Ed Wood
INT. EDITING ROOMS DAY
The old guy is proudly showing Ed STOCK FOOTAGE on a moviola. The footage is totally random: Giant explosions, buffalos stampeding, tanks, an octopus swimming, etc.
Ed is dazzled.
ED This is fantastic! What are you gonna do with it all?
OLD CRUSTY MAN Eh, probably file it away and never see it again.
ED It’s such a waste. If I had half a chance, I could make an entire movie out of this stock footage! (getting inspired) See, the story opens with these mysterious explosions. Nobody knows what’s causing them, but it’s upsetting all the buffalo. So the military is called in to solve the mystery.
OLD CRUSTY MAN Ya forgot the octopus.
ED No, I’m saving that for the big underwater climax!
The old guy cackles.
EXT. MOVIE STUDIO – DAY
Ed finally carries the tree into the Laemmle Building.
INT. STUDIO OFFICES – SAME TIME
Young SECRETARIES in June Cleaver hairdos are giggling.
SECRETARY #1 They say he was a girl trapped in a man’s body.
SECRETARY #2 I’ll bet it hurt when they snipped his thing off.
EEWWW! All the girls shriek in horror. Ed walks in and puts down his plant.
ED What are you ladies gabbin’ about?
SECRETARY #1 You know that Christine Jorgensen freak? He/she/it’s in “Variety.” Some producer is making a biopic.
ED (startled) R-really? I didn’t see the story.
SECRETARY #1 Ah, it was buried in the back. The guy’s a real smalltime operator.
She holds up her “Variety.” Ed hurriedly takes it.
CUT TO:
INSERT – VARIETY
The story headline says “BOYTOCHICK FLICK TO CLICK.” We PULL OUT, revealing we’re now in
INT. ED’S APARTMENT – DAY
Ed holds the newspaper while he paces around his apartment. The place has threadbare carpet, faded wallpaper, and an electric burner for a kitchen. A handful of mangy DOGS run around. Tacked-up are movie posters for “DRACULA,” “FREAKS,” and “THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS.”
Dolores talks on the phone, while Ed silently coaches her.
DOLORES (on phone) Yes, I’ve got Mr. Edward Wood on the line. Could you please hold?
Ed gives her a thumbs up — perfect! He confidently takes the phone.
ED (on phone) Hello, Mr. Weiss? I heard about your new project and was curious if you signed a director. Oh — you haven’t? Well, if we could get together, I could explain why I’m more qualified to direct this than anyone else in town. (beat) Uh, I’d rather not go into it over the phone… Alright. Great! l’ll see you then!
Ed hangs up and YELPS excitedly. He kisses Dolores. She pulls away.
DOLORES Eddie, I don’t understand. Why are you the most qualified director for the Christine Jorgensen Story?
ED (nervous, he lies) Aw, er, it’s just a bunch of hot air. I had to say something to get in the door.
CUT TO:
INT. LOW-RENT HALLWAY – DAY
Ed walks jauntily along, wearing a snappy suit. He reaches a door that says “SCREEN CLASSICS George Weiss, President.” Ed fixes his hair, checks his clothes, then enters.
INT. SCREEN CLASSICS SAME TIME
It’s a crowded root, piled with paperwork and files. Film cans are stacked everywhere, and framed onesheets for “TEST TUBE BABIES,” “BLONDE PICKUP” and “GIRL GANG” litter the cracked walls. Sitting behind the messy desk is GEORGIE WEISS, 60, a rug merchant turned exploitation film producer. He juggles a large sandwich and angrily barks into the phone.
GEORGIE (on phone) Look, when I said you could have the western territories, I didn’t mean all eleven states! I meant California, Oregon, and uh, what’s that one above it… Washington. Oh really?! Well screw you!
Georgie slams down the phone. He smiles warmly at Ed.
GEORGIE Can I help you?
ED Yes, I’m Ed Wood. I’m here about directing the Christine Jorgensen picture.
GEORGIE Yeah, well a couple of things have changed. It ain’t gonna be the Christine Jorgensen story no more. Goddamn “Variety” printed the story before I had the rights, and now that bitch is asking for the sky.
