WRITTEN BYSamy Burch·Alex Mechanik
SCREENPLAY PROFILE
This page presents the May December (2023) screenplay, written by Samy Burch and Alex Mechanik, as 81 navigable scenes across 94 pages. Search the text, isolate a character’s dialogue, or link directly to any scene.
URGENT MUSIC as a monarch butterfly flaps, landing on the leaf of a milkweed plant.
Its thick, black body curls inward and lays a small white egg. And then it flies away.
The delicate little thing sticks to the bottom of the leaf, impossibly.
A bit further back, we see there are hundreds more: tiny eggs on leaves.
Memorial Day, 2015. A bright breezy morning in downtown Savannah. Shady oaks drooping with Spanish moss frame the historic blocks of Georgian and Victorian townhouses.
American flags hang from exteriors. A high school marching band assembles near a park block.
ELIZABETH BERRY, 36, is pulling her luggage out of the trunk of her rental car, parked in front of a Victorian inn on a vintage block.
ELIZABETH, 36, unpacks and reorganizes the room of the inn. She wears all black, big chunky running sneakers, and talks through wireless headphones.
She picks up a piece of tawdry decor and drops it in a drawer.
She looks out one of the tall narrow windows.
She notices a gift basket on the chair. A note:
Ms. Berry, Welcome to Savannah! Best, Management P.S. We are huge fans of “Animal Hospital!”
She gives a slight smirk.
Elizabeth rips the top blanket off and sits cross-legged on the bed. It looks a lot better. Her asthma inhaler sits on the bed-side table nearby.
She opens a brand new (tiny) notebook. Page one.
She writes: Gracie
And then she underlines it. And then she thinks.
A slightly hazy sky canopies the lush, overgrown backyard on this island community, just outside Savannah. A dock extends out to the marshy waters; there’s a striped awning off a raised porch. Potted flowers cheer up the sense of open skies and marshy limits.
JOE YOO, 36, tends to the fire of a formidable grill. He’s handsome, but with a melancholy, like a despondent aristocrat in a Dutch painting.
It feels hazy but hot.
Joe walks inside and heads to the fridge. He gives his wife, GRACIE ATHERTON-YOO, 59, a kiss on the cheek on his way.
Gracie is small but alert, like a sparrow, with a delicate glow. She floats about her sun-lit kitchen, spreading whipped cream on cakes and slicing strawberries.
With her is RHONDA, 60s, who’s filling up deviled eggs with a piping bag. She has a ceramicist’s energy (layered linen clothes, colorful glasses).
Rhonda nods like, I certainly remember that.
Joe takes a beer from the fridge and heads out.
An embarrassed smile.
Joe holds the door for MARY & CHARLIE ATHERTON-YOO, 18 (”the twins”), as they run through the kitchen with their FRIENDS.
A hard look.
He slows and turns begrudgingly as the rest clomp up the stairs. He has a slight build, looks younger than his eighteen years.
She wipes some mustard off his chin. He doesn’t resist but the look in his eyes is very clear.
She sighs dutifully at him and he hurries off.
Then suddenly a dark cloud overtakes Gracie’s expression, like something very terrible has just occurred to her.
Joe mans the grill. There are so, so many hot dogs.
Kids and dogs are running around playing. Adults drink.
He stands with his friend BEN, 40s, suburban dad.
Joe rolls his eyes.
A CHILD SCREAMS A BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAM--the men turn.
But it’s fine: a TODDLER just fell and starts crying.
Ben walks off. Joe flips the hot dogs, one by one.
A9 EXT. CATALINA DRIVE--DAY A9
POV through windshield: passing oaks with drooping moss along the green marsh landscape turn to shady homes from the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Elizabeth’s rental car settles opposite the split-level house nestled behind three palms. It sports a coral pink entry and a tall sloping roof. Elizabeth approaches, now in a carefree summer dress, carrying a bottle of wine from the gift basket.
No one hears her front-door knock.
She picks up a BROWN-PAPER PACKAGE (about the size of a shoebox) sitting on the step, and heads around the side, following the playful noises.
The barbecue is in full swing. A touch football game going on, the teens sprawled out on the roof. Casual clothes, sporting red, white, or blue.
Joe, still manning the grill, is the first to see Elizabeth. She steps into the sunlight in a way that makes her glow, a pleasant smile on her face.
Elizabeth scans the crowd, where she finds Gracie, on the deck, holding a big strawberry cake, already staring right at her with a big, warm smile.
Elizabeth approaches her as she lays the cake down on a table of many cakes.
She adjusts it, and turns to Elizabeth.
She puts her hand to her heart.
She motions to the party. Her eye catches the empty pool under construction off to the side, with about an inch of rusty-looking water.
Gracie looks her up and down.
She puts the wine down, as Gracie doesn’t go to take it, and with it the package. She rearranges the strap of her purse.
Two striking Irish Setters rush up to protect Gracie.
She picks up the package. Gracie’s expression changes as soon as she sees.
Joe, who had been watching from afar, steps over politely. His good looks make Elizabeth hide a reflexive frown.
