109. Interior shot of a crowded East Side type singles bar. Camera starts on someone at the bar laughing. All beautiful people at the bar. Pan along the bar and then zoom in toward the rear where we see PLUTO and SOPHIE talking at a table.
110. Two-shot favoring PLUTO.
...computer printout of possible studs for you. The only thing...
(Interrupting.) Wait a minute. You’ve got computers in Hell?
Where else would computers go when they die?
It figures.
Thing is, they don’t work any better for us than they do on earth. One of our technicians fed in all our data on you and came up with—
Casanova? Don Juan?
111. Close-up PLUTO POV SOPHIE.
No, just twenty-four thousand invitations to renew his subscription to Life Magazine.
112. Shot of SOPHIE reacting. Pan and dolly to reestablish two-shot. She spills her drink all over her tits. PLUTO does a The-Moon-Is-Blue thing with a napkin, reaching to wipe it off, then pulling his hand back.
You could at least give an old girl a quick feel. (PLUTO snaps his fingers.)
Hey, you didn’t disappear. I thought you were embarrassed and decided it was time to split.
No, I was just freshening your drink. (SOPHIE looks down at her glass, and lo and behold, it’s full again. She shrugs and drinks.)
So the computer didn’t compute and the printout was a washout. But I think I’ve got something for you.
Oh, yeah? It better be good.
You can’t get better. Unless you’ve got something against Russians...
Well, Khrushchev wasn’t exactly my idea of a dynamite ball—
Not Uncle Nikita. We go back through the time tunnel to the greatest Russian of them all. The maddest, baddest swinger from Minsk to Pinsk. A legend, larger than life, more powerful than a mighty locomotive, more—
113. Two-shot favoring SOPHIE.
Yeah, right, the greatest discovery since the vibrating dildo. Who is this Moscow Mule, anyway?
The Mad Monk himself.
You don’t mean...
Rasputin. And now—
114. PLUTO in medium shot, POV SOPHIE. PLUTO is about to snap his fingers.
(OC) Wait a minute. (Her hand grabs PLUTO’S.)
115. Two-shot.
Pluto, for Christ’s sake, I can’t meet him like this. I gotta be young and beautiful or you can take the whole deal and shove it.
Almost forgot. I haven’t had much practice at young and beautiful. Let’s see, now. (He pulls out a leatherette memo book from his jacket pocket and thumbs through it, finds the right page, frowns a little, then executes a complex finger snap. There is a puff of smoke, and in SOPHIE’S chair we see the largest stuffed panda bear in America.)
Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch. (We move back to see some of the rest of the place while PLUTO scratches his head and puzzles over his book of formulae. Absolutely no one in the restaurant takes any notice of the panda bear. We remain at a distance while other finger snaps produce one dumb thing after another — a bass fiddle, a four-foot pile of towels, a garden hoe, a filing cabinet, and ultimately SOPHIE herself. No one takes the slightest notice of these startling transformations.)
116. Two-shot.
Very funny. Very fucking funny.
117. Close-up of PLUTO wearing hangdog expression.
(OC) I suppose next I’ll show up as the balls on a brass monkey.
No, I think I’ve got the bugs out now. (He snaps his fingers, etc.) Take a look now.
118. Two-shot from behind SOPHIE. She has taken a mirror handed her by PLUTO. She is looking in it and playing with her face and hair. We begin a dolly around to get a two-shot and then a zoom to her face.
Oh, Pluto!
119. Close on PLUTO beaming in satisfaction.
Just the way you used to look.
(OC) Just the way I used...
120. Two-shot.
...to wish I looked. But these clothes. (A finger snap and she’s dressed to kill.) Pluto, you’re wonderful. But don’t snap anymore... If I looked any better than this I’d get arrested.
No more transformations. But now you’re ready for Rasputin.
Just so he’s ready for me.
Let’s find out (He snaps his fingers, puff of smoke, explosion, and so on.)
121. Establishing shot of RASPUTIN’S den. Sheepskins and steer hides cover most of the floor and completely cover a huge mattress. RASPUTIN wears a monk’s robe and is as large, bearish, and horrible as possible. He gnaws at a chicken bone, finishes it, looks at it, and throws it in a corner which is already loaded with these things. He picks up another one and begins to gnaw it.
122. Two-shot of SOPHIE and PLUTO. They are transparent. (Double exposure against black.)
(In a whisper.) Pluto, he’s an animal.
You don’t have to whisper. He can’t see or hear us.
How can he ball me if he doesn’t know I’m alive?
He’ll know when the times comes.
123. Low-angle wide shot of RASPUTIN. He has fallen to his knees and is going through an inarticulate prayer shtik that we hear. During this we do a slow zoom into his face.
Lord of All the Russias, keep me contented with the painful role of Thy servant. Let me rejoice in my simple comforts, the bare cell I must live in, the cold hard floor on which Thy servant sleeps, the crust of bread and cup of water which is his nourishment...
(OC) Who’s he kidding?
(Continuing.)... the deprivation of the senses, the melting away of the flesh until Thy servant is a scarecrow of skin and bones, the adherence to the code of piety, chastity and obedience...
(OC) Chastity???
Let me glory in never knowing the sins of the flesh, the pleasures of womanhood, the touch of their skins, the perfume of their loins, the swell of their thrusting breasts — (We have been zooming in until we are tight on his face. We then tilt down his body and discover that while he is renouncing the sins of the flesh he is pulling his pud. There is a knock on the door)