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Authors: Wes Anderson

The Grand Budapest Hotel (12 page)

BOOK: The Grand Budapest Hotel
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M. GUSTAVE

(
nodding
)

Zero: confused, indeed. The plot ‘thickens’, as they say. Why, by the way? Is it a soup metaphor?

ZERO

I don’t know.

Distant tires squeal.

M. Gustave and Zero sit up quickly and peer off down the road. An approaching car accelerates, whining in the darkness. A pair of headlights pops into view from the woods. A large sedan emerges with
a roar, zig-zagging onto the farm road. It slides across the gravel and rips to a stop in front of them. A sign next to five stars on the side of the hood reads:
HOTEL EXCELSIOR PALACE
.

One of the back doors snaps open, and M. Ivan shouts from inside:

M. IVAN

Get in!

M. Gustave and Zero dash out from behind the haystack and sprint to the vehicle.

INT. HOTEL CAR. DAY

The door slams shut, and the chauffeur punches it. They speed back into the hamlet. M. Ivan immediately begins briefing M. Gustave and Zero:

M. IVAN

We found the butler. He’s hiding out in the remote foothills near Gabelmeister’s Peak. Our contact convinced him to meet you midday tomorrow at the observatory on the summit. Tell no one. He’ll explain everything. The train departs in four and a half minutes. Here’s your tickets.

M. Ivan deals out a pair of train tickets to M. Gustave and Zero. M. Gustave gives his a quick study, then mumbles a puzzled objection:

M. GUSTAVE

Third class?

M. IVAN

It was overbooked, but the conductor used to be a
sommelier
at the old Versailles. He pulled some strings. You’ll need these for the dining car.

M. Ivan produces two, pre-tied neckties. M. Gustave and Zero slip them over their heads and adjust the knots. The chauffeur hits the brakes, and M. Ivan swings the door open again.

M. IVAN

Go!

EXT. TRAIN STATION. NIGHT

M. Gustave and Zero jump out in front of a very small depot and slam the door. M. Ivan says out the window:

M. IVAN

One last thing.

M. Ivan leans down and searches for something on the floor. He sits up and thrusts out a tiny version of a familiar bottle. M. Gustave melts as he realizes:

M. GUSTAVE

L’Air de Panache
!

M. IVAN

(
downplaying it
)

They only had the half-ounce.

M. Gustave looks impressed and deeply touched. He leans to Zero and whispers:

M. GUSTAVE

We should give him something as a symbolic gesture. How much money you got?

ZERO

(
hesitates
)

Forty-two Klubecks and three postage stamps.

M. GUSTAVE

Give me twenty-five.

Zero’s eyes widen. He cocks his head, dubious. M. Gustave nods firmly. Zero reluctantly digs a handful of coins and bills out of his pocket and passes it onto M. Gustave. M. Gustave says to M. Ivan with profound gratitude:

M. GUSTAVE

Bless you.

M. Gustave attempts to discreetly press the money into M. Ivan’s palm – but M. Ivan withdraws. He waves his hands and says by way of gentle refusal:

M. IVAN

Please.

M. Gustave smiles sadly. He bows. The hotel car skids away.

Silence. M. Gustave sprays himself four times with the perfume atomizer. His posture and bearing immediately improve. He turns to Zero. Pause.

M. Gustave holds out the bottle. Zero looks confused – then simultaneously flattered and hesitant. He takes the cologne and spritzes himself once lightly. He gives a polite nod and returns the bottle.

A train pulls into the station, and M. Gustave and Zero race out onto the platform.

Cut to:

A stack of wooden planks next to the opening in the cell floor. Ten guards and twenty soldiers stand crowded in the little room looking down at the hole. Henckel’s head pokes up from the crawl-space below. He wears a look of grim determination as he delivers the following:

HENCKELS

I want road blocks at every junction for fifty kilometers. I want
rail
blocks at every train station for a hundred kilometers. I want fifty men and ten bloodhounds ready in five minutes. We’re going to strip-search every
pretzel-haus, waffelhut, biergarten
– and
especially
every grand hotel – from Augenzburg to Zilchbrück. These men are dangerous, professional criminals. (At least, three of them are, anyway.)

Henckels hesitates. He squints across the room. He points.

Who are
you
?

The guards and soldiers all turn to look past the bunks behind them and clear the view to:

Jopling alone in the dim back corner.

What are you doing here? Civilian personnel aren’t permitted in the cell block. This is a military investigation.

Jopling steps fully into view. A shifty guard explains nervously:

SHIFTY GUARD

This is Mr. Jopling, sir. His employer’s mother was one of the victims of the –

HENCKELS

Shut up.

Henckels climbs up out of the hole as Jopling approaches and offers his card. Henckel snaps it up, gives it a fraction-of-a-second look, then hands it off to an underling.

You work for the family Desgoffe und Taxis?

Pause. Jopling nods. Henckels asks pointedly:

Are you aware of the murder of Deputy Vilmos Kovacs on the twenty-third of October?

JOPLING

(
carefully
)

I’m aware of his disappearance.

HENCKELS

His body was found stuffed in a sarcophagus behind a storage room at the Kunstmuseum late last night. He was short four fingers. What do you say about
that
?

Henckels withdraws a typewritten document out of his coat. He holds it up.

Insert:

A police report with a photograph of Deputy Kovacs’ body in a Pharaoh’s casket with his hands crossed on his chest. A section at the bottom of the page is labeled
FINGERPRINTS
.
There are five for the left hand, but only a thumb for the right.

Jopling studies the document. He shrugs.

HENCKELS

Escort Mr. Jopling off the premises.

Jopling makes his way toward the cell door accompanied by several soldiers. He pauses just before he exits. He leans down and picks up a flattened, pink cardboard box off the floor. He scrapes a ridge of icing with his finger and licks the tip. He says softly:

JOPLING

Mendl’s.

Henckels watches Jopling suspiciously as he shrinks away down the corridor.

INT. LIBRARY. NIGHT

Dmitri, dressed in black pajamas and a black smoking jacket with a fur collar, listens on the telephone in a small alcove. He says calmly:

DMITRI

Talk to his club-footed sister again – and, this time: be persuasive.

Dmitri hangs up. He crosses into the library and stands in front of a snooker table. The box containing Madame D.’s will sits among billiard balls in the middle of it. Its contents have been spread out and scattered into a sprawling mess. Marguerite, Laetizia, and Carolina play cards and sip at tiny glasses of port at the other end of the room.

Dmitri drinks a vodka in one gulp. He shuffles and sifts among the scraps, preoccupied. He picks up a folded sliver of cream-colored writing paper. He opens it.

Insert:

A page of Grand Budapest Hotel stationery with a set of crossed keys insignia at the top. Handwritten below is: ‘Remember: I’m always with you.’

Dmitri stares at the piece of paper. He tosses it back onto the table. It lands on top of a faded, old photograph of ‘Boy with Apple’ with the stamp at the bottom of a long defunct auction house.

Dmitri frowns. He turns around and looks up at the wall above the fireplace directly behind him. His face goes white.

Cut to:

The woodcut print of the two lesbians masturbating. A bit of the discolored wallpaper sticks out behind it on either side.

Dmitri is stunned. He stammers:

DMITRI

Holy fuck! What’s the meaning of this shit?

Marguerite, Laetizia, and Carolina all look. They seem confused. They respond simultaneously:

MARGUERITE

‘Boy with Apple’? I thought you’d
hidden
it.

LAETIZIA

It’s been missing two weeks. I assumed it went to the tax-appraiser.

CAROLINA

Why are you only noticing now?

Dmitri shakes his head, speechless. He says finally, in angry shock:

DMITRI

Are you fucking kidding me?

Clotilde has materialized. Dmitri turns to her. Marguerite, Laetizia, and Carolina turn to her, also. Clotilde’s voice cracks and quivers as she says:

CLOTIDE

I believe it was removed by M. Gustave.

Pause. Dmitri grabs the woodcut off the wall and slams it
(
punching a thick hole through the center
)
over a small marble discus-thrower.

INT. TRAIN CAR. NIGHT

A third-class compartment on the overnight to Gabelmeister’s Peak. Students, peasants, and laborers sleep among rucksacks and baskets on hard benches and shelves lining the walls. M. Gustave and Zero whisper to each other from their bunks near the ceiling on either side of the room:

M. GUSTAVE

I’m not
angry
with Serge. You can’t
blame
someone for their basic lack of moral fiber. He’s a frightened, little,
yellow-bellied
coward. That’s not
his
fault, is it?

ZERO

I don’t know. It depends.

M. GUSTAVE

(
irritated
)

Well, you can say that about most anything. ‘It depends.’ Of course it depends.

ZERO

(
firmly
)

Of course it depends.

M. GUSTAVE

(
sighs
)

Yes, I suppose you’re right. Of course, it depends. However: that doesn’t mean I’m not going to throttle the little swamp rat. (
Pause.
) May I officiate, by the way? The ceremony.

ZERO

(
surprised, humbly
)

With pleasure.

M. Gustave sighs. He says with deep sincerity and feeling:

M. GUSTAVE

I must say, I find that girl utterly delightful. Flat as a board, enormous birthmark the shape of Mexico over half her face, sweating for hours on end in that sweltering kitchen while Mendl (genius though he is) looms over her like a hulking gorilla – yet without question, without fail, always, and invariably: she’s
exceedingly
lovely. Why? Because of her purity.

ZERO

BOOK: The Grand Budapest Hotel
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