Barton Fink

CHARLIE

(off)

... Just put it out of you head...

TRACKING
Toward a pool set in a grand yard with shaped hedges and statuary set amid palms trees.
Sunlight glitters angrily off the water; we are approaching Jack Lipnik who sits poolside in a white deck chair.

LIPNIK

Bart! So happy to see ya!

REVERSE
Pulling Barton, who is being escorted by Lou Breeze.
Barton is haggard, sunken eyes squinting against too much sun.
LIPNIK

Sit! Talk! Relax for a minute, then talk! Drink?
As Barton sits:
BARTON

Yeah... rye whiskey?
LIPNIK

Boy! You writers! Work hard, play hard! That's what I hear, anyway...
He laughs, then barks at Lou Breeze.
LIPNIK

... Lou.
Lou exits.
LIPNIK

Anyway. Ben Geisler tells me things're going along great. Thimks we've got a real winner in this one. And let me tell you something, I'm counting on it. I've taken an interest. Not to interfere, mind you – hardly seems necessary in your case. A writer – a storyteller – of your stature. Givitta me in bold strokes, Bart. Gimme the broad outlines. I'm sitting in the audience, the lights go down, Capitol logo comes up... you're on!
He beams expectantly at Barton.
Barton licks his parched lips.
BARTON

Yeah, okay... well... we fade in...
Lipnik is nodding, already involved in the story.
BARTON

... It's a tenement building. On the Lower East Side...
LIPNIK

Great! He's poor, this wrestler! He's had to struggle!
BARTON

And then... well...
Barton looks back out at the pool, his eyes closed to slits against the sun. He looks back at Lipnik.
BARTON

... Can I be honest, Mr. Lipnik?
LIPNIK

CAN you? You damn well better be. Jesus, if I hadn't been honest in my business dealings – well, of course, you can't always be honest, not with the sharks swimming around this town – but if you're a writer, you don't think about those things – if I'd been totally honest, I wouldn't be within a mile of this pool – unless I was cleaning it. But that's no reason for you not to be. Honest, I mean. Not cleaning the pool.

Lou has entered with a drik, which he sets next to Barton. Lou sits.
Barton looks around, takes the drink, sips at it greedily, but must finally take the plunge.
BARTON

Well... to be honest, I'm never really comfortable discussing a work in progress. I've got it all worked out in my head, but sometimes if you force it out in words – prematurely – the wrong words – well, your meaning changes, and it changes your own mind, and you never get it back – so I'd just as soon not talk about it.
Lipnik stares at him. His smile has disappeared. There is a long beat.
Lou Breeze clears his throat. He apparently feels obliged to fill the silence.
LOU

... Mr. Fink. Never mind me. Never mind how long I've been in pictures. Mr. Lipnik has been in pictures just about since they were invented. HE practically invented them.
Lipnik has turned to look curiously at Lou.
LOU

... Now I think if he's interested in what one of his contract employees is doing while he draws pay, I think that employee ought to tell him, if he wants to stay an employee. Right now the contents of your head are the property of Capitol Pictures, so if I were you I would speak up. And pretty goddamn fast.
Lou looks at Barton, expectantly. Lipnik continues to stare at Lou.
There is a long silence, terribly heavy.
Finally, Lipnik explodes – at Lou.
LIPNIK

You lousy sonofabitch! You're telling this man – this ARTIST – what to do?!
Lou Breeze is stunned.
LOU

Mr. Lipnik, I –
LIPNIK

This man creates for a living! He puts food on your table and on mine! THANK him for it! Thank him, you ugrateful sonofabitch! Thank him or YOU'RE fired!
Barton is staring, aghast.
BARTON

Mr. Lipnik, that's not really necessar-
Lipnik, still staring at Lou, gives no sign of hearing Barton. He rises and points.
LIPNIK

Get down on your knees, you sonofabitch! Get down on your knees and kiss this man's feet!
LOU

Mr. Lipnik, please –
BARTON

I – Mr. Lipnik –
LIPNIK

KISS THIS MAN'S FEET!!
Lou, aghast, looks at Barton.
Barton, aghast, can only return the same stunned look.
Lipnik snarls at Lou:
LIPNIK

... Okay, get out of here. You're fired, you understand me? Get out of my sight.
Lou gets stiffly tp his feet and stumbles away.
BARTON

Mr. Lipnik, I –
LIPNIK

I apologize, Barton.
BARTON

No no, Mr. Breeze has actually been a great help –
LIPNIK

You don't have to cover for him. It's noble of you, but these things happen in business.
BARTON

Mr. Lipnik, I really would feel much better if you could reconsider –
LIPNIK

Ah, forget it, kid. I want you to pull this out of your head. If that sonofabitch wouldn't apologize to you, goddammit, I will. I respect your artistry and your methods, and if you can't fill us in yet, well hell, we should be kissing your feet for your fine efforts.
He gets down on his knees in front of Barton.
LIPNIK

... You know in the old country we were taught, as very young children, that there's no shame in supplicatin' yourself when you respect someone.
Barton stares, horrified, at Lipnik, on the ground at his feet.
LIPNIK

... On behalf of Capitol Pictures, the administration, and all a the stockholders, please accept this as a symbol of our apology and respect.

