Youth Page #21

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Fred Ballinger is looking at the mime.

Lena is looking at her father.

The hippy mountaineer is looking at Lena.

There is a brief round of applause for the mime.

The audience begins to disperse. The evening is over. Mick,

Fred, and Lena are heading off when the voice of the boy

violinist calls out loudly, making them stop.

BOY:

Mr. Ballinger.

They turn around. The boy has ascended the stage and, violin

in hand, plays the first, simple chords of Simple Song No. 3.

All he can play are the first two chords, but he’s gotten a

lot better. He plays them well and, even though he can only

repeat them, their sweetness has the power to move anyone who

listens.

Everyone is hypnotized by the child's simple playing. Jimmy

Tree, Mark Kozelek and his friends, the mountaineer, Lena,

the South American and his wife, the German couple, all the

elderly guests and their caretakers, the vulgar Russians, and

the black family, Frances and her mother, the waiters and the

doctor, the hotel manager and the cooks: it’s as if time were

standing still, like in a fairy tale where every, stars and

extras, join together.

But only one person is truly moved by those simple violin

notes. And it’s not Fred Ballinger, it’s Mick Boyle. He has

tears in his eyes.

And only Fred Ballinger, of all the people there, has noticed

that Mick is moved. Fred looks at him impassively.

61A. INT. HOTEL GYM. NIGHT

Lena, in a beautiful evening dress, stands at the foot of the

free-climbing wall, scrutinizing the height of the fake rock

face.

The mountaineer must have followed her because he’s coming up

behind her now. He approaches warily, intimidated, he’s

almost reached her.

95.

A bundle of nerves and embarrassment, he adjusts his shirt,

surreptitiously straightens his hair, and then appears at her

side. Lena doesn’t even look at him, as if he didn’t exist.

He delivers an awkward opener.

MOUNTAINEER:

Would you like to try to climb?

Only at this point does Lena suddenly turn toward him. She

pierces him with a look that could not be more sensual, and

then addresses him in a serious, husky voice.

LENA:

Do you know that I can make a man

go wild in bed if I want?

The mountaineer, as though it were the only natural thing to

do, looks up, goes white as milk, and falls to the ground in

a faint. A loud thud.

Lena immediately abandons the role of the "femme fatale" and

becomes the apprehensive friend. She exclaims to herself.

LENA (CONT’D)

Oh, f***ing hell!

She leans over the mountaineer lying on the floor. She slaps

his cheeks to revive him. She’s scared.

LENA (CONT’D)

Sir, sir! Wake up, f***!

Slowly the mountaineer comes to. He opens his eyes and sees

Lena's worried face a few inches from his.

In a faint voice, the mountaineer says.

MOUNTAINEER:

It takes a lot less for you to make

a man go wild.

Lena smiles, relieved.

61B. INT. HOTEL LOBBY. NIGHT

The chubby hooker sits alone on a couch, looking sad. The

lobby is deserted. Mick appears behind her and, without

mincing his words, says.

MICK BOYLE:

Okay, I've made up my mind, I went

to the ATM.

The hooker turns to look at him.

HOOKER:

And what would you want to do?

96.

MICK BOYLE:

(serious) Go for a walk.

61C. EXT. HOTEL GARDEN. NIGHT

Mick Boyle and the unattractive hooker stroll hand in hand,

like new lovers, through the garden with its centuries-old

trees.

That’s all they do. They don’t even look at each other as

they walk slowly, hand in hand.

While on a secluded bench, the two screenwriters suspected of

falling in love are, in fact, in love. They kiss with that

intensity of first kisses. Endless, exhausting kisses. All of

a sudden, the female screenwriter, without stopping kissing,

sees Mick and the young lady out of the corner of her eye.

62. EXT. MOUNTAIN VILLAGE. TRAIN STATION. DAY

The small train station in this mountain village.

Mick Boyle and the five screenwriters, all of them blue, sit

side by side on a bench on the platform, waiting for the

train. The two lovers are holding hands.

After a silence, Mick breaks the ice.

MICK BOYLE:

Come on, kids, what’s with the long

faces? Hitches, delays in

screening, these things are

constants in our line of work. Get

used to it. I’ve already talked

with the producer, we just need a

little time to come up with another

actress and then the shooting

starts. It’s just a matter of

waiting a few more months.

INTELLECTUAL SCREENWRITER

What a b*tch that Brenda Morel is.

MICK BOYLE:

Don't talk like that about Brenda

Morel.

SCREENWRITER IN LOVE

She goes where the wind blows.

MICK BOYLE:

Which is what we all do. And it's

what you all will do, in order to

survive in this jungle.

97.

SHY SCREENWRITER

It's not true that she came to

Europe specially to meet you, Mick.

I read that she's going to Cannes,

some charity ball at the Film

Festival.

The other screenwriters throw him dirty looks.

MICK BOYLE:

Let's not get carried away with all

this truth, now. Remember that

fiction is our passion.

FUNNY SCREENWRITER

Your film-testament is worth a

whole lot more than one more TV

series, Mick.

MICK BOYLE:

My film-testament!? Let's not

overrate things. Most men die not

only without a testament, but

without anyone even noticing.

INTELLECTUAL SCREENWRITER

Most men aren’t great artists like

you.

MICK BOYLE:

It makes no difference. Men,

artists, animals, plants - we're

all just extras.

The train has arrived. The doors open. The screenwriters grab

their backpacks and start boarding the train. The last to

climb aboard is the female screenwriter who hasn’t yet said a

word. Mick stays on the platform, watching them. Just before

the door closes, she turns to Mick and, with a beautiful

smile, says.

FEMALE SCREENWRITER

He’s on his deathbed, and he dies.

Only then does she say - and for

the first time - "I love you,

Michael."

Mick smiles, moved.

MICK BOYLE:

Perfect!

The door closes. The train pulls away and disappears around a

bend. Mick, sad now, turns and leaves the station.

98.

63. EXT. COUNTRY LANE. DAY

Mick, alone and disappointed, shuffles along the same country

lane. He’s all alone. It’s a glorious day. Brilliant sun.

Blue sky. Crisp air. Chirping cicadas. A paradise.

A woman’s voice, as if it were coming from nowhere, calls

him.

WOMAN’S VOICE

Mick.

Mick turns to his left, where there is an immense

uncultivated field, the grass three feet high. He looks, but

can’t see anyone. But then, a woman dressed like a 1950s

stewardess materializes out of the grass. It was she who

called him, and now she adds anxiously.

STEWARDESS:

How am I supposed to say this line,

Mick? I don’t get it.

Mick doesn’t even have time to respond before another woman -

she looks like a young Jean Seberg - pops up from the grass,

wearing a bikini. She sounds as if she is reciting a line

from a film, in an ostentatious, snobby voice.

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