Big Eyes Read online

  Big Eyes: The Screenplay

  Scott Alexander & Larry Karaszewski

  Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski met as freshman roommates at USC’s School of Cinematic Arts. On a whim, they wrote a screenplay during their senior year, which sold a week after graduation.

  They are best known for writing very unusual biopics with larger-than-life characters. They first worked with Tim Burton on the highly acclaimed Ed Wood (1994), for which they were nominated for Best Screenplay by the Writers Guild of America. They followed this with The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996), for which they won the Golden Globe for Best Screenplay, as well as a special Writers Guild award for civil rights and liberties. They also wrote the extremely postmodern Man on the Moon (1999), the life story of Andy Kaufman. All their biopic scripts have been published in book form.

  Otherwise, Alexander and Karaszewski are quite eclectic. They wrote the hit Stephen King adaptation 1408 (2007). They produced the Bob Crane biopic Auto Focus (2002), and they wrote and directed the comedy Screwed (2000). They have also written numerous family films, including Problem Child (1990), Problem Child 2 (1991), Agent Cody Banks (2003), and the upcoming Goosebumps. Their next project is the ten-hour miniseries American Crime Story: The People vs. O.J. Simpson, which will air on FX.

  FIRST VINTAGE EDITION, DECEMBER 2014

  Screenplay copyright © 2014 by The Weinstein Company LLC

  Behind the Big Eyes copyright © 2014 by

  Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski

  Margaret Keane Looks Back copyright © 2014 by

  Tyler Stallings

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House LLC, New York, and distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, Penguin Random House companies.

  Vintage and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

  Vintage Books Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-101-91164-8

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-91165-5

  Production photographs from Big Eyes © The Weinstein Company

  Photographs of Margaret Keane courtesy of the artist’s personal collection

  www.vintagebooks.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Big Eyes

  Behind the Big Eyes: The Story Behind the Film

  Margaret Keane Looks Back: An Interview by Tyler Stallings

  FADE IN:

  TITLE SEQUENCE:

  TIGHT on TWO PAINTED EYES. The pupils are impossibly wide. Imploring. The watery rims spill a single tear.

  We PULL OUT … revealing that the eyes belong to a child. A young girl, fingers clasped pitifully. She’s forlorn, alone in a dirty gray alley. We feel shame. Compassion. Sorrow…

  Then—an IDENTICAL girl SLAPS in front of the first one. Then another! It’s a PRINTING PRESS, the creation of a BLUR of sad children.

  A KINETIC montage! HORDES of gazing WAIFS get lithographed, bundled: Huddling in worry. Floating in space. POSTERS. POSTCARDS. BOOKS.

  We ZOOM into a MAGAZINE AD: A 1960s era come-on—“IT’S KEANE! MUSEUM-QUALITY ART, MAILED DIRECTLY TO YOUR HOME!”

  A blizzard of NEWSPAPER ARTICLES: “Meet America’s Million-Dollar Painter!” “Keane Masterpiece at World’s Fair”

  Painted EYES float by. Haunting … Questioning…

  Old POLAROIDS: A family Christmas, a Keane print over the mantel. Kids play bumper pool, a Keane print in the b.g.

  A blurry black-and-white TV: A talk show HOST holds up a Keane painting—

  MUSIC BUILDS. FASTER. Keane brochures. Catalogs. A flyer: “Now Open! Keane Gallery”

  MORE orphan’s faces. Hungry, unblinking, beseeching.

  A CRESCENDO—then—SILENCE.

  A single CARD on black:

  “I think what Keane has done is just terrific. It has to be good. If it were bad, so many people wouldn’t like it.”

  —ANDY WARHOL

  CUT TO:

  EXT. SUBURBIA—1958

  A nice, orderly tract of post–World War II housing. Identical rows of little yards. Young MOMS. Scampering KIDS.

  Then, a SUBTITLE: “TEN YEARS EARLIER”

  INT. HOUSE—DAY

  CU on two concerned eyes. The same eyes as the paintings. We REVEAL that they belong to a real girl: JANE, 8. She sits in her small house—a typical young family’s, spare and underfurnished.

