How big a change, though? That’s my problem, Doctor.
All those cuts I mentioned above, I can make them all play.
But they’re all too much of a jump.
You’d never see Phoebes as Phoebes again. She’d be a different person. And do you want to see Shirley as a junior at college? I don’t.
Anyway, this is what I put on my wall.
5) First Visit
Clearly what I decided to do was show the first visit. What you are about to read now is only one page of that scene.
CUT TO
CLIMBER’S CAR and here he comes, turning into the estate, passing through the large gates, driving by the gardeners, who look up and watch him but do not wave and
CUT TO
PHOEBE’S ROOM--it faces the front of the house. She and SHIRLEY kneel by the window, waiting--they spot the car as soon as it turns into view.
Now, a new voice calls out--
LADY FROM THE STATE
(coming closer)
Children, you father’s here.
And now she is in the doorway. Middle-aged, nondescript, edgy.
As THE KIDS bolt past her into the hallway, she calls out--
LADY FROM THE STATE (CONT’D)
Stop running--you have an hour.
They sprint down the great staircase, race to the front door, pause.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER, pulling up, getting out. Not the best day of his life, this. He’s not looking his best either, and he knows it.
CUT TO
THE KIDS, moving through the front door, pausing.
SHIRLEY
(he has been working feverishly on his upper-class accent)
Look, sister--our Pater has arrived.
PHOEBE
(so has she)
Dear, dear father.
(She curtsies.)
How blissful to see you.
THE LADY FROM THE STATE stands quietly in the doorway, watching.
I really hate that scene. Not because it’s such a terrible start—I mean, the kids still sound like the kids. But I stopped it where I did for one good reason: I don’t have the least idea who Climber is here.
One of the worst parts of being an instinctive writer—of having to go with “feel” rather than logic—is the sense of helplessness that overwhelms me at moments like this.
I am convinced that scene is a proper place to start.
I also have no idea what it is or how to write it.
So I stopped.
And what I am waiting for is the arrival of what I call a connective. Something that will take me out of this scene and into the next. Once I have that, I will have a notion of who Climber is and how I enter this first visitation. I have certain notions in my head, even at this awkward time.
1. I feel there must not be a villain in the scene. That means the woman from the state isn’t out of James Bond. I think I might even give her a moment when she says “Hey, I hate this too.”
2. I feel it should be the first visit, not the 9th or 63rd. This has to be right out of the chute, so that it’s clear no one has the least knowledge of the terrain.
3. I believe they all have to try like hell to make it work.
4. Most important is this: it must go badly. Terribly, even. We must believe that this trio, who I hope have provided us pleasure, will never be together again. Not as they were under the good Queen Cynara.
Because, you see, I know something you don’t know—I have a fastball. I don’t know if it will work, I don’t know if the world will hate it. But it’s what gave me the confidence to get this far. And, yes, you’ll know what it is in a page or two.
But that’s for later, my problem is now. I want to write this scene—I feel it is crucial for the movie to work—and I have no idea how to make it play.
Where should I enter the scene? I chose to do it with the drive up and the kids watching and then the line we’ve heard twice before, “Children, you father’s here,” except now it’s a strange and different voice.
But did I enter too early? Would it have been better if I’d come in after, say, a half hour of stilted talk? Or maybe that talk isn’t stilted, it’s just somehow wrong—what if Shirley asks if Spade found out who murdered his partner and Climber says, “It was a woman done him in”—meaning Echo—and does that cast a pall?
Or are they laughing and having just so much fun, and on they go, the laughter nutty and seemingly sincere and the woman from the state tells them time’s up and they are just crushed—but then you look in their eyes like the camera can do for you and you realize they are exhausted from the effort and it was all false and phony, then a cut to the kids waving happily and Climber waving back and it’s all so great and then you cut to him out of sight and the look of failure and despair on his face, and cut back to the kids and they are dying and after a pause it ends like this.
PHOEBE
(whispered)
…shit…
SHIRLEY
(softer still)
…language…
The fact is this: as I write this down on the tenth of June, just after the Knicks have vanquished the hated Pacers, I don’t know, as the French are so fond of saying, whether to shit or wind my watch.
But if I don’t know the answers to that scene, I do have a bunch of Act II stuff I do know.
I know that some time passes, a season. If we started in summer, now it’s fall.
I know there’s a picture in the paper—an engagement snapshot, Echo and Trip.
I know that Climber sees it, dies a little more.
I know the kids are in despair.
I know that Climber is working on some crummy case, Jimmy with him, Jimmy pissed at him because he’s drinking again.
I know the kids are growing more despondent.
I know Climber’s drinking is close to out of control.
I know there’s a shot of the woods in Central Park, daylight, the colors dazzling.
I know there’s a shot of the woods in the Estate, night, and shadows are seen moving.
And, finally, and most of all, I know this: we have just seen Shirley being kidnapped.
That was my fastball.
End of Act II.
