The Grand Budapest Hotel Page #2

AUTHOR (V.O.)

“Who’s this interesting, old fellow,” Iinquired of M. Jean. To my surprise, hewas distinctly taken aback. “Don’t youknow?” he asked. “Don’t you recognizehim?” He did look familiar. “That’s Mr.

Moustafa himself! He arrived early thismorning.”

5.

The author looks to Mr. Moustafa again. Mr. Moustafa isnow staring directly back at the author. The authorquickly looks away and examines a detail in the woodworkon the ceiling.

AUTHOR (V.O.)

This name will, no doubt, be familiar to

the more seasoned persons among you. Mr.

Zero Moustafa was, at one time, the

richest man in Zubrowka; and was still,

indeed, the owner of the Grand Budapest.

“He often comes and stays a week or more,

three times a year, at least -- but never

in the season.” M. Jean signalled to me,

and I leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a

secret. He takes only a single-bed

sleeping-room without a bath in the rear

corner of the top floor -- and it’s

smaller than the service elevator!”

The author seems genuinely intrigued by thisinformation. He nods thoughtfully.

AUTHOR (V.O.)

It was well-known: Moustafa had purchased

and famously inhabited some of the most

lavish castles and pallazzos on the

continent -- yet, here, in his own,

nearly-empty hotel, he occupied a

servant’s quarters?

M. Jean frowns. The fat businessman, sitting at a tablein the middle of the lobby drinking hot chocolate andeating biscotti -- appears to be choking to death.

AUTHOR (V.O.)

At that moment the curtain rose on a

parenthetical, domestic drama which

required the immediate and complete

attention of M. Jean -

M. Jean dashes out from behind his desk. As he performsan improvised version of the Heimlich maneuver on thefat businessman, the German hiker enters the lobby withhis St. Bernard. The rescue dog, sensing a human indistress, charges avidly, hurdling three tables andjostling the dessert cart, and arrives at the fatbusinessman’s side just as a significant hunk ofbiscotti rockets out of his mouth, into the air, andlands on a saucer at the next table. M. Jean immediatelydetaches a cask hanging from the dog’s neck, pours agenerous shot of brandy into a water glass, and forcesit down the fat businessman’s throat.

6.

AUTHOR (V.O.)

-- but, frankly, did not hold mine forlong.

The other guests of the hotel begin to gather around thegasping victim as the author makes his way into theelevator. He presses a button, and the doors close.

MONTAGE:

The author appears pensive as he: lies in bed that nightstaring up at the ceiling; sits in the dining room atbreakfast eating toast and gazing into space; and floatsthrough the conservatory ignoring flora at noon. He nodsto the schoolteacher sketching an orchid. She smiles andnods back.

AUTHOR (V.O.)

However, this premature intermission inthe story of the curious, old man hadleft me, as the expression goes,

gespannant wie ein Flitzebogen, that is,

on the edge of my seat -- where Iremained throughout the next morninguntil, in what I have found to be itsmysterious and utterly reliable fashion:

fate, once again, intervened on mybehalf.

INT. SPA. DAY

A steamy, underground mineral baths. Miniature tiles ofvarious shapes and intricate patterns cover every inchof the walls, floors, and ceiling. Distant voices echofaintly through succeeding chambers.

A long row of identical, adjacent cubicles each containsa blue tub and is tiled in a more recent, utilitarianstyle. The author soaks in one of them. He shakes saltsfrom a carton into the water and stirs it.

A voice interrupts from off-screen:

MR. MOUSTAFA (O.S.)

I admire your work.

The author hesitates. He looks around. He is not sure

which general direction the voice came from.

AUTHOR:

I beg your pardon?

MR. MOUSTAFA (O.S.)

I said, I know and admire your wonderfulwork.

7.

There is a small splash, and Mr. Moustafa leans intoview from behind a partition where he himself is soakingin a cubicle three tubs over. He wears a bathing cap.

The author sits up straight and says formally:

AUTHOR:

Thank you most kindly, sir.

MR. MOUSTAFA

(teasing slightly)

Did M. Jean have a word or two to share

with you about the aged proprietor ofthis establishment?

AUTHOR:

(reluctantly)

I must confess, sir, I did, myself,

inquire about you.

MR. MOUSTAFA

(resigned)

He’s perfectly capable, of course, M.

Jean -- but we can’t claim he’s a first-

or, in earnest, even second-rateconcierge.

(sadly)

But there it is. Times have changed.

The author nods, attentive. He changes the subject toobserve encouragingly, motioning toward the plungingpool across the hall:

AUTHOR:

The thermal baths are very beautiful.

MR. MOUSTAFA

(gently)

They were, in their first condition. Itcouldn’t be maintained, of course. Toodecadent for current tastes -- but I love

it all, just the same. This enchanting,

old ruin.

Mr. Moustafa looks wistfully around the vaulted space.

The author squints, holds up a finger, and asksgingerly:

AUTHOR:

How did you come to buy it, if I may ask?

The Grand Budapest.

Pause. Mr. Moustafa disappears back behind thepartition. The author looks slightly puzzled. Mr.

Moustafa immediately reappears, but he has turnedhimself around in the tub and is now facing the oppositedirection so he can more comfortably rest in view. He

8.

props his elbow onto the edge of the bath. His eyestwinkle as he says:

MR. MOUSTAFA

I didn’t.

At this moment, one of the matrons of the hammam blaststhe fat, now naked, businessman with a jet of icy water.

He hollers as he is sprayed-down. Silence.

Mr. Moustafa and the author look back to each other.

Each has raised an eyebrow. They both smile slightly.

MR. MOUSTAFA

If you’re not merely being polite (andyou must tell me if that’s the case), butif it genuinely does interest you: may Iinvite you to dine with me tonight, andit will be my pleasure and, indeed, myprivilege to tell you -- “my” story. Suchas it is.

INT. DINING ROOM. NIGHT

The enormous restaurant as before -- but now one of the

tables has been set for two and is occupied by theauthor and Mr. Moustafa. The nine other guests watch,

curious, from their usual spots.

Mr. Moustafa stares at the wine list as he rattles off a

robust order (oysters, soup, rabbit, fowl, lamb). “Boywith Apple” is on the cover of the menu. The waiterdeparts.

MR. MOUSTAFA

That should provide us ample time -- if Icommence promptly.

AUTHOR:

By all means.

Another waiter arrives to uncork a split of champagneand pours a thimbleful. Mr. Moustafa tastes it and nods.

The waiter pours two, full coupes. They each drink along sip. Finally, Mr. Moustafa settles in:

MR. MOUSTAFA

It begins, as it must, with our mutualfriend’s predecessor. The beloved,

original concierge of the Grand Budapest.

(with deep affection)

It begins, of course, with -

9.

TITLE:

Part 1:
“M. Gustave”

INT. SITTING ROOM. DAY

The early thirties. A double-reception salon with highceilings and two couches. There are six trunks and eightsuitcases arranged neatly at the side of the room. Eachis painted with the initials Mdm. C.V.D.u.T. Outside, alight snow falls.

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