KUBRICK IN HELL

a screenplay by KJF

FADE IN INT. THE PEARLY GATES EXTREME CLOSEUP.

A pair of dark Semitic EYES stare up at us past heavy lids.

We TRACK BACK and reveal a short chunky man who clearly sleeps in his clothes. It is STANLEY KUBRICK, freshly dead and covered with wood splinters and sawdust. Under a shredded straitjacket he is in the process of wriggling out of, he wears rumpled khakis, last year's soiled Reeboks, and, around his neck, a 185-pound millstone personally autographed by Ryan O'Neal.

KUBRICK'S POV

The Pearly Gates look a lot like the lobby of Radio City, endlessly extended and curved up in a gentle arc, disappearing into the mist both fore and aft. Every dozen yards or so are double doors labeled Aisle A, Aisle B, etc., each guarded by a husky uniformed usher armed with a dangerous-looking flashlight.

KUBRICK begins to jog, looking for Aisle K. He jogs and jogs, but, in some odd Serlingian trick of time and space, never seems to make much progress.

Round and round he jogs, past door after door, oblivious to earthly logic and gravity. We listen carefully to the contrasting textures of his footsteps as he jogs on the carpet, off the carpet, on the carpet, off the carpet.

He begins to overtake other LOST AUTEURS. He jogs past AKIRA KUROSAWA.

KUROSAWA
Konichiwa, Stanley-san.

KUBRICK
(flat Bronx accent)
Yeah, Konichiwa.

He TRIPS Kurosawa, who falls and rolls like ball lightning up into the mist.

KUBRICK
That's for Pearl Harbor, Yojimbo.

He jogs on, aisle after aisle, always uphill. He passes DAVID LEAN.

LEAN
Cheerio, Stan.

KUBRICK
Uh Huh.
(over his shoulder)
Too bad about RYAN'S DAUGHTER.

He jogs on.

KUBRICK'S POV

The curved walls slide past, slowly, maddeningly. Ahead, up in the mist, we become aware of a red glow, flashing, flashing, flashing. An ALARM BUZZER honks in unison.

KUBRICK slows, cautiously.

We approach a sleek white HIBERNACULUM built into the wall. Above it a computer screen screams --

LIFE FUNCTIONS IRRELEVANT
LIFE FUNCTIONS IRRELEVANT
LIFE FUNCTIONS IRRELEVANT

Inside the hibernaculum, a terrified KEN RUSSELL claws at the walls and howls.

RUSSELL
But I'm not dead! I'M NOT DEAD!

KUBRICK
(a slight smile)
Yes you are.

He jogs on. And on. His labored, amplified breathing takes over the soundtrack.

FINALLY, Aisle K appears. Hallelujah. But euphoria quickly yields to puzzlement, as the burly usher consults a clipboard and waves Kubrick on, gesturing toward...

Another nearby aisle, with wrought-iron doors, labeled "FOR S.K. ONLY."

Kubrick, flattered by this special welcome, smooths his beard, more or less straightens his ensemble, and prepares to enter his private eternity, when...

The doors SLAM OPEN and out storms...

SAM KINISON, mad as hell and stuffed into Marine fatigues that might have fit him twenty years ago. With one hand he brandishes an M-16; with the other he is dragging STANLEY KRAMER, who is trying to maintain dignity. Kinison flings him out into the lobby and screams.

KINISON
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!
Get out of my aisle and stay out, you
hack. R-Peee-M. OKLAHOMA CRUD.
GUESS WHO'S COMING TO
FUCKING DINNER.My god, what crap!

BRRRRRRRRRRPP!

Like a happy Beirut teenager on Allah's birthday, KINISON empties an entire ammo clip into the air.

THUDDD. The bullet-riddled corpse of CHARLTON HESTON falls out of the rafters.

HESTON
(his dying breath)
... a... well... regulated... militia...

Kramer scurries over and drags Heston off. Kinison spots Kubrick. His eyes bug.

KINISON
Kubrick! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!
I did NOT give you PERMISSION TO DIE!!

KINISON winds up and flings his M-16 toward heaven... up... and up...

AND UP... and up... it PAUSES at the top of its arc...

Then DOWN... and NOW IT IS

A MARK-28 FUSED AIRBURST 1.1 MEGATON THERMONUCLEAR BOMB hurtling down, down, through the ionosphere, stratosphere, troposphere...

Kubrick rides it like a bronco, frowning.

KUBRICK
(muttering)
Damn. No wonder Peter turned this part down.

A deafening EXPLOSION blinds us momentarily, then FADES TO BLACK.

A BEAT

SLOW FADE IN

INT. A LARGE NONDESCRIPT AUDITORIUM

Empty, except for murmuring silhouettes in back, and a lone figure in the center of the front row.

It is Kubrick, immobilized by a straitjacket. To his left and right are Altec-Lansing 2200-watt Drum-Buster speaker systems, each the size of a refrigerator, inches from Kubrick's nearest ear.

VOICE FROM REAR
(glottal, fruity, Teutonic.)
Und now, Herr Kew-brick, ve zhall continue zis evening's program.

The curtain rises, revealing a huge Bechstein concert grand piano. Standing next to it is KIRK DOUGLAS, grinning.

ANOTHER VOICE FROM REAR
Our next selection, like the last one, is from the score of EYES WIDE SHUT.

Douglas raises an arm dramatically, pauses, and brings one finger down hard on F# above middle C.

PLONK.

The single note, grotesquely amplified, causes a visible shimmer as it leaves the speakers and squeezes Kubrick's head in a sonic vise.

Douglas pounds the same key again. PLONK.

And again, and again.

PLONK. PLONK PLONK. PLONK PLONK PLONK. PLONK. PLONK PLONK. PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK. PLONK PLONK PLONK. PLONK. PLONK PLONK.

Kubrick writhes, grinds his teeth, loses bladder control, tries not to scream.

KUBRICK
I'm cured! Praise god, I'm cured!

DOUGLAS
Like hell you are. I've been waiting forty years for this, you shit.

PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK. PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK. PLONK. PLONK. PLONK.

The last straw. Frothing and oozing strange fluids, Kubrick breaks free, his mind gone. As if possessed simultaneously by Jerry Lewis and the Archangel Gabriel, he bounds around the room gesticulating and pleading.

KUBRICK
Host du bie mir an avleh.
Gantseh megilleh! Hak
mir nit in farblodzhet kop!
Me ken brechen. Fardrai zich
dem finster un glitshik kop!

PLONK PLONK! PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK PLONK.

KUBRICK
Shtup es in feinshmeker toches, shtik drek!
(Say goodnight, Gracie)
Kish mir in baitsim. Oy!

Kubrick sprints to, and hurls himself through, the nearest door, landing in a shower of wood chips. He collects himself, looks around, and finds himself at...

INT. THE PEARLY GATES

EXTREME CLOSEUP. A pair of dark Semitic EYES stare up at us past heavy lids.

We TRACK BACK and reveal a short chunky man who clearly sleeps in his clothes... it is STANLEY KUBRICK.

END