by Wes Anderson
HERR MENDL
Go to sleep.
AGATHA
Yes, Herr Mendl.
The door closes. Agatha looks up to Zero. He holds up the sliver of paper. She shakes her head and whispers:
AGATHA
No.
ZERO
(pause)
OK, but take it, anyway.
Zero releases the square of tissue-paper. Agatha sits up quickly as it descends, darting and fluttering, and moves her hand around underneath it while she watches trying to estimate where it is going to land.
At the last second, she reaches up and cleanly plucks it out of the air between thumb and finger.
Zero smiles. He runs away, shoeless, past gutters and chimneys, jumping noiselessly from roof to roof, into the night.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING. NIGHT
A bank of elevators in an art-deco lobby. A bell rings, and a pair of doors slides open. Deputy Kovacs emerges and navigates his way through a maze of suds buckets and women on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor. He does not notice:
Jopling sitting in a chair behind a column reading the evening edition of the Trans-Alpine Yodel.
EXT. STREET. NIGHT
The evening sky is bright blue. Crowds hurry in and out of shops and restaurants. Deputy Kovacs crosses the street and stands next to an old lady at a tram stop. He checks his watch. The tram arrives, and the door opens.
Deputy Kovacs assists the old lady, then boards behind her. He takes a seat. He looks out the window. Just as they pull away, he sees Jopling exit the building and climb onto his motorcycle.
Deputy Kovacs frowns.
Jopling kick-starts his engine and follows the tram, close behind, for three blocks. At the next intersection, a policeman blows a whistle, holds up his hand, and makes Jopling wait while a stream of opposing traffic crosses.
The tram rounds a corner and stops. Deputy Kovacs jumps up and ducks out onto the street. He looks left and right. He hurries up a path toward a grand, colossal, domed palace. A sign carved in stone above the door reads: ‘Kunstmuseum Lutz’.
As he goes inside, Deputy Kovacs looks back to see Jopling’s motorcycle pulling slowly to the curb.
INT. MUSEUM. NIGHT
The spacious, soaring entrance hall is dim and deserted. One guard sits alone in a corner writing in a logbook. Deputy Kovacs strides across the room. His clacking feet echo broadly. He detours into an antechamber filled with French still-lives. He pauses.
A second set of footsteps clacks through the lobby behind him.
Deputy Kovacs advances rapidly into the next gallery, past a long mural of an ancient war, and descends a staircase. He pauses again at the bottom.
The second set of footsteps continues through the ante chamber behind him.
Deputy Kovacs turns a corner and rushes between rows of Greek and Roman statues. He cuts through an Egyptian tomb. He skims through an alcove of iron weapons and suits of armor. He pauses once more and listens.
Silence.
Insert:
A pair of high-heeled boots. Two feet quietly slip out of them and tiptoe away.
Cut to:
Deputy Kovacs looking all around, frantic. Across the room, he sees:
A door labeled VERBOTEN.
Deputy Kovacs runs to the door and opens it. He scans the hall behind him. He sneaks inside.
INT. STORAGE ROOM. NIGHT
Deputy Kovacs flicks on a light. He is in a long hallway lined with racks filled with hundreds of canvases. The room goes dark at either end. He chooses a direction, then sprints straight through into the blackness. Up ahead, he sees lines of faint light around the edges of a door. He skids to a stop and searches for the knob. He turns it and pulls. It is locked. He fumbles at a latch. He snaps it sideways. He swings open the door. His eyes light up:
There is a bicycle leaning against the wall across the alley behind the museum. Deputy Kovacs grabs the door frame and takes one last, quick look back into the darkness behind him.
Insert:
Deputy Kovacs’ hand on the knob. A second hand, wearing brass knuckles, gently enfolds it.
Cut to Deputy Kovacs’ face. He gasps.
EXT. ALLEY. NIGHT
The door hammers shut with a bang. Four of Deputy Kovacs’ fingers, gripping the door frame, pop off at the knuckles all at once and fall down into a shallow puddle.
On the other side of the door, there is a scream of bloodcurdling agony, then a thump, a thwhack, and, finally, a wallop. Pause.
The door opens again. Jopling comes out in his stocking feet. He puts on his boots. He takes out a handkerchief, leans down and collects the four fingers off the ground, wraps them up, slips them into his pocket, and walks away down the alley.
INT. LOBBY. DAY
Eight a.m. Zero, substituting at the concierge desk again, looks up to the high window across the room. Herr Becker waits alone in the storage pantry with the ledger book under his arm. He checks his watch.
MR. MOUSTAFA
(voice-over)
The next morning, Herr Becker received a peculiar, last-minute notice from the office of Deputy Kovacs: postponing their scheduled meeting – in perpetuity.
Title:
THREE DAYS LATER
EXT. VILLAGE. NIGHT
A nearly empty bus squeals to a stop behind a quiet inn in the middle of a deserted hamlet and deposits Zero on the roadside. He carries a knapsack and is dressed like a vagabond. The bus drives off.
Zero wanders to the middle of the cobblestone lane. He looks down at a rusty manhole. He looks up at the prison-castle across the way, high above the village. He checks his watch.
