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Apt Pupil Page #7
TODD:
Forget it. I can't concentrate.
He pulls off his headphones in disgust and hands the rifle to
his father. Dick takes it and begins to reload it for him.
DICK:
I know your upset. So am I. So is your
mother.
TODD:
These honors classes... they aren't as easy
as I thought they'd be. I totally admit it,
I didn't prepare enough. I'm sorry.
DICK:
Well, fine, but now is not the time to slack
off. You got a chance to finish at the top of
your class--
TODD:
Nobody wants that more than I do, Dad.
DICK:
Well you haven't been hitting the books very
much.
TODD:
I know...
DICK:
And seeing as you're not playing soccer this
year it's not like you don't have enough
time--
TODD:
That still bothers you, doesn't it?
DICK:
(with difficulty)
No, son. If you weren't enjoying it, then
you shouldn't play.
TODD:
I think it bothers you and you're not telling
me.
Dick decides to take a shot himself. He readies himself and
fires.
DICK:
That was lousy. Here.
(gives the gun back to Todd)
I want to see your grades come up, buddy.
That's all that bothers me. And if you say
you need more time to study, then that's what
we'll do. The first thing is to cut out all
the time you spend reading to Mr. Denker.
It's a nice thing to do, but it's not helping
our school work a bit.
Dick is looking at his son, unsure if he has just seen a
contortion of rage on his son's face. But Todd is cocking the
rifle and...
DICK (CONT'D)
Hey, Todd. You still with me?
TODD:
Yeah... no. Dad, don't do that. Please.
Don't punish Mr. Denker for something that's
my fault. I mean, he'd be lost without me--
DICK:
He'll be fine without you. He was fine before
and he'll be fine after. There's nothing
wrong with wanting to help people, but you
gotta make sure you got yourself squared away
first. That's what matters.
Todd turns to face his father, and speaks to him with a new
seriousness.
TODD:
Dad, am I like other kids?
DICK:
Not by a long shot.
TODD:
Then trust me on this. Don't lose faith in
me because I blew a couple of exams. I will
get my grades back up. In fact I've already
started. Three days a week I go over to
Freddy Tremain's for extra help. He's a wiz
at trig. But please, Dad, whatever you do,
don't punish a helpless old man for something
that's my fault.
Pause.
DICK:
Did you practice that in front of a mirror or
something?
Todd smiles. Feeling his father caving in, he aims the rifle and
squeezes off a round. Dick keeps his eyes on Todd as he shoots.
DICK (CONT'D)
Hey, he's not...?
TODD:
(it takes him a second)
...No.
DICK:
Just checking.
(thinks for a moment)
All right... We'll give your way a shot. If
you think you can do it, if you really do,
and your serious, then... okay.
You really like the old guy, don't you?
TODD:
I'm making a difference in somebody's life.
It's that simple.
Todd aims the rifle down range and pulls the trigger. The gun
jams. Todd tries to move the lever but it gets stuck.
DICK:
Okay, okay.
(takes the rifle)
Don't ever force it. Watch.
Dick begins to methodically unjam the gun.
INT. DUSSANDER'S KITCHEN - DUSK
TITLE:
NOVEMBER 1984Dussander looks shabbier than in previous scenes. His clothes
and hair reflect an increasing disregard for personal
appearance. He goes to the basement door and, leaning carefully
over the steps, retrieves a fresh bottle from his stash, stored
precariously on some shelves leading down to the basement. He
comes back to the counter and cracks the bottle open. Todd's
irritated voice booms in from the living room.
TODD (O.S.)
Don't get too drunk. We still have a little
while.
Dussander mumbles contemptuously and then speaks so Todd can
hear him.
DUSSANDER:
You don't have to do that, you know.
INT. DUSSANDER'S LIVING ROOM - DUSK
Todd has built a fire, probably the first fire Dussander's
fireplace has seen in twenty years. The room is bathed in a
warm orange glow as the winter sun sets outside. Todd uses the
poker to adjust one of the logs.
TODD:
Screw you. I'm doing this for me. This
place is freezing.
Dussander comes back in with his drink and settles into his easy
chair, which has been positioned in front of the hearth.
DUSSANDER:
Yes, it must be fifty degrees outside. I'm
sure to you it seems positively frigid.
TODD:
Why didn't you pay your gas bill?
DUSSANDER:
It slipped my mind. I will attend to it
tomorrow.
TODD:
Slipped your mind. I noticed it didn't slip
your mind to stock up on a new case of
bourbon.
DUSSANDER:
Leave me alone.
Todd finishes with the fire and sits on the floor a few feet
away.
TODD:
All right, so finish your story, because I'm
still not clear. You cook up this stew, and
you bring the prisoner in, and you let them
smell it, and suddenly they tell you
everything?
DUSSANDER:
Oh, don't misunderstand me. Certainly with a
pistol pressed to their head, a prisoner
would tell us everything we wanted to know,
sometimes more. But mine was a much more ...
elegant method. Remember, it had been months
since they had smelled real potatoes
simmering over an open flame, and boy, when
that delicious odor hit their noses their
mouths would drop and out would pour an
account of every minor infraction their
friends had committed, I mean it was
magnificent...
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"Apt Pupil" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Aug. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/apt_pupil_206>.
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