The moment of truth. Margaret opens her mouth … and no sound comes out. She clenches up. Stomach tight. Mute.
Walter gives her a second—ticktock, ticktock. Then—he leaps into Opportunity. He SMACKS his hands.
WALTER
I am!
Walter swoops over and grabs Olivetti in a hearty clasp.
WALTER
It’s a delight to meet you, Signore! Buon giorno! Have you been an art lover for long …?
We move in tight on MARGARET, as the SOUND DIALS DOWN.
WALTER’S VOICE
I call that piece “The Waif.” Isn’t it striking? With its juxtaposition of girl, cat, and stairs … and its almost Flemish use of underpigment…
The SOUND dims … then goes SILENT.
Margaret stares in shock, unmoving.
Time seems to stop. She is frozen in grief. Until—
WALTER’S VOICE
Baby! Baby! Can you believe it?!!
CUT TO:
MINUTES LATER
Time has passed. Walter happily clutches Margaret.
WALTER
We made five grand!! Five THOUSAND dollars…!!!
(giddy)
And that wasn’t even one of your good ones!
Margaret blinks, lost.
In the b.g., Olivetti holds the painting, now wrapped-up in newspaper and twine. A pleased customer.
Margaret’s face darkens.
MARGARET
Don’t you mean … one of your good ones?
WALTER
No. No no! One of—OUR good ones.
(the spirit of generosity, he hands her a CHECK)
Look at those zeroes! We’ve hit the big time! We are now hanging in the collection of Italian industrialist Dino Olivetti! With his patronage comes credibility! And with credibility comes RESPECT!
Margaret stares at the check in her hands. At all the zeroes.
MARGARET
What about … honesty?
WALTER
Aw c’mon! The paintings say “Keane”! I’m Keane, you’re Keane. From now on, we are one and the same.
Walter pulls her tight. She doesn’t resist.
CUT TO:
SERIES OF SHOTS:
INT. APARTMENT—DAY
Upbeat MUSIC. Walter frantically tosses all the BROCHURES of him and Margaret into a FIREPLACE. They burn to ash.
INSERT—NEWSPAPER
We ZOOM into Dick Nolan’s SOCIETY COLUMN. Under a caricature of Dick is a highlighted ITEM. We hear TYPING:
DICK’S HUSHED VOICE
“What exactly is local painter Walter Keane up to? My spies tell me a big announcement is forthcoming…!”
EXT. CITY HALL—DAY
Walter proudly hands a painting to the confused-looking MAYOR.
WALTER
On behalf of the children of the world, we present this painting to Mayor Christopher!
EXT. PUBLIC BUILDING—DAY
Walter thrusts a painted Ballerina at a SOVIET DIPLOMAT.
WALTER
In the interest of peace through culture, we donate this painting to the people of Russia!
INT. PHONE BOOTH—NIGHT
Dick whispers into a phone.
DICK
The Purple Onion. Nine thirty. Joan Crawford has a dinner reservation.
INT. PURPLE ONION—NIGHT
JOAN CRAWFORD is eating with friends. Suddenly Walter lunges into view, startling her. He lugs a painting.
WALTER
Miss Crawford! In recognition of your cinematic craft, we bestow this painting, “The Lion and the Child”!
INT. APARTMENT—DAY
Margaret paints. Walter beams.
WALTER
Joan said “Marvelous”! MARVELOUS! That’s worth more than a thousand critics!
(he CLAPS his hands)
Hey, maybe she’ll come to our opening.
MARGARET
But … isn’t it strange? Artists get shown. They don’t build their own galleries.
WALTER
Says who?! Like John Q. Public cares? He’s FED UP with abstract neoformalism!
She responds—but he sexily puts his finger to her mouth.
WALTER
He digs real art. Your art! It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful…
Walter starts rubbing against her, dancing sensually. She laughs, embarrassed, her wet paint brushes smearing his chest.
She relents and relaxes. They dance around…
CUT TO:
EXT. CITY STREETS—EARLY MORNING
In the shadows, POSTERS of “The Waif” get glued up. Under her woeful face, it says “KEANE GALLERY 494 Broadway.” We WIDEN, as Walter, Margaret and Jane hastily slap up the posters. They carry glue buckets and a ladder.
WALTER
Ruben’s gonna choke when he sees this!
Little Jane tiredly glues another poster. She yawns.
Walter and Margaret dance as their art empire grows.
JANE
I remember when Momma painted that.
Huh?
Suddenly, Margaret freezes. She hadn’t anticipated this.
Margaret looks to Walter. He stares back, waiting.
MARGARET
Are you—sure? That was a long time ago.
JANE
Sure I’m sure! It was in our old apartment, and you had me sit on a stool in the kitchen—
WALTER
(cutting in)
No, dear, I’m afraid you’re confused. I painted that one—
JANE
No, Mother did! Look! I’m wearing my blue dress.
MARGARET
L-lots of girls have that dress…
Margaret trails off, sickened. Not knowing how to lie.
