20 EXT. DOWNTOWN SAN DIEGO RADIO STATION -- DAY 20
The song we've been listening to is ripped off the turntable by
a highly-active man in a red promotional t-shirt proclaiming the
greatness of The Guess Who. He is a ferocious, lumbering, music-
driven presence, and he fills this small radio studio to the
very brim. This is LESTER BANGS, 25, the rarely-seen God of a
then new art-form -- Rock Journalism. A Disc-jockey with long-
long hair watches helplessly. William views all this through a
gla** window. He stands on the corner of a downtown side
street, halfway up a steep incline. He is the only person on
the streets this early Saturday morning. Reveal that he is
watching a live radio show, audible to us through the small
p.a. speaker overhead.
LESTER BANGS
Here's a theory for you to disregard completely. Music, you know, true music, not just rock 'n' roll, it chooses you. It lives in your car, or alone, listening to your headphones -- you know, with the vast, scenic bridges and angelic choirs I your brain. It is a place apart from the vast, benign lap of America.
DISC-JOCKEY
Quite an honor to have the World's
Greatest Rock Critic... and editor of
Creem Magazine, back Home in San Diego
for a few days -- Lester Bangs.
LESTER BANGS
What is this hippie station?! Where's
Iggy Pop? Don't you have a copy of
Raw Power?!
DISC-JOCKEY
Lester, isn't it a little early for
this?
Bangs searches for the album -- vinyl flying everywhere now,
with no regard for album jackets.
BANGS
Found it!!
21 EXT. RADIO STATION -- DAY 21
William watches intently. Bangs thuds the needle onto a copy
of Raw Power. We're rewarded with a blast of Iggy and the
Stooges' "Search and Destroy." A closer shot on William now
watching the whirlwind of anarchy inside. Lester does an Iggy
Pop impression, acting out a story for the d.j. that we cannot
hear, never noticing the kid soaking in everything from the
other side of this double-gla** window.
22 EXT. RADIO STATION -- DAY -- LATER 22
Bangs walks with William on this sharply inclined San Diego
street. It's early, the streets are silent. Bangs is about
fifteen beer pounds overweight. His jeans are loose, his
paleness and messy moustache an emblem of the long days and
nights spent writing. In there somewhere is a good-looking
guy. His hands are thrust deeply into his pockets, and he
takes big sweeping steps.
BANGS
So you're the one who's been sending
me those articles from your school
newspaper -
WILLIAM
I've been doing some stuff for a local
underground paper, too.
BANGS
What are you like the star of your
school?
WILLIAM
They hate me.
BANGS
You'll meet them all again on their
long journey to the middle.
The kid nods, they walk.
BANGS (cont'd)
Well, your writing is damn good. It's
just a shame you missed out on rock
and roll.
WILLIAM
I did?
BANGS
Oh yeah. It's over.
WILLIAM
Over?
BANGS
Over. You got here just in time for
the d**h rattle, the last gasp, the
last grope.
WILLIAM
Well. At least I'm here for that.
Bangs looks at the much smaller kid, shaking his head. It's
too late for newcomers. But if the kid's age is an issue, he
doesn't mention it. Like a machine-gun:
BANGS
What do you type on?
WILLIAM
Smith-Corona Galaxis Deluxe.
BANGS
You like the new Lou Reed?
WILLIAM
(automatic)
The early stuff. The new stuff, he's
trying to be Bowie, he should be
himself. I'm not a big Lou man.
BANGS
Yeah, but if Bowie's doing Lou, and
Lou's Doing Bowie, Lou's still doing
Lou.
WILLIAM
(standing his ground)
If you like Lou.
BANGS
Take d**?
WILLIAM
No.
BANGS
Smart kid. I used to do speed and
sometimes Nyquil and stay up all night
writing and writing, like 25 pages of
dribble about, you know, the Guess
Who, or Coltrane, just to write, you
know, with the music blasting...
WILLIAM
Me too. The writing part...
For a moment, the serious demeanor dissolves and the oddest
thing happens. Bangs laughs. It's an odd and charming laugh,
the kind a tough guy keeps well-hidden. It surprised the kid,
who smiles back. Bangs stops at the corner, and offers a
pleasant but very final nod of the head.
BANGS
Well, alright. It's been nice to meet
you. I'll see you around. Keep sending
me your stuff.
WILLIAM
Okay. See you.
BANGS
I can't stand here all day talking to
my many fans.
WIDE SHOT - SOLITUDE
But neither have anywhere to go on this early downtown morning.
They stand for a beat, hands in pockets, on this deserted
street. They are alone together, there's nobody else in sight.
23 INT. DINER -- DAY 23
William listens intently as Lester eat a sandwich. His face
is an open book filling with words.
BANGS
-- so anyway, you're from San Diego
and that's good. Because once you go
to L.A., you're gonna have friends
like crazy but they'll be fake friends,
they're gonna try to corrupt you. The
publicists! The bands! You got an
honest face, they're gonna tell you
everything. But you CANNOT make friends
with the rock stars.
The kid takes out a green collegiate notebook and gestures --
can I make a note? Bangs nods.
BANGS (cont'd)
Cannot make friends with the rock stars.
