Bridge of Spies

TITLE OVER BLACK: 1957.

The height of the Cold War. The United States and the Soviet

Union fear each other’s nuclear capabilities - and

intentions. Both sides deploy spies - and hunt for them.

INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS

CLOSE ON AN ELDERLY MAN

Reflected in a grimy mirror. The mirror is propped up on a

chair next to an open window looking out from the fourth

floor onto a Brooklyn skyline.

Pull back to show the man sitting in a shabby

workshop/studio. He looks from the mirror down at a canvas

in front of him as he daubs paint onto a self-portrait.

The telephone rings.

The old man rests his brush on the easel and walks to a table

cluttered with papers and shortwave radios. He picks up the

phone and listens but doesn’t say anything.

FULTON STREET:

The old man, Rudolf Abel, emerges from the building, walks

along the street.

TITLE:
BROOKLYN

An Agent follows Abel.

SUBWAY TRAIN INTERIOR

The Agent watches Abel as the train stops at Broad Street.

The Agent, now joined by a second Agent, follows him at a

distance. Abel dabs at his nose with a handkerchief. The

agents lose him in the crush of commuters. They emerge from

the station and consult two other Agents. No sign of Abel.

First Agent heads back down the stair, smashing BANG right

into Abel, who’s coming up the stairs.

Abel looks up, surprised. Then mildly:

ABEL:

Excuse me.

The agent equally surprised watches as Abel makes his way

around him.

(CONTINUED)

12.17.14 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 2.

CONTINUED:

A distant siren fades up and crosses the cut to:

INT. CAR

The Agents drive past Abel, who is seated on a park bench

overlooking the East River, painting.

AGENT:

(to Driver)

Go ahead and park around the corner.

AT THE RIVERSIDE

Abel sets down his palette.

Close on his hand, adjusting his easel, then feeling under

the bench. His hand closes on something held by a magnet to

the bench’s steel frame below the wood seat-slats: it is a

nickel.

Back to Abel sitting. Picks up his palette...

MANHATTAN STREET

A seedy part of town. Abel walks toward a building, the

HOTEL LATHAM.

INSIDE THE ROOM:

As Abel lets himself in. A very modest room. He sets down

his portable easel and case. Sets his work-in-progress

canvass on a standing easel, drapes his jacket over a chair,

hangs his hat on the easel. He turns on a table fan.

He fishes the nickel from his pocket, retrieves a razor from

the bathroom and uses it to carefully to open it. It is

hollow.

Inside is a piece of paper, folded accordion-style into a

small square.

Abel unfolds it. Holds it up to a magnifier lamp. Written

on the paper, a sequence of numerals.

STREET OUTSIDE HOTEL

Two government cars skid to a stop and the Agents pour out.

HALLWAY:

The Agents run down the corridor.

12.17.14 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 3.

ABEL’S ROOM

Its door is being busted in.

The Agents swarm in. They have guns. They come up short.

The small room is empty. The easel with a work in progress

upon it stands before the window, which stands open, gentle

wind playing at the sheers.

Outside, a fire escape. The man seems to have left.

An Agent inspects a closed door. The bathroom --Rudolf

Abel steps out, in his briefs. Standing in the doorway,

cigarette in mouth, we see him as a frail, vulnerable old

man.

He freezes, not scared, just surprised. He looks at the men.

They look at him.

At last he speaks, with colorless, quasi-British accent.

ABEL:

Visitors.

A beat.

ABEL (CONT’D)

...Would you mind if I fetch my

teeth?

Two of the agents, Blasco and Gamber, look at each other,

confused. Abel gestures back towards the bathroom.

BLASCO:

Colonel, would you turn around

please.

Blasco turns Abel around, checks to make sure he’s not armed.

BLASCO (CONT’D)

Sit down. On the bed.

Blasco and Gamber walk him to the bed. He sits.

ABEL:

(gesturing toward

bathroom)

The teeth are on the sink...

(CONTINUED)

12.17.14 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 4.

CONTINUED:

GAMBER:

Look at me! We are agents from the

federal government.

Abel scans the Agents who surround him.

GAMBER (CONT’D)

Look at me! I’m talking to you. We

have received information concerning

your involvement in espionage. You

can either cooperate with us right

now or you’ll be under arrest. Do

you understand, Colonel?

Blasco heads into the bathroom.

ABEL:

Not really. Why do you keep calling

me “Colonel”?

Blasco returns and with care hands him his teeth. Abel puts

them in.

BLASCO:

You need to get dressed.

GAMBER:

We have to search your apartment.

Abel points at the art materials on the table.

ABEL:

Would you mind if I cleaned my

palette? The paints will get ruined

otherwise. Just behind you there.

I have a cloth, myself...

Abel stands. Blasco hands him his palette.

ABEL (CONT’D)

Thank you.

BLASCO:

(to the other men)

Start searching, please.

ABEL:

Would you put this out in the

ashtray. On the windowsill there.

(CONTINUED)

12.17.14 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 5.

CONTINUED:
(2)

While an Agent does this and the other Agents begin the

search, Abel, holding the palette, grabs a small scrap of

paper -- the one from the nickel bearing a series of

numerals.

As the agents explore the room, Abel uses the paper to wipe

the palette clean.

ABEL (CONT’D)

Don’t want this to get spoiled.

The wet paint obliterates the code. As the agents continue

to toss the room...

PRE-LAP

Mellow jazz piano...

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. THE HARVARD CLUB

Two middle-aged men sit in club chairs facing each other.

Each holds a tumbler of scotch.

DONOVAN:

Don’t say “my guy.” He’s not “my

guy.”

BATES:

Yes he’s your guy. Who’re we

talking about?

DONOVAN:

We’re talking about a guy who is

insured by my client. So don’t make

him “my guy.”

BATES:

Okay, fine, my point is he -- the

guy insured by your client -- he

doesn’t deny any of these things

happened -

DONOVAN:

“These things?”

BATES:

Yes. These five things.

DONOVAN:

Wait. Hold it, hold it, hold it.

Not five things, one thing.

(CONTINUED)

12.17.14 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 6.

CONTINUED:

BATES:

Clearly, it’s five things.

DONOVAN:

Well -- I’m sorry -- it’s not clear

to me. Five things? Explain it to

me.

BATES:

It’s self-evident.

DONOVAN:

Okay, then tell me what happened,

tell me the story in a way that

makes sense. For five things.

BATES:

Fine. Absolutely. Your guy -

DONOVAN:

Not my guy. Insured by my client.

BATES:

The guy insured by your client -- is

driving down State Highway 19 when

he loses control of his car, hits my

five guys. The five guys who hired

me to represent them because you’re

not honoring your claim.

DONOVAN:

You mean my client is not honoring

the claim. The insurance company.

BATES:

Mr. Donovan:
we’re all clear on

who’s who here.

DONOVAN:

Except, my client honors every

claim. They do, Mr. Bates, every

single legitimate claim. Up to the

limit of their liability, which is

$100,000 per accident in the case of

this man’s policy. And this is one

claim, according to your

description. “He hit my five guys.”

The guy insured by my client had one

accident, one one one, losing

control of the car and hitting five

motorcyclists.

Rate this script:3.0 / 2 votes