"ASTEROID CITY" (2023)

Black and white.

A 1950’s-era broadcast soundstage. Cameras on pneumatic pedestals. Microphones on telescoping booms. A team of technicians encircling the studio floor. The lights come up on our host, Brylcreemed in a dark suit and necktie. He addresses the audience:

The lights change to reveal the “theatre district” of a miniature metropolis: skyscrapers, streetlights, a canyon of box- office marquees.

The metropolis splits in two, sliding open like a curtain as the host continues:

Revealed behind the moving scenery: a man (middle-aged, balding, in a cowboy/western-style dressing gown with embroidered lassos and bedroom slippers with jingling decorative spurs) hunts and pecks at a typewriter.

The playwright sips at a highball then continues to type at some length before the host finally interjects:

The lights change again to reveal a full-scale, intricately decorated theatre proscenium with curtains, footlights, and a constellation of chalk-arrows and tape-marks zig-zagging across the boards. Stagehands criss-cross carrying sofas and tables, raising and lowering sandbags, removing the playwright’s typewriter and chair, etc.

The host exits. The stagehands clear the floor and wait. The room falls quiet. The playwright, center-stage, now holds in his hands the manuscript for his completed play. He looks to the audience; he looks to the wings; he clears his throat; he begins to read:

The playwright gestures to various as-yet-unconstructed scenic elements and installations.

In the nearby wings: stagehands listen next to racks of ropes and pulleys; electricians listen next to rows of sockets and fuses; a property master silently inventories his kit.

Up above: a stagehand on a catwalk listens as he operates a spot.

The playwright introduces the players, an assembly of professional actors and actresses, not in costume/not in character, several in their early teens. They periodically flip the pages of their dog-eared scripts, pencilling notes.

First: a handsome, compact actor, T-shirt with sweater tied around the waist, brush-cut hairdo, in a folding chair turned backwards; a reedy boy fidgeting beside him.

Next: a brunette actress in discreet, precise make-up, hands in lap, seated bolt upright in a pencil-skirt and tailored jacket; a bobby-soxer filing her nails beside her.

Next: a blowsy/smudged actress with an unsuccessful permanent; a former professional quarterback.

Next: an actor in a cardigan sweater; an actor in a sailor’s peacoat; an actress in a woolen cap; more teenagers (among them a short-haired gamine in black turtleneck, tights, and leotard).

Finally: a man-about-town in last night’s dinner jacket, overcoat, and patent-leather shoes. He sits with his legs crossed, at ease.

The lights dim once more. The playwright pauses before he concludes with reserved drama:

Lights fade to black. Silence.

TITLE SEQUENCE:

Widescreen/color.

A super-extended freight train rolls along rusty tracks, curving through canyons and mesas, chugging over trusses and trestles. The engineer leans from a locomotive window, pulling his whistle. A pilotman rides seated on the caboose platform with his feet on an iron step-stool. The brakeman squats perched on the roof of a boxcar, rolling a cigarette.

Cargo: stacked Pontiacs; white gravel; horses and cattle; avocados, pecans, grapefruits, almonds, artichokes; a tractor and a bulldozer; a tank wagon of raw milk; and a short-range ballistic missile labeled:

10 Megaton Nuclear Warhead Caution: DO NOT DETONATE without Presidential Approval

A warning bell rings at a railroad crossing.

The train slowly rattles over a blacktop interstate which descends, sidewinding, from a distant plateau down to a concise desert town circumvented by towering cactus, yucca, and sagebrush. Dry winds blow red dust and tangled scrub. A roadrunner darts and sprints. In the remote background: a range of faraway mountains encircling the vast, sandy arena. In the close foreground: a decorative covered-wagon roadside sign which reads “Asteroid City, Pop. 87” in carved orange letters.

The town itself: a café, a motel, a gas station. A parked Chrysler sedan, a Ford with a running board. White, wooden, ranch-style fencing punctuated by telephone poles, electric wires, and palm trees in tight clusters. A few barns and bungalows dot the outskirts, along with a billboard advertising an Indian reservation casino 250 miles ahead.

On the edge of the town: the ruins of the uncompleted/chopped- off elevated highway-spur with an official roadblock warning:

Route-Calculations Error RAMP CLOSED INDEFINITELY Department of Roads and Rails

A hundred yards into the desert: a modestly-sized astronomical observatory; a field of small radio telescopes; a chainlink fence with regional-monument/point-of-interest marker; a flight of steep, skinny wooden steps which descends into a wide crater with, at center, ensconced in a rebar display-cage: a pock- marked metallic rock the size of a cantaloupe.

The filling station. A hanging sign gently creaks. “Ice, Tires, Service.” The roadrunner trots to the center of the road and sniffs at a sun-dried (dead) snake. A hazy speck shimmers-up over a rise down the highway. The bird watches, then jolts back into the brush. The speck, as it approaches, takes the form of a sand-beaten tow-truck pulling a wood-paneled station wagon in its winch. The brief convoy pulls under the shade of the fuel- pump awning and crunches to a stop.

Four doors open (two on the cab, two on the wagon), and release a weary, sweaty group which includes: a small man in his early forties, bearded, dressed in a safari jacket with a Swiss camera around his neck. He is Augie. A gangly boy, fourteen, dressed in Bermuda shorts and tinted plastic sun-visor labeled: “Brainiac.” He is Woodrow. Three girls with matted hair, aged four, five, and six, dressed in a mixed combination of bathing suits, pixie costumes, pajamas, ruby slippers, etc. They are Andromeda, Pandora, and Cassiopeia.

(NOTE: we recognize various performers as they appear in the story, now costumed and in-character, from their earlier introduction in the teleplay broadcast.)

A grizzled mechanic/tow-truck driver dressed in a grease- speckled overall jumpsuit powers up his winch, lowering the station wagon with a clanking rumble.

Woodrow scribbles in a small notebook. The three girls wander vaguely in a daze, whispering and humming. Augie sticks a pipe into his mouth, produces a Zippo lighter from one of his numerous pockets, and fuels it straight from the gasoline pump. He lights his pipe and puffs.

(NOTE: throughout the story, Augie employs an excess of self- conscious/actorly business: with his pipe, with his lighter, with his camera, with his beard, etc.)

A narrow, checkered-tile, chrome-and-bakelite café with soda fountain, chalkboard specials, and a short-order window communicating to the kitchen. Slatted blinds paint light/shadow stripes over the long counter. Country music plays on the jukebox. A chime jingles as Augie, Woodrow, and the three girls

enter. The door clatters shut. A trapped fly buzzes against the screen.

Behind the counter, two women: a sun-spotted cashier in her sixties seated behind the register; and a Key-lime-green- uniformed waitress in her seventies thumbing through a Sears catalogue. They both look up at the arriving family. Augie says (almost inaudible) in a faintly old-Brooklyn accent:

The waitress nods and directs the group to sit. They occupy their stools, side-by-side. A lanky cook, forty, in a white cap and apron, snatches down the order-slip and peers out from the kitchen. Augie says bluntly:

The girls respond with an adamant, unconvincing chorus: “Not me.” “I don’t.” “Nobody needs to pee.” Woodrow looks up from his notebook and says, matter-of-fact:

Augie nods, weary. Woodrow resumes his scribbling. The sisters mix a potion of salt, pepper, and mustard in an ashtray as they whisper sinister incantations. The waitress interjects:

The sisters respond suddenly, more or less in unison:

ANDROMEDA CASSIOPEIA

We’re not princesses. I’m a vampire.

CASSIOPEIA ANDROMEDA

I suck people’s blood. I’m a fairy.

Pause. The waitress says agreeably:

A distant boom shudders the building. Augie and Woodrow frown. Augie says, alarmed:

Augie hesitates. He leans out the open window (followed by Woodrow). Fifty miles away, beyond the mountains: a massive mushroom cloud billows up into the sky. Augie’s eyes widen. He holds up his camera and snaps a photograph.

The station wagon is now hoisted up on a hydraulic repair-lift. The mechanic, Augie, Woodrow, and the three girls look up from below the vehicle into the grease-and-dirt-coated agglomeration of pipes, shafts, wires, and widgets. The mechanic explains:

The mechanic points to the corroded remains of a similar-model station wagon in a small junkyard next door. Augie frowns.

The mechanic opens a small cardboard box and removes a fresh, clean, hexagonal nut. He displays it briefly to the group. He steps up onto a footstool and reaches up to carefully fit the nut onto the end of a threaded post. He slowly twists. Augie and the children move closer to watch. The mechanic twists tighter and tighter. He pauses to switch to a wrench. He gently twists until the nut resists, then gives it a little extra goose. He looks down at the group. He descends from the footstool and

climbs up into the station wagon. He inserts the car key. He looks down at the group again. A hopeful nod. Augie watches, anxious.

The mechanic turns on the ignition, and the motor whirs to life.

At that instant, simultaneously: both the vehicle’s twin mufflers/exhaust tailpipes backfire and explode with a muted, concussive thud; all four tires spontaneously blow-out and drain flat, hissing; the engine seizes and goes dead; and a sizable, oil-coated, mechanical assembly (cast-iron, rubber-gasketed) drops free from the undercarriage into the drip-basin below where it sputters, vibrates, gasps, and squeals faintly, scooting and hopping nervously in the shallow viscosity. Augie asks, stunned:

The mechanic stares, intrigued and slightly frightened, from the driver’s seat above. He says quietly:

The mechanic quickly descends. He sprays down the assembly with a high-pressure hose until it ceases its seizure. Augie and the children watch in perplexed amazement. Silence.

A free-standing telephone booth next to a fence-post in the corner of a vacant plot between the gas station and the motel entrance. Bits of rubble and bottle-caps litter the dry, cracked earth. A single wire extends diagonally up from the top of the booth to an overhead line. Augie waits with the receiver to his ear.

(Woodrow lingers nearby scribbling periodically in his notebook while his three sisters run in circles singing eerily and swirling soap bubbles into the air with plastic wands).

SPLIT-SCREEN:

On one side: the interior of the telephone booth with chipped paint and pencil-graffitied numbers with abbreviated exchange- names. On the other side: the vast, wood-and-stone, low-ceiling living room of a luxurious ranch house overlooking a golf course. A houseboy in a yellow butler’s jacket answers:

The houseboy checks his watch and frowns.

The houseboy sets down the telephone and hurries away from camera, through the deep room, out via louvered double-doors. Augie mops his brow with a handkerchief.

Faintly: the sounds of a siren and a distant motor. Augie leans out of the booth and squints. Camera pans away, down the highway, to a black Chevy sedan roaring toward, whizzing past, then racing away from the telephone booth -- followed immediately by a state trooper in pursuit, lights flashing. A few exchanged gunshots pop. Camera continues panning (now 360 degrees) back to Augie watching, perturbed. (Woodrow, in the background, adds this event to his notebook.)

In the meantime: a tall, silver-haired seventy-year-old dressed in tartan trousers and clacking, spiked golf shoes enters the living room followed by the houseboy and approaches the

telephone. He carries a tumbler of orange juice. He is Stanley. He picks up the receiver.

