Barton Fink

FADE IN:

CLOSE ON BARTON
His eyes are red-rimmed and wild. He sits on the edge of his bed holding the phone to his ear.
His voice is unnaturally loud:
BARTON

Hello? Operator! I can't... Oh!
He stops, reaches up, takes a cotton wad out of his ear.
We hear various clicks and clacks as the telephone lines switch, and then a distant ring. The phone rings three or four times before it is answered by a groggy voice.
VOICE

... Hello.
BARTON

Garland, it's me.
GARLAND

Barton? What time is it? Are you all right?
BARTON

Yeah, I'm fine, Garland – I have to talk to you. I'm calling long distance.
GARLAND

Okay.
Muffled, we hear Garlend speaking to someone else.
GARLAND

... It's Barton. Calling long distance.
Back into the receiver:
GARLAND

... What is it Barton? Are you okay?
BARTON

I'm fine, garland, but I have to talk with you.
GARLAND

Go ahead, son.
BARTON

It's about what I'm writing, Garland. It's really... I think it's really big.
GARLAND

What do you mean, Barton?
BARTON

Not big in the sense of large – although it's that too. I mean important. This may be the most IMPORTANT work I've done.

GARLAND

Well, I'm... glad to hear that –
BARTON

Very important, Garland. I just thought you should know that. Whatever happens.
GARLAND

... That's fine.
BARTON

Have you read the Bible, Garland?
GARLAND

... Barton, is everything okay?
BARTON

Yes... Isn't it?
GARLAND

Well, I'm just asking. You sound a little –
Guardedly:
BARTON

Sound a little what?
GARLAND

Well, you just... sound a little –
Bitterly:
BARTON

Thanks, Garland. Thanks for all the encouragement.
He slams down the phone.

OVER HIS SHOULDER
A one-quarter shot on Barton from behind as he picks up the cotton wad and sticks it back in his right ear.
He resumes typing, furiously.
After a beat he mutters, still typing.
BARTON

... Nitwit.

THE BATHING BEAUTY
Later. We hear typing and the roar of the surf.'

CLOSE ON TYPEWRITER
We are extremely close on the key-strike area. As we cut in Barton is typing:
"p-o-s-t-c-a-r-d-."
The carriage returns a couple of times and "T-H-E–E-N-D" is typed in.
The paper is ripped out of the carriage.

CLOSE ON A STACK OF PAGES
Lying face down on the desk; the last page is added, face down, to the pile.
The pile is picked up, its edges are straightened with a couple of thumps against the desktop, and then the pile is replaced on the desk, face up.
The title page reads:
"THE BURLYMAN

A Motion Picture Scenario

By

Barton Fink"
Barton's right hand enters frame to deposit a small cotton wad on top of the script.
Barton's left hand enters to deposit another small cotton wad on top of the script.
We hear Barton walk away. We hear bath water run.

THE BATHING BEAUTY
Still looking out to sea.

USO HALL
We are booming down to the dance floor as a raucous band plays an up-tempo number.

BARTON
Dancing animatedly, almost maniacally, his fingers jabbing the air.
The hall is crowded, but Barton is one of few men not in uniform.

USO GIRL
Giggling, dancing opposite Barton.
GIRL

You're cute!

BARTON
Caught up in his dancing, oblivious to the girl.
A white uniformed arm reaches in to tap Barton on the shoulder.
SAILOR

'Scuse me, buddy, mind if I cut in?
Barton glares at him.
BARTON

This is MY dance, sailor!
SAILOR

C'mon buddy, I'm shipping out tomorrow.
For some reason, Barton is angry.
BARTON

I'm a writer! Celebrating the completion of something GOOD! Do you understand that, sailor? I'm a WRITER!

His bellowing has drawn onlookers' attention.
VOICES

Step aside, four-eyes! Let someone else spin the dame! Give the navy a dance! Hey, Four-F, take a hike!
Barton turns furiously against the crowd.
BARTON

I'm a writer, you monsters! I CREATE!
He points at his head.
BARTON

... This is my uniform!
He taps his skull.
BARTON

... THIS is how I serve the common man! THIS is where I –
WHAPP! An infantry man tags Barton's chin on the button. Bodies surge. The crowd gasps. The band blares nightmarishly on.

HOTEL HALLWAY
Quiet at the cut.
After a beat, there is a faint ding at the end of the hall and, as the elevator door opens, we faintly hear:
PETE

This stop: six.
Barton, disheveled, emerges and stumbles wearily down the hall. He stops in front of his door, takes his key out, and enters the room.

