Muckraker!: by Chris Faber and Dan Baron

MUCKRAKER!
by
Chris Faber and Dan Baron

1
FADE IN:
EXT. CAMPSITE - DAY
SSLOW TRACK toward a CRUSHED BABY CARRIAGE. A bottle lies

on the ground, leaking milk. A DRAMATIC CHORD forewarns
us. SWING AROUND for a VIEW of the inside. There's a small
blanket and pacifier, but no baby.
REVERSE ANGLE ON -- A.R. WOODSTEIN, 27, in a slovenly

professional Seersucker suit, grimly taking notes. He wears
a Fedora, a PRESS CARD in the hatband. He looks down at
barefoot FOOTPRINTS. They seem human until he steps his
shoe into one. IT'S THREE TIMES AS BIG AS HIS SHOE.
The FOOTPRINTS lead us through a trail of destruction. A

tent ripped to shreds. A picnic table broken in two. A
truck on its side, FOOTPRINTS imbedded in the metal. We
come to the MOTHER'S BODY, A FOOTPRINT IN HER BACK.
WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

Not a pretty picture. Not a portrait
I'd want to send to my mother. Not a
snapshot she'd want to stick to her
fridge with a banana shaped magnet.
POLICE comb the hills, police dogs straining to run ahead.

There's a camera in the MOTHER'S hand. No one's looking.

But then, good journalism's not about
pleasing your mother. I knew that much.
Woodstein pries the camera out of the dead Mother's hand.

HE LOOKS UP. DAD'S DEAD BODY HANGS IN A TREE, WATCHING HIM.

As for the rest, I was just like Dad
here: My eyes were open, but I couldn't
see.
WOODSTEIN'S CAR
A classic Buick. Woodstein opens the door and puts the roll
of film into a "Kodak FilmFax" machine below the dash. He
talks into his car phone, improvising from his notes.
WOODSTEIN
Here it is. "Dateline, The Woods, April
thirteen. Mother Nature paid a grim
call on the Lipton family campsite early
this--"
A COP comes up, glances at the film, and stares expectantly

at Woodstein. Woodstein takes out a twenty. CLOSE UP OF
ANDREW JACKSON'S PORTRAIT ON THE BILL.
2

Sure. To me, it was all routine.
Another day, another dead president.
Woodstein stuffs the bill into the Cop's shirt pocket.
EXT. VARIOUS COUNTRY ROADS - MORNING
Woodstein drives through Bucolic territory. Birds CHIRP.

Trees RUSTLE. He comes around a bend. Looming ahead,
nestled in the hills, is THE GRAY, SMOGGY MASS THAT IS
GOTHIC CITY.
EXT. GOTHIC CITY STREET - POOR NEIGHBORHOOD - MORNING
The Sun is blotted out by the smoke from the many smoke
stacks towering over crumbling GOTHIC TENEMENTS. CITY
NOISES overwhelm our ears. TRAFFIC. A PILE DRIVER. POLICE
SIRENS.
A NEWS VENDOR holds a copy of the International Enquirer.

The headline screams: "GOURMET KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!" On
the left of the masthead is the motto: "No News Is Good."
VENDOR
Read all about it! Gourmet Killer
Strikes again! Police hungry for clues!
Woodstein pulls up in his car and buys a paper.
INT. WOODSTEIN'S CAR - SAME
Woodstein drives away. As he rolls up the window, the CITY

NOISES HALT. The car is silent. He puts PACHELBEL'S CANON
on his CD player.
EXT. CITY STREET - SAME
A POLICE HELICOPTER HOVERS OVER A LARGE GROUP OF RAGGED

FRIGHTENED PEOPLE.
Woodstein stops his car at a red light next to this scene.
HELICOPTER LOUDSPEAKER
You are all under arrest! You have the
right to remain silent--
INT. CAR - SAME
In here, we only hear Pachelbel. Outside, unseen by

Woodstein, the helicopter drops a net over the Group of
People.
3
As he turns THERE’S A traffic sign: "Right Turn Only With

The Right Deodorant. Right Guard!"
EXT. INTERNATIONAL ENQUIRER BUILDING - MORNING
Woodstein walks through an upscale Gothic City street. MUZAK

COMES FROM SPEAKERS ON LAMP POLES. Deep shadows are cast
by towering Gothic spires and Gaudi inspired skyscrapers.
He arrives at a building with an august Deco granite facade,

which recalls old buildings of other great newspapers.
"International Enquirer" is etched in Gothic letters on a
globe over the revolving front doors.

At the time I was working at the
nation's most prestigious newspaper. The
International Enquirer.
TILT UP: The 20-story Enquirer building is swallowed up by

a modern glass structure above and around it, rising another
sixty stories. At the top is a sign: ACCIDENTAL PETROLEUM.
At this point, the building becomes pink granite and rises
an unknown number of stories into the clouds. A GIANT NEON
SIGN SHINES THROUGH THE CLOUDS: "ENGULF + WESTERN."
INT. NEWS ROOM - MORNING
In many ways the typical news room. Phones RING and PAGE
BOYS run amok. Typewriters CLIP away, computers HUM along.
The big stories broke here first, only
to be regurgitated by the New York Times
or the Washington Post in their late
editions.
Woodstein walks through the news room passing the "City

Desk," the "National Desk," AND THE "INTERGALACTIC DESK."
A WOMAN passes him on her way out CARRYING A THREE-HEADED

BABY. She switches a bottle from one mouth to another.
In the b.g. THERE’S A MAN WITH A TREE GROWING OUT OF HIS

HEAD being interviewed by a serious REPORTER.
Woodstein passes the "Beyond the Grave" desk and nods to

another harried REPORTER, who's talking into his Crystal
Ball.
REPORTER
... just don't get so excited, I know...
THE POINTER ON HIS OUIJA BOARD STARTS TO MOVE ON IT'S OWN.

4
REPORTER
Hang on, I'm gonna have to put you on
hold.
HE PUSHES THE HOLD BUTTON ON THE CRYSTAL BALL and starts
taking notes at the Ouija Board. He mutters impatiently.
REPORTER
Get to the point, get to the point.
SIX PEOPLE WITH STIGMATA stand by the MIRACLE REPORTER desk.

One drips a little blood by a chalice on the desk.
MIRACLE REPORTER
Hey, hey, watch the Grail.
(hands him tissue
box)
Pass these around. Back off! Give me
some room here for Christ's sake!!!
THE CHIEF EDITOR, middle aged, pot-bellied, comes out of his

window-enclosed office, a lit cigarette in his mouth.
CHIEF EDITOR
Pipe down, Salinger. If you can't
handle a few lousy miracles, I'll get
someone who can!
SALINGER (MIRACLE REPORTER)

Hey, I'm up to my ass with weeping
Virgin statues and stigmata over here!

In those days Lou Bradley was the chief
editor. Gruff on the outside, but with a
heart of darkness.
Lou Bradley (Chief Editor) looks around and spots a REPORTER

across the room. He jabs his cigarette in his direction.
BRADLEY
Pynchon, help out Salinger.
PYNCHON is at the "Japanese Soldiers Who Don't Know The War

is Over" Desk. HE'S HOLDING A SEVENTY YEAR OLD JAPANESE
SOLDIER'S ARM, PREVENTING HIM FROM COMMITTING HARA-KIRI.
PYNCHON
But Boss, I'm in the middle of an
interview.
BRADLEY
He waited fifty-two years, he can wait
ten more minutes!
5
PYNCHON
(grabs a PAGE BOY)
Hold this.
The Page Boy takes the Soldier's arm.
Lou Bradley takes a swig from a PEPTO-BISMOL bottle and goes

to the "Miracles" Desk where there are too many people.
SNAKE HANDLERS. A WOMAN WITH A STUFFED BADGER. A TWO-
HEADED NUN.
BRADLEY
(to Two-Headed Nun)
Excuse me, sisters, you're going to have
to move over to the Multiple Heads Desk.
NUN HEAD ONE

But she's the Virgin Mary.
BRADLEY
Maybe she is and maybe she isn't, don't
ask me, I'm no Pope.
VOICE (OFF CAMERA)

Habagabilia, sycidisda growd falow--
BRADLEY
(to OFF CAMERA)
You, Speaking in Tongues, shut up!
(to Nun(s))
Look Ladies, please help me out, we've
got a traffic problem here.
The NUN(S) get up and move on. BRADLEY STUBS HIS CIGARETTE
OUT IN THE HOLY GRAIL AND LIGHTS ANOTHER ONE.
BRADLEY
Snake Handlers, out in the hall.
Stigmata people, huddle around the
wastebasket. And what's this? A
stuffed Badger?
WOMAN
It's a miracle.
BRADLEY
It's not a miracle. It's a stuffed
badger. Any other day.
He pushes her gently toward the door.
WOMAN
I'm the Virgin, too.
6
BRADLEY
Well, if you can hold out another week,
you can come back. Bring your badger.
Whatever.
(she leaves)
Jesus, all year long you can't find a
virgin. Come Lent, they're crawling out
of the woodwork.
WOODSTEIN PASSES WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE'S DESK. He's in

Elizabethan dress, his feet up, a quill pen in his mouth,
contemplating. Struck with an idea, he writes furiously.
Woodstein sits at his tiny desk in a corner, piled with

books on paleontology and evolution, some small bones, a
plaster cast of a Bigfoot foot, and an ape-man skull.

It was the glory days in that news room
and working there was my life's dream
come true. But moving up didn't come
easy. I'd been four years in the
Sasquatch/Yeti Department. In Newspaper
lingo: the Bigfoot Desk. Four years,
and I was still waiting for that big
break.
Woodstein pushes his chair back to grab a book from a shelf.

Oh, shit. My fly is open. Oh well,
nothing I can do about it now.
With a labored sigh, Woodstein starts to read the 700-

hundred-page "Rise and Fall of Australopedogiganticus" with
a magnifying glass.
TRIPOD, newspaper photographer, walks up. Late twenties,

attractive, possessing an intelligent look born of years of
not watching television. She wears a floor-length dress and
a battered camera slung around her neck.
TRIPOD
They turned down my requisition for a
new camera again, can you believe it?
He grunts noncommittally.
TRIPOD
You look miserable. You're wasting away
on the Bigfoot Desk. Pretty soon you're
going to be as brain dead as Hubble over
there.
They glance at HUBBLE, at the Lifestyles Desk. HE'S A BRAIN

STEM FLOATING IN A BOTTLE, CONNECTED TO A COMPUTER TERMINAL.
7
TRIPOD
You gotta get out there and break a
juicy story -- then you could be like
Zola, free to work on any story you
want.
Woodstein glances across the room. All the reporters'

cubicles are small, except one. EMILE ZOLA, 50 years old,
in a fine white suit, sits with his feet on his wide oak
desk in a spacious private office. He's on the phone
laughing, a man at ease with his position in life.
TRIPOD
You could write rings around Zola.
WOODSTEIN
Tripod, don't you think I know that?
I'm the best. I've always been the
best. All I need is the chance to show
what I can do--
BRADLEY (OC)
WOODSTEIN!! IN MY OFFICE!
INT. EDITOR BRADLEY'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER
Bradley fills his bottle from a Pepto-Bismol water cooler.

He offers it to Woodstein, who shakes his head and sits.
BRADLEY
Woodstein. Would you say your job is a
tough job?
WOODSTEIN
Well--
BRADLEY
You're making my job tough! You call
this responsible Bigfoot reporting?
Bradley lays down a proof sheet with the headline, "Bigfoot

Steals Infant." Everyone in the news room is listening
through the open door.
BRADLEY
Where's the interview with the
distraught mother?
WOODSTEIN
She wasn't distraught, she was--
BRADLEY
Don't give me that. And you call this a
photograph?!
8
He slams down a CRYSTAL CLEAR PHOTO OF BIGFOOT CARRYING OFF

AN INFANT.
BRADLEY
It's not blurry. How many times I gotta
tell you, you've gotta leave something
to people's imagination!
Bradley lights two cigarettes and offers one to Woodstein,

who declines. BRADLEY SHRUGS AND SMOKES BOTH HIMSELF.
BRADLEY
Look, I like you, you've got spunk. But
you don't know how to do an interview.
If the Mother's not distraught, you ask
her a lot of prying insensitive
questions until she is distraught.
Bradley walks to the South window of his corner office.

Woodstein leafs through a TIME MAGAZINE. Each page has a
couple of words, with a qualifying symbol. ASIA, WITH A
THUMBS UP. WESTERN EUROPE, A THUMBS DOWN. SPECIAL REPORT:
BOSNIA, with a DO NOT ENTER SIGN.
BRADLEY
(looking out window)
Your problem is you got no news sense.
Dog bites man, that's not news.
Brilliant Russian atomic scientists
forced by their nation's poverty to work
abroad cloning circus mammoths. That's
news! Real human drama!
POV BRADLEY - In the Courtyard below, TWO WOOLLY MAMMOTHS

SIT BY THREE SCIENTISTS TALKING TO REPORTERS. The Mammoths
spray water from their trunks.
Bradley turns back to see Woodstein reading the magazine.
BRADLEY
Woodstein! Pay attention. The Gourmet
Killer has struck again. Some poor
schmuck named Hors D'oeuvres. Jacques
Hors D'oeuvres. Christ, what are these
people thinking about? If I had a food
related name, I'd have left Gothic City
by now. Anyway, I need your help--
WOODSTEIN
Finally! Boss, you won't regret it!
9
BRADLEY
I better not. I'm sending you out with
Zola. A Giant Condor swooped down on
his assistant this morning, snatched him
up, and headed south. Endangered
species my ass. Look, take notes for
him. Carry his bags. Maybe you'll
learn something.
WOODSTEIN
(disappointed,
angry)
I need him to teach me about as much as
that alligator needs a math tutor!!
BY THE ANIMALS THAT DO CALCULUS DESK, AN ALLIGATOR

STUDIOUSLY OBSERVES A COMPLEX EQUATION ON A CHALKBOARD.
BRADLEY
That is exactly the attitude that has
kept you on the Bigfoot desk!
He puts an arm around Woodstein's shoulder and walks him to

the open door.
BRADLEY
I'm not saying you gotta do this and I'm
not saying you don't. But if you ask
me, I'd say do it.
(turns, points
O.C.)
Wolfboy, sit!
Bradley walks back inside. Woodstein walks across the:
NEWS ROOM
The Reporters pretend not to look at the humiliated

Woodstein as he walks to his desk. A sympathetic Tripod is
waiting.
WOODSTEIN
It's my big chance. Maybe if I'm real
good they'll let me sharpen his pencils.
TRIPOD
Who knows, maybe some good will come of
it.
(nervous)
Listen, I was wondering if maybe after
work, you and I, we could go out for a--
WOODSTEIN
Hey, who's that?
10
REVERSE ANGLE ON HOPE. She's our gorgeous, sexy Femme

Fatale and dressed to prove it.
TRIPOD
That's Hope, Zola's new secretary.
Tripod can't help but notice Woodstein's interest. Hope

passes him, stops and turns back.
HOPE
Yes, as a matter of fact they are real.
Woodstein turns red. He whispers to Tripod.
WOODSTEIN
Why didn't you tell me she had ESP?
He turns deeper shades of red as Hope continues.
HOPE
And I don't think we know each other
well enough for whips, bondage or
Brussels Sprouts.
People snicker. Hope turns and sashays off. Woodstein

watches longingly as Hope walks away.
TRIPOD
(sarcastic)
Why don't you just use your X-ray
glasses?
Woodstein quickly rummages through his desk, TAKES OUT HIS

X-RAY GLASSES AND PUTS THEM ON.
Woodstein's POV - As a SQUARE-JAWED REPORTER steps in the

way. Under his clothes, WE SEE HE WEARS A SUPERMAN COSTUME.
From across the room a Page Boy shouts:
PAGE BOY
Ball lightning!
Everyone hits the floor or dives under tables.
A BALL OF LIGHTING ROLLS AROUND A CORNER, GOES THROUGH THE

NEWS ROOM, KNOCKS THINGS OVER AND GOES THROUGH THE WALL.
Everyone gets up and goes on as usual.
HOPE'S DESK, BY ZOLA'S OFFICE
The only things on Hope's desk are a phone, a juicer and a

framed picture of herself. SHE GRABS A PEN AND WRITES A
MESSAGE ON A MESSAGE PAD. THE PHONE RINGS.
11
HOPE
(answers phone)
Got it.
She hangs up. Woodstein comes over, smiling. She ignores
him. Zola sees him and grabs his coat.
ZOLA
About time, Wordburn.
WOODSTEIN
It's Woodstein.
ZOLA
Your fly's open. Let's move.
EXT. INTERNATIONAL ENQUIRER BUILDING - DAY
Woodstein and Zola wait at the curb. MUZAK plays from

street speakers.
ZOLA
We've got to get to the scene before the
evidence is gone.
WOODSTEIN
What do you mean?
ZOLA
Well, you're going to see it with your
own eyes, so I guess I should warn you.
You know the killer cooks and displays
the victims in an appetizing manner?
Well, up to now the police haven't been
able to resist eating them.
A limousine pulls up and stops in front of them.
WOODSTEIN
The cops are eating the evidence?! Why
hasn't that been in your articles?
The Muzak breaks and an order issues from the speakers.
SPEAKERS
EVERYTHING GOES BETTER WITH COKE!
The Muzak continues. No one on the street takes any notice.

12
ZOLA
Do you think the cops are happy about
it? It's an embarrassment to the whole
department and let's face it: with the
bad press they've been getting, charges
of police cannibalism could undermine
public confidence beyond the breaking
point.
The Chauffeur opens the door. Woodstein and Zola get in.
They step off an advertisement on the sidewalk: "Looking
Down? Look up with Prozak!"
INT. LIMOUSINE - SAME
Woodstein looks around the plush limo. Wet Bar. Seafood

Salad Bar. Color TV.
WOODSTEIN
It certainly seems like page one to me:
"Hungry Pigs Devour Evidence!"
ZOLA
You can't go blasting across the front
page every time some two-bit thief gets
rough-housed at an arrest or the cops
dine on a victim. Let Internal Affairs
handle it. Look, you've been on the
Bigfoot desk for what? Two years?
WOODSTEIN
Three.
ZOLA
Three?! Jesus. Well, this is the real
world. The crime beat. Just keep your
mouth shut and your eyes open.
THEY PASS THE CORNER OF "AVIS'S #1" AND "HEINZ'S 57TH STREET."
WOODSTEIN
Do they at least have any suspects?
ZOLA
Use your head, kid. They can't find the
killer without any evidence. Brilliant,
isn't he?
WOODSTEIN
Yeah, brilliant. A psychotic homicidal
cook.
ZOLA
He's not a cook. He's a chef.
13
INT. LIVING ROOM OF A LARGE SUBURBAN HOME - DAY
A long dining table is covered with a white tablecloth,

under which is a body-like shape. The tablecloth is whisked
off the table. Underneath is not a body, but rather Hors
d'oeuvres' plates of all kinds, laid out in the shape of a
body.
CROWD OF POLICE
Oooh. Ahh. Oooh.
SCATTERED APPLAUSE. And the dishes are special indeed. BAKED

FINGERS wrapped in dough, like cocktail wieners. RACK OF LEG.
And many less recognizable, but no less appetizing dishes.
FRONT DOOR
Woodstein comes up to the door. The POLICE MAITRE'D stops

him. He holds a list, wears a blue serge tux with badge and
sidearm and speaks with a heavy French accent.
MAITRE'D
Just a moment, monsieur. This is police
business. I can't let just anyone in.
Do you have an invitation?
Zola pops in.
MAITRE'D
Monsieur Zola!
ZOLA
Francois!
Francois (Maitre'd) kisses Zola on both cheeks. Zola passes

him some folded money.
FRANCOIS
(as he pockets it)
No, no I can not. No, please.
(takes Zola's arm)
Come. Your seat is in zee usual place.
Woodstein remains outside the door. He CLEARS HIS THROAT.
WOODSTEIN
I'm with him.
Zola shrugs. Francois shrugs sympathetically and turns to

JULES, a large French Waiter.
FRANCOIS
Une cravate.
Jules hands Woodstein a tie and allows him in.