Augie motions obliquely to the motel: a classic motor court with individual clapboard bungalows. A sign next to the entrance reads: “Welcome, Junior Stargazers and Space Cadets!”

Silence. Stanley says grimly:

Augie and Stanley say simultaneously, almost inaudibly:

STANLEY AUGIE

You didn’t tell them. Still. I still didn’t tell them.

Augie stares into space. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Stanley nods slowly. He shares his advice, firm but philosophical:

Augie contemplates this. Stanley asks, less important/aside:

Silence. Both men begin to quietly, almost imperceptibly, cry. Augie says -- just now realizing:

Augie nods. They both expand on the point:

AUGIE STANLEY

You always thought I wasn’t I always thought she could’ve good enough for her. done better.

Augie takes a deep breath. Stanley drinks his orange juice, then gives two orders (one to the houseboy, one to Augie):

AUGIE HOUSEBOY

I will. OK.

Augie and Stanley bluntly hang up. Woodrow and his sisters stand next to Augie, alongside the telephone booth, waiting. Augie opens the door and looks into the near distance. Pause. He takes a photograph, then says:

Augie begins to march across the highway. He issues clipped instructions as Woodrow and his sisters follow behind him:

Camera pans to the station wagon, now parked outside the garage on its four flat tires. The mechanic continues to examine it. Augie approaches the vehicle, steps up onto the rear bumper, and disconnects a roof-rack strap. He pulls down valises and camera cases, handing them to Woodrow, who lines them up in a row. The three sisters open doors and windows and begin to throw things

out onto the ground, haphazard: bags, boxes, cartons; half-naked dolls and stuffed animals; partially-uneaten snacks, stray socks, books, etc.

Augie opens the glove box and withdraws: gloves, a packet of pipe-tobacco, a selection of maps and documents, and an old roll of exposed 120mm film. He flips open the passenger-side ashtray. He pauses. He stares. He bites his lip.

INSERT:

A cigarette butt smudged with red lipstick.

A high-angle view of the entire, compact municipality. Augie, Woodrow, and the three girls re-cross the highway (heading to the motel) lugging their suitcases, bags, and boxes. From one direction: a trio of assorted station wagons enters the town, followed immediately by an Army Jeep tugging a small, steel-and- rivet trailer. From the other direction: two more station wagons, plus a cross-country bus which stops in front of the luncheonette.

The door of the bus flings open. The driver, burly, in cap and uniform, descends first and shouts:

The bus driver ambles around to the nose of the bus, withdraws a wax paper-wrapped ham sandwich from his pocket, and takes a bite. Assorted passengers without baggage (a traveling salesman, a small church group with collared minister, an old man with two canes, a posse of cowboys and ranch hands) spill out and spread in various directions to stretch their legs, use the bathrooms (entrance on the outside of the building), smoke cigars/ cigarettes, and dart into the luncheonette. The screened door bangs open and shut repeatedly, chiming, as hamburger-coffee-and- doughnut-orders are called out in urgent voices. Finally, a class of ten eight-year-old pupils accompanied by two elderly- lady chaperones emerges from the bus carrying small suitcases and a picnic basket with, behind them: a seasoned but youthful schoolteacher. She wears a cardigan with knitted flowers stitched to it, a white collar, hair sharply parted, heels. She is June. One of the cowboys (name: Montana) briefly sidles back into frame to discreetly give her the once-over.

June stops the group as they reach the ground, announcing:

The children immediately gather close and look up at June as each chirps his/her number, one to ten. June nods officiously.

The children briskly fold their hands and bow their heads. A freckled boy improvises:

A girl with curly red hair opens her eyes and interjects sharply:

“Amens” all around; then June calls out, commanding but pleasant:

(NOTE: an increasing traffic of criss-crossing people appear in the foreground and background of this scene, welcoming arriving parties, preparing accommodations, rushing.)

Car doors swing open and whang shut as families disembark from the newly-arrived station wagons parked at various angles between the luncheonette and the motel. First: a strikingly blonde woman in her mid-thirties, glamorous in dark sunglasses, accompanied by her gum-chewing fifteen-year-old daughter. They are Midge and Dinah. Their driver/bodyguard is a tall, burly man in chinos and a blazer. His eyes scan left and right, checking security. Midge says, perspiring:

Next: a businessman in his late forties, summer suit, straw hat tipped back, accompanied by his son, fourteen, in tennis clothes. They are J.J. and Clifford. Clifford plucks a tiny, bright red pepper from a vine on a trellis outside the luncheonette and holds it up to his father:

Clifford bites the pepper in half. J.J. waits.

Next: a woman, forty-five, accompanied by her daughter, fourteen, both in brown-and-white gingham girl scout-type uniforms (labeled “Cookie Troopers”). They are Sandy and Shelly. Sandy wears a badge which reads “Regional Headmistress” and nibbles from a carton of Cookie Trooper Jam-Crispies. (She keeps a box of this kind in hand at all times throughout the story.) Shelly carries a movie magazine (”Screen Dreamboats”) tucked under her arm. She whispers to her mother, furtive but awestruck, peering back past the other families:

Next: inside the open front window of the motor court check-in office, the motel manager (tall, rangy, amiable, in a bolo tie and Western shirt) greets a scientist (fifty, Hawaiian shirt/white trousers) accompanied by his aviator-spectacled son, fifteen. They are Roger and Ricky. The motel manager guesses correctly:

The motel manager smiles, uneasy. Roger hesitates, skeptical:

In the background: Clifford enters hyperventilating with his tongue sticking out. He begins to fill up/guzzle down paper cones of water one after another from a dispenser in the corner while the motel manager continues to explain to Roger:

The motel manager points. Clifford is now kneeling below the water dispenser, drinking directly from its spigot. J.J. waits in the doorway nearby:

Just outside: an arcade of fifteen vending machines (sodas, candy, snacks, coffee, milk, fruit, toiletries, nylon stockings). The posse of cowboys and ranch hands loiters as Montana fights with the cigarette machine, banging it with his fists, then kicking it. The motel manager pokes his head out the window and shouts, anxious:

The motel manager ducks back inside. All the vending machines light up at once and begin to hum. Montana tries the machine again and receives his pack of cigarettes.

Camera now makes its way through the neat, little compound of freshly painted bungalows and small palm trees; past a cabin which has incinerated completely to a cinder except for its bathtub; past an immediately adjacent canvas tent; past a communal shower where a woman in a bathrobe and slippers is waiting outside clutching a folded towel and a bar of soap; and finally to Augie and his family, who have arranged themselves, seated on suitcases, stumps, and footstools, outside the open door of a bungalow marked “Cabin #10.” An unseen figure inside operates a vacuum cleaner.

In his hands, Augie holds: a green and yellow Tupperware salad bowl, sealed. In the background: a gardener/handyman tends to a flower bed; the breeze rustles linens hanging from a clothesline; a yipping terrier chases a thrown stick; big band music plays softly from a radio. Augie says, pained, as camera comes to a stop:

Woodrow and his sisters are immobile and thunderstruck. Tears run down Augie’s cheeks.

Silence. Woodrow finally asks:

The three girls begin to cry continuously at a low decibel from this point through the end of the scene. Andromeda asks, sobbing:

Augie hugs the family together. They sit for a minute, absorbing the situation. Augie says to Woodrow:

Augie nods. He says softly:

Woodrow points at the bowl. Augie nods again, holding back tears as he says with the slightest twinkle at the absurdity of it:

Pause. Augie suddenly clarifies for the girls, who look slightly confused:

Woodrow peels open a corner of the top of the bowl and peers inside. He reseals it. Pandora asks, weeping:

Pandora nods. Augie reaches into the past:

Woodrow and his sisters gaze into space. Augie says finally, hopeful:

The three sisters sit at the counter eating banana splits, eyes red from crying. Woodrow sips a vanilla milkshake with a striped straw. Augie sadly tamps his pipe. In the background, outside the window: the posse of cowboys and ranch hands rush into view and hurriedly grab up baggage left behind for them on the tarmac (including guitar/banjo/bass fiddle cases) and race scrambling after the bus; but it drives away without them. Then: the Chevy pursued by the state trooper races by again in the opposite direction, dragging its muffler. (A pair of motorcycle police have now joined the chase.) The sounds of the engines and popping gunshots diminish. Pause.

Augie looks down the length of the diner. At the far end: Midge and Dinah are finishing a late breakfast. (The driver/bodyguard seated alone in a corner, works on a crossword puzzle.) Augie watches for a moment, then winds his camera and takes a picture. Midge looks to Augie directly after the shutter clicks. She frowns. She says loudly across the room with food in her mouth:

Woodrow and Dinah look up. Augie answers:

Long pause. Woodrow and Dinah meet eyes. Woodrow quickly returns to his milkshake. Dinah watches him coolly. Midge presses on:

Augie considers this. He says theoretically:

Dinah raises her hand. Midge looks at her.

Midge looks at her daughter and raises an eyebrow. Augie says, slightly reluctant:

Augie sighs. He twists, and Woodrow points to a bald dot above the nape of Augie’s neck. Dinah nods, interested. Midge turns back to her waffles -- but says pointedly (without looking):

A congregation has assembled at the bottom/center of the impact crater below the observatory. The audience of parents, guardians, schoolchildren, and military personnel sits in folding chairs in front of a make-shift stage and dais. A banner decorated with stars, comets, and rockets reads:

A uniformed aide-de-camp stands next to an American flag waving on a short flagpole. A business executive in a dark suit (with a badge on the lapel: “LARKINGS Corp.”) sits discreetly in the background. Woodrow, Dinah, Clifford, Roger, and Shelly wait on display in an uneasy row behind a table arranged with five neat red-white-and-blue velvet boxes. Augie is in the audience with the girls who are now made-up as witches and goblins with plastic fangs and claws. A cameraman films the proceedings in 16mm from a tripod on a rickety scaffolding tower.

(NOTE: from this scene forward most of the visiting parents, students, judges, et al. wear tags displaying their full names and the stars/comets/rockets motif.)

At a lectern also decorated with the stars/comets/rockets motif stands: a tall, square-jawed, broad-shouldered, immaculately

pressed and polished five-star officer in his mid-fifties. He is General Gibson. His voice reverberates over a P.A. speaker:

Reserved applause as General Gibson salutes in various directions. He refers to his notes (typewritten, orderly) and begins:

General Gibson motions to the small, spherical rock within the rebar cage at the center of the crater.

General Gibson motions to a woman (age: fifty) dressed in red plaid trousers, climbing boots, and a belted leather jacket. She is Dr. Hickenlooper. Her younger assistant wears a white lab coat.

General Gibson motions to the waitress, cashier, and cook seated together in the audience; and, next to them, the mechanic who now wears a badge: “Pyrotechnics Expert.”

General Gibson looks up at the sky. He looks back down to the audience.

General Gibson motions to the aide-de-camp, who holds up: a giant-sized cashier’s check in the amount of $5,000 made out to “New Hickenlooper Scholar.” He looks briefly to the five teenagers and motions to the boxes on the table.

