Part 2: Something’s Happening
An original screenplay
This is Part 2 of a five-part screenplay. If you haven’t read the first part, click here. Otherwise continue reading below…
DAY 2: INT — MOSKAVITZ HOUSE. KITCHEN, early evening:
MINNIE cooks dinner.
MICKEYl searches through cabinets.
MINNIE
What are you looking for. Mickey? You shouldn’t eat now. dinner’s almost ready.
MICKEYl
Food for the mind, mom. food for the mind.
MINNIE
Cow brains? I made that —
MICKEYl
No no no. mom. Have you seen the ballerina painting? The one I took to school?
MINNIE
Missing?
MICKEYl
I’ve looked everywhere.
MINNIE
Look where I keep my cookbooks.
MICKEYl
Cookbooks?
MICKEYl opens cabinet and finds, propped at the far end, a canvas.
MICKEY1 unrolls it.
Close up Degas’ “Two Dancers On Stage.”
MICKEYl takes canvas.
MICKEYl
What’s it doing in there?
MINNIE
Food for thought.
INT — MOSKAVITZ DINING ROOM, moments later:
Track serving tray of beef brisket. kitchen into dining room.
Pan up from tray to table, dolly back to OLD MAN’s hair combed.
THE KID’S shirt is buttoned up.
MICKEYl, MARCIA, MANNY there. MINNIE sits.
OLD MAN
Mind if I have a cigarette before we start?
MANNY
You can’t smoke at the table before the meal!
OLD MAN
Oh, yes, of course… Sorry about that, sir. Never mind. I’ll wait until after we’re done, yes?
MANNY
You can’t smoke at the table after the meal, either!
THE KID
You mind if I smoke, then?
MANNY
Nobody smokes at table, before, during, or after the meal!
OLD MAN and KID look at each other, shrug, toss their cigarettes onto carpeting.
Newfoundland DOG, sniffs, gobbles cigarettes up, scurries off and out of room.
MANNY stares savagely at MICKEYl.
MINNIE
So, uh, you are finally through with college! I am so proud of you! Our first born son, a college graduate! Ready to take on the whole world!
MANNY
(glaring at MINNIE serving OLD MAN)
Take on the whole world? College degree? The bum can’t even find a job!
MICKEYl
But pops, I’ve been in town less than twelve hours.
MANNY
So? You’ve already had twenty-two years!
OLD MAN
(contemplatively)
Been about that long since I’ve worked steady, too.
MARCIA snickers, is silenced by glare from MANNY.
MICKEYl
Come on. dad, it’s tough out there these days. Toy stores aren’t even willing to hire me.
MANNY
Toy stores? You have a degree from the university, and you want to work in a toy store? (Pushes plate) I think I’ll go back to the factory now, work another ten years, pay for Mickey’s college, so maybe he can go apply at a goddamned candy store!
MICKEYl
They aren’t hiring, either.
MANNY raises both hands, shakes himself.
MINNIE stands up, starts to rub MANNY’S back.
MARCIA puts pea into end of straw, shoots it at MICKEYl. Pea hits MICKEY1 on his head.
THE KID high-fives MARCIA.
Head poking under the table, OLD MAN lights up cigarette.
MICKEYl gives MARCIA The Finger.
THE KID smiles at MARCIA, MARCIA scowls at MICKEYl, MANNY shakes himself again.
MINNIE continues to rub MANNY’S back.
Thin wafts of smoke rise up.
DOG howles terribly from other room.
OLD MAN bumps head against underside of table.
MARCIA pushes chair back, exits.
MANNY’S head collapses into arms, MINNIE runs after MARCIA.
THE KID, oblivious, eats hungrily, drinks thirstily, smacking his lips with glee.
MICKEYl
(leaning close to MANNY)
Pops, yo! Wake up, padre! My art is going good, I’m very enthusiastic about it. Did I tell you? Have you heard? My rendering of the Degas ballerinas won an award at the art school!
DOG continues to howl in background, accompanied now by MARCIA sobbing, MINNIE trying to comfort MARCIA.
MANNY
(lifting his head slightly)
Art?! Who gives a shit, Mickey? How are you going to make a life for yourself? What if you meet some girl, you want to settle down.
MICKEYl
Didn’t I tell ya, pops? I got some numbers at the Mlddleberg Gallery student art opening this afternoon, and I got a bunch of dates lined up —
MANNY
I don’t want to hear about that stuff! You hear me? In twelve hours you can get some stupid dates, but you can’t even get a job. Your personal life is your business! Your business life is mine, so long as I keep paying the bills.
MANNY reaches over, grabs MICKEY1 by his shirt collar, gestures to OLD MAN and THE KID to leave.
OLD MAN pops cigarette into his mouth.
THE KID takes full plate and some silverware out with him.
MANNY
I was afraid it would come to this, but I don’t think I have any choices left. I want you to go tomorrow afternoon to your Uncle Mortie’s business, and I want you to see about getting some good, honest work in the clothing store. I don’t know what he can do for you, but it’s a business, a respectable business, and maybe they can use a college graduate there —
DOG howls, MARCIA sobs, MINNIE consoles.
MICKEYl
But pops, I majored in art history, not finance. I can’t even run a cash register…
MANNY
(shaking MICKEY1)
Goddammit! Then you are going to learn something useful for a change! (Gesturing to where OLD MAN and THE KID have gone) And those two degenerates you brought back with you, I want them out of here first thing tomorrow, you got that? Out! Out, out, out!
MICKEYl
Pops! The old guy had a heart attack this morning.
MANNY
(releasing him forcefully)
So, you want to give me a heart attack instead!? Out! Out, out, out!
MINNIE, MARCIA enter, carrying enormous Newfoundland DOG.
MARCIA
I think Pluto ate a cigarette, but now he’s okay.
MARCIA strokes DOG’s collar, puts him down, then sits.
PLUTO jumps up onto chair next to MANNY, DOG drools onto table.
MINNIE
Mickey! You haven’t touched your food! Manny, you haven’t eaten, either! Eat! Eat, eat, eat!
As if on cue, THE KID waltzes back into dining room, sits, eats.
MARCIA
(to THE KID)
Where do you put it all?
THE KID
My psychedelic surfer shorts are a four-dimensional vortex, Babe, volume down here (pointing to groin) being a vast wormhole, un-be-lie-va-ble, yo yo yo, Ba-by yo!
MARCIA
You’re disgusting.
THE KID
Try me.
MANNY
Out! Out, out, out!
MINNIE
Eat! Eat, eat, eat!
DOG howls again, then starts to whine.
INT — MOSKAVITZ KITCHEN:
OLD MAN goes through drawers, stuffs long coat pockets with silverware, pieces of crystal.
OLD MAN finds bottle of wine in refrigerator.
VOICE OF MICKEYl
I’m eating, mom, look, I’m eating, yum yum yum…
VOICE OF MINNIE
You never eat enough, my little Mickey! I don’t know how you even survived college!
VOICE OF MANNY
I don’t know how he couldn’t have, what with all the money I sent him!
VOICE OF MARCIA
Yeah? Then how come I don’t get a car? All my friends have cars already! Trisha’s dad bought her a Mustang convertible,just last week. And Nicole’s mom bought her a Jeep! A brand new Jeep!
VOICE OF MINNIE
Here, Mickey, have more peas, some more meat!
OLD MAN looks both ways, opens cabinet containing cookbooks. He frantically searches through it, grabs chair, stands on it, sighs.
VOICE OF MICKEY
Would ya leave me atone already? I got enough on my mind already.
VOICE OF MANNY
Enough on his mind? Blah. He doesn’t know worries! Thirty years of supervising at the factory, and what do I get! Huh? What appreciation!? What thanks!?
VOICE OF THE KID
Can you pass the chow, ma’am? The steers, yeah, and the gravy? Yeah, and some more potato? Oh yeah. Pass it on down, yeah, keep it comin Outstanding work, ma’am, simply out-standing!
OLD MAN about to exit, notices MICKEYl walking in hallway.
OLD MAN sneaks over to edge of door leading out of kitchen, spies.
INT — NEAR BASEMENT DOOR:
MICKEYl looks both ways, enters basement, leaves door ajar.
Pause.
OLD MAN appears, creeping after MICKEYl, enters, closes door.
SOUND OF DOG
Whoof! Whoof!- Whoof! Whoof!
VOICE OF MARCIA
Good boy! That’s a good boy!
DAY 3: EXT — MIDDLEBERG RACE TRACK, early morning:
Various medium, long, extra long shots of Race Track: horses trotting to gates, stands full of screaming gamblers, people in line at tellers, shot of the odds board.
Slow zoom grandstand, OLD MAN and THE KID sitting.
THE KID
GentlemanRider, you hear me? Keep your old guy specks peeled on Number 5.
OLD MAN
Money for nothing. How much you put on it?
THE KID
I got a hundred across, win-place-show, joe, not to mention some ‘fectas, one-two-three, bo-didd-lee.
OLD MAN
You nuts? Fat bookieman’s sharking ya, ya think ya can go ta town, not a care in the world, ace?
THE KID
Other people’s money, man, other people’s money.
OLD MAN
Not other peoples’ kid, ours. And at 20% a day, that’s some investment.
THE KID
Don’t worry, Doc. All it takes is an afternoon, one race, even, to really win bigl Hot tip. The hottest tip around. (Pause) You’ll see.
Race starts: horses zip around track. Number 5 comes in fourth.
OLD MAN looks at THE KID. THE KID smiles back, nervously.
THE KID
Close, huh? That was really, really close, dude.
INT — BASEMENT OF MORT’S CLOTHING STORE, hour later:
Room is barren but for dripping sink, two rickety chairs placed in one corner, upon which OLD MAN and THE KID sit, hands tied behind their backs.
MORT MOSKAVITZ stands over them with FELIX.
UNCLE MORT
(New York accent)
I’m really close to plugging both you schmucks. Old and new, god fucked up on both ends. You two don’t need a calendar to croak.
OLD MAN
Dear sir, I realize that we have invested poorly in —
UNCLE MORT
Money buys everything but brains. Pay up, or check out — that was the deal, and we close that deal, one way or another. You come to me with cash, or you go to god with a prayer — pay up, or drop dead.
THE KID
But chief, we had this hot tip — I had Gentleman Rider for broke — it made me broke — but I swear, I thought she was hot, a hot tip —
UNCLE MORT
Tip? I’ll tip you, you little donkey — Felix!
FELIX
Yes, boss.
UNCLE MORT
Send them both to the butcher.
FELIX
Can I embarrassingly disgrace them, first?
UNCLE MORT
Yeah, sure. As embarrassingly disgraceful as you like.
FELIX
Can I make it excruciatingly painful for them?
UNCLE MORT
Yeah, sure, as excruciating as you want it.
FELIX
Can I horribly dismember them?
UNCLE MORT
Yeah, sure, go ahead and chop em up.
FELIX
Can I —
OLD MAN
— uh, excuse me. excuse me. sir.
UNCLE MORT
Yeah — whaddaya want?
OLD MAN
I don’t mean to be rude here, or interrupt you.
UNCLE MORT
Come on come on come on already! Say something useful, say something funny, or I let Felix disgrace you, pain you, and chop you up, okay?
OLD MAN
Okay. Listen — You’re a Moskovitz, right?
UNCLE MORT
So what? You wanna join the family before you die?
OLD MAN
No, sir. You have a relation, Mickey, I believe?
UNCLE MORT
I don’t have relations with my idiot nephew. But go on…
OLD MAN
Well, sir, it has come to my attention that he is in possession of a rather valuable painting, sir.
UNCLE MORT
That washout! — What a loser! I told his mother to tell his father that —
THE KID
What the old guy’s trying to say. chief, is that we know where you might be able to find this thing, and, hell, if you let bygones go by, as they say, we would love to. uh, to strike some kinda deal with ya.
OLD MAN
Better to lose with a wise man than win with a fool.
UNCLE MORT
Another deal? Hire a servant and then do it yourself, right? I should have lent my money to a monkey, and let him take a shit on the furniture.
THE KID
Deal?
OLD MAN
Deal?
UNCLE MORT
Felix, go make us some coffee. You might have to kill them a little bit later.
INT — MIDDELBERG RACE TRACK, MEN’S BATHROOM, couple hours later:
Shot remains fixed throughout following dialogue:
Two closed bathroom stalls, openings on bottom revealing fancy shoes with pants draped over.
Bathroom, and race track, sounds filter in:
VOICE OF WILLARD WILSON (ON RIGHT)
Forty-sixty?
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT (ON LEFT)
That’s right! Sixty-forty, my way.
VOICE OF WILLARD WILSON
Your way? I’ll have to think about it some.
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
I do great thinking while sitting on the toilet.
VOICE OF WILLARD WILSON
For some reason, Mortimer, that doesn’t surprise me.
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
Would I shit you, Willy? When taking a dump, no one bothers you, as you are inaccessible to bothersome relatives, friends, the goddamned telephone, since even the coppers have a code about not arresting someone busy taking a crap. Think about it. No one ever got whacked while on the throne, either, a question of dignity, you know, respect. Besides, things are relatively quiet here. What could be more relaxing?
VOICE OF WILLARD WILSON
A house by the ocean. A ’56 T-Bird. Good Irish whiskey. A decent lay.
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
No no no! You miss the point! Ambience! Mood!
VOICE OF WILLARD
You think this place has a “mood” to it?
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
Ah, yes. As the rabbis used to say: as dead matter leaves our bodies. a void is created. This void creates a vacuum. encouraging. bringing forth new light, delicate thoughts to enter our minds from above. One feels enlightened. ready to ascend…
VOICE OF WILLARD
Great. A bathroom philosopher- A toilet teacher. potty trainer. Fuck you.
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
Terrific! You finally understand me completely! Always knew we were formed from the same Earth, my good friend Willard! Partners!
VOICE OF WILLARD
Yeah. Partners. So what about this bullshit art deal?
VOICE OF MORT
Ssssshhhhhhhh! Keep your voice down!
VOICE OF WILLARD
And who’s listening?
VOICE OF MORT
Ssssssshhhhhhh! Ssssshhhhhhhh!
Toilet flushes.
VOICE OF MORT
Thank you.
VOICE OF WILLARD
You’re welcome.
Another toilet flushes.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Listen to me. Morty — I know laundry. I know dry cleaning. I know craps. keno. fucking slots. I know the numbers, on both sides of the tables — But I don’t know about no paintings. I do what I know. That’s why the shit’s worked.
VOICE OF MORT
The money’s good, it’s hot. Really hot.
VOICE OF WILLARD
I should risk everything on a goddamned piece of paper? I do what I know.
VOICE OF MORT
A favor.
VOICE OF WILLARD
What?
VOICE OF MORT
You heard me. Just a favor. One friend to another.
MORT slides a Playboy Magazine across the stalls.
VOICE OF WILLARD
What’s happened to doing business around here? What’s happened to our relationship?
VOICE OF MORT
You got laundry and gambling, I got clothes and gambling. So, we had some differences about the gambling. I’m asking for a favor, a business favor.
VOICE OF WILLARD
You do business, or you do a favor. No business favors, since that’s not business, that’s not a favor.
Playboy Magazine is slid back across to MORT.
VOICE OF MORT
What the hell is the nature of a deal, anyway? A business deal? A frienship?
Toilet flushes again.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Thank you.
VOICE OF MORT
You’re welcome.
Magazine passes from MORT back to WILLARD.
WILLARD picks it up this time.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Okay. I have some paintings at home. Old oil ones. Portraits, landscapes, framed in rotting, fading gold gtittery frames, hiding the wallpaper. Now you talk like that crap can actually be worth something.
VOICE OF MORT
Worth as much as we can get, and we can get lots.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Sixty-forty.
VOICE OF MORT
Forty-sixty, I’ll have to think about it.
VOICE OF WILLARD
This should be the place for you to do just that, then.
VOICE OF MORT
Yeah, but I’m in a hurry.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Some things in life you just can’t rush.
VOICE OF MORT
Business deals?
VOICE OF WILLARD
Favors.
Toilet flushes.
VOICE OF MORT
Thank you.
WILLARD
Any time.
VOICE OF MORT
Listen to me, my good friend. On Saturday night. they will be shipping Frenchie art to the Middleberg Gallery. for the Fourth of July Opening. Any rag ripped would be immediately noticed. and the police would be everywhere. Besides. getting rid of it on the market would be tough, since everyone will know it to be stolen. Now instead consider that an irritating relative of mine has a copy of one of these frames. Here is my plan: We can replace the real painting with my idiot nephew’s fake one, and by the time anyone has a clue, we could have sold it for serious cash, and split, sixty-forty.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Forty-sixty. yes. How good is this copy?
VOICE OF MORT
So good, my good friend. that only an expert could tell the difference, and only with time, and a hint that the real one is missing.
VOICE OF WILLARD
If the copy is so good. and you can get the copy, then what do you need me for?
VOICE OF MORT
I’ll need help replacing it with the original. I’ve heard that, working at the Gallery is your own niece, Lola —
VOICE OF WILLARD
Ah! My toilet technician finally speaks some sense! An inside job, then, eh? Forty-sixty, heavy on my side, my friend. Forty-sixty, for me.
VOICE OF MORT
Fifty-fifty?
VOICE OF WILLARD
Fifty-five-forty-five?
VOICE OF MORT
Fifty-fifty?
VOICE OF WILLARD
Fifty-fifty.
Both toilets flush.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Thank you.
VOICE OF MORT
Yes, thank you.
The magazine goes back to MORT, along with box of cigars.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Good money?
VOICE OF MORT
Fine art.
VOICE OF WILLARD
Ah, yes. Art.
Both toilets flush yet again, they stand. Both booths open, WILLARD and MORT waddle out, start to shake hands, think better of it given the circumstances, walk out of frame, mumbling.
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
I got fifty across on GentlemanRider, a hot tip-off, just between me and you. Since we’re partners…
VOICE OF WILLARD
Partners? Oh, yeah. That’s why I got a hot, very hot tifecta put down with False Start at the head, Pink Coat in the gut, and Amazon on the tail —
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
False Start’s just that. You gotta have that feeling, you gotta have that feeling (mumbling trails off)…
DAY 3: INT — BASEMENT OF CLOTHING STORE, BOOKIE OFFICES, early morning:
MICKEY2 enters, followed by BOOKIE in vest, visor, leaving trail of little white slips, mumbling to himself.
MICKEY2
(angrily, prepping himself for fight)
No! I talk to Felix, Felix sends me all the way up to Mortie, Mortie says “okay” so I go back to Felix, and now Felix won’t buy it, Felix is on my case.
BOOKIE
(apologetically, still searching)
Yeah, I hear ya, I hear ya… Beauregard took the call, not me, he says it’s a new bet, no way, Mickey… Yeah, I hear ya, I’d be pissed meself. but Beauregard, ya know him, he took the —
MICKEY2
(grabbing BOOKIE by collar)
Who won the race? Who won the fucken race? Who pays for that victory, and who gets paid? And now, you guys don’t seem to remember nothing?! Who. Won. The. Race?
BOOKIE
I saw ya in a fight, Mickey, years ago, I saw ya keep punchin Little WIiiie after everyone knew ya had won, just so he would know he was beat, beat by the Mighty Moskavitz!- (Pause) Remember when I set ya up with Lola last year, that artsy broad?… “The Mighty Moskavitz!” That name used to make the young boxers rave, Mickey Moskavitz, Mi-ghty Moskavitz, ass kicking champ o’ Middleberg…
MICKEY2
(releasing him)
Yeah, yeah. I don’t care about then, I care about now. What’s going on. what’s going on now?
BOOKIE
Yeah, Mickey, yeah, that’s right — now we’ve got some problems, ’cause you mighta won that particular race, but you owe us, yeah, Beauregard’s got them books, you owe us from before, Mickey…
MICKEY2
I figured we were straight on that. (more calmly) I need some cashflow, OK? What’s in the works? Come on. Let’s go talk to Beau, see if we can settle things. Maybe Mortie needs some work done? Busy guy like him? My days with Willy are over. kid. I have a short memory, that’s why I’ve gone bad. Come on.
BOOKIE and MICKEY2 exit frame.
Dolly up corridor to WAITING AREA:
IDA sits at desk. smoking. reading lingerie mag.
MICKEYl sits on bench. dressed in tawty suit. sweating, straining.
MICKEYl
Uh. excuse me. excuse me… hello! Hello there. uh. sorry, sorry, really sorry to bother you again, miss. but I, uh, I uh, I uh came to have an interview with —
IDA
(looking down at her catalogue)
Who, are. you?
MICKEYl
I’m Mickey Moskavitz- I’ve come to see —
lDA looks up for first time, pops her gum loudly.
IDA
You? Mickey Moskavitz? You?
MICKEYl
Yes. That’s me. I have an appointment to see —
IDA
Oh. You’re finally here. About time. But then — Well, I thought you would probably see Beauregard. You know young man, you should be a little better at keeping your appointments. especially when you owe Mort some money, eh?
IDA looks at her watch, shakes it. looks at it again.
MICKEY1
Huh?
IDA
You’re more than an hour late!
MICKEYl
But ma’am. I’ve been sitting here that whole time! I even got here a half hour early.
IDA
How am I to know when you don’t speak up?
MICKEYl
But ma’am, I certainly let you know, several times! I even told you about how I’ve been (louder) looking for a job, how my (louder still) father, Mort’s brother, suggested that I come hear to ask for —
IDA
I didn’t recognize you.
MICKEYl
But I told you my name!
IDA
I recognized your name, but I didn’t recognize you.
MICKEYl
But you’ve never even seen me before.
IDA
Well, why don’t you go on in, then?
MICKEYl stares at her, then hurriedly turns to face the door-
Next segment was written and blocked for a movie trailer, so is more detailed than the rest of this already too detailed script:
INT — INSIDE UNCLE MORT’S OFFICE, moments later:
Close up tracking shot, bottom to top, front page of Wall Street Journal:
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
Mendel Mendelsohn! He says to me “two and a quarter” — two and a quarter? — OK— (slight pause) — I see one and five-eighths, one and five-eighths? I? — Fried eggs and ham! I’ll whack the schmatta! I’ll blow him up, straight back to God —
Track along wood flooring:
VOICE OF MICKEY MOSKAVITZ1
(singing) — I’m, dreaming of a white, Chris-mas/ Just like the ones I used to know / Where the tree tops- gli-sten, the chil-dren li-sten — to hear sleigh, bells, in the snow —
CLose up tracking of paper continued:
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
— May it get dark for him. very very dark and hot. I’ll give Felix a call, that Felix Levin — and then I won’t have to read the papers no more, since dead brokers don’t take commissions — So. the world will end one day later than it should. As long as the rent gets paid, why worry about the coming of the Messiah? —
CU wooden flooring:
MICKEY’s feet step into frame.
Dolly back, tilt up along body, zoom on face, singing continues:
MICKEY1
I’m dreaming, of a white, Chris-mas/ With every Christmas card I write/ May your days be merry, and bright / And may all, your Christmas-es, be white —
Medium shot of Wall Street Journal, behind it UNCLE MORT reading it at desk.
VOICE OF UNCLE MORT
Business is business. If you grease the wheels, the wagon rides good. Poor Mendel! At least his last ride will be a comfortable one, and it won’t disturb the neighbors…
Newspaper unfolds forward, UNCLE MORT revealed behind it.
UNCLE MORT
And what’s the matter with you?
UNCLE MORT takes deep drag of cigar, then exhales plume of smoke.
MICKEYl
What do ya mean?- Nothing’s the matter- It’s me (pointing to chest), Mickey- Mickey Moskavitz.
UNCLE MORT
Mickey Moskavitz who?
MICKEY1
Mickey Moskovitz your nephew.
UNCLE MORT
Mickey Moskovitz my nephew? — You go tell your lazy, fixed-income fuck of a father who I haven’t seen in twelve years that he throws dirt on my grave, dirt on my grave! Every time he —
MICKEYl
— But Uncle Mortie (removes hat), come ooooon — lt’s been so long since I’ve seen ya. Don’t be so, so, so Uncle Mortie, you know — Look (lifting box of cigars), I even brought you your —
UNCLE MORT
(removes glasses)
So tell me, Mickey — I haven’t seen you forever — where have you been for so long? I thought you were dead.
MICKEYl
I went to college, Mortie, don’t you remember? l’ve been gone more than four years, and you don’t even pay any affention. With such a tired brain, how do you do all your businesses, anyway?-
UNCLE MORT
College? College-schmollege (Pause) What the hell did you do in college?
UNCLE MORT removes several twinkies from desk drawer, a ham and cheese sandwich, places them on desk in front of him.
UNCLE MORT
Did you get laid?
MICKEY starts to speak —
UNCLE MORT
Shut up! I don’t wanna hear about that!
UNCLE MORT starts to open a twinkie package…
UNCLE MORT
Did you make any money?-
MICKEY1 shakes his head, waves hands back-and-forth:
MICKEYl
No no no — Uncle Mort — you don’t understand. See, you don’t make money at college. You actually spend money so they let you go there.
UNCLE MORT points and screams:
UNCLE MORT
Get outta my office! Get the hell ouffa my office! You bum! You drug addict! You communist! Like father like son! I told your mother she was marrying a donkey, but she wouldn’t listen to me. You can’t argue with genetics or tradition, especially when they both stink straight up to the perfect God who must have made a terrible mistake! You! You. Look at you!! What the hell happened?
MICKEY looks dejected.
UNCLE MORT points to cigar box.
UNCLE MORT
(beat)
Whaddaya got there, little Mickey? Did you bring a little something for your Uncle Mortie?
MICKEYl
I brought you some (clears throat, coughs slightly) cigars, Uncle Mort. Some of your favorites…
MICKEY hands box of cigars to UNCLE MORT, he accepts them, running hands over box, opening it.
Close up of UNCLE MORT’s hands as he opens box, rolls cigars, removes one with pink ribbon on it.
UNCLE MORT
Bring that chair around, little Mickey, don’t be so shy with me, your only Uncle Mort…
MICKEY brings chair around desk next to UNCLE MORT.
MICKEY1 and UNCLE MORT awkwardly hug.
MICKEY’S head on UNCLE MORT’S shoulder, looking suspicious.
UNCLE MORT’S head on MICKEY’S shoulder, looking suspicious.
UNCLE MORT
Sittdown, Mickey. Sit down right here next to me.
MICKEY sits down on chair, which wobbles.
MORT puts arm around him.
UNCLE MORT
I’ve known you since you were this big, back when you used to call everyone “blockhead” — Do you remember that? I remember one holiday, you told all your relatives to get the hell out of the house, because you wanted to watch the TV. I complained, and you called me a fucking “blockhead’’ straight to my face. How I laughed! And then you bit me in my thumb, you little punk! So — what brings you all the way out here today, Mickey? Anything, you want, little Mickey my painter. Just tell me. Anything. You want a cadillac? You want a beautiful wedding? If you don’t bring home another gentile broad, I’ll have my secretary call your mother, and then we sit down and talk. Okay?
MICKEY smiles, shrugs, then opens up:
MICKEYl
Well, I’ve been, you know, thinking about opportunities, Uncle Mort. Now that you mention it, now that I’ve come back home to Middleberg, I want to start my own life, meet somebody special. I want to establish myself in a position with qualifications commensurate to my abilities, with opportunities proportional to my potentialities —
UNCLE MORT pushes MICKEY violently away. UNCLE MORT stands.
MICKEY teeters violently in rickety wooden chair.
UNCLE MORT
(screaming)
You little rat punk weasel —
UNCLE MORT points his cigar:
UNCLE MORT
— you wanna run numbers, huh? —
MICKEY1 fiddles with his hat:
MICKEYl
Numbers? Numbers?? But Uncle Mortie, whaddaya mean, “run numbers”?
UNCLE MORT
— You wanna answer some phones, eh? —
MICKEYl
And maybe make a couple calls, sure, if you know what I mean, if I can — I mean — I mean, ever since I was a kid, I wanted to learn how to use your adding machine, keep your books, make some deliveries for you — and ring people up on your goddamned telephone and call them a fucking blockhead.
UNCLE MORT
Mickey! Mickey! Why didn’t you just say so, Mickey?! Come closer…
UNCLE MORT sits himself back down.
UNCLE MORT reaches again into box, removing another cigar.
UNCLE MORT shrugs, smiles. offers a cigar to MICKEY1.
MICKEYl accepts cigar.
UNCLE MORT leans back, arms extended:
UNCLE MORT
Let’s have a cigar!
MICKEY1 does Groucho with cigar:
MICKEYl
We used to smoke these in college, you know. Only the best, Uncle Mort, only the very best.
MICKEY1 reaches into pockets, runs hands over himself, raises eyebrows again, pantomimes using a lighter to light cigar.
UNCLE MORT points to top of shelving unit:
UNCLE MORT
I keep my lighter up top there, Mickey — childproof, you know. Do me a little favor and get it for me? —
Pan across as UNCLE MORT points to top of adjacent shelving unit, MICKEY turns around to gaze up to where finger is pointing.
Dolly up to shelf, stop, tilt up, then zoom.
Shot of MICKEY1 looking up, then back to UNCLE MORT:
MICKEYl
You keep it up there?
UNCLE MORT smiles, mimicks MICKEY1’s earlier pantomime of using lighter, rocks his head slowly up and down.
Shot down from top of shelf, ornate lighter in foreground, then, focus to background:
MICKEY1 walks into frame, pushes chair to base of shelf, stands on chair, starts to try to reach up for lighter.
UNCLE MORT starts eating:
UNCLE MORT
Your whole generation is washed up, Mickey. You spoiled little brats don’t even know how good you’ve had it, which is probably exactly why you are all so very fucked up. You’ve had it easy. We got off the boat with nothing, so everything we could get was something — we know the value of work, we know the value of money.
Shot of MICKEY1 through junk on shelf as he climbs.
MICKEY stops for a second to study an object, plays with it.
UNCLE MORT
(screaming suddenly)
Hurry up already!
MICKEY1 shudders, but continues.
UNCLE MORT
We know the value of work, we know the value of money, and we know what it takes to hold on. We didn’t have any options, but we created them
for ourselves. But you don’t even give a shit. You couldn’t even care less, because you haven’t even gotten off the tit yet, because you’re nothing but a goddamned dreamer.
MICKEY1 continues to climb…
UNCLE MORT sits at his desk, pointing a twinkie:
UNCLE MORT
No wonder you ended up in college.
Shot of MICKEY through junk on shelf, as his eyes open wide and he begins to fall backward…
Shot of MICKEY1 plummeting through the air.
Zoom in on MICKEY’s face, tumbling.
UNCLE MORT looks up, removes all objects from desk, then ducks
behind desk, just as MICKEY1 —
MICKEY1 tumbles onto desk with a smash.
MICKEY1 then rolls onto floor in front of the desk.
MICKEY1 on ground in front of desk, MICKEY punches at stuff flying at him.
UNCLE MORT
Nothing but a dreamer! You know what it means to dream? To dream means to not be in the real world, to be someplace else, to be in the crib, sucking your thumb, crapping your shorts! And you know why someone tries to be someplace else? You know why a grown man shits on the carpet? It’s because they can’t handle this place, that’s why!
MICKEYl gazing up at emptied shelf.
UNCLE MORT
If you don’t want to grow up, you should hang yourself while you’re young. Were you born in a ditch? Was your mother a bad cook? Were you an accident?
MICKEY1 tosses cigar back at UNCLE MORT.
MICKEYl
I don’t smoke. Smoking is very bad for you. Smoking fucks up your lungs, makes you hack up huge loogies of greasy black phlegm. Girls won’t like you, because it makes your breath stink. You smoke too much, you, great big —
UNCLE MORT
Go take a dump in the ocean! Are you weak-lunged, asthmatic — a palsy?
MICKEYl
No, but maybe if you didn’t smoke so much —
UNCLE MORT
(furiously)
Are you telling me what to do, kid? Telling me, your own Uncle Mort, what the to do? You might as well be here, trying to finnagle me for a job, Jesus-Union-Carpenter-Christ! You know something? If you want to keep breathing, you had better —
Phone rings.
UNCLE MORT
(suddenly calm and matter-of-fact)
Excuse me a little bit. I have a call coming —
UNCLE MORT leans down close to telephone, lifts it up, speaks:
UNCLE MORT
Hallo?… Yeah, yeah, sure, yeah, yeah, yeah, alright alright alright already, whatever you want it… Brisket!? Are you kidding me? — I know I can bring it for sandwiches all week at the work, but you know I hate it when the bread gets all sopped up and mushy, when it’s got all the gristles still on it — and you know I like the fish better! — Yeah. yeah. sure. yeah, yeah — Okaygoodbye.
MICKEY1 scratches his head, lifts briefcase onto desk above him.
MICKEY1 stands up. picks up chair. moves it to desk. sits down, lifts briefcase:
MICKEYl
Maybe you should look at my resume (shrugs, then opens briefcase_ — I know it’s here somewhere —
MICKEY1 starts to whistle “White Christmas” as he opens briefcase, removes small things, first. examining them. tinkering with them. then placing them next to him on top of desk: a rabbit’s foot. deck of cards. beads. pair of fuzzy dice. comic books. small toys. a key ring. and various other meaningless objects. whistling continuing-
UNCLE MORT
Shut up!
Whistling stops. as much larger. impossible objects are removed, such as trumpet. drum sticks. base drum. finally, pair of women’s stockings —
UNCLE MORT
— Wait a minute! I’ll take those —
MICKEY1 grabs stockings. puts them back into briefcase, closing briefcase soon after with perplexed shrug.
UNCLE MORT
Never mind that. Mickey. Your life is your resume. Do you remember when you were young. little Mickey? Do you remember when we used to arm wrestle?
UNCLE MORT slams an elbow down on his huge desk. jarring all junk MICKEYl has emptied there.
Close up of two hands coming together, forcefully, with a clap.
Revolve around MICKEY1 and UNCLE MORT during arm wrestling:
UNCLE MORT
You like surviving, little Mickey — you like living as if you are barely getting through? When are you finally going to figure shit out? When are you finally going to understand that life is —
Phone rings again.
UNCLE MORT pulls away, reaches for phone with his free hand:
UNCLE MORT
Excuse me a little bit again — Hallo?… Hallo my little turnip! — What a surprise! Yes! Oh, yes I miss you! Of course I miss you — Brisket? — How wonderful! That’s my favorite oh, yes, my favorite — with the bread! How did you guess!… Tonight? Tonight at the Ramada Inn? Of course! I love you, oh, yes my little birdie! My life! — Kissykissykissy, moo-ahhhh.
UNCLE MORT puts phone receiver down, turns to MICKEY, start revolving hand-held camera work again:
UNCLE MORT
Excuse me —
UNCLE MORT spits in both his hands, rubs them together, then goes back to arm wrestling with equal force.