* * *
Ideas
One of the yummy things young people don’t realize is that as they get more mature, senior moments are lurking behind every tree. It’s not tip-of-the-tongue stuff, we all have those in our teens. No, I mean the total blank that creeps up and grabs you and you cannot remember what it was you had for lunch that day until, half an hour later, this bursts out of you: “Oysters! It was oysters!”
So, for a very long time, I have kept a microcassette recorder near, and I put down briefly the events of the day as they more or less happen. After which I promptly forget about them till maybe a week later when I type them up. I guess it’s a journal, but I’m not sure I’d honor it with that name.
Anyway, one November day two years ago, two movie stories dropped in to stay for a while. This now is exactly from my journal.
20 novBILL—
WHAT IF SERIAL KILLERS TURNED OUT TO BE A GENE AND WE DESTROY THEM IN THEIR MOTHERS WOMB AND WHAT IF WE’RE DOWN TO THE END OF THEM AND A BIG THING ABOUT SHOULD WE MAKE THEM EXTINCT BECAUSE WE CAN LEARN A LOT ABOUT THEM. SOMETHING HERE, WHO KNOWS WHAT
WHAT ABOUT JANE FONDA IS A FINE HAPPILY MARRIED MOM IN NEW YORK AND GOES TO FANCY RESTAURANT AND MERYL STREEP IS THERE AND WE DON’T KNOW THEY KNOW EACH OTHER AND JANE GOES TO THE LADIES ROOM AND THROWS UP AND TELLS HUBBY SICK AND MERYL SMOKING ON SIDEWALK AND NO COMMENT AND JANE GOES HOME AND PHONE RINGS AND RINGS AND NO PICK UP—KICKER IS THEY ARE THE TWO SCHOOLGIRLS WHO MURDERED THIRTY FIVE YEARS AGO AND WERE SWORN NEVER TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN AND THEY KNOW THEY WILL KILL AGAIN.
Looking at these two visitors now, I think this: they could both work as movies. They even have ideas behind them.
The gene notion is not, repeat not, a movie about scientific debate. It would more than likely be an
action flick. And what makes it valid for me is I think I read somewhere that we are having the same debate about what to do with the last remaining germs from a terrible pandemic of the past. They are in a canister in a protected cold room and should we keep them around for what they might tell scientists about future diseases or should we spare the world from possible disaster?
My guess is the movie would be about the scientists who win out and who urge that the last pregnant women who carried the gene be allowed to have their kids—so the scientists could study them—
—only guess what, time passes, the kids grow up, and then get away, and there they are, rampaging across the countryside, the first serial killers in decades marauding on a helpless population until our hero—gotta have one, right?—brings them down.
The personal basis of the Meryl/Jane movie is that I have always been fascinated by the things we do to one another. There was an article I read years ago about a small town in terror. The town had a bully but he was not the reason for their fear. This bully had a brother who was even more of a bully than he was, but that was not the reason the town was frozen.
The second bully was due to be released from prison, that was the basis for the fear—because individually, these two guys were just bullies, but together they became lethal. The town knew that in just a few days some of them were going to die. (I wrote that in a speech delivered by Michael Douglas in The Ghost and the Darkness. It’s there, you just don’t remember it.)
The actual basis for the movie, of course, is the famous New Zealand murder case, the one where the two teenage girls grow so close that they murder one of their mothers, who was about to separate them. (Made into a movie with a very young Kate Winslet, Heavenly Creatures.)
The two girls were caught, tried, convicted, sent to prison, and one of the conditions of their eventual release was that they were never allowed to see each other again. (One of them went on to become a well-known mystery writer, under the pen name Anne Perry.)
You may disagree, but I think it’s a terrific notion, after thirty-five years, these two meeting again, fighting fate but helpless really, because they know they are, for reasons unknown, deadly together. And one of their husbands, or worse, children, is going to suffer for their madness. Theirs is indeed an appointment in Samarra. (Look it up.)
The point to be made here is you can write a Hollywood film with an idea at its basis: what is the true nature of evil, or whatever else you want along those lines. But if you do, if that is where your writing heart lies, then you must learn to be masters of deception, hiding your intellectual notions behind strong emotional moments, action stuff, whatever. Shaw could write plays that were essentially talk. You can get away with this kind of stuff in a novel, too.
But guess what: movies need to move. Forget that at your peril.
* * *
I think Act III starts with a sharp loud sound—we’re in the front hall of the great house and the large metal knocker outside is just being pounded. Echo rushes to the door, throws it open as Climber roars in.
Middle of the night.
Looking worse than we’ve yet seen him. Not drunk, nothing like that. But he has been abusing the shit out of himself and it shows. As they talk we realize this—she looks like hell too. This next is lightning fast, overlapping. Whatever they have been, now they are two parents dealing with a nightmare crisis.
CLIMBER
--when?--
ECHO
--around eleven--
CLIMBER
(sharply)
--do better!
ECHO
I went in to check Phoebe--the news was just starting--she was sound asleep--I tucked her in a little better and went down to Shirley’s room--five after, seven maybe. Right after I found the note--
CLIMBER
--asking?--
ECHO
--twenty-five million, small bills--
CLIMBER
--by?--
ECHO
--dawn--
CLIMBER
(Pause)
Proof of life?
