screenplay SLAY IT AGAIN, PAM by Robert Patrick Part 1 of 2

1837 N. Alexandria Ave.
L.A. CA 90027
(323) 360-1469
A scruffy, desolate landscape by a highway.
CLOSE ON: A sign: “Entering Landfill, California. Population 25,000.”
WIDER: Beside it, a sign, “Home of Landfill Army Base.”
WIDER: A truck pulls up, TWO WORKMEN get out. ONE pulls up the Army Base sign, throws it in bed of the truck. THE OTHER slashes paint through the “25,OOO” and scrawls under it, “4,OOO.”
CLOSE ON: the altered sign, paint dripping, as we HEAR TRUCK leave.
It’s one of those awesome enormous places where you
can buy anything. Pam’s bright heliotrope beat-up pick-up
truck is among the many cars parked in the lot.
To a background of syrupy MUZAK, A HOUSEWIFE of one race and a GAY GUY of another are chatting with their baskets blocking an aisle. They are among shelves of juices.
HOUSEWIFE: Oh, men are so picky. My Fred won’t eat anything that says “health” on it.
GAY GUY: Oh, Harold won’t either. But he’ll eat anything that says “As seen on tv!”
HOUSEWIFE: Riiiiiiiight.
“Jaws”-like menacing MUSIC.
CLOSE ON: A WOMAN’S hand, grubby, chewed nails, no jewelry, speeds along, grabbing twelve-packs of beer off a shelf.
MUZAK. A SECOND HOUSEWIFE of a third race is approaching the roadblock caused by the Housewife and Gay Guy.
GAY GUY: I have to pour store—brand items into famous-brand packages, then he loves them.
HOUSEWIFE: Oh, and God forbid he should see a generic carton in the house!
GAY GUY: (Mimics whining husband) “My mother didn’t never buy generic!”
SECOND HOUSEWIFE: (joining them) Yes, like his mother could have kept national brands on the table with today’s prices!
Housewife and Gay Guy agree ad lib,” Oh, I know!” “It’s a recession ! ” “Who can afford to eat?”
“Jaws” MUSIC
CLOSE ON: The woman’s hand now speeding past a shelf where it scoops up cat and dog food and kitty litter.
MUZAK. There are now a couple of other Housewives of yet more races in the chattering group, one with a crying baby, the other with a nagging child.
GAY GUY: I use No-Cal Jell-O and celery stumps to make the cheaper cuts of meat attractive.
A NEW HOUSEWIFE: Do you do hair?
To “Jaws” MUSIC:
The woman’s hand scoops up baby food.
The woman’s hand scoops up baby diapers.
The woman’s hand scoops up adult diapers.
From a rack of magazines, the woman’s hand grabs “Auto Repair”, “Astrology Today,” and “TV Guide.”
MUZAK. The clot of gossipers is smoking, drinking cokes and juice they take off the shelf, one woman is changing a crying baby. “Jaws” MUSIC begins to sneak in.
HOUSEWIFE WITH NAGGING KID: (Whacking kid) No, Mama can’t afford to take you to no County Fair..
ANOTHER HOUSEWIFE: And who has time, anyway?
ANOTHER: Nobody ain’t got no money.
ANOTHER (VERY OLD): It’s the Communists.
GAY GUY: No, there aren’t any Communists any more.
ANOTHER (VERY OLD): Then who is it now, then?
“Jaws” MUSIC reaches a peak and all turn startled to face — ANOTHER ANGLE
— somebody barging at them shoving three loaded shopping carts.
POV the cart-pusher: She barges through the shrieking group.
CLOSE ON: Her hand jamming bottles of Gator—Aid onto a cart.
PULL-BACK down aisle. The shattered group stands dazed, looking after the fleeing forceful person.
POV the forceful person behind loaded carts. She aims for one check-out counter, but the line is too long. She aims at another but it’s labeled “Ten Items Or Less.” She passes two more crowded ones and enters an unattended one. A display of LOTTO tickets is conspicuous, and a sign, “This week’s Lotto Jackpot, $75,000,000.”
POV the forceful person. One of her hands adds cigarettes from a display to her purchases, while her other hand reaches out and picks up the hard—rubber stick used to divide one person’s groceries from another’s on the check—out counter. She bangs it fast and loudly on the counter. We hear:
HER VOICE: Hey! Somebody open up this mother!
From her POV, we see a CASHIER rushing to open the counter, other ATTENDANTS to sack. The voice continues:
VOICE: Come on, come on, I can’t afford to dawdle.
The Cashier grabs an item and starts to pass it over the laser-beam in the counter to ring it up.
The forceful person’s hand comes into view holding a calculator.
VOICE; I figured it up. It’s three hundred and thirty eight dollars and seventy—nine cents, including coupons.
Her hands are opening a bright heliotrope case which is full of money in bills.
CLOSE ON: The Cashier’s eyes pop at the sight of the money.
Cashier’s POV. The grubby, neglected hands are dealing out bills and coupons.
KEVIN, a heavenly handsome guy in store uniform, approaches. He laughingly shoves the Cashier aside and passes the items rapidly and expertly over the laser beam to rapid sackers.
KEVIN: (To Cashier) Go ahead. Take her money. She’s always right, Hi, Pam.
PAM, staring at Kevin, drops last of money, exact change, into Cashier’s hand. Pam is a thin young woman who has paid no attention whatsoever to her hair and wears no make-up. She is dressed in sloppy shorts and T-shirt. Rest assured; in the last moment of the film she is going to turn out to be a beauty, but until then she will be as we see her now: a haggard, distracted, and unattractive ball of energy.
PAM: (Dreamy-eyed for a moment) Hi, Kevin.
CLOSE ON: Kevin smiling back at her. MUZAK swells romantically.
CLOSE ON: Pam momentarily in a romantic daze.
Cashier rings up her payment with a sharp, loud CHING!
At the CHING! Pam snaps to, and yells at Sackers.
PAM; It’s the barely-breathing heliotrope pick-up. Hustle it up. I’ve —
KEVIN/SACKERS; (Jokingly speaking the familiar refrain in chorus) — got a schedule.
Some Sackers start carrying groceries out.
KEVIN: (Laughing, working, teasing) Yeah, Pam, we know. Hey! Am I on your schedule?
The Sackers laugh. Pam reacts with anger.
PAM: (To Sackers) Shut your holes! (To Kevin) Yes, I’m goin’ to tune your wagon.
Sackers go “ooooooooo!” like Merv Griffin. Kevin laughs.
PAM: (Waving “Auto Repairs” Magazine) 7:36 p.m. Monday. Right. It’s on my schedule.
KEVIN: (Finished registering her purchases) Right. Now how many lottery tickets?
(He starts peeling them off of board)
PAM: Seventy-five.
KEVIN: (Jamming tickets into validating machine)Your Daddy is blotto, your brother plays Lotto! (He says this playfully, not maliciously)
PAM: (Counting last of seventy—five dollars into his hand) – and seventy-five! (She takes tickets and starts away)
PAM: (Turns, impatient) What? I wanna stay on schedule.
KEVIN:You forgot to buy any food.
PAM: Food!
MUZAK ends.
Country—Western Rock MUSIC from inside fast—food joint.
Full figure of Pam seated at wheel. Pam is dragging through the window and stacking on the floor a mountain of take-out food bags at the same time she counts cash out of her bright heliotrope plastic case, whose open flap conceals the side facing us.
FAST FOOD EMPLOYEE: There you are, enough fried chicken to stuff Central Europe. That’ll be—
PAM: (Handing money over) There it is. Gimme a receipt. And hurry. I’m on a schedule.
FAST FOOD EMPLOYEE; (Ringing cash, getting receipt) What choo so rushed for? What choo do?
CLOSE ON: POV Fast Food Employee: Pam’s haggard, plain face.
PAM; (Taking receipt and handing employee a card) I’m in glamour.
Inside truck, Pam jams receipt into case, flips lid over case, revealing —
CLOSE ON: — bright cheery logo on side of case: Rosy Glow Cosmetics. A stylish woman’s silhouette, utterly different from poor Pam, is part of the logo.
Logo is on truck door, too. Bed of truck is loaded with the goods she bought in previous scene. Pam pulls out with a roar, leaving Employee looking at card blankly.