UNCLE MORT
When are you finally going to understand that life is nothing but a game, and you can only win — if you play — by the damn — rules!
On “rules” MICKEY’s hand is flung away, and MICKEY1 is hurled into a corner of the office.
UNCLE MORT
Respect the way things are, you understand? Things aren’t any fun, well, then tough luck. You do what you do because you have to do it — You respect that, and then the world respects you. You get it? Always running you are — running from what? from who? Get a life, will ya?
MICKEYl
— Jesus I —
Huge hand reaches into frame, and grabs MICKEYl by his collar.
UNCLE MORT lifts MICKEYl off the ground, pulling him up so they stare at each other, face-to-face.
Close up of MICKEY1’s feet, suspended full foot off ground.
UNCLE MORT
Who’s got most runs scored?
MICKEYl
Ty Cobb, at 2,245.
UNCLE MORT
What’s in a Bourbon Sloe Gin Fizz?
MICKEYl
l and l /2 ounce bourbon, 3/4 ounce sloe gin, club soda, lemon juice, l teaspoon sugar syrup, and a cherry.
UNCLE MORT
Where do they run the Preakness?
MICKEYl
At Pimlico, for 3 year olds, l and 3/16 miles.
UNCLE MORT
When did Jack Dempsey first win the Heavyweight?
MICKEYl
July 4, 1919, in Toledo.
UNCLE MORT smiles, lowers MICKEYl to the ground, and then affectionately squeezes cheek of MICKEYl, harder, harder still, until:
MICKEYl
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
UNCLE MORT releases, and MICKEYl plummets to ground again.
MICKEYl
I don’t have to work for you, you know. I come from a good family. I have a college degree from an accredited American university. And besides, why should I listen to a lard-assed. old turd of a crook who’s got nothing better to do than yell at his nephew? Hire someone else, dickhead.
UNCLE MORT, pantomimes use of a phone.
UNCLE MORT
I got a phone in back that’s got your fucking name on it — been saving it for you all these years, Mickey
MICKEY1, props himself up slightly:
MICKEYl
Okay. You win. When can I start?
UNCLE MORT lifts MICKEYl off of the ground, drags him back to the chair.
UNCLE MORT sits back down in his chair.
UNCLE MORT
Are you capable?
MICKEYl pointing to his own head:
MICKEYl
Yeah, but I think I might have to start using different parts of my mind…
UNCLE MORT reaches into shirt pocket. pulls out bic lighter. He offers it to MICKEYl. MICKEYl takes lighter, obediently lights MORT’s cigar.
MICKEYl scrambles up and grabs his suitcase.
MICKEY tries to stuff several objects from shelf into his suitcase as he goes.
UNCLE MORT smiles, takes several puffs.
MICKEYl stops for a second. turns around.
Pause.
MICKEYl
“Blockhead”!
UNCLE MORT puffs some more.
Cigar explodes in a huge cloud of vapor
UNCLE MORT’s face is blackened, hair singed and messed up.
UNCLE MORT points with exploded cigar.
UNCLE MORT
Wait until Monday morning. Moskavitz. Monday morning, you little son of a bitch.
UNCLE MORT tosses blown stogie away, reaches for telephone, dials. then speaks into receiver:
UNCLE MORT
Hallo? Hallo. Felix?… Shut up. shut up and listen to me. You know Mendetsonn?-Yeah. him. What? That’s right. Shut up. shut up and just do it, okay? Yeah. That’s all. Good-bye — Oh Felix? Yeah. Don’t forget, on your way back, pick me up a Manischewitz bottle. Yeah. I got a date at the Ramada. No. None of your business. Shut up. Yeah. No. Shut up. Yeah. Buh-bye.
UNCLE MORT puts receiver back into cradle, picks up paper, unfolds
it, and props it in front of him, as beginning of scene.
MICKEY1, suitcase in hand, high-tailing it out of office while whistling “White Christmas” as credits roll…
End of proposed trailer scene.
MICKEYl rushes out of office.
INT — NEAR BOOKIE OFFICES:
MICKEY2 walks by, is bumped by MICKEYl, who runs off.
MICKEY2 counts money. BOOKIE rushes out after him.
BOOKIE
(out of breath)
Mickey! Yo, Mickey! Ya forgot one! — Yer a twenty short! Yo, Mickey! Here’s a two-bill, ya got under-counted ya certainly did!
INT — WAITING AREA:
IDA reading her catalogue.
MICKEY2 steps up to desk.
MICKEY2
(tucking money into a jacket pocket)
Uh hum. Ma’am. Yo! I’m here to see Mortie. Have a seat.
IDA doesn’t look up.
MICKEY2
(leaning close to her)
You didn’t hear me. I’m here to see Mortie. Right now.
IDA
Mickey?
MICKEY2
Yeah. Beauregard sent me to see Mortie. Now.
IDA
Mickey Moskavitz?
MICKEY2
Come on. babe. I don’t have all day, and I’m sure neither does the big guy, so come on.
lDA
Mickey? Mighty Moskavitz?
MICKEY2
How many times do I have to tell ya? Don’t you recognize me?
IDA
I recognized you. but I got confused by the name.
Continued in Part 3…
