Barton Fink Page #4
- R
- Year:
- 1991
- 116 min
- 601 Views
. . . Are you a tranz or a rez?
BARTON:
Excuse me?
CLERK:
Transient or resident?
BARTON:
I don't know...I mean, I'll be here, uh,
indefinitely.
CLERK:
Rez. That'll be twenty-five fifty a week
payable in advance. Checkout time is twelve
sharp, only you can forget that on account
you're a rez. If you need anything, anything
at all, you dial zero on your personal in-room
telephone and talk to me. My name is Chet.
BARTON:
Well, I'm going to be working here, mostly at
night; I'm a writer. Do you have room service?
CLERK:
Kitchen closes at eight but I'm the night clerk.
I can always ring out for sandwiches.
The clerk is scribbling something on the back of an index card.
. . . Though we provide privacy for the
residential guest, we are also a full service
hotel including complimentary shoe shine. My
name Chet.
He pushes a room key across the counter on top of the index card.
Barton looks at the card.
On it:
"CHET!"Barton looks back up at the clerk. They regard each other for a beat.
CLERK:
. . . Okay
BARTON:
Huh?
The clerk.
CLERK:
Okey-dokey, go ahead.
BARTON:
What -
CLERK:
Don't you wanna go to your room?!
Barton stares at him.
BARTON:
. . . What number is it?
CLERK:
. . . Six-oh-five. I forgot to tell
you.
As Barton stoops to pick up his two small bags:
. . . Those your only bags?
BARTON:
The clerk leans over the desk to call after him:
CLERK:
I'll keep an eye out for them. I'll
keep my eyes peeled, Mr. Fink.
Barton is walking to the elevator.
ELEVATOR:
Barton enters and sets down his bags.
An aged man with white stubble, wearing a greasy maroon uniform, sits on a
stool facing the call panel. He does not acknowledge Barton's presence.
After a beat:
BARTON:
. . . Six, please.
The elevator man gets slowly to his feet. As he pushes the door closed:
ELEVATOR MAN:
Next stop:
Six.SIXTH-FLOOR HALLWAY
Barton walks slowly toward us, examining the numbers on the doors.
The long, straight hallway is carpeted with an old stained forest green
carpet. The wallpaper shows faded yellowing palm trees.
Barton sticks his key in the lock of a door midway down the hall.
HIS ROOM:
As Barton enters.
The room is small and cheaply furnished. There is a lumpy bed with a worn-
yellow coverlet, an old secretary table, and a wooden luggage stand.
As Barton crosses the room we follow to reveal a sink and wash basin, a
house telephone on a rickety night stand, and a window with yellowing sheers
looking on an air shaft.
Barton throws his valise onto the bed where it sinks, jittering. He shrugs
off his jacket.
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"Barton Fink" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Mar. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/barton_fink_692>.
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