EMPLOYEE: (Reading card) “Good for complimentary facial.” Complimentary. Well, ain’t they all supposed to be?
Country-Western Rock MUSIC now on soundtrack, a lonely, lonely strain. Pam drives along through an anonymous generic California small town. Her calculator beeps.
Pam’s calculator. Readout says, “Call Yuniyoshi.”
WIDER. With one hand, Pam whips a cellular phone from her shorts pocket, dials, and we cut to —
A mobile—home, cheaply furnished. Many goldfish in many bowls. YUNIYOSHI, a Japanese woman in a cheap wrapper, answers phone. We see only one side of her face.
YUNIYOSHI: Yes, hello?
We CUT back and forth from the truck to the mobile home during the following conversation:
PAM: Yuniyoshi? It’s Pam. I called to see if you’d made a decision about becoming a Rosy Glow dealer.
YUNIYOSHI; Oh, Miss Pam-san, I no know. I thinking my husband he no like me.
She turns and we see a plum-like black eye.
PAM; But you know I need your decision this weekend, Yuniyoshi. If I get one more dealer by Sunday night, I win the hundred-thousand dollar grand prize for most active consultant.
YUNIYOSHI: I no can say, Miss Pam. Oh, I have to get hung up! I hear husband coming!
PAM; But, Yuniyoshi, if you’ll sign up to deal Rosy Glow, you won’t be dependent on your husband anymore.
YUNIYOSHI: (As her trailer shakes) Oh, he shake trailer. I got to go hide me!
She hangs up.
PAM: But Yuniyoshi, Rosy Glow is woman’s road to independence…
She hangs up, sighs in frustration. EXT. ROAD-NIGHT-CONTINUOUS
Pam’s heliotrope truck glides along alone through a degraded suburban area.
A suburban dump among other suburban dumps. No one on streets. The garage door yawns open. Pam’s truck pulls into it. The door starts closing.
MUSIC ends.
NOISE: A hell of crying babies, squabbling cats and dogs, and television music.
The door which leads from the garage into the living-room. Dogs and cats attack it as Pam kicks it open. She carries enormous bags of groceries and fast food and, always, her heliotrope case slung over her shoulder. She kicks angrily at cats and dogs, screaming:
PAM; I’m home! Somebody help me! I’m home! I’m home !
WIDER: The kitchen, which features a dining table, and the living-room are separated only by a low divider. Tacky worn suburban frumpishness. Pam’s MOTHER, a bloated toad, sits at the kitchen table dealing herself solitaire. Pam’s FATHER, a sodden pig, sits at the table swilling beer. He is talking to UNCLE DOC, a skinny drunk, who is trying to teach him to read. Pam’s SISTER, a pregnant slattern, sits on the living-room sofa with three yowling kids, one black, one Hispanic, and one Asian. Pam’s BROTHER, a stupid giant, stands at the kitchen counter with the icebox open, eating. Pam’s GRANDMOTHER, an angry crone, staggers about using a walker and chain-smoking. The television is blasting orchestral music and applause. There is a beauty pageant on. Dogs and cats run through, barking and screeching. Everybody looks vaguely toward Pam.
CLOSE ON: Sister, who yells
SISTER; Shut up, Pam; it’s the Miss Family Values Pageant!
Inane smiling girls in vulgar formals parade around a stage.
BROTHER: (Sniffs) Hey, food!
He runs to grab bags from Pam, who looks dispiritedly at the lot of them and turns to go get more bags from the garage.
CROSS FADE TO: A SERIES OF BRIEF SHOTS from Pam’s POV, all accompanied by background TV, animal, and baby RACKET:
(1) Mother, as fast food is held out to her.
MOTHER: (Dealing cards) Just put it down, Pam. Can’t cha see I’m almost winning’?
(2) Father, smiling and belching as Pam loads more beer into
a cooler beside him.
FATHER: Uncle Doc is teachin’ me how to read. Then I can get on “Wheel of Fortune!” (Holds up a page full of scrawled obscenities) Look, it says, “Shit.” I can read, “Shit.” Haw! “Shit, shit, shit!”
(3) Dogs and cats practically tearing food out of her hands.
(4) Grandmother as cigarettes are held out to her.
GRANDMOTHER; Well, what do you want me to do, take those’? Put ’em in my pocket, I’m a cripple!
(5) Brother, stuffing food into his face as Pam’s busy
figure dashes back and forth in front of him.
(6) Sister, breast-feeding one baby, kicking another, and
spooning food out of a jar into another baby.
SISTER: I bet you forgot my astrology magazine, you never think of me!
The astrology magazine hits her as Pam throws it.
SISTER: Oh, you made me miss Miss Canoga Park! (She cries)
Pam sinks exhausted into the remaining free chair, swigs a tremendous draught of Gator Aid.
WIDER: The already messy rooms are now awash in fast-food litter. Grandmother is trying to light a cigarette, falls forward bent over her walker-bar to do it. Brother moves through the litter of bags and wrappers and grabs the TV remote control from a baby.
BROTHER:Let’s see what else is on.
SISTER: No, don’t!
Brother clicks the remote and we see
THE TV SCREEN, clicking from channel to channel:
(1) The Miss Family Values Pageant.
AN AGING HOST:This is a pageant of America today!
(2) A newscast
A background shot of beggars waiting in line in snow.
(3) Another newscast
(4) A stand up comedy show
A TALL BLACK FEMALE COMIC: The ever popular race riots. (audience laughter)
(5) A sit—com
A FAT LOWER-CLASS WHITE WOMAN; Ain’t there no recess from the recession? (audience laughter)
(6) A commercial for Jamaica
A SHOUTING STEEL-DRUM PLAYER: Get away from eet all!
(7) A learned panel
AN AGED ACADEMIC: No escape from starvation.
(8) A protest march
A RAVING PROTESTOR: Universal pollution!
(9) A shampoo commercial
A stunning woman tosses perfect hair like a rearing horse.
A SOOTHING WOMAN’S VOICE; Beautiful, seductive, expensive you!
(10) A talk show
A WEEPING TRANSVESTITE: Social intolerance! (Boos)
(11) A newscast with two anchorpersons
A HEARTY MIDDLE-EASTERN MALE NEWSCASTER: Thanks, Beverly. Hideous natural disaster.
(12) A newscast
A mug shot of a bloated bearded one-eyed Biker.
NEWSCASTER’S VOICE: Theft and Arson!
(13) A black sit-corn
A LOONEY BLACK TEEN-AGER: Real ring-a-ding rap revenge! (Laughter)
(14) A newscast
Another mug shot of biker.
NEWSCASTER’S VOICE: Check-forging and mail-fraud.
A GRIMACING PRANCING SINGER: I wanna live like the rich-rich-rich and faaaaamous!
(16) A newscast
Another mug shot of the Biker
NEWSCASTER’S VOICE: Kidnapping and blackmail!
(17) A game show
PLASTIC HOST & HOSTESS: Wealth beyond your wildest dreams!
(Music and cheers)
(18) A newscast. Another mug shot of Biker.
NEWSCASTER’S VOICE: Rape and murder!
(19) A car commercial
Incredibly leggy woman and man slinking out of low-slung cars.
ANNOUNCER’S VOICE: Why settle for anything less? America’s most-desired car.
(20) A true-crime show
Huge face of biker.
GRIM ANNOUNCER’S VOICE: America’s most-wanted criminal.
(21) A religious show
A WILD-EYED FUNDAMENTALIST PREACHER: Hellfire and brimstone and the end of the world! (Cries of “Amen!” and “Hallelujah!)
(22) A game show
Flashing images of boats, cars, fashions, jewelry, tropical paradises, etc.
ANNOUNCER’S VOICE: All this can be yours! Beauty, luxury, sensual ecstasy, if you’re one of the lucky ones, you can have this abundance of treasure and frivolity, all without work or effort! Just sit by your phone and wait and, who knows, this may be your lucky day!
After Announcer says, “All this can be yours,” his VOICE continues as we cut to:
Brother standing by couch clicking remote and chortling, Sister on sofa with babies, Grandmother inching through litter. Mother, Father, Uncle Doc, and Pam at kitchen table.
SISTER: (To Brother) You put that back onto my pageant!
She rises, dropping babies, and grabs remote from Brother, knocking down Grandmother in process. Animals romp. She clicks remote.
