Screenwriting Adaptation by Chelsea

Catcher in the Rye

Written By Chelsea Bliefernicht

Based on the novel by J. D. Salinger

FADE IN: INT. PSYCHOLOGIST'S OFFICE - DAY A boy sits on a chaise lounge, flipping through a magazine. His face is hidden by the pages, a generic magazine with smiling faces gracing the cover. The boy suddenly tosses down the magazine, it's pages open to an article praising the prestigious Pencey Preparatory School. HOLDEN CAULFIELD, 16, lets out an annoyed SIGH. HOLDEN I suppose you want to know where I was born, what my lousy childhood was like, how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap. But, to tell you the truth, I don't feel like going into it. Stuff like that bores the hell out of me - besides, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I let slip anything personal about them. HOLDEN points toward the abandoned magazine on the table. HOLDEN (Disgusted) I will tell you about that place though. "Pencey Prep: Since 1888 we have been molding boys into splendid, clear-thinking young men." Little kids with clay do more goddamn molding than that place. Look at that hot-shot guy on a horse, jumping over that lousy fence. There is a close up of the magazine pages, the still photograph beginning to move and transition to... EXT. PENCY PREP - DAY HOLDEN (V.O.) As if all we ever did was play polo and think up a fourth law of motion or something, for Christ's sake. A SERIES OF SHOTS of Pency are shown, from clips of the

grand, sweeping mansions converted into classrooms to groups of students, joking with one another. The side of Pencey that HOLDEN sees shows through, with groups of boys bullying the underdogs of the school before running off to their sports practice, acting like typical hot-shot jocks. HOLDEN (V.O.) They're all nothing but a bunch of stupid morons. Here to waste their stupid morons. Here to waste their folk's money on a crumby education before inheriting the family dough. Being around phonies like these is enough to drive a guy insane - if he's lucky. Between you and me, the best decision I ever made was leaving that crumby place. INT. DORM ROOM - NIGHT Holden sits on the edge of a twin bed, repeatedly tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it with a beat up mitt. On his desk, we see an official looking letter, announcing Holden's expulsion from Pencey Prep. STRADLATER, 17, rushes through the door. He is a handsome boy, the kind that looks like he can win anyone over with a smile. HOLDEN, caught off guard, quickly hides the mitt under his bed, reacting as though he'd been caught looking at adult magazines. HOLDEN For Chrissake, Stradlater, you could give a man a heart attack. STRADLATER I knew you'd be hidin' out like a hermit in here. Listen - if you're not going out anyplace special tonight, how 'bout lending me your hound's-tooth jacket? HOLDEN I never said I wasn't going out. STRADLATER Well are you gonna use your hound's-tooth or not? I spilled crap all over my flannel.

HOLDEN I don't want you stretching it out with your goddamn shoulders and all. STRADLATER strides over to HOLDEN's closet, pulling the coat off it's hanger and tossing it on his bed. STRADLATER I won't stretch it. Say, you want to do me a big favor? HOLDEN I'm already lendin' you my goddamn hound's-tooth. STRADLATER (ignoring the remark) I got about a hundred pages to read for History on Monday. How 'bout for History on Monday. How 'bout you help me out and write my composition for me, for English. I'll be up a creek if I don't turn it in on Monday. How 'bout it? HOLDEN I'm flunking out of this goddamn place and you're asking me to write your goddamn composition? STRADLATER I told you, buddy, I'll be up a creek. Common, be a buddyroo. STRADLATER reaches toward HOLDEN, playfully slapping him on both cheeks and flashing him a smile. HOLDEN What on? STRADLATER Anything. It's just gotta be descriptive as hell. HOLDEN remains silent, picking at the edge of his shirt. STRADLATER Well, you gonna write that composition for me? HOLDEN If I get the time, I will. If I (MORE)

4 HOLDEN (CONT'D) don't, I won't. Anyways, where are you off to in such a goddamn hurry? STRADLATER takes a moment to answer, checking his reflection in the mirror. STRADLATER My date's waitin' downstairs. HOLDEN Who's the gal? STRADLATER No one you'd know. HOLDEN Common, tell me! STRADLATER doesn't answer. HOLDEN lunges off the bed, wrapping his roommate in a half-nelson. STRADLATER Cut it out, Holden, for Chrissake! Without much effort, STRADLATER removes himself from HOLDEN's grip. STRADLATER Cut out the crap, kid. HOLDEN Who's your date then? That one babe, Phyllis Smith? STRADLATER (Disappointed) Nah. I got Bud Thaw's girl's roommate... Hey, I meant to tell ya - she knows you. HOLDEN Who? STRADLATER My date. HOLDEN No kidding? What's her name? STRADLATER Gimme a sec, let me think. Starts with a J. Jenny - no, wait... Jean. Jean Gallagher.

