|
Lunatics: An Original Screenplay by Josh Becker Revised 08/01/89 Copyright © 1989
Renaissance Pictures II, Ltd.
The enormous skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles are dramatically illuminated by the warm orange rays of the rising sun. In accelerated motion the clouds boil above the buildings and the sun travels across the sky. The shadows of the buildings circle around in front of them. Our view moves into the city . . . DISSOLVE: EXT. ALLEY - DAY We move along the pavement of an alley - a thin, trashy alley with garbage cans tipped over and thick, colorful graffiti coating the walls. Our view moves rapidly toward the far wall of the alley that is totally covered in graffiti. A garbage truck drives past blocking the wall for a second. We reach the wall and come to an abrupt halt on one word clearly written in graffiti - "LUNATICS." Our view travels straight up the wall. The credits come in from the top and go out the bottom. The graffiti on the wall says, "6TH STREET ORPHANS - Comet, Presto, Joker, Fuzzy, Cueball . . ." With the last credit, we reach the top of the wall.
We move across the rooftop of a building, past a skylight, hanging laundry, a pidgeon coop, toward the backside of a billboard. As we near the metal grating in the back of the billboard we go up and over it to . . .
A decaying old four-story apartment building in a crummy residential section of downtown L.A. In the second story apartment window yellowed curtains sway in the breeze. A fan in the window turns lazily. On the sidewalk in front of the building there are cars going by and pedestrian traffic. A black, female MAILWOMAN steps into view pushing a mail cart. The Mailwoman steps in front of the building and sorts letters. The numbers "1-2-4-1" are chiseled into the front of the building to the right of the door. The Mailwoman goes inside.
The Mailwoman enters the dirty, poorly lit lobby of the building. She pulls out her extendo keychain, unlocks the mailboxes and begins distributing the mail into the boxes. A first floor apartment door opens to the length of the chain lock and an eye peers out. A moment later the door opens and out steps a very old Jewish woman perambulating with the aid of a walker. She is MRS. RABINOWITZ. She has a Hungarian accent. MRS.
RABINOWITZ The Mailwoman doesn't even look up. MAILWOMAN Mrs. Rabinowitz hobbles up to get her mail. A middle-aged Mexican woman comes down the steps. She is MRS. RAMIREZ. She goes to her mailbox, unlocks it and waits impatiently for her mail to be put in. She remarks to the Mailwoman rather snidely . . . MRS.
RAMIREZ The Mailwoman doesn't look up. MAILWOMAN Mrs. Rabinowitz and Mrs. Ramirez look at one another and each make the same face saying, "Oh, sure." Another first floor apartment door opens. Out steps an old black man with white hair. He is MR. JACKSON. He bows slightly to the women. MR.
JACKSON They nod back to him. He takes out his mail. The Mailwoman takes several letters and attempts to shove them into a mailbox that's already too full. No more letters will go in. The Mailwoman takes another key from her ring and unlocks the mailbox marked "Henry Stone, 206." About thirty letters come pouring out. Everybody at the mailboxes turns and looks. The Mailwoman picks the letters up off the floor. MAILWOMAN They all look at each other and shrug. MRS.
RAMIREZ MAILWOMAN MRS.
RAMIREZ MAILWOMAN MRS.
RAMIREZ MR.
JACKSON Mrs. Rabinowitz nods knowingly. MRS.
RABINOWITZ The Mailwoman looks at Henry Stone's pile of mail for a moment, then crams it back into the mailbox marked "206" and smashes the door closed. MRS.
RABINOWITZ MR.
JACKSON Everyone thinks about this for a second, then shrugs and heads back to their apartment holding their mail. The two first floor apartment doors close, the Mailwoman leaves the building and Mrs. Rameriz goes up the stairs.
Mrs. Rameriz walks up the second floor hallway. She stops in front of the apartment door marked "204" and starts to unlock it. Slowly she turns her head and glances down to the end of the hall. At the very end of the hall is a door marked "206". Mrs. Rameriz looks at the door for a moment, then shakes her head and mutters to herself. MRS.
