It's a Wonderful Life Page #24

GEORGE:

Oh, I don't know. Either I'm off my nut, or he is . . .

(to Clarence) . . . or you are!

CLARENCE:

It isn't me!

GEORGE:

Well, maybe I left the car up at Martini's. Well, come on,

Gabriel.

He puts his arm around Clarence, and they start off up the road.

CLARENCE (as they go)

Clarence!

GEORGE:

Clarence! Clarence!

WIPE TO:

INTERIOR NICK'S BAR �� NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT �� It is Martini's place, but almost unrecognizable.

The cheerful Italian feeling is gone. It is now more of a hard-

drinking joint, a

honky-tonk. Same bar, tables have no covers. People are lower

down and tougher. Nick the bartender is behind the bar. George

and Clarence come in.

George does not notice the difference, but Clarence is all eyes

and beaming. They go up to the bar.

GEORGE (as they come in)

That's all right. Go on in. Martini's a good friend of mine.

Two people leave the bar as they approach.

GEORGE (cont'd)

There's a place to sit down. Sit down.

MEDIUM CLOSEUP �� Nick is wiping off the bar as they sit down.

GEORGE (cont'd)

Oh, hello, Nick. Hey, where's Martini?

NICK:

You want a martini?

GEORGE:

No, no, Martini. Your boss. Where is he?

NICK (impatient)

Look, I'm the boss. You want a drink or don't you?

GEORGE:

Okay �� all right. Double bourbon, quick, huh?

NICK:

Okay.

(to Clarence)

What's yours?

CLARENCE:

I was just thinking . . .

(face puckers up with delicious anticipation)

It's been so long since I . . .

NICK (impatient)

Look, mister, I'm standing here waiting for you to make up your

mind.

CLARENCE (appreciatively)

That's a good man. I was just thinking of a flaming rum punch.

No, it's not cold enough for that. Not nearly cold enough . . .

Wait a

minute . . . wait a minute . . . I got it. Mulled wine, heavy on

the cinnamon and light on the cloves. Off with you, me lad, and

be lively!

NICK:

Hey, look mister, we serve hard drinks in here for men who want

to get drunk fast. And we don't need any characters around to

give the joint atmosphere.

Is that clear? Or do I have to slip you my left for a convincer?

As he says this, Nick leans over the counter and puts his left

fist nearly in Clarence's eye. Clarence is puzzled by this

conduct.

CLARENCE (to George)

What's he talking about?

GEORGE (soothingly)

Nick �� Nick, just give him the same as mine. He's okay.

NICK:

Okay.

Nick turns away to get the drinks.

GEORGE:

What's the matter with him. I never saw Nick act like that

before.

CLARENCE:

You'll see a lot of strange things from now on.

GEORGE:

Oh, yeah. Hey, little fellow �� you worry me. You got someplace

to sleep?

CLARENCE:

No.

GEORGE:

You don't huh? Well, you got any money?

Nick is listening suspiciously to this conversation.

CLARENCE:

No.

GEORGE:

No wonder you jumped in the river.

CLARENCE:

I jumped in the river to save you so I could get my wings.

Nick stops pouring the drinks, bottle poised in his hand.

GEORGE:

Oh, that's right.

A cash register bell rings off stage. Clarence reacts to the

SOUND of the bell.

CLARENCE:

Oh-oh. Somebody's just made it.

GEORGE:

Made what?

CLARENCE:

Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel's just

got his wings.

George glances up at Nick.

GEORGE:

Look, I think maybe you better not mention getting your wings

around here.

CLARENCE:

Why? Don't they believe in angels?

GEORGE (looking at Nick)

A . . . Yeah, but . . . you know . . .

CLARENCE:

Then why should they be surprised when they see one?

GEORGE (to Nick)

He never grew up. He's . . .

(to Clarence) How old are you, anyway, Clarence?

CLARENCE:

Two hundred and ninety-three . . .

(thinks) . . . next May.

Nick slams the bottle down on the counter.

NICK:

That does it! Out you two pixies go, through the door or out the

window!

GEORGE:

Look, Nick. What's wrong?

NICK (angrily)

And that's another thing. Where do you come off calling me Nick?

GEORGE:

Well, Nick, that's your name, isn't it?

NICK:

What's that got to do with it? I don't know you from Adam's off

ox.

(sees someone come in)

Hey, you! Rummy! Come here! Come here!

CLOSE SHOT �� a small wreck of a man, with weak, watery eyes.

Obviously a broken-down panhandler, his hat in his hand.

CLOSEUP �� George. He can hardly believe his eyes. It is Gower

the druggist.

BACK TO SHOT �� Nick at the bar.

NICK (to Gower)

Didn't I tell you never to come panhandling around here?

Nick picks up a seltzer bottle, and squirts Gower in the face

with it. The crowd laugh brutally. Gower smiles weakly as the

soda runs off his face.

CLOSE SHOT �� George, horrified, leaps up and goes over to Gower.

GEORGE:

Mr. Gower! Mr. Gower! This is George Bailey! Don't you know me?

GOWER:

No. No.

NICK (to his bouncers)

Throw him out. Throw him out.

The bouncers throw Gower out the front door. George rushes back

to the bar.

GEORGE (bewildered)

Hey, what is . . . Hey, Nick, Nick . . . Isn't that Mr. Gower,

the druggist?

NICK:

You know, that's another reason for me not to like you. That

rumhead spent twenty years in jail for poisoning a kid. If you

know him, you must be a jailbird

yourself.

(to his bouncers)

Would you show these gentlemen to the door.

BOUNCER:

Sure. This way, gentlemen.

EXTERIOR NICK'S BAR �� NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT �� George and Clarence come flying through the door

and land in the snow.

INTERIOR NICK'S BAR �� NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT �� Nick at the cash register, busily ringing the bell.

NICK:

Hey! Get me! I'm giving out wings!

EXTERIOR NICK'S BAR �� NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT �� George and Clarence lying in the snow. George has a

strange, puzzled look on his face. They remain for a moment as

they landed,

looking at each other.

CLARENCE:

You see, George, you were not there to stop Gower from putting

that poison into the . . .

GEORGE:

What do you mean, I wasn't there? I remember distinctly . . .

George catches a glimpse of the front of the building with the

neon sign over the door. It now reads "NICK'S PLACE" instead of

"MARTINI'S."

George and Clarence get to their feet.

GEORGE (exasperated)

What the . . . hey, what's going on around here? Why, this ought

to be Martini's place.

He points to the sign, and looks at Clarence. Clarence sort of

hangs his head. George fixes him with a very interested look.

GEORGE (cont'd)

Look, who are you?

CLARENCE (patiently)

I told you, George. I'm your guardian angel.

George, still looking at him, goes up to him and pokes his arm.

It's flesh.

GEORGE:

Yeah, yeah, I know. You told me that. What else are you? What . .

. are you a hypnotist?

CLARENCE:

No, of course not.

GEORGE:

Well then, why am I seeing all these strange things?

CLARENCE:

Don't you understand, George? It's because you were not born.

GEORGE:

Then if I wasn't born, who am I?

CLARENCE:

You're nobody. You have no identity.

George rapidly searches his pockets for identification, but

without success.

GEORGE:

What do you mean, no identity? My name's George Bailey.

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