He sees the package.
He heads up to the house. Gracie reaches to take the box.
Gracie leads Elizabeth over to the garbage, starting to open it on the way. She peers inside.
Joe comes back with the garbage bag, she drops it in. He wraps it up and throws it away. Routine.
He offers her some anti-bacterial spray.
He sprays her hands as well, avoiding eye contact. An elderly woman is coming down the steps.
Elizabeth wanders dreamily around the party, writing in her tiny leather notebook.
She watches Gracie slice and plate cake. Gracie notices Charlie teaching himself how to skateboard in the empty pool. Gracie leans a bit over the rail.
She snaps twice, motions to get out of there. He does.
Mary and her two best friends (MOLLY & SOFIA, both 18) have snuck up beside Elizabeth, hovering by the back door.
They giggle.
The trio stares at Elizabeth, her make-up, her clothes.
Elizabeth considers a more complex reply, but lets it go.
The party has settled into a nice lull, and thinned out a bit. Everyone sits on picnic blankets or lawn chairs. Kids run around with bubbles.
Mary and Charlie lie on the slanted roof with their friends.
Elizabeth watches Gracie, who’s curled up in Joe’s arms in the same chair. Her hand holds his tight.
Rhonda takes a seat next to her, also watching.
Rhonda smiles.
She remembers, sweetly.
Elizabeth smiles as she takes notes.
Rhonda nods, something shifts slightly in her demeanor. Protective, colder.
Elizabeth nods as she looks over, Gracie still grasping Joe’s hand tightly.
Elizabeth, in sleepwear, sits up in bed with a People Magazine from 1992.
Gracie, twenty-three years earlier, is on the cover in handcuffs, staring off into the distance in a dreamy way. We get a sense in pieces.
“Gracie Atherton pleads guilty to pet shop romance!” “13-year- old lover will be father of her child!” “Temptress!” “Jailbait!” “Sobbed before the Judge!”
A picture of young Joe, back-lit to hide his face.
One of Gracie with lovely, soft curls, her pastel prison jumpsuit very flattering.
Elizabeth turns, looks into the lens of the camera. She adjusts, hitting the light in a way similar to the picture of Gracie. What she’s looking at is her reflection in the mirror.
She makes the expression. A gentle pout, with eagle eyes.
She studies the picture and tries again. Better.
[Throughout the film, scenes played in mirrors will be handled in a similar way.]
Joe sits at the family desktop, typing and watching short clips of videos with the volume low. Research.
The sounds become easier to make out-- all clips of Elizabeth (talk shows, bloopers, her winning an MTV Movie Award).
He clicks on a commercial for a skincare line in 2001.
CLOSE ON HIS MONITOR: A SLOW MOTION shot of her splashing water on her face and smiling, fresh and dewy, her hands rising up in a way that feels oddly religious.
Joe turns the sound down to mute.
He replays it over-- Elizabeth splashing herself in the face, and loving it.
Joe quietly gets into bed, Gracie is facing the side, looks asleep.
She looks at him blankly.
She closes her eyes and tears start to quietly fall. He pulls her into his chest.
He rips his shirt off, pats some bedside water on his chest.
She curls up in his lap, still gently weeping.
He pets her hair as she falls asleep.
It’s quiet and still, the sun just rising. Joe tiptoes around his milkweed bushes, looking at each leaf really carefully.
When he finds one with tiny little pearlescent eggs he delicately clips it off the plant and lays it on his tray.
It’s slow work, and deliberate.
Joe takes his leaves and puts them gently inside white mesh cages that are lined up on the table and chairs in the small, well-organized space. Routine.
He adjusts the shades and observes. Nothing is moving-- they’re just eggs.
He gets out his phone and takes a picture of one leaf that has three eggs in a perfectly straight line.
He considers, but then texts it to MICHELA MONARCHS FB GROUP (as he has her listed in his phone).
She immediately starts writing back (...)
He puts his phone away, continues his work.
Elizabeth gets out of her rental car and approaches the unglamorous building.
Through glass doors we see Elizabeth approaching the room.
Inside we see a flower-arranging class with a half dozen other women at their stations and a teacher (LYDIA, 60s, in a loose-fitting smock) giving compliments as she walks by.
Gracie spots Elizabeth and waves.
Gracie and Elizabeth share a table in the back. They both have a vase, a hunk of that green spongy stuff, and flowers.
Gracie’s arrangement is really tight and organized. Formal. Elizabeth (who does not care) is making one that’s more breezy and natural.
She takes over Elizabeth’s arrangement, Elizabeth’s hands hover nearby, trying to help.
Lydia strolls by.
Lydia strolls away.
Gracie makes a face, shrugging it off.
Elizabeth goes back to putting baby’s-breath in her vase, doubt creeping in.
Elizabeth, Joe, and Charlie sit in their seats at the kitchen table as Gracie sets plates of fried quail and mashed potatoes in front of them. Charlie looks exhausted.
She brings Joe a beer, Elizabeth water, and milk for herself and Charlie.
She ignores him.
