level 7
BEL AMI
By
Guy de Maupassant
Adapted
by
Rachel Bennette
2010年03月26日 13点03分
3
level 7
INT. ATTIC ROOM - SUNSET
A bed.
It is a narrow, old bed, with a bent iron frame. Advancing
across its dirty white sheets, a black mark. A cockroach.
Fat, glistening, it negotiates the hills and valleys of the
bedclothes.
Watching its approach, face down, inert, is the other
occupant of the bed: GEORGES DUROY, 30, handsome, and, on
this sweltering night, naked.
He explodes into action. Flicks the cockroach to the floor,
grabs a boot and smashes the heel down on it.
The room, bare but for the bed, is almost dark. A single
shaft of orange light moves across the walls before dying
with the sun. Georges lights a stub of candle.
From the room next door, the familiar eruption of an
argument. He listens for a second to the angry voices, the
usual thud of overturned furniture.
He dresses quickly. A worn shirt, a shabby suit. He puts on
his knackered old boots. The left heel crunches underfoot
with dead cockroach. He goes to the window ledge and scrapes
off the mess.
On the window sill, three tiny coins, his worldly wealth, and
an old crust of bread and a cup of water. The bread is rock
hard. He dunks it in the water to soften it up, then wolfs
it.
He scoops the coins into his hand, one, two, three, and
pockets them.
He inspects himself in a shard of mirror - tiny reflections
of himself, his eyes, his jaw, his tie.
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INT. STAIRWELL - NIGHT
Georges descends the gloomy, narrow stairwell of his
tenement. The stairs are crammed with people - families and
rubbish overflowing from tiny slum rooms.
At the bottom of the stairs, a DRUNK MAN pisses against the
wall. Georges stops in disgust.
He grabs the Man and hauls him into the alleyway beyond.
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EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT
The Man clings to him, reaching out his hand for money.
Georges shoves him away, into the darkness.
He turns his face to the mouth of the alley. Ahead, like
light at the end of a tunnel, a glimpse of another world,
golden and gorgeous. The grand boulevards of Paris.
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EXT. BOULEVARD DE LA MADELEINE - NIGHT
The Boulevard de la Madeleine.
Light and space and air. Wide, clean pavements; street lamps
in shining brass; soaring lime trees; glossy carriages
waiting patiently at the side of the road.
The quiet, elegant calm of the rich.
Georges walks into it as if entering a dream.
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EXT/INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT
An expensive restaurant. Tall, elegant windows glittering
with candlelight; inside, snow white linen and silver and
crystal. Orchids and roses. Champagne on ice.
Georges walks from window to window, from table to table,
from oysters to lobster, from steak to salmon. He watches,
spellbound, as a man raises a glass of ice cold beer to his
lips and drinks.
The DOORMAN moves him along with a contemptuous jerk of his
head.
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INT. THE GAVOTTE - NIGHT
Inside, it is small and rough. There is a stage on which a
woman is singing; before it, a dance floor packed with
couples, and, around the walls, boxes for the richer
customers. Some have their curtains half-drawn, obscuring
what the men and women inside are doing.
At the back of the theatre, the bar. Leaning up against it,
two or three prostitutes, all in black chokers, dresses
slashed to the waist. They are watching the entrance,
waiting. They are what Georges has come looking for.
He comes to the bar and takes out his two remaining coins.
He plays with them in his hand for a moment. Eventually, the
BARMAN comes to him. He throws one coin onto the bar.
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GEORGES
Beer.
He has one coin left. Standing beside him, watching him, is a
prostitute, RACHEL. He smiles at her. She does not smile
back. He perseveres, puts on his best smile, his most
charming face. At last, a tiny response - but she is already
leaving him, with a shrug, for the Fat Old Rich Man behind
him who is offering her his arm.
He turns to scan the room. And then -
- he double takes. He has seen someone he knows. A STOUT
MAN, well-dressed, with a smug demeanour. Georges stares at
him. What the hell is his name? The Stout Man seems to be
pontificating to a group of other well-dressed men. Georges
watches as the group disperses. The Stout Man turns away as
if to leave.
Georges gives chase.
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GEORGES
(under his breath)
Foucault? Fouchard? Fou -?
He pushes on through the crowds. The Stout Man is getting
ever closer to the exit.
GEORGES
For - For - Forestier! FORESTIER!
Georges catches him just in time.
GEORGES
Charles Forestier?
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-------------CHARLES
Yes?
GEORGES
Georges Duroy. Of the 6th Hussars!
He is momentarily swallowed up by the crowd. Then the throng
parts to reveal the two men embracing one another like long
lost brothers.
MOMENTS LATER -
Georges and Charles are seated at a table. A Waiter brings
champagne and a bucket of ice. Charles pays him, and waves
him away imperiously. He opens the champagne himself.
CHARLES
You’ve only just got out? What
have you been doing all these years?
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-------------GEORGES
I’m hoping to have better luck in Paris.
But Charles is preoccupied with the champagne.
CHARLES
No, this won’t do -
He summons the Waiter back.
CHARLES
This is filthy. Bring another.
He brings out a silver cigar case, offers Georges a cigar.
Georges takes one, and pockets it for later. Charles lights his.
CHARLES
Shouldn’t really - picked up
bronchitis last year and I still
haven’t shaken it.
He takes a long, happy puff, coughs a bit, then takes another.
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------------CHARLES
Doctors want me to spend the winter
in Cannes, but I can’t be messing
about on the beach, I’m the
Political Editor of the Parisian.
Georges has never heard of it.
CHARLES
You don’t know it? You soon will.
We’re going to be the little
newspaper that brings down the government.
GEORGES
I’m a clerk, at the railway offices.
CHARLES
A clerk?!
He guffaws. It triggers the cough, deep, rasping.
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------------GEORGES
I couldn’t find anything better - I
don’t have your connections. I have
to get money somehow. I can’t go
looting on the Boulevard Saint Germain -
CHARLES
No, indeed -
GEORGES
Besides, I no longer have my pistol.
They both laugh.
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-------------CHARLES
(after a pause)
Come to dinner, tomorrow night.
Come and see the apartment. Come
and meet my wife.
He holds out his card. Georges hesitates.
GEORGES
The thing is, Charles... I don’t
have any evening clothes.
Another tiny pause, and then Charles digs into his pocket and
brings out a couple of gold coins. He throws them down on
the table. Georges stares at them, as if they were magic.
CHARLES
Buy some, hire some - but come at
seven thirty. Yes?
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---------------GEORGES
Yes.
CHARLES
I must be off -
He downs his champagne -
CHARLES
Georges Duroy! Extraordinary!
And then he’s gone.
Georges looks at the gold coins on the table. Only now can
he pick them up. He immediately puts one coin away, safe, in
his pocket.
He sees Rachel in one of the boxes, with her Fat Old Rich
Man. She perks up at the sight of Georges and the gold coin
in his hand. A real smile this time.
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INT. ATTIC ROOM - NIGHT
Georges and Rachel, up against Georges’ door, still clothed,
f^cking.
LATER -
Rachel has stayed the night. She is sitting cross-legged on
Georges’ bed, nak*d save for her choker, pinning her hair up,
curl by curl, while Georges watches, smoking his cigar.
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INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
Charles’ apartment building.
Georges stands in the foyer. He is wearing a hired evening
suit. It is slightly too small for him, and makes him feel
coarse and clumsy. He looks up at the grand, sumptuous
staircase and down at his battered old boots.
He climbs the stairs.
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INT. CHARLES’ APARTMENT - NIGHT
The Head Footman, PAUL, opens the door of Charles’ apartment.
He is wearing patent black leather shoes. His gaze sweeps
over Georges, taking in the boots in one terrible glance.
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