'The Beast of the East': A Play

INT. BARRY BOUROS’S OFFICE

[Darkness.]

BARRY
Cunt! Cuuunt! You’re a cunt!

[The lights come up. BARRY is on his feet with excitement. He is imposing as he lords from behind his desk. PRESCOTT, his right-hand man, and MINDY, his assistant/development girl, sit beside him. DARLENE, a young director, sits opposite. She is nerdy—in a hip way.]

BARRY (CONT.)
What the fuck do you know about selling a movie, let alone making one?

DARLENE
Well, I thought I knew a little bit about it. I thought that was why you hired me.

BARRY
I hired you, Darlene, for your script. Your fucking script! You can write like an angel, I’ll give you that! The dark angel of the street, the black lady of the shadows.

I mean, Sin is just one of the great characters—she makes me laugh, she makes me cry, she fucks men, she fucks dogs, but she has a heart of gold, it’s amazing. You’re great, pen-to-paper, hand-to-keyboard.

But as a director—when you have to take all that shit in your head and actually get people to act it, to say your lines, to move about the world in a realistic way, to operate those things called cameras that need to be pointed in the correct way, to frame the action, and whose footage needs to be edited—you fucking suck dog cock!

I mean, you really take the fuckin’ dog shit cake! It’s as if all your genius for writing, the great works of art proportionally become that shitty when you direct… It’s as if you become the happy chef of the shit piles, and of all the shit piles I’ve ever seen. Your movie is the darkshit of all the piles.

DARLENE
The darkshit?

PRESCOTT
Darlene…

BARRY
The darkshit. The shittiest fucking shit that I have ever seen. The blackshit—the shit that is so dark and stinky no one can even go in the room that it’s in, people run for the aisles.

It’s so fucking shitty that the theater needs to be cleansed after your shit plays. It needs to be Cloroxed and sanitized. If I play Pulp Fiction in a theater after your shitty shit plays, it becomes Shit Fiction. If I play Amistad, it becomes The Shitty Boat.

DARLENE
Why would you play Amistad? You didn’t make Amistad.

PRESCOTT
Darlene…

BARRY
I’m making an example—making an illustration. Get it, my little cunt of shit piles? If I played my dear, dear, Shakespeare in Love—which I would never do, not in a theater that had been diarrhea-shit-splattered by your fucking work—if I did it would be called Shitty Shakespeare Cunt Shits on Himself.

DARLENE
Why would he be called “Shakespeare Cunt?” If I make things so shitty, what does being a Shakespeare Cunt have to do with it?

PRESCOTT
Darlene, please…

BARRY
Because you are a cunt! Not in your person—I hope, although I’m starting to get suspicious—and not in your writing, but in your directing. You are a fucking a cunt. A master-cunt. A big gaping cunt with huge Pink Floyd: The Wall lips that are reaching out and haunting me in my dreams, reaching out with teeth, a cunt dentata, trying to suck me up and eat me like that fucking plant from Little Shop of Horrors—

DARLENE
That plant is more phallic than anything—

BARRY
Don’t interrupt me.

PRESCOTT
Darlene, please, don’t talk back. The plant is a cunt if Barry says it’s a cunt.

BARRY
Shut the fuck up Prescott. She’s right, it’s a cock and a cunt—Laura Mulvey eat your fucking cunty male-gaze heart out. The plant is a cock and a cunt, a cocky-cunt, just like your movie! Your film is so shitty it’s like a cock and a cunt at the same time.

And it’s fucking me in the ass, bloody raw, sticking it’s ugly head up my precious little asshole, and then it’s inside there, and it’s saying, “Feed me! Feeeeeeeed me! I’m a cocky little cunt, and I want to eat Barry and all his fucking money, and then I want to shit on him with boredom, because Darlene made me and she made me sooooooooo boring that it’s like an anal rape of boredom.”

[Pause]

DARLENE
I’m happy with it.

[Pause. Everyone is shocked.]

PRESCOTT
Darlene…

BARRY
You little square-eyed pile of cunty shit with flies on it—when is it gonna sink in that I don’t give a schwartza-flagpole-cock-fuck if you’re happy with it. I don’t give a long, hard, Boys Don’t Cry—but they do cry when they get fucked by me—fuck.

DARLENE
Are you referring to the rape in Boys Don’t Cry, right now?

BARRY
That's right. Because I’m a rapist. Not in life, not with people, but with films. Films that try to rape me, I rape back. Films that try to make love to me, I make love to. Films that get all S&M on me, I get S&M back. I get out the chains. And I smoke assholes, I commit seppuku on buttholes. I have a raping feast.

DARLENE
I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you’re saying, you’re just spitting on me. And seppuku is suicide.

BARRY
You have a problem with my spit? With my spit? When you wipe cunt shit all over my face?

DARLENE
My cunt doesn’t shit. I’m saying I’m not hearing anything at this point, I’m just feeling your saliva on my face.

BARRY
OK, bitch. You wanna get wise? Here it is. You don’t know anything about filmmaking. You ain’t QT, you ain’t Rodriguez, you ain’t Soderberg, you ain’t even Kimberly Pierce.

DARLENE
I know. I don’t want to be like those people…

BARRY
But it’s my fault. It’s my fault. I take some of the blame. It’s my fault. You don’t go to a fucking florist to get your fuckin’ prostate checked, and you don’t go to a nunnery to get a blowjob—unless you’re the fucking Bad Lieutenant—and you don’t go to a fuckin’ writer-cunt to direct your fuckin’ movie. A writer-cunt and a director are two different fuckin’ things. One’s a cunt and one’s an artist, beast or fowl.

[Pause.]

DARLENE
I’m sorry if I did such a bad job, in your eyes.

BARRY
OK. I accept your apology, I am glad you’re accepting it.

DARLENE
I’m not accepting it. I think it’s exactly what I wanted to do. I’m just sorry you have to get red in the face about it. I’m actually worried that you might have a heart attack right here.

BARRY
You little bitch, are you mocking the fat man’s weight? You little willowy cunt—are you saying I’m fat?

PRESCOTT
Darlene, please don’t call Barry fat.

DARLENE
I’m not. I was just saying…

BARRY
Do you know how many times my fat rolls got fucked when I was a kid? Do you? Do you? DO you know how many times the fucking blond shitheads held me down and stuck their pricks in my fat rolls when I was a kid? It was rape, Aryan rape, Triumph of the Wills in my poor little fat rolls, And you’re gonna say that to me? You lesbian cunt.

DARLENE
I didn’t say anything. I was just worried about your health.

BARRY
Worry about your own health, you little Algerian cunt stain.

DARLENE
Huh?

