The Grand Budapest Hotel Page #5

M. Gustave stops at the end of the hallway in front of adoor labelled KAISER FREDERICK SUITE. He says to Zero:

M. GUSTAVE

That’s all for now.

Zero hesitates for an instant, then nods and reversesrapidly away. M. Gustave withdraws a ring of pass-keysfrom his pocket. He looks up and down the corridorfurtively.

21.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

I began to realize that many of thehotel’s most valued and distinguishedguests -- came for him.

Zero looks back briefly over his shoulder as he startsdown the staircase and sees M. Gustave slip into thesuite. The door locks.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

It seemed to be an essential part of hisduties, but I believe it was also hispleasure.

MONTAGE:

A succession of dames of varying grandeurs seen t.te-.t.te

with M. Gustave:
a sixty-year-old Russian chatswith him in the tea salon; a sixty-five-year-old Germanstrolls with him on the promenade; a seventy-year-oldArgentinian shares a cigarette with him naked in herbed; a seventy-five-year-old Englishwoman washes hisback in her bath; and an eighty-year-old Austrianwearing a hair-net and a nightgown gives him a blow-jobwhile he watches in the mirror and eats grapes. There isa platinum wig on a stand on the dressing table.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

The requirements were always the same.

They had to be:
rich, old, insecure,

vain, superficial, blonde, needy.

CUT TO:

Mr. Moustafa and the author at their dinner table. The

remains of a rabbit tart are replaced by a sizeable,

roasted pheasant as the author gently inquires:

AUTHOR:

Why blonde?

MR. MOUSTAFA

(after a moment’s reflection)

Because they all were.

INT. ELEVATOR. DAY

M. Gustave, somewhat tousled, with lipstick on hischeek, stands waiting to arrive at his floor. He checksthe railings for dust. The car stops and the elevatoroperator opens the gate. M. Gustave exits with a curtnod. A middle-aged couple enter.

22.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

He was, by the way, the most liberallyperfumed man I had ever encountered. Thescent announced his approach from a greatdistance and lingered for many minutesafter he was gone.

As the elevator descends, the middle-aged couple sniffsthe air. The man looks irritated. The woman swoons

slightly.

INT. STAFF QUARTERS. MORNING

Zero wakes up in the pitch black in a tiny room smallerthan a service elevator, turns on the light, springs tohis feet dressed in white pajamas with short trousers,

splashes water from a bowl onto his face, then quicklydampens and combs his hair. His uniform hangs neatlyfrom a peg on the wall. He carefully grooms it with aclothes-brush.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

I worked six days each week plus a half-

day Sunday, five a.m. until just aftermidnight. Our meals were small butfrequent (for stamina): two breakfasts,

two lunches, and a late supper. M.

Gustave also delivered a nightly sermon:

INT. MESS HALL. NIGHT

The evening meal. Most of the hotel staff occupy a longtable set for fifty. A thin, grey broth is served withboiled potatoes. M. Gustave starts at a little podium,

then paces back and forth in front of it as he addressesthe group. They begin to eat hungrily -- but, at thesame time, they continue to listen, attentive andrespectful:

M. GUSTAVE

Rudeness is merely the expression offear. People fear they won’t get what

they want. The most dreadful andunattractive person: only needs to beloved -- and they will open-up like a

flower. I’m reminded of a verse:

(reciting)

“The painter’s brush touched the inchoateface by ends of nimble bristles -- and,

with that blush of first color, renderedher lifeless cheek, living; thoughlanguish --”

As the poetry begins, some of the diners’ eye glaze overand there are faint sighs. Mr. Moustafa continues hisnarration:

23.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

His own dinner, he took alone in his

room.

CUT TO:

M. Gustave seated at a folding table in a room nearlyidentical to Zero’s but with a connecting sitting roomand kitchenette. He wears his uniform trousers and a

white undershirt. He eats a bowl of cereal while

listening to classical music on a radio-set.

There are approximately twenty-five identical bottles ofcologne on a shelf above the sink in the background.

Each is labelled L’air de Panache, Pure Musk.

EXT. FRONT ENTRANCE. DAY

A large sedan with tire-chains arrives through the snowand parks in front of the hotel. A sign next to fivestars on the side of the hood reads: Grand BudapestHotel. One of the back doors opens, and a tall man in adouble-breasted suit emerges. He carries a briefcase andwears a pointy beard. He is Deputy Kovacs. He hurries tothe top of the steps where M. Gustave waits to greethim.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

The identity of the owner of the hotelwas unknown to all of us. Each month, hisemissary, known as Deputy Kovacs, arrivedto review the books and convey messageson behalf of the mysterious proprietor.

INT. LOBBY. DAY

Zero, substituting at the concierge desk, looks up to ahigh window across the room where the shadowy figures of

M. Gustave and Deputy Kovacs meet in a storage pantry. Aclerk with a pot-belly flips the pages in a ledger-bookand takes notes. He is Herr Becker.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

On these occasions, M. Gustave and ourbusiness manager, Herr Becker, met withhim in private consultation aboveReception.

CUT TO:

A plain, graceful, seventeen-year-old beanpole withfreckles and a birthmark the shape of Mexico on the sideof her face. She is Agatha. She works a rolling-pin overa wide expanse of flattened pastry-dough. There arecarts circled around her filled with trays ofexceptionally well-made, beautifully-decorated pastries

24.

shaped like hour-glass figures. (These are Courtesans au

chocolat.)

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

This was also when I met Agatha --

Agatha pauses to dry the perspiration on her brow withthe back of her sleeve. She resumes her rolling.

EXT. BAKERY. DAY

The timber-frame store-front of a tiny p.tisserie. Alarge sign painted in delicate, pink cursive across theglass reads: Mendl’s. There is a heavy-set baker in anapron with flour all over every inch of himself standingin the doorway. He is Herr Mendl.

Agatha rides a rickety bicycle up the alley next to theshop and rings a bell as she turns onto the cobblestonelane. She bears a milkmaid’s yoke balanced across hershoulders overloaded with sixty small, pink pastry-boxestied with string.

CUT TO:

Agatha gripping the handlebars as she bounces pedallingdown the road.

MR. MOUSTAFA (V.O.)

-- but we won’t discuss that.

TITLE:

Part 2:
“Madame C.V.D.u.T.”

EXT. TOWN SQUARE. MORNING

Dawn. The platz in the center of Nebelsbad is deserted.

Zero emerges briskly from a press kiosk carrying a thickstack of newspapers. He looks down, scanning headlines,

as he crosses the street.

Zero stops. His eyes are glued to one of the articles.

He skims it. He quickly re-reads it twice more. Hismouth falls open.

Zero bolts off at a sprint.

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