They begin eating. Charlie stands with his glass of milk.
He hesitates, but he does.
He just stares down at his plate. Joe witnesses it all with embarrassment but doesn’t jump in.
Gracie raises her eyebrows.
Chew, chew, chew, swallow. Except for Charlie.
Gracie pretends she’s not upset. Joe nods. Charlie stands up and heads upstairs, leaving his plate.
Elizabeth smiles.
Next topic. Charlie’s door slams upstairs, Elizabeth jumps.
Elizabeth gets out her tiny book and pen.
Elizabeth nods and writes. Joe focuses on his plate.
GRACIE JOE
Seventh. Seventh.
Elizabeth looks startled by the shift in tone.
Gracie thinks about it, skeptical. Then, suddenly lightly:
Elizabeth and Joe both look relieved.
A big smile.
Joe takes the trash out as Elizabeth goes to her rental car. The moon looms large.
She hesitates, doesn’t get in the car.
She approaches the bins.
He’s giving absolutely nothing away but dawdles a bit with the trash.
She stares at him for moment.
He nods.
A light goes on in a second-floor window. They both notice it and pretend they haven’t.
She watches him head inside.
Elizabeth puts her make-up on in the mirror, her phone propped up on speaker. She’s on with her fiancé, AARON.
Her flower arrangement sits on the table beside her.
She hangs up. Finishes doing her make-up in peace.
A25 EXT. CHIPPEWA SQUARE - HISTORIC SAVANNAH - DAY A25
An OLD SAVANNAH TOUR is gathered in historic Chippewa Square. The TOUR GUIDE, dressed in 19th century bonnet and apron, tells an old tale.
Through the crowd we see Elizabeth, approaching at a quick stride. She checks the name of where she’s headed on a note of paper.
TOM ATHERTON, early 60s, sits at a corner table, looking around expectantly, sipping his coffee, and rearranging the second cup. He’s aged since that 1992 People Magazine where he looked like the heir to a boat fortune; but he’s a handsome, straight-forward man. He sees her.
She weaves around some people gathering to leave, takes off her glasses and looks around the room. The comfortable, slightly overstuffed coffee house summons the ‘90s-- dark wall paint, fun lighting fixtures, fliers for bands. She finds Tom.
She takes out her book.
He waves to his friend who walks by the front window.
Elizabeth writes a note, a thought about Gracie, covers with her hand.
His jaw tightens.
She looks at him sympathetically but jots down something.
Another little note.
Gracie and Elizabeth sit on a plush bench in a sunny, feminine store for women.
Gracie writes in her day-planner, as Elizabeth watches her closely in the large mirror.
Mary comes out from behind the curtain wearing a modest white dress with long sleeves and lace.
Mary walks back to the dressing room.
Gracie looks at her. Then smiles.
Mary returns, looking happy in a white sleeveless number.
She’s admiring herself in the mirror.
Elizabeth looks really uncomfortable, Mary straining to maintain her dignity.
She slinks off. Silence.
Elizabeth’s eyes widen, unnoticed by Gracie, who pulls out a box from her purse and extends it to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth opens it a bit-- family photos, mainly posed.
Gracie smiles, proud of her graciousness.
Mary is returning in a girlish baby-doll dress, sleeves to the elbows. Elizabeth puts the top back on the photos, saving for later.
Mary looks at herself in the mirror, was clearly just crying. The two women admire her on either side.
Elizabeth stands into frame, aiming her iPhone and taking a shot.
She stands opposite the exterior of “Telfair Pets” at the end of a shingled strip mall on a busy street. She starts inside.
MR. HENDERSON, 70s, gives Elizabeth a tour. Tidying things as he goes. A sale is going on (Going Out of Business) but it’s not swarmed.
Clearly a sore subject to this day.
He pulls out a photo from the drawer of himself twenty years younger, screaming, red-faced, in the center of a huge mob of media. The store window behind him. It looks like a Renaissance painting of hell.
The door creaks open, and Mr. Henderson pulls the light on with a drawstring.
Elizabeth steps inside.
He closes the door.
It’s pretty big. And grey. Dark wooden floors, no windows. Some waist-high shelves and a couple of aisles. Places to hide, places to duck.
Elizabeth walks around the space with bated breath.
The darkest corner is almost pitch black, a narrow aisle of fish tanks. They glow, and so do the creatures inside.
She turns the corner and sees a private area with A COUPLE OF WOODEN STAIRS leading up to the furnace room.
On one side is a shelf of files and old leather books. On the other is a REFRIGERATOR with clear glass doors.
Inside are frozen mice, barely alive crickets. Things that tick with a tiny pulse. She runs her fingertip over the glass.
She sits on the stairs. Then she lies back. Tries to get comfortable. She puts one leg up on the book shelf. She covers her own mouth as if someone else is doing it. As if she’s about to scream with pleasure.
Then she sits up, and nods to herself: “Yeah, that would do.”
Progress has been made in the butterfly cages. The eggs have hatched and now the bottoms of the cages are full of thick, green caterpillars of various sizes.
They squirm on a bed of leaves and eat and eat to their hearts’ content.
