Jerry Maguire Page #2

EXT. RENTAL CAR SHUTTLE -- DAY

Jerry Maguire upset in a rental shuttle. Passing through

frame. Music. Phone still ringing.

INT. MIAMI HOTEL ROOM -- DAY

Jerry sleeps.

JERRY'S VOICE

Two nights later in Miami at our

corporate conference, a

breakthrough. Breakdown?

Breakthrough.

Jerry's eyes open. Breathing strangely. Trembling, he holds

onto the nightstand for grounding.

He gets up, takes a few gulps of air, walks to mini-bar.

Gathers some tiny ice cubes in his hand, smears them across

his face. This feeling is new to him.

JERRY'S VOICE

(continuing)

It was the oddest, most unexpected

thing. I began writing what they

call a Mission Statement for my

company. You know -- a Mission

Statement -- a suggestion for the

future.

_

7.

INT. MIAMI HOTEL ROOM -- NIGHT

Jerry types, a pot of coffee and tray of room service nearby.

we watch his face, alive now.

There is a direct line from the deepest part of him to the

words he's typing. His fingers fly. Even his eyes grow

moist.

JERRY'S VOICE

What started out as one page

became twenty-five. Suddenly I was

my father's son. I was

remembering the simple pleasures

of this job, how I ended up here

out of law school, the way a

stadium sounds when one of my

players performs well on the

field... I was remembering even

the words of the late Dicky Fox,

the original sports agent, who

said:

SHOT OF DICKY FOX

DICKY FOX:

The key to this job is personal

relationships.

As Jerry continues typing, his voice is excited now.

JERRY'S VOICE

And suddenly it was all pretty

clear. The answer was fewer

clients. Caring for them, caring

for ourselves, and the games too.

Starting our lives, really.

SHOT OF SENTENCE: We must embrace what is still virginal

about our own enthusiasm, we must crack open the tightly

clenched fist and give back a little for the common good, we

must simply be the best versions of ourselves... that

goodness will be unbeatable and the money will appear.

He pauses, and wipes his eyes, still considering the sentence.

JERRY'S VOICE

(continuing)

Hey, I'll be the first to admit

it. What I was writing was

somewhat "touchy feely."

He deletes it. And then -- zip -- he restores it and

continues on, boldly.

_

8.

JERRY'S VOICE

(continuing)

I didn't care. I had lost the

ability to bullshit. It was the

me I'd always wanted to be.

INT. KINKO'S COPIES -- NIGHT

Jerry in T-shirt stands proudly watching copies pumped out.

Wired college students, band guys, other Copy People of the

Night nearby.

JERRY'S VOICE

I printed it up in the middle of

the night, before I could re-think

it.

Industrial, multi-pierced Kinko's copy guy examines the first

printed copy of the Mission Statement. He nods approvingly,

taps his heart in tribute. He slides a copy across the

counter, for Jerry's approval.

THE THINGS WE THINK AND DO NOT SAY

(The Future of Our Business)

KINKO'S GUY

That's how you become great, man.

You hang your ba11s out there.

Jerry nods. It's 3 AM, and this guy sounds and looks like a

prophet. In fact, everyone in Kinko's at 3 AM does.

JERRY:

(self-effacing)

Thanks.

ON MEMOS:

being stuffed into mail-slots.

INT. HOTEL ROOM -- MORNING

Jerry splashes water onto his face. The sun is coming up.

He looks younger, lighter.

ON TV MOVIE (JERRY WATCHING)

Suddenly, dramatic movie score. It's Dana Andrews, showing

Gene Tierney the newspaper reports of her death in Laura.

("Someone was murdered in this room last night... any idea

who it was?") Camera whips to Jerry, standing watching as he

packs. A slight concern on his face. He moves to the phone,

and dials with urgency.

_

9.

JERRY:

Hi, it's jerry maguire. Uh,

listen did those manuscripts

get... Oh they did... No no no no

no, that's fine...

INT. ELEVATOR -- DAY

JERRY:

Jerry in suit, alone with his

luggage. Dry throat. clammy,

holds onto the handrail to steady

himself.

INT. LOBBY -- DAY

The lobby is filled with SMI agents. The blue Mission

Statement is in evidence everywhere. Jerry inconspicuously

turns the corner, yearns to blend in. It's impossible, the

recognition ripples through the lobby. Underling agent BOB

SUGAR, 25, is the first to grab Maguire by the shoulders.

("Finally, someone said it!") Suddenly another agent begins

to clap, then reluctantly, another. Soon, the ovation rocks

the lobby. (In a three-shot near the front desk, we see a 26

year-old female employee of SMI applauding with Mission

Statement in hand, her sleepy son at her side.) Jerry

motions for them all to stop, but clearly he could listen

forever. It is a watershed moment in his life.

JERRY'S VOICE

I was 35. I had started my life.

Swing off Maguire to find two agents standing clapping

enthusiastically near the elevator. One offers gum to the

other.

AGENT # 1 (RACHEL)

How long you give him?

AGENT # 2 (CHRIS)

Mmmm. A week.

ON AIRPLANE WHEELS

folding up into a plane, as music and credits end.

INT. AIRPLANE/FIRST CLASS -- NIGHT

We move past a snoring businessman, onto tired but

adrenalized Jerry Maguire. He sits in first-class, working

on his laptop, a pile of newspapers and magazines nearby.

The WOMAN PASSENGER next to him, 3oish, finishes up a spicy

phone conversation with her boyfriend.

_

10.

WOMAN:

Monkeyface... monkeyface,

listen... I'm not going to say it

here.... no...

Jerry continues to work, as his laptop now beeps. Battery's

low.

WOMAN:

(continuing)

... oh listen, I got you the

perfect white shirt, at this out

of the way place... no... quit

trying to make me say it!

Jerry shuts off his laptop and prepares for sleep. Trying

not to listen.

WOMAN:

(continuing)

how about if I do it and don't say

it... mmmm... see you soon...

She laughs seductively and hangs up. She is still buzzed

from the conversation. Jerry turns to her, surprising her.

JERRY:

I have to ask.

WOMAN:

(protective)

What --

JERRY:

Where'd you find the perfect white

shirt?

She laughs, it's an infectious laugh -- two strangers

enjoying the good life -- as we DRIFT BACK three rows, past

the panel separating the cool comfort of first class from the

stuffy airless and uncomfortable world of coach.

We meet DOROTHY BOYD, 26. A harried passenger on this bus in

the sky. Her clothes are part-contemporary, part mother-

functional. She is never as composed or in control as she

wants to be. Right now she is devoted to the sneezing kid in

the wrinkled white-shirt sitting next to her. It is RAY, her

five-year old son. Dorothy is covered in toys and books.

Stuffed into the side pocket is Jerry's Mission Statement.

The easy laughter from three rows ahead washes over her like

cold water, as she rings again for a Flight Attendant. The

overworked ATTENDANT arrives, pissed, snapping off the bell.

_

11.

DOROTHY:

Look, my son is allergic to the

material in these blankets -

ATTENDANT:

That's all we have.

The Attendant offers a bundle of soggy cocktail napkins and

is about to exit as Ray makes a gagging noise. He's about to

get sick. Both women reach for an airsick bag, and get it to

his mouth just in time. Their faces are now inches apart.

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