RAMERIZ She steps inside her apartment shutting the door firmly behind her and locking it. We hang on the empty hallway, then slowly move up the hall to the apartment door marked "206". When we arrive at the door, our view goes below the door-knob to the keyhole, then right through the keyhole into the apartment . . .
We move forward up a dark hallway toward bright sunlight streaming in through a window. We move past a door on the right leading to the empty kitchen, then past another door on the left to an empty bathroom. We move into a brightly lit living room right up to the open windows. Yellowed curtains sway in the breeze and a fan slowly turns. The view out the windows is of another apartment building across the street. On the roof of the building is a billboard for "LULU'S LINGERIE" with a picture of a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN lying on her side wearing scanty lingerie. A rickity bookshelf below the window is filled with paperbacks: "PAPA HEMINGWAY," "WIRED," "JANIS," "NO ONE HERE GETS OUT ALIVE," "THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE," "THE BELL JAR," etc. As our view begins to scan the living room we see that all of the walls are completely covered with tin foil! Roll after roll after roll, floor to ceiling - and parts of the ceiling, too. The furniture is old and tattered. A couch, an easy chair, a desk covered with spiral notebooks, a coffee table coated with fermenting dirty dishes, newspapers and books. There's an old stereo sitting on some orange crates containing a few records (we can see the cover of "ZAMFIR/ MASTER OF THE PANFLUTE"). At the far right side of the living room is a doorway. Through the doorway is a bedroom. We move inside. It is pretty barren except for a single bed. From beneath the bed two wide, frightened eyes peer out. These belong to HENRY (HANK) STONE. He is 24 years old, has messy brown hair and deep sunken eyes that are bugging out. Hank can clearly hear the sound of a hospital operating room - the sucking of a respirator pump, a bleeping EKG, the hissing of the gas and a doctor's intense voice. DOCTOR We hear the Zap! Of an electrical jolt. Hank spasms under the bed. DOCTOR We hear the high-pitched whizzing of a bone saw - Zizzzzzzz!!
Our view goes right into Hank's bulging left eye, into his pupil, through his optic nerve and into his brain. We see his synapses snapping and popping, faces and images whirring and whizzing past. Suddenly ferocious little white worms eat their way through the cerebral cortex and frontal lobe. The horrid little worms have razor sharp teeth and hungrily devour Hank's brain. A bright light moves across the brain and the worms quickly duck back into their holes.
A MASKED DOCTOR removes the top of Hank's skull. He peers down at the brain and reaches toward it with a scalpel.
Hank's eyes are tightly closed, his brow furrowed and tense. He has his hands on either side of his head and pushes as hard as he can in an attempt to squeeze the bad things out his ears. Finally, Hank opens his eyes and glances down at his chest. He sees a common household spider (the variety often found under beds) crawling toward his face. Hank totally panics. He swipes at the spider, sits up banging his head on the bedsprings, then quickly rolls out from under the bed. He stands up still wiping at himself like there's probably other spiders he missed. He leans against the door-frame hyperventilating and blinking rapidly. He can't seem to calm down. He is wearing baggy khaki pants and a Detroit Pistons t-shirt. Suddenly he shakes his head really hard and intentionally wallops the side of his head against the door-frame. That wakes him up. Hank rubs the side of his head tenderly. HANK
Hank steps into the living room. Warm rays of sunlight beam in through the windows, refracting and reflecting off the tinfoil. Motes of dust float gently through the air. Hank makes a slow wandering circuit around his living room. He flexes his palms and rubs the muscles in his neck. As he passes the window he runs his finger along the windowsill. He looks at the dust on his finger, blows on it, then wipes it on his pants. As he passes the bookshelf he stops and takes a look. He opens an old red hardcover book, "THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE." Hank reads out loud. HANK He wearily shuts the book and keeps walking. As he passes the old black and white television set, he stops and turns on the switch. He jerks his hand away like he just got about a twenty-five volt shock. Before the tubes have a chance to warm up Hank switches the set off, getting another little shock. Hank continues his circuit around the room. He's a caged animal. Hank stops and intently stares down at the telephone. It is a cheap remote phone with an antenna. It just sits there on the coffee table. Hank stares at it and stares at it, then picks up the receiver and listens. He hears a dial tone. HANK He forlornly hangs up.
