"THE LOST WEEKEND"
Screenplay by
Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder
Based on a novel by
Charles R. Jackson
SEQUENCE "A"
FADE IN:
A-1 THE MAN-MADE MOUNTAIN PEAKS OF MANHATTAN
on a sunny day in October, 1938. THE CAMERA PANS ACROSS the
distant ridge of midtown buildings, then slowly FINDS A
FOREGROUND: THE REAR OF A SMALL APARTMENT HOUSE on East 55th
Street.
It is a 4-story affair of brick, housing some eight
apartments, half of them giving on the garden or rather on
the routine back yard with a sumac tree, a stone bench, and
some mouldy flower boxes in which geraniums are dying.
THE MOVING CAMERA CONCENTRATES on the 4th-floor apartment,
which boasts three windows. Two of them give on the living
room, one on the bedroom of the brothers Birnam. THE CAMERA
NARROWS its interest to THE BEDROOM WINDOW.
It is open, like a million other windows in New York that
warm day. What gives it individuality is that from an awning
cleat there dangles down the outside wall something which
very few people hang from their windows: a bottle of whiskey.
Through the window we can see the brothers Birnam packing.
A-2 INT. BEDROOM
It is a smallish room with twin beds in opposite corners,
both of them unmade. There are books on the night tables,
two chests of drawers with some of the drawers open, and the
closet is open too. One door leads to the living room, another
to the cramped entrance hall.
(Maybe this is the time to describe the apartment. You've
seen that living room a hundred times if you know literate,
artistically inclined people. On one wall are bookshelves
surrounding a marble fireplace, on which stands a tiny plaster
bust of Shakespeare. In the shelves, art books and serious
works of fiction: Thomas Mann, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James
Joyce and the like. There are Picasso, Van Gogh and Utrillo
reproductions on the other walls. A comfortable, elderly
armchair stands near one of the windows. There is a studio
couch, a low, tiled table -- oh, you know.
Off the living room is the familiar kitchenette for the light
housekeeping of two bachelors -- i.e. coffee and coffee.
The bathroom, inconveniently enough, is off the entrance
hall. A floor plan, authenticated by the author of the book,
will be furnished on request).
To get back to the bedroom and the Birnam brothers: a small
suitcase lies open on each bed. DON, the brother nearest the
window, is bent over one, putting in socks, shirts, etc. He
is thirty-three, an extremely attractive guy, but ten pounds
underweight, and in his eye there is something rebellious,
something sly.
WICK, two years younger, is much sturdier, kindly,
sympathetic, solid gold. He wears glasses and is smoking a
cigarette. He is on his way from the closet to his suitcase
with some stuff. He throws a sweater across to Don.
WICK
Better take this along, Don. It's
going to be cold on the farm.
DON
Okay.
WICK
How many shirts are you taking?
DON
Three.
WICK
I'm taking five.
DON
Five?
WICK
I told them at the office I might
not be back till Tuesday. We'll get
there this afternoon. That'll give
us all Friday, Saturday, Sunday,
Monday. We'll make it a long weekend.
DON
Sounds long, all right.
WICK
It'll do you good, Don, after what
you've been through.
Don has crossed to the chest of drawers and fished out more
shirts and socks.
WICK
Trees and grass and sweet cider and
buttermilk and water from that well
that's colder than any other water.
DON
Wick, please, why this emphasis on
liquids? Noble, upstanding, nauseating
liquids.
WICK
Sorry, Don.
DON, his back toward Wick, is bent over the suitcase, packing.
His eyes travel to the window.
DON
Think it would be a good idea if we
took my typewriter?
WICK
What for?
DON
(Indignantly)
To write. To write there. I'm going
to get started on my novel.
WICK
You really feel up to writing?
DON
Why not?
WICK
I mean, after what you've been
through.
DON
I haven't touched the stuff for ten
days now.
WICK
I know you haven't. Where's the
portable?
DON
In the living room closet, kind of
towards the back.
Bent forward tensely, he watches Wick go into the living
room. Left alone, he acts with lightning rapidity. He takes
the sweater, goes over to the window, pulls up the whiskey
bottle, wraps the sweater around it so that only the top
with the string around it shows. He tries to loosen the noose
but he's nervous and loses a precious second.
From the living room has been coming the sound of Wick opening
the closet door and ransacking. Now comes:
WICK'S VOICE
You sure it's in the closet? I can't
find it.
DON
(Working desperately)
Look by the big chair.
WICK'S VOICE
(Approaching fast)
Isn't it under your bed?
Don sees he can't loosen the string in time. In the last
fraction of a second before Wick enters, he manages to lower
the bottle back down the wall. With what nonchalance he can
muster he bends down and looks under the bed just as Wick
enters, a sheaf of white paper in his hand.
DON
Of course. Here it is.
He pulls out a Remington portable, 1930 model.
WICK
Here's some paper.
He puts it in Don's suitcase.
WICK
We'll fix a table on the south porch.
Nobody to disturb you -- I'll see to
it. Except maybe Saturday night we'll
go over to the Country Club.
DON
I'm not going near that Country Club.
WICK
Why not?
DON
Because they're a bunch of hypocrites
and I don't like to be whispered
about: Look who's here from New York.
The Birnam brothers -- or rather the
nurse and the invalid.
WICK
Stop that, Don. Nobody there knows
about you.
DON
No? We get off the train and the
alarm is sounded: The leper is back.
Better hide your liquor.
Footsteps have been racing up the stairs outside the flat,
and now there is a distinctive ring of the doorbell: short,
short, long, short.
DON
Helen.
WICK
I'll take it.
He goes toward the door while the bell resumes short, short,
long, short.
From the bedroom we see him open the door. It's HELEN, all
right. She is a clean-cut, good looking girl of twenty-six.
Her face is brave, gay piquant. She's wearing a three-quarter-
length leopard coat. The Indian Summer day is a good ten
degrees too warm for the coat, but that doesn't stop Helen
from wearing her beloved. In her hand are two books wrapped,
and another small package. She enters breathlessly.
HELEN
Hello, Wick. Where's Don?
Seeing him, she crosses to the bedroom.
HELEN
Glad I made it. I was afraid you
might be gone. Presents.
She puts the packages in the suitcase.
HELEN
The new Thurber book, with comical
jokes and pictures, and a quiet little
double murder by Agatha Christie.
(Putting in the second
package)
Cigarettes and chewing gum.
DON
Thanks, Helen.
HELEN
Now have a good time, darling. And
remember -- lots of sleep, lots of
milk --
DON
And sweet cider and some of that
nice cold water from the well.
HELEN
Bend down.
It's a running gag between these two. Don bends so that she
can kiss him on the cheek.
HELEN
I'd better be going. I've missed ten
minutes of the concert already.
DON
What concert?
HELEN
Carnegie Hall. Barbirolli conducting.
They gave me two tickets at the
office.
DON
Who are you going with?
HELEN
Nobody.
Something flickers in Don's eye.
DON
What are they playing?
HELEN
Brahms' Second Symphony, something
by Beethoven, something by Handel,
and not one note of Grieg.
DON
Sounds wonderful.
HELEN
Goodbye, boys. See you Monday.
WICK
Tuesday.
DON
(Holding Helen by the
arm)
Just a minute. Wick --
Wick looks up.
DON
I just had a crazy idea.
WICK
As for instance.
DON
Who says we have to take the two-
forty-five train? We could go on the
six-thirty.
WICK
What are you talking about?
DON
I just thought we could take a later
train and Helen wouldn't have to go
alone to the concert. She's got two
tickets, hasn't she?
HELEN
No. I'm not upsetting any plans.
You're going on that two-forty-five.
DON
But Helen, it's so silly! A whale of
a concert and an empty seat next
you.
WICK
No, Don. Everything's all set. They'll
be at the station to meet us.
Dinner'll be waiting.
DON
So what? We put in a call that we're
taking the late train, have supper
at nine o'clock, be in bed by ten.
WICK
Nothing doing. We're going.
HELEN
Wick's right. And don't worry about
that empty seat. I'll find myself a
very handsome South American
millionaire.
DON
There. Did you hear her? And now
we'd have to break our necks to catch
the train anyway.
HELEN
(Looking at her wrist
watch)
Two-twenty.
DON
See?
WICK
(Giving up)
All right. Go ahead.
DON
Wait a minute. I'm not going.
WICK
Then what are we talking about?
DON
I want you to go. You and Helen.
WICK
Me and Helen?
DON
Yes. That was the idea. Who likes
Brahms, you or I?
WICK
Since when don't you like Brahms?
