The Big Lebowski Page #8

DUDE:

Yeah, okay.

BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM

The voice continues on the machine.

VOICE:

--serious infraction, and examine

your standing. Thank you. Beep.

VOICE:

Mr. Lebowski, Brandt again. Please

do call us when you get in and I'll

send the limo. Let me assure you--I

hope you're not avoiding this call

because of the rug, which, I assure

you, is not a problem. We need your

help and, uh--well we would very

much like to see you. Thank you.

It's Brandt.

TRACKING:

We are pushing Brandt down the high-ceilinged hallway.

Distantly, we hear a dolorous soprano. Brandt talks back

over

HIS SHOULDER:

BRANDT:

We've had some terrible news. Mr.

Lebowski is in seclusion in the West

Wing.

DUDE:

Huh.

Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors. The music

washes over us as we enter a great study where Jeffrey

Lebowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares hauntedly

into a fire, listening to Lohengrin.

BRANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:

BRANDT:

Mr. Lebowski.

Jeffrey Lebowski waves the Dude in without looking around.

LEBOWSKI:

It's funny. I can look back on a

life of achievement, on challenges

met, competitors bested, obstacles

overcome. I've accomplished more

than most men, and without the use

of my legs. What. . . What makes a

man, Mr. Lebowski?

DUDE:

Dude.

LEBOWSKI:

Huh?

DUDE:

I don't know, sir.

LEBOWSKI:

Is it. . . is it, being prepared to

do the right thing? Whatever the

price? Isn't that what makes a man?

DUDE:

Sure. That and a pair of testicles.

Lebowski turns away from the Dude with a haunted stare, lost

in thought.

LEBOWSKI:

You're joking. But perhaps you're

right.

The Dude thumps at his chest pocket.

DUDE:

Mind if I smoke a jay?

LEBOWSKI:

Bunny.

He turns back around and the firelight shows teartracks on

his cheeks.

DUDE:

'Scuse me?

LEBOWSKI:

Bunny Lebowski. . . She is the light

of my life. Are you surprised at my

tears, sir?

DUDE:

F***in' A.

LEBOWSKI:

Strong men also cry. . . Strong men

also cry.

He clears his throat.

LEBOWSKI:

I received this fax this morning.

Brandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and

hands it to the Dude.

LEBOWSKI:

As you can see, it is a ransom note.

Sent by cowards. Men who are unable

to achieve on a level field of play.

Men who will not sign their names.

Weaklings. Bums.

THE DUDE EXAMINES THE FAX:

WE HAVE BUNNY. GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-

CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. NO FUNNY STUFF.

DUDE:

Bummer.

Lebowski looks soulfully at the Dude.

LEBOWSKI:

Brandt will fill you in on the

details.

He wheels his chair around to once again gaze into the fire.

Brandt tugs at the Dude's shirt and points him back to the

hall.

HALLWAY:

The soprano's singing is once again faint. Brandt's voice

is hushed:

BRANDT:

Mr. Lebowski is prepared to make a

generous offer to you to act as

courier once we get instructions for

the money.

DUDE:

Why me, man?

BRANDT:

He suspects that the culprits might

be the very people who, uh, soiled

your rug, and you're in a unique

position to confirm or, uh, disconfirm

that suspicion.

DUDE:

So he thinks it's the carpet-pissers,

huh?

BRANDT:

Well Dude, we just don't know.

BOWLING PINS:

CRASH--scattered by a strike, in slow motion.

WIDER:

Still in slow motion. We are looking across the length of

the bowling alley at a tall, thin, Hispanic bowler displaying

perfect form. He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester stretch

bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each side.

FAST TRACK IN:

On the Dude, sitting next to Walter in the molded plastic

chairs. The Dude is staring off towards the bowler.

DUDE:

F***ing Quintana--that creep can

roll, man--

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