O Brother, Where Art
Thou?
"O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU"
By
Ethan Coen and Joel Coen
BLACK
In black, we hear a chain-gang chant, many voices together,
spaced around the unison strike of picks against rock. A
title burns in:
O muse!
Sing in me, and through me tell the story
Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending...
A wanderer, harried for years on end...
On the sound of an impact we cut to:
A PICK
splitting a rock.
As the chant continues, wider angles show the chain-gang at
work. They are black men in bleached and faded stripes,
chained together, working under a brutal midday sun.
It is flat delta countryside; the straight-ruled road
stretches to infinity. Mounted guards with shotguns lazily
patrol the line.
The chain-gang chant is regular and, it seems, timeless.
We slowly fade out, returning to
BLACK
The last of the voices fades.
After a long beat we hear the guitar introduction to Harry
McClintock's 'The Big Rock Candy Mountain.'
A WHEAT FIELD
A road cuts across the middle background. Noonday sun beats
down.
We hear the distant picks and shovels of men at work and
see, rising above ground level, the occasional upraised pick
and spade heaving dirt. Men are digging a ditch alongside
the road.
After a long beat, three men pop up in the wheat field in
the middle foreground. They wear faded stripes and grey duck-
billed caps. They scurry abreast toward the camera, throwing
an occasional glance back at the ditch-diggers. A clanking
sound accompanies their run. Oddly, the wheat between them
sweeps down as they run. After a brief sprint they drop back
down into the wheat.
In the background a man enters frame left, strolling along
the road, wearing a khaki uniform and sunglasses, a shotgun
resting against one shoulder. He glances idly down into the
ditch and strolls on out of frame right.
The three men rise back up from the wheat and, clanking,
resume their sprint.
THREE PAIRS OF EYES
They are topped by three cap bills, and peer out from behind
a blind of greenery. We hear distant whistling.
The men are looking at a weathered barn. A young boy,
whistling, is heading down the road that leads away from the
barn, jiggling the traces of the old plough horse that leads
him. He turns a corner and is gone.
BARNYARD
The three clanking men (we can now see their leg irons) are
awkwardly chasing a chicken around the yard. The squawking
yardbird doesn't need to move much to elude the three bunched
men.
COUNTRY LANE
It curves in a gentle S into the background. It is sun-
dappled, pretty.
We hear clanking footsteps approaching at a trot.
The three men enter in the foreground and trot on down the
lane. The leftmost has a flapping chicken tucked under one
arm.
AFTERNOON CAMPFIRE
The three men sit in a side-by-side arc around a dying fire,
one of them contentedly picking his teeth with a small chicken
bone, another wiping grease off his chin with a sleeve, the
third idly poking at the fire with a spit.
Each of them, still bound by chains, clinks as he moves.
One of them abruptly cocks his head, listening.
The others notice his attitude and also freeze, listening.
We hear the distant baying of hounds.
ROLLING HILLS
From high on a ridge we see the three chained men running
toward us.
In addition to their clanks we hear a distant chugging sound.
TRACKING
Laterally with the clanking, running feet.
The chugging sound is very loud.
RUNNING
Next to a freight train. A boxcar door is open.
INSIDE THE BOXCAR
The lead convict hooks an elbow in and starts hauling himself
up, his two clanking friends keeping pace outside.
Six hobos sit in the boxcar, lounging against sacks of
O'Daniel's Flour. They impassively watch the convict clamber
in as his two confederates run to keep up.
The convict hauls himself to his feet. In spite of his stubble
he has carefully tended hair and a pencil mustache. He is
Everett.
As he dusts himself off:
EVERETT
Say, uh, any a you boys smithies?
The hobos stare.
Everett gives an ingratiating smile as, behind him, the second
convict starts to haul himself into the boxcar, the third
convict still keeping pace outside.
EVERETT
Or, if not smithies per se, were you
otherwise trained in the metallurgic
arts before straitened circumstances
forced you into a life of aimless
wanderin'?
The convict running outside the boxcar door stumbles and
disappears and the middle convict is yanked out immediately
after. Everett, just finishing his speech, flips forward in
turn, smashes his chin onto the floor and is sucked out the
open doorway, his clawing fingernails leaving parallel grooves
on the boxcar floorboards.
The hobos impassively watch.
OUTSIDE
The three men tumble, clanking, down the track embankment.
Squush - they come to a rest in swampland at the bottom.
They shake their heads clear, then rise to their feet in the
muck and watch the train recede.
Its fading clatter leaves the baying of hounds.
EVERETT
Jesus - can't I count on you people?
The second con is Delmar.
DELMAR
Sorry, Everett.
Everett looks desperately about.
EVERETT
All right - if we take off through
that bayou-
The third con, Pete, bald but also with beard stubble, angrily
cuts in.
PETE
Wait a minute! Who elected you leader
a this outfit?
EVERETT
Well, Pete, I just figured it should
be the one with capacity for abstract
thought. But if that ain't the
consensus view, hell, let's put her
to a vote!
PETE
Suits me! I'm votin' for yours truly!
EVERETT
Well I'm votin' for yours truly too!
Both men look interrogatively to Delmar.
He looks from Pete to Everett, and nods agreeably.
DELMAR
Okay - I'm with you fellas.
Everett makes a sudden hushing gesture and all listen.
The baying of hounds is louder now, but through it we hear a
distant scrape of metal against metal, like the workings of
a rusty pump. The men turn in unison to look up the track.
A small, distant form is moving slowly up the track toward
them.
As it draws closer it resolves into a human-propelled flatcar.
An ancient black man rhythmically pumps its long seesaw
handle.
The three convicts look out at the swampland which begins to
show movement, the bowing grass trampled by men and dogs.
The flatcar draws even and slows.
EVERETT
Mind if we join you, ol' timer?
OLD MAN
Join me, my sons.
The three men clamber aboard and the old man resumes pumping.
The three men exchange glances; Delmar waves a clanking hand
before the old man's milky eyes. No reaction.
DELMAR
You work for the railroad, grandpa?
OLD MAN
I work for no man.
PETE
Got a name, do ya?
OLD MAN
I have no name.
EVERETT
Well, that right there may be why
you've had difficulty finding gainful
employment. Ya see, in the mart of
competitive commerce, the-
OLD MAN
You seek a great fortune, you three
who are now in chains...
The men fall silent.
OLD MAN
And you will find a fortune - though
it will not be the fortune you seek...
The three convicts, faces upturned, listen raptly to the
blind prophet.
OLD MAN
...But first, first you must travel
a long and difficult road - a road
fraught with peril, uh-huh, and
pregnant with adventure. You shall
see things wonderful to tell. You
shall see a cow on the roof of a
cottonhouse, uh-huh, and oh, so many
startlements...
The cloudy eyes of the old man stare sightlessly down the
track as the seesaw handle rises and falls through frame.
OLD MAN
...I cannot say how long this road
shall be. But fear not the obstacles
in your path, for Fate has vouchsafed
your reward. And though the road
may wind, and yea, your hearts grow
weary, still shall ye foller the
way, even unto your salvation.
The old man pumps - reek-a reek-a reek-a - as all contemplate
his words.
Loud and sudden:
OLD MAN
IZZAT CLEAR?
The men start, then mumble polite acknowledgement.
The railroad tracks wind to the setting sun. Reek-a reek-a
reek-a - the flatcar rolls, in wide shot, toward the golden
horizon.
FADE OUT
DAY
A hot dusty road leading up to a lone farmhouse.
The three men walk, clanking and abreast.
DELMAR
How'd he know about the treasure?
EVERETT
Don't know, Delmar-though the blind
are reputed to possess sensitivities
compensatin' for their lack of sight,
even to the point of developing para-
normal psychic powers. Now clearly,
seein' the future would fall neatly
into that ka-taggery. It's not so
surprising, then, if an organism
deprived of earthly vision-
PETE
He said we wouldn't get it! He said
we wouldn't get the treasure we seek!
Everett grows testy:
EVERETT
Well what does he know - he's an
ignorant old man! Jesus, Pete, I'm
telling you I buried it myself, and
if your cousin still runs this-here
horse farm and has a forge and some
shoein' impediments to restore our
liberty of movement-
Bang! A rifle shot kicks up dust in front of the men.
CHILD'S VOICE
Hold it rah chair!
The front of the farm house shows only a harshly shaded front
porch and a dark screen door.
The screen door swings open and a child emerges on to the
porch and steps down into the sunlight, holding a gun almost
bigger than he is. The grimy-faced boy, about eight years
old, wears tattered overalls.
CHILD
You men from the bank?
PETE
You Wash's boy?
CHILD
Yassir! And Daddy tolt me I'm to
shoot whosoever from the bank!
He pokes his rifle at the three men, who raise their hands.
DELMAR
Well, we ain't from no bank, young
feller.
CHILD
Yassir! I'm also suppose to shoot
folks servin' papers!
DELMAR
Well we ain't got no papers.
CHILD
Yassir! I nicked the census man!
DELMAR
There's a good boy. Is your daddy
about?
THE BACK OF THE HOUSE
Wash Hogwallop, a sour-looking bald man, sits near a rusted
bathtub in a yard littered with ancient car parts and farm
implements overgrown with weeds. He is whittling artlessly
at a stick.
He glances up as the three convicts clank around the corner,
then returns to his whittling.
WASH
'Lo, Pete. Hooor yer friends?
EVERETT
Pleased to make your acquaintance,
Mister Hogwallop. M'name's Ulysses
Everett McGill.
DELMAR
'N I'm Delmar O'Donnell.
PETE
How ya been, Wash? Been what, twelve,
thirteen year'n?
Still looking sourly at his whittling:
WASH
You've grown chatty.
He tosses the stick aside and sighs.
WASH
I expect you'll want them chains
knocked off.
THE HOGWALLOP KITCHEN
The four men and little boy sit around the kitchen table
eating stew. A Sears Roebuck catalogue on the boy's chair
brings him to table height. The cons are now rid of their
chains and are dressed in ill-fitting farmer's wear.
WASH
They foreclosed on Cousin Vester. He hanged himself a year
come May.
PETE
And Uncle Ratliff?
WASH
The anthrax took most of his cows.
The rest don't milk, and he lost a
boy to mumps.
PETE
Where's Cora, Cousin Wash?
Wash glances at the little boy.
WASH
Couldn't say. Mrs. Hogwallop up and
R-U-N-N-O-F-T.
EVERETT
Mm. Must've been lookin' for answers.
WASH
Possibly. Good riddance, far as I'm
concerned...
The three men slurp their stew.
WASH
I do miss her cookin' though.
DELMAR
This stew's awful good.
WASH
Think so?
He sniffs dubiously at his spoon.
WASH
I slaughtered this horse last Tuesday;
'm afraid she's startin' to turn.
LIVING ROOM
Later. The four men sit about listening to a big box radio.
Wash is whittling once again; Everett dips his comb into a
pomade jar and carefully works on his hair; Pete is digging
around with a toothpick; Delmar dreamily waves one hand in
time to the music.