Walter takes charge. He kneels, then smiles gently at Jane.
WALTER
You have a good eye, sweetie. I painted it, but I was trying to mimic your mother’s style. You know, the style she USED to paint in.
CLOSE-UP—JANE
A loooooong pause. She examines the print. Then … she nods.
JANE
Well you did a really good job.
CUT TO:
EXT. SAN FRANCISCO NORTH BEACH—DAY
CU on the Waif. We widen, revealing the ENTIRE WORLD has been hijacked, blanketed by THE POSTERS. People gape—astonished and captivated.
Disconnected from it all, strolling alone, is Margaret. She is burdened by her own thoughts. Regretful…
Across the street, she sees a GOTHIC CHURCH. She stares up, awed by the beauty. It’s Catholic imagery in all its glory: Saints … Jesus … Mary…
Suddenly—the bells RING. Hm. Margaret takes a step…
INT. CHURCH CONFESSION BOOTH—DAY
Margaret tentatively enters and kneels. Beat—then the grille OPENS. She reacts, discomposed.
MARGARET
Hello. I’ve—never really done this before. I’m not sure how you…
(worried)
I was raised Methodist. If it’s a problem, I can go—
She starts to stand. The Priest blurts out.
PRIEST’S VOICE
No, no! Please. We don’t chase people away.
(beat)
What is troubling you?
Margaret takes a breath.
Then—
MARGARET
I lied to my child.
Pause.
PRIEST’S VOICE
Why would you do that?
MARGARET
My husband … he pressured me into doing it.
(pause)
I’ve never lied to her before. I’m not that kind of person.
Beat.
PRIEST’S VOICE
Is your husband that kind of person?
MARGARET
Ummm, no. I don’t think of him that way. I mean, he likes to tell stories … maybe he exaggerates a little … but he’s a good man.
(she thinks)
He takes care of us. He wants to make enough money to buy our family a house�
��
PRIEST’S VOICE
But what of the child? Will this lie bring harm to her?
MARGARET
“Harm”?? Oh! Not at all.
(beat)
I’m just looking for answers…
The Priest considers this.
PRIEST’S VOICE
Well, the modern world is a complicated place. Occasionally, children need to be sheltered from certain truths.
MARGARET
N-no. That’s not what—
PRIEST’S VOICE
It sounds like your husband is trying to make the best of an imperfect situation.
(beat)
You were raised Christian, so you know what we are taught: The man is head of the household.
(beat)
Perhaps you should trust his judgment.
CUT TO:
INT. KEANE GALLERY—NIGHT
Opening night! The gallery is packed with the IN CROWD: rich and drinking. The space is cool—the walls bright white, the art hanging under spotlights. JAZZ plays on the stereo.
At one painting, a HIPSTER COUPLE stares at the image of a sorrowful girl holding an armful of poodle puppies.
HIPSTER LADY
I think it’s creepy, maudlin and amateurish.
HIPSTER MAN
Exactly. I love it.
We move in tight on the painting. Underneath is a tag: “BEDTIME, by WALTER KEANE. Oil on canvas.”
We drift along, to another painting: “CALICO CAT, by WALTER KEANE.” Then, another: “IN THE GARDEN, by WALTER KEANE.”
Every painting is now by Walter Keane.
We move along … finding the Tipsy Man chatting up Dick.
TIPSY MAN
We got in early. We own three.
(he turns)
Thanks, doll.
He tosses his empty to a PASSING LADY. We reveal the waitress is … Margaret. She carries a tray of pigs-in-a-blanket. Margaret looks shell-shocked—faking a happy party face.
A burst of LAUGHTER. Margaret turns.
Walter and a group ROAR at a joke. A SEXY GIRL hands Walter one of the promo posters. He beams and lays it across her back … hugging her waist to “steady” himself as he signs.
BACK ON MARGARET
She frowns. Dee-Ann slides into view, slurping champagne.
DEE-ANN
Hey, baby! Killer party! It’s a hap-pen-ing…! So, where’s your stuff?
MARGARET
(nervous)
Oh. Um, we decided that this would be Walter’s show—
DEE-ANN
(suspicious)
Oh “we” did?? And why would “we” do that??
MARGARET
Well … he’s more established.
DEE-ANN
Please! Is that you talking, or did you just turn into a little felt puppet with someone’s hand up your ass?
Margaret is befuddled.
Dee-Ann scopes out the artwork.
DEE-ANN
It’s strange … Walter doesn’t strike me as the cute hungry kitten type…
Margaret grimaces.
MARGARET
Thanks for coming.
Margaret grabs a drink and hurries away.
Dee-Ann stands there, irked.
Margaret cuts over to Walter. We MOVE IN TIGHT ON THE COUPLE. He grins and grabs her.
WALTER
Ah, my sweet! Are you enjoying the scene?
(he gives her a kiss)
EVERYONE! Give a hand to my beautiful wife. Without her, none of tonight would be possible!
The crowd APPLAUDS politely, condescendingly.