Hank's fingernail picks the little globs of dried toothpaste off of his toothbrush. When this job is completed he puts the toothbrush back in the rack. He pulls some hairs from his brush and drops them into the toilet. He flushes and intently watches the water swirl down the drain. Hank looks up at himself in the mirror and asks . . . HANK
Hank sits on the couch staring out the window. The sun is setting directly behind the LuLu's Lingerie billboard across the street. Hank directs all of his attention to the curvaceous Beautiful Woman reclining in her scanty apparel - a white lace bra, lace panties, garters, white stockings and high heels. Hank stares into the flat, lifeless eyes of the photographic woman. Hank squints. The Beautiful Woman's eyes are inert. Hank stares even more intensely. The Beautiful Woman's eyes blink. Hank's eyes widen. The Beautiful Woman is alive and standing in Hank's apartment. She is backlit by the fiery red sun giving her a glowing, unreal aura. She slowly, sensuously walks toward Hank, her hips swaying, her red lips pursed. Hank is breathing quickly, his mouth open. The Beautiful Woman steps up to Hank. She puts one leg on either side of his and stands directly over him. Hank looks straight up at her in awe. She lowers herself onto Hank's lap. Hank takes hold of her waist. She begins running her long, red nails through Hank's hair and bites his lower lip. The Beautiful Woman begins rocking her hips and tush back and forth on Hank's lap. Her pointy pink tongue tickles the end of Hank's nose. Suddenly the phone rings excruciatingly loud. RIIINNNGGG!!! The Beautiful Woman is gone. Hank grabs at nothing and falls off the couch. He scrambles for the phone. HANK FEMALE
VOICE HANK Hank's MOM remains off-screen. MOM HANK He looks down to make sure there are no spiders on him. MOM Hank begins to pace around the living room. HANK MOM
MOM Hank begins to retrace his own steps. HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK Hank steps up beside his desk. It is covered with spiral notebooks and black fine point rollerball pens. On top of everything is a letter with the letterhead "The California Review." These words comprise the opening half of the first sentence, "We appreciate your interest and submission, however . . ." MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM Hank looks like he's getting mad, but holding himself back. HANK MOM Hank closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. A look of deep pain fills his face. HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK MOM HANK He hangs up. He begins to walk in circles around the living room nodding his head as the last rays of sunlight crawl up the wall. The room slowly descends into deep blue. HANK He reaches up and turns on a lamp. He gets about a forty volt shock and recoils. Hank sits down on the couch and picks up the L.A. Metro Newspaper. On the back is an ad for a 976 Partyline. It depicts happy, handsome young men and women engaged in lively conversation. Hank picks up the telephone and dials. It rings a few times, then is answered. Hank can hear five or six people having a conversation, laughing and exchanging phone numbers. Hank smiles. HANK Everyone stops talking at once. There are a few coughs, then one by one everyone hangs up. One girl's voice remains. GIRL Hank smiles HANK GIRL She hangs up, too. Now there is jus a dial tone. Hank looks hurt and slowly hangs up. Hank shrugs. That's okay. He looks back at the L.A. Metro and spots another partyline ad. The number is 976-0823. He dials the push-button phone. His finger pushes nine, then seven, then six, then zero, then eight, then two, then three. It rings and a recording comes on. OPERATOR Hank looks truly baffled. He glances down at the telephone and all of the buttons are marked six! Hank drops the receiver. He grabs his head and rubs and squishes. The worms are trying to eat their way out. From the receiver a voice can be heard. OPERATOR Hank gets more tense, switches the phone off and puts it into its base. He takes several deep breaths and continues rubbing his temples. In his head is the sound of a phone left off the hook too long - Eee-oooh, eee-oooh, eee-oooh. He picks up the receiver and slams it back down. HANK But the sound doesn't stop. Hank crawls to the center of the living room and begins to slowly pound his head on the floor.
