The Pianist

FADE IN:

INT. WARSAW (ARCHIVE) - DAY

Black and white. Street scene. People toing and froing. A

man rattles by.

SUPERIMPOSE CAPTION:

WARSAW 1939

INT. STUDIO, RADIO STATION, WARSAW - DAY

WLADYSLAV SZPILMAN plays Chopin's Nocturne in C sharp minor,

Posthumous. He's twenty-eight years old, elegant and

handsome.

In the booth, separated from the studio by a glass screen,

an engineer, wearing collar and tie, monitors the broadcast.

Behind him, a window to the street with strips of paper

taped on it as protection against blast.

Without warning, a bomb drops nearby, then another and

another. The whole building shudders alarmingly and the

window in the booth shatters.

The engineer and Szpilman exchange a look as a man enters

the booth and talks urgently to the Engineer, then goes.

The engineer makes a 'cut-throat' gesture, but Szpilman

shakes his head, determined to play on.

He plays, then glances at the booth. The engineer has gone,

but through the shattered window he sees fires raging.

Very near, a loud, terrifying explosion. The reverberations

cause plaster to flake and dust to trickle down over his

face.

And then a bomb explodes even closer. The glass screen

separating booth from studio implodes, showering Szpilman

with glass. He stops, frozen.

INT. STAIRS AND LOBBY, RADIO STATION - DAY

Pandemonium. Chaos. People rushing in all directions, many

carrying files, boxes, papers, shouting, calling. Some of

the men in military uniform. The bombing continuous.

Szpilman fights his way down the stairs. He has a small

cut on his forehead and is dabbing it with his handkerchief.

He has a dazed look. Halfway down the stairs, A young woman,

DOROTA, tugs at his sleeve:

DOROTA:

Mr. Szpilman.

He turns, to see an extremely pretty young woman gazing

adoringly at him while they're jostled and shoved. His

eyes light up.

SZPILMAN:

Hello.

DOROTA:

I came specially to meet you today.

I love your playing, but what a

day to choose.

SZPILMAN:

Who are you?

DOROTA:

My name's Dorota, I'm Jurek's

sister. oh! You're bleeding.

SZPILMAN:

It's nothing.

JUREK pushes in beside them and takes her arm.

JUREK:

C'mon, Dorota, you can write him a

fan letter later, this isn't the

best time, c'mon.

Jurek, pulling Dorota, fights his way down the stairs.

SZPILMAN:

(calling)

Jurek, why have you been hiding

her?

And he, too, is carried with the flow into the lobby. Debris

everywhere. Szpilman fights to get to the main door, when

another bomb explodes, filling the air with dust and debris,

obscuring him and everyone else.

INT. WARSAW APARTMENT - DUSK

The Szpilman family in panic: coming and going out of rooms,

packing clothes and belongings into open suitcases and a

trunk in a comfortable, tastefully furnished bourgeois

apartment, the living room lined with books, paintings and

boasting a boudoir grand, silver platters and candlesticks.

The family consist of MOTHER, in a state of great anxiety,

FATHER, REGINA, twenty-six, HALINA, twenty-two, and HENRYK,

twenty-four, the only one not in movement. He sits by the

radio set, ear to the speaker, trying to tune to a station.

No bombs now, just the distant sound of artillery fire.

Father, holding a silver-framed photograph, crosses to

Mother.

FATHER:

What you think, should I take Uncle

Szymon's photograph?

MOTHER:

Take it, don't take it, take what

you like. Can't you see I'm worried

sick?

FATHER:

He'll come home, he'll be all right.

He goes into his room. She can barely control her tears

and hurries into the kitchen just as the front door opens

and Szpilman enters, looks round bemused by the activity.

REGINA:

Mama, Wladek's home.

Mother dashes out of the kitchen.

MOTHER:

Thank God - Wladek! You're wounded.

SZPILMAN:

It's a little cut, nothing.

MOTHER:

I've been worried sick.

HENRYK:

I told her not to worry. You had

your papers on you. If you'd been

hit by a bomb, they'd have known

where to take you.

The girls suppress smiles.

MOTHER:

Henryk, don't say things like that,

God forbid, God forbid.

HALINA:

(calling through a

door)

Papa, Wladek's home.

Father appears in the doorway, beaming, clutching a violin

case.

FATHER:

What did I tell you?

SZPILMAN:

(looking around the

room, bemused)

What are you doing?

REGINA:

What's it look like we're doing?

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