INT. CELL. NIGHT
M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig all lie quietly in their bunks with the sheets pulled up to their necks. Faraway voices shout and echo eerily. A guard walks through the section slamming doors and throwing bolts. With a series of loud thumps, block by block the lights go out, and the prison goes dark. Silence. Ludwig whispers:
LUDWIG
Let’s blow!
The cell launches into soundless activity: bed linens are whisked away, the table is carried into the corner, and a row of floor-planks is carefully lifted. M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig are all dressed like vagabonds already and carry various sacks and baskets. One by one, they disappear into the floor. A pair of hands, at the rear, reaches up to replace the planks.
INT. CRAWL-SPACE. NIGHT
M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig advance on all fours, single file, through a low, moldy sub structure.
INT. TOWER. NIGHT
A small window in a stone wall. Ludwig gently taps loose four pre-cut iron bars with one of the small hammers.
Insert:
The stump of one of the bars. A little noose is fitted over it and pulled tight.
Günther assists Ludwig as they slowly feed an unfurling tangle of rope and rungs out the window, inch by inch.
Cut to:
M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig all on the rope ladder at once like a string of beads dangling down the outside of the tower, 325 feet above the moat with crocodiles gliding along the dark surface. The ladder twists and creaks as they descend. Suddenly, a sharp voice calls out above their heads:
CONVICT
How’d you get out there?
They all look up. An anxious convict with a missing ear stares down at them from a cell window. Ludwig whispers:
LUDWIG
Shut up!
The convict frowns. He turns to his unseen bunkmates and says loudly:
CONVICT
These guys are tryin’ to escape!
Ludwig looks furious. He whispers fiercely:
LUDWIG
What’s wrong with you, you goddamn snitch?
CONVICT
(hollering)
Guard! Guard! They’re gettin’ away! They’re –
A single, large hand grabs the convict with the missing ear by the neck, crushes the wind out of him,
and rips him away from the window, out of view. Pause. The giant with the long scar across his face appears in the convict’s place, looking down at the dangling escapees. M. Gustave says, gasping:
M. GUSTAVE
It’s you! Thank you! Thank you, you sweet, kind man!
The giant nods sadly.
Cut to:
The bottom of the rope ladder which ends halfway down the tower. M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig step onto a narrow ledge and make their way, side stepping cautiously, around the circumference of the building. They arrive at a small sloped roof and open a trapdoor.
INT. DORMITORY. NIGHT
M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig all crouch on a beam in the upper eaves of a vaulted hall. In the dark below, there are twenty narrow cots in two rows. Next to each cot, there is a guard’s uniform on a coat-hanger, a billy-club on a peg, and a Luger pistol on the night stand. Asleep in each cot, there is a lightly snoring goon.
Ludwig gets a firm grip on a tarnished copper pipe. He turns to the others and nods. He swings out and makes his way, hand over hand, from pipe to pipe across the ceiling. The others follow.
INT. CELLAR. NIGHT
A dirty chute sticks down from the ceiling above a wide garbage bin filled with empty tins and rotting vegetables. M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig slide down into view, one-by-one, drop out into the trash pile, and hurry on their tiptoes into a dim corridor.
Cut to:
The candlelit dungeon. M. Gustave, Pinky, Günther, Wolf, and Ludwig all listen attentively, looking up at the ceiling. There is a loud but muffled sneeze above, then feet creaking away. Ludwig nods.
Pinky pulls away an oilskin tarp to reveal the cement pothole which has now been chiselled all the way through the thick sub-floor clear into the room below – where they see:
Three startled guards staring up at them from a card table in a dank, brick basement. They each hold a hand of cards. One is in the middle of placing a bet into a rich pot. A gas lantern flickers on a hook. The escapees all cry out at once:
LUDWIG
Whoa!
PINKY
Yow!
WOLF
Jeez!
M. GUSTAVE
Look out!
Günther whips the toothbrush-knife out of his sock and jumps down into the hole. The table shatters and cards and coins fly in every direction. There is a frenzy of punching, scrapping, and grunting. The others converge excitedly around the hole like the audience at a cock-fight. Günther kicks one guard in the teeth, slashes another across the neck, and socks the third, blasting the lantern into bits in the process.
The room goes black.
M. Gustave, Pinky, and Wolf cheer at a low decibel, whispering advice and encouragement simultaneously down into the darkness while Ludwig quickly searches for a match. He lights it and holds it over the hole.
Two of the guards are now sprawled out on their backs in a spreading pool of blood. Günther and the remaining guard twist and clutch on the floor, grappling in violent headlocks while they simultaneously stab each other repeatedly with the throat-slitter and a thick hunting knife. They both fall silent and stop moving. Silence. M. Gustave says quietly:
M. GUSTAVE
I suppose you’d call that a draw.
Ludwig sighs. He delivers a brief eulogy:
LUDWIG
Anyway, he went out with a bloody knife in his fist jammed into the gut of a dyin’ prison guard. I think that’s how he would’ve wanted it, don’t you?
M. Gustave, Pinky, and Wolf nod and solemnly concur, muttering. They climb down into the hole.
EXT. STREET. NIGHT
Zero watches as the manhole cover flips open onto the street. M. Gustave pokes his head up and whispers simply:
M. GUSTAVE
Good evening.
