PIERRE and the AMBIGUITIES – A Filmscript - 6. Part 6 – Second Acts

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[Part 6 – Second Acts – I: Glen’s Reception]

EXT. GLENDEMMING STANLEY’S NEW YORK MANSION – NIGHT

The streets are damp from a recent summer shower. There is little traffic, and fewer pedestrians. A cab pulls up. PIERRE, still in his traveling clothes, tosses open the cab door, jumps down and assists ISABELLE out. He pays the hack, who snaps his whip and drives away. The pair gaze up in amazement at the house; every window is lit, and on the main floor, figures flutter by the openings dancing gaily. Waltz MUSIC comes from this level too.

 

ISABELLE

It looks like your cousin is not expecting us.

 

PIERRE

Pshaw! I am sure he’s made arrangements. You wait here a moment while I find out.

 

Pierre positions Isabelle at the gate near the bottom of the stoop. He then brushes down his dusty coat, whips off his hat and walks up proudly to the door. He pulls the doorbell. After a long moment, and while the shot joins him on the porch, a young African American FOOTMAN in full livery answers.

 

FOOTMAN

May I help you, sir?

 

PIERRE

I am Pierre Glendemming; Master Glendemming Stanley is expecting us.

 

FOOTMAN

Mr. Stanley is hosting a ball tonight, sir.

 

He puts out his gloved hand.

 

PIERRE

So I can ascertain. Nevertheless, I’m sure he’s made arrangements to see me, if you inform him of my presence.

 

FOOTMAN

Mr. Stanley said that no one without an invitation is to be admitted. This here is a private affair.

 

PIERRE

(astounded)

Didn’t he say I was coming? Our business

is pressing.

 

FOOTMAN

He mentioned, well, sir, mentioned that someone with a woman…

 

He glances down on Isabelle like she was a common street tramp.

 

FOOTMAN (CONT’D)

…Would try to get in, but—

 

Pierre’s anger flashes; he rushes past the Footman, as Isabelle lets out a scream.

 

INT. HALLWAY OF GLEN’S NEW YORK MANSION

PIERRE bolts up the steps two at a time. The FOOTMAN, still at the front door, is thrown off guard.

 

FOOTMAN

Hey, what are you doing?!

 

INT. BALLROOM OF GLEN’S NEW YORK MANSION

PIERRE comes through open double doors like a gunslinger – he is slightly winded, and as he pauses near the opening with his dusty trench coat partially open, he stands out immediately. Slowly he walks out onto the dance floor. COUPLES gasp, and one by one stop waltzing. The MUSIC comes to a choppy halt. A slow ascending shot up Pierre’s body settles on his angry face as he shouts.

 

PIERRE

Glendemming Stanley!

 

There is a NOISE from the back of the room. Pierre walks to where it came from; the crowd parts for him. Finally, he can see GLENDEMMING STANLEY sitting on a sofa with a young woman. Glen now sports a youthful goatee cut in a striking ‘Imperial’ style. Pierre almost gasps to see how handsome his cousin looks, but Glen for his part only pretends to be interested in the woman’s longhaired curls. His fingers twist and play with them, and his body is stretched out languorously in the seat leaning against her, as if they were alone.

 

PIERRE

(soft)

Glen...?

 

GLEN

(sighs)

Ah, yes – you.

 

He reluctantly rises, puts his hands in his pockets and strolls right up to Pierre’s face.

 

GLEN (CONT’D)

Tough luck, old boy, breaking your mother’s heart like that.

 

PIERRE

You’d betray me?

 

GLEN

Betray? How can I betray…

(addressing the crowd in general)

…A man I do not know anymore?

 

Glens turns his back, and starts to walk back to the sofa. Pierre clenches his fists. He grows determined and lunges for Glen. MEN from the crowd restrain him while he sputters in indignant rage.

 

PIERRE

Glen – how could you?! It breaks my heart, but I disown you too – and had I a knife, I’d drain all the blood from you that we share.

 

He makes another attempt to get at Glen.

 

GLEN

(flipping his tails and sitting again)

Leave at once, or this crowd will learn your ‘secret.’ Do you want that?

 

Pierre’s body grows slack. His face takes on horrified, cowed recognition. He jerks his arms free, brushes down his coat, turns and slowly walks back through the astounded and bemused crowd with all the dignity he can muster. Glen’s LAUGHTER echoes behind him as he goes.

