Big Eyes
Page 8
WALTER
(a bit off-balance)
I know you’re being sarcastic, but these are all good ideas. Berlin war orphans … early self-portraits…
Her eyes narrow.
MARGARET
Get out of here. I’m trying to work.
She brusquely spins away, back to the canvas.
He shoots her an uncertain, dirty look. What just happened?
CUT TO:
INT. HOUSE—NIGHT
Teenage Jane wanders through the house. Shouting.
JANE
Mom, what’s for dinner?
(no response)
Mom! Are you home …?
Nothing. No sign of Margaret.
Jane tries the door of the PAINTING ROOM. As always, it’s locked. Hm … Jane sneakily glances around. Opportunity. Quickly, she stands on a chair and reaches above the door sill. She feels around … and finds a KEY.
Ah! Hurriedly, Jane UNLOCKS the door and lets herself in.
INT. PAINTING ROOM—SAME TIME
The room is a madhouse of WAIFS. Jane takes it all in. Her face darkens.
Then, heavy breathing. She turns. Margaret is asleep, curled up under the almost-finished Masterpiece. Jane leans in. Slowly, Margaret rouses—then suddenly:
MARGARET
W-what are you doing in here—?
(blinking; half-awake)
This is—Walter’s studio!
(discombobulated)
You have to leave!
Jane peers sadly at her mother.
JANE
Mom … I know.
MARGARET
Jane, you don’t know anything!!
Jane’s face tightens. Insulted.
JANE
I’m not a child anymore.
Angry, Jane runs out. Margaret stares after her—completely remorseful. She knows she did the wrong thing.
Teenage Jane tearfully tells her mother that she knows Margaret is the painter.
Suddenly, she runs after Jane and grabs her tightly. Overcome, Margaret starts weeping. Jane starts crying too.
CUT TO:
INSERT—LIFE MAGAZINE
A gargantuan spread. The LIFE ARTICLE is titled “The Man Who Paints Those Big Eyes.” We PULL OUT…
INT. NEW YORK TIMES—DAY
Starchy John Canaday reads the article, gaping in utter disbelief. His desk says “JOHN CANADAY, SENIOR ART CRITIC.” He also has Walter’s BOOK, Tomorrow’s Masters Series. We WIDEN, revealing he’s in the busy New York Times NEWSROOM.
CANADAY
Four … five … SIX pages! Is there something here I’m missing?
(upset)
He’s like—the Hula-Hoop! He just won’t go away…!
He flips a page—then his jaw drops.
CANADAY
“Will be unveiled in the Grand Pavilion of the Hall of Education … internationally celebrated artist has been selected … will represent the aspirations of children worldwide—”
(he GASPS)
Oh this is ABSURD!
He GRABS for his phone.
INT. WORLD’S FAIR HALL OF EDUCATION—DAY
A panel flicks, and the huge empty space lights up. It’s overwhelmingly cavernous, a bright, freshly painted space-age spectacular. Up high hangs The Masterpiece and its one hundred kids. A sign says “TOMORROW FOREVER.”
Below, two tiny figures walk in: Canaday and an obtuse CIVIC LEADER. Canaday stares up in horror. Utterly stupefied.
CANADAY
And WHO was on the selection committee?
CIVIC LEADER
Oh! Well there wasn’t a “committee,” per se. We just had a luncheon with me, Ed, Jerome, Jerome’s wife…
(he thinks)
Though technically, we didn’t invite submissions. Mr. Keane just contacted us directly!
Canaday reacts, smoldering.
INT. NEW YORK MANSION—DAY
A STRING QUARTET PLAYS at a GRAND PARTY. It’s completely fabulous—an old-money mansion filled with stuffy BLUE BLOODS, all tuxes and gowns.
In the doorway appear Walter and Margaret. They’re dressed to kill. Walter’s radiant—but Margaret looks like she’s about to emotionally disintegrate. Suddenly, he WHISPERS.
WALTER
Stop. Let us appreciate this moment. This is what we’ve worked toward our whole lives: Rarified air. Inside this house are the movers and shakers. Kennedys. Rockefellers.
(misty-eyed)
Until today, we’ve always been on the outside, looking in. But when we enter…we will belong.
MARGARET
I was happier selling paintings in the park.
He gapes, appalled.
WALTER
You are one crazy bitch.
Walter spins and grandly enters. He grabs two CHAMPAGNES from a server.
WALTER
So maybe you have problems with the choices we made … but—c’mon! Wednesday, the World’s Fair opens. Thursday, our book goes on sale!
MARGARET
Friday, I file for divorce.
WALTER
Aw, why are you always so miserable?
(irritated)
Well, I’m gonna enjoy my afternoon!
The HOSTESS is a bejeweled dowager. Walter makes a beeline.
WALTER
Mrs. Teasdale! Walter Keane. I just want to thank you for hosting this absolutely enchanting soiree.
Walter takes the woman’s hand. She smiles stiffly, silently horrified. She glances around for help.
