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Frances (1982)

by Eric Bergren, Christopher De Vore and Nicholas Kazan.

More info about this movie on IMDb.com


FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY


							PROLOGUE

BLACK. We HEAR the soft voice of Frances Farmer.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	No one ever came up to me and said, 
	'You're a fool. There isn't such a 
	thing as God. Somebody's been stuffing 
	you.'

FADE IN:

EXT. PUGET SOUND - DAY

On an expanse of water, calm and undisturbed. After a moment, 
it begins to ripple as something rises toward the surface. A 
girl's face breaks through.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	It wasn't a murder. I think God just 
	died of old age. And when I realized 
	He wasn't any more, it didn't shock 
	me. It seemed natural and right.

The girl, FRANCES, is 16, blond, very pretty: she seems like 
the most persuasive proof imaginable of God's existence. She 
swims toward the shore with long graceful strokes... then 
climbs the steps of the old wood jetty on West Point Beach.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	And yet I began to wonder what the 
	minister meant when he said, 'God, 
	the Father, sees even the smallest 
	sparrow fall. He watches over all 
	his children.' That jumbled it all 
	up for me.

EXT. PUGET SOUND - LATER

The banks of Puget Sound, dotted with elm trees. Frances 
sits comfortably in the fork of a tree writing in her diary. 
Towel around her neck, her hair splayed out and drying golden 
in the sun.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	But still sometimes I found that God 
	was useful to remember, especially 
	when I lost things that were 
	important. 'Please God, let me find 
	my red hat with the blue trimmings.'

INT. FARMER HOME - FAMILY ROOM - EVENING

Frances is now reading aloud from her diary, gently swaying 
back and forth in a rocking chair. An older woman, LILLIAN 
FARMER, sits opposite on the couch, listening and nodding 
from time to time. A small suitcase stands by the front door.

			FRANCES
	It usually worked. God became a 
	superfather that couldn't spank me. 
	But if I wanted a thing badly enough, 
	He arranged it.

ERNEST FARMER appears in the doorway and hesitates, listening 
to his daughter read.

			FRANCES
	But if God loved all of His children 
	equally, why did He bother about my 
	red hat and let other people lose 
	their fathers and mothers for always?

Ernest goes to Frances and kisses her softly on the top of 
her head. She looks at him briefly, smiling slightly.

			ERNEST
	Bye, baby.

			FRANCES
	See you next weekend, Dad.

He goes to the door and picks up his suitcase, glances at 
Lillian. She doesn't look up. He leaves.

			FRANCES
	I began to see that He didn't have 
	much to do about hats or people dying 
	or anything. They happened whether 
	He wanted them to or not, and He 
	stayed in Heaven and pretended not 
	to notice.

							DISSOLVE TO:

INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY

Frances stands at a podium. Other STUDENTS and TEACHERS sit 
to either side of her on folding chairs. Above the proscenium 
is engraved: West Seattle High School. Below that a banner 
hangs: "NATIONAL HIGH SCHOOL ESSAY COMPETITION, 1931."

			FRANCES
	I wondered a little why God was such 
	a useless thing. It seemed a waste 
	of time to have Him. After that He 
	became less and less, until He was... 
	nothingness.

The AUDIENCE consists of parents, students, and local 
dignitaries. We SEE several shocked faces. Lillian is there 
also, smiling. Seated next to her is a distinguished-looking 
woman, ALMA STYLES. Ernest sits on the other side of the 
auditorium, looking a little worried.

			FRANCES
	I felt rather proud that I had found 
	the truth myself, without help from 
	anyone. It puzzled me that other 
	people hadn't found out, too. God 
	was gone. We had reached past Him. 
	Why couldn't they see it? It still 
	puzzles me.

Frances closes her notebook and looks up, waiting for some 
response. There is a deep shocked silence, then a smattering 
of applause. Lillian claps enthusiastically, then rises to 
her feet. In the back a WOMAN also stands.

			WOMAN
	You're going straight to hell, Frances 
	Farmer!

A stately man sitting next to her, her husband JUDGE BENJAMIN 
HILLIER, puts a restraining hand on her arm. The woman 
continues to glare at Frances.

Frances stares back, dumbfounded.

							SMASH CUT TO:

EXT. SEATTLE STREETS - DAY

The screen erupts into violence. A large unruly MOB skirmishes 
with POLICE in a cobblestoned square. On a truckbed addressing 
the crowd -- which carries placards reading: "Organize Now!", 
"Workers of the World Unite!", and "Elect Kaminski!" stands 
MARTONI KAMINSKI. By his side, leading the crowd's responses, 
stands a younger man with sharp piercing eyes, HARRY YORK.

			KAMINSKI
	And do you think it's radical for a 
	man to have a job and feed a family?

			YORK & CROWD
	No!

			KAMINSKI
	Is it radical for you to have a hand 
	in shaping your future, and the future 
	of your children?

			YORK & CROWD
	No!

			KAMINSKI
	Is it radical for the wealth of this 
	country to be turned back to the 
	people who built the country?

			YORK & CROWD
	No! No!

			KAMINSKI
	Good! Because, Brothers, that's you!

The crowd cheers. Harry York gives Kaminski the thumbs-up 
sign as a banner unfurls: "Today Seattle -- Tomorrow the 
World."

							FADE TO BLACK:

FADE IN:

A TITLE COMES ON SCREEN: GOD'S IN HIS HEAVEN AND ALL'S RIGHT 
WITH THE WORLD? 'NOT SO!' SAYS YOUNG FRANCES FARMER

We realize we've been watching a newsreel. We SEE the SCHOOL 
SUPERINTENDENT presenting Frances with an award.

			ANNOUNCER
	Seattle is in the news again as a 
	high school junior wins a national 
	competition and a hundred dollar 
	prize with an essay denying God.

City Hall steps. Judge Hillier and other BIGWIGS speaking 
heatedly to reporters.

			ANNOUNCER
	This prompts civic officials to charge 
	that left-wing politicians are 
	encouraging atheism in the city's 
	schools. Miss Frances Farmer was 
	unavailable for comment, but her 
	mother Lillian --

Lillian stands in front of her wood frame house addressing a 
small CROWD of reporters, photographers, and curious 
neighbors.

			ANNOUNCER
	Farmer, a well-known local dietician, 
	stepped to her daughter's defense.

			LILLIAN
		(emphatically)
	Frances has not turned her back on 
	the Lord, they're just having a 
	momentary difference of opinion. 
	What child hasn't questioned the 
	Lord's mysteries in order to better 
	understand them? To paraphrase Mr. 
	Voltaire, I may not agree with what 
	she says, but I'll defend to the 
	death her right to say it. Freedom 
	of speech, unlike in the dark 
	countries to the east, still lives 
	in America! And in my home.

Among the AUDIENCE in the cinema, we SEE Frances and her 
father. Frances slinks down in her seat until she's hidden 
from sight.

EXT. SUBURBAN STREET (SEATTLE) - DAY

Frances carries library books and a small grocery bag. Her 
hair and skin gleam in the sun. People in their yards stare 
at her as she passes. She walks on, coming to a group of 
CHILDREN slightly younger than herself who are playing in 
front of a union hall. A girl, EMMA, 13, glances up.

			FRANCES
	Hi Emma.

Emma looks away quickly, returns to her play.

			FRANCES
	Bye Emma.

Frances shakes her head as she walks on.

			MAN'S VOICE
	Hey!

Frances hesitates, then turns to look:

A man in his twenties whom we recognize as Harry York, 
Kaminski's compatriot, leaves a group of men in front of the 
union hall and walks toward her.

			HARRY
		(friendly)
	C'mere. I wanna talk to you.

Frances keeps walking. Harry hurries after her.

			HARRY
	Momma told ya not to speak to 
	strangers, huh?
		(reaches her, grabs 
			her arm)
	Hey!

			FRANCES
	Don't touch me.

			HARRY
	I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna 
	talk.

She stares at him. He's got a newspaper wedged under one 
arm.

			FRANCES
		(waiting)
	Okay then...

			HARRY
	Well... you're causin' trouble, you 
	know that?

			FRANCES
	I'm causing trouble?! You're a pain 
	in the butt! You newshounds've been 
	after me and my folks ever since I 
	won that dumb contest. I'm just 
	sixteen, you know? Who the hell cares 
	what I think?

			HARRY
	Not me. But other people seem to.

			FRANCES
	Yeah. Well if you didn't put it in 
	the papers -- nobody'd even know 
	about it.

			HARRY
	Now wait a minute, sweetie. Do I 
	look like a newshound to you?

			FRANCES
		(examining him)
	No... Actually, you look more like a 
	cop.

Harry laughs.

			HARRY
	That's rich. Hey, if I was a cop, 
	I'd be packing, right?
		(holding coat open)
	You see a gun? Go on, search me. Pat 
	me down.

Frances hesitates, leans toward him as though about to frisk 
him. Their eyes meet, and she pulls away, suddenly 
embarrassed.

			FRANCES
	I'll... take your word for it. So 
	who are you, then?

			HARRY
	Harry York. I work for Martoni 
	Kaminski, he's running for Congress 
	here.

			FRANCES
		(smiles & points to 
			him)
	Oh yeah! I saw you in the newsreel!

			HARRY
		(embarrassed)
	Yeah, well --

			FRANCES
	You know, my Dad's done some work 
	for Kaminski...

			HARRY
	Now you're catchin' on. Don't wanna 
	get your Daddy in hot water, do you?

			FRANCES
	Whattaya mean?

			HARRY
	Well... see the papers've got us 
	pegged as pinkos, then you come along, 
	the friendly neighborhood atheist --

			FRANCES
	But I'm not. The newspapers're --

			HARRY
	Right again. You're no more an atheist 
	than my man's a Red, but what they're 
	doin', see, they're addin' up their 
	version of your ideas with their 
	version of ours. Could look bad for 
	your Daddy.

			FRANCES
	Yeah. Could look bad for you and 
	Kaminski too, I guess.

Beat.

			HARRY
	Sure don't talk like you're sixteen.

			FRANCES
	Well aren't you the smoothie. Now 
	you're going to ask for my number, I 
	suppose.

			HARRY
	I suppose not. Gotta ask you this, 
	though: for all our sakes, you better 
	keep your trap shut.

			FRANCES
	Well... I'll give it a try, Mr. York.

			HARRY
	Harry.

			FRANCES
		(hesitates, nods)
	Harry.

They half-smile, awkwardly, as if neither really wants this 
encounter to end. Then Harry doffs his hat.

			HARRY
	Bye.

She nods shyly and starts up the path toward the house.

			HARRY
		(admiring her)
	Sure don't walk like sixteen, neither.

INT. COURTROOM - LATE AFTERNOON

CLOSE ON Judge Hillier in his robes, identified by a nameplate 
on the bench.

			HILLIER
	These are perilous times. With the 
	economic collapse comes hopelessness 
	and desperation; and people turn to 
	dangerous ideas --

			WOMAN'S VOICE
	I know.

The CAMERA PULLS SLOWLY BACK. We SEE that the courtroom is 
empty.

			HILLIER
	Those of us who represent law and 
	order must be vigilant. Who's behind 
	this, her mother?

Now we SEE who he's talking to: Alma Styles, the woman who 
sat with Lillian at the school auditorium.

			STYLES
	Impossible. As her attorney, I've 
	known her for years.

			HILLIER
	What about the father, he's a little 
	pink. Maybe he wants to show our 
	schools in a bad light, shift some 
	support to Kaminski and those jackals.

			STYLES
		(shaking her head)
	He's no influence; he doesn't even 
	live at home. No, I think Frances 
	wrote that essay with no mischief 
	intended. It was her teacher who 
	entered it in the competition.

			HILLIER
	Well, the publicity must stop. It's 
	no good for Seattle and no good for 
	the country.
		(sternly)
	Keep an eye on this, will you, Alma?

			STYLES
	Of course, your honor.

He nods with satisfaction. Two right-thinking people fighting 
for what they believe in.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT

Ernest Farmer sits alone, motionless, at the table. Between 
two candles, facing him, is Frances' check for a hundred 
dollars.

We HEAR bustle from behind the kitchen door, then Lillian 
and Frances enter juggling several hot dishes. Ernest rises. 
They set down the dishes, Frances intentionally placing the 
bread between the check and her father.

			ERNEST
	It always amazes me, Lil, how you 
	can whip up a hot, hearty meal out 
	of thin air.

			LILLIAN
	I can thank you for that. It was a 
	hard-earned talent.

She moves the bread so Ernest again faces the check. As 
Lillian slices the bread, father and daughter eat grimly.

			LILLIAN
		(offering to Ernest)
	Bread?

			ERNEST
		(taking a piece)
	Thank you.

			LILLIAN
	When's the last time you saw a hundred 
	dollars, Ernest Farmer?

			FRANCES
	Mama...

			LILLIAN
		(pushing back her 
			plate)
	I'm not hungry. You two just enjoy 
	yourselves. After all, this is a 
	celebration.

She leaves. A long silence.

They both glance slightly awkwardly at the check.

Frances takes it, folds it, and puts it in her pocket, out 
of sight.

			ERNEST
	I'm... I'm really proud of you, 
	Frances.

			FRANCES
	Thanks, Dad.

			ERNEST
	An essay contest... a national 
	contest. That's pretty impressive.

			FRANCES
	I didn't have much to do with it.

			ERNEST
	You wrote it, didn't you?

			FRANCES
	Yeah, I suppose... Dad, who's Harry 
	York?

			ERNEST
	Well, Harry York is a guy who... 
	well, he does a lot of things. Why 
	do you ask?

			FRANCES
	He talked to me today. Told me to 
	keep my mouth shut or I'd get 
	everybody in trouble.

			ERNEST
	Yeah... well... it's possible. Harry 
	York and I both work for Mr. Kaminski 
	right now, and... well... There are 
	lots of folks in this country who 
	never got a square break. That's the 
	way of things, but Mr. Kaminski wants 
	to change it, and when it comes to 
	new ideas, the people in power get 
	nervous.

			FRANCES
	Is Kaminski a Communist?

			ERNEST
	No, no, no. All he wants to do is 
	see the common man get a little 
	representation.

			FRANCES
	He's a socialist, then?

INT. STUDY - LILLIAN - NIGHT

Sitting at a rolltop desk. She's looking through a large 
scrapbook. We SEE articles about nutrition and diet, some 
featuring Lillian's picture, others with her name in the 
heading. She listens to the conversation in the other room.

			ERNEST (V.O.)
	The label's not important, Francie. 
	What's important is: this country's 
	got nine million unemployed and 
	something's gotta be done about it. 
	Besides: left-wing, right-wing, up-
	wing, down-wing... they don't mean 
	much. All a label is usually is a 
	way to call somebody a dirty name.

Lillian's face becomes set. She looks down at the book. An 
article titled "Girl Denies God" is there, freshly pasted. 
She lays a hand on the blank page opposite.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	It's already started, Dad... with 
	me.

			ERNEST (V.O.)
	I know.

INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT

			FRANCES
	And I can't understand how it can 
	hurt to be honest, but the more I 
	tried to explain -- 
		(what I meant)

Lillian appears in the doorway.

			LILLIAN
	Don't listen to him, little sister. 
	When you're proud of what you are, 
	you don't refuse the label, 
	understand?

			FRANCES
	Yes, Ma.

			LILLIAN
	And you... should be proud. You won 
	that contest and made a name for 
	yourself.

She stomps out. Frances and Ernest push back their plates.

EXT. BACK GARDEN - NIGHT

Lillian is watering tomatoes in the dark and talking to them 
quietly. As Ernest approaches, she senses him and grows 
silent. She speaks without turning around.

			LILLIAN
	You're poisoning that child's mind.

			ERNEST
	I have a right to talk to her. She's 
	my daughter, and she's beginning to 
	understand why I've sacrificed so 
	much in order to achieve...

			LILLIAN
	You've sacrificed?! If you'd practice 
	law for decent folk instead of 
	Communists and indigents --

			ERNEST
	They need help, Lil. They pay me 
	back in other ways.

			LILLIAN
	How? What do they do for you, Kaminski 
	and his friends? They're all 
	anarchists! Traitors!

			ERNEST
		(sadly)
	No, Lil. It's just you can't 
	understand their brand of patriotism.

			LILLIAN
	That's right. I can't understand a 
	man who puts strangers over his 
	family, a man who gives up a good 
	career to become a shiftless inkhorn 
	failure.

Beat.

			ERNEST
	I'm going back to the hotel.

			LILLIAN
	Good.

			ERNEST
	See you next weekend?

			LILLIAN
	As usual. Everything as usual, Mr. 
	Farmer. Just give me my due.

Ernest starts back toward the house. He sees Frances watching 
them and slows down, turns...

			ERNEST
	Lillian... I'm more than willing to 
	meet you halfway.

			LILLIAN
	Don't make me sick. I'd sooner drown 
	myself in Puget Sound.

			ERNEST
		(under his breath)
	That's a thought, Lil. That sure is 
	a thought.

He trudges back toward the house under Frances' eye.

A WOMAN'S VOICE comes from behind the fence.

			NEIGHBOR'S VOICE
	Are you all right, dear?

			LILLIAN
	I'm fine, perfectly fine.

OMITTED

EXT. FRONT PORCH - NIGHT

Ernest stands on the porch holding his little bag.

			FRANCES
	Dad, please, don't leave early. Just 
	because of Mama --

			ERNEST
	Francie, you'll learn that sometimes 
	it's best to stay low and just walk 
	away.

He trudges out and down the walk.

Frances watches him, shaking her head. That is not a lesson 
she wants to learn.

							FADE TO BLACK:

OMITTED

INT. THEATRE LOBBY - NIGHT

Opening night. Harry is reading a playbill displayed in a 
theatre lobby: "1934 Spring Production... University of 
Washington Players Present: 'Uncle Vanya' by Anton Chekhov." 
Frances is playing Sonia. Harry turns and enters the theatre.

OMITTED

INT. UNIVERSITY THEATRE STAGE - NIGHT

Frances on stage seen from a distance.

			FRANCES
	What can we do, we must live! We 
	shall live, Uncle Vanya...

Frances is acting with a nervous young man, CHET. As her 
speech progresses, the camera moves in nearer and nearer, 
ending with a close-up. It is as if we are being drawn in by 
her emotion.

			FRANCES
	And then we shall rest, we shall 
	rest. We shall hear the angels, we 
	shall see the whole sky all diamonds, 
	we shall see how all earthly evil, 
	all our sufferings, are drowned in 
	the mercy that will fill the whole 
	world. And our life will grow 
	peaceful, tender, sweet as a caress...
		(wipes away tears)
	Poor, dear Uncle Vanya, you are 
	crying...
		(through her tears)
	In your life you haven't known what 
	joy was; but wait, Uncle Vanya, 
	wait... We shall rest...
		(embraces him)
	We shall rest!

Curtains close. AUDIENCE bursts into applause.

As the curtain opens and the players take their bows, we SEE 
in the audience: Lillian and Ernest, Lillian clapping madly, 
crying, nudging Ernest to clap harder.

And in the back stands Harry York.

			HARRY
		(to himself)
	Not bad, Farmer. Not half bad.

INT. UNIVERSITY READING ROOM - NIGHT

A celebration in progress. Masks of Comedy and Tragedy hang 
on the walls. DRAMA STUDENTS lounge about: eating, drinking, 
talking noisily. Bing Crosby is on the record player, singing 
"I've Got The World on a String." The Drama Teacher is holding 
court to a group of attentive students.

			DRAMA TEACHER
	Art is a constant struggle. Some of 
	you have the will but not the ability. 
	For others, the opposite. I don't 
	wish to be harsh, but only one of 
	you on stage tonight combined the 
	two...

The front door opens. Frances and Chet enter.

			DRAMA TEACHER
	On cue.

The young men rush over to congratulate her. Frances takes a 
mock bow. She laughs as people cheer. TWO GIRLS observe from 
the back.

			GIRL #1
	I could really learn to hate her.

			GIRL #2
	Stand in line.

INT. UNIVERSITY READING ROOM - SEVERAL HOURS LATER

Things have quieted down. The Drama Teacher has cornered 
Frances and is gesticulating drunkenly, waving a copy of 
"Voice of Action." Frances is also tipsy, but pays close 
attention to her mentor.

			DRAMA TEACHER
	This is the answer: a subscription 
	drive to "Voice of Action!" First 
	prize is a trip to Moscow! You could 
	visit the art theatre, maybe even 
	meet Stanislavski!

			FRANCES
	But I'll never win that.

			DRAMA TEACHER
	Yes, yes, it's all arranged. 
	Everyone's collecting subscriptions 
	in your name. And the best part is: 
	the trip returns you to New York.

			FRANCES
		(intrigued)
	Really?

			DRAMA TEACHER
	New York, Frances! Broadway! This is 
	your chance! You belong on the stage!

			FRANCES
		(flattered/embarrassed)
	Thank you.

A door opens quietly and Harry slips in. He smiles at Frances, 
who disentangles herself from her teacher and rushes over.

			FRANCES
	Hi, Harry. Did you see the play?

			HARRY
	You think I'd miss it?

			FRANCES
	Well? What'd you think?

			HARRY
		(shrugs)
	I just wanted to see how you looked.

			FRANCES
	How'd I look?

			HARRY
		(teasing)
	Enh.

			FRANCES
		(smiling)
	Don't be a rat, Harry.

			HARRY
	You looked okay.
		(glances around)
	Joint's pretty dead. How 'bout I 
	take you home?

