. . . but the Deity didn’t have a damn thing to do with this.
148. Two-shot.
RASPUTIN
. . . so that I may better offer the unequaled wisdom flowing through my body directly from the Deity, who as you know has the most infinite of concern even for the most infinitesimal of his creatures . . .
149. Close on RASPUTIN. He moves toward the camera.
RASPUTIN
. . . do you masturbate?
150. From behind RASPUTIN. Medium close-up of SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
Sixteen times every goddamn day.
151. From close on RASPUTIN, reframe for a medium two-shot.
RASPUTIN
You . . . you do?
SOPHIE
Rain or shine. Day in and day out, in and out, in and out. (Mimes masturbatory motions.)
RASPUTIN
. . . you do? . . . (Surprised at her frankness.) . . . every day? (SOPHIE is nodding agreement. She is enjoying this.) Well then. (He is really taken aback.) Well then, there is only one course of treatment open to you.
SOPHIE
And we both know what that is, don’t we?
RASPUTIN
Yes, definitely only one course of treatment. (He whirls to face her.) You must think only of distinct shapes and only in the primary colors. (He goes back to his chicken leg. He sits again on the floor and begins noisily eating. Camera zooms in and reframes SOPHIE in close-up.)
SOPHIE
Definite shapes! Is that all that came down to you on your special pipeline to the infinite?
152. Two-shot. SOPHIE gets down on the floor next to RASPUTIN and shoves her face toward his.
SOPHIE
I’ve heard better than that whispered in a public latrine.
RASPUTIN
Refrain from boiled beef for seventeen days.
SOPHIE
If that’s all you’ve got for me, there goes your reputation.
RASPUTIN
What reputation?
SOPHIE
The iron man of the bedroom. The only man with selective rigor mortis. (Stands up.)
153. Close on SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
You know something? I think I’ve got you figured. All you’ve been doing is overcompensating for a subliminal virility anxiety.
154. Close-up RASPUTIN POV SOPHIE.
RASPUTIN
What means this—virility anxiety?
155. Close-up SOPHIE POV RASPUTIN.
SOPHIE
It’s a polite way of saying you’re a faggot.
156. Close-up RASPUTIN POV SOPHIE.
RASPUTIN
(Really mad.) By the potent penis of Saint Peter of Parma, will you simply look at those two young women? (Indicates ANNA and KARENINA.) Personally saved from the eternal degradation of a life of sinful self-abuse. Personally brought to glorious fulfillment time and time again, beyond man’s power to count. PERSONALLY FUCKED INTO A BLIND STUPOR!!!
157. Two-shot.
SOPHIE
Oh, be serious, Rasputin.
RASPUTIN
What do you mean?
158. Close-up SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
What I mean is that those two could fuck themselves into a blind stupor with the stub of a Chanukah candle. They go through life in a state of preliminary orgasm. The question is whether you’re man enough for a woman like me, and I’m afraid I know the answer.
159. Close-up RASPUTIN.
RASPUTIN
All right. You have brought this on yourself. I will make you scream with pleasure until you perish from the draining of your precious bodily fluids. I will destroy you.
160. Two-shot.
SOPHIE
I should live so long. ( He throws open his robe.)
RASPUTIN
On your knees! (She shrugs, sinks to her knees.) Now worship at the throne of heaven!
161. Close-up SOPHIE POV RASPUTIN’S cock.
SOPHIE
(Taking his cock between her fingers and shaking her head sadly.) So much for legend. (And she pops his cock into her mouth.)
162. Whole sexual montage of the two of them. After a bit of this and that on the floor, they go to the bed where ANNA and KARENINA have recuperated enough to get into the act. What happens is this: loads and loads of sexual numbers. Everybody getting into everything. ANNA and KARENINA fall out exhausted. RASPUTIN looking good in the stretch. Only one left. Two down and one to go. SOPHIE still in there strong. At this point he is screwing her from behind, pumping away like mad. We then have a shot of SOPHIE’S head POV RASPUTIN.
SOPHIE
(She turns her head to him.) What’s the matter, is something the matter?