BARRY
Do you know what I spent on this film? Three-million-fucking-dollars. Now, I ask myself: Self, why did you do that? Why did you even produce this fucking thing?

Why didn’t you just let this stuck-up bitch finance this film herself, beg all her mommies and daddies and aunts and uncles for some money to make her little slut-with-a-heart-of-gold self-expression film—Yes Mommy, she does fuck the great dane, but it’s a metaphor. It’s a symbol of how we’re all being fucked by the big, bad, parental fucking society, so give me all your savings, OK, Mommy Dearest?

And I should have made you go out to all your little NYU cuntface friends to crew up and make this film together. And then you could have been wasting your own money, and I could have come along and done what I do best, acquire it!

Except I wouldn’t have acquired it. I would have looked at the piece of shit that you only got $250,000 for—and broke Daddy’s bank at that—and I would have said, “OK, you little cliché dyke cunt, you made your little clichéd fucking film about the bitch who can’t fit into society because she has these desires, and she’s a dyke, and she’s special, and she likes to have dogs lick her cunt with peanut butter, fine. That’s your thing, I’ll pay you $300,000 for it, and we’ll put it in some art houses in the LA, New York, and Chicago, and that would have been that.

But I’m the fucking toad brain that wanted to get into production, for what fucking reason—the grief has given me hemorrhoids the size of peanut M&Ms—I don’t know! Why do I want to mix it up with little cuntlicks like you when I can be having these fights with Martin Scorsese? At least his art shit has some legacy. He’s drawing from Godard, Cassavettes, Kazan.

Who are you drawing from? The fucking L-Word? Flaming Creatures? Save that shit for fucking YouTube! $3 million? Am I out of my fucking mind? Am I fucking crazy? Prescott, am I out of my mind?

PRESCOTT
Um, no sir.

BARRY
I’m not? So, you think a sane man would pay $3 million for this bitch's schlock? Did you watch the fucking film I watched?

DARLENE
Yeah, he watched the whole thing after you fell asleep.

BARRY
You want me to fist your mouth, bitch? You want me and Prescott to Princess Bride your little asshole? Because my name is Tony Montana, you wasted my money, prepare to get anal raped, cuuuuuuuunt! $3 million!

Do you know what that is, cunt? Do you have any idea how much money that is? Do you know how many Africans I could feed with that kind of money, instead of handing it over to you to burn in you little dyke oven of art?

DARLENE
I’m very aware. I volunteered in Africa before I went to film school.

BARRY
Well, you should have told me. I could have sent the three mil to you while you were over there to help the savages build toilets and schools, while you wrote a nice book: The Quiet American Cunt Learns to Appreciate Black Dick and Gets AIDS and Dies for Her Sins. It would have been a whole lot cheaper, and I could option the book for $0.02, and boom badda boom, everyone would be happy.

Africans fed, dyke converted to dick, and me—Barry—would have spent his money in a place where it’s fucking respected, where the recipients are fucking grateful, where I don’t have to suffer grief from a baby bitch with a chip on her shoulder because she got her bra snapped in her high school locker room because she got caught looking at the cheerleaders’ cunts!

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING? PRESCOTT, HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN? WHY DIDN’T YOU SLAP THE SHIT OUT OF ME WHEN I SAID, “Sin: The Life of a Real Dyke sounded like a good idea.”

[Prescott hands Barry a Diet Coke.]

PRESCOTT
Barry, calm down.

BARRY
I’m going to have a fucking heart attack, here.

DARLENE
Listen. I know you’re Barry Bauros and all, but I really wish you wouldn’t talk to me this way.

BARRY
Cunt, you’ve been paid. And part of that payment goes toward my ability to treat you in any fucking way I please. I own your ass, like I own your film. And I am Barry-fuckin’-Bauros and this is Bauros Films. We’re rough and we’re dirty and we talk like MEN. If you don’t like it, give me the film and get out!

DARLENE
No.

BARRY
You stubborn cunt. You stubborn fucking cunt. I let you have your freedom. I let you alone, I didn’t bother you on set, I didn’t bother you in the editing room. I let you have your space because you’re a sensitive artist and you needed to be coddled. I didn’t fuck with your vision. No, I let you be. Did I not? Did I not?

DARLENE
Yes, you did.

BARRY
And now you’re fighting for all your little artist touches, and Oh, it has to be three hours and 20 minutes because I just want to bore everyone to death, this isn’t about entertainment Barry, it’s about torturing people.

JESUS! All your little touches and artistic flourishes are worthless! They’re like tying bows on a steaming pile of elephant shit. You think anyone is going to care about anything in this film if from frame one you set out to punish them with your artistic crap?

DARLENE
That’s not what I’m doing.

BARRY
Really? OK, maybe not intentionally. Maybe you need a little educating. Maybe you need a little more film school. Why don’t you just consider me your graduate school—the Barry Bauros School of Good Shit.

DARLENE
I went to graduate school.

BARRY
Really? Really? You did? Because from scene one, it’s obvious you don’t know how to control the camera. It’s like the fucking thing was shot during a three-hour earthquake! You call that held-held? I call it hand-dropped! Ever think about investing in a focus puller?

DARLENE
I had a focus puller.

BARRY
Really? Where was he? Back in Africa, building wells?

DARLENE
No. I wanted it to feel like that. Like a documentary.

BARRY
Which documentary is shot like that? The fucking iPhone videos people shot in the fucking Thailand tsunami? OK, if you’re talking about a documentary shot it a shitstorm, yes, you achieved that style. You fucking idiot. You think you’re shooting like The Bourne Identity? You think  you’re Grangers? No, sorry honey, you’re shooting like The Bourne Took a Shit in His Pants by Dyke Shitty-ass.

DARLENE
That’s so not funny.

PRESCOTT
[Doesn’t want to laugh but he does a little.]
It was a little funny.

BARRY
But let’s forget your epileptic cameraman on crack for a second and talk about the acting. HA! The acting! If we dare call it that. What is that dreck? Do you know how to talk to actors? To get them to open up and share their feelings? That little bitch didn’t smile once! The whole film, she pouts like a little bitch whose cake got squashed at her birthday party.

DARLENE
She got raped by her father, uncle, and grandfather. You think she should be smiling?

BARRY
OK, OK. Maybe that’s a script problem. You ever think of just one molestation?

DARLENE
You bought the script, Barry.

MINDY
That’s true, Barry.

BARRY
Well, that doesn’t mean it can’t be changed! They don’t call me Barry the Butcher for nothing. In this case, I don’t mind butchering this to get down to the good meat—if there is any good meat, maybe a few scraps.

But listen bitch, I don’t blame you, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault for giving you this job. You’re not used to this kind of thing. It was too much for you to handle—all that communication with actual people, telling people what you want, trying to communicate your vision when the only community you’re used to is your little laptop screen down in your little basement, down in writerland, and your little computer man doesn’t require any type of interpersonal skills.

DARLENE
I guess you’re a good example of those skills.

BARRY
Really? Really? REALLY? After all this: trying to help you, giving you my money, my time, my resources, my friendship, my wisdom! And you’re giving me shit? I don’t need you, bitch! I eat you for breakfast, bitch—and a million little egg white bitches like you.

I’m too rich to be dealing with shit like this. I may not be the official Mayor of New York, but I’m the goddamn Sheriff of Gotham, bitch. So, you can take your little Robin Dyke-Hood band of Merry Cunts and go make movies in poverty, because you ain't stealing from thin fat cat anymore. The Cheshire has done grinned because he done ate the cunty canary, know what I mean? Know why I’m fat and rich, little bitch? Do ya?

I’m fat and rich because I know movies better than anyone. I breathe movies, I drink movies, I fuck movies. They call me Barry the Butcher. They should call me Barry the Lover, because I make love to movies. But I good-goddamn know this is a business! It’s called the movie business for a fucking reason! You think I started from nothing and made it this far if I know nothing? I’m rich for a reason, bitch! And now you’re going to give me lip? Bitch, I should kill you.

[He moves toward her picks up a chair and throws it against the wall. Then he throws it again and kicks it repeatedly.]

PRESCOTT
Barry, please.

[Prescott and Mindy hold Barry back. There is stare down between a scared Darlene and a panting Barry.]

BARRY
Prescott, pick up that chair.

[Prescott does.]

BARRY
[Calming down]
You know, I had a heart attack once. I shouldn’t be doing these things. Heh-heh. You’re not trying to get me all worked up so I’ll fall over dead, are you? Heh-heh.

[Barry sits in the chair.]

DARLENE
No. My father died of a heart attack. I don’t find that funny.

BARRY
Neither do I, believe me. Believe me. It means I can’t smoke.

[He lights a cigarette.]

BARRY
It means I can’t eat what I want to. Which fucking sucks, I’ve been dieting since I was fucking five. And it means that I have to watch my anger. I know I have a problem, I know. And I’m getting help for it, isn’t that right Mindy?

MINDY
Yes.

BARRY
Isn’t that right, Prescott?

PRESCOTT
That’s right, lots of therapy.

BARRY
Listen, Darlene. I get so angry because I care so much about movies, do you know what I mean? I’m passionate.

[Darlene doesn’t want to set him off again, but she is clearly uncomfortable.]

DARLENE
Mhmm.

BARRY
I mean, I love movies. That’s why I get so worked up. That’s why I’m in this business. Most people who work in film don’t give a shit, like I give a shit. They’re just trying to fulfill formulas, make money, but me, I care—you know what I mean? That’s why I’m trying to talk to you about all this. Because I want to make a good movie. I just want to make movies like The 400 Blows, movies like Breathless, movies that move me, that make me think about being human, movies that make my spine tingle, right at the bottom, where the little tail goes into my ass—because when that little tail tingles, then I know I’m being moved.

DARLENE
Your coccyx.

BARRY
Huh?

DARLENE
It’s called your coccyx.

MINDY
She’s right. It’s your coccyx.

BARRY
Don’t you get started with me now, Mindy.

[Mindy shuts up.]

BARRY
A coccyx, whatever-the-fuck. I don’t give a fuck. The little tail thing, that’s my radar, that’s my indicator, when that little thing vibrates down in my ass, when that thing starts going like a fucking electric dildo in my butthole like one of Prescott’s man-toys, then I know the movie is working, right Prescott?

PRESCOTT
[Sheepish]
Yeah.

BARRY
Heh. Yeah, so, I’m just trying to get that feeling in my butt, Darlene. I’m tying to feel that feeling, that little fairy in my but trail, and I ain’t feeling that feeling from your movie yet.

DARLENE
I see.

BARRY
[Calmer now]
You know, I directed a movie once. Yeah, I did. Didn’t I, Prescott?

PRESCOTT
Yes, you did.

BARRY
Prescott didn’t like it. And Mindy especially didn’t like it.

MINDY
It was fine.

BARRY
No, she fucking hated it. Heh-heh. It was a long time ago. A disaster, a total fucking disaster. I have to say it was my fault. I was in over my head. Way over my head.

It was about the Holocaust, about these Jews that rise up against the Nazis—a whole thing I have with people that stand up rather than just let people walk all over them—but anyway, I didn’t know what I was doing, which was fine, it was my first time, but I should have asked for help. I should have had Martin Scorsese on set with me every step of the way, Marty would have done it, for me. He loves me. Marty loves me, doesn’t he, Prescott?

PRESCOTT
Not really, no.

BARRY
Huh. Fuck you, Prescott. Marty loves me. And Daniel Day loves me.

PRESCOTT
Marty tipped over your desk.

MINDY
And DDL said he’d rather do Lord of the Rings and fight a giant toad than have to work with a giant toad like you.

BARRY
[Grinning throughout]
Heh-heh, that’s stupid, there isn’t even a toad in Lord of the Rings. What an idiot. Shows you how stupid actors are, even the great DDL, I don’t care how many fucking parents he has that are Poet Laureates. Fucking baby.

I mean, I’m just saying, who stays in character for six months? Who plays Bill the Butcher for six months on and off screen? What is he, fucking ten years old?

A toad in Lord of the Rings. What an idiot. No toad in Lord of the Rings, I would fucking know. I helped put that shit together.

MINDY
Not really, you wanted it to be one movie and Peter Jackson moved on.

BARRY
Will you shut up, cunt. It was an insane proposition; I still helped the thing get made. Anyway, moving on, I was going to tell a story here. So, my movie, I should have asked for help. Scorsese understands me, and he loves me, and he would have helped me every step of the way if I had asked…

MINDY
You didn’t know Scorsese then.

BARRY
I know. I’m trying to make a point, Mindy. What I'm saying is that I knew great filmmakers who could have guided me. I knew people with more experience than I had who I could have turned to equivalents of Marty at the time, but I didn’t, because I was stubborn. I was stupid and stubborn. Like you. See? You remind me of me.

DARLENE
Thanks.

BARRY
Don’t worry, not in all ways—you ain’t as pretty as I am.

MINDY
That’s a given.

BARRY
But you’re stubborn, like I was. I wouldn’t listen to anybody. I was an idiot with the actors and everyone around me. I tried to communicate what I wanted but it all came out like shit. Like wet, green shit. I thought I knew what I wanted but I couldn’t communicate it, it all came out like baby caca after its eaten jarred apricot mush…

DARLENE
Like shit. We get it.