BARTON'S POV
Mastrionotti is sitting on the edge of the bed reading Barton's manuscript.
Deutsch stands in front of the desk staring at the bathing beauty.
MASTRIONOTTI

Mother: What is to become of him. Father: We'll be hearing from that crazy wrestler. And I don't mean a postcard. Fade out. The end.
He looks up at Barton.
MASTRIONOTTI

... I thought you said you were a writer.
DEUTSCH

I dunno, Duke. I kinda liked it.
BARTON

Keep your filthy eyes off that.
Deutsch turns toward Barton and throws a folded newspaper at him.
DEUTSCH

You made morning papers, Fink.
Barton opens the paper. A headline reads: Writer Found Headless in Chavez Ravine. The story has two pictures – a studio publicity portrait of Mayhew, and a photograph of the crime scene: two plainclothes detectives stare down into a gulley as a uniformed cop restrains a pair of leashed dogs.
MASTRIONOTTI

Second one of your friends to end up dead.
DEUTSCH

You didn't tell us you knew the dame.
With a jerk of his thumb, Mastrionotti indicates the bloodstained bed.
MASTRIONOTTI

Sixth floor too high for you, Fink?
DEUTSCH

Give you nose bleeds?
Barton crosses the room and sits at the foot of the bed, staring at the newspaper.
Just tell me one thing, Fink: Where'd you put their heads?
Distractedly:
BARTON

Charlie... Charlie's back...
MASTRIONOTTI

No kidding, bright boy – we smelt Mundt all over this. Was he the idea man?
DEUTSCH

Tell us where the heads are, maybe they'll go easy on you.
MASTRIONOTTI

Only fry you once.
Barton rubs his temples.
BARTON

Could you come back later? It's just... too hot... My head is killing me.
DEUTSCH

All right, forget the heads. Where's Mundt, Fink?
MASTRIONOTTI

He teach you to do it?
DEUTSCH

You two have some sick sex thing?
BARTON

Sex?! He's a MAN! We WRESTLED!
MASTRIONOTTI

You're a sick fuck, Fink.
DEUTSCH

All right, moron, you're under arrest.
Barton seems oblivious to the two men.
BARTON

Charlie's back. It's hot... He's back.
Down the hall we hear the ding of the arriving elevator.
Mastrionotti cocks his head with a quizzical look.
He rises and walks slowly out into the hall. Deutsch wathces him go.

HIS POV
Mastrionotti in the hallway in full shot, framed by the door, still looking puzzled.
MASTRIONOTTI

... Fred...
Deutsch stands and pushes his suit coat back past the gun on his hip, revealing a pair of handcuffs on his belt. He unhitches the cuffs and slips one around Barton's right wrist and the other around a loop in the wrought iron footboard of the bed.
DEUTSCH

Sit tight, Fink.

THE HALLWAY
As Deutsch joins Mastrionotti.
DEUTSCH

Why's it so goddamn hot out here?
MASTRIONOTTI

... Fred...
Deutsch looks where Mastrionotti is looking.

THE WALL
Tacky yellow fluid streams down. The walls are pouring sweat.
The hallway is quiet.

MASTRIONOTTI AND DEUTSCH
They look at each other. They look down the hall.

THEIR POV
The elevator stands open at the far end of the empty hall.
For a long beat, nothing.
Finally Pete, the elevator man, emerges.
At this distance, he is a small figure, stumbling this way and that, his hands presseed against the sides of his head.
He turns to face Mastrionotti and Deutsch and takes a few steps forward, still clutching his head.

MASTRIONOTTI AND DEUTSCH
Watching.

PETE
He takes on last step, then collapses.
As he pitches forward his hands fall away from his head. His head separates from his neck, hits the floor, and rolls away from his body with a dull irregular trundle sound.

MASTRIONOTTI AND DEUTSCH
Wide-eyed, they look at each other, then back down the hall.
All is quiet.

THE HALLWAY
Smoke is beginning to drift into the far end of the hall.
We hear a muted rumble.

MASTRIONOTTI AND DEUTSCH
Mastrionotti tugs at his tie. He slowly unholsters his gun. Deutsch slowly, hypnotically, follows suit.
DEUTSCH

... Show yourself, Mundt!
More quiet.

THE HALLWAY
More smoke.

LOW STEEP ANGLE ON ELEVATOR DOOR
The crack where the floor of the elevator meets that of the hall.
It flickers with red light from below. Bottom-lit smoke sifts up.

