Wes Anderson - The Grand Budapest Hotel

The evening meal. Most of the hotel staff occupy a long table set for fifty. A thin, grey broth is served with boiled potatoes. M. Gustave starts at a little podium, then paces back and forth in front of it as he addresses the group. They begin to eat hungrily – but, at the same time, they continue to listen, attentive and respectful.

M. GUSTAVE

Rudeness is merely the expression of fear. People fear they won’t get what they want. The most dreadful and unattractive person: only needs to be loved – and they will open up like a flower. I’m reminded of a verse. ( Reciting .) ‘The painter’s brush touched the inchoate face by ends of nimble bristles – and, with that blush of first color, rendered her lifeless cheek, living; though languish—’

As the poetry begins, some of the diners’ eye glaze over and there are faint sighs. Mr. Moustafa continues his narration:

MR. MOUSTAFA

( voice-over )

His own dinner, he took alone in his room.

Cut to:

M. Gustave seated at a folding table in a room nearly identical to Zero’s but with a connecting sitting room and kitchenette. He wears his uniform trousers and a white undershirt. He eats a bowl of cereal while listening to classical music on a radio set.

There are approximately twenty-five identical bottles of cologne on a shelf above the sink in the background. Each is labeled ‘L’Air de Panache: Pure Musk.’

EXT. FRONT ENTRANCE. DAY

A large sedan with tire-chains arrives through the snow and parks in front of the hotel. A sign next to five stars on the side of the hood reads: GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL. One of the back doors opens, and a tall man in a double-breasted suit emerges. He carries a briefcase and wears a pointy beard. He is Deputy Kovacs. He hurries to the top of the steps where M. Gustave waits to greet him.

MR. MOUSTAFA

( voice-over )

The identity of the owner of the hotel was unknown to all of us. Each month, his emissary, known as Deputy Kovacs, arrived to review the books and convey messages on behalf of the mysterious proprietor.

INT. LOBBY. DAY

Zero, substituting at the concierge desk, looks up to a high window across the room where the shadowy figures of M. Gustave and Deputy Kovacs meet in a storage pantry. A clerk with a pot belly flips the pages in a ledger book and takes notes. He is Herr Becker.

MR. MOUSTAFA

( voice-over )

On these occasions, M. Gustave and our business manager, Herr Becker, met with him in private consultation above Reception.

Cut to:

A plain, graceful, seventeen-year-old beanpole with freckles and a birthmark the shape of Mexico on the side of her face. She is Agatha. She works a rolling-pin over a wide expanse of flattened pastry dough. There are carts circled around her filled with trays of exceptionally well-made, beautifully decorated pastries shaped like hourglass figures. ( These are Courtesans au chocolat.)

MR. MOUSTAFA

( voice-over )

This was also when I met Agatha –

Agatha pauses to dry the perspiration on her brow with the back of her sleeve. She resumes her rolling.

EXT. BAKERY. DAY

The timber-frame storefront of a tiny patisserie. A large sign painted in delicate, pink cursive across the glass reads: MENDL’S. There is a heavy-set baker in an apron with flour over every inch of himself standing in the doorway. He is Herr Mendl.

Agatha rides a rickety bicycle up the alley next to the shop and rings a bell as she rattles down the cobblestone lane. She bears a milkmaid’s yoke balanced across her shoulders overloaded with sixty small, pink pastry-boxes tied with string.

Cut to:

Agatha gripping the handlebars as she bounces pedaling down the road.

MR. MOUSTAFA

( voice-over )

– but we won’t discuss that.

Title:

PART 2: ‘MADAME C.V. D. u.T.’

EXT. TOWN SQUARE. MORNING

Dawn. The platz in the center of Nebelsbad is deserted. Zero emerges briskly from a press kiosk carrying a thick stack of newspapers. He looks down, scanning headlines, as he crosses the street.

Zero stops. His eyes are glued to one of the articles. He skims it. He quickly re-reads it twice more. His mouth falls open.

He bolts off at a sprint.

EXT. FRONT ENTRANCE. MORNING

Zero races up the steps into the hotel carrying the stack of newspapers.

INT. LOBBY. MORNING

Zero dashes past Reception carrying the stack of newspapers.

INT. ROTUNDA. MORNING

Zero mounts the staircase three steps at a time carrying the stack of newspapers.

INT. CORRIDOR. MORNING

Zero speed-walks to the end of the hallway and stops in front of a door labeled PRINCE HEINRICH SUITE. A sign on the knob reads: ‘Do Not Disturb’. Zero hesitates, then knocks. Pause. The door opens a crack and an irritated M. Gustave in a purple, silk dressing gown looks out.

M. GUSTAVE

What do you want?

ZERO

( a frantic whisper )

Look.

Zero holds up the stack of newspapers. M. Gustave picks one off the top and studies it.

Insert:

The front page of the Trans-Alpine Yodel. The headline is: WILL THERE BE WAR? TANKS AT FRONTIER – but a column below the fold reads:

DOWAGER COUNTESS FOUND DEAD IN BOUDOIR.

A photograph shows Madame D.’s corpse flat on her back on a white carpet.

As M. Gustave reads the article, he says gravely:

M. GUSTAVE

Dear God.

ZERO

( sadly )

I’m terribly sorry, sir.

M. GUSTAVE

( melodramatic but pained )

We must go to her.

ZERO

( hesitates )

We must?

M. GUSTAVE

Tout de suite . She needs me – and I need you : to help me with my bags and so on.

An old woman’s voice calls from the next room, coquettish:

FRENCH LADY

( out of shot )

Tout va bien, ma chérie?

M. GUSTAVE

( sharply )

Attendez-moi , darling.

( to Zero: )

How fast can you pack?

ZERO

( short pause )

Five minutes.

M. GUSTAVE

Do it – and bring a bottle of the Pouilly-Jouvet ’26 in an ice bucket with two glasses so we don’t have to drink the cat-piss they serve in the dining car.

ZERO

Yes, sir.

M. Gustave slams the door, and Zero dashes away down the corridor.

INT. TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY

A first-class stateroom on the express to Lutz. The snowy foothills of the Zubrowkian Alps whiz by outside. M. Gustave and Zero each hold a glass of chilled white wine. There are tears in M. Gustave’s eyes.

M. GUSTAVE

I blame myself.

M. Gustave checks the color of the wine in the light. It is excellent.

M. GUSTAVE

She tried to tell me she had a premonition. I didn’t listen. ( Imagining the scene .) All of Lutz will be dressed in black – except her own ghastly, deceitful children whom she loathed and couldn’t bear to kiss hello. They’ll be dancing like gypsies.

Zero nods soberly. M. Gustave becomes philosophical/nihilistic:

There’s really no point in doing anything in life, because it’s all over in the blink of an eye – and, the next thing you know, rigor mortis sets in. Oh, how the good die young! With any luck, she’s left a few Klubecks for your old friend – ( motioning to himself ) but one never knows until the ink is dry on the death certificate. She was dynamite in the sack, by the way.