During the following recitation, General Gibson gives a carefully rehearsed performance, modulating pace, volume, and emphasis for dramatic effect:

General Gibson motions to the schoolchildren, seated with June and the chaperones.

Silence. Suddenly: enthusiastic (if slightly puzzled) applause from the whole group.

MONTAGE:

First: Ricky (in safety helmet, gloves, and boots) manipulates the controls of a roaring jet-pack as he hovers twenty feet above the cowering audience, blasting them with dust and dirt. His father, grimacing on the ground, clings to the end of a rope tether, struggling to prevent his son from rocketing up higher into the sky.

General Gibson pops open one of the velvet boxes and presents the contents to Ricky as he announces his prize:

Next: a heavy, clay plate catapults into the air as Clifford hoists a metallic-and-plastic electromagnetic death-ray up to his shoulder and pulls the trigger, silently zapping the plate into a shower of glowing dots which linger in space, sizzling, then pop away like electric soap bubbles.

General Gibson presents/announces Clifford’s prize:

Next: faces crowd all around a terracotta pot filled with black soil inside a glass incubation box.

Dinah turns a dial. A quartet of coiled tubes at the upper corners of the box begin to hum and vibrate, and a green stem

pokes up out of the dirt, uncurls, grows, and finally delivers a perfect geranium blossom -- which almost immediately withers and sheds its petals.

General Gibson presents/announces Dinah’s prize:

Next: Shelly stands next to a large periodic table on a stand as she displays a hunk of doughy, grey paste in a mason jar.

Shelly opens the jar, shakes the hunk of paste into her hand, and squishes it slightly. She politely announces:

General Gibson presents/announces Shelly’s prize:

Next: Woodrow glances now and then to the sky as he carefully adjusts the angles of hinged lenses and mirrors on a doughnut- shaped erection of beams, posts, and braces.

Woodrow steps back and double-checks a list in his notebook. He clicks a switch, illuminating a circle of light bulbs. A hologram of the moon the size of a beach ball appears at the center of the device, rotating slowly, pocked with crisply- rendered craters.

General Gibson presents/announces Woodrow’s prize:

Not yet finished: Woodrow drops a small, glass slide into a slot, casting the image of an American flag onto the surface of the hologram-moon. He points up. Everyone looks. In the clear, afternoon sky: the American flag appears in full color on the surface of the actual moon itself. A collective gasp from the audience. Spontaneous, giddy applause. Woodrow says calmly:

Finally: the five teenagers (now wearing their various pins, medals, sashes, etc.) bow and smile, politely accepting an enthusiastic ovation.

A classroom separated by glass-partition-walls from the adjacent laboratory offices and dormitory chambers. Children/teenagers sit in school desks. Adults (parents, teachers, military) stand crowded around the edges of the room. Outside: the field of spinning radio telescopes. Dr. Hickenlooper, at a table in front, concludes:

The audience filters their way out the door. Woodrow lingers next to Dr. Hickenlooper as she puts on lipstick in a compact mirror. He points to a small display on the terrace outside: a scoreboard decorated with varicolored light-bulbs and blinking panels. It emits a repetitive combination of electronic noises.

Dr. Hickenlooper squints at the display. She nods slowly.

DR. HICKENLOOPER WOODROW It’s a date? Maybe. On the galactic calendar.

Dr. Hickenlooper’s assistant appears at her side, curious. Dr. Hickenlooper nods at Woodrow as she speculates:

Woodrow checks his watch. He frowns.

Dr. Hickenlooper checks her own watch. She looks at Woodrow, puzzled/impressed.

Strung lights in the shapes of little planets festoon the palm trees. The juke box (now outdoors) plays a lush/romantic orchestral tune. The luncheonette waitress and cook serve from pots and trays (chili, hot dogs, potato chips and potato salad, pickles, stacks of white bread) at a buffet on the edge of an arrangement of white-papered picnic tables which seat festive groups in mid-supper: the five teenagers; the parents/guardians; the military personnel; the school group; Dr. Hickenlooper and her assistant; the posse of cowboys and ranch hands who missed the bus.

Table #1: the freckled boy says grace for his classmates, teacher, and chaperones:

The children/chaperones hesitate, looking at each other, uncertain. They chirp their numbers once again -- but there is a silence after “six.” June frowns. She says, anxious:

Table #2: J.J., Roger, and Sandy engage in a slightly combative debate:

ROGER SANDY

It’s not even a number. Pass the pickles, please.

The motel manager interjects as he lights sparklers and passes them to his guests:

MOTEL MANAGER J.J.

Thank you. Once you add the hot sauce.

The driver/bodyguard, listening nearby, sips a dry martini from an undersized glass. The motel manager chimes in warmly:

Roger and Sandy perk up considerably. Augie and Midge, opposite each other at the head and foot of the table, conduct a separate/simultaneous conversation:

Midge points to her dark sunglasses (”These?”), then removes them -- revealing a severe black-eye/shiner with purple, pink, and yellow highlights. Augie looks surprised but responds with clinical stoicism:

Midge licks her finger and rubs the bruise. It smudges slightly. Augie squints. Midge explains:

Augie contemplates this for a moment. He says finally:

Table #3: General Gibson and the business executive review a sheaf of documents:

Table #4 (“Reserved for Junior Stargazer Honorees”): Clifford does a yo-yo trick for Dinah, Ricky, and Shelly.

Clifford swirls the yo-yo three times into the air, then whips it back quickly. He watches to see how impressed the others are. (Hard to judge.) Dinah looks away -- then says suddenly to an off-screen character:

At a remove of approximately twenty feet: Woodrow is perched on a metal camper’s ice chest with his dinner plate in his lap. He looks around in all directions to determine if he is the person actually being addressed.

Dinah, Clifford, Ricky, and Shelly all stare intently at Woodrow. Woodrow turns bright red, but meets their eyes. Clifford nods wisely.

Ricky nods to a vacant seat at the picnic table. Woodrow reluctantly transports himself and his dinner. (In the background, Clifford climbs an ivied trellis.) Dinah points at Woodrow’s hat as he sits:

Ricky and Shelly look away/down, nod and murmur, uncomfortable. Dinah asks Woodrow:

Woodrow thinks for a moment. Dinah, Ricky, and Shelly stare intently at him again. They suddenly look concerned. Woodrow, as before, has turned bright red, now with puffy eyes and tears streaming down his face. He appears to be, nevertheless, still

searching for an answer. Dinah, Ricky, and Shelly wait, speechless. Woodrow reaches into his pocket and takes out a photograph. He shows it.

INSERT:

A snapshot of a dazzling, dark-eyed, thirty-year-old brunette in a one-piece bathing suit laughing, exuberant, as she bathes in an inflatable swimming pool on a downtown fire-escape.

Dinah studies the picture. She says, solemn:

Dinah looks shocked/confused. Clifford’s voice interrupts, calling from off-screen:

Woodrow, Dinah, Ricky, and Shelly look all around -- then up: Clifford has climbed onto the roof of the closest bungalow where he stands, hands on hips, legs apart, casually heroic. Shelly frowns.

Woodrow, Dinah, Ricky, and Shelly watch Clifford briefly, faintly annoyed. Clifford continues:

Clifford leaps off the rooftop (flailing deliberately as he aims for a patch of thick grass which he partially misses) and bangs into a garbage can which spills orange peels, soups cans, processed meat tins, etc. He stands up, limping but pleased, and picks grass off his skin. Woodrow (who, looking at his watch, appears to have timed the descent) says, aside:

INSERT:

A vending machine labeled “Martini with Twist.” In a window on the front of the unit: a lemon on a little spool spins while an automated paring knife curls free a sliver of peel -- which drops down to garnish a clear liquid in a glass cup.

The motel manager passes the martini to J.J., who is just finishing a previous cup. Roger’s and Sandy’s are half-full/half- empty.

SANDY J.J.

It’s not Silly-Putty. I’m sorry, but I doubt it.

J.J. clinks Sandy’s glass and takes a sip. He is impressed.

Roger points at J.J. The motel manager laughs suddenly. J.J. frowns. He responds to Roger:

On this point: J.J., Sandy, and Roger all sharply agree (and are even slightly emotional contemplating the subject).

Between the burned ruin and the canvas tent: the five teenagers sit together in a circle on the ground (under a pink oleander, near a humming air conditioning unit). Dinah rapidly explains the rules of a game:

Dinah nods. The five teenagers adjust and re-situate themselves, physically and mentally. Shelly picks up where Ricky left off:

Clifford raises an eyebrow. Woodrow points to each player as he recalls his/her name:

A murmur of appreciation. Camera now pans from one player to the next as Dinah lists:

Clifford and Ricky interject immediately:

Dinah quickly clarifies:

A murmur of acceptance. Exchanged looks as the group prepares for the next round. Ricky pauses, then recites speedily:

Ricky hesitates an instant. Everyone chimes in just as he remembers:

RICKY OTHERS

Leeuwenhoek. Leeuwenhoek.

Ricky nods, satisfied. He says suddenly (as Dinah chimes in):

RICKY DINAH

Lord Kelvin. Add the new one.

Pause. Shelly looks to Dinah and says, embarrassed/excited:

DINAH SHELLY

Including my mother. She’s my idol.

A murmur of annoyance. Ricky says, uncertain:

A murmur of further annoyance. Dinah proposes to Woodrow:

Woodrow pauses. He points to himself first:

Woodrow then goes carefully backwards through the group:

Woodrow stops at Dinah. Pause.

Outside the fence at the rear the motel: the posse of cowboys and ranch hands have pitched camp for the night (an open fire, a circle of sleeping bags, saddles and tack, a strummed banjo) fifty yards into the desert. They perch on rocks and rucksacks, smoking cigarettes and sipping at bottles of beer. They watch as June swings one leg then another over the fence, agile, and strides out toward them. She arrives, glaring.

One of June’s pupils (a boy with a cowlick) puffs a last puff at a cigarette butt. He darts it into the fire.

The cowboys and ranch hands exchange looks: puzzled, amused, embarrassed. June presses the question:

Montana stands up. He interjects, courtly and (perhaps) honest:

MONTANA JUNE

(clarifying) (coolly) That cigarette. Didn’t you?

Montana smiles/laughs. June looks to the boy. The boy shrugs. June and Montana study each other briefly. June says (less cool):

The boy reluctantly drags himself to his feet, nodding to the men as they murmur polite goodbyes. Montana tips his hat to June. June rolls her eyes. She takes the boy by the hand and starts briskly back toward the fence.

Cabin #9: Midge paces back and forth in the open window of her bathroom while she reads aloud from a screenplay, rehearsing herself (half off-book):

Cabin #10: a roller-blind zings open in another bathroom window (directly opposite, just across a narrow driveway). Inside, Augie has set up a darkroom with blankets and strings, a red lamp and enlarger, etc. He looks out, wiggling and fanning a damp print. Midge pauses and sees him.

Augie reverses the photograph to show: “Midge Campbell Eating a Waffle.” Beautifully lit, perfectly natural, wildly flattering. Pause.

Augie turns away to hang the print (next to his photo of the atomic explosion) to dry with clothespins. Midge sits down inside her window. Augie sits down inside his.

