Trainspotting

EXT. STREET - DAY

Legs run along the pavement. They are Mark Renton's.

Just ahead of him is Spud. They are both belting along.

As they travel, various objects (pens, tapes, CDs,

toiletries, ties, sunglasses, etc.) either fall or are

discarded from inside their jackets.

They are pursued by two hard-looking Store Detectives in

identical uniforms. The men are fast, but Renton and Spud

maintain their lead.

RENTON (V.O.)

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose

a career. Choose a family, Choose

a f***ing big television, Choose

washing machines, cars, compact

disc players, and electrical tin

openers.

Suddenly, as Renton crosses a road, a car skids to a halt,

inches from him.

In a moment of detachment he stops and looks at the shocked

driver, then at Spud, who has continued running, then at

the Two Men, who are now closing in on him.

He smiles.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT ROOM - DAY

In a bare, dingy room, Renton lies on the floor, alone,

motionless and drugged.

RENTON (V.O.)

Choose good health, low cholesterol

and dental insurance. Choose fixed-

interest mortgage repayments. Choose

a starter home. Choose your friends.

EXT. FOOTBALL PITCH - NIGHT

On a flood lit five-a-side pitch, Renton and his friends

are taking on another team at football.

The opposition all wear an identical strip (Arsenal),

whereas Renton and his friends wear an odd assortment of

gear.

Three girls -- Lizzy, Gail, and Allison and Baby -- stand

by the side, watching.

The boys are outclassed by the team with the strip but

play much dirtier.

As each performs a characteristic bit of play, the play

freezes and their name is visible, printed or written on

some item of clothing. (T-Shirt, baseball cap, shorts,

trainers). In Begbie's case, his name appears as a tatoo

on his arm.

Sick Boy commits a sneaky foul and indignantly denies it.

Begbie commits an obvious foul and make no effort to deny

it.

Spud, in goal, lets the ball in between his legs.

Tommy kicks the ball as hard as he can.

Renton's litany continues over the action:

RENTON (V.O.)

Choose leisure wear and matching

luggage. Choose a three piece suite

on hire purchase in a range of

f***ing fabrics. Choose D.I.Y and

wondering who you are on a Sunday

morning. Choose sitting on that

couch watching mind-numbing sprit-

crushing game shows, stuffing

f***ing junk food into your mouth.

Choose rotting away at the end of

it all, pishing you last in a

miserable home, nothing more than

an embarrassment to the selfish,

f***ed-up brats you have spawned

to replace yourself. Choose your

future. Choose life.

Renton is hit straight in the face by the ball. He lies

back on the astroturf. Voice-over continues.

But who would I want to do a thing like that?

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT - DAY

Renton lies on the floor.

Swanney, Allison and Baby, Sick Boy and Spud are shooting

up or preparing to shoot up. Sick Boy is talking to Allison

as he taps up a vein on her arm.

RENTON (V.O.)

I chose not to choose life: I chose

something else. And the reasons?

There are no reasons. Who need

reasons when you've got heroin?

SICK BOY:

Goldfinger's better than Dr. No.

Both of them are a lot better than

Diamonds are Forever a judgement

reflected in its relative poor

showing at the box office, in which

field, of course, Thunderball was

a notable success.

RENTON (V.O.)

People think it's all about misery

and desperation and death and all

that shite, which is not to be

ignored, but what they forget -

Spud is shooting up for the pleasure

of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do

it. After all, we're not f***ing

stupid. At least, we're not that

f***ing stupid. Take the best orgasm

you ever had, multiply it by a

thousand and you're still nowhere

near it. When you're on junk you

have only one worry: scoring. When

you're off it you are suddenly

obliged to worry about all sorts

of other shite. Got no money: can't

get pished. Got money: drinking

too much. Can't get a bird: no

chance of a ride. Got a bird: too

much hassle. You have to worry

about bills, about food, about

some football team that never

f***ing wins, about human

relationships and all the things

that really don't matter when you've

got a sincere and truthful junk

habit.

SICK BOY:

I would say, in those days, he was

a muscular actor, in every sense,

with all the presence of someone

like Cooper or Lancaster, but

combined with a sly wit to make

him a formidable romantic lead,

closer in that respect to Cary

Grant.

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