She hesitates, looks around and sees Chet passed out, snoring 
in a chair. She takes Harry's arm.

EXT. WEST POINT BEACH - NIGHT

The beach is very dark, but the sweep of the lighthouse picks 
up an old Chevrolet parked near the shore.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	You really think so?

INT. CHEVROLET - NIGHT

Frances and Harry are sitting in the back seat.

			HARRY
	Honest. When you were up there, you 
	were really... there, know what I 
	mean? Everyone else looked stupid.

			FRANCES
	I don't know... I did... feel 
	different... Alive.

			HARRY
	Yeah, it's a gift. You gotta do 
	something with it.

			FRANCES
	Yeah, but if I win this trip, Mama'll 
	kill me. She hates Russians. I do 
	want to go, though... to New York, 
	especially... but I wanted to do 
	it...

			HARRY
	What?

			FRANCES
	Quietly.

			HARRY
	You're not the quiet type, Frances.

They are silent for a while.

			HARRY
	You know, my old man was an inventor. 
	Spent his whole life down in the 
	basement trying to design 
	transcontinental underground 
	railroads, stuff like that. Well, I 
	was supposed to be his partner. When 
	I told him the smell of his workshop 
	made me sick, I thought he was going 
	to die right there.

			FRANCES
	What happened to him?

			HARRY
	He retired to Florida... made a 
	killing in vending machines.

He grins ironically and Frances laughs.

			HARRY
	I kick myself sometimes, but the 
	thing is, I would have been miserable 
	living his life.

			FRANCES
	...So you think I should go.

			HARRY
	Sure. Try this acting thing. You can 
	make good money at it.

			FRANCES
	I don't know, Harry. I... I want so 
	many...

			HARRY
	You don't know what you want.

			FRANCES
	Yeah.

She looks at him, smiles wistfully.

			FRANCES
	Not in the long run, anyway.

She starts to unbutton her blouse. Harry is pleasantly 
surprised, but unnerved.

			HARRY
	Frances...

			FRANCES
	What?

			HARRY
	Well... don't you think it's up to 
	me to...

			FRANCES
	Come on, Harry. This is America, 
	land of the free.
		(whispers)
	I thought we might go skinny dipping.
		(pregnant pause... 
			smile...)
	For starters.

Harry can't believe his good fortune.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - DAY

Lillian's face, distorted.

			LILLIAN
	Communists?! No daughter of mine is 
	going to Communist Russia!

Lillian is in her apron, canning peaches.

			FRANCES
	You act like I'm a bomb-thrower, 
	Mama. It's just a trip.

She leaves. Lillian follows her down the narrow -- almost 
institutional -- hallway.

			LILLIAN
	But they're using you!

			FRANCES
	Oh Ma, they're not using me. It's 
	just a chance to travel, see things. 
	Besides, it's the only way I can get 
	to New York.

They've reached Frances' room. She puts on her coat.

			LILLIAN
	I'll pay your way to New York. I'll 
	work, I'll slave. I'll sell my 
	vegetables to the truck farmers, or --

			FRANCES
		(sighs)
	Oh, Mama, don't you understand?

She stares out the window. We see Ernest mowing the lawn.

			FRANCES
	I have to do this on my own. You 
	see, I've learned your lesson very 
	well. To do what I think is right 
	and everyone else be damned.

Frances turns and heads back down the hall. Lillian follows.

			LILLIAN
	I never taught you that!

Frances keeps walking.

			LILLIAN
	Little sister, if you don't wise up 
	soon, it's going to be out of my 
	hands!

They've reached the kitchen. Ernest is there, sweating, 
drinking water.

			FRANCES
	It isn't in your hands, Mama. It's 
	my life.

			LILLIAN
	Yes, but important people are 
	concerned about this. Judge Hillier 
	spoke to Alma Styles --

			FRANCES
	I don't care.

			LILLIAN
		(grimacing)
	...You will.

She storms outside. Frances sighs, looks at her father.

			FRANCES
	What do I do, Dad?

			ERNEST
	You really want to go?

			FRANCES
	Of course.

			ERNEST
	And you think it's worth all this?

			FRANCES
	If I didn't, I wouldn't put you 
	through it.

			ERNEST
	...Then go.

EXT. SEATTLE BUS STATION - DAY

Lillian has a few reporters drawn off to one side. Alma Styles 
and a MINISTER stand nearby. A CROWD has gathered. Inside 
the station, more reporters are milling around Frances.

			LILLIAN
		(almost conspiratorial)
	The authorities tell me there's no 
	legal way I can stop her, but the 
	way I see it, it's bigger than me or 
	my family...
		(the following is 
			heard faintly as 
			b.g. to the scene 
			below)
	American integrity, that's what's at 
	stake here. They're sending my 
	daughter to the heartland of darkness. 
	. .the dark forces that would 
	overthrow our country. Your country. 
	My country.

INT. BUS STATION - FRANCES AND REPORTERS - DAY

Ernest and the Drama Teacher stand at Frances' side.

			REPORTER #1
	Has your earlier denial of God led 
	you to Communism?

			FRANCES
	I'm not a Communist.

			REPORTER #2
	But Frances, you said --

			FRANCES
	I said all countries are of cultural 
	interest. Besides, Russia has the 
	greatest theatre company in the world.

			REPORTER #2
	Better than any American company?

			REPORTER #1
	What do you think of Stalin?

			FRANCES
	Not much. Ask me about Stanislavski.

			REPORTER #2
	Who?

			LILLIAN
		(suddenly frantic, 
			loud)
	Help me save my daughter! Save the 
	children of America.

A TALL SPECTRAL MAN dressed in black adds:

			TALL SPECTRAL MAN
	Repent, Frances, Repent!

			CROWD
	Repent! Repent!

Their cries seem weird, almost deranged, and Lillian is taken 
aback.

EXT. BUS STATION - DAY

Passengers climb onto the bus. As Frances is hugged by her 
Drama Teacher, the Tall Spectral Man approaches her. In his 
arms he carries a potted plant, a Bible, and a flashlight.

			TALL SPECTRAL MAN
	Bless you, sister, bless you.
		(dignified, as though 
			conducting some 
			bizarre ceremony)
	Here is a Bible for solace... and 
	this plant to remind you of the 
	eternal seed in all of us... and 
	finally, a flashlight to illuminate 
	your path through darkest Russia.

Frances accepts the gifts, bewildered. The Tall Spectral Man 
stares at her through hollow eyes. She staggers on toward 
the bus, looking like a bedraggled Statue of Liberty. The 
Tall Spectral Man sings an ethereal hymn.

Lillian blocks Frances' path. Frances looks at her tearfully.

			FRANCES
	I love you, Mama.
		(turns to her father)
	I love you, Dad.

			ERNEST
		(hugging her)
	Be careful, Francie.

As Frances climbs on board.

			LILLIAN
	Frances, I'm warning you. I'm gonna 
	throw myself beneath the wheels. 
	I'll do it, Frances. Frances!

Inside the bus, Frances stares out the window and shakes her 
head sadly.

The bus starts. Everyone looks at Lillian. She is 
motionless... Furious. Frances sighs, and the bus moves off 
unimpeded.

There is a homicidal rage in Lillian's eyes as she stares 
after the vehicle. Then the Reporters rush toward her.

			FIRST REPORTER
	What do you say now, Mrs. Farmer?

She looks down, her lip quivering. Humiliated, crumbling...

As the reporters shout unanswered questions, Ernest puts his 
arm around his wife and leads her away.

							FADE TO BLACK:

FADE IN:

INT. FARMER STUDY - DAY

Lillian is happily thumbing through her scrapbook. Her hand 
runs down the page, and we SEE a series of headlines, with 
photos:

			 MOTHER UNABLE TO HALT GIRL'S TRIP TO RUSSIA

			(Photo Lillian & Frances)

Then:

		MOTHER WARNS AGAINST REDS IN SCHOOLS

		(Photo Lillian)

Next is a SNAPSHOT of Frances on board on ocean liner.

Then TWO SNAPSHOTS of her in what is clearly Moscow. She 
wears a Russian hat. The Kremlin stands behind her.

Then SNAPSHOTS of her in New York, with a small clipping 
from the "New York Times":

				Visits Moscow Art Theatre...

YOUNG ACTRESS RETURNS FROM RUSSIA, ASPIRES TO THE BROADWAY 
STAGE

Below this is a magazine advertisement showing Frances in a 
glossy Chesterfield ad. Her hair is swept up off her head, 
and she looks glamorous, artificial, very different from how 
we've seen her.

Lillian takes up the paste brush and liberally swabs the 
opposite -- blank -- page of her scrapbook. A handwritten 
letter from Frances lies beside her. She removes a clipping 
from the letter and spreads it out. The clipping says: "STARS 
OF TOMORROW" and shows a semi-circle of girl's faces inside 
garish stars.

Lillian circles Frances' photo and sits back to admire it.

EXT. HOLLYWOOD - DAY

We SEE the Hollywood sign in the distance... then CHANGE 
FOCUS to see the front of the studio...

INT. PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO - HOLLYWOOD - DAY

Frances' hair is tightly curled. She is dressed in a 
grotesquely ruffled white gown and seated on a small stool. 
Behind her TWO ASSISTANTS fuss with bunches of white 
carnations hanging on a grid. A seasoned PUBLICIST kneels 
nearby and a woman with a coffee cup, CLAIRE, surveys the 
scene.

			PHOTOGRAPHER (O.S.)
	One more time.

Frances stares dramatically off into space.

			PUBLICIST
	Hobbies?

The camera clicks.

			FRANCES
	Oh, I swim some... play the piano 
	badly... and I read like a fiend: I 
	like history.

			PUBLICIST
	No, no, people don't want that. Now 
	listen: you spend lots of time at 
	the beach. You're crazy about dancing. 
	And you're the kind of girl who's 
	just a little in love with love. Get 
	it? Now try again? Hobbies?

			FRANCES
	Look, I...

			PUBLICIST
		(writing in notepad)
	Beach... dancing... in love with 
	love.

			FRANCES
		(ironically)
	That's me.

The camera clicks again. MR. BEBE -- a tall, brooding, well-
dressed man -- ENTERS.

			CLAIRE
	Good morning, Mr. Bebe!

			BEBE
	Who's this?

			CLAIRE
	Frances Farmer, contract player, six-
	month option.

			BEBE
		(an assessment)
	Okay. Good tits. Can't we show them 
	off a little more?

			CLAIRE
	I guess so, sir.

			BEBE
		(nods, stares again 
			at Frances)
	Very fine bone structure.

He leaves. Claire stares after him with profound contempt.

			PUBLICIST
		(coming up to Claire)
	Not much to work with. How's this:
		(reading)
	'The most interesting thing about 
	Frances Farmer is that her road to 
	Hollywood was 12,000 miles long. 
	After winning a beauty contest, the 
	first prize of which was a trip to 
	Europe...' She made some deal with 
	the Commies and went to Moscow, but 
	I'm not going to say that, am I?

			CLAIRE
	Heavens no. Go on.

			PUBLICIST
	Um... 'Miss Farmer returned to New 
	York City and had a brief fling with 
	the Broadway stage before coming 
	west to seek stardom.'

			CLAIRE
	'Brief fling?'

			PUBLICIST
	Well, actually she couldn't get hired, 
	but lucky for her, some guy in our 
	New York office saw her. She says 
	soon as she gets a stake, she's going 
	back.

Claire rolls her eyes. She's heard this before.

The Camera clicks again. Frances is frozen in time.

INT. STUDIO ACTING CLASS - DAY

TWO STUDENTS are doing a scene from "Design For Living." 
Others sit around watching, whispering, flirting, sleeping... 
but Frances is paying very close attention, making notes. 
The MAN next to her rubs her arm and whispers something. She 
grimaces and pays no attention. Then she notices, two rows 
in front, a young handsome student, DICK, who's also making 
notes. She stares at him for a second, then back at the stage.

EXT. LAUREL CANYON COTTAGE - DAY

A tiny rustic cottage, dogs everywhere. Two identical old 
Fords are parked out front.

INT. COTTAGE - DAY

Frances sits on the couch talking on the phone.

			FRANCES
	Did you get the check?... Oh my God, 
	it opened?!, what'd you think?

Water lands on her face. She grimaces playfully.

			FRANCES
	Well, I hope I get bigger parts, 
	they don't come much smaller.

The last line is garbled as water streams in her mouth. She 
fumbles for something on the floor.

			FRANCES
	No, I'm fine. I just have water in 
	my mouth.

She finds a water pistol on the floor, picks up the phone, 
and starts searching for her assailant.

			FRANCES
	No, Mama, I'm not changing my name. 
	They can't actually make you, you 
	know? Most people don't realize that.
		(playfully, covering 
			receiver)
	Oh Dick...

She flings open the bathroom door and finds him: Dick from 
drama class. A furious water battle ensues.

			FRANCES
	No, no, nothing's going on.
		(fast)
	I love you too, Mama. Give my love 
	to Dad. Bye!

She hangs up, lowers her gun as Dick squirts her. She's 
getting wet. Her shirt clinging to her breasts. She likes 
it.

			FRANCES
	Okay, handsome. You win.

INT. HOLLYWOOD SCREENING ROOM

On the small screen we SEE Frances in the arms of a MAN IN 
FIRE CHIEF'S HAT.

			FRANCES
	Kurt!

			FIRE CHIEF
	Oh, Angela! Go with these trappers! 
	They'll lead you safely down the 
	mountain...

			FRANCES
	But, Kurt, I...

			FIRE CHIEF
	No, No arguments. Be my good girl 
	and go. There's a forest, a burning 
	forest, and you know what I have to 
	do!

			FRANCES
	Oh, Kurt!

			FIRE CHIEF
	Oh Angela, my own... Angela!

ON SCREEN the corners of Frances' mouth begin to tremble, 
but her eyes remain wide and innocent. The Fire Chief slowly 
inclines his head toward hers. The brim of his hat hits her 
forehead. Frances covers her face with her hands and bursts 
out laughing. The Fire Chief looks stunned. She tries to 
control herself.

			FRANCES
	I'm sorry...
		(looking into camera)
	I'm sorry, let's go back.

Laughter inside the screening room. A small light flicks on, 
and from behind we dimly SEE TWO MEN.

			MAN #1
		(irate)
	What the hell is that? What's she 
	doing?

			LAUGHING MAN
	That's talent, Andy.

			MAN #1
		(after a beat)
	Oh.

EXT. CATWALK - DAY

Frances smiles and eases shut the screening room door. We 
HEAR the Laughing Man inside shout: "Let's see that again!" 
Frances puts a cigarette in her mouth and fishes for a match.

A man's hand appears, holding a lighter. She looks up: It's 
Harry, wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt and a Panama hat.

			FRANCES
	Harry! Harry-god-damn-York! A real 
	person!

Frances throws her arms around him. They hug warmly.

			HARRY
	How ya doin', Farmer?

			FRANCES
	Me? Look at you! What're you doing 
	in Hollywood?

			HARRY
	Came to get a tan.

They compare forearms.

			FRANCES
	Not bad. But come on, Harry; what's 
	the real reason?

			HARRY
		(staring out)
	Kaminski.

			FRANCES
	Yeah, I read about that. Terrible 
	business, suicide.

			HARRY
	Since when do you believe the papers? 
	They killed him, kid.

			FRANCES
	What?

			HARRY
	They killed him. They threw him out 
	that window.

			FRANCES
	Oh no...

			HARRY
	Eight stories.

She stares down two stories to the ground, imagining:

			FRANCES
	Jesus.

			HARRY
		(also staring down)
	Yup. Poor bastard lay there on the 
	sidewalk and he couldn't die. Too 
	god damn much heart. He just didn't 
	want to die.

			FRANCES
		(walking on)
	But... but why, Harry...? Why'd they 
	do it?

			HARRY
		(shrugs)
	He wouldn't play ball. What can I 
	tell ya... it's done.
		(brightening)
	Anyway, I didn't want to be next, so 
	I skipped town; came down here to 
	work for some big-wig. Tail and nail 
	job.
		(confidentially)
	I'm sort of a non-gentleman's non-
	gentleman.
		(turns around, 
			displaying his shirt)
	How d'ya like the camouflage?

			FRANCES
	You jackass!
		(pushing him down the 
			stairs)
	C'mon, let's get out of here.

EXT. STUDIO LOT - DAY

Harry and Frances walking arm in arm.

			FRANCES
	Not bad. It was slow at first, but 
	I'm doing bits now.

			HARRY
	I always told ya, Frances. You got 
	real ability.

			FRANCES
		(smiling)
	I know what ability you're interested 
	in.

			HARRY
	Hey, I'm a man, aren't I? Whattaya 
	say we have dinner, then maybe head 
	out to the beach, rub some of this 
	tan off each other.
		(off her sober 
			expression)
	For old time's sake.

			FRANCES
		(serious)
	Harry... I met someone.

			HARRY
		(stiffens slightly)
	Yeah? What is he -- muscleman? 
	Lifeguard?

Frances shakes her head.

			HARRY
	Actor?

She nods.

			HARRY
	Good. Then it's temporary.
		(whispers)
	All actors are phonies.

He's joking, but she doesn't respond.

			HARRY
	Serious, huh?

			FRANCES
	Yeah.

			HARRY
	Hey that's great, Farmer, just great.

She smiles wistfully, seeing him cover up his disappointment. 
She squeezes his arm and they continue walking.

INT. SOUND STAGE - SET (RHYTHM ON THE RANGE) - DAY

Lights being adjusted, cameras set, actors walking through 
their blocking. In the midst of this we SEE Frances, dressed 
in western attire, making a point to the WARDROBE MISTRESS, 
who is listening without enthusiasm.

			FRANCES
		(spreading her arms)
	These creases... I look like I just 
	came from the laundry! I'm supposed 
	to be hiding out in boxcars, sleeping 
	on floors.

			WARDROBE MISTRESS
		(cool)
	This is the suit we fitted on you, 
	Miss Farmer.

			FRANCES
		(friendly)
	Oh, I know that. But it could look 
	more realistic, don't you think?

			WARDROBE MISTRESS
		(looking her over)
	It'll do. No one will notice.

			FRANCES
	I'll notice.

We HEAR a man conspicuously clearing his throat. Both women 
turn as Mr. Bebe steps forward.

			WARDROBE MISTRESS
	Oh, Mr. Bebe, good morning.

He nods imperceptibly.

			BEBE
	Come along with me, Fanny.

She hesitates, then goes.

			FRANCES
	That's Frances. I'm not the cookbook.

			BEBE
		(leading her off)
	You see: We've got to change that 
	name.

EXT. STUDIO LOT - DAY

Frances and Bebe come through the sound stage door into the 
light. He gestures to indicate what direction they're going, 
but remains silent, watching her. She's uncomfortable, 
blinking like a bird.

			BEBE
	I like your looks. You have the 
	classical bone structure of the very 
	great beauties... Garbo, Dietrich --

			FRANCES
	Thank you --

			BEBE
	I intend to make a great deal of 
	money off you.

Frances is taken aback. This is all rather blunt.

			BEBE
	Since we have you on a seven year 
	contract, I'm planning long-range. 
	I'm going to loan you out to Sam 
	Goldwyn to make a picture called 
	"Come and Get It."

			FRANCES
	Really? That's a very good book. 
	It'd make a terrific --

			BEBE
	Never mind that. I'm concerned about 
	you. Your attitude.

They hear a ruckus in the distance and turn and look: 
PICKETERS are fighting with POLICE. It is raucous, brutal. 
Bebe turns back to her with a stern look:

			BEBE
	Society is falling apart, Miss Farmer, 
	and people have to buckle down, do 
	their jobs. You see, I view myself 
	as the Henry Ford of motion picture 
	industry, and I can't have the fellow 
	who puts on the wheels arguing with 
	the man who installs head-lights, 
	now can I?

			FRANCES
	But I'm concerned with everything, 
	Mr. Bebe.

			BEBE
		(fierce but very muted)
	No, I'm concerned with everything.

			FRANCES
	But I'm the one up there on the 
	screen.

			BEBE
	That's right. You're an actress, 
	Miss Farmer and your job is to act.

She's about to reply, but he quickly takes her hand and raises 
it to his lips. Kisses it very formally, like a suitor. Then 
turns and walks into the sumptuous executive office building.

She watches him go.

								FADE OUT: 

OMITTED

FADE IN:

EXT. THEATRE MARQUEE - NIGHT

Brightly colored bulbs flashing, causing the wisps of fog 
around them to glow. The bulbs spell:

	 "COME AND GET IT" WITH SEATTLE'S OWN FRANCES FARMER

A noisy CROWD is gathered outside the theatre, straining 
against velvet cordons. Big black limos disgorge couples in 
formal evening wear, to the applause of the crowd. All 
slightly small-town, off-key.

Harry, now sporting a mustache, hat pulled down over his 
face, stands across the street.

			HARRY
		(puffing his cigarette)
	Not bad, Farmer.

EXT. STREETS - NIGHT

Two limousines streaking through the night.

INT. SECOND LIMOUSINE - NIGHT

Frances sits next to a faceless STUDIO EXECUTIVE. She's all 
dolled up. She looks uncomfortable. Silence. She glances up 
at the limo ahead of them.

INT. FIRST LIMOUSINE - NIGHT

Dick sits between Lillian and Ernest A REPORTER and 
PHOTOGRAPHER crouch in front of them.

			LILLIAN
	I guess it's no secret that I'm proud. 
	Only twenty-one years old, and look 
	at all she's done.
		(confidentially)
	As for her looks, I flatter myself 
	that she gets them from me.