 

[Part 6 – II: Toby’s Letter]

INT. AKKER’S LIBRARY – MORNING

A opening close-up of REDBURN’s desk lamp shows it still burning. The author has worked on Pierre all night, and it shows in how pallid and exhausted he is. He pushes the manuscript aside, rises and blows out the lamp, but then is distracted by the pile of unopened proof sheets. He takes his penknife and cuts the cord on a second bundle. Brushing back the wrapper, he feels something odd. It’s a letter on top of the stack. He grabs it and goes to stand at the window; the envelope is addressed:

 

INSERT – LETTER FRONT:

 

To Guy Winthrop

c/o Wonder and Wen Publishers

518b Broadway

New York

 

FADE FROM INSERT – LETTER FRONT.

 

Background MUSIC softly introduces Toby and Redburn's love theme. ^[8] He flips the envelope over and reads a printed return label:

 

INSERT – LETTER BACK:

 

Tobias R. Browne

330 Mickle Boulevard

Camden, New Jersey

 

FADE FROM INSERT – LETTER BACK.

 

He yawns and opens it. Redburn scans the folder paper and nearly falls to his knees; the page is shown and the voiceover begins.

 

TOBY (V.O.)

My dearest Redburn, for so long I thought you were dead. How I berated myself for leaving you, and not dying instead so that I would not be forced to keep you in doubt. So you know that it is me, I will remind you of some details that did not appear in Typee – how we did a pee-dance for Kori-Kori that first morning; how you and I kissed in the grandstands during the festival. Oh, my Tommo, I do not know what else to write, except that we must meet. Write to me as soon as you get this. All my ‘affection’ — Toby

 

Redburn is sobbing and wracked with emotions. He raises the letter and kisses it briefly. He smiles and brushes away the tears deposited on it. Rushing to the desk, he draws his lower arm across his eyes and nose. He sits, pulls out paper and picks up his pen. Redburn holds the nib in suspended animation while he stares at the blank sheet.

 

REDBURN

(murmurs)

I love you?

 

He writes, as the voiceover proceeds.

 

REDBURN (CONT’D – V.O.)

Dearest Toby, I too had convinced myself that you were dead. A fortnight from today, an hour before noon, you and I shall meet at the ‘Astor House Gentlemen’s Restaurant.’ Please send confirmation, and until then, the things in my heart that I wish to say to you will build in the sweetest possible anticipation. You know what else I want to write. Yours, always, Redburn

 

Another tear falls and blurs the final part of his conclusion.

 

[Part 6 – III: Set Up at ”The Apostles”]

EXT. LOGGIA OF “THE APOSTLES” – DAY

A lower Manhattan property has been fully built out. Attached to the long flank of a former church, four floors of single rooms, opening onto an open walkway, form an entire circuit of the court. The belfry still rises near the entry from the street, but the exposed wood of the utilitarian walkways abut it with no special regard. City NOISE wafts up to a position right above the handrail of the fourth floor across from the tower. Looking to the left, a jolly CHARLIE MILLTHORPE comes along. He’s dressed well, too well to be toting the rough crate in his arms. But nevertheless, he’s nattering over his shoulder to someone unseen.

 

CHARLIE

…Nice to have you. You’ll love it here at

‘The Apostles’….

 

After he passes by, PIERRE comes into view carrying his own crate. While Charlie continues walking, and chatting, Pierre’s hackles are raised. He stops. From behind a corner post cattycorner to him, PLONTINUS PLINLIMMON steps forward; the man’s heartless stare is locked on the youth. Startled, Pierre opens his mouth to hail Charlie, but his companion’s too far along the walkway to hear. When Pierre glances over again, the mysterious philosopher is nowhere to be seen. He jogs to catch up with his friend, who is still jabbering and never missed Pierre’s presence.

 

INT. PIERRE AND ISABELLE’S APARTMENT, KITCHEN

They’ve rented three interconnected rooms. Each is identical in having one window and one door out to the walkway. Two interior doors are now open, and are located in the dividing partitions close to the exterior. The far room is the kitchen. The door to the walkway and “The Apostles” courtyard is open. ^[9] ISABELLE wears a pinafore and scrubs at the small cook stove with a brass brush. She hears Charlie’s CHATTER approaching and glances back to see him come through the door. He sets the crate down on the table.

 

CHARLIE

(bows his head)

Ma’am – I mean, misses.

 

PIERRE comes sailing in.

 

PIERRE

Charlie, that goes in my room. This way.

 

Pierre exits with his own crate through the open door into the room on their right. Charlie awkwardly smiles at Isabelle and lifts up the crate he’s just put on the table. He heads for the same door.

 

INT. ISABELLE’S ROOM

CHARLIE passes through the second room of the three. There’s a dresser with a mirror and a double bed; all is sparse, but neat.

