PIERRE and the AMBIGUITIES – A Filmscript - 1. Part 1 – Critics Don't Like Ambiguity

.

The Secret Melville [07]

 

PIERRE

and the

AMBIGUITIES

Film Script

 

 

"This book is bottomless.

It is out of all soundings.

A reader of it is poised over

An abyss of darkness most of the time,

To the ultimate depth

By which no sounding by man

Will ever be made.

 

Perhaps, after all, the shade

Of Melville is of greater

Importance and potency

Than most of the

Living men we know.

We had better not be too sure

That it is not."

H. M. Tomlinson on Pierre

 

 

By

AC Benus

 

---

 

Based upon the Novel:

 

Pierre

or

The Ambiguities, 1852

by Herman Melville

 

"So, to this sudden and gloomy surmising of outsiders, an author goes with a headache to sit at his desk. The blank page tortures and seems fit only for the critic's words of displeasure. And nowhere is the thought that minds one hundred-fifty years from now – neigh, fifteen-hundred-fifty years from now – will praise what he considers his best work. With a writer his only errant hope remains that the pen within his grasp will somehow prove the initiative to enter the great universal truth as an equal on the day his coffin is interred with the soil that bore his paltry body here on earth."

After Book 18

 

---

 

[Part 1 – Critics Don’t Like Ambiguity – I: A Toast Between the Lines]

INT. AKKER’S DOUBLE PARLOR – NIGHT

A close-up of a cellist’s hand shows him drawing back his bow and pausing a moment before playing, while into this void, sounds of a PARTY filter through. In the next instant, he begins, and strains of Bach spill forth. ^[1] As the shot pulls back, the three other musicians of the string quartet join him. They are wearing black tails and seated in the front bay window of a grand Victorian parlor. As we draw back into the crowd, the guests are revealed to be all men dressed in eveningwear – many are discernable couples of older gents with younger ‘protégés’ by their sides. Gloved FOOTMEN enter through all the doors simultaneously carrying silver trays with filled champagne glasses. They disperse among the guests, while AKKER leaps up to stand on a chair at the back of the room. He raps the glass in his hand with a fork, and all attention is granted to him, their host. The music stops, and in the pregnant silence, the footmen go around until everyone has a glass.

 

AKKER

Gentlemen and friends, I welcome my fellow literary critics and also the promising authors who constitute the ‘Young Americans’ movement in writing.

 

Pan of crowd: older men puff up in pride; younger ones abash and look down

 

AKKER (CONT’D)

We at the Akker Review do everything we can to highlight worthy talent, and that is why we are gathered in my home this evening. Remarkable circumstances sometimes arise within literature to push and prod slow society to adapt and change – hopefully for the better.

(waits for a laugh from the crowd)

Only a few short years ago, a new star rose on our literary horizon, and that same star of that talent shines in apogee. For today – mere months since its release – his latest book, White-Jacket, has not only sold over five thousand copies, but changed young America forever. For the better.

(reacts to the “Hear; hears” coming from the crowd)

This party is to celebrate an historic Act of Congress outlawing flogging in the United States Navy. The bill has just been signed into law by the President.

 

Akker gestures to a servant, who holds up an open

book to the host.

 

AKKER (CONT’D)

And I quote: ’Who knows that this humble narrative may not hereafter prove the history of an obsolete barbarism? Who knows that men-of-war shall not perish from this Earth, and this humble White-Jacket may be quoted in bloody shame to show what we were to the new Millennium. Lo! Hasten the time; ye years escort it hither, and bless the eyes not yet born to read us and judge our actions.’

(dismisses the servant with book, and lifts his glass)

So, join me in raising a glass to the man you may know as Redburn, Omoo, or White-Jacket, but whom I know as friend and protégé – Guy Winthrop.

 

The shot cascades though a series of turning heads, all looking at REDBURN standing near a corner. He appears to regards the attention as unwanted, but then his face relaxes as he catches the rich brown eyes of RENSLOW LEPINE, a mid-thirties Bostonian author.

 

THE GUESTS

To Guy Winthrop. Hip, hip; hurrah!

 

The assembled raise their glasses and cheer the author before they drink. Akker gestures for Redburn to join him. Another chair is set, and Redburn climbs up; he casually uses his new vantage to scan for Lepine.

 

AKKER

In addition, gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that Guy’s publisher is typesetting a new novel as we speak. A certain Moby-Dick will be out in two months, and promises to be a fine whaling adventure. We have seen many of the proof sheets personally, and we know our guidance has been followed to ensure it will please the most discriminating literary palate.

(Akker laughs at the guests’ twitter of anticipation)

Sometimes, ‘raw talent’ is not enough.

