The Curious Case of Benjamin Button By Paul MacInnes (with apologies to Eric Roth and Robin Swicord)
INTERIOR of a modern hospital. DAY. Outside tempestuous rain is lashing against the windows. Inside a daughter, CAROLINE, stands by the bed of her dying mother, OLD DAISY. The room is variously decorated with PAPERS, OUTLANDISH ARTEFACTS and umpteen photos of BRAD PITT.
CAROLINE
Hey Momma, now that Hurricane Katrina is about to destroy our beloved New Orleans and, with it, much of its storied history, I guess we ought to hurry up with this silly old tale about the one true love of your life. Plus, I got to tell you, American Idol is on in an hour.
OLD DAISY
(almost unintelligibly)
whyinevertheresnoneedtobesoru...
CAROLINE
I know, Momma, I love you too. I get it that this Benjamin guy had some kind of backwards disease and saw no colour, creed nor cripple – which was lucky for you I must say – but if you wouldn't mind I'd like to cut through the crap a bit here.
OLD DAISY picks up a battered diary, marks out some pages with Post-it notes, and throws it at her daughter in disgust. CAROLINE is oblivious to her anger and, picking up the diary, begins to read from it, opening at the first note. As she reads, her voice transforms into that of BENJAMIN BUTTON and the screen turns sepia.
BENJAMIN BUTTON
1935 – well, wouldn't you believe it if I didn't just go an' get laid. She was a lovely wumman and I paid her with my own money, which taught me the value of hard work. And because I'm a 4ft tall, fully-bald 17-year-old, I even got to sit down a while afterward. Arthritis playing up, gumbo for supper again.
FADE OUT on sepia. FADE IN to CAROLINE, rolling her eyes. FADE OUT again to sepia.
BENJAMIN BUTTON
1941 – Pearl Harbor attacked. Cap'n Mike is taking our tug to war. I try to tell him that a tug ain't fit for war, but he's a bit like Lt Dan in Forrest Gump and doesn't listen. I go and have sex with cold Englishwoman Mrs Elizabeth Abbott so as to feel better. I have hair like a university lecturer, I think she likes it. Pickled herring for supper again.
FADE OUT of sepia. FADE IN to CAROLINE waving a Post-it in the face of her beleaguered mother. OLD DAISY points to the diary. FADE IN to the sepia.
BENJAMIN BUTTON
1962 – Paris. I'm hanging around the city, being super nice. With a bit of luck, 30 years of continuing equanimity (my friend the pygmy taught me that word, he's from Equatorial Guinea), and Daisy might fall in love with me. Or maybe my now stunning good looks might swing it. Who knows. Duck à l'orange with pureed potatoes and white truffle reduction for dinner again.
BENJAMIN BUTTON
Update! Daisy now in love with me. Guess being nice worked! Either that or she heard about me with those dancing girls! Now to have that baby!
FADE OUT of sepia. FADE IN on CAROLINE with her jaw agape. OLD DAISY has a quiet smile on her face.
CAROLINE
You're telling me ... that ... he's my ... father?
OLD DAISY
yes ... and I ...
CAROLINE
Momma, will you shut your mouth for once! Can't you see I'm having a major life-stress?
OLD DAISY
... and I ...
CAROLINE
And Idol starts in 15 minutes. What am I going to do?
OLD DAISY
... AND I'VE WRITTEN YOU OUT OF MY WILL YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE WRETCH! oh. dear. i think i'm spent ...
OLD DAISY gently closes her eyes and passes on to the other side. A HUMMINGBIRD, the likes of which are rarely seen in air-conditioned hospitals, buzzes into the room and lingers over OLD DAISY'S BED. CAROLINE, rather peeved, swats it with her hand.