 

INT. PIERRE’S ROOM

In the final room, a waist-height angle through the open door, looking into Isabelle’s room, shows CHARLIE approaching. As he enters, our view draws back to pan the room. A ‘desk’ is under the far window. It is made up of two flour barrels with floor planking on top. PIERRE sets his crate down here, and takes the other one from Charlie. Pierre pulls the desk chair out for his guest, and the young man sits on a rusty and rickety camp bed. These are the only furnishings of the room. Charlie sits and glances up. For the first time, he notices the great mass of blackened flue pipe traverses the ceiling of the room to exit into the far wall; this is the only source of heat, and it must travel all the way from the small kitchen stove.

       

PIERRE

I trust I’m not keeping you from your clients.

 

CHARLIE

Appointment books cleared for your move-in, old boy!

 

PIERRE

(sad)

I really can’t thank you enough….

 

CHARLIE

Don’t mention it. I am still appalled at Glen’s treatment of you and…and...?

 

PIERRE

Isabelle.

 

CHARLIE

Your wife, Isabelle.

 

PIERRE

Yes.

 

CHARLIE

It’s hard to conceive of you as a married man….

 

PIERRE

Do not press me on it, Charlie, please.

 

CHARLIE

All right. But, I am not going to succumb to societal pressure and get married. No, sir. By marriage, I might contribute to the population of mankind but add not a jot to the census of humanity. All the greatest men, you know, did not engage themselves via legal enmeshments to womankind. No, for them – and for me – our family is the universe: Saturn was our father, and Socrates was our uncle who doted our kind of love on us.

 

Pierre is a little hurt – he feels like telling his former boyfriend what happened, but fears more rejection.

 

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

Anyway, I’m sure your misses is real nice. She is pretty, that is for sure.

 

Pierre’s silence is painfully awkward. As he speaks, Charlie eventually lays a hand on Pierre’s arm. There’s shadowy movement just beyond the frame of the internal door.

 

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

I…I am sorry Glen broke your heart like that. I understand that sort of pain, but old boy, please remember, true love withstands every repulse, no matter how rude.

 

PIERRE

Thank you, Charlie; thank you for setting us with up with a place to live, and for your love. You are a life-saver.

 

CHARLIE

It’s disgraceful, if you ask me, that your mother disinherited you – and made that traitor Glen the new Glendemming heir.

 

PIERRE

I’d rather not—

 

CHARLIE

(cutting him off)

To think that her high and mighty condition was that he court and woo your Lucy….

 

PIERRE

(to Charlie’s stuttered trailing off)

As I was going to say, it’s best we not discuss it, if we may.

(brighter tone)

As for the life of man versus the life of art – I think Nature will eventually have all, but as the grass is changed out annually, the limbs of the oaks defy that mighty decree for many years.

 

Charlie goes and stands by the window.

 

CHARLIE

Well, you will love it here at ‘The Apostles.’

 

PIERRE

What was this place, a church?

 

CHARLIE

Yes, from up here you can see the tower.

 

Pierre rises and joins him.

 

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

Our resident philosopher lives up there – that’s his window, the one with the fancy cap. See?

 

PIERRE

Yes.

 

CHARLIE

It’s just him up there, and in the evening, a flute player climbs up to the belfry to practice. It is quite pleasant.

 

PIERRE

So, what happened to this church?

 

CHARLIE

The parish of The Apostles moved uptown, sold the place, and new owners built the court on the rest of the property. Now lawyers like me rent the ground floor rooms as offices, and people live upstairs –

(laughs)

and we’re all called ‘Apostles’ too!

 

PIERRE

What sort live here?

 

CHARLIE

Well, for one, my mother and sisters live right below, so tell the misses to stop by any day she likes, but mainly single men live here.

 

PIERRE

(chuckles)

I’ve seen them: blue-spectacled, foreign-looking types; fed on food for thought, but gaunt of liver.

 

CHARLIE

Bohemians, my boy! Artists, writers, playwrights, philosophers, and even poets – just like you!

 

PIERRE

(slapping Charlie’s shoulder)

Yes, it’s a wonderful place.

 

CHARLIE

And after dark, and on the Sabbath and holidays, it’s as quiet as the Vatican!

(laughs)

Ironic thought – think of it; it’s some joke – the lawyers have taken over ‘the church’ these days as adjuncts to businessmen, while all the time free-thinkers are running riot on the piano nobile.

 

PIERRE

Radicals?

 

Charlie grows a bit uncomfortable, like he’s about to reveal a secret.

