Transcription
F O RY O U RC O N S I D E R A T I O NBEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAYScreenplay byWes AndersonStory byWes Anderson and Hugo Guinness
BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAYScreenplay byWes AndersonStory byWes Anderson and Hugo Guinness 2013 TGBH LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PORTION OF THIS SCRIPT MAY BE PERFORMED,PUBLISHED, REPRODUCED, SOLD OR DISTRIBUTED BY ANY MEANS, OR QUOTED OR PUBLISHED INANY MEDIUM, INCLUDING ANY WEB SITE, WITHOUT THE PRIOR WRITTEN CONSENT OF TGBH LLC.DISPOSAL OF THIS SCRIPT COPY DOES NOT ALTER ANY OF THE RESTRICTIONS SET FORTH ABOVE.
EXT. CEMETERY. DAYThe present. A graveyard in the city-center of a greatEastern European capital. Frost covers the ground amongthe stones and between rows of leafless trees. Ateenaged girl in a beret and trench-coat with a wellread, dog-eared novel called THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTELtucked under her arm stands facing a tarnished bust of aslender, balding, spectacled old man. A bronze plaquebelow reads, in large letters:AUTHORINSERT:The plaque. There is a block of smaller text at thebottom which states simply:In Memory of Our National TreasureAll around the base of the statue, there are littlemetal hooks with hundreds of hotel-room keys of everyage and variety from all over the world hanging fromthem. The girl adds a new set to the tribute.INT. STUDY. DAYTwenty years ago. A cluttered office with French windowsand ornate mouldings. There are books in shelves andstacks, first editions, dictionaries, dime-store paperbacks, translations in numerous languages. There is atypewriter on the desk and an extensive collection ofliterary prizes on a bureau.The author, seventy-five and identical to his sculptedimage, sits with his hands clasped and addresses thecamera:AUTHORIt is an extremely common mistake: peoplethink the writer’s imagination is alwaysat work, that he is constantly inventingan endless supply of incidents andepisodes, that he simply dreams-up hisstories out of thin air. In point offact, the opposite is true. Once thepublic knows you are a writer, they bringthe characters and events to you -- andas long as you maintain your ability tolook and carefully listen, these storieswill continue to seek you out -A six-year-old boy dressed in a grey military uniformwith short trousers appears next to the desk and pointsa miniature Luger pistol at the author. The author warnshim, icy:
2.AUTHORDon’t do it. Don’t!The boy hesitates, then fires. A yellow, plastic pelletricochets off the author’s chest and rings against awhiskey glass as the author makes a violent lunge forthe boy -- who evades him and dashes off. The authorlooks at a note-card and rambles a bit, searching forhis place:AUTHOROver your lifetime. I can’t tell you howmany times. Somebody comes up to me.(back on track)To him who has often told the tales ofothers, many tales will be told.The boy returns, the gun now tucked under his belt, andsits, immediately comfortable, on the author’s lap withthe old man’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. Theconflict seems never to have existed. They both lookinto the camera as the author concludes:AUTHORThe incidents that follow were describedto me exactly as I present them here, andin a wholly unexpected way.EXT. MOUNTAIN RANGE. DAYThe late sixties. A stunning view from a rusty, ironlattice terrace suspended over a deep crevasse, greenand lush, alongside a high cascade. The author continuesin voice-over as the camera glides along a cracked paththrough a plot of untamed edelweiss and buttercups:AUTHOR (V.O.)A number of years ago, while sufferingfrom a mild case of “Scribe’s Fever” (aform of neurasthenia common among theintelligentsia of that time) I haddecided to spend the month of August inthe spa town of Nebelsbad below theAlpine Sudetenwaltz -- and had taken uprooms in the Grand Budapest -The camera comes to a stop as it reveals a sprawlingnineteenth-century hotel and baths situated on a wideplateau. There is a deep, formidable staircase up to aregal entrance. There is a promenade above and a glasspanelled conservatory below. A rickety funicular groansas it slowly climbs its hillside tracks. The grass needscutting, the roof needs patching, and more or less everysurface of the building needs a coat of paint.