She catches a SOCIETY MAN’s eye, and he hurries over.
SOCIETY MAN
Hey, Keane. Have you seen the Times?
WALTER
Er, no. Honestly, I’ve been so busy all day preparing for this lovely—
SOCIETY MAN
I think you should read the Times.
The Man gestures. Perplexed, the Keanes follow him into a
INT. DEN—SAME TIME
The room looks like a hunting lodge. On the desk are all the DAILY PAPERS. Walter grabs the NEW YORK TIMES—then gasps.
INSERT—NEW YORK TIMES
It’s open to a reproduction of Tomorrow Forever, above a scathing REVIEW.
THE KEANES
stare, then turn pale.
INSERT—REVIEW
A BLIZZARD of WORDS assaults us:
“Grotesque” “Appalling”
“Tasteless”
“Lowest common denominator”
MARGARET AND WALTER’S
faces drop, terribly hurt.
MARGARET
How could anyone … say something so cruel?
WALTER
(a seething fury)
What do YOU care?! That’s MY name being dragged through the mud!
Walter CRUSHES the newspaper. He spins on the guy.
WALTER
Is he here?
SOCIETY MAN
Er … yes. Which is perhaps why it would be best for everybody if you—
Walter STORMS out. The guy futilely chases—
INT. LIVING ROOM—SAME TIME
Walter barrels in. The ROOMFUL OF GUESTS are all staring.
WALTER
WHO WROTE THIS SHIT?
People cower.
Walter scans the crowd … and spots a cluster. Ah-hah! There is Canaday. Possessed, Walter strides over. Canaday stares, defiant. It’s tense—until he clears his throat.
CANADAY
Mr. Keane, this is not the venue. Perhaps you’d like to write a letter to the editor.
Walter’s throat tightens. He steps right into the guy’s face.
Women GASP. Tension bristles—like a fight’s about to erupt.
WALTER
What are you afraid of??
(malevolent)
Just because people like my work, that means it’s automatically bad??
CANADAY
No. But that doesn’t make it art either.
Walter shudders. Canaday asserts himself.
CANADAY
Art sh
ould elevate—not pander!
Particularly in a Hall of Education!
WALTER
(offended)
You have no idea! Why does a man become a critic—?? Because he can’t create! You don’t—
CANADAY
Ugh! That moldy chestnut—
Walter responds to a bad review by attacking art critic John Canaday.
WALTER
Don’t interrupt! You don’t know what it’s like! To put your emotions out there, naked, for the world to see.
CANADAY
What emotions?! It’s synthetic hack work!
(he loses it)
Your “masterpiece” has an infinity of Keanes—which just makes it an infinity of kitsch!
Crazed, Walter grabs a FORK off the buffet.
He lunges, like he’s about to STAB Canaday!
WIDE
Women SCREAM.
A few MUSCULAR MEN start to break through, to help.
WALTER
looks around—then quivers, realizing he’s out of control. Shamed, he slowly drops the fork.
People breathe a sigh of relief.
MARGARET
is mortified. This is all too awful. Silent, she watches Walter back out of the party…
CUT TO:
INT. WORLD’S FAIR HALL OF EDUCATION—DAY
Tomorrow Forever gets TAKEN DOWN. Burly WORKMEN slide the painting into a huge WOODEN BOX.
INT. KEANE HOUSE—NIGHT
The house is dark. Walter is raging, in an alcoholic fury.
WALTER
What’s wrong with lowest common denominators?! That’s what this country was built on!!
He KNOCKS over a lamp. Crash!
WALTER
I’m gonna sue EVERYBODY! I’ll sue that pansy critic! And the World’s Fair! And—Unicef!
(crazed)
Yeah! I’ll take down Unicef, and all their precious little boxes of dimes!
Walter RUSHES BY. In a dim alcove, we make out Margaret and Jane, huddled in the shadows.
Jane looks up at her mother with wide, frightened eyes.
Suddenly—Walter LUNGES at them!
They SCREAM, startled.
WALTER
But I can’t sue you, can I?
(in Margaret’s face)
You were the ultimate betrayal! You FAILED me with that painting!
Suddenly, he pulls out a BOOK OF MATCHES. He lights a MATCH and waves it sinisterly—
WALTER
You crossed over from sentimentality to KITSCH!
He THROWS the match at them.
JANE
Ow!
MARGARET
STOP IT!
He lights ANOTHER MATCH.
WALTER
You like making me look bad?? You enjoy people laughing at me??!
He PUNCHES the wall, then tosses the match. Fwoosh!
MARGARET
Walter!
He throws ANOTHER MATCH.
WIDE
Margaret grabs Jane and starts running.
They rush into the blackness.
Walter squints woozily, then starts to CHASE—
INT. HALLWAY
The ladies run for their lives.
Violent THUDS behind them!
Something SMASHES.
Margaret reaches the Painting Room. She YANKS Jane inside, then SLAMS the door!
Walter staggers up.
WALTER
LET ME IN!
INT. THE PAINTING ROOM
Margaret LOCKS the door. She backs away.
