by Joel Coen
I’m … Laurence Gopnik.
COP 1
Do you go by the name Arthur Gopnik?
LARRY
No.
COP 1
Is that Arthur Gopnik?
Arthur ducks away.
From inside the living room:
DANNY
(off)
Dad? What’s going on?
LARRY
Can you tell me what’s going on? We’re sitting shiva here.
COP 1
You’re what?
LARRY
A religious observance. We’re … bereaved.
The heretofore wordless second cop gazes in over his partner’s shoulder.
COP 2
Who died?
LARRY
My wife’s, um … it’s a long story.
COP 1
Look. Tell Gopnik – Arthur Gopnik – he’s breaking the law. We’re not arresting him now but next time we will. Gambling is against the law in this state. That’s just the way it is. All right. Go back to your …
COP 2
Sorry, sir.
LIVING ROOM
A minute later. The family – except for Judith, whose weeping continues off – sits around the card table. A long beat.
At length:
DANNY
Dad, we get Channel 4 now but not Channel 7.
LARRY
Arthur, how could you do that to this family? On Sy’s … on Sy’s –
ARTHUR
It’s a victimless crime.
LARRY
That doesn’t make it right! And you –
DANNY
He won a lot of money, Dad! The Mentaculus really works!
Larry’s gaze swings to his son.
LARRY
You knew about it?!
DANNY
Well, um …
ARTHUR
They must have finked me out. They knew I could just keep on winning, so a couple weeks ago they blackballed me, and now they’ve –
LARRY
What did you do with the money you won?
Silence. Arthur sneaks a look at Danny.
Larry looks back and forth between them.
… What’s going on?
Arthur shrugs.
ARTHUR
I didn’t want it. Danny said he could use it –
SARAH
Unfair!
LARRY
What have you been –
ARTHUR
What’s unfair is these guys saying I can’t play in their card game!
SARAH
Why give him the money?! You know what he spends it on?
LARRY
(knowing nod)
I know about the records.
SARAH
Records?! You think he buys records from Mike Fagle?
Movement in Danny’s body; Sarah recoils from a kick.
… Ow! Little brat!
LARRY
Hey! What’s going on!
DANNY
At least I’m not saving up for a nose job!
LARRY
What?!
SARAH
Brat!
LARRY
Nobody in this house is getting a nose job! You got that?!
DANNY
Ah!
Struck by a thought he leaps up and bolts from the room.
LARRY
Danny! You weren’t excused! We’re still talking!
SARAH
What a brat.
LARRY
What was this card game, Arthur?
ARTHUR
Some goys run a private game.
We hear the TV going on in a bedroom and the theme from F Troop.
… I think they’re Italians.
LARRY
Danny, what’s going on!
He rises.
BEDROOM
Larry enters to look down at Danny’s back. Beyond him F Troop flickers on the TV.
LARRY
Danny! We’re sitting shiva!
DON MILGRAM’S OFFICE
Larry has his head down on his arms on Don’s desktop.
DON
She’s retained Barney Silver at Tuchman, Marsh. This is a, uh – this is an aggressive firm, Larry.
LARRY
(muffled)
Uh-huh.
DON
These are not pleasant people. Judith is free of course to retain whoever she … I take it you don’t talk to her?
Larry raises his head, squinting.
LARRY
It’s hard. I think she emptied our bank account. I tried to ask her about it, very civilly.
DON
Mm.
LARRY
She, uh …
DON
Yeah, yeah, you better open an account in your name only, put your paychecks in there from here on out. Till we know where we stand.
LARRY
Can I?
DON
Oh, absolutely!
LARRY
That’s not, um, dishonest?
DON
Oh, absolutely! You, uh –
LARRY
I hate to say this, but I think she’s also been sneaking cash out of my wallet.
DON
Oh boy. Well, yes, this is definitely, um, adversarial. The first thing we – are you all right?
Larry is shaking. His eyes are squeezed shut. His mouth is twisting into strange shapes.
… Larry!
Now weeping sounds come out, despite Larry’s efforts to choke them off.
… Larry! It’s okay! There’s no need for that!
Larry nods, trying to stopper his sobs, waving a hand in the air, signalling that he is all right and will speak when able.
… Larry, we can get through this thing!
THE OFFICE
Minutes later.
Larry sits panting but composed, a glass of water in front of him.
After a long beat:
DON
Have you seen the rabbi?
Through his deep breaths:
LARRY
I talked to Nachtner.
DON
Was he helpful at all?
Larry gives a helpless shrug.
Don rolls his eyes.
DON
What – did he tell you about the goy’s teeth? You should talk to Marshak.