14
POLICEMEN mingle, standing around with appetizer plates. An

OFFICER plays piano. Zola drops money in his brandy
snifter.
Other Policemen are taking their seats at the table. The
Police notice Zola and throw up a cheer.
POLICE
ZOLA!
Francois seats him between POLICE COMMISSIONER GORGON and

CAPTAIN BELCHER. FRANCOIS HANDS ZOLA A NOSE TART and
whispers.
FRANCOIS
I saved this for monsieur. There was
only one. Everybody wanted it. Can I
get you some muscles?
ZOLA
Not right now.
(to his left)
Hello Commissioner.
COMMISSIONER GORGON
(disappointed)
Awhn, you got the nose tart, huh?
A WAITER passes by with a tray of Bloody Marys. Woodstein

grabs one on reflex.
THE DISTRAUGHT WIFE COMES IN. PEOPLE STOP EATING MID-

SPOONFUL AND HIDE THEIR CUTLERY. They pretend they're not
eating. She weeps. The Commissioner looks to Belcher to do
his job. Belcher goes over to her.
BELCHER
Now, now, we're doing all we can. Can
you think of anyone who would want to
kill your husband and prepare him in
such a tasty fashion?
She weeps louder. People are anxious to go back to eating.
BELCHER
Maybe one of us should drive you
downtown to file a report.
He looks around for a volunteer. Everyone looks away.
BELCHER
(pulls out money)
Here's twenty bucks. Take a cab.
She walks off. Everyone goes back to their meal.

15
WOODSTEIN
Excuse me, Commissioner, do you have any
clues about who might have done all
this?
ZOLA
Can't you see the man is eating?
WOODSTEIN
Pardon me for playing Devil's Advocate,
but just what the hell are you people
doing?!
The piano stops. The conversation stops. All heads turn.
WOODSTEIN
This is cannibalism.
There is general defensive muttering.
EVERYONE
Well; Oh, come on; I don't know about
that; That's a little harsh;
WOODSTEIN
But you're eating a human being.
EVERYONE
Technically maybe; Overreacting a bit,
isn't he?; etc.
ZOLA
I think what the gentlemen are trying to
say is that in this unusual type of
crime, certain activities which are
normally considered ... taboo in polite
society, suddenly become the most valid
forms of investigation.
EVERYONE
Yeah; right; yeah; that's what I said.
FRANCOIS
(to Woodstein,
whispers)
Monsieur, to call attention to a taboo
during dinner is simply not done.
COMMISSIONER GORGON
Sure, you can learn a lot about a
murderer just by the kind of spices he
uses.
WOODSTEIN
But you can test for spices in a lab.
16
You don't have to eat him.
FRANCOIS
I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you
to leave.
Francois glances around the room. He claps his hands twice.
ZOLA
My boy, you've missed the point
entirely. You can test food all day long
in a lab. It's not which spices he uses,
but rather how he uses them, how he ...
plays them, one with another.
Zola holds a plate full of tasty bits under Woodstein's

nose.
ZOLA
Look at this, it's beautiful.
There's no denying it. Woodstein looks with curiosity.
WOODSTEIN
What is it?
ZOLA
It's delicious.
Woodstein reaches hesitantly towards the plate. The AMBIENT

PIANO MUSIC RISES IN INTENSITY, REACHING THE CRESCENDO OF
THE FOURTH MOVEMENT IN CHOPIN'S POLONAISE #3 AS WOODSTEIN'S
HAND APPROACHES THE FOOD.
Jules, the large Frenchman, grabs Woodstein's arm at the

last second and drags him out. Everyone carries on.
They've completely forgotten him.
POLICEMAN 1
Toss me a rib.
Policeman 2 tosses it but it hits Policeman 3. Policeman 3

tosses some food at Policeman 1, and it starts a food fight.
Everybody is laughing.
CAPTAIN BELCHER
Hey, stop that! It's only funny until
somebody loses an eye.
ROARING LAUGHTER around the room.
EXT. THE HORS D'OEUVRES HOME - SAME
A BLUE NEON SIGN READS: "LE CRIME SCENE." UNDER THAT: "YOUR
HOST FRANCOIS." Jules escorts Woodstein out. A FEW
OFFICERS EXIT WITH TAKEOUT CARTONS.
17
Francois runs out of the house after Woodstein.
FRANCOIS
Monsieur, the check!
WOODSTEIN
I didn't eat a thing!
DISSOLVE TO:
THE SCREEN, AWASH IN LIGHT. The beam from Woodstein's

flashlight moves off the CAMERA and sweeps through the
darkness. WE'RE:
EXT. WOODS - EVENING
Woodstein searches the ground with his flashlight. He spots

BIGFOOT TRACKS and follows them into the fog and darkness.

A call came in that night. Three
mutilated sheep had been found and the
M.O. said Bigfoot. One minute I was on
the hot story, and the next: just
another Bigfoot sighting. Or so it
seemed...
THE SOUND OF HEAVY, INHUMAN FEET, POUNDING THE EARTH

startles Woodstein. He whirls, shining the beam up. But he
has to lower it to reveal the surprised face of a very
short, stocky MAN. Woodstein is relieved.
WOODSTEIN
Christ, I thought you were Big--
Woodstein lowers the flashlight beam and sees that THE MAN
IS WEARING HI-TECH HYDRAULIC SHOES IN THE SHAPE OF BIGFOOT
FEET.
WOODSTEIN
...feet. Hey, what the hell--?
The Man also wears half a BIGFOOT COSTUME. Woodstein's

flashlight beam reveals the other half by a tree.
WOODSTEIN
Oh my God.
The Man lashes out with a roundhouse to the face, knocking

Woodstein to the ground.
Woodstein gropes for his flashlight as the hydraulic feet

stomp toward him, grabbing it in time to illuminate the HUGE
FOOT ABOUT TO STOMP HIS FACE. There is the FLASH of a camera
strobe. The Man ROARS in Bigfoot-like rage, and goes for:
18
TRIPOD, the source of the flash. Woodstein rolls to safety.
The Man attacks Tripod with a flying kick. But she avoids
it smoothly. She puts down her camera and ties her floor-
length skirt around her waist
REVEALING THAT TRIPOD HAS THREE LEGS.
A vicious kung-fu battle ensues between a woman with three

legs and a man with hydraulic feet. WE CATCH GLIMPSES OF
THE BATTLE IN WOODSTEIN'S FLASHLIGHT BEAM.
Tripod leaps into the air and kicks the Man with each foot,
WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, before landing smoothly on the ground.
The Man fights back with a powerful kick, sending Tripod

into a tree trunk. The Man goes after her and kicks. But
Tripod moves. HIS FOOT SHATTERS THE TREE.
Tripod hits the MAN with continuous roundhouses to the face,

one foot always kicking, the other two on the ground.
The Man stomps on Tripod’s camera and flees. Woodstein and

Tripod give chase to the edge of a lake, where a motorboat
awaits. The Man grabs a tether and is whisked away, water
skiing on his huge feet.
INT. NEWS ROOM - EVENING
The SPORTS REPORTER examines a proof sheet with the

headline: "HEADLESS HORSEMAN WINS KENTUCKY DERBY."
Woodstein and Tripod burst into the room. Everyone turns as

they stride purposefully towards Woodstein's desk. The
Squared Jawed Reporter (with the Superman costume under his
suit) calls out:
SQUARE JAWED REPORTER

Hey look, it's the Brussels Sprouts sex
fiend.
Everyone laughs, especially Shakespeare, who's nameplate now

reads "Christopher Marlowe."
SHAKESPEARE
The greatest truth lies in the jest!
Woodstein ignores them. HE SITS AT HIS DESK, GRABS HIS

TYPEWRITER AND TYPES FURIOUSLY. THEN HE REALIZES THERE'S NO
PAPER, SO HE PUTS A SHEET IN. He types and talks furiously.
19
WOODSTEIN
Get me a new ribbon, call Lou's Wok
House and order me Chinese pizza. Hold
my calls and get me some nose drops.
Somebody boil some water! And put up
the lightning rod. I don't want to be
disturbed.
People gather around, including Hope.
PYNCHON
What happened, Woodstein?
TRIPOD
What happened? What didn't happen!
WOODSTEIN
(looks straight at
Hope)
A genuine Bigfoot incident. That's what
didn't happen.
People GASP. Woodstein types like a maniac. Hope smiles.
WOODSTEIN
I'm good, boy am I good. I must be the
fastest typist in the state. Gather
round, folks. God, can I spell.
More people gather around and there is a general HUBBUB.
Bradley, a whiskey bottle in his hand, comes over to see

what the commotion is. He reads over Woodstein's shoulder,
swigs the bottle, then rips the page from the typewriter.
WOODSTEIN
Hey! What are you doing? That's my
story.
BRADLEY
This isn't a story, it's a fantasy. Who
would want to fake a Bigfoot incident?
TRIPOD
But we saw it ourselves, with our own
eyes!
BRADLEY
I've had ten thousand people corroborate
a story exactly, and they were all
wrong. Did you get a blurry photograph?
WOODSTEIN
Well, no. He destroyed the camera, then
escaped by water-skiing away on his
giant feet.
20
BRADLEY
Uh huh. Look, I'm not saying it's true
and I'm not saying it isn't true, but if
it is true, and I'm not saying it is --
I'm not saying it isn't, but I'm not
saying it is. But if it is, this kind
of story has to be handled very
sensitively.
WOODSTEIN
I can be sensitive--
BRADLEY
Sure. I heard about your faux pas at
the dinner party this evening. Did you
think that wouldn't get back to me?
What if I print this and people began to
doubt other Bigfoot sightings? Could
you imagine what might happen to the
fabric of our society, I mean people
could panic, become disoriented, their
grip on reality would become ...
slippery. They'd riot in the streets.
That happens. I'm not saying it will,
and I'm not saying it won't, but it
might. I'm sorry. I have to give this
story to somebody else.
WOODSTEIN
To who? It's my story.
BRADLEY
Some guy hits you on the head with his
shoe and that makes it your story?
Woodstein, what does this say?
He picks up the "Bigfoot Desk" sign on the desk.
WOODSTEIN
Bigfoot desk.
BRADLEY
Does it say "Fake Bigfoot Desk"?
WOODSTEIN
Well, no.
21
BRADLEY
That's right. This is out of your
league, Woodstein. Someday. Maybe not
today. I'm not saying it isn't today,
and I'm not saying it is. Oh what am I
saying, of course I'm saying it isn't
today. Keep your nose out of it.
There's plenty of people out there who'd
give their right arm for your job, if
you catch my meaning. Now go home, get
some sleep. I want you fresh for that
Bigfoot convention. Here, have some of
these.
He grabs Woodstein's hand and fills it with pills. He

changes his mind and grabs some back. He pops them in his
mouth, and washes them down with whiskey and chases it with
Pepto Bismol. He returns to his office.
Woodstein looks up to see the Crowd breaking up and Hope

looking at him. Tripod touches his shoulder consolingly.
SQUARE JAWED REPORTER

Well, at least no one can say you don't
have a wild imagination.
WOODSTEIN
(jumps up)
Blow it out your ass, Clark!
Clark (Square Jawed Reporter) takes a challenging step

towards Woodstein. Their angry faces are inches apart.
INT. BAR - NIGHT
CLOSE SHOT OF WOODSTEIN. HE HAS A BLACK EYE, AND A THICK

METAL BAR WRAPPED AROUND HIS NECK.
He's removing an olive from a toothpick. He places it on the

top of a pyramid of olives. CRANE DOWN with Woodstein as he
climbs down off the bar to reveal the olive pyramid is on
top of a pyramid of upside down Martini glasses.
Woodstein sits at the bar and glues the toothpick to a small

toothpick sarcophagus.
PAN LEFT as he reaches over and opens a complex model of an

Egyptian pyramid made entirely of toothpicks. He places the
sarcophagus in a detailed underground tomb. He looks right,
to Tripod, then to the BARTENDER.
WOODSTEIN
Another Martini, please.
22
TRIPOD
I don't think I can drink another one.
Why don't you have one?
WOODSTEIN
You know I'm a recovering alcoholic.
Oh, alright. Make that two. Doubles.
Tripod helps Woodstein remove the bar from around his neck.
Woodstein looks at THE FRONT PAGE of tomorrow's Enquirer.

The headline is: "WHO COOKED HORS D'OEUVRES?"
Woodstein fishes through the paper, looking for an article.

WE SEE THE BACK PAGE OF THE PAPER. SANDWICHED BETWEEN
FURNITURE ADS IS AN ARTICLE WITH A SMALL HEADLINE: "ASIA
DESTROYED IN NUCLEAR DISASTER. ONE BILLION FEARED DEAD."
AND BELOW THAT: "WAR OR MELTDOWN?"
Woodstein finds the article he's looking for. He reads it.
WOODSTEIN
Oh, that's great. Nothing about a
Bigfoot hoax. It says it was just a
crank caller.
(throws paper down)
It says I was hit on the head with a
shoe!
A distinctive news jingle draws Woodstein and Tripod’s

attention to the T.V., over the bar.
ON THE SCREEN is the phrase "GOURMET KILLER" and a SPECIAL

LOGO: A BLACK MASK WITH A CHEF'S HAT, AND TWO BUTCHER'S
KNIVES CROSSED IN FRONT DRIPPING BLOOD. The logo shrinks
and moves left, revealing the ANCHOR. The logo spins, and
becomes a photo of the victim.
ANCHOR
Good evening. Night falls in Gothic
City and once again we ask ourselves for
whom the dinner bell tolls. Tonight's
unlucky victim, Guiseppe Pesci --
allegedly Italian for Joe Fish -- was
made into Sushi in his apartment on the
corner of Kleenex and Coco Puffs--
TRIPOD
It's him! It's Little Bigfoot!
CLOSE ON THE TV. IT IS HIM. THE BIGFOOT HOAXER THEY FOUGHT

WITH EARLIER.
WOODSTEIN
Tripod, do they eat anything called
"woodstein." I mean anywhere?
23
TRIPOD
Woodstein, look at that! Our Bigfoot
hoaxer was murdered by the Gourmet
Killer. This is no coincidence.
WOODSTEIN
Come on. The man lived in Bratwurst
Heights. It's a dangerous neighborhood.
Shit happens.
TRIPOD
You have to look into it.
WOODSTEIN
Right. I nose in on Zola's beat,
Bradley hands me my walking papers. No
thanks.
TRIPOD
If you don’t investigate this, who will?
He downs a double.
WOODSTEIN
(hard-boiled)
There's some things you still don't know
about me, Tripod. Did you know I was a
cop?
She shakes her head.
WOODSTEIN
But not the kind that takes dirty money,
so I wasn't a cop for long. Then I was
a professional fighter who wouldn't take
a dive. So I joined the army. Became a
lieutenant in the Marines but I wouldn't
throw my men into that machine gun nest,
so they court-martialed me. Then I was
a surgeon, but I never went to medical
school and after that whiny Senator
died, those petty bureaucrats took my
license away.
TRIPOD
Bastards.
WOODSTEIN
Then I was a Janitor, but I just didn't
like cleaning out the mop.
(tosses back
Tripod's martini)
Life's highway is paved with the twisted
refuse of those who think they can make
a difference.
24
TRIPOD
But you've always managed to pull back
into traffic somehow, haven't you?
Tripod smiles at Woodstein. He smiles back. They share a
moment.
TRIPOD
And when you think about it, these kind
of problems don't amount to a hill of
beans. I mean, do you realize our
galaxy, our entire universe in fact, is
inside of one cell in a fingernail of
some giant being?
WOODSTEIN
Sure, I've heard about that.
TRIPOD
And that guy whose finger we're on,
trigger finger actually, is about to
assassinate the beloved leader of that
race of giants. So agents of that
government have shrunk themselves down
to their sub-atomic level, which is our
normal level plus one-third, and are
trying to blow up our galaxy to injure
his fingernail and foil the
assassination plot.
WOODSTEIN
That I don't know about.
TRIPOD
(shyly)
I have a confession to make. When I’m
around you I always feel-- How do I say
this?
(nervous, getting up
her courage)
I think you and I -- we -- have a
special connection--
Hope enters across the bar, turning Woodstein’s head.
WOODSTEIN
Oh, Jesus. It's Hope. I hope she
doesn't come over. How do I look?
He fixes his hair.
TRIPOD
(deadpan)
Fabulous.
Hope comes over. Woodstein sips his drink, pretending not

to notice her approach.
25
HOPE
You keep drinking like this and you'll
start seeing fake Bigfeet everywhere.
Woodstein looks at her, deadpan. WE HEAR HIS INNER VOICE.
WOODSTEIN (HIS THOUGHTS)

You bitch. I'd like to take this metal
bar and--
HOPE SLAPS HIM.
WOODSTEIN
You could have at least let me finish.
HOPE
Tripod, Bradley wants you to go
photograph tonight's Le Crime Scene.
WOODSTEIN
(Tripod hesitates)
Go, go. I'll be fine.
TRIPOD
(whispers to him)
Be careful. I don't like her.
Hope gives Tripod a bemused look as Tripod leaves.
HOPE
(toying)
She's kind of cute. Mind if I sit down?
WOODSTEIN
Is that a rhetorical question or is your
mind suddenly hard of reading?
Hope sits, her shoulder touching Woodstein's. She sips from

his glass.
HOPE
What does a girl have to do for you to
be nice to her again?
WOODSTEIN
(softens)
You know what it is? I feel
uncomfortable. You always know what
I'm--
HOPE
I know, I know--
WOODSTEIN
I feel sort of--
26
HOPE
Naked.
WOODSTEIN
Almost--
HOPE
Violated.
WOODSTEIN
Yeah, naked, violated. What do I have
to do, wear a lead lined hat?
HOPE
Don't try to hide your thoughts from me.
The truth is I enjoyed the fantasy about
the medieval Japanese torture chamber.
What happens after the Brussels sprouts?
(to Bartender)
I'll have the same thing he's having.
She toys with his hair. Woodstein can't help but enjoy her
flirting.
WOODSTEIN
I also know a lot about ancient
Dionysian rites.
He looks at her provocatively, asking her to read his mind.
HOPE
No, no. Tell me about it. Some
thoughts are better left said.
They see Zola enter. He's glad-handed by various patrons.

