Big Eyes
Page 2
A wistful shrug. He chugs his glass.
WALTER
Of course, walkin’ away from the bourgeois scene wasn’t a snap. I had to quit my job. Leave my wife. These choices aren’t easy…
She stares at her wine.
MARGARET
I’ve never acted freely. I was the daughter. The wife. The mother…
(she sighs)
All my paintings are of Jane, because she’s all I know.
WALTER
You shouldn’t knock your work. I’d give an eyetooth to have your talent.
Margaret is taken aback. He’s absolutely sincere.
WALTER
You can look into someone and capture them on canvas! You paint people!
(he gestures sadly)
I can only paint—things. My street scenes are charming … but at the end of the day, it’s just a collection of sidewalks and buildings.
Walter goes silent. He has revealed his fears.
ANGLE—MARGARET
She doesn’t know what to say. Gently, she takes his hand.
MARGARET
Walter, I’d bet you could paint anything.
WALTER
(intense)
Whew … Baby, when you look at me like that, I could fall hard.
Margaret gulps. Afraid to talk.
MARGARET
This is moving fast. You’re my first date in a long time…
Neither of them speaks. The tension builds—
There is a spark between them…
CUT TO:
EXT. PALACE OF FINE ARTS—DAY
A lush green knoll, overlooking the park. Margaret and Walter have set up TWO EASELS. They both smoke cigarettes. Margaret is spattered with paint, stirring colors. Walter paces about, framing the scene with his fingers.
Jane sits in front of them, playing paddleball. Bonk! Bonk!
MARGARET
Sweetie, could you stop fidgeting?
JANE
Mother, after all this time, you MUST know what my face looks like.
Margaret winces. Walter laughs. She gets busy, penciling in LARGE OVAL EYES. Then—quick marks for the mouth and nose. Impatient, Jane spies on Walter’s canvas.
JANE
Hey! Your canvas is blank!
WALTER
Er, you can’t rush inspiration—
MARGARET
Jane! Don’t bother Mr. Keane. You know creativity has to well up from the inside…
WALTER
Don’t worry. She’s not bothering me…!
Walter leaves Jane. He points at Margaret’s canvas.
WALTER
There’s something I gotta ask you. What’s with the big crazy eyes …?
MARGARET
I believe things can be seen in eyes. They’re the windows of the soul—
WALTER
Yeah, but, c’mon! You draw ’em like pancakes! I mean, they’re WAY out of proportion!
He’s having fun, but she remains serious.
MARGARET
Eyes are how I express my emotions. That’s how I’ve always drawn them.
(earnest)
When I was little, I had surgery that left me deaf for a period. I couldn’t hear, so I found myself staring … relying on people’s eyes…
She smiles shyly. Understanding, he smiles back. Then—
VOICE
Walter? Hey—Walt!
Walter spins, startled. A FRIENDLY GUY in a suit strolls up.
FRIENDLY GUY
I thought that was you!
WALTER
(embarrassed)
Oh! Uh … er, hi, Don.
FRIENDLY GUY
Boy, I’m glad to see you! Have we heard back from the city, on that setback? My guys really need the variance, for the first floor retail.
Walter is mortified. He turns away from Margaret.
WALTER
Um … we should hear from Permits by Thursday.
FRIENDLY GUY
Yeah? Well that’s terrif’! I’ll tell the architects!
Pleased, the guy cheerily strides away.
ON WALTER AND MARGARET
He is stricken. Something ominous just happened.
MARGARET
What was that??
WALTER
(ashamed)
I—I didn’t want you to know…
A long, horrible pause. Walter’s face turns gray. We SLOWLY PUSH IN. This revelation is churning. Agony.
WALTER
I’m in commercial real estate.
A stunned beat.
MARGARET
You’re a—Realtor?
WALTER
(contrite)
YES! A hugely successful Realtor! Top earner in the downtown office three years running!
Walter and Margaret share a tender moment as they fall in love.
MARGARET
And you’re … ashamed?
WALTER
Of course! Any blockhead can arrange a sublet!
(heartfelt)
All I ever wanted was to support myself as an artist…
(sad; beat)
I tried to make a clean break, but couldn’t cut it. I’m just a goddam Sunday painter. An amateur.
Margaret looks at him, touched by his vulnerability.
CUT TO:
INT. MARGARET’S APARTMENT—DUSK
End of the day. Golden light slants in through the windows of this small, tidy apartment.
The door opens. Margaret holds it for Walter, who chivalrously staggers in, carrying all her supplies: easel, paints, cans. He carefully puts it all down—then turns.
Beat. Walter stares at Margaret, their faces caught in the warm light. Then, enchanted, he kisses her.
Silence.
Margaret smiles, captivated. Caught in his glow. The moment could last forever…
IN THE DOORWAY
Jane stares unhappily. Threatened.
JANE
A-hem!
ON MARGARET
She turns, startled. Feeling guilty, Margaret rushes from Walter. Busying herself, she skims through the MAIL.
