"Gods and Monsters", shooting draft, by Bill Condon
"GODS AND MONSTERS"
Screenplay
by
Bill Condon
Based on the novel
"Father of Frankenstein"
by
Christopher Bram
May 30, 1997
SHOOTING DRAFT
NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR
THIS SOFT COPY.
FADE IN:
MAIN TITLES BEGIN
Writhing pools of light and dark, out of which emerge images
from "The Bride of Frankenstein," directed by James Whale.
Elsa Lanchester, as the Monster's Bride, looks up, down,
left, right, startled to be alive. The Monster stares at
her. "Friend?" he asks, tenderly, desperately.
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT (B & W)
Lightning splits the black-and-white sky, revealing a single
shattered oak in a desolate landscape. Below, a HUMAN
SILHOUETTE stumbles through the darkness, the top of his
head flat, his arms long and heavy, his boots weighted with
mud.
Suddenly the storm fades. Light creeps into the scene, and
color, as we DISSOLVE TO:
THE PACIFIC OCEAN
melting into a hazy morning sky. In a box canyon off the
coast highway, we see row after neat row of trailer homes, a
makeshift village for beach bums.
INT. TRAILER - DAY
CLAYTON BOONE opens his eyes. He is 26, handsome in a
rough-hewn, Chet Baker-like way, with broad shoulders and a
flattop haircut. He grabs a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes,
lights a bent cigarette.
Clay stands and walks bare-assed across the single tin room,
his head almost touching the ceiling.
EXT. TRAILER PARK - DAY
Clay goes a few rounds with a weatherstained speed bag
that's set up behind his trailer.
INT. TRAILER - DAY
Clay towels off, glances at the morning paper. He moves
aside a pile of paperbacks on a card table until he finds a
calendar. His finger targets today's first appointment.
"10 A.M. - 788 Amalfi Drive."
EXT. TRAILER PARK - DAY
Clay steps out of the trailer, clean-shaven and dressed in
dungarees, a T-shirt with a fresh pack of cigarettes flipped
into one sleeve. He weight-lifts a secondhand mower onto
the bed of his rusty pick-up.
Clay climbs into the truck, slides the key into the
ignition. It takes a few tries but the engine finally turns
over.
EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - DAY
Clay's truck sails down the road, "Hound Dog" blaring on the
radio. MAIN TITLES END.
EXT. COLONIAL-STYLE HOUSE - DAY
Sprinklers twirl on a grassy slope outside a rambling
clapboard house. Below, a swimming pool forms a perfect
rectangle of still water. A title reads: SANTA MONICA
CANYON. 1957.
The pick-up drives past. Clay parks in the back, hops out.
ANGLE - HOUSE
A SHADOWY FIGURE stands at a window, watching Clay unload
his red power mower.
INT. HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
The shadow is a man with dove white hair, wearing a dress
shirt and seersucker jacket. This is JAMES WHALE, age 67.
DAVID
I'd have more peace of mind if the
live-in nurse were still here.
HANNA
She was nothing but bother. I not
like her, Mr. Jimmy not like her.
We do better if you live-in again,
Mr. David.
In the dining room, visible through open double doors, DAVID
LEWIS, 55, speaks softly with the housekeeper, HANNA. She
is a squat, muffin-faced Hungarian woman in her late 50s,
dressed in black, her hair cinched in a tight bun. She
speaks with a thick accent.
DAVID
You'll contact me if there's an
emergency?
HANNA
Yes, I call you at this number.
(calls out)
Mr. Jimmy? More coffee?
WHALE
What? Oh yes. Why not?
He moves into the dining room, sits opposite David.
WHALE
Isn't Hanna a peach?
Hanna ignores him, returns to the kitchen.
DAVID
She tells me you haven't been
sleeping well.
WHALE
It's the ridiculous pills they
prescribe. If I take them, I spend
the next day stupid as a stone.
If I don't, my mind seems to go off
in a hundred directions at once --
DAVID
Then take the pills.
WHALE
I wanted to be alert for your visit
today. Especially since I saw so
little of you in the hospital.
The remark hits its target.
DAVID
I'm sorry, Jimmy. But with this
movie and two difficult stars --
WHALE
"The fault, dear David, is not in
ourselves but in our stars."
DAVID
(too anxious to laugh)
You remember how a production eats
up one's life.
WHALE
Oh, David. There's no pleasure in
making you feel guilty.
(stands)
You better go, my boy. You'll be
late for that aeroplane.
David extends his hand, but Whale draws him into a hug. As
he starts out, David points to a framed painting.
DAVID
By the way, I like the Renoir.
WHALE
Thank you.
DAVID
(calls out)
Goodbye, Hanna.
Hanna runs out of the kitchen to escort David to the door.
Whale drifts back to the window, watches as Clay revs up the
lawnmower, creating a cloud of white smoke. We CUT TO:
EXT. STREETS OF DUDLEY - DAY (1900)
A bean-pole child with flaming red hair (WHALE at age 12)
stares up at the coal smoke pouring from a seemingly endless
row of chimneys. We're in Dudley, a factory town in the
English Midlands region known as the Black Country.
SARAH WHALE (O.S.)
Stop lagging behind, Jimmy. We'll
be late for church.
YOUNG WHALE
Yes, Mum.
Whale runs to catch up to his six brothers and sisters. His
father, WILLIAM WHALE, frowns at the boy's prissy trot.
WILLIAM WHALE
Straighten up, son.
Young Whale's movements thicken into a dim imitation of
manly reserve. The Whale family marches up a steeply
mounting street to Dixon's Green Methodist Church.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Whale's eyes tighten. He focuses on Clay Boone as he peels
off his T-shirt, revealing a tattoo on his upper right
forearm.
WHALE
Hanna? Who's the new yardman?
HANNA
Bone? Boom? Something Bee. I
hire him while you were in the
hospital. He came cheap.
Whale nods, chooses a walking stick. He emerges into the
sunlight.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Whale moves jauntily onto the front lawn, singing to
himself:
WHALE
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling
For you but not for me.
Oh death where is thy sting-a-ling?
Grave where thy victory?
Whale steps up next to Clay.
WHALE
Good morning.
CLAY
(not looking up)
Mornin'.
WHALE
My name is Whale. This is my
house.
CLAY
Nice place.
WHALE
And your name is --?
CLAY
Boone. Clayton Boone.
WHALE
I couldn't help but notice your
tattoo. That phrase? Death Before
Dishonor. What does it mean?
CLAY
Just that I was in the Marines.
WHALE
The Marines. Good for you. You
must have served in Korea.
Clay shrugs nonchalantly.
WHALE
Getting to be a warm day. A
scorcher, as you Yanks call it.
CLAY
Yeah. I better get on with my
work.
Whale clears his throat behind the back of his hand.
WHALE
When you're through, Mr. Boone,
feel free to make use of the pool.
We're quite informal here. You
don't have to worry about a suit.
Clay glances warily at Whale.
CLAY
No thanks. I got another job to
get to this afternoon.
Whale holds Clay's look.
WHALE
Some other time, perhaps? Keep up
the fine work.
Whale heads off, smiling to himself. Pleased to be naughty
again.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
The room is filled with unframed canvasses, many of them
copies of paintings by the Old Masters.
Whale rolls out the easel, lifts a half-painted canvas into
position. He stares at the blotches of color, trying to
remember what he intended to paint.
Whale pulls out a heavy volume on Rembrandt, opens to a
black-and-white plate of "The Polish Rider." We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE HOUSE - DUDLEY - NIGHT (1908)
A rough pencil outline of the same painting. Whale, age 16,
sits on his bed, ignoring the roughhousing of the three
younger BROTHERS who share the room. The door opens and
Whale's mother SARAH enters.
SARAH WHALE
Jimmy. The privy needs cleaning.
WHALE
I have my class tonight.
Both have Midlands accents, like head colds that flatten
their speech. Whale holds up the sketch to show his mother.
SARAH WHALE
Don't get above yarself, Jimmy.
Leave the drawring to the artists.
Whale squeezes the pad behind the bed, jumps up.
WHALE
Quite so, mum. To the privy.
And he heads cheerfully out of the room. His mother shakes
her head.
SARAH WHALE
"Quite so."
(calls out)
Jimmy Whale. Who are ya to put on
airs?
But Whale is already out the door. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Whale studies his face in the mirror. He gives his white
hair a few final licks with his silver-backed brush.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY
Whale comes in from the bedroom.
WHALE
There is iced tea, Hanna? Cucumber
sandwiches?
HANNA
Yes, Mr. Jimmy.
(smiles)
An interview. After so many years.
Very exciting.
WHALE
Don't be daft. It's just a student
from the university.
The doorbell rings.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Whale settles into his club chair and opens a book,
pretending to read until Hanna ushers in the visitor.
HANNA
Mr. Kay, sir.
WHALE
(feigning surprise)
Yes?
Whale looks up at EDMUND KAY, 22, a slim boy who rests his
weight on one slouched hip, his arms twined behind him.
There is a look of mild disappointment on Whale's face as he
realizes that Kay is a baby poof.
WHALE
Ah, Mr. Kay. I'd almost forgotten.
My guest for tea.
Whale stands and holds out his hand.
KAY
Mr. Whale, this is such an honor.
You're one of my favorite all-time
directors. I can't believe I'm
meeting you.
WHALE
(gently, teasing)
No. I expect you can't.
KAY
And this is your house. Wow. The
house of Frankenstein.
(looks around)
I thought you'd live in a spooky
old mansion or villa.
WHALE
One likes to live simply.
KAY
I know. People's movies aren't
their lives.
He suddenly growls out an imitation of Boris Karloff.
KAY
Love dead. Hate living.
Kay laughs, a high, girlish giggle. Whale fights a cringe
with a polite smile.
KAY
That's my favorite line in my
favorite movie of yours. "Bride of
Frankenstein."
WHALE
Is it now? Hanna? I think we'll
take our tea down by the swimming
pool.
It's clear from Hanna's frown that she doesn't approve of
the idea. Whale ignores her, turns back to Kay.
WHALE
Will that be good for you, Mr. Kay?
KAY
Sure.
WHALE
(opens the back door)
After you then.
Whale inspects the boy from behind, noticing his wide hips
and plumpish posterior.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Kay's hands flap animatedly as Whale leads him down to the
pool.
KAY
I love the great horror films. And
yours are the best. "The Old Dark
House." "The Invisible Man." They
look great and have style. And
funny!
Whale points to a small shingled house near the pool.
WHALE
This is the studio where I paint.
KAY
Nice.
(refusing to be
sidetracked)
And your lighting and camera
angles. You're got to go back to
German silent movies to find
anything like it.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - UPPER PATIO - DAY
Clay Boone gulps some water from the garden hose. He
glances down at the pool, where Kay and Whale sit in
cast-iron chairs.
HANNA
Time for you to leave.
Clay turns to Hanna, who holds a tray loaded with finger
sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea.
CLAY
I'm on my way.
She doesn't move until Clay starts off.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - POOLSIDE - DAY
Kay flips open his steno pad.
WHALE
So, Mr. Kay? What do you want to
know?
KAY
Everything. Start at the
beginning.
WHALE
I was born outside London, the only
son of a minister who was a master
at Harrow. Grandfather was a
bishop. Church of...Church of
Eng...
Whale's tongue trips on the word, his voice suddenly drowned
out by the blast of a factory whistle. We CUT TO:
INT. FACTORY SHOP FLOOR - DUDLEY - DAY (1908)
Fiery melt is poured into molds on the shop floor of a
machine parts factory. WHALE, 16, grips the hot casting
with tongs. His father WILLIAM, his face blackened with
grime, hammers away at the flaws. A heavy blow causes young
Whale to drop the mold, prompting catcalls and sneers on the
floor. There is a look of genuine fear in Whale's eyes as
he looks up at his singed, beast-like father. We CUT TO:
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Kay clears his throat softly.
KAY
Mr. Whale?
Whale smiles politely to cover his momentary disorientation.
WHALE
Yes?
KAY
Your father was a schoolmaster?
WHALE
Of course. I attended Eton -- it
wouldn't do for a master's son to
attend where his father taught. I
was to go up to Oxford but the war
broke out and I never made it. The
Great War, you know. You had a
Good War, but we had a great one.
He glances to see if the boy smiles at the quip.
WHALE
You can't imagine what life was
like after the Armistice. The
twenties in London were one long
bank holiday, a break from
everything dour and respectable. I
had a knack with pencil and paper,
so I was hired to design sets for
stage productions.
Hanna comes down the path with the tray. She places it on
the table.
WHALE
Thank you, Hanna. Very nice.
Hanna remains planted next to the table.
WHALE
You can go now.
She makes an audible sigh and starts back up the hill.
WHALE
There was one play in particular, a
beautiful, grim study of war called
"Journey's End". Every experienced
director turned it down, so I
offered myself, bullying and
begging for the job. "Journey's
End" made the careers of everyone
associated with it. It was only a
matter of time until Hollywood
beckoned.
KAY
How much longer before we get to
"Frankenstein"?
WHALE
Am I correct in assuming, Mr. Kay,
that it's not me you're interested
in, only my horror pictures?
KAY
Oh no, I want to hear everything.
You made twenty pictures in all --
WHALE
Twenty-one. The romantic comedies
and dramas were much more to my
liking. The horror pictures were
trifles. Grand guignol for the
masses.
KAY
But it's the horror movies you'll
be remembered for.
An abrupt look of anger flashes across Whale's face.
WHALE
I am not dead yet, Mr. Kay.
KAY
No. I never said you were. Or
will be soon.
Kay leans over the steno pad, determined to be more worthy.
KAY
So. "Journey's End" brought you to
Hollywood --
Whale takes in the boy's blank, bored expression. He sighs.
WHALE
I have a proposal, Mr. Kay. This
mode of questioning is getting old,
don't you think?
KAY
I don't mind.
WHALE
Let's make it more interesting. I
will answer any question you ask.
But, for each answer, you must
remove one article of clothing.
Kay's mouth pops open.
KAY
That's funny, Mr. Whale.
WHALE
It is, isn't it? My life as a game
of strip poker. Shall we play?
KAY
You're serious.
WHALE
Quite.
KAY
Then the rumors are true?
WHALE
What rumors might those be?
KAY
That you were forced to retire
because, uh -- a sex scandal.
WHALE
A homosexual scandal, you mean?
For me to answer a question of that
magnitude, you'll have to remove
both your shoes and your socks.
Kay just sits there, squinting and grinning.
KAY
You're a dirty old man.
Whale tilts his head as if brushing off a compliment. Kay
kicks off his penny loafers, bends over to remove his socks.
WHALE
You are kind to indulge your elders
in their vices. As I indulge the
young in theirs.
Two pale feet emerge. Whale leans forward to examine them.
He leans back again.
WHALE
No. There was no scandal.
And he reaches into his coat for a cigar. Whale's hand
trembles as he slices a hole at the base, then lights the
cigar with a wooden match, sucking and rotating until the
tip is roundly lit.
WHALE
My only other vice. I suppose
you'd like a fuller answer to your
question.
Kay nods.
WHALE
It will cost you your sweater.
Kay hesitates a moment, then sets his pen aside to pull the
sweater over his head, revealing a sleeveless T-shirt.
KAY
Too warm for a sweater, anyway.
WHALE
You must understand how Hollywood
was twenty years ago. Nobody cared
a tinker's cuss who slept with
whom, so long as you kept it out of
the papers. Outside of Hollywood,
who knows who George Cukor is, much
less what he does with those boys
from the malt shops along Santa
Monica?
Kay stares at him in disbelief.
KAY
George Cukor? Who made "A Star Is
Born"? I never guessed.
WHALE
Take off your vest and I'll tell
you a story.
Kay plucks at his T-shirt, glancing toward the house.
WHALE
Don't be shy. There's time to stop
before you go too far.
KAY
I guess.
Kay peels off the shirt and tosses it on his shoes and
sweater.
WHALE
George is famous for his Saturday
dinner parties. Great artists,
writers, society folk, all rubbing
elbows with Hollywood royalty. But
how many of those oh-so-proper
people know about the Sunday
brunches that follow? Gatherings
of trade eating leftovers, followed
by some strenuous fun and frolic in
the pool.
(flicks an ash)
If a goat like that can continue
about his business, my more
domestic arrangements could've
raised very few eyebrows.
The revelation seems to have left Kay a little shaken. he
flips to a blank page.
KAY
Can we talk about the horror movies
now?
WHALE
Certainly, Mr. Kay. Is there
anything in particular you want to
know?
KAY
Will you tell me everything you
remember about making
"Frankenstein"?
He glances down at his few remaining articles of clothing.
KAY
Can that count as one question?
WHALE
Of course.
KAY
I can't believe I'm doing this.
Kay stands to unbuckle his belt, glancing around the yard
again. He unzips and steps out of his sharply creased
flannel legs. His thighs are thin and pale.
KAY
Just like going swimming, isn't it?
WHALE
Maybe you'd like a swim when we're
through. I never swim myself, so
the pool tends to go to waste.
KAY
Okay. "Frankenstein." Tell me
everything.
WHALE
Righto. Let me see.
Whale swallows a wince, trying to block the pain pushing
against his skull.
WHALE
Universal wanted me for another
story, and wanted me so baldly -- I
mean badly, not baldly. I was
given the pick of stories being
developed, and I picked that one.
KAY
Who came up with the Monster's
makeup and look?
WHALE
My idea. Muchly. My sketches.
Big heavy brow. Head flat on top
so they could take out the old
brain and put in the new, like
tinned beef.
KAY
He's one of the great images of the
twentieth century. As important as
the Mona Lisa.
WHALE
You think so? That's very kind --
Whale clutches at the air, suddenly notices that his hand is
empty. He looks down and sees the cigar on the flagstones.
KAY
Boris Karloff. Where did you find
him?
Whale bends down to retrieve his cigar -- and the change of
gravity drives a spike through his skull.
KAY
Karloff, Mr. Whale. How did you
cast him?
Whale turns toward the froggy voice.
WHALE
Please. Excuse me. I must go
lie --
He forces himself up with one hand. Kay finally looks up,
notices Whale's colorless lips and desperate eyes.
KAY
Mr. Whale? Are you all right?
WHALE
I just need to -- lie down.
Studio. Daybed in studio.
Whale lurches from the table. Kay jumps forward, catching
him under an arm.
KAY
Oh my God. What's wrong, Mr.
Whale? Is it your heart?
WHALE
Head. Not heart.
He leans against Kay, who leads him toward the studio.
WHALE
Forgive me.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Hanna runs down the path, clutching the front of her apron
in two tight fists.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Hanna swings open the screen door -- and grimaces when she
sees Kay in his BVDs. He is kneeling next to Whale, who is
stretched out on the daybed.
HANNA
Water. Glasses at the sink.
She goes to Whale, scooping different bottles from the
pocket of her apron.
HANNA
Which ones? I bring them all.
WHALE
Luminal.
She empties a pill into her palm. Whale places it into his
mouth and takes the glass of Water Kay passes over Hanna's
shoulder. Whale swallows the pill, then glances up at Kay,
feigning surprise.
WHALE
Mr. Kay. You're not dressed.
Kay frantically crosses his arms over his chest and middle,
turns to Hanna.
KAY
I was going to take a swim.
WHALE
I'm sorry I spoiled it for you.
You should probably go home.
KAY
Right.
Kay hurries outside to retrieve his clothes. Hanna undoes
Whale's bow tie. She makes no attempt to be gentle.
WHALE
You must think I'm terrible, Hanna.
HANNA
I do not think you anything
anymore. Just back from the
hospital and already you are
chasing after boys.
WHALE
Oh shut up. All we did was talk.
My attack had nothing to do with
him.
HANNA
Perhaps we should get you uphill
before the pills knock you cold.
WHALE
No. Let me lie here. Thank you.
Hanna nods, moves to the door. Whale closes his eyes,
breathes deeply, trying to block the throbbing SOUND in his
brain. We CUT TO:
INT. FACTORY SHOP FLOOR - DUDLEY - DAY (1908)
The noise is deafening -- the clank of chains, the screech
of wheels and the endless banging of hammers. William Whale
continues to knock away at the hot casting. The rhythmic
sound blends into the insistent knocking of:
A FIST
which smashes against sheet metal.
INT. CLAY'S TRAILER - DAY
Clay Boone's eyes dart open.
DWIGHT (O.S.)
Boone! You awake? Eight o'clock.
CLAY
Fuck off!
DWIGHT (O.S.)
You told me to get you up, asshole.
A baseball-capped head is visible through the louvered glass
in the trailer's door. DWIGHT JOAD, 30, Clay's neighbor,
squints to see inside.
CLAY
I'm up. Thanks.
DWIGHT
Hasta la vista, Boone. And give
the jail bait a squeeze for me.
Clay glances over, seems surprised to see a naked back
facing him on the bare mattress.
CLAY
Hey, um...Rose --
The girl stirs, turns to face him. She is 18 at most.
DAISY
Daisy.
CLAY
Huh?
DAISY
My name is Daisy.
CLAY
Time to go, Daisy.
She presses her naked body against Clay's.
DAISY
You know. I could help you fix up
this place real nice.
Clay takes a deep breath, trying to clear the gumminess from
his brain.
CLAY
Don't you have to be somewhere?
Like high school maybe.
DAISY
I gave it up for Lent.
Daisy smiles at her own joke. Clay frowns.
CLAY
Right.
(jumps up from the bed)
Time to hit the road, kid.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Whale ponders the half-painted canvas, clearly distressed by
his lack of progress. The stillness is punctured by the
sound of Clay's lawnmower being dragged up the brick steps.
Whale smiles, puts down his brush.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Clay stops, turns around, feeling someone's eyes watching
him.
WHALE (O.S.)
(singing)
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling...
The mower slips out of Clay's hands momentarily. he looks
around, spots Whale inside the studio.
WHALE
Everything alright, Mr. Boone?
CLAY
Just got away from me. Sorry to
disturb you.
The screen door squeaks open, clatters shut. A leather
slipper and rubber-tipped cane appear. Whale strolls into
view, smiling.
WHALE
I was just about to ask Hanna to
bring down iced tea. I'd like it
very much if you'd join me.
CLAY
I stink to high heaven right now.
WHALE
The honest sweat of one's brow. I
assure you I won't be offended.
Let me tell Hanna to bring tea for
two.
Whale's cane trembles in his skeletal hand. His frailty
chips away at Clay's resolve.
WHALE
Or would you prefer a beer?
CLAY
No. Iced tea's fine.
WHALE
Splendid.
Clay hoses the crumbs of grass off his arms. He dries his
hands and arms with his hat, then wads it up and stuffs it
into his shirt to wipe out his armpits.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Clay stands at the screen door.
WHALE
Come in, Mr. Boone.
Whale sits on a daybed, next to a pile of newspapers. He
gestures at a wooden armchair across from him.
WHALE
My workshop, my studio. Hardly
somewhere in which a sweaty workman
should feel out of place.
Clay glances at the unframed canvases on the wall and
stacked in the corners.
CLAY
These are your paintings?
WHALE
What? Oh yes.
CLAY
Excuse me, but -- are you famous?
WHALE
You know what they say. If you
have to ask --
CLAY
I'm just a hick who cuts lawns.
But some of these look familiar.
WHALE
They were familiar when I painted
them. That one's copied from a
Dutch still life done almost three
hundred years ago. And that's a
Rembrandt.
CLAY
They're just copies then. Gotcha.
WHALE
But before I retired, you might say
I had a brief time in the sun.
Fame, as it were. Tell me, do you
like motion pictures?
CLAY
Sure, everybody does. When I was a
kid I'd go with my sister twice a
week. Why? Were you an actor
or something?
WHALE
In my youth, yes, but never in
Hollywood. No, I was merely a
director here.
CLAY
Yeah? What were some of your
movies?
WHALE
This and that. The only ones you
maybe have heard of are the
"Frankenstein" pictures.
CLAY
Really?
Clay sits up, surprised, skeptical and impressed all at
once.
CLAY
"Frankenstein" and "Bride of" and
"Son of" and all the rest?
WHALE
I made only the first two. The
others were done by hacks.
CLAY
Still. You must be rich. Making a
couple of famous movies like those.
WHALE
Merely comfortable. Here's Hanna
with our refreshments. Can you get
the door?
Clay jumps up to open the screen door. Hanna walks past,
refusing to look at him. She sets the tray on a table very
hard, ringing the glasses and silverware.
HANNA
How are you feeling, Mr. Jimmy?
How is your mind today?
WHALE
My mind's lovely. And yours?
Hanna flares her nostrils at him.
HANNA
You remember what the doctor tells
us.
WHALE
Yes, yes, yes. I merely invited
Mr. Boone in for a glass of tea.
We'll have a brief chat and he'll
finish the yard.
HANNA
I am not forgetting your last brief
chat.
WHALE
Just go. We can manage without
you.
Hanna stares up at Clay.
HANNA
He looks plenty big. You won't
need my help if anything goes
flooey.
WHALE
Go.
She shakes her head and marches out the door. Clay returns
to his chair and sits down again.
WHALE
When they stay in your employ too
long, servants begin to think
they're married to you.
(smiles at Clay)
Please, Mr. Boone. Help yourself.
CLAY
What did she mean by going flooey?
WHALE
I returned recently from a stay in
hospital.
CLAY
What was wrong?
WHALE
Nothing serious. A touch of
stroke.
Clay nods, chugs his tea. When he lowers the glass, he
finds the old man watching him.
WHALE
You must excuse me for staring, Mr.
Boone. But you have a marvelous
head.
CLAY
Huh?
WHALE
To an artistic eye, you understand.
Have you ever modeled?
CLAY
You mean, like posed for pictures?
WHALE
Sat for an artist. Been sketched.
CLAY
(with a laugh)
What's to sketch?
WHALE
You have the most architectural
skull. And your nose. Very
expressive.
CLAY
Broke is more like it.
WHALE
But expressively broken. How did
it happen?
CLAY
Football in college.
WHALE
You went to university?
CLAY
Just a year. I dropped out to join
the Marines.
WHALE
Yes. You were a Marine.
Whale's gaze deepens. He laughs lightly.
WHALE
I apologize for going on like this.
It's the Sunday painter in me. Of
course I can understand your
refusal. It's a great deal to ask
of someone.
CLAY
You mean -- you really want to draw
me?
WHALE
Indeed. I'd pay for the privilege
of drawing your head.
CLAY
But why?
WHALE
Even an amateur artist needs a
subject to inspire him.
CLAY
And it's just my head you want?
Nothing else?
WHALE
What are you suggesting? You'll
charge extra if I include a hand or
a bit of shoulder.
CLAY
You don't want to draw pictures of
me in my birthday suit, right?
WHALE
I have no interest in your body,
Mr. Boone. I can assure you of
that.
Clay takes a moment to size up Whale -- whose innocent,
slightly befuddled smile makes him appear about as
threatening as a box of cornflakes.
CLAY
All right then. Sure. I could use
the extra dough.
WHALE
Excellent. We'll have a most
interesting time.
Whale lifts his glass, takes a small sip of tea.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Clay fetches a pair of hedge clippers from his truck. He
can't help stopping by the side-view mirror to look at his
face.
INT. EXAMINATION ROOM - DAY
Doctors and technicians flash lights into Whale's eyes...
test his reflexes...inject him with radioactive isotope.
Whale sits very still with his head behind a fluoroscope
screen while two doctors murmur over the image.
INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - DAY
A pair of X rays are slapped wet on a light board. Two
skulls, one facing forward, the other in profile. DR.
PAYNE, a bland young neurologist, points to a smudge in the
side-view X ray.
DR. PAYNE
This is the area of infarction. By
which we mean the portion of brain
affected by the stroke.
The venetian blinds of the examining room are closed. Whale
sits calmly, flanneled legs crossed at the knees, gazing at
his own skull.
DR. PAYNE
You're a lucky man, Mr. Whale.
Whatever damage was done by your
stroke, it left your motor
abilities relatively unimpaired.
WHALE
Yes, yes, Dr. Payne. But from the
neck up? What's my story there?
DR. PAYNE
That's what I'm trying to explain.
Payne turns off the light board and goes to the venetian
blinds. The room is instantly full of sun.
DR. PAYNE
The central nervous system selects
items from a constant storm of
sensations. Whatever was killed in
your stroke appears to have
short-circuited this mechanism.
Parts of your brain now seem to be
firing at random.
WHALE
You're saying there's an electrical
storm in my head?
DR. PAYNE
That's as good a way as any to
describe it. I've seen far worse
cases. You might even learn to
enjoy these walks down memory lane.
WHALE
But the rest of it? The killing
headaches. The phantom smells. My
inability to close my eyes without
thinking a hundred things at once.
It's all nothing more than bad
electricity?
DR. PAYNE
In a manner of speaking. I've
never encountered the olfactory
hallucinations, but I'm sure
they're related.
WHALE
So what do I do?
DR. PAYNE
Take the Luminal to sleep, or
whenever you feel an attack coming
on.
WHALE
You seem to be saying that this
isn't just a case of resting until
I'm better. That my condition will
continue to deteriorate until the
end of my life.
The doctor responds with a sympathetic gaze. Whale nods
solemnly.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
Whale makes his way toward the stairs. He passes a
stoop-shouldered ELDERLY WOMAN who leans on the arm of her
middle-aged DAUGHTER. Then an OLD MAN in a wheelchair, his
eyes brimming with bewilderment and despair.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - FOYER - DAY
Hanna opens the door. Clay wears dungarees and a white
dress shirt.
CLAY
Don't worry, you already paid me.
I'm here because --
HANNA
The Master is waiting for you.
She gestures him in, shuts the door.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY
Clay follows Hanna into the kitchen.
HANNA
He's down in his studio. Here.
Take this with you.
She thrusts a TV tray toward him. Two glasses, two bottles
of beer, a bottle of Coke.
CLAY
It's your job, lady, not mine.
(hands back the tray)
I'm here so he can draw my picture.
HANNA
I'm keeping away. What you are
doing is no business of mine.
CLAY
What're you talking about?
HANNA
What kind of man are you? Are you
a good man?
CLAY
Yeah, I'm a good man. Something
make you think I'm not?
HANNA
You will not hurt him?
CLAY
Gimme a break. I'm going to sit on
my ass while he draws pictures. Is
that going to hurt him?
HANNA
No. No.
(closes her eyes)
I am sorry. Forget everything I
say. Here. I will take the tray.
CLAY
You do that.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Clay opens the squeaking door and enters behind Hanna.
Whale stands at a drafting table, sharpening a pencil.
Hanna sets the tray down.
WHALE
Very good, Hanna. Now goodbye.
She goes toward the door, wrinkling her forehead at Clay.
The screen door bangs shut.
WHALE
I'm sure you'd like something to
wet your whistle while I work.
Whale opens a bottle of beer, pours it into a glass, hands
it to Clay. He gestures to a chair.
WHALE
We'll go slowly today. Since this
is your first time as a model.
Clay sits. He pulls a "TV Guide" out of his back pocket.
CLAY
Did you see this? They're showing
one of your movies tomorrow night.