The music ends.
ANNOUNCER
Well, that's the last number for
tonight's 'Pass the Biscuits Pappy
O'Daniel Flour Hour.' This is Pappy
O'Daniel, hopin' you folks been
enjoyin' that good old-timey music,
and remember, when you're fixin' to
fry up some flapjacks or bake a mess
a biscuits, use cool clear water and
good pure Pappy O'Daniel flour for
that 'Pass the Biscuits, Pappy'
flavor. So tune in next week folks,
and till then whyncha turn to your
better half and sing along with Pappy:
'You are my sunshine, my only
sunshine...'
Everett clears his throat.
EVERETT
Well, guess I'll be turning in...
He screws the lid back on the pomade.
EVERETT
Say, Cousin Wash, I guess it'd be
the acme of foolishness to inquire
if you had a hairnet.
WASH
Got a bunch in yon byurra. Mrs.
Hogwallop's, matter of fact.
Hepyaseff; I won't be needin' 'em.
THE THREE MEN
Sleeping in a hayloft. Everett wears a hairnet over his
painstakingly arranged hair.
Pete snores on the inhale. Delmar whistles on the exhale.
A spotlight plays over the hayloft ceiling and a voice booms:
BULLHORN VOICE
All right boys, itsy authorities.
The three men rouse themselves.
BULLHORN VOICE
We gotcha surrounded. Just come on
out grabbin' air!
Everett shrugs his shoulders and peeks down into the barnyard.
EVERETT
Damn! We're in a tight spot!
From high we see a foreshortened lawman holding a bullhorn
surrounded by armed deputies.
Next to the man with the bullhorn, a tin-starred sheriff
watches impassively through mirrored sunglasses, a bloodhound
drooling at his side.
MAN WITH BULLHORN
And don't try nothin' fancy - your
sitchy-ation is purt nigh hopeless.
DELMAR
What inna Sam Hill...?
EVERETT
Pete's cousin turned us in for the
bounty!
PETE
The hell you say! Wash is kin!
An unamplified voice echoes up from the yard:
VOICE
Sorry Pete! I know we're kin! But
they got this Depression on, and I
gotta do fer me and mine!
Pete screams down from the hayport:
PETE
I'M GONNA KILL YOU, JUDAS ISCARIOT
HOGWALLOP! YOU MIS'ABLE HOSS-EATIN'
SONOFABITCH! YOU-
RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT- Everett pulls Pete down as a tommy gun spits
lead into the hayloft.
EVERETT
Damn! We're in a tight spot!
Pete is enraged:
PETE
Damn his eyes! Pa always said never
trust a Hogwallop-COME'N GET US,
COPPERS!
BULLHORN VOICE
So be it! You boys're leavin' us no
choice but to smoke you out.
EVERETT
Oh no! Lord have mercy!
Men approach the barn with torches.
DELMAR
What do we do now, Everett?
EVERETT
Fire! I hate fire!
PETE
YOU LOUSY TIN-WEARIN' MOTHERLESS
BARNBURNIN' COCKROACHES-
Everett cuts in, his voice breaking:
EVERETT
NOW HOLD ON, BOYS-AINTCHA EVER HEARD
OF A NEGOTIATION? MAYBE WE CAN TALK
THIS THING OUT!
DELMAR
Yeah, let's negotiate 'em, Everett.
The hayloft is filling with smoke. Flames lick downstairs.
PETE
YOU LOUSY YELLA-BELLIED LOW-DOWN
SKUNKS-
EVERETT
Now hold on, Pete, we gotta speak
with one voice here - CAREFUL WITH
THAT FIRE NOW, BOYS!
Pete grabs a flaming faggot and hurls it down at the deputized
congregation.
It lands harmlessly in some scattered straw.
BULLHORN VOICE
You choose it, boys - the prison
farm or the pearly gates!
The straw curls, lights, and the fire scuttles over to a
parked Black Maria.
With a loud airy WHOOOF! the undercarriage of the police van
pops into flame.
The man with the bullhorn sees it.
MAN WITH BULLHORN
Holy Saint Christopher - OUTA THAT
VEHICLE, CHAMP, SHE'S LICKIN' FAR!
Tommy guns are stored in the back of the van. The drum of
one starts spinning.
Flames lick up the outside of the van as - chinka-chinka-
chinka - bullet holes walk across the body.
MAN WITH BULLHORN
Take cover, boys, THAT AIN'T POPCORN!
Yelling men scurry away.
The vehicle rocks and chatters under the force of the many
tommy guns now firing inside. Tires pop, hiss and settle;
doors pop open; glass shatters.
VOICES
Who's that?
An oncoming car is bouncing crazily across the yard, horn
blaring. Deputies leap out of its path.
The car shoots past the chattering van which still bucks and
bounces on its shocks, its interior strobing and flashing as
if filled with trapped lightning.
The speeding car heads directly for the flaming barn door
and crashes through in a shower of sparks.
The car brakes inside the barn and the driver's door flies
open. The little Hogwallop boy yells over the roar of the
flames:
BOY
Come on, boys! I'm gonna R-U-N-N-O-F-
T!
Pete, Everett and Delmar pile in.
DELMAR
You should be in bed, little fella.
The doors slam shut and the boy grinds into gear. He has
wood blocks strapped to his feet so that he can reach
accelerator, brake and clutch. He sits on a Sears Roebuck
catalogue to give him a view over the dash.
BOY
You ain't the boss a me!
The car speeds for the far wall, sheeted in flame, and bursts
through.
