"Gods and Monsters", shooting draft, by Bill Condon
"GODS AND MONSTERS"
Screenplay
by
Bill Condon
Based on the novel
"Father of Frankenstein"
by
Christopher Bram
May 30, 1997
SHOOTING DRAFT
NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR
THIS SOFT COPY.
FADE IN:
MAIN TITLES BEGIN
Writhing pools of light and dark, out of which emerge images
from "The Bride of Frankenstein," directed by James Whale.
Elsa Lanchester, as the Monster's Bride, looks up, down,
left, right, startled to be alive. The Monster stares at
her. "Friend?" he asks, tenderly, desperately.
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT (B & W)
Lightning splits the black-and-white sky, revealing a single
shattered oak in a desolate landscape. Below, a HUMAN
SILHOUETTE stumbles through the darkness, the top of his
head flat, his arms long and heavy, his boots weighted with
mud.
Suddenly the storm fades. Light creeps into the scene, and
color, as we DISSOLVE TO:
THE PACIFIC OCEAN
melting into a hazy morning sky. In a box canyon off the
coast highway, we see row after neat row of trailer homes, a
makeshift village for beach bums.
INT. TRAILER - DAY
CLAYTON BOONE opens his eyes. He is 26, handsome in a
rough-hewn, Chet Baker-like way, with broad shoulders and a
flattop haircut. He grabs a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes,
lights a bent cigarette.
Clay stands and walks bare-assed across the single tin room,
his head almost touching the ceiling.
EXT. TRAILER PARK - DAY
Clay goes a few rounds with a weatherstained speed bag
that's set up behind his trailer.
INT. TRAILER - DAY
Clay towels off, glances at the morning paper. He moves
aside a pile of paperbacks on a card table until he finds a
calendar. His finger targets today's first appointment.
"10 A.M. - 788 Amalfi Drive."
EXT. TRAILER PARK - DAY
Clay steps out of the trailer, clean-shaven and dressed in
dungarees, a T-shirt with a fresh pack of cigarettes flipped
into one sleeve. He weight-lifts a secondhand mower onto
the bed of his rusty pick-up.
Clay climbs into the truck, slides the key into the
ignition. It takes a few tries but the engine finally turns
over.
EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - DAY
Clay's truck sails down the road, "Hound Dog" blaring on the
radio. MAIN TITLES END.
EXT. COLONIAL-STYLE HOUSE - DAY
Sprinklers twirl on a grassy slope outside a rambling
clapboard house. Below, a swimming pool forms a perfect
rectangle of still water. A title reads: SANTA MONICA
CANYON. 1957.
The pick-up drives past. Clay parks in the back, hops out.
ANGLE - HOUSE
A SHADOWY FIGURE stands at a window, watching Clay unload
his red power mower.
INT. HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
The shadow is a man with dove white hair, wearing a dress
shirt and seersucker jacket. This is JAMES WHALE, age 67.
DAVID
I'd have more peace of mind if the
live-in nurse were still here.
HANNA
She was nothing but bother. I not
like her, Mr. Jimmy not like her.
We do better if you live-in again,
Mr. David.
In the dining room, visible through open double doors, DAVID
LEWIS, 55, speaks softly with the housekeeper, HANNA. She
is a squat, muffin-faced Hungarian woman in her late 50s,
dressed in black, her hair cinched in a tight bun. She
speaks with a thick accent.
DAVID
You'll contact me if there's an
emergency?
HANNA
Yes, I call you at this number.
(calls out)
Mr. Jimmy? More coffee?
WHALE
What? Oh yes. Why not?
He moves into the dining room, sits opposite David.
WHALE
Isn't Hanna a peach?
Hanna ignores him, returns to the kitchen.
DAVID
She tells me you haven't been
sleeping well.
WHALE
It's the ridiculous pills they
prescribe. If I take them, I spend
the next day stupid as a stone.
If I don't, my mind seems to go off
in a hundred directions at once --
DAVID
Then take the pills.
WHALE
I wanted to be alert for your visit
today. Especially since I saw so
little of you in the hospital.
The remark hits its target.
DAVID
I'm sorry, Jimmy. But with this
movie and two difficult stars --
WHALE
"The fault, dear David, is not in
ourselves but in our stars."
DAVID
(too anxious to laugh)
You remember how a production eats
up one's life.
WHALE
Oh, David. There's no pleasure in
making you feel guilty.
(stands)
You better go, my boy. You'll be
late for that aeroplane.
David extends his hand, but Whale draws him into a hug. As
he starts out, David points to a framed painting.
DAVID
By the way, I like the Renoir.
WHALE
Thank you.
DAVID
(calls out)
Goodbye, Hanna.
Hanna runs out of the kitchen to escort David to the door.
Whale drifts back to the window, watches as Clay revs up the
lawnmower, creating a cloud of white smoke. We CUT TO:
EXT. STREETS OF DUDLEY - DAY (1900)
A bean-pole child with flaming red hair (WHALE at age 12)
stares up at the coal smoke pouring from a seemingly endless
row of chimneys. We're in Dudley, a factory town in the
English Midlands region known as the Black Country.
SARAH WHALE (O.S.)
Stop lagging behind, Jimmy. We'll
be late for church.
YOUNG WHALE
Yes, Mum.
Whale runs to catch up to his six brothers and sisters. His
father, WILLIAM WHALE, frowns at the boy's prissy trot.
WILLIAM WHALE
Straighten up, son.
Young Whale's movements thicken into a dim imitation of
manly reserve. The Whale family marches up a steeply
mounting street to Dixon's Green Methodist Church.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Whale's eyes tighten. He focuses on Clay Boone as he peels
off his T-shirt, revealing a tattoo on his upper right
forearm.
WHALE
Hanna? Who's the new yardman?
HANNA
Bone? Boom? Something Bee. I
hire him while you were in the
hospital. He came cheap.
Whale nods, chooses a walking stick. He emerges into the
sunlight.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Whale moves jauntily onto the front lawn, singing to
himself:
WHALE
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling
For you but not for me.
Oh death where is thy sting-a-ling?
Grave where thy victory?
Whale steps up next to Clay.
WHALE
Good morning.
CLAY
(not looking up)
Mornin'.
WHALE
My name is Whale. This is my
house.
CLAY
Nice place.
WHALE
And your name is --?
CLAY
Boone. Clayton Boone.
WHALE
I couldn't help but notice your
tattoo. That phrase? Death Before
Dishonor. What does it mean?
CLAY
Just that I was in the Marines.
WHALE
The Marines. Good for you. You
must have served in Korea.
Clay shrugs nonchalantly.
WHALE
Getting to be a warm day. A
scorcher, as you Yanks call it.
CLAY
Yeah. I better get on with my
work.
Whale clears his throat behind the back of his hand.
WHALE
When you're through, Mr. Boone,
feel free to make use of the pool.
We're quite informal here. You
don't have to worry about a suit.
Clay glances warily at Whale.
CLAY
No thanks. I got another job to
get to this afternoon.
Whale holds Clay's look.
WHALE
Some other time, perhaps? Keep up
the fine work.
Whale heads off, smiling to himself. Pleased to be naughty
again.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
The room is filled with unframed canvasses, many of them
copies of paintings by the Old Masters.