 

CHARLIE

Some fellows here – the ones with the biggest whiskers – seek to hurry along the advance of an untested head of a political millennium. But, I think you’ll find Plontinus Plinlimmon more meat to philosophical stomachs like yours and mine.

 

PIERRE

(floored)

Plontinus Plinlimmon, I just…. He lives here?

 

CHARLIE

Why, yes, old boy. There…

(points out the window)

…The chap in the tower.

 

PIERRE

I read his paper…but, I’ve lost it. You know, he was just out on…the….

 

Pierre pats his pockets.

 

CHARLIE

Well, you must let me take you to his next talk at our society’s hall. You should be there; he is one of the ultimate transcendentalists.

 

Charlie leans in, looks around, but neither man notice a shadow lurking just on the other side of Isabelle’s door.

 

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

I’ll but whisper it in your ear for now: I long to throw off my disguise, and come boldly out.

 

Pierre is momentarily puzzled, but then understands Charlie’s meaning clearly.

 

PIERRE

(wry smile)

Do you, brother of Plato, nephew of Socrates, think he has an extra?

 

CHARLIE

An extra?

 

PIERRE

Copy of his pamphlet!

 

CHARLIE

His lecture? I do not know. Thing is – I’ve just sent him a small library of books and fresh supplies of stationary, pens, etc. In fact, if you are up to it, we can make that excuse to go visit with him now! Let’s do it!

 

PIERRE

I do wish to find another copy of his pamphlet, so, let us go.

 

Charlie opens the exterior door, and makes a friendly gesture of ‘After you.’ They leave, and after Charlie closes the door behind him, our view tracks backwards through Isabella’s door.

 

CUT TO:

ISABELLE:

 

Pressed against the wall by the doorframe, she’s been eavesdropping.

 

INT. BELFRY STAIRS

PIERRE glances up to the rafters as CHARLIE climbs ahead of him. He can see shafts of sunlight coming from the steeple’s lantern. He passes a window, and looks out onto the loggia of the apartment building of ”The Apostles.”

 

CHARLIE (O.S.)

Well, look at that!

 

INT. LANDING BEFORE PLONTINUS PLINLIMMON’S DOOR

Several piles of books, bound in jute twine and neatly stacked along the wall flanking the door meet PIERRE’s eyes as he mounts the finals steps. CHARLIE goes to the tallest stack, the one right next to the frame, and picks up an unopened ten-inch-bundle of paper-wrapped quills. He bounces it in his hands.

 

CHARLIE

I should have known.

 

He sets it down, and knocks loudly.

 

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

Old boy, it’s me, Charlie Millthorpe. I’ve brought you a new…

 

The door opens abruptly.

 

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

…Acolyte.

 

PLONTINUS PLINLIMMON is not surprised to see Pierre lurking in the shadows by the stairs.

 

INT. PLONTINUS PLINLIMMON’S APARTMENT

CHARLIE chats with a half-interested PLONTINUS PLINLIMMON; these men sit, while PIERRE glances out the window. He has an eerily perfect view of his apartment, and can see Isabelle shaking out a rug.

 

CHARLIE

…Isn’t that right, Pierre?

 

PIERRE

(turns to them)

Isn’t what right?

 

CHARLIE

(laughs)

That you are indeed ‘that famous’ poet of Some Scottish Idylls; Pompey’s Ashes; A Tropical Sunset; etc., etc., etc.

(to Plinlimmon)

He’s setting up at ‘The Apostles’ with the intention of writing.

 

Plinlimmon slowly rises, a sly grin splitting half of his face. He strides up to Pierre.

 

PLINLIMMON

Poems?

 

PIERRE

No. Something more serious, more mysterious – a book.

 

PLINLIMMON

Becoming the writer of novels, sir?

 

PIERRE

Yes. A work of fiction.

 

PLINLIMMON

(to Charlie – laughs)

Is not every book a work of fictive imagination?

(to Pierre)

But, ‘mystery’ is your theme?

 

PIERRE

Among others, but speaking of impenetrables…

(gives a laughing glance at Charlie before continuing)

…Do you have a copy of Chronometricals and Horologicals that I may buy?

 

PLINLIMMON

My lecture, young man? No, I do not.

 

The philosopher sits and crosses his legs with an air of severe boredom.

 

PIERRE

But, I would think—

 

PLINLIMMON

Think what?

 

PIERRE

That you would promote them.

 

PLINLIMMON

You live under a strenuous disillusionment, my young sir. I do not have a copy of my work, other than the master copy in my head. My ardent students, like young Master Millthorpe here, make notes during the course of my talks and publish them. As for me, they are among the last things that I need; I own neither paper, brush, nor book to litter my learning.