3.AUTHOR (V.O.)-- a picturesque, elaborate, and oncewidely-celebrated establishment. I expectsome of you will know it. It was offseason and, by that time, decidedly outof-fashion; and it had already begun itsdescent into shabbiness and eventualdemolition.MONTAGE:The nine other guests of the hotel each observed from arespectful distance: a frail student; a fat businessman;a burly hiker with a St. Bernard; a schoolteacher withher hair in a bun; a doctor; a lawyer; an actor; and soon.AUTHOR (V.O.)What few guests we were had quickly cometo recognize one another by sight as theonly living souls residing in the vastestablishment -- although I do notbelieve any acquaintance among our numberhad proceeded beyond the polite nods weexchanged as we passed in the Palm Courtand the Arabian Baths and onboard theColonnade Funicular. We were a veryreserved group, it seemed -- and, withoutexception, solitary.CUT TO:An enormous, half-abandoned dining room. There are twohundred tables and fifty chandeliers. The ten guestssit, each on his or her own, at their separate tables,widely-spaced across the giant restaurant. A waitercarries a tray a great distance to the schoolteacher andserves her a plate of peas.INT. LOBBY. EVENINGThere are faded couches, fraying armchairs, and coffeetables with new, plastic tops. The carpets arethreadbare, and the lighting in each area is either toodim or too bright. A concierge with a crooked nosesmokes a cigarette as he lingers behind his desk. He isM. Jean.(NOTE: the staff of the hotel in both the relevant timeperiods wear similar versions of the same purple uniform-- while the public spaces reflect a cycle of “regimechanges”.)On the wall behind M. Jean, there is a beautiful,Flemish painting of a pale, young boy holding a piece ofgolden fruit. This is “Boy with Apple”. A patch of water-
4.damage above seeps dangerously close to the pictureframe.The author (a fictionalized version of himself) wandersinto the room with his hands in his pockets. He has darkcircles under his eyes.AUTHOR (V.O.)Perhaps as a result of this generalsilence, I had established a casual andbantering familiarity with the hotel’sconcierge, a West-continental known onlyas M. Jean, who struck one as being, atonce, both lazy and, really, quiteaccommodating.M. Jean quickly stubs out his cigarette as the authorapproaches -- and tucks the butt into his coat pocket.AUTHOR (V.O.)I expect he was not well-paid.The author and M. Jean chat amicably as they study apamphlet of Alpine tourist sites.AUTHOR (V.O.)In any case, one evening, as I stoodconferring elbow-to-elbow with M. Jean,as had become my habit, I noticed a newpresence in our company.At the far end of a colonnade, beyond Reception, a darkskinned, white-haired seventy-year-old man in a threepiece-suit sits alone smoking a pipe. He is Mr. Moustafa.AUTHOR (V.O.)A small, elderly man, smartly dressed,with an exceptionally lively, intelligentface -- and an immediately perceptibleair of sadness. He was, like the rest ofus, alone -- but also, I must say, he wasthe first that struck one as being,deeply and truly, lonely. (A symptom ofmy own medical condition, as well.)Mr. Moustafa drinks a sip of sherry. The author lowershis voice and asks discreetly:AUTHOR (V.O.)“Who’s this interesting, old fellow,” Iinquired of M. Jean. To my surprise, hewas distinctly taken aback. “Don’t youknow?” he asked. “Don’t you recognizehim?” He did look familiar. “That’s Mr.Moustafa himself! He arrived early thismorning.”
