MICKEY.Fdx Script
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MICKEY (The Mickey Goldmill Story) By Carl Kirshner WGA #1372541 © Carl Kirshner 2014 “Everybody’s a somebody, ain’t they?” FADE IN: EXT. MIGHTY MICK’S GYM, NORTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA - DAY THE FADED PORTRAIT OF A BOXER IN HIS PRIME towers proudly over the derelict sidewalk below. INT. MIGHTY MICK’S GYM - DAY An 8mm cine projector FLICKERS noisily away as an old B & W BOXING MATCH plays out on a small screen in a dark corner of the empty gym. SUPERIMPOSE OVER FIGHT - July 6th, 1961. An elderly figure MICKEY GOLDMILL (late 60’s) watches a classic bout from the comfort of a rickerty chair. After a moment of quiet observation he climbs to his feet and trundles over towards the flickering screen. He reaches out with a shaking hand and places it on the gray scratchy image. His fingers gently brush along the CROWD that surround the canvas ring. It appears as if he is trying to connect with the soul of somebody long lost to him. The CHEERS of the excited horde rise to a deafening crescendo as he drops his head in his hands and breaks down in tears. The MONOTONE movie dissolves into BRUTAL LIVING COLOR. EXT. BUSTLING RINGSIDE, RENO, NEVADA (1910) - DAY JACK JOHNSON, the fearsome black heavyweight champion, lands a series of punishing blows to the mangled face of undefeated white challenger JIM JEFFRIES. A ROARING MOB of riotous FIGHT FANS scream for blood. SUPERIMPOSE OVER ACTION - Reno, Nevada. June 4th, 1910. The one-sided spectacle is grim and merciless. One THUNDERING PUNCH after another. The champion reels back his giant arm and delivers a cruel right cross that rips Jeffries’ top lip from his face. Blood sprays like a geyser. The bell RINGS. The demoralised challenger, blinded by crimson sweat, stumbles instinctively towards the SCREAMS of his CREW. He slumps on the stool in the corner and empties his lungs into a spit bucket. His breathing is labored and desperate. Jeffries’ anxious MANAGER leaps to his aid and sponges away the blood from his stinging eyes. 2. MANAGER Your mouth is hanging off and everything. You gonna’ let this mango monkey do this to ya’? A frantic CORNERMAN works the cuts and ruptured lip. JIM JEFFRIES (slurring) I’m doin’ alright. What round is it? MANAGER What round? Ya’ don’t even know what day it is! Get out there and don’t come back ‘till you got this biscuit lip’s balls in your mouth! The bell sounds for the 15th. Jeffries pulls himself up. Driven by his survival instinct he staggers aimlessly out of the corner. The two fighters square off momentarily before the formidable Johnson unleashes a flurry of devastating handwork that sends Jeffries PLUMMETING to the canvas. The crowd go berserk, infuriated by Johnson’s effortless domination. ANGRY CROWD Bury that moulignon! The REFEREE rushes in for the count. REFEREE One, two, three... RINGSIDE Moving among the increasingly ANGRY CROWD we pick out a proud- looking man - ABE Goldmill - late 20’s - dressed in a black frock typical of a Jewish immigrant of the period. His cheering is at stark odds with that of his fellow spectators. His inappropriate rooting doesn’t go unnoticed by a couple of INCENSED ROUGHNECKS standing close by. They whisper to each other in menacing tones. ABE GOLDMILL Take it to him, Johnson! Standing knee high to his father is YOUNG Mickey Goldmill. Scampish and slight, even for a six year old, he carries an innocent yet somewhat intense demeanor. YOUNG MICKEY Papa, why do you want the black man to win? 3. ABE GOLDMILL You have to do the right thing, son. He’s the champ, Mickey. By the grace of God go us all. The man ruffles the confused boy’s dark locks and smiles knowingly. ABE GOLDMILL (CONT’D) One day you’ll understand. Back in the ring the bewildered challenger climbs weakly to his feet and fumbles forward. He is immediately rocked by a POWERHOUSE UPPERCUT and sent FLYING THROUGH THE ROPES. An enraged MOB run to the ringside, reach through and push the exhausted, bloodied Jeffries back onto the canvas. The referee scampers forward to begin the count but Jeffries’ despondent corner throw in the towel. The carnage is finally over as the black champion holds up his hands in victory - dashing the dreams of the ‘Great White Hope.’ The angry crowd EXPLODE in uproar as chairs and bottles are thrown into the ring. Vile racist chants turn the air blue. ANGRY CROWD Kill that black bastard! A frail OLD NEGRO, sensing the danger around him, makes a beeline for the nearest exit. He is quickly set upon by the two incensed roughnecks who proceed to beat him to the ground. Choler builds in the nearby Abe Goldmill. Unable to take the racial injustice he storms over and drags away the smaller roughneck and lays him flat with a straight blow to the jaw. The larger of the aggressors halts the savage beating and turns to face the good samaritan. HEFTY ROUGHNECK If it ain’t the nigger lover? He whips out a lethal blade and throws it skillfully from hand-to-hand. HEFTY ROUGHNECK (CONT’D) Come on, you dirty, kike! I’ll cut you up into pig shit. They begin stalking each other, moving slowly inside the circle of ROGUES and VILLAINS that have formed around them. Young Mickey is pushed to the back of the crowd and struggles to make his way through the sea of legs that block his way. The roughneck’s eyes search wildly for an opening. He lunges at Abe and SLASHES him painfully across the chest. Abe backpedals instinctively as the hefty rogue attacks once more. This time Abe grabs his powerful arm and swiftly brings his knee up BREAKING the man’s elbow. The attacker screams and drops the knife. 4. The smaller, SCRAWNY ROUGHNECK rushes forward and jumps on Abe’s back and wrestles him around the neck. The hefty roughneck picks up the gravel-covered blade with his one good arm and without hesitation PLUNGES it into Abe Goldmill’s heart. He collapses in a bloody heap as the large lowlife straddles Abe and stabs at his body like a primeval animal. Tiny Mickey pushes his way to the front of the crowd. He breaks through and is confronted by the horrific sight of the killer wiping his hands clean on Abe’s matted hair. The Killer’s FOREARM TATTOO of a GRINNING SKULL and ANCHOR catches young Mickey’s eye. YOUNG MICKEY Papa! The screaming boy runs over and kneels down beside his dead father. He clings to the slaughtered body of the hapless Abe Goldmill. YOUNG MICKEY (CONT’D) Papa? The distraught child gazes up and LOCKS EYES with his father’s smirking murderer who swiftly turns and vanishes into the sea of onlookers. The horde of HARD-HEARTED SPECTATORS stare down their callous snouts at the tiny weeping child that is Mickey Goldmill. EXT. ST. MARY'S ORPHAN ASYLUM - NIGHT A shadowy white stone building that houses the starving unfortunates of fate and circumstance. A place you wouldn’t put your killer in. Above the foreboding entrance steps are inscribed the flickering candlelit words: "Industrial Home for Destitute Children." INT. WASHING BLOCK, ST. MARY’S ORPHAN ASYLUM - NIGHT Fresh fosterling Mickey Goldmill’s diminutive body is pinned to the slippery floor by a JUVENILE GANG of brutish inmates. His hungry frame is no match for their thuggish strength. JUVENILE GANG Do it! Mickey’s half-clothed body cowers under the menacing shadow of the LARGE THUG that towers above him. LARGE THUG I’ll bust you up, filthy Jew. 5. His strong hand grabs Mickey and tears at his soaking undergarments. A large boot stamps on his tiny fingers. Mickey screams in agony. The gang of tormenting youths cackle and holler like a pack of bloodthirsty hyenas. JUVENILE GANG Break his face! The large thug whips a cord belt from around his waist. LARGE THUG I’m gonna’ do you real good. Mickey’s terrified face freezes as the barbaric hoodlum’s muscular figure moves menacingly over him and obscures the frame. INT. BOYS DORMITORY, ST. MARY’S ORPHAN ASYLUM - NIGHT Cobwebbed ceiling lamps cast a shadow of gloom over the endless rows of somber, soiled bedspreads. The dorm sleeps soundly except for the solitary figure of tearful Mickey. His battered body shakes uncontrollably as he gasps for breath on his squalid bunk. YOUNG MICKEY Papa. A FRIENDLY VOICE pipes up. TEENAGE ANGELO They hurt you real bad, huh? Those Malamutes got it coming. Tovoli ain’t here no more ‘cause of them. He’s wit’ the angels. But the next chance I get they’re going to join him. ANGELO CARMINE - early teens. Petty thief and rascal. Brawny and strong for his age. His gentle demeanor belies the potential for explosive violence. TEENAGE ANGELO (CONT’D) They call me Angelo. What’s your label, kid? Mickey wipes his eyes and stutters nervously. YOUNG MICKEY Mickey Goldmill. The mournful sight of the trembling Jordan touches the hardened inmate. TEENAGE ANGELO Don’t you worry about nothing. I’ll look after you, little Mickey. (smiles) Everybody needs an angel sometime. 6. Angelo Carmine’s kind words offer a brief moment of solace for the traumatized child until a shaft of piercing light cuts short the friendly exchange. A group of JUVENILE THUGS enter the dormitory and amble toward Mickey’s bedside. TEENAGE ANGELO (CONT’D) (under breath) Figlio di puttana. A familiar MEAN FACE leans over and nuzzles up to the increasingly anxious child.