  Suddenly—Jane’s mother, MARGARET ULBRICH, 28, rushes through frame. Margaret is blonde, yearning, fragile. Terribly upset, she is hurriedly packing.

  Margaret throws her clothes in a suitcase.

  She shoves Jane’s clothes and toys into another.

  Margaret barrels through the breakfast nook, which is a mini art studio—easel, canvases, paints. She scoops up her supplies.

  Margaret Keane and her daughter Jane leave 1950s suburban life.

  Margaret runs to the door—then turns. The hallway is lined with her PAINTINGS. Oils and inks of wide-eyed Jane, who grows from baby to toddler to child. Hastily, Margaret takes them down, each frame leaving an empty mark on the flowered wallpaper. Finally she reaches the last spot—a WEDDING PHOTO: Margaret and her HUSBAND, smiling, happy.

  Margaret peers—then leaves it hanging. The door SLAMS.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. HIGHWAY—DAY

  Cars roar down an interstate.

  INT. PACKARD—DRIVING—DAY

  Margaret grips the wheel, uncertain. Jane stares. The car is all loaded up. REFLECTIONS of passing BILLBOARDS drift across the windshield. Images of perky, happy-fake Americans.

  Margaret bites her lip. Has she made the right decision …?

  CUT TO:

  EXT. SAN FRANCISCO—DAY

  San Francisco, 1958! A mix of SKYLINES and STOCK FOOTAGE.

  EXT. FURNITURE FACTORY—DAY

  A weathered building: G & B FURNITURE SUPPLY. Margaret sits in the Packard, fixing her lipstick. Jane holds the WANT ADS, a few circled. Margaret gets out and straightens her skirt. Jane smiles.

  JANE

  Good luck.

  INT. FURNITURE FACTORY—DAY

  A beaten-up industrial office. Margaret sits anxiously, watching the BOSS, a tired guy in a cheap suit. He glowers unsurely at her JOB APPLICATION. Scratching his face. Hmmmm…

  BOSS

  We don’t get many ladies in here. So your husband approves of you working?

  MARGARET

  (quiet; a soft Southern lilt)

  My husband and I are separated.

  BOSS

  (shocked)

  “Separated”?

  A deadly silence. He squirms uncomfortably.

  She presses on.

  MARGARET

  Sir, I realize I have no employment experience … but I sure need this job. I have a daughter to support.

  (pause)

  I’m not very good at tooting my own horn … but I love to paint, and if I could just show you my portfolio…

  He is baffled. Margaret pulls out a large ARTIST’S PORTFOLIO. She opens it, riffling through the pictures…

  MARGARET

  I studied at the Watkins Art Institute in Nashville, then took illustration classes in New York. Here’s a pastel I did … here’s some fashion design … a portrait in charcoal … though I enjoy mixing mediums, preferably oil and ink…

  She’s alive, enthused.

  The guy shakes his head.

  BOSS

  You do understand this is a furniture company?

  CLOSEUP—MARGARET

  A strained smile.

  INT. FACTORY FLOOR—LATER

  Margaret works on an enamel baby crib. Under stenciled “Humpty Dumpty,” she quickly paints on a cartoonish egg man.

  We WIDEN, revealin
g ten identical, completed cribs behind her.

  We WIDEN again—revealing a DOZEN PAINTERS. All surrounded by identical cribs. All painting identical Humpty Dumpty’s.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. SAN FRANCISCO NORTH BEACH—1958—DAY

  NORTH BEACH! An exotica of beatniks, palm readers, interracial couples, and coffeehouses. Ground zero for the avant garde. Margaret waits on a busy corner, a bit dazed, peering at the parade of fun-loving hipsters. Primly, she fixes herself.

  Margaret turns—and suddenly grins. Running up is DEE-ANN, 30, a beatnik girl in a black leotard and sandals. Dee-Ann excitedly grabs her, and they laugh and hug girlishly.

  DEE-ANN

  Sugar, you made it! You’re in North Beach!