TV SCREEN: The beauty pageant
AGING HOST: Celebrating America’s family values! (Cheers and music)
PAM: (Screams) This place is an insane asylum for pigs!
MOTHER: Well, you don’t think I can pick it up. You know I have occupational repetition syndrome. Uncle Doc here is going to court to swear I can’t do no tiresome repeated movements.
She is, of course, expertly dealing out cards.
MOTHER: Whew! Dealing dries out my fingertips. Uncle Doc, hand me that Rosy Glow moisturizer mouse.
PAM: Mousse.
Uncle Doc shakily hands her a vial from the room-divider.
MOTHER:Don’t call me things. I’m not well. I have occupational repetition syndrome.
Mother carefully, and of course repetitiously, creams her fingertips, as —
WIDER: — Pam begins picking up Grandmother and garbage.
BROTHER (To Mother); Yeah, you saw a medicinal report about it on TV and the next day you got it!
SISTER (To Mother): When you win your lawsuit against the turkey-packing factory, you’ll have millions, and what do I get for bearing soldiers’ children?
FATHER: Nothing if you don’t marry none of ’em! (Cackles with laughter)
MOTHER: When the air force base closed, the whole economy here got deflated — (With a ribald leer at Sister’s stomach) — except for you!
Mother, Brother, Doc, and Father laugh.
FATHER: For you! 4 U, right? (He holds up paper reading “4 u”)
UNCLE DOC (To Sister): You should of let me abort ’em all for you! (His shaky hand spills beer)
SISTER: No, they might of changed the law while you was doin’ it and my kids would be bastards or whatever they call ’em.
BROTHER: You’re so dumb. “Festuses” is what they call ’em, “festuses.”
SISTER: You’re the fester! You’re the one that should have been aborted.
MOTHET: I tried! (Points at Uncle Doc) blame your Father’s brother.
UNCLE DOC: (Raises shaky hand to swear) I did my very best!
BROTHER: Well, I got birth-defect brain disability and I don’t get nothing for it.
UNCLE DOC: You don’t get nothing, period!
SISTER (To Mother): It ain’t fair just you gettin’ a disease that pays that well.
PAM: Mother, you’re not going to get any money; the turkey factory moved to Guatemala.
FATHER: Hell, she don’t need to get nothing! I’ll get me on a million-dollars quiz show once your Uncle Doc here finishes teaching me how to read. (Holds up scrawled piece of paper, upside down) Look, this says “Whore!” See’? I can read “Whore!”
BROTHER: (Waving a handful of lottery tickets) We’ll see if my lottery tickets win me any of them millions tonight. We’ll be on easy street.
SISTER: Not until after my Miss Family Values Pageant we won’t.
FATHER: (Waving paper reading “E Z”) Easy! E-Z, right, Doc, right?
GRANDMOTHER (Waving the TV Guide): I want to watch the home shopping!
SISTER: No, the TV is all I got!
FATHER: TV! T-V. Right, Uncle Doc?
PAM: You know, sister, you could get welfare, you could get food stamps if you wanted to.
SISTER: No, I wouldn’t have nobody to mind the babies. You could, but you got your precious schedule.
PAM: Sis, I’ll hire you a baby-sitter so you can go sign up.
SISTER: No, they’re all perverts and mole-sters, I seen it on Hugh Downs!
PAM: I bought you some self-esteem tapes. Maybe they’d help you some.
SISTER: They ain’t nothing wrong with my self!
Blare of MUSIC from TV
SISTER: Oh, Look, somebody won!
FATHEE: Won! 1, right? (Holds up paper reading “1.”
SCREEN OF TV: The winning GIRL is paraded up to the camera. She is thin, with great teeth, and never blinks.
GIRL: Oh, I just don’t know what to say. This is the culmination of all my dreams. Dreams … I’ve been having funny dreams. But this is better than anything I ever dreamed. Dreamed .. I dreamed—
We see the faces of Pam’s family, all rapt on the screen except Grandmother, who is leafing through the TV GUIDE frantically with one hand, the other of course holding her up.
GIRL: Well, what does it matter what I dreamed? I’m Miss Family Values and I — Oh, my God, I remember now. It wasn’t a dream. It’s a memory. I must have suppressed it. Oh, it’s all coming back to me! I remember my father raped me repeatedly between the ages of three and fifteen. Oh!
She wobbles, about to faint. Another GIRL runs up to catch her.
SECOND GIRL: Oh, gracious, how horrible. She said she remembered-Oh, Lord, I remember, too. It happened to me, too. Oh, no!
Pam’s family is glassy—eyed.

OTHER GIRLS start to scream and faint all over the pageant stage.
GIRLS: (Variously) Oh, my lands! Me, too. It happened to me. He forced me! I didn’t want to! He threatened me! I was only three! Only two! I was one! It happened again last night, I just remembered. Holy smokes, that must be what Daddy was doing to me all those years!
The pageant stage is in chaos. Cut to commercial.
A beautiful woman in diaphanous veils dances across a dewy field.
VOICE OVER: When a modern woman is pregnant, she comes in for a lot of intimate attention. So you want to smell your very best. So why not use Pregaroma, the pregnancy test that’s also a delicately-scented feminine deodorant?….
WIDE. As the music from the ad continues, Pam’s calculator beeps. She sighs. Unnoticed, she hefts her heliotrope money bag and wearily trudges off to bed.
PAM: (Ignored by all) Well, I got work to do. And a schedule to keep.
GRANDMOTHER; What you sneakin’ away for! You got to give me my permanent!
PAM: (Without pausing) Sunday, Grandmother. 3:24 p.m. In the basement. It’s on my schedule.
She exits.
CLOSE ON: Sister, staring intently at the TV.
SISTER: Why, I’ll bet all them girls can sue their fathers for millions! Oh, Father, why didn’t you ever molest me?
MOTHER Ain’t it bad enough what he done to me?
BROTHER: What did Father do to you?
SISTER: You know, I think he did. Yes, I remember, he did. Uncle Doc, Father raped me repetitiously from the ages of five to fifteen.
UNCLE DOC: Oh, you weren’t even around when he was five to fi fteen.
SISTER: But he did, I remember it! Father, I’m going to sue you.
FATHER:You! U? (He scrawls on paper and holds up a letter “U”) You, right?
SISTER: You raped and mole-sted me. I’ll be on Donahue! I’ll take you to court.
UNCLE DOC: See here, sister, that’s a pretty lucrative charge. But what if they give him a lie detector test?
SISTER: Well, what if?
UNCLE DOC: If he didn’t do it, that’ll show on the lie detector.
SISTER: Well, can’t you make him remember he did it? Ain’t you got nothin’ you can give ‘im? You’re a doctor! I heared of truth cereals. Ain’t they a lie cereal?
UNCLE DOC: Hmmmm. I do have an old shock treatment machine I bought from a fence.
SISTER: Oh, let’s do it. Nothin’ ever happens in this dull town.
UNCLE DOC: Well, since they legalized abortion, I do have a lot of time on my hands.
He holds up a trembling claw.
SISTER: Oh, Uncle Doc, you’re wonderful. We’ll be rich.
BROTHER: You’re crazy!
SISTER: I’m rubber and you’re glue. Everything you say bounces off me and sticks on you!
BROTHER: Oh, boy! Money, money, money!
MOTHER: You’re all crazy! Father ain’t got any money!
SISTER: He will have when Uncle Doc gets through teachin’ him to read, they said on the TV about how literate people makes more money! Oh, I’ll show Pam she ain’t the only one here can make money. I’ll show her okay.
FATHER: Okay! O.K. Right? (He holds up a paper reading “K.O.”)
GRANDMOTHER: I wanna watch Bill Cosby sing “White Christmas!”
Brother wanders away from the lot of them.
Pam wearily drags her bag to her bedroom door, sets it down, takes a key out of her pocket, all the time kicking dogs and cats away. The noise from the living—room grows dim. Brother comes softly up behind her.
BROTHER: Boo, Pam!
PAM: (Kicks him to no effect) Brother, don’t ever do that again! I told you! (Picks up her money bag and clutches it to her) What do you want?
BROTHER: They’re all going to get rich in there. I want to, too.
PAM: Touch my money bag and I’ll do that mean thing to your little finger again.
