The Lost Weekend Page #6

Wick slams shut the suitcase, snaps the lock.

HELEN:

Wick, for heaven's sake, if he's

left alone anything can happen! I'll

be tied up at the office every minute,

All Saturday. All Sunday. I can't

look out for him. You know how he

gets. He'll be run over by a car.

He'll be arrested. He doesn't know

what he's doing. A cigarette will

fall out of his mouth and he'll burn

in his bed --

WICK:

Oh Helen, if it happens, it happens.

And I hope it does. I've had six

years of this. I've had my bellyful.

HELEN:

You can't mean that.

Wick takes his suitcase, goes into the living room.

WICK:

Yes, I do. It's terrible, I know,

but I mean it.

Helen follows him.

A-35 LIVING ROOM

Wick comes into the living room, sets down the suitcase and

during the ensuing scene takes a topcoat from the closet.

HELEN:

For heaven's sake, Wick --

WICK:

Who are we fooling? We've tried

everything, haven't we? We've reasoned

with him, we've babied him. We've

watched him like a hawk. We've tried

trusting him. How often have you

cried? How often have I beaten him

up? We scrape him out of the gutter

and pump some kind of self-respect

into him, and back he falls, back

in, every time.

HELEN:

He's a sick person. It's as though

he had something wrong with his lungs

or his heart. You wouldn't walk out

on him because he had an attack. He

needs our help.

WICK:

He won't accept our help. Not Don.

He hates us. He wants to be alone

with that bottle of his. It's the

only thing he gives a hang about.

Helen turns away from Wick, leans against the wall, hoping

he won't see that she's crying.

WICK:

Why kid ourselves? He's one of the

lost ones.

(OR, ALTERNATE LINE:)

Why kid ourselves? He's a hopeless

alcoholic.

Wick leans into the bedroom, snaps off the light. He picks

up the suitcase, puts the topcoat over his arm, takes her

very gently by the arm.

WICK:

Come, Helen.

He leads her towards the entrance door.

A-36 DON, ON THE BENCH IN THE DARK GARDEN

He stares towards the windows.

A-37 THE WINDOWS, FROM BELOW

The bedroom window is dark. In the next second the lights in

the living room go off.

A-38 DON, IN THE GARDEN

He picks up the bottles, rises, walks across the garden

towards the glass door to the hall, peers through it

cautiously.

A-39 STAIRCASE AND HALL, FIRST FLOOR OF THE APARTMENT HOUSE

(FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW)

Wick and Helen come down the stairs, Wick carrying the

suitcase and topcoat. They go out the front door.

A-40 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE

Wick and Helen have come out. Wick is hailing a taxi.

WICK:

Taxi! Taxi!

(To Helen)

I'll give you a lift as far as Grand

Central.

HELEN:

No thanks, Wick. I'm going to wait

here.

WICK:

You're crazy.

HELEN:

Because I won't give up? Maybe I am.

A taxi drives up.

WICK:

Oh Helen, give yourself a chance.

Let go of him.

HELEN:

Goodbye, Wick.

Wick opens the door of the taxi.

A-41 DON, AT THE GLASS DOOR TO THE GARDEN

He stands with the bag of bottles in his hand, peering through

the entrance hall out to the street.

A-42 STREET (SHOT FROM BEHIND DON)

Wick gets in the taxi, it drives off. Helen paces up and

down in front of the house.

Don opens the glass door, steps cautiously into the entrance

hall.

A-43 ENTRANCE HALL

Squeezing close to the staircase wall so that Helen won't

see him, Don gets to the staircase, then leaps up the stairs

as though pursued.

A-44 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE

Helen waits outside the house. A couple of kids chasing each

other on roller skates almost run into her. She steps back

and stands in the doorway, looking up and down the street.

A-45 STAIRS BETWEEN THE THIRD AND FOURTH FLOORS

Don is hurrying up on tiptoe, two steps at a time. Suddenly

the door of a third-floor apartment toward the street is

opened. Don flattens himself against the wall, not to be

seen by Mrs. Deveridge, who is coming out with her dog,

Sophie, to give Sophie her evening airing. Sophie gives one

bark in the direction of Don, but Mrs. Deveridge pays no

attention and descends the stairs. Don starts up the stairs

again, as silently and as fast as he can.

A-46 FOURTH-FLOOR LANDING

Don gets to his door, opens it cautiously, slips inside.

A-47 INT. LITTLE ENTRANCE HALL OF BIRNAM APARTMENT

The only light is the light from outside, coming from living

room and bedroom. Don steps inside, closes the door. He

doesn't turn on the light but very carefully adjusts the

chain on the door, puts his hat away.

A-48 LIVING ROOM

Dim but for the light outside. As Don enters, he slips the

bottles from the paper bag and puts them on a table next the

armchair. He crumples the bag and throws it in the fireplace.

He takes one bottle, starts towards a bookcase and is about

to hide it behind the books when he changes his mind. He

looks around the room. His eyes fall on the ceiling. He goes

to the table next the couch, pulls it into the middle of the

room, brushes some magazines to the floor, takes a small

chair, puts it on the table, climbs to the table, from the

table to the chair. He is now directly below the ceiling

lighting fixture, an inverted metal bowl about two and a

half feet in diameter. Don reaches over the edge and deposits

the bottle inside the bowl so it can't be seen from the room.

He climbs down, readjusts the table, the chair, and puts the

magazines back. Don picks up a glass which is over a carafe

on the mantelpiece. He puts it next the bottle by the wing

chair. He opens the bottle, pours a glass about three quarters

full, puts the glass down. He loosens his tie and lets himself

fall into the easy chair. He looks through the open window

on the lights of New York. His eyes slowly wander to the

glass. He smiles. It's a smile of relief, of contentment at

being alone with his vice. There's a little pain in his smile,

too.

A-49 THE GLASS OF WHISKEY

THE CAMERA MOVES TOWARD IT until the glass isn't visible any

more -- just a smooth sea of alcohol, with a little light

playing on it. THE CAMERA plunges deep into that sea.

FADE OUT:

END OF SEQUENCE "A"

SEQUENCE "B"

FADE IN:

B-1 STAIRCASE AND LANDING, FOURTH FLOOR - DAY

Through the skylight streams a dazzling shaft of sunlight,

falling square on the door to the Birnams' apartment.

On the threshold lies a copy of the New York Times, and beside

it stands a quart of milk. Pinned to the door is a piece of

paper from a notebook.

From inside there is the sound of the chain being detached,

and the door opens slowly. Don emerges. He is dressed exactly

as he was the day before -- same suit, same shirt, same tie.

He has slept in them and they are wrinkled. He hasn't shaved.

As he comes out and the sun hits his face, he squints in

agony. As he carefully closes the door, his eyes fall on the

note. He reads it.

"Don dear:
I waited for you to come home. Please be careful.

Get some sleep. Eat. And call me, call me, call me. Helen"

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