163. Close on RASPUTIN POV SOPHIE. Sweat, panting, the whole exhaustion number.
RASPUTIN
No, no no . . . Why? (Pull back to see RASPUTIN balling his brains out.)
SOPHIE
I just thought for a moment there . . . I thought you moved.
164. More sexual this and that. Then the penultimate sex shot SOPHIE on her back at the edge of the bed, her feet hanging over. RASPUTIN standing between her legs and screwing. The camera undercranks so that they are balling in fast motion. In and out a mile a minute.
165. Close on SOPHIE’S face.
SOPHIE
(She is bored to tears. Nothing’s going to happen and she knows it. Not only won’t she be able to get it off, she couldn’t even get it on.) Oh, my God.
166. Close on RASPUTIN’S face. He is a man thirteen point six seven inches from death. Dark circles under his eyes, sweat, a load of fresh gray hair.
167. Close on SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
When am I going to see some of this super-duper screwing I’ve heard so much about?
168. Two-shot, still fast motion.
SOPHIE
Pluto, this is impossible. Pluto, he could fuck me for another six months and all I’d get is seasick. Pluto, dammit, get me the hell outta here!!! (We hear the finger snap, and SOPHIE vanishes, and we stay on RASPUTIN, still grinding, as he comes to the realization that there’s no longer a woman under him, and he begins to collapse as we) FADE TO BLACK. CUT TO:
169. Interior of SOPHIE’S apartment. PLUTO and SOPHIE are side by side on the couch, both looking dejected. She’s naked.
SOPHIE
You could have snapped my clothes back while you were at it.
PLUTO
I figured you wanted out of there in a hurry.
SOPHIE
I wanted him out of me in a hurry, that’s for sure.
PLUTO
Did nothing for you, huh?
SOPHIE
Let’s just say that he didn’t live up to my expectations. (She gets up, still totally nude; heads toward the bar.) God, I need a drink.
PLUTO
The work of an instant. (Snaps fingers, etc. SOPHIE has a drink in her hand.)
SOPHIE
Pluto, how in the hell do you do that? (A knock on the door.)
SOPHIE
Oh, my God, what a sense of timing. (Heads toward door. Stops, realizing she is naked.) Pluto, clothing, quick.
170. SOPHIE, POV PLUTO. Pluto snaps his fingers. Sophie is in a clown suit.
SOPHIE
Pluto! (He snaps his fingers again, she is in more appropriate clothing. She goes to the door.)
SOPHIE
(Opening the door.) What do you . . . ?
IRVING
(With a bigger gift than before.) Sophie, what do you . . . Sophie???? (Takes glasses off, cleans them, puts them back on.)
171. SOPHIE POV IRVING.
SOPHIE
(Remembering she is young.) Irving, I can’t go into this now, let’s just . . .
172. Close on IRVING POV SOPHIE.
IRVING
. . . I don’t believe . . . what, what . . . How did . . . (etc.)
SOPHIE
(OC) Irving, will you please go back to your apartment and take your pulse. I’ll tell yo
u about this later.
173. Two-shot favoring SOPHIE.
IRVING
(Stammering throughout before this, but now really nineteenth-century lecherous.) Drink some absinthe and listen to my Paul Whiteman records. Read some Fanny Hill . . .
SOPHIE
(Closing door.) Really pulling out all the stops, eh, Irving? Look, there’s no time . . .
174. Really close on IRVING, POV SOPHIE.
IRVING
. . . just you and me . . .
175. Same as 162.
SOPHIE
Later, Irving, later, we’ll curl up in your Morris chair and take each other’s blood pressure.
IRVING
(As door closes.) Oooooh, oooooh, ooooh . . .
176. Two-shot of PLUTO and SOPHIE. SOPHIE walks back to the bar to pick up her drink. She takes a sip.
PLUTO
(Examines fingers.) I’m getting a callus on my thumb.
177. Close on SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
Guess where I’m getting a callus, honey. Gee, Pluto, I’m not asking for too much, am I? I don’t expect orange lightning and bells ringing in my head. I’m not the woman from La Mancha dreaming the impossible dream. I’m not the girl from Ipanema. I’m not the little old lady from Pasadena. I’m not even Linda Lovelace, for Christ’s sake. All I’ve ever wanted is one normal, healthy, run-of-the-mill, usual, ordinary, everyday type of orgasm.
178. Two-shot.
PLUTO
Vaginal or clitoral?
SOPHIE
Vaginal, clitoral, rectal, underwater, I don’t really give a damn.
PLUTO
Now Sophie, you know I’ll help you all I can. Your agreement with the firm entitles you to whatever setups you want.
179. Close-up of SOPHIE. Nodding, drinking.
180. PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
PLUTO
. . . and you have to make do with whatever you think up. There is a bit of latitude in the terms of the contract itself, and I’ll always help all I can.
181. Two-shot.
SOPHIE
(She finishes her drink and puts it down.) Why Pluto, honey, that’s really very considerate of you. (Pause two beats.) Whhooooopppeeeee! (Runs to PLUTO and jumps on his lap. Puts her arms around him.) What about a little this and that, these and those?
182. Closer shot of the two of them.
PLUTO
(Flustered but gradually regaining his professionalism.) Look, Sophie. (He stands up and she stands with him. The camera reframes for a wider shot.) I deeply respect you as a human being but I’m here on a mission as a representative of the firm. (SOPHIE lets go of him, shrugs her shoulders and goes back to the bar.) Some of us observe and others participate.
183. Another two-shot.
SOPHIE
(She is pouring a drink, and speaks with her head turned over her shoulder.) Well, whatever the case, Rasputin was an absolute zero.
184. Close on PLUTO.
PLUTO
You know, you need more than an ordinary man.
SOPHIE
You’re telling me.
PLUTO
No, I mean it. You know, nonstop, enormous, the whole thing.
SOPHIE
I thought Rasputin.
185. Medium close-up PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
PLUTO
. . . a real stallion, a thoroughbred . . .
186. Close on SOPHIE. She’s getting into it, too, now.
SOPHIE
. . . doesn’t know when to stop, in and up to the goddamned end . . .
187. Close on PLUTO.
PLUTO
. . . a sure thing, an absolute winner . . .
188. Close on SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
. . . the ultimate stud . . .
189. Close on PLUTO’S fingers and SNAP.
190. Close-up of a horse’s cock. Camera holds for a second, then pulls back to show the horse in a stall. Hanging from the stall is a sign which says “MAN O WAR.” Hold this for two beats.
191. Close on SOPHIE. Look of absolute disbelief changing rapidly to disgust.
SOPHIE
Pluto!!!!!
192. Close-up of a roaring fire. Pull back to reveal MADGE’S office. She is on the chaise in her usual getup. She has a look of disgust like SOPHIE’S in the last sequence. PLUTO is pacing around a lot. She is reading PLUTO’S report. She puts it down and draws on her cigarette holder.
MADGE
A real stallion, a thoroughbred.
PLUTO
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
193. Another two-shot, this one favoring MADGE.
MADGE
Pluto, the road to Heaven is paved with good intentions. (Pause one beat.) Well, Rasputin seemed like a good idea as well.
PLUTO
A complete disaster. A sexual Edsel. He ran her up his flagpole and nobody saluted.
MADGE
You know, I suspect that no man is going to be able to satisfy her.
PLUTO
That’s why I opted for the horse. I thought.
194. Close on MADGE.
MADGE
For brute force and endurance you can’t top Rasputin. For seduction, Casanova is in like Flynn. For whips and chains, the Marquis is unparalleled. And unperpendiculared as well. But no particular . . .
195. PLUTO POV MADGE, pacing and nodding.
MADGE
. . . man will make any difference here. What she needs is a new role for herself, the fulfillment of a fantasy she never even knew she had. (Closes eyes.) I see Germany. A few years ago. In Berlin.
196. PLUTO, POV MADGE.
PLUTO
(Surprised.) You mean like Nazis? God knows we’ve got enough of them . . .
197. Two-shot favoring MADGE.
MADGE
We’ve got them coming out of the woodwork. We never get any requests for them, but we’ve got a ton of them. But nobody living or dead would want to ball one of them, and I’ll tell you why. (She stands up and, after the music cue, sings.)
Hitler had only one big ball.
Goering had two but they were small.