BARRY
But you see! I’m not a director. It wasn’t me, I don’t have the skills for it, I can’t stand coddling actors. I can’t stand collaborating with egotistical DPs. I ended up yelling at everyone and telling them they were worthless shitheads who could suck donkey cocks better than they could make a film.

MINDY
Imagine that.

BARRY
I thought I knew how to direct because I knew movies so well, but being a director takes more than that, it takes a lot more, and I just didn’t have those skills.

DARLENE
If you’re comparing yourself to me, I never told anyone to suck donkey dick…

BARRY
Listen. I found my place. My place wasn’t to direct movies; I’m supposed to help directors make their films.

I’m suppose to sit behind this desk and help all the directors, big and small, be the best they can be and then help them get their movies out there so the greatest number of people will see them, and get them as many fucking shiny, gold awards as possible. Isn’t that right, Pres?

PRESCOTT
That’s correct, sir.

BARRY
I’ll be right back.

[He goes out.]

DARLENE
Can I just ask where all this honestly is coming from? It’s not as if he hadn’t seen the film up until now. And he was fine with it. I mean, I still have Barry’s email saying how touched he was by the ending.

PRESCOTT
The test didn’t do what he hoped.

DARLENE
But it scored in the high-70s.

PRESCOTT
Not good enough.

DARLENE
Not good enough? What does he want?

PRESCOTT
The high-80s.

DARLENE
The high-80s. Jesus, are we in math class? Sorry if I didn’t direct the actors toward the high-80s.

PRESCOTT
The test audience didn’t understand the ending.

DARLENE
Well, he screened it in some stupid, bubblegum mall in a suburban Jersey wasteland, to a bunch of 12-year-old idiots who probably lynch gays in the schoolyard everyday, and who are the whole fucking reason I went into film—so that I could get away from them because they are the scum of the planet. How are they suppose to know what they’re watching?

MINDY
They know what’s good, even when they don’t know what’s good.

DARLENE
They know? My God, she speaks. They know! Well, that’s helps Mindy. And by the way, thanks for Standing up for me, sister, while that fucking monster fucking desiccated me.

MINDY
Don't you mean decimated, you old Dyke. "Desiccated?" What are you? An old, dried-up tree?

DARLENE
What did you say? What did you say? I am not a lesbian, you ignorant bitch. Because I have a women-on-woman love scene does not make me gay. Jesus. But if I were gay, I just might kick your ass.

MINDY
Bring it on, bitch.

[Barry returns with a big nasty sandwich.]

BARRY
[Chewing]
So, what’s going on here.

PRESCOTT
Nothing, sir.

BARRY
Did you tell her we’re reshooting the ending?

DARLENE
What? But the denouement was my whole reason for making the film.

BARRY
Denouement, huh? Denou-shoue-SHIT.

DARLENE
You liked the ending.

BARRY
Kids don’t get it.

DARLENE
Most people won’t get it. Most people don’t get anything. Even an educated audience doesn’t understand what they’re watching half the time.

BARRY
If that’s your attitude, you’re in the wrong business, honey.

DARLENE
What business is that? Making money out of slop?

BARRY
No, my dear, movies are about communication. We want to make sure our audience understands what we are saying. We wouldn’t make a film in Chinese for an English audience because, “Zhè shì yikuài gou shi” don’t mean shit to them.

You speak the audience’s language, you understand? You want them to understand, and as far as I'm concerned your ending is fucking Chinese.

DARLENE
OK, but what about Antonioni?

BARRY
What ABOUT Antonioni?

DARLENE
If you claim to love all those old, Italian neo-realist classics, look at Antonioni! He made confusing films! Confusing as all hell.

BARRY
That’s right.

DARLENE
OK, then!

BARRY
But they made money! I don’t know how, but they made money. And as soon as they stopped making money, he stopped getting money to make his films, as simple as that. It’s a business, bitch. It’s a business. I make art, but I make art in an art business. And I have made business my art, as well as having art as my art. That's what Andy Warhol said. I’m like an Andy-fucking-Warhol who likes to fuck chicks and who eats more than chicken soup.

MINDY
That’s for sure.

BARRY
I’m Andy Warhol without a wig who ain’t half a faggot, and who makes good movies!

MINDY
Andy Pig-hol.

BARRY
Cut it, Mindy!

DARLENE
OK, great, so Andy was an artist…

BARRY
OK, listen up little bitch, you want a lesson about art? I’ll give you a lesson: before, back in Michelangelo's day, not Michelangelo Antonioni, Michelangelo Michelangelo…

PRESCOTT
In the Renaissance.

BARRY
In the RENAISSANCE, the church ran things. They had the money, and they decided what the art would be.

If you were an artist, you had PATRONS, and the biggest PATRON was the church, and in Italy, that was the Vatican. Why don’t you think about the Vatican as Fox or Warner Brothers? Then, you also had some rich motherfuckers like the Borges—the real version of that fucking show that’s on now. Think of them as me: Rich, smart, gangster motherfuckers who like art.

OK, so, back then, if you wanted to make some shit, like a fucking sculpture of a naked dude or a naked bitch, you could but it had to fit the taste of whoever was paying. Now, Michelangelo made great art, and he even slipped some shit into his murals like putting some cardinals that he hated down in hell, but overall he was doing something for the Vatican, and his work had to meet their approval. And when it didn’t—like he made all the saints with their dicks out—they painted over it. Painted over Michelangelo! Sounds crazy now, but they did, because he wasn’t communicating the messages they wanted him to communicate.

DARLENE
OK, but that was for the church, movies are for the public.

BARRY
GOOD, very GOOD! So, when the church started losing it’s hold over everyone and art buying was moved into the private, secular sphere, artists no longer had to worry about pleasing the church. Now they had to please private buyers. Art no longer needed to deliver clear messages. It didn’t need to relate the ways of God to men.

It didn’t need to illustrate the bible to the illiterate masses, or serve as sacred religious relics—now art could be just that, ART. It could reflect on the times, in could reflect on form, it could excite, it could entertain, it could do or be anything, as long as the people with the taste and the money accepted it, but mostly the people with the money.

DARLENE
I went to art school, Barry. I know all this.

BARRY
What I’m saying is that there was a period where motherfuckers like Picasso could be Picasso and do whatever they wanted, because the people with the money would pay for a pile of his actual shit as long as it plopped out of his butt and he shaped it like a bull.

OK, so what I’m saying now is that things changed again. Painting is an elitist art no matter how you slice it, no fucking poor people are in the business of buying good paintings, they are either owned by the rich or they go in the museum.

