The Doors Page #8

Jim, thunderstruck, gaping. A gallery of ancient INDIAN

PETROGLYPHS surround him on all sides. Curious, oblong

figures, buffalo, sacred deer and bear, creatures of the

hunt; hunters and their weapons, rain clouds, masked deities

proclaiming the answers to the Mysteries, the story of

Creation.

Camera weaving up to see one of the faces of the deities --

staring at him from the wall -- an eagle's face...

DOORS SONG:

There's danger on the edge of town

Ride the King's highway

Weird scenes inside the gold mine

Ride the King's highway west, baby

The sound of a rattle -- "shichishichi" -- he realizes he's

being watched. By what? He whips his eyes everywhere. A large

LIZARD perches on a boulder assesses him calmly, tatters of

a former skin clinging to its throat, spits a forked tongue

and drills its black pearly eyes into his skull... Now the

sound of the Bull-Roarer, whipping the air, announcing the

appearance of the shaman.

Jim's struck with an overwhelming sense of... awe... ancient

mysteries. He turns. The lizard is looking at him.

The GHOST of the DEAD INDIAN is also looking at him. We are

looking at JIM from its point of view -- a blur of light,

some headdress, a sense of skins... music drops back, no

lyrics... the voice is old, familiar, possible Spanish descent

dialect or huararchi.

INDIAN GHOST VOICE

...you are a prince among white men,

yet you are a warrior among us. You

are ready now. Go out "walk with the

pain of the world, travel to the end

of the wind" -- and change it for

all men as you were born to do.

The voice, the pretense, -- the glow too quickly fades --

leaving Jim so alone, not sure what he has heard, yet he

knows he has heard, and he knows he has seen -- and once you

have seen, it will never be the same again. His eyes.

EXT. CAVE - DAY

JIM exits the cave.

MATCH CUT TO:

INT. WHISKY A GO GO - NIGHT

EXTREME CLOSE on JIM'S EYES as he continues with THE END.

DOORS SONG:

Ride the snake

Ride the snake, to the lake

The ancient lake

The snake is long, seven miles

Ride the snake

He's old, and his skin is cold

Camera pulling out from his eyes. There's something different

tonight. Something in the air. His eyes are open, he's facing

outward, gripping the mike for his life, hair falling in his

face, dripping sweat, we sense all his soul concentrated in

what he has to say.

Cliques of GROUPIES have staked claims at the foot of the

stage, eyes f***ing him as he writhes, spreading his legs.

Every twitch, every moment he sucks out the tension on the

musical interludes generates a whip of a reaction in his

audience.

Nobody is moving in the club. The DANCERS are still, the GO

GO GIRLS in their white plastic boots and dresses hang

motionless in their gilded cages. Even the WAITRESSES have

stopped, frozen with their trays, denying something is going

to happen.

PAMELA, DOROTHY... JERRY from the Fog, also the manager of

this place, watches from the balcony, shaking his head,

doesn't understand. Panning to two RECORD TYPES with him --

JAC HOLZMAN, distinguished six footer, suit, and PAUL

ROTHCHILD, funky, pigtailed, ex-con, early 30s.

JIM & DOORS

The west is best (2)

Get here and we'll do the rest

The blue bus is calling us (2)

Driver where you taking us?

The band has come together fully now. ROBBIE'S fingers sliding

across the trembling strings, staring at the ceiling,

wandering around the darkened portions of stage left, he

feels Jim -- echoes him back with his flamenco-blues guitar.

JOHN on drums, reading Jim's moods, throws in the spontaneous

and violent riffs that keep it savage. He literally tortures

Jim's ears with his drums.

And RAY, concentrated with his nodding head like a big

flamingo over his keyboard, mixing it up, throwing curves,

yet also -- and more delicately -- torturing Jim with the

messianic organ sounds that shriek in his ears. There is

something of Merlin in Ray -- the alchemist knowing how to

play Jim.

And JIM -- "that sneaky silent lithe flowing flexing animal" --

ready at last to share both his body and his soul with the

world, to live out the words of the Indian prophet... to

lead.

JIM:

The killer awoke before dawn

He put his boots on

He took a face from the ancient

gallery

And he walked on down the hall

Ray looks over up from his board, catches Robby with a 'what's

this?' look... They go with it, improvising...

Jim clutching the mike tighter, seeking solace in its arms;

it all hangs in the air as if he doesn't have any idea what

he's going to say next.

JIM:

He went to the room where his sister

lived

And he paid a visit to his brother

And then he went on down the hall...

Pamela sensing something is coming... the AUDIENCE... Jerry...

the go-go dancers...

JIM:

And he came to a door, And he looked

inside "Father?" "Yes, son?" "I want

to kill you".

FLASH -- A FATHER'S FACE, any face, older, any man...

JIM:

Mother... I want to...

FLASH -- A MOTHER'S FACE, any face, older, a woman

JIM:

AAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH

YOOOOOUUUUUUUUUU!!!!! F*** YOU ALL

NIGHT!

The SCREAMS primal, pure Jim -- Indian savagery ripped from

the depths of his soul, of his pain -- bouncing off the

walls...

As the AUDIENCE gasps, shocked, stunned...

As the guitar hits a high, horrid reverb, JIM in slightly

SLOW MOTION suddenly tightens his backbone as if electrocuted

and shoots violently backwards, hitting the floor like a

puppet cut from his string -- we sense Jim himself has crossed

a barrier now, gone into yet another stage of his performance,

a stage from which he can never return. Like the gunfighter

who has killed his first man.

RAY sees it instantly where it's going, hits the organ! Robbie

and John follow. the instruments EXPLODE all at once trying

to bury Jim in his primal unmistakeable scream.

The CLUB in shock. Tribal taboo broken in one instant. Jerry

exploding off the balcony toward the stage...

Pamela, extremely moved and impressed, and Dorothy... the go-

go girls, as jaded as they come, are stunned tension... the

groupies love it.

Jim has jumped up now, dancing an Indian war dance around

the mike.

JIM:

Come on baby take a chance with us

(X3)

And meet me in the back of the blue

bus

Doona blue rog onna blue bus

Doona blue yeah!

Come on yeah!

INT. BACKSTAGE WHISKY HALLWAY - THAT NIGHT

JIM is being muscled out the door by JERRY, livid.

JERRY:

NOBODY'S GONNA F*** THEIR MOTHER ON

MY STAGE! YOU'RE OUTTA HERE. You

don't ever come back to play, you

don't ever come back to drink --

You're DEAD ON THE STRIP!

JIM:

(ranting back at him)

Kill the father, f*** the mother,

kill the father, f*** the mother --

that's what I'm into! That's what

I'm into!

Jerry pinning Jim to the wall,

JERRY:

You -- MORRISON! You're f***ing filthy

twisted perverse punk, get back to

your f***ing sewer!!

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes