AN EXCERPT FROM THE ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
by
NORMAN MAILER
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THE SILENCES OF AN AFTERNOON
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It is very quiet. The soundtrack is empty but for the tone of afternoon air.
A breeze can be heard passing faintly by. Now, the company has spread
out and is walking over the hills. Shots of the white mindmill appear in the
distance. And an atmosphere of subtle foreboding reappears again, as if we
have left the movie during Mailer's exposition of his methods and purposes,
and now -- all strain on the sinews of the real -- the film is pulling us back into
scenes we saw during "The Death of the Director". The voice of VALERIE
BRUNEAU is heard -- is it heard? -- the voice is an echo of the wind. Now we
see RIP TORN -- or is it REY? -- strolling through fields alone. A STRANGE
MAN we have not seen before wearing dark glasses speaks to him.
STRANGE MAN
He sort of likes this role of a patriarch going out with everybody,
showing them a good time and lording it over his family.
He is referring to KINGSLEY (or is it to MAILER?) We see
the real-and-fictional director -- call him NORMAN -- standing
at a distance beneath a tree. His WIFE and CHILDREN
call to him. Their voices are hollow in the distance.
BEVERLY - CHULA MAE
(like a hoot owl)
Hoooo!
STEPHEN
Hi Daddy!
(The boy's voice travels surprisingly far -- it has the
bold, hearty sounds of a big voice on a little boy.)
Cut to RIP-REY and the STRANGE MAN. RIP-REY has
opened a small backpack and removed from it a hammer.
He looks about, but there is no sign of anyone near.
STRANGE MAN
So where does that leave us now?
RIP-REY
(sighs heavily, he is under intense strain)
Well, we just have to search.
STRANGE MAN
And search.
RIP-REY
And search.
(very quiet voice)
Maybe if we just wait a while ...
Cut to the hill with the white windmill. The director's family is
romping on the grass. His WIFE -- in the same long white dress she
wore in "The Death of the Director" -- is calling to the children.
BEVERLY
Betsy, run run. Run, Kate. Run, Mike.
STEPHEN
(same big voice)
Daddy!
Cut to:
STRANGE MAN
Kinda nice out here.
RIP-REY is too tense to speak. He has a gentle smile on his face
as if he has come to the end of a long and agonizing resolve.
RIP-REY
(murmuring)
Mmmm.
NORMAN MAILER VS. RIP TORN
Cut to a long shot of NORMAN by himself. He is removing his
leather vest. We see RIP-REY stride toward him, raise the hammer,
strike him on the head, raise the hammer again. A second blow!
Now the camera as if caught as unaware as ourselves, comes racing
across the ground to zoom in on the scene. Now they are no longer
puppets in the distance, but near. We see their expressions.
NORMAN
(hand to his head, dodging back)
You crazy fool cocksucker!
RIP-REY
(holding the hammer, moving forward)
You're supposed to die, Mr. Kingsley.
You must die, not Mailer, I don't want to kill
Mailer, but I must kill Kingsley in the picture.
NORMAN
(stick backing up)
Let go of the hammer.
Let go of the hammer.
He takes a step to the side, then as if deciding attack is the safest possibility,
he rushes in to grapple with RIP-REY, who drops the hammer just before
NORMAN gets a full bite on his ear. They go hurtling down the slope
and through the air to land with RIP-REY half on top. Now, they
grapple evenly, no sound but for their breathing, both locked.
They begin to parlay about, relinquishing their positions.
RIP-REY
No, baby. No, baby. You know, you
trust me -- you trust me -- you trust me --
you trust me -- you trust me. C'mon.
NORMAN
I'll trust you if you trust me.
RIP-REY
Allright.
NORMAN
Promise?
RIP-REY
Promise.
NORMAN
Ok, let go.
RIP-REY
OK.
They relinquish grips on one another, but warily. Each is ready to resume.
RIP-REY
OK, I'm sorry, dad. I'm sorry.
(but he does not get off)
NORMAN
Now, please get off.
When he fails to follow this suggestion,
NORMAN throws his vest in the other's face.
They begin grappling again. Now, it is worse. RIP-
REY has gotten a clear advantage in this exchange
and is over NORMAN, and has both hands on his
neck. NORMAN begins to make gurgling noises.
NORMAN
No, no. No! Hey! Will you cut this fucking idiot out?
BEVERLY
(wanders into the scene abruptly, screams in disbelief)
Bullshit! What is this! What is this! What've
you done! What've you done, you motherfucker!
Get off him, you sonofabitch! What've you done!
What've you done! Get the fuck off!
Now we hear CHILDREN crying, then screaming in terror
from the sight of the two bloody men. SEVERAL MEN
run up and pull the grapplers apart. NORMAN, in a rage,
falls immediately on RIP and starts to strangle him from behind.
MAN
Norman, get off him.
BEVERLY
Get off!
MAN
Get off!
BEVERLY
Get off, Norman!
MAN
Get off!
Abruptly, NORMAN lets go.
BEVERLY
(weeping)
Oh, Norman, Norman.
NORMAN
Im not hurt.
MAN
Yes, you are.
NORMAN
(pride lacerated)
He's hurt worse than me!
BEVERLY
Norman, your head is bleeding.
NORMAN
Yeah, 'cause he hit me with a hammer, the asshole!
BEVERLY
With a hammer? Rip? What did you ...
RIP
(buddy to buddy)
I pulled it, Norman. I really did, baby.
I had to do that, you know that.
NORMAN
Look what you did to my kids.
BEVERLY
Oh, what the fuck have you done!
The CHILDREN are, of course, distraught.
NORMAN
(the supressed contempt of directors must now stand forth)
That's an actor for you.
RIP
No, Norman. Norman.
BEVERLY is trying to examine his cuts. He shoulders her aside.
NORMAN
It's all right.
BEVERLY
Let me see your head.
NORMAN
(to RIP in fury)
I'm taking the scene out of the movie.
MAN
All right, get a truck. Just get ...
BEVERLY
Go get a truck!
NORMAN
No. I'm perfectly all right.
BEVERLY
Let me see your head.
NORMAN
I'm OK.
BEVERLY
Let me see your head, Norman.
NORMAN
I'm OK.
(he leans over and talks to his bewildered SON)
It's OK, fella. I'm all right. C'mon kids. C'mon.
But the GIRLS are still crying.
NORMAN
(quietly)
It's OK.
(to Beverly)
Stop screaming. It's OK. It's all right.
RIP
(coming toward NORMAN, BEVERLY, and the KIDS)
You know ...
NORMAN
(with rage, fist raised)
Get away from me! Or I'm gonna cold-cock you!
RIP
(comes to a halt)
We trusted -- we trusted ... you know this is what I had to do.
NORMAN
(shouts)
No!
RIP
Norman Mailer.
They are beginning to stare heavily at one another.
BEVERLY
Go home, Rip.
MAN
Rip.
NORMAN
(to BEVERLY)
Get outa here. Get outa here.
CHILDREN start trying again.
BEVERLY
(to RIP)
You go home. The kids are here and there ain't gonna be no fuckin' fight.
(she advances on him)
I'll kill you. I'll kill you.
MAN
Let's go up to the house.
BEVERLY
(to RIP -- as if shooing a bull)
Go on. Go on.
MAN
(to the CHILDREN)
Girls, come on.
Now NORMAN picks up his leather vest and starts walking
toward the house. RIP follows him, speaks tentatively.
RIP
Brother.
NORMAN
You ain't my brother anymore.
RIP
We're talking about trust.
NORMAN
Yeah. You broke it. You're not my brother anymore.
RIP
I did not break it.
NORMAN
(in disgust)
No use.
RIP
I did not break it. I did not break it. Think, think, Norman, think.
NORMAN
(speaks over his shoulder to BEVERLY)
Take the kids to the house.
RIP
Let's talk.
NORMAN
No, babe.
They are walking along with NORMAN about a pace and a half
ahead of RIP. NORMAN talks to him only from the side of his
face, as if it would be too dangerous to stop and stare at one another.
RIP
I did the whole thing on trust. I did.
NORMAN
Yeah.
(grunts)
Sweet. I owe you one. Wait til the day comes.
(speaks ironically)
Cause I'll pull it. I'll pull it.
(ie "Ill pull it the way you pulled it")
RIP
The picture doesn't make sense without this. You know.
NORMAN
Fuck you, the picture doesn't make sense.
(turns and looks at him)
It was my picture, and I knew what I was doing
with it, and what makes sense, and what don't.
Now, they are moving no longer. They are staring at one another.
RIP
You -- you burned money. That didn't mean anything, either.
That was just a sham, too, huh? Get rid of the whorehouse.
(ie, pretend we didnt shoot it)
That was a sham, too. The whole thing is a sham.
NORMAN
(trapped by this logic)
Right.
RIP
Right?
NORMAN
Yeah.
RIP
What do you think I came back here for
today? I didn't need to come back here.
NORMAN
That's right, you didn't. I didn't invite you ...
RIP
But the picture ...
BEVERLY
(from behind them, offscreen, she cries out)
Go to the house! Go to the house!
RIP
I have never ...
NORMAN
You did it in front of my kids.
That's what I can't forgive you for.
BEVERLY
(offscreen, in fear)
That's enough! That's enough!
NORMAN
(anger boiling in him)
Cocksucker.
RIP
When -- when, when is assassination
ever planned? It's done -- it's done ...
NORMAN
(bitterly)
Yeah, but you wanted to assassinate me.
RIP
That's your story, man ... that's what you're pushing,.
We hear a CHILD crying again.