Silence. Augie suddenly flickers alert:

Midge stands up. She walks into the bathroom, turns on the shower, takes off her clothes, steps into the bathtub, closes the curtain, and stands under the running water for five seconds. She turns off the shower. She steps back out. She wraps herself in a towel. Backlit in the bathroom doorway, she recites:

Midge unwraps her towel, dangles it slowly, then lets it slip to the floor. She stares at Augie. Augie stares back, serenely frozen. Midge says, hopeful/resigned/determined:

Silence. Midge says eventually:

Augie nods. He puts his pipe into his mouth and lights it. Midge flips two switches on the wall: turning off the overhead bathroom light and turning on a pair of dressing-table mirror- tubes, which illuminate her softly in blue-ish. She reaches for

a peignoir -- but Augie interrupts (reacting to the entire vignette):

Augie shrugs. Midge holds still (for a very long exposure) as Augie snaps the photograph. Midge puts on her dressing gown and returns to her window-seat. She confides to Augie:

In an alley behind the cabin: Andromeda, Pandora, and Cassiopeia crouch on their knees as they dig a small hole in the ground with a fork, a spoon, and a popsicle stick. The Tupperware salad bowl waits beside them. In the background: a mint-green Cadillac Eldorado convertible curls from the highway, rolls into the driveway, and stops. Pandora commands her sisters:

Stanley (in golfing attire, as before) gets out of the car and slowly approaches as: Andromeda produces the previously-prepared ashtray of salt, pepper, and mustard; Pandora decants the remaining drops of a jar of vinegar into the mixture; and Cassiopeia stirs it all together, then scoops out bits at a time with the popsicle stick, shoveling the potion down the hole in the ground as she invents/recites:

The girls wait for a moment while nothing happens. Stanley pauses just behind them. Andromeda pronounces:

The girls place the bowl into the hole, throw dead flowers on top, and begin to spoon/fork dirt in after. Stanley says finally:

The girls look up at their grandfather, startled, and stare. Stanley studies the expressions on their faces; then says, slightly heartbroken:

The girls turn back to the gravesite. Stanley comes closer and kisses the girls on the tops of their heads, one by one. Pandora murmurs as he does this:

Stanley frowns. He sniffs at his hands and arms. He makes an official decision:

Stanley kneels down, removes the flowers, and begins to carefully dig up the bowl. The girls, at first frozen in shock, quickly go into a frenzied panic, squealing and shrieking:

CASSIOPEIA PANDORA

You’re ruining the funeral! He’s making her go to hell!

Andromeda strikes a threatening pose and clarifies the situation, seething:

Stanley pauses as he is about to pull the bowl up from the dirt. He sighs.

The girls whimper and nod. Stanley re-buries the salad bowl.

Stanley points as a fireworks display, modest but exciting, commences in the desert just beyond the motel grounds. Stanley and the three girls watch, bereft and dazzled.

As the fireworks continue to pop: Montana retrieves a toothbrush from the toiletries vending machine, then pauses to study another machine which advertises “Deeds.” He asks the motel manager, curious/suspicious:

The motel manager motions toward a desolate, cactus-studded flat in the near distance. Montana asks, dubious:

The congregation has re-assembled, this time seated on picnic blankets. They sip and crunch a midnight snack of root beer and peanuts. Dr. Hickenlooper stands at the lectern (flanked by her assistant on one side of the dais and General Gibson on the other), uplit by a reading lamp. She begins enthusiastically over the P.A. speaker:

Only Dr. Hickenlooper herself raises her hand. She looks surprised.

Dr. Hickenlooper turns off the reading lamp. The young people and most of the adults stand up eagerly and begin to fit home- made, cardboard box and wax-paper viewing devices over their heads. The military personnel use similar but industrial- manufactured, weapons-grade versions of the apparatus (nylon and stainless-steel fittings; calibrated dials and gauges). Andromeda, Cassiopeia, and Pandora use shoeboxes. Stanley sits next to them with his own normal-sized box/device.

Dr. Hickenlooper puts on her own viewing device.

Woodrow’s face inside his box. He squints. Through a tinfoil sieve on top: a beam of amber light shines neatly, diagonally, onto a black construction-paper rectangle masking-taped to the cardboard directly in front of his eyes. A small, red dot appears -- followed by a white one, then a blue -- along a perfectly-spaced, horizontal line. Woodrow says, pleased:

All around the crater: “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” among the children, parents, and military personnel. Enchanted laughter and dazzled whispering. The breeze blows. An owl hoots. Crickets chirp. Bells ring at the railroad crossing as another freight train locomotes in the dark. Dr. Hickenlooper provides a bit of commentary, speaking into the microphone from inside her box at a whisper:

Dr. Hickenlooper lifts her viewing device and looks to the freckled boy. She studies him briefly as he looks up at her with the box on his head. She twists the box 180 degrees backwards. The freckled boy stiffens and yelps:

Dr. Hickenlooper puts her box back on. On another/nearby picnic blanket: Midge tilts the box off her head and looks at Shelly (under her own box with her movie magazine tucked under her arm). She asks bluntly:

Shelly tilts back her box. She says, transfixed:

Shelly points to a patch on her uniform. Midge takes the magazine out of Shelly’s hand and flips pages.

Midge finds a staged photo of herself (in a kitchen, wearing an apron, frying eggs) and autographs it. She hands back the magazine. Shelly says, awed:

Suddenly: the radio telescopes spinning above the crater all rotate in unison to face in a single, fixed direction. Dead silence.

Woodrow’s black construction-paper rectangle again. A fourth dot (green, unexpected) appears in position immediately to the right of the original three. Woodrow frowns.

Woodrow tilts the box off his head and looks up.

Woodrow’s mouth opens. His eyes widen. He holds his breath and stares, frozen. A faint, green glow begins to irradiate his face, slowly increasing in luminosity.

Dr. Hickenlooper, her assistant, General Gibson, the aide-de- camp, Augie, Midge, and the other gathered people begin to remove their own viewing devices and watch the sky -- agog.

From above: a green-and-neon hexagonal spacecraft exactly the diameter of the crater silently descends and hovers at an altitude of fifty feet. It twists and bounces slightly, creaking. After a moment, a fan or motor of some kind engages, whirs briefly, then shuts off again.

The group of statues below watches, stunned.

A round hatch on the underside of the spacecraft irises open. A metallic pole jolts out with a clank, extends downwards three feet, and stops. A ladder-rung folds out, buzzing, at the bottom of the pole and locks into position.

Among the watching group: hyperventilation, difficulty swallowing, a few tears. General Gibson’s hand instinctively moves to the sidearm holster on his belt. He snaps off the safety.

From the hatch again: a foot (size approximately 20-AAA, red/orange, nine-toed) pokes down and cautiously tests the ladder-rung. Then: a second foot; followed by (as the pole slowly and silently extends a few feet further downward before pausing again) two extremely long, double-jointed legs; a brief, carapaced torso; spindly arms; protracted, scraggly fingers; and a pleasant, red/orange, tiny-mouthed face with large and immediately lively (even anxious) eyes.

The alien looks down at the group from its perch, hesitant. (Roger and J.J. exchange a look: “See?”/“Yes.”) The alien twists a handle-grip, and the pole descends like an elevator (at first, gingerly; then quickly). When it finally stops: the end of the pole (and the alien) sways gently one foot above the ground near the center of the crater. With a little plickity-plack, a small tripod unfolds at the end of the pole, touching its three ends onto the hard-packed dirt.

The alien looks to the group -- as if awaiting permission. It steps onto the earth. Pause. It crouches and leans, reaching toward the rebar cage. Pause. It lifts off the cage like a cake- dome (weightless), sets it aside, and places its hands on the sides of the meteorite. Pause. It picks up the rock and looks all around for any objection.

Augie slowly raises his camera to his eyes. He corrects exposure and focus. The alien looks to him, adjusts its pose, and waits. Augie snaps “the picture.” He lowers his camera, eyes locked with the alien, and winds the film. Woodrow looks to his father, impressed.

The alien makes a quiet sound as if clearing its throat. It tucks the meteorite under its arm and steps back onto the ladder- rung. The pole rapidly ascends/retracts all the way up and into the spacecraft. The hatch spirals shut. The green-and-neon lights flicker to a new configuration. The vessel rises straight up a thousand feet, twists one rotation in place, then cruises away at an angle high above and across the moonlit desert before vanishing into space.

Silence. Augie, at a loss, finally states the obvious:

No one moves.

Black and white.

The host resumes his narration, spotlit in the dark, as the lights slowly come up on a new set: a writer’s study in a shingled beach house. It contains a typewriter stand; a braided

rug; a pine table; wicker chairs; neatly over-stuffed bookcases; faintly homoerotic paintings of horses, steers, cowboys, ranch hands; and a whirring electric fan. Tall reeds shiver in the window before a painted theatrical background of dunes and surf at dusk. Sounds of rolling waves and seagulls.

The playwright, perspiring in his Western costume, finishes clacking away at a letter and zips it out of his machine just as a middle-aged secretary enters with a rack of buttered toast on a tray.

The secretary sighs. She exits, and the actor who plays Augie almost immediately enters the room. He wears a soldier’s khaki uniform -- but in a stylish/relaxed fashion (contrary to regulation): cap at a tilt, necktie loose, sleeves rolled up, sweat under the armpits. The host explains:

The host exits. The playwright finally notices the actor in his study and says, startled:

The actor plants a large, oblong mass -- paper-wrapped, twine- bound, frayed and tattered -- onto the table with a thump. He draws a slightly frightening lock-blade hunting knife from an ankle strap and begins to hack and chop at the package. The playwright retreats a step, concerned.

From beneath the layers of thermal insulation: a carton of ice cream begins to emerge. The playwright quickly recognizes a gooseberry-motif on the lid. He is simultaneously deeply touched, mildly suspicious, and uncomfortable. He says, tentatively playful:

The actor flips the sizable blade shut, then (from a trouser pocket) unfolds a collapsible camping spoon. He lifts the carton’s lid and plugs the spoon into the cream-and-purple substance. He holds out a bite to the playwright’s mouth. The playwright hesitates, then leans forward and eats the spoonful of ice cream like a child. Clearly, it has survived the journey intact:

The actor and the playwright trade the spoon back and forth, two strangers eating together in silence. The playwright says eventually, politely:

The actor declines the return of the spoon and begins to wander around the edges of the room, studying book titles and old snapshots as the playwright continues to eat.

The actor struggles briefly at the window, pressing and jabbing the rickety, wooden sash. The playwright watches him, doubtful.