Whale rolls out the easel, lifts a half-painted canvas into
position. He stares at the blotches of color, trying to
remember what he intended to paint.
Whale pulls out a heavy volume on Rembrandt, opens to a
black-and-white plate of "The Polish Rider." We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE HOUSE - DUDLEY - NIGHT (1908)
A rough pencil outline of the same painting. Whale, age 16,
sits on his bed, ignoring the roughhousing of the three
younger BROTHERS who share the room. The door opens and
Whale's mother SARAH enters.
SARAH WHALE
Jimmy. The privy needs cleaning.
WHALE
I have my class tonight.
Both have Midlands accents, like head colds that flatten
their speech. Whale holds up the sketch to show his mother.
SARAH WHALE
Don't get above yarself, Jimmy.
Leave the drawring to the artists.
Whale squeezes the pad behind the bed, jumps up.
WHALE
Quite so, mum. To the privy.
And he heads cheerfully out of the room. His mother shakes
her head.
SARAH WHALE
"Quite so."
(calls out)
Jimmy Whale. Who are ya to put on
airs?
But Whale is already out the door. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Whale studies his face in the mirror. He gives his white
hair a few final licks with his silver-backed brush.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY
Whale comes in from the bedroom.
WHALE
There is iced tea, Hanna? Cucumber
sandwiches?
HANNA
Yes, Mr. Jimmy.
(smiles)
An interview. After so many years.
Very exciting.
WHALE
Don't be daft. It's just a student
from the university.
The doorbell rings.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Whale settles into his club chair and opens a book,
pretending to read until Hanna ushers in the visitor.
HANNA
Mr. Kay, sir.
WHALE
(feigning surprise)
Yes?
Whale looks up at EDMUND KAY, 22, a slim boy who rests his
weight on one slouched hip, his arms twined behind him.
There is a look of mild disappointment on Whale's face as he
realizes that Kay is a baby poof.
WHALE
Ah, Mr. Kay. I'd almost forgotten.
My guest for tea.
Whale stands and holds out his hand.
KAY
Mr. Whale, this is such an honor.
You're one of my favorite all-time
directors. I can't believe I'm
meeting you.
WHALE
(gently, teasing)
No. I expect you can't.
KAY
And this is your house. Wow. The
house of Frankenstein.
(looks around)
I thought you'd live in a spooky
old mansion or villa.
WHALE
One likes to live simply.
KAY
I know. People's movies aren't
their lives.
He suddenly growls out an imitation of Boris Karloff.
KAY
Love dead. Hate living.
Kay laughs, a high, girlish giggle. Whale fights a cringe
with a polite smile.
KAY
That's my favorite line in my
favorite movie of yours. "Bride of
Frankenstein."
WHALE
Is it now? Hanna? I think we'll
take our tea down by the swimming
pool.
It's clear from Hanna's frown that she doesn't approve of
the idea. Whale ignores her, turns back to Kay.
WHALE
Will that be good for you, Mr. Kay?
KAY
Sure.
WHALE
(opens the back door)
After you then.
Whale inspects the boy from behind, noticing his wide hips
and plumpish posterior.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Kay's hands flap animatedly as Whale leads him down to the
pool.
KAY
I love the great horror films. And
yours are the best. "The Old Dark
House." "The Invisible Man." They
look great and have style. And
funny!
Whale points to a small shingled house near the pool.
WHALE
This is the studio where I paint.
KAY
Nice.
(refusing to be
sidetracked)
And your lighting and camera
angles. You're got to go back to
German silent movies to find
anything like it.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - UPPER PATIO - DAY
Clay Boone gulps some water from the garden hose. He
glances down at the pool, where Kay and Whale sit in
cast-iron chairs.
HANNA
Time for you to leave.
Clay turns to Hanna, who holds a tray loaded with finger
sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea.
CLAY
I'm on my way.
She doesn't move until Clay starts off.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - POOLSIDE - DAY
Kay flips open his steno pad.
WHALE
So, Mr. Kay? What do you want to
know?
KAY
Everything. Start at the
beginning.
WHALE
I was born outside London, the only
son of a minister who was a master
at Harrow. Grandfather was a
bishop. Church of...Church of
Eng...
Whale's tongue trips on the word, his voice suddenly drowned
out by the blast of a factory whistle. We CUT TO:
INT. FACTORY SHOP FLOOR - DUDLEY - DAY (1908)
Fiery melt is poured into molds on the shop floor of a
machine parts factory. WHALE, 16, grips the hot casting
with tongs. His father WILLIAM, his face blackened with
grime, hammers away at the flaws. A heavy blow causes young
Whale to drop the mold, prompting catcalls and sneers on the
floor. There is a look of genuine fear in Whale's eyes as
he looks up at his singed, beast-like father. We CUT TO:
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Kay clears his throat softly.
KAY
Mr. Whale?
Whale smiles politely to cover his momentary disorientation.
WHALE
Yes?
KAY
Your father was a schoolmaster?
WHALE
Of course. I attended Eton -- it
wouldn't do for a master's son to
attend where his father taught. I
was to go up to Oxford but the war
broke out and I never made it. The
Great War, you know. You had a
Good War, but we had a great one.
He glances to see if the boy smiles at the quip.
WHALE
You can't imagine what life was
like after the Armistice. The
twenties in London were one long
bank holiday, a break from
everything dour and respectable. I
had a knack with pencil and paper,
so I was hired to design sets for
stage productions.
Hanna comes down the path with the tray. She places it on
the table.
WHALE
Thank you, Hanna. Very nice.
Hanna remains planted next to the table.
WHALE
You can go now.
She makes an audible sigh and starts back up the hill.
WHALE
There was one play in particular, a
beautiful, grim study of war called
"Journey's End". Every experienced
director turned it down, so I
offered myself, bullying and
begging for the job. "Journey's
End" made the careers of everyone
associated with it. It was only a
matter of time until Hollywood
beckoned.
KAY
How much longer before we get to
"Frankenstein"?
WHALE
Am I correct in assuming, Mr. Kay,
that it's not me you're interested
in, only my horror pictures?
KAY
Oh no, I want to hear everything.
You made twenty pictures in all --
WHALE
Twenty-one. The romantic comedies
and dramas were much more to my
liking. The horror pictures were
trifles. Grand guignol for the
masses.
KAY
But it's the horror movies you'll
be remembered for.
An abrupt look of anger flashes across Whale's face.
WHALE
I am not dead yet, Mr. Kay.
KAY
No. I never said you were. Or
will be soon.
Kay leans over the steno pad, determined to be more worthy.
KAY
So. "Journey's End" brought you to
Hollywood --
Whale takes in the boy's blank, bored expression. He sighs.
WHALE
I have a proposal, Mr. Kay. This
mode of questioning is getting old,
don't you think?
KAY
I don't mind.
WHALE
Let's make it more interesting. I
will answer any question you ask.
But, for each answer, you must
remove one article of clothing.
Kay's mouth pops open.
KAY
That's funny, Mr. Whale.
WHALE
It is, isn't it? My life as a game
of strip poker. Shall we play?
KAY
You're serious.
WHALE
Quite.
KAY
Then the rumors are true?
WHALE
What rumors might those be?
