THE BIJOU (The Majestic)

by

Michael Sloane

REVISED DRAFT

October 14, 1997

"... the magic is all around you.
All the time. Everywhere.
In every thing.
The trick... is to see it."

IN BLACK...

... the insistent, persistent, eight-to-the-bar beat of
BOOGIE-WOOGIE. Hot, exciting, pulsating rhythm, ramping up.

THEN...

... in the blackness, falling s-l-o-w-l-y, tumbling
g-e-n-t-l-y, a picture-postcard:

"GREETINGS FROM HOLLYWOOD!"

Then another... and another, each one dropping through frame,
a gentle rain.

In these old postcards, Hollywood is a dream town where movie
stars glide out of big cars to press their hands-and-
footprints in the wet cement.

Another postcard:

"I'M MEETING THE STARS AT HOLLYWOOD & VINE!"

In this postcard myth, you'd toddle down to Hollywood and
Vine, bump into Bogie and Bacall, and join them for dinner at
the Brown Derby. Or Ciro's. Or the Coconut Grove...

More postcards. Pictures of movie theaters, but not the ones
that you and I know today. These are palaces. Temples.
Grauman's Chinese and Egyptian. The Carthay Circle. The
Paramount, the Million Dollar. From a time when moviegoing
was a complete experience, not a trip to the local mall. The
ushers were friendly and helpful and wore gold brocaded
jackets and guided you to your seat. The popcorn was hot and
fresh and buttered with real butter, not 30-weight motor oil.

CUT TO:

THE PILE OF POSTCARDS

a wild jumble. Then, one LAST POSTCARD drops lazily on top
of the pile. It's a view of Hollywood at night, a carpet of
lights under the yawning, protective smile of Mt. Lee's most
famous resident, the fully-lit HOLLYWOOD SIGN. We PUSH INTO
THE PICTURE OF THE SIGN, DISSOLVING UNTIL WE'RE...

... PUSHING INTO THE REAL HOLLYWOOD SIGN, closer and closer,
until we fly right through it -- then crazily loop up and
behind it until we're looking down at...

EXT. HOLLYWOOD (AERIAL VIEW) - NIGHT

SUPER TITLE: 1951

A gigantic aerial shot. Postwar autos fill the muggy
midsummer evening air with the sounds of thousands of HONKING
HORNS, a mere precursor to the traffic yet to come. Darkened
outlying neighborhoods are evidence of the postwar home
construction boom, as scores of stucco bungalows are being
built in the areas surrounding the beating heart of the town,
a swath of garishly bright concrete called

HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
Of course, it's not like the
postcards say it is. This is what
it's like. I'm Pete Appleton, and
this is my town.

Still in the same shot, we rocket down into the center of the
intersection of Hollywood and Vine, then head west along the
boulevard, skimming just above the traffic -- past Musso and
Frank's Grill and the Hollywood Canteen, past the Egyptian
Theater and a rumbling Pacific Electric Red Car, across
Highland Avenue, past the Paramount Theater, and across the
street to

GRAUMAN'S CHINESE THEATER.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
Born and raised here, thank you
very much. Sometimes, it seems
like everyone here is from
somewhere else. But everyone loves
the movies, so Hollywood is
everyone's town, and they come here
by the busload. To them, Grauman's
Chinese Theater is just about the
most exciting place on the planet.
To me, it's the theater that's
playing "The African Queen."

And like the man said, the film on the marquee is "THE
AFRICAN QUEEN." Still the same shot, buses disgorge
TOURISTS, who move into the forecourt of the theater. The
MEN doff their hats and mop their brows. The WOMEN pull
their blouses away from their chests, fanning themselves with
movie-star maps as they marvel at the signed cement blocks.
We MOVE AMONG THEM, until we pick up A COUPLE, and we stay
behind them as they work their way through the crowd, on
their way to

THE THEATER ENTRANCE,

where an ornately attired DOORMAN smiles and tears their
tickets.

DOORMAN
Newsreel's just starting, folks.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
That's me and my girlfriend. Her
name is Sandra Sinclair, and this
is her town, too -- she's from
Cleveland. She came out here to be
an actress, and that's just what
she's doing. The first picture I
ever wrote, a little potboiler
called "Sand Pirates of the
Sahara." Okay, it ain't "Citizen
Kane," but you gotta start
somewhere.

MOVING INTO THE LOBBY

an explosion of glitz mixed with Chinese myth and legend.
Everywhere you look, it's red and orange and plush carpeting
and golden light. We MOVE THROUGH the lobby, still in the
same shot, still tracking the couple, heading for the
auditorium doors, which are swept open by two ramrod-erect
USHERS and we move into

THE DARKENED THEATER.

As the couple, Pete and Sandra, find seats, we HEAR the
soundtrack of the film before we see the screen, the
unmistakable strains of a march, and then -- still in the
same shot -- we see the screen...

A NEWSREEL.

As the march SWELLS to a crescendo, we HEAR THE NEWSREEL
ANNOUNCER'S SONOROUS VOICE:

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER
Bringing the news of the world to
you!

