Trumbo Page #11

INT. MOTION PICTURE ALLIANCE - WAYNE’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

Wayne, Roy Brewer, Hedda and a FEW OTHERS meet.

JOHN WAYNE:

Eddie oughta go back to work, he

did what he had to.

HEDDA HOPPER:

He did what he was forced to.

JOHN WAYNE:

Point is, he did it.

HEDDA HOPPER:

Brave men are fighting this battle,

sacrificing in ways we can’t even

imagine, and you talk about some

a**hole’s “career”? I’d see Eddie

Robinson and everyone like him dead

if it’d bring one boy back from

Korea. One.

JOHN WAYNE:

So what’re you saying? Guys like

Eddie cooperate and get nothin’?

(then)

That isn’t right.

HEDDA HOPPER:

Careful, Duke.

JOHN WAYNE:

Or what, Hedda?

They stare at each other, neither moving or blinking.

JOHN WAYNE (CONT’D)

If I’m not careful. What?

The room is frozen, cigarette smoke the only moving thing.

Then Hedda breaks the tension with a quick smile.

HEDDA HOPPER:

I had no idea you were such a

softie.

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 60.

CONTINUED:

Wayne studies her, then allows himself a grin.

JOHN WAYNE:

That’s me. All cuddles.

INT. MOTION PICTURE ALLIANCE OFFICES - LOBBY - DAY

Wayne walks Robinson out.

JOHN WAYNE:

I’m proud of ya, Eddie.

EDWARD G. ROBINSON

(flat, far off)

Thanks, Duke.

JOHN WAYNE:

Wasn’t easy, I know, but ya did

good. I’m gonna call the studios,

the offers’ll pour in.

(off Robinson’s mute nod)

Y’okay?

EDWARD G. ROBINSON

Sure. Thanks. And tell Hedda...

(beat)

Give her my love, willya?

JOHN WAYNE:

Not sure she’d know what to do with

it. That is one hard broad.

CUT TO:

NEWSREEL FOOTAGE - STOCK

Of the end of the ROSENBERG espionage trial. The Couple has

been found guilty of selling atomic secrets to Russia and

sentenced to death, then...

CUT TO:

NEWSREEL FOOTAGE - STOCK

Of SENATOR JOSEPH McCARTHY’S rise as he purports to uncover

Communists throughout the United States.

INT. ASHLAND FEDERAL PRISON - PRISONER PROCESSING - NIGHT

Spring, 1951. The same room where Trumbo was stripped naked

and examined upon his entrance. Now he is back in his suit,

tie and overcoat. His wedding ring, lighter, cigarette case

and holder are returned by a GUARD.

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 61.

EXT. ASHLAND FEDERAL PRISON - OUTSIDE THE FRONT GATE - NIGHT

A taxi idles. Cleo waits. A SILHOUETTE approaches on the

other side of the closed gate, which RUMBLES open, revealing

Trumbo, now free. Cleo smiles, they move into one another at

last and kiss, then --

EXT. LAZY-T RANCH - DAY

-- Trumbo drowns in the hugs of Chris, 10, and Mitzi, 6.

DALTON TRUMBO:

Giants! What have you huge,

beautiful strangers done with my

little ones?

Niki appears in a dress. Tall. Almost 13. A young woman.

DALTON TRUMBO (CONT’D)

Good God.

(as he moves to her)

Lipstick?

NIKI:

(embarrassed)

Da-aaad.

He takes her hands and kisses her cheek. Then the five

reunited Trumbos move into the house, REVEALING:

A “FOR SALE” sign on a fence and tacked across it: “SOLD.”

INT. CHASEN’S - DAY

CROWDED. Trumbo enters and sees Arlen Hird at the far end of

the bar, makes his way to him, as a KNOT OF BUSINESSMEN cross

his path. Trumbo bumps one.

DALTON TRUMBO:

Pardon me, I’m terribly -

It’s Buddy Ross. Trumbo is delighted.

DALTON TRUMBO (CONT’D)

Buddy. How are you?

Buddy is highly aware of the men in his group, watching him.