DON
I'll stay right here and finish
packing. Take a little nap maybe.
WICK
Nonsense. If anybody goes... Helen's
your girl.
There is an exchange of suspicious looks between Wick and
Helen.
HELEN
There's something in that, Don.
WICK
What's more, I don't think you should
be left alone.
DON
I shouldn't?
WICK
No.
HELEN
Really, Don.
DON
Why? I can't be trusted. Is that it?
WICK
What I meant to say --
HELEN
Wick.
WICK
After what Don's been through --
DON
After what I've been through, I
couldn't go to a concert. I couldn't
face the crowd. I couldn't sit through
it with all those people around. I
want to be alone for a couple of
hours and kind of assemble myself.
Is that such an extraordinary thing
to want?
WICK
Don't act so outraged, would you
mind?
DON
All right. Anything else?
HELEN
Please, boys.
Wick, who has been smoking a cigarette throughout the scene,
throws it out the window. None of the three see, but we do,
that it doesn't fall out the window but ricochets against
the opened casement to the window sill, where it lies
smouldering.
WICK
Come on, Helen.
HELEN
You'll stay right here, won't you?
DON
Where would I go?
HELEN
Then you'll be here when we come
back?
DON
I told you I'm not leaving this
apartment.
WICK
You've told us a good many things,
Don.
Furious, Don takes a bunch of keys from his pocket.
DON
All right, if you don't believe me,
why don't you take my key and lock
me in like a dog.
HELEN
(To Wick)
We've got to trust Don. That's the
only way.
WICK
Sorry, Don.
(To Helen)
Here we go.
HELEN
So long, Don.
DON
So long.
HELEN
(Pulling him by the
lapel)
Bend down.
His face is now close to hers. She kisses him. Wick turns
away. His eyes fall on the cigarette still smouldering on
the sill. He goes toward the window.
Don, held by Helen, watches him tensely. Wick flips the
cigarette into the garden and is about to turn back into the
room when his eyes fall on the cleat and the string. He leans
from the window.
Don lets Helen go, staring at Wick, panic in his eyes. Helen,
sensing something amiss, looks from one brother to the other.
WICK
(Hauling up the bottle)
What's this, Don?
Helen and Wick watch Don. Don's face relaxes into an innocent
grin.
DON
That? That's whiskey, isn't it?
WICK
How did it get there?
DON
I don't know.
WICK
I suppose it dropped from some cloud.
Or someone was bouncing it against
this wall and it got stuck.
DON
I must have put it there.
WICK
Yes, you must.
DON
Only I don't remember when. Probably
during my last spell, or maybe the
one before.
His eyes meet Helen's. Hers are infinitely distressed.
DON
Don't look at me like that, Helen.
Doesn't mean a thing. I didn't know
it was there. And if I had, I wouldn't
have touched it.
Wick has twisted the string off the bottle.
WICK
Then you won't mind.
DON
Won't mind what?
Wick, the bottle in his hand, goes through the living room
toward the kitchenette. Don looks after him, then follows
him, a stubborn smile on his lips. Helen trails after them,
acutely embarrassed.
A-3 KITCHENETTE
Wick has stepped to the sink. He opens the bottle, turns it
upside down and lets the whiskey run out. Don and Helen come
to the door from the living room and stand watching. Don has
something of the feeling of a man watching the execution of
a very good friend, but he senses Helen's eyes upon him and
preserves his nonchalant expression. The bottle emptied,
Wick puts it in the sink.
WICK
Now you trot along with Helen.
DON
Why? On account of that?
(Pointing at the bottle)
You think I wanted you out of the
apartment because of that? I resent
that like the devil, and if there's
one more word of discussion, I don't
leave on your blasted weekend.
HELEN
Let's go.
Wick shrugs and goes to the hall for his hat.
HELEN
(To Don)
Be good, won't you, Don, darling?
She turns to go, but Don holds her back.
DON
Of course, Helen. Just stop watching
me all the time, you two. Let me
work it out my way. I'm trying, I'm
trying.
HELEN
We're both trying, Don. You're trying
not to drink, and I'm trying not to
love you.
She kisses him on the mouth, a woman hopelessly in love.
Then, so that he won't see her moist eyes, she turns and
hurries into the entrance hall.
A-4 LITTLE ENTRANCE HALL - BIRNAM APARTMENT
Wick stands, hat in hand, holding the door open. Helen comes
out quickly and taking a handkerchief from her bag, hurries
past Wick into the hall. Wick turns toward Don, who has
followed Helen to the entrance hall.
WICK
You call the farm, Don. Tell them
we're taking the six-thirty train.
DON
Sure.
WICK
So long.
He goes out, shutting the door behind him. Don steps quickly
to the door, presses his ear against it to hear what the two
are saying outside.
A-5 FOURTH FLOOR HALL AND STAIRCASE - APARTMENT HOUSE
It is narrow and simple. There is no elevator. A skylight,
somewhat obscured by dirt and dust, lights the fourth floor
back. Every so often down the stair there is a light bracket,
always burning.
Helen stands at the top of the stairs, blowing her nose.
Wick takes her arm quickly.
WICK
Come on, Helen.
HELEN
Oh, Wick, what are we going to do
about him ever.
WICK
He'll be all right.
HELEN
What if he goes out and buys another
bottle?
WICK
With what? He hasn't a nickel. There
isn't a store, there isn't a bar
that'd give him five cents' worth of
credit.
They descend a few steps.
HELEN
Are you sure he hasn't another bottle
hidden somewhere?
WICK
Not any more, he hasn't. I went
through the apartment with a fine-
toothed comb. The places he can figure
out!
They go on down the stairs.
A-6 INT. THE APARTMENT
Don stands at the door, panic in his face. Has his brother
discovered the other two bottles? He puts the chain on the
door to insure his privacy, then dashes into the bathroom.
A-7 BATHROOM - BIRNAM APARTMENT
It's old-fashioned, with a bath tub on claw feet, a shower
cutain above it -- all the plumbing on that scale. Don dashes
in, takes a nail file, kneels beside the grille of a register
in the side wall, pries it out with the file, looks inside,
puts his hand in. The bottle is gone. He looks at the hole
wide-eyed, pushes back the grille and runs out.
A-8
Don comes running in, goes to the couch, pulls it away from
the wall, throws himself on his belly on the couch and reaches
under the side of it which was towards the wall. His hand
explores among the springs. There is no bottle there. He
sits up. His face is covered with sweat. He takes out his
handkerchief and wipes his face.
Just then, from the direction of the entrance door, there is
the noise of a key being turned in the lock. Don freezes,
his eyes turning towards the door, horrified.
A-9 ENTRANCE DOOR TO THE APARTMENT (FROM DON'S ANGLE)
It opens as far as the chain will allow, stops with a sharp
bite of metal on wood. There is another try. Then the doorbell
is rung.
He has not stirred. He rises slowly from the couch, takes a
few steps towards the entrance door.
DON
Who is it?
No answer. Just the doorbell being rung again.
DON
WHO IS IT?
A-11 CORRIDOR OUTSIDE BIRNAM APARTMENT
At the door stands MRS. FOLEY, a middle-aged charwoman with
a large utility bag over her arm. Her key is in the door,
which is open as far as the chain will permit.
MRS. FOLEY
Mrs. Foley. Come to clean up.
A-12 DON
DON
(His nerves on edge)
Not today. Does it have to be today?
A-13 MRS. FOLEY
MRS. FOLEY
I ought to change the sheets, and
today's my day to vacuum.
A-14 DON
DON
You can't come in. I'm not dressed.
A-15 MRS. FOLEY
MRS. FOLEY
Shall I wait, shall I come back, or
what?
DON'S VOICE
You come on Monday.
MRS. FOLEY
All right, Mr. Birnam. Is your brother
here?
DON'S VOICE
No, he isn't.
MRS. FOLEY
How about my money? Didn't he leave
my money?
A-16 DON
He stands galvanized. The word "money" has sent an electric
current through his mind.
DON
What money?
MRS. FOLEY
My five dollars. Didn't he leave it?
DON
(Stalking his prey)
Probably. Where would he leave it?
MRS. FOLEY'S VOICE
In the kitchen.
DON
Where in the kitchen?
MRS. FOLEY'S VOICE
In the sugar bowl.
Don breathes like one who's found the combination to the
safe with the crown jewels.
DON
Just a minute.
He goes to the kitchenette.
A-17 KITCHENETTE
On the counter under the cupboards stands the sugar bowl.