CLOSE ON MASTRIONOTTI
Standing in the foreground, gun at ready. Sweat pours down his face.
Behind him, Deutsch stands nervously in the light-spill from Barton's doorway.
The rumble and crackle of fire grows louder.

THE HALLWAY
More smoke.

PATCH OF WALL
Sweating.
A swath of wallpaper sags away from the top of the wall, exposing glistening lath underneath.
With a light airy pop, the lathwork catches on fire.

MASTRIONOTTI AND DEUTSCH
Sweating.
DEUTSCH

... Mundt!

THEIR POV
The hallway. Its end-facing-wall slowly spreads flame from where the wallpaper droops.

LOW STEEP ANGLE ON ELEVATOR DOOR
More red bottom-lit smoke seeps up from the crack between elevator and hallway floors.
With a groan of tension relieved cables and a swaying of the elevator door, a pair of feet crosses the threshold into the doorway.

JUMPING BACK
Wide on the hallway. Charlie Meadows has emerged from the elevator and is hellishly backlit by the flame.
His suit coat hangs open. His hat is pushed back on his head. From his right hand his briefcase dangles.
He stands motionless, facing us. There is something monumental in his posture, shoulders thrown back.

MASTRIONOTTI
Tensed. Behind him, Deutsch gulps.
MASTRIONOTTI

There's a boy, Mundt. Put the policy case down and your mitts in the air.

CHARLIE
He leans slowly down to put the briefcase on the floor.

CLOSE ON MASTRIONOTTI
Relax. He murmurs:
MASTRIONOTTI

He's complying.

BACK TO CHARLIE
He straightens up from the briefcase, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands.
BOOM! The shotgun spits fire.
Mastrionotti's face is peppered by buckshot and he is blown back down the hallway into Deutsch.
Bellowing fills the hallway over the roar of the fire:
CHARLIE

LOOK UPON ME! LOOK UPON ME! I'LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND!!

THE HALLWAY
The fire starts racing down the hallway.

CLOSE STEEP ANGLE ON PATCH OF WALL
Fire races along the wall-sweat goopus.

TRACK IN ON DEUTSCH
His eyes widen at Charlie and the approaching fire; his gun dangles fprgotten from his right hand.

HIS POV
Charlie is charging down the hallway, holding his shotgun loosely in front of his chest, in double-time position. The fire races along with him.
He is bellowing:
CHARLIE

LOOK UPON ME! I'LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND! I'LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND!

DEUTSCH
Terrified, he turns and runs.

REVERSE PULLING DEUTSCH
As he rund down the flaming hallway, pursued by flames, smoke, and Karl Mundt – who, also on the run, levels his shotgun.
BOOM!

PUSHING DEUTSCH
His legs and feet spout blood, paddle futilely at the air, then come down in a twisting wobble, like a car on blown tires, and pitch him helplessly to the floor.

PULLING CHARLIE
He slows to a trot and cracks open the shotgun.

PUSHING DEUTSCH
Weeping and dragging himself forward on his elbows.

PULLING CHARLIE
He slows to a walk.

BARTON'S ROOM
Barton strains at his handcuffs.

HIS POV
Through the open doorway we see Charlie pass, pushing two shells into his shotgun.

PULLING DEUTSCH
Charlie looms behind him and – THWACK – snaps the shotgun closed.
Deutsch rolls over to rest on his elbows, facing Charlie.
Charlie primes the shotgun – CLACK.
He presses both barrels against the bridge of Deutsh's nose.
CHARLIE

Heil Hitler.

DEUTSCH
Screams.

CHARLIE
Tightens a finger over both triggers. He squeezes.
BLAM!

TRACK IN ON BARTON
He flinches.
The gunshot echoes away.
Barton strains at the handcuffs.
We hear Charlie's footsteps approach – slowly, heavily.

THE DOORWAY
Charlie, walking down the hall, glances in and seems mildly surprised to see Barton. The set of his jaw relaxes. His expression softens. He pushes his hat farther back on his head.
CHARLIE

Barton!
He shakes is head and whistles.
CHARLIE

... Brother, is it hot.
He walks into the room.

