by Wes Anderson
INT. GARRET. NIGHT
Agatha’s room. Her few possessions are laid out neatly on the mattress: two changes of clothes, a short stack of cookbooks, her volume of romantic poetry, some tangled ribbons, and a hairbrush.
Agatha reaches up to the top of a skinny, pine wardrobe and pulls down an old, wicker suitcase. It has been repaired extensively with wire and string. She transfers everything she owns into it swiftly. She buckles it shut, slides it under the bed – then bolts upright. She looks up at the ceiling.
There is a thump.
Silence. Agatha slips off her shoes (wooden clogs). She slowly steps up onto the bed. She stands on her tiptoes.
EXT. ROOF. NIGHT
There is no moon, and the night is pitch-black. Agatha’s hands grip the edges of the skylight’s frame. Her eyes come up into view. She looks cautiously around in every direction. She listens.
Agatha sinks back down, pulls away the pencil holding the skylight window open, and quickly latches it shut.
The camera holds on the empty rooftop: a quiet wind whistles over the sleeping village.
Insert:
The front page of the Trans-Alpine Yodel. Headline:
YOUNG GIRL’S HEAD FOUND IN LAUNDRY BASKET
INT. COMMAND HEADQUARTERS. DAY
The next morning. An office decorated with flags, shields, and swords. There is a large map on a broad table with game pieces (chess, checkers, jacks, dice, and dominoes) marking troops and munitions. Henckels sits in a leather armchair drinking a cup of coffee while he stares at the front page of the newspaper.
A First Lieutenant stands over him holding a notebook and an envelope labeled WIRE MESSAGE. He explains:
LIEUTENANT
A radio telegram was delivered and signed for by the girl at four a.m. The envelope was found near the body, but its contents were missing – however: the telegraph office always keeps a carbon of the ticker-tape for twenty-four hours. I copied it down. It reads as follows: ‘Pack your things stop be ready to leave at moment’s notice stop hide-out is vicinity of Gabelmeister’s Peak stop destroy this message all my love full stop.’
HENCKELS
(pause)
Where’s the basket?
The Lieutenant points across the room. Henckels sighs. He stands up and walks over to a laundry basket on top of a desk against the wall. Pause. He reaches into it and lifts out, by the hair:
Serge’s sister’s severed head.
Title:
PART 5: ‘GABELMEISTER’S PEAK’
Insert:
The radio telegram – which has been torn to shreds, then carefully taped back together. It is speckled with blood.
EXT. GAS STATION. DAY
A lone fuel-pump in front of a service shack at the foot of a hill on a snowy country road. A fourteen-year-old Pump Attendant in a greasy jumpsuit fills the tank of Jopling’s motorcycle. A sled-runner has been fitted over the front wheel.
Jopling leans against the wall, silent, looking down at the radio telegram in his hands. The Pump Attendant chirps:
PUMP ATTENDANT
Where you headed, mister?
Pause. Jopling’s eyeballs turn to the attendant.
PUMP ATTENDANT
Skiing? Sledding? Mountain climbing?
Jopling looks away again.
The Pump Attendant grows slightly uneasy. Jopling reaches into his leather coat – half revealing, holstered, inside: a stiletto icepick, a blackjack bludgeon, a Luger pistol, and a ball-peen hammer. He withdraws a glass flask with a silver stopper and takes a pull. His brass knuckles clack against it.
The Pump Attendant clears his throat, pulls the nozzle out of the tank, and says – polite but quick:
PUMP ATTENDANT
Three Klubecks, please.
EXT. TRAIN STATION. DAY
The Zubrowkian Alps. A high-altitude depot nestled in a pass between two craggy ridges. There is fresh powder on the ground. Scattered flakes flicker in the air. A sign along the tracks reads: ‘Gabelmeister’s Peak’.
Twenty-five soldiers armed with carbine rifles stand spaced apart down the length of the platform, waiting.