ECHO
(Pause)
The note said a call at two.
(a glance at her watch)
Twenty minutes.
CLIMBER says nothing, begins to move toward the grand staircase. ECHO points toward the library.
ECHO
Everyone’s in here.
CUT TO
THE LIBRARY. A dozen men, some of them uniformed. Detectives, technicians, equipment hurriedly being set up. Trip is there, too.
CLIMBER
Not quite.
(as he takes the stairs two at a time.)
What we have, then, when I set you up with the shot of the woods on the estate at the end of Act II, is the setup of the kidnapping. It’s still vague. We saw only the shadows moving, never were able to make out what they were. We really only know that a divorced couple are trying to cope with the greatest fear all parents have. We know nothing of the kidnappers.
We want, I think, the following things—
—we want Shirley to live—
—we want the family safe—
—and we want them back together as a family, Shirley and Phoebes, Echo and her Climber.
Think for a moment now—how do we do that?
(I am smiling as I wrote that last sentence because you probably think I know how. And the truth is: not a clue.)
Okay. I have had this next scene for a month now. Hope you like it. Go with God.
CUT TO
PHOEBE’S ROOM. She’s sleeping. CLIMBER enters, moves silently to the window, looks out.
CUT TO
THE VIEW BEYOND IN THE DARKNESS. The woods we saw earlier when we found SHIRLEY was being kidnapped.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER. He waits by the window for a moment.
PHOEBE
I’m awake.
CLIMBER
There’s a first.
PHOEBE
I was asleep earlier, but I’m awake now.
(soft)
Hey, Daddy.
CLIMBER
(sits beside her on the bed)
Hey Phoebes.
PHOEBE
You heard?
CLIMBER
Mommy called me.
(and now)
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER as he lifts her into his arms, holds her more tightly than he ever has.
CLIMBER
I need you to wish me luck, Phoebes.
PHOEBE
What do you mean?
CLIMBER
Well, I haven’t taken this trip for so long, and I’m afraid I’m a little rusty.
PHOEBE
What trip? Where are you going?
CLIMBER
On the Big A, kid--on the biggest adventure of them all.
PHOEBE
(eyes bright now)
Can I come?
CLIMBER
(sharp head shake)
Not in the cards.
PHOEBE
But I’m almost eight-- and you know how brave I can be.
CUT TO
CLIMBER. CLOSE UP.
CLIMBER
Phoebes, I would take you--I would love to take you--but I need helpers tonight. Not baggage. The only ones who can come tonight have to know something.
(long pause)
And you were asleep when it happened.
CUT TO
PHOEBE. CLOSE UP.
PHOEBE
(long long pause. Then--)
Are they going to come for me next?
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER, picking her up now, lifting her out of bed.
CLIMBER
Never gonna happen.
CUT TO
THE WINDOW as he carries her there in his arms. She won’t look out.
CLIMBER
Tell me what was so horrible.
(PHOEBE shakes her head)
It’ll be our secret.
PHOEBE
(long
pause--finally)
Shirley looked up at my window--I know he hoped I was there like I always am-- and I could tell what he was saying with his eyes. Help me. Help me.
(beat)
And I ran back to bed and hid under the covers.
CLIMBER
Okay. Tell me what was so horrible.
PHOEBE
I just did--I cannot believe you weren’t paying attention--
CLIMBER
--you mean you should have rushed outside and beaten everybody up and rescued your brother?
(before she can reply, his voice changes--very soft)
Rescue him now, Phoebes.
PHOEBE
I don’t know what you mean.
CLIMBER
Rescue him now, look out there.
CUT TO
PHOEBE. She stares out the window.
CUT TO
WHAT SHE SEES OUTSIDE THE WINDOW. Woods, trees, moonlight, shadows.
CUT TO
ECHO, entering the bedroom now, starting to speak--
--but CLIMBER gestures for her to shut up.
She shuts up, moves a little closer.
CUT TO
CLIMBER AND PHOEBE. The same whispering tone again.
CLIMBER
What did you see, Phoebes? Tell me about them.
PHOEBE looks out the window again.
CUT TO
WHAT SHE SEES. Same as before. Woods trees, moonlight, shadows.
CUT TO
CLIMBER AND PHOEBE. She shakes her head.
CLIMBER
The Big A is starting, kiddo--last chance to get a ticket--
CUT TO
PHOEBE, looking out the window again.
WHAT SHE SEES. Same as before--
--only it isn’t--it’s the kidnapping shot--
--the shadows are different and there’s a breeze now and HERE COME TWO MEN, hurrying into view--
--PHOEBE is back seeing what she saw--
--they are only there for a blink--
--but they carry SHIRLEY between them--
PHOEBE (OVER)
Two men--
CLIMBER (OVER)
--same size?--
CUT TO
THE ROOM, CLIMBER AND PHOEBE, ECHO nearby.
CLIMBER
(as PHOEBE shakes her head)
--start with the bigger one--
PHOEBE
--hat--limped--
CLIMBER
--right or left?
CUT TO
Which Lie Did I Tell? Page 37