The Night Manager

Episode 1

PRE-SHOOTING SCRIPT

15-3-15

THE INK FACTORY:

Developed in association with BBC/AMC

1

I/E ZERMATT. PINE’S APARTMENT. EVENING. 1

Looking out the window of a small monk’s cell of a Swiss

mountain-top apartment building: the snow is falling thick

and soft.

Inside the apartment, in the snow-filled silence of early

evening, a MAN, whose face we do not see, is meticulously

clipping his fingernails, one by one. First the left hand,

then the right.

He is wet-shaving, oiling his skin for a smooth finish.

Now he is dressing in a crisp, perfectly ironed white shirt.

The collar is starched and firm.

A dark tie is perfectly tied.

A single breasted dark dinner suit is taken from the hanger

in the closet where another identical suit sits in place.

The buttons of the single breasted suit are polished.

The suit is put on. Shirt tucked in.

The tie placed.

A pair of navy blue socks is placed on to a pair of pale

feet.

A pair of fine black patent-leather shoes are carefully

placed in a small plastic bag for transportation.

A pair of lightweight walking shoes are taken from the drying

rack by the door. And put on over the navy blue socks.

They look incongruous below the dinner suit.

A winter anorak is taken from the hook by the door.

The door is opened. The snow is falling.

1a

I/E. ZERMATT. TRAIN. EVENING. 1a

The sun is just disappearing behind the solitary peak of the

Matterhorn as THE MAN takes the little train down the

mountain.

We do not see his face.

2

EXT. ZERMATT. HILLSIDE STREAM. MEISTERS HOTEL. EVENING. 2

The lone figure, distant amidst the Alpine winter landscape,

makes the walk from the station to the glinting evening

lights of a high-class Swiss hotel that overlooks the luxury

resort of Zermatt.

TNM Ep1 PRE-SHOOTING SCRIPT 15-3-15 22.

3

INT. ZERMATT. MEISTERS HOTEL. LOBBY. EVENING. 3

From the comfort of the concierge’s office, FRAULEIN VIPP,

60, Austrian, seriously old-school receptionist, looks up to

see a figure walk out from the staff changing-rooms.

It is our MAN. He is now wearing the black leather shoes.

The hair is oiled, short. Everything is in its place.

The face that we see now for the first time is composed.

Thirty three years old. A secret to all men. And to himself.

JONATHAN PINE.

PINE:

Guten abend, Fraulein Vipp.

FRAULEIN VIPP:

Guten abend, Herr Pine.

JONATHAN PINE smiles.

3a

INT. MEISTERS HOTEL. NIGHT 3a

As PINE goes about his nightly duties:

He locks a door with a hefty set of keys.

He sets the NIGHT ALARM.

He heaves a crate of beer down into the cellar.

He paces a corridor, trying a door handle here, a window

latch there.

He surveys the contents of the HOTEL SAFE - jots a note on a

clipboard, closes the safe and spins the tumbler.

4

INT. ZERMATT. MEISTERS HOTEL. LOBBY. NIGHT. 4

The clock Swiss-ly chimes eleven.

It’s dark outside now and JONATHAN PINE sits in the office

behind reception typing on the hotel computer.

A voice, female, interrupts his reverie.

SYBILLE:

Aren’t you going you to say good

evening?

He looks up. She is 18, pretty, dressed in strangely formal

clothes, one of the moneyed French. SYBILLE. Dines out on

pouting melancholy.

TNM Ep1 PRE-SHOOTING SCRIPT 15-3-15 33.

PINE:

Bonsoir mademoiselle. Ou est votre

mere?

PINE (CONT’D)

She’s asleep in our room. I sneaked

out.

She sounds the second syllable - sneaked. And eyes PINE, with

pouting intent.

PINE (CONT’D)

Well, I think it would probably be

best if you sneaked back in.

She ignores him.

SYBILLE:

What do you do every night? Just

sit here. Nothing happens. No one

comes. I’d kill myself.

She is seeking a reaction. Doomed to failure. He continues to

type. She takes a small mini-bar bottle of vodka from her

pocket, downs it. He does not react.

She looks at him. Leans in.

SYBILLE (CONT’D)

Je te degoute? Non?

PINE:

Not at all.

SYBILLE:

I disgust myself too. Sometimes I

want to cut myself just to feel the

pain.

PINE:

Does Mademoiselle require a knife

to be sent to her room?

She fingers an ornate PAPER KNIFE on the reception desk.

PINE (CONT’D)

You won’t have much luck with that,

I’m afraid.

He looks at her coolly.

SYBILLE:

I hate you.

She turns on her heel and sashays across the parquet floor.

The snow falls outside. PINE opens a French window. Walks out

into the cold.

TNM Ep1 PRE-SHOOTING SCRIPT 15-3-15 44.

PINE gets up. He savours the quiet. Just one Milanese couple

having a tryst in the dining room. Nothing else.

Yes. Nothing happens. No one comes. The perfect retreat from

a cruel world.

Then he sees a light on in an office window. He pauses,

curious.

5 INT. ZERMATT. MEISTERS HOTEL, OFFICES. NIGHT. 5

PINE (IN GERMAN)

You should have gone by now.

An office off the main reception area. The manager of

Meisters Hotel - HERR STRIPPLI, 50 years old, punctilious and

slightly vain, is finishing his paperwork. PINE’s head round

the door.

HERR STRIPPLI:

A late booking came in. I had to

arrange their requirements.

Because of course, no one else can.

PINE:

Nationality?

HERR STRIPPLI:

One of yours.

HERR STRIPPLI (CONT’D)

Private jet, landing at Lindesheim

in two hours. A large party. He

wants the Tower Suite.

PINE frowns.

PINE:

How can they land at Lindesheim?

That’s military.

HERR STRIPPLI:

And this is Switzerland, Jonathan.

For the right price, he could have

landed in the breakfast room. I’m

sending the helicopter to pick them

up.

HERR STRIPPLI hands over the booking form.

PINE stares at it. His face flickers. His hand clenches. His

palms become sweaty.

HERR STRIPPLI gazes across and buttons his coat ready to

leave.

TNM Ep1 PRE-SHOOTING SCRIPT 15-3-15 55.

HERR STRIPPLI (CONT’D)

You know of him?

PINE:

No.

He smiles slightly. Then looks back at the paperwork.

A name.

The name is R. ROPER.

HERR STRIPPLI:

He used to come every year, but

that was long before your time.

PINE:

Yes I expect so.

The hand still clenched. Does it shake slightly?

HERR STRIPPLI:

This parcel came for them. Please

give it to them when they arrive.

Good night Mr Pine.

HERR STRIPPLI takes his coat, and with a clipped precision,

walks away through the revolving doors into the night like a

wraith.

Left alone, PINE’s face betrays almost nothing. PINE stares

at the courier parcel on the ground.

Then looks back at the name.

R. ROPER.

A drip of sweat falls from PINE’s forehead on to the paper

where the name is written. It smudges with the name. ROPER.

PINE sits breathing hard. The hotel swoons slightly in front

of him:

SMASH CUT TO:

6 EXT. CAIRO STREET. DAY. FIVE YEARS AGO. 6

JONATHAN PINE, white cotton shirt, five years younger, is

walking fast through a chaotic Arab Spring Cairo. Wild

increase in tempo here, fast cuts. Action, movement. Intense

heat and humidity. Madness.

TNM Ep1 PRE-SHOOTING SCRIPT 15-3-15 66.

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