The actor smashes his fist through a pane, flips a latch, then (now easily) slides the window open. He looks to the playwright; both laugh out loud. Pause. The actor asks, pointed but gentle:

The actor shrugs. He shakes his head. The playwright agrees:

The playwright watches as: the actor takes down one of the playwright’s freshly pressed shirts from a laundry box on a shelf; pulls out the packing-tissue and begins to stuff it under his shirt (padding for a fake belly); peels off a fake moustache and sticks it into one pocket; replaces it with a fake beard tugged out of another; rubs typewriter ink into his eyebrows; exits into a small closet and closes the door -- then reemerges with the familiar Swiss camera looped around his neck. He now speaks in Augie’s quiet, regional/city accent:

The actor looks up at the ceiling. Long pause. When he finally looks back down, his eyes are red, his face is tear-streaked, his voice cracks:

The actor sits down in one of the wicker chairs. He folds his hands in his lap -- then looks suddenly to the playwright, breaking the spell. The playwright stares. He says slowly:

Silence. The actor takes off his shirt, then his trousers and socks. The lights dim except in the window. The host re-enters frame:

The beach house rotates away on a turntable to reveal another new set:

A sleeping compartment (with sitting room and bed already made up) on an overnight passenger train. The actress who plays Midge, dressed in a silvery skirt suit and matching hat, surrounded by small suitcases, hand baggage, folded fur coat, sits with her legs tucked under her as a porter serves a bottle of beer with a chilled glass. Outside: the train accelerates through a cavernous metropolitan station (as rendered by a painted theatrical backdrop winding by on rollers). A stationmaster blowing a whistle slides by; followed by the head of a young man, twenty-two, clean cut, sprinting on the platform alongside the sleeping car. (He is the actor who plays Woodrow.) He hops a bit, trying to peek into the window, then speeds ahead, out of view. An instant later, we clear the station and enter the darkness of the tunnel that will deliver the train out of the city.

The porter exits. The actress lights a cigarette and opens the pages of a fashion magazine. A knock on the door. The actress looks up, frowning, and waits.

The door swings to the wall with a clack. The sprinting young man lunges into the compartment, gasping and panting, and bangs the door shut behind him. He is dressed Ivy League, winter. He says immediately, without catching his breath:

The actress stares at the young man evenly. Pause.

The young man shrugs, still gasping, and makes an educated guess:

The young man digs into his pockets, producing various scraps of paper, ticket stubs, dollar bills, bits of lint, some of which fall onto the floor. He isolates two specific tiny, folded, creased, damp, tattered documents. He displays one in each hand.

Silence. The actress says, stony:

The young man shakes his head, frazzled, and attempts to clarify the options:

The young man hands the actress both documents, two hands to two hands. She reads out loud from the first one:

The actress looks at the young man. He nods, confirming the message, and jams his hands into his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. The actress places the document face up on the table and moves on to the second one:

The actress places the second document down next to the first. She looks to the young man again.

The young man, nodding again, slightly less winded now, reaches inside his coat and withdraws a sealed envelope.

The young man holds out the envelope. The actress, cool and collected, does not move.

The young man swallows and gives up. He opens the envelope and reads, start to finish:

The sound of the train changes suddenly (loud to soft) as it exits the tunnel. A new winding/painted backdrop reveals the city, now distant, at dusk. Snowflakes flurry and telephone poles whisk by. The actress unpins her hat, removes it, and loosens her hair. She looks the young man up and down, head to toe. Silence.

The young man stares, dumb. The host re-enters the frame and looks from young man to actress to camera. He raises an eyebrow.

Scene to black. The host remains lit. He continues:

Behind the host, the lights come up on the theatre proscenium set -- turned around to face the audience, with painted backdrop depicting the empty house: seats, boxes, balconies. A wiry, intense, shirtless man works onstage repainting a backdrop. He is the director.

The director wanders into the wings: adjusting a lamp; resewing the trim of a costume; briefly touching-up a young actor’s old- age make-up.

The director arrives at a makeshift bedroom installation -- fake walls, folding bunk, sink basin, toaster and hot plate -- in a deep backstage corner behind crates, carts, and flats (all labeled: Property of “Asteroid City Scenic Department” and vaguely recognizable as the luncheonette). In the background, a hulking stagehand finishes stapling lace curtains along the sides of a fake window. They both survey the space.

The director begins to shadow-box in the corner. Off-screen: an annoyed/perplexed woman’s voice says:

In the fake doorway: a woman in a raincoat. Black hair with bangs, bright red lipstick, late thirties. She is Polly.

The stagehand stares, uneasy. The director milks it:

Polly moves slowly into the room, eye-balling the stagehand as he sheepishly evaporates. She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a legal-sized envelope:

The director stiffens. He takes the envelope. He opens it and studies a document. He says, overwhelmingly relieved:

Polly, rearranging the decor slightly (swapping a vase, shifting a chair), responds, distracted:

The director signs the document, slips it back into the envelope, and returns it.

Polly nods. She looks to the director with her knuckles on her hips.

The director looks out through the fake window. (Outside: more crates.) He continues:

The director reaches into a box on the table and brings out a model of the stage-version of the hexagonal spacecraft. He flips it over, studying the design. Polly examines it over his shoulder.

The director grunts. He presses a button on the model. It illuminates, dazzling. Polly looks pleased. She says gently:

Polly kisses the director softly on the lips and exits directly through the fake doorway. The director starts doing chin-ups from a costume rack as the host re-enters the frame:

Polly pokes her head back in. The director freezes mid-chin-up.

The director pictures this. He nods. He says wisely:

Polly smiles. She exits again and closes the fake door. The director stands and waits. Through the fake door, Polly says:

The director laughs/cries. Polly’s diminishing footsteps echo on the cement floor. Lights to black.

Widescreen/color.

A reinforced military barricade encircles and isolates the entire town. Signs on roadblocks read:

Strict Quarantine! Do Not Enter (or Exit) by order of the United States Military-science Research and Experimentation Division

Armed guards occupy security-posts on low scaffoldings at frequent intervals along the perimeter. A fleet of parked jeeps and troop transports provide additional fortification. Civilian vehicles in a queue on the highway wait to U-turn, one by one, as soldiers direct them to alternate routes.

The classroom. The school desks now seat military officers, technicians, and scientific advisors (including the business executive). Soldiers stand in the corners with rifles shouldered/sidearms holstered. A door opens. General Gibson strides into the room followed by his aide-de-camp (handcuffed to a metallic briefcase). He sits at the table in front and studies his audience.

(NOTE: throughout this and subsequent scenes, a slightly stunned/dazzled quality of uncertainty and disbelief informs the speech, deportment, and expression of the entire cast.)

The aide-de-camp snaps open the briefcase and passes a nylon pouch to General Gibson. The general opens it and removes a laminated envelope with a plastic seal. He reads a message on the cover:

General Gibson cracks open the seal and withdraws a thin stack of multicolored card-stock pages. He begins:

GENERAL GIBSON AIDE-DE-CAMP

(unsurprised) (also unsurprised) That’s pretty clear. Ha.

General Gibson passes the stack of cards to the aide-de-camp. He immediately begins running them through a hand-cranked paper shredder. The business executive raises a question:

A murmur among the soldiers. Whispers and tittering. General Gibson thinks. He suggests:

Silence. Sudden laughter. General Gibson raises an eyebrow, then says gravely:

The café has been converted into a temporary triage/evaluation unit with dividing screens and curtains on racks and rails. The rivet trailer is parked in front, linked to the front door by a transparent plastic corridor (which ripples in the breeze). Guards outside, scientists inside.

“Station #1: Medical”: J.J. and Clifford lie on adjacent gurneys, restrained, wired, and intubated to a bank of beeping/blinking devices registering pulse rate, body temperature, blood oxygen, radiation levels, brainwave patterns, etc. A technician in a lab coat makes a notation on a clipboard and exits. Clifford points to a button on a gadget overtly warning-labeled “DO NOT PRESS” and asks slyly:

J.J. CLIFFORD

No. It’s an experiment.

“Station #2: Psychological”: Sandy and Shelly sit side by side at a table facing another technician in a lab coat. The technician displays inkblots and records Shelly’s responses in a ledger:

“Station #3: Debriefing”: black felt tenting encloses an interrogation booth where Ricky sits in a metal chair under a hot lamp. Two military detectives pace and circle around him. Roger sits silent in the corner, frowning.

DETECTIVE #1 Let’s take it from the top.

DETECTIVE #2 (correction) Alleged alien.

DETECTIVE #1 RICKY

It’s called a meteorite. An extraterrestrial being.

DETECTIVE #2 (holding up a tiny canister) This is a microfiche of your school newspaper. Your byline accompanies an article criticizing the principal’s disciplinary methods. Who were your sources?

DETECTIVE #2 (angry) Just answer the question!

The driver/bodyguard, in his corner working on another crossword puzzle, looks up briefly. He takes a bite of a grilled cheese sandwich and resumes his puzzling.

A scaffold perch at the top of a metallic staircase. Woodrow stares through a massive telescope out the open bay of the silver dome. He looks up from the eyepiece and squints at the sky, intense and determined. He adjusts focus. On a platform one flight below: Dinah stands next to Dr. Hickenlooper in front of a large model of the meteor crater. She asks:

Dr. Hickenlooper indicates with a pencil: a low position immediately over the crater; straight up above as high as she can reach; diagonally across the cylindrical room; out the porthole window.

Woodrow refers to an enormous astronomical map wallpapering all around the interior of the tower as he recalls loudly:

Dr. Hickenlooper withdraws a reference book from a shelf and flips pages as she mutters:

DINAH WOODROW

Which one? Where is it?

Dr. Hickenlooper looks up and down at wallpaper/book in search of Midge Campbell X-9 Major. Dinah ascends the metallic staircase. Woodrow’s eyes widen as he sees her clanking up to join him. He chivalrously hops aside to allow her to look through the eyepiece. As Dinah leans into the telescope: Woodrow, transfixed, reverse-bumps into a lever -- then (to catch his balance) slaps his hand onto panel of buttons and knobs -- which sends the entire upper tower into a brisk, humming, shuddering rotation. Woodrow and Dinah straighten, alarmed. The telescope and platform begin to rise/dip and counter-spin. Dr. Hickenlooper shouts up from below:

Woodrow and Dinah quickly study the levers, buttons, and knobs. They exchange a look. Together: they click, twist, and pull. The telescope halts with a jolt, banging the two teenagers into each other. They regain their balance and brush themselves off, slightly breathless. An interesting silence; then Woodrow and Dinah simultaneously jolt back toward the telescope, bonk their

heads together, then look at each other half-laughing/half- dazed.

Woodrow motions for Dinah to go first again. He watches (in close-up) as she peers through the telescope: her eyelashes flutter; she licks her lips; she says in a soft voice:

Cabin #10: Augie’s roller-blind zings open. He is working in his darkroom again, wiggling and fanning another damp print. Cabin across the narrow driveway. Pause.

Augie reverses the photograph to show: the alien holding the meteorite (perfectly posed/exposed). Midge squints.

Augie hesitates. He looks at the photo. He realizes:

Augie hangs the photo of the alien (with clothespins) and produces another new/damp print: the nude of Midge outside her bathroom. It is also excellent. Midge nods, pleased, appreciative. Augie clips it up next to the alien. He sits down in his window. Midge asks abstractly:

Silence. Midge says suddenly:

AUGIE MIDGE

Of course. You said. I love all my children.