BARTON'S POV
Lipnik kisses his shoe and looks up at him.
Behind Lipnik the pool glitters.

BARTON'S ROOM
The cut has a hard musical sting. Out of the sting comes a loud but distorted thumping noise.
We are looking down, high angle, form one corner of the room. We are presented with a motionless tableau: Barton sits, hunched, in the far corner, elbows on knees, staring at the bed in front of him. He wears only trousers and a T-shirt and his body and face glisten with sweat. The bed's sheets have been stripped and the ratty gray mattress has an enormous rust-red stain in the middle.

After a beat, in the fareground, the only motion in the scene: A bead of tavky yelow wall-sweat dribbles down the near wall.
Sience, then the thumping repeats, resolving itself to a knock at the door.
Barton rises slowly and crosses to the door.

THE DOOR
Barton opens it to Charlie, who is dressed in a baggy suit, his hair slicked back, a tan fedora pushed back on his head. It is the first time we have seen him well turned out.
A battered briefcase is on the floor next to him. He holds a parcel in his left hand, about one foot square, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine.
CHARLIE

Barton. Can I come in?
Barton stands back from the door and Charlie picks up his briefcase and enters.

THE ROOM
As the two men enter.
BARTON

Jesus... You're leaving.
CHARLIE

Have to, old timer. Just for a while.
Barton sounds desparate:
BARTON

Jesus, Charlie, I...
CHARLIE

Everything's okay, believe me. I know it's rough mentally, but everything's taken care of.
BARTON

Charlie! I've got no one else here! You're the only person I know in Los Angeles...
He starts weeping
BARTON

... that I can talk to.
Charlie, also disturbed and unhappy, wraps both arms around Barton.
Barton sobs unashamedly into his shoulder. Charlie is somber.
CHARLIE

It's okay... It's okay...
BARTON

Charlie, I feel like I'm going crazy – like I'm losing my mind. I don't know what to do... I didn't do it, believe me. I'm sure of that, Charlie. I just...
His breath comes in short gasping heaves.
BARTON

... I just don't know what... to do –
CHARLIE

You gotta get a grip on, brother. You gotta just carry on – just for a few days, till I get back. Try and stay here, keep your door locked. Don't talk to anyone. We just gotta keep our heads and we'll figure it out.
BARTON

Yeah, but Charlie –
CHARLIE

Dammit, don't argue with me. You asked me to believe you – well I do. Now don't argue with me.
He looks at Barton for a beat.
CHARLIE

... Look, pal – can you do something for me?
Charlie hands him his parcel.
CHARLIE

... Keep this for me, till I get back.
Barton, snuffling, accepts the package.
CHARLIE

... It's just personal stuff. I don't wanna drag it with me, but I don't trust 'em downstairs, and I'd like to think it's in good hands.
Still snuffling:
BARTON

Sure, Charlie.
CHARLIE

Funny, huh, when everything that's important to a guy, everything he wants to keep from a lifetime – when he can fit it into a little box like that. I guess... I guess it's kind of pathetic.
Wallowing in self-pity:
BARTON

It's more than I've got.
CHARLIE

Well, keep it for me. Maybe it'll bring you good luck. Yeah, it'll help you finish your script. You'll think about me...
He thumps his chest.
CHARLIE

... Make me your wrestler. Then you'll lick that story of yours.
Barton is tearfully sincere:
BARTON

Thanks, Charlie.
Charlie solemnly thrusts out his hand.
CHARLIE

Yeah, well, see you soon, friend. You're gonna be fine.
Barton shakes. As they walk to the door:
BARTON

You'll be back?
CHARLIE

Don't worry about that, compadre. I'll be back.
Barton shuts the door behind Charlie, locks it, and turns around.

HIS POV
The room. The bed. The blood-stained mattress.
Barton wlaks across the room and sits carefully at the edge of the bed, avoiding the rust-colored stain. For a long beat, he sits still, but some- thing is building inside..

Finally, when we hear the distant ding of the elevator arriving for Charlie, it erupts:
Barton sobs, with the unself-conscious grief of an abandoned child.

