Two Scenes from a Classic Film
By Jim Sizemore
If I had to pick one perfect movie, I’d quickly name From Here to Eternity, starring Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr. The 1953 drama was adapted from the best selling novel by James Jones, screenplay by Daniel Taradash, directed by Fred Zinnemann. I consider the film cinema gold from start to finish, but I’ll briefly focus on the relationship between the Lancaster and Kerr characters. Sergeant Warden and Karen Holmes’ love affair is the spine of the story and is introduced and developed by screenwriter Taradash in two scenes, both of which come in the first twenty minutes of the film. Neither of them involve sand, sea or sex—at least not graphic sex. (Click images for larger versions.)
Anyone who knows anything about vintage movies is familiar with the erotic scene of Sergeant Warden and Karen kissing on the beach, the one with the wave breaking over their bodies. It’s an iconic film image known even to people who have never seen the movie. Unlike couples in most movies, this wet duo enmeshed in a torrid embrace did not meet “cute.” You might even say they met “ugly.” For me, their first scene together, which comes about ten minutes after the opening credits, is sexier than the beach scene by at least a factor of ten. No blatant fireworks, but there are sparks, a subtle display of sexual tension, mixed with an interesting undercurrent of dislike, even distrust. In that short scene there is strong attraction but also implicit conflict between the characters —and conflict, as we know, is the lifeblood of drama. For me, at least in dramatic terms, conflict can be sexy. The smoldering and sarcastic banter between Karen and Warden in that scene foreshadows adultery to come. Karen, we quickly learn, is married to Warden’s commanding officer.
I’ve transcribed the two scenes using a combination of Daniel Taradash’s second draft script, which I found on the Internet, and the finished movie. Both scenes as shot differ somewhat from the script, and I’ll point out how the first one has been changed after we read it. In that scene we discover Sergeant Warden in front of the company supply room talking to Leva, the supply clerk. They watch as Karen arrives in the area looking for her husband.
LONG SHOT KAREN HOLMES FROM WARDEN AND LEVA’S ANGLE as she walks toward them. She is at a considerable distance. Karen is about thirty. She wears a sweater and skirt. She is aware the men are studying her.
MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT WARDEN AND LEVA watching Karen.
LEVA: Shooish! — her and them sweaters.
LONG SHOT KAREN FROM WARDEN AND LEVA’S POV as she continues toward them. Warden’s and Lava’s voices, loud at first, get softer and softer the nearer Karen gets to camera. At end of the shot, as she is only a few yards away, they are practically whispering.
WARDEN’S VOICE: I’ll bet she’s colder than an iceberg . . .
LEVA’S VOICE: Not her, Top, she knows the score like I been tellin you.
WARDEN’S VOICE: (sarcastic) Is that right?
LEVA’S VOICE: Listen, not around here, but I was back at Fort Bliss with Holmes. I heard plenty about this lady then. Plenty.
WARDEN’S VOICE: You did, huh?
LEVA’S VOICE: Okay, not me — but I know some of them she played ‘round with, so don’t tell me.
WARDEN’S VOICE: I ain’t tellin you. You’re tellin me.
Karen stops a few paces from camera.
KAREN: Good morning, Sergeant.
WARDEN: Morning, ma’am.
MEDIUM SHOT. Leva watches, listens avidly but discreetly in background. During the dialogue, Karen seems irritated by Warden, who looks at her coolly, appraisingly, physically.
KAREN: I’m looking for my husband.
WARDEN: Captain Holmes just went in town, ma’am. On business.
KAREN: Oh. He was to have left some things for me; do you know anything about them?
WARDEN: No I don’t, ma’am. Anything I can do for you?
KAREN: No, thanks.
WARDEN: I’d be glad to help. Ma’am.
She makes a slight move to go, then pauses.
KAREN: My husband’s been telling me a lot about you, Sergeant. He says you’re very efficient.
WARDEN: Yes, ma’am.
KAREN: What is it that makes you so efficient, Sergeant?
WARDEN: I was born smart, ma’am.
Karen laughs suddenly, quietly.
KAREN: I love that. Well goodbye, Sergeant.