Augie pauses, curious/sympathetic, before choosing not to pursue the matter:

Augie tamps and lights his pipe while Midge studies him carefully. Finally, she understands:

Augie starts to faintly laugh. He mumbles:

Midge laughs faintly, too. A knock on the door of her bedroom.

The sound of the door jolting open (off-screen). Stanley’s voice calls out:

Pause. Stanley’s head peers in through the bathroom door. (He does not see Augie in the window.)

MIDGE STANLEY

Mort? Mort.

Stanley has now seen Augie. He frowns slightly and observes the two photographs: alien and nude. About one or the other he says simply:

The driver/bodyguard appears next to Stanley, suspicious. Stanley frowns. Midge signals: “I’m OK.” The driver/bodyguard shrugs. Stanley says coolly:

MIDGE STANLEY

I will. And his family.

Stanley lingers.

The schoolchildren (notebooks and pencil-cases laid out in front of them) occupy one of the picnic tables. June (a bit frazzled) stands next to a blackboard illustrated with a brightly colorful rendering of the solar system in multiple chalk colors. The two chaperones stand by, uneasy. June begins:

The freckled boy has raised his hand. He blurts:

The little girl with curly red hair has raised her hand. She blurts:

The boy with the cowlick has raised his hand. He says philosophically:

Montana appears next to June. He takes off his cowboy hat and holds it like a suitor as he proposes:

June hesitates. She nods. Montana addresses the class in a gentle, thoughtful, protective voice:

Montana puts his hat back on and smiles to June and the schoolchildren. June looks at Montana with both puzzlement and admiration. She touches his dusty arm briefly. She says to the group:

Outside the fence at the rear the motel: the motel manager explains the terms of a sale to J.J. as Clifford stands beside them doing tricks with his yo-yo. J.J. clutches a paper from the vending machine: “Deed of Sale.”

The motel manager sweeps his arm slowly toward the barren nothingness, marveling. J.J. squints.

Clifford pockets his yo-yo. He chimes in:

J.J. ignores the question. He continues the real-estate discussion:

J.J. looks skeptical. Clifford attempts to reiterate:

CLIFFORD J.J.

You dare me? I heard you.

Clifford goes silent, wounded. The motel manager, curious, looks back and forth between father and son. J.J. asks Clifford sincerely:

Silence. J.J. turns to the motel manager. The motel manager nods slowly. They both turn to Clifford. Clifford shrugs and sniffles. He looks like he is about to cry (but does not). Suddenly:

J.J. MOTEL MANAGER

Dare you what? Dare you what?

J.J. MOTEL MANAGER

(adamant) (worried) Lord, no. Please, don’t.

Clifford, perhaps out of a sense of obligation, walks deliberately toward a high cactus in the middle-distance.

Augie and Stanley flank Woodrow (in a mystified reverie) as they walk down the center of the roadblocked highway through the little town. The three girls trail behind them, stalking a dragonfly with a butterfly net. Further in the background: troops drill patrol along the barricades.

Augie and Stanley nod, sympathetic rather than deeply engaged. Woodrow continues:

Stanley frowns. He says to Woodrow:

Woodrow ignores this question. He says, electrified:

Augie nods. He shrugs. Woodrow drifts away, looking up at the sky and writing in his notebook. Augie sits on the hood of his now-derelict station wagon. He says to Stanley genuinely:

Stanley sits next to Augie. He says carefully:

Augie grits his teeth. Stanley takes a deep breath. Augie stage- whispers:

Stanley, puzzled, stage-whispers back:

Stanley grips Augie by the shoulders and shakes him gently in mock/genuine frustration. Woodrow suddenly re-appears. He points a finger at his father.

Long pause. Stanley looks baffled. Augie says eventually:

Augie and Stanley debate briefly, aside:

AUGIE STANLEY

I would’ve hired a babysitter. I’m the grandfather. I’m not In addition to you. the wet nurse.

Augie returns his attention to Woodrow. He clarifies:

Woodrow drifts away again. Augie takes a deep breath. He looks at the girls and asks:

The crater floor remains decorated exactly as last seen during the alien’s brief visit (including picnic blankets, root beer, peanuts, viewing devices); but hundreds of tags and markers stuck in the dirt now indicate names, times, distances, and other statistical information. An empty divot where the meteorite previously sat is now taped off and isolated -- as is the pair of peculiar footprints next to it. Guards stand at attention while men in rubber suits search with metal detectors, scan with Geiger counters, take rock and soil samples, analyze atmospheric conditions, etc. Cameras and recording devices flutter and hum. General Gibson, at his lectern, explains to a small team of assembled scientists and military personnel (including Dr. Hickenlooper) over the P.A. speaker:

General Gibson puts on his viewing device. Everyone else follows suit.

The general silence has been broken by the sound of prominent, crunchy chewing. Dr. Hickenlooper lifts the corner of her viewing device and peers out. From inside the box on his head, the aide-de-camp says with his mouth full of food:

The aide-de-camp reluctantly hands his package of corn chips to Dr. Hickenlooper. Dr. Hickenlooper clears her throat and presses on:

The aide-de-camp points to: the mechanic, nearby, cradling the cast-iron assembly which fell from the underside of Augie’s car. He explains to Dr. Hickenlooper and General Gibson:

General Gibson examines the assembly. He muses:

Dr. Hickenlooper looks at General Gibson and the executive, skeptical. She continues her address (now eating corn chips as she speaks):

After dark. The middle of the town, quiet and empty. A guard sits in a chair in front of the telephone booth. A sign on a barricade behind him reads:

The night wind blows gently. Moths flutter under a roadside lamp. Clifford saunters out of the dimness, practicing his yo- yo. (His face and hands are now covered with numerous, tiny bandages.) He approaches the guard and smiles.

The guard nods, blank. Clifford finishes an offhand trick then pockets his yo-yo.

Clifford holds out a dime. The guard answers, stony:

Silence. The guard shrugs. He takes the dime, unlocks/opens a special triple-latch on the door of the telephone booth, and reaches inside to slip the dime into its slot. The dime clinks. The payphone clacks. The guard closes the door and re-locks it.

Camera booms up: through the roof of the little booth, diagonally along the telephone line up to the top of a nearby utility pole, horizontally across the parking area and motor court gardens -- to a jerry-rigged junction spliced with clamps, clips, and electrical tape which branches off and descends down (via what appears to be a pair of automobile jumper cables) into Tent #7.

The exterior wall of the tent dissolves away to reveal, inside: a tidy, canvas motel room on a wooden platform floor with braided rugs. It is furnished exactly as the surrounding cabins. Ricky, wearing a radio headset, listens at a complicated, improvised telecommunications console. Woodrow, Dinah, and Shelly sit beside him, waiting. Woodrow and Dinah are in mid- conversation, animated:

Dinah considers this. Ricky’s eyes light up. He holds up his finger for silence.

Clifford pokes his head through the tent flap. Ricky looks at him and nods. Clifford slips inside.

SPLIT-SCREEN:

On one side: Ricky with the others in the tent. On the other side: a telephone rings in a suburban kitchen. A carefully coiffed and made-up mother, svelte in a stylish dress and apron, dries her hands on a dishtowel as she picks up the receiver and answers, a bit sharp:

The mother exits. Ricky looks to his colleagues; Clifford distributes Raisinets; Shelly asks Woodrow and Dinah (a bit blunt):

Woodrow turns bright red again. He says:

SHELLY WOODROW

(louder) (flustered) You know who! Us?

Dinah looks at Woodrow briefly, calm. Woodrow takes a deep breath. Shelly concludes:

In the meantime: a sleepy boy in pajamas and a tartan bathrobe enters the kitchen (sipping a glass of warm/chocolatey milk with a straw) and picks up the receiver:

Black and white.

The lights come up on another set: a rehearsal space in a converted cast-iron building (formerly a garment factory). Sprung wooden floor, low platform stage, pressed tin ceiling. One wall of expansive windows looks out at a painted theatrical background depicting an elevated train station platform; another wall is fully mirrored like a dance studio. Wooden chairs seat twenty students, aged twenty-five to forty, well-dressed in jackets with neckties and skirts with scarves. Some smoke cigarettes. One of them is the host. He turns briefly to address camera:

The teacher/guru, shoeless in a narrow suit of Communist origin, bright-eyed and commanding, sits perched on a threadbare but comfortable settee. He begins (in faintly mittel-Europa accent):

The playwright, seated on the stage alone, answers, hopeful:

The host stands up and moves among the students as he continues his narration:

The host points out various notable figures: the actor who plays Roger, the actress who plays Shelly, the actor who plays the mechanic, the actor who plays Montana, the actress who plays Midge -- and (behind them all, in the corner of the back row, seated on the floor, near the door) the actor who plays Augie.

The actor who plays Roger raises his hand to ask:

The actress who plays Shelly chimes in:

The room echoes in agreement. The actor who plays Montana asks (in an English accent):

The teacher rises from his settee and begins to prowl the stage, ruminating. He demands:

A voice answers from an unseen corner of the room:

The teacher and his students all turn to see: the director. The director smiles slyly. So does the teacher. Students whisper.

Silence. The teacher tips an imaginary hat.

Both the teacher and the director now look significantly to the playwright: available. The director says quietly:

The playwright nods, demure and pleased. The host, now behind/beside the teacher, director, and playwright, interjects:

On cue: the students all go inert -- then dream: yawning, snoring, sleepwalking/sleeptalking, tossing and turning, singing a lullaby, thumbsucking with a security blanket, etc. The teacher turns to the playwright and says, shouting over the din:

As the playwright speaks, the lights begin to slowly fade -- leaving him alone, spotlit in the darkness:

Widescreen/color.

In all directions encircling the town: an ambush of press and public (beyond/outside the military barricades). Television crews; radio reporters; newspapermen and women; visitors by the dozen with picnic baskets and transistor radios; vendors selling popcorn, toy meteorites, and postcards of a crude but generally accurate rendering of the alien with the meteorite tucked under his arm (evidently based on Ricky’s description). Parked cars, trucks, and vans everywhere. Campers camping. A Ferris wheel. An arriving passenger train bannered “Asteroid City Alien Special” jammed with tourists leaning out windows and clambering down from doors -- among them a newsboy carrying a stack of papers. He shouts:

INSERT:

The front page of a daily newspaper (The Arid Plains Desert Post). Headline: “High School Student Breaks Alien Invasion Story: Exposes Military Cover-up.” A sidebar begins: “Junior Stargazer, Ace Reporter: Ricky Cho (of the Coldcreek High School Weekly Bobcat).” Augie’s photograph of the alien is top/center with a caption: Augie Steenbeck/French Press International.

The classroom. General Gibson sits, as before, at the table in front. Ricky, in a school desk, faces him. Also present: Roger,

the business executive, two guards. (Tacked to the wall: numerous photographs of the alien’s footprints.) General Gibson is offended, disappointed, angry:

The door opens, and the aide-de-camp enters to deliver a yellow envelope to General Gibson.

