Four Rooms

MAIN TITLES:

As presentation credits begin, we hear Johnny Cash's "Home of the Blues."

Then we see Allison's name, under it Alex's, under that Robert's, under

that Quentin's, then under that the title logo for Four Rooms, followed by

"Starring Tim Roth as the Bellboy." Then "The Guests" listed in

alphabetical order of all the actors playing guests. After the actors'

names, we . . .

FADE UP ON A WALL

The camera pans down a weathered wall covered with postcards from Miami

Beach, Florida, the Copacabana, N.Y.C., "Wish You Were Here" from Niagara

Falls, rickshaws and babes on beaches, etc . . . .

The camera comes to rest on an old photograph of a 1930s hotel, the "Mon

Signor," in its heyday, with a full staff of 30 people posed on the lawn in

front.

An old guy with a staccato voice delivers a monologue:

VOICE-OVER

There used to be a staff of fifty in this place. I'm the only

one left from those days. It all comes down to one sap: the

night-shift bellhop, that's me. What the hell is a bellhop?

You know where the name comes from?

(silence)

Of course not. . . . It's so simple it's stupid. They ring a bell

and you hop. You hop to front and center. No heroes in this

line, kid. Just men doing a job. No questions asked, none

answered. I try to keep it simple, kid, not too personal. . . .

Another voice of a young man interrupts.

TED:

You met any of those old stars?

THE OLD GUY:

Stars! Are you kidding me? I took Rin Tin Tin out for a

sh*t, for Christ's sakes. I taught Shirley Temple how to

roller-skate. I saw Fatty Arbuckle regurgitate three cheese

sandwiches right on the spot you're sitting, kid. What did

you say your name was?

TED:

Ted.

THE OLD GUY:

Ted, right. I remember Marilyn used to come down at night

and doze off in the kitchen. She liked the sound of the fans

out back spinning around. Sure, these were stars, kid. Errol

Flynn used to call me "Alibi." You'll pick up a few stories

yourself, kid.

TED:

I don't think so, not like yours.

THE OLD GUY:

What do you think a star does when he goes to the bathroom, kid?

TED:

Beats me.

THE OLD GUY:

He pulls his pants down and takes a crap just like you and

me. Take my word for it.

A wisp of smoke passes over a napkin pinned to the wall with a lip print on

it signed "Marilyn." The camera pulls back to reveal Ted and the Old Guy

sitting on a foldout cot in a small back room of the Hotel Mon Signor. The

old man is dressed in a striped T-shirt with a bellhop's cap on. He looks

like an old pirate. Next to him on the bed sits Ted, a young guy with a

bellhop jacket draped over his knees. The old bellhop takes a long drag off

a big cigar.

THE OLD GUY:

Camacho!

TED:

Who?

THE OLD GUY:

The cigar. Cuban. A good cigar, wrapped in Miami. I get a

box of them every Christmas from the chairman of the

board. I think he sends them to me to keep my mouth shut.

It's tough not to get a little personal in this business.

The old bellhop takes a hit off his cigar and stares down at his cap, lost

in thought.

TED:

What do you mean?

The old guy passes the cap over to Ted.

THE OLD GUY:

Put it on.

Ted puts the cap on.

THE OLD GUY:

Frankly, you look stupid . . . like the Philip Morris guy. I

can't believe I wore that thing for fifty years. You keep it.

The Old Guy gets up from the bed and throws a jacket on. Pulls a few

postcards off the wall, throws them in an old straw suitcase, and slams the

lid down. He heads for the door. Ted follows.

THE OLD GUY:

Stay away from night clerks, kids, hookers, and marital disputes.

The Old Guy pauses for a second and looks Ted dead in the eye.

THE OLD GUY:

Never have sex with the clientele.

TED:

No way, not me. You got any other advice.

THE OLD GUY:

Always get a tip.

The door slams shut on the back room.

INT. HOTEL LOBBY--TWILIGHT

The big empty lobby of the Mon Signor. You can tell that at one point this

used to be a swank place. It still is, kinda. It's also kinda decrepit. The

concierge--a snappy, fast-talking, red-haired young woman in a blue blazer

named Betty--stands behind the reception desk. The old man, suitcase in

hand, makes a beeline through the lobby, heading toward the front door.

Betty sees him.

BETTY:

Sam! Hey, Sam, wait a minute!

The Old Guy stops in his tracks and turns around.

THE OLD GUY:

What?

Betty comes from behind the desk.

BETTY:

I just want to say good-bye.

THE OLD GUY:

Who are you?

BETTY:

Uhhh, Betty. The concierge. Your boss.

The Old Guy squints his eyes at the young gal.

THE OLD GUY:

Oh yeah. Gotta light, sister? Goddam cigar went out.

BETTY:

Yeah, sure.

She speaks to the Old Guy as she lights his cigar and he puffs away.

BETTY:

I just want you to know, from the owner and all the staff,

your fifty years of service have been an inspiration to us all.

You're a legend in your own time, and the Mon Signor will

never be the--

THE OLD GUY:

Just forward my cigars, Red.

(He turns around the walks out, saying over his shoulder)

Aufwiedersehen!

Betty is left standing in the lobby. Ted appears behind her in his bellbody

uniform, sans cap.

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