Hey, Banducci. I love the music tonight. It’s a gas.
BANDUCCI
Oh. Thanks, thanks.
WALTER
I’m Walter Keane. I’m a painter.
(knowing)
I was looking at your walls, and they’re pretty plain.
BANDUCCI
Really? Hm…! Maybe you’re right. What color were you thinking?
Walter Keane cuts a deal with Enrico Banducci to exhibit his paintings at the hip hungry i nightclub.
Huh? Walter holds his composure.
WALTER
No—I’m an artist. I used to be based on the Left Bank. But now I’ve relocated to the “States,” and I’m looking for an … exhibition venue.
Beat. Banducci frowns.
BANDUCCI
I like my club the way it is. Your stuff’s so hot, go put it in a museum.
WALTER
Okay! I respect that. You’re a businessman, not a charity! So how ’bout if I, uh…rented your walls?
Hm?! Banducci raises an eyebrow.
CUT TO:
INT. BERKELEY APARTMENT—DAY
Walter’s swanky pad is CHAOS, filled with cameras and lights. A PHOTOGRAPHER runs around, tweaking equipment.
Walter’s at an easel, putting the final touches on a PAINTING of a French street scene. He gabs on the PHONE.
WALTER
Yes! The paintings are available for public viewing daily, from seven to three!
(an awkward beat)
Er, no. Three a.m. It’s in a nightclub.
(he hangs up)
Maggie! It’s promotion time! We gotta lay the racket!
Margaret puts on a smock, a bit dumbfounded. Walter spatters some paint on his shirt. He grins, then holds up his brush and SIGNS the painting: “W. KEANE.”
Margaret forces a “cheese” smile, with her Waif. FLASH! The camera pops.
CUT TO:
INT. HUNGRY I—NIGHT
CU—A cheery BROCHURE, “Meet the Keanes!” There’s a staged PHOTO: Walter at his street scene, Margaret at her Waif.
Then—a SHOE steps on it. We WIDEN … revealing the brochure on the sticky floor of…
THE CLUB! It throbs with frolicking CUSTOMERS. We move through the pack. To a rear concrete hallway … to a sign with an arrow: “TOILETS.” We go down the hall … into…
A DINGY CORRIDOR
The Keane paintings hang here. The only human in sight is Walter, forlorn at a card table. Brochures are stacked, and he wears a sailor coat with a dandyish ascot.
The image is grim. Walter listens to the raucous mob. Until, THUMP!—a sloshed MAN stumbles in. Walter brightens and stands.
WALTER
Ah, beautiful! An art lover! Yes sir, how may I help you?
MAN
(unclear)
I’m, uh, just looking for the john.
A terrible pause. Walter swallows his outrage … then points.
The guy smiles and tosses Walter a BUCK, as a tip. Walter is stunned. The guy toddles away.
Beat. The Ladies Room opens, and TWO GOSSIPY WOMEN rush out, oblivious to Walter. He glowers. ANOTHER MAN bounds in, right up to one of Walter’s paintings! He stops at it.
Walter gathers a moment of hope. Does he like it?
Then the man leans down and opens a CLOSET. He removes a tray of bar glasses, kicks the door shut, and scoots away.
ANGLE—WALTER
He grimaces … beaten. Walter drops his head on the table. Not noticing a DRUNK COUPLE stagger in. They pass a Waif, then halt—taken. They lean in. Enthralled … concerned…
TIPSY LADY
Look at that child. She’s so sad.
TIPSY MAN
Is she poor …?
TIPSY LADY
She’s forgotten! It just makes me want to cry.
(she peers at the signature, then turns)
Are you “Keane”?
Walter lifts his head from the table.
WALTER
Yeah.
TIPSY LADY
Well, you’re a hell of a painter.
Walter squints, confused, then beams. Joy! Happiness bursting like a little child.
WALTER
Why, thank you…! Thank you so much!
TIPSY LADY
Your work is very powerful. There’s so much emotion in those eyes.
OUCH! Walter’s smile collapses.
TIPSY LADY
Is something wrong?
WALTER
(reeling)
Huh? Uh … no. No. I just didn’t realize you meant … the waif.
TIPSY MAN
(beat; he CHUCKLES)
Oh, I get it…! The artist doesn’t wanna part with his favorite piece…
The man winks, then pulls out a WAD OF BILLS.
Walter stares morosely.
INT. HUNGRY I—LATER
Walter sits at the bar, toasted, drinking. In a dark place. His misery is interrupted by happy Banducci, groping two GALS.
BANDUCCI
Hello, Picasso! Nice crowd, eh?
WALTER
(sour)
You wouldn’t know it from that broom closet you parked me in.
BANDUCCI
Hey, it’s prime thoroughfare! People drink, they gotta relieve themselves.
WALTER
(muttering)
“Location, location, location …”
Walter wallows in self-loathing. Suddenly, he explodes.
WALTER
It’s INSULTING! When people see art, they shouldn’t think of SHIT!
BANDUCCI
(shocked)
Whoah! Watch it with the purple language. We got ladies present—!
Banducci PUSHES Walter away.
In reaction, Walter sloppily SMACKS him.