			DICK
	Obviously.

He winks at the reporters.

			LILLIAN
	And not only has Frances come home a 
	star; she's also brought me this big 
	handsome lug of a son-in-law!

			REPORTER
	Mr. Farmer, what was your reaction 
	when Frances told you she had 
	married...

			DICK
	Dwayne. Dwayne Steele.

			ERNEST
	What...? Oh. Well, I was pleased, of 
	course. Richard... uh, Dwayne, is a 
	real gentleman.

Dick smiles and hugs them both.

			DICK
	Well, all I can say is: I feel like 
	I've known these two for years!

			LILLIAN
		(girlishly)
	Oh, Dwayne!
		(overcome)
	This is like a fairy tale!

They're stopped at a light. Outside their window we SEE 
DERELICTS, casualties of the depression, huddled in the night.

INT. FRANCES' LIMO - NIGHT

She's staring at the derelicts. We feel her sympathy for 
them. Almost like she'd rather be out there. A MAN WITH HOLLOW 
EYES shouts something at them.

			FRANCES
	What'd he say?

She rolls down her window. The Studio Executive beside her 
looks at her like she's crazy.

			STUDIO EXECUTIVE
		(to Driver)
	Let's go. We'll be late.

The limousine lurches forward. Frances settles back in her 
seat, letting the night air sweep over her face.

EXT. THEATRE - NIGHT

The two limos pull up, the second emptying first. As Frances 
gets out, the CROWD cheers wildly. She walks past them, eyes 
glazed. She doesn't see Harry, who is held back by cordons. 
Lillian is posing and signing autographs. In her tight, formal 
dress, Frances looks radiant but constricted. As she walks, 
voices assault her:

			LILLIAN
	There she is!

			REPORTER #1 (O.S.)
	How does it feel to be back in 
	Seattle, Frances?

			FRANCES
	A little strange.

			WOMEN'S VOICES
	Isn't she gorgeous?

			STUDIO EXECUTIVE (O.S.)
	This way.

			REPORTER #2 (O.S.)
	How's the movie, Frances?

			FRANCES
	It's okay.

			LILLIAN (O.S.)
	Smile, little sister, smile.

Frances sees her mother smiling nervously. They have entered 
the:

INT. LOBBY - NIGHT

Again there is a cordoned area in the center where Seattle 
luminaries are sipping champagne. Reporter #1 lurches forward:

			REPORTER #1
	Can you make some statement about 
	Seattle, how the city helped you, or 
	the schools --

			FRANCES
	Well, the truth is the city had 
	nothing to do with it. I was lucky. 
	And what wasn't luck was hard work.

			REPORTER #1
		(disappointed)
	Oh.

Judge Hillier's Wife, whom we recognize as the Woman who 
shouted at Frances in the auditorium, steps forward in a 
garish gown. She's holding a large key.

			JUDGE HILLIER'S WIFE
	Miss Farmer, I can't tell you how 
	proud I am to meet you.

She embraces and kisses Frances, who's more than a little 
put off. After the kiss, she takes firm hold of Frances' 
hand and won't let go. Judge Hillier steps to his wife's 
side. Lillian also approaches.

			JUDGE HILLIER'S WIFE
	On behalf of the Seattle Ladies Club, 
	as a token of our vast admiration --

			FRANCES
	Excuse me.

			JUDGE HILLIER'S WIFE
		(startled)
	Yes...?

			FRANCES
	Don't I know you?

			JUDGE HILLIER'S WIFE
	I don't believe so.

			FRANCES
	Sure. You shouted at me in the 
	auditorium when I read my essay.

			JUDGE HILLIER'S WIFE
	No, my dear. You must be mistaken.

			FRANCES
		(barely audible)
	Oh bullshit.

			JUDGE HILLIER
	I beg your pardon?

			FRANCES
		(to the dignitaries)
	Listen, I'm still the same girl that 
	wrote that essay, the same girl who 
	went to Russia, and you people aren't 
	proud to meet me at all.

A hideous silence. Judge Hillier is fuming. His wife is 
aghast, the key to the city extended awkwardly in front of 
her. She shoves it into Frances' arms.

Frances moves to leave, but her arm is taken by the Studio 
Executive, who escorts her into the theatre. The crowd 
follows. Lillian is utterly mortified.

EXT. THEATRE - NIGHT

We TRACK along the side of the theatre. An exit door is thrown 
open, and Frances storms out. As she does, she trips over an 
OLD INDIAN BEGGAR. She stops and looks at him. He peers up 
at her with large forlorn eyes... then holds out his hand. A 
connection is made. All the anger drains out of her. She 
gives him money, several bills. He breaks into a wonderful 
crooked grin. She starts away, hesitates, then hands him the 
key to the city. He stares at it, bewildered.

She strides away toward her limousine, which is now parked 
with several others at the end of the alley. The CHAUFFEURS 
are talking and smoking a cigarette. Her chauffeur sees her 
and hurries to his limo. As it pulls into the street, we see 
Harry drift back to the curb and stare after it.

OMITTED

EXT. WEST POINT BEACH - NIGHT

Frances sits on the old wood jetty staring out at the water, 
the lighthouse... Harry approaches.

			HARRY
	...It's one thing to marry the guy, 
	but did you have to sleep with him?

She cracks up. Harry laughs at his mistake.

			HARRY
	Shit. I meant the other way around.

			FRANCES
		(still laughing)
	Well, the studio told me not to.

			HARRY
	Is that why you did it?

			FRANCES
	Who ever thought they'd be right for 
	once? Jesus, Harry... it's a zoo 
	back there --

			HARRY
	You're telling me.

			FRANCES
	Dick... and my mother! She acts like 
	she's on Mars or something --

			HARRY
	Well, she's back to earth now. They're 
	all pretty huffed up about your 
	leaving. I think you better go back, 
	kid.

			FRANCES
	Forget it.

He looks at her thoughtfully, then sits.

			FRANCES
	You know, the funny thing is: it's 
	not a great movie. I mean it could've 
	been, but they screwed it up, gave 
	it a happy ending. And all my friends, 
	I know they're going to smile and 
	say they loved it.

			HARRY
	If they say they love it, they'll 
	probably love it. Not everybody lies, 
	you know?

			FRANCES
		(warmly, to him)
	No, they don't, do they?

Beat.

			HARRY
	Frances, you're a movie star now. If 
	you give them what they want, you 
	can get anything.

			FRANCES
	I don't have what they want, Harry.
		(stares at the water)
	Harry, will you tell me something? 
	How can I keep making movies when 
	people in the streets are starving?

			HARRY
	Some people starve, kid. Until we 
	can do something about it, they might 
	as well see a movie. Makes 'em feel 
	better.

			FRANCES
	But I don't want to be like that. I 
	want to do something...
		(important)

			HARRY
	What're you gonna do, waste your 
	talent? Why not use it to make 
	something worthwhile. You can do 
	that, you know?

			FRANCES
		(laughs)
	Yeah, if I don't make too big an ass 
	of myself.

They start to walk now along the beach. We see Harry's car 
and the chauffeured limousine parked above.

			HARRY
	Tell you what. Let's ditch the limo. 
	Let me drive you up to that red carpet 
	in my beat up Chevy.

			FRANCES
	The hell you will, Harry York.

			HARRY
	Come on, Cinderella, your pumpkin 
	awaits.

She shakes her head mischievously... moves backward 
unbuttoning her coat.

			FRANCES
		(like a clock striking)
	Bong... bong... bong...

The coat falls.

			HARRY
	Don't start, Farmer.

			FRANCES
		(dropping her scarf)
	It's midnight, Harry. My glittering 
	raiments are dissolving.

			HARRY
		(nervously)
	The chauffeur. He's watching.

			FRANCES
	He deserves a show. He missed the 
	movie.

			HARRY
	I'm serious, Frances. This is 
	important.

			FRANCES
		(kicking off a shoe)
	I know.

She kicks off another shoe, sailing it into the water.

Frances is zipping off her dress.

Harry bends to pick up the first shoe.

			FRANCES
	A single glass slipper left glittering 
	on the pearly sands. Who was that 
	girl, anyway?

Harry watches her, mesmerized. The dress is off.

			FRANCES
	'Come and get it,' Harry.

She skips off down the beach, her dress strewn on the sands.

After a moment, from the darkness, we SEE her underclothes 
fly into view. Harry can restrain himself no longer.

			HARRY
		(excited)
	Hot damn!

He drops the shoe and runs after her, tearing off his clothes. 
After a moment, from the darkness, we hear her squeals of 
laughter.

EXT. STUDIO - HOLLYWOOD - DAY

The street outside the Studio Main Gate. Actors, directors, 
etc. arrive in their shiny expensive autos. Among them is 
Frances in her old battered Ford. She waves to the Guard and 
drives through.

EXT. STUDIO LOT - DAY

As Frances pulls into her parking space, Claire, the woman 
from the photo session, strolls up.

			CLAIRE
	Hi Frances, got a minute?

			FRANCES
	Sure, Claire. If you don't mind 
	walking my way.

They walk toward the dressing room.

			CLAIRE
		(nervous)
	Well, I suppose I should just say 
	it. It's your clothes.

			FRANCES
		(bewildered)
	My clothes?

			CLAIRE
	Yeah, I mean slacks... and work 
	clothes... and that awful car --

			FRANCES
	It's a perfectly good car. It runs.

			CLAIRE
	Yes, but... Really, I hate to sound... 
	it's just that the public expects 
	something different from its stars. 
	People won't take you seriously.

			FRANCES
	I don't care if my clothes are taken 
	seriously. Or my car.

			CLAIRE
	You know what I mean.

			FRANCES
	Uh-huh. You mean what if the public 
	finds out I perspire? And wear slacks. 
	And drive an old jalopy? What if 
	they find out I'm a real person. Oh 
	no! Say it ain't so! Not a real 
	person!

Claire is laughing. They go inside.

INT. FRANCES' DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Posh, fit for a star. Frances smiles at the MAKEUP MAN.

			FRANCES
	Morning, Eddie.

As Frances sits at the table and Eddie goes to work:

			CLAIRE
	That's not all, Frances. Mr. Bebe is 
	very concerned about your politics. 
	He hears you've been donating money, 
	speaking at rallies.

			FRANCES
	Yup. Claire... please, please tell 
	Mr. Bebe that if he worried half as 
	much about his scripts as he does 
	about my private life, we'd make a 
	lot better movies.

			CLAIRE
	I'm sorry, Frances. It's my job, you 
	know?

			FRANCES
	I know.
		(imitating Bebe)
	'This is a factory and we each have 
	our jobs. The writer writes, the 
	director directs, and the actress...'

			CLAIRE
		(laughing)
	...acts. I'll relay your message.

INT. FRANCES AND DICK'S COTTAGE - NIGHT

Dick is talking on the phone in the living room.

			DICK
	Yes, of course she'll make a statement 
	on women's rights. Call back tomorrow, 
	okay?

He hangs up. Immediately the phone rings again. He stares at 
it wearily, then answers:

			DICK
		(pointedly)
	Dwayne Steele's residence.

Through the half-open door to the bedroom we see Frances 
dozing, an open script laid out beside her.

			DICK
	Yes.
		(confused)
	What...?
		(hurt)
	Yes. Yes, I'll tell her.

He hangs up. Stares off. Slowly enters the bedroom.

Frances looks up.

			DICK
	You learn your lines?

			FRANCES
		(nods drowsily)
	Sort of.

			DICK
	There've been some calls.

			FRANCES
	Who?

			DICK
	Well... about half an hour ago that 
	woman from the talent department 
	called, what's her name?

			FRANCES
	Claire?

			DICK
	Yeah, Claire. She said she was fired. 
	Too bad, huh?

			FRANCES
		(apprehensively)
	Fired?

			DICK
	Yeah. She said she delivered your 
	message and that you'd understand.

Frances looks stricken.

Dick presses on.

			DICK
	There was another call too. From 
	your agent. He says your summer stock 
	deal is all set. So you're going 
	back east, huh?

			FRANCES
	...Yes.

			DICK
	Without me.

			FRANCES
		(sighing)
	Showdown.

			DICK
	You weren't going to tell me, were 
	you? Just pack up and leave, is that 
	it?

			FRANCES
	Dick, we need some time apart --

			DICK
	Hey, I'm not a complete fool, you 
	know. I can see you're going sour on 
	me, and when I try to do something 
	about it, you turn your back and say 
	it's nothing.

			FRANCES
	Dick, I can't even breathe here...

			DICK
	Dwayne! I'm Dwayne now! And you damn 
	well better get used to it!

			FRANCES
		(softly, remembering)
	Dick...

			DICK
	I don't suppose it occurred to you 
	that I might want to leave too, that 
	I might want to do theatre? No, 'cause 
	you don't want me along, do you? And 
	the reason has nothing to do with 
	summer stock.

			FRANCES
	No?

			DICK
	No. It's all about that night, isn't 
	it?

			FRANCES
		(bewildered)
	What night?

			DICK
	The premiere. I never pressed you 
	about it but god damn it, you're 
	gonna tell me right here and right 
	now what happened and where the hell 
	you were!

			FRANCES
		(quietly)
	You want his name?

Dick is crumbling inside.

			DICK
	What...?

We watch it sink in. Confusion... self-pity... building 
gradually to resentment and rage. He starts to throw a 
tantrum. Hurling things around the room.

Frances just sits there.

			FRANCES
	My God... I think you're overplaying 
	this a bit...?

He hurls a pillow against the wall and rushes out.

Frances looks after him, then turns. She's now facing the 
bureau.

			FRANCES
	Goodbye, Dick.

A mirror sits on top of the bureau. She looks into it. Doesn't 
like her expression. Turns the mirror away.

								FADE OUT: 

OMITTED

FADE IN:

INT. THEATRE LOBBY - NIGHT

A playbill in a theatre lobby reads: "Mt. Kisco Playhouse, 
1937 Summer Season: 'THE PETRIFIED FOREST'." Among the names 
listed is: "Frances Farmer, the 'Come And Get It' Girl. 
Suddenly we HEAR an eruption of applause.

INT. THEATRE - AUDIENCE - NIGHT

TIGHT SHOT on two men: HAROLD CLURMAN -- a thoughtful 
aristocratic man -- and CLIFFORD ODETS, who is taller, 
slimmer, with black hair and intense dark eyes. Around them 
we see (mostly HEAR) the AUDIENCE going crazy, leaping to 
its feet, yelling "Bravo! Bravo!" Clurman and Odets sit 
impassively. As the hurrahs die down and the audience files 
out, the two men sit there. Finally Clurman turns to Odets. 
Odets nods very slightly.

INT. DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Frances sits in the cramped room, listening intently to 
Clurman. Occasionally she sneaks a glance at Odets, who is 
pacing like some caged beast.

			CLURMAN
	The Group is more than a theatre 
	company. It's the embodiment of an 
	ideal. Our approach allows the actor 
	to be an artist in the fullest sense, 
	a creative individual and an 
	instrument of change. You see --

			FRANCES
		(watching Odets)
	Really, Mr. Clurman, you don't have 
	to sell me.

			CLURMAN
	Forgive my indulgence. Seems we always 
	lecture those who are on time for 
	those who are tardy. The point is, 
	Mr. Odets here has written a wonderful 
	play. Most of the roles are cast, 
	but we haven't found our female 
	lead...

			FRANCES
	Who is she?

			ODETS
	She's a tramp from Newark.

			CLURMAN
	Forgive me, but I think you'd be 
	perfect for the part.

Odets is pacing furiously, seizing their attention. He stops, 
looks at her, then resumes.

			ODETS
	Miss Farmer, for me this is not a 
	play: it's an assault... a 
	seduction... a plea for understanding. 
	I think we live in a time when new 
	art works should shoot bullets... 
	and you make very attractive 
	ammunition.

He stops. Tentatively, almost boyishly, he smiles.

She returns it. She's charmed.

			FRANCES
	And what's the title of this seduc... 
	assault?

			ODETS
		(mysterious, intimate)
	'Golden Boy.'

EXT. BELASCO THEATRE MARQUEE - NIGHT

It reads "Golden Boy". Crowds of people streaming out of the 
lobby. A sign over the box office reads: "Tomorrow's 
performances sold out."

Odets sits on the curb. Behind him the lights in the theatre 
lobby flicker off. PEDESTRIANS stroll by: an odd mix of 
affluent theatre crowd and 1930s bums.

Frances emerges from the theatre, sees him sitting there. 
Sits beside him.

			FRANCES
	Hi.

He nods.

			FRANCES
	You wanted to talk?

Another nod. He's silent. He peers up the street. A GIRL, 
16, selling pencils catches his eye.

			ODETS
	You see that girl?

She looks like a waif: tough, vulnerable, pleading with a 
WEALTHY COUPLE, following them down the street. A drama being 
played out in the distance, out of earshot.

			ODETS
	That's who my play is about.

Frances watches the girl.

			FRANCES
	That's me, Clifford.

			ODETS
		(strong)
	I know, but I'm not seeing it. It's 
	there, Frances, the fire is there, 
	but it's not coming through. You're 
	lazy --

INT. WORKING CLASS BAR - LATER

The same conversation continuing:

			FRANCES
	I'm not!

			ODETS
	Yes, you win them, you bring them 
	into your heart, touch them, but you 
	don't set them on fire!

			FRANCES
	But I want to. I'm trying!

			ODETS
	I need an incendiary! An arsonist!

			FRANCES
	Then show me! That's what I'm here 
	for, to learn, to grow!

			ODETS
	Good. Then it's very simple. You 
	have to stop being afraid, Frances. 
	It's in you.

EXT. PLATFORM - SPANISH EMBASSY - DAY

Clurman is delivering a speech in the background as 
PHOTOGRAPHERS snap pictures. Behind them on the platform 
Frances and Odets continue their conversation in whispers:

			ODETS
	I can see it. You just have to let 
	it out. Trust it. No one will quash 
	you here, but it's still a fight, a 
	struggle! Being true to your art, 
	being honest, is always a struggle!

We now HEAR Clurman's speech. The initial words below were 
background to the above. What we HEAR now is underlined:

			CLURMAN
	...Not only an artist, but an 
	instrument of change. We must look 
	to the world around us, not content 
	to observe, but to take an active 
	hand in redressing its wrongs. We 
	will not stand idly by as Fascist 
	bombs obliterate democracy. We 
	contribute our profits, for if fascism 
	is not stopped in Spain, it will 
	spread across Europe, jeopardizing 
	the struggle of civilized man to 
	survive.
		(presenting check to 
			SPANISH CONSUL)
	The artist, to be vital, must be a 
	soldier too.

			FRANCES
	I'm not afraid of struggle, Clifford.

			CLIFFORD
	Yes you are. We all are. The first 
	step is to acknowledge our fear.

EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREETS - NIGHT

They're walking. The conversation continues.

			CLIFFORD
	Face it! Confess it! You're weak!

			FRANCES
	I'm not!

			CLIFFORD
	You're afraid!

			FRANCES
	I'm not!

			CLIFFORD
	You don't want to show your whole 
	soul -- ugly, mis-shapen, and pitiful -- 
	you don't want to show it --

			FRANCES
		(angry)
	God damn it, Clifford, will you shut 
	up! I tell you, I want to give these 
	things! I want to give them to the 
	audience, and I can give them, I 
	will give them, so shut up!

She is seething. Gorgeous. Alive.

He smiles, watching her.

			CLIFFORD
	Good, good. Give them that.

			FRANCES
	What?

As she feels the anger coursing through her body she realizes 
what he's talking about. She looks at him, still breathing 
heavily. Gradually her face turns toward a smile.

He reaches out and, with exquisite tenderness, kisses her.

INT. ODETS' APARTMENT - NIGHT

Later. They enter slightly drunk, laughing. He takes her 
coat.

			CLIFFORD
	Madam...?

			FRANCES
	Thank you.

She's looking at the apartment. He sees her. A dark thought 
flickers across his face, and he breaks into an exaggerated 
act:

			CLIFFORD
	Oh my God! Frances, I'm such a cad. 
	I can't go through with this. My 
	wife is in Europe, but this is her 
	house...
		(gesturing off)
	her bedroom. I can't ask you to...

			FRANCES
		(playing along)
	Oh well. I guess I better leave then.

She starts to put on her coat. He watches her.

			CLIFFORD
	Okay, but come here first.

			FRANCES
	Huh.

			CLIFFORD
		(Leading her down 
			hall)
	Come here. I want to show you 
	something.

He opens the bedroom door.

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

The bed is drawn back, and the sheets are sprinkled with 
rose petals.

Frances' eyes are large.

The kiss is very hungry now.

INT. BEBE'S PANELLED OFFICE - HOLLYWOOD - DAY

Bebe's huge desk. Variety Headline: "ACTRESS FIGHTS FASCISM!" 
Next to the newspaper are a dozen pencils which Bebe is lining 
up precisely parallel. His expression is totally obsessive, 
crazed.

Behind him a woman (TORA) is cutting his hair. A STUDIO LAWYER 
paces nearby.

			LAWYER
	And on top of her political 
	activities, now she's got a lawyer. 
	She wants out of her contract, Mr. 
	Bebe. She says she's through with 
	motion pictures.

			BEBE
		(muttering)
	I'm sure it wasn't me, it wasn't 
	me...

			LAWYER
	Excuse me, sir?

			BEBE
	I don't know who she fucked to get 
	where she is, but I don't think it 
	was me.

Tora is massaging the back of Bebe's neck. He's oblivious.

