by Wes Anderson
Rise and shine. Chop-chop!
A wiry, pint-sized convict the shape of a fire hydrant squints out from under his covers. He is Pinky.
Good morning, Pinky.
Pinky yawns and sets his feet to the floor. The convicts in the other bunks also begin to rustle. Their faces are brutal, and their bodies are hard and powerful. They are Günther and Wolf. (A fourth convict, also in the room, begins to get out of bed, as well – but his face is not revealed for the moment.)
M. Gustave reaches to the lower shelf of the cart and produces a pink pastry-box. All the convicts quickly gather at a small table. (The fourth convict sits with his back to the camera.)
Pinky says eagerly:
PINKY
Mendl’s again?
M. GUSTAVE
Precisely. Who’s got the throat-slitter?
Günther digs in his sock and takes out a small weapon consisting of a half-toothbrush fixed with wire to a hand-slivered straight razor cut into serrated teeth. M. Gustave folds open the pastry-box and cuts a Courtesan au chocolat into careful segments. The convicts eat daintily. Wolf says, chewing:
WOLF
Out of this world.
M. GUSTAVE
(obviously)
Mendl’s is the best. Well, back to work.
M. Gustave rises. Pinky says suddenly:
PINKY
Mr. Gustave?
M. GUSTAVE
(hesitates)
Yeah?
Pinky exchanges a look with the others. They nod. He darts to the door, looks up and down the corridor, then closes it softly. He signals for M. Gustave to sit back down. M. Gustave, slightly puzzled, obeys. They all lean in closer as Pinky whispers:
PINKY
Me and the boys talked it over. We think you’re a real straight fella.
M. GUSTAVE
Well, I’ve never been accused of that before, but I appreciate the sentiment.
PINKY
You’re one of us now.
M. GUSTAVE
(somewhat moved)
What a lovely thing to say. Thank you, dear Pinky. Thank you, Günther. Thank you, Wolf. I couldn’t ask for a finer tribute.
M. Gustave bows slightly. He hesitates.
M. GUSTAVE
Anything else?
Pinky looks to the fourth convict. He nods:
PINKY
Tell him, Ludwig.
Cut to:
The fourth convict. Numerous short scars chop skinny, bald lines into his shorn scalp. His arms are tattooed heavily with skulls, skeletons, and images of the grim reaper. He has one silver tooth and a bit of butter-cream icing on the side of his mouth. He is Ludwig.
Ludwig takes a deep breath. He launches into his spiel:
LUDWIG
Checkpoint Nineteen ain’t no two-bit hoosegow. You got broad-gauge iron bars on every door, vent, and window. You got barb’ wire on every containment wall and barricade. You got seventy-two guards on the floor and sixteen more in the towers. You got a 325-foot drop into a moat full of crocodiles – but, like the best of ’em, it’s got a soft spot, which in this case happens to take the form of a storm-drain sewer system datin’ from the time of the original rock fortification way back in the Middle Ages. Now, nobody’s sayin’ it’s a stroll down a tree-lined promenade with a fine lady and a white poodle, but it’s got what you’d call ‘vulnerability’ – and that’s our bread and butter. Take a look.
Ludwig produces a crude but highly detailed map and floor-plan of the castle compound drawn with charcoal on a strip of butcher paper. M. Gustave examines it with fixed concentration. He says pointedly:
M. GUSTAVE
Who drew this?
LUDWIG
(stiffening)
What do you mean, ‘Who drew this?’ I did.
M. GUSTAVE
(impressed)
Very good. You’ve got a wonderful line, Ludwig. This shows great artistic promise.
Ludwig smiles slightly, pleased and slightly embarrassed. M. Gustave points on the map:
M. GUSTAVE
Question: how do you intend to penetrate this lowest rudiment? If I interpret the legend correctly, it’s twenty-five inches of reinforced granite masonry, is it not? Digging with the throat-slitter, I expect that would take three to six months of continual effort, during which time several of our members will have been violently executed.
LUDWIG
You hit the nail on the head there, Mr. Gustave. We got fake documents, second-hand street clothes, and a rope ladder made out of sticks and bunk-linens – but we need diggin’ tools, and that’s provin’ hard to come by in this flophouse.
M. Gustave nods gravely. The others slump, listless, and sigh. M. Gustave taps rapidly on the table with the jerry-rigged shiv. Suddenly, he sits up straight and frowns. The others watch him, curious – then look where he is looking.
The camera zooms in slowly toward the crinkled wrapper of the Courtesan au chocolat as the five inmates all stare at it together.
Cut to:
Mr. Moustafa and the author at their dinner table surrounded by meats, sauces, and vegetables. Mr. Moustafa is immobile.
AUTHOR
(voice-over)
At this point in the story, the old man fell silent and pushed away his saddle of lamb. His eyes went blank as two stones. I could see he was in distress. ‘Are you ill, Mr. Moustafa?’ I finally asked. ‘Oh, dear me, no,’ he said. ‘It’s only that I don’t know now to proceed.’ He was crying.
Mr. Moustafa smiles sadly with tears streaming down his cheeks. The author looks worried.
