WALTER
Oh. Right! Ah, sorry, Your Honor.
(beat)
It’s hard to keep this all straight…
Walter gathers his thoughts—then turns to the WITNESS STAND. Sitting in it … is Margaret.
WALTER
Mrs. Keane. It seems impossible that you’d expect anybody to swallow your fantastic story—
JUDGE
MR. KEANE!!
Walter grimaces. He tries again, choosing his words.
WALTER
Mrs. Keane. You seem like a lucid woman. Reasonably intelligent … So how could you possibly have gone along with such a far-out scheme?
CUT TO:
We slowly MOVE IN ON MARGARET.
This is her moment. And then—quietly, she speaks.
MARGARET
I was forced into it. You had—
She stops, bothered by this awkwardness. She looks away from Walter, to the Jury instead.
MARGARET
He had me dominated. He would rant and rave if I didn’t do what he wanted. I was afraid. I didn’t see any option, so I went along. I felt very bad…
Margaret stands up to Walter in a Hawaiian courtroom.
WALTER
(like a TV lawyer)
I want to remind you, you are under oath.
The Judge SLAMS his fists down, enraged. Walter jumps.
WALTER
S-sorry.
Margaret turns back to the Jury.
MARGARET
I just gave in. I allowed him to take credit for the Big Eyes. They reflected all my feelings … and … it was like losing a child…
(she sighs)
I was weak. I didn’t feel I could leave and support myself and my daughter. He said nobody would buy the paintings without his personality.
(soft)
Maybe he was right…
(to Walter)
You were very talented at being charming. You were a genius at salesmanship and promotion.
WALTER
Hm! It sounds like you’ve described two different men. One a sadistic ogre … and the other a delightful bon vivant.
Margaret stares him in the eyes.
MARGARET
That’s you, Walter. Jekyll and Hyde.
WALTER
What an outrageous statement! I demand we strike that from the record!
JUDGE
(he SLAMS his fist)
Overruled!!
MARGARET
(she loses her temper)
No! You’re outrageous! Constantly criticizing! Wearing me down! Saying I’d be “knocked off” if I ever told the truth!!
The Jury GASPS.
Walter throws out his hands.
WALTER
Your HONOR! I ask for a mistrial!
Both Keanes starts QUARRELING. The Judge STANDS.
JUDGE
HEY! This is not a domestic squabble! Or—maybe it is. But the rest of us have no interest in watching you two go at it.
Walter calms himself, contrite.
WALTER
I’m sorry for the emotions. I’m an artist.
The Judge stares harshly.
JUDGE
Maybe.
IN THE BACK OF THE COURTROOM
Two SKETCH ARTISTS are busy, drawing the trial. One guy pokes the other one, to show off his work.
His SKETCH is a typical courtroom drawing, except everyone is drawn with big ridiculous Keane eyes.
The second guy GIGGLES. His buddy grins, then quickly erases the silly eyes before anyone sees it.
CUT TO:
INT. COURTROOM—LATER
Margaret is back at the litigant’s table, with her lawyer.
Walter stands, at his table. He shouts out.
WALTER
I call as my witness … Mr. Walter Stanley Keane!
A strange beat. The Jurors glance at each other.
Walter reacts, like he just heard his name. He strides jauntily over to the witness stand.
The BAILIFF gives the Judge a weird look. Then, he pulls out a Bible. Walter slaps down his hand.
BAILIFF
Do you swear to the tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
WALTER
YESSS!
Walter bounces out, a bit manic. He runs back to his lawyer table, then spins to address the empty witness stand.
WALTER
Mr. Keane. There has been a lot of innuendo and contradictory testimony about the genesis of the “big-eyed waifs.” Would you mind clarifying to this court, once and for all, who spawned these paintings?
Walter sprints back into the witness stand. He sits, then reacts coyly, as if he’s surprised.
WALTER
Why—I created the children.
Walter starts to stand again—but the Judge SLAMS his bench.
JUDGE
The choreography is not necessary. Just sit down and testify.
Oh. Walter sits, then gathers his thoughts…
We slowly PUSH IN. He smiles, wistfully…
WALTER
I’ve had a wonderful life. I’ve been an artist, a world traveler, a friend of untold celebrities…
(he gets misty-eyed)
But when I look back at it all, when I peer into my heart and define what mattered … it is that I was dedicated to the hungry children of the world.
(genuine)
It all began in Berlin. After World War II…
DISSOLVE TO:
LATER
WALTER
…the orphans were clutching the barbed wire. Their bodies lacerated, their fingers scrawny, their eyes big and helpless. Imploring me, begging me…“Do something!”
(hushed)
“Do something.”
DISSOLVE TO:
LATER
WALTER
…and then Miss Joan Crawford walked up to me…
LATER
WALTER
…Kim Novak…
LATER
WALTER
…Liberace…
LATER
WaLTER
…Wayne Newton…
LATER
WALTER
Miss Natalie Wood walked up and said, “That is the greatest single painting I have ever seen in my entire life.”
The Judge is bored out of his mind.
LATER
WALTER
I was born in a small town. My father made upholstery for the automobile industry—
JUDGE
You’re done.
Walter stops, surprised.
WALTER
B-but, I’m not finished—
JUDGE
Actually, you are!
(he blows his stack)
I cannot stomach one more wild tangent or shaggy dog tale. You’re not testifying—you’re filibustering! The Federal Courts are overburdened enough, without your docket-clogging nonsense.
(beat)
We can stay here until we grow old and die … but it’s obvious that this case boils down to your word versus Mrs. Keane’s word.
WALTER
(hopeful)
So … mistrial?
JUDGE
NO! It’s not a mistrial!! In my opinion, there’s only one way to clear up this thicket. You are both going to paint.
Walter gasps, stunned. All color drains from his face.
ANGLE—MARGARET
Her face lights up. She slowly breaks into a satisfied smile.
CUT TO:
INT. COURTROOM—LATER
The doors SLAM open. The Bailiff leads in a crew of COURT DEPUTIES, all carrying ART SUPPLIES: easels, brushes, paint…
BAILIFF
Awright, bring those easels down. Careful, don’t bump anything … Watch it with those paint cans, I got some newspaper on the floor down front…
The Jury is fascinated.
Margaret watches, quite eager. In the gallery, Jane grins.
But Walter is horrified. Trying not to tremble.
The Bailiff directs the deputies, setting up TWO EASELS, back to back. On each easel is placed a small square canvas.
The Judge addresses the room.
JUDGE
Now, I’m not looking for a masterpiece. I don’t know much about these things—I’m a jurist, not an art critic—but, is one hour enough?
Margaret nods: Sure.
Shaking, Walter barely moves his head.
JUDGE
Okay then. You’ve both been provided with identical supplies … so—without any further business … Mrs. Keane, Mr. Keane, the court is yours.
WIDE
Margaret glances at Walter. What will he do?
Walter’s face is grimly blank.
Margaret proceeds. Slowly, she pushes her chair from the table and rises.
Walter doesn’t move.
Margaret walks over to the closest EASEL, then sits. She ties on a smock over her checkered dress.
THE JURORS
crane their necks, intently curious.
MARGARET
takes a pencil. She peeks over at Walter—who’s still glued to his seat. His face tight, his expression queasy. Staring off to some faraway place.
Margaret looks up at the CLOCK. 3:20.
Okay then. Totally calm, in a motion she’s done so many times, she focuses on the canvas and starts outlining a Waif.
Everybody watches. Effortlessly, she pencils the EYES. They are enormous. The largest orbs she has ever done.
WALTER
looks ill. Wracked with uncertainty.
The Judge turns to him.
JUDGE
Mr. Keane?
WALTER
(faint)
I’m … setting the mood.
(whispering)
Getting the … muse to strike…
JUDGE
(beat)
Well, your muse has 58 minutes.
MARGARET
fills in more detail. Ears … nose … then, little fingers clutching a fence. The child is peeking over it, staring right at us…
WALTER
is melting down. In total crisis…
THE CLOCK’S
second hand sweeps around. It’s 3:34…
THE JURORS
look from Margaret to Walter. Why isn’t he moving??
MARGARET
finishes penciling. She leans back, satisfied with the composition. Then, she reaches for … the PAINT.
She unscrews a tube and squirts it on the palette. She rests it on her lap and starts mixing a flesh tone…
THE JUDGE
gapes at Walter, befuddled.
WALTER
feels all eyes on him. He has to do something.
Hesitantly, visibly shaking, he rises from the table.
Margaret notices this.
Walter braces himself, trying to look confident, then takes a step. Suddenly—he SQUEALS.
WALTER
OW!
Walter contorts his face in AGONY.
He grabs his shoulder.
JUDGE
Mr. Keane! Are you all right?
WALTER
No—it’s—
(grimacing)
Ah shoot! My old shoulder injury just flared up. I’ve got a bad muscle—I’ve been taking medication for the inflammation…
Walter shrugs pathetically—
WALTER
I—I don’t think I’ll be able to paint today.
THE JUDGE
is astonished.
WIDE
The courtroom reacts.
MARGARET
peers at Walter, knowingly.
She’s not surprised. This was his only way out.
A look between them—and then she cocks a half smile and turns back to the canvas. She squirts out some white oil paint, then begins painting the eyes.
WALTER
sinks down in his chair, beaten. All life gone.
He stares at the emerging canvas, eyes wide, and we PUSH INTO WALTER’S FACE. He is witnessing the end of his empire … the destruction of everything that makes him who he is.
We push in TIGHTER … TIGHTER … until the screen fills with his two eyes.
Big. Sad. And filling with tears.
CUT TO:
EXT. FEDERAL COURTHOUSE—DAY
The doors open, and Margaret comes tumbling out, victorious. She has WON!
She’s surrounded by Jane, her friends, and a MOB OF REPORTERS. They all SHOUT: “Mrs. Keane! Margaret! Congratulations!!”
MARGARET
Thank you! Thank you so much.
REPORTER #2
What are you going to call the painting?
She smiles, clutching the finished Waif.
MARGARET
“Exhibit 224.”
They all ROAR with laughter. A Reporter does a stand-up:
REPORTER #1
The jury found in favor of Margaret Keane on all points. She won on charges of defamation, emotional distress, damaged reputation—
IN THE BACKGROUND
Walter drifts out, disheveled and lost. He stares hazily … angrily at the crowd.
WALTER
What a group of idiots … a quagmire of incompetence…
(rambling)
This doesn’t change a thing!
We slowly PULL AWAY, leaving him tiny in the shot. Forgotten.
BACK AT MARGARET
She hugs Jane. The Reporter jumps in.
REPORTER #2
Margaret! Do you feel vindicated by the high award?
MARGARET
Oh … it was never about the money. And honestly—I doubt Walter will even pay.
The Reporter chuckles. Margaret turns serious.
MARGARET
I just wanted credit for what I had done. The justice is … I got my art back.
(soft)
My prayers have been answered.
Margaret takes Jane’s hand and starts to walk away.
Among the eager fans, a PORTLY LADY steps out, holding a BOOK. She smiles nervously.
PORTLY LADY
Margaret! Could I possibly have your autograph?
Margaret looks down—and realizes the book is Walter’s volume of TOMORROW’S MASTERS.
Margaret stares at it in wonder, then quickly signs the cover.
CLOSE-UP—MARGARET
We hold. She slowly smiles in pride.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. MARGARET KEANE GALLERY—DAY
A brand-new gallery of Margaret’s art. The walls are covered with NEWLY PAINTED Waifs and MDHs. We GLIDE through the gallery … down the corridors of children and women…
These paintings of big-eyed children are different. They’re in magnificent colorful gardens, surrounded by joyful splashes of red, orange, green…
CLOSING CARDS:
“Walter never accepted defeat, insisting he was the true artist for the rest of his life. He died in 2000, bitter and penniless. He never produced another painting.”
“Margaret found personal happiness and remarried. After many years in Hawaii, she moved back to San Francisco and opened a new gallery. She still paints every day.”
We move CLOSER to one child, into the face, until the eyes fill the frame. And then … finally, we tilt down. Revealing that the child is smiling.
FADE OUT.
THE END
Margaret outside court, victorious.
Behind the Big Eyes
The Story Behind the Film
The fact that you are holding this book in your hands represents some sort of miracle. The fact that this movie got made—that it actually exists—is beyond belief. In recent years, it has been more and more difficult to get dramatic, hard-to-categorize movies produced. Hollywood is littered with tales of films that “took forever.” But Big Eyes is unusual, in that the crazy people who wouldn’t give up were the screenwriters. No studio was there to help us. Nobody ever paid us. For ten deranged years, we were the only guys who had a dog in this fight.
We believed and believed in this project—sometimes to the point of madness. It got self-destructive—there were so many jobs we said “no” to because we thought we were about to shoot our movie. It was always around the corner, always being prepped, with a new producer, a new cast, a new mirage of cinematic hopes and dreams. But we loved the story, we loved the characters, and we just couldn’t sensibly walk away. We wanted to see this tale of Margaret and Walter Keane on-screen.
Why? What compelled us? What about this story wouldn’t let us go?
In the nineties, we were lucky to have written a run of bio-pics that deconstructed the typical Hollywood bio. These weren’t stories of Great Men. Ed Wood, Larry Flynt, and Andy Kaufman were nuts who were outsiders and shook up the establishment. This seemed like a new form of biography—celebrating obscure iconoclasts. We gleefully wallowed in this strange new hybrid we had invented. It was so much fun! But then we had a few scripts not get produced, and the momentum stopped. We started falling back on script assignments, which is another way of saying we had families and mortgages, and we had to pay the bills. It’s nice to dream big, but it’s also nice to put food on the table.
In 2003, we were rewriting a science fiction movie. It was a comedy that took place on another planet, and we needed examples of Earthling pop-culture kitsch that could destroy a higher civilization. In our research, we stumbled across a two-page article about the Keanes that took us aback. Whoa. What’s this? The Keanes’s story was bonkers.
In their heyday, the 1950s and ’60s, the Keanes were the top-selling artists in the world. Their big-eyed art was everywhere. But their personal story was an utter fraud: Walter claimed to be the painter, but the true talent was Margaret, despondent, locked in a room in the back of the house. This lie went on for more than a decade!
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