(savage bite)
That's what's important. If you're a rock
journalist, a true journalist -- first you
will never get paid much. But you will
get free records from the record company.
The kid's eyes widen. Bangs, in direct conflict with his brutal
writing style, is looking suspiciously like a compa**ionate
softie.
BANGS (cont'd)
And they'll buy you drinks, you'll meet
girls... they'll try to fly you places for
free.... offer you d**... I know. It
sounds great. But they are not your
friends. These are people who want you
to write sanctimonious stories about the
genius of the rock stars and they will
ruin rock and roll and strangle everything
we love about it.
Privately, William thrills. We. Our. It all sounds great to
him. He listens to the grouping of the words, every one of
them. He madly scribbles.
BANGS (cont'd)
They are trying to buy respectability
for a form that is gloriously and
righteously -
The kid leans forward as Lester finds the right word.
BANGS (cont'd)
- dumb! And you're smart enough to
know that. And the day it ceases to
be dumb is the day it ceases to be
real. Right? And then it will just
Become an Industry of Cool.
WILLIAM
... Industry... of... cool...
BANGS
And that's what they want! And it's
happening right now. I'm telling you,
you're coming along at a very dangerous
time for rock and roll. The war is
over. They won. 99% of what pa**es
for rock now... SILENCE is much more
compelling. It's over. I think you
should turn around and go back and
be... a lawyer or something... but I
can see from your face that you won't.
I can pay you thirty-five bucks. Gimme
a thousand words on Black Sabbath.
WILLIAM
(attempting cool)
An a**ignment.
LESTER
Yeah. And you should build your
reputation on being honest... and
unmerciful.
WILLIAM
(writing in notebook)
Honest... unmerciful...
BANGS
And if you get into a jam -- call me.
I stay up late.
Bangs reaches across the table, and William watches as he
scribbles his number on the back of the kid's green collegiate
notebook. The notebook has just become valuable. They sit
together, listening to the beautiful and compelling silence.
24 INT. FAMILY CAR -- NIGHT 24
Mom drives William to the San Diego Sports Arena. She looks
out the window at the adrenalized concert-goers. She feels
protective not just of her son, but an entire generation.
William goes over his questions for Black Sabbath.
ELAINE
Look at this. An entire generation of
Cinderellas and there's no slipper
coming.
William looks out the window at the sign: TONIGHT - SOLD OUT -
BLACK SABBATH with special guest Stillwater.
WILLIAM
You can drop me off here.
ELAINE
Black. Sabbath. Just remember - you
wanted to be Atticus Finch in To k**
a Mockingbird.
The kid doesn't answer. He silently goes over his questions.
ELAINE (cont'd)
As long as I know this is just a hobby,
I'll go along with it.
WILLIAM
All I have to do is listen. That's
what Lester Bangs said.
ELAINE
(dryly)
I'll be waiting right here at eleven
'o clock sharp. If you get lost, use
the family whistle.
He unhooks his seatbelt, stuffs his questions into an orange
canvas shoulder-bag and exits.
Elaine watches her son disappearing into the stony rock-concert
crowd. It's a windy night. Everything about this image
troubles her. She fights with herself, and then uses the family
whistle immediately. He turns.
ELAINE (cont'd)
(sweetly, too loud)
Don't take d**!!
Fifteen concert-goers turn around instinctively, at the sound
of a Mother, and then identify William as the object of her
concern. All around him, we hear:
HAPPY CONCERT GOERS
Don't take d**!!
He winces, nods and moves forward. Music echoes from the open
windows of many other cars.
25 EXT. SAN DIEGO SPORTS ARENA BACKSTAGE RAMP -- NIGHT 25
The kid tromps down the steep incline leading to a small steel
backstage arena door. He rings the buzzer. The door wheezes
open to reveal the keeper of the San Diego Sports Arena's
backstage list. Famous to all those who attempt to enter,
this is SCOTTY. He is a wiry, humorless man for whom
powerlessness is the theme of his life -- except for those few
hours he controls the list. Scotty is only forty but everything
about him screams that he's an angry sixty.
WILLIAM
Hi. I'm William Miller and I'm here
from Creem Magazine to interview the
band Black Sabbath.
Scotty, immediately suspicious, moves to a nearby podium and
snaps through three clipboard pages. He moves back to the
door and grabs the handle.
SCOTTY
Not on the list.
He shuts the door with finality. The kid stands silently for
a moment. He looks over his shoulder, at two chattering
Groupies watching his dilemma from the top of the ramp. They
look at him sympathetically, but he turns away. William rings
the buzzer again, withdrawing a copy of Creem from his bag.
The door opens.
WILLIAM
Sir, I'm a journalist, and here's a
copy of the magazine.
The magazine hangs in mid-air.
SCOTTY
You're not on the list. Go to the
top of the ramp with the girls!
Slam. William stands there for a moment. Unsure of what to
do next, he looks back to the top of the ramp. Rejected by
him just moments earlier, the groupies now feign disinterest.
Bracing himself, William rings again. The door opens slowly
this time. Scotty stands peering at him.
WILLIAM
(in a rush)
What-happens-after-I-go-to-the-top-of-
the-ramp with-the-gi -
Slam. Lock.