 

Akker roars with laughter, and is soon joined by the older men of the crowd; Redburn and the younger men look a bit angry to be ‘dismissed’ so readily. The footmen circulate and collect empty glasses.

 

AKKER (CONT’D)

And, gentlemen…

 

Akker jostles Redburn’s shoulders – Redburn blushes to see Lepine smiling at him.

 

AKKER (CONT’D)

…A little birdie told me that a new novel – a land book, away from his sea experiences – is already brewing in our young author’s glorious head.

 

There is a round of applause for Redburn. Amidst the thunderous clamor, Redburn’s hearing seems to go numb; all he can do is allow himself to melt into the all-accepting eyes of Lepine, unaware of Akker’s quick catch of Redburn’s expression and for whom it is intended.

 

CUT TO:

FADING:

 

Sound of APPLAUSE and the sight of Akker as Redburn walks back through the crowd.

 

The MUSIC from the string quartet is back, and the young author is shaking hands and getting his back slapped. Redburn finally arrives at the corner where he was standing before, but now it is occupied by Lepine. The two men stand shoulder to shoulder and chat while people-watching.

 

REDBURN

I am an admirer of yours,

Mr. Renslow Lepine.

 

LEPINE

Are you, Mr. Guy Winthrop?

 

REDBURN

(turning amazed eyes on Lepine)

Your work, sir, is full of allegory. You positively insist your reader read between the lines.

 

LEPINE

(smiles and returns the gaze)

I thank you, sir. But, Mr. Omoo, you do the same, do you not? In fact, I would judge your work not only delights in mysteries, but also in a touch of ambiguity.

 

Redburn smiles; the mellow round tones of Lepine’s patrician New England accent beguile him.

 

REDBURN

That is for my readers to discover, or fail to uncover, for themselves.

 

LEPINE

Ah, but the critics do not like ambiguity. They bless with favoritism only that which is clear-cut and gauged to please.

 

REDBURN

As far as I can judge, the critics love you. In fact, I do not see them leveling any criticism at you at all.

 

LEPINE

But that’s a precarious situation for me to be in. Who as a writer wants to be called ‘Harmless?’ Who wants to be told that his work is most fit for the ‘Family Circle,’ when the one saying it means ‘milksop,’ and ‘unlived’? That is far different from your tales of a manly world where women seem to only exist as allegory – either sacred or profane – but, dear Mr. Winthrop—

 

REDBURN

Guy.

 

LEPINE

But, my dear Guy, I fear criticism that labels me inoffensive, for it only proves the critics do not know how to read my books. So I repeat, critics do not like ambiguity.

 

REDBURN

They feel uncomfortable with it, because every incomprehensible idea is a reproach to a thinking man’s mind.

 

Akker’s laugh BOOMS from somewhere in the room, and distracts their subtle play of words and ideas.

 

LEPINE

In any event, you are fortunate to have the powerful protection of Felix Akker, and the mighty Review on your side.

 

Redburn’s smile fades at the mention of Akker.

 

REDBURN

Yes.

 

LEPINE

I….

 

REDBURN

It’s all right. But, time away is also good.

 

LEPINE

Away?

 

REDBURN

Yes. In the morning I leave New York for a fortnight to stay at my family home in the village of Greylock-on-Hudson.

 

LEPINE

Ah, I know it well: near Slide Mountain.

 

REDBURN

So, you know the Catskills?

 

LEPINE

I spend much time in the country. Boston and New York are all right to ‘make arrangements,’ but my time on the land is when I feel refreshed.

 

REDBURN

Well, this visit is a forced one.

 

LEPINE

Oh?

 

REDBURN

My sister has arranged for her friend and the young lady’s father to stop with us from Boston.

 

LEPINE

For what purpose?

 

Redburn does not say; instead he appears uncomfortable.

 

LEPINE (CONT’D)

Well, I hope you have some time just

for yourself.

 

REDBURN

I…I extend the invitation to you, sir. If in the next two weeks, you somehow find yourself in Greylock-on-Hudson, we can spend some time in the natural world, alone.

 

LEPINE

Obligations keep me tied to the rock of Manhattan. Besides, you have the status of ‘confirmed bachelor,’ and so do I, so, how would that look?

 

REDBURN

Perfectly respectable, I presume. Just

like you, sir.

 

LEPINE

Well, Mr. Omoo, some of us are not the merry rovers as others.

 

Redburn looks sad.

 

LEPINE (CONT’D)

Isn’t Felix Akker going with you?

 

REDBURN

No. I fear Felix has all the worst city traits of condescension so deeply ingrained in him, that he ‘detests the country.’

 

LEPINE

So, let me guess, this new book of yours is set in that part of the world.