Margaret smiles strangely. The Tipsy Man leans in.
TIPSY MAN
Your husband’s quite a talent.
(pleasant)
Do you paint, too?
Margaret freezes up, terribly awkward.
MARGARET
I don’t … know.
AT WALTER
A NOSY GUY corners him in front of a painted child.
NOSY GUY
I’m curious about your technique. How long did that piece take to execute?
WALTER
That? Oh, wow. Probably … months. First the thinking, the sketching, and then time with just me and the oils.
NOSY GUY
“Oils”? But isn’t that acrylic …?
Huh? Walter glances at the painting, startled.
WALTER
Oh—! You mean that painting! Uhh, sorry! It’s like a jumble of ideas, rattling around in my brain!
Beat.
NOSY GUY
So where do you get your ideas?
WALTER
What do you mean?
NOSY GUY
I mean—
(confused at this confusion)
Why are they … images of children?
Yikes. Walter starts to sweat. He didn’t think this through.
WALTER
Well, er, I’ve just always loved kids. Though mostly I was influenced by my darling daughter…
An odd beat.
I remember when she was a baby…
Walter gets a far-off look.
Yeah. Cute little thing. I’d stare into those big orbs. Sometimes I’d get out my Brownie and snap a photo … but … that’s not subjective. You know? It doesn’t capture your feelings. So that’s when I started painting her…
We hold on Walter, unsure where reality begins and ends…
CUT TO:
INT. BERKELEY APARTMENT—DAY
CU on a fuzzy TV SCREEN: A PRIGGISH MAN is griping. The screen is captioned “JOHN CANADAY, NY TIMES ART CRITIC”
CANADAY (ON TV)
Keane’s work is completely without distinction. He is not a member of the Society of Western Artists. He has won no awards. He’s only noteworthy for his appearances in a certain newspaper’s gossip column!
(exasperated)
Mr. Keane is why society NEEDS critics! To protect them from such atrocities!
Walter gapes at the TV, outraged. He suddenly grabs a PHONE.
IN THE LIVING ROOM
Jane is BANGING on a closed door.
JANE
Mom! I wanna come in.
MARGARET (O.S.)
Uhh, you can’t. Mommy’s busy.
JANE
(she BANGS again)
Let me in! What are you doing in there? Why’s the door always locked?
Walter enters—and reacts. He glides over to the girl.
WALTER
Janie, sweetie, you need to respect your mother’s privacy. Sometimes grownups need alone time.
(he winks)
Is that the ice cream truck? Why don’t you go get yourself a Fudgesicle?
Walter tosses her a dime. She peers warily, then leaves.
He waits a beat—then pulls out a KEY. Walter discreetly unlocks the painting room.
INT. APARTMENT PAINTING ROOM—SAME TIME
It’s a factory. Big Eyes are everywhere. Margaret frenziedly works, surrounded by half-done canvases, solvents, easels. She’s in a bathrobe—a cigarette hanging from her lips.
Startled, she looks up to see Walter.
He gazes at all the art. At the bulbous faces, eyes watery and submissive, trapped in muddy yellows and dire browns. And then … Walter grins broadly.
WALTER
Whew! Out of this world…!
MARGARET
(bothered)
I dunno. I’m not really comfortable with this. Jane and I used to be so close … but—now…
WALTER
Ah, Jane’s grand! She’s eating ice cream! She has new shoes. She has a college fund.
Beat.
MARGARET
Maybe I’m lightheaded from the turpentine. I’ve been in here all day.
WALTER
Well I don’t want you feeling like a prisoner. Take a break!
Walter glances at one PAINTING—then does a double take.
ANGLE—PAINTING
It’s a child in a rusty alley, staring,
aching for compassion. And, starting to cry. A single tear streams down her cheek.
WALTER
Is that a tear …? You’ve gone deep!
Margaret bites her fingers, worried.
MARGARET
Do you—like it?
WALTER
I love it!…How’d you get the eyes so lifelike? Is it the highlights?
MARGARET
(proud)
No. The secret is the shadow. I shadowed the eyelid.
Margaret smiles shyly. Walter smiles back, full of warmth. He takes her face in his hands.
WALTER
I owe you an apology. I was initially dismissive of your kids, those emotion-wrenching blobs of humanity … but they have a real strength.
MARGARET
(she laughs)
Is that your best version of sincerity?
WALTER
I’m trying! Ah, you know me. See—this is why I need your help! I want to go on TV, to defend our art.
MARGARET
You’re going to be on television?!
WALTER
Yes! But … what will I say??
(beat)
Meaning—what compels me … to paint … these paintings??
A bizarre pause. The two of them look around the room. At all the Big Eyes peering down at them.
MARGARET
Maybe you have an unhealthy obsession with little girls.
WALTER
Cute.
MARGARET
(she snickers)
I guess you’ve painted yourself into a corner.
WALTER
Funny! Keep ’em coming! You’re a regular Steve Allen. You want heat this winter? Help me out!
Big Eyes Page 4