COUNTRY ROAD - DAY
The little Hogwallop boy walks away in long shot down the
middle of the empty road. His walk is unsteady, the wood
blocks still strapped to his feet.
He turns to face us and hollers:
BOY
You candy-butted car-thievin' so's
'n so's! I curse yer names!
Pete enters in the foreground and throws a dirt clod at the
boy. It lands shy as Pete yells:
PETE
Go back home'n mind yer pa!
We pan Pete over to the shoulder where the car is stopped,
its hood propped open. Everett and Delmar are looking at the
engine.
PETE
What's the damn problem?
DRYGOODS STORE
The proprietor is a bespectacled middle-aged man wearing
sleeve garters and a visor. Behind him are stacked, among
other necessaries, sacks of O'Daniel Flour. He pushes a small
tin across the counter.
PROPRIETOR
I can get the part from Bristol;
it'll take two weeks. Here's your
pomade.
Everett is stunned.
EVERETT
Two weeks! That don't do me no good!
PROPRIETOR
Nearest Ford auto man's Bristol.
Everett picks up the tin.
EVERETT
Hold on there - I don't want this
pomade, I want Dapper Dan.
PROPRIETOR
I don't carry Dapper Dan. I carry
Fop.
EVERETT
No! I don't want Fop! Goddamnit - I
use Dapper Dan!
PROPRIETOR
Watch your language, young fellow,
this is a public market. Now, if you
want Dapper Dan I can order it for
you, have it in a couple of weeks.
EVERETT
Well, ain't this place a geographical
oddity-two weeks from everywhere!
Forget it! Just the dozen hairnets!
PETE AND DELMAR
On a wooded hillside. They sit at a twig fire, roasting a
small creature on a spit.
EVERETT (O.S.)
It didn't look like a one-horse
town...
He stalks into frame and plops disgustedly down by the fire.
EVERETT
...but try getting a decent hair
jelly.
DELMAR
Gopher, Everett?
EVERETT
And no transmission belt for two
weeks neither.
PETE
Huh?! They dam that river on the
21st. Today's the 17th!
EVERETT
Don't I know it.
PETE
We got but four days to get to that
treasure! After that, it'll be at
the bottom of a lake!
He grimly shakes his head.
PETE
We ain't gonna make it walkin'.
DELMAR
Gopher, Everett?
Everett has taken out a can of near-empty Dapper Dan. He
scrapes the last of it onto his comb and starts combing his
hair.
We hear distant singing - one lone tenor voice.
EVERETT
Well, you're right there, but the
ol' tactician's already got a plan-
Everett fishes a gold watch from his pocket and tosses it to
Pete.
EVERETT
-for the transportation, that is; I
don't know how I'm gonna keep my
coiffure in order.
Pete looks at the watch, puzzled.
PETE
How's this a plan? How're we gonna
get a car?
EVERETT
Sell that. I figured it could only
have painful associations for Wash.
Pete pops the front and reads the inscription.
PETE
To Washington Bartholomew Hogwallop.
From his loving Cora. Ay-More Fie-
dellis.
EVERETT
It was in his bureau.
He screws the lid back on the pomade.
Delmar whistles appreciatively.
DELMAR
You got light fingers, Everett.
Gopher?
PETE
You mis'able little sneak thief...
He lurches threateningly to his feet.
PETE
You stole from my kin!
Everett scrambles up.
EVERETT
Who was fixing to betray us!
PETE
You didn't know that at the time!
EVERETT
So I borrowed it till I did know!
PETE
That don't make no sense!
EVERETT
Pete, it's a fool looks for logic in
the chambers of the human heart.
What the hell's that singing?
We can make out the words now, sung by the lone tenor.
VOICE
Oh Brothers, let's go down, come on
down, don't you wanna go down...
People in white robes are drifting down the hill, through
the woods behind the campsite. They join in with the lead
voice:
VOICES
Oh Brothers, let's go down, down to
the river to pray...
Delmar gazes wonderingly at the white-robed figures as he
answers Everett:
DELMAR
Appears to be... some kinda... con-
gur-gation. Care for some gopher?
Everett too watches the white-robed people following in the
wake of the tenor. He answers absently:
EVERETT
No, thank you Delmar - a third of a
gopher would only rouse my appetite
without beddin' her back down.
There are more and more white robes drifting through the
woods, all of them strangely oblivious to the three men.
DELMAR
You can have the whole thing - me'n
Pete already had one...
There is an endless stream now, drifting through the
foreground, the background, the campsite itself.
VOICES
Oh, sisters, let's go down, come on
down, don't you want to go down...
DELMAR
We ran acrost a gopher village...
The drifting worshipers wear beatific expressions. One only,
a middle-aged woman, notices the three convicts around whom
the rest of the flock blindly drifts. She calls to them:
WOMAN
Come with us, brothers! Join us and
be saved!
THE RIVER
White robes stream down the hill, out of the woods, and down
the riverbank. The voices swell in a great chorus:
VOICES
We went down to the river one day,
Studying about that good old way,
And who shall wear that robe and
crown, Oh Lord, show us the way...
We are booming down to reveal a minister in the foreground.
He stands belly-deep in the river, easing a white-robed man
back-down into the water. Behind him a line of robed singers
lengthens steadily as people stream out of the woods.
Pete, Delmar and Everett emerge from the woods and gaze down
at the river. White-robed people continue to drift past them.
EVERETT
I guess hard times flush the chumps.
Everybody's lookin' for answers, and
there's always-
Delmar wades out into the stream, cutting in line.
EVERETT
Where the hell's he goin'?
Delmar has reached the minister and holds his nose as the
minister incantates over him and lowers him into the water.
