THE ARTIST (excerpt - part 5 of 5)

(continued from part 4)

 

 

MACK

 

Holy shit.  Holy shit.  What the...?  What the fuck...what do you want?

 

GUARD CAVANAUGH

 

What do I want?  My wants are for this prison, son.  I want it to maintain balance as much as possible.  I want those men out there to pay for their crimes and maybe, one day, return to society as better, Christian men.  Men proud of their heritage.  I want the same for you, Mack.

 

Mack looks condescendingly at Cavanaugh.

 

MACK

 

I'm fresh out of "thank yous."

 

Cavanaugh raises his hand to strike Mack, who doesn't move.  He just looks blankly at Cavanaugh.  Cavanaugh calms down, not out of some threat Mack subconsciously poses, but out of an understanding deeply felt.

 

GUARD CAVANAUGH

 

I'm here as damage control.  That scrap you started with Wild Bill...that can't keep up.

 

MACK

(looking skeptical)

 

Since when do you give a fuck about Bill?

 

GUARD CAVANAUGH

 

He's a Christian man.  I appreciate that.  You gotta stand by that.

 

MACK

(still skeptical)

 

Men proud of their...Wait...Are you...

 

GUARD CAVANAUGH

 

Serious, Mack.  Stay the fuck away from the Aryans.

 

Both guards leave.  Mack lies down on his bunk.  He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply.

 

FADE OUT

 

 

INT. MACK'S CELL- NIGHT

 

FADE IN

 

Mack is sleeping on his bed, is cell mate above him.  He tosses a little bit.

 

MACK'S MOTHER (V.O.)

 

That's right.  You've got it.  The rook moves forward and back.

 

 

FLASHBACK

 

INT. MACK'S HOME - DAY

 

Mack as a child, with a woman whose face you can't see, moving a rook on a chess board.  In the background is the front door to the house.

 

MACK'S MOTHER (V.O.)

 

Left and right.  Up and down.

 

 

PRESENT DAY

 

CHILD MACK

 

I know!  Hey, look!  I've got a, uh...you're...

 

 

FLASH BACK to woman's hand picking up a bishop.

 

MACK'S MOTHER

 

The rook, Mack.

 

Mack, as a child, is smiling.

 

MACK

 

Mo-o-om!  I knew it!

 

 

PRESENT DAY

 

MACK'S MOTHER (V.O.)

 

Okay, dear.  You're doing great.  You could be the next Bobby Fischer!

 

CHILD MACK

 

I want to be a famous painter like you!

 

MACK'S MOTHER (V.O.)

 

Mack, you are precious.  But I was never famous.  I just painted a little bit.  You could go much further than I ever did.  You can do anything you want.

 

CHILD MACK

 

You know what I'm gonna do one day?

 

 

FLASHBACK

 

MACK'S MOTHER

 

What's that?

 

CHILD MACK

(laughing)

 

I'm gonna be a ninja turtle!

 

Laughter continues until the front door is thrown open.  It makes a booming noise.  There is a silhouette of a man in the doorway.

 

 

PRESENT DAY

 

Mack wakes up again in a sweat.  He has wet the bed again.

 

MACK

 

Fuck!!!

 

PSYCHOLOGIST (V.O.)

 

I've made you a special project of mine, Mack.

 

INT. OFFICE - DAY

 

Mack is back in the psychologist's office.  He sits in the chair backwards.  The psychologist is holding a cup of coffee.  The CD player is still on the table behind them.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Does that bother you?

 

MACK

 

Should it?

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

No.  You should feel hopeful.

 

Mack laughs.

 

MACK

 

You got confidence, I know that.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

That's true.  I do have confidence.  In both of us.

 

MACK

(shaking his head)

 

You must be a psychologist.  You're talkin' fuckin' crazy.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Am I?

 

MACK

(mockingly)

 

Am I?  Yes.  You're fuckin' crazy.  First, I got confidence in spades and second, what makes you think you can help anybody?  You know nothing about me or any of us.  We're mean, and cold, and no one gives a fuck.  We've all come to terms with it.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Not all of us.

 

MACK

 

Us?!  You sit in your fucking chair drinking your fucking coffee and eating your goddamned donuts, biding your time in this useless job until you go home, fuck your kids, and put your wife to sleep, or whatever the fuck it is...

 

The psychologist gets up quickly and kicks Mack out of the chair.  Mack falls.  As he gets up...

 

MACK

 

You just fucked up, Doc.  You just...

 

Mack looks up at the psychologist, who has ripped his shirt open and is covered in prison tattoos.  He has put up his hands to fight.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

What the fuck did you just say, tough guy?  I didn't hear that...

 

Mack leans his head down and curses, then stands back up.  Mack picks up the chair and puts it back to where it was and sits back down.

 

MACK

 

Okay.  Alright.  Starting now.

 

The psychologist looks at Mack for a few seconds and begins buttoning up his shirt.  He sits down to an awkward silence.  Mack looks at him expectantly.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Like you, I was charged with involuntary manslaughter.  Unlike you, I was forced to do all 10 years.  I was drunk and got into a car accident.  I killed a 24 year old woman.  A 24 year old girl!

 

The psychologist has made fists and is staring at them.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

She was pregnant.  (Pause, then calmer) I used the time to get a degree.  I figured that maybe I could help out the only way I learned how.  I'm still learning to...but that's one of my demons.  We're here to talk about yours.

 

Mack is stunned.  The psychologist picks up his notepad.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

(staring intently at Mack)

 

So, Mack.  Did you ever paint when you were a kid?

 

MACK

(after a few seconds)

 

Y-yeah.  Yeah, I, uh, I used to paint when I was, um, when I was a little kid.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

With your mom?

 

At this, Mack flinches a little and grits his teeth.

 

MACK

(after a pause)

 

Yeah.  Yeah, with her.  She used to... (deep exhale) she used to teach me stuff like that.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Like what?

 

MACK

 

Just... (deep exhale)  She did her best.  To make up for who she married.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

I see.

 

There's a pause and the psychologist looks at his watch.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Mack, I have something for you.

 

Mack looks incredulous.

 

MACK

 

You did what?

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Hold on a second...

 

The psychologist goes into an adjacent room and comes back with brushes and a bag filled with assorted paints.

 

MACK

 

What are you doing?

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

Hold on.

 

The psychologist puts the easel down and puts the canvas on the easel.  He turns to Mack.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

I asked the warden to let you have some free time for about an hour after our sessions.  He had enough faith in me to allow it.  Now, I want you to paint something, and I want you to mean it.

 

MACK

 

You can't be serious.

 

PSYCHOLOGIST

 

You do, and you might get more free time later, maybe even get your television and coffee privileges back.  You don't, and we stop working together and the warden makes you go live with your pal William.

 

 

 

(Continued)

 

(If interested in reading the script in it's entirety, please contact Chambers at:  chambers@piensaartcompany.com)