Over a newsreel shot of a packed Congressional Committee
Hearing Room, a title blares "HOLLYWOOD REDS GO TO JAIL!"

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER
Four years ago, in one of
filmland's darkest hours, ten men,
the so-called "Hollywood Ten," were
called to testify before the House
Committee of Un-American
Activities, investigating the
proliferation of the dreaded Red
Menace in Hollywood.

We see several shots of WITNESSES engaged in heated verbal
battles with congressmen, especially Committee Chairman T.
JOHNSTON DOYLE and the Majority Counsel, ELVIN CLYDE.

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER
Refusing to answer the lawmaker's
questions, cowering behind the
Fifth Amendment's protection
against self-incrimination, the ten
motion picture writers dared
Congress to come after them. Well,
come after them they did! And
after years of court wrangling,
it's now time to pay the piper!

Over shots of several of the "Hollywood Ten" being led to
jail in handcuffs, the newsreel narration continues.

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER
And so, it's off to jail, the
charge: Contempt of Congress! This
should give you fellas something to
write about now! A new round of
investigations begins this fall,
the mandate: Get the reds out of
Hollywood!

In the audience, one man YELLS "Lock up the commie
bastards!," and a few others cheer and laugh. As the
newsreel moves on to a somewhat more innocuous subject, we
WHEEL AROUND AND...

ENDFRAME ON PETE APPLETON AND SANDRA SINCLAIR.

Pete's a handsome fellow in his 30s, and Sandra's a starlet
pretty girl in her mid-20s. As she rummages in her purse,
Pete watches the newsreel.

SANDRA
Pete, there's time before the
picture starts, you want to get
some popcorn?

PETE
You bet, honey.

Pete kisses Sandra on the cheek, then stands and sprints up
the aisle to the concession stand, a big unworried grin on
his face.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
We were young, we were in love, and
we were working in pictures.
Life... was good.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. UNITED PICTURES STUDIOS - MAIN GATE - MORNING

Pete pulls up to the guard kiosk in his spiffy yellow
convertible Plymouth. The Guard, RAY, steps out to meet him.
Pete lights up a cigarette. We get a better sense of him
now. Though earnest, he's jocular, and a bit of a fast
talker.

PETE
(very chipper)
Mornin', Ray. Whaddya know whaddya
say? Me and Sandra caught "The
African Queen" at the Chinese last
night. Great picture, great
picture.

Ray is nonplussed. Tips his hat. Regards Pete suspiciously.

RAY
Mr. Appleton.

PETE
What's with this "Mr. Appleton"
crap? Your boss hiding in there?

RAY
You're clear to go in.

PETE
What's that mean?

Ray heads back to his kiosk, shaking his head.

RAY
Have a pleasant day.

Pete, covering his worry well, drives onto the lot.

EXT. UNITED PICTURES STUDIOS - WRITER'S BUILDING - MORNING

Pete pulls up, hops out, grinds out his cigarette, looks
around and goes inside.

INT. WRITER'S BUILDING HALLWAY - MORNING

Pete comes down the hall a few steps, stops. Something's
wrong. It's awfully quiet. He pokes his head into the door
marked "TYPING POOL."

INT. TYPING POOL - MORNING

A sea of black Underwoods -- all silent. The lights in the
room are off, and hard shafts of morning sun stream in
through the windows. One typists, LOUISE, is going from
machine to machine, pulling covers over them.

PETE
Louise... what gives?

She looks up, startled.

LOUISE
Oh Pete... they, uh, they gave
everybody the day off... while they
sort things out.

PETE
Sort what out? Are my pages done?

LOUISE
They took 'em.

PETE
They took 'em? Who took 'em?
Louise, what's going on...

LOUISE
Pete, I'm not even supposed to be
talking to you...

She rushes past him. Pete doesn't quite know what to think.

MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
Good morning, Peter.

Pete turns. The voice belongs to Pete's agent, LEO KUBELSKY,
a rotund man in his fifties. He wears a perfectly tailored
silk suit.

PETE
Leo... what's going on?

CUT TO:

EXT. STUDIO STREET - DAY

FROM FAR AWAY, we watch as Leo and Pete come out of the
Writer's Building and join a flood of DRESS EXTRAS, all done
up in Puritan pilgrim garb and heading for the commissary.

As they move through the mob and emerge on the other side,
it's clear that Pete is reeling from something he's just been
told.

PETE AND LEO

LEO
Peter, their hands are tied. You
see that, don't you?

PETE
I... I don't believe this.

LEO
Are you saying it's a mistake, that
you didn't go to any meetings?
They say you did.

PETE
Who the hell is this "they?"

LEO
Congress, the FBI, Red Channels, it
don't matter who the hell "they"
is. "They" know who "they" are,
that's all that matters.
(deliberately)
Now, did you go to any meetings?

