The Battle of Algiers Page #7

ALI:

They're not paying me anything. They've

already warned you twice; this is the

last warning. Decide.

HACENE:

What ... What must I decide?

ALI:

You've got to change occupations, Hacene.

Right away!

Hacene makes a gesture as if to emphasize what he is going to say.

HACENE:

(with irony)

Okay, you convince me.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, he lets out a SHRILL SCREAM, like fencers

who before plunging their swords, try to frighten their adversaries.

Simultaneously, he hurls himself forward, head lowered and arms

outstretched.

Ali steps aside, and releases a BLAST OF MACHINE-GUN FIRE.

Hacene falls flat on his face. There is movement. Some passersby

approach. The three boys try to escape.

ALI:

(shouting)

Stop!

The barrel of the machine gun is visible through the opening in his

djellabah. Ali's voice is quivering angrily:

ALI:

Look at him well! Now nobody can do

whatever he wants in the Casbah. Not even

Hacene ... least of all you three pieces

of sh*t! Go away now ... go away and

spread the word ... Go on!

26WEDDING. OUTSIDE. DAY.

Summer. There is a garland of flowers strung across an alley. A front

door is open, and the guests continue to arrive.

27WEDDING HOUSE. OUTSIDE. DAY.

In the inner courtyard, there are benches and chairs arranged in rows.

In front of all of them, there are two chairs separated from the rest,

one next to the other. In front of them, there is a small table with a

pen and inkstand on top. The people remain standing, about twenty

Algerians, of all ages. They are speaking among themselves in thick

whispers. There is an expectant and ceremonious atmosphere.

BUZZING.

Mahmoud was seventeen then. He has soft down on his cheeks, his first

beard. He is thin, his neck long and tense, his glance nervous. He

appears to be the protagonist of what is about to take place. His hair

is combed with care and covered with much hair cream. He is wearing a

clean and newly bought white costume.

Many of the others come to speak with him; the younger ones are joking

and trying to provoke him.

AD LIB REMARKS.

Mahmoud reacts comically with a grim frown with which he tries in vain

to hide his shyness. At the same time, he glances secretly, anxiously,

up to the empty balcony on the first floor. Much gay and lively

chattering can be heard from an open door above.

28WEDDING ROOM. INSIDE. DAY.

In the room, a group of girls are busy preparing trays with cups of

coffee. They are little more than children, twelve or thirteen years

old, with soft complexions, white teeth, and shining eyes. They seem

children who are playing, but beneath that veneer of gaiety, some

anxiety is noticeable, emotions in suspense. The faltering voice of an

old woman calls from the adjoining room.

A girl leaves the group, lifts the dividing curtain, and nearing the

bed where the old woman is lying, she kneels beside her. The old woman

lifts her hand and places it on the girl's hair, caressing her

tenderly. She speaks in a wavering voice, and her small yet kind eyes

fill with tears.

OLD WOMAN'S SPEECH IN ARABIC.

The girl nods yes, then she gets up and goes to rejoin her companions.

Passing before a mirror, she stops a minute to tidy her hair.

29WEDDING HOUSE. OUTSIDE. DAY.

They appear on the balcony, then descend to the courtyard. The nervous

glance of Mahmoud scans their faces, then rests upon that girl who,

with lowered eyelids, also glances quickly at him. Meanwhile the trays

are being passed among the guests.

Now the people turn to face the front door. A young man has entered

carrying a briefcase under his arm. Behind him are two boys who seem to

be his bodyguards, and are the only ones dressed in European clothes.

Both of them have their right hands under their jackets, which are old

and torn. They seem to be armed. They close the door, and remain

standing on either side of it.

The man with the briefcase walks toward the table. All present look at

him respectfully. He smiles, responds to their greetings, shakes hands

with all. But he refuses coffee and seems to be in a hurry.

He sits down, places his briefcase on the table, opens it, and takes

out a large notebook. From the open briefcase, the metallic butt of a

sub-machine gun appears.

On the cover of the notebook is written: NLF -- ALGERIAN AUTONOMOUS

ZONE. CIVIL RECORDS.

He turns the pages of the notebook until he reaches the last written

page. Then he glances up toward the people who, in the meantime, have

taken their seats. He smiles, says a few words, then calls two names.

Mahmoud walks forward stiffly, erect, his eyes staring straight ahead

of him.

The girl also walks forward, with a perplexed expression. They sit down

next to each other, but without looking at each other. The ceremony

consists of a few words. Finally the two youths look at each other.

Mahmoud tries to smile, but he cannot.

The girl's expression softens somewhat. Her glance is tender; she

lowers her face quickly. Meanwhile the others recite the verses of the

Koran in low voices.

CHORUS.

30RUE D'ISLY. OUTSIDE. DAY. JUNE 20, 1956. 8:05 A.M.

There is a French guard, no more than thirty years old. He has a blond

mustache, his beard recently shaved. There are few people in the

street. The guard walks slowly, glancing in the shop windows from time

to time to admire his reflection. He stops, adjusts his cap, and

smiles.

An Algerian appears beside him; he is also young. The guard pretends to

be interested in the photographic equipment which is on display, then

moves on.

The Algerian's arm springs forward and returns quickly to its place. He

plunges the knife into the guard's neck.

The guard opens his mouth wide to shout, but he cannot. The blood

gurgles in his gashed throat. None of the few passersby has seen what

happened. The guard falls flat on his face. Someone sees him and

screams.

The Algerian hurls himself on top of the soldier, opens his holster,

takes his pistol, then gets up pulling the gun with him. The gun is

fastened by a leather cord. The cord gets tangled in the gashed neck of

the guard.

The Algerian pulls in vain. He panics. He looks about him with

terrified eyes.

People approach hurriedly. They are shouting. The Algerian pulls the

cord a second time, desperately.

He regains his control, picks up the knife which is lying on the

ground, and cuts the leather cord, thus freeing the pistol. The others

have almost reached him and he is surrounded, but he manages to dodge

them, and escapes.

31BOULEVARD BRU. OUTSIDE. DAY. 8:40 A.M.

A group of zouaves on patrol, three soldiers and an officer. The street

is sloping; on the right there is a high fence covered with advertising

signs and cinematographic posters, all of them torn and full of holes;

the emptiness on the other side is visible through the holes.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes