by Leyner, Mark
ANGLE ON WARDEN
as she suddenly gets up and peruses several shelves of racked CDs.
WARDEN
I think I know where I’ve heard of Offramp Tavanipupu. I belong to one of those CD clubs … and y’know how if you don’t order something they just automatically send you their selection of the month? Well, I think recently they sent me one of this guy’s albums and I just stuck it in here, without ever even listening to it … Yup—here we go.
INSERT SHOT of HAUS PEKPEK TOKTOK NUMBAWAN CD in Warden’s hand.
WARDEN
Should I put it on?
MARK
Definitely.
The WARDEN’S sound system features an 8-CD carousel. She loads the two CDs of Offramp Tavanipupu’s Haus Pekpek Toktok Numbawan.
In addition, she loads the Mr. Holland’s Opus soundtrack album; the Batman Forever soundtrack album; the soundtrack album for Chernobyl, Knut Holberg’s chilling, critically acclaimed documentary about the worst nuclear reactor disaster in history, which features songs performed by Whitney Houston, Mary J. Bilge, Toni Braxton, TLC, Brandy, and Tony! Toni! Toné; Flogging Tenors, recorded live at the Hermanos Rodriguez Autodromo in Mexico City to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the assassination of Nancy Spungen, tenor virtuosi Jose Carreras, Placido Domingo, and Luciano Pavarotti pay tribute to early English punk by reinterpreting such classics as the Sex Pistols’ “No Feelings,” “Pretty Vacant,” and “Anarchy in the UK,” The Damned’s “Stab Your Back,” the Buzzcocks’ “Orgasm Addict” and “Why Can’t I Touch It?” The Clash’s “White Riot,” and The Adverts’ “Bored Teenagers” and “One Chord Wonders;” Karaoke Collaboration, ten lush instrumental tracks that enable you to perform the anthems and popular songs of Vichy France, the Croatian Ustachi, and wartime Lithuania—a must-have for nostalgic anti-Semites who love to sing; and finally, Ministry maestro Al Jourgensen and the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Zubin Mehta debut Jourgensen’s foray into the classical idiom with his brooding symphonic composition, The Meek Shall Inherit Shit.
These eight CDs play continuously for the remainder of the movie.
WARDEN returns to couch and caresses MARK’s cheek with the back of her hand. She reclines, kicks off her pumps, and lays a bare foot across his thigh.
VARIOUS ANGLES
as WARDEN and MARK listen to music.
WARDEN undulates concisely to the bass grooves and disjunctive beats.
MARK, eyes shut, grasps the neck of the wine bottle as if it were a microphone. His face contorts into a succession of histrionic grimaces, as he lip-synchs the prolix lyrics of Offramp Tavanipupu.
WARDEN flicks MARK’s nipples with big toe.
MARK simpers dreamily.
He takes her toe in his mouth and sucks hard until
We HEAR sharp crack of joint connecting phalanx and metatarsal bone.
WARDEN
(flexing toe)
You really do spend a lot of time in your room, alone … don’t you?
MARK
Yeah. I even eat in there most of the time. My dad’s away a lot and Mom doesn’t cook that much. So I’ve got my own microwave … I eat a lot of, like, ramen noodles, instant grits, instant couscous, y’know … instant Spätzle.
WARDEN
Say that again.
MARK
What?
WARDEN
Say instant Spätzle.
MARK
Instant Spätzle.
WARDEN
Your mouth looks so adorable when you say that. Say it again.
MARK
Instant Spätzle.
WARDEN kisses MARK.
WARDEN
Again.
As he repeats the words, the WARDEN traces his lips with her tongue.
WARDEN
Again … c’mon.
MARK
(muffled by WARDEN’S mouth)
Instant spätzle
… instant spätzle
… instant Spätzle.
WARDEN bites and sucks MARK’s neck, giving him two huge heliotrope hickeys. She softly scrapes his earlobes between her teeth, kisses his mouth again voraciously, and, with hurried random pecks, works her way down his neck to his chest and nipples as she lightly rakes his back with her fingernails. She kneels, clasps his ass in her hands, and licks the rim of his navel in languorous circles and then begins to slowly unzip his trousers.
MARK (voice-over)
I can’t tell you how much more exciting this was for me than masturbating to minimalist grids and neoexpressionist palimpsests. And it’s definitely not my intention to disparage the work of any specific painters—but this was just so great.
And I thought it was really fantastic that the Warden was so out-there and so totally cool with what she wanted and was like: “Say it. Say it again.”
But unfortunately here’s where I started overanalyzing everything again. I realize I try to evince this swaggering, salacious, Iggy Pop kind of thing with the shirtless-sweaty-torso-low-slung-leather-pants look and whatnot, but I’m really a very pensive person who hyper-rationates absolutely everything. And this was a perfect case in point—instead of just switching on automatic pilot, instead of just relaxing and intuitively surfing the peaks, troughs, and vortices of the moment, I start thinking to myself: if she likes it so much when I say instant Spätzle, I wonder if she’d like it even more if I said other German dishes. In fact, she’ll probably get bored and disenchanted if I just keep repeating instant Spätzle over and over again. So I began saying things like Sauerbraten and Wienerschnitzel and Rollmöpse and Zwiebelkuchen.
And then it occurred to me that maybe the word instant was significant in some way … The variables here were mind-boggling, and I felt increasingly like one of those chess computers designed to crunch a billion combinations in a split second.
ANOTHER ANGLE of WARDEN, still slowly unzipping MARK’s pants.
MARK (voice-over)
So I thought, OK, maybe instant is important. Maybe the idea of speed, convenience, ease of preparation somehow invests the phrase with libidinal charge. So I start going: Instant Pichelsteiner Fleisch … ready-to-serve Sülzkoteletten … quick Gefüllter Fasan … one-step Blut Schwartemagen … shake-and-bake Käseschnitzel … uh … microwave Apfelpfannkuchen.
And then I become concerned that maybe this is all too coy, and that maybe I’m coming off too adolescent, giving off too much of the whole search-for-identity-need-to-rebel-but-at-the-same-time-need-to-conform-looking-for-cues-from-one’s-peers-fragile-developing-self-image thing and maybe now I should try to present myself as more mature, more worldly, and maybe slightly more decadent and lewd, so I decide to talk dirty to her, because I’d read that some women are really turned on by that. So now I’m like: Fuckin’ boil-in-a-bag Bratwurst mit sauer Sahnensosse … cocksucking Stovetop Getrüffelte Gänseleber-wurst … titty-fuck brown-’n’-serve Konigsberger Klopse …
And she stopped unzipping my pants and looked up at me.
WARDEN
(putting a finger to her lips)
Shhhhhhh.
MARK
(oblivious, on a roll)
Friggin’ cunty frozen hungry-man Kalbshaxe mit Gewürzgurkensosse.
WARDEN
(sternly)
Seriously, you’re really going to have to stop.
WARDEN gets up and produces a leather ball-gag and handcuffs from the top drawer of her desk.
She returns to couch and, cutting him off in mid-scatological-easy-to-prepare-German-entree, pushes ball-gag into MARK’s open mouth, cinches straps tightly around his head, and cuffs his hands behind his back.
She then finally finishes unzipping his clammy leather pants and yanks them off.
Gently fondling his balls with one hand, she takes his erection and pumps it in the other.
WARDEN
Have you given any thought to what you’d say if you actually won the Vincent and Lenore DiGiacomo / Oshimitsu Polymers America Award—y’
know, at the presentation ceremony?
MARK
(with ball-gag in mouth)
Aggghhhhh. Agggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh. Agghhh. Aggghhh. Agggggghhhhhhhh. Agghhh. Aggggghhh.
SUBTITLE: There’s like no way I can win. I haven’t written anything—and it’s due tomorrow.
WARDEN
Well, what if somehow you did? Hypothetically, what would you say?
MARK
Agggghhhhhhh … Aggghhh aggghh aggggghhhh: “Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Agggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhh. Aggggggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggghhhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Agggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhh. Aggggggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhh.”
SUBTITLE: I don’t know … Probably something like: “I want to thank Vincent and Lenore DiGiacomo, without whose remarkable vision and intrepid, unflagging support none of this would be possible. I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to the folks at Oshimitsu Polymers America for making this a reality. I’d like to thank everyone at ICM, particularly Binky and Sloan—even when I showed absolutely no interest in or the slightest talent for writing and hadn’t as yet produced anything except for a review of an imaginary movie—you guys stuck by me and represented me with more energy and commitment and savvy than I could ever have dreamed of. I’d like to thank all the other screenwriters at Maplewood Junior High School for providing such a vibrant milieu in which to work, and I’d like to say that any of you could and should have won this. I’d like to especially say hello to my main man Felipe—yo, Felipe, ma huang rules! I’d like to thank God for having had the insight in the first place to give humans the awesome intellectual capacity to write screenplays. And finally I’d like to thank my Mom, without whose morbid phobias and apocalyptic fatalism I couldn’t have become half the screenwriter I am today. And, Dad … the Damoclean sword of New Jersey State Discretionary Execution is hanging over your head wherever you are, but I know you’re watching tonight. You always said it takes real balls to turn a brunette without a cranium into a blonde, and well … I hope you’re proud of me. You’ll always be my bikpela numbawan.”
WARDEN wipes tears from eyes.
She looks up at him with an expression of profound sadness and infinite wisdom, and flicks the tip of his dick with her tongue.
MARK ejaculates immediately.
NOTE:
The “Aggghhhh” soliloquy beginning on this page and continuing onto this page is one of the most musical speeches in the entire screenplay, and much of its power derives from that musicality—its permutations and variations on a theme.
Like music, it produces a dual effect, that is, both instantaneous and cumulative, as the echoes of the earlier variations reverberate in the mind as one hears the latter.
Here, whoever plays the role of MARK faces what is widely considered a supreme test of an actor’s range.
The challenge is first and foremost to memorize the speech, with its many philosophical and often cryptic shadings. Perhaps even more daunting is the need to scrupulously observe the subtle shifts in pronunciation and time value as indicated by the meticulously nuanced spellings—“Aggghhh” as opposed to “Aggggghhhhh,” for instance.
A metrical tour de force, the speech requires an actor to reconcile two simultaneous but dissynchronous rhythms—the syncopated syntactical cadences that are inherent in an award-acceptance speech and the steady rhythmic effects of the WARDEN’S hand on MARK’s penis.
It’s critically important to remember that gagged speech is fundamentally different from dental-patient locution, although the two share some phonetic characteristics. And gagged speech during sexual stimulation is considered by linguists to be a completely distinct language, which some contend may actually predate the Indo-Iranian and Balto-Slavic branches.
Nowhere are the insuperable difficulties of the translator more conspicuous than in the “Agggghhhh” soliloquy. Notwithstanding the inevitable sacrifice of certain musical and poetic effects, the subtitled translation strives to reproduce with all possible fidelity both the words and their rhetorical form. Although the delicacy and poignance of MARK’s concluding “Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhh” is irreparably altered and coarsened in translation, one hopes that, at the very least, the subtitled “You’ll always be my bikpela numbawan” evokes and sustains the thought and feeling within.
MEDIUM SHOT of WARDEN unfastening ball-gag.
CLOSE-UP of MARK, bursting to speak.
MARK
(the very instant the gag is removed)
That was phenomenal! That was, like, the absolute best sex I’ve ever had.
WARDEN
You’re a honey.
OFFICE briefly fills with pink mist.
There’s a fleeting sense now that this is all taking place in a Cocteau Twins video.
It’s like the afterschool afternoon you always dreamed of.
In slow motion, WARDEN unlocks his handcuffs.
MARK takes a swig of cough syrup from a bottle he finds on the credenza.
She lights a cigarette and hands it to him.
MARK takes a drag and glances at his watch.
MARK
(realizing that it’s not going to be feasible for him to get to the Maplewood Public Library before it closes)
Shit … Do you have any, like, food?
WARDEN opens small chrome Miele refrigerator atop credenza and peers in.
WARDEN
I have a strawberry Ensure, I have a hazelnut Sustacal … and somewhere in here I thought I had a chocolate Slimfast.…
MARK
I’ll have a hazelnut Sustacal and vodka.
In slow motion, WARDEN fills two highball glasses halfway with ice and Stoly, shakes then pops a can of hazelnut Sustacal, shakes and pops a strawberry Ensure, pours simultaneously—a can in each hand—not quite filling the glasses, and then tops off each drink with more vodka, and stirs with New Jersey State Penitentiary at Princeton—Capital Punishment Administrative Segregation Unit swizzle sticks.
As she serves him his drink, she reaches down and gives his dick an affectionate squeeze.
He ejaculates again, this time on the sixteenth-century Kashan silk carpet.
MARK
Sorry. Is that an expensive rug? Will that come out?
WARDEN
Don’t worry about it.
MARK
Can I ask you a stupid question … Have you ever done this before?
WARDEN
(laughing)
I’m thirty-six years old.
MARK
No, I mean like—I know you’ve had sex before—I mean have you ever had sex with someone whose father survived an abortive execution and was then sentenced to NJSDE?
WARDEN
(lighting a cigarette for herself)
Yeah, I have.
MARK
In a prison where you were the warden?
WARDEN
Uh-huh.
MARK
In this office?
WARDEN
Yes, in this office. Does that bother you?
MARK
(hurt, but masking it behind phony tru
culence)
I don’t give a fuck what you do, as long you do it after hours, on your own time, and not on taxpayer time. The taxpayers of the state of New Jersey pay your salary—don’t you ever forget that! And the taxpayers of this state don’t pay you to suck cock. Just punch out first, bitch.
WARDEN
You’re angry.
MARK
I’m not angry.
MARK chugs entire hazelnut Sustacal and vodka, smashes glass against wall, and then takes a shard of broken glass and carves into his forearm the words “Satan,” “I Love Satan,” “Jews for Satan,” “Satan Rocks My World,” “Hey Satan, You’re So Fine, You’re So Fine You Blow My Mind, Hey Satan!” “Destroying Everything That’s Good and Beautiful Is, Like, Funny;” “Committing Suicide on Your Birthday in Your Parents’ Bed Is Excellent,” “I Support a Woman’s Right to Breed Babies for the Sole Purpose of Ritually Sacrificing and Eating Them,” and “Buy Only Procter & Gamble Products.”
WARDEN
Mark, you’re obviously very angry and very alienated.
MARK
I am not angry, and I am not alienated.
MARK takes pair of Rollerblades, tied together at the laces, from credenza and swings them wildly at the WARDEN’S head.
WARDEN ducks, kicks MARK in the solar plexus, grabs Roller Blades, and—wielding them like nunchakus—twirls them in blurred arcs over her head and behind her back before delivering, in rapid succession, two precise and devastating blows to MARK’s forehead.
Repeat sequence, this time:
REVERSE ANGLE—in slow motion—
WARDEN ducks—kicks MARK in solar plexus—grabs
Roller Blades—twirls them like nunchakus ambidextrously in blurred arcs over her head and behind her back—then delivers two concussive blows to MARK’s forehead.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP of MARK as—in super slow motion—we again see the Roller Blades impact his head, driving it first to the right and then to the left of the frame.
MARK
(before he loses consciousness)
Your in-line kung fu … is very powerful.