Karen turns and walks back toward her car. Warden and Leva watch her. When she is out of earshot Leva speaks.
LEVA: Man, she sure is one, ain’t she?
WARDEN: One what?
LEVA: One woman.
WARDEN: (unconvincingly): I’ve seen better.
As performed, this scene differs only slightly from the Daniel Taradash second draft script. Most of the tweaks involve a word change here and there which sharpen and clarify the dialogue between the two characters. The scene is an excellent example of what experts agree are the three things an effective dramatic encounter should do: Advance the story, develop (deepen) character, and establish (and/or deepen) conflict. I would add a fourth: a good scene should also entertain. That aspect may be the result of the quality of the writing or the performances or, as in this case, a combination of both. In From Here To Eternity I believe we’ve given all four elements in just about every scene throughout the movie—and that, in my opinion, is what makes it a great film.
Scene two between Sergeant Warden and Karen also has several departures from the draft script. These changes are more extensive. In fact, several lines of dialogue are cut from the end of the second draft version. I’ll talk a bit more about that after we’ve read the scene as filmed, which comes at about twenty minutes into the movie:
EXT. BACK PORCH OF HOLMES’ HOUSE. DAY. MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT WARDEN standing outside in the rain. He wears a GI rain hat and coat. He pauses, then knocks briskly on the door of the screened porch. Karen opens the kitchen door onto the porch. She is in shorts and a blouse.
KAREN: Well, if it isn’t Sergeant Warden. You better step inside or you’ll get wet.
INT. PORCH OFF KITCHEN – DAY MEDIUM SHOT She opens the screen door and he steps onto the porch. He removes his rain hat, shaking off the raindrops.
WARDEN: I am wet.
KAREN: If you’re looking for the captain, he isn’t here.
WARDEN: (taking the long chance) And if I’m not looking for him?
KAREN: (unsmiling) He still isn’t here.
WARDEN: (quickly) Well, I’m looking for him. Do you know where he is?
KAREN: I haven’t the slightest idea. Perhaps he’s in town on business. That’s the way you put it the other day, isn’t it?
WARDEN: (fishes in his pocket, brings out papers) I got some papers it’s important for him to sign.
KAREN: (turns) I’ll try phoning him at the Club. Maybe he’s there.
WARDEN: Don’t do that. I never like to disturb a man when he’s drinking. I could use a drink my self. Aren’t you going to ask me in?
Karen finally smiles, faintly. She goes into the kitchen, leaving the door open. Warden follows her.
INT. KITCHEN HOLMES HOUSE – DAY MEDIUM SHOT The kitchen is small and undistinguished.
KAREN: (gestures): The liquor’s there, Sergeant — in the cabinet.
Warden takes a whisky bottle from the cabinet and pours a straight, stiff drink, puts the bottle on the table. He puts the papers down and drinks. Karen leans against the sink counter.
KAREN: You’re taking an awful chance, you know. My maid is liable to be home any time.
WARDEN: No she won’t. Thursday’s her day off.
KAREN: You think of everything, don’t you, Sergeant?
WARDEN: I try. In my position you have to.
KAREN: (goes to table and picks up the papers) Are these really important?
WARDEN: Yes. But not important they get signed today. Tomorrow’s okay.
Karen suddenly, deliberately, rips the papers in half, then crumbles and throws them into the wastebasket.
WARDEN: I got copies at the office, so it won’t be much work to fix them up.
Warden’s control has begun to affect Karen’s now. She is losing her poise.
KAREN: That’s what I like about you, Sergeant. You have confidence. It’s also what I dislike about you.
WARDEN: It’s not confidence, ma’am. It’s honesty. I just hate to see a beautiful woman goin all to waste.
He moves close to Karen, is on the verge of embracing her. Greatly tempted but greatly disturbed, she turns away. During her monologue she pours herself a drink. Her tone is no longer brittle. It is bitter.