BROTHER: (Hides his hands) Oh, no, don’t! I just want to make money on the lottery.
PAM: I’m not buying you any more tickets this week. I got a schedule.
BROTHER: No, you don’t have to. I’m going to learn how to win.
PAM: Yeah, how?
BROTHER: I’m going to take Lotto lessons.
PAM: Lotto what?
BROTHER: They’s a guy openin’ a Lotto lessons class behind the high school and he said I could come for fifteen dollars.
PAM: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, take it, lord, it’s yours.
BROTHER: So can I have some fifteen dollars out of your little bag, Pam?
He looks helpless and appealing.
PAM: Oh, yes, I guess. (She gives him money from bag) You’re the only one of them that isn’t your own fault. Now go away and let me get back on schedule.
BROTHER: Thank you, Pam. I’ll get real rich and you can give away your schedule.
He starts to walk away counting his money
BROTHER: I saw on TV how much the money is this week. It said seventy-five o ! —o ! —o !-o !-o ! —o !
Pam’s room is a miracle of putty and pale heliotrope – and of order. Meticulously arranged stocks of Rosy Glow cosmetics line trim shelves. This is the disciplined, delicate person at the center of Pam’s agitated soul.
Conspicuous are framed glamour portraits of idealized models, all bearing the “Rosy Glow” logo.
Pam enters wearily and closes and locks the door, shoving a dog or two away. She drops her bag. She sits on a couch and lets herself sag.
PAM: I hate this couch!
The beeper sounds.
INSERT: The calculator readout: “Try Yuniyoshi again.”
Pam sets up, takes out her cellular phone, dials.
PAM: Yuniyoshi? Don’t hang up. Yuniyoshi?
She sighs and replaces the phone. From closets and shelves, she starts taking out equipment she will need for a “glamour show” (i.e., to give several women complimentary facials: shower caps, smocks, cosmetics, etc.) and packing them efficiently in a case.
The window of her room. A hand appears and — scratches teasingly.
PAM: (Startled) What’s that?
Kevin’s angelic face appears at the window.
KEVIN: Boogerman.
PAM: Go ‘way. You aren’t on my schedule.
She continues working. Kevin shoves the screen aside and crawls in.
KEVIN: You need any help?
PAM: You a lobootomist?
KEVIN: Just the boy next door.
PAM: You I don’t need.
KEVIN: Can’t wait for you to come fix my wagon.
PAM: 7:36 p.m. Monday.
KEVIN: Then I can get out of this stupid town.
PAM: Right.
KEVIN: Ain’t nothin’ here for a guy like me. (Examining glamour photos) Ain’t no beautiful woman here gonna pay no attention to a poor boy like me.
PAM: Ain’t nothin’ here for anyone.
KEVIN: I’m going to Los Angeles and get into TV commercials. Why don’t you get out?
PAM: I got my family to look after.
KEVIN: You ought to look after ’em from the window of a Greyhound Bus!
PAM: Nope. I’m gonna get me enough money to buy them the kind of house they deserve.
KEVIN: One with bars on the windows?
PAM: They didn’t make themselves as awful as they are. They couldn’t have. Nobody that was making themselves would make themselves so stupid and selfish and ignorant. It’s got to be their environment that makes them so dreadful. I’m gonna give them a better environment. I’m gonna buy them a house in Florida. It’s beautiful, it’s sunshiny, it’s cultured –
KEVIN: And it’s far away.
PAM: That, too. But to do that —
KEVIN: You got to stay on schedule. I know. I’ll go. (He starts to climb out the window.) You ought to fix this window. Since the recession, there’s all kinds of crime.
PAM: (As she picks up her cellular phone and dials) It’s on my schedule. Hello, Yuniyoshi. Goodbye, Kevin.
He sadly leaves as she speaks to Yuniyoshi.
PAM: Yuniyoshi? I need to talk to you….Well, hit him with the telephone!….Why don’t you call a cop? Oh, right, I forgot, he is a cop. Well, why don’t you call a minister? Yuniyoshi? Darn.
She hangs up, keeps working. Her calculator beeps.
INSERT: Close-up, calculator. It reads, “Glamour Show, Mary-Joanne’s House, Saturday, 8:OO a.m., God Help Me.”
Pam throws herself down on sofa, draws a coverlet over her.
PAM: I hate ….. this couch!
She clicks light out.
A distressingly cute home in a better area, covered with roses, little dutch girls of wood in the front lawn with pinwheels attached, etc. Several expensive cars parked outside, plus Pam’s heliotrope pick-up. Her old couch is conspicuous in her truck—bed.
SOUND: Throughout the sequence in Mary Joanne’s house, a TELEVISION SET is going in the background. We occasionally glimpse the blurry screen in the background.
Mary Joanne’s house is a mass of knick-knacks, frills, what-nots, ruffles. Five white women are seated in chairs, their hair protected by heliotrope shower caps, heliotrope sheets tied around their necks to shield their clothes. Heliotrope vinyl is spread under their chairs to save the floor. Pam, in heliotrope snood and smock, is moving among them, plastering heliotrope mud on their faces and talking.
PAM: Just try to hold your faces still while the beauty mask congeals, women.
FIRST WOMAN: So we’re moving to Retirementville in February. This town is dying.
SECOND WOMAN: This town is dead!
THIRD WOMAN: I hear they’ve installed metal detectors in all the schools.
FOURTH WOMAN: How come the scum always has money for guns?
FIFTH WOMAN: They don’t. They steal them!
All WOMEN laugh.
MARY JOANNE enters, trailing her telephone. She, too, is in sheet, cap, and mud.
MARY JOANNE (Into phone): So it looks as if this will be the last County Fair. I mean, after we all move, what will there be for them to have a fair about?
FIRST WOMAN: Just cows and corn!
SECOND WOMAN: Not even that! The freeze and the drought have just destroyed local agriculture!
MARY JOANNE: (Into phone) So we better ladies have to put on a terrific flower show. After all, it’s the last! (She hangs up) Pam, how long do I have to keep this pudding on my face?
PAM: Just long enough to get you all tightened up for your Rosy Glow make-overs. (Under her breath) Say, ten thousand years.
MARY JOANNE: (Pulls her cap away from her ear) What, Pam?
PAM: Just till you hear a ringing sound in your ears.
MARY JOANNE: (Seating herself) Oh.
CLOSE ON: Pam as she slathers extra mud on Mary Joanne.
All ladies are lined up at a table before individual illuminated mirrors which have a regular mirror on one side and an extreme enlarging glass on the other. Pam moves from one to the other, doing “make-overs” on their faces & hair.
FIRST WOMAN: So what do you intend to do to me’?
PAM: What do you want to look like?
FIRST WOMAN: I want my husband to notice me more!
PAM: Then we’ll do you in warm, inviting colors.
As Pam begins to apply paint with brush,
CROSSfADE TO: First woman looking absurdly sluttish, but smiling with satisfaction into a mirror.
Pam is working on second woman.
SECOND WOMAN: I want my husband to leave me alone.
PAM: Then we’ll go for a somewhat colder palate.
As Pam goes to work on her,
CROSSFADE TO: Second Woman looking with satisfaction at a metallically hard face in her mirror.
WIDER: The women are all in their own clothes, out of their heliotrope gear. Pam, still in smock and snood, is almost all packed up, and all the women are complimenting each other on their new looks. They don’t look ridiculous; Pam is good at what she does.
Although they’re complimenting each other, they are all looking at themselves in the little mirrors held in their hands now.
THIRD WOMAN (To First Woman): Oh, you look just gorgeous, dear. How do I look?
FIRST WOMAN: (Looking at herself) You never looked better, darling.
SECOND WOMAN: You do such lovely work, Pam.
FOURTH WOMAN: It must be so satisfying for you.
PAM: Yes. Yes, it is. I don’t suppose any of you ladies would be interested to become Rosy Glow dealers?
The Women laugh.
MARY JOANNE: (Also preening in a mirror) Oh, no, dear, that’s only for the poor and the coloreds.
Pam pries the mirrors out of their unwilling hands.
PAM: Thank you all, ladies. And we all want to thank Mary Joanne—
CLOSE ON: Mary Joanne, done up to a “T. ”
PAM: –our hostess for this Rosy Glow glamour show,
for making us feel at home. As a gift to thank
her for having us, I want to present her with
this combination reducing, enlarging, and
brutally realistic Rosy Glow glamour mirror.