PETE
Well, I'll be a sonofabitch. Delmar's
been saved!
EVERETT
Pete, don't be ignorant-
Delmar is slogging back through the water.
DELMAR
Well that's it boys, I been redeemed!
The preacher warshed away all my
sins and transgressions. It's the
straight-and-narrow from here on out
and heaven everlasting's my reward!
EVERETT
Delmar what the hell are you talking
about? - We got bigger fish to fry-
DELMAR
Preacher said my sins are warshed
away, including that Piggly Wiggly I
knocked over in Yazoo!
EVERETT
I thought you said you were innocent
a those charges.
DELMAR
Well I was lyin' - and I'm proud to
say that that sin's been warshed
away too! Neither God nor man's got
nothin' on me now! Come on in, boys,
the water's fine!
LATER
The smoldering twig fire. A bloodhound on a leash circles
into frame, its tail fiercely wagging.
We follow it as, nose to the ground and straining against
its leash, it waddles over to an empty tin of Dapper Dan
pomade.
A VOICE
All tight, boys! We got the scent!
A CAR
Everett drives, shaking his head with a forebearing smile.
Pete, sitting next to him, and Delmar, in back, are both
dripping wet.
Pete is sullen:
PETE
The preacher said it absolved us.
EVERETT
For him, not for the law! I'm
surprised at you, Pete. Hell, I gave
you credit for more brains than
Delmar.
DELMAR
But there were witnesses, saw us
redeemed!
EVERETT
That's not the issue, Delmar. Even
if it did put you square with the
Lord, the State of Mississippi is
more hardnosed.
DELMAR
You should a joined us, Everett. It
couldn't a hurt none.
PETE
Hell, at least it woulda washed away
the stink of that pomade.
EVERETT
Join you two ignorant fools in a
ridiculous superstition? Thank you
anyway. And I like the smell of my
hair treatment - the pleasing odor
is half the point.
He shakes his head and laughs.
EVERETT
Baptism. You two are just dumber'n a
bag of hammers. Well, I guess you're
my cross to bear-
DELMAR
Pull over, Everett - let's give that
colored boy a lift.
A thirtyish black man in worn go-to-meetin' clothes stands
on the shoulder, waggling his thumb at the passing car. He
grabs his battered guitar case as the car pulls over and
trots up to the open window.
HITCHHIKER
You folks goin' through Tishamingo?
Delmar pushes open the back door.
DELMAR
Sure, hop in.
Everett looks at the man in the rearview mirror as he pulls
out.
EVERETT
How ya doin', boy? Name's Everett,
and these two soggy sonsabitches are
Pete and Delmar. Keep your fingers
away from Pete's mouth-he ain't had
nothin' to eat for the last thirteen
years but prison food, gopher, and a
little greasy horse.
HITCHHIKER
Thank you fuh the lif', suh. M'names
Tommy. Tommy Johnson.
Delmar is genuinely friendly:
DELMAR
How ya doin', Tommy. I haven't seen
a house in miles. What're you doin'
out in the middle of nowhere?
Tommy is matter-of-fact:
TOMMY
I had to be at that crossroads las'
midnight to sell mah soul to the
devil.
EVERETT
Well ain't it a small world,
spiritually speakin'! Pete and Delmar
just been baptized and saved! I guess
I'm the only one here who remains
unaffiliated!
DELMAR
This ain't no laughin' matter,
Everett.
EVERETT
What'd the devil give you for your
soul, Tommy?
TOMMY
He taught me to play this guitar
real good.
Delmar is horrified:
DELMAR
Oh, son! For that you traded your
everlastin' soul?!
Tommy shrugs.
TOMMY
I wudden usin' it.
PETE
I always wondered-what's the devil
look like?
EVERETT
Well, of course there's all manner
of lesser imps'n demons, Pete, but
the Great Satan hisself is red and
scaly with a bifurcated tail and
carries a hayfork.
TOMMY
Oh no! No suh! He's white-white as
you folks, with mirrors for eyes an'
a big hollow voice an' allus travels
with a mean old hound.
PETE
And he told you to go to Tishamingo?
TOMMY
No suh, that was mah idea. I heard
they's a man there pays folks money
to sing into a can. They say he pays
extra effen you play real good.
Everett's eyes narrow as he studies the man in the rearview.
EVERETT
How much does he pay?
TISHAMINGO
The car is pulling into the parking lot of a single-story
cement-block building with a hundred-foot antenna and a
handpainted sign:
WEZY
LISTENING AIN'T NEVER BEEN
SO EASY NOR
SO FINE
As the men get out of the car, Everett snaps his suspenders.
EVERETT
All right boys, just follow my lead.
INSIDE
Everett strides up to a portly middle-aged man who wears
dark glasses and holds a white cane.
EVERETT
Who's the honcho around here?
MAN
I am. Hur you?
EVERETT
Well sir, my name is Jordan Rivers
and these here are the Soggy Bottom
Boys outta Cottonelia Mississippi-
Songs of Salvation to Salve the Soul.
We hear you pay good money to sing
into a can.
MAN
Well that all depends. You boys do
Negro songs?
Everett grimaces, thinking.
EVERETT
Sir, we are Negroes. All except our
a-cump- uh, company-accompluh- uh,
the fella that plays the gui-tar.
MAN
Well, I don't record Negro songs.
I'm lookin' for some ol'-timey
material. Why, people just can't
get enough of it since we started
broadcastin' the 'Pappy O'Daniel
Flour Hour', so thanks for stoppin'
by, but-
EVERETT
Sir, the Soggy Bottom Boys been
steeped in ol'-timey material. Heck,
you're silly with it, aintcha boys?
