Youth Page #3

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JIMMY TREE:

I’m doing a new film, in Germany,

starting in a month. I’m developing

the role.

FRED BALLINGER:

Is it a lighthearted role?

JIMMY TREE:

That depends on your point of view.

FRED BALLINGER:

Is it coming along well?

JIMMY TREE:

We’ll see.

Mark Kozelek breathes the last note of “Onward.” The little

group claps languidly. Fred doesn’t join in. Then, struggling

to get up, he takes his leave of Jimmy.

FRED BALLINGER:

It’s late for me.

10.

JIMMY TREE:

Not for me.

Fred smiles. Jimmy salutes him playfully, two fingers to his

temple.

Fred moves off with the uncertain gait of an old man. Jimmy

drinks and observes Fred's slow walk.

4. INT. HOTEL RECEPTION/ELEVATOR. NIGHT

Fred Ballinger stands immobile in the lobby, across from the

reception desk. He’s waiting for the elevator.

A young night doorman stares blankly at a small, silent TV.

A very petite, dignified-looking woman, who looks older than

her sixty years, rings the doorbell. The doorman, without

taking his eyes off the TV, presses a button and buzzes her

in. The woman enters and sits on a bench. Melancholy and

resigned, she stares into space. Fred Ballinger, still

waiting for the elevator, has watched all this, his face

expressionless.

Finally, the elevator. An old contraption with a metal grate.

Fred steps inside. The elevator ascends. We see his

silhouette rising.

4A. INT. HOTEL ELEVATOR/CORRIDOR. NIGHT

It stops at his floor. A chubby, unattractive young woman,

about twenty, is waiting to take the elevator down. Her face

is pocked here and there with pimples, an adolescent

peculiarity that clashes with her sharp, aggressive look. We

can safely assume that she’s a hooker, but a hooker sui

generis.

Fred forgets to look at her, and she pays no attention to

him.

Alone, Fred Ballinger makes his way down the hallway, taking

tiny, slow steps. Next to every door are pairs of hiking

boots, neatly arranged, which the guests have put out to be

aired.

In the silence of the night, an old man in an electric

wheelchair overtakes Fred and vanishes around a corner.

The sound of a violin comes from one of the rooms, stopping

Fred in his tracks. He turns, searching for the source. It

starts up again, from the beginning: only two notes, played

poorly. Someone’s obviously practicing, one of those really

tedious exercises.

Fred takes a step in the direction of the sound, but it stops

again.

11.

He is about to keep walking when he encounters his reflection

in a mirror. He touches a sunspot on his temple, which he

notices for the first time there in the mirror.

5. INT. MICK BOYLE’S SUITE. NIGHT

Those same violin notes start up again, but extra-diegetic

now, and perfectly executed. They give life to a soft,

melancholic music.

We’re in a room where confusion reigns: papers and notes

spread all over the place, laptop computers left open and

forgotten. Five kids - four guys and a girl - all under

thirty, are sleeping, curled up in armchairs scattered here

and there, and on the bed. They are sleeping the sleep of the

just.

Fred Ballinger and another elderly man are standing in the

room, he too about eighty years old, still attractive, his

hair a little long, his bright, sparkling eyes omnivorous and

full of life. His name is Mick Boyle.

The two old men silently observe the sleeping kids. The

violin vanishes. After a while.

FRED BALLINGER:

Did you take a piss today?

MICK BOYLE:

Twice. Four drops. You?

FRED BALLINGER:

Same. More or less.

MICK BOYLE:

More or less?

FRED BALLINGER:

Less.

MICK BOYLE:

Look how beautiful they are.

FRED BALLINGER:

Beautiful, yes.

MICK BOYLE:

If you only knew how moving it is

to see them working on the

screenplay. They’re so passionate.

FRED BALLINGER:

They’ve caught your passion.

MICK BOYLE:

And have you lost yours?

12.

Fred just shrugs.

Mick, with what is clearly a habitual gesture, smooths his

hair across his forehead with the palm of his hand, and then

changes the subject.

MICK BOYLE (CONT'D)

See those two?

He points to the girl and one of the guys, who are sleeping

on opposite sides of the room.

FRED BALLINGER:

Of course I see them.

MICK BOYLE:

They're falling in love, but they

don't know it yet.

The girl, her eyes still closed, gives a smile that no one

sees. Because she’s not asleep.

FRED BALLINGER:

How do you know?

MICK BOYLE:

(reflects)I know because I know

everything there is to know about

love.

FRED BALLINGER:

Then you'll have to give me lessons

one of these days.

MICK BOYLE:

It's late now.

Have you heard the latest? Joyce

Owens, Miss Universe, is coming to

stay. Apparently one of her prizes

is a free week in our hotel.

FRED BALLINGER:

Yeah, I heard. But it seems more

like a punishment than a prize to

me.

MICK BOYLE:

Which is just how it should be.

Some forms of beauty have to be

punished, to make life bearable for

the rest of us.

FRED BALLINGER:

How’s the screenplay coming along?

MICK BOYLE:

It’s going to be my masterpiece. My

testament.

(MORE)

13.

MICK BOYLE (CONT'D)

And Brenda is going to make an

unforgettable leading lady. We hit

on the title today: “Life’s Last

Day.” What do you think?

FRED BALLINGER:

(reflects) It’s good. I’m going to

bed.

Fred heads out while in the background Mick shakes one of the

kids.

MICK BOYLE:

Come on, guys, wake up, it's time

to go back to your hotel.

6. INT. FRED BALLINGER’S SUITE. NIGHT

A beautiful woman, about forty, sleeps soundly in the bed.

Her name is Lena.

A sweeping shot of the room. We see the night stand, with a

framed photograph from ten years ago, of Fred being hugged by

a woman his age. They smile happily in the photo. We can

assume it’s his wife.

The sweeping shot ends on Fred, sitting in a chair. He’s

staring bright-eyed at the sleeping woman.

Lena opens her eyes and sees Fred. She’s surprised.

LENA:

Aren’t you sleeping, Daddy?

Fred, trying to hide his tears, smiles sadly.

FRED BALLINGER:

No, I’m looking at you.

Lena notices her father’s tears.

LENA:

But Daddy, you’re...

FRED BALLINGER:

(anticipates what she is going to

say) Don’t worry. Old people cry

all the time. And for no good

reason.

6A. EXT. HOTEL GARDEN. DAWN.

Early morning dew. The extensive hotel grounds, punctuated

here and there by beautiful, centuries-old trees.

14.

The chubby hooker and the petite, sixty-year-old woman we saw

earlier at the reception desk appear, seen from behind.

They’re probably mother and daughter.

They walk hand in hand, sad and forgotten by the world.

With a awkward, inelegant gesture, the girl adjusts her very

short shorts, which have annoyingly worked their way in

between her buttocks.

Mick Boyle is sitting on a bench, looking over his work

notes. He senses the presence of the two women and looks up.

His eyes immediately grow melancholy when he sees the mother

and daughter walking hand in hand.

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