 

REDBURN

(grins sheepishly)

My story starts there. Am I so easily

read, sir?

 

LEPINE

Renslow; call me Renslow. And – as you said – for us reading between the lines is a must if we wish to recognize one another.

 

REDBURN

Recognize, our secrets?

 

LEPINE

Yes, secret things.

 

REDBURN

Like love?

 

[Part 1 – II: Flame Light]

INT. AKKER’S BEDROOM – NIGHT – LATER

REDBURN opens the door and enters this semi-lit space. He carries a whale oil lamp and is still wearing his evening clothes. He moves into the center of the room and leaves the door standing open; he brings the light closer to us and sets it on the nightstand. When he glances back, AKKER is silently closing the door behind him. We hear a CLICK as it locks and as Redburn smiles devilishly. Akker begins to take off his jacket, but Redburn slyly moves to pin the older man against the door with his full body. They kiss, and Redburn’s fingers remove Akker’s tie and collar. Then he backs off a bit, lifts his mentor’s hands, and after kissing the palms first, begins to remove the cufflinks and cuffs.

 

AKKER

Did you enjoy the accolades?

 

REDBURN

You know I am not vain, but what young man’s head would not fail to be turned?

 

AKKER

One already used to my patronage.

 

Akker aggressively forces his hand behind Redburn’s head and draws him into his open-mouthed kiss. Redburn does not resist, exactly, but he does not seem to enjoy the rough treatment either.

 

REDBURN

I appreciate your good support, but I am inclined to believe that if history remembers you, old man, it will be in reference to my talent and skill.

 

To Redburn’s warm laugh, Akker has only cold and calculating words.

 

AKKER

Authors like you…

(unbuttons his own fly)

…Dear boy, live from one successful…

(guides Redburn to his knees)

…Book to the next. The one you have stewing in your head is the only one that matters.

 

Soon Akker’s face grows tense in pleasure. His hands land in Redburn’s hair, and guide him to a rougher stroke with his mouth. His breaths become more labored and choppy as he continues to speak.

 

AKKER (CONT’D)

As for history, keep me on your side. History is like a comedy – flying backwards and forward in time as occasion calls. A good historian must be like History itself – nimble of center, elastic of circumference, and free of recall…as situations…demand.

 

Akker gets too excited; he grabs Redburn by the underarms, lifts him to stand and then roughly pushes him towards the bed. He undoes Redburn’s trousers from behind, pulls them down, then shoves Redburn. The young man falls face-forward with arms above his head. Akker strides up, and begins to take Redburn from behind. A sort of pleasure-in-denial look dances across Redburn’s features as he is brusquely dominated, but slowly an in-drawing close-up shows Redburn becoming calm and staring into the burning wick of the lamp.

 

[Part 1 – III: Opening Credits]

INT. AKKER’S BEDROOM

Time has passed; now the room is dark except for the one bedside lamp Redburn brought with him. Akker and Redburn are lying on top of the bed in their nightclothes; the older man snores lightly and peacefully. Redburn’s head rotates and he again stares at the light.

 

FADE IN: TITLE CARD: “The Secret Melville”

 

Redburn slowly rises, takes the lamp, and goes to his desk. He sits, pulls out a low stack of paper, and picks up a pen. The view pivots and descends over his shoulder as he writes a title page:

 

PIERRE

AND

THE AMBIGUITIES

 

While the credits roll, the title song “Wonder-Smitten” plays. The sights shift from Akker’s bedroom to shots of nighttime Manhattan, and then to a gradually brightening countryside. Dawn breaks, and the sun rises higher as we travel over the surface of the Hudson River. On the horizon looms the gilded profile of Slide Mountain. Our motion begins to slow over the top of the pine trees, and the morning becomes alive and fresh; BIRDSONG is heard, and we gradually settle atop the shelf of conglomerate rock that crowns this mountain’s peak.

 

“Some summer mornings in the country

When city sojourner walks forth bold,

He’s wonder-smitten by field and tree

And trancelike aspects of green and gold.

 

Then, not a flower stirs,

The trees forget to wave,

The grass has ceased to grow,

And all of Nature then,

Conscious of Her own

Profound mystery,

Takes refuge in silence.

Then, trees forget to wave,

The grass has ceased to grow,

And She walks in repose.”

 

(recap: ”Some summer mornings …” etc.)

 

[Part 1 – IV: Slide’s Majesty]

EXT. ROCKS ON PEAK OF SLIDE MOUNTAIN – MORNING

CHARLIE MILLTHORPE lies his lean, swimmer’s body flat on the outcropping with his hands laced behind his head. The self-made twenty-one-year-old is squinting mildly, sunbathing his reddish-blond curls in the morning freshness, and allowing himself to be amused by his companion’s animation. PIERRE GLENDEMMING paces nearby holding an open notebook and pencil.