Don lifts the lid. There's nothing but sugar in the bowl,
but lining the lid is a folded five-dollar bill. Don takes
it out, goes into the entrance hall and even though Mrs.
Foley can't see him, instinctively holds the five dollars
behind his back.
DON
Sorry, Mrs. Foley. It's not there.
He must have forgotten.
A-18 MRS. FOLEY
MRS. FOLEY
Oh, Putt! I wanted to do some
shopping.
DON'S VOICE
You'll get it Monday all right.
MRS. FOLEY
Goodbye, Mr. Birnam.
She closes the door, takes the key and starts down the stairs.
A-19 DON
He brings the five dollars from behind his back. He looks at
it, folds it neatly, pockets it, puts on his hat, then, with
an afterthought, goes into the living room. He pushes the
couch back against the wall with his foot, then goes out.
A-20 FOURTH FLOOR HALL AND STAIRS
Don goes to the balustrade, looks down.
A-21 STEEP SHOT OF THE STAIRS
Don's head in the foreground. The coast is clear of Mrs.
Foley. Like a convict escaping, Don slips down the stairs.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
A-22 BROPHY'S LIQUOR STORE - (TRANSP.) - CLOSE SHOT OF LIQUOR
BOTTLES
A rackful of them, filling the screen. THE CAMERA IS BEHIND
the rack of liquor in a store on Third Avenue. THE CAMERA
MOVES slowly toward them so that only about eight bottles
fill the screen and we can see, between them, the shop, its
window on Third Avenue, its entrance door. No one is visible
in the shop.
Through the glass door we see Don Birnam hurrying up. He
gives a quick glance in each direction, to see that he's not
observed. He peers into the shop to make sure there are no
other customers, then quickly steps inside and stands
breathing heavily.
A salesman rises in the foreground, his back to the CAMERA.
Don points to two bottles in the foreground.
DON
(With all the
nonchalance he can
scrape together)
Two bottles of rye.
SALESMAN
I'm sorry, Mr. Birnam.
DON
What are you sorry about?
SALESMAN
Your brother was in here. He said
he's not going to pay for you any
more. That was the last time.
DON
He won't, huh?
He takes the five dollars from his pocket and unfurls it,
like a card trickster.
DON
Two bottles of rye.
SALESMAN
What brand?
DON
You know what brand, Mr. Brophy. The
cheapest.
SALESMAN
All right.
DON
None of that twelve-year-old, aged-
in-the-wood chichi. Not for me. Liquor
is all one, anyway.
The salesman has taken two bottles from the rack in the
foreground and put them on the counter. Don gives him the
money and picks up the bottles like a miser grabbing gold.
SALESMAN
Don't you want a bag?
DON
Yes, I want a bag.
The salesman hands him a bag and steps out of the shot towards
the cash register. We hear the ping of its bell, the opening
of its drawer. Meanwhile, Don thrusts the bottles in the
bag. It is a little short and the necks of the bottles
protrude. The salesman hands him his change. Don pockets it.
SALESMAN
You know, your brother asked me not
to sell you anything even if you had
money, but I can't stop nobody, can
I, not unless you're a minor.
DON
I'm not a minor, Mr. Brophy, and
just to quiet your conscience, I'm
buying this as a refill for my
cigarette lighter.
Another customer enters the shop. Don takes the package and
walks past the newcomer towards the door, hiding it from him
gracefully, like a football in a sneak play.
A-23 THIRD AVENUE, OUTSIDE BROPHY'S LIQUOR SHOP
Don comes out with the bottles in the paper bag. He wants to
start down the street but about twenty-five feet away stand
two middle-aged Hokinson ladies, one of them kerbing her dog
on a leash. They are chatting.
Don stops. He'll have to pass them if he goes down the street
and he doesn't want to, not with these bottles peeking out
of that bag. He turns back and approaches the grocery store
next door to Brophy's. In front of it is a fruit stand.
Screening his gesture from the ladies with his back, he picks
up three apples and puts them in the top of the bag, to
camouflage the bottles. He puts down a coin, then walks down
the street toward the ladies, flaunting a paper bag which is
obviously full of apples.
The lady with the dog sees him. Don removes his hat in a
courtly bow, very much at ease with the apples.
DON
Good afternoon, Mrs. Deveridge.
MRS. DEVERIDGE
Hello, Mr. Birnam.
Don passes the ladies.
MRS. DEVERIDGE
(Confidentially, to
her companion)
That's that nice young man that
drinks.
The other lady tsk-tsks. They both look after Don.
Don is about ten feet beyond them. Perhaps he has overheard
the remark. In any case, he is looking back. His look meets
theirs. Embarrassed, they turn. Mrs. Deveridge jerks on the
leash.
MRS. DEVERIDGE
Come on, Sophie. Let's go.
They walk down the street in the opposite direction from
Don.
A-24 DON
He looks after them. He is just in front of NAT'S BAR. He
steps hurriedly into the bar.
A-25 INT. NAT'S BAR
A typical dingy Third Avenue bar. The sun slants dustily
into the walnut-brown room. There is a long bar with a mirror
behind it, some marble-topped tables and bentwood chairs.
The woodwork, the furniture, the plaster of the place have
absorbed and give forth a sour breath of hard liquor, a stale
smell of flat beer.
As Don enters with the two bottles and the apples, there are
three people in the bar. Nat, the bartender, a broad-
shouldered, no-nonsense type of guy, squeezing lemons in
preparation for the evening trade; and, sitting at a table
in the corner, a girl named GLORIA, with an out-of-towner
who hasn't bothered to take off his hat. He's about fifty
and the manager of a hardware store in Elizabeth, New Jersey.
Gloria is a shopworn twenty-three. She's brunette, wears net
stockings and a small patent leather hat, and is a little
below the standards of the St. Moritz lobby trade.
Don crosses to the bar.
DON
And how is my very good friend Nat
today?
NAT
(On guard)
Yes, Mr. Birnam.
Don sits on a bar stool, putting down the paper bag.
DON
This being an especially fine
afternoon, I have decided to ask for
your hand in marriage.
NAT
(Wiping his hands)
Look, Mr. Birnam --
DON
If that is your attitude, Nat, I
shall have to drown my sorrows in a
jigger of rye. Just one, that's all.
NAT
Can't be done, Mr. Birnam.
DON
Can't? Let me guess why. My brother
was here, undermining my financial
structure.
NAT
I didn't tell him nothing about the
wrist watch you left here, or your
cuff links.
DON
Thank you, Nat. Today, you'll be
glad to know, we can barter on a
cash basis.
He takes the bills and change from his pocket, puts it on
the bar.
NAT
(Reaching for the
bottle and the jigger)
One straight rye.
DON
That was the idea.
Nat pours the drink, then returns to squeezing lemons. Don
picks up the glass, is suddenly acutely aware of the people
at the table, of Nat's eyes. The glass freezes halfway to
his mouth. He puts it down and starts playing the nonchalant,
casual drinker -- the man who can take it or leave it. He
fingers the glass, turning it round and round. He takes a
pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shakes one out, lights
it. As he puts the match in the ashtray, his eyes fall on
that jigger of whiskey. It's hard to resist it any longer.
He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his forehead,
then his parched mouth. The time has come now. He puts the
handkerchief back in his pocket, lifts the glass and drains
it in one gulp. Actually, Don doesn't like the taste of
liquor, actively hates it indeed, as a one-legged man might
hate the sight of his crutches but need them in order to
walk.
Now that he has the drink in him, a kind of relieved grin
comes back to Don's face. He holds the empty jigger in his
hand. Nat has come up with the bar towel to wipe off the wet
ring left by the glass.
DON
Don't wipe it away, Nat. Let me have
my little vicious circle. The circle
is the perfect geometric figure. No
end, no beginning... What time is
it?
NAT
Quarter of four.
DON
Good. That gives us the whole
afternoon together.
(He holds out his
glass for another
drink)
Only remind me when it's a quarter
of six. Very important. We're going
to the country for a weekend, my
brother and I.
From the table in the background comes Gloria, headed for
the powder room. Passing Don, she runs her finger through
the neckline of his hair.
GLORIA
Hello, Mr. Birnam. Glad to have you
back with the organization.
DON
Hello, Gloria.
She goes on. Don turns back to Nat.
DON
Not just a Saturday-Sunday weekend.
A very long weekend. I wish I could
take you along, Nat. You --
(With a gesture towards
the liquor shelves)
and all that goes with you.
Without a change of expression, Nat pours the second drink.
DON
Not that I'm cutting myself off from
civilization altogether.