PETE
That's right!
DELMAR
That's right! We ain't really Negroes!
PETE
All except fer our a-cump-uh-nust!
THE STUDIO
The three singing convicts form a semi-circle behind Tommy,
who plays his guitar into a can microphone. They are
performing a hot and harmonized version of 'Man of Constant
Sorrow'.
When they finish Everett whoops and slaps Tommy on the back.
EVERETT
Hot damn, boy, I almost believe you
did sell your soul to the devil!
MAN
Boys, that was some mighty fine
pickin' and singin'. You just sign
these papers and I'll give you ten
dollars apiece.
EVERETT
Okay sir, but Mert and Aloysius'll
have to scratch Xes - only four of
us can write.
THE LOT
A caravan of two oversize cars is pulling into the lot just
as Tommy and the three convicts burst out of the station
door, whooping it up.
A sixty-year-old man in enormous seersucker pants held up by
suspenders and the outward pressure of a blooming belly is
getting out of the first car. His face is familiar from
countless sacks of Pass the Biscuits Pappy O'Daniel Flour.
Delmar waves a fistful of money at him.
DELMAR
Hey mister! I don't mean to be tellin'
tales out a school, but there's a
man in there hands out ten dollars
to anyone sings into his can!
PAPPY
I'm not here to make a record, ya
dumb cracker, they broadcast me out
on the radio.
A big shambling man of about thirty has followed him out of
the car. He has the sloping shoulders, the pasty skin, and
the aimlessly bobbing head of an intellectual flyweight.
JUNIOR
That's Governor Menelaus 'Pass the
Biscuits, Pappy' O'Daniel, and he'd
sure 'preciate it if you ate his
farina and voted him a second term.
Two other members of the retinue, older men whose girth rivals
the governor's, are Eckard and Spivey.
ECKARD
Finest governor we've ever had in
M'sippi.
SPIVEY
In any state.
ECKARD
Oh Lord yes, any parish'r precinct;
I was makin' the larger point.
As Pappy brushes by them, Junior wheedles:
JUNIOR
Aintcha gonna press the flesh, Pappy,
do a little politickin'?
Pappy slaps at the young man with his hat.
PAPPY
I'll press your flesh, you dimwitted
sonofabitch - you don't tell your
pappy how to cawt the elect 'rate!
Pappy waves his hat at the radio building as singers in faux
hillbilly outfits with various musical instrument cases get
out of the second car.
PAPPY
We ain't one-at-a-timin' here, we
mass communicatin'!
ECKARD
Oh, yes, assa parful new force.
SPIVEY
Mm-mm.
The men head for the station, with Junior lagging.
PAPPY
Shake a leg, Junior! Thank God your
mama died givin' birth-if she'd a
seen ya she'd a died of shame...
A CAMPFIRE
It is night.
Tommy sits in the background, playing and singing a slow
blues. The three convicts, holding coffee cups, gaze into
the fire.
Over the dreamy song:
DELMAR
Why don't we bed down out here
tonight?
PETE
Yeah, it stinks in that ol' barn.
EVERETT
Suits me...
He stretches out.
EVERETT
Pretty soon it'll be nothin' but
feather beds'n silk sheets.
Pete swishes his coffee as he stares into the blaze.
PETE
A million dollars.
EVERETT
Million point two.
DELMAR
Five... hunnert... thousand... each.
EVERETT
Four hundred, Delmar.
DELMAR
Izzat right?
EVERETT
What're you gonna do with your share
of the treasure, Pete?
PETE
Go out west somewhere, open a fine
restaurant. I'm gonna be the maider
dee. Greet all the swells, go to
work ever' day in a bowtie and tuxedo,
an' all the staff'll all say Yassir
and Nawsir and in a Jiffy Pete...
He gives his coffee a thoughtful swish and murmurs:
PETE
An' all my meals for free...
EVERETT
What about you, Delmar? What're you
gonna do with your share a that dough?
DELMAR
Visit those foreclosin' sonofaguns
down at the Indianola Savings and
Loan and slap that cash down on the
barrelhead and buy back the family
farm. Hell, you ain't no kind of man
if you ain't got land.
PETE
What about you, Everett? What'd you
have in mind when you stoled it in
the first place?
EVERETT
Me? Oh, I didn't have no plan. Still
don't, really.
PETE
Well that hardly sounds like you...
A distant Voice:
VOICE
All right, boys, itsy authorities!
The three men tense up. Tommy stops singing.
VOICE
Your sitchy-ation is purt nigh
hopeless!
Pete shovels dirt onto the fire as Delmar and Everett scramble
to peek over a low ridge.
Their point-of-view shows a lone barn with their car parked
to one side. Various police vehicles have pulled up facing
the barn, and armed men, their backs to us, train guns on
it, some taking cover on the near side of their parked cars.
EVERETT
Damn! They found our car!
The man with the bullhorn continues, directing his comments
at the distant barn:
MAN
We ain't got the time-and nary
inclination-to gentle you boys no
further!
The three convicts notice the sheriff who once again stands
impassively next to the man with the bullhorn, holding a
leash against which a bloodhound strains.
MAN
It's either the penal farm or the
fires of damnation-makes no nevermind
to me!
The sheriff makes a signal to a man holding a torch, who
skitters up to the barn and lights it.
DELMAR
Damn! We gotta skedaddle!
EVERETT
I left my pomade in that car! Maybe
I can creep up!
DELMAR
Don't be a fool, Everett, we gotta R-
U-N-O-F-F-T, but pronto!