Riled, Banducci suddenly takes a SWING! Walter stumbles, and Banducci’s punch accidently HITS the GIRL.
Ow! She topples. Walter gasps.
He SWATS Banducci—then RUNS! Cameras FLASH. Wild whoops. Walter barrels down the hall, Banducci chasing. The brawl’s gone nuts. Walter grabs a Waif and SMASHES it over Banducci’s head. CRASH! Banducci drops.
CUT TO:
INSERT—SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
The front page! A small headline says “BISTRO BRAWL: BANDUCCI AND ARTIST SLUGFEST.” Below are two PHOTOS: Walter mid-punch, and Banducci unconscious, sticking out of the Big Eye.
EXT. POLICE STATION—DAWN
A neighborhood precinct, quiet at 6 a.m. Doors open, and Margaret leads Walter out. She’s seething. He’s bruised, with a mortified drunk-tank, slept-in-my-clothes swagger.
MARGARET
I’ve never posted bail before.
Silence. He has no idea what to say. His aplomb crumbles.
WALTER
I’m—I’m sorry. Banducci … laughed at our work.… So I socked him.
MARGARET
Since when are you thin-skinned? Artists have to handle criticism.
WALTER
You’re right! I know. But … I was already in a bad place. I’d had a couple … and earlier…
(pause)
I let some guy think I painted your Big Eye.
Beat. Margaret is stupefied.
MARGARET
I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing?!
WALTER
It was a misunderstanding. And then, I didn’t want to jinx the sale.
He shrugs feebly. She frowns.
MARGARET
Don’t ever do it again.
INT. HUNGRY I—NIGHT
The club is a ZOO. PARTIERS swarm the door, trying to enter.
Suddenly, Walter pushes his way down the outside stairs. The DOORMAN starts to protest, but Walter somberly waves him off.
WALTER
Don’t give me a hard time. I’m just grabbing my stuff…
Across the packed room, he spots Banducci with a black eye. Walter halts, uncertain. A bristling tension…
Until—Banducci suddenly rushes and GRABS him!
Walter flails, freaked. Banducci DRAGS him into a back kitchen—
INT. CLUB KITCHEN
Banducci shuts the door, looks around … then suddenly LAUGHS! He grins manically and pulls Walter into a hearty HUG.
BANDUCCI
Can you believe this? We’re sold out, and I don’t even have a headliner!!
(gleeful)
Hell, it’s a Monday!
Walter blinks, lost. Banducci explains.
BANDUCCI
Dope, we made the front page!! People are here, ’cause they wanna see the sappy paintings that made grown men fight!!
A moment of discombobulation … until—Walter slowly grins.
INT. CLUB—SECONDS LATER
The two men suddenly tumble into view, SCREAMING.
WALTER
I’ll see you in COURT, you son of a bitch! I’m suing you for assault! Slander! False arrest!!
Banducci storms away.
Walter shudders, “upset.” CUSTOMERS peer at him … then at the paintings. Curious, they migrate that way…
Walter glances sideways. Gauging their reactions…
Until—a swinging middle-aged guy in horn rims and a suit lopes up. DICK NOLAN: A man who hides his bored emptiness under a veneer of booze and broads. Dick leans in.
DICK
Yes sir! Whew. That was quite a load of horseshit you gents were layin’ out there.
(long beat)
Dick Nolan. The Examiner.
Walter freezes up. Until—Dick grins conspiratorially.
DICK
Hey pal, don’t lose any sleep. I eat this stuff with a spoon! It gives me something to type about, in my column.
WALTER
(he laughs, relieved)
I thought you only did celebrities.
DICK
Well, Banducci’s famous—and you hit him! So you’re a celebrity, once-removed.
(he chuckles)
Buy me a drink?
WALTER
Huh? Uh, sure—
Dick smoothly drags him to the bar. Dick waves the bartender.
DICK
Gary! I’ll have a Ward Eight, in a frosted high boy. My friend’ll have the same.
(he beams, then turns)
So! Walter, tell me about your work—
WALTER
Well, when I was in Paris…
DICK
Jesus, not those! I mean the little hobo kids.
What?! Walter frowns, peeved. He considers this indignity … then decides to stomach it. He smiles fakely, effusively.
WALTER
What do you wanna know …?!
CUT TO:
INT. BERKELEY APARTMENT—LATE NIGHT
Margaret is asleep. Suddenly Walter bursts in, drunk and jocular. He FLIPS on the lights.
WALTER
Ding-a-ling! Wake up, we’re a HIT!
Margaret rolls over, groggy. Walter jumps on the bed, grinning. He tosses her a HANDFUL OF MONEY.
WALTER
What a night! I sold out all your Big Eyes!!
She rubs her eyes, amazed.
MARGARET
There must be two hundred dollars…
WALTER
They adore you! ’Cause of that article, the joint was PACKED. And then, a famous journalist showed up, and—I need more paintings! Now!
He hungrily KISSES her. She laughs.
MARGARET
Walter, they take at least a week. There’s layering, shading—
WALTER
Of course! But, this is opportunity! Ah, we’re gonna make a crackerjack team: Me schmoozing up the club, while you’re back here, doing what you love!