PETE
(on the spot)
No. Yeah... I... I don't know.
Maybe I did. Leo, this was before
Pearl Harbor. I was in college.
It was a bunch of kids, and I was
just one of 'em. I didn't believe
in what they were saying. Hell, I
didn't even know what they were
saying!

LEO
So, you're saying that it's true.
You went to a meeting of a known
communist organization.

PETE
Leo, I was trying to impress a
skirt. You know me, I'm non-
political. Republican, Democrat,
Communist, there's not a dime's
worth of difference between 'em
anyway.

LEO
You should watch what you say.

PETE
I don't know who fingered me, but
I'm not a communist!

LEO
Kid, that cuts no ice with them.

PETE
(frustrated)
What? That I'm accused of being a
communist when I don't happen to be
one?

LEO
They know you were at that meeting,
Peter. They've been told, and they
know.

PETE
Leo, you're my agent. Tell "them"
to take a flyin' piss. I didn't do
anything wrong. I fought in the
war, for crissakes!

LEO
Fought? Come on, Pete, you ran the
PX at Fort Dix.

PETE
I was decorated.

LEO
I know. A Purple Heart.

PETE
Exactly.

LEO
You broke your arm. You were
coming out of a bar. You were
drunk.

PETE
At least I was on our side! Look,
they want me to testify? I'll
testify. I'll tell 'em anything
they want to hear! Jesus, Leo,
this is my career!

LEO
You can't testify.

PETE
Why not?

Leo takes a gold cigarette care from his breast pocket,
offers a cigarette to Pete and takes one for himself.

LEO
Don't take this personally, kid.
If it were up to me, I'd have you
testify wearing your uniform and
your medal, wrapped in a flag with
one hand on your heart and the
other hand on a bible. What can I
say? I like you.

Leo lights Pete's cigarette and his own. Puts a fatherly
hand on his shoulder.

LEO
They don't want you to testify
because you're not a big enough
fish for them. They just don't
want you writing pictures for now.
That's all.

PETE
(under his breath)
Yeah, well, that's enough.

LEO
Peter, I believe in you. More to
the point, I read your new
script... um...

PETE
"Ashes To Ashes?"

LEO
That's the one, "Ashes To Ashes."
I think it's great. But it'll
never get made with this communist
business hanging over your head.
You can't work until you're cleared
-- and believe me, starting right
now, I'm gonna do everything I can
to make that happen.

PETE
So, it is a blacklist.

LEO
(defensive)
Don't say that. There is no such
thing as a blacklist.
(calm)
Now, are you gonna play ball?

PETE
(sullenly)
Yes.
(then, pissed)
Leo, goddammit... this isn't fair!

Leo blows out a thin stream of smoke.

LEO
(hand on Pete's shoulder)
Kid, this is the United States
Government we're talkin' about.
Fair ain't the point.

CUT TO:

INT. WRITER'S BUILDING/PETE'S OFFICE - DAY

Prominent on the wall is a framed "SAND PIRATES OF THE
SAHARA" poster. Pete reaches up and takes it down. He leans
it up against the desk, then sits heavily in the wooden
swivel chair. He swivels around to see

A STUDIO SECURITY GUARD

standing by the door. He's watching Pete's every move.

Two boxes sit on the desk, partially packed with Pete's
belongings. Pete lights a cigarette and opens the lower desk
drawer. He pulls out a stack of scripts and sets them on the
desk. He looks at the cover of the first one:

"SAND PIRATES OF THE SAHARA"
By Peter Appleton
A United Pictures Production
February 19, 1951

Pete shuffles the scripts and looks at the cover of the
second one:

"ASHES TO ASHES"
By Peter Appleton

He jams the scripts into one box and turns to the other box,
which contains somewhat more personal items. A ragged gold
pillow with tassels. Legal pads of notes. An old tin-toy
fire truck, its bright red paint chipped and worn. He turns
it around in his hands.

PETE
(musing)
Huh. Red...

Footsteps approach, and Pete swivels toward the door.

SANDRA (O.S.)
Pete? Pete...?

Sandra appears in the doorway. She's in costume -- a Louis
XIV courtier. She bustles past the Guard, rushes to Pete and
embraces him.

SANDRA
Oh, Pete...

They kiss. The Guard watches their every move.

SANDRA
What happened?

PETE
What exactly did you hear?

SANDRA
That you got let go.

PETE
I wasn't alone. Wasn't Frankie
Ruskin directing the picture you're
in?

SANDRA
He was, but he got sick. We got a
new director today. Why?

PETE
Well, whatever Frankie's got, it's
catching.

SANDRA
You mean, he was... let go, too?

PETE
(sotto, an appeal)
They're saying I'm a communist,
Sandy. But I'm not, you know that.
I'm gonna fight 'em, and I'm gonna
win, but I'll need your help.

During this last, Sandra has been ever-so-slightly pulling
away from Pete.

PETE
A lot of good people are being
accused of things they didn't do.
Hell, even if I was a communist,
this is America, goddammit, a
person should be able to be
whatever they want to be! Right?

Sandra glances at the Guard, who is watching everything.

SANDRA
(nervously)
Of course, but I... I don't know
how I... how much help I can be to
you. This is the sort of thing...
someone saying you're a
communist... it can ruin your
career.

Pete sees where this is going. She's edging toward the door.

PETE
Will you help me, Sandy?

SANDRA
I'll have to think about this. I
have to get back... I should go...

And she's out the door and gone in the blink of an eye. Pete
looks at the Guard.

PETE
So nice to be a pariah.

The Guard turns away. Pete moves back toward the boxes.
Rummaging again, he comes up with a bottle of Jack Daniels
with barely one swig left. He regards the bottle for a
moment, looks to see if the Guard is watching (he isn't),
pops the cork, puts it to his lips and drains it. He looks
at it thoughtfully as we

CUT TO:

A HALF-FULL BOTTLE OF JACK DANIELS setting down on a bartop.

WIDER

INT. THE FROLIC ROOM - NIGHT

The bottle is in front of Pete, who sits at the bar, quietly
getting stewed. The Frolic Room is a classic Hollywood dive,
dimly lit and full of character and characters. It's a quiet
night and getting quieter, as several PATRONS are just
leaving, waving goodbye to the bartender, JERRY, early 40s.
Jerry turns to Pete, eyes him suspiciously from the end of
the bar. Pete picks up the bottle and pours another shot.
Good boy, he got most of it in the glass.

JERRY
Pete. You think maybe you've had
enough?

PETE
Bought the bottle, didn't I?
(raises the shot)
To the United States of America.
Long my she wave.

He knocks it back and Jerry pours him another.

PETE
(trying to light a smoke)
Thanks, Jerry. Tell me something.

JERRY
What.

PETE
You tight with J. Edgar Hoover?

JERRY
(helps Pete light his
cigarette)
The G-man?

PETE
(thickly)
Zackly.

JERRY
Pete, if J. Edgar Hoover walked in
here wearing a dress, I wouldn't
know him.

PETE
Too bad. He says I'm a communist.

JERRY
(glancing around)
You should watch what you say. You
don't know who's listening.

PETE
You know I'm not a communist, don't
you, Jer?

JERRY
Sure, I suppose. That why you're
on a bender?

PETE
This is not a bender yet. This is
the start of a bender. But I can
see how you were confused, they
look a lot alike.

Pete drains his shotglass, puts it back on the bar. He
watches Jerry, who is not about to refill it. Pete reaches
for the bottle, but Jerry is faster.

JERRY
Pete... go home. Come on, I'll
call that girlfriend of yours,
what's her name... Sandy?

PETE
(laughs)
Sandra Sinclair.

JERRY
Gimmee her number, I'll have her
pick you up.

PETE
Sandra Sinclair. Wanna know her
real name? Bella Iskowitz. No
one's who they really are, Jer.
Everyone's someone else. Even you.
Even me. Especially me. I'm Peter
Appleton, the communist who's not
really a communist.

JERRY
I wanna close up soon. C'mon,
let's call her.

Peter stands, stubs out his smoke, drops a few crumpled bills
on the bar and grabs his hat.

PETE
Nope. Can't. We're through.

JERRY
Then I'll call you a cab.

PETE
I'll save you the trouble.
(beat)
I'm a cab. There. Did it myself.

Pete's preoccupied with putting on his hat and getting his
car keys out of his coat pocket, a daunting task in his
condition.

PETE
'Sides, car's right outside. I'll
be seein' ya, Jer.

JERRY
Pete...

And he's out the door.

EXT. FROLIC ROOM - NIGHT

Pete takes a few steps, stumbles, stops, takes a deep breath,
then totters briskly towards his car. He hauls the door open
and sits inside heavily.

INT./ EXT. PETE'S CAR - NIGHT

Sitting slumped against the steering wheel, Pete looks as
though he could fall asleep right there, which would probably
be a good idea.

PETE
(mumbling)
Drive. Drive. Bad idea. Too
drunk to drive.

He looks at his watch.

PETE
One-thirty. Huh! Early. Can't go
home yet.

He turns the key and hits the starter. The engine hums to
life. Pete sits up, opens his eyes wide, shakes off the haze
and puts the car in gear.

The Plymouth lurches forward a few yards, screeches to a halt
and stalls.

PETE
Oops.

He re-starts the car, puts it in gear, and pulls away and
down the deserted boulevard.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. SANTA MONICA BEACH, AMUSEMENT PIER - NIGHT

The full moon is low over the ocean. Pete's car is parked at
the edge of the sand, the water fifty yards away. The ferris
wheel and the roller coaster of the amusement pier are dark
and eerie silhouettes, lit only by moonlight. Pete is asleep
in the driver's seat, head tilted back, his hat covering his
face, snoring.

The waves CRASH against the pilings and startle Pete awake.

PETE
Huh? Whatsa...

Instantly, he grabs his head.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
I had no idea how I got to Santa
Monica, but it certainly was a good
idea. I don't think I could've
faced the headache I had alone in
my apartment. At least I had the
ocean air.