She pops one of the mirrors into a heliotrope drawstring bag with “Rosy Glow” emblazoned on it and hands it to Mary Joanne.
THIRD WOMAN: Oh, I want one of those, too.
FIFTH WOMAN: Me, too, me, too.
PAM: Well, I can take care of that –
She adroitly pops open a large case of cosmetic supplies.
PAM: – and if you’d like to acquire a supply of the
very cosmetics which I used on you today to
achieve these fabulous new looks, I can help you
with that, too. So you can keep your husbands –
CLOSE ON: The two ladies who had such different desires concerning their husbands.
PAM: — right where you want them.
The ladies converge on the case. Pam smiles.
PAM: Cash only, ladies, cash only.
The glamorized ladies are leaving with their arms full of cosmetic bundles.
Pam is placing a last box of cosmetics on a huge pile on Mary Joanne’s table. The little mirror in a heliotrope bag conspicuously marked “Rosy Glow” is prominent.
PAM: – and a giant-size Miracle Moisturizer Mask
comes to— (She checks her trusty calculator) – one hundred and eleven dollars and seventy eight cents.
MARY JOANNE: (She picks up her purse) That’s fine, dear. I’ll write you a check.
PAM: Oh, no. You know I only take cash.
She is indeed neatening handfuls of cash from her sales to the other ladies and placing it in her money-bag.
MARY JOANNE: But I don’t keep that kind of money in the house.
PAM: And I don’t keep no bank account. Banks is goin’ bust all over everywhere.
She starts to take back the bag containing Mary Joanne’s prize mirror.
MARY JOANNE: (Taking bag) No, I love that little mirror! Oh, well, all right. Follow me to the bank and I’ll get you your money. (She slings mirror—bag on her wrist)
PAM: Okey-doke!
Pam whips off her smock and snood. She’s in the same bedraggled hair and T-shirt and shorts.
MARY JOANNE: (Taking car keys from her bag) Pam, why don’t you ever take the time to glamorize yourself?
PAM: (Shouldering her cosmetics case and money-bag) It ain’t on my schedule yet!
As they leave the house, Mary Joanne swinging bag with mirror in it, we pull in on the TV, where the Biker’s face looms ever-larger.
ANNOUNCER’S VOICE: —is known to be at large in the Landfill area and is considered extremely dangerous.
CROSS FADE TO: BIKER’S face, filling the screen.
BIKER: Don’t give me none of that. I know it’s worth more than that!
PULL BACK to reveal:
BIKER, a hulking Hell’s Angel type with bushy hair and beard and an eyepatch, is behind a sign in a parking-lot with FENCE, a bone-skinny biker in scraggly “Mad Max” military gear. Their bikes are beside them, vicious machines. Behind them, we see the top of Pam’s heliotrope pickup, the body of the truck hidden by another car. Biker is thrusting at Fence one of those electronic devices with which one can eavesdrop on cellular phone conversations.
BIKER: Fence, with this little doohickey you can listen in on cellular phone conversations and tell where stores keep their money and when rich people are away. It’s worth a fortune, I tell you.
FENCE: It’s worth forty-five bucks at an Radio Shack outlet. I’ll give you seventy—five cents for it.
BIKER: You know I’m on the lam! I need cash! You’re taking advantage of me!
FENCE: Sorry, Biker. Can’t help you today. But call me anytime you got something real to fence.
Fence straps on his helmet, a Prussian military type with a long metal spike sticking up from the top.
FENCE: (Hopping onto his bike) Hope they don’t catch you, Biker. You been a good source of revenue to me.
Fence roars away. ANOTHER ANGLE
From in front of the sign, we see that it says, “Landfill Bank. Friendly Service. Cars Towed.” We can see Biker behind the sign, seething with anger, holding the eavesdropper.
Behind the sign again. Biker growls with frustration.
BIKER: I gotta find somethin’. I gotta get some cash!
He punches the eavesdropper-machine on and dials it through some bleeping, squawking frequencies. It settles on:
PAM’S VOICE: But Yuniyoshi, you got to sign up. It’s the only way out for you, and it’s a hundred thousand dollars for me!
CLOSE ON: Biker’s interested face.
PAM’S VOICE: Rosy Glow can make you a big success. Why, right now, I’m here at the Landfill Bank —
Biker brightens.
PAN: From in front of the sign, Biker visible behind sign, practically dancing with glee, to the door of the Bank.
Mary Joanne, her mirror-bag dangling, is getting cash from a TELLER. Pam, beside her, is on the cellular phone.
PAM: (Voice continuous under above shot) – getting yet more cash to put in the bag of fresh green money I always carry with me. Do you know how much I have on me at any given moment, Yuniyoshi? I have at this very moment seventeen thousand, six hundred and thirty-two dollars and change in my bag proudly marked “Rosy Glow!”
We are in front of the sign. Behind it, we can see Biker’s arms waving as he does indeed dance with glee.
PAM: (Voice continuous) Now I’m going to leave here right now –
Mary Joanne disdainfully hands Pam money.
PAM: (With a “thank you” nod to Mary Joanne) – and come over there and talk some sense into you. We got just thirty-six hours to sign you up.
Behind the sign, Biker hooks the eavesdropper onto his belt and takes from his belt a billy-club and a knife, ready to fall on his prey.
POV BIKER: Mary Joanne emerges from the bank.
CLOSE ON: Rosy Glow cosmetics bag in Mary Joanne’s hand.
BEHIND THE SIGN: Biker starts to step forward.
POV BIKER: The bank guard, with conspicuous gun in holster, escorts Mary Joanne to her huge, expensive car.
CLOSE ON: Biker, frustrated yet again.
Pam is leaving bank, but delayed by handing every woman she passes a business card.
PAM: Complimentary Rosy Glow facial and make-over. Complimentary Rosy Glow facial and make-over.
Wide view of parking lot. WE SEE that the bank is on the “main thoroughfare” of the town, i.e., single-story businesses are spread far apart for miles and miles, with lots of greenery in between. There are also shopping-centers of various sizes, many with “Closed” signs in the windows of shops.
The bank guard tips his hat to Mary Joanne and closes her
Car door.
Mary Joanne’s hand starts her car and turns on radio.
MUSIC: Mary Joanne’s car radio plays innocuous orchestral music, Hundred and One Strings stuff.
Mary Joanne pulls out and turns right on the “main artery.”
Biker behind sign mounts his bike. Mary Joanne is pulling away. The guard is going back inside the bank, holds the door for Pam who is emerging from bank. Pam goes to her truck as Biker pulls out to follow Mary Joanne, all to syrupy string MUSIC.
Mary Joanne hangs her mirror bag from her rear-view mirror.
NOTE: All Pam’s phone conversations are heard by Biker on the “eavesdropper” on his belt. It flashes red when “on.”
Pam, on cellular phone, turns right out of the parking-lot.
PAM: (0n cellular phone) Mrs. Carstairs? Pam of Rosy Glow. I will be at your house with your order of Rosy Glow Cosmetics at precisely 12.15.
Biker following Mary Joanne on his bike, eavesdropper blink ing.
PAM’S VOICE: (Over eavesdropper) Please have twenty-two dollars and forty-eight cents ready in cash.
CLOSE ON: Biker, speeding along “Main Street”, licks his lips.
Mary Joanne drives past many closed stores Syrupy MUSIC.
VERY WIDE TRACKING SHOT as Biker doggedly pursues Mary Joanne.
The Rosy Glow bag dangles tantalizingly in his vision from Mary Joanne’s rear-view mirror.
PAM: (on cellular phone) Better Days Used Furniture Shop? Mrs. Gonzales? I will be at your door at precisely 12:25. Please have nineteen dollars and fifteen cents in cash ready for me.
Mary Joanne turns right at a major intersection. Biker starts to follow her, but a cop car leaving a fast-food place screeches to a halt blocking him at the intersection.
CLOSE ON: Biker’s startled face.
CLOSE ON: Black Cop’s disoriented face as he and Biker stare straight at each other. The Cop picks up his phone.
WIDER: Biker dodges around Cop, and guns for the next intersection, looking back frantically expecting to be followed by the Cop.