KAY
That you were forced to retire
because, uh -- a sex scandal.
WHALE
A homosexual scandal, you mean?
For me to answer a question of that
magnitude, you'll have to remove
both your shoes and your socks.
Kay just sits there, squinting and grinning.
KAY
You're a dirty old man.
Whale tilts his head as if brushing off a compliment. Kay
kicks off his penny loafers, bends over to remove his socks.
WHALE
You are kind to indulge your elders
in their vices. As I indulge the
young in theirs.
Two pale feet emerge. Whale leans forward to examine them.
He leans back again.
WHALE
No. There was no scandal.
And he reaches into his coat for a cigar. Whale's hand
trembles as he slices a hole at the base, then lights the
cigar with a wooden match, sucking and rotating until the
tip is roundly lit.
WHALE
My only other vice. I suppose
you'd like a fuller answer to your
question.
Kay nods.
WHALE
It will cost you your sweater.
Kay hesitates a moment, then sets his pen aside to pull the
sweater over his head, revealing a sleeveless T-shirt.
KAY
Too warm for a sweater, anyway.
WHALE
You must understand how Hollywood
was twenty years ago. Nobody cared
a tinker's cuss who slept with
whom, so long as you kept it out of
the papers. Outside of Hollywood,
who knows who George Cukor is, much
less what he does with those boys
from the malt shops along Santa
Monica?
Kay stares at him in disbelief.
KAY
George Cukor? Who made "A Star Is
Born"? I never guessed.
WHALE
Take off your vest and I'll tell
you a story.
Kay plucks at his T-shirt, glancing toward the house.
WHALE
Don't be shy. There's time to stop
before you go too far.
KAY
I guess.
Kay peels off the shirt and tosses it on his shoes and
sweater.
WHALE
George is famous for his Saturday
dinner parties. Great artists,
writers, society folk, all rubbing
elbows with Hollywood royalty. But
how many of those oh-so-proper
people know about the Sunday
brunches that follow? Gatherings
of trade eating leftovers, followed
by some strenuous fun and frolic in
the pool.
(flicks an ash)
If a goat like that can continue
about his business, my more
domestic arrangements could've
raised very few eyebrows.
The revelation seems to have left Kay a little shaken. he
flips to a blank page.
KAY
Can we talk about the horror movies
now?
WHALE
Certainly, Mr. Kay. Is there
anything in particular you want to
know?
KAY
Will you tell me everything you
remember about making
"Frankenstein"?
He glances down at his few remaining articles of clothing.
KAY
Can that count as one question?
WHALE
Of course.
KAY
I can't believe I'm doing this.
Kay stands to unbuckle his belt, glancing around the yard
again. He unzips and steps out of his sharply creased
flannel legs. His thighs are thin and pale.
KAY
Just like going swimming, isn't it?
WHALE
Maybe you'd like a swim when we're
through. I never swim myself, so
the pool tends to go to waste.
KAY
Okay. "Frankenstein." Tell me
everything.
WHALE
Righto. Let me see.
Whale swallows a wince, trying to block the pain pushing
against his skull.
WHALE
Universal wanted me for another
story, and wanted me so baldly -- I
mean badly, not baldly. I was
given the pick of stories being
developed, and I picked that one.
KAY
Who came up with the Monster's
makeup and look?
WHALE
My idea. Muchly. My sketches.
Big heavy brow. Head flat on top
so they could take out the old
brain and put in the new, like
tinned beef.
KAY
He's one of the great images of the
twentieth century. As important as
the Mona Lisa.
WHALE
You think so? That's very kind --
Whale clutches at the air, suddenly notices that his hand is
empty. He looks down and sees the cigar on the flagstones.
KAY
Boris Karloff. Where did you find
him?
Whale bends down to retrieve his cigar -- and the change of
gravity drives a spike through his skull.
KAY
Karloff, Mr. Whale. How did you
cast him?
Whale turns toward the froggy voice.
WHALE
Please. Excuse me. I must go
lie --
He forces himself up with one hand. Kay finally looks up,
notices Whale's colorless lips and desperate eyes.
KAY
Mr. Whale? Are you all right?
WHALE
I just need to -- lie down.
Studio. Daybed in studio.
Whale lurches from the table. Kay jumps forward, catching
him under an arm.
KAY
Oh my God. What's wrong, Mr.
Whale? Is it your heart?
WHALE
Head. Not heart.
He leans against Kay, who leads him toward the studio.
WHALE
Forgive me.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Hanna runs down the path, clutching the front of her apron
in two tight fists.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Hanna swings open the screen door -- and grimaces when she
sees Kay in his BVDs. He is kneeling next to Whale, who is
stretched out on the daybed.
HANNA
Water. Glasses at the sink.
She goes to Whale, scooping different bottles from the
pocket of her apron.
HANNA
Which ones? I bring them all.
WHALE
Luminal.
She empties a pill into her palm. Whale places it into his
mouth and takes the glass of Water Kay passes over Hanna's
shoulder. Whale swallows the pill, then glances up at Kay,
feigning surprise.
WHALE
Mr. Kay. You're not dressed.
Kay frantically crosses his arms over his chest and middle,
turns to Hanna.
KAY
I was going to take a swim.
WHALE
I'm sorry I spoiled it for you.
You should probably go home.
KAY
Right.
Kay hurries outside to retrieve his clothes. Hanna undoes
Whale's bow tie. She makes no attempt to be gentle.
WHALE
You must think I'm terrible, Hanna.
HANNA
I do not think you anything
anymore. Just back from the
hospital and already you are
chasing after boys.
WHALE
Oh shut up. All we did was talk.
My attack had nothing to do with
him.
HANNA
Perhaps we should get you uphill
before the pills knock you cold.
WHALE
No. Let me lie here. Thank you.
Hanna nods, moves to the door. Whale closes his eyes,
breathes deeply, trying to block the throbbing SOUND in his
brain. We CUT TO:
INT. FACTORY SHOP FLOOR - DUDLEY - DAY (1908)
The noise is deafening -- the clank of chains, the screech
of wheels and the endless banging of hammers. William Whale
continues to knock away at the hot casting. The rhythmic
sound blends into the insistent knocking of:
A FIST
which smashes against sheet metal.
INT. CLAY'S TRAILER - DAY
Clay Boone's eyes dart open.
DWIGHT (O.S.)
Boone! You awake? Eight o'clock.
CLAY
Fuck off!
DWIGHT (O.S.)
You told me to get you up, asshole.
A baseball-capped head is visible through the louvered glass
in the trailer's door. DWIGHT JOAD, 30, Clay's neighbor,
squints to see inside.
CLAY
I'm up. Thanks.
DWIGHT
Hasta la vista, Boone. And give
the jail bait a squeeze for me.
Clay glances over, seems surprised to see a naked back
facing him on the bare mattress.
CLAY
Hey, um...Rose --
The girl stirs, turns to face him. She is 18 at most.
DAISY
Daisy.
CLAY
Huh?
DAISY
My name is Daisy.
CLAY
Time to go, Daisy.
She presses her naked body against Clay's.
DAISY
You know. I could help you fix up
this place real nice.
Clay takes a deep breath, trying to clear the gumminess from
his brain.
CLAY
Don't you have to be somewhere?