ED (disappointed) So you’re not gonna make the movie?
GEORGIE No, of COURSE I’m gonna make the movie! I’ve already presold Alabama and Oklahoma. Those repressed Okies really go for that twisted pervert stuff. So we’ll just make it without that she-male. We’ll fictitionalize it.
Georgie bites into his sandwich. Ed is dazed.
ED Is there a script?
GEORGIE Fuck no! But there’s a poster.
Georgie pulls out artwork of a hermaphrodite: Man on the left side, woman on the right. The lettering screams, “I CHANGED MY SEX!”
GEORGIE It opens in nine weeks in Tulsa.
ED (mustering up his courage) Well, Mr. Weiss, I’m your guy. I work fast, and I’m a deal: I write AND direct. And I’m good. I just did a play in Hollywood, and Victor Crowley praised its realism.
GEORGIE Hmm. There’s five-hundred guys in town who can tell me the same thing. You said on the phone you had some kind of “special qualifications.”
Ed takes a measured piuse. This is his big revelation.
ED Well, Mr. Weiss, I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you… but I really want this job. (he gulps) I like to dress in women’s clothing.
GEORGIE Are you a fruit?
ED No, no, not at all! I love women. Wearing their clothes makes me feel closer to them.
GEORGIE So you’re not a fruit?
ED Nah, I’m all man. I even fought in WW2. (beat) ‘Course, I was wearing ladies’ undergarments under my uniform.
GEORGIE You gotta be kiddin’ me.
ED Confidentially, I even paratrooped wearing a brassiere and panties. I’ll tell ya, I wasn’t scared of being killed, but I was terrified of getting wounded, and having the medics discover my secret.
Georgie sits back. It’s a hell of a story.
GEORGIE And this is why you think you’re the most qualified to make my movie?
ED Yeah. I know what it’s like to live with a secret, and worry about what people are gonna think of you… My girlfriend still doesn’t know why her sweaters are always stretched out.
Georgie shrugs.
GEORGIE Ed, you seem like a nice kid, but look around you… (he gestures at the posters) I don’t hire directors with burning desires to tell their stories. I make movies like “Chained Girls.” I need someone with experience who can shoot a film in four days that’ll make me a profit. (beat) I’m sorry. That’s all that matters.
CUT TO:
INT. BAR DAY
Ed sits morosely in a scuzzy bar, three empty shot glasses in front of him. A BARTENDER ambles over.
BARTENDER Are you gonna get something else?
Ed glumly empties his pocket. All he has is change. Ed sighs, and staggers out.
EXT. HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD – DAY
Ed shuffles down the street, his head hanging low. A restaurant door opens, and an EISENHOWER ERA NUCLEAR FAMILY exits. Whitebread Dad, Mom, Son, and Daughter stride out in their starched clean clothes.
They march obliviously past Ed. He watches them go, then continues. Ed reaches a building, “HOLLYWOOD MORTUARY,” and glances in the window. A pause, then he does a doubletake.
THROUGH THE WINDOW
The showroom is filled with sample coffins. Lying inside one is BELA LUGOSI.
ANGLE – ED
He is flabbergasted.
INT. HOLLYWOOD MORTUARY – SAME TIME
Lugosi slowly sits up inside the coffin. Bela is an aged 70- year-old man, once a great star, now a faded memory trying to hang on to his nobility. Quite frail and tired, he is still a master of the grand gesture.
An UNCTUOUS SALESMAN steps up. Bela speaks, in a thick Hungarian ACCENT which gives him an Old World elegance.
BELA Too constrictive. This is the most uncomfortable coffin I have ever been in.
SALESMAN Gee, Mr. Lugosi, I’ve never had any complaints before.
BELA The selection is quite shoddy. You are wasting my time.
Mildly annoyed, Bela climbs out. He straightens his cloak and walks to the exit — where be bumps into nervous Ed.
ED Excuse me, Mr. Lugosi??
BELA (irritated) I told you, I don’t want any of your goddamn coffins.
ED No. I don’t work here.
BELA Huh?
Bela peers at Ed, then glances confusedly over his shoulder at the salesman. Oh. Bela looks back at anxious Ed.
BELA Who are you? What do you want?