The train rolls in. Doors open, and passengers with skis, snow-shoes, and suitcases step down and hurry into the building and around its sides. The soldiers study them, attentive, and peer inside the compartment windows. The passengers continue until they have all cleared away, and the platform is quiet again. A train conductor, leaning out from the end of a car, watches the soldiers. The soldiers look to each other tentatively.
A Sergeant jerks open a door and steps onto the train. He looks around. He raises his chin, lifts his nose – and sniffs the air. He looks irritated.
EXT. OBSERVATORY. DAY
The peak of an icy butte. A narrow, domed building sticks up into the sky at the top. A steel balcony winds around it with a platform that extends out over a plunging drop into the white mist. A group of scientists bundled in fur coats listens to a professor. A man on a bench pours cocoa from a Thermos. An eagle circles overhead.
M. Gustave and Zero shiver at the end of the railing.
M. GUSTAVE
It’s a hell of a view. I give them that, for what it’s worth.
ZERO
I agree.
Pause. M. Gustave checks his watch. He says with a slightly bitter edge to his voice:
M. GUSTAVE
When one says ‘midday’ – what does that mean to you?
ZERO
High noon.
M. GUSTAVE
Exactly. In other words, twelve p.m. At least, that’s always been my interpretation.
Silence. M. Gustave withdraws the small bottle of cologne from his pocket, spritzes himself twice, hands it to Zero who does the same automatically, then tucks it back away again. He holds out his palm under the flittering snow. He begins to recite:
M. GUSTAVE
‘’Tis oft-remarked: no single, falling flake does any other in its pure and perfect form –’
ZERO
(tensely)
Somebody’s coming.
A Monk in a grey cloak and a thick scarf clanks up a metal staircase. His face is old and wrinkled. He walks directly out to M. Gustave and Zero and stops. He studies them for a moment, frowning. He whispers:
MONK 1
Are you M. Gustave of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad?
M. GUSTAVE
(hesitates)
Uh-huh.
MONK 1
Get on the next cable car.
The Monk points.
A cable car is just arriving down the sloping line from an adjacent peak. M. Gustave hesitates. The Monk urges him on with a brusque motion. M. Gustave and Zero sprint across the balcony, scramble down a flight of steps, and race out onto the boarding platform. A family of six waits in skiing costumes. They stare at M. Gustave and Zero as they arrive, breathless. A tramway operator holds open the door. Everyone boards, squeezing.
INT. AERIAL TRAM. DAY
The cable car sets off up and across the wide ravine. M. Gustave and Zero sit side by side with the curious, silent family. The father sniffs the air. He looks irritated.
Halfway there: the cable car slams to a stop with a clunk.
Everyone is startled. The stalled vehicle sways in the quiet wind. The father looks up. The mother looks down. The children look to each other. In the distance: there is a faint, mechanical hum. M. Gustave and Zero look out.
Another cable car is ascending at a diagonal on a different line. They all watch as it slowly approaches. Just as it is about to criss-cross their path, it slams to a stop, too.
Another elderly, cloaked Monk stares out from inside the other cable car. He is alone in the vehicle. He studies M. Gustave and Zero for a moment, frowning. He whispers loudly:
MONK 2
Are you M. Gustave of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad?
M. GUSTAVE
(hesitates)
Uh-huh.
MONK 2
Switch with me.<
br />
The Monk unlatches the door of his cable car and opens it. The family watch nervously as M. Gustave and Zero stand up, rocking the vehicle, open their own door, and carefully exit. They reluctantly lunge across the precarious abyss. The Monk changes places with them. There is another clunk, and the two cable cars resume their journeys.
M. Gustave and Zero exchange a look. Their new cable car continues up toward its destination. A sign above the arrival platform reads: ‘Our Holy Father of the Sudetenwaltz’. Directly below it, there is a walled fort with a steeple and a tall stone cross.
Another tramway attendant holds the door open for them as they disembark.
EXT. MONASTERY. DAY
M. Gustave and Zero walk down a staircase and through the front gate into an empty churchyard. There are walls and low buildings on the sides, a few graves in the middle, and the entrance to a church at one end. Pause.
A small window swings open next to M. Gustave and Zero. Another elderly, cloaked Monk stares out from inside a caretaker’s booth. He studies them for a moment, frowning. He whispers:
MONK 3
Are you M. Gustave of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad?
M. GUSTAVE
(hesitates)
Uh-huh.
MONK 3
Put these on and sing.
The Monk thrusts a small bundle into M. Gustave’s hands. It consists of: two cloaks and two hymnals. The echoing sound of a Gregorian chant begins to rise from all around. M. Gustave and Zero swiftly slip on the cloaks just as a procession of a hundred monks enters from two directions, merges in the churchyard, and advances double-file toward the chapel.
M. Gustave and Zero open their hymnals at random and slip into the procession.
INT. CHURCH. DAY
A blasting organ joins the chant inside a vast, austere hall as the procession enters. The Monks file into pews. The music ends, and the room goes silent. Everyone kneels. The monsignor at the altar places his hands on a thick Bible and speaks Latin.
A voice behind M. Gustave and Zero says:
MONK 4
Psst.
M. Gustave and Zero turn around. Another elderly, cloaked monk kneels on a kneeler behind them with his hands folded in prayer. He studies them for a moment, frowning. He whispers:
MONK 4
Are you M. Gustave of the –
M. GUSTAVE
(irritated)
Yes, dammit.
MONK 4
Confess.
M. Gustave looks deeply offended and flabbergasted. He snaps:
M. GUSTAVE
I’m innocent.
MONK 4
(annoyed)
No, no.
The Monk points to a confessional booth in the transept.
M. Gustave hesitates. He nods, realizing. He and Zero look down the row of kneeling legs. They step up onto the pew, slink quickly in a crouch to the aisle, then hop down to the floor. Monks, watching them, frown.
M. Gustave and Zero hurry together into the confessional booth and close the door.
INT. CONFESSIONAL. DAY
A dark, wooden box lined with purple velvet. It is a bit tight for two. A panel slides open. Through the lattice screen: Serge has aged a decade. His eyes are watery and dim. He whispers immediately, reverent:
SERGE
Forgive me, M. Gustave. I never meant to betray you. They threatened my life, and now they’ve murdered my only family.
M. GUSTAVE
(frustrated)
No! Who’d they kill this time?
SERGE
(deeply wounded)
My dear sister.
M. GUSTAVE
(trying to picture her)
The girl with the club-foot?
SERGE
Yes.
M. GUSTAVE
Those fuckers.
SERGE
I tried to warn you. At the beginning.
M. GUSTAVE
I know, darling. Let’s put that behind us. Listen: I hate to put you on the spot, but I really must ask you to clear my name. Obviously, you’re grieving, and if I had any other –
SERGE
There’s more.
M. GUSTAVE
(hesitates)
OK.
SERGE
To the story.
M. GUSTAVE
I get it. Go on.
SERGE
I was the official witness in Madame D.’s presence to the creation of a second will to be executed only in the event of her death by murder.
M. GUSTAVE
A second will.
SERGE
Right.
M. GUSTAVE
In case she got bumped off.
SERGE
Right.
M. GUSTAVE
Uh-huh?
SERGE
But they destroyed it.
M. GUSTAVE
Oh, dear.
SERGE
However.
M. GUSTAVE
Uh-huh?
SERGE
I pulled a copy.
M. GUSTAVE
(beat)
A second copy of the second will.
SERGE
Right.
M. GUSTAVE
Uh-huh?
Long pause. M. Gustave finally starts to lose his composure. His voice rises:
M. GUSTAVE
Well, what does it say? Where is it? What’s it all about, dammit? Don’t keep us in suspense, Serge. This has been a complete fucking nightmare. Just tell us what the fuck is going on!
The panel snaps shut. M. Gustave and Zero frown. The organ blasts again outside the confessional, and the church booms with low, eerie, singing voices. M. Gustave tries to jerk the panel open, but it sticks. He bangs on it with his fists.