He points at the bag with the apples showing. Nat looks, but
doesn't get it. Like a magician, Don takes two apples out,
revealing the necks of the bottles.
DON
(Gulping down the
whiskey)
Now of course there arises the problem
of transportation into the country.
How to smuggle these two time bombs
past the royal guard. I shall tell
you how, Nat, because I'm so fond of
you. Only give me another drink.
Nat pours one.
DON
I'm going to roll one bottle in a
copy of the Saturday Evening Post,
so my brother can discover it like
that.
(He snaps his fingers)
And I want him to discover it, because
that'll set his mind at rest. The
other bottle --
(Confidentially to
Nat)
Come here.
Nat leans over the bar towards --
DON
That one I'm tucking into my dear
brother's suitcase. He'll transport
it himself, without knowing it, of
course. While he's greeting the care-
taker, I'll sneak it out and hide it
in a hollow of the old apple tree.
NAT
Aw, Mr. Birnam, why don't you lay
off the stuff for a while.
DON
I may never touch it while I'm there.
Not a drop. What you don't understand,
all of you, is that I've got to know
it's around. That I can have it if I
need it. I can't be cut off
completely. That's the devil. That's
what drives you crazy.
NAT
Yeah. I know a lot of guys like that.
They take a bottle and put it on the
shelf. All they want is just to look
at it. They won't even carry a cork-
screw along, just to be sure. Only
all of a sudden they grab the bottle
and bite off the neck.
DON
Nat, one more reproving word and I
shall consult our lawyer about a
divorce.
He points to the empty glass for Nat to fill it. Nat pours
another jigger.
DON
Quarter of six. Don't forget. My
brother must find me at home, ready
and packed.
Gloria is back from the powder room. On her way to her
gentleman friend at the table, she runs her finger through
the neckline of Don's hair. She is almost past him when he
catches her hand and pulls her towards him.
DON
Shall we dance?
GLORIA
You're awfully pretty, Mr. Birnam.
DON
You say that to all the boys.
GLORIA
Why, natch. Only with you it's on
the level.
DON
Is it? Whatever became of your
manicurist job?
GLORIA
I've still got it. Only I find I
can't work more than four hours a
day, three days a week. It's too
tough on your eyes, all those little
hangnails.
DON
Sit down.
GLORIA
No thanks. Thanks a lot, but no
thanks. There's somebody waiting.
Don looks off toward the table.
DON
Him? I bet he wears arch supporters.
GLORIA
He's just an old friend of the folks.
Lovely gentleman. Buys me dimpled
Scotch.
DON
He should buy you Indian rubies, and
a villa in Calcutta overlooking the
Ganges.
GLORIA
Don't be ridic.
DON
Gloria, please, why imperil our
friendship with these loathsome
abbreviations.
GLORIA
I could make myself free for later
on if you want.
DON
I'm leaving for the weekend, Gloria.
Maybe another time.
GLORIA
Any time.
And as she leans over, she runs her forefinger again through
the neckline of his hair.
GLORIA
Just crazy about the back of your
hair.
She returns to the table. Don drinks his drink, puts down
the glass.
DON
(To Nat)
Nat, weave me another.
NAT
You'd better take it easy.
DON
Don't worry about me. Just let me
know when it's a quarter of six.
NAT
Okay.
He pours.
DON
And have one yourself, Nat.
NAT
Not me, Mr. Birnam.
DON
I often wonder what the barman buys,
one-half so precious as the stuff he
sells.
Nat has poured the drink. Don points at it.
DON
Come on, Nat. One little jigger of
dreams.
NAT
Nope.
DON
You don't approve of drinking?
NAT
Not the way you drink.
DON
It shrinks my liver, doesn't it,
Nat? It pickles my kidneys. Yes. But
what does it do to my mind? It tosses
the sandbags overboard so the balloon
can soar. Suddenly I'm above the
ordinary. I'm competent, supremely
competent. I'm walking a tightrope
over Niagara Falls. I'm one of the
great ones. I'm Michelangelo moulding
the beard of Moses. I'm Van Gogh,
painting pure sunlight. I'm Horowitz
playing the Emperor Concerto. I'm
John Barrymore before the movies got
him by the throat. I'm a holdup man --
I'm Jesse James and his two brothers,
all three of them. I'm W. Shakespeare.
And out there it's not Third Avenue
any longer. It's the Nile. The Nile,
Nat, and down it moves the barge of
Cleopatra. Listen: Purple the sails,
and so perfumed that The winds were
love-sick with them; the oars were
silver, Which to the tune of flutes
kept stroke, and made The water which
they beat to follow faster, As amorous
of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description.
During the last two lines he has picked up the jigger of
rye. THE CAMERA is on the wet rings which the wet glass has
left on the bar.
Gradually the music swells under the Shakespearean quotation
and drowns it out. In two QUICK DISSOLVES we see the five
rings, then six, then nine. Over the last, the light has
changed.
DISSOLVE TO:
A-26 THE BAR AGAIN
It is dusk. The electric lights are on. The place is about
half filled -- eight customers at the bar, five tables
occupied. Gloria and her friend are still there.
Don, an empty jigger in his hand, stands at the same spot,
only now leaning with his back against the bar. He is doggedly
quoting Shakespeare, more to himself than to the others at
the bar, who are ignoring him.
DON
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous
palaces, The solemn temples, the
great globe itself --
Nat puts drinks before some other customers, then goes over
to Don, taps him on the shoulder.
NAT
Mr. Birnam, you ought to go home.
You're late.
DON
Yea, all which it inherit shall
dissolve --
Nat leans forward as tactfully as possible.
NAT
You ought to be home, on account of
your brother.
Don half turns to him.
DON
Who says so?
NAT
You said so yourself. On account of
you're going away somewheres.
DON
Huh?
NAT
Don't you remember?
He pushes the bag with the bottles and the apples towards
Don. Don looks at them. Suddenly it penetrates. He is seized
by alarm.
DON
What time is it?
NAT
Ten past six.
DON
Why didn't you tell me?
NAT
What do you think I've been doing
for half an hour?
Don snatches up the bag, the apples spilling out as he does
so. He turns to go. Nat points at the few coins which is all
that is left of Don's money.
NAT
Take your change.
Don scoops up the money, a few dollar bills and some silver,
and hurries out.
A-27 THIRD AVENUE, CORNER OF 55TH STREET - (EVENING)
Don comes from Nat's bar, runs around the corner to his house.
A-28 APARTMENT HOUSE WHERE THE BIRNAMS LIVE
Don, clutching the bag with the bottles, runs into the house.
A-29 FIRST FLOOR HALL, APARTMENT HOUSE
Don dashes in and starts upstairs. After a few steps he stops.
What if his brother is up there already? He stands undecided,
then sneaks down the steps and walks to the rear of the
entrance hall, where there's a glass door leading into the
shabby garden.
A-30 GARDEN IN BACK OF APARTMENT HOUSE - (DARK)
Don comes out, walks far enough to be able to look up at the
back of the building. Are the lights on in their apartment
on the fourth floor? There is a light on the second floor,
nothing on the third, and on the fourth the lights are on in
the living room and the bedroom windows, all of which are
open.
Don stands looking up. What shall he do? Go up and face the
music? Run away? Weakly he walks over to the stone bench and
sits down, putting the bottles on the bench next him. He
takes out his handkerchief, mops his forehead. His eyes go
up to the lighted windows again.
A-31 THE LIGHTED WINDOWS, FROM DOWN BELOW
Someone has stepped to the bedroom window. It's Helen. He
can recognize her, silhouetted against the light of the room.
A-32 DON, SITTING ON THE BENCH
His eyes fixed on the window above. Instinctively, he draws
back into the shadow of the sumac tree, as though Helen could
see him through the darkness.
A-33 EXT. BEDROOM WINDOW, FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW
Helen disappears from the window into the room.
A-34 INT. BEDROOM
Helen is moving away from the window. Wick stands before his
suitcase, which is open and all packed save for slippers and
bathrobe, which he is rolling together.
HELEN
Do you suppose he's at Morandi's, or
Nat's bar, or that place on Forty-
second Street?
WICK
What difference does it make?
HELEN
You're not really going, Wick.
WICK
I certainly am.
He puts the robe with the slippers inside it into the case.
HELEN
You can't leave him alone. Not for
four days.
Wick slams shut the suitcase, snaps the lock.
HELEN
Wick, for heaven's sake, if he's
left alone anything can happen! I'll
be tied up at the office every minute,
All Saturday. All Sunday. I can't
look out for him. You know how he
gets. He'll be run over by a car.