The Black Cop, YUNIYOSHI’S HUSBAND, is on his earphone.
HUSBAND: Yuniyoshi? The phone’s been busy! Who were you talking to?
YUNIYOSHI: (In her trailer) Oh, you too jealous, too possessive! Leave me alone!
HUSBAND: You’re seein’ someone! I felt it just as I bit into my taco!
Yuniyoshi hangs up her phone.
Husband hangs up and guns away, ignoring Biker.
Biker at next street, wheels, halts, peeks through bushes—
POV of Biker: — cop heading away.
Biker turns around to head back for the intersection.
Yuniyoshi’s phone rings again.
YUNIYOSHI: Oh, no, my nerves!
Mary Joanne has left main street for a relatively deserted area with signs reading “To Fair Grounds.”
PAM: (On cellular phone) I’ll be there at 12:45, Yuniyoshi. Please at least talk to me through the door.
She hangs up and phone rings.
PAM: (Answering phone) Rosy Glow… You want to make an order?’
Very wide shot from above, Mary Joanne speeding away down the lane, Biker coming down the “Main Street”, about to turn left to follow her.
PAM: (On cellular phone) You need it now? I’ll fit it into my schedule. I’ll have to take a short cut.
Very wide view of intersection. On the “Main Street,” Biker is turning left as Pam approaches the corner with the fast-food stand. Beside and behind it is a huge vacant lot. Pam leaves the road and diagonally crosses the vacant lot behind the fast-food joint rather than turning the corner which Mary Joanne has just turned and Biker is about to, putting Pam ahead of the Biker between him and Mary Joanne. All three are still quite far apart.
They are now on a lonely stretch of country road. Biker makes his move to pass Pam and get to Mary Joanne
PAM: (On cellular phone) Wait for me, Yuniyoshi. I got to go. There’s some crazed biker behind me. ‘Bye. (Hangs up)
Biker tries to pass Pam.
POV of Biker: As we weave back and forth trying to pass Pam’s truck (Rosy Glow logo not visible) we see glimpses of the tempting car of Mary Joanne.
POV of Biker: the tempting Rosy Glow bag hanging from Mary Joanne’s mirror.
Pam, getting miffed, refuses to be passed. Instead, she passes Mary Joanne.
Mary Joanne sees the “Rosy Glow” logo on the door of Pam’s pick—up beside her and grabs her mirror bag off the rear—view mirror for safekeeping.
MARY JOANNE: Oh, no, you’re not getting this back!
Pam moves in front of her.
Traveling with Biker on the right side of Mary Joanne’s car. Biker slips a mailed glove onto his left hand.
POV of Biker: Mary Joanne, whistling in her car, turns her head to the right and sees –
POV of Mary Joanne: Biker’s hideous face at her window, traveling with her.
CLOSE ON: Mary Joanne screams.
CLOSE ON: Biker, even with Mary Joanne on her right, lashes his bike to the door—handle of her car, and smashes her window with a mail—gloved fist.
POV Mary Joanne: The shattering window and Biker’s mailed hand clawing for her bag.
CLOSE ON: Mary Joanne screaming, flailing at Biker’s hand with the bag, steering wildly.
CLOSE ON: Biker’s hand, slapping at Mary Joanne in between grabbing for the flailing bag.
WIDE FROM ABOVE: Mary Joanne’s car with Biker’s bike lashed to it veering wildly on the road, behind Pam’s truck.
CLOSE ON: Biker gets the bag in his grip.
CLOSE ON: Biker releases the lash.
Behind Mary Joanne’s car. Biker takes off across plowed fields.
Pam sees this in her rear—view mirror, can’t believe it, wipes the mirror, believes it, and—
— spins about in the road. Mary Joanne almost runs into her, but veers wildly to the left as Pam turns to her own left and pursues Biker across the field.
PAM: You’re puttin’ me off schedule!
Biker bounds across a farmer’s field.
CLOSE ON: Biker, riding along waving the Rosy Glow bag and
laughing. Suddenly he looks startled.
POV Biker: A tall stone wall ahead of him.
CLOSE ON: Biker, turning on a dime.
CLOSE ON: Biker’s face, even more startled.
POV Biker: Pam’s truck headed right for him.
WIDE: He runs smack into the truck and flies through the air, landing on a tractor. No human being could survive such an accident.
PAM: I don’t need this!
She wheels the truck around.
VERY WIDE: Pam wheels about and screeches to a mud-splattering halt beside Boker. She hops out of the truck, checks his vital signs. Emphasize emptiness and isolation of field.
CLOSER ON: Pam kneeling by Biker’s body.
PAM: Dear God, now I got to report a traffic death. That’s days in court!
She sits in the mud, angry and frustrated. She glances at —
POV Pam: — the couch in the back of her truck.
CLOSE ON: Pam’s face, glancing back to body. Back to truck…
A tired-looking storefront in the sleepy, one—story downtown district of Landfill. On both sides are other businesses with big signs in their windows, “Closed.” Pam’s muddy, battered truck is parked in front. The couch is not in it.
A sad room full of used furniture. The tired, dumpy PROPRIETOR of the place, a middle-aged loser in a cheap housedress, is counting out soiled bills to Pam.
PROPRIETOR: …oh, I only got five dollars after all.
PAM: That’s all right. That’s plenty. In fact that’s too much.
PROPRIETOR: Pam. You? Giving up money? What’s the matter?
Emphasising the sofa, with a bulge the size of Biker’s body.
PAM:I’m in a hurry. I’m not sure I want to part with it. It’s broken. You can’t open it. Don’t try. I might even come back later and buy it back from you. But I can’t talk now.
WIDER ANGLE: Pam is leaving the shop, headed for the curb.
PAM: I’m off schedule!
Pam emerges, hops into her truck. Tosses Proprietor a business card.
PAM: Here! Have a complimentary facial. See ya.
She is already dialing her cellular phone.
PAM: Bye!
Pam guns her motor, and drives away.
The Proprietor is left in the doorway, blinking at the complimentary facial card in the sunlight. She turns and enters her shop.
ANGLE with sofa in foreground, entrance in background. The proprietor passes the sofa and tosses the card onto the sofa.
CLOSER ON: Sofa, as card slides slowly down into a crack in the cushions.

A ghastly slum of mobile homes, most with “For Sale” signs. The yards are full of junk, perhaps even chickens. There is a junked Volkswagen and a sprung mattress, etc. Yuniyoshi’s trailer-house is especially ramshackle. Pam’s pick-up pulls up before the mobile home. Pam hops out, runs to stoop, snaps her fingers, runs back to pick-up, re-emerges with money bag on one shoulder and cosmetic bag on other, goes to stoop, knocks. Her knocking makes the whole structure rock.
Pam on stoop. Knocks. No answer. Knocks. No answer. Takes out cellular phone.
PAM: (On phone) Yuniyoshi? If you’re conscious, I got to speak-to you.
YUNIYOSHI’S VOICE: Go ‘way. I no open door.
PAM: (On phone) Aw, come on, Yuniyoshi. This is opportunity knock in’ !
YUNIYOSHI’S VOICE: My husband come back, bring gun, blow us both to moon.
PAM: (On phone) Now be sensible, Yuniyoshi. I won’t let him hurt you.
We hear locks being undone. The door slightly swings open. Pam leaps in.
A dump, with bowls of goldfish prominent. As Pam leaps in, the trailer rocks causing her to drop the cellular phone.
INSERT: Cellular phone on floor, still blinking.
Throughout the scene, every move Yuniyoshi and Pam make causes it to rock.
YUNIYOSHI: (Closing door, fastening many locks) Get in fast. I think he have spies.
PAM: Yuniyoshi, let’s talk about some way to get you out of this mess. Rosy Glow has given
millions of women their own business, their own money, pride and independence. Women everywhere are eager to have quality cosmetics delivered to their door, saving their time and enhancing their natural beauty. If you’ll just sign this-
She produces a contract and pen from her case.
YUNIYOSHI: What it say?
PAM: Huh? It says, “I, Yuniyoshi Jefferson, of eight-Oh-nine Orchid View Terraces” —
INSERT: Phone on floor, still blinking.
PAM: Oh, you can read it later. Just sign it and give me two hundred dollars for your starter case of cosmetics, and you can in no time be your own woman, a free and modern liberated American—
The trailer gives a big jump, flinging them both to the opposite end, causing goldfish bowls to slide. Pam goes on undaunted.
