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Gene Hackman's Death
Gene Hackman’s death is grotesque, disturbing, and entirely plausible for anyone who grows old enough with their spouse. He was 95. She was 65. But she died first, of the “flu-like” hantavirus, contractable through rodent droppings.
The official timeline is plausible, but we could take some liberties with the details. Make it like: Hackman is supine, with advanced enough Alzheimer’s where he probably thinks his wife has only been gone a couple minutes, just a couple minutes, perpetually until the end of his life. Do you think he knew he was dying as he slipped away? He was definitely wondering where his wife was. Cognizant of his aloneness. It sounds like a painful way to go. But the other possibility is equally horrifying: He knows his wife has died, and keeps rediscovering that she’s dead until he himself fails.
We could beat it out like:
Teaser: Betsy Arakawa, Hackman’s wife, is on the phone with the maintenance guy, digging for St. Patrick’s day decorations in a crawl space off the garage. She asks him to install the giant inflatable shamrock she’s currently looking for. She opens a cupboard and the pile of mouse turds that have accumulated within horrify her. She’s shocked, and sneezes, mouse turd particulate everywhere. She screams and her and Hackman’s dogs all start barking. Except their Shetland terrier named Fearghal. Fearghal needs hernia surgery, which is scheduled for later that day.
A Story: Hackman is bedridden, near dying, confused, completely reliant on his wife Betsy for all care. His pacemaker has been acting weird. But he doesn’t feel any different. He ate his oatmeal and bananas that morning. He thinks. He’s pretty sure he did, but also. What was he saying? Confused like that.
B Story: Covered in mouse turd dust, Betsy takes a shower, huffs eucalyptus vapor from a diffuser. She needs to go, she’s taking Fearghal to the vet for his hernia surgery. She tells Hackman she’ll be back and he assents but has no idea where she went a minute after she leaves his side.
A Muddle: Hackman is confused, has no idea where she is. Resigns himself to laying there, waiting it out, straining to not take her absence personally. He floats in and out of character, lines bounding he himself and the people he’s played nonexistent.
B Muddle: Betsy gets home and orders in a pizza, the only thing the old man will reliably put down anymore. The pickiness of a toddler. Another developmental quirk he’s growing back into. Continence is long gone. But Betsy is anxious. The vet decided to keep Fearghal overnight. She’s stressed, so she takes a half bar. Passes out in her own bed. She and Hackman haven’t shared a bed in years.
Another Attempt: Hackman has the box of pizza next to him in bed. He can’t recall how it got there. He calls for Betsy to clarify things, but she’s passed out. He takes bites between a closing argument monologue from Runaway Jury (2003).
B Wrap: Betsy wakes up the next day, sick as a dog. But the vet has called. Tells her she can pick up Fearghal. That he did great. She fixes Hackman his oatmeal and bananas and then drives to get the dog. On her way home, just inside their gated community, a coyote jumps in front of her Range and she spins out into a low retaining wall. The airbag somehow doesn’t deploy. She’s huffing through respiratory distress. When she gets home, all distraught, and checks on Hackman, he doesn’t even remember she left. They get into a dumb argument about the dog. There’s shouting. She’s sick, she feels like, I’ll sleep it off. Pops a full bar this time. Tries to get up but collapses, half on the carpet of the bedroom, half on the hardwood of the master bath. Wheezing facedown, breath condensating on the shiny mahogany. She drifts away.
A Wrap: Hackman can’t tell where she is. Can’t for sure tell how long she’s been gone. He calls for her. But feels weak. Weaker than he’s maybe ever felt. But he needs to look for her. She’s the only one who could help him. So he crawls from the bed, across the floor, only now cognizant that he needs the restroom. Then discovers her on the floor, cold. Has a hysterical freakout. Has no idea how or why she died. Cries on his back for a while. Before he forgets what he’s crying about, and rolls over. Only to find his beloved wife dead again. And again. Until his own heart gives way for good.
Kicker: The doorbell rings. It’s the maintenance guy. Here to install the giant inflatable shamrock. The dogs start barking. No one answers, so he looks in the windows. Walks around the house, seeing what he can see inside. Until he sees.
This is totally a play.
And who would play Gene Hackman?