WOODSTEIN
Reading Zola must be a breeze. Like the
Reader's Digest version of the human
mind.
HOPE
Oh, I can't read his mind.
WOODSTEIN
Wh-wh-why? Is he ... some kind 'a
genius or something?
HOPE
Oh no. I can only read the minds of
people in my own tax bracket.
27
WOODSTEIN
(beat)
You mean you make the same as me? I'm a
reporter. I've been at the paper for
five years!
Zola walks up and puts his arm around Hope. They kiss.
ZOLA
Sorry I'm late, Darling.
HOPE
Oh, Emile. There's been another murder.
I got us reservations. There's still
time for cocktails.
ZOLA
I know all about it. Woodsmell, I tried
to wangle you an invitation but Francois
wouldn't budge -- you know the French.
I'm afraid it's Fatburgers and Nutty
Hohos again. Come, love.
Zola puts his arm out for Hope. She gets up to go with him.
HOPE
(sotto, to
Woodstein)
Too bad you're just a Bigfoot reporter.
But we can't all be Emile Zola, can we?
Zola looks at the Bartender and points to Woodstein's

pyramid of empty glasses.
ZOLA
Charles, put it on my tab.
Zola and Hope walk off, arm in arm. Woodstein turns to

watch them go and accidentally knocks over his glass. IT
ROLLS INTO THE PYRAMID OF GLASSES AND SENDS IT ALL SMASHING
DOWN.
WOODSTEIN
(to Bartender)
Put that on Mister Zola's tab, too.
(stands)
Do you know where Kleenex hits Coco
Puffs?
BARTENDER
Just east of Liquid Plumber.
WOODSTEIN
Thanks.
28
EXT. BAR - NIGHT - WOODSTEIN WALKS ACROSS THE STREET AND

ENTERS THE ENQUIRER BUILDING
INT. ENQUIRER GARAGE - NIGHT

Woodstein walks through the dark garage. Suddenly, A MAN
lights a cigarette right next to him.
WOODSTEIN
(startled)
Jesus!
MAN
Were you followed?
WOODSTEIN
Uh, no...
MAN
Wrong. I followed you. Next time pay
attention. Take two cabs.
WOODSTEIN
I work here. I took the elevator.
MAN
Take two elevators.
WOODSTEIN
Who are you?
MAN
You don't know me. You can call me...
Deep Throat. Wait, that's been used.
How about, oh what's the name? You
know, the one with... Debbie Does
Dallas! Or maybe--
WOODSTEIN
(impatient)
Fine. Debbie, why are you bothering me?
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS (MAN)

Because I know about the gourmet
murders.
Woodstein gets serious, pulls out his notebook. Debbie

looks around, paranoid. He lowers his voice.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

The story's big. If you follow it all
the way, you'll have the scoop of the
century.
WOODSTEIN
OK, what can you tell me?
29
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

I can't just tell you. I have to
protect myself. It can't be traced to
me. Tell you what. You guess. If
you're right, I'll cough.
(beat)
But guess big. Really big.
WOODSTEIN
That's ridiculous. I'd be here all
night.
Debbie hums, and taps his foot, waiting.
WOODSTEIN
Fine. Our lives are meaningless and
this is all just some chicken's dream.
DEBBIE COUGHS. Woodstein is alarmed.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

That wasn't a "yes" cough. I had a
tickle in my throat.
(chuckles
derisively)
Chicken dreams. We better shift gears.
He holds up three fingers.
WOODSTEIN
What?
(Debbie waves
fingers)
Charades?
(Debbie touches
nose)
Christ. Three words.
Debbie continues to give charades clues.
WOODSTEIN
First word. One syllable.
(Debbie touches
knee)
Knee.
(Debbie touches ear)
Sounds like knee.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

(sotto)
No, it is knee.
WOODSTEIN
(sotto)
Then why'd you touch your ear?
30
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

(sotto, annoyed)
I was telling you you were right!
WOODSTEIN
You touch your nose when I'm right!
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

I thought it was your ear.
WOODSTEIN
No, ear means "sounds like."
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

(touches nose
frantically)
Oh, right, right, right. That's what I
meant. I meant "sounds like"!
CAR WHEELS SCREECH, interrupting them. Woodstein turns. A

car exits the lot. He turns back. Debbie is nowhere.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS (OC)

Psst.
Woodstein bends down. Debbie is under a car. Woodstein

gets under the car. Oil drips on Woodstein.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

Can you pass me that wrench?
Woodstein looks to his side. There's a wrench. He hands it

to Debbie, who adjusts something above him.
WOODSTEIN
OK, so ... sounds like knee.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

Wait, wait, wait, we gotta start over.
DEBBIE FLASHES BOTH HANDS A BUNCH OF TIMES. Woodstein grabs

him by the collar.
WOODSTEIN
Forty-seven words?!
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

Right. Forty-seven words. That's all I
can tell you. It's too dangerous--
FOOTSTEPS approach. Woodstein opens his mouth.
DEBBIE DOES DALLAS

Shhhh!
31
They fall quiet. A CAR DOOR OPENS OC. An ENGINE STARTS.

THE CAR THEY ARE UNDER DRIVES AWAY in a cloud of smoke.
When the smoke clears, Debbie Does Dallas is gone.
INT. GARAGE - MOMENTS LATER
Woodstein walks through the dimly lit garage. OMINOUS

DANGER MUSIC. HE WALKS SLOWLY AS THE MUSIC CRESCENDOS.
THEN WHIRLS.
REVERSE ANGLE. The music stops. There's nothing there.
He turns back to see CAR HEADLIGHTS, INCHES AWAY, BARRELING

DOWN ON HIM. HE SCREAMS. But the car sound is from another
car, and the two headlights are really just TWO MIDGET COAL
MINERS WITH LAMPS IN THEIR HELMETS. They run by, in a
hurry, carrying presents.
Woodstein sighs in relief.
EXT. AN INTERSECTION - NIGHT
The street signs read: "Kleenex" and "Coco Puffs". It's a

bad neighborhood. Woodstein is looking for the right
building.
SPEAKERS PLAY A MUZAK VERSION OF DANCE OF THE SUGARPLUM

FAIRIES. They're steel-reinforced and riddled with bullet
holes. The Muzak pauses for an announcement--
SPEAKER
REWARDS IN THE NEXT LIFE!
-- and then continues.
INT. HALLWAY IN APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
Woodstein walks up the stairs and down the dank, old hall.
WIND ECHOES EERILY. He turns over a sign by an apartment.
It says: "LE CRIME SCENE". Apartment doors open a crack.
EYES STARE OUT.
He jimmies open the door.
INT. APARTMENT - SAME
PITCH BLACK. We hear Woodstein fumbling in the darkness.

The SOUND OF FIVE TABLE LAMPS FALLING, one after the other.
A CAT MEOWS. A COW MOOS. We hear Woodstein find a box of
matches. He lights a match and holds it up. A Chinese
paper lantern above him BURSTS INTO FLAMES. He pulls it
down and stamps it out.
32
PITCH BLACK. He lights another match. There's a candle in

front of him. He lights it. He shakes the match, but it
doesn't quite go out.
He drops the lit match on top of the match box on the table.
He walks on. His candle illuminates pieces of what looks

like a sushi restaurant after a party. He picks up a sushi
menu. It has food names with photos and prices, such as
"TEKA MOKA SOKI - EAR WITH SEAWEED AND RICE. QUAIL EGG 90
CENT EXTRA."
He picks up a place card with soy sauce and blood stains.

It reads: "COMMISSIONER GORGON."
Woodstein moves on. He picks a photograph off the wall and

examines it. IT'S A 1960'S GROUP PHOTO OF THE VICTIM'S
ARMED FORCES UNIT STANDING OUTSIDE A NAVAL BASE IN THE
DESERT. HE READS THE NAMES WRITTEN IN WHITE OVER THEIR
CHESTS.
WOODSTEIN
(mutters names
aloud)
Sergeant Jacques Hors D'oeuvres.
Guiseppe Pesci. Sue Fley. Vladimir
Stroganoff. And Colonel Fred Over Easy
With a Side of Bacon.
He takes a closer look at the man named "Vladimir

Stroganoff." IT'S DEBBIE DOES DALLAS FROM THE GARAGE.
WOODSTEIN
Debbie Does Dallas.
A loud CLANGING noise startles Woodstein. He whirls.

The radiator shakes with each CLANG. He approaches and sees
a TOY MONKEY WITH A MALLET, hitting it. He pushes the
monkey away. Now the mallet hits empty space. He is
unnerved but moves on. He walks around the sushi bar.
The remains of Mr. Pesci are on a large cutting board. HE IS

A SKELETON, PICKED COMPLETELY CLEAN, BUT FOR THE HEAD AND
FEET, which remain intact like a large fish. Below the rib
cage, is a PACEMAKER, still TICKING.
Pesci wears moccasins on his feet. Woodstein removes one.

INSIDE, AT THE HEEL, IS A TINY NEEDLE, DRIPPING A BLACK
SUBSTANCE. He touches it, smells it, dabs it to his tongue.
WOODSTEIN
Soy Sauce. Straight into the Phlebotol
Artery.
Inside the moccasin is a tag: "Inspected by No. 24."

33
WOODSTEIN
(chuckles cynically)
Nice job, twenty-four.
Woodstein sees a microwave. He squints, pensive. HE PUTS
THE PACEMAKER INTO THE MICROWAVE AND REACHES TO TURN IT ON
but stops when he sees a FIRE BURNING WHERE HE LEFT THE
BURNING MATCH. He grabs a vase and tosses it's contents on
the fire. THE FIRE ROARS LARGER. HE LOOKS AT THE VASE. IT
SAYS "SAKE" ON IT.
Suddenly, WE HEAR THE SOUND OF A CAR COMING AROUND A CORNER.

HEADLIGHTS ILLUMINATE WOODSTEIN in front of the sushi bar.
He whirls. THE SOUND OF A CAR SCREECHING TO A HALT.
REVERSE ANGLE. Car headlights in the midst of darkness. The

SOUND OF TWO PEOPLE GETTING OUT OF THE CAR and CLOSING THE
DOORS. They step into the light of the headlights.
IT'S FRANCOIS AND POLICE COMMISSIONER GORGON. Francois

holds a fire extinguisher. With one blast, he puts out the
fire. Gorgon opens the venetian blinds. Street lights cuts
through the smoke. A fan spins lazily on the ceiling.
They approach Woodstein.
FRANCOIS
We heard a noise.
WOODSTEIN
It's a noisy place. Come back for a
midnight snack, Commissioner Gorgon?
COMMISSIONER
It's way past midnight. Time for little
reporters to be in bed.
WOODSTEIN
I couldn't sleep. Maybe if you told me
a bedtime story--
COMMISSIONER
Go ahead, Francois, tell him a bedtime
story.
Francois puts his hand slowly into his jacket and pulls out
a switchblade. CLICK. He plays it across Woodstein's face.
34
FRANCOIS
(threateningly)
Once upon a time there was a little
girlie, and she live in the palace.
(more and more like
telling a story)
And she is the princess. And zee Queen
had become very jealous of her. So she
send her away. But zee man in zee
woods, he will not kill her. He is too
tender heart. So she is found by zee
seven little men and they take care of
her, and she take care for them. But
one day--
COMMISSIONER
Get to the point.
FRANCOIS
(threateningly, to
Woodstein)
Zee point? Don't take apples from
strange witches.
COMMISSIONER
I warned you once before to stay out of
this, Woodstein. Now we're going to
have to kill you.
WOODSTEIN
You never warned me.
The Commissioner looks to Francois.
FRANCOIS
He's right. This is the first time we
have discussed this.
COMMISSIONER
Alright, this time we'll let you off
with just a warning. Francois.
FRANCOIS
(brandishing knife
in Woodstein's face)
Do you know what happens to people who
butt in, who stick their butts where
they don't belong, eh Monsieur
Buttinski? Eh?
(looks to floor)
Is that your quarter?
Woodstein bends over. AND FRANCOIS STICKS THE KNIFE IN HIS
BUTT. Woodstein SCREAMS in pain.
35
FRANCOIS
Next time I cut it off and feed it to my
patrons. On a bed of wild rice. With
mushrooms and fresh basil. Not ze big
mushrooms, ze small ones, they keep
their flavor. And never store mushrooms
in plastic. Only in ze paper bag--
COMMISSIONER
Francois. He understands.
THE COMMISSIONER RIPS OFF THE CITATION HE'S BEEN WRITING AND
HANDS IT TO WOODSTEIN and he and Francois walk OFF CAMERA.
FRANCOIS (OFF CAMERA)

So long, butt boy.
WE HEAR THE CAR START. The headlights move to the sound of

the car leaving.
INT. THE NEWS ROOM - MORNING
CLOSE ON THE BUSINESS SECTION FRONT PAGE. There’s a photo

of a man and the headline: "CORPORATE CANNIBAL SWALLOWS
NATIONAL ENQUIRER" The photo is captioned: "T. Bone
Pickins, Corporate Cannibal."
PAN to Woodstein and Tripod. He SLAMS the photo from the

Sushi Le Crime Scene on his desk. He has X-ed out everyone in
the photo, except Vladimir Stroganoff (a.k.a. Debbie Does
Dallas).
WOODSTEIN
We gotta find this guy before the Gourmet
Killer does.
He grabs a phone book and flips to the "S" section.
WOODSTEIN
(mutters to himself)
Stroganoff ... Stroganoff ...
CLOSE ON Woodstein's finger running down a page of listings.

At the bottom of the page there's: "Anton Stroganoff,"
"Philip Stroganoff" and the last listing is: "Vladimir
Stroganoff."
He turns the page. The next page is filled with listings for
Vladimir Stroganoffs. And the next. He turns more pages,
then more. ALL FILLED WITH VLADIMIR STROGANOFFS.
He rips out the pages.

36
EXT. GOTHIC CITY STREETS - DAY
Woodstein and Tripod walk. He is looking down at the phone

book pages in his hand and up at the apartment addresses.
TRIPOD
I don't know Woodstein. I'm pretty sure
Hope and Zola are a pair.
They pass two billboard ads. One for Red Velvet Whiskey, with
a pretty woman in a red velvet dress. The other for breath
mints. Woodstein unconsciously pops a mint in his mouth.
WOODSTEIN
She's very interested in what I think.
She said I'm going to be the next Emile
Zola. And then she's going to be my
secretary.
They pass another Red Velvet ad. This time the woman wears a
red velvet negligee. They pass a billboard for chewing gum.
Woodstein unconsciously puts some gum in his mouth.
TRIPOD
Woodstein, you and Hope don't have the
first thing in common. You're only
attracted to her because you've been
manipulated to want brainless, leggy,
emaciated mannequins with bizarrely
swollen mammary glands.
WOODSTEIN
She does have nice legs, doesn't she?
They pass a cigarette billboard. Woodstein goes to light a

cigarette but realizes he's still chewing gum and sucking a
breath mint. He tosses the cigarette away.
WOODSTEIN
Listen, don't give me that "manipulated
by the media" speech, okay? I really
resent that. I'm not some brainwashed
idiot.
They pass a Red Velvet ad. This time the woman is naked,
covering herself demurely. Next to her is a giant upside-down
empty Red Velvet bottle. The slogan on the billboard is
"Where'd all the Red Velvet go?"
TRIPOD
Wanna take a break, maybe get a drink?
A DRUNK staggers past. He's in a red velvet dress and holds a

near-empty bottle of Red Velvet.
37
WOODSTEIN
Nah... Y'know what I'm in the mood for?
Some Cheesy Porkskins. Don't ask me why.
They walk OC. CRANE UP TO REVEAL THAT THE ENTIRE STREET IS
PAINTED WITH A GIANT "CHEESY PORKSKINS" ADVERTISEMENT.
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE STROGANOFF'S APARTMENT - DAY
Woodstein and Tripod walk up to the door to apartment 1066.
TRIPOD
How many of these Stroganoffs we been to?
WOODSTEIN
Let's see...
(flips through phone
book pages)
Two.
(RINGS doorbell)
Mr. Stroganoff?
STROGANOFF (OC, INSIDE)

(high pitch
falsetto)
He moved to Barbados!
WOODSTEIN
(beat)
Debbie. Open the door.
STROGANOFF (Debbie Does Dallas) opens the door and pulls them
in.
INT. STROGANOFF'S APARTMENT - SAME
Stroganoff closes 16 bolts and locks. He turns, POINTING TWO

GUNS, one at Woodstein, one at Tripod.
STROGANOFF
How did you find me?! Did you take two
elevators? I never should have trusted
you! I'm not telling you anything!!
Stroganoff looks nervously out the window. Woodstein shows