He'll be arrested. He doesn't know
what he's doing. A cigarette will
fall out of his mouth and he'll burn
in his bed --
WICK
Oh Helen, if it happens, it happens.
And I hope it does. I've had six
years of this. I've had my bellyful.
HELEN
You can't mean that.
Wick takes his suitcase, goes into the living room.
WICK
Yes, I do. It's terrible, I know,
but I mean it.
Helen follows him.
A-35 LIVING ROOM
Wick comes into the living room, sets down the suitcase and
during the ensuing scene takes a topcoat from the closet.
HELEN
For heaven's sake, Wick --
WICK
Who are we fooling? We've tried
everything, haven't we? We've reasoned
with him, we've babied him. We've
watched him like a hawk. We've tried
trusting him. How often have you
cried? How often have I beaten him
up? We scrape him out of the gutter
and pump some kind of self-respect
into him, and back he falls, back
in, every time.
HELEN
He's a sick person. It's as though
he had something wrong with his lungs
or his heart. You wouldn't walk out
on him because he had an attack. He
needs our help.
WICK
He won't accept our help. Not Don.
He hates us. He wants to be alone
with that bottle of his. It's the
only thing he gives a hang about.
Helen turns away from Wick, leans against the wall, hoping
he won't see that she's crying.
WICK
Why kid ourselves? He's one of the
lost ones.
(OR, ALTERNATE LINE:)
Why kid ourselves? He's a hopeless
alcoholic.
Wick leans into the bedroom, snaps off the light. He picks
up the suitcase, puts the topcoat over his arm, takes her
very gently by the arm.
WICK
Come, Helen.
He leads her towards the entrance door.
A-36 DON, ON THE BENCH IN THE DARK GARDEN
He stares towards the windows.
A-37 THE WINDOWS, FROM BELOW
The bedroom window is dark. In the next second the lights in
the living room go off.
A-38 DON, IN THE GARDEN
He picks up the bottles, rises, walks across the garden
towards the glass door to the hall, peers through it
cautiously.
A-39 STAIRCASE AND HALL, FIRST FLOOR OF THE APARTMENT HOUSE
(FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW)
Wick and Helen come down the stairs, Wick carrying the
suitcase and topcoat. They go out the front door.
A-40 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE
Wick and Helen have come out. Wick is hailing a taxi.
WICK
Taxi! Taxi!
(To Helen)
I'll give you a lift as far as Grand
Central.
HELEN
No thanks, Wick. I'm going to wait
here.
WICK
You're crazy.
HELEN
Because I won't give up? Maybe I am.
A taxi drives up.
WICK
Oh Helen, give yourself a chance.
Let go of him.
HELEN
Goodbye, Wick.
Wick opens the door of the taxi.
A-41 DON, AT THE GLASS DOOR TO THE GARDEN
He stands with the bag of bottles in his hand, peering through
the entrance hall out to the street.
A-42 STREET (SHOT FROM BEHIND DON)
Wick gets in the taxi, it drives off. Helen paces up and
down in front of the house.
Don opens the glass door, steps cautiously into the entrance
hall.
A-43 ENTRANCE HALL
Squeezing close to the staircase wall so that Helen won't
see him, Don gets to the staircase, then leaps up the stairs
as though pursued.
A-44 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE
Helen waits outside the house. A couple of kids chasing each
other on roller skates almost run into her. She steps back
and stands in the doorway, looking up and down the street.
A-45 STAIRS BETWEEN THE THIRD AND FOURTH FLOORS
Don is hurrying up on tiptoe, two steps at a time. Suddenly
the door of a third-floor apartment toward the street is
opened. Don flattens himself against the wall, not to be
seen by Mrs. Deveridge, who is coming out with her dog,
Sophie, to give Sophie her evening airing. Sophie gives one
bark in the direction of Don, but Mrs. Deveridge pays no
attention and descends the stairs. Don starts up the stairs
again, as silently and as fast as he can.
A-46 FOURTH-FLOOR LANDING
Don gets to his door, opens it cautiously, slips inside.
A-47 INT. LITTLE ENTRANCE HALL OF BIRNAM APARTMENT
The only light is the light from outside, coming from living
room and bedroom. Don steps inside, closes the door. He
doesn't turn on the light but very carefully adjusts the
chain on the door, puts his hat away.
A-48 LIVING ROOM
Dim but for the light outside. As Don enters, he slips the
bottles from the paper bag and puts them on a table next the
armchair. He crumples the bag and throws it in the fireplace.
He takes one bottle, starts towards a bookcase and is about
to hide it behind the books when he changes his mind. He
looks around the room. His eyes fall on the ceiling. He goes
to the table next the couch, pulls it into the middle of the
room, brushes some magazines to the floor, takes a small
chair, puts it on the table, climbs to the table, from the
table to the chair. He is now directly below the ceiling
lighting fixture, an inverted metal bowl about two and a
half feet in diameter. Don reaches over the edge and deposits
the bottle inside the bowl so it can't be seen from the room.
He climbs down, readjusts the table, the chair, and puts the
magazines back. Don picks up a glass which is over a carafe
on the mantelpiece. He puts it next the bottle by the wing
chair. He opens the bottle, pours a glass about three quarters
full, puts the glass down. He loosens his tie and lets himself
fall into the easy chair. He looks through the open window
on the lights of New York. His eyes slowly wander to the
glass. He smiles. It's a smile of relief, of contentment at
being alone with his vice. There's a little pain in his smile,
too.
A-49 THE GLASS OF WHISKEY
THE CAMERA MOVES TOWARD IT until the glass isn't visible any
more -- just a smooth sea of alcohol, with a little light
playing on it. THE CAMERA plunges deep into that sea.
FADE OUT:
END OF SEQUENCE "A"
SEQUENCE "B"
FADE IN:
B-1 STAIRCASE AND LANDING, FOURTH FLOOR - DAY
Through the skylight streams a dazzling shaft of sunlight,
falling square on the door to the Birnams' apartment.
On the threshold lies a copy of the New York Times, and beside
it stands a quart of milk. Pinned to the door is a piece of
paper from a notebook.
From inside there is the sound of the chain being detached,
and the door opens slowly. Don emerges. He is dressed exactly
as he was the day before -- same suit, same shirt, same tie.
He has slept in them and they are wrinkled. He hasn't shaved.
As he comes out and the sun hits his face, he squints in
agony. As he carefully closes the door, his eyes fall on the
note. He reads it.
"Don dear: I waited for you to come home. Please be careful.
Get some sleep. Eat. And call me, call me, call me. Helen"
There's a sly expression on Don's face as he closes the door,
leaving everything just where it is -- note, milk bottle,
paper. Peering down, he assures himself that the coast is
clear, slips down the stairs.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-2 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE - DAY, SUNNY - LIGHT TRAFFIC
The entrance door is half open and Dave, the janitor, an
Italian-looking man about fifty-five, is sweeping the side-
walk in front of the house. Don comes to the doorway, waits
until Dave's back is turned, then hurries out and slips down
the street, CAMERA WITH HIM.
Two houses down, in a semi-basement, is MRS. WERTHEIM'S HAND
LAUNDRY. Don goes down the steps into it.
B-3 INT. MRS. WERTHEIM'S LAUNDRY
The outer room is a kind of office, with a counter and shelves
of clean laundry in boxes and paper packages. Steam issues
from the actual laundry at the rear.
MRS. WERTHEIM, a gray-haired, stocky woman, is sorting
laundry. The shop's bell rings as Don comes in. His nerves
are on edge but he manages to work up a little nonchalance.
DON
Guten Tag, Mrs. Wertheim. How's
business?
MRS. WERTHEIM
Business he is good, thank you. There
isn't a fortune in it, but you know:
small fish, good fish. And I keep
young and healthy. Why shouldn't I,
sitting in a Turkish bath all day
for free?
She has picked a package from the shelf, puts it on the
counter.
MRS. WERTHEIM
Three dollars and ninety.
DON
I wonder if you could do me a favor,
gnaedige Frau?
MRS. WERTHEIM
Always glad, Mr. Birnam.
DON
My brother's gone away for the weekend
and he took the checkbook along...
MRS. WERTHEIM
Oh, you want a blank check?
DON
It's not that. It's just that I'm a
little short.
MRS. WERTHEIM
(Sizing up his stature)
What do you mean, you're short?
DON
I wonder if you could let me have a
little cash, bitte schoen?
MRS. WERTHEIM
A little cash?
DON
I thought about twenty dollars, maybe.
Only till Monday, when my brother
comes back.