EVERETT
Where's Tommy?
PETE
Already lit out, scared out of his
wits. Let's go!
DAYTIME ROAD
The three men shuffle down the dusty road.
PETE
The hell it ain't square one! Ain't
no one gonna pick up three filthy
unshaved hitchhikers, and one of 'em
a know-it-all that can't keep his
trap shut!
EVERETT
Pete, the personal rancor reflected
in that remark I don't intend to
dignify with comment, but I would
like to address your general attitude
of hopeless negativism. Consider the
lilies a the goddamn field, or-hell!-
take a look at Delmar here as your
paradigm a hope.
DELMAR
Yeah, look at me.
EVERETT
Now you may call it an unreasoning
optimism. You may call it obtuse.
But the plain fact is we still have...
close to... close to...
He loses his drift as all three men turn, reacting to the
sound of an approaching speeding car.
EVERETT
...close to... three days... before
they dam that river...
The car comes into view cornering on two wheels. It crashes
back onto all four and, as it speeds along, dollar bills
snap and flutter out its windows. The car roars up to the
three men as Delmar waggles a hopeful thumb. It screeches to
a halt.
The driver, a young man in a sharp suit with a round, babylike
face, leans over to call through the passenger window.
DRIVER
Is this the road to Itta Bena?
PETE
Uh... Itta Bena...
Delmar plucks a fluttering dollar bill out of the air and
looks at it wonderingly. He holds it stretched between two
hands, brings the two sides together, then gives it an
appraising pop.
EVERETT
Itta Bena, now, uh, that would be...
PETE
Isn't it, uh...
Like a child gazing at soap bubbles, Delmar looks around at
the wafting currency, and yanks another fluttering bill out
of the air.
EVERETT
I'm thinkin' it's uh, you could take
this road to, uh...
There is the sound of a distant siren.
The driver, still patiently leaning over to hear out the two
brainwrackers, shoots a quick look in his rearview mirror.
PETE
...Nah, that ain't right... I'm
thinkin' of...
EVERETT
...I believe, unless I'm very much
mistaken - see, we've been away for
several years, uh...
The driver pushes open the passenger door.
DRIVER
Hop on in while you give it a think.
The three men climb in and the car squeals out.
INT. CAR
The driver shoots a glance up to the rearview mirror as the
sirens grow louder, then gropes inside his coat.
DRIVER
Any a you boys know your way around
a Walther PPK?
DELMAR
Well now, that's where we cain't
help ya. I don't believe it's in
Mississippi.
The man stops withdrawing the gun and appraises his
passengers. Delmar reacts to the paper currency fluttering
inside the car:
DELMAR
Friend, some of your folding money
has come unstowed.
DRIVER
Just stuff it down that sack there.
You boys aren't badmen, I take it?
DELMAR
Well, funny you should ask-I was
bad, till yesterday, but me'n Pete
here been saved. My name's Delmar,
and that there's Everett.
DRIVER
George Nelson. It's a pleasure.
He opens his door and steps onto the running board, giving
Everett a casual:
NELSON
Grab the tiller, will ya buddy?
Everett slides over, startled. George Nelson, now fully
outside and facing the pursuit vehicles, has one hand clamped
on the car roof and waves to Delmar with the other.
NELSON
Hand up that Thompson, Jack.
Delmar gropes in the footwell.
DELMAR
Say, what line of work are you in,
George?
EXT. CAR
Nelson sends a spray of bullets back at the pursuit car.
NELSON
COME AND GET ME, COPPERS! YOU
FLATFOOTED LAMEBRAINED SOFT-ASSED
SONOFABITCHES! NO ONE CAN CATCH ME!
I'M GEORGE NELSON! I'M BIGGER THAN
ANY JOHN LAW EVER LIVED! HA-HA-HA-HA-
HA! I'M TEN-AND-A-HALF FEET TALL AND
AIN'T YET FULLY GROWED!
Nelson fires wildly as the pursuit cars gain on him, returning
fire. He suddenly notices a herd of cattle grazing at the
roadside and murmurs:
NELSON
...cows...
He swings the tommy gun over with a whoop.
NELSON
I hate cows worse than coppers!
He lets loose a spray. One of the cows drops and the rest
stampede toward the road.
DELMAR
Aww, George, not the livestock.
Energized, Nelson resumes bellowing:
NELSON
HA-HA! COME ON YOU MISERABLE SALARIED
SONSABITCHES! COME AND GET ME!
In bovine ignorance of the conventions of high-speed police
pursuit, some of the cows have wandered up onto the road.
The lead police car broadsides one. George Nelson, cackling
wildly, fires into the air as his car recedes.
SMALL TOWN
The car is speeding into town, dodging and weaving through
light traffic as George fires into the air - perhaps a means
of clearing a path, perhaps an expression of high spirits.
The car screeches to a halt and George hops out, and the
three convicts emerge to follow him.
NELSON
COME ON BOYS! WE'RE GOIN' FOR THE
RECORD-THREE BANKS IN TWO HOURS!
Jowls shaking in a full run, George Nelson bursts through
the door of the bank, followed by the three men.
He fires into the ceiling and leaps up onto a table.
NELSON
OKAY FOLKS! HOLD THE APPLAUSE AND
DROP YER DRAWERS - I'M GEORGE NELSON
AND I'M HERE TO SACK THE CITY A ITTA
BENA!
He leaps down, fires into the air again, and sweeps a young
woman standing in line into a full V-J dip, kissing her on
the lips.
Delmar nudges Everett.
DELMAR
He's a live wire though, ain't he?