  MARGARET

  Deirdre, look at you!

  DEE-ANN

  (correcting)

  “Dee-Ann.”

  MARGARET

  “Dee-Ann”?!

  DEE-ANN

  Yeah, I know. But I hit this scene … and “Deirdre” just sounded like something my mother would call me.

  Margaret giggles.

  DEE-ANN

  So are you flipping for all this?! Are you settled? How’s Jane?

  MARGARET

  Jane—is swell. She’s started in a sweet little school.

  (pause)

  Though … it’s hard without her father. I’m not sure we can do this…

  The thought hangs, and Margaret gets emotional. Teary-eyed.

  DEE-ANN

  Oh stop that. You’re better off. Between us, I never liked Frank.

  MARGARET

  (shocked)

  You were a bridesmaid!

  DEE-ANN

  Exactly. That’s why I couldn’t speak up. But if I ever see you wrong off again, I will tell you.

  (long beat)

  Now come on. Let’s have some fun.

  WIDE

  They start WALKING. Dee-Ann gestures.

  DEE-ANN

  Toss off your middle-class preconceptions! This is Pompeii! We’re livin’ in the volcano!! For jazz, check up the hungry i. For Italian, Vanessi’s. For salvation, try the Buddhist temple. For art, the Six Gallery—

  They pass a GALLERY. The displays are stark, Calder-like MOBILES and found-object SCULPTURES. Margaret stares, unsure.

  MARGARET

  Do they only show modern?

  DEE-ANN

  Everyone only shows modern!

  She points.

  In the basement, they’ve got espresso.

  MARGARET

  What’s espresso?

  (worried)

  Is that like reefer?

  Dee-Ann LAUGHS, astounded.

  DEE-ANN

  You’ve got a lot to learn!

  EXT. ART SHOW—DAY

  A Sunday ART SHOW. It’s picturesque—amateur ARTISTS displaying their paintings, jewelry, sculpture…

  The modern stalls are crowded with trendy BOHEMIANS. Abstract lines, speckles of color. We drift away … and find Margaret, alone in her stall with Jane. Margaret sits patiently, surrounded by Big Eye paintings and charcoal portraits. In contrast with the neighbors, her work seems … quaint.

  A pink, chubby TOURIST FAMILY ambles over. Margaret brightens hopefully.

  TOURIST GUY

  Your stuff is cute. How much?

  MARGARET

  Today’s a special: Two dollars.

  Margaret sketches children’s portraits at a San Francisco art fair.

  TOURIST GUY

  I’ll give you one.

  Beat—then she nods, agreeing. She gestures.

  The little BOY sits. Margaret clips a fresh sheet of paper, sharpens her charcoal … and … goes motionless. Studying the boy’s face. He gazes back.

  Then—inspired, she begins sketching his EYES. Large and exaggerated. Then she fills in the shape of his head. His ears. His jaw.

  In a rush, his likeness appears. The parents come over to peek—then gasp. Margaret is good. She sketches faster. Focused. Until a LOUD, PLUMMY VOICE drifts in…

  MAN’S VOICE

  Monet? “Monet”?! Whew—that’s a hell of a compliment. Though, if I may respectfully disagree, I’m more in the tradition of Pissarro.

  Margaret looks up, distracted. She resumes her work.

  MAN’S VOICE

  C’mon, get closer. Closer! Look at that sunlight coming through the mottled leaves. That’s a bold yellow!

  Curious, Margaret casually peers over…

  HER POV

  Holding court in another booth is WALTER KEANE, 40. Walter is astonishing: Hugely confident. Charming. Waggishly handsome. And dressed like an “Artist”—striped turtleneck, with hands full of brushes.

  Walter’s stall is filled with oils of Paris street scenes. He casually flirts with TWO YOUNG COEDS. They admire a painting.

  WALTER

  You wanna touch it? Do it! I lay it on thick—you’re not gonna break it!

  (unwavering)

  I poured myself into that painting. It’s thirty-five dollars.

  Walter glances over—and notices Margaret watching him.

  Shy, she quickly turns away, back to her portrait.