MRS. WERTHEIM
You thought... No, Mr. Birnam. I
cannot. Not that I don't want to,
because I want to, but I cannot. And
when I say not, I mean absolutely
not.
Her eyes fall on his tortured face. It's too much for her.
She rings open the cash register.
MRS. WERTHEIM
I'll let you have five dollars.
DON
That's all right.
She hands him the five dollars.
DON
Danke schoen, Mrs. Wertheim.
He turns and leaves, doesn't even hear:
MRS. WERTHEIM
Your laundry, Mr. Birnam! How about
your laundry?
She looks after him but there's only the ringing of the shop
bell as he leaves.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-4 NAT'S BAR - BRILLIANT SUNSHINE OUTSIDE
No one is in the bar but Nat: he is cooking some ham and
eggs for himself on an electric plate behind the bar. The
floor has been mopped and is still shiny. The chairs are
piled on the tables.
Into the bar comes Don. He is walking rather slowly but it's
a tremendous effort not to race in and yell for what he needs
so desperately.
NAT
Hi.
Don goes to the bar and sits. He takes the five dollars from
his pocket, puts it on the bar.
NAT
Thought you were going away for the
weekend.
No answer from Don. He sits holding his head in his hands.
The bar is silent except for the sizzling noise of the eggs
and ham. Suddenly Don pounds the bar and explodes.
DON
For the love of Pete, what are you
doing, Nat. Give me a drink!
NAT
Right with you, Mr. Birnam. Just
fixing my lunch.
DON
Well, stop it and come on and give
me a drink, for heaven's sake.
(Banging the bar)
Come on, come on!
NAT
Okay.
He stirs the food once more and takes the skillet off the
stove, snaps off the electricity with a slowness agonizing
to Don.
DON
(Quietly, though his
nerves are cracking)
Can't you hurry it up a little, Nat?
Nat pours a jiggerful.
NAT
Here you are, Mr. Birnam.
DON
Thank you, Nat.
Don chokes it down and holds out the jigger for another. Nat
pours it.
NAT
That young lady stopped in last night,
looking for you.
DON
What young lady?
NAT
The one with the leopard coat.
DON
Yeah?
NAT
She was acting like she just happened
to drop in, but I know she was making
the rounds after you.
DON
(Panicky)
What did you say to her?
NAT
I said you hadn't been in for two
weeks.
DON
Good. I can't let her see me. Not
now while I'm "off" like this.
NAT
Then why in the name of -- Why don't
you cut it short?
DON
You're talking like a child. You
can't cut it short! You're on that
merry-go-round and you've got to
ride it all the way, round and round,
till the blasted music wears itself
out and the thing dies down and clunks
to a stop.
Nat brings over the plate of ham and eggs.
NAT
How about you eating this?
DON
Take it away.
NAT
You got to eat something sometime.
DON
Give me another drink.
NAT
Look, Mr. Birnam, this is still
morning.
He pours another drink. Don downs it.
DON
That's when you need it most, in the
morning. Haven't you learned that,
Nat? At night this stuff's a drink.
In the morning it's medicine.
NAT
Okay if I eat?
DON
Move it a little to one side.
Don taps with the jigger. Nat fills it, then sits down to
his ham and eggs.
DON
Nat, are you ever scared when you
wake up? So scared the sweat starts
out of you? No, not you. With you
it's simple. Your alarm clock goes
off and you open your eyes and brush
your teeth and read the Daily Mirror.
That's all. Do you ever lie in your
bed looking at the window? A little
daylight's coming through, and you
start wondering: is it getting
lighter, is it getting darker? Is it
dawn or dusk? That's a terrifying
problem, Nat. You hold your breath
and you pray that it's dusk, so you
can go out and get yourself some
more liquor. Because if it's dawn,
you're dead. The bars are closed and
the liquor stores don't open till
nine. You can't last till nine. Or
it might be Sunday. That's the worst.
No liquor stores at all, and you
guys wouldn't open a bar, not until
one o'clock. Why? Why, Nat?
NAT
Because we got to go to church once
in a while. That's why.
DON
Yes, when a guy needs it most.
He drinks his jiggerful.
NAT
How about those two quarts? Did you
polish them off last night?
DON
What two quarts?
NAT
The two bottles you had.
An electric current runs through Don.
DON
That's right, I did have two bottles,
didn't I? I hid one of them. I've
still got it. I'm a capitalist, Nat!
I've got untapped reserves. I'm rich!
He taps the glass on the bar.
NAT
(Pouring another drink)
Mr. Birnam, if you had enough money
you'd kill yourself in a month.
From the street enters Gloria, wearing a shirtwaist and skirt,
another foolish little hat, and high-heeled shoes with bows.
GLORIA
Say, Nat, was there a gentleman --
(She sees Don)
Hello, Mr. Birnam. Didn't you go
away for the weekend?
DON
Apparently not, Gloria.
GLORIA
(Back to Nat)
Was there a gentleman in here asking
for me?
NAT
Not to my knowledge there wasn't.
He is drinking his coffee.
GLORIA
He was supposed to come around twelve
o'clock. He's from Albany.
DON
Another friend of the folks?
GLORIA
More a friend of a friend of the
folks type. A fellow telephoned me
about him. Wants me to show him the
town.
NAT
Like Grant's Tomb for instance?
GLORIA
But def.
NAT
Amazing, ain't it, how many guys run
down from Albany just to see Grant's
Tomb.
GLORIA
(To Don)
Sometimes I wish you came from Albany.
DON
Where would you take me?
GLORIA
Oh, lots of places. The Music Hall,
and then the New Yorker Roof maybe.
DON
There is now being presented at a
theatre on Forty-fourth Street the
uncut version of Hamlet. I see us as
setting out for that. Do you know
Hamlet?
GLORIA
I know Forty-fourth Street.
DON
I'd like to get your interpretation
of Hamlet's character.
GLORIA
And I'd like to give it to you.
DON
Dinner afterwards, I think. Nothing
before. Always see Shakespeare on an
empty stomach.
GLORIA
Not even a pretzel?
Don shakes his head.
DON
But afterwards, dozens of bluepoints
in the Rainbow Room. And a very light
wine. Vouvray perhaps. Do you care
for Vouvray?
GLORIA
(Mystified)
Why, natch.
DON
We may blindfold the orchestra so
that I can dance with abandon.
GLORIA
Aren't you going to dance with me?
DON
Of course, little Gloria.
A man has entered the bar, a round-faced, middle-aged man
with pince-nez. There is a Guide of New York sticking from
his pocket. He's the guy from Albany, all right.
ALBANY
(Rather loud)
Could I have a glass of water?
NAT
Why, sure. And what shall it be for
a chaser?
ALBANY
(Confidentially)
Tell me: this is Nat's Bar, isn't
it?
NAT
That's what the man said.
ALBANY
I'm looking for a young lady name of
Gloria.
With his thumb, Nat indicates Gloria.
ALBANY
(Beaming)
Are you Miss Gloria?
GLORIA
Who, me? No, I'm not. I just live
with Gloria. She's not here.
ALBANY
She isn't?
GLORIA
And she won't be. She's down to the
Aquarium.
ALBANY
Aquarium?
GLORIA
Feeding bubble-gum to the jelly fish.
ALBANY
Beg pardon?
GLORIA
Ruptured appendix. Middle of last
night. Went like that!
(She lets out her
breath with an
exploding noise)
Scared the life out of me.
ALBANY
That's terrible.
GLORIA
Goodbye.
ALBANY
Goodbye.
He takes a couple of steps towards the door, turns.
ALBANY
Could I have a word with you?
GLORIA
No thanks. Thanks a lot, but no
thanks.
ALBANY
You're welcome, I'm sure.
He walks out, bewildered.
DON
Wasn't that rather rude, Gloria, to
send that nice man all alone to
Grant's Tomb?
GLORIA
When I have a chance to go out with
you? Don't be ridic.
DON
Oh, is our engagement definite?
GLORIA
You meant it, didn't you?
DON
Surely, surely.
He downs the jigger of rye.
GLORIA
I'm going to get a facial, a
fingerwave, a manicure. The works.
Right now.
(With a sudden thought)
You're going to call for me, aren't
you? If you are, what time?
DON
What time do you suggest?
GLORIA
How about eight?
DON
Eight's fine.
GLORIA
I live right in the corner house.
You know where the antique shop is,
the one with the wooden Indian
outside? They've got the Indian sign
on me, I always say.
DON
I'll be there.
GLORIA
Second floor. Oh, Mr. Birnam, all
I've got is a semi-formal. Will that
be all right?
