Trainspotting Page #3

MIKEY:

That's all I've got: take it or

leave it.

Renton sticks his hand down the back of his trousers and

sticks the suppositories into his rectum.

MIKEY:

Feel better now?

RENTON:

For all the good they've done me I

might as well have stuck them up

my arse.

He smiles.

EXT. STREET - DAY

RENTON (V.O.)

Heroin makes you constipated. The

heroin from my last hit is fading

away and the suppositories have

yet to melt. I am no longer

constipated.

He looks around the local amenities. He is in discomfort,

clutching his abdomen and falling to his knees.

He notices a betting shop.

INT. BETTING SHOP - DAY

Renton walks through the crowded, smoky betting shop towards

a door marked 'toilet' with a bit of card.

RENTON (V.O.)

I fantasize about massive pristine

convenience.

He stumbles through.

RENTON (V.O.)

Brilliant gold taps, virginal white

marble, a seat carved from ebony,

a cistern full of Chanel No. 5,

and a flunky handing me pieces of

raw silk toilet roll. But under

the circumstances I'll settle for

anywhere.

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET - DAY

This is the most horrible toilet in Britain.

Alone, Renton makes his way through the horrors to a

cubicle.

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET CUBICLE - DAY

Renton locks the door.

He looks into the bowl and winces with disgust, even in

his state.

He pulls the chain. The chain comes off.

He drops his trousers, sits on the bowl and closes his

eyes.

MONTAGE:

A lorry on a building site dumps a load of bricks, B52's

shed their load on Vietnam, the Blue Peter elephant, etc.

INT. CUBICLE - DAY

Renton has his eyes closed. They snap open.

He looks down between his legs.

He drops to his knees in front of the bowl and rolls his

sleeve up.

With no more hesitation he plunges his arm into the bowl

and trawls for the suppositories.

It seems to take ages. He cannot find them. He sticks his

arm further and further into the toilet, moving his whole

body close. He strains to find it.

His head is over the bowl now. Gradually he reaches still

further until his head is lowered into the bowl, followed

by his neck, torso, other arm, and finally his legs, all

disappearing.

The cubicle is empty.

INT. UNDER WATER - DAY

Renton, dressed as before, swims through murky depths until

he reaches the bottom, where he picks up the suppositories,

which glow like luminous pearls, before heading up towards

the surface again.

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET CUBICLE - DAY

The toilet is empty.

Suddenly Renton appears through the bowl, then his arms as

he lifts himself out. Still clasping his two suppositories,

he walks out of the toilet.

INT. RENTON'S ROOM - DAY

The mattress, buckets and supplies are laid out as before.

The door opens and Renton enters, still soaking and

dripping.

The suppositories are in his hand. He holds them up, and

they twinkle in the light.

RENTON:

Now. Now I'm ready.

INT. RENTON'S ROOM - DAY

The cans of soup, the bottle of water, and the carton of

ice cream are empty, the bottle of pills spilt, the

magazines well thumbed.

SICK BOY:

You Only Live Twice?

RENTON:

Nineteen-sixty-seven.

SICK BOY:

Running time?

RENTON:

One hundred and sixteen minutes.

SICK BOY:

Director?

RENTON:

Lewis Gilbert.

SICK BOY:

Screenwriter?

RENTON:

Eh - Ian Fleming?

SICK BOY:

F*** off! He never wrote any of

them.

RENTON:

OK, so who was it, then?

SICK BOY:

You can look it up.

Sick Boy throws across a worn copy of a film guide.

Renton cannot be bothered to pick it up.

How are you feeling since you came off the skag? For myself,

I'm bored.

RENTON:

Who wrote it?

SICK BOY:

But you're looking better, it has

to be said. Healthier. Radiant

even.

RENTON:

You don't know, do you?

SICK BOY:

And I wondered if you'd care to go

to the park tomorrow.

RENTON:

The park?

SICK BOY:

Tomorrow afternoon. Usual set-up.

RENTON:

Who wrote it?

SICK BOY:

Roald Dahl.

RENTON:

Roald Dahl. F*** me.

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