MR. MOUSTAFA
You see, I never speak of Agatha, because – even at the thought of her name – I’m unable to control my emotions.
Mr. Moustafa dries his eyes with his napkin, but the tears instantly return. He shrugs.
MR. MOUSTAFA
Well, I suppose there’s no way around it. You see, she saved us.
Title:
ONE MONTH EARLIER
INT. CINEMA. NIGHT
A smoky small-town movie palace. On screen, a battle scene is in progress: tanks explode while an infantry unit charges out of a trench into a tornado of machine-gun fire. In the middle of the back row, a love scene is in progress: Zero and Agatha French-kiss in a clutch with her shirt half-unbuttoned and his fingers wrapped around her clearly visible, white breast. Her hand is jammed down into his trousers. No one else in the scattered audience appears to notice them.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
On our third, formal rendezvous, I had asked for her hand in marriage, and she had agreed. We did not have fifty Klubecks between the two of us. No one knew, of course; but, then, who would have cared? We were both completely on our own in the world – and we were deeply in love.
EXT. TOWN SQUARE. NIGHT
Dusk. The platz in the center of Nebelsbad. A carnival fair is in full swing with a spinning carousel set to a Wurlitzer organ, a bustling gallery of games, and vendors serving beer and sausages. Agatha holds Zero’s arm as they walk through the crowd. He reaches into his uniform, pulls out a small gift-wrapped package, and thrusts it into her hands.
ZERO
Here.
AGATHA
(startled)
Thank you!
ZERO
It’s a book.
AGATHA
(hesitates)
I see.
ZERO
Romantic Poetry, Volume One. M. Gustave recommended it. I have a copy of my own, as well. I ruined the surprise, I suppose.
AGATHA
I’ll go ahead and open it, anyway.
ZERO
OK.
Agatha carefully unwraps the package, folds up the paper, and puts the ribbon into her pocket. Zero flips open the book and points at a flyleaf.
ZERO
Read the inscription.
AGATHA
(reading)
‘For my dearest, darling, treasured, cherished Agatha, whom I worship. With r
espect, adoration, admiration, kisses, gratitude, best wishes, and love. From Z. to A.’
Agatha looks to Zero with tears in her eyes. He smiles sadly.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
M. Gustave insisted on an immediate and thorough cross-examination –
INT. STORAGE PANTRY. DAY
M. Gustave sits opposite Agatha at a long table with his hand resting on top of hers as he leans close to her recounting something vividly. They both laugh uproariously. M. Gustave says loudly, aside, to Zero:
M. GUSTAVE
She’s so charming!
Zero broods in the corner. The table is piled with long-stemmed flowers, and a large, cardboard box overflows with more.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
– during which he presented Agatha with a porcelain pendant and five dozen individually tissue-wrapped white tulips in a box the size of a child’s coffin.
Insert:
A white porcelain crossed-keys pendant hanging from a velvet ribbon around Agatha’s thin neck.
Agatha admires her pendant. Zero grumbles:
ZERO
It’s not right.
M. GUSTAVE
(hesitates)
I beg your pardon? (Conspiratorially to Agatha.) Why’s he sulking?
ZERO
She’s my girlfriend. You can’t just buy her things.
M. GUSTAVE
(in disbelief)
I’m only interviewing this vision of loveliness on your behalf. (Conveying pearls of wisdom.) Never be jealous in this life, Zero. Not even for an instant.
ZERO
(to Agatha, like a lawyer)
Is he flirting with you?
AGATHA
Yes.
Zero looks to M. Gustave with satisfaction. M. Gustave shrugs this off with a wave of the hand, then offers a benediction:
M. GUSTAVE
I approve of this union. (Still flirting.) Agatha, my beauty? Return to your beloved.
Zero and Agatha stand together quietly on display, happy. She clutches a tulip. M. Gustave nods sagely.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
Soon, we learned –
INT. PATISSERIE. DAY
The white-marble frosting counter in the back room at Mendl’s. There are three, unfinished Courtesans au chocolat in a row with their tops open. Agatha delicately places a little tool into the fillings of each: a slender file, the head of a small hammer, and a half-scale chisel. As she closes them, she begins to apply a complex series of decorative ripples and swirls.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
– Not only was Agatha immensely skilled with a palette knife and a butter-cream flourish: she was also very brave.
Zero, keeping a lookout at the kitchen door, gives an urgent signal. Agatha swiftly covers the pastries with e damp cheese-cloth just as Herr Mendl crosses into the room, throws open a huge brick-oven, and checks on a batch of gâteaux l’Opéra.
INT. SORTING HALL. DAY
A prison guard searches packages on a metal table. He slices a block of cheese into quarters. He chops-up a loaf of bread into sixths. He opens a double-sized pink pastry-box – and pauses. He stares at the three pristine Courtesans au chocolat.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
I believe she was born that way.
The guard gingerly closes the box, slides it aside, unscathed, and moves onto the next package.
INT. LAWYER’S OFFICE. DAY
An art-deco office looking out directly onto the clock tower of Lutzbahn Station. Deputy Kovacs sits behind a wide desk. The box containing Madame D.’s will rests beside him. Its contents have been neatly organized into dozens of little stacks and piles.