Their meaty bodies writhe around in a hedonist swell.
A32 EXT. ATHERTON-YOO HOUSE - POOL-- DAY A32
Through the living room window we see three WORKERS resuming construction on the pool.
CLOSE on a photo of Mary and Charlie as toddlers, in Joe’s arms.
Joe returns it to a small pile, sitting on the floor next to a large open tin. Behind him, “This Old House” plays on PBS.
He returns the photos to a tin, and stacks it back into an open drawer. Behind the tin he spots a small vinyl photo book with a Karate Kid 3 cover, and pulls it out. Inside he finds a pink envelope folded in half, which he slips out and opens.
Several handwritten pages in feminine cursive, which he unfolds. He stops to read a couple lines.
He then quickly puts it all away and closes the drawer.
A33 INT. DEN-- MOMENTS LATER A33
He sits on the couch, TV show continuing, texting.
Joe hesitates. Stares at the word “bath” as if it’s pulsating with eroticism.
He starts to write, then stops. Then starts again.
But before he can send it:
He jumps so far, drops his phone down the side of the chair.
Joe brings in the step stool. Gracie is in the middle of making several layer cakes.
She takes the step stool and uses it to get down food sprinkles from the tall-person cabinet.
He heads back to the den.
Elizabeth sits in bed in her robe (one from home, obviously) with the little box of photos next to her.
She examines one, of Gracie positively glowing. Radiant smile, holding newborn Honor in her arms.
She notices the bottom is folded over, when she flips it up she sees that Gracie’s little pink-footed sock is hand-cuffed to the hospital bed.
Elizabeth takes a few puffs of her asthma inhaler.
She opens an e-mail that says “Joe - Pre-read Selects” and clicks a link.
It’s a casting website with auditions posted. About ten 13- YEAR-OLD BOY ACTORS.
She starts to click through.
BOY ACTOR #1 Benny Kim, 5’4”, I’m 13 years old, my date of birth is September 8th, 2002, and I’m with Coast to Coast.
He smiles as the camera pans up his tiny body.
The scene begins.
BOY ACTOR #1 Do you need help?
BOY ACTOR #1 What should I do?
BOY ACTOR #1 Live mice?
BOY ACTOR #1 Cool.
He fake-looks in the fake box.
BOY ACTOR #1 (CONT’D) So small.
BOY ACTOR #1 Where is their mom?
She skips to the next boy.
BOY ACTOR #2 (super slick) Hi everyone, my name is Tyler Ko, I’m 5’6”, I’m 14 years old--
Skips to the next. We see a few. None of them feel like Joe.
Elizabeth watches Joe line up slides of broken arms.
It’s quiet and dark, besides the glow of the walls.
He checks a chart.
He shows her the file. There are pictures of the small boy (Chris) and his scratched-up face.
She puts her hand up to one of his on the wall. It’s so tiny in comparison.
She turns to face him. She stares into his eyes, neither say anything for a beat.
He just smiles. Continues his work.
She covers her face sweetly with the chart. Flirtatious, but Joe doesn’t respond in kind.
He freezes. Blushing, but it’s too dark to tell.
A beat. They hold each other’s eyes for a moment too long, then laugh a little bit, break the tension. Just a joke.
He puts the file in the wall pocket, opens the door, and flips the little colored plastic switch on the frame.
Elizabeth sits down in a wooden booth of a neighborhood BBQ place. It has some sloppy, mellow live music playing.
Across from her is MORRIS SPERBER, 60s. He’s a lawyer-- criminal defense attorney. Short, sweet smile, the kind of New York accent you don’t hear anymore.
She wipes away an old ketchup stain on her side of the table.
She’s graduated to a yellow notepad.
He butters some cornbread.
He takes a sip of his iced tea.
There’s a big crash of the drum cymbals from the live band, as they cover “Baby I Love Your Way.”
The LEAD SINGER--mid-30s, blonde hair dyed pastel colors, probably drunk--looks like he’s bullying his SLIDE GUITARIST.
GEORGIE flings some Sprite onto the guy, who finally gets up and leaves the set.
Georgie scoffs, and his eyes suddenly snap into focus on Elizabeth and Morris. He drops the microphone and walks right over to them. (His drummer is left to sing, which to his credit, he does.)
With his chaotic nonchalance he scrapes a chair over and plops down, sizing her up, a twinkle in his eye.
He takes a little plastic cup of half & half from the table and downs it like a shot. And then, yuck, regrets it.
A beat where no one knows what to say and a lull from the band, having finished the last song. Then they start playing “Tight Rope” (Leon Russell) and Georgie turns.
He rushes over to the stage like a rag doll.
He grabs the mic from his drummer and picks up singing in the middle of a sentence.
She stares at Georgie, electric for an unenthusiastic crowd.
Morris shrugs as he pays the bill.
He hesitates.
We see Joe walking across the manicured lawn of his father’s apartment building, carrying a bag of groceries. It’s a nice building, two stories high, with white trim. Balconies.