WHALE
You don't say? Which picture?
CLAY
"Bride of Frankenstein."
WHALE
Hmmm. I much prefer "Show Boat" or
"The Invisible Man." Shall we
begin?
Clay takes a swig of beer and sets the glass on the floor.
CLAY
Ready when you are.
Whale stares at Clay.
WHALE
That shirt, Mr. Boone.
CLAY
It's new.
WHALE
I'm sorry. It's too white, too
distracting. Would it be asking
too much for you to take it off?
CLAY
I'm not wearing an undershirt.
WHALE
Pish posh, Mr. Boone. I'm not your
Aunt Tilly.
CLAY
But it's just my face you want to
draw.
WHALE
Oh if it's going to make you
uncomfortable...
(sighs)
Perhaps we can find something else
for you to wear.
He lifts a drop cloth off a footlocker, revealing a stack
of "Physique" magazines. Whale casually covers them with a
newspaper.
WHALE
We could wrap this like a toga
around your shoulders. Would that
help you overcome your schoolgirl
shyness?
CLAY
All right already. I'll take it
off. Kind of warm in here anyway.
He unbuttons the shirt and pulls it off.
WHALE
Yes. Much better.
(steps forward)
Here.
Clay adjusts his belt buckle as Whale hangs the shirt on a
wall peg. He moves back to the easel again.
WHALE
I think we'll have you sit slightly
sideways, so you can rest one arm
on the back of the chair. Yes.
Just so.
The arm with the tattoo faces the easel. Clay smirks.
CLAY
Take a picture, it lasts longer.
WHALE
That's exactly what I intend to do.
A clatter of pencils in the easel's tray, followed by a
moment of silence. Finally, a low, whistly scratch. Clay
concentrates on keeping still, focusing on an open window.
WHALE
You seem to have no idea how
handsome you are, Mr. Boone. It
has to do with how snugly your face
fits your skull.
Clay wipes a thin line of sweat from his waist.
WHALE
Would you be more comfortable
barefoot? Feel free to remove your
boots and socks.
CLAY
No. I'm fine.
WHALE
It's a bit like being at the
doctor, isn't it? You have to
remain perfectly still while I
examine and scrutinize you.
Whale suddenly sniffs, as if smelling something. He sniffs
several times more but continues to draw.
WHALE
(to himself)
Dripping?
(to Clay)
Do you ever eat dripping in this
country? The fat from roasts and
such, congealed in jars. Used like
butter on bread.
CLAY
Sounds like something you feed the
dog.
WHALE
It is. Only the poorest families
ever ate it. We kept ours in a
crockery jar.
CLAY
Your family ate dripping?
WHALE
(catching himself)
Of course not. As I said, only
poor people --
Whale stops. He lets out a bitter laugh.
WHALE
I'm sorry. I've just realized how
terribly ironic it all is.
CLAY
What?
WHALE
I've spent most of my life
outrunning my past. Now it's
flooding all over me.
Clay stares out blankly.
WHALE
There's something about the
openness of your face that makes me
want to speak the truth. Yes, my
family ate dripping. Beef dripping
and four to a bed, and a privy out
back in the alley. Are you also
from the slums, Mr. Boone?
CLAY
We weren't rich. But we weren't
poor either.
WHALE
No, you were middle class, like all
Americans.
CLAY
I guess you'd say we lived on the
wrong side of the tracks.
WHALE
In Dudley there were more sides of
the tracks than any American can
imagine. Every Englishman knows
his place. And if you forget,
there's always someone to remind
you. My family had no doubts about
who they were. But I was an
aberration in that household a
freak of nature. I had imagination,
cleverness, joy. Where did I get
that? Certainly not from them.
Whale's voice has changed, becoming more pinched and nasal.
WHALE
They took me out of school when I
was fourteen and put me in a
factory. They meant no harm. They
were like a family of farmers
who've been given a giraffe, and
don't know what to do with the
creature except harness him to the
plow.
Whale seems completely lost in the past by now.
WHALE
Hatred was the only thing that kept
my soul alive in that soul-killing
place. And among those men I hated
was my own poor, dumb father. Who
put me in that hell to begin with.
Whale peers out from behind the square of paper. He pales
when he sees his father William, his face covered with
grime, glaring at him from across the room. Whale retreats
behind the pad, takes a breath.
CLAY (O.S.)
Mr. Whale?
Relief floods Whale's face. He looks out, smiles at Clay.
WHALE
You have to excuse me, Mr. Boone.
Since my stroke, I am often
overcome with nostalgia.
CLAY
I don't mind. I'm not crazy about
my old man either.
Whale rubs a hand across his eyes and steps into the open.
WHALE
Why don't we break for five
minutes? You probably want to
stretch your legs.
Whale pulls the cover sheet over the pad to hide what he's
drawn so far.
DWIGHT (V.O.)
So you just sat there while this
old limey banged his gums?
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
The place is dead. There's only Clay and Dwight sitting at
the bar with the owner, HARRY, a balding hep cat with a
scraggly tuft of beard. And, in a booth, KID SAYLOR, a
cocky 20-year-old, necking with a pony-tailed TEENAGER.
CLAY
I liked it. You learn stuff
listening to old-timers.
DWIGHT
(to Harry)
You ever hear of this Whale fellow?
HARRY
Can't say that I have. Can't say
I've heard of a lot of people
though.
CLAY
If you don't believe me, let's
watch this movie. See if his
name's on it. How about it, Harry?
Can I watch my damn movie?
HARRY
I told you. I don't turn on the TV
except for the fights.
BETTY CARTWRIGHT appears behind the bar, lugging a bucket of
ice from the storeroom. She's an attractive woman in her
early 30s, big-boned and almost as tall as Clay.
BETTY
A spooky movie. Just what this
place needs tonight.
DWIGHT
Couldn't make it any deader, doll.
Set me up.
BETTY
Sure. Your friend want one?
Clay reacts to the silent treatment with a tight smile.
DWIGHT
Yeah, one for what's-his-name here.
She sets down two bottles of Pabst without looking at Clay.
CLAY
Thanks, doll.
BETTY
(to Harry)
I say let loverboy watch his
movie. And be grateful Boone's
not cutting Shirley Temple's lawn.
CLAY
Why is everybody giving me crap
tonight?
DWIGHT
Jesus, Boone. You come in here
proud as a peacock because some old
coot wants to paint your picture.
We're just bringing you back to
earth.
BETTY
Sounds screwy to me. I can't
imagine a real artist wanting to
spend time looking at that kisser.
CLAY
This kisser wasn't so bad you
couldn't lay under it a few times.
DWIGHT
Ooooh.
Betty glares at Clay, who realizes he's gone too far.
BETTY
I bet this is just some fruit
pretending to be famous. So he can
get in the big guy's pants.
DWIGHT
Ooooh.
CLAY
What makes you say that?
BETTY
Just thinking out loud.
CLAY
Yeah, well keep your filthy
thoughts to yourself.
BETTY
All right, then. He's interested
in you for your conversation. We
know what a great talker you are.
CLAY
Fuck you.
BETTY
Not anymore you don't. Doll.
CLAY
(explodes)
We're watching the movie, Harry.
You got that! We are watching my
fucking movie.
HARRY
Calm down, Clay. Just calm down.
We'll watch it.
CLAY
Good. Fine.
Harry reaches up, turns on a battered Motorola. On the tv,
a voice announces: "Tonight, Boris Karloff in 'The Bride of
Frankenstein.'" The titles come on. Ending with the phrase
"Directed by", which floats over a white blob. The blob
jumps forward to form letters: "James Whale."
CLAY
Right there. What did I tell you?
James Whale.
The movie starts. The Monster being roasted alive in the
flaming wreckage of a mill.
BETTY
This looks corny.
CLAY
Go wash glasses if you don't like
it.
In a flooded crater under the mill, the Monster kills an old
man. He climbs up, flips the man's wife into the pit below.
An owl blinks impassively.
DWIGHT
Not bad. Two down and it's just
started.
Minnie, a hatchet-faced woman with fluttering ribbons, is
now alone with the Monster.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Whale and Hanna are in bathrobes and slippers, and there is
a glass of milk and a plate of cookies on Whale's TV tray.
On the tv, Minnie (played by UNA O'CONNOR) squeaks and
whimpers and screams. Whale laughs.
WHALE
Wonderful old Una. Gobbling like
an old turkey hen.
But Hanna isn't amused. She unclenches her arms to close
the bathrobe over her throat.
HANNA
Oh, that monster. How could you be
working with him?
WHALE
Don't be silly, Hanna. He's a very
proper actor. And the dullest
fellow imaginable.
Minnie flees in a bowlegged jig up the hill. Whale smiles
again.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
On the tv, Dr. Pretorius (played by Ernest Thesiger)
delivers a toast with inimitably ripe enunciation: "To a
new world of gods and monsters!" Dwight and Harry and
Betty all laugh.
BETTY
These old movies are such a hoot.
They thought they were being scary,
but they're just funny.
CLAY
(defensively)
Maybe it's supposed to be funny.
BETTY
Funny is funny and scary is scary.
You don't mix them.
Suddenly the tinny tv soundtrack is drowned out by the voice
of Elvis Presley. Kid Saylor bends over the jukebox,
wagging his denim butt and tapping a high-top sneaker.
CLAY
Hey! Some of us are watching a
movie!
SAYLOR
Go ahead. Free country.
Clay jumps from his stool. Saylor sees him coming, steps
aside.
SAYLOR
You want me to turn it down?
Clay slams the heel of his hand against Saylor's chest. The
boy staggers backward. Clay grabs the corner of the jukebox
and jerks it from the wall; the needle scratches across the
song. Saylor holds up both hands in a nervous surrender.
SAYLOR
Hey, I didn't know. It's your
favorite movie. Sorry, okay?
Clay returns to the bar and uprights the stool. Saylor
escorts his girl to the door.
HARRY
You're like a dog with a bone over
this movie, Clay.
CLAY
I just want to watch it, okay?
On the tv, the blind man thanks God for sending him a
friend.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Hanna's frown pops open.
HANNA
He is not going to kill the old
man?
WHALE
No, Hanna. My heart isn't that
black.
In a crypt, the Monster meets Dr. Pretorius, who is having a
midnight snack on top of a closed coffin. "Friend?" the
monster asks. "Yes, I hope so," answers Pretorius, without
batting an eyelash. He offers the Monster a drink, then
adds: "Have a cigar. They're my only weakness."
WHALE
The cigars were my own brand. So
that I could have the leftovers.
On the tv, the Monster groans: "Love dead. Hate living."
Whale's focus sharpens, prompted by the unexpected
discussion of death.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
The Monster holds a skull in both hands and happily
growls, "Wiiife." Betty, shudders, for real this time.
HARRY
Sick stuff. Necrophilia. I wonder
if they knew how sick they were.
CLAY
The Monster's lonely and he wants a
friend, a girlfriend, somebody.
What sick about that?
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Dr. Frankenstein and Pretorius make their final
preparations. Frankenstein inquires where the fresh heart
came from. "There are always accidental deaths occurring,"
Pretorius replies. "Always." Once again, Whale responds to
the talk of death.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Finally, the Bride comes to life. She looks up, down, left,
right, uncertain who she is. The Monster stares
tenderly. "Friend?" He timidly touches her arm and she
screams.
BETTY
All right! You don't want him.
The Monster is heartbroken. Nobody loves him, not even his
Bride.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The Bride shrieks again.
HANNA
She is horrible.
WHALE
She is beautiful.
The Monster's pain turns to anger. He tears through the
lab, orders Frankenstein to escape with his wife. But he
wants Pretorius and the Bride to stay. "We belong dead."
Whale reacts sharply to the line.
The Monster blows up the laboratory and the movie ends.
Hanna shivers as she stands.
HANNA
Ugh. I am sorry, Mr. Jimmy, but
your movie is not my teacup.
Still, I am glad there is a happy
ending. The bad people are dead
and the good people live.
She hits the button on the Magnavox with the flat of her
palm.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Betty turns off the Motorola.
BETTY
Weird movie. Weird, weird, weird.
Harry stands up and stretches. Clay remains seated.
CLAY
So what did you think?
BETTY
Weird.
DWIGHT
I loved it. I want a switch like
that in my trailer, so I can blow
us to kingdom come when things
don't go my way.
He wobbles when he climbs off his stool.
DWIGHT
Damn but it's getting drunk in
here. Late too. The bride of
Dwight is going to bite my head
off.
He tilts toward the door.
DWIGHT
You coming, Boone?
CLAY
I think I'll hang around.
HARRY
Go home, Clay. We're closing up.
CLAY
I thought I'd give you a hand since
I kept you open.
He waits to see how Betty reacts. She shrugs. Harry takes
his book and cash drawer to the back door.
HARRY
I'm next door if you need me.
He gives Clay one last look and goes out to the breezeway
and his apartment.
CLAY
You know what? I think you guys
are all jealous.
BETTY
(laughs)
What's to be jealous of?
CLAY
I've gotten to know someone who's
famous.
BETTY
Not so famous any of us have ever
heard of him.
CLAY
If he were that famous, he probably
wouldn't give me the time of day.
This way, he's like my famous
person.
(laughs at himself)
Yeah, my own personal famous
person. Who treats me like I'm
somebody worth talking to.
Clay leans down to plug in the jukebox.
CLAY
You want to go for a swim?
She snaps her mouth open and imitates the Bride's
furious cat hiss.
CLAY
What's that mean?
BETTY
It means it's too cold to go
swimming. And I don't mean the
water.
CLAY
I wasn't going to try anything.
BETTY
Yeah, and I'm never going to smoke
another cigarette.
He patiently waits by the door while Betty turns out the
lights. She walks briskly through the glow of the jukebox,
waving Clay outside with her hand.
EXT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Betty pulls the door shut and bends over to lock it. Clay
catches a glimpse of skin in the side slit of her shirttail.
CLAY
Let's go for a walk at least. Walk
and talk. I really feel like
talking tonight.
Betty's eyes blink in mock surprise.
CLAY
This old guy -- he's the kind of
person I expected to meet when I
moved out here. Someone who's done
things with his life.
BETTY
Do you realize you're more
interested in this old goober than
you ever were in me?
CLAY
It's different. He's a man. And
by the way you have no business
calling him a homo.
BETTY
It never crossed your mind?
CLAY
He's an artist. Anyway, he's too
old to think about sex.
BETTY
All the old men I know think about
nothing but sex.
She opens the door of her Chevy. Clay grabs it with both
hands to keep her from getting in.
CLAY
C'mon. What's eating you tonight?
Betty hesitates, then looks him sharply in the eye.
BETTY
You picked up that girl right in
front of me.
CLAY
Hey, no strings, right? That's
what you always said. Just good
pals who have the hots for each
other.
BETTY
It still hurt. A lot.
CLAY
I didn't mean to...
BETTY
No, I'm actually kind of glad it
happened. It made me wonder what
the hell I was doing with my life.
Letting you pull me into bed
whenever the spirit moved you.
CLAY
You liked it too.
BETTY
Sure. I loved it.
CLAY
If you enjoy it, you should do it.
BETTY
You know, I just can't do that
anymore. I still have time to get
things right. Get married again --
CLAY
You mean us?
Betty bursts out laughing.
BETTY
The look on your face! You're not
marriage material. You're not even
boyfriend material. You're a kid.
A big, fun, slightly irresponsible
kid.
CLAY
I'm not a kid.
BETTY
What are you then? What will you
be ten years from now? Still
cutting lawns? Still banging horny
divorcees in your trailer?
Clay glares at her, his jaw working forward in anger.
CLAY
I like my life. I'm a free man.
BETTY
Sure you're free, for now at least.
But how long before you're just
alone? Pathetic and alone.
Clay's anger jumps from his jaw into his shoulders and arms.
He grabs the door handle.
CLAY
So you don't want to fuck. That's
what you're telling me?
BETTY
Is that all this conversation means
to you? Am I going to put out or
not?
CLAY
Damn straight. I'm sick of playing
games.
Betty quickly gets into the car. before she can pull the
door shut, Clay slams it on her, hard. Her hands leap in
front of her face, as if he'd hit her. The look of fear in
her eyes startles Clay out of his rage.
CLAY
Betty, look. This is coming out
all wrong --
She frantically turns the key in the ignition and the Chevy
pulls out.
BETTY
From here on out, Boone, you're
just another tired old face on the
other side of the bar.
The car screeches away. Clay stumbles across the highway.
EXT. TRAILER PARK - NIGHT
Clay comes to the dump at the end of the canyon. He climbs
into it, kicking at loose cans.
CLAY
It's all shit! Shit on by women!
Shit on by the Marines. Shit on by
the world! Fuck!
He shouts the word at the cliff, for the raw, sudden
violence of shouting.
CLAY
Fuuuck!
A dog in the carport starts to bark. The sound of Clay's
pain echoes off the canyon as we CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale is sitting up n bed when Hanna knocks. She enters
with a tray loaded with bottles and vials.
HANNA
You will take them all, Mr. Jimmy?
WHALE
I'll be fine, Hanna. Thank you.
HANNA
Good night.
Whale takes the pills, one by one, until he comes to the
bottle of Luminal. He opens the pheno bottle to shake out a
capsule and a dozen spill into his palm. He stares at them.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Hanna opens the door, gasps when she sees Whale lying
motionless on the bed. She spots the empty bottle of
Luminal.
HANNA
Oh no, Mr. Jimmy.
Hanna kneels next to the body. She makes a Sign on the
Cross, launches into a frantic "Hail Mary." We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale snorts at the imagined scene. One by one, he returns
the capsules to their bottle, until a single pill remains.
He places it on the table, then turns out the lamp and lies
on his back in the dark, waiting for sleep.
The distant sound of laughter invades the darkness. Whale
sits up, straining to identify the voices. The bedroom wall
opposite him melts away, revealing:
INT. SPECIAL MAKEUP TRAILER - UNIVERSAL STUDIOS - DAY (1935)
ELSA LANCHESTER and BORIS KARLOFF sit side by side in
dentist chairs, cloths around their necks, heads tilted
back. JACK PIERCE, the makeup artist, is patting the hair
drawn over a cage on Elsa's head. He looks up, sees Whale,
and breaks into a conspiratorial grin. Elsa's eyes are
closed; she hasn't heard whale enter.
ELSA LANCHESTER
You done yet, love? I am
absolutely dying for a fag.
Whale tiptoes in for a better look. Karloff has a
mouthpiece to help him breathe while the assistant adds
another coat of green sizing to the still incomplete
makeup.
BORIS KARLOFF
(gurgles)
Goo' 'orning, 'ames.
WHALE
Good morning. And a very good
morning to you.
Elsa's eyes snap open. There are no mirrors on the walls.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Uh-oh. The way you look at me,
James. What have you done this
time?
WHALE
Bring a mirror. Let the Bride
feast upon her visage.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Boris? Do I look a fright?
Karloff shrugs, irked that she's getting all the attention.
Jack Pierce lifts a large mirror.
JACK
(nasal New Yorkese)
Behold, the Bride of Frankenstein.
Elsa stares at the beautiful corpse in the mirror. She
snaps her head left, right, up, down, startled by the sight
of herself, electrocuted into frightened, spastic jerks.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Oh, James.
As Whale observes his star we see her spasms through his
eyes -- as a series of dissonant, line-jumping close-ups.
ELSA LANCHESTER
And you said there'd be some of me
left. Nobody's going to know me in
this getup.
WHALE
Nonsense, my dear. You look
extraordinary.
(to an assistant)
Today's script. Quick. And a
pencil.
Whale scans the page of shooting script, the margin marked
in pencil: CU, MS, MLS. Whale pencils in a bracket and
scribbles: CU a,b,c,d---MOS.
WHALE
Jack, I want to get on this right
away. Sorry, Boris, we won't get
to you until this afternoon.
BORIS KARLOFF
I 'ish you 'old 'e 'ooner.
The assistant removes his mouthpiece.
BORIS KARLOFF
I could have spent the morning
tending to my roses.
INT. SOUNDSTAGE - DAY
The interior of Stage C is completely filled by the
laboratory set. Electricians adjust the lights on the
wooden tower beside the Bride's table. COLIN CLIVE (Dr.
Frankenstein) and ERNEST THESIGER (Dr. Pretorius) sit off to
the side, in full makeup and costume. Clive mumbles
earnestly over his script. Thesiger pinches his face over
the needle he dips in and out of an embroidery ring.
Whale comes on the set with Elsa on his arm. She walks
regally beside him, the train of her long white robe thrown
over one arm. There's a wolf whistle from overhead, and
applause, causing Elsa to curtsy to her admirers. Thesiger
takes her hand, leans back to study her.
ERNEST THESIGER
My God. Is the audience to presume
that Colin and I have done her
hair? I thought we were mad
scientists, not hairdressers.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Only a mad scientist could do this
to a woman.
ERNEST THESIGER
Oh no, my dear. You look
absolutely amazing. There's no way
I can compete with you. The scene
is yours.
ELSA LANCHESTER
In the sequel, James, two lady
scientists should make a monster.
And our monster would be Gary
Cooper.
ERNEST THESIGER
I would've thought Mr. Leslie
Howard would be more your line.
ELSA LANCHESTER
More your line.
ERNEST THESIGER
My line nowadays runs to Rin Tin
Tin. Dogs are so much more
dependable than men.
WHALE
Colin? Please. It's time.
(softly, to Thesiger)
How is he today?
ERNEST THESIGER
Stiff as a board.
(calls out)
Yes, Colin. Come see what they've
done to our Elsa.
Clive walks over, glumly.
COLIN CLIVE
I'm not at my best today, Jimmy.
A touch of flu, you know.
Whale sees through the excuse, rests an arm on Clive's
shoulder.
WHALE
Relax, my boy. You could do this
scene in your sleep.
Clive grits his teeth and nods. Whale positions them in
front of the upended table, Clive and Thesiger holding
Elsa's robe out by the hems. The shadow of the sound boom
passes back and forth while they rehearse.
ERNEST THESIGER
I gather we not only did her hair
but dressed her. What a couple of
queens we are, Colin.
Elsa giggles. Clive looks distraught -- which brings some
life to his stiffness. Whale sees this, decides to tune it
higher.
WHALE
Yes, a couple of flaming queens.
And Pretorius is a little in love
with Dr. Frankenstein, you know.
Clive's distress reads clearly now. He is twitchy and
alive.
WHALE
Yes. I think it's coming together.
Shall we have a go?
He sits in the canvas director's chair, nods to the
assistant director.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Quiet on the set!
The warning bell rings.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Lights!
The lights sizzle and blaze.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Sound!
SOUND MAN
Okay for sound.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Camera!
A young man with a clapboard steps in front of the camera.
CAMERA ASSISTANT
Scene two-fifteen. Take one.
WHALE
Action.
The Bride snaps her head in various directions. Thesiger
slopes back, fingers splayed, intoxicated by his creation:
ERNEST THESIGER
The Bride of Frankenstein!
Whale sits with his legs crossed, jogging his raised foot as
if conducting the scene with his show. Fully engaged,
intensely alive. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale glances at the clock, sees that it is 3:15. He is
wide awake. He reaches over, picks up the Luminal.
WHALE
Luminal. Illumine all.
Whale reluctantly places the pill on his tongue and
swallows. He rests his head on the pillow and stares at the
ceiling, where the reflection of the window sheers casts an
ever-shifting pattern of light and dark. We move down to
reveal:
INT. PRISON CELL - NIGHT (BLACK & WHITE)
It's a cobblestone cell, a plaster set from "Bride of
Frankenstein." Whale sits in a massive chair, straining
against thick iron chains, as a lightning storm rages
outside. In the distance, heavy footsteps, coming closer,
until the cell door is filled with the silhouette of the
Monster. Whale hardly dares to breathe as the Monster rips
off the door and enters the cell.
The Monster steps into the light, allowing us to see his
face for the first time. It is Clay Boone, dressed in a
Marine parade uniform. He uses his hedge clippers to cut
the chains from around Whale's chest.
WHALE
Thank you. Thank you so much.
Clay leans down and takes Whale in his arms, cradling him
like a child. They move across the sound stage -- Clay
carefully sidestepping the lights and cables on the floor --
until they reach the next set:
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT
Clay carries Whale past a painted backdrop of a stormy
English countryside.
INT. FRANKENSTEIN'S LAB - NIGHT
Whale lies on the Bride's table. Clay pulls on a doctor's
smock, picks up a scalpel from a table covered with various
medical instruments. he carves a thin circle around the top
of Whale's forehead. Then, with one deft movement, he pops
off Whale's scalp and pulls out the brain. It is
soot-covered, charred, used up.
Whale watches with detached fascination as Clay tosses it on
the floor, then takes a throbbing, luminous mass from a
tray.
Clay inserts the new brain into Whale's skull, sutures the
scalp back into place. he fastens the conducting clamps
around Whale's temples, then throws the heavy circuit
breaker. Lights throb with bursts of energy...loose sparks
crackle...rotary sparks create snapping circles of fire...as
the energy of the raging storm is harnessed into the
machinery.
Clay steps back to take in his handiwork. A sudden look of
panic fills Whale's face.
WHALE
It isn't working. The experiment
is a failure.
Clay glances down at Whale, whose breathing is slowing.
Realizing that the new brain hasn't taken:
CLAY
Just go to sleep.
A serenity suffuses Whale's features as he stares up at the
pale flicker of lightning. His breathing finally stops, his
face a tranquil mask of death. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Whale wakes with a start. He checks the clock, sees that
it's past nine. He presses an intercom button on the
bedside table.
WHALE
I'm up, Hanna.
Whale sits up, drinks in the sunlight. He notices some
grass clippings and leaves scattered on the bedspread.
WHALE
What in God's name --
Whale turns and sees Clay lying next to him. He gasps.
CLAY
(angrily)
I told you to sleep.
Clay's hands close around Whale's neck. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Whale opens his eyes groggily. He scans the room in panic,
clearly unable to get his bearings.
Whale tries to stand but his legs give way beneath him.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BATHROOM - DAY (LATER)
Whale and Hanna stare straight out as she reaches down and
unbuttons the tiny buttons on his pajama fly. Whale
supports himself with one hand on Hanna's shoulder as he
relieves himself with the other.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY (LATER)
Whale sits up in bed, staring dumbly at the morning paper.
Hanna reaches in to take away the breakfast tray.
WHALE
Does the yardman come today?
HANNA
Of course. This afternoon.
A thin smile forms on Whale's face.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Clay prunes the roses on the front lawn. Hanna appears,
frowning.
CLAY
Something I can do for you?
HANNA
The Master wants to know if you are
free for lunch. I tell him you
will be having other plans, but he
insists I ask.
CLAY
Got a lawn this afternoon, but I'm
free until then.
HANNA
Expect nothing fancy.
Hanna goes inside. Clay rolls the mower down the path.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY
Clay knocks on the bottom of the Dutch door as he lifts the
latch and walks in. He is wearing a fresh madras shirt.
HANNA
The Master is dressing. I am to
offer you a drink. There is
whiskey and there is iced tea.
CLAY
Tea is fine.
He sits at the kitchen table.
HANNA
No. You are a guest now. You go
in the living room.
CLAY
That's okay, Hanna. I'm more
comfortable in here. It is Hanna,
isn't it?
She eyes him suspiciously, shrugs, pours a glass of tea.
Clay notices a Bible on the counter.
CLAY
How long you worked for Mr. Whale?
HANNA
Long enough. Fifteen years.
CLAY
I bet you've seen a lot of famous
people come and go? Movie stars?
HANNA
No. We live simply, Mr. Jimmy and
I. People come to play bridge.
And now and then, young men to
swim. You have people, Boone?
CLAY
You mean family? All in Joplin,
Missouri.
HANNA
Your wife?
CLAY
I'm not married.
HANNA
Why?
CLAY
Oh, I don't know. Because no girl
in her right mind will have me?
HANNA
A man who is not married has
nothing. He is a man of trouble.
You need a woman.
CLAY
You proposing what I think you're
proposing? Don't you think I'm a
little young for you?
Hanna twists her head around with such an indignant look
that Clay bursts out laughing. She realizes that she is
being teased.
HANNA
Men. Always pulling legs.
Everything is comedy.
(mimics an English
accent)
"How very amusing. How marvelously
droll."
Hanna stares at Clay until his smile fades. She resumes her
chopping in silence.
CLAY
You ever been married, Hanna?
HANNA
Of course. I am married still.
CLAY
Yeah? What's your husband do?
HANNA
He is dead now, twenty years.
CLAY
Then you're as single as I am.
HANNA
No. I have children, grandchildren
too. I visit when I can. But now
that Mr. Jimmy cannot be left very
long, I do not get away much.
(sighs)
Poor Mr. Jimmy. There is much good
in him, but he will suffer the
fires of hell. Very sad.
CLAY
You're sure of that?
HANNA
This is what the priests tell me.
His sins of the flesh will keep him
from heaven.
CLAY
Sins of the flesh? Everybody has
those.
HANNA
No. His is the worse.
(worse)
The unspeakable. The deed no man
can name without shame?
She loses patience with Clay's blank look.
HANNA
What is the good English? All I
know is bugger. He is a bugger.
Men who bugger each other.
CLAY
A homo?
HANNA
Yes! You know?
Clay slowly sits up.
HANNA
That is why he must go to hell. I
do not think it fair. But God's
law is not for us to judge.
CLAY
You're telling me Mr. Whale is a
homo.
HANNA
You did not know?
CLAY
Well...no, not really --
HANNA
You and he are not doing things?
CLAY
No!
HANNA
Good. That is what I hope. I did
not think you a bugger too. I fear
only that you might hurt him if he
tries.
CLAY
I'm not going to hurt anyone.
HANNA
Yes. I trust you.
Off in the distance, a throat loudly trumpets itself clear.
HANNA
You must go in. Quickly. He will
not like to think I have had you in
the kitchen.
Clay gets up slowly, reluctant to leave the room.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Whale comes forward as Clay enters, offering a hand at the
end of a spindly wrist.
WHALE
How are you, Mr. Boone? So glad
you are free for lunch.
CLAY
All right, I guess.
WHALE
I assume you worked up an appetite
with your labor.
A hesitant smile from Clay. Whale picks a stack of mail off
the table, rifles through envelopes.
WHALE
Forgive my rudeness. At my age,
the post is the cream of the day.
He returns the stack to the table but holds on to a square
envelope.
WHALE
Do you mind?
CLAY
Go ahead.
Clay looks off while Whale opens the envelope.
WHALE
Hmmm? Princess Margaret?
He is examining a folded card. He rubs a thumb over the
printed lettering.
WHALE
Her Majesty's Loyal Subjects in the
Motion Picture Industry...
Cordially invited...Reception at
the home of...Mr. George Cukor!
His lips smack open in disgust.
WHALE
That pushy little -- horning in on
the Queen's sister, then offering
to share her with the whole damn
raj? I live in this country to get
away from this rubbish!
He tosses the invitation on the table.
WHALE
Is this David's doing?
CLAY
This David's a friend?
WHALE
Yes. An old, useless friend. You
must excuse me, Mr. Boone. This is
a world I finished with long ago.
I pay them no mind and expect them
to return the compliment.
(a deep breath)
Lunch should be ready. Shall we?
He holds out an open hand so that Clay can precede him into
the dining room.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - DAY
Hanna sets down two steaming plates of omelettes. Whale
hands a glass of red wine to Clay.
WHALE
Cheers.
They both take a sip of wine.
WHALE
Smells lovely, Hanna.
Hanna nods, steals a glance at Clay as she leaves.
CLAY
Saw your movie the other night.
Watched it with some friends.
WHALE
Did you now?
CLAY
I liked it. We all did.
WHALE
Did anyone laugh?
CLAY
(covering)
No.
WHALE
Pity. People are so earnest
nowadays.
CLAY
Why? Was it supposed to be funny?
WHALE
Of course. I had to make it
interesting for myself, you see. A
comedy about death. The trick is
not to ruin it for anyone who isn't
in on the joke.
(a sip of wine)
But the Monster never receives any
of my gibes. He is noble. Noble
and misunderstood.
Whale gazes pointedly at Clay, who eats with his elbows on
the table, quickly bolting the hot omelette.
WHALE
In Korea, Mr. Boone?
Clay looks up.
WHALE
Did you kill anyone?
CLAY
I don't like to talk about that.
WHALE
It's nothing to be ashamed of, in
the service of one's country.
That's something to be proud of.
CLAY
Proud? Any jerk with a gun can
kill someone.
WHALE
Quite true. Hand-to-hand combat is
the true test. Did you ever slay
anyone hand-to-hand?
CLAY
(defensive)
No. I could have, though.
WHALE
Yes, I believe you could.
(a sip of wine)
How free is your schedule this
afternoon?
CLAY
Full up. I got the hedges to do
here, then another lawn out by La
Cienega.
WHALE
What is we say phooey to the
hedges? Could you spare an hour
after lunch? To sit for me?
CLAY
Can't today.
WHALE
I'll pay our going rate. Plus what
you'd get if you did the hedges.
CLAY
Sorry. I don't feel like sitting
still today.
WHALE
All righty. I understand.
Whale tilts a scrutinizing eye at Clay.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - PANTRY - DAY (LATER)
Hanna carries the dirty dishes back to the kitchen.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - DAY
Clay starts to bite the tip off a cigar.
WHALE
Use this.
Whale passes him a gold penknife.
WHALE
Just a trim. And mine while you're
at it. Fingers are a bit stiff
today.
CLAY
You ever been married, Mr. Whale?
WHALE
No. At least not in the legal
sense.
Clay hands a clipped cigar back to Whale.
CLAY
So you had a wife?
WHALE
Or a husband. Depending on which
of us you asked. My friend David.
He lived here for many years.
The other cigar crunches faintly between Clay's fingers.
WHALE
Does that surprise you?
CLAY
No, I -- you're a homosexual.
WHALE
Oh dear. If one must have a
clinical name.
CLAY
I'm not, you know.
WHALE
I never thought you were.
CLAY
You don't think of me that way, do
you?
WHALE
What way might that be?
CLAY
You know. Look at me like -- like
I look at women.
WHALE
Don't be ridiculous. I know a real
man like you would break my neck if
I so much as laid a hand on him.
Besides, you're not my type.
Clay suddenly laughs. Whale's smile deepens.
WHALE
So we understand each other?
CLAY
What you do is no business of mine.
Live and let live, I say.
WHALE
I hope this has nothing to do with
your refusing to sit for me today?
CLAY
No. I --
Whale continues to smile, slyly.
WHALE
What are you afraid of, Mr. Boone?
Certainly not a frail old man like
me.
Clay has no answer. He gives in with a sigh.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Clay sits sideways on the chair again. Whale stands at the
easel.
CLAY
Can I see what you did so far?
WHALE
It will only make you
self-conscious. You'll have to
remove your shirt.
CLAY
Sorry. Not today.
WHALE
But we have to match the other
sketch.
CLAY
I just feel more comfortable
keeping it on. You just said you
didn't want me self-conscious.
Whale steps forward.
WHALE
Perhaps if we open the shirt and
pull --
Whale's hands to in. Clay's flesh tightens; he shrinks
back. The hands stop, palms raised.
WHALE
Oh dear. I have made you
nervous.
CLAY
I'm fine. I'd just rather keep it
on.
WHALE
Suppose we unbutton the top and
pull it down around your shoulders?
Two buttons. Is that so much to
ask? Just two little buttons.
Whale's thumb and fingers unpluck buttons in midair.
CLAY
No! Look. What you told me at
lunch is still very weird for me.
So either you sketch me like I am
or I'll say forget it and go do
your hedges.
Whale takes a step back. His eyes are locked on Clay,
fascinated by his temper.
CLAY
I don't mean to be a prick, but
that's how I feel.
WHALE
Of course. I don't want to scare
you off. Not before I'm finished
with you.
Whale glides behind the easel. The pencils rattle in the
tray.
WHALE
Tell me more about yourself, Mr.
Boone. You have a steady
companion?
CLAY
Not at the moment.
WHALE
Why not?
CLAY
You know how it is. You have to
kiss ass just to get a piece of it.
WHALE
Very well put.
CLAY
The world is just one kiss-ass game
after another. A man has to make
up his own life, alone.
WHALE
Ah. A philosopher.
CLAY
Thoreau with a lawnmower.
WHALE
(smiles)
I like that. But take care, Mr.
Boone. Freedom is a drug, much
like any other. Too much can be a
very bad thing.
Clay glances out the window. Feigning a merely casual
interest:
CLAY
Is that why you and your friend
split up? Because you wanted to be
free?
WHALE
In a way, yes. I suppose so. I
know it's why I stopped making
pictures.
Whale backs away from the easel and stares at the paper with
a sour frown.
WHALE
You might not think it to look at
me now, but there was a time when I
was at the very pinnacle of my
profession. The horror movies were
behind me. I'd done "Show Boat."
Major success. Great box office.
Now I was to do something
important. "The Road Back." An
indictment of the Great War and
what it did to Germany. It was to
be my masterpiece.
CLAY
What happened?
WHALE
The fucking studio butchered it.
It was 1937, Hitler's armies were
already massing -- and still the
New York bankers stood in line to
curry his favor. Anything to avoid
losing the German market. They cut
away the guts and brought in
another director to add slapstick.
The picture laid an egg, a great
expensive bomb. For which I was
blamed.
A shadow passes over Whale's eyes. He presses two fingers
against his temple.
WHALE
After that, I went out of fashion.
I was no longer able to command
the best projects, so I walked
away. Why should I spend my time
working in such a dreadful business?
CLAY
Do you miss it?
WHALE
(dismissive)
It's so far in the past now. Over
fifteen years --
Whale stops himself. He smiles gently at Clay.
WHALE
Making movies was the most
wonderful thing in the world.
Working with friends.
Entertaining people. Yes, I
suppose I miss it. More so now
that --
Whale reaches into his pocket, takes out the bottle of
Luminal.
WHALE
I think we all want to feel we've
left our mark on the world. Yes.
I wish I had done more work.
CLAY
You've done a helluva lot more
than most people.
WHALE
Better work.
Whale moves across the room to the screen door.
WHALE
But I chose freedom. David was
still in the thick of it, his life
full of anxiety and studio
intrigue. I didn't fancy spending
my golden years as merely "the
friend." The dirty little secret
of a nervous producer.
CLAY
How long were you...?
WHALE
Twenty years. Too long. We were
like a play whose run outlasted the
cast's ability to keep it fresh.
So I finally decided to close down
the show.
Whale places a pill on his tongue and swallows. He fixes
Clay with a pinched smile.
WHALE
When all fetters are loosened, a
certain hedonism creeps in, don't
you think? There was a period when
this house was overrun with young
men. Some even posed for me.
Right where you're sitting now.
Clay sits uncomfortably in his chair. His face flushes.
WHALE
Of course, they weren't nearly as
bashful. No, this room was once
filled with bare buttocks. And
pricks. Hard, arrogant pricks --
CLAY
Cut it out!
Clay explodes out of his chair, knocking over a small side
table.
CLAY
Fuck it. I can't do this anymore.
He looms over Whale, whose breathing starts to quicken.
CLAY
Isn't it enough you told me you're
a fairy? Do you have to rub my
nose in it?
WHALE
I assure you, Mr. Boone, I meant
no --
CLAY
From now on, Mr. Whale, I cut your
grass and that's it. Understand?
Before Whale can respond Clay storms out, nearly ripping the
screen door off its hinges. Whale sits on the daybed, takes
a few quick breaths. Suddenly the air is filled with the
sounds of people cavorting in the pool.
Whale looks up, sees a young man standing outside the screen
door. It is now dark outside.
YOUNG MAN
Come on, Jimmy. Watch me dive.
Whale offers a melancholy smile.
WHALE
I think I'll just rest for a
moment.
The man shrugs, disappears into the shadows. We move
across the room and through the door...
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - NIGHT
Whale sits in a director's chair, a martini in one hand, a
cigar in the other, a harmless old uncle watching young men
swagger and splash in the pool.
WHALE
I think we're ready to go.
He glances over, sees Clay in plaid bathing trunks, sitting
apart from the others. He is puffing on a Camel.
WHALE
You're up, Mr. Boone.
Clay ignores him. Whale puts down his martini and cigar,
picks up a Polaroid camera. He moves over to clay.
WHALE
The extras are in their places.
Now we need the star. Wouldn't
you like to get in the pool?
CLAY
You first.
WHALE
Oh no. I never swim.
Whale removes Clay's cigarette, crushes it with his shoe.
Behind him, the pool is now a pit full of naked shadows.
WHALE
You'll have to remove that shirt.
Whale touches Clay's bare chest. Clay grabs hold of his
wrist, causing the old man to yelp in pain. In the pool,
the extras shriek in alarm.
Clay's hands close tightly around Whale's throat.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Whale's hands fly to his throat. He opens his eyes and
gasps greedily for air, the young men's screams lingering
in the room. There is a look of genuine terror on his
face.
EXT. BRENTWOOD HOUSE - YARD - DUSK
The sun goes down. Clay wearily pushes his lawnmower,
struggling to concentrate on the darkened lawn.
EXT. BRENTWOOD HOUSE - BACK DOOR - NIGHT
The smug PROPERTY OWNER peers out at Clay from behind a
screen door.
CLAY
Do you mind turning on a light?
It's getting pretty soupy out here.
OWNER
Should have been here when you said
you would. You whack off a tow,
don't think about taking me to
court.
CLAY
You're lucky I even squeezed you in
today.
OWNER
Don't take that tone with me, bub.
There's Japs in this town that work
cheaper and do flowers too.
Clay takes a deep breath. He can't afford to get angry.
CLAY
Will you just turn on the porch
light? Sir?
The owner flicks on the light.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Clay presses through the Saturday night crowd. Clay cranes
his neck to scan the crowd.
CLAY
Where's Betty?
HARRY
She took the night off. Heavy
date. Some guy she's had her eye
on for a while.
Harry smiles pointedly at Clay, hands him the beer.
CLAY
Thanks a lot, pal.
Clay turns his back on the bar. He sees Dwight moving
through the crowd.
CLAY
Dwight!
Dwight nods, a little coolly.
DWIGHT
Hey, Boone.
CLAY
Have a drink?
Dwight's WIFE, a pert, steely-eyed brunette, places a firm
hand on his shoulder. Dwight shrugs, heads toward the door.
Clay turns. A pretty, too-tan BLONDE WOMAN in her early 30s
is standing at the end of the bar, eyeing Clay. He lifts
his glass and she responds with an open smile.
EXT. CLAY'S TRAILER - NIGHT
Clay and the woman go at it, their shadows visible through
the glass louvers.
INT. CLAY'S TRAILER - BATHROOM - DAY
Clay tugs on a cord and the harsh overhead fluorescent
buzzes to life. He splashes his face with water, then
catches his reflection in the mirror.
EXT. SANTA MONICA LIBRARY - DAY
Clay parks outside the local branch of the public library.
INT. READING ROOM - DAY
Clay leafs through an oversized folio, bound copies of The
New York Times. He glances at an article from
1936. "Interview With a Passing Whale." There is a picture
of Whale, captioned "Famous British Director." A LIBRARIAN
approaches with more leatherbound books.
LIBRARIAN
Here are the trade newspapers you
wanted.
Clay takes the books, opens one.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Whale eats lunch off a TV tray. His attention remains
focused on "Queen for a Day" as Hanna clomps into the room
behind him.
WHALE
Who was that at the door?
HANNA
A visitor.
Whale turns. His face registers surprise when he sees Clay.
WHALE
Thank you, Hanna. That will be
all.
Hanna retreats toward the kitchen. Clay steps tentatively
into the room.
WHALE
Mr. Boone. You're not due to cut
the lawn until Wednesday.
CLAY
I'd like to sit for you again. But
only if you ease up on the locker
room talk. Okay?
Whale holds up two fingers, affects an American accent.
WHALE
Scout's honor.
Clay smiles.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Whale and Boone are back in their familiar positions. An
empty glass of beer sits on the floor next to Clay.
WHALE
I'm curious, Mr. Boone. What
convinced you to come back?
CLAY
I don't know. I guess I like your
stories.
WHALE
Everybody has stories to tell.
CLAY
Not me.
WHALE
What about your stint in Korea?
I'm sure it was full of dramatic
episodes.
CLAY
I told you. I don't like to talk
about that.
Whale nods, sensing that he's touched a sore spot.
WHALE
And the fear you showed at our last
session? How did you overcome
that?
CLAY
Not fear. More like disgust.
WHALE
Same difference, Mr. Boone.
Disgust, fear of the unknown -- all
part of the great gulf that stands
between us. Am I right in assuming
that you've had little experience
with men of my persuasion?
CLAY
There's no people like you in my
crowd.
WHALE
No teammates in football? No
comrades in Korea?
CLAY
You must think the whole world is
queer. Well it's not. War sure
isn't.
WHALE
Oh, there may not be atheists in
the foxholes, but there are
occasionally lovers.
CLAY
You're talking through your hat
now.
WHALE
Not at all. I was in the foxholes
myself.
CLAY
You were a soldier?
WHALE
I was an officer.
Clay breaks his pose to turn and look at Whale.
CLAY
This was World War I?
WHALE
No, my dear. The Crimean War.
What do you think? The Great War.
You had a Good War, while we had --
Whale clears his throat, bored by his standard line.
WHALE
-- a war without end. There were
trenches when I arrived, and
trenches when I left, two years
later. Just like in the movies.
Only the movies never get the
stench of them. The world reduced
to mud and sandbags and a narrow
strip of rainy sky.
(a dry snort)
But we were discussing something
else. Oh yes. Love in the
trenches.
Now he's talking only to himself.
WHALE
Barnett. Was that his name?
Leonard Barnett. He came to the
front straight from Harrow. And he
looked up to me. Unlike the
others, he didn't care that I was a
workingman impersonating his
betters. How strange, to be
admired so blindly. I suppose he
loved me. But chastely, like a
schoolboy.
CLAY
Something happened to him?
Whale looks up at Clay, stares at him.
WHALE
I remember one morning in
particular. A morning when the sun
came out.
EXT. TRENCHES - DAY (1917)
LEONARD BARNETT, 19, boyish and handsome, peers into a
periscope. Whale stands beside him, pointing out landmarks
on the bleak landscape.
WHALE (V.O.)
Odd, how even there one could have
days when the weather was enough to
make one happy. He and I were
standing on the fire step and I
showed him the sights of no-man's
land, through the periscope. It
was beautiful. The barbed wire was
reddish gold, the water in the
shell holes green with algae, the
sky a clear quattrocento blue. And
I stood shoulder to shoulder with a
tall apple-cheeked boy who loved
and trusted me.
Whale reaches over and lays his arm across Barnett's
shoulder. Barnett smiles timidly at him. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Whale leans forward, completely disoriented. His eyes fix
on Clay, the white eyebrows screwed down, until he is able
to recognize the face.
WHALE
Don't do this to me again, Mr.
Boone. I absolutely refuse.
Whale stands, his legs shaky.
WHALE
You will not set me on another walk
down memory lane. Not this lane.
Not today.
CLAY
I didn't --
WHALE
Why do I tell you this? I never
told David. I never even
remembered it until you got me
going.
CLAY
You're the one who started it.
WHALE
You're very clever, Mr. Boone. You
just sit there and let me talk.
What a sorry old man, you're
thinking. What a crazy old poof.
(comes closer)
Why are you here? What do you want
from me?
CLAY
You asked me to model. Remember?
WHALE
Of course I remember. Do you think
I'm so senile --
Whale stands over Clay. His pale face turns left, right,
looking at Clay with one cold eye, then the other. Clay
returns the gaze, worried for Whale.
CLAY
Mr. Whale? Are you okay?
Whale turns away. He yanks out a handkerchief.
WHALE
Stupid. Very stupid. What have I
been thinking?
He sits on the daybed and bends over, covering both eyes
with the handkerchief.
WHALE
Just go. Please. Why don't you
go?
CLAY
I don't get it. First you creep me
out with homo shit. Then you hit
me with war stories. And now
you're upset because I listen?
What do you want?
WHALE
I want -- I want...
His pained eyes focus on Clay, and soften.
WHALE
I want a glass of water.
Clay gets up and goes to the sink.
WHALE
A touch of headache.
Clay hands him the water.
WHALE
Thank you.
Whale sets the glass down and sits with his head lowered,
his body folded like a bundle of sticks.
WHALE
My apologies. I had no business
snapping at you.
CLAY
No harm done.
WHALE
It was foolishness to attempt this
portrait. You cannot force what
will not flow.
CLAY
You don't want me to sit for you
anymore?
Whale shakes his head sadly. He gazes up at Clay, sees the
disappointment on his face.
WHALE
How would you like to come to a
party with me? A reception for
Princess Margaret.
CLAY
I thought you weren't going.
WHALE
If you don't mind driving, I'd like
to take you as my guest. There
should be lots of pretty starlets
to keep you amused.
CLAY
I'm game. Sure.
WHALE
Very good, Clayton. May I call you
Clayton? Or do you prefer Boone?
CLAY
Clayton is fine.
Whale smiles gently.
EXT. OCEAN PROMENADE - DUSK
The sun is setting over the Pacific. Clay stands in a phone
booth on the strand.
INT. PHONE BOOTH - DUSK
Clay smiles anxiously as the call connects.
CLAY
Mom? Yeah, it's me.
Clay pauses as his mother shoots questions at him.
CLAY
No, I'm not in jail...I don't want
any money, no...
(louder, to be heard)
Look, is Sis there? I want to tell
her about this movie person I met
out here. She'll get a kick out of
it.
We hear the phrase: "She's out, Clay." Clay closes his eyes
as his mother rambles on.
CLAY
No, I still...I'd give you my phone
number if I had a phone --
Clay tries to stay calm as his mother berates him for not
staying in touch.
CLAY
How's the old man?
Before Clay can protest we hear: "Hold on." Clay glances
out at couples strolling up the promenade. An operator
interrupts, says: "One dollar for the next three minutes."
Clay deposits two quarters before his mother returns.
"He's busy, Clay."
CLAY
Right.
The operator comes on again, asking for fifty more cents.
Clay stares at the quarters in his hand.
CLAY
Time's up. I better go.
Clay listens as his mother prattles on, until the connection
is broken and the phone goes dead. Clay steps out of the
booth, takes a deep breath of ocean air.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Whale and Hanna go through the closet together.
HANNA
Mr. Boone. He is an interesting
friend.
WHALE
I'd hardly call our yardman a
friend.
HANNA
No. But someone you can talk to.
Whale stops, turns to Hanna.
WHALE
Do you miss having someone to talk
to, Hanna?
HANNA
I have my family. Also our Lord
Jesus Christ.
WHALE
Of course. How is the old boy
these days?
The naughty remark is met with a solemn stare. Whale
reaches up, chooses a lightweight blue suit.
WHALE
It needs a hat. There was a
wide-brimmed cream fedora...
HANNA
It must be up in your old room. I
will look.
The phone rings. Hanna hurries to answer it.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - MAIN HALL - DAY
Hanna speaks softly in Hungarian. Whale points upstairs to
let her know he will look for the hat himself.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY
Whale opens the closet door and takes down a stack of
hatboxes from the overhead shelf. He opens the first box,
takes out a rubbery wad of heavy fabric with two round
windows like eyes. It's a gas mask. We CUT TO:
INT. TRENCHES - NIGHT (1917)
The night sky explodes with light and smoke. Whale moves
calmly through the chaos, trying to maintain a modicum of
order among the troops.
WHALE
Gas masks on. Gas masks on.
At the end of the line, young Barnett is struggling with his
straps. Mustard gas is starting to stream into the trench.
BARNETT
Don't mind me, Lieutenant. Save
yourself.
Whale slips the mask over Barnett's face, fastens it. He
slides his own mask into position moments before the trench
is obliterated by the yellowish smoke. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY
Hanna stands in the door with a forlorn frown.
HANNA
Oh, Mr. Jimmy. You make a mess of
it. Here.
Hanna lifts the lid of an unopened box to show him the
missing fedora.
HANNA
(stacking boxes)
That is my daughter. She say she
and her husband are coming to town
this afternoon. I am sorry, Mr.
Jimmy. I will make it short.
WHALE
I'll be out this afternoon,
remember? Your family can visit as
long as they like.
HANNA
No. I do not cook for them. My
daughter's no-good husband will not
take one bite of our food.
Hanna holds out the box for the gas mask. Whale gives it a
long, final look, then drops it in the box.
WHALE
You can toss this one in the trash.
Hanna clamps the lid on the box.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - FOYER - DAY
Hanna has opened the door. At the end of the hall,
silhouetted against the bright afternoon sky, is Clay. His
shoulders fill the doorway. The top of his head is
perfectly flat.
WHALE
Good afternoon, Clayton.
CLAY
Do I look okay?
Clay steps into the light. His khaki pants are clean and
pressed. A blue knit shirt fits his muscles snugly.
WHALE
You look splendid, my boy. Quite
splendid.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - GARAGE - DAY
Whale crosses to the passenger side of the Chrysler.
WHALE
I suppose you'd like the top down.
CLAY
If that's okay?
WHALE
Nothing would please me more.
Clay squeezes behind the wheel, shifts the seat back,
explores switches. The vinyl top pops up and folds
backward.
Whale gets in. Clay starts the engine and backs out.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Hanna stands at the front door, hands tangled in her apron.
Whale tugs his hat brim at her as the car swings around the
driveway.
Whale smiles at the wide open sky overhead. Clay steps on
the gas and the Chrysler takes off.
EXT. CUKOR HOUSE - DAY
The party is clearly audible from the road, where Clay has
squeezed the Chrysler into a long row of shiny cars nuzzling
the high brick wall. Whale puts his dark glasses on.
WHALE
Stars, you know. The suns of other
galaxies.
They walk up the steep road to the gatehouse.
WHALE
Good old George. He loves to put
on the dog. Only his dogs tend to
have a bit of mutt.
A WOMAN at the gate inspects the invitation, waves them
through.
EXT. CUKOR HOUSE - LAWN - DAY
A sunny patio with hedges and statues. Wickets and stakes
have been set up for a game of croquet, but only a handful
of very tanned children strut around with mallets.
WHALE
What did I tell you? Listen.
CLAY
I don't hear anything.
WHALE
Exactly. Cukor was too cheap to
hire music. There's nothing but
chin-wag. The cold dreary custard
of English chin-wag.
Whale scans the crowd.
WHALE
Slim pickings. Well, it's early
yet. Perhaps this is a good time
to pay our respects.
Clay follows Whale toward a trellis alcove covered in ivy.
A handful of people grin at the mismatched couple who stand
in the shade: a homely older man in glasses and a pretty
woman in a white dress with polka dots. GEORGE CUKOR and
PRINCESS MARGARET.
WHALE
Let's get this over with quickly.
Whale forgets to remove his hat when he comes forward.
Before he can give Cukor their names Princess Margaret's
polite smile bursts open in a joyful display of teeth.
PRINCESS MARGARET
I had no idea you'd be here.
She seizes Whale's hand in her little white gloves.
PRINCESS MARGARET
How are you?
WHALE
(taken aback)
Fine. Quite fine. And Your Royal
Highness?
PRINCESS MARGARET
Splendid. Now that I know you're
around.
Standing beside him, Clay is clearly impressed that Whale
knows a princess.
PRINCESS MARGARET
Can we get together while I'm in
town? I so badly want to sit for
you again.
WHALE
Sit?
PRINCESS MARGARET
I've changed my hair, you see.
Since our last session. Those old
snaps look rather dowdy now.
Whale realizes she's mistaken him for someone else. He tugs
his sunglasses down his nose so she can see his eyes.
PRINCESS MARGARET
Oh dear. Have I made a blunder?
WHALE
Ma'am, the pleasure is all mine. James
Whale.
PRINCESS MARGARET
(laughs)
I am such a goose. I mistook you
for Cecil Beaton. It's the hat.
You're wearing one of Cecil's hats,
you know.
Whale attempts to chuckle while he fights a feeling of
humiliation. He turns to Cukor for help.
WHALE
Hello, George. James Whale. David
Lewis's friend. I once made
pictures myself, Ma'am.
GEORGE CUKOR
Yes. Of course. One can't throw a
rock in this town without hitting
one of us old movie directors.
Whale feels the sting. He turns to Clay.
WHALE
Ma'am, may I present Mr. Clayton
Boone?
Clay steps forward to shake hands.
WHALE
My gardener, who insisted I bring
him today. He so wanted to meet
royalty.
Cukor's face goes blank with indignation.
CLAY
Pleased to meet you.
PRINCESS MARGARET
Quite. I adore gardens.
Whale narrows his eyes at Cukor and sharpens his smile.
WHALE
He's never met a princess. Only
queens.
Cukor puffs out his chest, quivers a bulbous lower lip at
Whale.
WHALE
George, Ma'am, this has been an
honor. An occasion to remember for
the rest of my days.
He leads Clay away and an American couple promptly crowd in
to take their place. Striding through the garden, Whale is
obviously pleased with himself.
CLAY
What was that about?
WHALE
Nothing of importance. Just two
old men slapping each other with
lilies. Shall we have a drink?
Whale leads Clay to a tented bar. Across the way, David
Lewis has come through the gate with a WOMAN on his arm.
People look discreetly, not at David but at the woman,
lightly veiled in a scarf and sunglasses.
CLAY
Who's that?
WHALE
David. The friend I thought was in
New York.
CLAY
No. The girl.
WHALE
Girl? Oh. Elizabeth Taylor.
Clay watches in amazement as ELIZABETH TAYLOR waves to
someone and pipes out a happy hello. She hurriedly unties
her scarf, thrusts it at David and runs off on tiptoes to
embrace a woman.
CLAY
Is that really her?
WHALE
David produced her last picture.
David glances around while he slips the scarf into a coat
pocket. He sees Whale looking at him. He puts on a tight
smile and strolls across the patio.
DAVID
What are you doing here?
WHALE
Just what I was about to ask you.
I thought you were in New York.
DAVID
I was, until last night. Publicity
asked me to fly Miss Taylor in for
today's reception.
The waiter arrives with their drinks. Only when Clay takes
his glass of beer does David see that Whale is not alone.
DAVID
David Lewis.
CLAY
Clay Boone.
WHALE
Our yardman. Who was kind enough
to serve as my escort to George's
little do.
David freezes. Whale lifts his martini glass at Clay and
takes a sip.
DAVID
Should you be drinking in your
condition?
WHALE
Oh, David, stop being a nanny.
Clay clears his throat, eager to escape this domestic
squabble.
CLAY
I think I'll go look at Elizabeth
Taylor.
He hurries off.
WHALE
You should have seen Georgie's face
when he met Clayton.
DAVID
You didn't, Jimmy.
WHALE
I did. But Princess Margaret was a
doll. We're all equals in her
eyes. As commoners, I presume.
DAVID
You only embarrass yourself.
WHALE
Oh dear. I'll never work in this
town again?
DAVID
You know what I mean. Your
reputation.
WHALE
But I have no reputation. I'm as
free as the air.
DAVID
Well the rest of us aren't. Can't
you remember that?
WHALE
No. I never could. You must
regret having had the invitation
sent.
David is looking over Whale's shoulder.
DAVID
I didn't ask George to invite you.
WHALE
Then who did?
DAVID
Jimmy, there are people here I need
to speak to. You'll be fine on
your own?
WHALE
Yes. Perfectly.
DAVID
All right, then. I'll come by tomorrow
for breakfast.
Whale nods, watches David stroll over to the pool and greet
a gaggle of executives. Whale drifts toward some deck
chairs at the far end of the croquet lawn. He sits, takes a
sip of his drink. Suddenly a high-pitched giggle pierces
the air.
KAY
Mr. Whale!
Whale looks out to see Edmund Kay, his interviewer from
several weeks ago, marching across the lawn.
WHALE
Mr....Kay?
KAY
Bet you thought you'd never see me
again. I didn't know if you'd be
well enough to come to this party.
WHALE
You didn't?
KAY
I'm the one who got you on Mr.
Cukor's guest list.
WHALE
You, Mr. Kay? How do you know
George Cukor?
KAY
I interviewed him after I met you.
I'm his social secretary now.
Well, assistant to his secretary.
WHALE
I commend you. If you're going to
pursue poofs, go after those who
can do favors for you. You waste
everybody's time when you court
dinosaurs.
KAY
Don't think that, Mr. Whale. I
love your movies. That's why I
wanted you to come to this. So I
could see you with your monsters.
WHALE
My monsters?
KAY
Don't go away.
Whale tries to do just that, but finds himself caught in the
chair. He is stumbling to his feet when Kay returns with
Elsa Lanchester, 55, at his side.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Jimmy. How are you?
WHALE
Elsa?
She takes Whale's hand, with a look of deep concern and
sympathy. Kay races off again.
ELSA LANCHESTER
I saw Una O'Conner a few weeks ago.
She said you'd been under the
weather.
WHALE
Oh, nothing out of the ordinary.
Growing old.
ELSA LANCHESTER
We're all getting a bit long in the
tooth.
WHALE
But you appear quite fresh, my
dear.
She swats aside the compliment and gestures at the chair.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Please. You shouldn't stand on my
account.
WHALE
Perfectly all right. But if you'd
like to sit --
ELSA LANCHESTER
I'm fine, Jimmy. I can only stay a
few minutes.
WHALE
Of course.
ELSA LANCHESTER
What's our pesky friend up to now?
Kay returns, accompanied by a stopped, gray-haired man with
a long rectangular face and wary, heavy-lidded eyes.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Is that Boris? Our little chum
appears to be arranging a reunion.
WHALE
Oh dear.
Karloff, age 70, comes reluctantly, followed by his niece
ALICE, a bashful young woman who carried a blanket-wrapped
bundle.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Boris, darling. I didn't know you
were here. These public revels are
hardly up your alley.
