The Ladykillers Page #8

The General, his ever-present cigarette smoldering between

his lips, tongue-and-lips it up and backwards so that it is

inside his mouth, which he now closes.

Marva Munson is heavily and carefully descending the stairs.

As the men come into view they are looking up at her, Lump

holding his sackbutt but still glistening with sweat and

smeared with dirt.

MRS. MUNSON

That's okay, don't stop on account

of me.

Lump looks around, saucer-eyed, then blows gamely into his

sackbutt. It sounds like goose farts until Dorr waves him

down.

DORR:

No no, madam, we were about to take

a break anyway. The glissandi on

this particular piece are technically

very demanding and I think we would

all welcome a moment of relaxation.

MRS. MUNSON

Huh. I just thought you might like

to see-what a you gotten up to, honey?

Why you sweatin' like that.

It is directed at Lump, who looks down at his own sweat-

stained undershirt.

LUMP:

I, uh...

GAWAIN:

That man plays one b*tch barrelful a

sackbutt. Ain't no one can blow the

tenor sackbutt like Lump, hoowee!

goes at that thing like it was a pu--

uh, like it was a woman! Goddamn! He--

She cuffs him on the head.

MRS. MUNSON

You mind! I don't want that kind of

talk in my home, even in the root

cellar. This is a Christian house,

boy, none of that hippity-hop

language.

DORR:

Sadly, Gawain is given to--

WHAP! She slaps Gawain again.

MRS. MUNSON

Sometimes it's the only way!

He untenses after what seemed like the final blow, but --

WHAP! -- she slaps him again.

MRS. MUNSON

...I'm tryin' to help you, son!

WHAP!

MRS. MUNSON

...Better yaself!

DORR:

As well you should, ma'am. But Gawain

at times is so far transported by

his love of the music of the early

Renaissance as to--

MRS. MUNSON

Don't make no never-mind he's

transported!

Dorr has her by the elbow and is ushering her back up the

stairs.

DORR:

I understand your--

She pulls her elbow away and sniffs.

MRS. MUNSON

You been smokin'?

DORR:

Certainly not, madam. I understand

your indignation. And I was offering

explanation, not excuse. I myself am

offended by those who cannot find

the proper words to express themselves

and have recourse to--

Gawain calls up the stairs:

GAWAIN:

Don't you be explainin' me, dawg!

You can't look into my mind, cape

man!

DORR:

Yes, yes...

Dorr's tone is soothing as he shuts the door at the top of

the stairs.

DORR:

...A fiery lad! But then Youth is

fiery! A fact often remarked upon by

the poets of the Romantic era.

MRS. MUNSON

My youth I was in church, I wasn't

walkin' around fiery. Youth ain't no

excuse for nothin'! Well, anyway...

only came down to show you the fife.

She hands him a thick, roughly whittled piece of cane. Dorr

holds it, looks at it dumbly. He is, for the first time that

we have seen anyway, non-plussed.

MRS. MUNSON

...Othar's fife. He burned his own.

Dorr tries to summon conversation as the two sit with their

backs to the fireplace:

DORR:

...Did he?

MRS. MUNSON

Mm-hm. I thought maybe bein' a musical

man you'd be interested.

DORR:

Oh, I am indeed--

MRS. MUNSON

Cut it himself and burned the holes.

Israelites called it a kalil.

DORR:

Ah.

MRS. MUNSON

Kalil, fife, same thing. You can

read about it in the Bible. Ain't

nothin' new under the sun.

DORR:

Indeed not.

MRS. MUNSON

Gone these twenty years. He was some

kind of man.

From Othar's POV, slightly high, we see them both twist in

their chairs to look up at the portrait.

REVERSE of the portrait, LOW ANGLE. Othar looks down at us

with what appears to be bemusement.

Marva Munson and Dorr gaze up at the portrait for a motionless

beat. At length, Marva Munson sighs:

MRS. MUNSON

...Blowed the kalil.

Dorr's eyes remain on the picture as he inquires:

DORR:

...I don't suppose Othar ever turned

his hand -- or, uh, heh-heh-heh,

turned his lip -- to the shofar?

Prompted by her silence, he adds:

DORR:

...The ceremonial ram's horn, sounded

by the priests of the Hebrews?

MRS. MUNSON

I don't know nothin' 'bout that.

Othar didn't study no shofar, to the

extent a my knowledge. The kalil was

good enough for my Othar...

She gazes at the portrait.

MRS. MUNSON

...Some kind of man.

INT. CASINO - DAY

TRACKING BEHIND A SASHAYING ASS

following a woman in a red dress.

GAWAIN (O.S.)

Hey baby, don't be cruel. Jus' sneak

one little peek...

The woman looks back over her shoulder, smiling, as she

continues to walk.

GAWAIN:

...Don't let this uniform fool ya--

REVERSE PULLING TRACK

leads Gawain MacSam, pushing his wheeled trash bin.

GAWAIN:

You don't need to be gamblin', honey,

you lookin' at a sure thing. They

call me Mr. 21, baby, 'cause that's

how I measure up. I am the original

black Jack, honey, accept no

substitutions. You can pull my lever

all day long, sweet mama, I ain't

never gonna come up lemons. That's

right, sugar, you can blow on my

dice any ol' time.

INT. CASINO - GUDGE'S OFFICE - DAY

Gudge has his feet up on the desk and is filing his nails

with an emery board.

GAWAIN:

But Mr. Gudge, she had an ass that

could pull a bus. This lady was fine,

fine, dandy, divine.

GUDGE:

I don't care how big her ass was,

MacSam. You're fired.

GAWAIN:

Say what?

GUDGE:

There is no fraternizing with

customers on the Lady Luck. Clean

out your locker.

GAWAIN:

But Gudge�-

GUDGE:

Get out of here. You're fired.

GAWAIN:

You can't fire me. I sue your ass!

GUDGE:

Sue me? For what?

GAWAIN:

Sue you for f***in' punitive damages,

man!

GUDGE:

Punitive damages.

GAWAIN:

Ya damn skippy. I know you firin' my

ass 'cause I'm black!

GUDGE:

Everyone on the custodial staff is

black, MacSam. Your replacement's

gonna be black. His replacement will

no doubt be black.

GAWAIN:

F***in' judge is gonna be black,

motherf***er, that's who gonna be

black! You gonna stand tall before

the man!

EXT. WAFFLE HOUSE - DAY

VERY HIGH ANGLE:

We are looking down past the distinctive pylon-mounted yellow

letters:
WAFFLE.

INT. WAFFLE HOUSE - DAY

The band of miscreants is seated around a table with cups of

coffee. Dorr's wardrobe makes no concession to the informality

of the setting; he still wears his cape and a black string

tie. His manner is more mournful even than usual:

DORR:

Oh my. Oh my my my my my. This is a

severe setback. I am distraught. I

am more than distraught, I am

devastated. Oh my, this is quite the

monkey-wrench heaved into the

meticulously engineered construct of

our little escapade.

LUMP:

Yeah, it fucks things up.

DORR:

I am beside myself. I am at a positive

loss for words.

GAWAIN:

You still talkin' okay though.

WAITRESS:

Have you all decided?

Dorr's intensely mournful agitation is brought to bear upon

her:

DORR:

Oh madam, we must have waffles. We

must all have waffles forthwith!

They hand in their menus.

DORR:

...Oh we must think. We must all

have waffles and think, each and

every one of us to the very best of

his ability! Perhaps if you apologized

to the man and gave him flowers, or

perhaps a fruit basket, with a card

depicting a misty seascape and

inscribed with a sentiment.

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