5.The author looks to Mr. Moustafa again. Mr. Moustafa isnow staring directly back at the author. The authorquickly looks away and examines a detail in the woodworkon the ceiling.AUTHOR (V.O.)This name will, no doubt, be familiar tothe more seasoned persons among you. Mr.Zero Moustafa was, at one time, therichest man in Zubrowka; and was still,indeed, the owner of the Grand Budapest.“He often comes and stays a week or more,three times a year, at least -- but neverin the season.” M. Jean signalled to me,and I leaned closer. “I’ll tell you asecret. He takes only a single-bedsleeping-room without a bath in the rearcorner of the top floor -- and it’ssmaller than the service elevator!”The author seems genuinely intrigued by thisinformation. He nods thoughtfully.AUTHOR (V.O.)It was well-known: Moustafa had purchasedand famously inhabited some of the mostlavish castles and pallazzos on thecontinent -- yet, here, in his own,nearly-empty hotel, he occupied aservant’s quarters?M. Jean frowns. The fat businessman, sitting at a tablein the middle of the lobby drinking hot chocolate andeating biscotti -- appears to be choking to death.AUTHOR (V.O.)At that moment the curtain rose on aparenthetical, domestic drama whichrequired the immediate and completeattention of M. Jean -M. Jean dashes out from behind his desk. As he performsan improvised version of the Heimlich maneuver on thefat businessman, the German hiker enters the lobby withhis St. Bernard. The rescue dog, sensing a human indistress, charges avidly, hurdling three tables andjostling the dessert cart, and arrives at the fatbusinessman’s side just as a significant hunk ofbiscotti rockets out of his mouth, into the air, andlands on a saucer at the next table. M. Jean immediatelydetaches a cask hanging from the dog’s neck, pours agenerous shot of brandy into a water glass, and forcesit down the fat businessman’s throat.
6.AUTHOR (V.O.)-- but, frankly, did not hold mine forlong.The other guests of the hotel begin to gather around thegasping victim as the author makes his way into theelevator. He presses a button, and the doors close.MONTAGE:The author appears pensive as he: lies in bed that nightstaring up at the ceiling; sits in the dining room atbreakfast eating toast and gazing into space; and floatsthrough the conservatory ignoring flora at noon. He nodsto the schoolteacher sketching an orchid. She smiles andnods back.AUTHOR (V.O.)However, this premature intermission inthe story of the curious, old man hadleft me, as the expression goes,gespannant wie ein Flitzebogen, that is,on the edge of my seat -- where Iremained throughout the next morninguntil, in what I have found to be itsmysterious and utterly reliable fashion:fate, once again, intervened on mybehalf.INT. SPA. DAYA steamy, underground mineral baths. Miniature tiles ofvarious shapes and intricate patterns cover every inchof the walls, floors, and ceiling. Distant voices echofaintly through succeeding chambers.A longa bluestyle.from arow of identical, adjacent cubicles each containstub and is tiled in a more recent, utilitarianThe author soaks in one of them. He shakes saltscarton into the water and stirs it.A voice interrupts from off-screen:MR. MOUSTAFA (O.S.)I admire your work.The author hesitates. He looks around. He is not surewhich general direction the voice came from.AUTHORI beg your pardon?MR. MOUSTAFA (O.S.)I said, I know and admire your wonderfulwork.
