MARGARET
Walter … art is personal.
Walter picks up a picture of TWO LITTLE GIRLS IN TUTUS. He stares, perplexed.
WALTER
What would make a grown man paint a picture like this?!
No answer. He thinks of stories, wheels spinning.
WALTER
I grew up, surrounded by six sisters.
(no good)
I grew up in an orphanage?
(struggling)
I grew up … in a world where adults had vanished, and children and kittens ran wild over the desolate landscape!
Margaret smiles.
MARGARET
What about your Paris street scenes? Why do you paint those?
WALTER
Well, because … I lived it! I experienced it!
MARGARET
(calling his bluff)
And was it really all sun-dappled streets and flower vendors?
Huh? Walter stares off at the Waifs. They peer out from broken windows … chain-link fences…
And then—he gets it.
WALTER
Well—NO! Of course not. It was after the war. There was destruction everywhere…
(pause)
I traveled the Continent. The ravages were horrifying…
CUT TO:
INSERT—FULL-FRAME TV SCREEN
Walter is on TV, on a LOCAL PUBLIC AFFAIRS SHOW. He’s coated with makeup, sitting rigidly, fingers gripping his chair.
WALTER (ON TV)
My psyche was scarred in my art student days. Nothing in my life has ever made such an impact as the sight of the children: war-wracked innocents, without homes, without parents, fighting over garbage…
He sits in a half-circle of PROPER WOMEN, who are spellbound.
WALTER (ON TV)
Goaded by a frantic despair, I sketched these dirty, ragged little victims … with their bruised minds and bodies, their matted hair and runny noses. There my life as a painter began in earnest.
Walter sadly looks up to the HOST.
The man is shell-shocked. Mute. Walter waits, then sighs.
WALTER (ON TV)
The insane, inhuman cruelty inflicted upon these children cut deeply into my being. From that moment on, I painted the lost children with the eyes. Those eyes that forever retained their haunting quality.
The ladies are stricken. A few dab their eyes.
CUT TO:
EXT. SAN FRANCISCO—DAY
Keane posters get RIPPED off a wall.
RIPPED off a mailbox. PULLED off a construction site!
EXT. KEANE GALLERY—NEXT DAY
Walter strides along, a bounce to his step. He reaches the gallery—then stops, dumbfounded. It’s PACKED with PEOPLE! Not rich, but regular folks, gawking at the art.
Wow. A sweet moment … then some TOURISTS see Walter and happily accost him: “Walter Keane!” “Mr. Keane!” They thrust papers and POSTERS at him to autograph.
Walter grins and scribbles his signature. Glancing over their shoulders, he sees Ruben down the block, standing outside his own gallery. Gaping in disbelief.
Walter chuckles … then flips him off. Ruben’s face falls.
INT. KEANE GALLERY—SAME TIME
Walter pushes through, shaking hands, greeting the CUSTOMERS:
Modern-art dealer Ruben fumes over the phenomenal success of the Keanes.
WALTER
Good afternoon! Delighted!
(he reaches the SEXY BLONDE CLERK and pinches her ass)
How many sales today?
BLONDE CLERK
“Sales?” None with this crowd.
Walter’s smile drops, surprised.
BLONDE CLERK
These people are looky-loos! They can’t afford the paintings. But we gave away a heap of posters!
Huh? Walter peers, baffled. Suddenly—a loud FRWWIPPPP!
Walter whirls, startled. Outside, two GIRLS tear a big poster off the front window.
Walter’s eyes widen. Slowly, he turns back. At the counter, FOLKS and KIDS are grabbing free posters from a box.
Walter stares. Processing this. And then … being struck by an idea of absolute genius…
INT. STORAGE ROOM—SECONDS LATER
Walter is on the telephone, peering through the doorway. Hiding from the customers. Spying. WHISPERING.
WALTER (on the phone)
It’s the craziest thing. I started charging for the posters! First a nickel … then a dime.
(struggling to whisper)
YES, Maggie! It’s cuckoo! So it got me thinkin’: Would you rather sell a $500 painting, or a million cheaply reproduced posters?!
(he LAUGHS, exultant)
See, folks don’t care if it’s a copy. They just want art that touches them!
CUT TO:
ANIMATION
WALTER’S VOICE
And then … we could sell it anywhere!! EVERYWHERE!
60s-style MADISON AVENUE GRAPHICS: A still of a HARDWARE STORE. Mops, light bulbs, then—BING!—framed KEANES.
A PHARMACY. Aspirin, candy bars—BING!—framed KEANES.
A GAS STATION. Tires, motor oil, and—BING!—KEANES.
INT. SUPERMARKET—DAY
An aisle of sundries: plastic toys, beach balls … Waifs. A sign says “WE HAVE KEANE!”