Stroganoff the photo from the Sushi Le Crime Scene.
WOODSTEIN
Everyone else in your old navy unit is
dead. Somewhere in Gothic City there's a
skillet with your name on it, Mr.
Stroganoff.
38
INT. STROGANOFF'S LIVING ROOM - DAY
Stroganoff sits, his head in his hands. He holds the photo of

himself and the other food-monikered members of his Navy unit.
He fondles his old NAVY DRESS CAP.
STROGANOFF
... it was a secret Navy unit. The
Enigma Force. At first, it was fun and
games. You know, dialing homes of the
political opposition and saying "Is your
refrigerator running? Then you better go
catch it." That kind of thing. Soon we
were calling ourselves The Dirty Baker's
Dozen. Lee Harvey Oswald himself
recruited me. Quite a practical joker,
that one. The Kennedy thing was just
going to be some big fraternity prank.
On the whole country. At least that's
the way he presented it.
(beat)
I want to show you the Zapruder film.
WOODSTEIN
I've seen it.
STROGANOFF
No. Both reels.
The lights go out. A projector starts. Their faces are lit
by flickering light from the film.
STROGANOFF
To the left and back. To the left and
back. He's laughing. Because of this.
Stroganoff freezes the film. Woodstein and Tripod are in
shock.
STROGANOFF
Reel two.
REVERSE ANGLE. For the first time, we see the screen. IT'S A
FREEZE FRAME OF KENNEDY BUYING AN ICE-CREAM CONE.
STROGANOFF
156 seconds after the alleged
assassination.
TRIPOD
Kennedy's still alive?!
39
STROGANOFF
Well, no. Castro killed him a week
later. Caught him cheating in a card
game. But that's not the point! Don't
you understand?
(exasperated)
OK, look at this.
Stroganoff produces a photo of the Watergate Hotel.
STROGANOFF
Have you ever been to the Watergate?
WOODSTEIN
No.
Stroganoff pulls out a second photo, from a wider angle. It

reveals that the Watergate is just a miniature. A man is
placing a tiny tree on the front lawn.
STROGANOFF
That's because it doesn't exist. Now do
you see? Listen, don't you ever feel
overwhelmed by the workings of
government? -- The complicated scandals,
the intricate conspiracies, and who knows
what the fabric is that connects them?
Until it all gets to be too much, and you
just throw up your hands and surrender to
a feeling of utter helplessness and
confusion?
WOODSTEIN
Yes.
STROGANOFF
That's us. We did that! And we keep
everyone who doesn't feel helpless
distracted by worthless details.
TRIPOD
(timidly at first)
Do you mean like how a few corporations
run this country, and every president in
modern history has served them at the
people's expense, including Kennedy, but
people are still obsessed with what
schmuck crawled out from under what rock
with how many guns to shoot him from what
angle--?
WOODSTEIN
Wait. What about Bigfoot?
STROGANOFF
Bigfoot? There is no Bigfoot.
40
WOODSTEIN
Not Bigfoot, I don't believe it!
STROGANOFF
Bigfoot is no more real than Mary
Poppins, Johnny Cash or the Great Pyramid
of Giza.
WOODSTEIN
This whole thing is like some Carlos
Castenada Toltec peyote induced
nightmare.
(beat)
The head of the Enigma force is the
Gourmet Killer, isn't he?
STROGANOFF
Yes.
WOODSTEIN
Who is he? What's his name?
STROGANOFF
We never met him face to face. We
communicated by Dixie Riddle cups
connected with string.
Stroganoff paces nervously.
STROGANOFF
But all that history is just small
potatoes compared to what's coming.
(dramatic pause)
One day soon, he's going to kill a
million thirteen thousand and six people
in a Gothic City gourmet massacre.
Stroganoff passes a window. Outside, two blocks away, there’s

A GIANT FOOD PROCESSOR, HALF BUILT, ALREADY FOUR STORIES TALL.
WOODSTEIN (OC)
What?! That's crazy. How's he going to
kill a million people?!
STROGANOFF
I don't know any of the details. But
somebody from the unit did. I guess he
was going to spill his guts, so the chief
decided to do it for him. Figured he
better make an example.
TRIPOD
By killing all his men? What kind of
example is that?
41
STROGANOFF
The best there is.
WOODSTEIN
Did you ever stop to think that maybe he
always intended to get rid of you? That
you were all chosen to participate
because of your food names, so that later
you could be killed and it would look
like an ordinary series of gourmet
murders?
STROGANOFF
Hmmm.
WOODSTEIN
Face it. Your number's up. Thirteen.
Beef Stroganoff in red sauce. And I'm
the only one trying to cancel the order.
In return, you have to do something for
the people of Gothic City. Find out the
details of Gourmet Killer's plan.
Stroganoff thinks about it, then nods. They shake on it.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE GIANT FOOD PROCESSOR - DAY
THE GIANT FOOD PROCESSOR has a giant plastic mixing bowl with
embossed measurements: "5,000,000 cups (80,000,000
tablespoons)" "10,000,000 cups (160,000,000 tablespoons),"
etc.
CRANE DOWN to a full-color architect's rendering of what the

project is supposed to look like. THE PICTURE IS A TYPICAL
OBSERVATORY WITH TELESCOPE LOOKING ENTIRELY UNLIKE THE FOOD
PROCESSOR BEHIND IT.
Woodstein and Tripod walk past unawares. Woodstein is

excited.
WOODSTEIN
This is the chance I've been waiting for!
A man with inside information, afraid for
his life. It's a journalist's dream.
Woodstein and Tripod walk OUT OF FRAME. HOLD ON a slovenly

man in the street -- MR. LOVECRAFT -- with a crying KID in
tow.
Mr. Lovecraft buys an Enquirer from a news stand. One

headline reads: "Planned Observatory Sees Stars, Not Bottom
Line." Subhead: "Building Over Budget."
42
Mr. Lovecraft looks up at the GIANT FOOD PROCESSOR and the

side panel with its buttons labeled: "MIX" "CHOP" "MUTILATE"
"LIQUEFY."
MR. LOVECRAFT
This Observatory is bullshit!
(beat)
They can look at the moons of planets in
other solar systems -- even tell you the
cheese their made of -- but they can't
balance a goddamn budget!
NEWS VENDOR
Ain't it the truth?
DOLLY AWAY from them, over the fence, through the construction
site, and into a first floor room of the Food Processor
itself:
INT. INVITATION OFFICE - SAME
DOLLY IN ON A COMPLEX MACHINE, making ominous whirring and

clicking noises as it automatically READS A GOTHIC CITY
PHONE BOOK AND RAPIDLY SPITS OUT INVITATIONS.
A BLUE INVITATION spits out of the machine and into a mail

chute labeled "GUESTS." Another and another goes in. An
ominous chord announces a RED INVITATION WHICH GOES INTO A
CHUTE LABELED "ENTREE." A FLURRY OF RED INVITATIONS FOLLOW.
DOLLY with the red invitations into the "ENTREE" chute, and
fall with them until we're outside again, watching the
invites fall into two open-topped "US Mail" trucks filled to
the brim.
INT. NEWS ROOM - DAY
CLOSE ON PROOF SHEETS for the front page of the metro

section. There's a photo of a two-headed cop and the
headline: "TWO-HEADED COPS. MORE BANG FOR THE BUCK."
PAN the news room. Many Reporters are emptying their desks
as strange new machines are being unpacked. Woodstein walks
up to Shakespeare, whose nameplate now says "Sir Francis
Bacon."
WOODSTEIN
(gestures around
room)
What's going on?
SHAKESPEARE
The new CEO of the parent company of the
parent company -- T. Bone Pickins. He’s
replacing half the staff with computers.
43
WOODSTEIN
What about quality?
SHAKESPEARE
He's got it covered.
He opens a door. Inside, an INFINITE NUMBER OF MONKEYS TYPE

AT AN INFINITE NUMBER OF TYPEWRITERS.
WOODSTEIN
Probably win a Pulitzer ... eventually.
SHAKESPEARE
Clark's mad as hell. Says he just wants
to pick up the whole building and toss
it in the ocean.
WOODSTEIN
I know just how he feels.
(points to Bacon
nameplate)
You know, the way things are going, I
wouldn't use that name.
SHAKESPEARE REPLACES HIS SIR FRANCIS BACON NAMEPLATE WITH

ONE THAT READS: "THOMAS MIDDLETON."
INT. BRADLEY'S OFFICE - DAY
WHITE POWDER FILLS THE FRAME. A razor blade cuts a swath

through the powder revealing the Enigma Force photo
underneath. The powder is arranged in a line, a straw comes
into frame and the cocaine is snorted.
BRADLEY leans back and lets the coke roll around with the
thoughts in his head. His sleeve is rolled up, his tie
wrapped tightly around his upper arm. Woodstein sits across
the desk from him. Bradley taps his left arm repeatedly,
trying to raise a vein.
BRADLEY
OK, maybe you're on to something. And
maybe not. I like you, kid. I'm not
saying I want to sleep with you and I'm
not saying I don't. But I like you. You
remind me of--
(beat)
Not me, but somebody a lot like me.
Maybe somebody who found himself on the
trail of a story like this. A lot like
this.
(ominous)
Until he was told what happens to people
who butt in.
44
WOODSTEIN
He got stabbed in the butt?
BRADLEY
Naw, he wasn't stupid enough to pick up
the quarter. And he knew enough to keep
his mouth shut. Your judgement on this
case has become highly questionable.
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask for
your badge and gun.
He holds his left hand out for them. Then uses his other
hand to rub alcohol-soaked cotton on the raised vein.
WOODSTEIN
You're saying you want me to lay off?
BRADLEY SHAKES HIS HEAD NO.
BRADLEY
Yes. Stay out of it. I mean where's
your sense of civic duty? There's a
million people facing doom. You're the
only one who can save them and you're
sitting here, lollygagging!
Woodstein leaps up and heads for the door.
WOODSTEIN
Thanks boss. I'm on it.
BRADLEY
Where the hell do you think you're
going? Sit down, you egotist!
(Woodstein sits)
Look at you. Some wet behind the ears
Bigfoot reporter. What gives you the
right to impugn the integrity of
respected high officials, like the
Mayor? Yes, the Mayor himself!
WOODSTEIN
The Mayor's involved?
BRADLEY
Who told you that?!
WOODSTEIN
You did.
BRADLEY
Never reveal your sources, man! Now go
out there, put a stop to this evil plan
thingamajig and then we'll go page one!
45
He escorts Woodstein to the door, then suddenly acts as if

he's seeing him for the first time.
BRADLEY
Woodstein! Hello! Come in, come in,
sit down, let's talk.
He points to AN EASTER EGG BALANCED ON A COAT RACK.
BRADLEY
(sotto to Woodstein)
I'm not saying this is a microphone, and
I'm not saying it isn't.
(loudly)
But I want you at that Bigfoot
Convention.
WOODSTEIN
That's a hard boiled egg.
BRADLEY
Oh, and here's your press pass!
HE HANDS WOODSTEIN A POTTED GERANIUM. Woodstein takes it,

and the egg, and walks out. Shakespeare is passing by.
BRADLEY
Hey, Shakespeare. Some crazy Dane
called. Claims his dead father's ghost
told him that his uncle -- who's now
banging his mother -- murdered him.
Hamlin or Hamilton or something. Check
it out.
NEWS ROOM
Woodstein stops at the SPORTS DESK and taps the egg on it.
It breaks, raw egg running out. The SPORTSWRITER is
interviewing the HEADLESS HORSEMAN, dressed as a jockey, HIS
HEAD TUCKED UNDER AN ARM. Woodstein notices him.
WOODSTEIN
Hey. Congratulations. I'm a real fan.
He offers his hand. THE HORSEMAN SHAKES IT AND HIS HAND

COMES AWAY STICKY WITH EGG. THE BODY SHOWS IT TO THE HEAD,
WHICH FROWNS IN DISGUST.
WOODSTEIN
Oh, I'm sorry. Let me clean this up.
He grabs a cloth off the Miracles Desk. He wipes the egg

off the Headless Horseman's hand.
46
Woodstein sees that THE CLOTH IS THE SHROUD OF TURIN, THE

IMAGE NOW SMEARED. He looks nervously to the Miracle
Reporter, who is engrossed in an interview with A GUY IN A
HOODED BLACK ROBE AND SCYTHE, ACTING OUT SOME STORY.
Woodstein puts the Shroud back quietly and sneaks off.
He walks past Zola's empty office.
TRIPOD'S WORK BENCH
Woodstein walks up to Tripod, who's fixing her camera

lenses.
WOODSTEIN
You'd think if they could afford to send
two reporters to Atlantis for that
ridiculous water ballet, they could buy
you a new camera. Atlantis won, by the
way.
TRIPOD
If I don't get some new lenses soon--
Hope walks by. Woodstein forgets Tripod is there.
WOODSTEIN
(to Hope)
Where's Zola? Out getting fat and lazy
on the scraps the cops throw him?
HOPE
(stops)
Hot on the trail of the Gourmet Killer.
He's decided the police aren't handling
it, so he will.
WOODSTEIN
Not if I beat him to it. I've got an
exclusive with an inside source.
HOPE
(raises an eyebrow)
Really?
Hope moves flirtatiously closer to Woodstein.
HOPE
You wouldn't want to exclude me, would
you--?
(stops, confused)
Hey. I can't read your mind anymore.
47
WOODSTEIN
(smirking)
After I heard you were in my tax bracket
I had a little talk with Bradley.
HOPE
Oh that's great, he gave you a raise.
WOODSTEIN
Well ... no.
HOPE
An inside source. Sounds like you're
going places after all.
Hope moves her body against Woodstein's, pushing him back

into Tripod's work bench. Tripod coughs and makes noises
with her lenses trying in vain to draw attention to herself.
But Woodstein is lost in Hope's eyes.
HOPE
(sultry)
I can always tell what a man will be
like in bed by the way he kisses.
(beat)
How do you kiss?
WOODSTEIN
Good. Uh, great. Fantastic, actually.
Women have told me I've got the biggest
mouth they've ever seen.
Hope moves her mouth close to Woodstein's, but Woodstein,

reaching back to steady himself, ACCIDENTALLY KNOCKS OVER A
BOTTLE OF GLUE ON TRIPOD'S DESK.
He grabs the bottle and uses the other hand to scoop the
glue back into it. The glue gets all over his hands.
WOODSTEIN
Christ!
The bottle gets stuck to one hand. He tries to shake the

bottle loose, harder and harder.
THE BOTTLE FLIES FREE, ACROSS THE ROOM AND HITS CLARK IN THE
HEAD. CLARK WHIPS HIS HEAD AROUND.
WOODSTEIN TURNS, PRETENDING THAT THE BOTTLE CAME FROM BEHIND

HIM. HE SPOTS THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN AND LOOKS AT HIM
ACCUSINGLY. CLARK LOOKS ANGRILY IN THE HORSEMAN'S
DIRECTION.
48
Tripod reaches for a towel for Woodstein to wipe his hands.

Woodstein reaches for it, but Hope grabs his face and kisses
him. Passionately.
Reaching back blindly now, Woodstein ACCIDENTALLY GLUES HIS
HAND OVER ONE OF TRIPOD'S BREASTS.
His attention on the kiss with Hope, Woodstein tries to push

Tripod free as if she were a sack of potatoes. AND GETS HIS
OTHER HAND STUCK OVER HER OTHER BREAST.
HOPE
(the kiss ends)
Mmmmm. Interesting.
Hope notices where Woodstein's hands are.
WOODSTEIN
I'm just helping Tripod with her lenses.
HOPE
See you later?
Hope saunters off flirtatiously. TRIPOD SLAPS WOODSTEIN.
WOODSTEIN
(defensive)
What?
IN THE B.G., CLARK HAS THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN'S HEAD IN HIS

HANDS. HE DROP KICKS IT OUT THE WINDOW.
CUT TO:
EXT. GOTHIC CITY - SAME
The Headless Horseman's head goes flying into the sky.
HORSEMANLESS HEAD
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhh !
CUT TO:
INT. NEWS ROOM, ALICE'S DESK - SAME
Hope is leafing through Woodstein's wallet. She pulls out

the phone book pages woodstein used to find Stroganoff. She
takes out his money and tosses the wallet in the garbage.
INSERT - HER POV OF THE TOP PHONE BOOK PAGE WITH TWO
STROGANOFFS CROSSED OFF AND ONE CIRCLED AND UNDERLINED.
CUT TO:
49
INT. ENQUIRER HALLWAYS - DAY
FIVE OFFICIOUS SECURITY GUARDS SHOT OMINOUSLY FROM BELOW

walk in lockstep down the halls until they come upon:
Woodstein, walking near his desk. The First Guard, in the
middle, has a small metal box chained to his wrist.
FIRST GUARD
Mr. Woodstein? ID please.
Woodstein starts searching for his wallet.
FIRST GUARD
No. Voice identifier. Just say "I'm
allergic to latex, but it's OK, I've
been tested."
The Second Guard shoves a microphone in Woodstein's face.
WOODSTEIN
I'm allergic to latex, but it's OK, I've
been tested.
A moment's pause for a rewind and then two tapes play

simultaneously. One is what Woodstein just said. THE OTHER
IS AN EARLIER RECORDING OF A SUAVE WOODSTEIN IN HIS BEDROOM
SAYING THE SAME THING, A WOMAN'S GIGGLE IN THE BACKGROUND.
Woodstein is a touch embarrassed.
The Guards simultaneously turn keys in separate locks on the

metal box. The top opens. There's a small note.
CUT TO:
INT. ELEVATOR - MOMENTS LATER
FIRST GUARD pushes the top button, labeled "PICKINS, CEO"
The elevator rises rapidly. A panel of lights above the

door indicate the passing floors. THE LIGHTS HAVE
CORPORATION NAMES ON THEM AND ARE SHAPED LIKE FISH, EACH ONE
LARGER THAN THE ONE BEFORE IT AND APPEARING TO DEVOUR IT.
WOODSTEIN
What does the CEO of the parent company
of the parent company want with me?
The Guards maintain an ominous silence.
CUT TO:
50
INT. T. BONE PICKINS'S PENTHOUSE OFFICE - SAME
T. BONE PICKINS, in a thousand dollar suit, sits behind his

wide Mahogany desk, smoking a six inch cigar. The windows
are floor to ceiling, with prison bars on them. Clouds
float by below. A BLUE "GUEST" INVITATION SITS ON HIS DESK.
His SECRETARY hands him a package. HE PULLS OUT A FINGER.
PICKINS
What the hell?!
He dials the phone.
PICKINS
(into phone)
Milton? Pickins. Sure I got it. Don't
give me that! You lost me Xerox and the
Vatican account so that makes it two
fingers. Off your left hand. ... I know
you're left-handed! That's the point.
He rolls his eyes to his Secretary. She shrugs and leaves.
The elevator opens inside Pickins's office. The Security

Guards (Prison Guards) unlock the gate for Woodstein.
PICKINS
(into phone)
Milton! Milton! Let's not quibble over
digits. I'll expect the remainder by
Friday.
He hangs up, stands to greet Woodstein with open arms.
PICKINS
Mr. Woodstein -- the young feller that's
been barking up all the right trees
looking for that Gourmet Killer. Damn
glad to meet you. Come in, come in.
Lady Finger?
Pickins offers Woodstein a box. Woodstein shakes his head.

