looks back)

...maybe you should meet my old man?

JIM:

Later. You got a name?

He looks into her face. Classic American face, freckles, big

round eyes soft as rain, long sunset red hair. She feels his

intense, starving eyes. He kisses her a second time.

The YOUNG MAN coming back with the rolling paper -- sees

him.

As he hops back on the railing -- swings out into the tree --

looks back once.

JIM:

Mine's Jim.

A moment. She must decide. The YOUNG MAN within earshot.

GIRL:

Pam...

The ice broken in that instant. Jim smiles.

JIM:

Jim and Pam, Pam and Jim...

He vanishes. The Man abreast of Pamela, as if he's seen a

vision.

YOUNG MAN:

Who the hell was that?

PAMELA:

(everything's cool)

That's Jim. My new friend.

INT. UCLA SCREENING ROOM - DAY (1965)

On the screen a 16mm black and white student film of a

stunning BLOND in black bra, panties, garters dancing in

black heels on top of a TV set. panning down to images of

goose-stepping Nazis and a Nuremberg rally on the set. Sounds

of lovemaking and an Indian peyote ceremony from the track,

an Indian holy man incanting... Jim's VOICE comes on the

track as well.

JIM'S VOICE

Nietzche said "all great things must

first wear monstrous and terrifying

masks in order to inscribe themselves

on the hearts of humanity". Listen

children -- to the sound of the

Nuremberg night.

STUDENTS in the audience groan at the pretention of it. Moving

to JIM's eyes hidden in his parka hood, peeking through at

the screen.

A CLOSEUP now of JIM on screen looking straight into the

lens as he takes a hit on a hash pipe, and winks.

JIM VOICE:

(on screen)

Have you ever seen God? -- a mandala.

A symmetrical angel. Felt? Yes.

F***ing the Sun. Heard? The music.

Voices. Touched? An animal. Your

hand Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water

and wine

STUDENTS:

(ad lib)

SSSSssss... ego trip man, c'mon!

RAY MANZAREK, a tall student with powerful voice and manner,

thick glasses, long hair sweeping down over his eyes, leans

over to Jim.

RAY:

Hey man it's great, don't listen to

em, it's non-linear man, it's poetry

man, everything Godard stands for.

The lights coming on as the last absurdist images flicker

off. Hissing and a big Bronx cheer summarize the feelings of

the 100 odd STUDENTS crammed into a bunker-like theater.

A youngish INSTRUCTOR stirs to the front row from a row of

upset FACULTY. Hands shooting up to criticize.

INSTRUCTOR:

This is pretty shocking stuff Mr.

Morrison. And I might say indulgent.

Naziism and masturbation, when used

for shock value, are not art. But to

be constructive, let's start with

your intention. What was it?

STUDENT 1

It was a bore!! That's what!

(laughter)

TRICK, BONES and JACK, three friends sitting next to Jim,

shoot their hands up.

TRICK:

Hey it was better'n a Warhol picture.

GIRL 1

No it wasn't. It was worse!

TRICK:

A guy sleeping for seven hours...

STUDENT 2

...is less pretentious! There was no

political consciousness. Naziism

is...

JACK:

Hey hold on man! You guys are the

facists!

BONES:

It takes genitalism to absurdity

man, just cause the squares here

can't dig it cause the film school's

still so square...

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