Youth Page #2

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The emissary gazes at the South American and whispers to one

of his assistants.

FIFTY-YEAR OLD EMISSARY (CONT’D)

Do you see that man? Could it

really be him?

His two assistants turn to look at the man in the pool, and

recognize him immediately. They get all excited.

6.

FIRST ASSISTANT:

Why yes, it is!

SECOND ASSISTANT

Good god, it really is him.

The three Englishmen keep walking, but they can’t keep from

glancing furtively at the South American who, with the help

of a woman in her forties and three lifeguards, whom he leans

on like a dead weight, is getting out of the pool. He

struggles up the low stairs, which to him seem

insurmountable.

As he slowly emerges from the water, we see how

extraordinarily obese he is, and how much trouble he has

walking. Panting, this cumbersome yet charismatic creature

settles himself at the edge of the pool. His arms are

swarming with tattoos: faces of famous heroes from famous

revolutions.

The lifeguards withdraw.

The forty-year-old woman with a kindly, patient face is his

companion, apparently. She sits next to him and lovingly rubs

his hair with a towel, caring for this immense whale.

FADE OUT.

2. EXT. VENICE. NIGHT

Guitar notes - irregular, sporadic, imploded, muffled sounds

that seem to come from the deepest depths of the sea or your

own conscience - surface now and then during the scene.

What we see next is like a vision.

A breathtakingly beautiful vision: high water in a deserted

Saint Mark’s Square. That vast space, with its unforgettable

porticos and palaces, is now a square lake, water lapping at

the columns.

A narrow, raised walkway intersects the Square. But there’s

no one on it, at least not right now.

Then, in the dead of night in this most mysterious city, Fred

Ballinger appears at the far end of the long walkway. Like

all old people, he looks vulnerable as he shuffles along,

taking tiny, trying steps.

Fred looks up and espies a statuesque female figure coming

toward him from the other end of the walkway. They move

toward each other, the only human beings in this surreal,

submerged Venice. They’re closer now, they’re about to meet.

With ill-concealed amazement, Fred fixes his eyes on the

woman:
she’s 6’1”.

7.

An impossible beauty, with black hair and eyes so green they

seem fake, wearing a one-piece bathing suit and a sash that

says MISS UNIVERSE.

She’s even closer now, approaching him with the solemn,

inhuman gait of a top model in a big-time fashion show.

They’re about to meet. But the walkway is only three feet

wide, so they both move aside to let the other pass without

falling in the water. It’s inevitable that they touch. Miss

Universe’s plentiful decollet. brushes against Fred’s scrawny

chest.

He gazes up at her from below, as if he were beholding a

benign tragedy.

Like all beauty queens, she stares coldly into space, not

even noticing her perfect body’s fleeting contact with Fred.

Having avoided a mishap, they each proceed on their way. The

beauty queen sways off into the full moon, surrounded by that

expanse of water, like in some debatable Dolce & Gabbana

dream.

Fred shuffles along the walkway. He’s afraid now, and with

good reason:
the water is rising quickly, flooding the

walkway and swirling around his feet, his ankles, his knees.

Fred tries to hurry, but he’s old and the water tugs at his

legs. He turns and cries out in a suffocated voice, as if

begging Miss Universe for help.

FRED BALLINGER:

Melanie, Melanie!

But Miss Universe is no longer there, it’s as if she

evaporated.

Fred keeps going, but not for much longer. The water is up to

his chest now, his neck, his chin, he’s panicked, a stifling

guitar note sounds, when, luckily...

3. EXT. HOTEL GARDEN. NIGHT

... he wakes up. Fred quickly regains his composure. He

struggles up from his chair. It’s late. No one’s around.

Except for a small crowd of guests in the distance, real

night owls.

The guitar notes flow now, crisp and real.

Fred takes tiny steps toward them, the underwater pool lights

providing a shadowy glow.

As he shuffles across the deserted lawn, the OPENING CREDITS

start to roll, and a voice joins in with the guitar, it’s

coming from the little group of people.

8.

The song is “Onward,” a magnificent, somber, American folk

ballad. Fred instinctively heads toward the music.

Fred hovers near the edge of the gathering, where Mark

Kozelek, guitar in his lap, is singing “Onward.” Three women,

a twenty-year-old kid, and Jimmy Tree are there as well. The

little group, all mellow and relaxed, listens contentedly to

the great American folksinger.

The OPENING CREDITS continue to roll as Fred Ballinger,

standing slightly apart, listens to the beautiful ballad.

Mark Kozelek notices him and is unable to conceal his emotion

at having such a distinguished spectator.

Mark gives a reverential little bow with his head and then,

during an instrumental break, says to Fred.

MARK KOZELEK:

Maestro.

Fred smiles slightly.

The OPENING CREDITS are over.

Jimmy Tree is stretched out on the grass, eyes closed. He

opens his eyes and sees Fred. They nod hello to each other;

then Jimmy gestures aimiably to him to join him. Fred goes

over and sits near Jimmy, perching on the edge of a chaise

lounge. Jimmy offers him a mug.

JIMMY TREE:

I slipped a bit of gin and tonic

into the herbal tea. Interested,

Mr. Ballinger?

FRED BALLINGER:

No, thanks. I'd prefer a bit of

herbal tea slipped into a gin and

tonic.

They both smile.

Fred takes out a cloth handkerchief, quickly blows his nose,

expertly folds his handkerchief and, in a habitual gesture he

has clearly done a million times, quickly wipes his nose four

times, then puts his handkerchief back in his jacket pocket.

Jimmy Tree, an irresistible smile on his face, has observed

Fred’s handkerchief routine with utmost attention.

JIMMY TREE:

I was thinking today that you and I

have the same problem.

FRED BALLINGER:

Is that so.

9.

JIMMY TREE:

We’ve been misunderstood our whole

lives because we allowed ourselves

to give in - just once - to a

little levity.

FRED BALLINGER:

Perhaps. Because levity is an

irresistible temptation.

JIMMY TREE:

I’ve worked with all the great

European and American directors,

but I’ll be remembered forever for

Mister Q, for a f***ing robot. I

had to wear a suit of armor that

weighed two hundred pounds, you

couldn’t even see my face. But

every five minutes someone has to

come up and remind me that I did

Mister Q, the same way they remind

you that you did those “Simple

Songs.” And they forget that you

also composed “The Black Prism,”

“The Life of Hadrian,” and all the

rest.

Fred Ballinger smiles and so does Jimmy. They’re accomplices

now.

FRED BALLINGER:

Because levity is also a

perversion. What are you doing in

Europe?

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