KAREN: Waste, did you say, Sergeant? Now that’s a subject I might tell you something about. I know several kinds of waste, Sergeant. You’re probably not even remotely aware of some of them. Would you like to hear? For instance — what about the house without a child? There’s one sort for you. Then there’s another. (Karen takes a drink) You’re doing fine, Sergeant. My husband’s off somewhere, it’s raining outside, and we’re both drinking now. But you’ve probably got one thing wrong. The lady herself. The lady’s not what she seems. She’s a washout, if you know what I mean. And I’m sure you know what I mean.
WARDEN: You gonna cry?
KAREN: (turning away): Not if I can help it.
Warden takes a drink and puts the glass down on the table, hard enough for her to hear.
KAREN (turning back to him): What are you doing?
WARDEN I’m leaving. Isn’t that what you want?
KAREN (slowly) I don’t know, Sergeant. I don’t know.
They stare squarely at each other, both puzzled and a little afraid of their emotions. This is something neither had counted on. He goes to her and they kiss. Music up. The camera pulls back and out the window, into the rain.
Now that’s one sexy scene—the sexiest in the movie, in my opinion. It’s much more erotic than that sea-soaked episode on the beach, the scene from the movie that everyone remembers. Toggling back and forth between the second draft script and my tape of the movie was a revelation. I came to appreciate even more the writing skills involved, but also the contributions to the project that Kerr and Lancaster make—how subtly the nuance of facial expression, gesture, and body language communicate and reinforce emotions only hinted at on the page.
And remember that section of dialogue I mentioned that was cut from the second scene—removed by the screenwriter or the director as he shot the movie? In the Daniel Taradash second draft there was no kiss. In its place there is the following exchange, which comes after Karen says, “I don’t know, Sergeant. I don’t know.”
WARDEN: I know a beach near Diamond Head. Nobody ever goes there. The cars on the highway pass above and they never know it’s there. You feel like you used to feel when you were a kid, hiding by yourself in a cave, watching the others hunting you.
Karen turns, goes to the sink, puts the whisky bottle back in the cabinet.
KAREN: Maybe . . . why not?
WARDEN: How about Payday?
KAREN: You don’t have to spend money on me, Sergeant.
WARDEN: I just like to have some on me when I take out a woman. Can you get away?
Warden grins. He goes to the door to the porch, pauses there.
WARDEN: I’ll be in Kuhio Park. Say, nine o’clock. Payday.
Karen leans back against the sink, watches him go out to the porch. A moment later the sound of the door is heard as he leaves. She turns on the faucet, starts to rinse the glasses they have used. Suddenly she turns the faucet on full force, watches it pound into the sink.
What is wrong with this second draft version of the scene? A more apt question is, What’s right with it? Take the blatant symbolism of the faucet water pounding into the sink, that’s downright corny. And the dialogue is too explicit, from Warden’s crude planning of their first “date” and it’s useless (to the audience) details. It’s all pure exposition that lacks even a suggestion of emotional nuance. Nothing is left for us to think about. Worse still, we feel nothing. We have been talked down to, led by the hand (nose) so that every thing is made perfectly (awfully) clear. Basically we are disrespected, our intelligence demeaned. We are insulted by being given TOO MUCH DIRECT INFORMATION.
You don’t have to be a professional screenwriter to figure out which of the two versions of that scene between Karen and Sergeant Warden is best. It’s simple; as filmed, the cuts and word changes made by the screenwriter and/or the director lets us connect to the story in a personal way. The same is true for the complete film. Throughout we are shown, not just told—we are allowed to feel our way into figuring it out for ourselves. The filmmakers permit us to collaborate in the creative process, and that’s what makes these two scenes—and the rest of the movie, all of which is treated with the same artful craft—so powerful. As I said, it’s a perfect film.
This is an edited repost from September 28, 2009.
Copyright © 2014 Jim Sizemore
Senator Theater Reopening
By Jo-Ann Pilardi
(Click images for larger views.)
The “Hip Shots” series of photographs will feature images that were grabbed “on the fly,” with little or no regard for framing and focus. The object of the exercise is to create dynamic pictures, not perfect ones. With this ” shoot-from-the-hip” method the more frames exposed, the better the chances are that you’ll come up with something interesting — a related series that may be arranged as a post. If you’d like additional tips for using the technique, or to submit your own images, drop a question or note in the “Leave a Comment” section, below.