But all that shit changed with movies. Movies, from the beginning, were the people’s art. It was the popular art. What does that mean? It means that the people decide what the artists make. They are your patrons. You aren’t making art for God, you ain’t making art for the rich bitches on the hill to put in their living rooms. You are making art for EVERYONE, poor and rich—everyone sees the same movie. Just like Andy Fag-hal said: Everyone drinks the same Coca-Cola, the president, the bum, Marilyn Monroe. You can’t get a better coke with more money.

Same with movies, all you need to do is buy a ticket and you get to watch the same movie as fucking George Clooney.

DARLENE
I made my movie for people.

BARRY
Oh, no you didn’t, little Darlene. No, you didn’t. You made it for a small little coterie of cunt-lickers, a small little group of dykes and closet dykes to all sit in a bunch of otherwise-empty theaters and say to each other, once the dick is cut off or maybe not cut off at the end, “Oh, wasn’t that meaningful? I don’t know what it means, but that’s the meaning, riight? The meaning is no meaning?”

But you see, little dumbass, the days when art cold be ambiguous, could be a fucking block of steel and Donald Judd can call it “Minimalism” and make $1 million are OVER. At least in this business.

This is the film BUSINESS, and it’s more business than film. I’ll tell you that. You can’t make ambiguous shit anymore. That don’t work here. Yeah, if you want to make something for a fucking art gallery, a fucking eight-hour movie of the Empire State Building or a dude’s face while his wang might or might not be getting sucked below the frame, OK.

But if you want to put it out in theaters and sell tickets, not a single unit, not ONE painting, but TICKETS, thousands of TICKETS, then you need to FUCKING COMMUNICATE WITH YOUR AUDIENCE. You need a CLEAR IDEA and you need to shoot it into the brains of everyone in the audience. And THAT is what art is in the movie business. THEY are your masters.

Yes, you can fuck around a bit, add some of your own creativity, but you should damn well hope that your creativity is trying to find new ways to HOOK an audience, not CONFUSE them. FILMS are made to please, ART is made to provoke.

[Pause. Then Prescott claps a little.]

DARLENE
I see. But what I don’t understand is…

BARRY
What don’t you understand, sweetie?

DARLENE
What I don’t understand is that we’re talking about a relatively low budget film here: $3 million compared to $50 million, or $100 million. Why do we have to act like it’s Star Wars and swing for the fences? Can’t we just keep the integrity of the piece even if it means losing a little of the profits?

BARRY
No.

DARLENE
No?

BARRY
No! First of all, were not talking about only $3 million we’re talking about at least double that after advertising, if not triple it—that is, if you want advertising, and stop pissing me off within the quarter-hour. And this little chicks-over-all romp with an ending where they maybe cut off the dude’s cock, and maybe it’s just a dream ain’t gonna make $9 million.

DARLENE
You don’t think it will?

BARRY
No, I don’t think it will. I’ve made over 200 awesome movies, so I should know.

PRESCOTT
Bought over 200 movies.

BARRY
What’s your fucking point, Prescott? I still have to know what a good movie looks like, don’t I? What's it matter if I made them or bought them?

PRESCOTT
Nothing. I’m just saying. You didn’t make most of them. You bought them after they were made.

BARRY
Fuck you, Prescott. You have the taste of a fucking five-year-old. You’d be watching fucking Thor and Thor 2, and lapping them up as great art if it wasn’t for me.

PRESCOTT
Yes, sir.

BARRY
[To Darlene]
So, YOU. You have no idea what will sell, not like I do. So if you want to cop an attitude because you think you’re a great artist or something, you can take your fuckin’ integrity to the bank and cash it. I bet you get about five bucks. They’ll give you a dollar and two twos because you’re about as queer as TWO two-dollar bills.

That will be all you get for this movie that will be rotting on the shelf, right behind my big, stinking ass, farting tuna sandwich gas on it all day, everyday, for months and years unto the day when we don’t even watch movies anymore! Because if you don’t change the fucking ending, you won’t see a dime from me! And I guarantee it’s the last fucking movie you will EVER make. You won’t even be able to film you and your dyke girlfriend’s test-tube baby’s first fucking birthday because I will tell Sony and Apple not to sell their cameras to degenerate cunts like you!

[There is a knock on the door. Mab, a beautiful, busty blonde enters.]

MAB
Hello? Oh, I'm sorry I'm late.

BARRY
MAB! Perfect timing. Come in.

[He goes over and kisses her on the cheek.]

BARRY (CONT.)
Darlene was just telling us about the new ending for the movie she’s gonna re-shoot.

MAB
A new ending for Butterflies? What?

DARLENE
I don’t know.

BARRY
Well, you don’t end up with Sally anymore. Now, you end up with Jake.

MAB
What?

DARLENE
What?

BARRY
Yeah, Darlene thought it was much better to set up the sequel with Jake. Yup, set up the sequel, and/or any other films she might want to make with me or any other company.

MAB
Really, Darlene?

DARLENE
Yeah, I thought the ending was good, so I wanted to make it a little more conventional and boring.

MAB
[Doubtful]
OK.

BARRY
Is that OK, Mabby baby?

MAB
Yeah, I just find it a switch from a Huxlian feel, to a Pavlonian one.

MINDY
Really? A Huxlian to a Pavlonian?

MAB
Well, if sexual reproduction is obsolete, it doesn’t matter who we sleep with. Huxley had Alphas and Betas mating with each other, etc.

But it could just as well have been females sleeping with females, and males with males. And in that world, the petri dish would free us from the silly strictures of fidelity. You know, stupid family unit shit based on rearing children. And then, Huxley eventually brought love back into the equation, because that was the only thing drawing people together once the instinctual urge to continue the species was eliminated from the sexual act, which is beautiful. Love brought us together, not societal rules. But that’s only my reading of Butterflies and where we are headed as humans.

BARRY
Very good, Mab.

MAB
In the same way, photography freed painting from the responsibility of representational depictions, and film freed the theater from representational plays. Painting could once again return to the spiritual realm and theater could return to the theatrical. We no longer have to try to fit a bunch of trees on stage to pretend we’re in the forest of Arden when we’re obviously not. The cinema could take us to the forest, and the stage could, once again, remain gloriously blank. Like it was in ancient Greece.

BARRY
Well, I’m impressed. That’s exactly what I was talking about with Darlene.

MAB
Sorry if I disagree. That was Bazin.

MINDY
[Sarcastic]
Amazing. What about Pavlov?

MAB
Oh. I just meant you treat your audience like these Pavlonian dogs. You know what they like, so you give it to ‘em. I end up with Jake at the end, so obvious. But why do they like that? Because they have been brain washed into liking it by every fucking movie, by every fucking commercial, by every fucking television show.

