The Big Lebowski Page #20

DUDE:

What're you, a f***ing park ranger

now?

WALTER:

No, I'm--

DUDE:

Who gives a sh*t about the f***ing

marmot!

WALTER:

--We're sympathizing here, Dude--

DUDE:

F*** your sympathy! I don't need

your sympathy, man, I need my f***ing

Johnson!

DONNY:

What do you need that for, Dude?

WALTER:

You gotta buck up, man, you can't go

into the tournament with this negative

attitude--

DUDE:

F*** the tournament! F*** you,

Walter!

There is a moment of stunned silence.

WALTER:

F*** the tournament?!

SAD; QUIET:

WALTER:

Okay Dude. I can see you don't want

to be cheered up. C'mon Donny, let's

go get a lane.

They leave the Dude sitting morosely at the bar. As he stares

DOWN INTO HIS EMPTY GLASS:

DUDE:

Another Caucasian, Gary.

VOICE:

Right, Dude.

STILL STARING DOWN AT THE BAR:

DUDE:

Friends like these, huh Gary.

GARY:

That's right, Dude.

The pop song on the jukebox has ended; someone puts on

"Tumbling Tumbleweeds."

A man saunters up to the bar to take the stool that Walter

vacated. He is middle-aged, amiable, craggily handsome--Sam

Elliot, perhaps. He has a large Western-style mustache and

wears denims, a yoked shirt and a cowboy hat.

TO THE BARTENDER:

MAN:

D'ya have a good sarsaparilla?

We recognize the voice of The Stranger whose narration opened

the movie.

BARTENDER:

Sioux City Sarsaparilla.

The Stranger nods.

THE STRANGER:

That's a good one.

Waiting for his drink, he looks amiably around the bar. His

crinkled eyes settle on the Dude.

THE STRANGER:

How ya doin' there, Dude?

The Dude, still staring down at his drink, shakes his head.

DUDE:

Ahh, not so good, man.

THE STRANGER:

One a those days, huh. Wal, a wiser

fella than m'self once said, sometimes

you eat the bar and sometimes the

bar, wal, he eats you.

DUDE:

(absently)

Uh-huh. That some kind of Eastern

thing?

THE STRANGER:

Far from it.

DUDE:

Mm.

The bartender puts a brown bottle and a frosted glass on the

bar in front of The Stranger, who touches his hat brim.

THE STRANGER:

Much obliged.

He looks back at the Dude.

THE STRANGER:

I like your style, Dude.

THE DUDE LOOKS UP, ABSENTLY:

DUDE:

Well I like your style too, man.

Got a whole cowboy thing goin'.

THE STRANGER:

Thankie. . . Just one thing, Dude.

D'ya have to use s'many cuss words?

The Dude looks at The Stranger as if just now noticing how

out of place the cowpoke is.

DUDE:

The f*** are you talking about?

The Stranger chuckles indulgently and pushes off from the

bar.

THE STRANGER:

Okay, have it your way.

He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip.

THE STRANGER:

Take it easy, Dude.

DUDE:

Yeah. Thanks man.

He is gone. "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" is ending as we hear an

offscreen voice, breaking the spell:

VOICE:

Dude! Dude!

THE DUDE LOOKS:

Tony, the unformed limo driver, is at the door of the bar,

beckoning.

MAUDE'S LOFT

She strides toward us, naked under a robe which she is just

cinching shut. Paint flecks her skin.

MAUDE:

Jeffrey, you haven't gone to the

doctor.

DUDE:

No it's fine, really, uh--

MAUDE:

Do you have any news regarding my

father's money?

DUDE:

I, uh... money, yeah, I gotta

respecfully, 69 you know, tender my

resignation on that matter, 'cause

it looks like your mother really was

kidnapped after all.

MAUDE:

She most certainly was not!

DUDE:

Hey man, why don't you f***ing listen

occasionally? You might learn

something. Now I got--

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