7.There is a small splash, and Mr. Moustafa leans intoview from behind a partition where he himself is soakingin a cubicle three tubs over. He wears a bathing cap.The author sits up straight and says formally:AUTHORThank you most kindly, sir.MR. MOUSTAFA(teasing slightly)Did M. Jean have a word or two to sharewith you about the aged proprietor ofthis establishment?AUTHOR(reluctantly)I must confess, sir, I did, myself,inquire about you.MR. MOUSTAFA(resigned)He’s perfectly capable, of course, M.Jean -- but we can’t claim he’s a firstor, in earnest, even second-rateconcierge.(sadly)But there it is. Times have changed.The author nods, attentive. He changes the subject toobserve encouragingly, motioning toward the plungingpool across the hall:AUTHORThe thermal baths are very beautiful.MR. MOUSTAFA(gently)They were, in their first condition. Itcouldn’t be maintained, of course. Toodecadent for current tastes -- but I loveit all, just the same. This enchanting,old ruin.Mr. Moustafa looks wistfully around the vaulted space.The author squints, holds up a finger, and asksgingerly:AUTHORHow did you come to buy it, if I may ask?The Grand Budapest.Pause. Mr. Moustafa disappears back behind thepartition. The author looks slightly puzzled. Mr.Moustafa immediately reappears, but he has turnedhimself around in the tub and is now facing the oppositedirection so he can more comfortably rest in view. He
8.props his elbow onto the edge of the bath. His eyestwinkle as he says:I didn’t.MR. MOUSTAFAAt this moment, one of the matrons of the hammam blaststhe fat, now naked, businessman with a jet of icy water.He hollers as he is sprayed-down. Silence.Mr. Moustafa and the author look back to each other.Each has raised an eyebrow. They both smile slightly.MR. MOUSTAFAIf you’re not merely being polite (andyou must tell me if that’s the case), butif it genuinely does interest you: may Iinvite you to dine with me tonight, andit will be my pleasure and, indeed, myprivilege to tell you -- “my” story. Suchas it is.INT. DINING ROOM. NIGHTThe enormous restaurant as before -- but now one of thetables has been set for two and is occupied by theauthor and Mr. Moustafa. The nine other guests watch,curious, from their usual spots.Mr. Moustafa stares at the wine list as he rattles off arobust order (oysters, soup, rabbit, fowl, lamb). “Boywith Apple” is on the cover of the menu. The waiterdeparts.MR. MOUSTAFAThat should provide us ample time -- if Icommence promptly.AUTHORBy all means.Another waiter arrives to uncork a split of champagneand pours a thimbleful. Mr. Moustafa tastes it and nods.The waiter pours two, full coupes. They each drink along sip. Finally, Mr. Moustafa settles in:MR. MOUSTAFAIt begins, as it must, with our mutualfriend’s predecessor. The beloved,original concierge of the Grand Budapest.(with deep affection)It begins, of course, with --
9.TITLE:Part 1: “M. Gustave”INT. SITTING ROOM. DAYThe early thirties. A double-reception salon with highceilings and two couches. There are six trunks and eightsuitcases arranged neatly at the side of the room. Eachis painted with the initials Mdm. C.V.D.u.T. Outside, alight snow falls.A tall, blond, forty-year-old concierge stands patientlyalone surveying the room. He is tranquil, perfectlycomposed, waiting. He wears the faintest hint ofmascara. He is M. Gustave.M. Gustave crosses swiftly to the door and opens it justas a contingent of hotel staff arrives together fromdown the corridor. There are two waiters, two footmen,two bellboys, and an Arab teenager, small, cheerful, andalert, who appears to be some kind of page. He is Zero.One of the waiters carries a table, and one carries abreakfast tray. M. Gustave ushers them in:M. GUSTAVEBring the table to the window.FIRST WAITERYes, M. Gustave.M. GUSTAVEBring the tray to the table.SECOND WAITERRight away, M. Gustave.M. GUSTAVE(pointing to two hats)Have those been brushed and blocked?FOOTMANOf course, M. Gustave.M. GUSTAVEPack them in the hat boxes.(pointing to a shopping bag)Is that from Oberstdorf and Company?BELLBOYI believe so, M. Gustave.M. GUSTAVESecond trunk. Who has the tickets?
10.Zero raises his hand.ZEROI do, M. Gustave.M. GUSTAVEGive them to me.Zero hands M. Gustave a set of train tickets. M. Gustavestudies them carefully. He nods and points.M. GUSTAVEThese are in order. Wait in the corner.Zero retreats. M. Gustave strides to the bedroom door,raps on it briefly, then swings it open.M. GUSTAVEGood morning, Madame. Your breakfast isserved. The sitting room is a battlefieldat the moment, but rest assured, you willbe en route in precisely -(checks his watch)-- eleven minutes. You look heavenly.Pray be seated.An immaculately-dressed, eighty-year-old woman emergesfrom the bedroom, nimble, brisk -- and highly agitated.She is Madame D. She is followed by two young women, alady’s maid and a private secretary, who quickly jointhe hubbub fidgeting with trunks and rushing to-and-fropreparing for their departure.M. Gustave waits for Madame D. to sit, then joins her;at which point, she immediately leans across to him andsays in a gravely serious, urgent whisper:MADAME D.I’m not leaving.M. GUSTAVE(puzzled)Why not?MADAME D.I’m frightened.Of what?M. GUSTAVEMADAME D.I feel this may be the last time we eversee each other.M. GUSTAVEWhy on earth would that be the case?
11.MADAME D.I can’t put it into words -- but I feelit.M. GUSTAVEWell, for goodness’ sake, there’s noreason for you to leave us if -MADAME D.Is there a priest in the hotel?M. GUSTAVEOf course, not.MADAME D.There should be. I’ve always said so.M. GUSTAVEWell, I’ve always profoundly disagreed.The Grand Budapest is no place forclergy.MADAME D.Come with me.M. Gustave hesitates slightly. He gestures to thetickets and speculates in disbelief:To Lutz?M. GUSTAVEMADAME D.(desperately)Please.M. GUSTAVE(wildly frustrated)How can I? With this enormous rock-pilearound my neck like an albatross.(taking charge)Tell me right now -- wholly,specifically, and without abbreviation:what’s troubling you?(surprised)Are you weeping?Tears have begun to stream down Madame D’s cheeks. M.Gustave produces a dazzling pink handkerchief and driesher eyes. The old woman takes a deep breath.MADAME D.Let us pray.Madame D. closes her eyes, lowers her chin, and crossesherself. M. Gustave reluctantly follows suit. Silence.Madame D. snaps one eye back open suddenly:
12.Well?MADAME D.M. GUSTAVE(surprised)You want me to do it?MADAME D.(with authority)If you don’t mind.M. GUSTAVE(instantly)Dear heavenly Father, please, protect ourcherished guest as she travels throughsnow and sleet and under shadow ofdarkness. Guide her in the night to herfinal destination. Indeed, whateverluxury she may require, be it small ormore extravagant, please, do grant -MADAME D.(now with both eyes open)That’s not a proper prayer.M. GUSTAVEGive me your hand.Madame D. does so. M. Gustave firmly clasps it. He saysin an affectionate, reassuring, patronizing voice:M. GUSTAVEYou’ve nothing to fear. You’re alwaysanxious before you travel. I admit youappear to be suffering a more acuteattack on this occasion, but, truly andhonestly -(suddenly taken aback)Dear God. What’ve you done to yourfingernails?Madame D. wears an understated, pale-pink polish. Shestiffens.MADAME D.I beg your pardon?M. GUSTAVEThis diabolical varnish. The color’scompletely wrong.MADAME D.(slightly uncertain)Really? You don’t like it?
13.M. GUSTAVEIt’s not that I don’t like it. I’mphysically repulsed.(checks his watch again)Time to go!INT. CORRIDOR. DAYThe procession of trunks, cases, and assistants goes inone direction, and M. Gustave, Madame D, and Zero(carrying a small leather jewel case) go in the other.CUT TO:The elevator on its way down. M. Gustave sits withMadame D. (now wearing gloves) on a velvet-upholsteredbench. She clutches his arm and looks deeply concerned.Zero stands at attention with the jewel case alongside aveteran elevator operator.M. GUSTAVEPerhaps this will soothe you.MADAME D.(alarmed)What? Don’t recite.M. GUSTAVEJust listen to the words.MADAME D.(anxious)Please. Not now.Hush!M. GUSTAVE(declaiming gently)“While questing once in noble wood ofgrey, medieval pine, I came upon a tomb,rain-slick’d, rubbed-cool, ethereal; itsinscription long-vanished, yet stillwithin its melancholy fissures --”Madame D. sighs deeply yet does seem to calm somewhat asshe accepts the inevitability of these stanzas.EXT. FRONT ENTRANCE. DAYThe trunks are piled on the roof of a long, silverlimousine. More suitcases stick out of the rumble seat(along with the two bellboys). Madame D. and hersecretary sit inside the car. M. Gustave reaches in thewindow and tightens a fur stole around Madame D’sshoulders.
14.MADAME D.Will you light a candle for me, please?In the sacristy at Santa Maria.Madame D. digs a five Klubeck coin out of her handbagand presses it into M. Gustave’s hand. He accepts it:M. GUSTAVEI’ll see to it myself immediately.(saintly)Remember: I’m always with you.M. Gustave begins to withdraw, but Madame D. grips hisshoulder tightly. She whispers, sincere and impassioned,what she fears will be their last communication:MADAME D.I love you.M. GUSTAVE(as if to a child)I love you.(barking at the driver)Abfahren!The driver hits the gas. M. Gustave watches as thevehicle races away, spitting ice-chips off the packedsnow. Zero lingers outside the front door. M. Gustavesays with discreet pride as he continues to stare offdown the road into the village of Nebelsbad:M. GUSTAVEIt’s quite a thing winning the loyalty ofa woman like that for nineteenconsecutive seasons.Zero hesitates -- uncertain that he is, in fact, beingaddressed. He ventures:Yes, sir.ZEROM. GUSTAVEShe’s very fond of me, you know.Yes, sir.ZEROM. GUSTAVEI’ve never seen her like that before.No, sir.ZERO
15.M. GUSTAVE(mildly concerned)She was shaking like a shitting dog.Truly.ZERO(unfamiliar with the expression)M. Gustave holds out the five Klubeck coin, stillstaring off into the distance, and says rapidly thoughdistracted:M. GUSTAVERun to the cathedral of Santa MariaChristiana in Brucknerplatz. Buy one ofthe plain, half-length candles and takeback four Klubecks in change. Light it inthe sacristy, say a brief rosary, then goto Mendl’s and get me a Courtesan auchocolat. If there’s any money left, giveit to the crippled shoe-shine boy.M. Gustave points to a blind child in leg bracescrouched at the top of the funicular tracks. The boywhistles a war march while he polishes a man’s boots.ZERORight away, sir.Zero nods briskly and takes the coin. M. Gustave lookssquarely at him for the first time.Hold it.M. GUSTAVEZero freezes, poised to dash off. M. Gustave frownsslightly. He says finally, pointing:M. GUSTAVEWho are you?ZERO(stammering)Zero, sir. The new Lobby Boy.M. GUSTAVE(mystified)Zero, you say?Yes, sir.ZEROM. GUSTAVEWell, I’ve never heard of you. I’ve neverlaid eyes on you. Who hired you?
16.ZERO(worried)Mr. Mosher, sir.M. GUSTAVE(sharply)Mr. Mosher!M. Gustave snaps his fingers. A man with neat, oily hairand a thin moustache briskly approaches. He is Mr.Mosher.MR. MOSHERYes, M. Gustave?M. GUSTAVEAm I to understand you’ve surreptitiouslyhired this young man in the position of aLobby Boy?MR. MOSHERHe’s been engaged for a trial period -pending your approval, of course.M. GUSTAVE(vaguely remembering)Perhaps. Thank you, Mr. Mosher.MR. MOSHERYou’re most welcome, M. Gustave.M. Gustave looks back to Zero. He says ominously:M. GUSTAVEYou’re now going to be officiallyinterviewed.INT. LOBBY. DAYM. Gustave strides through the front doors. Zero isquickly at his heels, terrified. M. Gustave withdraws asmall note-book from his pocket as they walk. Zero asks,uncertain:ZEROShould I go and light the candle first?M. GUSTAVE(not sure what he means)What? No.(starting the interview)Experience?