BARRY
Well you know what a dog I am, heh-heh. Put some meat in front of me and I salivate. Heh-heh.

PRESCOTT
[Covering]
eh, heh.

MAB
Actually, I think they used whistles and things.

BARRY
Right. Well, you end up with Jake and it will be great.

MAB
Well, as long as Darlene is OK with it.

BARRY
She’ll be fine. Now why don’t you girls excuse us. We have to discuss some boring financial things.

DARLENE
Let’s go Mabs, we can discuss worthless artistic things.

BARRY
Bye, Mab. I’ll see you soon.

[They go.]

BARRY
Oh, I want to fuck that girl.

PRESCOTT
Easy, Barry.

BARRY
What, Prescott? You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to bang that piece of ass.

PRESCOTT
Well, of course I would.

BARRY
Damn right you would. That fucking ass! Like an angel. Kills you and you go to heaven, my GOD! Not to mention those fuckin’ tits, Mon Deiu!

MINDY
Someone should mention to her that they’re about to fall out of her dress.

BARRY
Don’t worry I will—when I’m playing koochie-koo-koo-koo-koo with them and they’re slapping me in the face like two mad badgers. What do ya’ say Prescott? We’ll handle ‘em together. I’ll take bald Bruce Willis on the left, you can take Telly Salvalis on the right heh-heh.

PRESCOTT
Yeah, I’d like to have sex with her.

MINDY
Wear a condom, please.

PRESCOTT
No. I mean, I’m not really going to, I’m just saying.

BARRY
Well, I am. I’m not just saying. Mark my words—I am going to bone that Blondie.

MINDY
Sounds real romantic, Barry. But I think you can handle that on your own. So if there is nothing else you need, I have a lunch downstairs.

BARRY
I wanna put her in Damian’s new movie. I want her to play Niko.

MINDY
Well, there’s a stupid idea.

BARRY
Why?

MINDY
Because he’ll hate her. And you gave him total casting approval.

BARRY
But he’ll listen to me. He likes me.

MINDY
Fine, he likes you, but he’s gonna be pissed.

BARRY
Well, you’ll deal with it.

MINDY
Me?

BARRY
Yeah, it’s your project.

MINDY
Please, Barry.

BARRY
What? You don’t think she’s good?

MINDY
Well…

BARRY
No, really. You think I’m putting her in this film just because I wanna fuck her?

MINDY
Well, yeah.

BARRY
Mindy this girl is magic. I’m telling you! Magic. She’s Marilyn come back to life. Sex, sex, sex for sure. But Marilyn was no dummy. She was married to Arthur Miller for God’s sake, and I say he was the putz of that relationship. If anyone let The Misfits down it was him and his boring fucking script, Not her.

Marilyn was a creature, a force, the force of sex, the force of being HUMAN! And that’s what this girl is. Girls like Mabby elevate shitty material just by being in it. They make people want to fuck garbage.

MINDY
That’s a good thing?

BARRY
But if she had a piece that she could not only elevate, but could help elevate her, I’m telling you—it would be incredible! That’s what Arthur was supposed to deliver for Marilyn, but he failed her. But that’s what I’m gonna deliver to Mab with Damian’s movie. It’s gonna be great! It’s inspired casting.

PRESCOTT
Damian has already cast the lead female.

BARRY
Well, Mindy will tell him she’s out and Mab’s in.

MINDY
Jesus, Barry.

BARRY
He’ll be fine. All you gotta do is coddle Damian, tell him he’s revolutionized film making, and that he’s a genius, then cite some stupid pop reference. I’m telling you, he’ll love the idea.

INT. THE SAME OFFICE

[Blackness]

DAMIAN
Fuck no! Are you fucking kidding me? I ain’t using that bitch in my movie.

[Lights up. DAMIAN, a young hot director, yells at Mindy who sits behind Barry’s desk.]

DAMIAN (CONT.)
No way. No fuckin’ how! I already cast the fuckin’ role of Niko.

MINDY
Uh huh.

DAMIAN
We talked about this. I'm using the DJ from The Box, Sin. She’s fuckin’ hot, and she’s cool. Not like some fuckin’ wobbly-heeled bimbo who thinks she can act because she sucked off some acting teacher while he blabbed on about Lee Strasberg and told her she had real talent. This is fuckin’ bullshit. I can’t believe you’d even ask me this.

Don’t you know who I am? I’m Damian fuckin’ Zacharino. Damian Zacharino. Remember that, because when you’re an old bitch in some retirement home and they’re wheeling you past the library on the way to arts and crafts, you can pull out my biography and look yourself up as the narrow-minded, inartistic, fucking twat executive who tried to get in the way of Damian’s casting choices for one of the best movies of all time.

MINDY
Well it’s not me. It’s Barry.

DAMIAN
Barry? Barry wants her? Bullshit. I don’t believe it. Barry’s my man. He wouldn’t do that to me. He knows what I’m fucking about and he wouldn’t do me like that.

MINDY
Well, I think what he was thinking Damian, is that you’re revolutionized filmmaking, you’re a genius and putting Mab in your film would be like Madonna in Who’s That Girl?

DAMIAN
Who’s That Girl?

MINDY
Yeah, she did it when she was younger.

DAMIAN
I know the film. Look there ain’t nothing wrong with Madonna in all her young Italian hotness, topped with a bleach-blond Marilyn hairdo, rompin’ around in some fucking garden with a mountain lion. But that ain’t got shit to do with me, know what I’m sayin’? I ain’t got no mountain lion in my film and I ain’t got no Madonna. I got Sin the fuckin’ DJ.

MINDY
What if we could get you a mountain lion?

DAMIAN
What the fuck are you saying? I don’t want a fuckin’ mountain lion, and I don’t want this bitch. But if you want to go out of your way to get me a fucking mountain lion, fine. You can go over to fucking Siegfried and Faggot and ask them if they’ll give me Mr. Whiskers so I can skin his stupid, mountain lion ass and use his pelt for a fuckin’ throw rug, which I would be happy to put in my office, where I just might make love, sweet love to this new bitch you send over. Mab? Is that her name? Mab?

MINDY
Yes.

DAMIAN
Yeah, so I’ll get Mabby baby right down on the back of that Madonna mountain lion motherfucker and give her the old Damian Marlon Brando Streetcar special. Long and hard, tiger, tiger burning bright, right before I tell her, “I'm sorry, baby, I can’t use you in my film. You’re a fuckin’ idiot! And you may have gotten this far by playing tennis with your chin and fireman pole with your mouth, but now your career is GONE, BABY GONE!”

Barry can promise her anything he wants, and she can suck that pimpled hair cucumber as long and as hard as she likes, but she ain’t gonna be in no Damian Zacharino film!

[Barry walks in with Prescott.]