General Gibson tears open the envelope. He speed-reads a telegram. He tosses papers fluttering into the air as he groans, wounded:

Ricky strides to the door, father in tow. The business executive inquires, aside, to General Gibson:

An improvised shooting range behind the luncheonette. A barrage of machine-gun bullets rips into a row of paper targets (adapted from Augie’s alien photograph) pinned to a bank of hay bales, shredding them. A dozen soldiers, flat on the ground in a row, quickly reload. One of them (the guard from the telephone booth) notices something off-screen and frowns.

A hundred yards away: a beer bottle catapults into the air. J.J. hoists Clifford’s electromagnetic death-ray up to his shoulder and pulls the trigger, silently zapping the bottle into glowing dots which linger/sizzle/pop. J.J. recharges the death-ray while Sandy observes at his side. Stanley distributes fresh martinis from the cantina machine. (He retains another round in his free hand, clasped by a finger in each cup.)

J.J. places another beer bottle into the launcher and catapults it. Sandy aims the death-ray -- but an off-screen voice interrupts brusquely:

J.J., Sandy, and Stanley turn suddenly, startled. (The bottle falls to the ground, unzapped, and shatters.) The telephone booth guard (still armed for target practice) stands behind the group. J.J. retrieves the death-ray from Sandy, possessive.

The guard reaches toward the death-ray. J.J. swings up the nose of the device.

The aide-de-camp jogs briskly from another direction to intervene. He carries a military-issue handheld two-way radio. He says soothingly:

J.J. and the guard are now pointing their weapons at each other, point-blank. They shout/scream:

GUARD J.J.

You stole your projects! I’ll zap you right now!

The aide-de-camp’s radio crackles: “Stand down!” The aide-de- camp nods and says sharply to the guard:

Cabin #10: Augie’s roller-blind zings open once again as he wiggles/fans another damp print. (Hanging from clothespins behind him: a print of the Steenbeck family station wagon on blocks.) He says loudly without looking:

Augie reverses the photograph to show: himself in a smoky/misty jungle, hair matted with blood, more blood caked black on the side of his neck, puffing his pipe, holding up a bloody/twisty metal shard.

As he hangs the print Augie finally sees in Cabin #9, across the driveway: Midge, lifeless in an overflowing bathtub with an empty bottle of sleeping pills spilled all over the floor. Augie freezes, squints, and stares. Midge says motionless, eyes closed, mascara streaked:

Augie hesitates. He disappears briefly -- then returns holding a copy of Midge’s script. He sits and reads out loud:

Augie makes shattering/crashing sounds and bashes imaginary plates and vases off imaginary shelves in every direction, enraged. He reels back to Midge and says, baffled:

Midge shrugs. Long pause. Augie tries again, crushed/ heartbroken -- and improved:

Augie stands up and exits the bathroom. Camera dollies to the next window to reveal Augie forking a grilled cheese from a hot plate on the table. Midge enters her own bedroom (opposing window), wrapping her dressing gown around her as she sits. She says, suddenly tense:

Augie and Midge simultaneously look away and sigh. Midge begins to carefully funnel sleeping pills back into their bottle. She says quietly:

Another pause. Then, simultaneously:

AUGIE MIDGE

(hopeful/desperate) (hopeful/affectionate) Although you never know. Unless maybe it is?

Augie and Midge stare at each other. Augie says oddly:

A beat. Augie looks down to:

INSERT:

The electric hot plate (patterned with diagonal zig-zag lightning bolts). Brand: “Quicky-Griddle.”

Augie slaps down his palm on the burner. He yelps and jerks his hand away. Midge frowns.

Augie holds up his hand. The palm is seared with griddled lightning bolts. Midge looks shocked.

Augie looks at his hand, bewildered. He frowns.

The schoolchildren sit, once again, at their picnic table. June (now wearing slightly more make-up than usual, with one extra blouse button unbuttoned and her hair looser, in waves) stands next to her blackboard which is still illustrated with the colorful solar system and now includes numerous moons and detailed size/distance/mass measurements. The two chaperones remain uneasy.

The motel gardener/handyman studies a user’s manual and tinkers with pliers and screwdrivers behind a large cabinet housing a tiny television screen (tuned to static) situated on a rolling cart. Adjacent: a pedestal-mounted television camera. June begins:

June points to, just outside the town perimeter/barricades, between throngs of festive visitors: a mobile Quonset hut with a Sikorsky helicopter parked next to it.

The gardener/handyman continues to tinker. June continues:

The freckled boy has raised his hand. He blurts:

The freckled boy displays an intricately constructed scale model of the alien’s spacecraft (employing toothpicks, paperclips, sequins, glitter, pipe cleaners, and cotton ball smoke). A critical/appreciative murmur among the other schoolchildren.

The girl with curly red hair has raised her hand. She blurts:

The curly-haired girl displays a crayon drawing of the alien (in thinker-pose, mysteriously smiling) perched on a rock in front of a futuristic mansion in a barren desert. Another critical/appreciative murmur.

The boy with the cowlick has raised his hand. He blurts:

The boy with the cowlick displays a wide-ruled sheet of pencilled lyrics. June hesitates, uneasy.

Montana appears next to June (again), tuning a rattly lap-steel guitar as the entire posse of other cowboys and ranch hands filters into formation behind him, briskly arranging several hay bales and tuning their own instruments. The boy with the cowlick steps in front. Montana explains:

The group launches directly into a haunting western chant with ominous, plucked accompaniment. The boy with the cowlick steeples his hands as if in prayer and sings:

The chorus brings the song instantly into the upbeat skiffle/rodeo genre with full country orchestration and the entire posse singing in unison (in three octaves):

The children, ecstatic, clap and bounce with the joyful music. Montana sets aside his lap-steel, hops over to June, takes her hand, and pulls her into a dance while the other musicians (and, now, the gardener/handyman, as well) continue to play a round of exquisite/repeated “Howdly-dees!” with whoops and stomps etc. June, caught off-guard, laughs as Montana swings her in a circle. Unobserved on the T.V. set: the parents (clustered together inside a small hangar, hot, haggard, weary, unkempt, slightly terrified) have finally been connected. They watch, mystified.

(NOTE: the lyric “or other” might, perhaps, be sung by one of the ranch hands in extreme, deepest basso profondo.)

The five teenagers sit together (once again) in a circle on the ground between the burned ruins and the canvas tent. One of the radio telescopes from the field outside the observatory has been relocated into the immediate background. It spins quietly in its familiar manner. As Dinah lists names (periodically pointing to Ricky, Clifford, and/or Shelly as “out”), Dr. Hickenlooper appears (unnoticed) behind them. She inspects the radio telescope, surprised/irritated. She watches the game briefly.

(NOTE: Woodrow and Dinah, the only players not “out,” stare only at each other during the game. The other participants look back and forth between them, invested in the outcome of the competition -- but also intrigued by the noticeable chemistry in the air. Clifford performs an occasional yo-yo trick.)

Dr. Hickenlooper follows a low, suspended electrical cable into the tent. Camera dollies with her to reveal: a much-expanded array of sophisticated gadgetry and wiring (humming, blinking, beeping) which now fills the entire space beyond its capacity. (Dinah’s plant-growing device appears to have cultivated a beanstalk which extends out through a hole in the roof of the tent.) Dr. Hickenlooper shakes her head. She returns to the group while Dinah continues:

The five startled teenagers look to each other, worried. Woodrow answers:

Dr. Hickenlooper struggles to convey the depths of her profoundly wounded annoyance as she responds:

Dr. Hickenlooper scoffs: “Ha.” She motions with a thumb back towards the tent:

Dr. Hickenlooper points. Camera pans slightly to reveal a bulletin board displaying a large concept-drawing which depicts the moon with the American flag projected onto it; and, thumb- tacked around it, alternative symbols: a cross, a Star of David, a pentagram, an eye, a pyramid, a yin/yang, the Coca-Cola logo, and the photograph of Woodrow’s mother. Woodrow explains:

DINAH CLIFFORD

They know that. It’s too easy.

As Dinah effortlessly continues down her list, Dr. Hickenlooper signals for Woodrow to join her, aside:

Woodrow follows Dr. Hickenlooper into the tent as she continues to pretend to study/consult about the stolen gear:

Dr. Hickenlooper raises an eyebrow. She whispers with authority:

Dr. Hickenlooper refers to the jumble of scientific apparatus (and what it represents to her). Woodrow hesitates.

DR. HICKENLOOPER WOODROW Trust your curiosity. OK.

Woodrow stares into Dr. Hickenlooper’s eyes. Long pause.

Tears stream down Woodrow’s face again. Dr. Hickenlooper hugs him.

The motel manager stands at the “Deeds” vending machine and makes his pitch to an off-screen customer:

The freckled boy cupping a handful of forty quarters. He bites his lip, weighing his options. His eyes wander to the candy machine.

The entire congregation has re-assembled once more at the bottom/center of the impact crater. Folding chairs. American flag. Cameraman filming. “Asteroid Day” banner (a bit crumpled). The five Junior Stargazers’ projects on display. The mechanic stands off to the side holding a small, cardboard box labeled “Unknown.” In the audience: Augie’s hand is now carefully bandage-wrapped. At his lectern: General Gibson speaks.

The group explodes into cheers, applause, hugs, tears. The aide- de-camp appears with the giant-sized $5,000 check. General Gibson says with uneasy warmth/relief:

General Gibson motions to Ricky, cool but respectful. Ricky nods, also respectful but also cool.

Whispers and murmuring. Everyone has turned to watch: Woodrow, frozen, pointing to the “date” display/scoreboard. He states ominously:

Dr. Hickenlooper frowns. Suddenly: the congregation is illuminated in the familiar green light. They all look up. The spacecraft is hovering silently above. The round hatch on its underside irises open. The alien’s scraggly fingers reach out slowly into view, cupping the meteorite in their careful grip, and thrust/toss the rock (as if releasing a bird or butterfly), which then drops straight down, landing with a thump more or less in its original divot. The hatch spirals shut, and the vessel departs exactly as before (with an additional/horizontal

loop-de-loop flourish). Everyone stares, mouths open, frozen/agog. Silence. Augie finally clarifies the situation:

INSERT:

The meteorite. General Gibson’s hands gingerly touch the surface of the rock, then flip it over to reveal, on the bottom: a hand- painted inventory labeling of indecipherable runic characters. Pause.

General Gibson carefully places the rock back in position precisely as it fell. He looks to the business executive, tense. The business executive says immediately:

General Gibson sighs. He strides back to his lectern/microphone to address the group with urgent wariness:

J.J. zaps the P.A. speaker with Clifford’s electromagnetic death- ray. It sizzles/pops/disappears. General Gibson test-taps the dead microphone. The entire congregation erupts into a riot, hurling chairs, knocking over tags and markers, tearing down the banner, etc. Roger rockets up into the air on Ricky’s jet-pack, blasting and roaring above the fracas. Sandy throws extraterrestrial rocks at soldiers. J.J. continues to zap pieces of equipment. (Clifford and Shelly egg their parents on. Ricky clings to the rope tether to prevent his father from rocketing into the sky.) Andromeda, Pandora, and Cassiopeia cast spells, swooshing wands, swishing glitter, jumping and shrieking. Stanley laughs hysterically and keeps hold of them by their sleeves, belts, and ribbons. The cowboys and ranch hands swing lassos and holler. The schoolchildren scamper, ecstatic, in every direction as June and the chaperones try to wrangle them. The mechanic yelps as the box in his hands suddenly begins to jump and twist. He drops it on the ground, and the box splits open to reveal the peculiar assembly as it repeats its earlier sputtering, squealing, scooting, etc. Woodrow adjusts a knob on his device/project, gently shielding it from the hubbub. The

moon hologram blinks on. Dinah looks up at the sky. Projected on the surface of the actual moon itself: the initials “W.S. + D.C” (inside the outline of a heart-shape). Woodrow and Dinah kiss, a breathless/delirious clutch.

