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EXT. CALIFORNIA DESERT - DAY
We float up a steep scrubby slope. We hear male voices gently
singing "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and a deep, affable, Western
accented voice--Sam Elliot's, perhaps:
VOICE-OVER
A way out west there was this
fella, fella I want to tell you
about, fella by the name of Jeff
Lebowski. At least, that was the
handle his lovin' parents gave him,
but he never had much use for it
himself. This Lebowski, he called
himself the Dude. Now, Dude, that's
a name no one would self-apply
where I come from. But then, there
was a lot about the Dude that
didn't make a whole lot of sense to
me. And a lot about where he lived,
like- wise. But then again, maybe
that's why I found the place
s'durned innarestin'.
We top the rise and the smoggy vastness of Los Angeles at
twilight stretches out before us.
VOICE-OVER (CONT'D)
They call Los Angeles the City of
Angels. I didn't find it to be that
exactly, but I'll allow as there
are some nice folks there. 'Course,
I can't say I seen London, and I
never been to France, and I ain't
never seen no queen in her damn
undies as the fella says. But I'll
tell you what, after seeing Los
Angeles and thisahere story I'm
about to unfold-- wal, I guess I
seen somethin' ever' bit as
stupefyin' as ya'd see in any a
those other places, and in English
too, so I can die with a smile on
my face without feelin' like the
good Lord gypped me.
INT. RALPH'S - NIGHT
It is late, the supermarket all but deserted. We track in on
a forty-ish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the dairy
case. He is THE DUDE. His rumpled look and relaxed manner
suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.
He feels quarts of milk for coldness and examines their
expiration dates.
VOICE-OVER
Now this story I'm about to unfold
took place back in the early
nineties-- just about the time of
our conflict with Sad'm and the Eye
rackies. I only mention it 'cause
some- times there's a man-- I won't
say a hee-ro, 'cause what's a hee
ro?--but sometimes there's a man
... and I'm talkin' about the Dude
here-- sometimes there's a man,
wal, he's the man for his time'n
place, he fits right in there-- and
that's the Dude, in Los Angeles...
and even if he's a lazy man, and
the Dude was certainly that--quite
possibly the laziest in Los Angeles
County.
The Dude glances furtively about and then opens a quart of
milk. He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.
VOICE-OVER (CONT'D)
...which would place him high in
the runnin' for laziest worldwide-
but sometimes there's a man...
sometimes there's a man.
CHECKOUT GIRL -
She waits, arms folded.
VOICE-OVER (CONT'D)
Wal...
The Dude, scribbles something at the little customer's
lectern.
Milk beads his mustache.
VOICE-OVER (CONT'D)
Lost my train of thought here.
But...
The Dude has his Ralph's Shopper's Club card to one side and
makes out a check to Ralph's for sixty-nine cents.
VOICE-OVER (CONT'D)
Aw hell, I done innerduced him
enough.
The Dude, peeks over his shades at a small black-and white TV
next to the register shows George Bush on the White House
lawn with helicopter rotors spinning behind him.
GEORGE BUSH
--- call for a collective action.
This will not stand. This will not
stand! This aggression against, uh,
Kuwait.
EXT. DUDE'S BUNGALOW - NIGHT
The Dude goes up the walkway of a small Venice bungalow
court. He holds the paper sack in one hand and a small
leatherette satchel in the other. He awkwardly hugs the
grocery bag against his chest as he turns a key in his door.
INT. DUDE'S BUNGALOW - CONTINUOUS
The Dude enters and flicks on a light. His head is grabbed
from behind and tucked into an armpit. We track with him as
he is rushed through the living room, his arm holding the
satchel flailing away from his body.
Going into the bedroom the outflung satchel catches a piece
of doorframe and wallboard and rips through it, leaving a
hole.
The Dude is propelled across the bedroom and on into a small
bathroom, the satchel once again taking away a piece of
doorframe. His head is plunged into the toilet. The paper bag
hugged to his chest explodes milk as it hits the toilet rim
and the satchel pulverizes tile as it crashes to the floor.
The Dude blows bubbles.
Hands haul the Dude out of the toilet. The Dude blubbers and
gasps for air.
VOICE
Where's the money, Lebowski!
His head is plunged back into the toilet.
VOICE (CONT'D)
We want that money, Lebowski. Bunny
said you were good for it.
Hands haul the Dude out of the toilet again.