BUDDY ROSS:

(to Trumbo, icy)

I got nothin’ to say to you.

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 62.

CONTINUED:

Buddy turns and strides off, followed by the men, all of whom

WHISPER to each other.

INT. CHASEN’S - AT THE BAR - LATER

Trumbo and Hird sip their cocktails.

DALTON TRUMBO:

So. Jail’s given us the plague.

ARLEN HIRD:

Buddy was always an a**hole.

He glances into the restaurant dining area, where he can see

Buddy animatedly making a pitch to that group of men.

ARLEN HIRD (CONT’D)

And he’s in trouble. Three movies,

three flops.

(re:
Buddy’s sweaty chatter)

Look at him. Tryin’ to sell his

soul but can’t find it. Just hope

he stays afloat long enough to get

the sh*t sued out of him.

DALTON TRUMBO:

By whom?

ARLEN HIRD:

You, me, all of us, go on the

offensive this time, sue the

studios, all these guys, use their

own capitalist system against them,

in civil court -- make ’em admit

under oath --

DALTON TRUMBO:

-- No, no, no, Jesus, haven’t you

spent enough time in court? I

have.

ARLEN HIRD:

What do you, got a better idea?

DALTON TRUMBO:

Do the one thing everyone says we

can’t. Work.

EXT. RUNDOWN HOLLYWOOD BACK STREET - DAY

Trumbo crosses a courtyard of slouching palms and tobacco-

colored bungalows, the offices of: KING BROTHERS PICTURES.

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 63.

CONTINUED:

FRANK KING (PRE-LAP)

Look. You’re a great writer...

INT. KING BROTHERS PICTURES - FRANK’S OFFICE - DAY

Trumbo sits across from a beefy, harried, vaguely menacing

man in his 40s named:

FRANK KING:

...we make sh*t. I don’t see it.

DALTON TRUMBO:

Mr. King, I’m a screenwriter. If I

couldn’t write sh*t, I’d starve.

On the walls, lurid posters of King Brothers movies: star-

free gangster, horror, sci-fi and western quickies.

FRANK KING:

We can’t afford you.

DALTON TRUMBO:

How much did you pay for the script

of...

(points to western poster)

...that?

FRANK KING:

Twelve-hundred bucks.

DALTON TRUMBO:

I’ll write you a movie for twelve

hundred, then.

FRANK KING:

And you don’t want your name on it.

DALTON TRUMBO:

No, you don’t want my name on it.

HYMIE KING (O.S.)

You got that right...

And in a corner WE REVEAL Frank’s younger brother, HYMIE,

owlish and clenched with worry.

HYMIE KING (CONT’D)

...especially if you’re still...

y’know... up to stuff. Are ya?

DALTON TRUMBO:

Perpetually.

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 64.

CONTINUED:

HYMIE KING:

Jesus.

FRANK KING:

Got any ideas?

DALTON TRUMBO:

Well, I just got out of prison, how

about crime? The story of a

gangster, his rise and fall?

FRANK KING:

I’ve seen that a few times.

DALTON TRUMBO:

Because it always makes money.

FRANK KING:

And when do I get the product?

DALTON TRUMBO:

(rising)

Three days.

FRANK KING:

A hundred page script in three

days? You tryin’ to f*** me? You

f*** me and I will f*** you --

DALTON TRUMBO:

Mr. King, I’ve heard this speech.

It was better in jail.

INT. LAZY-T RANCH - STUDY - NIGHT

Trumbo writes, cigarette fuming like a factory chimney. The

shelves are stripped, moving boxes piled everywhere. He

arches, his back hurting so much he actually stops.

INT. LAZY-T RANCH - BATHROOM - NIGHT

Trumbo is naked in the tub again. He adds scotch to his

coffee and scribbles on typed scripts, pain-free.

INT. KING BROTHERS - OUTER OFFICE - DAY

Trumbo waits in the room’s only guest chair. A CURVACEOUS

RECEPTIONIST hunts flies with a swatter.

A door jerks open and a flushed Frank King stands hugely in

the doorway, holding a script.

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