BARTON'S ROOM
As Charlie wearily enters.
CHARLIE

How you been, buddy?
He props the shotgun in a corner and sits facing Barton, who stared at him.
CHARLIE

... Don't look at me like that, neighbor. It's just me – Charlie.
BARTON

I hear it's Mundt. Madman Mundt.
Charlie reaches a flask from his pocket.
CHARLIE

Jesus, people can be cruel...
He takes a long draught from his flask, then gives a haunted stare.
CHARLIE

... if it's not my build, it's my personality.
Charlie is perspiring heavily. The fire rumbles in the hallway.
CHARLIE

... They say I'm a madman, Barton, but I'm not mad at anyone. Honest I'm not. Most guys I just feel sorry for. Yeah. It tears me up inside, to think about what they're going through. How trapped they are. I understand it. I feel for 'em. So I try and help them out...
He reached up to loosen his tie and pop his collar button.
CHARLIE

... Jesus. Yeah. I know what it feels like, when things get all balled up at the head office. It puts you through hell, Barton. So I help people out. I just wish someone would do as much for me...
He stares miserably down at his feet.
CHARLIE

... Jesus it's hot. Sometimes it gets so hot, I wanna crawl right out of my skin.
Self-pity:
BARTON

But Charlie – why me? Why –
CHARLIE

Because you DON'T LISTEN!
A tacky yellow fluid is dripping from Charlie's left ear and running down his cheek.
CHARLIE

... Jesus, I'm dripping again.
He pulls some cotton from his pocket and plugs his ear.
CHARLIE

... C'mon Barton, you think you know about pain? You think I made your life hell? Take a look around this dump. You're just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here. Don't you understand that...
His voice is becoming choked.
CHARLIE

... And you come into MY home... And you complain that I'M making too... much... noise.
He looks up at Barton.
There is a long silence.
Finally:
BARTON

... I'm sorry.
Wearily:
CHARLIE

Don't be.
He rises to his feet and kneels in front of Barton at the foot of the bed.
The two men regard each other.
Charlie grabs two bars of the footboard frame, still staring at Barton. His muscles tighten, though nothing moves. His neck fans with effort. All of his muscles tense. His face is a reddening grimace.

With a shriek of protest, the metal gives. The bar to which Barton is handcuffed had com loose at the top and Barton slides the cuff off it, free.
Charlie gets to his feet.
CHARLIE

I'm getting off the merry-go-round.
He takes his shotgun and walks to the door.
CHARLIE

... I'll be next door if you need me.
A thought stops him at the door and he turns to face Barton. Behind him the hallwya blazes.
CHARLIE

... Oh, I dropped in on your folks. And Uncle Dave?
He smiles. Barton looks at him dumbly.
CHARLIE

... Good people. By the way, that package I gave you? I lied. It isn't mine.
He leaves.
Barton rises, picks up Charlie's parcel, and his script.

THE HALLWAY
As Barton emerges. Flames lick the walls, causing the wallpaper to run with the tack glue sap. Smoke fills the hallway. Barton looks down the hall.

HIS POV
Charlie stands in front of the door to his room, his briefacse dangling from one hand, his other hand fumbling in his pocket for his key.

With his hat pushed back on his head and his shoulders slumped with fatigue, he could be any drummer returning to any hotel after a long hard day on the road.
He opens the door and goes into his room.

BACK TO BARTON
He turns and walks up the hallway, his script in one hand, the parcel in the other.
A horrible moaning sound – almost human – can be heard under the roar of the fire.
BLACKNESS

STUDIO HALLWAY
We are tracking laterally across the lobby of an executive building. From offscreen we hear:
BARTON

Fink! Morris or Lillian Fink! Eighty- five Fulton Street!
Filtered through phone:
OPERATOR

I understand that, sir –
BARTON

Or Uncle Dave!
Our track has brought Barton into frame in the foreground, unshaven, unkempt, bellowing into the telephone. In a hallway in the background, a secretary gestures for Barton to hurry up.
OPERATOR

I understand that, sir, but there's still no answer. Shall I check for trouble on the line?
Barton slams down the phone.

LIPNIK'S OFFICE
Barton enters, still clinging on to Charlie's parcel.
Lou Breeze stands in one corner censoriously watching Barton. Lipnik is at the far end of the room, gazing out the window.
LIPNIK

Fink.
BARTON

Mr. Lipnik.
LIPNIK

Colonel Lipnik, if you don't mind.
He turns to face Barton amd we see that he is wearing a smartly pressed uniform with a lot of fruit salad on the chest.
LIPNIK

... Siddown.
Barton takes a seat facing Lipnik's desk.
LIPNIK

... I was commissioned yesterday in the Army Reserve. Henry Morgenthau arranged it. He's a dear friend.
BARTON