DON
That'll be fine.
GLORIA
(Happily)
Goodbye, Not.
She starts for the door, turns.
GLORIA
You know, this show you're taking me
to. If it's too highbrow, I can just
lean back and look at the back of
your neck, can't I? Eight o'clock.
She exits.
DON
One last one, Nat. Pour it softly,
pour it gently, and pour it to the
brim.
NAT
Look, Mr. Birnam, there's a lot of
bars on Third Avenue. Do me a favor --
get out of here and buy it someplace
else.
DON
What's the matter?
NAT
I don't like you much. What was the
idea of pulling her leg? You know
you're never going to take her out.
DON
Who says I'm not?
NAT
I say so. You're drunk and you're
just making with your mouth.
DON
Give me a drink, Nat.
NAT
And that other dame -- I mean the
lady. I don't like what you're doing
to her either.
DON
Shut up.
NAT
You should've seen her last night,
coming in here looking for you, with
her eyes all rainy and the mascara
all washed away.
DON
Give me a drink!
NAT
That's an awful high class young
lady.
DON
You bet she is.
NAT
How the heck did she ever get mixed
up with a guy that sops it up like
you do?
DON
It's a problem, isn't it. That nice
young man that drinks, and the high-
class young lady, and how did she
ever get mixed up with him, and why
does he drink and why doesn't he
stop. That's my novel, Nat. I wanted
to start writing it out in the
country. Morbid stuff. Nothing for
the Book-of-the Month Club. A horror
story. The confessions of a booze
addict, the log book of an alcoholic.
(Holding out the jigger)
Come on, Nat. Break down.
Nat does break down and pours a drink.
DON
Do you know what I'm going to call
my novel? The Bottle -- that's all.
Very simply, The Bottle. I've got it
all in my mind. Let me tell you the
first chapter. It all starts one wet
afternoon about three years ago.
There was a matinee of La Traviata
at the Metropolitan --
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
B-5 EXT. METROPOLITAN OPERA HOUSE - AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON,
HEAVY RAIN
HIGH CAMERA, SHOOTING DOWN past the glass-and-iron marquee
towards the entrance, beside which is a billboard announcing
Verdi's LA TRAVIATA. A crowd of people is streaming into the
building. They are wearing raincoats, carrying umbrellas.
B-6 THE VESTIBULE AND CLOAKROOM WINDOW AT THE METROPOLITAN
It is doing a land-office business, checking dripping
umbrellas and apparel. Among the crowd is Don Birnam. He is
alone and wears a bowler and a straight raincoat. He takes
off his hat and shakes the rain from it, then peels off his
raincoat. In the side pocket of his suit is a pint of liquor.
It bulges and the nose projects. For a second Don considers
whether it'll pass muster, but it's a little too prominent.
With a quick gesture he transfers the bottle to the pocket
of the raincoat, rolls the raincoat up like swaddling clothes
around a precious infant. Seeing an opening in the line at
the cloak room counter, he steps into it.
There is a great confusion of hands, coats, coat checks,
customers and overworked attendants. Don hands his coat to
an attendant. His eyes linger on its pocket with a certain
tenderness, then he turns and starts towards the door of the
auditorium.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-7 A SECTION OF SEATS AT THE METROPOLITAN
Don sits about five seats from the aisle. He is under the
pleasant spell of the overture of La Traviata.
B-8 DON
He sits between an elderly daughter and her age-old mother,
and a middle-aged man and wife. He is glancing through the
program as the curtain rises (changing the light on our
group). Don looks up.
B-9 THE STAGE
The set is a Louis XIVth salon, in the year 1700. It's
Violetta's supper. The guests are singing "Libiamo, libiamo,"
which is a drinking song in waltz time.
B-10 DON
He loves music and especially Italian opera, but maybe he'd
have come late if he'd remembered the content of the first
scene.
B-11 ON THE STAGE
Powdered footmen are pouring wine into the glasses of the
over-vivacious guests.
B-12 DON
Thirst in his eyes, he looks away from the stage, tries to
concentrate on the ceiling of the Metropolitan. No go. His
eyes wander back to:
B-13 THE STAGE
Alfred and Violetta are batting the drinking song back and
forth, as the chorus, glasses in hand, stands slowly swaying,
echoing each couplet.
B-14 DON
That thirst is coming up again. The first drops of sweat are
gathering on his forehead. As he looks at the stage, his
imagination is working at top speed.
B-15 STAGE
The swaying echelon of choristers SLOWLY DISSOLVES to a row
of raincoats, exactly like the one Don wore. They hang from
hangers and sway slowly to Verdi's rhythm.
B-16 DON'S FACE
His eyes glued to what he sees on the stage. He takes the
handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his forehead.
B-17 THE STAGE
The raincoats swaying slowly. THE CAMERA APPROACHES one of
them. From the pocket projects a bottle of whiskey.
B-18 DON
He is wiping his parched mouth. He puts the handkerchief
back. He fishes the coat check from his pocket, buries it in
his fist, fighting the foolish impulse. It's a short struggle,
which he loses. He rises and, to the irritation of his
neighbors, leaves his seat amid some disapproving shushings
from the row behind.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-19 CLOAK ROOM AND VESTIBULE
It is completely empty save for the elderly attendant, who
is dozing over his paper. From inside comes Verdi's music
and Don Birnam. He puts the check on the counter. The
attendant looks up from a newspaper.
ATTENDANT
Did you forget something?
DON
No. Going home, if it's all right
with you.
The attendant takes the check and leaves. Don rolls his
program and sticks it into the sand of the cuspidor. He is
filled with a nervous anticipation of the drink which is on
its way. The attendant returns.
ATTENDANT
Say, this isn't yours.
Don looks. The attendant holds a short leopard coat and a
lady's small umbrella.
DON
No, it certainly isn't.
ATTENDANT
(Comparing the check
with the number on
the hanger)
That's what it says though -- 417.
DON
I don't care what it says.
ATTENDANT
The checks must have got mixed up.
DON
Maybe they did. Find me my coat.
It's a plain man's raincoat and a
derby.
ATTENDANT
Are you kidding? Do you know how
many plain men's raincoats we have
on a day like this? About a thousand.
DON
Let me get back there. I can find
it.
ATTENDANT
That's against regulations, sir.
DON
I'm not going to wait till the end
of the performance.
ATTENDANT
You can get your coat tomorrow.
Don's nervousness is mounting. He is searching his pockets.
DON
Look, man, there's something in the
pocket of that coat I -- It so happens
I find myself without any money and
I need that coat. And I need it now.
ATTENDANT
Listen, if everybody went in there
digging through those coats... There's
regulations. There's got to be
regulations.
DON
What do you suggest?
ATTENDANT
You just wait till the other party
comes and then you can swap.
DON
I want my coat.
ATTENDANT
As far as I'm concerned, that's your
coat.
He shoves the leopard coat and umbrella close to Don.
DON
You're a great help.
He is biting his lips, unable to find another argument. The
attendant has returned to the other end of the counter and
resumed his doze. Don gets out a cigarette. Without opening
his eyes, the attendant calls it.
ATTENDANT
No smoking.
DON
(Sourly)
I thought so.
He puts the cigarette away, leans back on the counter, arms
folded.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-20 VESITBULE, NEAR CLOAK ROOM
Empty, save for Don, who paces up and down nervously, carrying
the leopard coat and the umbrella. He glances over the coat
a little, at the initials inside, at the label. Over the
scene comes a muted aria from the second act.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-21 A STAIRCASE LEADING TO THE GALLERY
Empty, save for Don, who sits on a step, the coat next him.
With the umbrella he is nervously tracing the pattern in the
carpet. Inside, the music rises to a finale and the first
people start streaming down from the gallery. Don grabs up
the coat and hurries towards the cloak room.
B-22 VESTIBULE AND CLOAK ROOM
People are streaming up from all sides to get their
belongings. Don comes into the shot and, standing on his
toes, tries to locate the claimant of his coat and hat.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-23 VESTIBULE AND CLOAK ROOM
It is almost empty. Don still stands with the coat, looking.
As the last few people leave, at the far end of the counter
he sees Helen, in a little leopard hat, his coat over her
arm, his derby in her hand. She sees him with her coat and
her umbrella and the two approach slowly.
DON
(Trying to control
his irritation)
That's my coat you've got.
HELEN
And that's mine, thank heaven. They
mixed up the checks.
DON
They certainly did. I thought you'd
never come.
He takes his coat rather brusquely, thrusts the leopard coat
at her.
HELEN
You can't have been waiting so long.
DON
Only since the first aria of the
first act. That's all.
HELEN
Do you always just drop in for the
overture?
Don takes the coat, feels it hurriedly to make sure the bottle
is still there, and starts away.
DON
Goodbye.
Helen is left with the leopard coat and his bowler.
HELEN
(Waving the hat toward
Don)
Hey, wait a minute!
Don comes back, takes the hat, starts away again.
HELEN
My umbrella, if you don't mind.
His patience exhausted, Don stops again, takes the umbrella
and tosses it in Helen's direction. Helen, who is getting
into her coat, can't catch it. It falls right next to her.
HELEN
Thank you very much.
Don stands abashed. He goes back, picks up the umbrella.
DON
I'm terribly sorry.
HELEN
You're the rudest person I ever saw.
What's the matter with you?
DON
Just rude, I guess.
HELEN
Really, somebody should talk to your
mother.
DON
They tried, Miss St. John.
HELEN
My name's not St. John.
DON
St. Joseph, then.
HELEN
St. James.
DON
First name Hilda or Helen, or Harriet
maybe?
HELEN
Helen.
DON
You come from Toledo, Ohio.
HELEN
How do you know?
DON
I've had three long acts to work you
out from that coat of yours. Initials,
label -- Alfred Spitzer, Fine Furs,
Toledo, Ohio.
HELEN
Maybe I should have explored your
coat.
DON
But you didn't.
HELEN
Didn't have time.
DON
Good. My name is Don Birnam.
As they go on talking, they walk from the cloak room, through
the vestibule, to the street, Don carrying his coat over his
arm.
DON
How do you like New York?
HELEN
Love it.
DON
How long are you going to stay?
HELEN
Oh, sixty years, perhaps.
Don doesn't get it.
HELEN
I live here now. I've got a job.
DON
Doing what?
HELEN
I'm on Time Magazine.
DON
Time Magazine? In that case perhaps
you could do something for me.
HELEN
Yes.
DON
Could you help me to become Man of
the Year?
HELEN
Delighted. What do you do?
DON
Yes, what do I do? I'm a writer.
I've just started a novel. I've
started quite a few novels. I never
seem to finish one.
HELEN
In that case, why not write short
stories.
DON
I have some of those. The first
paragraph. Then there's one-half of
the opening scene of a play. It all
takes place in the leaning tower of
Pisa and explains why it leans. And
why all sensible buildings should
lean.
HELEN
They'll love that in Toledo.
DON
Are you by any chance coming here to
Lohengrin next week?
HELEN
I don't know.
DON
Because if you are, I'm not going to
let this coat out of my hands.
HELEN
Don't worry.
DON
I do, though. To be really safe,
maybe we should go together.
HELEN
We could.
DON
Are you in the telephone book?
HELEN
Yes, but I'm not home very much.
DON
Then I'll call you at the office.
HELEN
Editorial Research. If Henry Luce
answers the phone, hang up.
They have reached the curb outside the Metropolitan. It is
dark and the rain has settled to a drizzle.
DON
Taxi?
HELEN
No, thank you. I'm taking the subway.
DON
Very sensible.
HELEN
As a matter of fact, I'm going to an
extremely crazy party on Washington
Square. If you want, I'll take you
along.
There is a split second of indecision but it is ended by
Don's awareness of the bottle in his raincoat.
DON
Thank you very much, Miss St. James,
but I have to see a friend uptown.
HELEN
Goodbye, Mr. Birnam.
DON
Goodbye.
He is unfurling his raincoat in order to put it on before he
steps from under the marquee. Helen is about a step and a
half away when there is a crash. She stops and looks down,
as does Don. On the sidewalk lies the pint of whiskey, broken.
HELEN
Who threw that?
DON
(Casually)
It fell out of my pocket.
HELEN
Do you always carry those things?
DON
You see... that friend, the one
uptown, he has a cold. I thought I'd
take this along and make him a hot
toddy.
HELEN
Now he gets hot lemonade and some
aspirin.
DON
I shall.
HELEN
Goodbye.
She goes. Don looks at the broken bottle, then after Helen.
With sudden decision he calls after her.
DON
Miss St. James!
HELEN
(Turning)
Yes?
DON
What kind of a party was that you
asked me to?
HELEN
A cocktail party.
DON
Invitation still stand?
HELEN
Of course. Come on.
He joins her, takes the umbrella out of her hand and holds
it over them both as they go down the street.
DISSOLVE TO:
B-24 NAT'S BAR
As we have left it, empty save for Nat and Don. Sunlight
outside. Nat is now taking the chairs from the tables and
arranging the bar for the afternoon and evening trade, while
Don leans back against the bar, the jigger of whiskey in his
hand, and goes on talking.
DON
How's that for a first meeting, Nat?
Cute, full of laughs. A charming
girl, an extra special girl. Her
coat-check might just as well have
been mixed up with the coat-check of
a solid citizen, the son of the
chairman of some insurance company,
highly eligible, no vices except
that sometimes he plays the cello.
But oh no, that would have made
everything too simple. It had to be
that young man with the bottle.
NAT
Listen, once that bottle smashes,
doesn't she catch on?
DON
No, she doesn't.
NAT
Okay. So they go to that cocktail
party and he gets stinko and falls
flat on his face.
DON
He doesn't. He's crazy about that
girl by then. He drinks tomato juice.
Doesn't touch liquor for that whole
week -- for two weeks, for six weeks.
NAT
He's in love, huh?
DON
That's what's going to be hard to
write. Love's the hardest thing in
the world to write about. So simple.
You've got to catch it through
details, like the early morning
sunlight hitting the gray tin of the
ashcans in front of her house. A
ringing telephone that sounds like
Beethoven's Pastoral. A letter
scribbled on her office stationery
that you carry in your pocket because
it smells of all the lilacs in Ohio.
NAT
And no drinking?
DON
He thinks he's cured. If he can get
a job now, they can be married and
that's that. Only it's not, Nat. Not
quite. Because one day, one terrible
day --
(He taps the jigger)
Pour it, Nat.
Nat does.
NAT
Yeah?
Don drinks.
NAT
Well, go on.
DON
You see, that girl's been writing to
her family in Toledo They want to
meet this young man. So they come to
New York. They stay at the Hotel
Manhattan. Their very first day,
she's to introduce him to her parents.
One o'clock. Lobby of the hotel...
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
B-25 INT. LOBBY OF THE MANHATTAN HOTEL - (MIDDAY)
It is filled with the routine activity of a big commercial
hotel on a hot summer day.
Don Birnam, in a light summer suit, paces up and down the
lobby. Under his arm is a florist's box. He keeps eyeing the
doors to the elevators. He walks toward one of those circular
plush settees common to hotels, sits down, puts the flower
box next to him and adjusts the knot of his tie, his eye
still on the elevator doors.
On the other side of the settee are a middle-aged couple.
Don can't see them, they can't see him, as he overhears their
conversation, and it takes him a little time to realize that
they are Helen's parents.
MR. ST. JAMES is wearing a linen suit and a good but yellowing
panama hat, the brim turned up. MRS. ST. JAMES is a cheerful
little woman with glasses pinned to her dress, the kind that
pull. Mr. St. James is fuming a little.
MR. ST. JAMES
Just walked in for a simple haircut.
No, that wasn't enough, not for New
York. They gave me a shampoo, a scalp
massage, a manicure. Thought they'd
tear my shoes off and paint my
toenails.
Mrs. St. James laughs comfortably.
MRS. ST. JAMES
I had a lovely morning. Just did a
little window shopping. I didn't
want to get all tired out.
MR. ST. JAMES
On account of meeting that young
man? Now, Mother.
MRS. ST. JAMES
Who did you get a haircut for?
MR. ST. JAMES
Wonder what's keeping Helen.
MRS. ST. JAMES
She'll be here.
MR. ST. JAMES
This Birnam fellow went to Cornell,
didn't he?
MRS. ST. JAMES
I believe so, but Helen says he never
graduated.
MR. ST. JAMES
I wonder why. How old is he?
MRS. ST. JAMES
Thirty-three.
MR. ST. JAMES
He has no job. As far as I can find
out, he never had one. I wish Helen
wasn't so vague.
By now Don knows only too well that he is the subject of
their discussion. He leans his head against the back of the
settee, acutely uncomfortable.
MRS. ST. JAMES
Maybe he has a little money. Some
people do, you know, Father.
MR. ST. JAMES
He ought to have a job anyway.
MRS. ST. JAMES
He's a writer.
MR. ST. JAMES
A writer? Wha