The Producers Page #3

HE RIPS THE BELT OFF AND HOLDS IT IN THE AIR.

BIALYSTOCK:

I used to have thousands of

investors begging, pleading, to put

their money into a Max Bialystock

production.

HE PICKS UP THE PICTURE ON DESK ('HOLD ME, TOUCH ME') TAKES

IT OVER TO OPEN CABINET FILLED WITH SIMILAR PICTURES.

BIALYSTOCK:

Look at my investors now. Voila!

(gestures at pictures)

Hundreds of little old ladies

stopping off at Max Bialystock's

office to grab a last thrill on the

way to the cemetery.

HE PUTS PICTURE BACK IN ITS PLACE. LOOKS TOWARD BLOOM.

CUT TO BLOOM. HE IS OBVIOUSLY TOUCHED BY THE GREAT MAN'S

DILEMMA.

CUT TO BIALYSTOCK.

14.

BIALYSTOCK:

You have exactly ten seconds to

change that disgusting look of pity

into one of enormous respect. One

... Two ...

CUT TO BLOOM. HE IS REALLY TRYING TO CHANGE HIS EXPRESSION.

CUT TO BIALYSTOCK.

BIALYSTOCK:

Do the books! Do the books!

CUT TO BLOOM. HE IS GREATLY RELIEVED.

BLOOM:

(sighing)

Yes, sir. Thank you.

HE PLUNGES INTO HIS WORK.

CUT TO BIALYSTOCK. HE GOES TO WINDOW, LOOKS OUT.

BIALYSTOCK:

(to himself)

Window's so filthy, can't tell if

it's day or night out there.

HE WIPES WINDOW WITH HIS CUFF. LOOKS AT WINDOW. NO GOOD.

LOOKS AT HIS GRIMY CUFF. GRIMACES. FROM HIS DESK HE TAKES

THE REMAINS OF A CARDBOARD CONTAINER OF COFFEE AND SLOSHES

IT AGAINST THE WINDOW. HE WIPES WITH HIS TIE. HE LOOKS

OVER HIS SHOULDER AT BLOOM TO SEE IF HE IS WATCHING. BLOOM

IS WATCHING. THEIR EYES MEET. BLOOM'S EYES RETREAT.

BIALYSTOCK VICTORIOUSLY TURNS AWAY AND LOOKS OUT THE WINDOW

DOWN INTO THE STREET.

CAMERA:
SHOT OF STREET. BIALYSTOCK'S POINT OF VIEW. A

WHITE ROLLS ROYCE SLOWLY MAKES ITS WAY UP THE BLOCK.

BIALYSTOCK:

(voice over as camera

follows Rolls)

Look at that. A white Rolls Royce.

That's it baby, when you got it,

flaunt it.

BLOOM:

(off screen)

Koff, koff ... ahem, ahem ...

harrumph ...

15.

BIALYSTOCK:

I assume you are making those

cartoon noises to attract my

attention. Am I correct in my

assumption, you fish-faced enemy of

the people?

BLOOM IS WOUNDED.

BIALYSTOCK:

I have hurt your feelings.

BLOOM NODS.

BIALYSTOCK:

Good, what is it?

BLOOM:

Sir, may I speak to you for a minute?

BIALYSTOCK:

(looking at his watch)

Go! You have fifty-eight seconds.

BLOOM:

Well, sir, it seems ...

BIALYSTOCK:

(interrupting)

You have forty-eight seconds left.

Hurry. Hurry.

BLOOM:

(speedily)

In looking at your books, I've

discovered that ...

BIALYSTOCK:

(interrupting)

Twenty-eight seconds, hurry, hurry,

you're using up your time.

IN HIS ANXIETY, BLOOM UNCONSCIOUSLY REACHES INTO HIS POCKET

TAKES OUT THE OLD BLUE BLANKET AND NERVOUSLY STROKES HIS

CHEEK WITH IT.

BLOOM:

Mr. Bialystock, I cannot function

under these conditions.

BIALYSTOCK CURIOUSLY EYES THE BLANKET.

BLOOM:

You're making me extremely nervous.

16.

BIALYSTOCK:

What is that? A handkerchief?

BLOOM QUICKLY BEGINS TO PUT AWAY HIS BLUE BLANKET.

BLOOM:

It's nothing ... nothing.

QUICK AS A FLASH, BIALYSTOCK REACHES OVER AND SNATCHES IT

OUT OF BLOOM'S HAND.

BIALYSTOCK:

If it's nothing, why can't I see it?

BLOOM LEAPS UP IN HOT PURSUIT OF HIS BLANKET.

BLOOM:

(shrieking in panic)

My blanket. Give me my blue blanket.