HIGH WIDE SHOT
Barton weeping, alone on the bed, next to the rust-colored stain.
FADE OUT
FADE IN:

BATHING BEAUTY
With the fade in, the sound of the surf mixes up.
We pan down the picture to discover that a snapshot has been tucked into a corner of the picture frame: it is the snap of Charlie, smiling and waving, with his foot up on the running board of the 1939 Ford roadster.

BARTON
Sitting at the desk, staring at the picture. From his glazed eyes and the way his mouth hangs open, we may assume he has been staring at the picture for some time.
He notices something on the desk and picks it up.

HIS POV
The Holy Bible – Placed by the Gideons.
Barton opens it, randomly, to the Book of Daniel. The text is set in ornately Gothic type.
"5. And the king, Nebuchadnezzar, answered and said to the Chaldeans, I recall not my dream; if ye will not make known unto me my dream, and its interpretation, ye shall be cut in pieces, and of your tents shall be made a dunghill."

BARTON
Staring at the passage. His mouth hangs open.

THE BIBLE
Barton riffles to the first page.
In bold type at the top:
"THE BOOK OF GENESIS"
Underneath, in the same ornately Gothic type:
"Chapter One

1. Fade in on a tenement building on Manhattan's Lower East Side. Faint traffic noise is audible;

2. As is the cry of fishmongers."

BARTON
Squinting at the page through bloodshot eyes.
His mouth hangs open.

BARTON'S ROOM – DAY
At the cut the harsh clackety-clack of typing bangs in. Sunlight burns against the sheers of Barton's window, making it a painfully bright patch in the room which itself remains fairly dim.
Barton sits at the secretary, typing furiously.
He finishes a page, yanks it out of the carriage, and places it face-down on a short stack of face-down pages.
He feeds in a blank sheet and resumes his rapid typing. He is sweating, unshaven, and more haggard even than when we left him the previous night.

The telephone rings. After several rings Barton stops typing and answers it, absently, still looking at his work. His voice is hoarse.
BARTON

Hello... Chet... Who?...
He puts the receiver down on the desk, leans over the typewriter, and examines something he has just written.
He picks the phone back up and listens for a beat.
BARTON

... No, don't send them up here. I'll be right down.

ELEVATOR
A small oscillating fan whirs up in a corner of the elevator.
We pan down to Barton, who is riding down with Pete, the old elevator operator. Barton's voice is hoarse with fatigue.
BARTON

... You read the Bible, Pete?
PETE

Holy Bible?
BARTON

Yeah.
PETE

I think so... Anyway, I've heard about it.
Barton nods.
They ride for a beat.

LOBBY
Late afternoon sun slants in from one side. The lobby has the same golden ambiance as when first we saw it.

Barton is walking toward two wing chairs in the shadows, from which two men in suits are rising. One is tall, the other short.
POLICEMAN

Fink?
BARTON

Yeah.
POLICEMAN #2

Detective Mastrionotti.
POLICEMAN #1

Detective Deutsch.
MASTRIONOTTI

L.A.P.D.
BARTON

Uh-huh.
All three sit in ancient maroon swing chairs. Mastrionotti perches on the edge of his chair; Deutsch slumps back in the shadows, studying Barton.

DEUTSCH

Got a couple questions to ask ya.
MASTRIONOTTI

What do you do, Fink?
Still hoarse:
BARTON

I write.
DEUTSCH

Oh yeah? What kind of write?
BARTON

Well as a matter of fact, I write for the pictures.
MASTRIONOTTI

Big fuckin' deal.
DEUTSCH

You want my partner to kiss your ass?
MASTRIONOTTI

Would that be good enough for ya?
BARTON

No, I – I didn't mean to sound –
DEUTSCH

What DID you mean?
BARTON

I – I've got respect for – for working guys, like you –
MASTRIONOTTI

Jesus! Ain't that a load off! You live in 605?
BARTON

Yeah.
DEUTSCH

How long you been up there, Fink?
BARTON

A week, eight, nine days –
MASTRIONOTTI

Is this multiple choice?
BARTON

Nine days – Tuesday –
DEUTSCH

You know this slob?
He is holding a small black-and-white photograph out toward Barton.
There is a long beat as Barton studies the picture.
BARTON

... Yeah, he... he lives next door to me.
MASTRIONOTTI

That's right, Fink, he lives next door to you.
DEUTSCH

Ever talk to him?
BARTON

... Once or twice. His name is Charlie Meadows.
MASTRIONOTTI

Yeah, and I'm Buck Rogers.
DEUTSCH

His name is Mundt. Karl Mundt.
MASTRIONOTTI

Also known as Madman Mundt.
DEUTSCH

He's a little funny in the head.
BARTON

What did... What did he –
MASTRIONOTTI

Funny. As in, he likes to ventilate people with a shotgun and then cut their heads off.
DEUTSCH