LARRY
They told me … Marshak … doesn’t do … pastoral work any more. He just – congratulates the bar mitzvah boy every week.
DON
That’s too bad. A very wise man, Marshak.
Larry sadly shakes his head.
LARRY
Getting old.
DON
Very old.
LARRY
No, me.
DON
Larry, you’re fine. It’s a bump in the road.
BLEGEN HALL
Larry walks into the outer office clutching his briefcase. The secretary is at her typewriter but holding the phone, one hand covering its mouthpiece.
SECRETARY
Dick Dutton. Columbia Record Club.
LARRY
Not now.
LARRY’S OFFICE
Larry has the phone to his ear. He listens for a beat.
LARRY
Does he ever come to the phone? If I came in – How about at Rabbi Marshak’s convenience? Uh-huh … Uh-huh … Well, could I give you my number at the Jolly Roger?
CLASSROOM
We are close over Larry’s shoulder as he scribbles symbols onto the chalkboard.
LARRY
… and that means … so that … from which we derive …
His glances back toward the class show him to be wearier, baggier- eyed, more haggard than ever. And there is something odd about his posture.
He makes his writing smaller and smaller so as to finish before hitting the right edge of the chalkboard.
… and also … which lets us … and …
Wider as he finishes and straightens up
, revealing that he has been stooping to write across the very bottom of the board.
The equation covers every inch of the classroom-wide three-panelled chalkboard. Larry is an off-balance figure at the right edge of frame.
Reverse on the class: staring.
… Okay?
Larry claps chalk dust from his hands.
… The Uncertainty Principle. It proves we can’t ever really know … what’s going on.
A bell sounds. The students shake off their stupor and rise. Larry projects over the wallah:
… But even if you can’t figure anything out, you’ll still be responsible for it on the mid-term.
The students disperse to reveal one person still seated:
Sy Ableman.
He wears a prayer shawl and yarmulka.
Larry does not seem surprised to see him.
… Did you follow that?
SY
Of coss. Except that I know what’s going on. How do you explain?
LARRY
Well, it might be that, in, you know, in olam ha-ba–
SY
Excuse me. Not the issue. In this world, Larry.
He nods at the chalkboard.
… I’ll concede that it’s subtle. It’s clevva. But at the end of the day, is it convincing?
LARRY
Well – yes it’s convincing. It’s a proof. It’s mathematics.
SY
Excuse me, Larry. Mathematics. Is the art of the possible.
Larry’s brow furrows.
LARRY
I don’t think so. The art of the possible, that’s … I can’t remember … something else …
SY
I’m a serious man, Larry.
LARRY
I know that. So if I’ve got it wrong, what do I –
Sy Ableman holds up one hand to silence him.
SY
So simple, Larry. See Marshak.
LARRY
I know, I want to see Marshak! I want to see Marshak! They told me that – ooph!
Without our having seen him rise or cross the room, Sy Ableman has arrived to body-slam Larry into the chalkboard. Now he grabs Larry by the hair and whips his head against the equation. He slams Larry’s head again and again, making the chalkboard chatter and the fringes on his own tallis dance.
SY
See Marshak! See Marshak! I fucked your wife, Larry! I seriously fucked her! That’s what’s going on! See Marshak!
LARRY
Close on his eyes opening. His head is on a pillow. Dull early light. A hissing sound.
Larry looks blearily into the depth of the motel room.
On the vanity table just outside the bathroom door sits Uncle Arthur’s cyst evacuator, humming and hissing. Its waggling hose snakes through the cracked-open door.
MEZUZA
On a doorpost.
A hand enters to knock. A long beat. The person knocking gives up and his footsteps start to go away just as the door opens to reveal an attractive woman – the sunbathing neighbor, now wearing plaid shorts and a white blouse.
Reverse: Larry, frozen halfway down the stoop, head turned back up toward the door.
WOMAN
Mr. Gopnik.
LARRY
Oh. Hello, Mrs Samsky. I knocked, and then thought you weren’t here. I, uh …
Mrs. Samsky’s voice is soft and breathy:
MRS. SAMSKY
It just took me a second to get to the door. I was out back.
Larry stands nodding.
He seems to need a prompt. Mrs. Samsky supplies one:
… Can I help you? Wanna come in?
LARRY
No, I –
She steps back.
MRS. SAMSKY
It’s cooler.
LARRY
Oh. Okay. I just wanted to let you know …
INSIDE
The dimness inside the home Larry enters does indeed suggest coolness. Larry looks around the living room. Wavering light sifts through closed vertical blinds which drift and click over floor-vented air conditioning.