Dmitri and his three sisters are seated across from Deputy Kovacs in leather armchairs. Jopling stands in the corner stroking a Siamese cat and staring out the window. Curtains sway in the gentle breeze. Deputy Kovacs sounds concerned:
DEPUTY KOVACS
Something’s missing. A crucial document, either misplaced or, conceivably, destroyed. I don’t know what it contains, I don’t know what it represents, I don’t know what it is – but there are traces and shadows of it everywhere. (Motioning to the stacks of paper.) Now, I don’t want to alarm you, and I don’t expect to see any significant change in the magistrate’s ultimate decision vis-à-vis your own inheritance; but, especially given the circumstances of the death, as well as the disappearance of the key witness in the murder case (Serge X.), I suggest we immediately bring this matter to the attention of the municipal inspector so there can be absolutely no question of impropriety at any future date. Agreed?
DMITRI
(simply)
Not agreed.
DEPUTY KOVACS
(puzzled)
Not agreed?
DMITRI
(with finality)
Not agreed.
Silence. The three sisters are stoic. Jopling is stony. Dmitri and Deputy Kovacs stare at each other blankly.
DMITRI
Can I ask you a question, Vilmos?
DEPUTY KOVACS
Yes, Dmitri?
DMITRI
Who you working for?
DEPUTY KOVACS
I beg your pardon?
DMITRI
I thought you’re supposed to be our lawyer.
DEPUTY KOVACS
(hesitates)
Well, in point of fact, I’m the executor of the estate. In this particular situation – I represent the deceased.
DMITRI
Oh, yeah?
DEPUTY KOVACS
Yeah. A provision for my fees was included in the –
DMITRI
Just wrap it up, and don’t make waves. Agreed?
DEPUTY KOVACS
(long pause)
I’m an attorney, Dmitri. I’m obligated to proceed according to the rule of law. Not agreed.
Dmitri’s eyes peer sideways. He says quietly, menacing:
DMITRI
This stinks, sisters.
Deputy Kovacs looks insulted. Dmitri stands up, walks to the door, and exits. The cat squeals. Jopling follows Dmitri out the door. Deputy Kovacs’ mouth falls open. He points, astonished, across the room:
DEPUTY KOVACS
Did he just throw my cat out the window?
The three sisters turn around quickly. They answer simultaneously:
MARGUERITE
I don’t think so.
LAETIZIA
Jopling?
CAROLINA
No. Did he?
Deputy Kovacs waits for the punchline – but it does not come. He dashes to the window and looks down at the sidewalk.
Cut to:
A pedestrian in a bowler hat far below standing over a sprawled speck on the sidewalk. He looks up.
Insert:
Four small hammers tap rapid-fire at four half-scale chisels, chipping away into a cement pot-hole. They are making good progress.
INT. LUDWIG’S CELL. NIGHT
M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, and Ludwig work diligently by candlelight under a wooden table. Periodically, Wolf scoops up the powdery debris with a soup ladle and throws it aside.
Ludwig looks up suddenly, alerted. He holds up a finger.
LUDWIG
Shh!
M. Gustave, Pinky, and Günther stop tapping at once. They listen attentively. Feet creak along the thick, wooden floor outside the cell – and come to a halt directly in front of the door. Silence.
There is a loud but muffled sneeze.
The feet begin to creak again and fade away until they are inaudible. Ludwig signals to the others. They resume their tapping.
INT. GARRET. NIGHT
An attic bedroom the size of a broom closet. The walls and ceiling are bare planks. Thick beams hold the crooked roof in place. A small skylight window is propped open with a pencil. Zero and Agatha are naked under the rough sheets of her narrow bed. They share a plate of lit
tle miniature Courtesans au chocolat. Zero whispers:
ZERO
There’s something I haven’t told you, Agatha.
A look of dread crosses Agatha’s face. She says reluctantly:
AGATHA
OK.
ZERO
We stole a painting. It’s very valuable (maybe five million Klubecks, in fact). I don’t know if anyone’s even noticed it’s missing yet – but if something should happen to me and M. Gustave –
AGATHA
(evenly)
You stole – art?
ZERO
(defensive)
One picture. Anyway: we need to make a plan for your survival. Hide this.
Zero produces a square of tissue-paper the size of a large postage stamp with neat, minuscule handwriting all over it. Agatha squints at it.
ZERO
It’s in code, and you might need a magnifying glass to read it, but it tells you exactly where and how to find ‘Boy with Apple’. Don’t take less than half the retail asking price. Also –
AGATHA
Zero. I’m a baker.
ZERO
(correcting her)
You’re a pastry chef. One of the best in the –
AGATHA
Not a ‘fence’ (if that’s the term). I don’t trade in stolen property.
ZERO
(hesitates)
I said it wrong. She willed it to him!
A door bangs open down the hall. In an instant: Zero jumps out of the bed, leaps with both feet at once into his trousers, and shimmies up out of the skylight.
Cut to:
Zero’s point-of-view from the roof. The bedroom door creaks open and Herr Mendl looks in at Agatha. She is now calmly reading her volume of romantic poetry. He grunts:
