by Art Linson
JOHNNY: Ben, I’d like to introduce you to Jimmy.
They shake. Johnny whispers in Ben’s ear.
JOHNNY: He wants to invest in the next one.
BEN: That’s good. Where did he get his money?
JOHNNY: Hair.
BEN: Oh, hair.
JOHNNY: He has more than seventy shops.
BEN: Johnny, that’s very good to know. I’m going to think about that.
INT. CINEPLEX MEN’S ROOM
As Ben comes out of the stall he overhears two men discussing the movie. He ducks behind a wall. One man, Dick Bell, is an agent whose smartly dapper manner camouflages his sweaty desperation. The other guy is in marketing.
STUDIO MARKETING GUY: Whoa! That thing fell off the screen.
DICK BELL: I thought the girl was very, very, very good, didn’t you?
Ben hesitates, stays in the stall.
STUDIO MARKETING GUY: Please. Blood. Body parts. Heartbreaking sadness. How am I supposed to sell this thing?
DICK BELL: Let’s be positive. This could be the year for ‘grief.’
STUDIO MARKETING GUY: Grief for whom? They shot the fucking dog in the fucking head!
Ben decides to show himself. An awkward moment. Ben confidently walks to the basin.
STUDIO MARKETING GUY: Hey, Ben.
BEN: Good to see you, Bob.
Slightly embarrassed, Bob leaves. Dick stays.
BEN: Dick, what are you doing here?
DICK BELL: I represent the girl. She’s going to be a star.
BEN: I thought the preview policy was ‘no agents.’
DICK BELL: I snuck in. I’m gonna sneak out.
Pause.
BEN: So?
DICK BELL: So?
BEN: What’d you think?
Dick takes an awkward moment.
DICK BELL: There’s a lot of interesting stuff to … I loved the music. I loved it. It’s still in my head.
BEN: Thank you.
He exits.
INT. THEATER LOBBY
As Ben exits he sees Lou waiting for him across the lobby patiently eating her popcorn. As he walks, he’s followed by his ‘D’ girl, Dawn.
DAWN: It’s almost there. If Jeremy would just cooperate with the cut and we get lucky with the reviews, we have a chance.
BEN: We’ll deal with all of this tomorrow. I’ve got to talk to Lou. It’s time.
He walks over to Lou. Her eyes are moist with commiseration, but her crisp demeanor easily maintains the balance of power.
LOU: Ben, it’s a good movie.
BEN: Yes, it is a good movie, Lou, isn’t it?
LOU: A good movie, and in the end, that’s all that’s important.
BEN: That’s what they say.
LOU: Where’s your director?
BEN: Missed his plane at Heathrow. He’s sick about it. He gets in tomorrow morning.
LOU: It’s so hard to produce a good movie.
BEN: Very.
LOU: I respect it.
BEN: Lou, you’re making me cry …
As a youngish man in a wrinkled dark shirt wearing a baseball hat and dark glasses interrupts them, they quickly change their apprehensive expressions and start to gush.
LOU: Sean, brilliant work. Brilliant.
BEN: You’re never not great. Just great.
They all trade hugs. Sean and Lou casually kiss on the lips.
SEAN: Think we gotta shot here?
LOU: Yes, absolutely.
SEAN: That’s very generous.
LOU: See you in Cannes.
SEAN: Brian called you about the plane?
LOU: Yes. No problem.
Sean offers a broad grin, flashes a thumbs-up and vanishes into the night. Lou, back to business.
LOU: We’re going to lose money.
BEN: How do you know?
LOU: A lot of money.
BEN: You know this before it’s done?
LOU: That’s right.
BEN: Even before the DVD comes out?
LOU: Pretty much.
BEN: I have to think about this.
LOU: Do.
The preview cards are boxed up and handed off to Carl.
Cut to:
EXT. 405 FREEWAY HEADING SOUTH—NIGHT
SUPER: 11:30 PM
Ben is driving back from the screening. On the passenger seat is the box of preview cards. Ben glances at the box, steels himself, and continues driving. After a beat, he can’t resist any longer. He veers to the shoulder of the freeway, stops, turns on his overhead light, and grabs the box of cards. He randomly selects a few:
C.U. on cards—‘I just want to go home and hug my children …’ Another card: ‘It would’ve been funnier if you ate the dog.’ Another card: ‘Slow and painful …’
Ben picks up the top sheet. E.C.U. of his finger moving to the ‘definite recommend box.’ The box says 1 percent. As his finger moves to the ‘definitely won’t recommend box,’ it stops.
Ben remains expressionless as the traffic from the 405 whips by.
Fade to:
INT. BEN’S BEDROOM—MORNING
TUESDAY
AN ALARM CLOCK blasts the silence. A hand reaches in and shuts it off.
SUPER: 7 AM
INT. BEN’S KITCHEN
Ben is seated at his kitchen table in what appears to be a modest, empty, neat apartment, seemingly a makeshift residence for a guy between stops. The only accoutrement of luxury is an espresso machine. The box of preview cards are scattered next to a cup of espresso and a Red Bull.
Ben is on the phone while perusing Daily Variety. As the camera pushes in on the front cover we see a big picture of a young handsome thirty something guy below the headline: ‘JACK MCDONAGH COMMITS SUICIDE. TEN PERCENTER PUTS HIMSELF IN TURN AROUND.’
Ben casually looks at the news.
BEN: I did call Jeremy after the screening last night. What do you mean? I was not reluctant. He’s the director for God’s sake! If I did say to him ‘fuck me, why should this one be easy,’ that doesn’t mean I’m not enthusiastic …
Ben’s call-waiting signal beeps:
BEN: Hold on … Hello? Hello??? (pause) No it’s not the machine. Talk to me, Cal. (pause) What are you saying? (pause) He arrived thirty pounds overweight and he’s sporting a Grizzly Adams beard? … that’s no big deal.
Ben pauses to think. He pushes the box away.
BEN: He’s fooling with you. We don’t start shooting for five days. I’ll join you today and we’ll talk to him. Don’t worry. He’ll shave. Okay I gotta go.
Ben presses the call-waiting button. He glances at one last miserable preview card. He can’t resist.
C.U. of card. There are two primitive drawings of a pair of hands. One with a thumb pointing down and the other with the middle finger pointing straight up.
BEN: Hello. As I said, I am enthusiastic. It’s just too soon to get excited. But between you and me all signs say through the roof. Tell him not to worry.
He takes one more look at the head shot of Jack, the dead 10 percenter, on the cover of Variety.
BEN: Did you see this headline? ‘Ten percenter puts himself in turnaround?’ What a headline. Cold. I’ll talk to you later.
Ben hangs up, calmly neatens the preview cards and puts them back in the box.
Cut to:
EXT. BEN’S APARTMENT COMPLEX—SAME MORNING
ANGLE ON BEN as he exits a not unpleasant, ordinary apartment court in Brentwood. A little understated for a movie producer. His cell phone is in one hand, assorted papers in another. We see that he’s casually dressed. His only affectation is that he wears no socks. The rims of his eyes are red. He gets into a brand new Porsche Cayenne and drives west down Sunset Boulevard.
INT./EXT. BEN’S BMW—KELLY’S HOUSE
SUPER: 7:45 AM
ANGLE ON THE CAR AS IT ENTERS a classier neighborhood of expensive homes in the Pacific Palisades. He pulls into the driveway and stops. Max and Sophie, ages five and seven, run out of the house laughing, as Ben ge
ts out of the car.
MAX/SOPHIE: Hi Daddy, hi daddy.
BEN: Morning gorgeouses … Who dresses you guys?
MAX/SOPHIE: WE DO!
MAX: Is there something wrong with it?
BEN: No, no. C’mon …
He turns to go.
MAX: Mom wants to ask you something.
BEN: Now?
SOPHIE: She said it’s okay for you to go in the house instead of using your cell phone.
MAX: No cell phones.
Ben takes a beat to stare at the front door.
BEN: Okay, get in the car and buckle yourselves up. I’ll be right back.
INT. KELLY’S HOUSE FOYER
Ben is standing in the foyer as his ex-wife, Kelly looks down on him from atop the staircase. In her midthirties, she is quite attractive. They both reveal that awkwardness of a separation, still fresh. Vestiges of love are in the air but a touch of hatred is circling. She looks him over. He looks back.
BEN: You always looked best in the morning.
KELLY: Thank you … you promised.
BEN: Kelly, I said I’ll do it.
KELLY: You always say you’ll do it but you don’t.
BEN: I know, I’m under siege … I realize I always say that but this time it’s true.
KELLY: For all of us, Ben.
BEN: I’ll do it. I will take them this weekend. I want to take the kids … I know, a grand total of ninety minutes per day of TV and video.
KELLY: Or the kids can’t stay over.
BEN: I know.
Ben walks into the living room.
KELLY: Wait, wait, wait … What are you doing?
BEN: Where is the big sofa chair?
KELLY: I’m having it recovered.
BEN: Oh. I miss it.
KELLY: You miss the chair?
BEN: I loved that chair. I sat in it all the time. I remember how much I paid for it.
KELLY: Okay, let’s play by the rules, Ben.
BEN: I thought our last therapy session went really well, didn’t you?
KELLY: Yes, but this therapy is called ‘how to learn to live apart.’ So we can move on gracefully.
BEN: I still have feelings.
KELLY: So do I.
A beat.
BEN: (pointing to where the chair used to be) The dark green velvet was such a good look for that chair. Why?
KELLY: I felt like a change.
BEN: Can I call you?
KELLY: (can’t help but smile) Yes, of course.
Cut to:
EXT. BRENTWOOD GRAMMAR SCHOOL
Ben waves good-bye to his kids. As they run into the school, he sees Scott Solomon, another father who has dropped his kid off and also the guy on his answering machine.
SCOTT: What’s the ‘number’?
BEN: It’s just a ‘number.’
SCOTT: Sure it is. Did you read my pages?
BEN: Yes. The studio just wants one more little rewrite …
SCOTT: I’m done. It has to stop.
BEN: You can do this. We’re at that stage where a couple of tiny fixes …
SCOTT: The madness has to stop.
BEN: C’mon, it’s a process. You know that.
SCOTT: A process? I’ve been working on this script for two and a half fucking years. Where’s the light at the … oh fuck. Ben, listen, you promised me, if you weren’t going to make this picture, you’d give it back to me.
You gave me your word.
BEN: I did?
SCOTT: Yes. You did.
BEN: Things change. You know that.
SCOTT: I can’t do it.
BEN: Scott don’t make me say …
SCOTT: What?
BEN: Don’t make me say … ‘you’re bought and paid for.’
SCOTT: Fine. But remember there is the next script, and believe me, I have a next one …
BEN: … what is it?
No answer.
BEN: You’re not going to tell me?
SCOTT: No, I’m not going to tell you.
BEN: I’m gonna find out anyway, why don’t you just tell me now?
SCOTT: I’m going to write about a florist.
BEN: Uh huh …
SCOTT: It’s a rich, undiscovered world. Florists are at the center of deceit and power.
BEN: It’s about flowers?
SCOTT: It’s Shampoo with thorns. Florists are dangerous. Ask your ex-wives.
A beat. They stop walking.
BEN: It’s not a movie.
SCOTT: It’s not a movie? What is it?
BEN: Rosebuds on the big screen, I don’t think so. It won’t work. Why don’t you try Leonard—it might be his thing.
SCOTT: I already did.
A beat. Scott starts to walk away, Ben follows.
BEN: You went to Leonard before you went to me?
SCOTT: He’s the coach of my kid’s soccer team.
BEN: But Scott, c’mon. Leonard?
SCOTT: What difference does it make if you’re not interested?
BEN: A big difference. Loyalty matters to me. (pause) What’d Leonard say?
SCOTT: He thought there were some interesting aspects to it.
BEN: What did he say?
SCOTT: He said, ‘It’s not a movie.’
BEN: There you have it.
Ben gives him a look as if to say ‘two producers can’t be wrong.’
BEN: Don’t worry, Scott. I’m going to get our script made.
SCOTT: Too bad about Jack, huh.
BEN: It’s rare. Usually agents kill others not themselves.
SCOTT: Out of the blue?
BEN: Hey, it happens.
SCOTT: SUICIDE? It happens!
BEN: Stress. It builds up. I’ll see you later.
Cut to:
INT. BEN’S BMW DRIVING DOWN SUNSET
Ben drives farther west until he enters a large circular driveway of ANOTHER HOUSE. This neighborhood is even more luxurious than the first. He honks. A very hot girl, Zoe, comes dashing out and gets in the car.
ZOE: Hi.
BEN: Hey, baby.
He pecks her on the cheek.
ZOE: I think Mom’s in back if you want to say hi to her.
He thinks about it.
BEN: Do I have to? Maybe, next time.
He’s about to pull out of the driveway. He looks at her.
BEN: What’s with your eyes? They look red. Were you crying?
ZOE: Uh no. Just stuff.
BEN: Well, if it’s boy stuff, you can always talk to me. I can tell you a few things. I know things your mother may not know.
ZOE: I’m sure.
BEN: No, seriously, you can ask me.
ZOE: I’m okay.
A beat.
BEN: All right. Let me go talk to your mom.
EXT. MARILYN’S HOUSE/BACKYARD
He walks up the manicured stone pathway. Even though this relationship is two clicks back, it still seems to smart a bit. After all, they share a daughter and Ben’s probably still on the hook for child support.
BEN: Hi Marilyn.
MARILYN: Hey, Ben.
BEN: What’s with Zoe?
MARILYN: Oh, girl stuff. I don’t know.
BEN: Is she dating? Parties? She doesn’t really tell me much. She keeps things pretty much to herself.
MARILYN: I think she gets that from you. I think she tells us as much about what she does as you would tell me about what you do. Secrets seem to be the family hobby. I think it’s in the DNA.
BEN: I suppose. (he looks over the property) Boy, this place has gone way up. I wish I still owned it.
MARILYN: (smiling) Yeah. But you don’t.
BEN: (smiling back) Yeah. I gotta go.
MARILYN: Lookin’ good, Ben.
BEN: You too.
Cut to:
INT./EXT. BEN’S BMW—MOMENTS LATER
Ben and Zoe drive south down Amalfi toward the school. Zoe has turned her music station on and her spirits have brightened.
ZOE: You know not every seventeen-y
ear-old girl gets driven to high school by their dad. I like it, makes me feel like a kid. (pause) I like to feel like a kid sometimes.
BEN: You are a kid and I’m a lucky guy. I still get to drive you to school.
EXT. PARKING LOT CROSSROADS UPPER SCHOOL
ZOE: So you think you’ll pick me up and drop me off when I go to college.
BEN: You bet. If you’ll let me.
Ben’s BlackBerry lights up. Ben glances but tries to stay focused on his daughter.
Text message in large caps, ‘JEREMY IS IN THE OFFICE! HELP!’
ZOE: Let’s just say it’s negotiable.
BEN: I’m a good negotiator.
They smile at each other. Ben watches as Zoe gets out, meets up with her friends, and heads into school. As Ben drives away, he grabs his BlackBerry and pushes his speed dial.
Cut to:
INT. BEN’S OFFICE
A VERY CLOSE SHOT OF A MAN’S SHAVED HEAD.
SUPER: 9 AM
His left ear holds four pierced earrings and on the side of his neck the word ‘chai’ in large Hebrew lettering is tattooed in blue-black ink. He’s wearing red lipstick. Don’t be fooled by the extreme ‘get up,’ this is a serious guy who considers himself a serious filmmaker. This is Jeremy Brunell, the English director who missed the preview from last night. Jeremy is on the couch dressed in black leather, a sleeveless, baggy T-shirt that exposes wrist-to-armpit tattoos. Dawn sits at the other end of the couch taking notes.
BEN: (his voice is coming through the speaker phone, he’s still in the car) Jeremy, Would you please stop saying, ‘If they don’t fuck up my cut, we may just have something we don’t mind putting our names on.’
JEREMY: Mate, I don’t wanna get too lofty here, but I made a film that doesn’t wallow in the cliches of retribution. It doesn’t try to satisfy by letting the audience ‘get even.’ You knew I didn’t do that stuff when I was hired.
Cut to:
INT./EXT. BEN’S CAR—SONY GATE
Weaving through traffic he arrives at the studio entrance.
BEN: That’s true. But let’s just say when those that put up the money finally see the bad guys get away and the little pet dog get murdered, they get concerned.
JEREMY (O.S.): You said, Lou said, ‘it was a “good” movie.’
Cut to:
INT. BEN’S OFFICE
BEN (O.S.): She did. Three times.
JEREMY: Is that ‘concern’ to you?
BEN (O.S.): A bit.
JEREMY: How’s ’at?
EXT. SONY LOT
Ben closes his car door and marches toward his office.
BEN: Jeremy, I don’t know what good means in south London. But north of fucking Pico, at a preview screening where Lou says ‘good’ three times, it means drop your pants, bite down hard ’cause this one’s gonna hurt.