Himmler had something similar and
Goebbels had no balls at all.
PLUTO
Hey, I like that. It’s catchy. (He joins her as they do a second chorus, and then a third chorus in which their voices are joined by as many voices as you can find. During all of this, you throw in a chunk of stock footage of storm troopers goosestepping, newsreel clips of Hitler, etc. with the voices singing over this dreck. Then as the song ends we are back in MADGE’S office where she and PLUTO are singing their brains out, doing a little goosestepping themselves. The song ends and MADGE flops back on the chaise. PLUTO plops into a chair. They are both laughing and out of breath.)
MADGE
(Panting a little.) Before the Nazis . . . the Weimar Republic . . . Cabaret . . . Decadence . . .
198. Interior of an ice cream parlor. Shot begins on an enormous ice cream concoction, six hundred scoops of every flavor except uranium. Pull back to see PLUTO eating this mess. He and SOPHIE are sitting in a booth. This is a two-shot.
SOPHIE
I’m sorry, Pluto, but you didn’t see the way that horse was looking at me.
PLUTO
I saw the way you looked at him.
SOPHIE
Well, he reminded me of something.
199. PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
PLUTO
The Shetland pony? The time the platform broke?
200. Close on SOPHIE.
SOPHIE
Jesus, don’t remind me. No, I was thinking that I balled a guy once on horseback.
201. PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
PLUTO
(Interested.) Oh?
202. SOPHIE POV PLUTO.
SOPHIE
In the winter . . .
203. PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
PLUTO
(Shivering.) Oh.
204. SOPHIE POV PLUTO.
S
OPHIE
. . . in Florida . . .
205. PLUTO POV SOPHIE, still eating, happier.
PLUTO
Oh.
SOPHIE
He was a jockey at Hialeah. He had crabs.
PLUTO
Oh.
SOPHIE
He also had penicillin.
PLUTO
(Brightening.) Oh.
SOPHIE
Which has no effect on crabs.
PLUTO
(Unbrightening.) Oh, right. No help there.
206. SOPHIE POV PLUTO. She is smoking a cigarette now.
SOPHIE
None whatsoever. So I went home and passed them on to my third husband. That’s how he died.
207. PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
PLUTO
Crabs’ll get you every time.
208. Two-shot.
SOPHIE
Eat you alive. DISSOLVE:
209. Same place, but we DISSOLVE to a shot of an over-stuffed ashtray. SOPHIE’S hand appears and stubs out a cigarette. Pullback and we see that PLUTO still has about half his ice cream. We are in a two-shot.
PLUTO
. . . before the Nazis, see. The Weimar Republic. Cabaret . . . Lotte Lenya . . . Kurt Weill . . . Liza Minelli . . . decadence . . .
SOPHIE
And at the center of it—
PLUTO
At the center of everything, you.
SOPHIE
What the hell, I’m game. I haven’t been back to show business since the number with the pony, but I’m still a trouper at heart. Let’s go. (PLUTO eats ice cream.)
SOPHIE
What are we waiting for, Pluto?
PLUTO
Just a few more bites—
SOPHIE
What is it with you and ice cream, anyway?
PLUTO
Well, it’s hard to get back home. You know, doesn’t keep well. One of the benefits of business travel is—
SOPHIE
(Cutting in, impatient.) Pluto— (He manages one massive spoonful, snaps fingers, etc.)
210. Interior of a nightclub. The place is loaded with smoke. There is a bar at the rear and tables toward the front where there is a stage. The whole place has a bluish cast to it. Subdued lighting throughout. Each table has a red candle burning on it. There are lights in different colors on the walls. General hubbub, occasional almost recognizable words, etc. The first shot is on the bar where we see a beer mug get filled with draft and then get its head knocked off. The camera follows it down the length of the bar where it is finally grabbed and a woman takes a drink of it. There is a comedian on the stage, stand-up monologue type. The audience is the most blasé in the universe. He (the comedian) gets no applause, no laughter, only hostile stares from those who even bother to acknowledge his existence. This is a montage sequence.
Different Strokes: How I (Gulp!) Wrote, Directed, and Starred in an X-rated Movie (John Warren Wells on Sexual Behavior) Page 4