It’s a modest apartment for one. A portrait of Joe’s mother-- a white woman-- hangs on the wall, memorial.
Joe enters with his own key.
JOE SR., 70, struggles to slide open the glass door to the balcony. Joe puts the bag down and helps him.
Joe and Joe Sr. sit in plastic chairs, a few floors up. In the distance you can see the water.
Joe Sr. is smoking, and the ash tray is full.
Joe nods.
Joe Sr. nods.
There’s a lovely breeze, but chilly.
Joe continues to stare forward. He swallows. It looks like he may be mulling over some words, seeing how they feel in his mouth.
Instead he grabs a cigarette and lights it. Joe Sr. eyes him but says nothing.
SLOW-MOTION: Elizabeth walks down the crowded hallway of lockers. It’s in between classes and there’s a lot of movement.
The kids look so young. And they stare at her, mostly the boys. Some pretend they aren’t, but they are.
Elizabeth locks eyes with a CONFIDENT FRESHMAN BOY as he jumps to tap the door frame to impress her.
She gives him a little nod like she is impressed.
Elizabeth sits on a painted black cube next to drama teacher MS. LABRIOLA, 40s, severe bob, chip on her shoulder. A co-ed class of about twenty (including Mary) sits in the stands.
CAMERON, 16, raises his hand.
His friends giggle. She really thinks about it.
The boys have stopped giggling.
Ms. Labriola is blushing but doesn’t know what to do so she calls on a girl (KIMME) who has her hand raised.
Mary is frozen, clenched.
More titters.
Mary checks the time, suppressing everything she can.
A43 EXT. ELIZABETH’S CAR-- AFTERNOON A43
High wide angle of Elizabeth’s car heading toward the Atherton-Yoo house.
Elizabeth pulls up in her rental, giving Mary a ride home.
Mary exits the car and shuts the car door, hunched under her back-pack. She walks quickly up to the front, opens it and slams the door behind her.
Elizabeth slowly follows the same route, almost amused. She rings the bell.
Gracie is bringing a second chair into the bathroom, and the two women sit down in front of the mirror.
Gracie laughs. A seductive energy between them.
Gracie starts to put on her make-up, step by step.
Elizabeth takes notes. She looks on the bottoms of lipsticks and blush, writes down the names.
She motions for her to scoot closer. She starts doing Elizabeth’s face up.
Elizabeth closes her eyes.
Gracie silently paints away. Leaving Elizabeth to fill the silence.
Elizabeth genuinely laughs.
Elizabeth opens her eyes to find herself painted just like Gracie, her notebook closed on her lap.
Joe, home from work and in casual clothes, watches more “This Old House” on PBS. The curtains are drawn but the room has that warm, sickly afternoon glow.
On screen, TOMMY SILVA instructs a HOMEOWNER as she caulks her bathroom tile.
The woman’s hands move slowly along her bathtub, the sexual connotations obvious (though not to Tommy, completely innocent on his part... all respect to Tommy Silva).
Joe seems hypnotized by the caulking.
Gracie and Elizabeth poke their heads into the den: a strange doubling.
Joe and Elizabeth stare into the mesh cages. His caterpillars have gotten even plumper, wiggling around eating leaves.
Elizabeth, in Gracie’s make-up, runs her finger along the side of the mesh. A subtle, seductive energy.
He starts to carefully prepare them for a move into the den.
On this subject Joe lights up in a way we haven’t seen.
Late afternoon, where the houses end, Joe and Elizabeth take a walk. The hot milky sky beats down against the wipe of marshland. Even out here the clenched oaks still drip with Spanish moss.
Silence as they walk, no one on the road.
Elizabeth nods, letting him talk.
That kind of just hangs there.
They keep walking for a beat. He lets the moment pass.
She poses, cutely.
He laughs a little, then stops.
Joe comes back into the house as the sun is setting and can immediately tell something is amiss. All the lights are off. It’s silent.
He puts the take-out on the counter and drops his head.
From the doorway Joe can see Gracie silently weeping, lying flat on the bed. The last light from the window making the room feel pale blue. Joe holds his breath.
Silent weeping, stillness. Finally some sniffling, words caught in her throat.
He lets out an almost undetectable sigh of relief, sits on the bed.
She slows down. Turns her head to face him, still lying down.
He treads very carefully, picks up some clothes from the floor.
He sighs.
She examines his face for something, but doesn’t find it.
She gives a last sob, wipes her tears, sits up. She looks so tiny, with pleading eyes.
Gracie presents her cake to Joe. It’s pretty sizable, three layers. Covered in frosting with mounds of shredded coconut.
She cuts him a big piece and smiles at him, expectantly.
He smiles back. He takes a big bite as she watches, chin on her hands.
It looks very sweet. They sit in silence as he chews and she watches.
ROBERTO, 40s, Italian film director, is on the phone with Elizabeth, who is distracted and happens to be looking up the Sex Offender Registry for Georgia.
They both laugh. She takes a few puffs of her inhaler.
The look in her eye does not seem entirely confident.
She finds Gracie’s registry photo-- it looks like the ID for a country club. A big smile and a bow in her hair.