Copyright © 2013 Jo-Ann Pilardi
Warren and Me
By Bob Fleishman
Walking up Madison Avenue in November of 1972, I spied what had to be two of the so-called “beautiful people” one often sees in New York City, standing on the corner just outside Georgio Armani’s. Both were wearing full-length fur coats and were disengaging themselves from what appeared to be a prolonged clinch. The woman could have just stepped out of a Vogue Magazine ad — beautifully coiffured black hair, perfectly formed features and bright red lipstick. The man also had beautifully coiffured black hair and perfectly formed features, but no lipstick.
It was Warren Beatty!
Stunned at first by coming upon such a sight, I quickly recovered and, not wanting to interfere with the couple’s sad parting, I continued toward my destination some blocks away. While waiting for the light to change at Madison Avenue and 58th streets, I happened to glance at the gentleman standing beside me. That’s right, once again it was Warren himself.
I realized that since this was just before the Presidential Election of 1972, and I was a supporter of the Democratic nominee, I had to say something to this Hollywood Idol who was known for his intense political involvement. To my own surprise, considering how excited I was, I came up with something timely — and I thought, rather clever. “Where’s your McGovern button?” I said, proudly pointing to the round plastic McGovern badge featured prominently on my comparatively drab brown jacket. “Right here,” he quickly responded, opening his fur coat to reveal a solid gold McGovern button. Feeling that I was on a roll and could do no wrong, I came back just as fast, if not as strong. “That’s quite impressive,” I said. “You got me there.”
The light still hadn’t changed, so I gave it another shot. “I saw you on the Dick Cavett show last week. I thought you handled his questions very well.” (Cavett, the host of a popular TV talk show, had tried to pursue Beatty’s love life while Warren was attempting to steer the conversation to the issues of the campaign). The light finally turned green, and I expected Warren to just mumble something like “Thank you very much” or another glib response and move on. But much to my surprise, he said, “Oh, really! Well, I didn’t think I did well at all. He just wouldn’t let me talk about what was important”
Incredibly, our talk about the campaign continued for another four or five blocks. But soon, because I had initiated the encounter, I felt compelled to be the one to end it. I picked my spot and said, “It was great chatting with you. Then — rather lamely I now think — my hoped-for big ending came out as, “Keep the faith!” Warren just nodded and smiled that mysterious smile of non-commitment that made women all over the world swoon. “Nice meeting you,” he replied, and was gone.
In my daze during the experience I had actually walked three blocks farther than intended, so engrossed in our conversation that I never noticed. And for the last forty-plus years, I’ve tried to think of a better punch line with which to end a conversation with Warren Beatty — just in case I do run into him again. Recently, in one of my daydreams, I’m at some social function and, sure enough, there he is across the crowded room. I saunter over and say, “So, Mr. B, we meet again!!!”
Copyright © 2013 Bob Fleishman.
Bob Fleishman is a retired General Dentist who is using his newly found extra time in more creative pursuits. He has written two plays, The Man Who Makes You Laugh and The Session and is currently writing a book about growing up in his old neighborhood in Northwest Baltimore. In addition, he is a professional videographer currently working on a film for Baltimore City College’s 175th Anniversary.
Doodlemeister is looking for short memory pieces up to a thousand words, on any subject, in any style — as long as it happened to you. Whatever the subject, we have a bias for the lighthearted tone. And if need be we’ll help you to edit and/or cut your piece. If you’d like to submit a story, please contact us by leaving a comment or inquiry below.
By Fred Maddox
(Click images for larger views.)
The “Hip Shots” series of photographs will feature images that were grabbed “on the fly,” with little or no regard for framing and focus. The object of the exercise is to create dynamic pictures, not perfect ones. With this ” shoot-from-the-hip” method, the more frames exposed, the better the chances are that you’ll come up with something interesting — a related series that may be arranged as a post. If you’d like additional tips for using the technique, or to submit your own images, drop a question or note in the “Leave a Comment” section, below. This feature will appear most Fridays.