Augie stands immobile at the center of the chaos. He says to Midge, at his side, internal-struggling:

Augie turns and walks briskly to the edge of the crater -- which reveals itself to be a painted backdrop. He opens it (swinging open, along with the rocky terrain, a small section of painted mountains and sky). He exits.

Black and white.

The host stands on the theatre proscenium set (now seen from backstage, behind plywood flats mounted on two-by-four joist- frames). A door opens (unfinished plywood on one side, painted crater/mountains/sky on the other) to reveal the actor playing Augie (with bandage-wrapped hand). In the background (onstage): the actors playing Midge, General Gibson, and Dr. Hickenlooper watch, puzzled. Beyond them: footlights and darkness. The actor closes the door.

The host hesitates. He asks the actor:

The actor crosses into the wings, past a make-up table where the actor playing the alien is in the process of applying his alien prosthetics. Overheard (with the actress who plays Shelly) as we pass:

The actor continues past a live television camera with a confused operator assisted by a puzzled electrician and into the makeshift bedroom installation (unlit) where the director lies sleeping on his folding bunk. The actor stands and says, insistent:

The lights come up on the set (slightly disorderly: too bright/too dark, blinking on/off) and the director opens his eyes. He bolts upright.

Long pause. The director twists and sets his bare feet onto the floor. He answers as he stands up, stretches, then slides a chair from across the room over to the bedside:

The director directs the actor to sit in the chair. The actor sits. The director kneels on the floor in front of the actor and says, looking into the actor’s eyes with his undivided attention:

The director crawls back into bed as the actor exits the makeshift bedroom installation. Camera moves past a booth at the stage door, through the exterior wall of the building to:

Outside in an alley between the docks of two adjacent theatres. (Half-seen marquees read: “Asteroid City” and “Fruit of a Withering Vine.”) A delicate snowfall dusts the air. Whizzing taxis zip through the background. The actor closes the stage door and stands on a fire escape a short ladder’s flight above a row of trash cans. He takes out Augie’s pipe and starts to light it -- then pauses, puts it back into his pocket, and produces a pack of cigarettes, instead. He lights one. An off-screen voice says:

The actor looks side to side, up and down, then across the alley -- where he sees, smoking a cigarette on a similar fire escape next to a similar stage door: the actress in the photograph of Woodrow’s mother/Augie’s deceased wife. She is dressed in Elizabethan costume with starched ruff-collar. The actor hesitates.

The actress nods. Pause.

The actor nods. He shrugs.

The actress thinks. Pause.

The actor thinks. Pause.

The actor and actress puff on their cigarettes. Pause.

The actor remembers. He nods.

Pause. The actress recites (with precision and feeling):

The actor nods. He remembers the last line:

The door cracks open. The actor playing the motel manager leans out and says abruptly:

The actor throws away his cigarette and darts inside. The door slams behind him. The actor playing the motel manager lingers. He takes out a cigarette and says:

Across the alley: the actress nods and smiles as she continues to smoke. Camera leaves her and the actor playing Stanley behind as it dollies away across the television soundstage to:

Seated at his little desk, clacking at his typewriter, spotlit in the darkness: the playwright. The host, also spotlit, explains:

The playwright stops typing and looks to camera. Lights/sound slowly fade from him as he speaks -- while, behind him, lights/sound come up on the rehearsal space (Saltzburg Keitel’s classroom).

The students pick up their improvisations exactly where they left off: yawning, snoring, sleepwalking/sleeptalking, tossing and turning, singing a lullaby, thumbsucking with a security blanket, etc. The playwright joins the acting teacher and the director, observing. Eventually, out of the hullaballoo, the actor who plays Augie says from the back of the room:

Other actors murmur a response: “What’s that mean?” “So what?” “Who said it?” More snoring/tossing/singing, etc. The actress who plays Shelly now says loudly:

Another round of responses, more forceful: “That’s not true!” “Who cares?” “Say it again!” The actor who plays the mechanic now says loudly:

The other students, on their feet, raise their voices: “Maybe not?” “Why should you?” “Of course!” The actors who play Roger and Montana shout together:

ACTOR/ROGER ACTOR/MONTANA

You can’t wake up if you don’t You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep! fall asleep!

The teacher’s face lights up. He murmurs: “Infinity -- and I don’t know what else!” He grabs the playwright’s hand and joins the chant, exuberant:

The playwright laughs, confused/enchanted. The director and all the other students, jolting from place to place around the room, repeat the chant, first chaotic, then in unison, over and over -- as the alien himself (now fully made-up, with inventoried meteorite tucked under his arm) emerges from the pandemonium (ignored by everyone) and moves to the front of the stage. The lights dim to half-level on the shouting/uproarious classroom with the alien alone in bright spotlight. The host, nearby, watching, turns to camera. He smiles.

Widescreen/color.

The town: deserted. No barricades. No roadblocks. No guards, cars, jeeps. No press. No public. No vendors, vans, campers. No “Asteroid City Alien Special” passenger train. Only: fluttering

litter, empty bottles, and hundreds of tire tracks cross- hatching the barren outskirts. The only remaining people: a crew of two men at work breaking down the Ferris wheel. A single sign on a post has been amended to read:

Strict Quarantine! LIFTED by order of the United States Military-science Research and Experimentation Division

Cabin #10: the roller-blind zings open once again on Augie’s makeshift darkroom. Augie, dressed in pajamas, lights his pipe and looks across/into the bathroom window of Cabin #9. The motel manager (reviewing a clipboard check-list) inspects for dust while a maid (off-screen) runs a vacuum cleaner. The occupants have moved out. Augie squints. He says suddenly:

The motel manager looks up. He sees Augie. He smiles and approaches the window as he says brightly:

The motel manager points to Woodrow’s project, boxed/crated, on the doorstep. A label reads: “PROPERTY of the LARKINGS

Foundation (on permanent loan to Woodrow Steenbeck).” Long pause. Augie says finally:

Camera dollies from Augie’s bathroom/darkroom window to his bedroom window. Inside: the three sisters sleep in one bed while Stanley and Woodrow each occupy a folding cot. They are all five sprawled, snoring, tangled in sheets, etc. Augie appears in the doorway and watches/listens for a moment.

In the alley behind the cabin: Stanley, also in pajamas, crouching on his knees, attempts to dig in the ground with a gardener’s trowel while Andromeda, Pandora, and Cassiopeia, in nightgowns, gasp and shriek, blocking him. The partially unearthed Tupperware salad bowl pokes up from the dirt. Stanley and Woodrow watch, solemn. In the background: Stanley’s parked Eldorado. Stanley defends his actions:

Stanley attempts to resume his digging. The girls, once again, go into a frenzied panic:

CASSIOPEIA PANDORA

Don’t murder my mother’s body! He’s killing her ashes!

Stanley stops/freezes. Andromeda commands him:

Silence. The motel manager appears at some distance with a glass of tomato juice on a tray. He pauses, puzzled. Andromeda screams:

The motel manager disappears. Stanley, spirit crushed, presses on:

The girls murmur their corrections: “Not in training.” “Real witches.” “Part-witch, part-alien.” Stanley continues:

Stanley takes this in stride. He shrugs.

“Amens” all around. The three sisters avidly re-bury the Tupperware and stamp down the dusty surface. Tears stream down Stanley’s and Augie’s faces. Woodrow holds his father’s hand. The girls arrange flowers around the gravesite and repeat their whispered incantation: “Friskity, triskity, briskity, boo; knickerty, knockerty, tockerty, too...”

The chime jingles as Augie, Stanley, Woodrow, and the three sisters enter. Augie says to the waitress:

The waitress nods and scribbles. The cook snatches down the order-slip. The family sits.

The girls respond with their unconvincing chorus: “Not me.” “I don’t.” “Nobody needs to pee.” The waitress asks them:

The girls perk up. They nod and “uh-huh” eagerly. The waitress sets to work preparing the beverages. The girls change their minds: “I do need to pee.” “Where’s the powder room?” “Let’s go.” They scramble away, out the door, around the side of the building. Augie tamps his pipe. Woodrow writes in his notebook. A thought occurs to Stanley:

Woodrow digs into his pocket. He produces/hands over a normal- sized check for $5000. Augie says, enormously excited:

Woodrow smiles, good-natured, and goes back to his notebook. Stanley stares at the check for a moment and asks:

Woodrow takes back the check. He examines it. He shrugs.

Woodrow re-pockets the check and returns to his notebook. Augie and Stanley exchange a look. Stanley asks Woodrow, curious:

Woodrow looks at Stanley briefly (not sure he can trust him). He shows him a page.

Stanley and Augie study the notebook. They look utterly fascinated. They mutter simultaneously, concentrating:

AUGIE STANLEY

Wow. Is that possible? Gee whiz. Look at that.

Woodrow withdraws the notebook suddenly. He resumes his work. The waitress appears with a little slip of paper (folded in half) which she slides to Augie.

Augie raises an eyebrow. He nods. He opens the slip of paper and reads. He and Stanley exchange another/different look. Stanley leans to Augie and whispers something inaudible into his ear. Augie says, taken aback:

Long pause. Augie says sadly/gladly/genuinely:

A distant boom shudders the building (once again). Only Stanley reacts, alarmed. Down the counter, the cashier dismisses the matter:

Stanley hesitates. He nods slowly. Breakfast continues.

The blacktop interstate. At the meteor crater: the radio telescopes continue their perpetual spinning. At the filling station: there are now two station wagons on blocks in the adjacent small junkyard. At the chopped-off elevated highway- spur: the sounds of approaching sirens, motors, gunshots; then the Chevy (still dragging its muffler, which pops off and spirals into the air) roars through, down the highway, pursued by the state trooper and motorcycle police. At the motor court hotel: the gardener/handyman finishes replacing the letters on his sign which now reads: “Welcome to Alien Landing, U.S.A. Limited quantity of land parcels still available.” (In the background, beyond the mountains, a mushroom cloud lingers in the sky.) At the luncheonette: Augie, Stanley, Woodrow, and the three girls climb into the Eldorado, now overflowing with boxes and luggage. The waitress, standing in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron, nods goodbye.

At the railroad crossing, beyond the covered-wagon sign: the warning bell rings as a freight train passes through (opposite direction from opening scene); and finally the Eldorado pulls up, waits for the caboose to clear, then drives away, into the hot desert.