Like high school maybe.
DAISY
I gave it up for Lent.
Daisy smiles at her own joke. Clay frowns.
CLAY
Right.
(jumps up from the bed)
Time to hit the road, kid.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Whale ponders the half-painted canvas, clearly distressed by
his lack of progress. The stillness is punctured by the
sound of Clay's lawnmower being dragged up the brick steps.
Whale smiles, puts down his brush.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY
Clay stops, turns around, feeling someone's eyes watching
him.
WHALE (O.S.)
(singing)
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling...
The mower slips out of Clay's hands momentarily. he looks
around, spots Whale inside the studio.
WHALE
Everything alright, Mr. Boone?
CLAY
Just got away from me. Sorry to
disturb you.
The screen door squeaks open, clatters shut. A leather
slipper and rubber-tipped cane appear. Whale strolls into
view, smiling.
WHALE
I was just about to ask Hanna to
bring down iced tea. I'd like it
very much if you'd join me.
CLAY
I stink to high heaven right now.
WHALE
The honest sweat of one's brow. I
assure you I won't be offended.
Let me tell Hanna to bring tea for
two.
Whale's cane trembles in his skeletal hand. His frailty
chips away at Clay's resolve.
WHALE
Or would you prefer a beer?
CLAY
No. Iced tea's fine.
WHALE
Splendid.
Clay hoses the crumbs of grass off his arms. He dries his
hands and arms with his hat, then wads it up and stuffs it
into his shirt to wipe out his armpits.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Clay stands at the screen door.
WHALE
Come in, Mr. Boone.
Whale sits on a daybed, next to a pile of newspapers. He
gestures at a wooden armchair across from him.
WHALE
My workshop, my studio. Hardly
somewhere in which a sweaty workman
should feel out of place.
Clay glances at the unframed canvases on the wall and
stacked in the corners.
CLAY
These are your paintings?
WHALE
What? Oh yes.
CLAY
Excuse me, but -- are you famous?
WHALE
You know what they say. If you
have to ask --
CLAY
I'm just a hick who cuts lawns.
But some of these look familiar.
WHALE
They were familiar when I painted
them. That one's copied from a
Dutch still life done almost three
hundred years ago. And that's a
Rembrandt.
CLAY
They're just copies then. Gotcha.
WHALE
But before I retired, you might say
I had a brief time in the sun.
Fame, as it were. Tell me, do you
like motion pictures?
CLAY
Sure, everybody does. When I was a
kid I'd go with my sister twice a
week. Why? Were you an actor
or something?
WHALE
In my youth, yes, but never in
Hollywood. No, I was merely a
director here.
CLAY
Yeah? What were some of your
movies?
WHALE
This and that. The only ones you
maybe have heard of are the
"Frankenstein" pictures.
CLAY
Really?
Clay sits up, surprised, skeptical and impressed all at
once.
CLAY
"Frankenstein" and "Bride of" and
"Son of" and all the rest?
WHALE
I made only the first two. The
others were done by hacks.
CLAY
Still. You must be rich. Making a
couple of famous movies like those.
WHALE
Merely comfortable. Here's Hanna
with our refreshments. Can you get
the door?
Clay jumps up to open the screen door. Hanna walks past,
refusing to look at him. She sets the tray on a table very
hard, ringing the glasses and silverware.
HANNA
How are you feeling, Mr. Jimmy?
How is your mind today?
WHALE
My mind's lovely. And yours?
Hanna flares her nostrils at him.
HANNA
You remember what the doctor tells
us.
WHALE
Yes, yes, yes. I merely invited
Mr. Boone in for a glass of tea.
We'll have a brief chat and he'll
finish the yard.
HANNA
I am not forgetting your last brief
chat.
WHALE
Just go. We can manage without
you.
Hanna stares up at Clay.
HANNA
He looks plenty big. You won't
need my help if anything goes
flooey.
WHALE
Go.
She shakes her head and marches out the door. Clay returns
to his chair and sits down again.
WHALE
When they stay in your employ too
long, servants begin to think
they're married to you.
(smiles at Clay)
Please, Mr. Boone. Help yourself.
CLAY
What did she mean by going flooey?
WHALE
I returned recently from a stay in
hospital.
CLAY
What was wrong?
WHALE
Nothing serious. A touch of
stroke.
Clay nods, chugs his tea. When he lowers the glass, he
finds the old man watching him.
WHALE
You must excuse me for staring, Mr.
Boone. But you have a marvelous
head.
CLAY
Huh?
WHALE
To an artistic eye, you understand.
Have you ever modeled?
CLAY
You mean, like posed for pictures?
WHALE
Sat for an artist. Been sketched.
CLAY
(with a laugh)
What's to sketch?
WHALE
You have the most architectural
skull. And your nose. Very
expressive.
CLAY
Broke is more like it.
WHALE
But expressively broken. How did
it happen?
CLAY
Football in college.
WHALE
You went to university?
CLAY
Just a year. I dropped out to join
the Marines.
WHALE
Yes. You were a Marine.
Whale's gaze deepens. He laughs lightly.
WHALE
I apologize for going on like this.
It's the Sunday painter in me. Of
course I can understand your
refusal. It's a great deal to ask
of someone.
CLAY
You mean -- you really want to draw
me?
WHALE
Indeed. I'd pay for the privilege
of drawing your head.
CLAY
But why?
WHALE
Even an amateur artist needs a
subject to inspire him.
CLAY
And it's just my head you want?
Nothing else?
WHALE
What are you suggesting? You'll
charge extra if I include a hand or
a bit of shoulder.
CLAY
You don't want to draw pictures of
me in my birthday suit, right?
WHALE
I have no interest in your body,
Mr. Boone. I can assure you of
that.
Clay takes a moment to size up Whale -- whose innocent,
slightly befuddled smile makes him appear about as
threatening as a box of cornflakes.
CLAY
All right then. Sure. I could use
the extra dough.
WHALE
Excellent. We'll have a most
interesting time.
Whale lifts his glass, takes a small sip of tea.
EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY
Clay fetches a pair of hedge clippers from his truck. He
can't help stopping by the side-view mirror to look at his
face.
INT. EXAMINATION ROOM - DAY
Doctors and technicians flash lights into Whale's eyes...
test his reflexes...inject him with radioactive isotope.
Whale sits very still with his head behind a fluoroscope
screen while two doctors murmur over the image.
INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - DAY
A pair of X rays are slapped wet on a light board. Two
skulls, one facing forward, the other in profile. DR.
PAYNE, a bland young neurologist, points to a smudge in the
side-view X ray.
DR. PAYNE
This is the area of infarction. By
which we mean the portion of brain
affected by the stroke.
The venetian blinds of the examining room are closed. Whale
sits calmly, flanneled legs crossed at the knees, gazing at
his own skull.
DR. PAYNE
You're a lucky man, Mr. Whale.
Whatever damage was done by your
stroke, it left your motor
abilities relatively unimpaired.
WHALE
Yes, yes, Dr. Payne. But from the
neck up? What's my story there?
DR. PAYNE
That's what I'm trying to explain.
Payne turns off the light board and goes to the venetian
blinds. The room is instantly full of sun.