PAM: — person of value and confidence, enabled to command your own destiny and face the future unafraid—The trailer gives another jump in the opposite direction and they fly to the other end of the space. Pam automatically catches a falling goldfish bowl and hands it to Yuniyoshi.
PAM: What is going on?
YUNIYOSHI: Nothing. Just ignore it. Sometime he go away. What you saying?
PAM: (Takes goldfish, hands Yuniyoshi pen) I said you gotta sign this so I can get my folks to Florida.
YUNIYOSHI: I no know. I not know if it ladylike to go door to door selling shameful face paint.
House jumps again. Yuniyoshi gets up, grabs shotgun, opens door, jams it in face of black policeman on stoop. He ducks just in time to avoid the blast as Yuniyoshi fires it.
As he runs away:
YUNIYOSHI: Get gone stay gone, Pus-dripping excrement of corpulent octopus!
She closes door, replaces gun, and returns to same petulant tone to say:
YUNIYOSHI: I no think selling face-paint right for lady.
PAM: (No reaction to violence) Well, of course it is. I do it all the time, and whi could be more ladylike?
Pam is in her usual sloppy gear and messy hair, without make-up, and might not be anybody’s idea of a glamour girl.
YUNIYOSHI: I no know. You no look like lady. You look like pig-slut.
The trailer-house jumps warningly.
YUNIYOSHI: (Leaps to door, shouts) You want more gun in fat face? (She returns to debate with Pam)
PAM: Oh, don’t be fooled by me, Yuniyoshi; I’m just too busy for all that. Let me show you my make-over book, and how I’ve succeeded in bringing beauty and allure to housewives who felt romance had departed their lives.
She opens money-bag.
PAM: Woops, wrong bag!
Yuniyoshi’s eyes pop at the sight of the money.
YUNIYOSHI: You make all those money selling face-paints’?
PAM: Huh? You bet! You like that? Look at it, Yuniyoshi: gorgeous green gleaming American money! A whole bag full of it!
YUNIYOSHI: Ooooooh, I could get eyes fixed to look like Julia Roberts! Maybe I sign!
PAM: Hallelujah!
The trailer-house rises in the air and crashes down cataclysmically. Goldfish fly.
YUNIYOSHI: (Grabbing gun) That too much!
She flings open door and Biker, filthy, bloody, and with wobbling sofa-springs bouncing all over him, lunges into the trailer-house. The eavesdropper is on his belt, red light on.
The Proprietor sits tied-up and gagged beside Pam’s sofa, out of which a very large Biker has obviously burst.
Biker throws Yuniyoshi over his shoulder effortlessly, out of the house.
BIKER: Gimme all that money!
He goes for Pam’s money-case.
PAM: No, you don’t. Gimme that! Let go of that!
BIKER: (Simultaneously) Yes, I do. Let go of that! Gimme that dough!
He shoves her away with his foot and has the money-case. He laughs triumphantly, and — reaches into the case, pulls out the little drawstring bag with the mirror in it, throws the money—case down, and flees with the little bag with the mirror in it, laughing.
BIKER: I got it! I got it! Haw! Haw! Haw!
Biker leaps out of the trailer onto his incredibly battered bike, patched together with tape and sticks. Pam appears in doorway. Yuniyoshi is on the hood of the abandoned Volkswagen where she has landed, just getting to her feet. She raises gun.
YUNIYOSHI: Stop! Fish-killer!
He drives right toward her, and, just as she shoots gun, he drives up back of junked Volkswagen and over her, landing on a sprung mattress.
BIKER: Hee-haw!
He drives away, his bike now also wobbling with mattress springs.
Yuniyoshi is spinning deliriously on the car hood, firing at random.
Pam looks at her money bag, picks up some loose money that fell, shakes her head in bewilderment.
PAM: Some kind of crazy transvestite looking for a cosmetic mirror.
Biker is speeding along, laughing like a fool. He opens bag, sees mirror. Laughs. Returns mirror to bag. Screeches to a halt. Takes mirror our again. Looks in it like a monkey, scratching the top of his head with one finger. Suddenly he smacks himself on the forehead, making springs wobble.
PAM’s money-bag on floor of trailer.
Biker turns and starts back to trailer-camp.
The same shot of Pam’s money-bag. She picks it up, closes it, steps out.
PAM approaches the gibbering, shaken Yuniyoshi.
PAM: (Offering contract and goldfish, which she thinks is a pen) So, Yuniyoshi, have you decided to sign for your future?
YUNIYOSHI: (Looks at goldfish in her hand) Aiyeeeeee! I kill you! I kill you all!
Yuniyoshi starts to run berserk with the gun. Her HUSBAND, the black cop, pulls up in his squad car, steps out.
HUSBAND: I saw him! You are seein’ other men! I knew it !
Pam shrugs, reaches inside trailer to retrieve her cellular phone, and heads for her truck.
Yuniyoshi sees Husband and starts shooting at him. He hops in car and speeds off, siren and red light going.
HUSBAND: (Yells) I should of left you to rot in Nagasaki!
Yuniyoshi pursues him with gun and fish.
PAM: (Yells) Yuniyoshi, I’ll be back. I’m not letting you miss this opportunity!
She dials her cellular phone as she gets into truck.
PAM: (On phone) Grandmother?
GRANDMOTHER: (Into phone) What? What? What? I’m all alone.
PAM: (Into phone) I’m comin’ to give you your home permanent. I’ll be there in thirty—five minutes exactly. Be in the basement all set up and ready.
Eavesdropper on Biker’s belt, red light blinking.
PAM’S VOICE ON EAVESDROPPER: I got to get back on schedule. See you at home.
Biker is listening on eavesdropper as he drives furiously along.
BIKER: Home. Home. Where’s home?
Pam’s business card, flapping in the wind on the end of one of his springs.
Biker as he notices card. He reaches for it and it blows away.
He chases card on bike through field and stream.
She is speeding along, trying to make a call on cellular phone.
PAM: Hello, donut shop? Hello, hello? Darn, goldfish shorted it!
Establishing shot: a dreary roadside mini—mall, with cars in front of only one store, the first.
PAN ACROSS: Fronts of the line of stores. First the busy one: “Porn and Violence Videotapes, Twenty-Four hours” Then a string of dark, abandoned stores: “Family Videos. Closed.” “Fred’s Bookstore. Closed.” “Carver’s Second-Hand Books. Closed. “Pablo’s Third-Hand Books. Closed.” “Muhammed’s Really Used Books. Closed.” Finally: “Doc’s Old Books And Folk Medicine. By Appointment Only. Closed.” In the depths of the last shop, there is a flickering light.
A squalid, dusty, dark interior, with tottering shelves of ancient paperbacks. There is a bright, flickering light from a back room.
Doc, holding beer, has Father stretched out on a table, electrodes attached to him. Doc is mechanically flicking a switch sending shocks through Father. Father screams with each jolt.
Sister is standing by with the usual three babies howling and wh in ing.
SISTER: Come on, we got to hurry. I got to get home to see “The Young and the Wrestlers.” Make him confess he mole-sted me!
DOC: Come on, little brother, ‘fess up! This electric bill is going to kill me!
FATHER: (As jolts flow through him) Cat! K-A-T! Aggggggh! Dawg. D-Aw-G! Helllip! I’ll work harder, don’t torture me! Eeeek! Whore! H-Ore! Yaaaaaa.
Doc, mechanically alternating swigs of beer with pulls at the lever, gets absent-minded and sucks at the lever and pours beer on Father. With the next jolt, Father lights up like Disneyland and screams to high heaven. The lights go out.
DOC: (In the dark) They cut off my lights! What chance has a poor man?
on a
A formica storefront horror with hand-painted signs window, grotesque depictions of ice—cream cones and glazed donut. Pam’s truck parked outside.
MUSIC: Cambodian rock twangs irritatingly in background.
Formica glare, buzzing with flies. Posters of Cambodia and posters for “Lotto, Lotto, Lotto,” and “Landfill County Fair!” CODGERS, including Pam’s Mother, as always playing solitaire, sit at tables nursing coffee and swatting flies. Pam is in line at counter behind bloated, gaping, genderless RETARDS, all holding onto little wooden rings on a rope, accompanied by their CARETAKER. Pam is waiting impatiently for service from CAMBODIAN SALESWOMAN.