Pete takes a deep breath... and starts coughing. He gets out
his cigarettes and lights up. He takes a puff and glances at
his watch.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
Three forty-five. I had only been
there for a couple of hours at
most. Truth be told, I was still
fairly drunk.

He starts the car and heads for the highway.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
I'd head north until the sun came
up or I ran out of gas, whichever
came first.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - NIGHT

Pete drives along the moonlit two-lane blacktop. Waves crash
to the shore below the roadway.

INT./ EXT. PETE'S CAR (DRIVING) - NIGHT

Pete is finally relaxed. He takes off his hat and jams it
down in the back seat. He takes a deep breath -- with the
wind in his hair, a smile grows on his face and he seems at
peace. He glances down at the speedometer -- then at the
fuel gauge.

INSERT - FUEL GAUGE

Pinning on "empty."

PETE
Shit.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
Guess which came first.

He scans the road ahead -- nothing. Glances to his right.

PETE'S POV

The lights of a small town can be seen off in the distance.

Pete veers the car off the highway and makes the turn that
will take him toward the lights. He passes a hand-painted
sign that gives him hope: "GAS - 1 MI."

CUT TO:

EXT. RORY'S GAS STATION - NIGHT

Pete's car rolls up and stops. There's a light on the sign
and another in the station's window, but the place is
deserted.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
I should've known better than to
think that a service station in the
sticks would be open at this hour,
but it wasn't like I had a lot of
choices.

Pete looks ahead toward the town. Its few lights twinkle in
the distance.

PETE'S NARRATION (V.O.)
What the hell. At least there'd be
a diner opening in a couple of
hours. I'd get some pie and
coffee, and then I could worry
about the gas.

Pete pulls out onto the road.

EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

Pete's car trundles along, blowing past a hand-painted
roadside sign which reads:

SLOW!
NARROW BRIDGE - SINGLE LANE - NO GUARDRAIL
USE CAUTION!

INT./ EXT. PETE'S CAR (DRIVING) - NIGHT

Pete's headlights catch a glimpse of another sign, reading
"LAWSON WASH," just in front of a small wooden auto bridge.

Barely reducing his speed, Pete heads onto the bridge...

HIS POV - THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD

... his headlights pick up the glowing eyes of a hapless
possum...

Pete swerves to avoid the animal, and a wheel drops off the
edge...

EXT. BRIDGE - NIGHT

... and the Plymouth careens over the side of the bridge and
into the rapidly-moving water below!

EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT

The water is flowing very quickly, and the current is
intense. Pete pulls himself out of the driver's seat
(thankfully, it's a convertible) and swims over the
windshield.

But... his left sleeve is caught on the door handle. Nearly
out of breath and panicking, Pete shucks off the jacket and
heads for the surface.

EXT. THE WASH - NIGHT

Pete breaks the surface and gasps for air. His fight isn't
over yet, as the current is pulling him rapidly downstream.
He swims with all his might toward the far bank.

EXT. FAR BANK OF THE WASH - NIGHT

Drained, Pete pulls himself out of the water and staggers to
his feet.

PETE
(gasping)
Oh my god! I don't believe... oh
my god...

He stumbles along backwards a couple of steps... and his heel
hits a rock...

Pete falls backward -- and his head strikes a glancing blow
on another rock. He rolls down the bank, unconscious, and
lands face down in the mud.

CUT TO BLACK.

IN BLACK, we slowly become aware of a panting, breathing
sound -- the sound of a dog...

FADE IN:

ON A DOG'S FACE

A yellow labrador, full frame. It takes a couple more
sniffs, then starts licking furiously.

OLD MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
Maggie, whatcha got there? Huh,
girl? Whatcha find?

EXT. FAR BANK OF THE WASH - DAWN

Pete is still laying face down on the bank, being fervently
licked in the face by the dog.

ON THE OLD MAN

A no-nonsense sort in his late-60s, he wears overalls and an
old railroad cap. He comes down to Pete, and using his
walking stick, pokes him in the side.

OLD MAN
Mister, who are ya? my dog likes
you, but that don't mean much, she
likes skunks, too. Sweet n'stupid,
that's why I keep her.

Pete blinks up at the Old Man, his mouth gaping open.

OLD MAN
Mister, you okay? You look wet.
You in an accident or somethin'?

PETE
I... I don't know.

He sits up, and the Old Man gets a look at his head, which is
caked with mud and blood on one side.

OLD MAN
You best come with me. Can ya
walk?

PETE
I... yes, I think so.

He stands up shakily. The Old Man gives Pete a hand.

OLD MAN
Come on, we'll have the Doc look
you over.

PETE
My head hurts.

OLD MAN
I shouldn't be surprises. You
smell like that was quite a night
before you had there.
(to the dog)
Maggie! Let's go now!

And they head toward the road to town. BOOMING UP, we SEE
them pass a roadside sign:

ON THE SIGN:

WELCOME TO
LAWSON, CALIFORNIA
EST. 1869
ELEV. 275 POP. 1755
THE TOWN
THAT GAVE ITS ALL

OLD MAN (STANTON)
Name's Stanton Lawson. My
ancestors founded this town.

PETE
Ancestors?

STANTON
Actually, my grandpap. But
"ancestors" sounds better, don't
it?
(hands Pete a
handkerchief)
Here.

Pete takes the handkerchief and wipes the mud and some of the
blood off his face.

PETE
I suppose. Thanks.

STANTON
You look familiar, fella. What's
your name?

Pete stops, thinks for a moment.

PETE
I'm... I... I honestly don't know.

CUT TO:

EXT. COMMERCE STREET - LAWSON, CALIFORNIA - DAY

Pete and Stanton walk along Commerce Street, the main drag
through the center of the small town. Lawson is a bit run
down, creeping inexorably toward decrepit. Despite that,
there's a timeless quality to the small buildings, a familiar
All-American feel.

Several of the PEOPLE walking along the street take notice of
Pete and nod to Stanton, who nods back.

PETE
They all know you?

STANTON
'Course they all know me. And I
know all them. Town's got my name,
don't it?

They pass the window of the drug store, COLE'S PHARMACY.
Pete looks down and sees

TWO FADED GOLD STARS

in the window with two faded photos, all decked in tattered
black crepe. Two boys, no more than 18 and 19, who went off
to war and didn't come back.

Stanton notes Pete stopping to look at the stars and photos.

STANTON
Ernie Cole here just got himself
elected mayor. Lost both his boys
in the war. Kenny at Anzio and
Willie at Normandy.

PETE
(thinking)
The war...

STANTON
(points across the street)
Mabel over there at the diner lost
her husband Max. Okinawa, I
believe.

ANGLE - MABEL'S DINER

A typical small-town greasy spoon -- with one faded star
prominent in the window.

CLOSER

On MABEL LANIER, a sweet-faced woman in her 30s. She stares
vacantly into space, her reverie broken by a customer needing
a coffee refill.

STANTON
All told, this little town gave
sixty-two of its finest to the war.
Seventeen of 'em at Normandy alone.
More'n its share, I should say.
Got us a letter from President
Truman. City council commissioned
a war memorial. Been sittin' in
the basement of city hall these six
years. Town never had the heart to
put it up. Place just hasn't been
the same since the war.

STANTON AND PETE

Pete looks longingly toward the diner. Stanton takes note.

STANTON
You hungry, son?

PETE
Yes. Very.

STANTON
Got any money?

Pete rummages in his pants pockets, and comes up with three
quarters.

STANTON
Six bits. More'n enough to buy
some breakfast. C'mon.

And they head across the street.

CUT TO:

A PLATE WITH TWO PIECES OF APPLE PIE

A fork comes into frame and tears into one of the slices.

WIDER

INT. MABEL'S DINER - DAY

Pete is fairly shoveling the pie into his mouth, pausing only
to wash it down with gulps of coffee.

MABEL

stands nearby, watching in amazement as her pie is consumed
in record time.

Pete notices that Stanton and Mabel -- and the other PATRONS,
for that matter -- are watching his feeding frenzy. He stops
in his tracks, and starts chewing leisurely. He smiles at
Mabel.

PETE
(mouth full)
Pie's... good.

MABEL
(wryly)
Like you could tell.
(to Stanton)
Where'd you find him?

STANTON
Down by the wash.

MABEL
We gotta put a rail on that thing
before someone else gets killed.
(to Pete)
Three people have died there,
Mister. You're lucky to be alive.

PETE
(draining the coffee cup)
Thanks. More coffee?

Mabel obliges. As she pours the coffee, she looks at Pete.

MABEL
You know, you look familiar. You
ever been in here before?

Pete shakes his head.

STANTON
He don't remember who he is, Mabel.
Gonna take him to the Doc, as soon
as he gets in.

MABEL
(distractedly)
Doc should be in for his coffee and
bear claw any minute...
(to Pete)
You sure you never been in here?

Pete looks up at Mabel and smiles winningly.

PETE
I'd remember this pie.

Mabel, thoroughly charmed, smiles back at Pete.

MABEL
(patting his hand)
I'll just get you another piece.

EXT. COMMERCE STREET - DAY

A stoop-shouldered little man in his late 60s, HARRY TRUMBO
shambles along the street, headed for Mabel's Diner. There's
a sadness about Harry, the world-weary melancholy of a man
who has little to smile about because he has little to care
about. After a couple of steps, he's met up by DOC BEN
LARDNER, a vigorous man in his 50s. He comes up behind Harry
and claps him on the back.

LARDNER
'Mornin' Harry. Fine day, isn't
it?

HARRY
Morning, Doc. Yes, yes it looks
just fine.

LARDNER
Plenty to do today?

HARRY
(vaguely)
Oh, yes, plenty. Plenty.

They're at the door of the diner. Doc opens it for Harry.

LARDNER
After you.

INT. MABEL'S DINER - DAY

Lardner comes over to Mabel, who hands him a tall paper cup
of coffee and bags him a bear claw.

LARDNER
Mornin' Mabel, Stan.

MABEL
Mornin' Doc. Got some new business
for you today.

Lardner and Pete make eye contact, and the doctor notices the
bump on his head.

LARDNER
Hello, son. How'd that happen?

STANTON
He don't know. And he don't know
his name, neither. Found him down
by the wash.

LARDNER
You'd better come with me, son.
(to Mabel, indicating the
coffee and danish)
On my tab?

MABEL
You bet.

Lardner, Stanton and Pete rise and move to the door. Pete
turns back, takes the three quarters out of his pocket, and
puts them on the counter, smiling brightly at Mabel.

PETE
Thanks. Great pie.

MABEL
(blushing)
You're welcome. Come again.

ON HARRY

seated at the opposite end of the counter. He glances up at
Pete.

HARRY'S POV

as Pete smiles at Mabel and turns to go.

ON HARRY

His mouth falls open, his hand moves to cover it. He's just
seen a ghost...

HARRY'S POV - SLOW MOTION...

... as the three men pass by the diner's window.

CLOSE - HARRY

HARRY
(wide eyed)
Sweet Jesus...

CUT TO:

A FINGER --

moving left-to-right, right-to-left through space.

LARDNER'S VOICE
Follow my finger. Just use your
eyes. That's it. Good.

WIDER

INT. EXAMINATION ROOM - DAY

Doc Lardner is checking Pete's eyes. Pete sits on an
examination table, his shirt off, his head freshly bandaged.
Stanton lurks in the corner, Maggie curled at his feet.

STANTON
He was passed out cold. Maggie
woke 'im.

LARDNER
Uh-huh. He looks familiar.
(to Pete)
Open your mouth. Say "ah."

Pete does. Lardner has a look as Stanton pulls out a pocket
watch.

STANTON
Said as much myself, Doc. Can't
place him, though. To look at him,
you'd think the cheese slid off his
cracker.
(looks at his watch)
Well, morning's half-over. I'm
off.

PETE
Thank you, Mr. Lawson.

STANTON
Don't mention it. Whoever-you-are.

Stanton and Maggie exit. Lardner checks Pete's ears.

LARDNER
Any idea how you got here, son?

PETE
No, sir.

Lardner sniffs him.

LARDNER
Been drinkin' a bit, have we?

PETE
I don't remember. I guess so.
Smells like it.
(smacks his lips and
frowns)
Tastes like it.

LARDNER
Well, you've been wet to the skin.
You must've fallen in.

PETE
I guess I did.

LARDNER
Lucky you got out, that water's got
quite a pull, and it empties
straight into the ocean.

Lardner takes a shirt off his counter and hands it to Pete.

LARDNER
Here, one of mine.

PETE
Thanks.

Pete puts on the shirt.

LARDNER
Do you remember if you were driving
a car? Maybe you went over the
bridge. No guard rail there, it's
easy to do. It's happened before.

PETE
It's possible. I just don't
remember.

LARDNER
And you don't know your name or who
you are, that right?

PETE
(frustrated)
I... no, I... I just can't...

LARDNER
(gently)
It's okay, son. We just need to
call you something. That's all.

Pete stifles a laugh.

LARDNER
What is it?

PETE
Call me... Ishmael?

LARDNER
Well, at least you remember "Moby
Dick."

CUT TO:

INT. DOC LARDNER'S PRIVATE OFFICE - DAY

Lardner is on the phone, sipping his coffee and nibbling his
bear claw. Pete is standing, nosing around the office --
diplomas, photographs, knick-knacks. He zeros in on one
photo in particular.

ON THE PHOTO

one of Lardner and a beautiful YOUNG WOMAN. They've been
fishing, and the young woman displays a much larger catch
than Lardner.

LARDNER
(into phone)
Stanton found him by the wash. Not
hurt too bad, but he took a nasty
bump on the head and he can't
remember who he is. We both think
he looks familiar, but we can't
place him. You bet. He'll be
here.

Lardner hangs up and watches Pete looking at the pictures.

LARDNER
That's me and my daughter Adele.
My pride and joy. Charms the fish
right out of the lake, she does.

PETE
She's very pretty.

LARDNER
Thanks. Well, Sheriff's on his way
over, and maybe we can get to the
bottom of who you are...

Lardner stares at him. Pete takes note, turns toward him.

LARDNER
... sorry 'bout that, but you do
look familiar to me.

PETE
Wish I could say the same thing.

CUT TO:

EXT. DOC LARDNER'S OFFICE - DAY

The Sheriff's sedan pulls up to the office and SHERIFF CECIL
ELDRIDGE, 45, gets out. As he gets a few steps from the
door, Harry Trumbo jumps out from around the side of the
building and stops him.

HARRY
(excited)
Cecil! Cecil, there's a young man
in there...

ELDRIDGE
(startled)
Lord love a duck, Harry, you wanna
give me a heart attack right in
front of the doctor's office?

HARRY
Listen to me! The young man in
there...