DR. PAYNE
The central nervous system selects
items from a constant storm of
sensations. Whatever was killed in
your stroke appears to have
short-circuited this mechanism.
Parts of your brain now seem to be
firing at random.
WHALE
You're saying there's an electrical
storm in my head?
DR. PAYNE
That's as good a way as any to
describe it. I've seen far worse
cases. You might even learn to
enjoy these walks down memory lane.
WHALE
But the rest of it? The killing
headaches. The phantom smells. My
inability to close my eyes without
thinking a hundred things at once.
It's all nothing more than bad
electricity?
DR. PAYNE
In a manner of speaking. I've
never encountered the olfactory
hallucinations, but I'm sure
they're related.
WHALE
So what do I do?
DR. PAYNE
Take the Luminal to sleep, or
whenever you feel an attack coming
on.
WHALE
You seem to be saying that this
isn't just a case of resting until
I'm better. That my condition will
continue to deteriorate until the
end of my life.
The doctor responds with a sympathetic gaze. Whale nods
solemnly.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
Whale makes his way toward the stairs. He passes a
stoop-shouldered ELDERLY WOMAN who leans on the arm of her
middle-aged DAUGHTER. Then an OLD MAN in a wheelchair, his
eyes brimming with bewilderment and despair.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - FOYER - DAY
Hanna opens the door. Clay wears dungarees and a white
dress shirt.
CLAY
Don't worry, you already paid me.
I'm here because --
HANNA
The Master is waiting for you.
She gestures him in, shuts the door.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY
Clay follows Hanna into the kitchen.
HANNA
He's down in his studio. Here.
Take this with you.
She thrusts a TV tray toward him. Two glasses, two bottles
of beer, a bottle of Coke.
CLAY
It's your job, lady, not mine.
(hands back the tray)
I'm here so he can draw my picture.
HANNA
I'm keeping away. What you are
doing is no business of mine.
CLAY
What're you talking about?
HANNA
What kind of man are you? Are you
a good man?
CLAY
Yeah, I'm a good man. Something
make you think I'm not?
HANNA
You will not hurt him?
CLAY
Gimme a break. I'm going to sit on
my ass while he draws pictures. Is
that going to hurt him?
HANNA
No. No.
(closes her eyes)
I am sorry. Forget everything I
say. Here. I will take the tray.
CLAY
You do that.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY
Clay opens the squeaking door and enters behind Hanna.
Whale stands at a drafting table, sharpening a pencil.
Hanna sets the tray down.
WHALE
Very good, Hanna. Now goodbye.
She goes toward the door, wrinkling her forehead at Clay.
The screen door bangs shut.
WHALE
I'm sure you'd like something to
wet your whistle while I work.
Whale opens a bottle of beer, pours it into a glass, hands
it to Clay. He gestures to a chair.
WHALE
We'll go slowly today. Since this
is your first time as a model.
Clay sits. He pulls a "TV Guide" out of his back pocket.
CLAY
Did you see this? They're showing
one of your movies tomorrow night.
WHALE
You don't say? Which picture?
CLAY
"Bride of Frankenstein."
WHALE
Hmmm. I much prefer "Show Boat" or
"The Invisible Man." Shall we
begin?
Clay takes a swig of beer and sets the glass on the floor.
CLAY
Ready when you are.
Whale stares at Clay.
WHALE
That shirt, Mr. Boone.
CLAY
It's new.
WHALE
I'm sorry. It's too white, too
distracting. Would it be asking
too much for you to take it off?
CLAY
I'm not wearing an undershirt.
WHALE
Pish posh, Mr. Boone. I'm not your
Aunt Tilly.
CLAY
But it's just my face you want to
draw.
WHALE
Oh if it's going to make you
uncomfortable...
(sighs)
Perhaps we can find something else
for you to wear.
He lifts a drop cloth off a footlocker, revealing a stack
of "Physique" magazines. Whale casually covers them with a
newspaper.
WHALE
We could wrap this like a toga
around your shoulders. Would that
help you overcome your schoolgirl
shyness?
CLAY
All right already. I'll take it
off. Kind of warm in here anyway.
He unbuttons the shirt and pulls it off.
WHALE
Yes. Much better.
(steps forward)
Here.
Clay adjusts his belt buckle as Whale hangs the shirt on a
wall peg. He moves back to the easel again.
WHALE
I think we'll have you sit slightly
sideways, so you can rest one arm
on the back of the chair. Yes.
Just so.
The arm with the tattoo faces the easel. Clay smirks.
CLAY
Take a picture, it lasts longer.
WHALE
That's exactly what I intend to do.
A clatter of pencils in the easel's tray, followed by a
moment of silence. Finally, a low, whistly scratch. Clay
concentrates on keeping still, focusing on an open window.
WHALE
You seem to have no idea how
handsome you are, Mr. Boone. It
has to do with how snugly your face
fits your skull.
Clay wipes a thin line of sweat from his waist.
WHALE
Would you be more comfortable
barefoot? Feel free to remove your
boots and socks.
CLAY
No. I'm fine.
WHALE
It's a bit like being at the
doctor, isn't it? You have to
remain perfectly still while I
examine and scrutinize you.
Whale suddenly sniffs, as if smelling something. He sniffs
several times more but continues to draw.
WHALE
(to himself)
Dripping?
(to Clay)
Do you ever eat dripping in this
country? The fat from roasts and
such, congealed in jars. Used like
butter on bread.
CLAY
Sounds like something you feed the
dog.
WHALE
It is. Only the poorest families
ever ate it. We kept ours in a
crockery jar.
CLAY
Your family ate dripping?
WHALE
(catching himself)
Of course not. As I said, only
poor people --
Whale stops. He lets out a bitter laugh.
WHALE
I'm sorry. I've just realized how
terribly ironic it all is.
CLAY
What?
WHALE
I've spent most of my life
outrunning my past. Now it's
flooding all over me.
Clay stares out blankly.
WHALE
There's something about the
openness of your face that makes me
want to speak the truth. Yes, my
family ate dripping. Beef dripping
and four to a bed, and a privy out
back in the alley. Are you also
from the slums, Mr. Boone?
CLAY
We weren't rich. But we weren't
poor either.
WHALE
No, you were middle class, like all
Americans.
CLAY
I guess you'd say we lived on the
wrong side of the tracks.
WHALE
In Dudley there were more sides of
the tracks than any American can
imagine. Every Englishman knows
his place. And if you forget,
there's always someone to remind
you. My family had no doubts about
who they were. But I was an
aberration in that household a
freak of nature. I had imagination,
cleverness, joy. Where did I get
that? Certainly not from them.
Whale's voice has changed, becoming more pinched and nasal.
WHALE
They took me out of school when I
was fourteen and put me in a
factory. They meant no harm. They
were like a family of farmers
who've been given a giraffe, and
don't know what to do with the
creature except harness him to the
plow.
Whale seems completely lost in the past by now.
WHALE
Hatred was the only thing that kept
my soul alive in that soul-killing
place. And among those men I hated
was my own poor, dumb father. Who
put me in that hell to begin with.
Whale peers out from behind the square of paper. He pales
when he sees his father William, his face covered with
grime, glaring at him from across the room. Whale retreats
behind the pad, takes a breath.
CLAY (O.S.)
Mr. Whale?