She stares at him—then smiles. MUSIC…
CUT TO:
INT. APARTMENT—NIGHT
Margaret happily paints away. At peace, lost in her art…
INT. HUNGRY I—NIGHT
Walter sells Big Eyes. Shoving cash into a cigar box.
INT. APARTMENT—DAY
Margaret works, HUMMING serenely. On the easel is a half-finished blonde girl in a blue dress.
Margaret finishes one of her signature big-eyed paintings, alone in her studio.
INT. TAILOR’S—DAY
Walter buys a new suit. A TAILOR measures him.
INT. APARTMENT—LATE NIGHT
Margaret finishes painting a sad boy, using a fine brush to add a watery rim to his eyes. Magically, this detail brings the picture to life. She’s pleased.
Margaret signs “KEANE.” There are two finished canvases, the sad little girl and boy. Margaret smiles, her heart swelling. She loves them. Then, she looks about. Nobody is there to share the moment.
Hm. She thinks—then picks up the PHONE. She dials.
MARGARET
Mrs. Cava, I’m sorry to bother you so late … but would you mind watching Jane?
INT. TAXI—NIGHT
Margaret rides in the backseat, smiling, her gaze faraway. She proudly hugs the bundled paintings to her chest.
INT. HUNGRY I—NIGHT
The club is pounding. Margaret enters the throng, carrying her work. She looks up—and has her breath taken away. The ENTIRE CLUB, EVERY WALL, IS NOW HUNG WITH KEANE PAINTINGS!
Whoa…! Pure joy envelops her.
Then—she gets jostled. Margaret notices Walter holding court with some GROUPIES. She approaches, unnoticed:
Margaret brings her latest art to the hungry i.
WALTER
…Yeah, eyes are powerful. A poet said they’re the windows of the soul.
Margaret smiles, touched. She comes closer.…
GROUPIE
They hold so much feeling.
WALTER
You got it! That’s why I paint ’em so big.
(beat)
I’ve always done it that way.
CLOSE-UP—MARGARET
She GASPS, stunned. The room starts spinning.
HER POV
WALTER
If you like this style, I’m working on a few new pieces. I’ve got a little blonde girl in a blue dress that’ll tear your heart out.
ANGLE—MARGARET
Her face goes ashen. Dizzy, she clutches for support.
What to do?? Overcome, she shrinks away … disappearing … ending up alone in a corner. She cowers, childlike.
ACROSS THE ROOM
Walter LAUGHS at a joke, then backslaps the group. He jovially strides away … passing by Margaret … when—
MARGARET
Walter …?
He spins—shocked at her presence.
WALTER
Baby!
(discombobulated)
Hey, uh, what are you doing here? I um—
MARGARET
Why are you lying?
For once, Walter has no answer.
She bores in, emotions racing. Confused. Hurt.
MARGARET
You’re taking credit for something that isn’t yours.
He looks ill. Wheels spinning, looking for an out—
WALTER
I was … trying to close the deal—
MARGARET
Those children are part of my being!
WALTER
I’m just a salesman! You know, buyers pay more if they meet the painter—
MARGARET
They couldn’t meet me, because you told me to stay home!!
Margaret confronts Walter about taking credit for her paintings.
WALTER
Shh, QUIET!
He grabs her, pulling her behind a curtain. He’s desperate.
WALTER
Don’t blow this! Look, we’re makin’ money! Your pocket, my pocket? What’s the difference?!
MARGARET
(trembling)
You take this so lightly—
WALTER
Not all all! But it’s not about ego! You wanna say you did the street scenes? Fine! I don’t care! Say a monkey painted it!
She breaks into tears, sobbing.
MARGARET
I’m glad y
ou can dash off your pieces without any emotional connection…!
WALTER
Ah, honey! I just wanna share them with the world!
(beat)
Would you rather have your children piled in a closet … or hanging in someone’s living room?
Silence.
Then—FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!
Walter turns. And—his eyes pop, astonished.
AT THE DOOR
Is an incredible sight. Like a moment from La Dolce Vita, a fabulously dressed ITALIAN MAN with THREE BLONDES floats down the stairs, into the club. Cameras FLASH.
Walter gapes, transfixed. He grabs Banducci.
WALTER
Hey. Who is that remarkably handsome and confident man?
BANDUCCI
That’s Dino Olivetti—as in Olivetti typewriters.
(he smirks)
Don’t even try, Walter. He doesn’t speak a lick of English.
Walter stares hungrily.
ANGLE—OLIVETTI
Olivetti glides into the club—a vision of perfection with his slick hair and sunglasses. He approaches closer, closer … when he gets distracted. By one of Margaret’s Big Eye PAINTINGS.
Walter gasps. He nudges Margaret.
Olivetti peers at the artwork. Intrigued. Then—excited. He starts gesturing and yapping in ITALIAN. The Blondes shout back. Everyone is getting worked-up.
The big-bosomed Blonde turns to Walter.
EUROPEAN BLONDE
Mr. Olivetti is enchanted with the painting. He would like to know … who is the artist?
ANGLE—MARGARET AND WALTER
Big Eyes Page 3