Jane shakes her head and marches out.
Margaret flips through envelopes—until one stops her. On edge, she slowly removes an official DOCUMENT. She scans it … and her face drops. Crushed. Something terrible…
Walter is worried.
WALTER
What’s wrong …?
MARGARET
(soft)
Frank wants to take away Jane. He says I’m an unfit mother…
Walter is taken aback.
WALTER
You’re a perfect mother.
MARGARET
He told the court Jane doesn’t have a proper home. It’s beyond my abilities as a single woman…
Margaret trails off, shaken.
Walter gulps unsurely. Then, he takes her in his arms. We SLOWLY PUSH IN.
WALTER
Marry me.
MARGARET
(she GASPS)
Walter! I—
WALTER
(he puts a finger to her lips)
Shh. Don’t think of a reason to say no. ’Cause I’ve got a million reasons to say yes.
(he gives a winning smile)
I know it makes no sense! But just think of the fun we’ll have.…! And I’ll take care of you girls.
Margaret stammers, speechless. She doesn’t know what to say.
Walter pulls out his ace. In a debonair move, he creakily drops to his knee. He exudes a hammy, wonderful romance:
WALTER
Margaret, I’m on my knee! C’mon, whatdya say? Let’s get married! We can be in Hawaii by the weekend.
MARGARET
Hawaii? M-marriage?
(emotional)
Walter, I’m crazy about you … but I’m overwhelmed. Why would we go to Hawaii?!
WALTER
(beguiling)
Because you’re a princess … and you deserve to get married in paradise.
CLOSE-U
P—MARGARET
Margaret shudders, tears in her eyes. Hawaiian MUSIC begins…
DISSOLVE TO:
STOCK FOOTAGE—DAY
A propeller-driven PAN AM airplane soars through the sky.
EXT. HAWAII—DAY
Hawaii, 1958. Heaven on earth. Blossoming flowers, rare birds, lush greenery. Margaret is experiencing total bliss.
We widen. She and Walter stand in front of a waterfall, getting married. Jane is maid of honor. A PRIEST smiles, and Walter places a ring on Margaret’s finger. They kiss.
EXT. BEACH—SUNSET
Margaret and Walter lie on the sand, making out. Cuddling, running their fingers along each other’s bodies. She stares up, endlessly happy.
MARGARET
You’re right … this is paradise. Only God could make those colors.
WALTER
I knew you’d love it.
The Hawaiian wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Walter Keane.
MARGARET
Oh, can’t we stay here forever??
WALTER
Well, I don’t know about forever. But maybe … I can arrange another week.
EXT. HOTEL GROUNDS—DAY
Thatched umbrellas, Polynesian fun. Margaret is set up, drawing PORTRAITS of the GUESTS. Walter regales them as they wait. Joking, gregariously handing out mai tais.
Margaret finishes a picture. She beams at Walter…then signs the picture “KEANE.”
Walter gapes, astonished at this gesture. Margaret locks eyes with him. She smiles girlishly, radiating happiness.
CUT TO:
INT. CHINESE RESTAURANT—DAY
Old school Cantonese: Dragons and red lacquer. Margaret eats lunch with Dee-Ann, showing off SNAPSHOTS from the trip.
MARGARET
This is a waterfall … The air was so fresh you could taste it. Here’s an ancient altar … That statue is Kane, the god of creation. I said a prayer to him. Oh! Here’s Walter and Janie, building a sandcastle—
Dee-Ann raises an eyebrow.
DEE-ANN
This is all happening mighty quick. In the time you moved here, I’ve had two dates. You’re already married.
MARGARET
(she giggles)
I thought there was a void in my life. Well … Walter’s filled it.
DEE-ANN
Walter’s filled a lot of things. He’s diddled every skirt on the art circuit.
MARGARET
You’re talking about my husband!
DEE-ANN
I know! That’s why I brought it up.
Margaret frowns, insulted.
MARGARET
I’m not naive.
(beat; she laughs)
Well, I am naive. But I know the man I’m marrying. Walter can act rash … but he’s a good provider. And he’s wonderful with Jane.
(clear-eyed)
Look—we’re both looking for a fresh start. I’m a divorcée with a child. Walter is a blessing.
Dee-Ann bites her tongue. The WAITER brings over the check. Sitting on it are TWO FORTUNE COOKIES.
Hm. Margaret stares, utterly serious. She reaches for one … then impulsively grabs the other. She cracks the cookie. Dee-Ann waits, curious. Margaret reads … then slowly smiles.
MARGARET
“You are on the threshold of untold success.”
INT. ART GALLERY—DAY
A Modish, happening gallery. The white walls are hung with ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONISM: slashing angles of color, painted-over rags and glued bolts. On the floor is SCULPTURE made from wood and wire.
In charge is RUBEN, a fussy man in a goatee. He’s schmoozing a FANCY LADY. They look at a spattered, distorted painting.