HOLDEN Jane Gallagher? You're damn right I know her! We practically lived right next door to each other, summer before last. I remember she had that goddamn Doberman pincher that chased me all around the goddamn block - that's how we met... Where is she? STRADLATER, primping himself in the mirror, looks around. STRADLATER What'd you say? HOLDEN I oughta go down and say hello or something. Where is she? The Annex? Or out in the courtyard? STRADLATER (Still distracted) Yeah. HOLDEN Pay attention, Stradlater. How'd she happen to mention me? You said she was rooming with Bud Thaw's girl - so she must go to B.M. She said she might go there, last we talked. How'd she happen to mention me? STRADLATER For Chrissake, Holden, I don't know. HOLDEN Jesus H. Christ. Jane Gallagher. Can you believe it? Did you know she's a dancer? Ballet and all. She'd practice 2 hours every day. She told me that one day while we She told me that one day while we were playing checkers - we used to play all the time. STRADLATER You used to play what with her all the time? HOLDEN Checkers.

STRADLATER Checkers, for Chrissake! HOLDEN I ought to go down and say hi. STRADLATER Well why don't you, instead of sayin' up here and pacing around like a madman. HOLDEN shruggs, going back to picking at his shirt. HOLDEN I'm not in the mood. Say, where ya going on your date with her? STRADLATER searches around his desk, rummaging through drawers. He's in a hurry and clearly frustrated with HOLDEN. STRADLATER I don't know, New York maybe. If we have the time - she only signed out for nine thirty, for Chrissake. Now where the hell are my cigarettes? HOLDEN Under that stack of papers, there. STRADLATER knocks aside the stack of papers, tucking them into his pants pocket. STRADLATER No kidding, now. Do that composition for me, kid. HOLDEN ignored him, staring intently out the window. HOLDEN Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row, would ya? Okay? STRADLATER Okay, kid. Listen, I'll see you around. STRADLATER grabs the hound's-tooth jacket and puts it on, the seams tugging tightly at his shoulders. As he starts toward the door, HOLDEN calls out to him. HOLDEN (Anxious) Hey, Stradlater?

STRADLATER (Annoyed) Yeah? HOLDEN Don't... Don't tell Jane I got kicked out, will ya? STRADLATER (Sympathetic) Sure. Take it easy, now. Stradlater slides out the door, not shutting it all the way as he goes. HOLDEN (Grumbles) Always leavin' the goddamn door open... Holden reaches back under the bed to grab the mitt and ball. He begins to repeatedly toss up in the air and catch it. BOY (O.S.) You gonna let him boss you around like that? Holden spins around to face a boy, 11, with bright red hair and a happy smirk. HOLDEN Aw, he means well. BOY If you say so. Hey, toss that here. HOLDEN It's gettin' pretty late, shouldn't you be gettin' to bed? BOY (Laughing) What are you, my mother? I only wanna mess around for a few minutes, then I'll call her a night - promise. With a small smile Holden tosses the ball over to the boy, who begins to play catch with himself. HOLDEN begins to examine the mitt, trailing his finger along the stitching and reading the poems scribbled on the leather in green ink. With the CREAK of a door, Holden glances up, seeing the door ajar and the boy is no longer in the room. The baseball is

abandoned on Holden's bed. Looking back at the glove, HOLDEN begins to recite some of the lines. HOLDEN To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting... Holden glances back and forth between the mitt and Stradlater's desk. Holden walks over to the contraption, sliding in a new piece of paper, adjusting it, and typing out a few lines. His typing starts out slow and hesitant, his eyes darting between the mitt and the typewriter as he tries to do the worn-in relic justice. As time goes by, his pressing of the keys grows more confident, his eyes not glancing at the mitt as he writes from memory - from the heart. He rewrites every line scribbled on the mitt, some of the most famous lines of poetry mixed in with beautiful, obscure phrases. He recounts the way it's left handed, with loose stitching and worn skin from continuous use. Just as Holden finishes up the last few lines of the paper, STRADLATER pushes open the door. STRADLATER Ya left the door open, kid. Hey, where the hell is everybody? This place is like a goddamn morgue. Holden doesn't respond as he pulls the paper out of the machine. STRADLATER Thanks for the coat, kid. It's as cold as death out there. HOLDEN simply nods, tucking the baseball mitt back into the drawer of his desk. STRADLATER So did you finish that composition, kid? HOLDEN Got it right here.

