"GODS AND MONSTERS" Screenplay by Bill Condon Based on the novel "Father of Frankenstein" by Christopher Bram May 30, 1997 Shooting Draft 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