She smiles.
A pause on the line.
HONOR ATHERTON-YOO, 22, runs up to the car with her rollie suitcase. She has bleached hair, and a tired expression.
Mary bounds out of the car to hug her.
Joe looks on happily as he loads her suitcases. She hugs him.
High wide angle of Joe’s car winding off from Savannah toward Tybee. WE HEAR:
The girls sit together in the backseat.
Mary rolls her eyes in the back of her head and sticks her tongue out in a funny way. The girls laugh.
Joe eyes them in the rear view mirror.
He smiles, but he missed it.
On Elizabeth’s TV screen, a pixelated DVD copy of “The Gracie Atherton Story” plays: a movie of the week in a time when they were especially bad.
TV MOVIE “GRACIE” walks down the aisle of the pet shop. The look is right enough but the energy is much more Mrs. Robinson than real Gracie. Composed, in charge.
TV MOVIE “GRACIE” Joey.... Are you in there?
Joe sits in his den, leaning forward, leg bouncing. Staring at his text thread with Michela.
With a little heart.
“Gracie” finds TV MOVIE “JOE” stocking fish food on a shelf. She watches him as trashy music plays.
He notices her, turns around.
TV MOVIE “JOE” You scared me.
TV MOVIE “GRACIE” Did I? You don’t look scared to me.
He takes a breath.
He sends a picture of the butterfly sanctuary in Piedra Herrada, Mexico-- so many orange butterflies line the trees that they look like fall leaves. No response.
(...) and then it disappears, and then reappears a few times.
Joe hits his forehead with little remorseful hits.
No response.
Elizabeth gets dressed with the TV movie playing on the TV in the background. She does her make-up the way Gracie taught her to.
ONSCREEN:
We see the back of “Gracie” as she faces “Joe.” She takes off her cardigan and he drops the box of fish food on the ground.
Joe lies on the roof looking up at the sky.
Clearly lost in thought, something playing out that makes him wince. He looks comfortable here though, familiar.
After a beat, Charlie opens the window.
Charlie hesitates for a beat then climbs out and sits down, looking out the same direction.
Charlie lies back too, stares up at the sky.
Stings.
Silence. Charlie tries to ignore that Joe is staring at him.
He holds a cute little joint.
Joe seems so awkward, Charlie smiles sweetly at him.
Charlie lights it and inhales a few times. A subtle shift, more relaxed, an inch more open.
He laughs, but with kindness. Joe laughs along, looks back at the joint.
Joe looks a little worried but goes for it. He’s clumsy. Takes a really deep inhale. Coughs.
They laugh.
Joe lies back on the roof. The clouds are soft but there’s blue in the sky.
He rests his head on Charlie’s chest. His mouth seems dry.
Elizabeth has arrived, dressed for dinner. She’s wearing her make-up like Gracie showed her.
Gracie is still in day clothes with a flour-y apron on.
Gracie smiles at her and then throws an apron at her, a little forcefully.
Elizabeth stares at a pot of browned, bubbling sugar, waiting for it to turn the right shade of brown.
It’s getting pretty dark.
Gracie, who has been working on a batter, peers over. Nods. She hands her a wooden spoon.
She does. Gracie pours in some cream by sight, it bubbles rapidly. Elizabeth stirs furiously.
Elizabeth grabs for the hot handles.
She does. Gracie scrapes out every last bit.
Elizabeth places dark red cherries in the caramel. Gracie finishes mixing a batter and looks over Elizabeth’s shoulder.
They work in silence for a bit, side by side.
Elizabeth keeps lining up cherries.
She laughs about this, lovingly.
Gracie gives her a side-eyed glance. She pours the batter in the pan over the cherries.
Elizabeth watches her put the cake in the oven.
Elizabeth tidies up, tries not to look her in the eye, tries not to spook her.
She mixes frosting for something else.
Gracie puts her hand on Elizabeth’s hand. They don’t look at each other.
She hands her a poem, written by a child.
Joe grabs his son’s face as they lie on their sides.
Joe bolts upright. Gracie and Elizabeth appear on the lawn below, looking up in their matching aprons. They look like twins. Joe appears stunned, like he’s seeing double.
Joe seems very overwhelmed by the question.
Joe stands up, but kind of loses his balance and takes a few fast steps forward to center himself, coming very close to the edge of the roof.
GRACIE ELIZABETH
Joe! Joe!
He steadies, and starts laughing so hard. So so hard.
Tears of laughter are pouring down his face, his back to them.
He snorts, the laughter exponentially growing.
His laughing tears turn instantly into crying tears. He crouches down into a ball, behind the dormer windows, out of sight.
Gracie turns to Elizabeth, shaking her head. Boys. They head back in.
Charlie crouches down and rubs his back.
He motions with his hands, as if holding energy.
Joe heaves. He tries to hold in his sobs but that just brings spit and snot.
Charlie wipes Joe’s face off with his sweatshirt sleeve as he continues to sob.
Gracie, Joe, Honor, Charlie, Mary and Elizabeth sit at the corner table of a Southern restaurant inside an old historic building. It’s a busy night.