Mrs. Samsky closes the door behind him, shutting out all sound from the street.
LARRY
I’ve noticed that Mr. Samsky isn’t around, and I –
MRS. SAMSKY
He travels.
LARRY
Uh-huh. Yeah, I never seem to see him, so I thought I should let you know, since you’re somewhat new here, if you ever have, whatever, chores that you’d, um, or just help with something – I’ve decided to help others – you know, in a neighborly way …
She gazes at him, waiting for the speech to dribble away to silence. In the ensuing beat, quiet except for the clicking of the blinds, she is perfectly still. Finally, only her mouth moves:
MRS. SAMSKY
How thoughtful.
Larry shrugs off the compliment:
LARRY
Oh it’s nothing. It’s just good to know your neighbors. And to help. Help others. Although I don’t care much for my neighbors on the other side, I must say.
Mrs. Samsky lets more time elapse before responding.
MRS. SAMSKY
Goys, aren’t they?
LARRY
Mm. Very much so. Maybe it’s not fair to judge; I have to admit I –
MRS. SAMSKY
Won’t you sit down?
LARRY
Oh! Um. Okay. Thank you.
MRS. SAMSKY
Iced tea? I have some.
She is already turning to the kitchen.
LARRY
Okay.
He watches her and reacts to:
The backs of her thighs. The flesh retains the broad cross-hatch of her lawn chair.
She disappears into the kitchen, but projects:
MRS. SAMSKY
I don’t see you around much, either.
LARRY
Yes. Actually I haven’t been home a lot recently, I, uh, my wife and I are, uh, well, she’s got me staying at the Jolly Roger, the little motel there on –
Mrs. Samsky is re-entering with iced tea in two tall glasses beaded with moisture. The click of the ice cubes joins the clicking of the blinds.
MRS. SAMSKY
You’re in the doghouse, huh?
She hands him a glass and sits on the couch next to him, not invasively close, one bare leg folded beneath her.
LARRY
Yeah, that’s an understatement I guess, I – thank you – I, uh –
MRS. SAMSKY
Do you take advantage of the new freedoms?
Larry stares at her. Mrs. Samsky gazes back. Her look displays equanimity; his, not.
Finally:
LARRY
… What do you mean?
Her look holds for one more beat and then she swivels and opens the drawer of an end table.
She turns back with a joint.
MRS. SAMSKY
It’s something I do. For recreation.
She lights it.
LARRY
That’s … marijuana?
MRS. SAMSKY
Mm-hmm.
She hands the joint over.
… You’ll find you’ll need the iced tea.
Larry handles the bitty cigarette with trepidation.
LARRY
Is it … well … okay …
THE VERTICAL BLINDS
Some minutes later. They drift and click in the air blown from the floor vents.
Larry stares at them.
After a long beat:
LARRY
Maybe Rabbi Scott was right.
MRS. SAMSKY
Who’s Rabbi Scott?
LARRY
The junior rabbi.
MRS. SAMSKY
The junior rabbi.
Another long beat. Neither person feels compelled to speak.
The joint makes another trip back and forth.
Then:
… What did he say?
LARRY
He spoke of … perception. All my p
roblems are just … just a … a mere …
He trails off, listening.
… Is that a siren?
MRS. SAMSKY
No. Some people get a little paranoid when they … Holy cow … That is a siren.
OUTSIDE
The Samskys’ door bursts open and Larry stumbles out. He stares.
The police car has stopped in front of his own house next door, lightbar still flashing. Two cops are going up the walk, escorting Uncle Arthur in handcuffs.
Larry, stunned, walks woodenly toward his house.
LARRY
Hey!
Neither the cops nor Uncle Arthur has heard. They have rung the doorbell and now disappear inside.
Larry calls louder –
… HEY!
– and starts to sprint. Behind him Mrs. Samsky has emerged from her house.
At his house Larry takes the stoop steps two at a time. His door stands open and the theme from F Troop issues from within.
Just inside the two policemen stand with their backs to us and Uncle Arthur in between. The three men face Danny, who addresses them, projecting over the music from the TV.
DANNY
Sort of. He sleeps on the couch.
LARRY
This is crazy!
This brings the cops’ look around. Uncle Arthur also turns, shamefaced, to Larry.
COP
Does this man live here?
ARTHUR
I didn’t know what to tell them! They asked for my address –
LARRY
It’s just mathematics! You can’t arrest a man for mathematics!
ARTHUR
I didn’t know whether to say I lived here or at the Jolly Roger.
COP
You know this man?
ARTHUR
I figured this would sound more … I don’t know …
Mrs. Samsky appears behind Larry on the stoop.