Relief floods Whale's face. He looks out, smiles at Clay.
WHALE
You have to excuse me, Mr. Boone.
Since my stroke, I am often
overcome with nostalgia.
CLAY
I don't mind. I'm not crazy about
my old man either.
Whale rubs a hand across his eyes and steps into the open.
WHALE
Why don't we break for five
minutes? You probably want to
stretch your legs.
Whale pulls the cover sheet over the pad to hide what he's
drawn so far.
DWIGHT (V.O.)
So you just sat there while this
old limey banged his gums?
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
The place is dead. There's only Clay and Dwight sitting at
the bar with the owner, HARRY, a balding hep cat with a
scraggly tuft of beard. And, in a booth, KID SAYLOR, a
cocky 20-year-old, necking with a pony-tailed TEENAGER.
CLAY
I liked it. You learn stuff
listening to old-timers.
DWIGHT
(to Harry)
You ever hear of this Whale fellow?
HARRY
Can't say that I have. Can't say
I've heard of a lot of people
though.
CLAY
If you don't believe me, let's
watch this movie. See if his
name's on it. How about it, Harry?
Can I watch my damn movie?
HARRY
I told you. I don't turn on the TV
except for the fights.
BETTY CARTWRIGHT appears behind the bar, lugging a bucket of
ice from the storeroom. She's an attractive woman in her
early 30s, big-boned and almost as tall as Clay.
BETTY
A spooky movie. Just what this
place needs tonight.
DWIGHT
Couldn't make it any deader, doll.
Set me up.
BETTY
Sure. Your friend want one?
Clay reacts to the silent treatment with a tight smile.
DWIGHT
Yeah, one for what's-his-name here.
She sets down two bottles of Pabst without looking at Clay.
CLAY
Thanks, doll.
BETTY
(to Harry)
I say let loverboy watch his
movie. And be grateful Boone's
not cutting Shirley Temple's lawn.
CLAY
Why is everybody giving me crap
tonight?
DWIGHT
Jesus, Boone. You come in here
proud as a peacock because some old
coot wants to paint your picture.
We're just bringing you back to
earth.
BETTY
Sounds screwy to me. I can't
imagine a real artist wanting to
spend time looking at that kisser.
CLAY
This kisser wasn't so bad you
couldn't lay under it a few times.
DWIGHT
Ooooh.
Betty glares at Clay, who realizes he's gone too far.
BETTY
I bet this is just some fruit
pretending to be famous. So he can
get in the big guy's pants.
DWIGHT
Ooooh.
CLAY
What makes you say that?
BETTY
Just thinking out loud.
CLAY
Yeah, well keep your filthy
thoughts to yourself.
BETTY
All right, then. He's interested
in you for your conversation. We
know what a great talker you are.
CLAY
Fuck you.
BETTY
Not anymore you don't. Doll.
CLAY
(explodes)
We're watching the movie, Harry.
You got that! We are watching my
fucking movie.
HARRY
Calm down, Clay. Just calm down.
We'll watch it.
CLAY
Good. Fine.
Harry reaches up, turns on a battered Motorola. On the tv,
a voice announces: "Tonight, Boris Karloff in 'The Bride of
Frankenstein.'" The titles come on. Ending with the phrase
"Directed by", which floats over a white blob. The blob
jumps forward to form letters: "James Whale."
CLAY
Right there. What did I tell you?
James Whale.
The movie starts. The Monster being roasted alive in the
flaming wreckage of a mill.
BETTY
This looks corny.
CLAY
Go wash glasses if you don't like
it.
In a flooded crater under the mill, the Monster kills an old
man. He climbs up, flips the man's wife into the pit below.
An owl blinks impassively.
DWIGHT
Not bad. Two down and it's just
started.
Minnie, a hatchet-faced woman with fluttering ribbons, is
now alone with the Monster.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Whale and Hanna are in bathrobes and slippers, and there is
a glass of milk and a plate of cookies on Whale's TV tray.
On the tv, Minnie (played by UNA O'CONNOR) squeaks and
whimpers and screams. Whale laughs.
WHALE
Wonderful old Una. Gobbling like
an old turkey hen.
But Hanna isn't amused. She unclenches her arms to close
the bathrobe over her throat.
HANNA
Oh, that monster. How could you be
working with him?
WHALE
Don't be silly, Hanna. He's a very
proper actor. And the dullest
fellow imaginable.
Minnie flees in a bowlegged jig up the hill. Whale smiles
again.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
On the tv, Dr. Pretorius (played by Ernest Thesiger)
delivers a toast with inimitably ripe enunciation: "To a
new world of gods and monsters!" Dwight and Harry and
Betty all laugh.
BETTY
These old movies are such a hoot.
They thought they were being scary,
but they're just funny.
CLAY
(defensively)
Maybe it's supposed to be funny.
BETTY
Funny is funny and scary is scary.
You don't mix them.
Suddenly the tinny tv soundtrack is drowned out by the voice
of Elvis Presley. Kid Saylor bends over the jukebox,
wagging his denim butt and tapping a high-top sneaker.
CLAY
Hey! Some of us are watching a
movie!
SAYLOR
Go ahead. Free country.
Clay jumps from his stool. Saylor sees him coming, steps
aside.
SAYLOR
You want me to turn it down?
Clay slams the heel of his hand against Saylor's chest. The
boy staggers backward. Clay grabs the corner of the jukebox
and jerks it from the wall; the needle scratches across the
song. Saylor holds up both hands in a nervous surrender.
SAYLOR
Hey, I didn't know. It's your
favorite movie. Sorry, okay?
Clay returns to the bar and uprights the stool. Saylor
escorts his girl to the door.
HARRY
You're like a dog with a bone over
this movie, Clay.
CLAY
I just want to watch it, okay?
On the tv, the blind man thanks God for sending him a
friend.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Hanna's frown pops open.
HANNA
He is not going to kill the old
man?
WHALE
No, Hanna. My heart isn't that
black.
In a crypt, the Monster meets Dr. Pretorius, who is having a
midnight snack on top of a closed coffin. "Friend?" the
monster asks. "Yes, I hope so," answers Pretorius, without
batting an eyelash. He offers the Monster a drink, then
adds: "Have a cigar. They're my only weakness."
WHALE
The cigars were my own brand. So
that I could have the leftovers.
On the tv, the Monster groans: "Love dead. Hate living."
Whale's focus sharpens, prompted by the unexpected
discussion of death.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
The Monster holds a skull in both hands and happily
growls, "Wiiife." Betty, shudders, for real this time.
HARRY
Sick stuff. Necrophilia. I wonder
if they knew how sick they were.
CLAY
The Monster's lonely and he wants a
friend, a girlfriend, somebody.
What sick about that?
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Dr. Frankenstein and Pretorius make their final
preparations. Frankenstein inquires where the fresh heart
came from. "There are always accidental deaths occurring,"
Pretorius replies. "Always." Once again, Whale responds to
the talk of death.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Finally, the Bride comes to life. She looks up, down, left,
right, uncertain who she is. The Monster stares
tenderly. "Friend?" He timidly touches her arm and she
screams.
BETTY
All right! You don't want him.
The Monster is heartbroken. Nobody loves him, not even his
Bride.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The Bride shrieks again.