Zero rushes to assist M. Gustave out of the storm drain. Pinky, Wolf, and Ludwig surface on high alert, looking around in every direction. (Pinky carries a wad of the crumbled-up gambling money in his little hand.)
M. GUSTAVE
Let me introduce you. Pinky, Wolf, and Ludwig: this is the divine Zero. (Soberly to Zero.) Günther was slain in the catacombs.
M. Gustave crosses himself quickly. He begins a wistful speech:
Well, boys, who knows when we’ll all meet again; but if, one day –
LUDWIG
No time to gab. Take care of yourself, Mr. Gustave. Good luck, kid.
Pinky, Wolf, and Ludwig sprint away into the woods. M. Gustave watches them go, bittersweet. He grabs Zero by the shoulder and says, suddenly urgent:
M. GUSTAVE
Which way to the safe house?
ZERO
(unfortunately)
I couldn’t find one.
M. GUSTAVE
(in disbelief)
No safe house? Really? We’re completely on our own out here?
ZERO
(worried)
I’m afraid so. I asked around, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I thought …
Zero trails off. He looks apologetic. M. Gustave sighs, resigned. He says calmly:
M. GUSTAVE
I understand. Too risky. We’ll just have to wing it, I suppose. Let’s put on our disguises.
Zero hesitates. He looks down at his vagabond costume, then at M. Gustave’s. He says, confused:
ZERO
We’re wearing them.
M. GUSTAVE
(frustrated)
No, we’re not. We said false whiskers and fake noses and so on. You didn’t bring any?
ZERO
(referring to moustache)
I thought you were growing one. It wouldn’t look realistic, would it? I thought …
Zero trails off again. He deflates, distressed. M. Gustave remains calm.
M. GUSTAVE
When done properly, they’re perfectly convincing – but I take your point. So be it. Give me a few squirts of L’Air de Panache, please, will you?
Zero smacks his hand to his forehead and looks mortified. M. Gustave says bluntly:
M. GUSTAVE
Can I not get a squirt, even?
ZERO
(miserably)
I forgot the L’Air de Panache.
M. GUSTAVE
(at peak frustration)
Honestly – you forgot the L’Air de Panache? I don’t believe it. How could you? I’ve been in jail. Zero! Do you understand how humiliating this is? I smell.
M. Gustave lifts up his arms. Zero sniffs him. He grimaces. M. Gustave’s eyes narrow. He begins to seethe.
Well, that’s just marvelous, isn’t it? I suppose this is to be expected back in – where do you come from, again?
ZERO
(evenly)
Aq Salim al-Jabat.
M. GUSTAVE
(escalating)
Precisely. I suppose this is to be expected back in Aq Salim al-Jabat where one’s prized possessions are a stack of filthy carpets and a starving goat, and one sleeps behind a tent-flap and survives on wild dates and scarabs – but it’s not how I trained you. What on God’s earth possessed you to leave the homeland where you very obviously belong and travel unspeakable distances to become a penniless immigrant in a refined, highly cultivated society that, quite frankly, could’ve gotten along very well without you?
ZERO
(shrugs)
The war.
M. GUSTAVE
(pause)
Say again?
Zero speaks softly and struggles deliberately to hold back his emotions as he says, staring at the ground:
ZERO
Well, you see, my father was murdered, and the rest of my family were executed by firing squad. Our village was burned to the ground. Those who managed to survive were forced to flee. I left – because of the war.
M. GUSTAVE
(back-peddling)
Ah, I see. So you’re, actually, really more of a refugee, in that sense.
ZERO
(reserved)
M. GUSTAVE
(ashamed)
Well, I suppose I’d better take back everything I just said. What a bloody idiot I am. Pathetic fool. Goddamn selfish bastard. This is disgraceful – and it’s beneath the standards of the Grand Budapest.
Zero looks increasingly concerned as M. Gustave begins to come unglued. Tears stream down M. Gustave’s face. He stands at attention and says with deep deference:
I apologize on behalf of the hotel.
ZERO
(gently)
It’s not your fault, M. Gustave. You were just upset I forgot the perfume.
M. GUSTAVE
Don’t make excuses for me. I owe you my life.
M. Gustave takes Zero by the hand. He says with great feeling and sincerity:
You’re my dear friend and protégé, and I’m very proud of you. You must know that. I’m so sorry, Zero.
ZERO
(gallantly)
We’re brothers.
M. Gustave, touched to the quick, instantly kisses Zero on both cheeks and they embrace. They release each other. They try to pull themselves back together. Pause.
M. GUSTAVE
How’s our darling Agatha?
Zero starts to answer, then hesitates. He recites:
ZERO
‘’Twas first light when I saw her face upon the heath; and hence did I return, day by day, entranc’d: tho’ vinegar did brine my heart –’
A powerful siren begins to blast across the region. Zero’s eyes dart around, startled. M. Gustave says over the noise, impressed:
M. GUSTAVE
Very good! I’m going to stop you because the alarm has sounded – but remember where we left off, because I insist you finish later!