STRADLATER walks over and snatches it out of Holdens's hands. It only takes him a few minutes to skim it over before he looks back at HOLDEN. STRADLATER (Annoyed) For Chrissakes, Holden. This is about a goddamn baseball glove. HOLDEN (Cold) So what? STRADLATER Whaddaya mean so what? I told ya it had to be about a goddamn room or a house or something. HOLDEN You didn't say a goddamn thing about a room or a house. You just said it had to be descriptive. What the hell's wrong with it being about a baseball glove? STRADLATER storms away, angrily starting to undress. STRADLATER (Under his breath) Everything assbackwards... STRADLATER turns to face HOLDEN STRADLATER No wonder you're flunking the hell out of here, you don't do one damn thing the way you're supposed to. I mean it. Not one damn thing. HOLDEN Alright, give it back to me then. Holden stands up, snatches the papers out of STRADLATER's hands, and tares it up. STRADLATER What the hellja do that for? Holden ignores him, falling face first onto his bed while Stradlater starts to get undressed. After a few minutes, HOLDEN shifts to face Stradlater. HOLDEN You're home pretty goddamn late if (MORE)

10 HOLDEN (CONT'D) she signed out for nine-thirty. Did you make her late signing in? STRADLATER turned to face HOLDEN. STRADLATER Only a coupla minutes. Serves her right - who the hell signs out for nine-thirty on a goddamn Saturday night? HOLDEN Did you go to New York? STRADLATER Ya crazy? How the hell could we get there and back if she only signed out for nine-thirty? Holden shrugs, crossing to the window and lighting a cigarette. STRADLATER Listen, kid, if you're gonna smoke, how 'bout going down to the can? You already got kicked out, but I'd like to stick around long enough to graduate. HOLDEN ignores him, continuing to lean out the window. Eventually, he turns back to face STRADLATER. HOLDEN Did you give her my regards? STRADLATER (half-hearted) Yeah. HOLDEN Well what'd she say? Did she tell you about how she likes to keep all her kings in the back row? STRADLATER No, she didn't tell me. What the hell ya think we did all night play checkers, for Chrissake? HOLDEN Well if you didn't go to New York, where'd the hell you go with her? STRADLATER crosses the room to HOLDEN, playfully punching

him in the side. HOLDEN Cut it out, would ya? Where'd you go with her if you didn't go to New York? STRADLATER Nowhere. We just stayed in the goddamn car. STRADLATER continues to jab at HOLDEN. HOLDEN Cut it out. Who's car? STRADLATER Ed Banky's. HOLDEN What'd you do, give her the time of day in the goddamn basketball coach's car? STRADLATER What a thing to say, kid, I should wash your mouth out with soap. HOLDEN Did you? STRADLATER That's a professional secret, kid. CUT TO: INT. PSYCHOLOGIST'S OFFICE - DAY HOLDEN The next part I don't remember so hot. CUT TO: INT. DORM ROOM - NIGHT HOLDEN throws a punch at Stradlater, grazing the side of his head. STRADLATER pins Holden to the floor. STRADLATER (Angry) What the hell's the matter with you, kid? What the hell's wrong with you?

HOLDEN (Hysterical) Get your goddamn knees off my chest. Get offa me, ya crumby bastard. You're a sonuvabitch - get off. STRADLATER (Shouting over him) Calm down, kid. HOLDEN You're a no good sonuvabitch. You don't care about anybody but yourself - not even a nice girl who keeps all her kings in the back row. You're a goddamn stupid moron. STRADLATER gets visibly upset, tightening his grip on HOLDEN. HOLDEN (V.O.) (Calm) That's the thing about morons they all hate it when you go and call them out for what they are. STRADLATER Shut up, Holden. Just shut up. Now. HOLDEN You don't even know if her first name is Jane or Jean, you goddamn moron. STRADLATER HoldenHOLDEN Moron! STRADLATER Shut up, Holden. I'm warning ya. If you don't shut up, I'm gonna slam ya one. HOLDEN Get your dirty stinking moron knees off my chest. STRADLATER If I letcha up, will you keep your mouth shut?