Joe looks puffy and red-eyed from earlier. Charlie still seems stoned. Mary and Honor confide in little smirks. Only Gracie looks genuinely happy.
Their entrees are in front of them, a big basket of bread in the middle. The girls have Shirley Temples. They hold their glasses up, mid-toast.
Neither of them seem to like their epithets...
They all clink glasses.
She has an unapologetic look on her face.
More clinks. They start eating.
Gracie looks at her.
Honor is ready to change topics, turns to Elizabeth.
Mary almost does a spit take.
Charlie shakes his head to him like, don’t engage.
Gracie looks up and sees her old family (Tom, Georgie, and her other two adult children, BILLY, 40, and CASSIDY, 38, their SPOUSES, and the grandchildren, PETER and SARAH) on their way to their table. Her smile blankets over the surprise and she gets up, hugs them, squeezes hands...
Tom nods awkwardly at Joe.
A moment of awkward silence, not one knowing what to say next.
Honor laughs, others roll their eyes.
Gracie keeps the smile still.
Mimicking Gracie’s smile:
The second they leave the switch flips back. Honor continues to giggle, Mary smirks, shaking her head. Joe reaches for the bowl of wrapped butter, passes it.
Gracie stares at the rolls.
Elizabeth comes out of the stall to find Gracie washing her hands. She goes to the next sink.
The bathroom is formal and frilly.
Elizabeth dries her hands.
She pops open her lipstick and applies it in the mirror, emotionless.
She plops her things in her little purse.
The door closes behind her.
Elizabeth sits on a bench outside the restaurant, waiting.
Across the street a Savannah ghost tour shuffles by led by a man in costume. In the opposite direction tourists carrying plastic cups of beers weave past.
Georgie plops down next to her, lighting a cigarette.
She nods with a tired smile.
He blows out the side of his mouth.
This piques her interest, despite herself. She tries to play it cool.
He gives her a look finishing the dark sentence.
She looks harder at him.
Elizabeth stares blankly for several beats.
Joe pulls up to the restaurant, eyeing Georgie.
She gets into the car. Georgie gives a little wave.
Joe drives the empty streets with Elizabeth in the front. Elizabeth coughs.
Joe doesn’t chime in, which she notes.
She looks out the window as the streets pass by. Sinking.
She looks over at Joe, admires him. A flicker in her eye of a thought. She takes out her inhaler and puffs.
He pulls up to the Inn. A big tree hangs overhead. They sit there for a moment.
Joe and Elizabeth sit together on the floor. She drops a vial of medicine into the machine. Drip, drip. There’s an odd sensuality to this very ugly, plastic ritual.
She motions to Joe, he presses the button to turn the machine on. It hums loudly and a chemical steam starts to come out the little mouthpiece, which he holds up to her face. She inhales.
She takes the mouthpiece away, chemical vapor pours out of her mouth like smoke.
He seems nervous. She puts her hand on his and keeps breathing. He stares at her.
He hands her the letter in the pink envelope he’d found, stashed away, earlier in the film.
She goes to read it now, but he puts his hand over hers.
He holds her hand there, she stares back at him.
She turns the machine off. It’s suddenly so quiet.
After a beat, she leans in and kisses him. A small kiss.
When she pulls back, there’s something new, more vulnerable.
He kisses her back. She leans onto the floor as he climbs on top of her. It’s hurried and passionate.
Her position mimics the one on the pet shop stockroom stairs.
She grabs a condom from her suitcase on the floor next to them. They fumble with it.
She laughs, but then a second later when his head is buried in her hair she makes an expression like, “what the fuck.”
It doesn’t last long but there’s force. The tension between them finally breaking.
He gets up and goes to the bathroom. Not embarrassed, not cold.
Once out of sight she immediately goes for the letter, reads as much she can, inhaling--
She slides the letter under the bed and climbs into it with him.
He motions for her to lie on his chest, so she does.
The trees outside the window sway in a comforting way.
Her expression makes it clear that she has.
Off Elizabeth’s look:
She sits up, finding herself in the mirror, straightening her hair. She continues, focused on herself.
He gets up, starts putting on his clothes.
She looks at him, with sympathy. Maybe it’s pity.
He scoffs, picks his shoes up. Storms out the door.
She sighs, oh well.
Immediately leans off the edge of the bed and feels for the pink envelope.
A69 INT. ATHERTON-YOO BATHROOM-- LATER A69
Joe has just stepped out of the shower, drying his hair. He stops, looking at himself [at us] in the mirror.
The middle of the night. Joe, dressed in sweatpants and T- shirt, has been sitting in the upholstered chair of their dark room, watching Gracie sleep.
She’s lying on her back, occasionally wincing from a dream.
Suddenly she snorts awake. Sees him in the corner.
She turns the lamp on.
She adjusts her pillows and sits up in bed, the same as Elizabeth earlier.
Gracie starts to tense up.
He’s struggling for composure.
He does. On the edge of the bed, as she’s still tucked inside it. She rubs his back.