HANNA
She is horrible.
WHALE
She is beautiful.
The Monster's pain turns to anger. He tears through the
lab, orders Frankenstein to escape with his wife. But he
wants Pretorius and the Bride to stay. "We belong dead."
Whale reacts sharply to the line.
The Monster blows up the laboratory and the movie ends.
Hanna shivers as she stands.
HANNA
Ugh. I am sorry, Mr. Jimmy, but
your movie is not my teacup.
Still, I am glad there is a happy
ending. The bad people are dead
and the good people live.
She hits the button on the Magnavox with the flat of her
palm.
INT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Betty turns off the Motorola.
BETTY
Weird movie. Weird, weird, weird.
Harry stands up and stretches. Clay remains seated.
CLAY
So what did you think?
BETTY
Weird.
DWIGHT
I loved it. I want a switch like
that in my trailer, so I can blow
us to kingdom come when things
don't go my way.
He wobbles when he climbs off his stool.
DWIGHT
Damn but it's getting drunk in
here. Late too. The bride of
Dwight is going to bite my head
off.
He tilts toward the door.
DWIGHT
You coming, Boone?
CLAY
I think I'll hang around.
HARRY
Go home, Clay. We're closing up.
CLAY
I thought I'd give you a hand since
I kept you open.
He waits to see how Betty reacts. She shrugs. Harry takes
his book and cash drawer to the back door.
HARRY
I'm next door if you need me.
He gives Clay one last look and goes out to the breezeway
and his apartment.
CLAY
You know what? I think you guys
are all jealous.
BETTY
(laughs)
What's to be jealous of?
CLAY
I've gotten to know someone who's
famous.
BETTY
Not so famous any of us have ever
heard of him.
CLAY
If he were that famous, he probably
wouldn't give me the time of day.
This way, he's like my famous
person.
(laughs at himself)
Yeah, my own personal famous
person. Who treats me like I'm
somebody worth talking to.
Clay leans down to plug in the jukebox.
CLAY
You want to go for a swim?
She snaps her mouth open and imitates the Bride's
furious cat hiss.
CLAY
What's that mean?
BETTY
It means it's too cold to go
swimming. And I don't mean the
water.
CLAY
I wasn't going to try anything.
BETTY
Yeah, and I'm never going to smoke
another cigarette.
He patiently waits by the door while Betty turns out the
lights. She walks briskly through the glow of the jukebox,
waving Clay outside with her hand.
EXT. HARRY'S BEACHCOMBER - NIGHT
Betty pulls the door shut and bends over to lock it. Clay
catches a glimpse of skin in the side slit of her shirttail.
CLAY
Let's go for a walk at least. Walk
and talk. I really feel like
talking tonight.
Betty's eyes blink in mock surprise.
CLAY
This old guy -- he's the kind of
person I expected to meet when I
moved out here. Someone who's done
things with his life.
BETTY
Do you realize you're more
interested in this old goober than
you ever were in me?
CLAY
It's different. He's a man. And
by the way you have no business
calling him a homo.
BETTY
It never crossed your mind?
CLAY
He's an artist. Anyway, he's too
old to think about sex.
BETTY
All the old men I know think about
nothing but sex.
She opens the door of her Chevy. Clay grabs it with both
hands to keep her from getting in.
CLAY
C'mon. What's eating you tonight?
Betty hesitates, then looks him sharply in the eye.
BETTY
You picked up that girl right in
front of me.
CLAY
Hey, no strings, right? That's
what you always said. Just good
pals who have the hots for each
other.
BETTY
It still hurt. A lot.
CLAY
I didn't mean to...
BETTY
No, I'm actually kind of glad it
happened. It made me wonder what
the hell I was doing with my life.
Letting you pull me into bed
whenever the spirit moved you.
CLAY
You liked it too.
BETTY
Sure. I loved it.
CLAY
If you enjoy it, you should do it.
BETTY
You know, I just can't do that
anymore. I still have time to get
things right. Get married again --
CLAY
You mean us?
Betty bursts out laughing.
BETTY
The look on your face! You're not
marriage material. You're not even
boyfriend material. You're a kid.
A big, fun, slightly irresponsible
kid.
CLAY
I'm not a kid.
BETTY
What are you then? What will you
be ten years from now? Still
cutting lawns? Still banging horny
divorcees in your trailer?
Clay glares at her, his jaw working forward in anger.
CLAY
I like my life. I'm a free man.
BETTY
Sure you're free, for now at least.
But how long before you're just
alone? Pathetic and alone.
Clay's anger jumps from his jaw into his shoulders and arms.
He grabs the door handle.
CLAY
So you don't want to fuck. That's
what you're telling me?
BETTY
Is that all this conversation means
to you? Am I going to put out or
not?
CLAY
Damn straight. I'm sick of playing
games.
Betty quickly gets into the car. before she can pull the
door shut, Clay slams it on her, hard. Her hands leap in
front of her face, as if he'd hit her. The look of fear in
her eyes startles Clay out of his rage.
CLAY
Betty, look. This is coming out
all wrong --
She frantically turns the key in the ignition and the Chevy
pulls out.
BETTY
From here on out, Boone, you're
just another tired old face on the
other side of the bar.
The car screeches away. Clay stumbles across the highway.
EXT. TRAILER PARK - NIGHT
Clay comes to the dump at the end of the canyon. He climbs
into it, kicking at loose cans.
CLAY
It's all shit! Shit on by women!
Shit on by the Marines. Shit on by
the world! Fuck!
He shouts the word at the cliff, for the raw, sudden
violence of shouting.
CLAY
Fuuuck!
A dog in the carport starts to bark. The sound of Clay's
pain echoes off the canyon as we CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale is sitting up n bed when Hanna knocks. She enters
with a tray loaded with bottles and vials.
HANNA
You will take them all, Mr. Jimmy?
WHALE
I'll be fine, Hanna. Thank you.
HANNA
Good night.
Whale takes the pills, one by one, until he comes to the
bottle of Luminal. He opens the pheno bottle to shake out a
capsule and a dozen spill into his palm. He stares at them.
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Hanna opens the door, gasps when she sees Whale lying
motionless on the bed. She spots the empty bottle of
Luminal.
HANNA
Oh no, Mr. Jimmy.
Hanna kneels next to the body. She makes a Sign on the
Cross, launches into a frantic "Hail Mary." We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale snorts at the imagined scene. One by one, he returns
the capsules to their bottle, until a single pill remains.
He places it on the table, then turns out the lamp and lies
on his back in the dark, waiting for sleep.
The distant sound of laughter invades the darkness. Whale
sits up, straining to identify the voices. The bedroom wall
opposite him melts away, revealing:
INT. SPECIAL MAKEUP TRAILER - UNIVERSAL STUDIOS - DAY (1935)
ELSA LANCHESTER and BORIS KARLOFF sit side by side in
dentist chairs, cloths around their necks, heads tilted
back. JACK PIERCE, the makeup artist, is patting the hair
drawn over a cage on Elsa's head. He looks up, sees Whale,
and breaks into a conspiratorial grin. Elsa's eyes are
closed; she hasn't heard whale enter.
ELSA LANCHESTER
You done yet, love? I am
absolutely dying for a fag.