NELSON
Thanky dear! All the money in the
bag, and you can tell your grandkids
you were done by the best! I'M GEORGE
NELSON AND I'M FEELIN' TEN FEET TALL!
He winks at the three men who obediently wait.
NELSON
It's a kick and a quarter, ain't it
boys?
Distant sirens again.
EVERETT
Pardon me, George, but have you got
a plan for gettin' outa here?
NELSON
Sure boys, here's m'plan!
He whips open his suitcoat to reveal a half-dozen sticks of
dynamite.
NELSON
They ain't never seen ordnance like
this! WELL, THANK YOU, FOLKS, AND
REMEMBER: JESUS SAVES, BUT GEORGE
NELSON WITHDRAWS! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-
HA! GO FETCH THE AUTO-VOITURE, PETE!
He sends a burst into the ceiling, and heads for the door as
customers murmur.
VOICE
...it's Babyface Nelson...
George whirls.
NELSON
WHO SAID THAT?!
The customers stare mutely back.
NELSON
WHAT IGNORANT LOWDOWN SLANDERIZING
SONOFABITCH SAID THAT?! MY NAME IS
GEORGE NELSON, GET ME?!
The customers shuffle their feet and glance uncomfortably
about. Delmar lays a hand on George's shoulder and tries to
steer him toward the door.
DELMAR
They didn't mean anything by it,
George.
NELSON
GEORGE NELSON! NOT BABYFACE! YOU
REMEMBER AND YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS!
I'M GEORGE NELSON, BORN TO RAISE
HELL!
OUTSIDE THE BANK
The siren grows louder as the four men emerge.
EVERETT
You gotta be a little tolerant,
George; all these poor folk know is
the legend. Hell, they can't be
expected to appreciate the complex
individual underneath-
NELSON
Aww, I'm all right-
He shrugs off Everett's hand and lights the fuse on a stick
of dynamite.
NELSON
This'll put me right back on top!
The car squeals up and, as sirens approach once again, the
three men pile in.
NELSON
OR-VOIR, ITTA BENA! GEORGE NELSON
THANKS YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!
As the car peels out - KA-BOOM! - the dynamite blows a crater
in the street behind.
CAMPFIRE
It is night.
George Nelson, now strangely quiet, holds a coffee cup and
stares gloomily into the fire.
After a long beat, Delmar, also staring into the fire, slaps
one knee and ejaculates:
DELMAR
Damn but that was some fun though,
won it George?!
George responds, barely audible and without brightening:
GEORGE
...yeah...
Everett and Pete exchange significant looks. Delmar, however,
is less sensitive to the Babyface's mood.
DELMAR
Almost makes me wish I hadn't been
saved! Jackin' up banks - I can see
how a fella could derive a lot a
pleasure and satisfaction out of it!
GEORGE
...it's okay...
DELMAR
Whoa doggies!
At length George swishes the coffee around his cup, shrugs,
tosses the coffee and rises.
GEORGE
...Well, I'm takin' off.
He digs into a pocket and tosses his car keys to a dumbfounded
Delmar.
GEORGE
You boys can have the automobile.
Glassy-eyed, he continues to dig in his pockets and lets his
money fall to the ground.
GEORGE
'N might as well take my share a the
riches.
DELMAR
What the - where you goin', George?
George has turned woodenly and walks away, leaving the
campfire's flickering circle of light.
GEORGE
...I dunno... who cares...
Delmar stares at Everett, who looks appraisingly at George's
retreating back. Pete scrambles to pick up the loose money.
DELMAR
Now wuddya suppose is eatin' George?
EVERETT
Well ya know, Delmar, they say that
with a thrill-seekin' personality,
what goes up must come down. Top of
the world one minute, haunted by
megrims the next. Yep, it's like our
friend George is a alley cat and his
own damn humors're swingin' him by
the tail. But don't worry, Delmar;
he'll be back on top again. I don't
think we've heard the last of George
Nelson.
Delmar, gazing out at the blackness that has closed over
George Nelson, hasn't really been listening. He turns sadly
back.
DELMAR
Damn! I liked George.
A FIELD
A ploughing farmer has paused to look for the source of
distant string-band music, growing closer. There is also an
approaching amplified voice:
VOICE
Don't be saps for Pappy; vote for
Stokes and responsible gummint!
A stakebed truck approaches along the road bordering the
field. It is festooned with Stokes banners showing the
candidate holding high a broom. Pickers perform in the bed
of the truck, along with a dancer doing a two-step as he
pushes a broom. A midget in overalls waves his arms, as if
conducting the music.
VOICE
He's against the Innarests and for
the little man!
This, the driver's voice, is amplified through a flared
speaker mounted on the roof of the cab. As the oncoming truck
draws near, the midget bellows out at the farmer, who has
removed his hat to scratch his forehead.
MIDGET
Greetings, brother! Vote for Stokes!
The voice tails away:
MIDGET
Clean gummint is yours for the askin'!
Our pan with the passing truck comes to rest on the WEZY
radio building.
INSIDE
We are pulling back from a close shot of the portly blind
man.
MAN
Hang on! Lemme slap up a wire.
He turns away to load a recording as he talks into a
microphone.
MAN
Folks, here's my cousin Ezzard's
niece Eudora from out Greenwood doin'
a little number with her cousin Tom-
Tom which I predict you're just gonna
enjoy thoroughly.
He switches off the microphone as the song, a duet of 'I'll
Fly Away', scratchily issues from a monitor. He turns his
attention back to a well-dressed man sitting nearby.
MAN
Now what can I do you for, Mister
<