			LAWYER
		(startled)
	Well... you could always dump her, 
	Mr. Bebe. Teach her a lesson. There 
	are a million beautiful girls out 
	there who don't give a damn about 
	politics.

			BEBE
	That's not the point. Frances Farmer 
	has the world by the tit because of 
	this studio, and now she thinks she 
	can waltz off without a thank you. 
	No. No, that young lady has a 
	contract, and she's going to honor 
	it.

			LAWYER
	Oh. I mean, good.

			BEBE
	I think it's time to take the gloves 
	off.
		(scowls, speaks into 
			intercom)
	Get me some reporters.
		(afterthought)
	Particularly Louella Parsons!

During this conversation, Bebe has been drawing on the 
Variety. We now see his work. Beneath the headline was a 
photo of Frances, on whom Bebe has drawn a mustache.

									CUT TO:

OMITTED

EXT. BELASCO THEATRE - NIGHT

The marquee for "Golden Boy" reads "Held Over". USHERS are 
opening the glass doors from the empty lobby onto the street. 
We HEAR thunderous applause from the inside.

EXT. BACKSTAGE DOOR - ALLEY - NIGHT

Frances emerges from the stage door to a throng of AUTOGRAPH 
SEEKERS. She smiles tiredly, but good-naturedly complies. A 
little ways back stands a boyish YOUNG MAN holding a single 
red carnation. When the Autograph-seekers are satisfied and 
all but a few have trailed away, the Young Man steps forward.

			YOUNG MAN
	Miss Farmer... I've never done this 
	before... but... I had to tell ya' 
	you're great!

He shyly hands her the flower.

			FRANCES
	Thank you very much. I'm glad you 
	liked the play.

She smiles and begins to walk away. The Young Man follows 
her.

			YOUNG MAN
	I'm really sad it's closing. Now 
	what am I gonna do on Tuesday nights?

			FRANCES
	You can always come see it in London.

			YOUNG MAN
	Only if you were in it. Are you?

			FRANCES
	I wouldn't miss it.

			YOUNG MAN
	Boy, I'd love to... but I'm going to 
	Hollywood.

			FRANCES
		(smiling)
	Are you an actor?

			YOUNG MAN
	Hell yes!... well, okay, I'm still 
	in school. But as soon as I 
	graduate... California, here I come!

			FRANCES
		(after a pause)
	Are you really serious? About acting?

			YOUNG MAN
	Why... yes.

			FRANCES
	Then don't go to Hollywood.

			YOUNG MAN
	Why?

			FRANCES
	I'm telling you straight, if you 
	have any serious ambitions, stay 
	clear of the place. It'll crush you.

			YOUNG MAN
	You sound as if you hate it.

			FRANCES
	No, I don't hate it.

Again she walks on. He follows.

			YOUNG MAN
	Aren't you ever going back?

			FRANCES
	...Not if I can help it.

			YOUNG MAN
	Gosh! You'll break a lot of hearts.

			FRANCES
	They'll mend.

			YOUNG MAN
		(after a pause)
	What about your husband?

Frances stops walking, her eyes shoot to the Young Man's 
face.

			FRANCES
	What?

			YOUNG MAN
	Will you be getting back together? 
	When you quit Hollywood, I mean.

			FRANCES
	What is this?

The Young Man suddenly seems much older, and there is no 
sign of the awkward boyishness.

			YOUNG MAN
	Is it true you're getting a divorce? 
	Comrade?

			FRANCES
	Why, you... you little bastard!

The Young Man grins.

			YOUNG MAN
	Thanks for our chat, Miss Farmer. Be 
	seeing you.

He begins to walk away.

			FRANCES
	Just one minute...

			YOUNG MAN
		(turning)
	You're wasting your time, lady. 
	Nothing's off the record with me.

He is gone.

OMITTED

INT. WORKING CLASS BAR - NIGHT

Odets sits at a table in back, drinking and writing in a 
notebook. Frances comes up to him.

He smiles, draws her to him for a hug.

			ODETS
	How'd it go?

She hesitates, still affected by the incident outside the 
theatre.

			FRANCES
	'But how do I know you love me?'

			ODETS
	Your big speech?

			FRANCES
	'How do I know it's true? You'll get 
	to be the champ. They'll all want 
	you, all the girls! But I don't care. 
	I've been undersea a long time. When 
	they'd put their hands on me I used 
	to say, "This isn't it! This isn't 
	what I mean!" It's been a mysterious 
	world for me! But Joe, I think you're 
	it! I don't know why, I think you're 
	it. Take me home with you.'

			ODETS
		(smiling)
	I already have.

She nods, turns her back to him.

			FRANCES
	How's it sound?

			ODETS
	The speech? Real good.

			FRANCES
	You think I got it?

			ODETS
	You got it.

			FRANCES
	Yeah. Yeah, tonight I think I got 
	it.

She is crying.

OMITTED

INT. ODETS' APARTMENT - DAY

Frances comes in the front door with a bag of groceries, 
removes her key. Walks into the living room, stops short. 
Clurman is sitting on the couch, a bottle and two glasses in 
front of him.

			FRANCES
	Hello, Harold.

			CLURMAN
		(nodding)
	Frances.

			FRANCES
		(looking around)
	Where's Clifford?

			CLURMAN
	He's not here.

			FRANCES
	Oh.

She sits.

			CLURMAN
	Bourbon?

He pours. She drinks hers, watching him.

			FRANCES
	What's up?

			CLURMAN
	I hear you're meeting with the studio 
	lawyers to get out of your contract.

			FRANCES
	That's right. I don't want them 
	breathing down my neck while we're 
	in London.

			CLURMAN
	Well... well, you see, that's the 
	point. You won't be opening in London.

Frances looks like she's been punched in the stomach.

			FRANCES
		(insecure)
	You don't think I'm good enough?

			CLURMAN
	What?! Good Lord no, it's just... 
	It's money. We needed backing and... 
	well, we found it.

			FRANCES
	Who?

			CLURMAN
	An actress.

			FRANCES
	A rich actress.

			CLURMAN
	Yes. That's the deal. She plays Lorna.

			FRANCES
		(growing angry)
	But... but wait a minute. We're 
	supposed to be different, right? 
	Clifford says... This theatre is 
	supposed to be different! And this 
	play... this play is all about what 
	greed and money do to people!

			CLURMAN
	I know, but --

			FRANCES
		(over his line)
	What does Clifford say?

			CLURMAN
	Right now we have to be practical.

			FRANCES
	Does Clifford even know?
		(off his silence)
	You didn't tell him, did you?
		(standing)
	I'm gonna tell him. Where is he?

			CLURMAN
	He knows, Frances.

She collapses back into her seat. Her head is swirling.

			CLURMAN
		(gently)
	He approved it.

She's glaring at him. He hands her a letter.

			CLURMAN
	I'm very sorry, but... well, Hollywood 
	wants you back, right?

Her eyes fill with rage. She hurls her drink in his face.

			FRANCES
	Prick!

He stands and, with as much dignity as he can muster, leaves. 
Frances is shaking. She rips open the letter he gave her. 
Stares at it in horror...

OMITTED

INT. BOOKIE JOINT - DAY

Plain room. A few tables with phones, men on the phones 
writing down numbers. Behind them are blackboards with horses' 
names and prices. Off to one side Harry is conferring with 
the OWNER.

			HARRY
	Of course it can be done, "Mr. Jones," 
	but it's how you do it. There's a 
	way to pay off L.A. cops and a way 
	to get yourself arrested. First you 
	gotta know who to approach --

A Man at one of the phones looks up, calls.

			MAN AT PHONE
	You Harry York?

Harry nods, startled. The Man at the table holds up the phone 
and goes to his next call.

Harry takes the phone.

OMITTED

INT. ODETS' APARTMENT - NEW YORK - NIGHT

Frances on the phone. A half-packed bag lies on the bed. A 
bottle and glass sit beside her. She's been crying and 
drinking.

			FRANCES
	Harry? Harry, where are you?!

			HARRY (V.O.)
	Jesus, Frances, how'd you find me?

			FRANCES
	I called your god-damned office! I 
	want you to kill him, Harry. You'll 
	do that for me, won't you? I loved 
	him, I loved him... that bastard.

OMITTED

INT. BOOKIE'S OFFICE - NIGHT

			HARRY
	Calm down, Frances.

			FRANCES (V.O.)
	Don't tell me what to do, just give 
	me his head on a platter!

OMITTED

INT. ODETS' APARTMENT - NEW YORK - NIGHT

Frances unfolds the crumpled letter Clurman gave her.

			FRANCES
	Two lines! Two fucking lines! 'My 
	wife returns from Europe tomorrow. I 
	can't see you any more.' Just like 
	that!

			HARRY (V.O.)
	Frances...

			FRANCES
		(sobbing)
	Harry, I hate being in love. I don't 
	ever want to be in love again. I 
	just hate it!

OMITTED

INT. BOOKIE JOINT - DAY

With the patter of the bookie taking bets beside him, Harry 
listens to Frances' sobs.

			HARRY
	I know, Frances... I know.

He HEARS a CLICK on the other end. He hangs up and heaves a 
long slow sigh.

								FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. SOUND STAGE - FLOWING GOLD SET - DAY

Frances, in a pair of overalls, falls face down into mud.

INT. SOUND STAGE - FLOWING GOLD SET - LATER

We SEE the slate: 'Flowing Gold', Scene 31A, Take 11... then 
the same action is repeated from a slightly different angle. 
Next to her is an old car, its wheels mired in mud.

INT. SOUND STAGE - FLOWING GOLD SET - LATER

Slate: Take 12. She falls again, this time splattering mud 
all over her face and hair. She lies still for a moment, 
gritting her teeth.

Sitting comfortably in a nearby director's chair is a DIRECTOR 
reading Daily Variety. The headline reads: "STUDIO WINS FARMER 
WAR ON HOLLYWOOD." Behind the Director, off to one side, 
stands Bebe. The A.D. tugs on the Director's sleeve:

			A.D.
	How was that?

			DIRECTOR
		(looking up)
	Good, good. One more time.

			FRANCES
		(standing)
	For God's sake... why?

			DIRECTOR
	Because we want to get it perfect... 
	just the right combination of fury 
	and confusion. You can understand 
	that, can't you, Miss Farmer? We're 
	serious artists here, right? Right.

The Director glances toward Bebe, who nods with satisfaction.

Frances watches this interaction. She hesitates, then 
approaches Bebe. She wipes some mud from her face and drops 
it at her feet.

			FRANCES
	Look, Mr. Bebe, you can hold me to 
	my contract, but you can't break me. 
	I'm back, and I'm gonna make the 
	best of it.

			BEBE
		(somewhat snidely)
	I'd like nothing better.

She turns and walks, with an air of pride, to her wardrobe 
trailer.

EXT. ELEGANT BEACHFRONT HOME - NIGHT

Lights everywhere. Cars line the driveway. We HEAR the SOUND 
of a large party.

A car pulls up. BOB BARNES gets out, goes around to open the 
door for Frances. She's exhausted. She doesn't move.

			BARNES
	Well... come on.

			FRANCES
	This is a mistake. No. This is a 
	disaster.

			BARNES
	Come on, it's just what you need! 
	Let everyone see you. Talk to them, 
	live it up!

			FRANCES
		(tiredly)
	But we've been at it since six this 
	morning. At least you could've let 
	me go home and change.

			BARNES
	Look, Frances, I didn't want this 
	job. Think I'm crazy? But you begged 
	me: improve your image. So please... 
	lemme try, huh?

			FRANCES
		(getting out)
	You're right. I'm sorry.
		(sighs)
	Okay, let's go get 'em.

			BARNES
		(taking pills from 
			pocket)
	Here, take a few of these. Studio 
	makes 'em in the basement. They keep 
	the fat off.

			FRANCES
		(joking)
	So not only am I a troublesome bitch, 
	but I'm fat too?

			BARNES
	Come on. They make you feel nice and 
	peppy.

She nods, takes a few. They head for the door.

INT. HOUSE - ENTRY HALL - NIGHT

The DOORBELL CHIMES. The hostess, CONNIE, a pleasant-looking 
woman, answers the door.

			BARNES
	Hi! Bob Barnes! Looks like a swell 
	party!

			CONNIE
		(pleased)
	Frances!

As they embrace, Frances looks around with trepidation:

			FRANCES
		(whisper)
	God, who's here?

			CONNIE
		(also whispering)
	The usual vermin, I'm afraid.

Barnes tries to pull Frances inside.

She sees a flurry of waiting faces. Everyone's watching her.

			FRANCES
		(sotto voice)
	Get me a drink.

Barnes nods, concerned, and crosses to the bar.

			FRANCES
	Hi everybody.

Some people seem amused, some curious, some scornful. The 
Director from the mud scene nods to her. Connie is at her 
side for support. A voice from somewhere pierces the chatter:

			SNIDE VOICE
	So nice to have you back, Frances.

As Barnes returns with her drink, she turns to Connie:

			FRANCES
	Connie, can I use the upstairs 
	bathroom?

			CONNIE
	Sure.

INT. UPSTAIRS BATHROOM - NIGHT

Later. Frances lies in a bubblebath, relaxing, sipping her 
drink. She obviously feels a lot better. Someone knocks.

			FRANCES
	Come in.

A FAT MAN ENTERS, stares at her.

			FRANCES
		(relaxed)
	Hi.

He is dumbfounded. He slowly retreats into the hall.

INT. DOWNSTAIRS LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Barnes is talking to a Young Man whom we recognize as the 
reporter who tricked Frances in New York.

			BARNES
	You wouldn't believe the offers! 
	Just piling in. I mean piling. Some 
	of the best scripts I've read in 
	years!

			YOUNG REPORTER
		(sarcastic)
	Yes? My employer will be glad to 
	hear that.

			BARNES
	Louella? Is she here?

			YOUNG REPORTER
	How could you miss her?

He nods toward a hard-faced OLDER WOMAN surrounded by 
admirers.

			BARNES
	Louella's here and I'm talking to 
	you?

INT. UPSTAIRS BEDROOM - NIGHT

We SEE the open door to the bathroom. Frances, with a towel 
around her, is going through Connie's closet. Barnes KNOCKS.

			BARNES
	Frances?
		(enters, sees her)
	Oh no.

			FRANCES
	Refill my drink, will you, Bob?

			BARNES
		(aghast)
	What're you doing?

			FRANCES
	Putting on my armor.

			BARNES
	Come on, Frances. Louella Parsons is 
	here. She wants to talk to you, help 
	you out.

			FRANCES
		(musing)
	Louella... didn't she call me a 
	spoiled little bitch?

			BARNES
	Come on, she's an important columnist! 
	What's the matter? I thought you 
	wanted these people to forgive you.

			FRANCES
		(darkly)
	'Forgive'...? For What?

			BARNES
	I'm sorry... that was an unfortunate 
	choice of words.

Frances pulls down a dress and inspects it.

			FRANCES
	You're not kidding.
		(firmly)
	Get me a refill, Bob. I'll be down 
	in a minute.

He nods and retreats out the door.

INT. DOWNSTAIRS LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Everyone chattering away... then hushing slightly. Heads 
turn: Frances is descending the stairway in one of Connie's 
dresses. She looks absolutely radiant... like some kind of 
goddess.

Barnes, looking very pleased at her appearance and the others' 
reaction, hands her the drink.

			FRANCES
	Thank you.

Then the Young Reporter steps forward.

			YOUNG REPORTER
		(his callow youth act)
	Gee, awful good to see ya again, 
	Miss Farmer.

Frances bristles. Barnes looks on nervously: It's all becoming 
unravelled again.

			YOUNG REPORTER
	My employer would like to know 
	something very important: is it true 
	your friend Clifford sleeps in the 
	nude?

Frances is broiling. She stares at him. Under her steady 
gaze, the snide smile gradually fades from his face.

			FRANCES
	You seem like an intelligent young 
	man.

			YOUNG REPORTER
	Huh?

			FRANCES
	Can't you find a more dignified way 
	to make a living?

He blanches. This hits home. Frances turns on her heel and 
leaves.

EXT. HOUSE - NIGHT

Frances rushes out, followed by Barnes and a few curious 
partygoers. She is very upset. Tight. Holding it in. Barnes 
pleads with her, tries to stop her, but she leaps in the car 
and speeds off, spewing gravel over him. The partygoers salute 
her with their drinks.

EXT. A CLIFFSIDE COCKTAIL LOUNGE - NIGHT

In the pale moonlight we SEE the dim outline of a poster 
tacked to the outside wall. The highway disappears down to 
the sea glittering dully in the distance. We HEAR the RISING 
SOUND of an approaching car. Its headlights crest the hill, 
illuminating the poster, showing a woman driving an open 
car, seated beside the outline of a familiar mustached figure. 
The poster reads, "When You're Riding Alone, You're Riding 
with Hitler." The lights grow brighter, almost blinding. The 
car, accelerating furiously, flashes by. Then we HEAR a 
motorcycle start up. It emerges from the blackness and speeds 
off in pursuit. A roadsign reads: "Dimout Zone."

Frances drives fast, tears running her face.

The MOTORCYCLE COP pulls up alongside and shouts, "Pull over!" 
She hesitates. He waves insistently. Gradually she slows. He 
gets off his bike and walks over, preparing the usual lecture.

			COP
	Okay...

He leans over the car and sees Frances, her hair wild and 
tangled.

			COP
		(a come-on)
	Hey, where's the fire, sister?

			FRANCES
		(sarcastic)
	In my eyes, officer.

			COP
	Cool off, beautiful. Didn't you see 
	the sign says "Dimout Zone?"
		(switching off her 
			lights)
	There's a war on, you know?

			FRANCES
	Come on. You're seriously trying to 
	tell me the Japs can't find Los 
	Angeles without my headlights?

			COP
		(testy)
	I didn't make the law, lady. I just 
	enforce it.

She switches her headlights back on.

			FRANCES
	God, you bore me.

She starts the car. The Cop, angry now, lunges in and grabs 
the keys.

			FRANCES
	Don't touch me!

She leaps out of the car. The Cop turns off the car lights. 
As Frances passes his motorcycle, she switches on its lights.

			COP
	Hey!

He runs after her, turning off the motorcycle lights on the 
way. When he catches her, he grabs her arm. She struggles, 
grabs the flashlight from his belt. She switches it on and 
holds it high, its beam spearing wildly out to sea. He lunges 
for it, knocks her down. They struggle. He rolls on top of 
her, pinning both her arms with one hand... trying to handcuff 
her. She writhes, knees him in the balls. She crawls away, 
desperately clawing at loose stones. The Cop, angry now, 
hurls her down again and manages to get the cuffs on. As 
they dig into her wrists, she tries to bite him. The Cop, 
winded from the battle, yanks her to her feet and drags her, 
kicking and screaming, to his motorcycle. He pulls out his 
radio mike.

			COP
		(panting)
	Santa Monica, this is motor six-sixty-
	six. I got a live one here.

								FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

OMITTED

EXT. BEACH HOUSE BALCONY - DAY

CLOSE ON front page of the Los Angeles Times, October 1942. 
The headlines read: "24 Jap Ships Sunk", "Errol Flynn Sex 
Trial Delayed", "Frances Farmer Arrested on Drunk Driving 
Charge -- Actress Gets $250 Fine and Six Months Probation."

CAMERA PULLS BACK to show several newspapers spread out on 
the balcony of Frances' beach house. As the papers ruffle in 
the wind, a little kitten swipes at them.

Frances sits in the sun writing in her diary, the same one 
we saw at the opening of the film. A man's shoes COME INTO 
VIEW.

			HARRY (O.S.)
	Got any ginger beer?

She turns, surprised and pleased to see him.

			FRANCES
	Take a look.

He walks off into the kitchen. She puts her diary away.

			FRANCES
		(calling)
	How the hell do you find me anyway?

			HARRY (O.S.)
	Animal magnetism!
		(she laughs)
	No ginger beer. What's this red stuff?

			FRANCES
	What's left of my blood.

			HARRY (O.S.)
	Think I'll have a glass.

			FRANCES
	Help yourself. Everyone else has.

Harry returns, sipping the drink.

			HARRY
	Very tasty.

She smiles.

			HARRY
		(looking around)
	Nice joint. Can you afford it?

			FRANCES
	Nope. The studio pays. Thank you, 
	Harry.

			HARRY
	What for?

			FRANCES
	For not chopping off his head and 
	serving it to me on a platter.

			HARRY
	Well, I would have, you know? I just 
	didn't know how to cook it.

She laughs.

			HARRY
	Six months' probation...? You gotta 
	learn when to do battle, Farmer. 
	You're not going to win many bouts 
	with 200 pound cops.

			FRANCES
	I took the early rounds.

			HARRY
		(laughs)
	I'll bet.

			FRANCES
	I don't know. It hurts, Harry. Some 
	things, no matter what you do with 
	them, they just hurt.

			HARRY
	So you drink, and you fight with a 
	cop...?

			FRANCES
	Yeah, and you look at people and you 
	wonder who the hell they are, what's 
	going on inside their heads. Sometimes 
	you can hear it, like a buzzing, the 
	things that happen in their heads. 
	And you wonder: does anybody ever 
	love anybody, really?

			HARRY
	Beats me.

Beat.

			FRANCES
	I gotta get outta here. I gotta get 
	out of this town.

We see a thought come to him.

			HARRY
	Hey look, I got some business down 
	in San Diego. Whattaya say you come 
	with me, stay a few days?