Whale tiptoes in for a better look. Karloff has a
mouthpiece to help him breathe while the assistant adds
another coat of green sizing to the still incomplete
makeup.
BORIS KARLOFF
(gurgles)
Goo' 'orning, 'ames.
WHALE
Good morning. And a very good
morning to you.
Elsa's eyes snap open. There are no mirrors on the walls.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Uh-oh. The way you look at me,
James. What have you done this
time?
WHALE
Bring a mirror. Let the Bride
feast upon her visage.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Boris? Do I look a fright?
Karloff shrugs, irked that she's getting all the attention.
Jack Pierce lifts a large mirror.
JACK
(nasal New Yorkese)
Behold, the Bride of Frankenstein.
Elsa stares at the beautiful corpse in the mirror. She
snaps her head left, right, up, down, startled by the sight
of herself, electrocuted into frightened, spastic jerks.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Oh, James.
As Whale observes his star we see her spasms through his
eyes -- as a series of dissonant, line-jumping close-ups.
ELSA LANCHESTER
And you said there'd be some of me
left. Nobody's going to know me in
this getup.
WHALE
Nonsense, my dear. You look
extraordinary.
(to an assistant)
Today's script. Quick. And a
pencil.
Whale scans the page of shooting script, the margin marked
in pencil: CU, MS, MLS. Whale pencils in a bracket and
scribbles: CU a,b,c,d---MOS.
WHALE
Jack, I want to get on this right
away. Sorry, Boris, we won't get
to you until this afternoon.
BORIS KARLOFF
I 'ish you 'old 'e 'ooner.
The assistant removes his mouthpiece.
BORIS KARLOFF
I could have spent the morning
tending to my roses.
INT. SOUNDSTAGE - DAY
The interior of Stage C is completely filled by the
laboratory set. Electricians adjust the lights on the
wooden tower beside the Bride's table. COLIN CLIVE (Dr.
Frankenstein) and ERNEST THESIGER (Dr. Pretorius) sit off to
the side, in full makeup and costume. Clive mumbles
earnestly over his script. Thesiger pinches his face over
the needle he dips in and out of an embroidery ring.
Whale comes on the set with Elsa on his arm. She walks
regally beside him, the train of her long white robe thrown
over one arm. There's a wolf whistle from overhead, and
applause, causing Elsa to curtsy to her admirers. Thesiger
takes her hand, leans back to study her.
ERNEST THESIGER
My God. Is the audience to presume
that Colin and I have done her
hair? I thought we were mad
scientists, not hairdressers.
ELSA LANCHESTER
Only a mad scientist could do this
to a woman.
ERNEST THESIGER
Oh no, my dear. You look
absolutely amazing. There's no way
I can compete with you. The scene
is yours.
ELSA LANCHESTER
In the sequel, James, two lady
scientists should make a monster.
And our monster would be Gary
Cooper.
ERNEST THESIGER
I would've thought Mr. Leslie
Howard would be more your line.
ELSA LANCHESTER
More your line.
ERNEST THESIGER
My line nowadays runs to Rin Tin
Tin. Dogs are so much more
dependable than men.
WHALE
Colin? Please. It's time.
(softly, to Thesiger)
How is he today?
ERNEST THESIGER
Stiff as a board.
(calls out)
Yes, Colin. Come see what they've
done to our Elsa.
Clive walks over, glumly.
COLIN CLIVE
I'm not at my best today, Jimmy.
A touch of flu, you know.
Whale sees through the excuse, rests an arm on Clive's
shoulder.
WHALE
Relax, my boy. You could do this
scene in your sleep.
Clive grits his teeth and nods. Whale positions them in
front of the upended table, Clive and Thesiger holding
Elsa's robe out by the hems. The shadow of the sound boom
passes back and forth while they rehearse.
ERNEST THESIGER
I gather we not only did her hair
but dressed her. What a couple of
queens we are, Colin.
Elsa giggles. Clive looks distraught -- which brings some
life to his stiffness. Whale sees this, decides to tune it
higher.
WHALE
Yes, a couple of flaming queens.
And Pretorius is a little in love
with Dr. Frankenstein, you know.
Clive's distress reads clearly now. He is twitchy and
alive.
WHALE
Yes. I think it's coming together.
Shall we have a go?
He sits in the canvas director's chair, nods to the
assistant director.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Quiet on the set!
The warning bell rings.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Lights!
The lights sizzle and blaze.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Sound!
SOUND MAN
Okay for sound.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR
Camera!
A young man with a clapboard steps in front of the camera.
CAMERA ASSISTANT
Scene two-fifteen. Take one.
WHALE
Action.
The Bride snaps her head in various directions. Thesiger
slopes back, fingers splayed, intoxicated by his creation:
ERNEST THESIGER
The Bride of Frankenstein!
Whale sits with his legs crossed, jogging his raised foot as
if conducting the scene with his show. Fully engaged,
intensely alive. We CUT TO:
INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Whale glances at the clock, sees that it is 3:15. He is
wide awake. He reaches over, picks up the Luminal.
WHALE
Luminal. Illumine all.
Whale reluctantly places the pill on his tongue and
swallows. He rests his head on the pillow and stares at the
ceiling, where the reflection of the window sheers casts an
ever-shifting pattern of light and dark. We move down to
reveal:
INT. PRISON CELL - NIGHT (BLACK & WHITE)
It's a cobblestone cell, a plaster set from "Bride of
Frankenstein." Whale sits in a massive chair, straining
against thick iron chains, as a lightning storm rages
outside. In the distance, heavy footsteps, coming closer,
until the cell door is filled with the silhouette of the
Monster. Whale hardly dares to breathe as the Monster rips
off the door and enters the cell.
The Monster steps into the light, allowing us to see his
face for the first time. It is Clay Boone, dressed in a
Marine parade uniform. He uses his hedge clippers to cut
the chains from around Whale's chest.
WHALE
Thank you. Thank you so much.
Clay leans down and takes Whale in his arms, cradling him
like a child. They move across the sound stage -- Clay
carefully sidestepping the lights and cables on the floor --
until they reach the next set:
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT
Clay carries Whale past a painted backdrop of a stormy
English countryside.
INT. FRANKENSTEIN'S LAB - NIGHT
Whale lies on the Bride's table. Clay pulls on a doctor's
smock, picks up a scalpel from a table covered with various
medical instruments. he carves a thin circle around the top
of Whale's forehead. Then, with one deft movement, he pops
off Whale's scalp and pulls out the brain. It is
soot-covered, charred, used up.
Whale watches with detached fascination as Clay tosses it on
the floor, then takes a throbbing, luminous mass from a
tray.
Clay inserts the new brain into Whale's skull, sutures the
scalp back into place. he fastens the conducting clamps
around Whale's temples, then throws the heavy circuit
breaker. Lights throb with bursts of energy...loose sparks
crackle...rotary sparks create snapping circles of fire...as
the energy of the raging storm is harnessed into the
machinery.
Clay steps back to take in his handiwork. A sudden look of
panic fills Whale's face.
WHALE
It isn't working. The experiment
is a failure.
Clay glances down at Whale, whose breathing is slowing.
Realizing that the new brain hasn't taken:
CLAY
Just go to sleep.