Around the corner, Margaret shuffles along, listlessly buying banalities: Cereal. Soap. She turns the cart … and runs into her wall of teary-eyed kids.
Margaret peers, muddled.
Then she turns away—to a RACK OF PAPERBACKS. They offer fast hope, inspiration. Margaret seems disconnected. She runs her hand down the options … a book of Numerology … a book on Judaism … an Edgar Cayce prophecies manual…
AT THE REGISTER—Margaret gazes up. The CASHIER is a sad Beatnik Girl. In a haze, Margaret notices the whole market is full of LONELY WOMEN:
One LADY is her doppelganger—same age, blonde, gripping a cart. Next aisle over, a MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN stares into space. Nearby, a YOUNG MOM wrangles her children.
We shift to Margaret. Face gaunt. Eyes empty. Troubled…
INT. APARTMENT PAINTING ROOM—DAY
Curtains drawn, Margaret frantically SKETCHES. She’s cabin feverish. In her robe. Hair dirty. And—up to something. These sketches aren’t squat children with round eyes. They’re different: figures with long lines.
Margaret frowns and rips the paper. She tries again! Another angular figure—straight fingers … no!
Again! A woman … reclining. Then an indication of a face: A slash … and then—two small almond shapes for eyes.
Hmm. Margaret’s face brightens. She likes it.
LATER
Margaret rabidly paints. Spurting globs of color. The woman is blonde, almond eyes cool, lips curled with mystery…
Margaret glances in a mirror. It’s a self-portrait. It’s Margaret, aloof. Alone at a table.
Suddenly the door opens. Margaret GASPS, startled, and spins the canvas away. Walter barges in, dressed like a million. He HALTS—making a sour face.
WALTER
Whew! Something smells in here. You should open a window.
Margaret blinks, a bit dazed.
MARGARET
What time is it?
WALTER
I dunno. Six thirty, seven?…Didn’t Janie get dinner?
Margaret shrugs. Walter leans in.
WALTER
When’s the last time you washed your hair?
MARGARET
I’ve been … busy.
WALTER
(he notices the turned canvas; he’s intrigued)
What do you got back there? Lemme see.
MARGARET
No—! It’s just … something I’m working on. It’s not for the world.
Walter gives her a funny look.
WALTER
“The world”? Baby, it’s me!
(stepping forward, a bit malevolent)
I’m your number one fan.
MARGARET
WALTER
(getting closer)
But we’re husband and wife. We shouldn’t have secrets…
Margaret gulps, fretting. Finally, without options—she flips over the canvas of the lonely blonde.
And—Walter is taken aback. His eyebrows raise, shocked.
Margaret bites her lip. Will he go ballistic?
ANGLE—WALTER
He leans right up to the painting.
His expression is inscrutable. Studying the technique. We have no idea what his emotion is.
WALTER
It’s a completely different style.
MARGARET
Yes it is.
WALTER
(beat)
It looks like you.
MARGARET
It’s a self-portrait.
Beat.
WALTER
How am I gonna explain that?
She shifts about.
MARGARET
I thought … maybe … I could sign it myself.
Hmm. Walter’s eyes narrow.
WALTER
That seems a bit confusing. “Keane” means me.
MARGARET
Yes, I know … but … when people ask me if I paint, I don’t know what to answer! I just want the pride of being able to say—that’s mine.
Walter’s wheels are ratcheting.
WALTER
Who’d you tell about the Big Eyes?
MARGARET
Nobody!
WALTER
(paranoid)
Was Dee-Ann here?! Did Dee-Ann see this painting?!
MARGARET
No! NOBODY saw it!
WALTER
You tell anybody, the empire COLLAPSES! Do you wanna give back the money? We’ve committed FRAUD!
MARGARET
I KNOW! My God! I live with this every minute of my life!
(impassioned)
Janie used to have a mother who painted. Now what’s she think?! I lock myself in this room ten hours a day … and then you walk out with finished paintings!
He scowls, offended.
WALTER
Janie thinks I’m in here, painting.
MARGARET
C’mon! You haven’t picked up a brush in months!
(starting to sob)
We used to paint together! Easels next to each other, side-by-side—
WALTER
That was the honeymoon period!
Margaret breaks into tears. Walter tenses.
WALTER
Jesus, you’re so fragile.
MARGARET
I’ve kept my end of the bargain! I’ve never told!
(she SOBS harder)
Please! Just let me have this!
Walter recoils, unable to take this. He relents.
INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM—ANOTHER DAY
Another PHOTO OP, but big: A CAMERA CREW rushes about. Lights get set up. Walter, Margaret, and Jane work at easels. Walter dabs at a Big Eye. Margaret works on a sad, long-neck blonde. Jane paints a goofy flower, like any child.
Dick Nolan takes notes.
DICK
So you’re now called “The Painting Keanes”?