BARRY
Dee Zee! Dee Zee! What's up Dee Zee?!

DAMIAN
Hey, baby.

BARRY
I thought I saw a pimped-out Escalade outside.

DAMIAN
Yeah.

BARRY
I thought, Who could that be? Who could that possibly be but my main dog, Damian fuckin’ Z-for-Zacharino.

DAMIAN
That’s right.

BARRY
Dee Zee! What do you need a SUV for in New York? Climb all those mountains?

DAMIAN
Yeah, four-wheel drive.

BARRY
Mountains or pussy, eh? Heh-heh. Climb that pussy mountain? Heh-heh.

DAMIAN
That’s double-A right.

BARRY
Heh-heh, climbing pussy and mountains, pussy and mountains. Heh-heh. Eh, Mindy? Mountains and pussy?

MINDY
Yeah. Mountains. Right.

BARRY
Mountains and mines of gold.

DAMIAN
Mines of gold?

BARRY
Yeah, gold, Diz. Gold! Don’t you wanna make gold? But what am I saying? You are gold, D. Solid fuckin’ gold. But seriously, more important than the pink and the green is the art! And you, my friend, are the fuckin’ artist. You blow people’s mind’s Diz. You’re like Scorsese from the 70s, Godard from the 60s, and John Ford from the 30s, all rolled into one!

DAMIAN
I hate all those dudes. I eat those dudes for breakfast. And fuck John Ford, racist motherfucker. Killing Indians for fun? I’ll buttfuck that dude. If you’re going to compare me, compare me to Tony Scott, to old school Ridley Scott. The three directors I like: Tony Scott, Ridley Scott, and ME. Those are the directors I like. That’s it!

BARRY
Well, that's good, because no one is like you, D. No one like you. You’re a fuckin’ original, Diz.

DAMIAN
I know this.

BARRY
Heh-heh. So, what were you guys talking about?

MINDY
I’m not a guy.

BARRY
What were you guys talking about?

DAMIAN
You know damn well what we were talking about, Barry. And you know why I’m not happy right now, unless this is all a big fucking joke, in which case I’ll still be pretty fucking unhappy, because I don’t like jokes that involve my movies—unless they are jokes that are in my movies, that I fucking wrote.

BARRY
Jokes? Who’s joking with you, Dee Zee?

DAMIAN
You, Fat City—trying to put your fucking girlfriend in my movie.

BARRY
Hey, whoa. First of all, watch the fat man shit.

DAMIAN
I said, Fat City. John Huston, 1972, Stacey Keach, young Jeff Bridges. Classic. Fucking classic.

BARRY
OK, well, whatever. First of all, she ain’t my girlfriend.

PRESCOTT
She isn’t.

DAMIAN
Shut the fuck up, dork!

BARRY
Shut up, Prescott. Shut the fuck up Prescott.
[To Damian]
Second of all, I think this girl will only add to the film…

DAMIAN
Add what? Add to the fucking titty fucking quotient?

BARRY
And third of all, I thought this was our movie?

DAMIAN
OUR movie? What? Like you think you add anything to it creatively?

BARRY
I like to think I add to it.

DAMIAN
I’m sure you like to think it, but it don’t mean it’s so, Moses. You can think all you want it don’t keep horse ploppy from smelling like bullshit.

MINDY
That’s a good one.

DAMIAN
I know, I said it. Listen up, Barry, and listen up good. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your dickless droogs here, but you have put ME in an embarrassing situation, so you’re going to get a little titty for tat: You don’t add shit to my movies.

My movies are my babies, from start to finish. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you helped in anyway except the for the bottom line—the money, and money ain’t creative. It’s just cold, hard, lifeless cash. It takes a magician like me to turn it into a breathing work of art.

I give birth to it, from getting fucked by life, getting pregnant by passion, incubating it in my fine artistic thoughts, letting it grow, gradually, in my belly of ideas, and finally giving birth to it through the pain of moviemaking. But you didn’t help with any of that. You weren't my lover, my Lamaze companion, my bed nurse, or my fucking doctor. If anything, you were the HOSPITAL. Barry Hospital where Damian Zacharino gave birth to his family of incredible baby films.

BARRY
Easy, Damian.

DAMIAN
Damn, bitch, the pope didn’t help Michelangelo paint the Sistine, he just gave the motherfucker the commission.

BARRY
Dee, you know I’m more than the pope.

DAMIAN
No man! I’m sick of this shit, all these fucking people hangin’ onto the movie babies. All they do is talk, talk, talk, make big deals. Like Jake Lamotta says—big deals, big deals, but nothin’ gets done. Nobody does anything but fuck around with a bunch of development bullshit but they don’t understand anything about movies!

They rewrite and rewrite until—until it’s finally as fuckin’ stupid as it can be, and the same as everything else as it can be, and as melted down to a fucking commercial as it can be.

And then, maybe, maybe, maybe they make it! And then, when it’s all nice and crappy, and it’s such a piece of shit I’d rather stick samurai swords in my pristine butthole than make it, everyone wants to put his stupid fuckin’ girlfriend in it!

BARRY
That’s not what’s going on, Dee Zee.

PRESCOTT
She’s not his girlfriend.

DAMIAN
Shit, doesn’t mean he don’t want to fuck her little mouth.

BARRY
OK, Damian, I understand what you’re saying and you can’t say I do any of that shit to you. You know you’re my boy, my fucking son. I’d never touch your scripts, the fucking golden hand you have. Golden hand. Wordsmith over here.

DAMIAN
OK. Just want some fucking respect.

BARRY
Respect. Much respect. You are the modern Shakespeare, and I’m not even exaggerating. You are Shakespeare of the screen.

DAMIAN
I know this. Motherfuckers want to fuck around! Shakespeare muh-fukka!

BARRY
But you sometimes don’t know how to cast.

DAMIAN
Fuck you!

BARRY
Damian, come on now. Let’s just talk about you in the films.

DAMIAN
You don’t think I can act?

BARRY
No.

PRESCOTT
You suck, Damian.

[Damian slaps Prescott.]

BARRY
Bitch, fuck you. I can fucking act.

MINDY
You look like shit on screen. Like your neck just flows into your chin, like there is no difference—just a neck with no head.

[Pause.]

DAMIAN
I’m going to pretend that this bitch didn’t say anything just now, because I don’t want to be writing my next script—that I guarantee will be made by Paramount if bitches don’t CHILL—from fucking PRISON! Where I will be writing and jerking off five times a day thinking about how I decapitated this bitch and shoved my cock down her neck hole while I held her head to my lips and Yoricked the fuck out of her dead, blowjob lips.