Pickins holds up a pair of beautiful new shoes from his
desk.
PICKINS
Nice, aren't they? They're yours.
WOODSTEIN
(taken aback)
What?
51
PICKINS
You don't like them? I have the same
thing in maroon. No? I've also got it
in a loafer. No? How about a vice
presidency in the cable division and a
houseboat?
(into intercom)
Miss Carlson, bring in the houseboat.
Woodstein notices a framed Enquirer front page on the wall.
INSERT - YELLOWING 1960S FRONT PAGE - A PICTURE OF PICKINS

AND A HEADLINE: "CORPORATE CANNIBAL'S PRACTICES UNSOUND!"
WOODSTEIN
(sharply)
I know who you are. You were convicted
of eating your laid-off workers to avoid
paying unemployment benefits!
PICKINS
It was a 90s kind of idea --
restructure, cut overhead -- way ahead
of it's time.
WOODSTEIN
How the hell can you be CEO? You were
sentenced to fourteen hundred
consecutive life terms! Even with good
behavior--
PICKINS
But I'm serving my time right now.
(gestures around
room)
Under Penthouse arrest. You will find,
Mr. Woodstein, that membership has its
privileges.
WOODSTEIN NOTICES THE NAVY OFFICER'S DRESS CAP ON PICKINS'S

DESK. IT'S JUST LIKE THE ONE STROGANOFF WAS FONDLING. LIKE
THE ONES THE ENIGMA FORCE MEMBERS ALL WEAR IN THE PHOTO.
WOODSTEIN
(picks up Navy cap)
Well, well. I see you were in the Navy.
(fishing)
I bet you keep in close contact with
your old buddies.
Pickins sits in his chair, leans back, puts his glasses on,
and puts a bone through his nose.
52
PICKINS
When you reach my age most of your
friends have passed on. I consider it a
precious thing to have even one of them
for dinner.
WOODSTEIN
Seen the Mayor lately? Cook for him?
What does he eat? Sushi? Hors
d'oeuvres?
PICKINS
Ha ha! Woodstein, I'm not the Gourmet
Killer! I'm in jail, remember? Don't
get me wrong, I'm flattered, but I can't
even boil an egg. And I certainly
wasn't in the Enigma Force.
WOODSTEIN
How do you know about the Enigma Force?
PICKINS
I make it a point to know everything my
employees know.
He sets an Easter Egg on his desk.
PICKINS
But my newest vice president shouldn't
be cluttering his head with murder
mysteries. A great reporter like you
doesn't want to end up like H. L.
Mencken or Heywood Broun.
WOODSTEIN
With the Pulitzer Prize?
PICKINS
No, dead.
WOODSTEIN
I don't get it. Why even make me an
offer?
PICKINS
What was it Lincoln said? You can kill
all the people some of the time and some
of the people all of the time -- I'm
paraphrasing. The point is you're
brighter than the average muckraker.
(stands, walks to
window)
You sir have a future. You only lack
one thing. An astute comprehension of
the fundamentals.
53
Pickins turns back to Woodstein. He is silhouetted by the

light flowing in behind him.
PICKINS
Stability. As necessary to our evolving
democracy as the wing for the bird, the
gill for the fish, or the slaughterhouse
for the cow. The Fifth Estate
reinforces stability by imbuing society
with an element of conservative
composure. A Great Paper such as the
Enquirer does not spend valuable time
and resources pursuing news of impending
mass cannibalism. It labors, sir, to
maintain society's poise in itself -- by
encouraging faith in democratic
principles; popular reverence for high
ideals and traditions; popular respect
for leadership! So if some morning
people wake up missing an arm or a leg,
or a neighbor, they can pick up an
Enquirer and know that all is still as
it should be.
(pause)
I have faith in you, Woodstein. I know
you'll do us proud.
(buzzes intercom)
Miss Carlson, where's that houseboat?!
WOODSTEIN
(buzzes intercom)
Scratch the houseboat, Miss Carlson!
(smashes Easter egg)
I'm canceling my membership right now.
The fee's too high. Maybe I'm naive.
Maybe I'm a sucker. But when I walk out
that door my own shoes'll be on my feet,
my own shirt'll be on my back, and my
integrity'll be... wherever you keep
your integrity.
Woodstein turns and heads for the elevator. Pickins pulls

out Woodstein's contract.
PICKINS
You signed your integrity over to the
Enquirer when they hired you, Mr.
Woodstein.
Woodstein gets into the elevator. PICKINS PULLS THE BONE

OUT FROM HIS NOSE AND GESTURES WITH IT FOR EMPHASIS.
54
PICKINS
(reading contract)
"Including all previously existing
integrity and any you might acquire, in
perpetuity, throughout the universe"!
EXT. GOTHIC CITY STREET - DAY
Woodstein walks along, depressed. Tripod walks with him.
A TANKER TRUCK FOLLOWS THEM, keeping just a few feet back.
WOODSTEIN
How much do you think a houseboat costs?
TRIPOD
At least a couple hundred thousand.
WOODSTEIN
And a vice presidency, I bet that's mid
six figures.
TRIPOD
You did the right thing. Any word from
Stroganoff?
WOODSTEIN
Not yet.
Woodstein stumbles. His heel breaks off. He picks it up

and stares at it glumly as he limps along.
TRIPOD
Don't worry. He'll call.
WOODSTEIN
Yeah, but by then a million people could
be dead and I'll still be out a new pair
of shoes.
CUT TO:
EXT. POOR NEIGHBORHOOD - SAME
A MAILMAN pushes his cart along a street in a poor

neighborhood.
CLOSE ON THE CART, FILLED WITH THE RED "ENTREE" INVITATIONS

WE SAW MAILED EARLIER.
The Mailman comes to a dilapidated apartment building and

puts an invitation in every box.
55
EXT. DILAPIDATED APARTMENT BUILDING DOWN THE STREET - SAME
Another Mailman fills every mailbox with an "ENTREE"

INVITATION. MRS. LOVECRAFT, a poor, tired woman with four
CRYING KIDS in tow, walks up, and takes her invitation.
INT. LOVECRAFT FAMILY APARTMENT - SAME
Mrs. Lovecraft enters. The Kids wail. The place is a pig

sty. Mr. Lovecraft (we met him earlier buying an Enquirer)
sits in an easy chair watching TV and drinking beer.
MRS. LOVECRAFT
We got an invitation.
MR. LOVECRAFT
(grabs it)
Give me that. What the hell is this?
MRS. LOVECRAFT
It's free. We can bring the kids.
MR. LOVECRAFT
Free? Do we have to bring the kids?
EXT. GOTHIC CITY STREET - AFTERNOON
Woodstein and Tripod enter a shoe repair shop under a large

COBBLER sign. The tanker truck pulls up along the curb.
INT. COBBLER SHOP - MOMENTS LATER
SAL, mid sixties, Italian, is looking at Woodstein's shoe.

He looks concerned as he grabs a jeweler's glass for a
closer look. He shakes his head and clucks his tongue.
SAL
(Italian accent)
Somebody got it in for you real-a bad
Mr. Woodstein. This shoe, she was a
sabotage.
WOODSTEIN
What? It's a broken shoe, it's perfectly
pedestrian.
SAL
No, no. This was a real professional
job. I no see nothing a like this since
Joe Bologna's beach thongs in '52. Here
you take a look.
As Sal is passing the jeweler's glass, the shop goes dark.

56
SAL
Ah fongool, I hate it when a big truck
block-a my light.
WOODSTEIN
That truck's been following me all day.
Woodstein looks out at the truck. "Peach Filling" is

written on it's side.
INSERT - CLOSEUP OF THE WORD "PEACH" ON THE TRUCK
INSERT - CLOSEUP OF THE "COBBLER" SIGN OVER THE SHOP
INT. COBBLER SHOP - SAME
WOODSTEIN
Quick! Out the back!!
He grabs Tripod and pushes Sal toward the back.
THE FRONT WINDOW CRASHES INWARD AS 40,000 GALLONS OF PEACH

FILLING POURS THROUGH, CRUSHING THE SHOE RACKS AND PUSHING
OVER THE COUNTER.
EXT. ALLEY, BEHIND COBBLER SHOP - SAME
Woodstein, Tripod, and Sal run out the back, shutting the
door behind them.
Facing them in the alley is a BUTCHER NINJA, in a white

frock and linen mask, TWIRLING MEAT TENDERIZER NUNCHUCKS.
Tripod takes her Karate stance, but the Butcher Ninja throws
Bolas, which wrap around her legs and trip her. The balls
at the end of the ropes are salt and pepper shakers.
The Ninja advances on Woodstein, twirling the chucks.

Woodstein ducks. THWACK. The meat tenderizers take a chip
out of the wall.
Tripod grabs the pepper shaker and tosses it to Woodstein,

who opens it and throws it in the Ninja's face. The Ninja
sneezes and Woodstein grabs him and pushes him against the
Cobbler shop's back door.
WOODSTEIN'S POV. PEACH FILLING OOZES THROUGH THE CRACKS

BETWEEN DOOR AND FRAME. IT CREAKS, PRESSURE BUILDING.
WOODSTEIN LEAPS TO THE SIDE AS THE DOOR BURSTS OFF IT'S

FRAME AND FLATTENS THE NINJA. Peach filling pours over him.
Woodstein drags Tripod free of danger and unties her.

57
SAL
Why would someone want to kill me? I'm
just a simple Cobbler.
WOODSTEIN
Those peaches were meant for me. They
wanted it to look like I just got caught
in the crossfire.
Woodstein and Tripod dig out the Ninja. He's dead, Peach
filling oozing out his mouth.
TRIPOD
You did it. You got the Gourmet Killer!
SAL
It's a so sad. If only he had used his-
a culinary talents for good instead of
evil.
Woodstein rifles the dead man's pockets. He pulls out a

card.
WOODSTEIN
He's not the Gourmet Killer. The
Gourmet Killer wouldn't send himself an
invitation to dinner!
Woodstein hands Tripod an embossed invitation to a dinner

party at 7:30. Serving Stroganoff.
TRIPOD
This is for tonight!
WOODSTEIN
How long does it take to cook a
Stroganoff?
TRIPOD
I don't know, maybe twenty minutes.
WOODSTEIN
(looks at watch)
Gut... bone... fillet. There may still
be time! Come on!
They rush around the corner into another alley and run into a
TWO-HEADED COP.
WOODSTEIN
Officers. Thank God--
58
BAD HEAD
(grabs Woodstein)
Hold it right there, buddy. You look a
lot like a guy who's been stealing cars
around here.
He pulls out a police sketch with the classic YELLOW SMILEY

FACE on it. The right arm pushes Woodstein against the wall,
then pulls out a billy club and raises it over Woodstein's
head.
BAD HEAD
Fess up, or I'll beat it out of you.
GOOD HEAD
Take it easy, Frank.
BAD HEAD
Yeah, I'll take it easy Hank. I'll bash
his brains in, then I'll go get a beer.
The good arm struggles to lower the bad arm's billy club.
WOODSTEIN
Wait, you've got to listen to me--
GOOD HEAD
Hold on, Frank. Let me have a second
alone with the kid.
(to Woodstein)
You OK, kid? Want a cigarette?
WOODSTEIN
No I don't! I'm a reporter--
GOOD HEAD
I'm trying to do you a favor, but you
gotta give me something I can work with.
I don't know how long I can keep my
partner calm. Our wife just left him.
WOODSTEIN
For God's sake! A man's about to be
turned into a creamy noodle entree--
GOOD HEAD
So, that's the way you want it? OK,
Frank, I don't know what to do with him.
He's all yours.
Hank looks away. Frank raises his billy club. A MAN WITH A
YELLOW SMILEY FACE RUNS BY. He's got sweat droplets drawn on
his forehead and a slight curl to his smile. Hank and Frank
exchange looks and run after him.
59
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE STROGANOFF'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTERNOON
Woodstein and Tripod are knocking on Stroganoff's door. He

opens it a crack. HE'S WEARING A WALRUS MASK.
STROGANOFF
You're busy. Come back later.
Stroganoff tries to close the door. Woodstein sticks his foot

in it.
INT. STROGANOFF'S APARTMENT - SAME
Woodstein pushes into the apartment with Tripod. He yanks off

Stroganoff's mask.
UNDERNEATH, STROGANOFF HAS AN ILL FITTING WIG AND POORLY

PAINTED EYEBROWS. He runs off.
WOODSTEIN
(to Tripod)
Call me madcap, but I'd say the
pressure's starting to get to him.
LIVING ROOM
They walk in. It's empty. Stroganoff comes out of the closet
wearing a blue and white horizontal striped shirt and a beret.
He holds a pallet and brush and starts painting on a lamp
shade.
TRIPOD
The Gourmet Killer is coming here. We've
got to get you someplace safe.
STROGANOFF
(angry, in French)
J'ai honte d'avouer que j'ai oublié votre
adresse!
A SUBTITLE appears: "I'm ashamed to admit I've forgotten your

address." Stroganoff walks away. Woodstein blocks him,
showing him the embossed invitation to his own dinner.
WOODSTEIN
If you don't come with us, you'll end up
as three stars in tomorrow's restaurant
reviews.
STROGANOFF
If a man isn't safe in his home, he isn't
safe anywhere!
Two birds in a cage chirp. STROGANOFF WHIRLS, PULLS OUT A GUN

AND BLOWS THEM AWAY. HE SPINS AGAIN, AIMING AT TWO OTHER
BIRDS IN ANOTHER CAGE.
60
STROGANOFF
THAT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU, TOO!
Stroganoff puts a box over his head. THE FACE SIDE IS A
MIRROR. Woodstein sees himself.
STROGANOFF
Didn't expect to see you here did you?
Stroganoff LAUGHS MANIACALLY, then proceeds to MIMIC EVERY

WORD AND MOVEMENT OF WOODSTEIN'S.
WOODSTEIN STROGANOFF
Look, you've got to get Look, you've got to get
out of here-- out of here--
(annoyed by (continues to
mimicking) mimic)
Stop it! Pretending Stop it! Pretending
you're me won't save you. you're me won't save you.
They just tried to They just tried to
cobbler me. cobbler me.
Stroganoff yanks off the mirror box.
STROGANOFF
You just don't understand! This thing
goes deeper than even I ever imagined!
He rips a sheet off the wall. The wall is painted with a
GIANT, COMPLEX MORTALITY CHART FOR THE PLANET.
STROGANOFF
Eight hundred and sixty million people,
seemingly unconnected to the Kennedy
assassination, have died since November
22, 1963. Eighty million of those in
(significantly)
car accidents.
He heads for the closet. Woodstein blocks his way.
WOODSTEIN
No more disguises!
STROGANOFF
Listen. I was going to call you. I
found out the details. That plan to
cook a million people? It's going to
happen ... on Fat Tuesday.
WOODSTEIN
Fat Tuesday?! That's tomorrow!!
61
STROGANOFF
Is it? Already? That's only one day
away.
Stroganoff feints toward the closet. Woodstein blocks him.
STROGANOFF
My notes are in the toaster. If I show
them to you, will you let me in the
closet?
Woodstein nods. Stroganoff runs off to the kitchen and

staggers back out, making gurgling noises. One hand holds a
piece of toast with writing on it. The other reaches
forward.
WOODSTEIN
(aside, to Tripod)
Again with the charades?
Stroganoff passes Woodstein AND FALLS OVER DEAD, A MEAT

CLEAVER IN HIS BACK. Woodstein shoves Tripod into the
closet.
INT. DARK CLOSET - SAME
Woodstein and Tripod hold their breath in the darkness and

peak out the crack in the closet doors.
THEIR POV OUT THE CRACK AS ZOLA STEPS INTO FRAME, standing
over Stroganoff's dead body.
TRIPOD
(whispers)
Look! We better warn Zola that the
Gourmet Killer is here--
Stroganoff stirs. ZOLA YANKS THE CLEAVER OUT OF

STROGANOFF'S BACK, LIFTS IT OVER HIS HEAD AND IS BRINGING IT
DOWN--
REVERSE ANGLE ON Woodstein and Tripod. THWACKKK! They

wince.
ZOLA DONS A CHEF'S HAT AND SHARPENS TWO KNIVES, SHING SHING.
WOODSTEIN
(whispers)
I think he knows.
(they watch)
The things you’ve got to do to win a
Pulitzer. It's almost like it's not
worth it.
62
Zola glances up at the closet. Did he hear something? He

walks toward the closet with the bloody knives. And whips
open the door.
LIVING ROOM
OVER ZOLA'S SHOULDER - It's an empty closet, nowhere to

hide.
Satisfied, Zola drags Stroganoff into the kitchen.
CLOSET
Woodstein slides open the false back wall, peaks out, then
closes it.
BEHIND FALSE WALL
They turn on the light. It's a large walk-in closet, with a

year's supply of food and water. Tripod looks at Woodstein.
WOODSTEIN
(defensive)
He should have said something.
(she stares)
The guy was a lunatic! He kept his
notes on toast!
TIME CUT TO:
INT. STROGANOFF'S LIVING ROOM - EVENING
A GIANT HALF-EMPTY SKILLET OF NOODLES sits on a wide table.

Two arms stick out, the hands holding parsley. Open bottles
of Vodka litter the table.
DOZENS OF COPS CLAP AS THREE POLICEMEN DRESSED AS COSSACKS

DANCE TO BALALAIKA MUSIC.
CLOSET
Woodstein and Tripod watch the scene through the crack in

the doors while eating from a large bag of Cheesy Porkskins.
LIVING ROOM
Francois ushers Zola in. Zola acts like he's showing up for
the first time. The Police notice him and throw up a cheer.
CROWD
ZOLA!
Francois holds out a chair for Zola, who sits. The

Commissioner nods to Zola, who smiles and nods back.
Captain Belcher leans over to Zola.