BORIS KARLOFF
I came for the sake of my visiting
niece. Alice. And Miranda, my
great-niece.
His huge hand lifts the blanket in Alice's arms, revealing a
bald infant with enormous blue eyes. Karloff gurgles and
coos at the child.
ELSA LANCHESTER
And what do you make of our royal
visitant?
BORIS KARLOFF
Perfectly charming. A real lady.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Of course she's a lady. What did
you expect? A hussy in tennis
shoes?
Whale looks up and discovers Clay standing a few feet behind
Karloff. He is ogling two bosomy actresses who are
listening intently to the monocled British consul.
Whale's eyes try to focus Karloff and Clay together, his
once and future monsters. Kay shouts to a passing
photographer carrying a bulky Speed Graphic.
KAY
Hey, you! With the camera! We got
a historical moment here. Come get
a picture of it.
The man scans the scene for a famous face.
KAY
This is Mr. James Whale, who made
"Frankenstein" and "Bride of
Frankenstein." and this is the
Monster and his Bride.
Clay looks up when he hears Kay identify Karloff.
PHOTOGRAPHER
Oh, Karloff. Right.
Karloff and Elsa drift into position next to Whale. The
flash goes off, a snap and a crunch of light. Whale cringes
in pain.
ELSA LANCHESTER
(through clenched teeth)
Don't you just love being famous?
Another flash. From Whale's perspective, the bulb resembles
nothing so much as the translucent tube of electrical
current from Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory. Whale
concentrates on his smile as another snap of light stabs his
brain. He clutches Elsa Lanchester's hand.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Are you all right, Jimmy?
A sharp nod from Whale. The photographer motions to
Karloff's niece.
PHOTOGRAPHER
Let me get one with Frankenstein
holding the kid.
Alice hands over the baby. Karloff gently cradles the
child. Whale stands on his left, Elsa on his right. They
all smile at the baby, who gurgles and points up. Whale
follows the baby's gaze to the sky, where a large kite rocks
and strains in a furious electrical storm.
The camera flashes once, then again.
PHOTOGRAPHER
Got it!
Whale glances up -- the kite is gone. Thunder rumbles as
the group starts to disperse. Whale nods to the faces
exchanging good-byes.
BORIS KARLOFF
So good to see you again, James.
He strolls off, clucking and cooing at his baby.
KAY
Catch you before you go, Mr. Whale.
I'll make sure everybody gets sent
a print.
He goes off with the photographer. Elsa kisses Whale on the
cheek.
ELSA LANCHESTER
We'll be in touch, Jimmy.
WHALE
Good-bye. So nice to see you...
Finally Whale is alone. He staggers to the deck chair and
lowers himself sideways into the lawn chair.
CLAY
You okay?
Whale gazes up at Clay.
WHALE
Tired. A bit tired.
Clay nods. Whale smiles at him.
WHALE
Are you enjoying yourself?
CLAY
Actually, no. I feel a little out
of place.
WHALE
Neither of us really belongs here.
CLAY
Must have been funny for you.
Seeing your monsters again.
WHALE
Monsters? The only monsters...
(closes his eyes)
...are here.
Across the lawn, conversation has stopped. Birdlike shrieks
come from all directions.
CLAY
Oh fuck. And we left the top down.
You want to run for it?
WHALE
Run for what?
CLAY
Can't you see? It's raining!
The rain is only a flickering of air, but people are jumping
and shrieking, throwing coats over their heads as they dash
toward the house.
CLAY
Here.
He takes Whale under the arm, helps him up and escorts him
to a small tent. On the patio, everyone shoves and squeezes
to get through the one open door.
Whale stares out, hypnotized by the deluge. From his POV,
we see a young man step into the rain. Whale squints, is
finally able to identify the man as Leonard Barnett.
Whale's eyes follow Barnett as he emerges onto a new
landscape, a scarred and barren battlefield. As the storm
continues to rage:
CLAY (O.S.)
Mr. Whale?
Whale shifts his gaze to Clay. He takes a moment to orient
himself.
WHALE
Let's get out of this funk hole
CLAY
You don't want to wait it out?
Rain should let up soon.
WHALE
We're not sugar. We won't melt.
Whale adjusts the brim of his hat and steps into the
downpour. Clay has no choice except to follow. They walk
briskly, the minute splashes on Whale's hat forming a
ghostly aura of spray.
INT. CAR - DAY
Whale opens the door and climbs in next to Clay. The roof
slowly closes over them.
CLAY
I better get you home before you
catch your death from pneumonia.
WHALE
Catch my death.
Clay glances over, sees Whale sitting very wet and rigid,
staring straight ahead.
CLAY
You all right, Mr. Whale?
Whale blinks, slowly turns. There is a cracked look in his
eyes.
WHALE
Jimmy. Please. Call me Jimmy.
Clay smiles, starts to back the car out.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - FOYER - DUSK
The hallway is pitch-dark as Whale and Clay enter.
WHALE
Hanna! Bring us some towels.
We're drenched to the bone!
No response.
WHALE
Blast her. If we soil her holy
floor, it's her own damn fault.
Whale goes squashing down the hall. Clay remains just
inside the open door, prying off his shoes and peeling off
his socks. He follows Whale into:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DUSK
Whale stands over the table with his jaw open.
WHALE
I don't believe this.
He slides a note to Clay.
WHALE
It's not like her.
CLAY
(reading)
Just a night out. Sounds like she
can't say no to her daughter.
WHALE
Certainly you have better things to
do than babysit an old man?
CLAY
Good. Let's get dry.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale stands just inside the closet, buttoning a crisp white
shirt. He reaches for a red bow tie, closes the closet
door. In the mirror, Leonard Barnett stands behind him, in
uniform. Whale's eyes twinkle in surprise. He drapes the
tie around his collar.
WHALE
What do you think?
Barnett smiles his approval.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT
Clay opens the bathroom door, calls out.
CLAY
Mr. Whale?
No answer. He goes to the top of the stairs and calls out.
CLAY
Where's those clothes you promised?
Again, nothing. Rain ticks against the windows. Clay goes
down the stairs.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale fiddles with the knot of his tie.
WHALE
He trusts me, you know.
Barnett sits on the edge of the bed now. He smiles, a bit
sadly.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DOWNSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT
There's glow coming from the bedroom, and the sound of
Whale's voice.
CLAY
Mr. Whale? Jimmy?
Clay steps slowly toward the door, pushes it open. He peers
in.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale pulls on a blazer.
CLAY
Mr. Whale?
Whale jumps. He slaps a hand over his chest, twists around,
sees Clay.
WHALE
Oh, of course. Clayton. You
finished your shower already?
CLAY
Ten minutes ago. Didn't you hear
me calling?
WHALE
I'm afraid not. Terribly sorry.
(stands)
I believe I promised you some
clothes.
Whale crosses to the closet. Barnett is nowhere to be seen.
WHALE
You're much wider than I am. You
won't want to attempt to get into
my pants.
CLAY
No. Definitely not.
Clay chuckles. Whale smiles.
WHALE
Very good, Clayton.
He takes a robe from a hook on the closet door. Clay tries
it on but it won't close over the towel.
WHALE
I know.
Whale opens a drawer, takes out a crewneck sweater.
WHALE
Absolutely swims on me, but should
take care of your upper half.
Clay pulls the sweater over his head.
WHALE
That only leaves the rest.
CLAY
You don't have any baggy shorts?
Pajama bottoms?
WHALE
Sorry. My pajamas are tailored.
Would it be too distressing to
continue with the towel? No more
immodest than a kilt, you know.
CLAY
Do I have any other choice?
WHALE
Very sporting of you, Clayton.
Clay notices a framed drawing on the desk.
CLAY
Is that --?
WHALE
(nods)
The only memento I ever kept. My
original sketch for the Monster.
He hands the sketch to Clay, who stares down at the famous
flat head, hooded eyes, bolted neck of the Monster.
WHALE
Shall we?
Clay puts down the sketch, starts into the hall. Whale
turns back, sees Barnett standing by the window. Whale
flips off the light and closes the door.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT
Clay sits at the kitchen table. Whale opens the
refrigerator and brings out two plates wrapped in wax paper,
and a bottle of beer for Clay. He pours himself a shot of
Scotch from a decanter and sits down.
WHALE
After dinner, if Hanna isn't back?
Can we try a few more sketches?
CLAY
I thought you'd given up on my
picture.
WHALE
I'd like to try again. If you're
game.
CLAY
Why not? Give us something to do
while we wait.
Clay munches on his sandwich. Whale pours himself another
Scotch, takes a sip.
WHALE
Tell me something, Clayton. Do
you believe in mercy killing?
CLAY
Never gave it much thought.
WHALE
Come now. I'm sure you came across
such situations in Korea. A
wounded comrade, or perhaps one of
the enemy? Someone for whom death
would be a blessing.
Clay stops chewing. He stares down at his plate.
CLAY
I never went.
He takes a deep breath, looks up at Whale.
CLAY
I never made it to Korea.
WHALE
But you said --
CLAY
-- that I was a Marine. Which is
true. You filled in the rest.
WHALE
I see.
Clay downs his beer, refills the glass.
CLAY
My old man was a Marine. He
enlisted the day he turned
seventeen.
WHALE
The Great War?
CLAY
(nods)
By the time he was ready to ship
out, the fighting was over. He
missed out.
WHALE
A very lucky thing indeed.
CLAY
That's not the way he saw it. To
him, it was like his life never got
started. Nothing else really
mattered. Definitely not his
family.
Whale gazes sympathetically at Clay.
CLAY
The morning after Pearl Harbor, he
drove down to St. Louis to
reenlist. He was so damn excited.
World War II was going to be his
second chance.
(sighs)
They told him he was too old...fat
...nearsighted. Said he'd be more
use to his country if he stayed
home and looked after his family.
WHALE
Is that why you joined the Marines?
For your father's sake?
CLAY
I figured he'd think, you know --
it was the next best thing. Hey, I
loved it too. A chance to be a
part of something important.
Something bigger than yourself.
WHALE
What happened?
CLAY
I didn't have the guts for it.
A look of surprise crosses Whale's face.
CLAY
I mean, literally. My body
screwed me up. Burst appendix.
They gave me a medical discharge.
All I thought about was, how am I
going to tell the old man.
He breaks into a crooked smile.
CLAY
You know what he did when I called
him? He laughed. He laughed so
hard he practically burst a blood
vessel. Said it was a good lesson
for me. Not to try to fill his
shoes.
WHALE
I'm very sorry.
CLAY
Them's the breaks, right? No war
stories for this pup.
WHALE
That's where you're wrong, Clayton.
You've just told one. A very good
story indeed.
Whale lifts his glass in a toast. Clay empties his glass of
beer. He motions toward the decanter.
CLAY
Do you mind?
WHALE
Not at all.
He hands the decanter to Clay.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Clay sits in a straight-backed chair, smoking a cigarette
and sipping his Scotch. Whale sketches from a wing chair
across the room.
CLAY
Storm's getting worse.
WHALE
"A perfect night for mystery and
horror. The air itself is filled
with monsters."
CLAY
That's from your movie, right?
"The only monsters are here."
WHALE
I don't remember that one.
CLAY
James Whale. This afternoon at the
party.
Whale looks up.
CLAY
I said it must be weird seeing your
monsters again, and you said, "The
only monsters are here." I was
wondering which here you meant.
WHALE
I don't recall. Memories of the
war, perhaps.
CLAY
But that was so long ago. It can't
still bother you.
WHALE
Oh, but it does. Especially in
light of the journey I'm about to
make.
CLAY
You're planning a trip?
Whale's gaze remains dreamy and preoccupied as SOUNDS of
battle fill the room. A relentless rat-a-tat of gunfire.
The whistling of bombs. The tortured wailing of dying men.
Whale stands, moves over to the window.
WHALE
Barnett. Barnett on the wire.
CLAY
Your friend?
Whale gazes out at the storm. From his POV, we see a
scarred and barren landscape, illuminated by occasional
flashes of lightning.
WHALE
He caught his one night coming back
from the reconnoiter. I wouldn't
take him out, but McGill did. Just
to give the lad a taste. They were
nearly home when a Maxim gun opened
fire.
EXT. TRENCHES - NIGHT (1917)
We race along the open trench with Whale, the darkened sky
intermittently punctured by bursts of gunfire. He reaches
the periscope, pulls an enlisted man off it. From his POV,
we see Barnett and McGill dodging bullets as they attempt to
make their way back.
WHALE
(through clenched teeth)
Come on. Come on.
McGill leaps over the barbed wire of a forward trench.
Barnett follows. Just as his feet leave the ground his
chest is riddled by a fresh round of gunfire. Whale's eyes
snap closed, trying to obliterate what they've just seen.
WHALE (V.O.)
Barnett's body fell in wire as
thick as briers. It was hanging
there the next morning, a hundred
yards from the line, too far out
for anyone to fetch it.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Whale stares out impassively.
WHALE
We saw him at morning stand-to and
evening stand-to. "Good morning,
Barnett," we'd say each day.
"How's ole Barnett looking this
morning?" "Seems a little peaky.
Looks a little plumper." His
wounds faced the other way and his
hat shielded his eyes, so one could
imagine he was napping on
bedsprings. He hung there until we
were relieved. We introduced him
to the new unit before we marched
out, speaking highly of his
companionship.
Clay's eyes are filled with pity.
WHALE
Oh, but we were a witty lot.
Laughing at our dead. Telling
ourselves it was our death too.
But with each man who died, I
thought, "Better you than me, poor
sod."
(bitterly)
A whole generation was wiped out by
that war. Millions and millions of
young men.
Whale begins to hum, a tune we have heard before:
WHALE
Oh death where is thy sting-a-ling?
Grave where thy victory?
CLAY
You survived it. It can't hurt you
now. It's no good to dig it up.
WHALE
Oh no, my friend. It's digging
itself up. There is nothing in the
here and now to take my mind off
it. All my diversions have
abandoned me. Parties. Reading.
Painting. Work. Love. All gone
to me now.
Whale remains perfectly still, staring out the window. Clay
deliberates a moment, then puts down his drink next to the
decanter of Scotch. He stands and yanks the neck of the
sweater over his face, then tosses it on the sofa. Whale
blinks at the reflection in the glass, not yet
understanding.
CLAY
You wanted to draw me like a Greek
statue. All right, then.
Clay pulls at the knot, lets go of the towel. He defiantly
parks his hands on his hips.
CLAY
There. Not so bad.
Whale continues to stare at the reflection, his back to
Clay, his eyes wide and expressionless. He turns slowly,
fully expecting the vision to evaporate. When he sees that
Clay is truly naked he mutters softly under his breath.
WHALE
So it is going to happen after all.
CLAY
What'd you say?
Whale doesn't respond. Finally he opens his mouth to take a
breath.
WHALE
No. It won't do.
CLAY
What won't do?
WHALE
You are much too human.
CLAY
What did you expect? Bronze?
WHALE
Don't move.
Whale moves abruptly across the room. He walks past Clay.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT
Whale passes quickly through the dining room and out to the
kitchen.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - GARAGE - NIGHT
Whale reaches for the hatbox, which sits on top of a garbage
can. Suddenly a large hand appears on the box. Whale gasps
when a flash of lightning reveals the face of the Monster.
The Monster growls out an inarticulate greeting. He picks
up the box and hands it to Whale.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Whale removes the lid, sets the hatbox on the sofa.
WHALE
I would like you to wear this?
Whale steps back. Clay takes the box and covers his lap
with it. He lifts out the gas mask.
CLAY
Why?
WHALE
For the artistic effect. The
combination of your human body and
that inhuman mask. It's quite
striking.