  Walter smiles rakishly. He’s found a new interest.

  WALTER

  Excuse me, ladies.

  WIDE

  Walter strides up to Margaret. She peers nervously … trying to ignore him. She sketches faster. Shading…

  Walter watches. Admiring … and discreetly smelling her hair.

  Margaret pays no attention. Done, she blows into a can of Fix-It. Poosh! A fine mist sprays, setting the portrait. Without fanfare, she humbly turns the picture.

  MARGARET

  All finished.

  Her customers gape, impressed. She smiles. The guy counts out four quarters, then happily leaves.

  Margaret and Walter are left together. An unspoken frisson, until—

  WALTER

  You’re better than spare change. You shouldn’t sell yourself so cheap.

  MARGARET

  I’m just glad they liked it.

  WALTER

  Ahhh! You’re past that point! Your heart is in your work…

  He leans in, too close. Margaret shivers. Breathing faster.

  WALTER

  What’s your name?

  MARGARET

  M-Margaret…

  Mmm. He grins, checking her out … her loose sexy blouse and tight black capris. She flushes.

  MARGARET

  Wouldn’t you rather flirt with those dolls over there?

  WALTER

  Mm, no.

  (beat)

  I like you, Margaret…

  He zeroes in on the artworks’ signature: “M. Ulbrich.”

  WALTER

  “… Ulbrich.”

  (impassioned)

  You know, Margaret Ulbrich, you’re undervaluing yourself. Lemme show you how it’s done.

  Walter spins to Jane. He SHOUTS out, like a carnival barker.

  WALTER

  Little girl! How would you like your portrait sketched by the world-renowned Margaret Ulbrich?! Queen of the Bay! In mere minutes, she will capture your soul!

  Hm. Jane shrugs, unimpressed.

  JANE

  Nah.

  WALTER

  “Nah”?!

  (he grabs a PAINTING)

  Don’t you wish this were you in this beautiful painting??

  JANE

  But that IS me! And that’s me…

  (she POINTS all over)

  And that one started as me, but then Mother turned it into a Chinese boy.

  Huh? Walter peers at Jane … then at Margaret. And then—it hits him. He grimaces, embarrassed.

  WALTER

  Oh, you’re Mommy! My apologies, honey. I misconstrued the situation.

  (sheepish)

  Well, I’ll just mosey along, before Mr. Ulbrich comes back and socks me in the eye.

  ON MARGARET

  A gut decision. She stares at Walter, then sm
iles slyly.

  MARGARET

  Mr. Ulbrich is out of the picture…!

  ON WALTER

  His face slowly lights up. Ah! Sun breaking through clouds.

  CUT TO:

  EST. FRENCH BISTRO—NIGHT

  INT. BISTRO—NIGHT

  An enchanting bistro. Wine barrels, laughing, twinkly Tivoli lights. Perfection. Walter flamboyantly enters, escorting Margaret. Instantly, the STAFF ERUPTS in excitement: “Monsieur Keane! Ah, Monsieur Keane is here! Bonsoir!”

  WALTER

  Bonsoir, gang! Henri! Sorry I didn’t call first. Est-ce que tout va bien?

  MAÎTRE D’

  Je vais bien, merci! Comment allez-vous?

  WALTER

  Je vais bien! I’m with a beautiful woman! Could life be any grander??

  They get led in. Margaret is dazzled. Walter whispers.

  WALTER

  And I don’t even have to pay! I’m set because I gave the chef a painting. You know what he said? “Nobody paints Montmartre like Walter Keane!”

  LATER

  Margaret and Walter enjoy an intimate dinner. The wine flows.

  MARGARET

  I can’t believe you lived in Paris.

  WALTER

  Best time of my life…

  MARGARET

  I’ve never even been on an airplane.

  WALTER

  Well you have to experience these things! Grab ’em!!

  (jocund)

  I wanted to be an artist, so I just went! Studied painting at the Beaux-Arts. Lived in a Left Bank studio. I survived on bread and wine…

  MARGARET

  You’re a romantic.

  WALTER

  Damn right!