The Mickey Mouse Murder

INT, MICKEY MOUSE HOME – NIGHT
A gleaming case-study mid-century modernist home hugging a cliff in California. Pure darkness, except for the lights of LA outside the floor-to-ceiling picture windows. Mickey Mouse enters, flicks on the light.

It’s the old-style Mickey Mouse. "The Steamboat Willie" version. Black dots for eyes.

Mickey’s POV. Just a flash. We see the living space. Nice digs. Shelves stuffed with Oscars. Massive poster of Walt Disney signed "TO MY OLD PAL, MICKEY — WALT." Old-style console hi-fi system and early color TV. This is sometime in the late 1950s or early 1960s.

But that’s all background. The main attraction—

Is Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. Sitting in an Eames Chair surrounded by empty whiskey bottles he’s pilfered. And holding a nasty 45 in one white-gloved hand. Aside from his larger rabbit ears, Oswald looks identical to Mickey.

Oswald: Hello, Mickey.
Mickey: (jumping) Ha-ha. Gosh. Hi, Oswald. 
Oswald: Oh … you remember me?
Mickey: Sure, ha-ha. ‘Course I remember you.
Oswald: Yeah, you and nobody else. 
Mickey: Aw heck. You’re Oswald the Lucky Rabbit.
Oswald: Not so lucky, huh?
Mickey: Say, Oswald. Can I get you something to drink?
Oswald: (indicates empty booze bottles) Way ahead of you.
Mickey: Guess so. Say … anything I can do to help?
Oswald: Sure, Mickey. (cocks gun) Die.
Mickey: Well, gee, Oz. Ha-ha. That’s a mean thing to say.
Oswald: It’s what I want.
Mickey: Why?
Oswald: Why? (standing up, kicking whiskey bottles) You stole my look, you stole my fans, you stole my life—and you’ve got the fucking nerve to ask me why?
Mickey: Aw, c’mon, Oz. That’s —

Oswald glares at him with pure hate. If Mickey realizes if he says “That’s showbiz,” he’s going to get a bullet between the ears.

Mickey: … that’s not very friendly.
Oswald: Not very friendly? Not … (laughs psychotically) You think I’m your friend?
Mickey: Well, why not? We got a lot in common.
Oswald: You can say that again, brother.
Mickey: You’re a hard-working rabbit. I’m a hard working mouse. We —
Oswald: You’re not a mouse — you’re a rat. And I’m tired of this conversation. 
Walt Disney: (OS) That makes two of us, Oswald. 

SOUND: (OS) Gun firing.

Oswald opens his mouth to speak. But there’s a hole in the middle of his head. He forgets his next line. And drops dead.

Once he drops, we see the poster of Walt Disney behind him, now splattered with blood.

Walt Disney walks in front of the poster. Walt exactly occupies the position of his younger self in the poster behind him.

Mickey: Gosh, Walt. Am I glad to see you! You’re a real life-saver, ha-ha.
Walt: I wouldn’t put it that way. 

Walt shoots Mickey. Who drops dead with that big smile on his face.

The late 1950s incarnation of Mickey Mouse walks in. The squeaky-clean Mickey Mouse Club version.

New Mickey: Wow! Nice digs!
Walt: All yours, Mick. Keep me happy and it’ll stay that way. Now clean up this fucking mess.
New Mickey: Ha-ha. Sure thing, boss. Sure thing.

Walt leaves.

New Mickey looks up at the blood-splattered poster. Sighs.

New Mickey: Now where does that cheese-eating dipshit keep the Windex?

Iris in, go to black.