			FRANCES
	No, Harry, I can't --
		(right now)

			HARRY
	You're coming.

OMITTED

INT. SAN DIEGO BAR - NIGHT

Waterfront bar, full of SAILORS, WHORES, and HEAVY DRINKERS. 
Hanging over the bar is San Diego paraphernalia.

Frances and Harry sit at a table. Heavy boozing has led to 
philosophizing:

			FRANCES
	You know... when I started acting, 
	you know what I wanted?

He grunts: what?

			FRANCES
	I just wanted to be part of 
	something... one thing, one play or 
	one movie, something that was really 
	fine... memorable. And I could say: 
	I did that, I made something good.

			HARRY
	And?

			FRANCES
	Well... to get a crack at something 
	good, you gotta earn it, you gotta 
	climb the ladder first. So you do, 
	you work hard, and all these people 
	behind you are pushing you up, 
	shouting you on. And then one day 
	you realize you are, you're at the 
	top... and there's nothing there. 
	And you look behind you and there's 
	no one below. You're just left there 
	all alone... swaying in the god-damned 
	breeze.

In the background, we SEE a DRUNKEN SAILOR lurching toward 
their table.

			HARRY
	Well, like the man said: "You can 
	make a fresh start with your last 
	breath."

The Sailor trips and falls across their table, spilling beer 
on Frances and knocking things over.

			FRANCES
		(irritated)
	Hey, watch it.

			SAILOR
		(eyeing her 
			suggestively)
	Watch what?

			FRANCES
	Get away from me, you foul slime.

			SAILOR
	That's no way for a lady to talk.

			HARRY
	Take a walk, pal.

			FRANCES
	Who said I was a lady?

			SAILOR
	Sorry I insulted you... bitch.

			HARRY
	Hey!

			FRANCES
	Ahhh, go eat a toilet seat.

The Sailor goes berserk, takes a swing at Frances. Harry 
leaps in to protect her, starts to fight with the Sailor. 
Frances joins in; she's not going to let anyone fight her 
battles. The Sailor's BUDDY enters the fracas. Everyone's 
getting hit. As the melee continues we:

							DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. FRANCES' BEACH HOUSE - DAY

A cab pulls up. Frances gets out. She looks weary and has a 
bruise on her cheek. A car is parked in the driveway. She 
frowns at it, shrugs, and carries her suitcase toward the 
house.

INT. BEACH HOUSE - DAY

She enters with her bags, then drops them, stunned. The house 
is stripped bare. A MAN holding a measuring tape comes out 
of the bedroom.

			FRANCES
	What happened? Who're you?

			MAN
	Who're you?

			FRANCES
	I live here.

			MAN
	You're Farmer? Oh... Well, look, 
	they took your stuff out. Moved it 
	to some hotel, I think.

			FRANCES
	What?

			MAN
	I'm preparin' it for the next tenant, 
	he's coming in tomorrow.

Frances stares at him, dumbfounded.

							SMASH CUT TO:

INT. HOTEL SUITE - DAY

Frances on the phone. Boxes spread out, their contents strewn 
over the floor, tables, etc. Frances is going through various 
piles, again and again, looking for something...

			FRANCES
		(muttering)
	God damn it, god damn it...
		(into phone)
	Yes, I'll wait, I'm waiting...
		(to herself)
	I don't believe this. They can't do 
	this to me!

She takes a long drink, sifts through a pile, then throws it 
on the bed in disgust. We HEAR a voice on the phone.

			FRANCES
		(into phone)
	Barnes? It's my diary! They stole my 
	fucking diary! Find it, will you? 
	Find it! God damn it, that's my life!

She slams down the phone.

INT. STAGE - MOVIE SET - DAY

The crew is idle and the Director paces, muttering:

			DIRECTOR
	Never. Never again. I swear, I swear 
	I will never work with this broad --

Frances, looking pretty hung-over, enters blithely.

			DIRECTOR
	You're four hours late! It's insane! 
	It's unprofessional!

			FRANCES
	I'd say I'm behaving as professionally 
	as anyone else in this town.

			DIRECTOR
	Where were you?!

			FRANCES
	Terribly, terribly sorry; I overslept. 
	What's the name of this fine 
	entertainment we're all so involved 
	in?

The Director clenches his fists as though about to punch 
her.

			FRANCES
		(looking blearly at 
			the slate)
	Oh yes. "No Escape." That's it. 
	There's no escape.

She walks to her dressing room as the Director explodes anew.

INT. FRANCES' DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Small, cramped; not like the earlier one we saw. The 
Hairdresser -- whom we recognize as Tora, the woman who cut 
Bebe's hair -- stands waiting, holding her brushes and looking 
vexed. Frances enters.

			TORA
	It's about time! You're not the star 
	on this show, y'know!

Frances sits. Tora begins brushing her hair, yanking Frances' 
head back with each stroke. Building tension...

			TORA
	Of course, it's not up to me to say 
	anything. I'm just crew... Y'know, 
	you hair's so fine you'll lose it if 
	you're not careful. Wonder you all 
	don't, the things you do to 
	yourselves. In fact, I think you are 
	already... Fact, I think you better --

Frances cries out and twists around suddenly. Tora is thrown 
back: stumbling... falling... hitting her jaw against a chair.

			FRANCES
	That's it! I'm not taking this any 
	more! I quit!

She storms out. Tora is left moaning, holding her jaw.

INT. STAGE - MOVIE SET - DAY

Frances marches across it. Everyone stares.

			FRANCES
	Goodbye!... goodbye!... goodbye!...

When she reaches the exit door, she turns and bows to them 
all, grandiloquently.

INT. FRANCES' HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

She's snoring in bed. Face down, spread-eagled. The light is 
on. A whiskey bottle (three-quarters empty), a tumbler (three-
quarters full), and a bottle of pills sit on the night table.

The phone RINGS. She winces, groans, tries to open her eyes 
then squeezes them together: hung over. Her arm flails out, 
finds the light and turns it off.

			FRANCES
	Shit.

The phone keeps RINGING. Her arm gropes for it.

A loud POUNDING at the door.

			FRANCES
	What the hell's going on here?
		(calls)
	Hold on!
		(answering phone)
	Hello...
		(we HEAR a dial tone)
	Hello?

The POUNDING at the door becomes violent. Someone's breaking 
it down.

			FRANCES
	Hey!

The door splinters.

			FRANCES
	What...? Help!

Men stream into the room. Back-lit from the hall they look 
like monsters, phantoms. They're carrying sticks.

Frances screams and runs naked into the bathroom.

			FRANCES
	Don't kill me! Don't kill me!

She slams the door on the advancing figures.

INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

Frances leans her weight against the door.

			FRANCES
	Mama, help me, help me, Mama! Don't 
	let them kill me!

It's too much for her. She's shoved back, falling to the 
floor. The door flies open revealing THREE LARGE COPS. Leering 
at her. Frances clutches at the shower curtain, trying to 
cover herself.

			COP
	Get your clothes on.

			FRANCES
		(crying)
	You have no right! You have no fucking 
	right, you bastards! Get the hell 
	out of here --

			COP
	Get your clothes on, lady --

			FRANCES
	GET OUT!

			COP
	You're under arrest.

OMITTED

INT. SANTA MONICA POLICE STATION - NIGHT

Frances is being led to the booking desk. All around her 
Photographers snap her picture, and Reporters walk alongside 
subjecting her to a never-ending barrage of questions. Frances 
just smokes a cigarette and smiles grimly at the dour-faced 
SERGEANT facing her.

			SERGEANT
	Name?

			FRANCES
	I don't believe this! You jerks drag 
	me down here in the middle of the 
	night and you don't even know who 
	the hell I am!

The Photographers laugh.

			SERGEANT
	Age?

			FRANCES
	Fifteen.

			SERGEANT
		(bristling)
	Address?

			FRANCES
	Just put me down as a avg -- a vagrant 
	vagabond. Come on, this is a joke! 
	Assault and battery? I barely touched 
	that bitch!

			SERGEANT
	Occupation?

Frances considers for a moment, then smiles matter-of-factly.

			FRANCES
	Cocksucker.

The Sergeant reddens. Frances laughs as the Photographers 
snap their shots.

INT. WOMEN'S JAIL - CELL BLOCK - NIGHT

TWO MATRONS escort Frances to her cell. She shakes their 
hands off her arms and enters. They slide the door shut. 
Photographers press up to the bars. Frances calls after the 
matrons.

			FRANCES
	Hey! I'd like to leave a wake-up 
	call for say, ten? Hey! I'll have my 
	bread and water in bed!

Frances looks disgustedly at the Photographers and lies down 
heavily on the cot.

			PHOTOGRAPHER
	Hey Frances! Why don't you comb your 
	hair, okay?

			FRANCES
	...Take me the way I am.

INT. COURTROOM - DAY

Frances, looking disheveled, dazed, and over-tired from a 
sleepless night in jail, stands alone before the JUDGE. Next 
to the PROSECUTOR sits Tora, her jaw heavily bandaged, glaring 
at Frances. The spectator's section is packed.

			JUDGE
	...Is that not true?

			FRANCES
		(under her breath)
	Who's writing this guy's lines?

			JUDGE
	Answer the question! Have you driven 
	a car since you were placed on 
	probation?

			FRANCES
	No, I couldn't get my hands on one.

			JUDGE
	Have you reported to your Probation 
	Officer as directed?

			FRANCES
	I never saw him. Why didn't he show 
	up?

			JUDGE
	Did you expect him to look you up?

			FRANCES
	Why, certainly. I wanted to get a 
	peek at his face...

Suppressed laughter ripples through the courtroom.

			JUDGE
	You're on your way to a contempt 
	citation, young lady.

			FRANCES
	That's fine with me...
		(turning to spectators)
	Get it? Fine. A fine! Hey c'mon, 
	c'mon, what is this, an audience or 
	a jury?

			JUDGE
	Miss Farmer, is it true you fought 
	with the policeman who arrested you 
	last night?

			FRANCES
	Sure it's true. I was fighting for 
	my country as well as myself.

			JUDGE
	Miss Farmer, you were advised at the 
	last hearing that if you took one 
	drink of liquor or failed to be a 
	law-abiding citizen --

Frances moves closer to the bench.

			FRANCES
	Are you telling me you didn't have a 
	little rum in your pineapple juice 
	this morning? I can smell it from 
	here, Your Honor.

The courtroom erupts into surprised laughter.

			JUDGE
	That's enough!

Frances laughs triumphantly and spears the air with her 
finger, pointing at the Judge.

			FRANCES
	It's the truth! I can smell it from 
	here -- you old hypocrite!

The laughter grows. The Judge bangs his gavel.

			JUDGE
	Miss Farmer! In light of your flagrant 
	disregard for the conditions of your 
	probation, coupled with the 
	unwarranted assault on the Plaintiff 
	here... I am forced to order you to 
	begin serving a sentence of 180 days 
	in the County Jail.

			FRANCES
	Fine!

			JUDGE
		(rising)
	You are a deeply troubled young 
	lady... I only hope you change your 
	course before it's too late.

The Judge pounds his gavel. Frances is about to say something 
when suddenly the realization of what's happening hits her. 
The Judge is leaving the bench. A REPORTER runs out of the 
room.

			FRANCES
		(frightened now)
	Wait a minute... I haven't got a 
	lawyer...

The Judge ignores this.

			FRANCES
		(shouting)
	What I want to know is do I have any 
	civil rights?

The Judge closes his chambers door behind him. Frances turns 
slowly. The Matrons are coming toward her.

			FRANCES
	I want to make a phone call...

She lunges at the Matrons, trying to get past them.

			FRANCES
	I have a right to make a phone call!

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE COURTROOM - A ROW OF PHONE BOOTHS - DAY

The Reporter is phoning in his story. The hallway is 
pandemonium.

			REPORTER
		(from his notes)
	"The kleig-lighted road to fame and 
	fortune is strewn with heartbreak 
	and despair. Today film star Frances 
	Farmer, tarnished by alcohol and 
	drugs" -- 'm I going too fast for 
	ya?

In the next phone booth we SEE Harry listening to the 
Reporter's spiel. He regards the confusion around him with 
calm eyes.

EXT. THE COURTROOM DOORS - DAY

They burst open. The Matrons and Two Cops come out carrying 
Frances. Reporters and Photographers rush past her.

			FRANCES
	They're stealing my civil rights! 
	Help me! I'm being kidnapped! Oh 
	God, help me! Help me!

She suddenly sees the phone booths. Her eyes fill with tears, 
her shoulders slump forward and her lower lip begins to 
tremble. She no longer struggles.

			FRANCES
		(to a Matron)
	Haven't you ever had a broken heart?

The Matron relaxes her grip and gives Frances a handkerchief. 
Frances dabs at her eyes... wraps the kerchief around her 
knuckles... and slugs the Matron in the jaw, sending her 
sprawling. Frances runs to the phones.

			REPORTER
	Oh my God, she's loose!

Frances throws herself at the door of the booth. The Reporter 
is delirious with joy: what a story!

			REPORTER
	She's attacking your correspondent! 
	Right here in the Court Building! 
	Good God, this bitch is crazy! Someone 
	stop her!

Frances pounds at the door a few more times, then moves to 
the next booth... into the arms of Harry.

			FRANCES
		(a whisper)
	Harry!

Harry shakes his head. Before he can speak, Frances is grabbed 
from behind and dragged toward the elevator.

			FRANCES
	I have a right! I have a right!

			REPORTER
		(into phone)
	With what must surely be the final 
	act of madness, the curtain falls on 
	Frances Farmer's once promising 
	career. The crazed blonde who at 
	27...

Harry opens the door to his booth. The Reporter looks up at 
him.

			REPORTER
	Hold it a second, Bub...

Harry says not a word, but punches the Reporter hard in the 
face. The Reporter sags, out like a light. In the confusion, 
no one has noticed a thing. Harry pulls the door shut.

INT. COURTROOM - DAY

Frances is sitting in a wooden chair. The venetian blinds 
over the tall windows are almost completely closed. The room 
is dim and terribly quiet. A WOMAN is murmuring something to 
a kindly-looking JUDGE. Another MAN is standing beside her. 
Frances can't quite make out the words.

			WOMAN
	...and we feel that this would be 
	more appropriate.

			JUDGE
	...a difficult decision, but, I'm 
	sure, the proper one.

He nods to the other Man who, together with the Woman, turn 
away from the bench. As they pass in front of one of the 
tall windows, Frances recognizes the Woman. It is Alma Styles.

			FRANCES
	What?

She feels an arm slip around her shoulders and she stiffens. 
Her mother's face appears by hers.

			LILLIAN
		(whispering)
	It's alright now, little sister, 
	everything's going to be just fine.

			FRANCES
	Mama, what's...

			LILLIAN
	Shhh, shhh. You're not going to jail, 
	Frances. The Judge has put you under 
	my care. I'll see you get the rest 
	you need.

			FRANCES
	You're taking me home!

Two other WOMEN appear at either side of Frances and Lillian. 
Lillian tenderly takes her daughter's face in her hands.

			LILLIAN
		(smiling)
	First things first, little sister. 
	Trust me.

She kisses Frances on the forehead. Frances looks at the two 
Women. They are smiling understandingly at Lillian. Frances 
looks a little alarmed.

OMITTED

EXT. ENTRANCE DRIVE - DAY

A wood-panelled station wagon turns the corner of a tree-
lined road and heads up toward tall wrought-iron gates. On a 
white-washed wall are black letters: "MEADOW WOOD CONVALESCENT 
HOME". The Station wagon, a similar sign on its door, pulls 
up. The gates swing slowly open, and it travels up a long 
tree-lined driveway. As it goes by, we see Frances sitting 
in the back seat between Lillian and one of the Women from 
the previous scene.

The car heads up toward a large Spanish-style building set 
back among some trees.

INT. A SMALL OFFICE - DAY

Frances sits in front of a desk nervously smoking a cigarette. 
Lillian stands at a window looking out at a broad expanse of 
well-manicured lawn ending at a row of oaks in the distance.

			LILLIAN
	Why it's beautiful here! What a view!

Lillian smiles enthusiastically at Frances, who stares 
accusingly back: she's not falling for that.

An awkward moment of silence. Lillian fidgets, doesn't know 
what to say. She is rescued when the door opens and DR. 
SYMINGTON (early 30s, glasses, white coat and ingratiating 
smile) enters. He holds his right hand out to Frances.

			MAN
	Good afternoon, Miss Farmer. I'm Dr. 
	Symington.

Frances stares at the proffered hand. Lillian steps in quickly 
and takes it.

			LILLIAN
	Good afternoon, Doctor.

The Doctor winks at Frances and puts a hand on Lillian's 
arm.

			SYMINGTON
	I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. 
	Farmer. I'm sure we'll have more of 
	a chance to talk later. Right now I 
	think it's important that your 
	daughter have a chance to settle in. 
	Perhaps it would be best if you said 
	your goodbyes here.

He smiles pleasantly. Lillian is obviously very put off by 
the idea. She looks at Frances who stares unseeingly out the 
window.

			LILLIAN
	Oh. Well, I have some background 
	that you should probably know about 
	if you're...

			SYMINGTON
	I have no doubt, Mrs. Farmer. If 
	you'll speak to the girl at the desk, 
	she'll arrange an appointment.

He goes to the door and opens it. Lillian is momentarily at 
a loss, but she acquiesces. She bends down and tightly hugs 
Frances, who pats her on the back a couple of times.

			LILLIAN
	I'll be back real soon, little sister. 
	You be a good girl.

She waits for a reply and then, getting none, starts out the 
door.

			FRANCES
		(staring out window)
	Mama!

Lillian turns back expectantly.

			FRANCES
		(warningly)
	...I want to go home, Mama.

Lillian looks to the Doctor, who nods sympathetically at 
her.

			LILLIAN
	You'll see, little sister. Everything 
	will be fine. The doctors know best.

She goes out and down the hall. The Doctor closes the door.

			SYMINGTON
	I find these initial meetings to be 
	much easier without the concerned 
	relatives in attendance.

			FRANCES
	Am I supposed to say 'thank you'?

			SYMINGTON
	Thanks are hardly necessary.

			FRANCES
	Aw, shucks, ma'am. T'weren't nothin'.

			SYMINGTON
	I'm glad to see you haven't lost 
	your sense of humor.

			FRANCES
	It ain't for lack of trying.

			SYMINGTON
	So it seems. May we be serious for a 
	moment?

			FRANCES
		(seductively)
	Why, Doctor! We've only just met!

He reddens ever so slightly and looks away.

			SYMINGTON
	I feel I've known you for a long 
	time... you see, I've followed your 
	career... you're a fascinating case... 
	I'm looking forward to resolving 
	your predicament.

Frances' face begins to set in hard planes.

			FRANCES
	Oh! Are you really?

			SYMINGTON
	Among persons such as yourself, 
	creative people under great stress, 
	erratic behavior is not at all 
	uncommon and certainly nothing to be 
	ashamed of. It's just that the 
	neuroses which fuel your talent can 
	also generate certain character 
	disabilities which...
		(can cripple your 
			ability to function...)

He stops as Frances rises and leans over his desk:

			FRANCES
	Do you expect me, for one moment, to 
	believe you have greater insight 
	into my personality than I do?

			SYMINGTON
	Please sit down...

			FRANCES
	You may discuss my predicament, 
	Doctor. You may discuss it with anyone 
	you like, but not with me. I'm not 
	interested. I can solve my problems 
	without recourse to a veternarian.

			SYMINGTON
	I see.

			FRANCES
	Besides, I don't want to be what you 
	want to make me.

			SYMINGTON
	And what's that?

			FRANCES
	Normal. Average.

			SYMINGTON
	All right. Will you please sit down 
	now?
		(smiling)
	Symington says.

			FRANCES
	...Did you really say that?

			SYMINGTON
	Just a little joke, Miss Farmer.

			FRANCES
	This whole thing is a joke!

			SYMINGTON
	Stay calm, please.

			FRANCES
	No, you stay calm, Doctor! But you're 
	finding that difficult, aren't you?
		(soft, seductive)
	Why, are you attracted to me? Perhaps 
	later, in some of our more intimate 
	sessions... after we know each other 
	a little better...
		(turning harder)
	and you've torn my personality to 
	shreds, and I'm weeping and 
	vulnerable...
		(very hard)
	then you'll really get your kicks, 
	won't you, "Doctor?"

			SYMINGTON
	I'll have someone show you to your 
	room.

			FRANCES
	Oh, that's good, very professional. 
	In control. But the tiny beads of 
	sweat on your upper lip give you 
	away.

Symington stares at her. With a careful, almost scientific 
gesture he moves thumb and forefinger over his lip, then 
rubs the two fingers together. Yes, there is sweat.

			SYMINGTON
	You really should get some rest now. 
	Nurse will meet you outside. Good 
	day.

He pushes a button on his desk and reaches for a folder. 
Frances hasn't moved. She gazes at him evenly.

			SYMINGTON
	Is there something else?

			FRANCES
	You didn't say 'Symington says'.

His eyes are very calm now, he smiles at her patronizingly.

			SYMINGTON
	Symington says.

INT. FRANCES' ROOM - DAY

Small, white, spartan and rather pleasant. Lillian is standing 
by the window, testing the locks. She turns and goes to the 
bed, fussing with the pillow, seeming very uncomfortable. 
She pulls at the corners of the mattress.

The door opens and a tall, sullen-looking MATRON walks in. 
Lillian doesn't pay much attention to her.

			LILLIAN
	Not much on hospital corners, are 
	you?