SALESWOMAN: (To Retard) I know no what you say. What you say? (To Caretaker) What he say?
CARETAKER; Oh, no, we’re trying to train them to be more self-reliant. Give your own order, Lena.
LENA (RETARD): Ayah wahn a squeegee un. (“I want a squishy one.”)
SALESWOMAN: I no know? What “Ayah wahn a squeegee un?” In my country that mean, “You a fat pig!”
CARETAKER: (To retard) Again, Lena, dear. Ignore the bigot. (To another Retard) Abner, don’t swallow that quarter dear.
Pam shifts from foot to foot as this scene repeats behind her. She glances at Mother’s table, where Mother sits among other Codgers, all in baseball hats, T-shirts, and jogging clothes, one with earphone radio.
CODGER WITH EARPHONES: Rush says they ain’t no jobs.
ANOTHER CODGER WITH NEWSPAPER: They’s a recession and they ain’t gonna be no jobs.
ANOTHER: They ain’t gonna be no jobs never again.
MOTHER: Yeah, why don’t them lazy welfare bums get jobs?
Even other Codgers react with shock to this non sequitir.
CARETAKER: (Screams at Cambodian) A squishy one, you idiot! She says she wants a squishy one! Can’t you speak English?
CAMBODIAN SALESWOMAN: (To Pam) What you want, Pam? I no serve these foreigners.
As Pam and Saleswoman talk, Caretaker gathers Retards and walks off in a huff with string of Retards.
PAM: Oh, thank god! I want twenty dozen mixed cake and raised for my Rosy Glow Dealers Sales Achievement Awards Banquet tonight.
PAM: Twenty dozen mixed, deliver to Woman’s Club.
SALESWOMAN: You betcha!
Pam exits and hops in her truck. Caretaker and Retards are picketing with signs, “Unfair to Challenged,” getting horribly mixed—up in their rope. Pam pulls out.
Brother is on his knees on the floor with a giant ugly green candle which he is trying to light with a Bic—type lighter. Grandmother is clumping about with her walker, one arm full of a bag of beauty supplies.
GRANDMOTHER: Where’s my lighter”? Where’s my missing-children lighter?
BROTHER: Just a minute Grandmother. I got to light my lucky Lotto magic money-sucking candle. (He gets it lit)
GRANDMOTHER: (Leaning over her walker to grab lighter) Gimme that! That’s my memorial missing-chiIdren lighter! It has a missing child on it! I can’t carry around a milk carton! I got to get to the basement to get set up for my Rosy Glow home beautifying permanent!
BROTHER: Yes, Grandmother.
The candle is starting to smoke alarmingly.
BROTHER: (Chants) Gooey, Phooey, balderdash; easy living unearned cash !
GRANDMOTHER: (As she starts down basement stairs) You didn’t get it from my side! My people was always Presbyterians!
There is a dreadful crash and screams as she falls down stairs. Dogs merrily bark and rush to see. Brother pays it no attention and continues chanting and salaaming to his smoking candle.
A corner store across the street from Better Days. The only working store on its side of the block. LANDFALL TROPHY AND AWARDS SHOP. Lots of cars parked in front. Pam’s truck parked at side of Trophy Shop, not visible from better Days.
A wild array of T-shirts with logos, banners with logos, coffee-cups with logos, etc. Quite a mob at the counter, including Caretaker and Retards. Pam waits impatiently at rear.
A CUSTOMER: I want twenty—five T-shirts that say, “best bowlers in the drought area!”
ANOTHER OF ANOTHER RACE: I want sixty—two coffee—cups saying, “best welfare office in the world!”
ANOTHER OF ANOTHER RACE: I want seventy—eight sashes saying, “dental receptionists against gang violence!”
ANOTHER (EAST INDIAN): Where’s my banner saying, “keep Landfill Baptist?”
Pam checks her calculator for time and expresses impatience. She grabs a passing INDIFFERENT SALESMAN.
PAM: I just wanna pick up all my Rosy Glow Achievement Awards.
SALESMAN: Wait cha turn. We been swamped ever since Barbara Walters told ’em there was a recession. Givin’ each other awards builds their self-esteem.
CARETAKER OF RETARDS: I want ten fully washable T-shirts that say, “I talk good!”
Pam sighs in exasperation.
Biker’s bizarre bike is parked outside. Some SLEAZOID TEENS are admiring it.
TEEN: Cool tool.
Pam’s incredibly sprung sofa, out of which Biker obviously popped.
Biker with knife to throat of Proprietor. On tip of knife is Pam’s business card.
BIKER: Read it, I say. Read it to me.
PROPRIETOR: (Choking, incoherent) Unghty-unght ungthy-unght unghty-unght.
BIKER: Don’t fool around with me.
PROPRIETOR (Points urgently at her throat)
BIKER: No, I don’t want your necklace. Read me the card !
Pam is fighting her way to the counter through a brawling crowd.
A WHITE CUSTOMER: I want twenty trophies shaped like the Buddha for my meditation class.
EAST INDIAN BAPTIST: No! Blasphemy! Blasphemy!
A riot ensues.
As Pam fights her way to counter, We see through the window Biker gunning off on his motorcycle.
PAM: (At counter, to clerk, Gay Guy from grocery) I need my trophies!
GAY GUY: Wait in line.
PAM: (Whipping out card) Look, I’ll give you a complimentary Rosy Glow facial.
GAY GUY: (Taking card, delighted) Oh, they’re good!
PAM: Deliver my prizes to the Woman’s Club. It’s at
GAY GUY: I know where it is. Done! (Plucks another card from her hand) Can I have two?
A CUSTOMER: What’s that?
The mob turns on Pam, grabbing cards.
ANOTHER: Something free?
ANOTHER: I want some.
ANOTHER: Gimme some!
RETARDS: Free! Free! Free!
Pam throws cards into the air and escapes as the mob totals the shop fighting over the cards.
Riot continues inside shop. Pam slips into her truck. The three TEENAGERS are seen lying on the sidewalk, dazed. Proprietor of Better Days is standing in door of her shop, shrieking. Pam barrels away.
Pam’s truck barreling along.
Smoke from Brother’s candle fills the air. Pam pops through the door and fans her way to basement stairs, coughing.
A crowded, dark hole. Pam runs down stairs into basement. Smoke is not evident after top of stairs.
In the middle of the floor a card-table is set up with materials for a home permanent. Grandmother sits in a chair with a heliotrope sheet over her. Behind her is a bin full of garbage in Hefty-Bags. Grandmother is smoking a cigarette in each hand.
GRANDMOTHER: Well, it’s about time. I didn’t have nothin’ to do but smoke.
PAM: (Grabs cigs and stifles them) Grandmother, you know this hair stuff is flammable!
She picks up hairspray and takes Grandmother’s lighter away from her.
GRANDMOTHER: I wanna smoke! What else have I got?
PAM: Don’t give me no fuss. I gotta stay on schedule.
Biker erupts out of garbage bin, knocking Grandmother over, diving in an arc straight for Pam’s money-bag. He lands on the floor in front of her. The springs that extend from him bounce him right back over Grandmother and into the garbage bin. Grandmother pulls herself upright just as he bounces right back out, knocking her over the card table. The bouncing effect makes it look as if he’s fucking her doggy-style.
PAM: (Screams) Brother!
BROTHER: (Kneeling in clouds) Yes, lords of luck? Yes, oh fates of fortune?
Biker has Grandmother clasped to him. She is shrieking non-stop. He has his knife to her throat.
BIKER: All right, lady. Hand over that money or I’ll slit the old hag like a catfish!


2 Responses to “screenplay SLAY IT AGAIN, PAM by Robert Patrick Part 1 of 2”

  1. RESUME/Links to Online Works « Robert Patrick's Personal Blog Says:

    […]    SLAY IT AGAIN, PAM – Part 1 of 2 (small town America deconstructed):…    SLAY IT AGAIN, PAM – Part 2 of 2 […]


    […] SLAY IT AGAIN, PAM – Part 1 of 2 (small town America deconstructed):… SLAY IT AGAIN, PAM – Part 2 of 2 […]

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