63
BELCHER
You gotta try this. It's the Gourmet
Killer's best work ever!
Mouths full, the Cops all grunt their agreement.
FRANCOIS
(winks knowingly at
Zola)
Zee man is a master.
Francois holds a grater over Zola's dish in one hand and a

left foot in the other.
FRANCOIS
A little toe cheese for Monsieur?
CLOSET
Woodstein turns to Tripod.
WOODSTEIN
Francois and the Commissioner know about
Zola. The rest of the cops are just in
it for a free meal.
TIME CUT TO:
EXT. OUTSIDE STROGANOFF'S APARTMENT BUILDING - EVENING
A NEWS ANCHOR is talking to a news camera.
NEWS ANCHOR
... within the last few hours. In what
may have been a suicide, Mr. Stroganoff
was cooked into a fresh braised
Stroganoff that witnesses have described
as "delightful" as well as "filling."
Although certain elements remain
unexplained -- Commissioner.
Commissioner.
The Anchor shoves his mike at Commissioner Gorgon as Gorgon

exits the building. Gorgon takes off his napkin when he spots
the news camera.
GORGON
No comment. I'll say this. Whoever did
it -- the Gourmet Killer or Stroganoff
himself -- he knew what he was doing.
Just a touch of cinnamon.
CUT TO:
64
INT. STROGANOFF'S LIVING ROOM - EVENING
People are finishing their meals. The phone RINGS. COP 1

answers, listens, turns to Belcher.
COP 1
It's Ice-T again, sir. Now he says
there's somebody lurking outside his
house with a straw and a twist of lemon.
BELCHER
(chewing)
Send a black and white by. Do I have to
think of everything?
COP 2
(remembers, to
Belcher)
Dat's right! The Earl of Sandwich
called from London. He canceled his
visit.
LIVING ROOM, NEAR THE CLOSET - EVENING
Francois gathers his FRENCH WAITER STAFF. They all have

pencil-thin mustaches.
Standing right next to the closet, Francois TALKS TO THEM IN

FRENCH. The Waiters groan with displeasure.
IN CLOSET
Woodstein turns to Tripod.
WOODSTEIN
What'd he say?
TRIPOD
He said when they finish up here,
they've got to go cater the Gourmet
Killer's State of the Plan address at
the secret meeting hall.
Woodstein OPENS A TRUNK LABELED "DISGUISES" WITH MAKE-UP,

FALSE NOSES, WIGS, MASKS ETC.
TIME CUT TO:
LIVING ROOM - EVENING
The last of the guests are leaving the party.
CLOSET
ON TRIPOD, OVER WOODSTEIN'S SHOULDER. WE DON'T SEE HIS

DISGUISE YET.
65
WOODSTEIN
Don't worry. I'll be fine.
Tripod moves her lips forward for a kiss, but Woodstein is
already walking out.
KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER
TRACK WITH WOODSTEIN FROM BEHIND as he carries dishes into

the kitchen. A WAITER stares at him, looks him over.
WAITER
(French)
Tu as eu une coupe de cheveux?
A subtitle appears: "Did you get a haircut?"
WE SEE WOODSTEIN'S DISGUISE FOR THE FIRST TIME: IT CONSISTS

OF A PENCIL-THIN MUSTACHE.
WOODSTEIN
(beat)
Oui?
A SUBTITLE appears: "Yes, I got a haircut?" The Waiter nods

and walks off.
CUT TO:
INT. BACK OF A CATERING TRUCK, IN MOTION - EVENING
There are no windows. The French Waiters and Woodstein, all

with pencil thin mustaches, sit facing each other in two
rows. Francois paces to and fro, up the middle.
Suddenly, he stops in front of Woodstein AND SLAPS HIM IN

THE FACE WITH A GLOVE.
FRANCOIS
(French)
Vous etiey en retard ce soir! Ne le
faites jamais encore!
A SUBTITLE APPEARS: "You came very late tonight! Don't let

it happen again!"
Woodstein is frozen as Francois stares right at him. He

doesn't know what Francois just said. Is he caught?
WOODSTEIN
(long pause)
Oui?
Francois accepts this and with a last warning glare, walks

on.
66
INT. SECRET MEETING HALL - SAME
A meeting is about to begin in a large auditorium. There are

several brown-shirted NAZIS. A SWASTIKA flag hangs on the
wall, behind a podium, where a MAN stands. He wears a Nazi
uniform and talks into the microphone.
OBERSTRUMPENFURRER (MAN)
Are we secured?
A door CLANGS shut.
DOOR GUARD
Ja!
The Nazi's take off their uniforms. Underneath they wear

leisure suits or flannel shirts. Nazi 1 rips the Swastika
flag off the wall, uncovering a big ROTARY CLUB EMBLEM. To
one side of the Rotary emblem is an American flag on a pole.
ROTARY CLUB MEMBERS mill about. On the dais, ESTEEMED GUESTS

sit at tables flanking the podium, including Commissioner
Gorgon and T. Bone Pickins ON A TV MONITOR, his title
displayed on the bottom of the screen: "CEO, Engulf +
Western."
Rotary Club Members take their seats.
OBERSTRUMPENFURRER
I'd like to call this meeting to order
and welcome our esteemed leader, Emile
Zola. Come on up here E.Z.
Polite applause as Zola takes the podium.
ZOLA
Thank you, Arnie. And thank your lovely
wife Mildred for the banana nut bread.
Best I've ever had. Friends, Rotaries,
honored Foot Soldiers of the New World
Order, welcome. First I would like to
present our plaque and a two-hundred
dollar scholarship to Johnny Semmel for
his speech, "My Future in America."
JOHNNY approaches the podium amidst applause. Zola shakes his

hand and gives him the check and plaque.
JOHNNY
Th-th-thanks.
Zola rubs the kid's head and Johnny runs off.
ZOLA
Alright, down to business. Max.
67
MAX stands. He's 65, with a pot belly and a cigar.
MAX
Well, team two is in place. The
assassination should proceed as planned.
ZOLA
Good. Bake sales. Bert, what's the
report?
BERT
I'm proud to say we raised Seventy-two
dollars and thirty two cents this weekend
at Jefferson High's homecoming.
Polite applause.
ZOLA
(checks his figures)
That brings world-wide totals this
weekend to 3 billion, 4 hundred million,
9 hundred and 60 thousand, 4 hundred and
ten dollars.
CUT TO:
INT. GARAGE/LOADING DOCK - SAME
Four catering trucks pull into a garage. Woodstein jumps

out from his truck along with the Waiters. He turns to one.
WOODSTEIN
Where are we?
WAITER
Quoi?
They all walk to a wall with a large seal on it. It's a

pyramid bordered by a circle. Below it is the Latin phrase:
"Novus Ordo Seclorum." The pinnacle of the pyramid appears to
shine and there, inset, is an eye. (To picture it better,
take a look; it's on the back of a dollar bill.)
A Waiter pushes his thumb into the eye on the pyramid. THE
SEAL OPENS, REVEALING A SECRET ELEVATOR.
CUT TO:
INT. HALLWAYS OF SECRET HEADQUARTERS - EVENING
The Waiters and Woodstein come out of an elevator. They

walk past a door with a sign: "Savings and Loan Strategic
Planning." Then another door: "Renewable Energy Technology
Suppression," and just below: "Funded in part by grants
from the Mobil Corporation."
68
They pass three more doors: "Arms for Drugs." "Drugs for
Arms." "Arms for Legs."
SECRET MEETING HALL

Zola stands at the dais, the Rotary Club flag behind him.
ZOLA
Ladies and Gentlemen, now let's have a
round of applause for Chuck.
CHUCK stands amid the MEMBER'S APPLAUSE. He's terrified.
CHUCK
It's not my fault! I had to be in the
truck -- I can't be everywhere!
Zola holds a Golden Trophy in his hand.
ZOLA
Ladies and Gentlemen, Chuck has been a
trusted member almost since the
beginning...
Chuck makes a break for the exit, but Bert and Arnie grab him
and drag him to the dais.
ZOLA
Unfortunately, I was busy this afternoon,
and had to put him in charge of
dessert...
The Crowd CHANTS as Zola pulls a sharp knife from the trophy.
CROWD
Chuck Roast! Chuck Roast! Chuck Roast!
ZOLA
... and his Peach Cobbler isn't what it
used to be.
In a blur of slicing motions, Zola cuts Chuck to pieces before

he even hits the ground. THE CROWD CHEERS.
Three BUTCHERS pick up and remove the pieces.
CUT TO:
INT. KITCHEN CAFETERIA - EVENING
The Waiters are cleaning the blood from Zola's cooking

instruments. Woodstein slips away unnoticed.
69
INT. HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER
Woodstein hears booted feet marching and flattens against a

wall. Two armed GUARDS walk by. Woodstein hears voices. He
ducks through a door, which leads to:
INT. BALCONY - SAME
Woodstein eases up to an empty balcony overlooking the meeting

hall. HALF HIS MUSTACHE IS NOW GONE.
A blue haze of smoke fills the hall. The audience is rapt as

Zola speaks with Mussoliniesqe gusto. Behind Zola there's a
GIANT DRAWING OF THE FOOD PROCESSOR.
ZOLA
Friends, Rotaries, we truly are the Foot
Soldiers -- the Minutemen, if you will --
of the New World Order. Going forth from
our humble homes armed with whatever is
at hand -- knifes, forks, yes even spoons
-- we will fight house to house, door to
door, and stir up this great melting pot
of a nation to produce a new, purer broth
from the crimson residue of her wasted
inner cities!
(slams the podium,
Crowd CHEERS)
My friends, right here in Gothic City we
are on the brink of carrying out true
social reform! With the new Hamilton
Beach Observatory, by sundown tomorrow we
will have eliminated poverty!
(Crowd CHEERS)
Eliminated unemployment!
(Crowd ROARS)
Eliminated welfare!
(Crowd CHEERS)
AND WE WILL HAVE ELIMINATED HUNGER!
(ROAR, CHEER)
What's more, we will have begun
construction of the largest golf course
on the eastern seaboard!
INT. HALLWAY, OUTSIDE BALCONY - SAME
Francois is walking by, followed by the three Butchers who

picked up Chuck Roast.
FRANCOIS
I would like ten pounds of zee rib cut,
five pounds of flank -- if it is lean--
He passes by the open door to the balcony and sees Woodstein.
They look at each other. Woodstein runs right past Francois,
who sees him without half his mustache.
70
FRANCOIS
(astonished)
Se Récrier!
INT. HALLWAY - SAME
Woodstein runs. An alarm blares in sync with a flashing red

light.
CALM FEMALE VOICE (OVER LOUDSPEAKER)

There is an intruder. There is an
intruder. Will the intruder please pick
up the white courtesy telephone?
Near Woodstein is a white courtesy phone. He looks at it and

then up. ABOVE IT IS A LARGE BLADED PENDULUM.
Three Guards see Woodstein and chase him. Woodstein turns a

corner and ducks through a door. The Guards run on.
INT. OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR - SAME
IT'S A SOUND STAGE. Woodstein walks along the back wall.

On the stage, A SPACE SHUTTLE—MIR DOCKING IS BEING FAKED.
The back wall is a backdrop of the Shuttle in outer space,
with Earth below. An ASTRONAUT in a space suit is pretending
to fix the space station’s solar array. The scene is being
filmed.
ASTRONAUT
(into radio)
Houston, I've corrected the antennae.
A GERMAN DIRECTOR with riding britches, riding crop and

monocle stops the action.
DIRECTOR
Cut! No! No! You are America!
(moves him)
Zee chest out. Shoulders back. Now,
FEEL zee weightlessness! Let's see some
spacevalking! Action!
In another corner, THERE’S A SMALLER FILM CREW WITH A

MATCHBOX SIZE SOJOURNER AND SOME ROCKS.
A Guard sees Woodstein and gives chase. Woodstein runs into
A HALLWAY
where he passes a large poster of an index finger, and an

arrow pointing to a tiny spot on the fingernail with the
words: "YOU ARE HERE." He runs through a door marked
"Emergency Exit."
71
INT. EMERGENCY EXIT - SAME
There's a hole on the other side of the door. Woodstein

falls down a chute. And falls. Dangerously fast.
Slowly the chute curves. Woodstein flies along the polished
surface and bursts through a pair of double doors.
EXT. ALLEY - SAME
Woodstein pops out into a dark alley, tumbling.
The Guard comes out, landing on his feet. He's got a huge
Rambo-like gun. Woodstein backs up against a wall.
The Guard unclips the safety and aims the gun at Woodstein.
WE HEAR THE AWWK! OF THE GIANT CONDOR JUST BEFORE IT SWOOPS
DOWN AND LIFTS THE GUARD INTO THE SKY. Woodstein sighs in
relief. A MAN is walking by.
WOODSTEIN
Where are we? What part of town is
this?
The Man pulls out a blackjack and knocks him out.
FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN:
INT. HELICOPTER IN FLIGHT - NIGHT
Woodstein sits, a bag over his head, surrounded by SOLDIERS.
EXT. HELICOPTER SHOTS OF WASHINGTON D.C. - SAME
The Washington Monument -- The Lincoln Memorial -- The White

House.
THE PENTAGRAM. WHICH LOOKS LIKE THE PENTAGON, ONLY IT'S A

PENTAGRAM.
INT. PENTAGRAM HALLWAY - NIGHT
Soldiers drag Woodstein between rows of GUARDS. His hands

are cuffed behind his back. They come to a door with four
stars on it. It opens.
GENERAL (O.C.)
GET HIM IN HERE!
The Soldiers drag the groggy Woodstein into a

72
DARK, CAVERNOUS OFFICE
toward a chair, under a light. GENERAL BLACKHEAD has his

back to Woodstein.
BLACKHEAD
It's too bad things ever had to reach
this point. But I can't blame myself.
Blackhead turns and towers over Woodstein.
WOODSTEIN'S POV (SUPERWIDE ANGLE) of a chest full of medals,

the name tag "Blackhead" and the General's giant face.
BLACKHEAD
I blame you. Your kind has never
understood that we do important things.
Things essential to the functioning of a
well-oiled democracy. Things that are
none of your goddamn business!
WOODSTEIN
None of my business!
(stands)
This is still a free country and it damn
well is my business to know what's going
on!
Blackhead and the Guards get a good LAUGH out of this.

Blackhead pushes Woodstein roughly towards a dark wall.
BLACKHEAD
Before I lay you out I'm going to show
you what you've been nosing around --
exactly what it is that's gonna cost you
your life!
Blackhead pushes Woodstein through A DOOR WITH A MEN'S ROOM

ICON ON IT.
INT. CONTROL ROOM - SAME
They enter a sound stage control room with uniformed ENGINEERS

sitting at boards. VIDEO MONITORS SHOW A WAR IN PROGRESS.
BLACKHEAD
That's a live feed you're looking at.
They pass a one-way mirror. On the other side, an AUDIENCE is

watching war footage on a screen.
73
BLACKHEAD
We've learned a few things. From now on,
we're going to finish a war before going
public. You know, see how it plays out.
Give the spin doctors that crucial lead
time.
Through the audio monitor we hear the Audience applaud.
TEST AUDIENCE
Awww, oooh, ahhhh.
BLACKHEAD
(to Engineer)
What're they looking at?
ENGINEER
The carpet bombing, sir.
BLACKHEAD
Well hog tie me and cut my guts out. All
that money for smart bombs and people
still love the big ones. That's what
test audiences are for, I guess. Here,
take a look at this.
Blackhead turns Woodstein towards the Marketing Display.

Toys, guns, T-shirts, hats. He puts a hat on Woodstein's
head. It has the Marine's logo and the words "Operation
Strike First."
Blackhead picks up a dark-skinned male doll. He pulls a

string and the doll's arms go up, in the surrender posture.
BLACKHEAD
And they say war can't be cute. You can
put a turban or a poncho on him,
whatever. Even got one that bleeds. For
boys. Why not? Girls have dolls that
cry.
A SERIES OF FLASHES attracts their attention to a video

screen. A GREAT FLASH and what appears to be the BRITISH
PARLIAMENT BUILDING is destroyed. More APPLAUSE from the TEST
AUDIENCE.
BLACKHEAD
(triumphant)
That should finish those bastards off.
Tomorrow we declare war. Then, the send
off parades for the troops. We won this
war without you and now we'll start it
without you!
The General brings Woodstein to a wall, in front of a FIRING

SQUAD. He leaves him there and walks to the side.
74
WOODSTEIN
You can kill me, but you can't kill the
truth. There'll be others after me. The
Gourmet Killer will be stopped! You
can't--
BLACKHEAD
What the hell are you yelping about,
Webster?
WOODSTEIN
(beat)
My name's not Webster.
BLACKHEAD
Aren't you Senator Webster, of the
Defense Appropriations Committee?
WOODSTEIN
A.R. Woodstein, the Enquirer.
Blackhead gestures. An MP appears, reaches into Woodstein's

pocket, and hands his wallet to the General.
BLACKHEAD
Jesus H. Christ, you're a reporter!?
(beat)
Why didn't you say so?
(to MP)
Uncuff him! Find the man who arrested
him and have him interrogated!
The MP uncuffs Woodstein.
BLACKHEAD
Well, you're here anyway. Tell you
what. I'm always willing to help out
the men of the press. How about a
personal interview?
Blackhead puts his arm around Woodstein's shoulder.
BLACKHEAD
But, uh ... what say we keep all this
secret war stuff between you and me, eh?
Blackhead winks.
CUT TO:
EXT. STREETS OF GOTHIC CITY - MORNING
Woodstein walks through a SEND-OFF PARADE. Troops march

down the street, while THRONGS of well-wishers CHANT.
75
THRONGS
We're number one! We're number one!
PEOPLE wave from windows above. Woodstein walks by a wall

of MEATLOAF CONCERT POSTERS EACH ONE LABELED "CANCELED."
INT. NEWS ROOM - MORNING
Woodstein looks around cautiously. Zola's office is empty.

Yellow ribbons are tied to everything.
INT. BRADLEY'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER
Woodstein closes the door, lowers the blinds on the windows

facing the news room and covers an Easter Egg with a
jacket.
WOODSTEIN
Boss, listen. Zola's the--
Bradley is watching the parade out the West window.
BRADLEY
It's at a time of need when a country
really comes together.
WOODSTEIN
That war's already over. It's on the
cutting room floor at the Pentagram--
BRADLEY
(turns to Woodstein)
Don't you think I know that?!
(turns back)
Still, it brings a tear to my eye to
watch these poor boys march off. Not
knowing if they'll ever come back.
Woodstein pulls Bradley away from the window.
WOODSTEIN
Those guys are marching off to some
resort somewhere!
BRADLEY
Maybe so, but they deserve it with the
danger they're going to face. Where's
your patriotism?! Look at them. It's a
proud day to be an American.
Bradley reaches into his drawer, pulls out a flak helmet and
hands it to Woodstein.
76
BRADLEY
I'm sending you with the troops to
Bermuda Club Med. If I were ten years
younger I'd go with you.
(nostalgic)
The ack ack ack of the anti-aircraft.
Cool ocean breezes and the Hands Up Baby
sing-a-long. That's where a reporter
belongs.
WOODSTEIN
The hot story's right here in Gothic
City! Emile Zola is the Gourmet Killer-
-
BRADLEY
Sure. Maybe. I mean, I've seen the
occasional speck of blood on his cuffs
and twice spotted him eating a hand
sandwich. But what do you want me to do
about it? Even if you could prove it,
the union wouldn't budge; he's got
seniority.
WOODSTEIN
But he's going to kill a million people.
Today! And he's got a lot of help. The
Rotary Club, the CEO of the parent
company of our parent company--!
BRADLEY
There's no time for some conspiracy
theory from the lunatic fringe! We're
covering a war, man! The people don't
want to hear this!
Woodstein drags Bradley to the South window of the corner

office. The Food Processor looms in the distance. A
helicopter hauls a GIANT BLADE on a tether. He points.
WOODSTEIN
Look! That's where it's going to
happen. It's not an Observatory. It's a
seven story Cuisinart.
BRADLEY
You're nuts. Look, that's the telescope
they're bringing in now.
WOODSTEIN
That's a giant dicing blade.
77
BRADLEY
What about that other plastic thing
there? that's a... a...
(gives up)
Oh, what do I know? I'm not an
astronomer.
Woodstein hands Bradley some binoculars from a shelf.