			MATRON
	You Farmer?

Something in her tone makes Lillian look up. The Matron closes 
the door behind her and advances. Lillian assumes her full 
height.

INT. HALLWAY - DAY

Frances is walking with a NURSE. They pass a variety of other 
patients, some of whom look old or beaten but few of whom 
seem overtly crazy.

			FRANCES
	So this is the nuthouse...

The Nurse smiles confidentially at her.

			NURSE
	Honey... take my word for it. This 
	is a resort.

They get to the door and HEAR Lillian's protesting voice:

			LILLIAN (O.S.)
	You have no right!

They enter and SEE the Matron struggling to get Lillian's 
coat away from her. Lillian pleads with Frances.

			LILLIAN
	Tell them who I am! Tell them who I 
	am!

			FRANCES
	Are you crazy? Unhand that woman! 
	That's Amelia Earhart!

Frances bursts out laughing. The Matron releases Lillian and 
comes for Frances.

INT. FRANCES' ROOM - DAY CLOSE-UP OF A HYPODERMIC NEEDLE

A little fluid squirts out the tip.

			FRANCES (O.S.)
	But what is it?

CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL Frances strapped down on a white 
cot. The Nurse is holding the syringe while a THIN NURSE and 
an ATTENDANT stand by.

			FRANCES
	You've got to tell me what it is!

			THIN NURSE
	It's insulin. It throws your body 
	into shock.

Frances looks at her suspiciously, uncertain whether to 
believe this, and turns toward the Nurse with the hypodermic.

			NURSE WITH HYPO
		(reassuringly)
	It's just vitamins.

This sounds more reasonable. Frances relaxes somewhat.

			NURSE WITH HYPO
	A, C, B-Complex, certain minerals...
		(inserting hypo)
	Just stay relaxed... Good, now open 
	your mouth a sec.

Frances does. The Attendant jams a rubber bar between her 
teeth. Frances squirms, fights. The Attendant holds the bar 
in place. And the Nurse pushes the plunger on the hypo. 
Frances goes rigid. Her eyes widen, her back arches. With a 
loud hoarse cry she starts to convulse. The SCREEN BEGINS TO 
FADE into bright white light. She is unconscious. The SCREEN 
IS NOW BLANK.

EXT. COURTYARD - MEADOW WOOD - DAY

Frances sits beside Lillian on a bench. Other patients with 
ground privileges wander aimlessly about.

There is an open carpet bag at Lillian's feet and, in her 
lap, a bundle of letters and telegrams that she's showing to 
Frances. Frances seems restless.

			LILLIAN
	...and here's the one from Duluth. A 
	war widow with five children. She 
	works in a defense plant and she's 
	very worried about you. I answered 
	her that she shouldn't let worry 
	over you affect her vital work; and 
	that you'd be back on the silver 
	screen in no time.

She hands it to Frances, who lets it drop beside her on the 
bench.

			LILLIAN
	And here's one from nice Mr. Zeiss. 
	He says that...

			FRANCES
	Why are these all opened?

			LILLIAN
	Well, they needed immediate answers, 
	Frances. It's good manners and good 
	sense. You shouldn't be bothering 
	yourself with these right now.

			FRANCES
	Then why did you bring them?

			LILLIAN
	It's your fan mail, little sister.

			FRANCES
		(looking off, under 
			her breath)
	You kill me, Mama.

			LILLIAN
	What?

			FRANCES
	Go on...

Frances sighs. She looks for something to divert her 
attention.

INT. SYMINGTON'S OFFICE - DAY

Frances is alone in the room. The door is ajar. She's standing 
over Symington's desk, which is empty except for a doodle 
pad. The doodle she's looking at is extremely bizarre, 
sadistic... After a moment, Symington ENTERS holding several 
folders. Frances' manner changes very subtly.

			SYMINGTON
	...I'm sorry to keep you waiting, 
	the staff review ran over. Did you 
	enjoy your mother's visit?

			FRANCES
		(sitting)
	Yes. It was very good to see her.

			SYMINGTON
	Really? Any problems?

Symington puts the folders in a drawer. All except Frances'.

			FRANCES
	Not at all. She brought me my fan 
	mail.
		(a performance)
	I had no idea there were so many 
	strangers concerned about me. But I 
	guess that's the best thing about 
	working in the movies. You make so 
	many friends. I want to go back and 
	show them that the faith they put in 
	me wasn't a mistake.

			SYMINGTON
	You're telling me you feel guilty.

			FRANCES
		(slightly edgy)
	No... What I mean is... I'm just 
	very excited by the prospect of 
	getting on with my life, that's all.

			SYMINGTON
		(after a pause)
	Do you really believe your mother's 
	trying to kill you?

			FRANCES
		(laughing)
	What?

			SYMINGTON
	She told me you said, "Mama, you 
	want to kill me."

			FRANCES
	I never said... Oh look. That's just 
	a figure of speech. She said something 
	funny, and I said...

			SYMINGTON
	And you accused her of tampering 
	with your mail.

			FRANCES
	Oh for Christ's...

Frances is wrapping and unwrapping a handkerchief around her 
knuckles. Looks a little crazy. Symington's watching it. She 
stops.

			FRANCES
	I'm sorry. She misunderstood, that's 
	all.

			SYMINGTON
	But you tell me you had a pleasant 
	visit and your mother says you were 
	sullen and uncommunicative. Whom do 
	you think I should believe?

			FRANCES
	Doctor, I hate to break this to you, 
	but my mother is a little batty.

			SYMINGTON
	Frances, you're still filled with 
	anxiety. You feel guilty and hostile 
	toward your family and friends. 
	Consequently, I didn't recommend 
	your release at the staff review.

			FRANCES
	You what?

			SYMINGTON
	Mental illness is an elusive thing, 
	and though I'm pleased you're feeling 
	more... capable, it's perhaps 
	unrealistic to expect you to be 
	completely cured after so short a 
	time. Don't you agree?

Frances stares at him. Stunned. Horrified.

			SYMINGTON
		(smiling)
	I'm sure you'll see it my way in the 
	end.

			FRANCES
	Dr. Symington, how big is your dick?

			SYMINGTON
	Huh?

			FRANCES
	'Cause if it's long enough, which I 
	doubt, why don't you wrap it around 
	and fuck yourself in the ass!

Symington smiles patronizingly.

			FRANCES
	I want outta here, you understand? 
	I'm ready to get out! So you go back 
	there... you go back and you tell 
	them to let me out!

			SYMINGTON
		(calmly)
	Frances, I'm warning you...

			FRANCES
	No, I'm warning you! Who do you think 
	you are, God? You bumble around with 
	your folders...
		(she knocks her folder 
			to the floor)
	...and your pencils...
		(she grabs some pencils 
			and throws them at 
			him)
	...and your god-damn buttons...
		(she pounds on the 
			inter-com; a voice 
			says, 'Yes, Doctor?')
	...all your badges of authority! But 
	you have no authority! You're nothing! 
	You're a zero!

She tears open the door. Two huge ORDERLIES are waiting. 
Frances tries to barrel past, but they easily restrain her.

			ORDERLY
	Doc?

Symington sits forward, his hands smoothing his hair.

Frances smiles sarcastically at him:

			FRANCES
	Symington says...

			SYMINGTON
		(tonelessly)
	Sedate her.

They haul her away.

EXT. MEADOW WOOD CONVALESCENT HOME - DAY

A few PATIENTS stroll about, visiting with relatives. Frances 
lies on a chaise lounge. She's wearing a robe and dark 
glasses, a big hat, and she seems to be sleeping. THE CAMERA 
APPROACHES. Her hair is a mess, her skin splotchy. And 
something is moving: her hand... one finger on one hand is 
moving in agitated little bursts. We realize she is not 
sleeping at all...

			HARRY (O.S.)
	Hi there. How 'bout a walk in the 
	woods?

She looks to one side and sees him. Frowns. Takes off her 
glasses and runs her fingers nervously through her hair.

			FRANCES
	Oh my God, I look awful.

			HARRY
		(friendly)
	You've looked a whole lot better. 
	C'mon.

EXT. MEADOW WOOD GROUNDS - DAY

Frances and Harry walking in a relatively secluded area. She 
glances around continuously... suspiciously.

			FRANCES
	They're doin' stuff to me, Harry. 
	Can you see it? You feel it? They're 
	putting stuff in my food or something, 
	my water, and they're using it to 
	put thoughts in my head. You 
	understand? They're trying to re-
	arrange what's in my head, they're 
	trying to drive me crazy! Oh, Harry!

She breaks down and weeps on Harry's shoulder. Harry looks 
around warily.

			FRANCES
	I can't stay here anymore, you 
	understand? I can't, I can't. I gotta 
	get home. I gotta get somewhere else, 
	anywhere, okay?

Harry nods, squeezes her arm firmly -- a warning -- as a 
white-coated ATTENDANT APPROACHES. Frances straightens up.

			ATTENDANT
	Oh, Miss Farmer! Time for your bath, 
	Miss Farmer!

			HARRY
		(urgent whisper)
	Listen: to the left. Straight through 
	the trees and over the wall to your 
	left. My car is there.

The Attendant reaches them.

			ATTENDANT
		(as if to a child)
	It's time for your bath!

			FRANCES
	Oh good. I love my baths.

			ATTENDANT
	Come along now.

Frances starts to move off with the Attendant. For an instant 
Harry -- and we -- wonder if she really is crazy.

			HARRY
	Frances! Did you hear what I said?

She turns. The Attendant turns. She smiles sweetly, madly.

			FRANCES
	Of course, Harry.

The Attendant is between her and Harry. We SEE her face turn 
dark. She shoves the Attendant toward Harry and shouts:

			FRANCES
		(fiercely)
	Over the walls!

She runs. The Attendant staggers toward Harry, who knocks 
him down with two punches. ANOTHER ATTENDANT runs up. Harry 
whips out an icepick and brandishes it at them:

			HARRY
	You want crazy? I'll show you crazy!

The Attendants hold their ground. Harry runs after Frances.

EXT. GROVE OF TREES - DAY

Frances and Harry crash through bushes, come to a high wall.

			HARRY
		(offering to lift her)
	Here.

Frances hugs him tightly, kisses him. He lifts her by the 
waist, and she grabs the top of the wall and hauls herself 
up. Harry joins her. We SEE, over the wall, a Lincoln Zephyr 
waiting on a dirt road. Harry and Frances jump down as we 
HEAR the Two Attendants burst through the underbrush and 
haul themselves up. As their heads pop over the top of the 
wall, they see the Lincoln disappearing down the road in a 
cloud of dust...

INT. LINCOLN - DUSK - DAY

Harry, eyes bleary and shoulders hunched, tries to concentrate 
on the road ahead. The RADIO DRONES quietly, a lazy saxophone 
ballad. After a while, there's movement in the back seat and 
Frances sits up. She yawns and stretches as Harry watches 
her in the mirror.

			HARRY
	Evening, gorgeous.

			FRANCES
		(yawning)
	That sure looks like fun...
		(leaning over front 
			seat)
	You know how long it's been since I 
	was behind the wheel?

			HARRY
	Forget it, Frances. You're not 
	driving.

			FRANCES
	Have I told you how mean you're 
	turning, York?

Harry smiles. Frances climbs over the seat and starts to 
fiddle with the radio.

			FRANCES
	Where are we, mean man?

			HARRY
	Couple hours from Idaho. We'll cut 
	across to Montana. I've got friends 
	there with a ranch.

			FRANCES
	I should've known...

			HARRY
	What?

			FRANCES
	This is another one of your schemes 
	to get me off alone...

			HARRY
	That's right.

			FRANCES
	(smiling)
	...Take advantage of me.

Harry laughs.

They pass a poster: "BUY WAR BONDS!" Frances stares at it.

			FRANCES
	I don't think I'd be much good in a 
	war...

			HARRY
	Whattaya think you're in now?

			FRANCES
		(sleepily)
	I don't know. Not a war exactly. 
	It's more a... a misapprehension 
	maybe...

			HARRY
	Huh?

			FRANCES
	A misunderstanding, people taking 
	the wrong meaning from things. I 
	wasn't declaring war, Harry. I was 
	just saying my prayers.

Harry looks at her quizzically.

			HARRY
	Who to?

Beat.

			FRANCES
	Harry, I have to go home. I have to 
	talk to Mama.

			HARRY
	Frances, you're fulla drugs. You 
	don't know what you're saying. Who 
	do you think put you into Meadow 
	Wood? Your mother thinks you're crazy 
	and she'll keep on thinking it as 
	long as it suits her.

			FRANCES
		(sitting up)
	No, she just didn't want me going to 
	jail, that's all.

			HARRY
	Yeah? She's a shark, Frances. I'm 
	not taking you there, and that's 
	that!

She rubs his neck and his attitude seems to soften.

She looks at him fondly, thoughtfully.

			FRANCES
	You know something, Harry?

			HARRY
	I guess.

			FRANCES
	Aside from meanness, you're almost 
	perfect. There's only one other thing 
	wrong with you.

			HARRY
	What's that?

			FRANCES
	You can't drink.

							SMASH CUT TO:

EXT. ROADHOUSE - NIGHT

The Lincoln is parked beside a few other cars.

INT. ROADHOUSE - NIGHT

Frances and Harry sit at a table cluttered with empty glasses. 
The JUKEBOX PLAYS, a few COUPLES dance. Frances is gulping 
down a tall Scotch.

			FRANCES
		(wincing/grinning)
	Ohhh, that's lousy Scotch!

			HARRY
		(calling drunkenly)
	Hey! Another shot for the lady and a 
	double for me!

			FRANCES
	What a man!

			HARRY
	Hey, you're a good quarter-horse, 
	kid, but you can't go a route of 
	ground.

			FRANCES
		(hoisting her glass)
	To quarter-horses.

			HARRY
	No. To thoroughbreds.

He knocks back his drink.

THE JUKEBOX

A hand puts a nickel in, and we HEAR Bing Crosby singing 
"Love Is So Terrific." We PAN across the dance floor, where 
Harry and Frances are dancing.

			BING'S VOICE
	Love is so terrific Such a funny 
	feeling Makes you want to cuddle And 
	coo...

Frances squeals with delight when she hears the song. She 
holds Harry forcefully and starts to lead him around the 
floor. Harry starts to sing along:

			BING & HARRY
	Makes you sentimental, Makes you 
	kinda gentle Ouch!
		(Frances pinches Harry)
	Terrific thing.

Around them an infection is spreading: all the women are 
leading their men. For an instant it is magical, liberating... 
She leans her head against his shoulder.

			FRANCES
	Why are you always leaving me, Harry?

			HARRY
	Huh?

			FRANCES
	You should stickaround sometimes. 
	Look out for me.

			HARRY
	Look, Frances, I'm only gonna ask 
	this one time. I mean it. I swear 
	after this, I'll never ask again: 
	Will you marry me?

			FRANCES
		(after a long pause)
	I know a thing or two about marriage. 
	You... you understand me more than 
	anyone, Harry... maybe even more 
	than Mama. But... you're too important 
	to me. I'd fail you. I don't know 
	how or why, but I would. And that's 
	a chance I just can't take. Do you 
	understand?

			HARRY
		(a bitter smile)
	Well... I'll act like I do until I 
	do.

They are silent for a moment.

			HARRY
	There's just one more thing.

			FRANCES
	What's that?

			HARRY
	Will you marry me?

She laughs happily. He joins her, but his seems a little 
forced.

She leans her head on his shoulder and holds him tight. They 
dance...

OMITTED

EXT. FARMER HOUSE - SEATTLE - DAY

The Lincoln, Harry at the wheel, drives up and stops. Harry 
shakes his head.

			HARRY
	It's not too late to keep going, up 
	to Vancouver? Be the smartest thing.

			FRANCES
	Thanks, Harry, really, but... I can't 
	explain it. She's my mother. She's 
	just... I can't give up on her that 
	easy.

			HARRY
	You give up on her?

			FRANCES
	Yeah. It's just... something I gotta 
	do, I guess.

			HARRY
		(smiling warmly)
	Frances, You're crazy.

			FRANCES
		(whispers)
	I know. Don't tell anyone.

He laughs. We SEE Lillian come out onto the porch with 
uncharacteristic trepidation.

			HARRY
	Anyway... if you need me...

			FRANCES
		(warmly)
	I got your number, Mister Man.

She gets out, waves to him, and walks toward the house. Harry 
drives off. As Frances reaches the top step, Lillian suddenly 
opens her arms:

			LILLIAN
		(nervous, forced)
	Welcome home, little sister.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - DAY

Frances and Lillian enter. On the sofa sits Alma Styles. 
Alma and Lillian seem slightly furtive. Caught in the act.

			FRANCES
	Well, who have we here...?

			LILLIAN
		(anxiously)
	Frances, you remember my lawyer, 
	Alma Styles?

			STYLES
	Hello, Frances. You seem to be having 
	quite a time of it.

			LILLIAN
	I called Alma because I think we'll 
	need...

			STYLES
	Frances, the doctors at Meadow Wood 
	have petitioned the court for your 
	return. Your mother has asked me to 
	intervene so you can stay here.

			LILLIAN
	I swear I didn't know what they were 
	doing to you. I wouldn't have let 
	them...

She bursts into tears. Frances takes her in her arms and 
rocks her like a child.

			FRANCES
	It's okay, Mama. It's okay.

			STYLES
	You realize, of course, your mother 
	is now your legal guardian. In the 
	eyes of the law, you no longer have 
	any rights as an adult. You're going 
	to have to hold your tongue and be 
	selective about whom you mix with. 
	That man who drove you here, for 
	instance --

			FRANCES
	You leave him out of this!

			LILLIAN
	Frances, please don't...

			STYLES
	Never mind. We won't have to worry 
	about him much longer.

EXT. LINCOLN - END OF FRANCES' STREET - DAY

Harry pulls up at a stop sign. He rubs his forehead wearily 
as a car crosses the intersection. It stops dead in front of 
him. Another pulls up alongside. Another behind. Harry thinks 
about this. His hand slides down slowly under the seat. We 
SEE the handle of his ice pick. Harry turns to smile at the 
MAN in the next car. The Man flashes an FBI badge, points 
revolver:

			FBI MAN
		(smiling)
	How ya doin', Al?

			HARRY
	You got the wrong guy. Name's Slocum.

			FBI MAN
	No, it ain't. And it ain't Harry 
	York, neither.

			HARRY
	Look, I'm tellin' you...

The FBI Man pulls the hammer back on the revolver. ANOTHER 
MAN opens the passenger door.

			FBI MAN
	I'd give you till ten, Al, but we 
	ain't got the time.

							SMASH CUT TO:

OMITTED

INT. JUDGE'S CHAMBERS

Judge Hillier walking... out of the chamber and down a 
corridor. His stride is long, his demeanor purposeful. The 
corridor leads into a courtroom. Harry standing at attention. 
We hear Hillier climb onto the bench and be introduced by 
the court official. Harry stares up at the judge.

			HILLIER
	Alvin Hanson, a.k.a. Ronald Burns, 
	Thomas Slocum, Harry York... Mr. 
	Hanson, this warrant has been 
	outstanding for many years. Normally 
	that circumstance would prompt me 
	toward leniency, but the crime you 
	committed -- inciting to riot -- and 
	the cause you sought to promote -- a 
	worker's rebellion -- are such 
	anathemas to this court that I feel 
	compelled to mete out the full 
	sentence. I only wish it were longer.
		(slamming gavel)
	Six months in the state penitentiary.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - DAY

Frances sits at the piano playing "You Are My Sunshine". 
Lillian is lounging on the couch, leafing happily through 
her scrapbook.

			LILLIAN
	Frances, play 'Flow Gently Sweet 
	Afton'.

Frances' brows mesh.

			FRANCES
	Oh Mama, I'm so... tired of that 
	song.

			LILLIAN
	Please. I want you to. It would make 
	me so happy.

Frances sighs and begins to play it. Lillian scrunches down 
and begins to hum along.

			LILLIAN
	It's just a flow gently sweet Afton 
	day. Life has been so good to me. 
	Why, I have just about everything 
	one could wish... but I still have 
	so many blank pages in my scrapbook.

She smiles warmly at Frances. Frances abruptly stops playing.

			FRANCES
	I think I need a little air.

			LILLIAN
	What's wrong?

			FRANCES
	Nothing. I think I'll just go out 
	for awhile.

			LILLIAN
	Where are you going?

			FRANCES
	For a walk, Mama. Just a walk.

She gets up and Lillian rouses herself.

			LILLIAN
	How long will you be?

			FRANCES
	Not long.

Frances goes down the hall for her coat. Lillian follows 
part way.

			LILLIAN
		(smiling)
	I'll have lunch ready by one.

			FRANCES
	I'll be back.

			LILLIAN
	At one. Promise?

			FRANCES
	Sure.

Frances returns wearing the coat. Lillian half-blocking her 
path.

			LILLIAN
	Say you promise.

			FRANCES
	I promise I'll... I promise, Mama.

Lillian nods, moves aside. As Frances heads for the door:

			LILLIAN
	You know, the surest way to lose an 
	appetite, is to drink, little sister.

			FRANCES
		(exiting)
	Yes, Mama.

			LILLIAN
	I don't want you drinking, Frances.

			FRANCES
	Yes, Mama.

Lillian enters and re-establishes herself on the couch with 
a happy smile. She begins to hum "Flow Gently Sweet Afton"

INT. FLEA-BAG HOTEL LOBBY - DAY

DERELICTS sleep on broken couches and armchairs. In a corner 
by a pay phone Ernest Farmer sits at a rickety desk piled 
high with briefs. Frances sits across from him. They've been 
talking.

