Trumbo Page #17

NIKI:

Yep. We all live with him.

She coolly exits past a rattled Chris, and as she turns in

the hall, passes Cleo, who’s been listening. Trumbo, who

can’t see Cleo, nods for Chris to pick up the scenes. Chris

does so obediently, and also exits the study... under Cleo’s

protective gaze. She has now made a decision.

EXT. TRUMBO HIGHLAND PARK HOUSE - NIGHT

One light on, upstairs.

INT. TRUMBO HIGHLAND PARK HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

Trumbo enters in his pajamas. Cleo, in robe and slippers,

sits by the window, looking out.

DALTON TRUMBO:

She hasn’t been gone that long and

it’s not that late. This is a

blatant attempt to manipulate

worry.

CLEO:

Do you know when I realized I had

to leave Hal?

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 95.

CONTINUED:

DALTON TRUMBO:

(beat; thrown; then)

Hal, Hal who?

CLEO:

My first husband.

DALTON TRUMBO:

(struck)

Jesus Take The Wheel...

CLEO:

It wasn’t when you hired that

detective... or asked me if I

really loved him... because by then

we both knew the answer was no.

(then)

It was my wedding night.

(to clarify for him)

My first wedding night. With Hal.

Nothing about this turn in the conversation is anything he

ever expected.

DALTON TRUMBO:

If we’re going to travel back in

time to that unholy coupling, I

have a medical obligation to drink.

And he heads for a small tray of glasses and scotch on the

bureau top, pouring himself three fingers.

CLEO:

I saw this was not a man I could

have children with. He’d bully me,

them and we’d end up like every

miserable family since forever.

But I knew you’d never be like

that. Whatever went on out there,

the only thing that’d matter,

really matter, was us.

DALTON TRUMBO:

All that matters is us --

CLEO:

No, not anymore, you have no idea

what you could lose -

DALTON TRUMBO:

My career, the first amendment, the

country? Am I missing anything?

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 96.

CONTINUED:
(2)

CLEO:

Us, you’re losing us. Since

prison, you don’t talk or ask, just

snap and bark -- I keep waiting for

you to start pounding the dinner

table with a gavel --

DALTON TRUMBO:

So in addition to being a pariah

out in the world, I now have the

supreme joy of battling

insurrection -

CLEO:

-- please, “insurrection” -

DALTON TRUMBO:

-- in my own home, where these ten

fingers literally feed, clothe and

shelter us --

CLEO:

This isn’t just happening to you. We

all hurt! Niki, me, your friends -

DALTON TRUMBO:

Friends, what friends? Who the

hell has the luxury of “friends”?

I’ve got allies and enemies,

there’s no room for anything else!

CLEO:

(quietly)

We know. Believe me.

DALTON TRUMBO:

Good, then this discussion ends.

CLEO:

This isn’t a discussion, it’s a

fight. And this ends it: I will

not let our children be raised by a

bully --any bully.

INT. DINER - DOWNTOWN L.A. - NIGHT

Niki sits with THREE AFRICAN-AMERICAN TEENAGERS. Leaning

against the table, the handwritten signs from their protest.

All the kids chat animatedly, then stop... seeing a somber

Trumbo approach.

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 97.

EXT. DINER - DOWNTOWN L.A. - NIGHT

Trumbo exits with Niki. Then she stops.

NIKI:

I didn’t want to fight in front of

my friends but -

DALTON TRUMBO:

-- I‘m not here to fight -

NIKI:

-- I’m not coming home.

She folds her arms and stands. He pauses, then speaks

carefully, quietly, almost hesitantly.

DALTON TRUMBO:

Your mother is a quiet person.

(dry)

Normally.

(then)

The effect of which is... she can

actually make me hear myself... and

lately, it’s not a sound I like

much. Because what I hear mostly

is just... how afraid I am.

This is not what Niki expected. She softens, listening.

DALTON TRUMBO (CONT’D)

Afraid this is scarring you, all of

you... and what if it’s all for

nothing? How do I live with that?

(then)

So I fight. It’s all I know how to

do anymore, just... rage... at

anyone in my way.

(looking tenderly at her)

But you’ve never been in my way,

Nikola, not once... and never could be.

Tears in her eyes now, she leans against him, allowing him to

put one arm across her shoulders and kiss her head.

NIKI:

It’s crazy how mad you make me,

since all I ever wanted is to be

just like you...

DALTON TRUMBO:

You are. Which I wouldn’t wish on

anybody.

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 98.

INT. KING BROTHERS - FRANK’S OFFICE - DAY

Frank sits at his desk --across from Roy Brewer.

ROY BREWER:

We know. Okay? It’s a small town

and the gossip’s always true.

(then)

Fire Dalton Trumbo and the rest of

’em or you got pickets, headlines

and boycotts. We will put you

right out of business.

FRANK KING:

We...?

ROY BREWER:

Motion Picture Alliance for the

Preservation of American Ideals.

Me, Ronald Reagan, Hedda Hopper,

the guilds, studio heads. John

Wayne.

FRANK KING:

I love John Wayne.

ROY BREWER:

I’ll introduce you. You guys could

do a movie together.

FRANK KING:

That’d be great, only...

Frank King rises, holding a baseball bat.

FRANK KING (CONT’D)

...I don’t think you and me are

gonna be pals.

King swings viciously and SMASHES a lamp. Brewer covers up,

SCREAMS and goes for the door. Locked. Frank comes at him.

FRANK KING (CONT’D)

You gonna stop me hiring union?

I’ll go downtown, grab some winos

and hookers, there’s my next cast

’n’ crew! It doesn’t matter! I

make garbage!

He swings and SHATTERS a poster.

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 99.

CONTINUED:

FRANK KING (CONT’D)

Wanna call me a pinko in all the

papers? Do it! Nobody who goes to

my movies can f***in’ read!

Another tight swing and he BLASTS a second poster.

FRANK KING (CONT’D)

I’m in this for the money and the

p*ssy and they’re both fallin’ off

the trees. Take that away from me.

Frank jams the tip of the bat into Brewer’s throat.

FRANK KING (CONT’D)

Go ahead. I won’t “sue” you. But

this --

(the bat)

-- will be the last f***in’ thing

you see when I beat you to f***in’

death with it.

Brewer just stands, hyperventilating with terror. Frank TAPS

the door with the bat and it opens from the outside. Roy

Brewer bolts -

INT. KING BROTHERS - OUTER OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

-- tears across the room, passing Hymie and practically

tripping over a seated, startled Dalton Trumbo and --

-- Brewer glances at Trumbo, acknowledging the writer with

disbelief as he tumbles out the door.

FRANK KING:

F*** do you want?

DALTON TRUMBO:

New script.

FRANK KING:

Yeah?

DALTON TRUMBO:

Family film, something I’ve been

mulling for a while. About a

Mexican boy and his pet bull.

(hands it to him)

One problem.

TIGHT ON the title page: The Brave One. By Robert Rich.

(CONTINUED)

TRUMBO - JOHN MCNAMARA 100.

CONTINUED:

KING:

Expensive?

DALTON TRUMBO:

Worse. Good.

INT. LOS ANGELES MOVIE THEATRE 3 - NIGHT

Fall, 1956. Hundreds of eyes drink in the vivid color:

UP ON THE SCREEN

The Brave One’s opening credits. Stirring MUSIC. Vibrant

Mexican imagery of a boy and his bull.

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