RUBEN
What’s brilliant about the composition is its spontaneity. The image has no visual center of attention.
FANCY LADY
It’s quite gestural.
RUBEN
Oh definitely! Strongly influenced by the tachistes.
FANCY LADY
I heard Tab Hunter was in here, looking at one.
RUBEN
Well … I’m not allowed to say…
He NODS HIS HEAD up-and-down: Yes, you’re right.
OUTSIDE
A car backfires. Ruben turns—and winces.
Through the windows is Walter, climbing out of his massive white Cadillac. He’s all done up, in beret and scarf. He opens the giant trunk and removes a pile of paintings.
Ruben cringes knowingly. He whispers:
RUBEN
Oh Christ, don’t come in here. Please don’t come in here…
The door SLAMS. Walter loudly barges in.
WALTER
Ruben, good day! Do you got a minute?
RUBEN
Walter. In polite society, the word is “appointment.”
FANCY LADY
(glancing back and forth)
Uh, I could come back later…
She anxiously hurries for the door. Ruben fumes.
Walter ignores it all and starts laying out his wares. First, the Parisian street scenes, one after another…
WALTER
You’re gonna love my stuff today.
RUBEN
Haven’t I seen that one before?
WALTER
Nah! That was painted in the Fifth Arrondissement. This is the Sixth Arrondissement!
RUBEN
(skeptical)
I don’t understand. You lived in Paris for a week. How can you still be cranking out paintings?
Walter laughs. He points to his head.
WALTER
It’s all up here.
(beat; a sentimental flourish)
And here.
He points to his heart. Ruben frowns and points to the wall.
RUBEN
Well, it’s not going up here.
(cruel)
Walter, you know we don’t go for that representational jazz! You’re too literal.
WALTER
(hurt)
Hey, art isn’t fashion!
RUBEN
Yes it IS!
(cutting)
People want Kandinsky, or Rothko! They don’t want goopy street scenes.
CLOSE-UP—WALTER
Ouch! This stings terribly.
Walter glares at the man, then softly slides aside his works. Quietly, he pulls out Margaret’s Big Eye paintings.
WALTER
Would they want … this?
RUBEN
(he shudders)
Good God! You’ve entered a new period.
WALTER
No … they’re my wife’s.
Fascinated, Ruben glances through Margaret’s oils. Canvas after canvas of sad kiddies against gray, bleak backgrounds.
RUBEN
Why are their eyes so big?! They’re like big stale jellybeans.
WALTER
(snide)
It’s Expressionism. Surely you recognize it.
RUBEN
(long beat)
Well—I’m just glad you two found each other.
WALTER
So … what do you say?
Ruben looks up, amazed. Walter seems oblivious.
RUBEN
I say, NO! It’s not art.
WALTER
(horrified)
Not—“art”??
RUBEN
It’s like the back of a magazine! “Draw the turtle! Send in a nickel and win the big contest!”
WALTER
How dare you! Lots of people would like this.
RUBEN
Well, nobody who’s walking through the door of this gallery!
(beat)
Now please! Clear out this clutter, before the taste police arrives.
Walter’s jaw drops.
CUT TO:
EXT. HUNGRY I MARQUEE—NIGHT
The hungry i—the hottest nightclub around, so hip it’s in a basement. The marquee says “Cal Tjader, TONIGHT!”
INT. HUNGRY I SHOWROOM—NIGHT
A swing
ing mob of BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE—suits, gowns and pearls. CAL TJADER’S BAND is crazed: vibes and bongo-driven JAZZ.
Margaret and Walter are squeezed in at a table. She nurses a Grasshopper. Walter’s in a foul mood, CHUGGING cocktails.
WALTER
We’ll never break in…! Because there’s a CABAL. A secret society of gallery owners and critics, who get together for Sunday brunch in Sausalito, deciding what’s “cool.”
(brooding)
They’re like Freemasons. No, worse! McCarthy, in his hearings: “That painter, I anoint. That painter, I banish to nowheresville!”
Heartfelt, Margaret disagrees.
MARGARET
I think people buy art because it touches them—
WALTER
Heh! You’re livin’ in fairy land! People don’t get to discover a thing. They buy art, because it’s in the right place at the right time.
O.S., MUSIC BUILDS. Muddled, Walter turns. He looks—and then—his eyes light up. He is getting an idea…
ONSTAGE
The band speeds to a climax, the percussion throbbing. Then, a final, crazed note. BAM!!
The crowd APPLAUDS. The club’s owner, ENRICO BANDUCCI, bounds on stage. Banducci is a theatrical, natty Italian guy with a skinny moustache and loud personality. He grabs a mike.
BANDUCCI
Give it up for Cal Tjader! That set was HUMMIN’! Al-aright, be sure to stick around for the one a.m. show!
The house lights come up. Banducci hops down, greeting guests, making his way out—when Walter glides up.
WALTER