			FRANCES
	...So what do you think?

			ERNEST
	I don't know, honey. Your mother has 
	such big plans for you.

			FRANCES
	I know that, Dad, but --

			ERNEST
	What you have to understand, Francie, 
	is that she... well... she wanted so 
	much for herself too, and for me, 
	and she never really got to... The 
	only time I ever saw her happy was 
	if her name was in the papers... but 
	she could have been... if times were 
	different she could have been a 
	politician or... I don't know.

			FRANCES
	But Dad, I'm asking about me. What 
	do you think I should do?

			ERNEST
		(after a pause)
	Well, Francie, sometimes after you 
	get your hands on something you want, 
	it just doesn't look the same. Then 
	you have to be real smart to know if 
	you should hold onto it because it's 
	all you've got... or just let it go. 
	This is the way of things, but I 
	guess you already know that.

			FRANCES
	Dad... whatever I decide, will it be 
	okay with you?

			ERNEST
	Always. Always.

Frances rises from her chair, looking around the room to 
hide her tears. Ernest rises too.

			ERNEST
	I'm sorry, I... I don't have a desk 
	in my room, and...
		(it's not a proper 
			office)

			FRANCES
	I don't care, Dad. I love you.

			ERNEST
	I love you too, Francie.

They look at each other across the desk for an uncomfortable 
moment, then Frances slowly leaves. He looks sadly after 
her.

EXT. FLEA-BAG HOTEL - DAY

Frances exits and starts across the road. Ernest comes to 
the window to watch her leave. It is raining and the water 
on the glass distorts his view.

OMITTED

INT. FARMER HOUSE - FRANCES' ROOM - DAY

Lillian is straightening up Frances' room, rearranging things 
to suit herself. She hears the door slam downstairs.

			FRANCES (O.S.)
	I'm back, Mama.

			LILLIAN
		(coming into hall)
	Oh Frances, do I have news for you! 
	Guess who --

			FRANCES
		(excited)
	Wait, Mama, wait. I have something 
	to tell you. I've decided... well... 
	I'm not going to make movies anymore. 
	I thought that's what I wanted, and 
	I went after it with all my soul, 
	the way you taught me, but I was 
	miserable, Mama, and it nearly killed 
	me. So now... now it's over. I want 
	a different kind of life, something... 
	simple. I want to live someplace 
	quiet and peaceful... in the country 
	maybe, and I'll have dogs and cats -- 
	I feel so light suddenly, so clear 
	for the first time in... It's going 
	to be okay, Mama, I know it. And I 
	love you.

She goes to hug her mother, but Lillian has changed. Frances' 
news has chilled her.

			LILLIAN
		(coming down stairs)
	Don't... talk crazy.

			FRANCES
	Mama...?

			LILLIAN
		(entering living room)
	They want you back! Your agent called 
	today! Don't you understand? He's 
	sending the scripts. He wants to fly 
	up here in a week with the publicity 
	people! Frances, you can't do this 
	to your fans! Why, they've been 
	praying for you all through this 
	nightmare. You can't turn your back 
	on them now! Look at this fan mail 
	I've been answering!

She points to a stack of letters on the table.

			FRANCES
	Haven't you heard what I said?

			LILLIAN
	I told him to come up! I told him 
	you wanted to show them all that 
	there's nothing wrong with you any 
	more, that you're completely cured!

			FRANCES
	I'm not cured. I was never sick! 
	They had no business putting me in 
	there! My only responsibility is to 
	myself now!

			LILLIAN
	You... you selfish, selfish child. 
	At least talk to him, hear what he 
	has to say.

			FRANCES
	No!

			LILLIAN
	You want to throw it all away, is 
	that it? You had everything, little 
	sister. Beauty... a brilliant 
	career... a wonderful husband. You 
	were a movie star!

			FRANCES
	Mama, shut up!

			LILLIAN
	And now you're throwing everything 
	away? You're gonna be a nobody! 
	Nobody! You know what that's like?!

			FRANCES
		(sudden realization)
	You... You'd send me back, wouldn't 
	you? You would.

Frances grabs her coat.

			LILLIAN
	Where are you going?

			FRANCES
	I'm going out!

			LILLIAN
	You're not going anywhere!

			FRANCES
	Yes, I am, and you can't stop me! 
	You can't tell me what to do, mother. 
	I'm a grown woman, and I can decide 
	about my own life.

			LILLIAN
	Frances!

They're wrestling, Lillian trying to prevent her from leaving.

			FRANCES
	Don't you try and stop me. Don't you 
	dare!

She grabs Lillian's wrists and twists them, throws her back.

			FRANCES
	If you follow me, Mama, I swear I'll 
	fucking kill you!

Frances storms out. Lillian sits back in the chair, suddenly 
looking very old. She massages her wrists...

			LILLIAN
	That's it. You've done it now, little 
	sister.

INT. LARGE OFFICE - DAY

Dark. Blinds drawn. We SEE a single light with a green shade, 
HEAR the soft coo of Lillian's voice. The CAMERA SHIFTS 
gradually onto her earnest face.

			LILLIAN
	All my life, I've tried to live up 
	to my parents' example. To have the 
	independence of mind and fortitude 
	of spirit that have made this country 
	great. I taught that to Frances: 
	Speak out. Aspire. Make something of 
	yourself, something --
		(to be proud of)

			DR. DOYLE
		(bored)
	Yes, yes, Mrs. Farmer --

			ALMA STYLES
	Frances has always been a 
	battleground, Lillian.

DR. DOYLE, a psychiatrist, and the others are seated with 
Judge Hillier around a table.

			DOYLE
	The point is: it's your opinion that 
	Frances is getting steadily worse?

			LILLIAN
	Well... yes.

Doyle fills in a line on the printed form before him.

			DOYLE
	And you feel you're unable to control 
	her any longer?

			LILLIAN
	No... I mean, yes, Doctor.

Alma holds up Lillian's bruised wrists as evidence.

			DOYLE
	And the only course open to you is 
	to commit your daughter for a period 
	of time to a mental institution?

			LILLIAN
	Well, Alma told me that...

Alma looks coolly at Lillian.

			LILLIAN
	...Yes.

Hillier nods slightly, approvingly, toward Alma.

			DOYLE
		(closing his folder)
	I believe that's all I need to know 
	about Miss Farmer.

			HILLIER
	I think in all future documents she 
	should be referred to as Mrs. R. H. 
	Richardson.

			LILLIAN
	Her married name?

			HILLIER
	Yes. It's less recognizable. I'm 
	sure you'd prefer to keep unpleasant 
	publicity to a minimum.

			LILLIAN
	...Oh yes.

			HILLIER
	Now. Can you tell us where we might 
	find Frances?

INT. DOWNTOWN SEATTLE BAR - NIGHT

It's late. Frances stands at the bar acting out a joke for a 
small audience of devoted DRINKERS.

			FRANCES
	...Looking for a drink, and the town 
	is deserted, he can't understand it. 
	Finally he finds a bar, goes in -- 
	the place is empty, bartender's 
	closing up. Salesman says, 'Gimme a 
	martini.' Bartender's real nervous, 
	he says, 'No, no, no, I gotta close. 
	Big Otis is coming to town.'

Behind them is a large window covered by a gauzy curtain. In 
the street a police car cruises slowly past.

			FRANCES
	Salesman says, 'I don't care. I gotta 
	have a martini.' So the bartender 
	fixes him a martini real fast, grabs 
	his money, and runs out the back. 
	Salesman sits there sipping his 
	martini,... he's got the bar all to 
	himself... Then he hears it. This 
	big roaring in the street. 
	RRRAAAAAAA!!!
		(stomping her feet)
	Gigantic footsteps... coming closer. 
	Stopping.

We SEE the police car again... It stops out front.

			FRANCES
	Enormous hands reach in, grab the 
	swinging doors and rip them off their 
	hinges. This huge man stomps in. 
	Picks up a chair and hurls it over 
	the bar, smashing the mirror -- 
	whiskey and glass flying everywhere.

TWO COPS appear at the window, looking in.

			FRANCES
	He turns to the salesman: 'What the 
	hell're you doing in here!' Salesman 
	says, 'I'm just drinking a martini.' 
	'Oh yeah?' the guy says. 'Well you 
	better get outa here! Big Otis is 
	coming to town!'

Everyone laughs. A long moment of enjoyment. Then Frances 
turns, looks out the window and sees the cops.

INT. COURTROOM - DAY

Hillier behind the bench. Doyle sits at a table with Alma 
Styles. A COURT RECORDER taps out his notes in an odd, jerky 
style. (NOTE: This scene is INTERCUT, where appropriate, 
with shots of FRANCES in a bare room, wearing a strait 
jacket.)

			DOYLE
	...From her history, it's apparent 
	the patient suffers from a paranoid 
	reaction with pronounced egotism. 
	Her violent responses have recently 
	included aggression against her 
	mother. In view of the deep-seated 
	nature of her ailments and her failure 
	to respond satisfactorily to insulin 
	shock, it is my opinion she may 
	ultimately require permanent 
	institutional care.

			HILLIER
		(to Styles)
	Counsellor, as Guardian ad litem for 
	Mrs. Richardson, do you waive jury 
	trial?

			STYLES
	Yes, your Honor.

She signs a paper which is passed to Hillier.

			HILLIER
	Having heard the testimony of a 
	legally qualified and reputable 
	physician... and being further 
	satisfied of the truth of all matters 
	set forth in the certificates of 
	said physician, I do hereby order 
	that the said Mrs. R. H. Richardson, 
	an insane person, be confined to the 
	Western State Hospital for the Insane 
	at Steilacoom.

He bangs his gavel.

			HILLIER
	So ordered! Are the gentlemen from 
	Steilacoom present?

EXT. STEILACOOM - DAY

Huge, dark-red brick buildings with barred windows, loom out 
of the fog and trees. A van pulls up to the front entrance. 
Two MEN get out, open the back doors and assist Frances out. 
She is strapped into a strait-jacket. She yells and struggles 
violently but a piercing SCREAM stops her. She looks up at 
the building.

From a top floor window, a thin, white hand protrudes from 
the bars and waves "hello".

INT. STEILACOOM HALLWAY - DAY

Frances is dragged kicking and screaming down the shiny 
linoleum-covered hallway. There are many patients here, 
talking to imaginary birds, laughing at unheard jokes. A few 
of them notice Frances, most do not. The two Orderlies arrive 
at a door and throw it open. A bare 6'10' room is revealed 
with a narrow cot and no windows. Frances is pushed inside 
and the door locks shut with a resounding click.

INT. TREATMENT ROOM - DAY

A MEDICAL STUDENT wheels a small electrical machine up to a 
table. On the table Frances is securely strapped down. TWO 
DOCTORS grease Frances' temples and put two metal electrodes 
on them. The electrodes are connected to the machine.

			DOCTOR #1
	What's she getting, anyway?

			DOCTOR #2
	Standard series to start.

			DOCTOR #1
	Fifteen?

Doctor #2 nods and jams a rubber bar into Frances' mouth. 
The Medical Student steps forward.

			STUDENT
	Can I push the button on this one?

Doctor #1 shoots a silent query to Doctor #2.

			DOCTOR #2
	Sure.

The Medical Student pushes the button with great gravity. 
Frances' body immediately begins to convulse. It seems as if 
it will never stop.

INT. STEILACOOM - A WOMAN'S WARD - DAY

Beds three inches apart. Women patients lie on them in varying 
stages of madness and decay. Some are bound to their beds 
with coarse cloth strips. One bed is empty, the bonds chewed 
through. We find Frances sitting on the floor staring at a 
hissing radiator. Her lips are caked with blood. Her eyes 
are glazed. She is dreaming. Or remembering...

							DISSOLVE TO:

FRANCES ACTING (HER MEMORY)

A scene from one of her movies or plays. Soundless. She looks 
radiant, vivacious, alive...

							DISSOLVE TO:

INT. STEILACOOM - THE HYDRO-THERAPY ROOM - DAY

A NURSE ushers Frances and two ATTENDANTS into a sparse tiled 
room with dilapidated plumbing and fungus growing between 
the tiles. In the center are three steel baths with hammocks 
suspended above them. The Attendants strap Frances into a 
bath as Dr. Doyle enters.

			FRANCES
		(speaking with 
			difficulty)
	Doctor, it may sound odd, but I 
	believe I've profited from my stay 
	here. It's just what I've needed, to 
	get away like this. But I'm 
	recuperated now. I've had lots of 
	time to think and I've made a few 
	decisions about my life. I'm ready 
	to get on with it.

			DOYLE
	I know you believe that.

			FRANCES
	...Don't you?

			DOYLE
	I'm afraid not. You see, we observe 
	things that you're unaware of: signs, 
	indicators. Your problem cuts very 
	deep, Frances, and we have to get at 
	that deeper stuff so that when you 
	do get out, you'll really feel secure. 
	Does that make sense?

The Attendants lower her into the empty tub.

			FRANCES
	No. Cut this runaround, Doctor. I 
	know better.

			DOYLE
		(smiling)
	Listen to yourself, Frances. The 
	resistance, the anger in your voice.

			FRANCES
		(tightly)
	You... I'm sorry, forgive me. Doctor, 
	tell me honestly, what do I have to 
	do to get out of here?

			DOYLE
	Be patient, that's all. Take an 
	interest in your treatment and don't 
	dwell on your resentments. You'll be 
	yourself again, I assure you.

			FRANCES
	...I see.

			DOYLE
	We'll talk more about this. I'll see 
	you later.

			FRANCES
	One question. If I'm not myself now, 
	just who do you think I am?

The Doctor smiles sympathetically.

			DOYLE
	We'll talk.

As he turns to leave, Frances laughs triumphantly. The two 
Attendants lower her into the bath and begin to fill it with 
ice-cold water.

			FRANCES
	What the hell!

They shove a rubber bit between her teeth. She immediately 
spits it out and defiantly starts to sing in order to keep 
her teeth from chattering.

INT. STEILACOOM - DINING HALL - DAY

Everyone eating gruel. A parade of lunatics. The edge of 
incipient violence is palpable. Frances eats listlessly. 
Others are playing with their food, devouring it ravenously, 
fondling each other. Suddenly a call starts up at the far 
end of the hall. Other voices join in. At first we don't 
understand it, but gradually the words become clear:

			CHANT
	Come and get it! Come and get it! 
	Come and get it!

The whole hall joins in. The Nurses make no effort to stop 
it. Others at Frances' table smile at her, try to push her 
to her feet. When they succeed, the hall breaks into applause 
and a new chaotic chant:

			CHANT
	We want Frances! We want Frances!

The chant is quickly silenced by hushing sounds. Everyone is 
watching Frances. She climbs up on her bench. Her eyes are 
glazed, her face expressionless. This feels like some kind 
of automatic behavior. She takes an exaggerated posture and 
speaks in almost a whisper:

			FRANCES
	Come and get it...

The hall breaks into riotous applause, catcalls, stomping.

Frances climbs down from her bench. That was the entire 
performance.

EXT. STEILACOOM - NIGHT

Two dark FIGURES move stealthily along the shadow of the 
main building. A little ways ahead, a door opens, sending a 
shaft of light across the ground. The two Men duck back into 
the shadows. Five young SOLDIERS EXIT, paying off and waving 
goodbye to one of the Orderlies. The door closes. They head 
off down the road laughing and joking together.

The two Men emerge from the shadows and approach the door. 
They try the handle. It opens. The first one in is Harry, 
followed by the other Man carrying a rolled-up bundle.

INT. STEILACOOM - NIGHT

We SEE Harry and the other Man, now wearing a white Doctor's 
coat, walking quickly down a dim hallway. They come to a 
large door with a barred window. The Man fiddles with a 
keyring and unlocks the door. They enter. We HEAR the door 
lock behind them.

INT. WARD - NIGHT

Just inside the door the Doctor flicks on a flashlight and 
they walk down the center of the room. The beam of light 
sweeps over women PATIENTS in their cots, crammed side-by-
side. Some are asleep, others stare blankly at the ceiling. 
A few smile invitingly at the two Men, whispering obscenities. 
The light falls on a bedraggled woman hunched over in a corner 
between the wall and a cot. It is Frances. Harry goes to 
her, putting his arms around her. She is very heavily sedated. 
Tears spring to Harry's eyes.

			HARRY
		(whispering)
	Frances! Frances!

			FRANCES
	Who?

			HARRY
	Frances, it's me, Harry?

			FRANCES
	...Touch me again and I'll kill you, 
	you pig.

			DOCTOR
	Watch out, Harry. Let me look her 
	over.

Harry is on the verge of tears.

			HARRY
	Oh, God! Let's get her out of here 
	tonight, right now! Let's take her 
	with us!

			DOCTOR
	The hearing's tomorrow. If she gets 
	out legally, they can't come after 
	her.

			HARRY
	Look at her! She'll never pass that 
	sanity test tomorrow...

			DOCTOR
	I'm taking care of that, Harry. Just 
	hold her.
		(pulling a hypodermic 
			from his pocket)
	Reserpine. I guarantee you this'll 
	clear her head. She'll wake up feeling 
	smart and sailright through the 
	hearing.

Harry holds her around the shoulders and straightens out her 
arm. Frances starts to struggle and moan loudly.

			DOCTOR
	Yeah... she knows about these. Shut 
	her up.

Harry glares at the Doctor, but puts a hand over her mouth 
and the Doctor injects her. Her arm is covered with sores.

			HARRY
		(tenderly)
	You'll be okay, honey. He's just 
	givin' you something to make you 
	think, so that tomorrow you can tell 
	'em what they want to hear, okay? 
	Tell 'em you were crazy as a loon 
	and they cured you and you're 
	grateful.

The Doctor withdraws the hypo and massages her arm.

			DOCTOR
	This stuff takes pretty quick. Let's 
	go.

			FRANCES
		(grabbing Harry)
	Please! Take me!

Other women in the ward cry out: "Take me! Take me!!"

			DOCTOR
		(pulling Harry)
	Let's get out of here! I'll lose my 
	job!

			HARRY
	Frances, we gotta do it this way. 
	Just remember tomorrow, remember 
	what I told you. What're you gonna 
	tell 'em?

			FRANCES
		(groggily)
	I'm grateful... grateful.

			WOMEN IN WARD
	I'm grateful! I'm grateful!

			DOCTOR
		(very worried)
	Harry!

			HARRY
	I gotta go now.

			FRANCES
	Harry, please!

INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT

The two Men come out and the Doctor quickly locks the door.

			DOCTOR
	We're all square now, Harry. Right?

			HARRY
	All square, Doc.

			DOCTOR
	Good. 'Cause I don't want to see you 
	again.

Frances' face appears at the tiny barred window. We can just 
hear her:

			FRANCES
	I love you, Harry. I love you.

			HARRY
	I love you too, Frances.

Behind Frances we HEAR the Women screaming: "I love you, 
Harry!" The Doctor takes Harry's arm and pulls him down the 
corridor.

INT. WARD - NIGHT

Frances turns to face the women in their cots. Collects 
herself. Looks repentant. She is practicing tomorrow's speech.

			FRANCES
	I realize now that I was a very sick 
	woman.

			WOMEN IN WARD
	Sick! She's sick!

			FRANCES
	I couldn't relate to others in a 
	normal way.

			ONE PATIENT
		(playful warning)
	She's... not... normal...!

The others laugh. We realize that if Frances can handle this, 
she can sail through it tomorrow. The catcalls gradually 
diminish as she concludes her speech.

			FRANCES
	And I was not taking responsibility 
	for my actions. But now, thanks to 
	your treatment, I feel ready to face 
	myself, ready to resume the career 
	which I so single-handedly shattered. 
	I only hope... I hope I can make you 
	all proud of me. Thank you. Thank 
	you so much.

The room is silent now. A very odd moment. To their 
astonishment, the other patients seem to believe her...

EXT. FARMER HOUSE - SUNNY DAY

The vegetable garden is overgrown, the paint peeling. The 
house is in disrepair, but we can tell from the freshly-mowed 
lawn that some effort has recently been made...

A car pulls up. Frances kisses Ernest on the cheek and gets 
out. As he drives off, she walks into the yard and looks 
around, heaves a sigh; she's home. Then Christmas lights 
spring on over the porch. Lillian comes out grinning broadly, 
followed by REPORTERS. Frances blanches.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - DAY

Frances sits on the couch next to Lillian. They're sipping 
tea and answering questions. Frances is uncomfortable.

			LILLIAN
	Of course, she hasn't anything 
	definite in mind.

			FRANCES
	No. No, it all depends on what offers 
	I get.

			REPORTER
	Who did your hair, Frances?

She touches it shyly. It's swept up in a continental style.

			FRANCES
	Well, I like to try different styles. 
	Sometimes if you're old-fashioned 
	enough, you find you're modern. Right, 
	Mama?

Lillian laughs.

			REPORTER
	What do you think of all this, Mrs. 
	Farmer?

			LILLIAN
	It's a miracle. Just a miracle.

EXT. FARMER HOUSE - NIGHT

The porch light goes out. Shadows pass over the curtained 
windows. Across the street a match flares. Harry is leaning 
against a tree. He lights a cigarette and settles back to 
wait.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Lillian walks from room to room turning off lights. Frances 
is neatly stacking the dessert dishes on a tray. Very 
domestic, out of character. She carries the tray into the 
kitchen.

			LILLIAN
	Oh, just leave those things for now.

			FRANCES
	No, Mama, I'll take care of it. I'll 
	wash them in the morning.

Lillian smiles warmly at her.

			LILLIAN
	You know, little sister, I never 
	resented you for refusing to see me 
	in the... the hospital. I knew you 
	had to manage on your own before you 
	could come back.

			FRANCES
	Thank you for understanding, Mama.

Lillian links her arm with Frances' and they go upstairs 
together.

			LILLIAN
	Little sister, I don't want you to 
	feel any rush to get back to work. I 
	want you to rest... for a while 
	anyway.

			FRANCES
	I will, I promise.

They hug each other.

			LILLIAN
	Good night, dear.

Lillian waits until Frances has shut her door before closing 
hers.

EXT. FARMER HOUSE - NIGHT

The front door opens and Frances, suitcase in hand, slips 
out onto the porch. She eases the door shut behind her, 
tiptoes down the steps and, without looking back, starts 
down the road.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Frances rounds the corner, then sees him: Harry, standing by 
his car, smiling.

			HARRY
	Where to?

			FRANCES
	Oh Harry...

She approaches him tentatively.

			HARRY
	This is it, kid. This is our chance. 
	When you got a chance, you better 
	take it.

			FRANCES
	Yeah. I don't know.

			HARRY
	You don't need to screw around 
	anymore. You don't need Dwayne Steele 
	or Odets or your mother. You need 
	me.

			FRANCES
	I know, but... There were so many 
	people in there, Harry. Every time I 
	turned around someone was pressing 
	against me... watching, looking over 
	my shoulder, touching me, grabbing, 
	sticking things into me. When I feel 
	somebody near me now... anybody... 
	my skin starts to crawl.

Long beat. She turns and stares at him sadly.

			FRANCES
	You can't change the things they did 
	to me, Harry. Only I can do that... 
	by myself.

He nods slowly.

			HARRY
	Been a lot of years, you know. A 
	long time waiting. For what? End up 
	feeling like a sap.

			FRANCES
	Oh please, Harry... don't even think 
	it. You're the only person who ever... 
	It's just... Can't you wait for me?

			HARRY
	I don't know.

			FRANCES
		(getting frantic)
	Yes you do. If you love me you can 
	wait, right? A month, six months, 
	whatever it takes.

			HARRY
	Right. Except... time has a way of --

			FRANCES
	No, Harry, it's not time, it's us. 
	You and me. And I'm telling you now 
	that I'll come to you, okay? I'll 
	find you. I will.

			HARRY
		(smiles wistfully)
	I hope so, Frances.

They hug. Together for an instant. Then she shivers as if 
the contact were too much.

			FRANCES
		(disentangling)
	I'm sorry.

He nods, looks at her.

			HARRY
	I'll be seeing you, kid.

He turns and walks slowly to his car.

EXT. HIGHWAY - DAWN

Barren desert. The middle of nowhere. A lone male HITCHHIKER, 
poor, stands at a crossroads. A car coming the wrong direction 
raises dust along the highway. It slows, stops, and lets 
Frances out. She is now dressed in jeans and a workshirt. 
She has a heavy tan.

She glances across at the Hitchhiker and nods casually. He 
responds in kind. A relaxed silence follows. Two strangers 
passing. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, calm:

			HITCHHIKER
	Pretty morning.

			FRANCES
		(nods)
	It's always beautiful at this time. 
	Peaceful...

			HITCHHIKER
	And no people.

			FRANCES
	Yes.

Beat.

			HITCHHIKER
	Where you goin'?

			FRANCES
	Wherever they're going, I'm going.

			HITCHHIKER
	Yeah, I know what that's like... 
	Where you been?

			FRANCES
	Well, I was picking fruit with some 
	migrant workers until...

She stops. She sees now that the car heading toward her is a 
cop car. She averts her face... then tries to hide her 
gesture.

			HITCHHIKER
	What's the matter?

Frances sighs as the cop car speeds away.

			HITCHHIKER
	They're looking for you, huh?

She's uncertain whether to trust him. Takes the plunge:

			FRANCES
	Yeah.

			HITCHHIKER
	What'd you do?

			FRANCES
	You know, I've never been able to 
	figure that out.

He laughs. She shivers slightly, pulls her clothes around 
her. He takes out a small flask and offers, no strings:

			HITCHHIKER
	I've got a little whiskey here, warm 
	you up.

She smiles, truly grateful:

			FRANCES
	Thank you.

Then she sees a ball of dust nearing... a car on his side.

			FRANCES
	Wait. Maybe they'll pick you up.

The car stops. Its lights flashing. COPS jump out.

			FRANCES
	Shit!

			HITCHHIKER
	Run!

She does. She's pursued. The Hitchhiker makes an effort to 
impede the Cops' progress, but is tossed aside. The Cops are 
slowly, inevitably, gaining on her.

EXT. SMALL TOWN JAIL - DAY

Frances and Ernest walk out the door followed by a portly 
SHERIFF. He watches them get in Ernest's car and drive off. 
His expression says very clearly: I'm glad that's over with.

INT. CAR - DAY

Ernest's at the wheel, Frances at his side. Silence, then:

			FRANCES
	Dad...? Why don't you stop at a side 
	road and let me out?

Ernest writhes slightly with discomfort.

			ERNEST
	Francie, you know I can't do that.

			FRANCES
	Why? It's such a simple thing. You 
	just let me out and I disappear down 
	a road and you never have to see me 
	again.

			ERNEST
	They'll just catch you again, Francie. 
	Besides, your mother will know.

We SEE them approaching a side road.

			FRANCES
	Dad, here! You don't have to stop, 
	just slow down. You can tell Mama I 
	jumped out. She knows that's the 
	kind of thing I'd do. She won't blame 
	you.

			ERNEST
	But I gave her my word. Besides, 
	she's still your legal guardian. My 
	hands are tied.

They are nearer the side road.

			FRANCES
	You know where you're taking me. You 
	know what she'll do. Just give me a 
	minute, slow down, give me an instant 
	for once in your life, please?

			ERNEST
	Please, Francie...

			FRANCES
		(pleading)
	Daddy!

They pass the side road. It disappears behind them. All the 
life seems to drain from Frances.

			ERNEST
	I'll try to protect you, Francie. I 
	will, I'll talk to her. We'll have a 
	real talk.

Frances buries her face in her hands.

			ERNEST
	Are you... are you hungry?

			FRANCES
	I pity us, Dad. I pity us both.

INT. FARMER HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Lillian is sitting on the couch, waiting. We HEAR A CAR PULL 
UP outside and stop. Doors slam. Steps come up the walk and 
onto the porch. The door opens and Frances and Ernest enter. 
Lillian rises to face her daughter.

			FRANCES
		(coldly)
	Do I go right away or do I have time 
	to take a bath?

			LILLIAN
	I was hoping for a kind word, little 
	sister.

			FRANCES
	You were hoping for a kind word?! 
	You're my mother! You're supposed to 
	nourish me! Support me!

			LILLIAN
	I have!

Through the window we SEE a white van pull up outside.

			FRANCES
	No! All you've done is try to break 
	my spirit, try to turn me into you! 
	But I'm not you, mother, and I never 
	will be, and thank god for it!
		(to Ernest)
	That goes for you too! And frankly, 
	I don't know how, with the two of 
	you, I turned out as sane as I am --
		(to the MEN IN WHITE 
			COATS who are at the 
			door)
	Wait right there, gentlemen, I'll be 
	with you in a minute... and believe 
	me, I don't want to stay here one 
	second longer than I have to!
		(turning back)
	But I've got to tell you, Lillian, 
	that one day before you die, you 
	will realize what you've done and 
	hang your head in shame. In shame!

			LILLIAN
	But what --
		(have I done?)

			FRANCES
	No! You're not talking now. You 
	listen. You can send me away, Lillian, 
	you can pretend I'm crazy and pretend 
	I'm still your little girl who can't 
	take care of herself, but one thing 
	you can't pretend anymore. You can't 
	pretend I love you because I don't. 
	I can't. Not after what you've done 
	to me. Because you see... I'm still 
	me... I'm trying real hard all this 
	time to be me... and you, 'little 
	sister', you haven't been any help 
	at all.
		(walking out the door)
	Okay, boys, I'm ready.

The way she goes out that door we know she's never coming 
back.

INT. STEILACOOM - VIOLENT WARD - NIGHT

The ward is a huge room packed with nearly naked women, their 
hair cropped very short. The walls are corrugated tin nailed 
to bare wood framing. The place looks like an enormous tool 
shed. The SOUND OF GARBLED VOICES and SCREAMING never stops. 

These are the forgotten ones... beyond hope. Everyone here 
has lost any notion of what they might have once been. Their 
faces are slack, only their eyes glow with an animal ferocity. 
Some wander aimlessly about, unheeding of others who are 
pushing, kicking and screaming at them. Many squat in the 
dirt by the walls, mired in their own urine and excrement, 
chanting wordlessly to themselves. Some appear lifeless, 
their prone bodies shoved out of the way. Some women are 
involved in violent sex with themselves or each other, some 
in mindless fist-fights. In a far corner we SEE a group of 
men in various military and medical uniforms, their backs to 
us, facing the wall, grouped around something. We HEAR their 
cheering and laughing and joking, slapping each other on the 
back.

We SLOWLY MOVE CLOSER and can see over their shoulders the 
object of their hilarity. It's Frances, lying naked and spread-
eagled on the floor. Four hospital ATTENDANTS pin her arms 
and legs. A SOLDIER, his pants down around his ankles, is 
squirming violently on top of her. Frances' eyes are open 
but glazed, her face turned away from her attacker. She is 
passive and unresisting. She is reciting to herself, over 
and over.

			FRANCES
	We shall hear the angels, we shall 
	see the whole sky all diamonds...

Two of the SOLDIERS, waiting their turn, are smoking 
cigarettes and chatting idly.

			SOLDIER #1
	...Best deal I ever made. Twenty 
	bucks to fuck a fuckin' movie star.

			SOLDIER #2
	Yeah, it's worth it I guess.

			SOLDIER #1
	What's she saying, anyway?

			SOLDIER #2
	Who knows. She's crazy, ain't she?

Frances keeps reciting as one rapist gets off. The Soldiers 
cheer as another quickly takes his place.

EXT. STEILACOOM - DAY

A heavy snow is falling. From the corrugated-tin Violent 
Ward, a thin white hand protrudes from a narrow window to 
catch a snowflake.

As it opens and closes, capturing individual flakes, a VOICE 
BEGINS TO SING "You Are My Sunshine...". We recognize Frances' 
voice, still surprisingly strong and steady.

							DISSOLVE TO:

INT. STEILACOOM - TREATMENT ROOM - DAY

TWO NURSES discuss Frances' condition as we SEE, background, 
that she is getting electroshock treatments from a pair of 
doctors.

			OLDER NURSE
	I don't know why they even bother. 
	She's had enough of this to knock 
	sense into a bull elephant.

			YOUNG NURSE
	Yeah?

			OLDER NURSE
		(nods)
	I checked the files. This one holds 
	the record for shock treatments. 
	Four hundred seventeen and no end in 
	sight.

			YOUNG NURSE
		(wincing)
	You're kidding.

			OLDER NURSE
		(indicating the doctors)
	Yeah, well, you know doctors. They 
	sure hate to use that word.

			YOUNG NURSE
	What?

			OLDER NURSE
	'Incurable.'

OMITTED

INT. STEILACOOM - HOLDING WARD - DAY

Frances, barely conscious, lies strapped to a bed. Doyle and 
an ORDERLY approach her. Doyle nods toward her as if to say: 
that one. He and the Orderly unstrap her.

			FRANCES
		(to Doyle)
	Harry? Oh Harry, I knew you'd come. 
	I love you, Harry. I love... Take me 
	home, Harry.

			DOYLE
	We'll get you home, Frances.

			FRANCES
	Thank you, Harry.

She's untied. The Orderly helps her up onto a gurney.

She lies down. Doyle nods to the Orderly, who starts pushing 
her.

She is wheeled out and down:

THE HALL

Past other patients, doctors, etc. We see some of this from 
her point of view.

She goes through two swinging doors, down another hall... at 
the end of which a man opens a door. She is pushed onto a:

STAGE

She is wheeled into a row... between two other patients. In 
the background we HEAR a voice:

			DR. HARLINGTON (O.S.)
	One merely inserts the leucotome 
	beneath the eyelid and presses up 
	into the prefrontal lobe, manipulating 
	it so as to sever the nervous 
	connections between the thalamofrontal 
	radiation and the body of the brain.

The lights are bright, on her and the other patients. We 
cannot see, but we sense, an audience watching.

			DR. HARLINGTON (O.S.)
	Because of the speed and simplicity 
	of the operation, I am able, as you 
	are seeing, to perform the procedure 
	on ten patients in less than a half 
	hour.

Frances stares up at a fan in the ceiling. It's moving round 
and round. The voice drones on.

			DR. HARLINGTON (O.S.)
	The operation is completely painless 
	and can be performed without any 
	sedative whatsoever.

We now see vaguely that DR. HARLINGTON has moved to the 
patient on the adjacent gurney.

			DR. HARLINGTON
	We have always known that this form 
	of radical treatment was effective, 
	but until now it couldn't be applied 
	on a large scale. The old procedure 
	required a full day's work by a 
	surgical team to perform a single 
	operation. In the same time, working 
	alone, I can treat fifty.

Frances turns and stares mutely, without emotion, at what's 
happening next to her: the leucotome (an ice-pick-like 
instrument) is inserted into a woman's eye socket...

			DR. HARLINGTON
	This procedure works best on patients 
	with extreme over-reactions to 
	emotional stimuli. It can also be 
	used as a last resort on those who 
	seem impervious to other forms of 
	treatment.

The leucotome is then shoved up into the brain and twisted.

			DR. HARLINGTON
	In plain language, my technique severs 
	the nerves which give emotional energy 
	to ideas. Along with the cure comes 
	a loss of affect... a kind of 
	emotional flattening...

Frances turns away and stares at the fan again. There is 
something simple and pleasing about its rhythmic whirring...

			DR. HARLINGTON
	...with diminished creativity and 
	imagination. Patients become like 
	good solid cake with no icing. But, 
	after all, it is their emotions and 
	imaginations that are disturbed.

We glimpse the leucotome being withdrawn.

			DR. HARLINGTON
	These patients will soon be leaving 
	the hospital.

Harlington's face moves vaguely into Frances' view.

			DR. HARLINGTON
	Lobotomy gets 'em home.

He moves directly over Frances, his pleasant face obscuring 
the fan. As the leucotome descends, we:

									CUT TO:

EXT. FARMER HOUSE - DAY

Total disrepair: peeling paint, broken steps, fallen 
shingles... This house is easing slowly back to nature...

INT. FARMER HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Neglect is just as evident inside. Dust, faded rugs, torn 
yellow curtains. Lillian sits on the couch staring out a 
window. She has aged and looks tiny, frail, with no trace of 
her old formidability. The scrapbook is open on her lap.

			LILLIAN
	What was I saying? Oh yes, it was 
	the Communists that did it to Frances.

Ernest is hunched in a chair by the stone fireplace. FOUR 
REPORTERS crouch on the floor, totally bored. Yesterday's 
headlines are now old news.

			LILLIAN
	They capture the mind by first 
	seducing the heart. I suppose I never 
	taught Frances to close her heart...

Two Reporters rise and edge toward the door.

			REPORTER
	Uh... excuse us, Mrs. Farmer. We're 
	going to have to... uh...

			THIRD REPORTER
		(rising)
	Yeah, I better pack it in too.

			LILLIAN
		(distractedly)
	Pardon? Oh, would you like more 
	lemonade?

The last Reporter gets to his feet.

			FOURTH REPORTER
		(kindly)
	I think we've had enough. Thank you, 
	Mrs. Farmer. Goodbye.

He follows the others out. Lillian climbs wearily to her 
feet and goes to the window, looks out. Ernest stares into 
the fire.

			LILLIAN
	You know, Ernie, I think we should 
	have Frances' room repainted for 
	when she comes home. That'll brighten 
	her day.

Ernest looks at her wearily, as if she is stark raving mad. 
He knows damn well Frances isn't coming home...

FADE IN ON: A TELEVISION SCREEN against a dark background 
The show is "This Is Your Life". We SEE a smiling RALPH 
EDWARDS, reading from a large black book. Next to him stands 
Frances. She has aged dramatically, but is still a very 
handsome woman. She seems uncomfortable.

			EDWARDS
	...Dwayne Steele divorced you, and 
	from this point on, your story takes 
	a darker turn. Shunned by the 
	Hollywood you criticized so harshly, 
	alienated from your family and 
	friends, you turn your back on 
	professional commitments in New York, 
	and alcohol and drugs enter your 
	life. These are sad, desperate times 
	for you.

Throughout this, Frances' jaw works slowly back and forth, 
not from anger, but in embarrassment and doubt.

			EDWARDS
	...until finally your mother finds 
	it necessary to commit you to a state 
	mental institution. Were you mentally 
	ill, Frances?

			FRANCES
	...No, Ralph. I don't believe I ever 
	was sick. But when you're treated 
	like a patient long enough, you're 
	apt to act like one...

We MOVE AWAY from the screen to see that the TV set is in 
the living room of a comfortable, tastefully furnished home. 
On the couch in front of the set sits Harry York. He still 
looks athletic, young for his age. Tears stream down his 
cheeks.

			EDWARDS (O.S.)
	Were you an alcoholic?

			FRANCES (O.S.)
	No.

			EDWARDS (O.S.)
	Were you a drug addict?

			FRANCES (O.S.)
	No. Never.

ON THE SCREEN Edwards has moved Frances over to a seating 
area where various people from Frances' life are waiting, 
smiling at her. We've never seen any of them before.

			EDWARDS
	...and over 200 producers have been 
	invited to watch your appearance 
	here tonight... so who knows, Frances 
	Farmer, anything's possible on your 
	comeback trail!
		(indicating seating 
			area)
	And since your friends tell me they 
	have to drive you everywhere, look 
	what we've got for you!

The curtains behind them open to reveal a car in a spotlight.

			EDWARDS
	A brand new 1958 Edsel!

The audience applauds. Frances smiles guardedly.

			FRANCES
	Thank you, Ralph.

			EDWARDS
	Thank you, Frances. And after the 
	show we're hosting a reception for 
	you and your friends at Hollywood's 
	own Roosevelt Hotel!

Applause.

			EDWARDS
	So, Frances Farmer, this is your 
	life. Good night. God bless you.

The audience applauds. Frances smiles wearily and accepts 
congratulations.

EXT. ROOSEVELT HOTEL - HOLLYWOOD - DAY

A group of PEOPLE are coming down the front steps, Frances 
among them. They all talk happily, Frances is silent but 
smiling.

			WOMAN
	Where shall we drop you, Frances? 
	Home?

			FRANCES
		(vaguely)
	No... no, someone's picking me up.

The people all excuse themselves, calling goodbye. Frances 
waits by herself for a few moments, but soon begins to walk 
away down the sidewalk.

			HARRY (O.S.)
	Hey.

She turns. Harry is leaning against the side of a building, 
looking much as he did when they first met. But there is 
very little light of recognition in Frances' eyes.

			HARRY
	C'mere. I want to talk to you.

			FRANCES
		(flatly)
	Oh. Why, Harry York. How nice to see 
	you.

Harry is a little puzzled by her reaction.

			HARRY
	How... how ya doin', Farmer?

			FRANCES
	Fine, thank you. Did you watch the 
	show?

			HARRY
	Sure I did, that's why I'm here.

			FRANCES
		(concerned)
	How did I look?

			HARRY
	Oh, you...
		(smiling)
	...ennh.

			FRANCES
		(a glimmer, but she 
			does not pick up on 
			the cue)
	Well... you're looking well.

They are both silent a long moment.

			FRANCES
	I got a new car. Only it's red. Did 
	you know Mama died?

			HARRY
	Yeah. Yeah, I heard about that.

			FRANCES
	Dad, too. I sold the house. I'm a 
	faceless sinner, Harry...

			HARRY
	Why do you say that?

			FRANCES
	I'd ask you to take me home, but I'm 
	a faceless sinner.
		(she smiles)
	...You smell good, Harry. Familiar, 
	you know? I'd ask you to take me 
	home, but...

Harry is alarmed now.

			HARRY
		(taking her by the 
			arm)
	Frances!

She angrily bares her teeth; then just as suddenly she relaxes 
and becomes lucid.

			FRANCES
	Don't get mad at me, Harry. Please. 
	It's just... Some things happen for 
	the best.

Beat.

She takes his hand as if to shake it.

Harry clasps hers tenderly.

She holds on like an old woman, stroking his hand. For an 
instant she gets lost in time, just holding his hand. Then 
she looks up.

			FRANCES
	It's going to be slow from now on. 
	Do you know what I mean, Harry?

			HARRY
	I'm not sure.

			FRANCES
	Very slow.
		(uncertainly)
	But we're not going to stop, are we?

			HARRY
	No.

			FRANCES
		(reassured)
	No, we're not.

It is as if she is able to express in words the last remnant 
of her indomitable will... but the words bear no emotional 
power.

			FRANCES
	Goodbye, Harry. It was very good to 
	see you again.

			HARRY
	Yes. Would you like me to walk a 
	little way with you?

			FRANCES
	That would be okay.

			HARRY
	Just a little way.

He offers his arm. She takes it. All rather formal. They 
stroll on together.

							FADE TO BLACK:

							THE END
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