Bradley looks through.
INSERT - A HELICOPTER BRINGS IN A GIANT CARROT ON A TETHER

AND LOWERS IT SLOWLY INTO THE FOOD PROCESSOR, WHICH DICES
IT.
WOODSTEIN (OC)
We can still make the afternoon
addition! Blast it across the front
page. Warn people--
Bradley lowers the binoculars. He's stunned.
BRADLEY
OK. You win.
He walks around the room, pulling eggs from hidden locations

and tossing them out the window.
BRADLEY
We're going to tell the truth. Shout
this one from the mountaintops.
WOODSTEIN
Lou, this is great! Wait. Are you
really going to do this?
BRADLEY
Damn it to hell, yes! I'm an old man.
They can't do anything to me anymore.
Bradley hands Woodstein the Enigma Force photo off his desk.
BRADLEY
Keep working on it. Find out exactly
who they're after. Get all the details.
We're going Page One! 85 point
headline. All caps.
He hugs Woodstein. Woodstein walks toward the door, but he

stops. He looks back at Bradley doubtfully.
BRADLEY
You've made me feel young again.
Like... Like a reporter.
78
INT. NEWS ROOM - SAME
Woodstein walks out of Bradley's office studying the Enigma

Force photo. Tripod runs up.
TRIPOD
Woodstein! You made it. You alright?
WOODSTEIN
Didn't Stroganoff say a "baker's dozen"?
There's only twelve people in this
photo!
HE SMASHES THE GLASS AND UNFOLDS A HIDDEN EDGE OF THE

PICTURE.
WOODSTEIN
Well, well, well. If it isn't Mayor
McCheese himself.
Hope walks up.
HOPE
If you're looking for the Mayor, you'll
find him in jail.
Hope hands Woodstein the afternoon Enquirer.
INSERT FRONT PAGE. Headline: "MAYOR McCHEESE GIVES UP TO

POLICE" Subhead: "Claims Campaign Finance Misconduct."
And a quote: "I feel safer in here than on the streets."
Hope holds her hand up to her forehead. Her eyes look up, as
if in a trance.
HOPE
He's being held downtown at the Formula
409th.
WOODSTEIN
That's amazing. Your ESP works from
across town?
HOPE
No, I've got it written right here.
She shows Woodstein the palm of her hand. The address is

written on it.
HOPE
Good luck, Woodstein. You'll need it.
She kisses him with a lot of tongue action.
CUT TO:
79
INT. PRISON CELL - DAY
ON WOODSTEIN, handing the ENIGMA FORCE PHOTO to SOMEONE, OC.

WOODSTEIN
You had a few more sesame seeds on top,
but I recognized that kisser
immediately.
REVERSE ON -- MAYOR McCHEESE HIMSELF, CHEESEBURGER HEAD AND

ALL.
He wears reading glasses and smokes a cigarette, siting on his

cot, a bare light bulb above him. He holds the ENIGMA FORCE
PHOTO in his hands.
INSERT - THE PHOTO. The folded over edge shows the young
McCheese in uniform, with more sesame seeds on top.
MAYOR
We were fine until the Chief started
running with that other crowd. The
Rotarians.
He spits some special sauce.
WE HEAR GRUMBLING/GURGLING NOISES FROM OC.
MAYOR
You know the Hamburglar.
WOODSTEIN NODS TO THE HAMBURGLAR, in the cell next door. The

Hamburglar GRUMBLE/GURGLES back. The Mayor looks at the
photo.
MAYOR
There were others in the unit. Most are
dead. Erik "the red" Herring. Eggs
Benedict and Xavier Hollandaise bought it
together in Philly. Frank Purdue.
He takes a deep drag on his cigarette. Woodstein offers him

some coffee.
WOODSTEIN
Cup of coffee?
MAYOR
Yeah, him too.
HAMBURGLAR
(half grumble)
Fucking shame.
80
MAYOR
(gestures to
Hamburglar)
Who ever thought I'd end up in here with
the likes of this guy.
(beat)
OK, I got something for you. One member
went into hiding. He thought something
was up, the way we all had food names.
Changed his name, joined the police.
This is twenty, twenty five years ago.
You know him as--
HAMBURGLAR
Sure, you'd do anything to save your own
buns!
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE HEADQUARTERS - DAY
A COP holds his hand over a phone receiver and yells to

Commissioner Gorgon, across the room.
COP
It's the Earl of Sandwich. He's been
waiting at the airport for two hours.
He's hopping mad and wants you to go get
him.
GORGON
Shit! I thought he canceled.
Gorgon GROANS, grabs his coat and heads for the door.
EXT. DOWN THE STREET FROM POLICE HEADQUARTERS - SAME
Woodstein is at a pay phone. He hangs up.
EXT. RIGHT OUTSIDE POLICE HEADQUARTERS - MOMENTS LATER
The Commissioner walks to his limo. Woodstein steps out of

the shadows and puts a gun in his back.
WOODSTEIN
Turn around. Meet the Earl.
GORGON
(turns, coolly)
You never paid that citation. It's gone
up another ten dollars. Now this.
WOODSTEIN
You're a pretty cool cucumber -- for
someone in the cheese family,
Commissioner Gorgon. Or should I say--
81
GORGON
(panicked)
No, don't--!
WOODSTEIN
Gorgonzola!
(beat)
Who's getting Gourmet Massacred? Tell me
or you're going to end up as the extra on
an extra cheese pizza.
EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
Gorgonzola's limo pulls to a stop. The Commissioner leads

Woodstein out of the limo.
REVERSE ANGLE - IT'S THE INTERNATIONAL ENQUIRER BUILDING
WOODSTEIN
What's this?
The Commissioner smirks and leads him inside.
INT. INTERNATIONAL ENQUIRER LOBBY - SAME
Gorgonzola leads Woodstein through the lobby to a janitor's

closet.
INT. JANITOR'S CLOSET - SAME
Gorgonzola moves a mop and reveals THE SAME SEAL ON THE WALL
THAT WE SAW EARLIER ("Novus Ordo Seclorum"). Gorgonzola
pushes his thumb into the eye at the top of the pyramid. A
secret door slides open and they walk through, into:
INT. ROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON Woodstein and Gorgonzola as they step into the room.
GORGONZOLA
You wanted the truth. Welcome to the
truth.
Woodstein is in shock. A DRAMATIC CHORD AS THE CAMERA RISES

UP REVEALING THAT THEY ARE IN THE ROTARY CLUB MEETING HALL.
Gorgonzola snorts a laugh and beckons Woodstein to follow.
INT. ZOLA'S INNER SANCTUM - MOMENT'S LATER
Gorgonzola leads Woodstein into Zola's inner sanctum.

Shelves are filled with cookbooks. The walls are covered
with knives and framed restaurant reviews.
82
In the middle of the room is a model of Gothic City. One

section of the city is a large golf course.
WOODSTEIN
(examines it)
My God. He's planning to miniaturize
the city!
(beat)
Wait. There's a sand trap where Rick's
Discount Liquors should be. My God!
He's gonna put in a miniature golf
course right where there should be a
tiny-- Wait a minute.
Next to the model is a separate piece, with city buildings.

He picks it up and lifts out the golf course and puts the
piece in it's place. He lifts it out again.
WOODSTEIN
Bratwurst Heights!
THWACK! WOODSTEIN IS HIT OVER THE HEAD WITH A STALE LOAF OF

PUMPERNICKEL. HE FALLS UNCONSCIOUS.
The Bratwurst Heights model falls to the ground. DOLLY IN

ON a building.
DISSOLVE TO:
The same building, in:
EXT. BRATWURST HEIGHTS - DAY
The FAMILIES of Bratwurst Heights, wearing their Sunday best

and carrying their RED "ENTREE" INVITATIONS, leave their
homes and walk toward the bridge, in the distance.
The Lovecraft Family (who we saw earlier receive their

invitation) leaves their home as BULLDOZERS knock down their
building. Flat-bed trucks loaded with sod wait in the
wings.

Some say life is like a gourmet meal.
You gotta forget the price, act like you
know what you're eating, and hope to
grab a burger on the way home.
CUT TO:
A LARGE WHEEL OF CHEESE, WITH COMMISSIONER GORGONZOLA'S HEAD

STICKING OUT OF IT.

Don't kid yourself.
83
REVERSE ANGLE ON WOODSTEIN'S FACE. He opens his eyes, just

waking. He sees Gorgonzola's head. His eyes go wide. His
head struggles back and forth, but he can barely move.
Life is a deaf and thoughtless waiter
serving us up a fate we never ordered.
And certainly don't want to pay for.
ZOLA (OC)
(singing)
Luck be a ladle tonight...
Luck be a ladle tonight...
Luck, if you've ever been k'nadel to
begin with...
Luck be a ladle tonight!
Woodstein's POV PANS to Zola dancing around. WE'RE IN:
INT. THE ENQUIRER CAFETERIA - DAY
Zola is mixing guacamole in a bowl with a ladle.
ZOLA
(to Woodstein)
Ah, nice of you to drop in.
Zola approaches. WOODSTEIN IS TIED UP, AND LYING IN A GIANT

TACO SHELL. ZOLA LADLES GUACAMOLE OVER WOODSTEIN. HE
STUFFS IN LETTUCE AND TOMATO.
WOODSTEIN
Correct me if I'm wrong, but my name's
not Taco.
Zola points to a table, all set. There's a beer keg, and a

large pile of WOODEN BEER STEINS. He grabs one.
ZOLA
A stein made of wood. Stein. Wood.
Steinwood. Satisfied?
(tosses it aside)
You must stay for lunch. I insist.
WOODSTEIN
I'd like to, but I have a previous
engagement.
ZOLA
I believe I've canceled all your
previous engagements. Pity, since
you'll be missing today's festivities.
WOODSTEIN
That's alright. I've never been a fan
of human sausage.
84
ZOLA
Ah, but you've never had my human
sausage. I call it Bratwurst Primavera.
Popular fare elevated to the level of
epicurean cuisine.
Zola pulls down a map and points to the relevant spots as he

explains it to Woodstein.
ZOLA
The meat will walk to the Hundred and
Twenty-Ninth Street Bridge, where they
will be tenderized with billy clubs --
if necessary -- and dumped into the
river. As they float down, I will add
only the freshest giant vegetables and
herbs. Simmered delicately as they pass
the nuclear power plant on 24th street,
they will finish marinating at the pier
and then be scooped into the
observatory, minced and pressed into
wurst.
WOODSTEIN
Hot dogs? You're making hot dogs? What
kind of Gourmet Killer are you? You'll
be using only the "finest ketchup" I
suppose?
ZOLA WHACKS WOODSTEIN ON THE HEAD WITH HIS LADLE.
ZOLA
Food should be eaten, not heard from!
Unfortunately, the poor don't live in
places like Oysters Rockefeller Plaza.
One does what one can.
WOODSTEIN
You call it Nouveau. I call it tube
steak.
ZOLA
Lest you think the humble origins of the
golf course will be forgotten, we'll be
naming it the Sausage Links.
WOODSTEIN
And they say sentimentality and genocide
don't mix.
ZOLA
The next noise you make will be somebody
else belching. Ciao.
85
Zola stuffs Woodstein, taco and all into a giant, preheated

oven, slams the door, and leaves.
CUT TO:
EXT. STREET NEAR THE 129TH STREET DRAW BRIDGE - DAY
One end of the draw bridge is up. Crowds walk toward it.
ROTARY HENCHMEN pass out balloons and sell T-shirts with the
image of the observatory, the big dipper, and the words
"Start Looking at What's Cooking at the Hamilton Beech
Observatory."
There's a large sign with an arrow pointing to the bridge

that says: "FERRY TO OBSERVATORY."
CUT TO:
INT. ENQUIRER CAFETERIA - DAY
Woodstein sweats in the oven; almost losing consciousness.

A Man opens the oven door. Fresh air resuscitates
Woodstein.
FRIEDKINS (MAN)
Don't be alarmed. Friedkins. Food
Inspector.
He flashes a badge. He has a gun in a shoulder holster.
WOODSTEIN
Thank God. If you'll just undo this
rope--
FRIEDKINS
Hey, there's nothing I'd like better
than to help you Mr. Taco, but my hands
are tied. This guy Zola runs a clean
shop. I've been after him for months
trying to close him down. What can I
do? No Rodent hair. No feces. Meat
cooked to at least 187 degrees.
Everything's code.
He has a white glove on. He runs a finger along the floor.
FRIEDKINS
Look at that! I bet you didn't keep
your kitchen this clean. Homicide,
that's who should be looking into this.
(beat)
You know, it's funny. You don't look
Mexican.
86
WOODSTEIN
Maybe we won't need homicide, if you'll
just--
FRIEDKINS
Please, I gotta get through this before
they get back.
(pulls out
clipboard)
Have you ever had Trichinosis?
WOODSTEIN
No, please--
FRIEDKINS
Botulism?
WOODSTEIN
No, I--
FRIEDKINS
Well, nothing I can do then.
WOODSTEIN
Wait! Yes. I've had botulism!
Friedkins looks at him skeptically.
WOODSTEIN
Hepatitis! I've got Hepatitis!
Friedkins pulls down Woodstein's eyelid.
FRIEDKINS
Nice try. Anyway, carrion doesn't
transmit hepatitis.
Friedkins stands up. THWACK! He lets the oven door slam

shut, closing Woodstein inside.
WOODSTEIN (IN OVEN)

(muffled)
Help! Get me out of here!
FRIEDKINS
Mind if I grab a stein? Good luck!
Friedkins grabs a wood stein and walks off.
INT. OVEN - SAME
Woodstein sees a MOUSE in the oven with him.
WOODSTEIN
Friedkins! Look! A Mouse! Friedkins!
... Shit.
87
EXT. DRAWBRIDGE - DAY
The OPEN DRAWBRIDGE is crowded with People.

AT THE PRECIPICE, A few of the vanguard stop, confused, and
look down at the water.
FURTHER BACK, the Crowd mills about. A ROTARY HENCHMAN

dressed as a clown on stilts uses a bullhorn to call out
over the sounds of FESTIVE MUSIC.
ROTARY HENCHMAN
Welcome one and all! Step right up!
(to little girl)
Hey Button-nose. How 'bout some cotton
candy?
(gives her some)
Step right up! Free Cheesy Porkskins
for the first thousand customers!
The Crowd surges forward.
AT THE PRECIPICE, People are trying not to fall in. THEIR

CRIES TO STOP BEING PUSHED ARE DROWNED OUT BY THE MUSIC.
A little further back, Mr. Lovecraft is pushing people

forward as hard as he can.
MR. LOVECRAFT
Come on! I want my Cheesy Porkskins!
People begin to fall off the bridge and into the river. Mr.
Lovecraft moves forward.
Now he's on the edge.
CUT TO:
INT. OVEN - SAME
It's getting hot in here. Woodstein sees the Mouse near his
hands, licking at some sour cream.
WOODSTEIN
Hey, get away from there!
The Mouse moves away. But Woodstein gets an idea. He moves

his hands, smearing the rope in greasy sour cream.
WOODSTEIN
Here boy. Here boy.
The mouse goes to the rope, licks and chews it. CUT TO:
88
The kitchen timer. TICK. TICK. TICK. THEN TO:
THE FLAMES, UNDER WOODSTEIN. THEN TO:

WOODSTEIN'S SWEATING FACE. THEN TO:
THE MOUSE, CHEWING.
WE CUT back and forth between these images faster and

faster, the timer counting down. Suddenly:
Bam! Woodstein spills out of the oven and onto the floor,
shattering the taco.
CUT TO:
INT. HELICOPTER - DAY
Zola flies a Helicopter over the river. Giant Vegetables

hang in a net underneath. He signals to his Rotary Henchmen
in back. THEY DUMP THE VEGETABLES AND SPICES INTO THE RIVER
AROUND THE PEOPLE DRIFTING BY.
CUT TO:
INT. ENQUIRER CAFETERIA - SAME
Woodstein is dressing.
The front door opens and A LARGE GROUP OF HAPPY, LAUGHING

COPS AND THEIR DATES WALK IN. THEY STOP SHORT WHEN THEY SEE
WOODSTEIN UNCOOKED. Woodstein's anger is barely restrained.
CAPTAIN BELCHER
What the hell happened here?
WOODSTEIN
An attempted meal, what does it look
like?
COP1
(not too convincing)
Yeah, that's right. That's why we're
here. We uh, got a call.
A couple of Cops are wearing sombreros. They take them off

and hide them behind their backs.
WOODSTEIN
(tough as nails)
I didn't call anyone.
CAPTAIN BELCHER
(beat, hard-boiled)
One of your neighbor's did. She must
have smelled the cilantro.
89
BELCHER'S DATE
Sweetie, I thought we were going to have
lunch--
CAPTAIN BELCHER
Shh. I'm working.
COP 2
(opens the fridge)
Don't you have anything to eat?
WOODSTEIN
I'd offer you all some snacks but I'm
afraid I'm all out of small children.
CAPTAIN BELCHER
We'll have to take a rain check.
THREE POLICEMEN DRESSED AS A MARIACHI BAND ENTER STRUMMING

THEIR GUITARS JOYOUSLY. They slow their strumming and stop
as they see everyone's long faces.
Woodstein pushes past them and runs out the door.
INT. BRADLEY'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER
Woodstein runs in.
WOODSTEIN
Lou--!
He's not here. There's a note on the desk. "Gone to

lunch," AND A TORN OPEN BLUE "GUEST" INVITATION ENVELOPE.
Sitting on an easel are tomorrow's Front Page proofs.
DOLLY IN ON THE HEADLINE: "HUNGER ELIMINATED IN GOTHIC

CITY"
SUBHEADINE: "GOURMET KILLER VISIONARY SOCIAL PLANNER!"
HANDWRITTEN ACROSS THE PROOFS IS: "APPROVED. 85 POINT. ALL

CAPS -- BRADLEY."
In anger, Woodstein pushes over the easel. As he runs out,

WE FOLLOW THE PROOFS TO THE FLOOR AND HOLD ON A SMALLER
HEADLINE: "1,013,006 UNACCOUNTED FOR."
CUT TO:
INT./EXT. WOODSTEIN'S CAR - MOMENT'S LATER
Woodstein peels out. He drives fast through the streets.

90
EXT. STREET, AT THE ENTRANCE ONTO THE BRIDGE - DAY
More CROWDS are walking toward the bridge. Woodstein drives

up, gets out, and runs along the sidelines.
WOODSTEIN
STOP! Don't go onto the bridge. It's a
trap! You're going to be made into
Bratwurst! The observatory is a giant
food processor!
WE STEADYCAM THROUGH THE CROWD, passing by people's faces.
VARIOUS PEOPLE
That's ridiculous... He's crazy...
What'd he say?... I don't know...
Something about Bratwurst... Some guy's
talking about Bratwurst Heights?... Is
he bad mouthing it?
CAMERA STOPS ON A LARGE MAN WITH FRIENDS.
LARGE MAN
That guy's badmouthing Bratwurst
Heights!
FRIEND 1
Let's get him!
ON WOODSTEIN, AT THE FRONT OF THE CROWD. The Large Man and

his Friends rush Woodstein with baseball bats and pipes.
Woodstein runs and jumps in his car. THE ATTACKERS POUND

IT.
INT. WOODSTEIN'S CAR - SAME
Woodstein speeds away. His car phone rings. He picks it

up.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE FOOD PROCESSOR FAIR GROUNDS - SAME
Tripod is at a phone booth, on the edge of a large fair

grounds, in front of the giant Food Processor. The fair's
theme is turn-of-the-century picnic. THE WELL-HEELED STRUT
ABOUT, WOMEN WITH PARASOLS, MEN IN STRAW HATS AND BOW TIES.
A huge canopy covers tables with chairs and settings for

thousands.
91
TRIPOD
(into phone)
Woodstein, thank God! Listen, I'm at
the food processor now. I don't know
what's going on but people are preparing
to gorge themselves--
INTERCUT WITH WOODSTEIN, IN HIS CAR
WOODSTEIN
I know all about it, Tripod. I'm on my
way.
TRIPOD
You'll never get in. Every Rotarian in
the city is here and they've all got
your picture.
TRIPOD'S POV of the entrance to the fair grounds, near her.