BIALYSTOCK, TAKEN ABACK, HURRIEDLY GIVES THE BLANKET BACK TO

BLOOM.

BIALYSTOCK:

Here, don't panic.

BLOOM:

(clutching his blanket)

I'm sorry ... I don't like people

touching my blue blanket. It's not

important. It's a minor compulsion.

I can deal with it if I want to.

It's just that I've had it ever

since I was a baby and ... and ...

I find it very comforting.

HE KISSES IT AND SHOVES IT INTO HIS POCKET.

BIALYSTOCK:

(to himself)

They come here. They all come here.

How do they find me?

BLOOM:

(recovering his dignity)

Mr. Bialystock ...

BIALYSTOCK:

Yes, Prince Mishkin, what can we do

for you?

17.

BLOOM:

This is hardly a time for levity.

I've discovered a serious error

here in the accounts of your last

play.

BIALYSTOCK MOVES AROUND THE DESK TO EXAMINE THE LEDGER.

BIALYSTOCK:

Where? What?

BLOOM:

According to the backer's list you

raised $60,000. But the show you

produced only cost fifty-eight

thousand. There's two thousand

dollars unaccounted for.

BIALYSTOCK:

I went to a Turkish bath, who cares?

The show was a flop. What

difference does it make?

BLOOM:

It makes a great deal of difference.

That's fraud. If they found out,

you could go to prison.

BIALYSTOCK:

Why should they find out? It's

only two thousand dollars, Bloom,

do me a favor, move a few decimal

points around. You can do it.

You're an accountant. The word

'count' is part of your title.

BLOOM:

(aghast)

But that's cheating!

BIALYSTOCK:

It's not cheating ... It's charity.

Bloom, look at me ... look at me!

I'm drowning. Other men sail

through life. Bialystock has

struck a reef. Bloom, I'm going

under. I am being sunk by a

society that demands success, when

all I can offer is failure. Bloom,

I'm reaching out to you. Don't

send me to jail. Help! Help!

18.

DURING BIALYSTOCK'S LAST SPEECH, BLOOM UNCONSCIOUSLY REACHES

INTO HIS POCKET, TAKES OUT THE BLUE BLANKET AND RUBS IT

ACROSS HIS CHEEK.

BLOOM:

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

BIALYSTOCK:

(faintly)

Help!

BLOOM:

All right. I'll do it. I'll do it.

BIALYSTOCK:

Thank you, Bloom. I knew I could

con you.

BLOOM:

Oh, it's all right ... wha?

BIALYSTOCK:

Nothing. Nothing. Do it. Do it.

BLOOM:

(pouring over the accounts)

Now let's see, two thousand dollars.

That isn't much. I'm sure I can

hide it somewhere. After all, the

department of internal revenue

isn't interested in a show that

flopped.

BIALYSTOCK:

Yes. Right. Good thinking. You

figure it out. I'm tired. I'm

gonna take a little nap.

(crossing to couch)

Wake me if there's a fire.

HE HURLS HIMSELF DOWN ONTO THE COUCH.

CAMERA MOVES IN TO TIGHT SHOT OF BLOOM.

BLOOM:

Now let's see, if we add these

figures, we get ...

CAMERA MOVES INTO CLOSE-UP OF BLOOM'S FINGER SWIFTLY MOVING

DOWN LONG COLUMN OF FIGURES. HE COMES TO THE END AND

IMMEDIATELY WRITHES TOTAL BELOW.

BACK TO TIGHT SHOT OF BLOOM. HE COMPARES PAGES.

19.

BLOOM:

(musing to himself)

Heh, heh, heh, amazing. It's

absolutely amazing. But under the

right circumstances, a producer

could make more money with a flop

than he could with a hit.

QUICK CUT TO BIALYSTOCK'S SLEEPING FACE. HIS EYES POP OPEN.

CUT BACK TO BLOOM.

BLOOM:

Yes. Yes. It's quite possible.

If he were certain the show would

fail, a man could make a fortune.

CUT TO BIALYSTOCK. BY NOW HE IS HALFWAY ACROSS THE ROOM.

HIS WHOLE BEING TINGLING WITH ALERTNESS. HE MOVES TO

BLOOM'S DESK AND HOVERS OVER HIM, WAITING EXPECTANTLY FOR

MORE INFORMATION. BUT BLOOM IS LOST IN HIS WORK, UNAWARE

THAT BIALYSTOCK IS HANGING ON HIS EVERY WORD.

BIALYSTOCK:

Yes???

BLOOM LOOKS UP. HE IS STARTLED TO SEE BIALYSTOCK'S FACE SO

CLOSE TO HIS OWN.

BLOOM:

(at a loss)

Yes, what?

BIALYSTOCK:

What you were saying. Keep talking.

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