CLAY
I don't know.
WHALE
Please, Clayton. Just for a
minute. Long enough for me to see
the effect.
CLAY
It's from the first World War,
isn't it?
WHALE
(nods)
There are straps in back.
Clay fits the mask on the top of his head and draws it down.
The living room turns brownish yellow in the thick glass
goggles.
WHALE
Let me help you.
Whale is suddenly behind him. Clay's vision is enclosed in
two round windows, so he can't see Whale buckling the second
strap.
CLAY
Now what?
Mouth muffled by the inhalator, Clay hears his voice from
inside his head. Whale comes around to stand in front of
him. He grins as he steps back to examine Clay. Clay
nervously taps his knees with his hands.
CLAY
All right. Let's take it off now.
WHALE
What was that?
CLAY
It's too tight.
Clay raises his voice to make himself heard. He reaches
back to undo the buckles.
WHALE
Allow me.
Whale steps in past the goggles.
WHALE
We don't want to tear the straps.
Clay drops his hands so Whale can undo the buckles. But
nothing happens. Clay turns left and right.
WHALE
Oh yes. I am still here.
Two hands grip Clay's shoulders.
WHALE
What steely muscles, Clayton.
Whale's hands squeeze. Clay grabs the frame of his seat, to
stop his arms from automatically swinging a fist. Whale's
hand slides over Clay's shoulder to his arm, caressing the
tattoo. Clay jerks his shoulder to shake Whale off.
CLAY
Just take off the fucking mask!
WHALE
Relax, Clayton. I can't hear you.
I can't hear a word.
Whale presses his lips to Clay's tattoo. Clay's muscles
tense from head to toe.
WHALE
What a solid brute you are.
Whale's tongue moves down Clay's arm.
WHALE
No? Maybe this, then?
The hand slides over Clay's stomach toward his lap. The
tattooed arm swings backward, slamming an elbow against
Whale's skull. Clay jumps from the chair, knocking into an
end table. The glass and crystal decanter fall to the
floor. The lamp spills over and the room goes dark.
Clay's ankle is caught by the sofa leg and he hits the
floor, jamming the inhalator against his mouth. He quickly
gets up, on his knees and elbows, pulling at the mask.
Flashes of lightning strobe the room as Whale collapses over
Clay's back and holds on.
WHALE
Oh yes. I have you now.
A strap breaks. Clay rips the mask off.
CLAY
Get the fuck off!
Whale's hand squeezes between Clay's legs.
WHALE
What will you do to get yourself
back?
Clay jabs with his elbow, flipping Whale on his back. His
body straddles Whale's and pins him, face to face.
CLAY
I'm not that way. Get it through
your fucking head. I don't want to
mess with you.
WHALE
Oh, but you feel good, Clayton.
His hands clasp Clay's hips. Clay's fist opens as it comes
down; he slaps Whale across the face.
WHALE
That didn't even sting. You're not
such a real man after all. Are
you?
Clay whacks Whale's face again.
WHALE
Wait until I tell my friends I had
you naked in my arms. Won't they
be surprised?
CLAY
I haven't done a damn thing with
you!
WHALE
Oh, but you have. You undressed
for me. I kissed you. I even
touched your prick. How will you
be able to live with yourself?
Clay snatches Whale's wrist before it can touch his crotch.
With his other hand he picks up the heavy crystal decanter.
CLAY
What the hell do you want from me?!
Whale tilts his face up for another blow.
WHALE
I want you to kill me.
Clay freezes. He stares down at the old man with white hair
and wild eyes lying beneath him.
WHALE
Break my neck. Or strangle me. It
would be oh so easy to wrap your
hands around my neck and choke the
life out of me. Please, Clayton.
We've come this far.
CLAY
You're crazy.
Whale's eyes glimmer in the sporadic bursts of lightning.
WHALE
Exactly, I'm losing my mind.
Every day, another piece goes.
Soon there will be nothing left.
Look at the sketch I made of you.
Clay turns to the sketch pad, which lies on the floor next
to Whale. The page is filled with nothing but doodles and
scrawls.
CLAY
Look, if you want to die do it
yourself!
WHALE
No, I don't want to die alone. But
to be killed by you -- that would
make death bearable. They say you
never see the one with your name on
it. But I want to see death coming
at me. I want it to be sharp and
hard, with a human face. Your
face. Think, Clayton. You'd be my
second Monster. Almost as famous
as the first. It would be the
great adventure you've yearned for.
A war story for both of us to
share.
Clay's breathing comes in quick, panicked bursts.
WHALE
You'd be fully exonerated, I've
taken care of that. I wrote a
note, I'll even leave you the
house, the car...
Clay's body starts to tremble.
WHALE
Do it now, Clayton. Make me
invisible.
Clay lets out a howl -- his shoulders heave and shake.
CLAY
I am not your monster.
He climbs off Whale, crawls away, his body collapsing in
wracking, anguished sobs. Whale opens his eyes, gazes at
Clay.
WHALE
What have I done?
(sits up)
Oh, selfish, selfish fool. I
have lost my mind.
He forces himself to his feet.
WHALE
What was I thinking?
Whale picks up the towel and moves over to Clay.
WHALE
You're a softhearted bloke. A
bloody pussycat.
Whale places the towel around Clay's shoulders.
WHALE
My deepest apologies. Can you ever
forgive me?
Clay doesn't look up.
WHALE
I suppose not.
(a bone-crushing sigh)
Good God, I am tired. I really
must go to bed.
Whale starts slowly down the hall.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale sits on the edge of the bed, tugs the bowtie from his
collar. Clay taps on the door, opens it.
CLAY
You okay?
WHALE
Oh Clayton.
CLAY
Did I hurt you?
WHALE
Nothing I didn't deserve.
CLAY
Need some help?
WHALE
Pray you, undo this button.
He lifts his chin and points to his collar.
WHALE
I can never manage it when I'm
tired.
Clay leans in to open the button. His face is only six
inches from Whale's.
WHALE
Do you believe people come into our
lives for a reason?
Clay doesn't answer. Whale turns, breaking their shared
gaze.
WHALE
I can undress myself, thank you.
CLAY
(steps back)
All right.
Whale hauls his legs up and stretches out on the bed.
WHALE
When you die...be sure your brain
is the last organ to fizzle --
CLAY
You'll feel better tomorrow.
WHALE
Tomorrow and tomorrow and
tomorrow...
Whale smiles fondly at him.
WHALE
Goodnight, Clayton.
Clay pulls the door shut and it clicks. He stands there a
moment.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT
Clay shakes open a bedsheet and wraps himself in it.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Clay finds a pack of cigarettes on the floor and lights one,
then sets the furniture back up. He picks up the gas mask
from beside the sofa, shoves it into its box.
Clay sits in the wing-back chair, props his feet on the
hassock, adjusting the sheet around his shoulders. We CUT
TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale bolts up in bed. An electrical storm flashes and
cracks in the window.
Whale gets out of bed, stares outside. From his POV, the
lawn is a barren slope covered with stumps.
Whale turns on the desk lamp, sits. He pulls out a piece
of paper.
EXT. BATTLEFIELD - NIGHT
We're back to the scene that opened the movie, a flat-topped
creature stumbling through the mud. A flash of lightning
reveals Clay's face. He turns, signals for Whale to follow
him. Whale joins Clay on a slight rise of ground, the rim
of a crater. Clay points down into it.
EXT. CRATER - NIGHT
The crater is full of bodies gathered around a pool of
water. Whale stumbles down, reaches the bottom and bends
over the nearest corpse in khaki. It is Leonard Barnett.
There are no wounds on his body, no rips or gaping holes.
His eyes are closed in dreamless sleep.
Whale looks up and sees that Clay is gone. The only other
living creature is an owl, which blinks wearily at him.
Whale lies down, finding a spot next to Barnett. He takes a
last breath and closes his eyes. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
A roar of bells blasts Clay awake. The telephone is
ringing. A hard pair of shoes thunder out to answer it.
HANNA
Hello? Oh, Mr. David!
Clay blinks at the sight of Hanna in black dress and white
apron, chattering on the phone by the far wall.
HANNA
No, no, he did not tell me. But no
problem. I will make breakfast.
She scoldingly cuts her eyes at Clay.
HANNA
Ten? Very good, then. Good-bye.
She hangs up and faces Clay with a stern frown.
CLAY
It's not what you think.
HANNA
I have brought you your clothes.
All I ask is that you get dressed
and go. We are having a guest for
breakfast.
CLAY
I need to talk to you about Mr.
Whale.
HANNA
There is nothing you can say that
will surprise me.
CLAY
Maybe. But I still need to talk.
Do I have time for a cup of coffee
before I go?
HANNA
I blame my daughter for keeping me
out so late. I only hope you did
not get him excited. It could give
him a new stroke.
She stomps into the kitchen. Clay gets up, slips on his
undershorts. He's zipping up his chinos when she comes out
again with a breakfast tray. She hands him a cup of coffee.
CLAY
Thanks.
(quickly)
Why do you do it?
HANNA
What do I do?
CLAY
Take care of Mr. Whale like he was
your flesh and blood.
HANNA
It is my job. I did it when he was
happy and it was easy. It is only
fair I do it now when he is ill.
(picks up the tray)
Enough talk. I must wake up the
master.
She marches around the corner towards Whale's bedroom. Clay
hears her knocking on a door.
HANNA (O.S.)
Mr. Jimmy? Morning, Mr. Jimmy.
Clay pulls on his shirt. Hanna comes back around the
corner.
HANNA
What have you done with him?
CLAY
I put him to bed. He's not there?
She goes to the foot of the stairs and shouts:
HANNA
Mr. Jimmy! Mr. Jimmy!
Hanna starts up the stairs.
HANNA
Look for him!
Clay reaches for his socks when he notices an envelope on
the floor next to the chair. He picks it up. On the front
is scrawled the word 'CLAYTON'. Clay opens the envelope.
Inside is Whale's original sketch of the Monster's head. He
turns it over. There is a message written on the back.
CLAY
No.
Clay drops the sketch, looks out. He sees something.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Clay crosses the patio, hurtles down the slope.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - POOL - DAY
Clay leaps headfirst into the water. Whale rests lightly on
his back, with an upward sway of straight white hair. Clay
hauls the body toward the side.
CLAY
Almost there. Almost there.
He gets an arm around Whale's chest and heaves the body over
the curb. he climbs out, drags the body forward to rest in
the grass. He grabs the wrist. Nothing.
CLAY
Son of a bitch. You crazy son of a
bitch.
Clay straddles Whale's thighs and applies pressure on his
rib cage. But it's no use. Clay sits up and takes a deep
breath.
HANNA
Ohhh!
Hanna comes down the path, her run slowing to a walk. She
stares at Clay.
CLAY
I didn't do it. This wasn't me.
HANNA
Oh, Mr. Jimmy.
CLAY
He wanted me to kill him, but I
didn't. He did it himself.
HANNA
He says here good-bye. I find it
in his room. He is sorry, he says.
He has had a wonderful life.
She waves a folded piece of paper.
HANNA
You poor, foolish man. You
couldn't wait for God to take you
in his time?
Clay slowly stands up. Hanna looks around in panic.
HANNA
You must leave. You were not here
this morning.
CLAY
But I didn't do this!
HANNA
The police will not know that.
They will want to investigate.
CLAY
We have his note.
HANNA
Do you want to be questioned about
you and Mr. Jimmy? Please,
Clayton. It will be better if I
find the body alone.
CLAY
But how're you going to explain
this?
(points at the body)
How did you get him out of the
pool?
HANNA
You are right. Yes. We must put
him back.
They both hesitate, looking down at Whale. Then Clay drags
the body parallel with the pool. Hanna stoops over to
adjust the collar of Whale's shirt.
HANNA
Poor Mr. Jimmy. We do not mean
disrespect. You will keep better
in water.
She nods to Clay. He rolls the body over and it splashes on
its belly. It bounces a moment in the waves of the splash,
then begins to sink. As it drops, the air in the chest
slowly flips the body around.
Looking up at them with open eyes, Whale sinks backward into
the thickening light. His arms trail upward and the hands
lightly flutter as if waving good-bye. The melancholy sound
of a solo violin pierces the silence as we CUT TO:
EXT./INT. BLIND MAN'S HUT - NIGHT
A black-and-white scene from "Bride of Frankenstein." The
old BLIND MAN plays a mournful lullaby on his violin while
the MONSTER listens outside, moved by the music. He smashes
open the door of the hut in an effort to get closer to the
soul-soothing sound. The blind man stops playing, looks up.
BLIND MAN
Who is it? You're welcome, my
friend, whoever you are.
The Monster attempts to communicate, manages only a
plaintive moan. The blind man stands.
BLIND MAN
I cannot see you. I cannot see
anything. You must please excuse
me. But I am blind.
The Monster holds out his burned hands.
BLIND MAN
Come in, my poor friend. No one
will hurt you here. If you're in
trouble, perhaps I can help you.
The old man touches the Monster, who recoils with a
defensive growl.
BLIND MAN
Can you not speak? It's strange.
Perhaps you're afflicted too. I
cannot see and you cannot speak.
INT. SUBURBAN HOUSE - NIGHT (1972)
MICHAEL BOONE, 10, lies on the living room carpet, staring
raptly at the movie playing on the large Zenith console.
The house is small but tidy and comfortable.
BLIND MAN (O.S.)
It's been a long time since any
human being came into this hut. I
shall look after you. And you will
comfort me.
On the tv screen, the old man starts to cry, then collapses
onto the Monster's chest. A thick tear rolls down the
Monster's cheek.
Clay Boone sits on the sofa, a baby on his lap. He's 40
now, his hair starting to thin but still closely cropped at
the top and sides.
On the tv, daylight fills the hut. The blind man and the
Monster share a meal.
BLIND MAN
We are friends, you and I.
Friends.
MONSTER
Friends.
BLIND MAN
Before you came, I was all alone.
It is bad to be alone.
MONSTER
Alone, bad. Friend, good.
He takes the old man's hand.
MONSTER
Friend, good.
The blind man nods. On the sofa, Clay watches his son watch
the movie.
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT (LATER)
A color promo for "Chiller Theater" fills the screen. Clay
turns off the set.
CLAY
Time for bed, sport.
Michael groans, slowly stands.
CLAY
What'd you think of the movie?
MICHAEL
Pretty cool. Better than most
monster movies.
CLAY
I knew the guy who made it.
Michael glances skeptically at his father.
MICHAEL
Come on, Dad. Is this another one
of your stories?
CLAY
Here.
Clay unfolds Whale's sketch of the Monster, hands it to his
son.
CLAY
It's his original sketch of the
Monster.
Michael turns over the sketch. On the back, scrawled in
block letters: "TO CLAYTON BOONE -- FRIEND?"
MICHAEL
This is for real?
Clay nods. At the same time, his wife DANA appears in the
doorway. A pretty, cheerful woman in her mid-30s.
DANA
The trash, Clay. Before it rains.
CLAY
Okay.
Clay kisses the top of his son's head.
CLAY
Off to bed.
EXT. CLAY'S HOUSE - NIGHT
Clay carries a large metal bin down the tidy lawn. The sky
momentarily brightens with a silent flash of lightning.
Clay gazes up at the electrical storm. He glances back at
his house, sees Dana cradling the baby in an upstairs
window.
The skies open with a shattering crash of thunder. Clay
tilts up his face, drinks in the cool rain. Then he extends
his arms and staggers along the sidewalk, imitating the
Monster's famous lurch.
We PULL BACK, revealing a sleepy neighborhood of small
houses and neat lawns, until Clay is only a small dot in the
landscape.
FADE OUT.