Holden doesn't answer. STRADLATER repeats himself. STRADLATER (Emphasizing his words) If I letcha up, will you keep your mouth shut? HOLDEN (Mumble) Yes. Stradlater rolls off of Holden. Both the boys stand up STRADLATER in a smooth manner, HOLDEN much more clumsily. HOLDEN You're a dirty, stupid, sonuvabitch of a moron. STRADLATER Holden, God damn it, I'm warning you now. If you don't keep your yap shut HOLDEN (Yelling) Why should I? That's the trouble with you morons. You never want to discuss anything intelligStradlater punches Holden in the face, knocking him down onto the floor. Blood pours out of Holden's nose as STRADLATER stands over him. STRADLATER (Regretful) Goddamnit, Holden - when will you learn to shut up when I tellya to? HOLDEN (Grumbling) You're still a goddamn moron. STRADLATER Listen, kid, go wash your face. HOLDEN Wash your own moron face. STRADLATER starts toward the door, grabing his toiletry bag on the way, and heads toward the bathroom. He stops just outside the doorway for a moment, looking back at Holden. STRADLATER (Mumbling) (MORE)

14 STRADLATER (CONT'D) When will you grow up, kid? Stradlater walks out and shuts the door behind him. Holden slowly stands up and looks at himself in the mirror, acknowledging the blood stained all over his face and clothing. Holden backs away, looking at Stradlater's desk. There he sees one of Stradlater's ties draped over the back of his chair. The same tie Stradlater wore the one time Holden went on a double date with him. CUT TO: INT. ED BANKY'S CAR - NIGHT Stradlater's tie is draped over the headrest of Holden's seat. In the back of the car, STRADLATER and his DATE are submerged in darkness. Holden sits uncomfortably in the driver's seat, his date shotgun. Uneasy, Holden knocks the tie off his seat and onto the floor. STRADLATER'S DATE No - please. Please don't. Please. STRADLATER Did I ever tell you how pretty you are? STRADLATER'S DATE (Hushed, nervous giggle) Only once or twice. Really though, I can't do this. STRADLATER It'll be alright, I promise. Holden glances over at his date, who is looking down, nervously playing with the fabric of her skirt as the objections turn to murmurs of approval. As the backseat goes quiet, Holden's date looks up, meeting Holden's gaze. Slowly, she scoots closer, leaning in toward Holden. INT DORM ROOM - NIGHT Holden looks away from Stradlater's desk and crawls into his bed, not bothering to change out of his clothing. Stradlater returns to the room and doesn't bother to acknowledge Holden, turning off all the lamp lights along the way. The two are submerged in darkness, Holden blankly staring at the wall beside his bed.

Time passes and Stradlater's snores begin to fill the room. Holden sits up, staring at his desk - at the drawer he'd slipped the baseball mitt back into. In a swift motion, HOLDEN stands up and packs up all his belongings. HOLDEN (V.O.) You seem like an intelligent individual - I'm sure you understand why I had to get out of that place. It was suffocating me, from the inside out. I was surrounded by people like Stradlater, people who didn't even bother to remember a girl's first name or offer a guy a helping hand after he sacked 'm in the face. Holden stuffs all of his toiletries and clothes into a suitcase, not bothering to be neat about it since all he can think about is getting out. He moves over to the desk, where he skips over his textbooks and papers - he won't need those anymore - and reaches straight for the baseball mitt, cushioning it lovingly between loose sweaters. HOLDEN puts on his hound's-tooth (slightly stretched out) and marches out of the room, not bothering to look back at Stradlater. EXT. PENCEY PREP - NIGHT When Holden reaches the front of the building, he turns around and looks up at the place he'd called home - the place that had rejected him like all the others. HOLDEN (Shouting) Sleep tight, ya morons! In a sudden fear that he'll get caught and dragged back, Holden rushes off, awkwardly stumbling over the snowbanks as he goes. EXT DOWNTOWN AGERSTOWN, PA - NIGHT Holden trudges all the way to the train station, dragging his bag behind him and tightly gripping his hound's-tooth in the cold. As he nears the train station, he passes by a set of storefront windows. Realizing how bloody his reflection is, he quickly uses handfuls of snow to wash off any evidence of

the brawl before walking up to the counter and buying a ticket for New York City.