HANK Our view of Hank pulls back out the window.
Hank is a dim silhouette seen through his window. His window is just one of many in the building. And his building is just one of many in the city.
The tall buildings are all lit up. Traffic streaks by on the freeways. Long lines of Mexicans wait for Spanish dubbed quadruple bills at huge old movie palaces.
This is a very bad part of downtown. Refuse covers the street and sidewalk, there are bums and nodding junkies in most of the doorways, bag ladies and shopping cart people wander past on their way to nowhere, drug deals are being transacted right on the corners. In a large pile of garbage on the street, right at the very top, sits a half-dead rhododendron in a cracked clay pot. The pot is encircled with black electrical tape. There is also a peeling peace sticker on it. On the sidewalk, behind the plant, appear two worn out sneakers. Above the sneakers are tight faded blue jeans, worn through in many places and a tight blue t-shirt outlining a shapely female figure. Residing within these clothes is NANCY BRYANT, a pretty 25 year old girl with straight blonde hair. She has a little green backpack on her back. Nancy looks at the dying, discarded rhododendron in the garbage heap and a look of pity fills her eyes. NANCY She looks all around, blinks several times in a strange way, then reaches out and takes the plant. Nancy walks up the nasty street clutching the plant to her chest, potting soil dribbling down her front. Nancy's forward motion is blocked by TWO MALE DRUNKS in the midst of kicking the crap out of each other in the middle of the sidewalk. A crowd of six or seven BAR PATRONS surround the fighters cheering them on, several still holding their drinks. Nancy tries to edge her way around the fracas. As she goes past, she and one of the battling drunks catch each other's eye. That's the moment that his drunken opponent takes to belt him as hard as he can in the nose. The drunk flies forward past Nancy and his head smashes into a parking meter. The little red flag inside the meter pops up, "Violation." The drunk drops to the pavement out cold. Nancy watches as everyone cheers, then makes their way back into the bar dragging the unconscious man with them. Nancy is shocked and keeps walking. Nancy's open hand holds a hotel key. On the plastic ring it says, "St. Moritz Hotel - L.A.'s most modern hotel." Nancy closes her hand revealing across the street. . .
The St. Moritz Hotel, a sleazy flea-bag hotel with a fire escape adorning its front. Vagrants and drunks loiter outside. Nancy sighs and heads across the street.
Inside the ugly, run-down, ill-lit lobby a scene from a Fellini movie is taking place: a black PIMP is yelling at a dumpy, old white HOOKER, who is yelling back, two shady-looking DRUG-DEALERS are making a transaction, a JUNKIE is nodding and humming to himself, his cigarette having burned right down between his fingers, a fat, bald DESK CLERK sits behind the counter watching a black and white TV with bad reception and the volume cranked too loud. Nancy enters the lobby holding her plant. She tries to hide behind the plant and quickly make her way across the lobby to the stairs. DESK
CLERK Nancy takes on an innocent look and walks to the desk. NANCY DESK
CLERK All of the scum and refuse loitering I the lobby turn and look at Nancy disapprovingly. Nancy sets down the plant and takes her wallet out of her pack. She peers I and there is a twenty, a five and three ones. NANCY She takes out the twenty and the Desk Clerk snatches it. DESK
CLERK NANCY DESK
CLERK NANCY Nancy picks up the plant and dirt spills down her shirt. DESK
CLERK He points at the plant. NANCY DESK
CLERK Nancy holds the pot tightly together and heads toward the stairs. NANCY Nancy goes up the stairs.
Nancy gets inside of the sleazy little hotel room with a torn bedspread and a broken lampshade and locks the door behind her. She turns around and bumps right into RAY, a handsome, greasy punk who is just coming out of the bathroom. They both scare each other and gasp. NANCY RAY NANCY RAY Ray points at the plant. NANCY RAY NANCY RAY NANCY RAY NANCY RAY NANCY RAY NANCY RAY Nancy begins blinking rapidly. NANCY RAY NANCY |