The End of the Tour Page #2

She kisses him as she goes past.

6.

LIPSKY (CONTD)

- (not including footnotes) - thecompetition has been obliterated.

It’s as though Paul Bunyan had joined

the NFL or Wittgenstein had gone onJeopardy! The novel is that colossallydisruptive. And that spectacularlygood.” That’s the f***ing opening

paragraph!

SARAH:

What if it actually is that good? You

know? You may just have to read it.

16 INT. LIPSKY’S W 77TH ST APT/LIVING ROOM - NYC - 1996 - DUSK 16

If his 2008 place is grad-student-y, the 1996 Lipskyresidence is smaller and explosively chaotic, like ateenager’s domain. We find Sarah on the couch reading thecurrent bestseller, Primary Colors and Lipsky beside herreading Infinite Jest. Silence.

Sh*t.

LIPSKY:

17 INT. ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE/CUBICLES/BOB'S OFFICE - NYC -

1996 - DAY

17

Buzzing with the hip, youthful industry of people who knowthey’re at the place to be. Lipsky drops by to see hiseditor, BOB LEVIN, 40, greying, bearded.

LIPSKY:

How many times have we interviewed awriter in the last ten years? Guess.

BOB:

Um... how many?

Zero.

LIPSKY:

I checked.

BOB:

Maybe that’s because Rolling Stone

doesn’t interview writers.

LIPSKY:

There hasn’t been a writer like this

one. Once in a generation, maybe.

Hemingway, Pynchon. Let me have this

story.

BOB:

What story?

7.

Lipsky tosses Newsweek, opened to a photo of Wallace, onto

Bob’s messy desk.

LIPSKY:

He’s finishing up his book tour and I

want to go with him.

BOB:

That’s not a story.

LIPSKY:

He teaches at some small state

university, somewhere in Illinois.

Send me there. Please, Bob. This is

the sort of stuff I should be doing,

not 500-words on boy bands. Talk to

Jann?

17A

INT. ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE/LIPSKY'S CUBICLE - NYC - 1996 -17A

LATER:

Lipsky works at his computer. Newsweek with the Wallace

photo lands on his desk. Lipsky looks up and sees Bob.

BOB:

There had better be a story there...

Bob leaves.

LIPSKY:

(calls) There will be!

His smile fades. Now what?

18

INT. LIPSKY'S W 77TH ST APT/LIVING ROOM - NYC - 1996 - NIGHT 18

Sarah reads her own copy of Infinite Jest as Lipsky walks

back and forth across frame, gathering stuff to pack for his

trip. Laptop. Notebook. Wallace’s books, full of notations

and post-its. Tape recorder, packs of audio cassettes. He

considers then tosses in The Art Fair and zips up his bag.

20

EXT. LIPSKY'S W 77TH ST APT - NYC - 1996 - MORNING 20

A grey wintry morning. Lipsky, outside his building, hails a

taxi.

21

I/E. CAB/FDR DRIVE - NYC - 1996 - MORNING 21

Lipsky, in the backseat, reads Infinite Jest; he’s about

three-quarters of the way through it. He makes a note in the

margin, then glances out the window at the passing skyline.

8.

22 EXT. O'HARE AIRPORT - CHICAGO - 1996 - DAY 22

An American Airlines plane comes in for a landing on the

flat, grey, wintry landscape.

25 I/E. CAR/OUTSKIRTS - BLOOMINGTON - 1996 - DAY 25

Lipsky, on the road, drives past a sign for Bloomington.

26 EXT. 7-ELEVEN - BLOOMINGTON - 1996 - DAY 26

An American landscape of fast-food places and chain stores.

Lipsky’s Grand Am is parked in a 7-Eleven and Citco station.

He stands at a pay phone. (We never intercut during

telephone conversations.)

DAVID’S VOICE

(over phone) Hello?

LIPSKY:

David, hi, it’s David Lipsky.

DAVID’S VOICE

Where are you?

LIPSKY:

I think I may have made a wrong turn

somewhere. Let’s see, I’m on County

Highway 29, across from Circus Video?

DAVID’S VOICE

How’d you get this number?

LIPSKY:

Your publicist sent it in her e-mail,

just in case.

DAVID’S VOICE

You’d do me a favor by losing it.

27 I/E. CAR/DAVID'S STREET - BLOOMINGTON - 1996 - DAY 27

Stormy skies. Flat, wintry terrain. As the car pulls up,

Lipsky sees, through the windshield, a modest, one-story

brick house in the distance, and a man emerging from it.

From Lipsky’s long shot POV: DAVID FOSTER WALLACE, hands

shoved in his jeans pockets for warmth, accompanied by his

two barking, rambunctious black labs, JEEVES and DRONE.

Lipsky parks. He takes a deep, bracing breath before getting

out of the car to finally meet the man about whom he has

complicated feelings. He walks toward him.

9.

This is the first time we see David up close and in focus:

stubble, long hair, blue bandanna, wire-rims, Frye boots,

6’2” and, at this time in his life, burly.

DAVID:

You made it.

LIPSKY:

Yeah. Hi.

David offers his wary, tolerant hand. This being the end of

his tour, his patience is frayed and he’s just about talked

out. But, at the same time, it’s Rolling Stone, he wants to

make a good impression.

DAVID:

Dave. Dave Wallace.

LIPSKY:

David Lipsky. Pleasure.

Lipsky is cowed but determined to hold his own. These are

two really smart, competitive guys out to impress each other.

Wallace wants to be favorably profiled and Lipsky wants

Wallace’s approval - and a good story.

LIPSKY:

Sorry about the phone call.

DAVID:

95% joke.

Lipsky laughs.

DAVID (CONTD)

Sorry in advance about the dogs, gonna

be slobbering all over you.

LIPSKY:

Oh, I don’t mind. I love dogs.

DAVID:

Yeah? Well, you haven’t met these

guys... It’s cold, let’s go inside.

(to the dogs) Jeeves, Drone! Get over

here!

Lipsky follows David and the rowdy, barking dogs into the

house.

10.

28 INT. DAVID'S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM/KITCHEN - 1996 - CONTINUOUS 28

Lipsky drops his bag on the messy, sh*t-stained shag carpet.

The dogs are indeed all over him. Lipsky scratches their

heads and speaks to them as a dog lover would speak to dogs.

LIPSKY:

Yes, I’m very glad to meet you, too.

Who are you?

DAVID:

That’s Jeeves. The Jeevesmeister. I

got him ‘cause he was so ugly. No one

else wanted him. Now he’s like a

Cover Girl-dog. Aren’t you, Jeeves?

Yes, you are. And this is Drone. My

provisional dog.

LIPSKY:

Why provisional?

DAVID:

Just showed up one day while Jeeves

and I were out jogging and the rest is

history.

(A beat.)

I feel like I should offer you tea or

something.

LIPSKY:

Yeah. Thanks. That would be great.

David goes to put on water. We STAY on Lipsky, casually

studying the room with the eye of a journalist, taking in the

grad-student-like accoutrements: cramped cinder-block

bookshelves; hodgepodge of furniture, an ALANIS MORISSETTE

POSTER conspicuously on the wall. Lipsky, glancing out the

window at the wintry landscape, raises his voice to converse

with David, who’s in the kitchen.

LIPSKY:

Nice view.

DAVID (O.S.)

Thank you. I can’t take credit for it.

Lipsky smiles. Pause.

LIPSKY:

So... Have you always been unlisted?

DAVID:

(from the kitchen) I had to do that

recently. It was getting crazy.

11.

LIPSKY:

Because of fans?

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