BARRY
OK, Damian. OK. Heh-heh, that was pretty funny actually. Look, no one is putting his girlfriend in the part. I just think this girl, Mab, is a star.

BARRY
A fucking star. Jesus. Fuck that, fuck that. I have Sin!

BARRY
A DJ, D? Come on, you can do better than that.

DAMIAN
Fuck you, look at Bresson, bitch. Robert Bresson. Motherfucker used non-actors, non-actors. And that shit influenced Taxi Driver. Pickpocket. Pickpocket? Non-actor. And Paul Schrader ate that shit up! Wrote a whole fucking book about it! And he wrote fucking Travis Bickle based on it.

Fuck stars! FUCK STARS! Everyone is so scared they’re going to fail, or their film ain't going to make money so they have to put Mr. Fuckin’ Big-Name Faggot in their movies because his last movie sold 10 million happy meals last year, and his fucking Disney doll got shoved up a million little girls’ asses.

Fuck it, man! All you guys wanna make is shit! Sequels, TV show spin-offs, comic books, and video games. Crap, crap, crap! And I ain’t about that, man.

BARRY
Well neither are we. We make art films.

DAMIAN
Then what the fuck? What's all this shit? WTF? WTF? WTF? I mean, I'm all appreciative of your money and everything but hell, I ain’t a slave to it either.

BARRY
Hey, nobody’s a slave here. Nobody’s a slave. Are they, Prescott?

PRESCOTT
No, sir. No slaves.

BARRY
We just wanna help you make the best movie possible.

DAMIAN
Yeah, like on my last film when you wanted to take out the castration scene because it wasn’t crucial to the plotline.

BARRY
It wasn’t.

DAMIAN
Barry—the fucking Butcher—Bauros.

BARRY
Yeah, what of it?

DAMIAN
That’s the only scene anyone talks about. That’s the fucking scene. It made the fucking film!

BARRY
Fine, D. You were right. I was wrong. You understand the crazy youth culture better than I do. All I'm saying is meet this girl.

DAMIAN
I don’t want to meet her. I’ve met her a million times already! They’re all the same! Every time I go out—which I don’t do anymore because I’m tired of meeting the same fucking bitch in the guise of every fucking new girl I meet.

Cookie cutters! Cookie cutters from HELL! And it’s been going on for the past hundred years. “I got 200 on my SATs, I’m a fucking idiot, I have no talent to speak of except torturing the nerds at my high school who actually made films and did something creative with their time. I want to go to Hollywood and be in pictures. Oh, the nerds I picked on now run Hollywood? I guess I can’t blame them for wanting me to suck their cocks as revenge…”

Fuck it, man! I done fucked all the Betties I need. And hell, I already got fuckin’ Sin for the part.

BARRY
She’s right outside.

DAMIAN
Who? What?

BARRY
Mab.

DAMIAN
Aw shit, man. Why ya’ gotta do me like this? This was supposed to be a fuckin’ budget meeting and you hijack me like this? When you gonna whip the bowl of shit out so we can all take a bite? What the fuck, man? Let’s just make this deal.

Why I gotta eat so much shit, man? I’m ready. I’ll eat some shit, but not all of it. See, what happens is that I have to take a big dripping mouthful and then everyone else declines to take their bites as the stinking crap drips down my chinless neck!

MINDY
Huh.

DAMIAN
Isn’t that right, Barry? Huh? When you work here, you eat shit. Lots of shit. Ain’t that right?

[Mab is there. Everyone is quiet.]

MINDY
Damian, this is Mab Rorschach.

[Damian is quiet, he hardly even looks at her.]

DAMIAN
[Mumbling]
Fuck this shit.

MAB
I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be here?

BARRY
No, no, Mabby. Damian is just being rude.

DAMIAN
Oh, am I?

BARRY
Yes, Damian. You haven’t even looked at Mab.

DAMIAN
Sorry, Mabby. Sorry, Barry.

BARRY
It’s OK.

DAMIAN
Sorry, if I’m a being a little fuckin’ rude, Barry—but maybe you’d be a little rude if I went over there and messed up your fuckin’ crater face up with my pure-ass python.

BARRY
What’d you say?

DAMIAN
I said that I’m gonna pistol whip you with my fuckin’ cock, you chubby chub motherfucker.

BARRY
Oh, you plannin’ on fuckin’ with me, LA boy? Is that what you’re doing?

DAMIAN
That’s right. I’m gonna break your mouth and start a Watts riot all over your ass.

[He stands. Barry stands to fight.]

BARRY
Surf’s up, dude.

[They square off.]

PRESCOTT
Please sir, not again.

BARRY
Fuck off, Prescott, I'm gonna murder this DVD commentary fuckin’ punk.

DAMIAN
Try it, Jewish Sumo!

[He swipes all Barry’s stuff off his desk.]

PRESCOTT
Damian, no.

DAMIAN
Fuck you, stork dork.

BARRY
You dump my stuff?

DAMIAN
Yeah.

BARRY
You dump my stuff?

DAMIAN
Just like Scorsese, bitch!

BARRY
No one dumps my stuff.
[To Mindy]
Where’s his script?

MINDY
Huh?

BARRY
His script. The script! The script for Niko Psycho.

MINDY
Here it is.

[She picks it up off the floor and hands it to Barry.]

BARRY
You dump my stuff, I spit on your script.

[Barry spits on the script.]

DAMIAN
You spit on my script?

BARRY
I spit on your script.

DAMIAN
I spit on your fuckin’ faaaace!

[He charges Barry.]

BARRY
Bring it on, ding-dong!

PRESCOTT & MINDY
No. Stop.

[They hold Barry back, but Damian is still going after him.]

PRESCOTT
[To Mab]
Will you hold him!

[Mab tries to hold Damian back.]

DAMIAN
Get off me, bitch.

[He shakes her off. She falls to the ground.]

MAB
Ouch!

BARRY
MAB!

[He goes to her.]

BARRY
Baby, you alright?

MAB
Yes, I’m OK.

BARRY
[To Damian]
You are such a barbarian.

DAMIAN
I am? You’re the one with the BO from Mongolia and the breath from "Monster Mash."

BARRY
Outta my sight. Outta my office! We’re done! Done!

DAMIAN
Fine, sucker. If that’s how you wanna play, I’ll take your ass to court. I’ll make this film at a major studio, and you and your team of cocksuckers can sit back on Oscar day and watch as Sin thanks me for directing her in the picture of the year. This bitch here better suck a good dick, I mean like ten Oscars worth of cock, because that’s what you just lost for her.

BARRY
No studio is gonna make your film. It’s too violent, and it’s too artistic. I’m the only one with balls enough and I'm done. I’m done with you! Go to fucking China and make some fuckin kung-fu shit.