Yeah, he's funny that way.
BARTON

I...
MASTRIONOTTI

Started in Kansas City. Couple of housewives.
DEUTSCH

Couple of days ago we see the same M.O. out in Los Feliz.
MASTRIONOTTI

Doctor. Ear, nose and throat man,.
DEUTSCH

All of which he's now missin'.
MASTRIONOTTI

Well, some of his throat was there.
DEUTSCH

Physician, heal thyself.
MASTRIONOTTI

Good luck with no fuckin' head.
DEUTSCH

Anyway.
MASTRIONOTTI

Hollywood precinct finds another stiff yesterday. Not too far from here. This one's better looking than the doc.

DEUTSCH

Female caucasian, thirty years old. Nice tits. No head. You ever see Mundt with anyone meets that description?
MASTRIONOTTI

But, you know, with the head still on.
BARTON

... No. I never saw him with anyone else.
DEUTSCH

So. You talked to Mundt, what about?
BARTON

Nothing, really. Said he was in the insurance business.
Deutsch indicates Mastrionotti.
DEUTSCH

Yeah, and he's Buck Rogers.
MASTRIONOTTI

No reputable company would hire a guy like that.
BARTON

Well that's what he said.
DEUTSCH

What else?
BARTON

He... I'm trying to think... Nothing, really... He... He said he liked Jack Oakie pictures.
Mastrionotti looks at Deutsch. Deutsch looks at Mastrionotti. After a beat, Mastrionotti looks back at Barton.
MASTRIONOTTI

Ya know, Fink, ordinarily we say anything you might remember could be helpful. But I'll be frank with you: That is not helpful.
DEUTSCH

Ya see how he's not writing it down?
MASTRIONOTTI

Fink. That's a Jewish name, isn't it?
BARTON

Yeah.
Mastrionotti gets to his feet, looking around the lobby.
MASTRIONOTTI

Yeah, I didn't think this dump was restricted.
He digs in his pocket.
MASTRIONOTTI

... Mundt has disappeared. I don't think he'll be back. But...
He hands Barton a card.
MASTRIONOTTI

... give me a call if you see him. Or if you remember something that isn't totally idiotic.

BARTON'S ROOM
We are tracking toward the paper-wrapped parcel that sits on the nightstand next to Barton's bed.
Barton enters and picks it up. He holds it for a beat, looking at it, then brings it over to the secretary and sits.
He shakes it.
No sound; whatever is inside is well packed.
Barton holds it up to his ear and listens for a long beat, as if it were a seashell and he is listening for the surf.
Finally he puts it on his desk, beneath the picture of the bathing beauty, and starts typing, quickly and steadily.
DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:

REVERSE
Some time later; Barton still types. He is face to us; beyond him we can see the bed with its rust-colored stain.
The phone rings. Barton ignores it. It continues to ring.
Barton rises and exits frame; we hold on to the bed in the background. We hear Barton's footsteps on the bathroom tile as the phone continues ringing.

Barton sits back into frame stuffing cotton into each ear. He resumes typing.

ANOTHER ANGLE
Barton typing. The desk trembles under the working of the typewriter. Charlie's parcel chatters.
Barton takes a finished page out of the carriage and places it face down on the growing stack to his right. He feeds in a new page. We hear the muted ding of the elevator down the hall. Barton resumes typing.
We hear a knock on Barton's door. Barton does not react, apparently not hearing.

THE DOORWAY
We are close on the bottom of the door. Someone in the hallway is sliding a note beneath the door; then his shadow disappears and his footsteps recede.
The note is a printed message headed: "While You Were Out... " Underneath are the printed words: "You were called by" and, handwritten in the space following: "Mr. Ben Geisler."
Handwritten below, in the message space:
"Thank you. Lipnik loved your meeting. Keep up the good work."
Barton's offscreen typing continues steadily.
FADE OUT

HALLWAY
A perfectly symmetrical wide low angle shot of the empty hall. Shoes are set put in front of each door except for one in the middle background.
At the cut in we hear faint, regular typing.
We hold for a beat. There is no motion. The long, empty hall. The distant typing.
We hold.
The typing stops. There is a beat of quiet.
It is broken by the sound of a door opening. It is the shoeless door in the middle background.
A hand reaches out to place a pair of shoes in the doorway.
The hand withdraws.
The door closes.
A short beat of silence.
The distant typing resumes.
The long empty hall. The distant typing.
FADE OUT

OVER THE BLACK
We hear the distant sound of a woman's voice, tinny and indistict.
WOMAN

Just a minute and I'll connect you...