A PHALANX OF ROTARIAN GUARDS, INCLUDING FRANCOIS ARE
EXAMINING PEOPLE'S BLUE "GUEST" INVITATIONS.
The Guards hold Woodstein's picture, comparing it to passing

faces. THREE-HEADED DOGS BARK THREATENINGLY. The entire
fair grounds is surrounded by a high-security fence.
WOODSTEIN
I gotta get in there.
He sees the front page of the Enquirer laying on the
passenger seat. "POPE SEZ MAMMOTH CLONING WRONG."
TRIPOD (OVER PHONE)

Be careful. Woodstein, I ...
Woodstein hangs up.

WITH TRIPOD, AT THE FAIR GROUNDS
TRIPOD
...love you. ... Woodstein?
FRANCOIS GRABS TRIPOD FROM BEHIND. SHE DROPS HER CAMERA AS

HE DRAGS HER OFF.
THEY PASS ROBIN LEACH, WITH HIS REMOTE CREW. STAY WITH
ROBIN.
ROBIN LEACH
(to remote camera)
It's a spectacular day here at Pier 44,
on the lawn of the new observatory!
(MORE)
92
ROBIN LEACH (Cont’d)

Everyone who's anyone in Gothic City's
registry has wangled a coveted
invitation to this the season's finest
social event! Oh look, there's the
lovely--
EXT. RIVER, BY THE FOOD PROCESSOR - DAY
People and vegetables are collecting in a net stretched

across the river. A GIANT CRANE LADLE extends from the Food
Processor directly over them.
TRIPOD STRUGGLES AS FRANCOIS TRIES TO PUSH HER INTO THE

RIVER, his hand over her mouth, muffling her cries for help.
Hope runs into them.
HOPE
Tripod, you did the right thing showing
up. Absolutely everyone is here.
(spots someone)
Isn't that T. Bone Pickins? Must be on
furlough. I really should talk to him.
Toodleoo.
Hope walks off. Francois dumps Tripod into the river, where
she joins the other People marinating in the net.
CUT TO:
EXT. STREET, OUTSIDE THE FAIR GROUNDS - DAY
Woodstein observes the extensive security measures from a

safe distance. He slips into an alley.
EXT. FAIR GROUNDS, AT THE FRONT GATE - MOMENTS LATER
Francois and the Rotarian Guards are carefully scanning

faces and letting People with invitations pass inside.
Suddenly, the GROUND RUMBLES LIKE AN EARTHQUAKE. Francois

looks up. His eyes go wide.
FRANCOIS
Sacre Bleu!
REVERSE ANGLE -- THREE WOOLLY MAMMOTHS STAMPEDE TOWARD THE

GATE, TRUMPETING AS THEY CHARGE. WOODSTEIN RIDES ATOP THE
LEAD MAMMOTH.
The Rotarian Guards dive out of the way as the Mammoths

crash through and onto the fair grounds.
The crowds of Picnic Goers run for their lives as the

Mammoths destroy everything in their path.
93
INT. ZOLA'S PANORAMIC GLASS CONTROL ROOM - SAME
Zola is in a glass control booth, inaccessibly high atop the

Food Processor. He uses a microphone. His words blast out
speakers to a helicopter, carrying a giant tomato under it.
ZOLA (OVER LOUDSPEAKER)

That tomato is bruised! I want only the
freshest produce! Dump it!
Zola punches a security code into his control panel, then he

presses a button marked "mix."
ON THE SIDE OF THE FOOD PROCESSOR
The GIANT RED "OFF" BUTTON comes out and the GIANT BUTTON
marked "MIX" depresses.
ON THE GIANT MIXING BOWL
The GIANT BLADE at the base of the mixing bowl begins to

turn.
FAIR GROUNDS
ON WOODSTEIN, RIDING THE MAMMOTH. He prods the animal,

which uses it's tusks to raise A GIANT EAR OF CORN upright
against the food processor.
Suddenly Francois appears riding another Mammoth, barreling

down on Woodstein, a GIANT CARROT aimed threateningly out
front.
FRANCOIS
Pity your name is not Bouillabaisse. I
love a good Bouillabaisse!
Woodstein kicks the side of his Mammoth and it runs toward

Francois. Woodstein grabs an ASPARAGUS SPEAR leaning
against a post as he rides by.
IT'S A JOUSTING MATCH COMPLETE WITH DRAMATIC CLOSE UPS OF

MAMMOTH HOOVES POUNDING THE EARTH AND EVER SHORTER CUTS BACK
AND FORTH BETWEEN FRANCOIS AND WOODSTEIN AS THEY APPROACH.
Francois and Woodstein come together and pass each other

WITH THE DRAMATIC SOUND EFFECTS OF A JOUSTING IMPACT.
ON WOODSTEIN, in good health. BUT HIS ASPARAGUS SPEAR IS

BROKEN IN HALF!
ON FRANCOIS, in good health, HIS CARROT INTACT. FRANCOIS

PULLS OUT A LARGE POTATO PEELER AND SHARPENS THE END OF HIS
GIANT CARROT, smirking in anticipation of the kill.
94
He barrels his Mammoth down on Woodstein. Woodstein tosses

away his asparagus but turns to meet the challenge, prodding
his Mammoth to full speed.
As they charge each other, they pass signs with arrow
pointers: "JUST MAIN COURSES", "MAIN COURSES AND
VEGETABLES", and "VEGETABLES AND DESSERTS"
As they come together, Woodstein ducks, the Carrot passing

just over his head. Then he comes up and PUNCHES FRANCOIS.
THE FORCE OF THE BLOW THROWS FRANCOIS OFF HIS MAMMOTH...
AND ONTO THE SERRATED CHOCOLATE EDGES OF A GIANT BAVARIAN

TORT. The edges of the chocolate cut through his body.
Behind him is another sign: "JUST DESSERTS"
Woodstein nods philosophically, then spurs his Mammoth on.
ON THE SIDE OF THE FOOD PROCESSOR
THE GIANT BUTTON on the side of the Food Processor marked

"MUTILATE" depresses.
The blade in the mixing bowl spins faster.
AT THE BASE OF GIANT FOOD PROCESSOR
Woodstein uses hand sized CORN-HOLDERS to scale the GIANT

CORN to an open window. He climbs into:
INT. FOOD PROCESSOR STAIRWELL - SAME
He runs up the stairs and into:
ZOLA'S PANORAMIC GLASS CONTROL ROOM
With his Megaphone, Zola is angrily addressing a helicopter

flying close to the Victims.
ZOLA
Don't get too close! They'll frighten
and release adrenaline. It ruins the
taste!
He turns to Woodstein, who holds his Corn Holders as

weapons.
ZOLA
Ah, Woodward. I have to admit to a
grudging admiration. You've surpassed
all our expectations.
WOODSTEIN
Shut it off.
95
ZOLA
You really should think about your
career. You don't want to end up handing
out mimeographs on street corners -- some
lone lunatic prophet howling at
unconcerned passersby, who see nothing of
value but the change in your tin can.
Zola touches some controls. The crane arm moves.
THE RIVER
THE LADLE SCOOPS UP TRIPOD AND THE LOVECRAFT FAMILY.
THE CONTROL ROOM
Woodstein approaches Zola threateningly.
WOODSTEIN
I said turn it off!
Zola pulls a gun and aims it at Woodstein. Woodstein stops.
ZOLA
I don't think so. Drop the corn holders
(he won't)
Drop 'em!
BRADLEY (OC)
Stop right there, Zola.
Zola and Woodstein turn. IT'S BRADLEY, HOLDING A GUN ON ZOLA.
ZOLA
Come on, Lou. You and I both know you're
in too deep to stop now.
BRADLEY
Do you really think so? Maybe you're
right. Then again, maybe you're not.
ZOLA SHOOTS BRADLEY, who drops his gun and falls.
BRADLEY
I guess you were right.
Woodstein jumps at Zola, and uses a corn holder to pin Zola's

gun hand to the wall. BUT ZOLA PULLS A BOTTLE OF HOT SAUCE
FROM HIS POCKET AND SQUIRTS IT INTO WOODSTEIN'S EYES.
Woodstein falls to his knees.
ZOLA
Don't be a fool. I won't be at the
Enquirer forever. You can be my
successor.
96
Woodstein wipes at the hot sauce and struggles to focus. He

sees Tripod and the Lovecraft Family in the giant ladle moving
toward the mixing bowl.
Woodstein lunges for the control panel. Zola whacks
Woodstein on the temple with his gun, knocking him to the
ground.
ZOLA
Fine. If that's the way you want it.
Zola cocks the gun.
CLOSE ON WOODSTEIN AS HE SEES THAT THE HAIR ON HIS ARM IS

RISING.
Zola aims his gun at Woodstein, ready to shoot. Woodstein

grabs a corn holder and tosses it high, just over Zola's head.
Zola catches it easily. Gracefully. He holds it suspended
over his head as if announcing a cavalry charge.
ZOLA
(dismissive)
Really, Woodsman--
A BALL OF LIGHTNING ROLLS OUT THE STAIRWELL AND THROUGH THE

CONTROL ROOM. Woodstein ducks. It goes over him and swerves
toward Zola, the corn holder acting as a lighting rod.
THE BALL OF LIGHTNING BLASTS ZOLA BACK INTO THE WINDOW. HE

SMASHES THROUGH IT.
WOODSTEIN
The name's Woodstein.
Zola falls into the mixing bowl. WHHIIRRGSHHGRRR! WE HEAR,

MORE THAN SEE, HIS DEMISE.
Woodstein runs to the controls and tries to shut off the

machine. The Ladle is passing by right in front of him, just
a few feet from the mixing bowl. He yells to Tripod through
the smashed window.
WOODSTEIN
I can't turn it off! You need some kind
of security code.
The Ladle moves inexorably toward the lip of the bowl.

Woodstein looks all around. He spots a LARGE DIGITAL CLOCK on
a ledge just outside the control room.
WOODSTEIN
Of course.
(climbs onto ledge)
Tripod! What kind of warranty does a
food processor usually have?
97
TRIPOD
One year?
The clock has four buttons, one on each corner. Woodstein
hangs on precariously as he pushes the buttons frantically,
trying to figure out the changing sequence.
The Ladle reaches the mixing bowl and tips, pouring water on
the whirling blade below.
TRIPOD
Woodstein, hurry!
CLOSE ON THE CLOCK as it advances one year. Nothing happens.

Tripod and the others struggle to hold on.
WOODSTEIN
(confused, then)
Of course, it's still under warranty!
Woodstein reaches with his foot, touching a third button and

the day display changes from "Fat Tuesday" to "Ash
Wednesday."
Suddenly, the Food Processor SHAKES AND RUMBLES. SPARKS FLY

out of the spinning blade mechanism. Smoke pours out of
everywhere. The CRANE LADLE stops tilting.
The Food Processor is disabled. They're saved!
CUT TO:
SPINNING ENQUIRER FRONT PAGE
The headline reads: "EMILE ZOLA STOPS GOURMET KILLER!" Then

the subhead: "Pays With His life."
CUT TO:
INT. NEWS ROOM - LATE AFTERNOON
Woodstein pulls Hope roughly to him.
Out of earshot, Tripod sees them talking close together.
WOODSTEIN
(hard-boiled)
So now you expect the big pay off,
right? I take Zola's job and you end up
the power behind the throne? Well, I
got news: I'm on to you.
He advances on her. She retreats.

98
Tripod, depressed at seeing them together, leaves the

office.
WOODSTEIN
You've been playing for both sides.
Sure, you got me in to see McCheese, but
when I found Stroganoff, you gave him to
Zola on a silver platter.
(she opens her
mouth, he
interrupts)
You're the one who sent those midget
coal miners to scare me--
HOPE
Woodstein--
WOODSTEIN
I'm sending you over sweetheart. Don't
think it's easy. But I could never
trust you. One day someone more
important would come along and that'd be
it for the Woodman. Sayonara. Do not
pass go. Go directly to heaven. All
that weighs in on one side. And what's
on the other? The sex would be great.
Sure, ten times a week the first year,
tapering to two or maybe three times --
if I remember the flowers -- and I
should add I'm not ruling out a quick
trip to a motel right now on the way to
the police station--
HOPE
Woodstein, I'm really very busy. Make
an appointment with my secretary.
Hope walks into Zola's old office. A WORKER is re-lettering

the pebbled glass door with her name: "Hope Pickins."
Woodstein goes to his desk and packs the rest of his stuff
into a box. An unhappy Bradley walks up, his arm in a
sling.
BRADLEY
So what are you going to do now?
WOODSTEIN
Take it easy for a while, collect some
unemployment. Then maybe I'll start my
own paper. I've got an old mimeograph
machine lying around somewhere.
99
BRADLEY
That's great, really great. One of
these days I'm going to fire myself and
go work for a guy like you. What do you
think you'll be reporting on exactly?
CRANE DOWN AND DOLLY AROUND Bradley's back. He has an

Easter egg hidden in his hands.
WOODSTEIN
You know. Whatever.
Woodstein holds his hand out. Bradley shakes Woodstein's

hand. Woodstein reaches around Bradley's back with his
other hand and knocks the egg onto the ground. It breaks.
He winks at Bradley. Bradley winks back.
CUT TO:
TRIPOD'S WORKBENCH
Woodstein walks past, but she isn't there. Her stuff is

gone.
CUT TO:
EXT. GOTHIC CITY - SUNSET
The sun is setting. Tripod walks toward it.
WOODSTEIN (OC)
Hey, Tripod!
Tripod turns to Woodstein as he runs up.
WOODSTEIN
There you are. I was looking all over
for you.
TRIPOD
Really?
WOODSTEIN
I forgot to give you something.
He hands Tripod her camera. She's disappointed.
WOODSTEIN
Oh, yeah. And this.
Woodstein kisses her, cautiously at first, then both of them

get into it. In the b.g., the sun sets.
As they kiss Tripod's leg goes up like in a 40's romance.

Then another of Tripod's legs goes up.
100
Way in the distance, THREE DARK SPOTS fly in front of the

sun and stop, hovering there.
TILT UP, away from the kissing Couple. Sun and Dark Objects
are CENTER FRAME.
CUT TO:
INT. UFO - SAME
A huge, five hundred pound ALIEN, looking part peat moss,

part Caesar salad, part Cybil Shepherd, and part Captain
Kangaroo, is poring over his Galactic map. Apparently, he
can't make heads or tails of it.
He turns to another Alien. They look out their observation

window at the Earth. They look at each other, flap their
ears and squeal frenetically.
Out the observation window, the Headless Horseman's head

floats slowly by, looking lost and confused.
FADE TO BLACK

Muckraker!: by Chris Faber and Dan Baron

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Description:

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Muckraker!: by Chris Faber and Dan Baron

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

MUCKRAKER!

Chris Faber and Dan Baron

EXT. CAMPSITE - DAY

SSLOW TRACK toward a CRUSHED BABY CARRIAGE. A bottle lies

REVERSE ANGLE ON -- A.R. WOODSTEIN, 27, in a slovenly

The FOOTPRINTS lead us through a trail of destruction. A

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

POLICE comb the hills, police dogs straining to run ahead.

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

Woodstein pries the camera out of the dead Mother's hand.

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

A COP comes up, glances at the film, and stares expectantly

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

EXT. VARIOUS COUNTRY ROADS - MORNING

Woodstein drives through Bucolic territory. Birds CHIRP.

EXT. GOTHIC CITY STREET - POOR NEIGHBORHOOD - MORNING

A NEWS VENDOR holds a copy of the International Enquirer.

Woodstein pulls up in his car and buys a paper.

INT. WOODSTEIN'S CAR - SAME

Woodstein drives away. As he rolls up the window, the CITY

EXT. CITY STREET - SAME

A POLICE HELICOPTER HOVERS OVER A LARGE GROUP OF RAGGED

Woodstein stops his car at a red light next to this scene.

INT. CAR - SAME

In here, we only hear Pachelbel. Outside, unseen by

As he turns THERE’S A traffic sign: "Right Turn Only With

EXT. INTERNATIONAL ENQUIRER BUILDING - MORNING

Woodstein walks through an upscale Gothic City street. MUZAK

He arrives at a building with an august Deco granite facade,

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

TILT UP: The 20-story Enquirer building is swallowed up by

INT. NEWS ROOM - MORNING

Woodstein walks through the news room passing the "City

A WOMAN passes him on her way out CARRYING A THREE-HEADED

In the b.g. THERE’S A MAN WITH A TREE GROWING OUT OF HIS

Woodstein passes the "Beyond the Grave" desk and nods to

THE POINTER ON HIS OUIJA BOARD STARTS TO MOVE ON IT'S OWN.

SIX PEOPLE WITH STIGMATA stand by the MIRACLE REPORTER desk.

THE CHIEF EDITOR, middle aged, pot-bellied, comes out of his

SALINGER (MIRACLE REPORTER)

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

Lou Bradley (Chief Editor) looks around and spots a REPORTER

PYNCHON is at the "Japanese Soldiers Who Don't Know The War

Lou Bradley takes a swig from a PEPTO-BISMOL bottle and goes

NUN HEAD ONE

VOICE (OFF CAMERA)

He pushes her gently toward the door.

WOODSTEIN PASSES WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE'S DESK. He's in

Woodstein sits at his tiny desk in a corner, piled with

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

Woodstein pushes his chair back to grab a book from a shelf.

WOODSTEIN (VOICE OVER)

With a labored sigh, Woodstein starts to read the 700-

TRIPOD, newspaper photographer, walks up. Late twenties,

They glance at HUBBLE, at the Lifestyles Desk. HE'S A BRAIN

Woodstein glances across the room. All the reporters'

INT. EDITOR BRADLEY'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER

Bradley fills his bottle from a Pepto-Bismol water cooler.

Bradley lays down a proof sheet with the headline, "Bigfoot

He slams down a CRYSTAL CLEAR PHOTO OF BIGFOOT CARRYING OFF

Bradley lights two cigarettes and offers one to Woodstein,

Bradley walks to the South window of his corner office.