 

CHARLIE

(laughs)

Is that why your new library is outside your door? That, and your stationary too?

 

Plinlimmon rises petulantly. He strides over to Charlie without any sign of warmth, before eventually glancing at Pierre with something akin to pity.

 

PLINLIMMON

Your good mood, Charles Millthorpe, Esquire, may breed happy confidence in your clientele, but I find it taxing. Your ‘present’ was thoughtful, but useless to me. If you wish to promote my reaching to the furthest ecstasies of philosophy, I suggest you gift me two kegs of fat brandy. For that is meat for the true mind of a thinking man.

 

CHARLIE

(laughs)

All hail our Uncles Socrates!

 

Plinlimmon stalks up to Pierre again – getting uncomfortably close. He exudes an oddly hostile vibe: one of expectant failure.

 

PLINLIMMON

As for that pipe of litter on my landing, you take it. You unwrap those books both figuratively and literally; you unroll that ruled paper, and you dip those feathers in that coal-black ink – let’s see what you can produce by it.

 

[Part 6 – IV: Twilight Guitar and Flute]

INT. PIERRE’S ROOM – TWILIGHT

A single candle is lit and reflected by the window glass. PIERRE sits at his desk. As the following voiceover begins, and the Tallis If Ye Love Me MUSIC returns, a higher shot over his shoulder shows us he’s writing quickly on blue-ruled paper. It smoothly transitions into a traveling shot, rotating on his fixed facial features as he writes; these come in and out of shadow as the movement around him plays with the single light source.

 

PIERRE (V.O.)

Love between boys is earnest and deep; and in some cases alters to feelings towards the opposite sex, but when it does, it turns cold. It is committing the man the boy becomes to a wholly selfish way, and thus is he carried along as a soulless thug on the current of ordinary life. Yes, love between young men is earnest and deep, and in some cases falls short by only one small degree of the fully consummated marriage of man to woman.

 

Pierre looks up. He sees a figure in the belfry, and the music in his head is quickly replaced by a strident FLUTE melody wafting through the window. ^[10] He leans back, feeling lonely, but when his attention drifts down from the steeple, a shadow in PLONTINUS PLINLIMMON’s window catches his eye. The philosopher is standing there, staring across the court at him. Pierre is startled by an approaching light, but because of the window glass’ glare he cannot tell from where.

 

ISABELLE

(from the door)

Pierre.

 

He starts and leaps to his feet. He appears weak and stiff in the joints.

 

ISABELLE (CONT’D)

If you intend to write, you will need a lamp.

 

Pierre rushes to turn over his papers.

 

PIERRE

No, I am done for the day.

 

ISABELLE

You look wan. Did you go for a walk today?

 

PIERRE

No, not for a week now.

(off of Isabelle’s shocked look – suddenly saddened)

Do you like it here? It’s been a fortnight.

 

ISABELLE

Yes, brother. The Millthorpes are wonderful people. May I?

 

She gestures to the bed, and now Pierre can see she’s also holding her guitar.

 

PIERRE

Yes.

 

The harsh sounds of the FLUTE continue. Isabelle sets the lamp on the desk, and they sit side by side on the camp bed.

 

PIERRE (CONT’D)

I miss the woods, the trees and grass. All I have is the rust of this bed to remind me of Nature.

 

ISABELLE

Oh, Pierre – I feel it’s all my fault. You are working too hard.

 

PIERRE

It is not your fault.

 

ISABELLE

You have a trunk full of finished work. Why do you not publish them for ready cash?

 

PIERRE

I used to think they were too good for publishing, now I can barely read them over, for they are dribble, and do not deserve my name attached to them.

 

ISABELLE

Oh, Pierre.

 

PIERRE

Will you play for us?

 

Isabelle lays her guitar across her lap. She elevates her hands over the instrument, and a Bach melody arises from the vibrating strings without being touched. ^[11] It competes with the FLUTE melody, taming it somewhat, and in Pierre’s reverie, we hear the following voiceover.

 

REDBURN (V.O.)

In the longing for union with Isabelle’s mystic guitar, Pierre sat in the twilight and felt chapter after chapter born of its wondrous suggestions, but they were, alas, out of grasp of translation. For where the deepest words end, music begins with its all-confounding intimations.

 

Pierre’s hand slips behind Isabelle’s head. He turns her towards him, the guitar music stops, and he draws her into a kiss while the FLUTE continues to play. He grows passionate, but slowly Isabelle resists and pushes him back. She rises and goes to the door; pausing, she looks back and sees she has broken the heart of a lonely man. She leaves Pierre alone and miserable in the twilight.

 

 

_