M. GUSTAVE
Serge? Serge? Serge!
M. Gustave tries the door. It is locked. Zero peers at the keyhole and says shortly:
ZERO
Give me the pass-keys.
M. Gustave hesitates. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his ring of Grand Budapest pass keys. Zero rapidly flips through them, studying each key. He settles on one, inserts it into the keyhole, jiggles it, and twists. The lock clicks.
Cut to:
M. Gustave and Zero jumping out from the confessional booth. Zero darts to the other side and cracks open the other door. He peeks in and sees:
Serge with a bloody garrote-wire strung around his neck. His eyes are wide open, and his tongue sticks out slightly.
Zero grimaces. M. Gustave looks over his shoulder.
M. GUSTAVE
Bloody hell. They’ve strangled the poor slob!
M. Gustave presses the door quietly shut again. He and Zero both look frantically around the room.
One lone Monk swings a smoking censer as he recesses quickly down the center aisle while the rest of the congregation stand in their pews singing. He steps outside and ducks away around the corner.
M. Gustave’s and Zero’s eyes light up – then narrow fiercely.
EXT. COURTYARD. DAY
M. Gustave and Zero dash out the front doors. They skid to a stop and scan the area. There is a display next to the church entrance of a wooden saint on a sled being pulled by a papier-mâché reindeer. There is no one else in sight.
A door creaks slowly in the wind outside a small shed across the way. A sign above it reads: ‘Ski Locker (Clerical Use Only)’. A cloak and the still-smoldering censer are strewn in the snow in front of it.
Insert:
A pair of high-heeled boots clamping into a pair of ski-clips.
Insert:
A pair of hands with brass knuckles gripping a pair of ski-poles.
Cut to:
Jopling (without cloak, on skis) exploding out the door of the shed, making a hard pivot, and launching through the monastery gate, down the steep slope.
M. Gustave and Zero watch in shock.
Zero turns to the display next to them. He leaps over to it, kicks off the saint, fli
ps away the reindeer, and shoves the sled full speed across the churchyard. He shouts:
ZERO
Come on!
M. Gustave chases after Zero, and they jump on board just as the sled dips sharply and accelerates like mad down the mountain. Zero hangs onto a short rope knotted to the front. M. Gustave hangs onto Zero.
Jopling, skiing superbly up ahead, looks back. He sees M. Gustave and Zero closing in. He frowns. He makes a quick detour through a gap in the trees and races down a narrow, zig-zag path.
Zero jerks the rope and follows Jopling. The sled bounces and bumps, skids and slides. Zero shouts:
ZERO
What do we do if we catch him?
M. GUSTAVE
(pause)
I don’t know! He’s a homicidal psychopath! Let’s stop!
ZERO
I can’t! I can barely steer!
Jopling ramps over the sloped roof of a shuttered café and lands cleanly. M. Gustave and Zero duck and shoot under it, banging between tables, scattering chairs, and rattling off the terrace.
A group of hikers in snow-shoes walks single file across the slope. They hurry to one side in a panic to dodge Jopling, then immediately hurry back to the other to dodge M. Gustave and Zero.
A long, paper banner rustles in the wind. It reads: GABELMEISTER’S PEAK, WINTER GAMES. Jopling snaps through it and shoots out onto an abandoned bobsled run. He balances nimbly as he rockets down the ice. M. Gustave and Zero burst onto the track behind him, skittering through the corners. They grit their teeth and hang on, terrified.
At the end of the run, Jopling jolts sideways, scratching across the track and showering splinters of ice, then zips up into the air and lands on the snow at the side of a road directly next to his parked motorcycle. He watches as:
M. Gustave and Zero come flying down the bobsled run at breakneck speed, slam into a dense bank at the bottom, and soar into a high arc. The sled flips and twirls, then hits the ground and splits into three pieces. Zero bashes headfirst into the deep snow and disappears – except for his feet and ankles sticking out into the air, motionless. M. Gustave smacks onto the ice and slides, spinning, off the edge of a cliff. Silence.