Congratulations.
LIPNIK

Actually it hasn't officially gone through yet. Had wardrobe whip this up. You gotta pull teeth to get anything done in this town. I can understand a little red tape in peacetime, but now it's all-out warfare agaist the Japs. Little yellow bastards. They'd love to see me sit this one out.
BARTON

Yes sir, they –
LIPNIK

Anyway, I had Lou read your script for me.
He taps distastefully at the script on his desk, which has a slightly charred title page.
LIPNIK

... I gotta tell you, Fink. It won't wash.
BARTON

With all due respect, sir, I think it's the best work I've done.
LIPNIK

Don't gas me, Fink. If you're opinion mattered, then I guess I'd resign and let YOU run the the studio. It doesn't and you won't, and the lunatics are not going to run THIS particular asylum. So let's put a stop to THAT rumor right now.
Listlessly:
BARTON

Yes sir.
LIPNIK

I had to call Beery this morning, let him know we were pushing the picture back. After all I'd told him about quality, about that Barton Fink feeling. How disappointed we were. Wally was heartbroken. The man was devastated. He was – well, I didn't actuall call him, Lou did. But that's a fair dexcription, isn't it Lou?

LOU

Yes, Colonel.
LIPNIK

Hell, I could take you through it step by step, explain why your story stinks, but I won't insult your intelligence. Well all right, first of all: This is a wrestling picture; the audiece wants to see action, drama, wrestling, and plenty of it. They don't wanna see a guy wrestling with his soul – well, all right, a little bit, for the critics – but you make it the carrot that wags the dog. Too much of it and they head for exits and I don't blame 'em. There's plenty of poetry right inside that ring, Fink. Look at "Hell Ten Feet Square".
LOU

"Blood, Sweat, and Canvas".
LIPNIK

Look at "Blood, Sweat, and Canvas". These are big movies, Fink. About big men, in tights – both physically and mentally. But especially physically. We don't put Wallace Beery in some fruity movie about suffering – I thought we were together on that.
BARTON

I'm sorry if I let you down.
LIPNIK

You didn't let ME down. Or even Lou. We don't live or die by what you scribble, Fink. You let Ben Geisler down. He like you. Trusted you. And that's why he's gone. Fired. that guy had a heart as big as the outdoors, and you fucked him. He tried to convince me to fire you too, but that would be too easy. No, you're under contract and you're gonna stay that way. Anything you write will be the property of Capitol Pictures. And Capitol Pictures will not produce anything you write. Not until you grow up a little. You ain't no writer, Fink – you're a goddamn write-off.

BARTON

I tried to show you something beautiful. Something about all of US –
This sets Lipnik off:
LIPNIK

You arrogant sonofabitch! You think you're the only writer who can give me that Barton Fink feeling?! I got twenty writers under contract that I cna ask for a Fink-type thing from. You swell-headed hypocrite! You just don't get it, do you? You think the whole world revolves inside whatever rattles inside that little kike head of yours. Get him outta my sight, Lou. Make sure he stays in town, though; he's still under contract. I want you in town, Fink, and outta my sight. Now get lost. There's a war on.

THE SURF
Crashing against the Pacific shore.

THE BEACH
At midday, almost deserted. In the distance we see Barton walking. The paper-wrapped parcel swings from the twine in his left hand.

BARTON
He walks a few more paces and sits down on the sand, looking out to see. His gaze shifts to one side.

HIS POV
Down the beach, a bathing beauty walks along the edge of the water. She looks much like the picture on the wall in Barton's hotel room.

BARTON
He stares, transfixed, at the woman.

THE WOMAN
Very beautiful, backlit by the sun, approaching.

BARTON
Following her with his eyes.

THE WOMAN
Her eyes meet Barton's. She says something, but her voice is lost in the crash of the surf.
Barton cups a hand to his ear.
BEAUTY

I said it's a beautiful day...
BARTON

Yes... It is...
BEAUTY

What's in the box?
Barton shrugs and shakes his head.
BARTON

I don't know.
BEAUTY

Isn't it yours?
BARTON

I... I don't know...
She nods and sits down on the sand svereal paces away from him, facing the water but looking back over her shoulder at Barton.
BARTON

... You're very beautiful. Are you in pictures?
She laughs.
BEAUTY

Don't be silly.
She turns away to look out at the sea.

WIDER
Facing the ocean. Barton sits in the middle foreground, back to us, the box in the sand next to him.
The bathing beauty sits, back to us, in the middle background.
The surf pounds.
The sun sparkles off the water.


THE END