INT. HALLWAY
Walter tugs the door. He POUNDS it, crazed.
WALTER
Lemme in, you BITCHES!!
INT. THE PAINTING ROOM
Margaret and Jane shudder.
All around them, Big Eyes stare down from above.
INT. HALLWAY
In his haze, Walter remembers the hidden key. Raging, he drunkenly pulls over the chair, then stands on it.
But he’s too wobbly—and falls.
Bam!
WALTER
Ow!
INT. THE PAINTING ROOM
Margaret hugs Jane.
JANE
Mom, what are we gonna do??!
Margaret thinks.
INT. HALLWAY
Walter laughs crazily and lights another MATCH. It flickers.
WALTER
You got all that paint and turpentine in there? Well I’m gonna burn you up!
He pushes the lit match through the KEYHOLE.
WALTER
You’re gonna blow like an atom bomb!
INT. THE PAINTING ROOM
The match drops on the floor—then goes out, harmless.
That’s it. Margaret makes a decision.
MARGARET
We’re leaving.
Determined, Margaret runs to the curtained wall. She whips it aside—revealing the sliding glass doors.
INT. LIVING ROOM—MINUTES LATER
Walter is lighting another match—when he spins. Through rheumy eyes, HEADLIGHTS orbit across the front window.
He peers, confused…
CUT TO:
INT. CAR—DRIVING—NIGHT
Margaret and Jane drive fast. Adrenaline pumping. Lights of the city flash across their faces.
MARGARET
I’m sorry I wasn’t the mother I could have been. I—I should have done this years ago…
JANE
But where are we going?
(flummoxed)
We don’t even have any clothes!
MARGARET
Where we’re going, we won’t need much.
(long pause)
Hawaii.
Jane freezes, not sure whether to believe.
JANE
Really …?
Margaret smiles softly. We slowly PUSH IN to her.
MARGARET
Yes, Hawaii. Because it’s paradise. There’s flowers, and birds, and beautiful colors.
(gentle)
And … we’re going to make a new life for ourselves.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. HAWAIIAN HOUSE—DAY
Hawaii, paradise indeed. A dense, tropical forest of deep greens and giant blooming flowers.
Margaret stands on the porch of her small, lovely house, breathing in the clean air. She looks lightened.
In a clearing, Jane plays with some LOCAL TEENS.
INT. HAWAIIAN HOUSE—SAME TIME
The house is simple. In one light-filled corner is an EASEL. Margaret is painting Nature: Splaying ferns. Wild succulents.
In the window, a BIRD flies by, its plumage a dazzling red. Margaret thinks—then takes out a tube of RED PAINT. She starts to apply the vivid color onto her canvas…
When—a RINGING PHONE. Margaret reacts, startled.
This is unexpected. And unsettling. It RINGS. RINGS. RINGS. Finally, she hurries to her one telephone, mounted on the kitchen wall. She slowly answers it.
MARGARET
Hello?
WALTER (O.S.)
Maggie—?
She freezes.
INTERCUT:
WALTER ON THE PHONE—WOODSIDE
He is strangely controlled and forboding.
WALTER
Boy, you were sure hard to track down. Thought I might never find you…
(a menacing chuckle)
I’m a little agitated. I got the strangest papers in the mail today.
Margaret tries to stay cool.
MARGARET
It’s a decree of legal separation. I would appreciate if you signed it.
WALTER
Aren’t you acting too rash?
MARGARET
Walter, our marriage is over.
WALTER
Granted, our romance may have seen its better days. The bloom is off the rose.
(beat)
But I’m looking out for both of us. What about Keane Incorporated?! We’re a professional couple. Like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.
MARGARE
T
Walter, I want a divorce.
WALTER
Whew. It hurts to hear you say those words.
Silence. He is feigning “hurt feelings.” Struggling for a response. Finally, his thoughts sharpen up, smart and shrewd.
WALTER
I sure hate that it’s come to this.
(beat)
Well … I SUPPOSE I can agree to a split—as long … as you assign me all rights to every painting ever produced.
MARGARET
If that’s the price.
WALTER
Really?!
Walter is surprised. Greedy, calculating, he wonders if he can push her further…
WALTER
Uh—okay. And … then, we have to consider future revenue stream.
MARGARET
My God, Walter! How much more money do you need?
WALTER
It’s—the marketplace! I gotta stay fresh. Surely you understand?
(deadly)
You want me out of your life, here’s my term: You’ll have to paint me a hundred more waifs. One hundred more Walter Keanes!
Margaret’s face drops, pained. But she doesn’t object.
CUT TO:
EXT. HAWAIIAN HOUSE—DAY
Margaret loads BUNDLED, WRAPPED PAINTINGS into a dusty pickup truck. Jane comes running by, barefoot.
MARGARET
Would you like to go into town? I’m stopping by the post office.
JANE
No, I’m gonna surf with the gang.
Margaret tightens up.
MARGARET
Your friends are a bit … wild.
JANE
(she snaps)