17.ZERO(anxious, very formal)Hotel Kinski, Kitchen Boy, six months.Hotel Berlitz, Mop and Broom Boy, threemonths. Before that I was a SkilletScrubber in the banquet hall at -M. GUSTAVE(noting this)Experience: zero.At this moment, a criss-crossing group of peoplesimultaneously engage M. Gustave all at once. They are:a man in a finely-tailored business suit with a pair ofopera tickets in his hand, a doorman in a long coatholding a bouquet of white roses, and a tiny bellboy.(This is Anatole.)HOTEL GUEST NO.1Thank you again, M. Gustave.M. GUSTAVE(curtly to Anatole)Straighten that cap, Anatole.(warmly to the hotel guest)The pleasure is mine, Herr Schneider.ANATOLE(working on it)The damn strap’s busted.M. GUSTAVE(studying the roses)These are not acceptable.DOORMANI agree, M. Gustave.Suddenly, M. Gustave and Zero are alone again. M.Gustave resumes his interrogation as they proceed acrossthe carpet:Education?M. GUSTAVEZERO(worried)I studied reading and spelling. Icompleted my primary school certificate.I almost started -M. GUSTAVE(noting this)Education: zero.
18.A second criss-crossing group of people now engage M.Gustave. This time: a very old washroom attendantcarrying a monkey-wrench, the head waiter wearing anapron and waving a menu, and a woman of a certain age ina beautifully-embroidered dress with a small dachshundcradled in her arms.WASHROOM ATTENDANTNow it’s exploded.M. GUSTAVE(sweetly to the dachshund)Good morning, Cicero.(coldly to the washroom attendant)Call the goddamn plumber.HOTEL GUEST NO.2(flirtatious)This afternoon, M. Gustave?HEAD WAITER(angrily)What in the hell is this?M. GUSTAVE(equally flirtatious)Without fail, Frau Liebling.(sharply to the head waiter)Not now!The second interruption ends. M. Gustave continues:Family?Zero.I see.M. GUSTAVEZERO(long pause)M. GUSTAVE(noting this)M. Gustave leads Zero through a rotunda, below a grand,winding staircase, and back into the elevator. He closeshis note-book. The elevator operator awaits instruction.Six.M. GUSTAVEThe elevator operator throws a lever and they begin toascend. M. Gustave locks eyes with Zero.M. GUSTAVEWhy do you want to be a Lobby Boy?
19.The elevator operator casts a side-ways look. Zerosearches for the honest answer -- then finds it:ZEROWell, who wouldn’t -- at the GrandBudapest, sir? It’s an institution.M. GUSTAVE(deeply impressed)Very good.INT. SITTING ROOM. DAYM. Gustave and Zero re-enter Madame D’s suite. M.Gustave walks directly over to a pedestal where anenvelope waits tucked beneath a vase. He tears it openand withdraws a letter and a stack of bills folded inhalf. He counts the money and says coolly:M. GUSTAVEA thousand Klubecks.ZERO(astonished)My goodness.M. Gustave skims the letter. He holds it up for Zero tosee. There is a lipstick-kiss at the bottom of the text.Zero is unsure how to interpret this. M. Gustave raiseshis eyebrows and tucks the note and the bills inside hisjacket. His eyes glaze over in a moment of reverie. Hesighs. Zero makes a sudden realization:ZEROWere you ever a Lobby Boy, sir?M. GUSTAVE(bristling but playful)What do you think?ZERO(speculative)Well, I suppose you had to start -M. GUSTAVEGo light the goddamn candle.TITLE:One Month LaterINT. LOBBY. DAYThe crowded room buzzes in all corners. Zero circulatesamong tables and sofas holding up a folded telegramwhile he calls out a name, searching. A military officer