WALTER
Yep! Walter and his girls! With galleries in three cities!
DICK
I had no idea Margaret painted.
WALTER
Yeah, we don’t talk about it. Sadly, people don’t buy lady art.
MARGARET
(interjecting)
What about Georgia O’Keefe?
Dick shakes his EMPTY GLASS, distracted. Walter points.
WALTER
The bar’s over there.
Dick goes to get a refill. Walter shoots Margaret a look.
WALTER
Yeah, Margaret’s a superb artist, in her own way. I even steal a few tips from her, now and then!
(he chuckles)
Behind every great man is a great woman.
DICK
True true. So, Margaret, where do you get your ideas?
MARGARET
(a bit tentative)
Oh … from the world around me. And I love Modigliani’s use of line.
DICK
Modi-WHAT? The Italian joint?
WALTER
Oh, for Christ’s sake, Margaret! Dick writes a gossip column—
(beat)
Let’s stick to the family angle. Get a gander at little Janie over there!
Walter steers Dick to Jane, cute at her little child’s easel.
WALTER
What a talent! Look at these Keanes! If you cut open our veins, we bleed oil! Er—turpentine.
(awkward)
Uh, Dick, you know what I’m goin’ for. Make it sound good.
DING-DONG! It’s the doorbell. Everyone turns.
JANE
Who’s that?
WALTER
Ah! A little treat! The fourth member of the Painting Keanes!
Margaret and Jane turn, confused. Walter whips open
THE FRONT DOOR
revealing LILY, 10, a quiet girl in bobbed hair. She holds a little overnight bag.
A Buick HONKS, and Walter waves as it drives away. Walter stares at the girl, then puts on big hammy airs.
WALTER
Lily, honey, how are you?!
He gives her a giant hug. She responds stiffly—a girl who doesn’t see her father too often.
LILY
I’m fine, Dad. I lost a tooth.
WALTER
Really? Did you get in a fight?
LILY
(she laughs)
No. It fell out!
ANGLE—MARGARET AND JANE
They gape in bewilderment. Who the hell is this girl??!
BACK ON WALTER AND LILY
Walter admires Lily’s mouth.
WALTER
Well is the tooth fairy somethin’ I gotta deal with, or did your mother already handle it?
LILY
(dry)
She handled it.
WALTER
Good! Good good! Well, just go throw your stuff in the kids’ room, then you can come join the fun!
Lily toddles out.
ON THE GROUP
Margaret and Jane are speechless.
Walter acts like nothing bizarre has happened.
Dick eyeballs all this with major curiosity.
DICK
Walter … you never told me you had another daughter.
WALTER
Didn’t I? Sure. Lil’s from my first marriage.
Margaret struggles to hold her rage. Disoriented…
MARGARET
Walter?
(urgent)
Walter! We need to speak.
Margaret gestures: Get in the kitchen! He nods and follows.
INT. KITCHEN
Margaret shuts the door, then spins on him.
MARGARET
What is going on here??!
WALTER
That’s Lily. I’m sure I mentioned her—
MARGARET
No you didn’t.
Margaret peers at him. How much can she trust?
Did she just move in??
WALTER
No! Her mom’s just going to Vegas for the weekend.
(beat)
I’m supposed to have her once a month, but I don’t make her mom enforce it.
TIGHT—MARGARET
Her head is spinning.
MARGARET
How can you keep something so big a secret???
TIGHT—WALTER
He starts to answer … then gives her a look: You are kidding?
Walter squirms defensively.
WALTER
She’s a sweet girl.
MARGARET
(hissing)
I’m sure she is.
WALTER
I put up with your daughter. I never said a peep.
Margaret’s jaw drops.
MARGARET
WALTER
I’m sorry. Sorry! Please … let’s just try to get through this.
CUT TO:
INT. JANE’S BEDROOM—NIGHT
Jane’s room, cute with stuffed animals and troll dolls.
Lily is in the corner, awkwardly unpacking her bag. Trying not to impose on Jane’s space. The girls peer at each other.
LILY
Dad told me you had a bunk bed.
Jane shakes her head. She feels bad.
JANE
Take the bed. I can sleep on the floor—
LILY
No, that’s not fair! The floor’s fine for me.
Jane smiles nervously. She stares at this new girl.
JANE
Do you live far away?
LILY
I guess … about a twenty-minute drive.
JANE
(startled)
Twenty minutes?! That’s close!
Jane blinks, confused.
JANE
But you never see Walter?
LILY
No, I see him all the time! He comes up and visits every week.
Jane is taken aback. Lily sees this.
LILY
Doesn’t he talk about me?
JANE
(lying)
Huh? Uh … sure. I guess a little.
Jane thinks, fretting.
JANE
Does he talk about me?
LILY
(lying)
Uh … yeah. Sometimes.
JANE
Big Eyes Page 5