RIP
That's what you're calling for. I saw your eyes.
You didn't walk ... didn't try to get away ...
NORMAN
Hey look, I don't want to talk to you n
o more cause your dialogue is dull. Got it?
RIP
(hurt at the slur against his dialogue)
It's your picture. I didn't want any dialogue.
(trying to make himself understood)
You know I pulled that punch. You know
that. Sure I busted the skin there.
NORMAN
(ruefully)
Well, you didn't pull it hard enough.
RIP
And I hit exactly even.
His hand shows the flat of the hammer coming down.
RIP
I have never hurt an actor ever before in my life.
Never drawn any blood. And that's true, you know that.
(his professional pride is engaged)
That's true. You know that.
NORMAN
Boy if I was as ugly as you, I'd bury my head in shit. Which is what you do.
RIP
(with the life-long pain of an actor)
Don't you give me marks to be dirtier, uglier?
NORMAN
I told you to be as beautiful as you could be in the movie.
RIP
Well, wait a minute, I was tryin' to look like you.
The joke fails. Now the insults he has taken have mounted. He jeers at NORMAN.
RIP
But anyway, you're just a fraud, aren't you?
NORMAN
(turns around and looks at him)
I'm a fraud, and you're a cocksucker.
RIP
Oh no. You're the cocksucker.
Now, the air is worse.
NORMAN
Well, the guy who comes in with the repetition is eating the shit ...
They are playing the dozens. The quarrel must mount. Each insult is obliged to surmount the
last. But one of the children is weeping offscreen. A little voice speaks in tragic tones.
CHILD
Don't fight anymore.
RIP
That's right, baby, no fightin'. It was just a scene
in a Hollywood whorehouse movie. OK, baby?
(softly)
You know it's OK. And your dad knows it's OK.
(glares at NORMAN, or is it at the audience)
All right, up yours. Up yours.
(whispers at NORMAN)
Adios ... walk on.
NORMAN
(holds his ground)
Kiss off.
RIP
(whisper)
Walk on.
NORMAN
(whisper)
Kiss off.
RIP
(a curse in the compliment)
I leave the kissing ... to you.
NORMAN
Yeah, and I'll leave the shit-eatin' to you.
RIP
(whispers)
No, that's your specialty.
NORMAN
Treachery's yours.
RIP
A champ. I salute the champ of shit.
(saluting)
They are staring at one another, manacled by their impasse.
NORMAN
(to the sound man offscreen)
You might as well turn off this tape 'cause he's a very dull
talker and he never stops as long as anything is running.
He has succeeded. A look of pain comes into RIP's face. Like
a boy trying to conceal a sudden wound, he sticks out a finger
and makes a loud hooting sound. "Hoo! Hoo!" he cries out.
We are left with the sight of his eyes.
"Hoo, hoo" comes back softly in the voice of VALERIE BRUNEAU,
and we are in a truck traveling down the forest road in the dream
of death, and the words of the song are coming toward us:
"Deep in my dungeon, I dwell.
A bloody kiss from the wishing well."
We debouch onto high ground overlooking the sea. A flight of ducks
is sailing in squadron. The voice of VALERIE BRUNEAU fades,
then is overwhelmed by the outraged evening quack of gulls and ducks,
savaged by late afternoon sounds of violence still vibrating in their feathers.
As the birds sail out to sea on a tide, the credits come up and the movie
begins to recede from us. We are left in our seats trying to comprehend
the enigma of a fight which may have been staged or unstaged, or was it
staged for one and unstaged for another, as if the actors drenched in the
fabrication of a piece of aesthetic reality had taken leave from one another
in the forging of a film and had gone down separate aisles of reality. For as
Mailer had said to the cast on the late afternoon in the grass, "You cant
say that this is real now, what we're doing; you cant say what we were doing
last night is real, the only thing you can say is that the reality exists somewhere
in the extraordinary tension between these two extremes of a relationship."
So a film that would make an attack upon the nature of reality has come to an
end, and old friends having seen it together will soon be in dispute about the
meaning of the fight, the meaning of the film, and the level of fictional reality
in every phase. For the real is not the real, no more than the reality of the
psychologically real (which is to say all of that enormous sum of projects and
lies we believe to be true, and act upon as true) is less real than the reality of the
casual everyday facts we rework in our dreams and our desires. It is obvious
that the end of our movie is merely the beginning of our introduction into the
purpose of film, the logic of film, the mystique of film, and the most determined
ideas of our director. Now, something less than a work of philosophy will probably
suffice, some tracing out of the lines of force which make up the working of this
particular movie. So an Afterword follows, an explanation, one explanation
in any case of the mystery of that collective phenomenon called MAIDSTONE.
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SUBTERRANEAN CINEMA
subcin@aol.com
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NORMAN MAILER: FILMMAKER
SUBTERRANEAN CINEMA
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