 

PIERRE

What do you think of this one, Charlie?

(READS)

“Of finest Egyptian linen

Is our motherly Earth to lay.

There, beneath tester of blue sky,

Like emperors, and too like kings,

Sleep we all beggars in grand state.

 

“I say, death is a democrat,

And hapless of all other reels,

Democracy still hugs the thought,

Chained in gold, or in some thorns crowned,

That all headstones will be alike.”

 

CHARLIE

(chuckles)

Should a nineteen-year-old be talking

about death?

 

Pierre stops, drops his arms and says with all sincerity:

 

PIERRE

But, I am a writer. I write what I feel.

 

Charlie sits up and folds his legs. He pats the stone next to him and holds out his hand. Pierre sighs, leans over and gives Charlie a quick kiss. Then he takes the offered hand and sits while still holding it.

 

PIERRE (CONT’D)

Sometimes I feel Nature is a cruel stepmother, and the thing I most want from her is a non-judging embrace.

 

CHARLIE

(hugging him)

You, Pierre, are a fine poet. You don’t need a city lawyer like me to validate that. Hell, you are in demand by editors, so I can boast to my clients that I know you.

 

PIERRE

Do you like New York?

 

CHARLIE

I miss Saddle Meadows; I miss being with you and with your cousin – those were the days, eh? But New York is fine. You can visit anytime, and see the lively Bohemian world I move about in. I live with and represent painters, and philosophers, and writers too – all existing hand-to-mouth, but just as happy as you are in your splendid isolation.

 

PIERRE

I admire you, Charlie Millthorpe. At seventeen you left this place, and now only a few years later – look at you – a success, yet the same honest, brave young man I knew.

 

CHARLIE

You know that if my father had not died, I’d probably still be one of your mother’s tenant farmers. And although I’m young, at twenty-one I sometimes feel old.

 

PIERRE

Why?

 

CHARLIE

(abashes)

There is something about dealing with city people that grinds one down; it makes me long for days like this, and for the past times I enjoyed with you and your cousin.

 

PIERRE

Glendemming Stanley is home, you know.

 

CHARLIE

Yes, I know. His ‘European Tour’ started just as we three were separating, and now it’s over.

 

PIERRE

(excited)

Remember our days by the sea! How I love the ocean.

 

CHARLIE

Of course, I remember. But you know, Glen is different now.

 

PIERRE

How?

 

CHARLIE

Different. I think he’s left you and I

far behind.

 

PIERRE

Don’t say that, Charlie. You know I love him, and his letters to me may not be as passionate as before, but I know he loves me still. I’ve shown you Glen’s old missives. You’ve seen how he’d fill them with details of his European visits – all black-inked and bold – and then, with a tender hand, and tiny red letters, he’d go back and write his love for me between the lines. How can that sort of intimacy change? I do not believe it can.

 

There is a pause. Charlie’s hand stops, and Pierre looks up squintingly.

 

PIERRE (CONT’D)

What...? Charlie, you know I love you too.

 

Charlie blinks like a tear is about to fall.

 

CHARLIE

It’s all right. I know you love him differently, and that’s something I must accept. It does not change the way I feel about you one jot.

 

Pierre rises to his knees and hugs Charlie; the other young man slowly returns the embrace with genuine affection, and kisses the side of his neck. Charlie is remembering past times.

 

 

BEGIN ‘FIRST KISS’ FLASHBACK:

 

■ GLEN, PIERRE and CHARLIE hold hands and twirl on this very peak. The sun twinkles on their happy teenage faces.

■ Slowly their twirling lessens. They gradually let hands slide up arms, then lower to draw in one another by the waist.

■ They circle slowly and push heads back slightly to hold one another’s gaze. Glen and Pierre gradually come together and kiss passionately; Charlie must watch dejectedly.

 

END ‘FIRST KISS’ FLASHBACK.

 

 

Pierre gives Charlie a loud smack on the cheek and leaps to his feet. He grabs his notebook and starts to pace again.

 

PIERRE

When I get my first book published, do you know who I am going to dedicate it to, Charlie?

 

The young lawyer begins to grin hopelessly and rises to his feet; Pierre’s face is burnished by the golden morning light. Pierre misses Charlie’s feelings entirely and makes a grand, sweeping gesture to the nearby mountaintops.

 

PIERRE (CONT’D)

To this place!

(shouts as if reciting)

I dedicate this work to you – to your Slide’s Majesty – I and our neighbors, the birch and the maple…

(falls to his knees in rapture)

…We devoutly kneel to render our gratitude, whether you bend your hoary crown to acknowledge our efforts or no.

 

_