Eldridge keeps moving to the door.

ELDRIDGE
(interrupting)
Stan Lawson found him unconscious
by the wash this morning, and I'm
here to investigate, and if we find
anything interesting, it'll be in
the paper, so why don't you just...

Harry jumps in front of Eldridge and grabs him by the
shoulders.

HARRY
Cecil, listen to me!

The sheriff stops.

HARRY
(breathless)
It's Luke.

CUT TO:

INT. DOC LARDNER'S PRIVATE OFFICE - DAY

Sheriff Eldridge is seated across from Pete. He's staring at
him intently. Silence.

ELDRIDGE
No wallet, huh?

LARDNER
No identification at all.
(beat)
What're you thinkin', Cecil?

ELDRIDGE
What I'm thinkin' is we got us one
a'two things here. A mystery or a
damn miracle. And by god I can't
tell which.
(to Pete)
Boy, you say you have no idea who
you are? That right?

PETE
Yes.

ELDRIDGE
You ever been in this town before,
to your knowledge?

PETE
No. But...

ELDRIDGE
But what?

PETE
Well, this place sorta reminds me
of something.

ELDRIDGE
What's that?

PETE
"It's a Wonderful Life."

ELDRIDGE
The Jimmy Stewart picture? I
remember that one. Saw it over at
the Bijou. So, you remember that,
huh?

PETE
"It's a Wonderful Life?"

ELDRIDGE
Or the Bijou. Either one.

PETE
I remember the picture... but I
don't remember where I saw it.

The Sheriff rises and crosses to the door.

ELDRIDGE
Doc, with your permission, I want
to bring someone in here. Maybe
it'll jar this young man's memory.

LARDNER
By all means.

Eldridge opens the door.

ELDRIDGE
(to someone offscreen)
Harry, why don't you come on in
here.

Harry enters the office, doffs his hat, revealing a full head
of snow-white hair. He nods to Eldridge and Lardner, and
slowly turns to face Pete. He looks closer... and closer.
Hesitantly, he takes a couple of steps towards Pete, who
slowly rises out of his chair to meet the old man's gaze.
Finally, they're standing practically toe-to-toe.

PETE

looks a bit puzzled, but the old man has such a sweet face...

HARRY

has tears forming in his eyes. A smile turns up the corners
of his mouth, and quickly lights up his whole face.

LARDNER
(softly, to Eldridge)
Are you saying that he's...

ELDRIDGE
(smiling broadly)
Shhhhhh.

Harry takes Pete in his arms and hugs him tightly, burying
his face in Pete's shoulder and sobbing.

HARRY
I knew all along. I knew you were
alive! Oh, Luke...

Pete doesn't quite know what to think. He clearly has no
idea who this old man is.

LARDNER
(mouth agape in disbelief)
Mother o'god...

ELDRIDGE
(to Pete)
Give the man a hug, boy! That's
your father!

Pete looks at Harry. It's not so much that he remembers
anything -- he's swept up in the moment.

PETE
My father...?

Pete wraps his arms around Harry and hugs him tightly,
glancing over at

ELDRIDGE AND LARDNER

who look on goofily, fighting back tears. They smile at
Pete, who smiles back tentatively.

CUT TO:

EXT. DOC LARDNER'S OFFICE - DAY

Harry, Pete, Eldridge and Lardner come outside.

ELDRIDGE
C'mon, I'll give you two a lift
back to the Bijou.

PETE
The Bijou?

LARDNER
That's where you live.

PETE
We live in a theater?

HARRY
Only one in town.
(he opens the car door for
Pete)
Get in, son.

ELDRIDGE
(sotto, to Lardner)
Ben, when's Delly due back?

LARDNER
(sotto)
Tomorrow afternoon...
(seized by a thought)
... oh my god...

ELDRIDGE
(sotto)
Exactly. Break it to her gently.

Eldridge and Harry get in the car. Lardner comes over to
Pete's back seat window.

LARDNER
Get plenty of rest, Luke. You took
a pretty big wallop there.

He turns to move away, then turns back.

LARDNER
Good to have you back.

Eldridge starts the car and they drive away.

(NOTE: Henceforth, "PETE" will be known as "LUKE." It'll be
easier to keep track of things, since everyone's now calling
him Luke, anyway. Trust me.)

CUT TO:

INT. ELDRIDGE'S CAR (DRIVING) - DAY

Harry sits next to the Sheriff, and Luke has the back seat
all to himself. He leans forward toward the front seat and
taps Harry on the shoulder.

LUKE
Excuse me... what's your, um, your
name?

HARRY
Harry, son. Harry.

LUKE
And... what's my name again?

HARRY
Albert Lucas Trumbo. But you've
been "Luke" since you were a baby.

LUKE
Ah.
(taking it for a spin)
Luke. Luke. I like it.

Luke looks at the town as they drive down Commerce Street.

HIS POV

Shops are open for business, TOWNSPEOPLE are going about
their lives. A few stop and watch as the Sheriff's car goes
by.

next>>