She sits up straight.
He just stares at her. Her formal nightgown, her sleeping headband.
He shakes his head, confused, trying to work it all out.
She starts rubbing his back again but he will not be placated.
GRACIE JOE (CONT’D)
I think because of this But you’re not even listening movie, it’s dredging up all to what I’m-- It’s not that! this old stuff, driving It’s not about the fucking Elizabeth around in your car-- movie!
She whips her arms away and crosses them.
Sudden silence.
Her arms stay firmly crossed and she looks past him at the wall.
She brushes past him.
She leaves. He sits, unmoving.
A70 EXT. ATHERTON-YOO HOUSE - NIGHT A70
Dark from the front, a shimmer of black trees.
Elizabeth sits facing the mirror (the camera).
She’s transformed. Her voice, her rhythm. The look in her eye. She channels Gracie.
The sun is just rising out the window. A few dozen chrysalides (green pods with butterflies inside) hang from the tops of the cages. Each has a delicate rim of glowing, metallic gold.
One in the corner is the furthest along. It starts to shiver.
Gracie, soft in the background, moves from room to room, packing things.
From the bottom of the chrysalides, a monarch butterfly starts to nibble his way out, leaving the clear shell behind him like dead skin.
Gracie, in full hunting gear, with a rifle at her back.
The sun is still low in the sky. She heads out into the woods.
She whistles and her large spaniels follow her.
Joe wakes up suddenly, surprised how bright it is. It’s a few hours later and the room feels yellow and hot. He’s still in his clothes, on top of the blankets. Gracie is gone.
He sits up and sighs, takes it in.
Joe, alone in the kitchen, prepares a pancake breakfast for five. As he brings the plates to the counter he notices movement in the cages in the den.
The one hatched butterfly flitters around the green pods. Joe bends down to meet him.
He unzips the cage, and puts his finger inside. The butterfly hops on.
Joe walks slowly with the butterfly perched on his hand. He goes over to the window and carefully opens it.
He reaches his hand outside, feels the wind.
And just like that, it’s gone. Simple as that.
Mary’s in the doorway in the sweet, but childish, white dress.
She sees the plates of pancakes.
She shrugs, he gives her a mug. Honor and Charlie join them, both tired but basically ready.
Honor wears a short halter dress with frayed hem.
He pours them all coffee. They sit at the counter.
He takes a minute to look at his children. Still young of course, but grown.
He tops off each of their coffee mugs with ceremony.
Gracie and her dogs continue their walk through the woods.
Suddenly, they all freeze. Gracie finds herself locking eyes with a small RED FOX, who is clearly rabid.
He slinks slowly towards her-- hissing, twitching, furious.
She stares back at him, blankly at first, but her expression gives way to an overwhelming sympathy and despair.
Joe pulls up to the high school with his three children in the car. Charlie and Mary are in bright red robes. Joe looks nice in his suit.
The three of them hop out. He smiles at them, adoringly. Watching them walk up to the entrance, folding into the groups of kids.
He sits in the driver’s seat watching them go.
The twins and their classmates wear robes and hats the color of blood.
The audience claps, as the PRINCIPAL approaches the podium.
His assistant principals stand ready with ribboned diplomas.
The kids walk across the stage as their names are called. Charlie and Mary back-to-back. The crowd cheers.
Gracie, filming with her phone among all the families, sits between Rhonda and an empty chair. Joe Sr. sits on the aisle with his cane and Honor sits with friends, cheering on her brother and sister.
The class throws their red-orange hats into the air! There are so many of them, a swarm.
Through the confetti of hats, we spot Joe, standing off beyond the bleachers.
We follow Gracie, dressed in white, stomping confidently into the crowd.
It’s clear that a lot of people are whispering about her. But she holds her head high behind her dark round glasses. Ignores it all.
The sea of crowd parts in her wake, as she comes face to face with Elizabeth, also in white.
Elizabeth feels different. A confidence. Gracie’s equal for the first time.
They see Mary and Charlie off with their friends.
Gracie looks at her closely. Seems to see, somehow, what happened.
Gracie cocks her head skeptically.
Elizabeth is in disbelief.
She turns forward, surveying the land like an army general.
Elizabeth stares at her but she doesn’t look back.
She marches off, her tiny frame absorbed into the red-robed crowd.
Elizabeth watches, with no other choice.
As if watching dailies, we see the following scene over and over. Unmotivated HAND-HELD. Raw, with the clapper and fuck- ups.
The set is an earnest replica of the pet shop stockroom of Henderson Pets.
Elizabeth, as Gracie, sits next to a YOUNG ACTOR, as Joe.
The costumes are a little broad. “Gracie” holds a striking, medium-sized snake.
“GRACIE” Are you scared?
“JOE” No.
“GRACIE” It’s okay to be scared.
“JOE” I’m not.
“GRACIE” She won’t bite.
“JOE” How do you know?
“GRACIE” She’s not that kind of snake.
He takes the snake from her, their hands intertwined.
And they do. Over and over and over.
Elizabeth sits up, out of character, pleading on her knees.