20.in a grey uniform hails him, and Zero dashes over todeliver the missive.MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)And so, my life began. Junior Lobby Boy(in-training), Grand Budapest Hotel,under the strict command of M. Gustave H.I became his pupil, and he was to be mycounselor and guardian.M. GUSTAVE (V.O.)(rhetorical)What is a Lobby Boy?MONTAGE:Zero pushes an old man in a wheelchair. Zero arranges awhite bouquet. Zero replaces dirty ashtrays, rearrangesfurniture, and shields a large woman with a toothpickfrom view as she excavates between her teeth.M. GUSTAVE (V.O.)A Lobby Boy is completely invisible, yetalways in sight. A Lobby Boy rememberswhat people hate. A Lobby Boy anticipatesthe client’s needs before the needs areneeded. A Lobby Boy, above all, isdiscreet, to a fault.CUT TO:M. Gustave, accompanied by Zero, advancing down acorridor at high velocity. On the floor next to eachdoor they pass, a pair of shoes waits to be polished.M. GUSTAVEOur guests’ know their deepest secrets,some of which are, frankly, ratherunseemly, will go with us to our graves -so keep your mouth shut, Zero.Yes, sir.ZEROM. Gustave stops at the end of the hallway in front of adoor labelled KAISER FREDERICK SUITE. He says to Zero:M. GUSTAVEThat’s all for now.Zero hesitates for an instant, then nods and reversesrapidly away. M. Gustave withdraws a ring of pass-keysfrom his pocket. He looks up and down the corridorfurtively.
21.MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)I began to realize that many of thehotel’s most valued and distinguishedguests -- came for him.Zero looks back briefly over his shoulder as he startsdown the staircase and sees M. Gustave slip into thesuite. The door locks.MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)It seemed to be an essential part of hisduties, but I believe it was also hispleasure.MONTAGE:A succession of dames of varying grandeurs seen tête-àtête with M. Gustave: a sixty-year-old Russian chatswith him in the tea salon; a sixty-five-year-old Germanstrolls with him on the promenade; a seventy-year-oldArgentinian shares a cigarette with him naked in herbed; a seventy-five-year-old Englishwoman washes hisback in her bath; and an eighty-year-old Austrianwearing a hair-net and a nightgown gives him a blow-jobwhile he watches in the mirror and eats grapes. There isa platinum wig on a stand on the dressing table.MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)The requirements were always the same.They had to be: rich, old, insecure,vain, superficial, blonde, needy.CUT TO:Mr. Moustafa and the author at their dinner table. Theremains of a rabbit tart are replaced by a sizeable,roasted pheasant as the author gently inquires:AUTHORWhy blonde?MR. MOUSTAFA(after a moment’s reflection)Because they all were.INT. ELEVATOR. DAYM. Gustave, somewhat tousled, with lipstick on hischeek, stands waiting to arrive at his floor. He checksthe railings for dust. The car stops and the elevatoroperator opens the gate. M. Gustave exits with a curtnod. A middle-aged couple enter.
22.MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)He was, by the way, the most liberallyperfumed man I had ever encountered. Thescent announced his approach from a greatdistance and lingered for many minutesafter he was gone.As the elevator descends, the middle-aged couple sniffsthe air. The man looks irritated. The woman swoonsslightly.INT. STAFF QUARTERS. MORNINGZero wakes up in the pitch black in a tiny room smallerthan a service elevator, turns on the light, springs tohis feet dressed in white pajamas with short trousers,splashes water from a bowl onto his face, then quicklydampens and combs his hair. His uniform hangs neatlyfrom a peg on the wall. He carefully grooms it with aclothes-brush.MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)I worked six days each week plus a ha
Screenplay by Wes Anderson Story by Wes Anderson and Hugo Guinness. EXT. CEMETERY. DAY The present. A graveyard in the city-center of a great Eastern European capital. Frost covers the ground among the stones and between rows of leafless trees