VOICE (CONT'D)
Where's the money, Lebowski!
His head is plunged back into the toilet.
VOICE (CONT'D)
Where's the money, Lebowski!
The hands haul him out again, dripping and gasping.
VOICE (CONT'D)
WHERE'S THE FUCKING MONEY,
SHITHEAD!
DUDE
It's uh, it's down there somewhere.
Lemme take another look.
His head is plunged back in.
VOICE
Don't fuck with us.
The inquisitor hauls the Dude's head out one last time and
flops him over so that he sits on the floor, back against the
toilet.
VOICE (CONT'D)
Your wife owes money to Jackie
Treehorn, that means you owe money
to Jackie Treehorn.
Looming over him is a strapping BLOND MAN.
Beyond in the living room a young Chinese man unzips his fly
and walks over to a rug.
CHINESE MAN
Ever thus to deadbeats, Lebowski.
He starts peeing on the rug.
DUDE
Oh, no. Don't do that. Not on the
rug, man.
BLOND MAN
See, You see what happens,
Lebowski? You see what happens?
DUDE
Nobody calls me Lebowski. You got
the wrong guy. I'm the Dude, man.
BLOND MAN
Your name is Lebowski, Lebowski.
Your wife is Bunny.
DUDE
Muh muh Wi-- my wife? Bunny?
He holds up his hand.
DUDE (CONT'D)
You see a wedding ring on my
finger? Does this place look like
I'm fucking married? The toilet
seat's up man!
The Blond Man stoops to unzip the satchel. He pulls out a
bowling ball and examines it in the manner of a superstitious
native.
The Dude gropes back in the toilet with one hand. The Dude's
hand comes out of the toilet bowl with his Sunglasses and
puts on his dripping sunglasses.
BLOND MAN
What the fuck is this?
DUDE
Obviously you're not a golfer.
The Blond Man drops the ball which pulverizes the tile.
BLOND MAN
Woo?
The Chinese man, WOO, zips his fly.
WOO
Yeah?
BLOND MAN
Isn't this guy supposed to be a
millionaire?
They both look around.
WOO
Fuck.
BLOND MAN
Yeah, what do you think?
WOO
He looks like a fuckin' loser.
The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose with one finger
and peeks over them.
DUDE
Hey. At least I'm housebroken.
The two men look at each other. They turn to leave.
WOO
Fuckin' time waste.
The Blond Man turns testily at the door.
BLOND MAN
Thanks a lot, asshole.
ON THE DOOR SLAM WE CUT TO:
BOWLING PINS -
Scattered by a strike.
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
Music and head credits play over various bowling shots--pins
flying, bowlers hoisting balls, balls gliding down lanes,
sliding feet, graceful releases, ball return spinning up a
ball, fingers sliding into fingerholes, etc.
The music turns into boomy source music, coming from a
distant jukebox, as the credits end over a clattering strike.
A man with black hair, wearing a bowling shirt turns from the
strike to walk back to the bench.
MAN
Wahooo, I'm throwin' rocks tonight.
Mark it, Dude.
We track in on the circular bench towards a big man nursing a
large plastic cup of Beer. He has dark worried eyes and a
goatee. Hairy legs emerge from his blue jean shorts.
He also wears a khaki army surplus vest over a black shirt.
WALTER
This was a valued rug.
This is WALTER. He taps a cigarette as he addresses the Dude.
The Dude digs in his bag to remove his bowling ball.
Walter clears his throat.
DONNY, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next
Walter.
WALTER (CONT'D)
This was, uh--
DUDE
Yeah man, it really tied the room
together--
WALTER
This was a valued, uh.
DUDE
Yeah...
DONNY
What tied the room together, Dude?
DUDE
My rug.
WALTER
Were you listening to the story,
Donny?
DONNY
What?
DUDE
Walter..
WALTER
Were you listening to the Dude's
story?
DONNY
I was bowling--
WALTER
So you have no frame of reference,
here Donny. You're like a child who
wanders in -
DUDE
Walter...
WALTER
- in the middle of a movie and
wants to--
DUDE
Walter, walter, what's the point
man?
WALTER
There's no fucking reason--here's
my point, Dude--there's no fucking
reason why these --
DONNY
Yeah Walter, what's your point?
WALTER
Huh?
DUDE
Walter, what's the point. Look--we
all know who was at fault here,
what the fuck are you talking
about?
WALTER
Huh? No! What the fuck are you -
I'm not--we're talking about
unchecked aggression here, Dude.
DONNY
What the fuck is he talking about?
DUDE
My rug.
WALTER
Forget it, Donny. You're out of
your element.
DUDE
Walter, the Chinaman who peed on my
rug, I can't go give him a bill, so
what the fuck are you talking
about?
WALTER
What the fuck are you talking
about?! The Chinaman is not the
issue here dude! I'm talking about
drawing a line in the sand, Dude.
Across this line you do not,--
also, Dude, Chinaman is not the
preferred nomenclature, uh, Asian
American, Please.
DUDE
Walter, this isn't a guy who built
the rail- roads, here, this is a
guy --
WALTER
What the fuck are you talk--
DUDE
Walter, he peed on my rug.
DONNY
He peed on the Dude's rug.
WALTER
DONNIE YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT!
Dude the Chinaman is not the issue
here.
DUDE
So who, who--
WALTER
Jeff Lebowski. The other Jeffrey
Lebowski. The millionaire.
DUDE
That's fucking interesting man,
that's fucking interesting...
WALTER
Plus, he has the wealth, obviously,
and the resources, uh, so that
there is no reason, there's no
FUCKING reason, why his wife should
go out and owe money all over town,
and then they come and they pee on
your fucking rug! Am I wrong?
DUDE
No...
WALTER
Am I wrong!
DUDE
Yeah, but--
WALTER
Okay then. uh,
He elaborately clears his throat.
WALTER (CONT'D)
That rug really tied the room
together, did it not?
DUDE
Fuckin' A.
DONNY
And this guy peed on it.
WALTER
Donny, Please.
DUDE
You know, this is the fuckin'
guy... I could find this Lebowski
guy.
DONNY
His name is Lebowski? That's your
name, Dude!
DUDE
This is the guy, who should
compensate me for the fucking rug.
His wife goes out and owes money
all over town, and they pee on my
rug?
WALTER
They pee on your fucking Rug?
DUDE
They peed on my fucking rug.
WALTER
Thaaat's right Dude; they peed on
your fucking Rug.
INT. LEBOWSKI MANOR - DAY
CLOSE ON A PLAQUE -
We pull back from the name JEFFREY LEBOWSKI engraved in
silver to reveal that the plaque, from Variety Clubs
International, honors Lebowski as ACHIEVER OF THE YEAR.
Reflected in the plaque we see the Dude entering the room
with a YOUNG MAN. We hear the two men talk:
YOUNG MAN
This is the study. As you can see
the various commendations, awards--
DUDE
Jeffery Lebowski...
YOUNG MAN
--citations, honorary degrees, et
cetera.
DUDE
Hmm, very impressive.
YOUNG MAN
Please, feel free to inspect them.
DUDE
Hum? Oh, I'm not that-- really, uh.
YOUNG MAN
Oh, Please! Please!
We pan the walls, looking at various citations and
certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed off
screen:
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
That's the key to the city of
Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski
received two years ago in
recognition of his various civic,
uh... Oh, That's a Los Angeles
Chamber of Commerce Business
Achiever award, which is given--oh
not necessarily given every year!
DUDE
Hey, is this uh..?
YOUNG MAN
Given only when there's a worthy--
DUDE
is this ...?
YOUNG MAN
--somebody--
DUDE
Is this him with Nancy?
YOUNG MAN
Yes indeed, that is Mr. Lebowski
with the First Lady, yes. It was
taken when Mrs. Reagan--
DUDE
That's uh, Lebowski on the left
there?
YOUNG MAN
Yeah. Of course, Mr. Lebowski on
the left...
DUDE
So he's a crip...you know a, a...
YOUNG MAN
uh, ahmmm...
DUDE
Handicapped, kinda guy?
YOUNG MAN
Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes. This
picture was taken when Mrs. Reagan
was first lady of the nation, yes,
yes? Not of California.
The Dude points to Charlton Heston in a photo with Jeffery
Lebowski.
DUDE
Chuck.
YOUNG MAN
In fact he met privately with the
President, though unfortunately
there wasn't time for a photo
opportunity.
DUDE
Oh, Nancy's pretty good.
YOUNG MAN
Oh, Wonderful woman. We were very
happy to--
DUDE
Uh...these are, uh?
YOUNG MAN
Uh those are Mr. Lebowski's
children, so to speak--
DUDE
Different mothers, huh?
YOUNG MAN
No, they're not--
DUDE
So, racially he's pretty cool--
YOUNG MAN
Aha ha ha uh, they're not literally
his children; they're the Little
Lebowski Urban Achievers, inner
city children of promise but
without the necessary means for a
necessary means, for a higher
education, so Mr. Lebowski has
committed to sending all of them to
college.
The young man removes the Dude's finger from one of the
plaques.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Excuse me. Thank you, thank you.
DUDE
Far out. Think he's got room for
one more?
YOUNG MAN
One uh--oh! Heh-heh. You never went
to college.
The Dude's finger goes back to the plaque.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Please, uh, don't touch that.
DUDE
Oh yeah, yeah, no I did, but uh,
You know I spent most of my time
uh, occupying various,
administration buildings uh--
YOUNG MAN
Um Hmmm.
DUDE
--smoking a lot of thai-stick,
breaking into the ROTC--
YOUNG MAN
Aha hahahahahaha Yes, --
DUDE
--and bowling. I'll tell you the
truth, Brandt, I don't remember
most of it.
Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed,
Man of the Year, Time Magazine cover which in the lower right
corner says, ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI ACHIEVER? Oddly, the Dude's,
face is on it; we realize that the display is mirrored.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Hmmm.
We hear the door open and the whine of a motor. The Dude,
wears shorts and an open hooded sweat shirt, turns to look.
So does BRANDT, the young man we've been listening to. He
wears a suit and has his hands clasped in front of his groin.
Entering the room is a fat sixtyish man in a motorized
wheelchair--Jeff Lebowski.
LEBOWSKI
Okay sir, you're a Lebowski, I'm a
Lebowski, that's terrific, but I'm
very busy, as I can imagine you
are. What can I do for you sir?
He wheels himself behind a desk. The Dude sits facing him as
Brandt withdraws.
DUDE
Uh, well sir, it's, uh, this rug I
have, it really tied the room
together-uh--
LEBOWSKI
You told Brandt on the phone, he
told me. Where do I fit in?
DUDE
Well, uh, they were--they were
looking for you, these two guys, uh
you know they--
LEBOWSKI
I'll say it again, you told Brandt
on the phone. He told me. I know
what happened. Yes? Yes?
DUDE
Oh, so you know they were trying to
piss on your rug?
LEBOWSKI
Did I urinate on your rug?
DUDE
You mean, did you personally come
and pee on my rug?
LEBOWSKI
Hello! Do you speak English son?
Parla usted Inglese? I'll say it
again. Did I urinate on your rug?
DUDE
No, like I said, Woo, peed on my
rug.
LEBOWSKI
I just want to understand this sir,
every time a rug is micturated upon
in this fair city, I have to
compensate the person?
DUDE
Come on, man, I'm not trying to
scam anybody here, uh, you know,
I'm just--uh...
LEBOWSKI
You're just looking for a handout
like every other--are you employed,
Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE
Huh? wait wait, let me, let me
explain something to you. Uh, I am
not Mr. Lebowski; you're Mr.
Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's
what you call me. You know, uh,
That, or uh, his Dudeness, or uh
Duder, or uh El Duderino, if, you
know, you're not into the whole
brevity thing--uh.
LEBOWSKI
Are you employed, sir?
DUDE
Employed? ah ha...
LEBOWSKI
You don't go out looking for a job
dressed like that do ya? On a
weekday?
DUDE
Is this a--what day is this?
LEBOWSKI
Well I do work sir, so if you don't
mind--
DUDE
Yeah, I do mind. The Dude minds.
This will not stand, ya know, this
aggression will not stand, man. I
mean, your wife owes money--
The Big Lebowski slams his fist down on the desk.
LEBOWSKI
My wife, is not the issue here! I
hope that someday my wife will
learn to live on her allowance,
which is ample, but if she does
not, that is her problem, not mine,
just as your rug is your problem,
just asÉ
The Dude puts on his sunglassesÉ
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
Éevery bum's lot in life is his own
responsibility regardless of whom
he chooses to blame. I didn't blame
anyone for the loss of my legs,
some chinaman took them from me in
Korea but I went out and achieved
anyway. I cannot solve your
problems, sir, only you can.
DUDE
Ah fuck it.
LEBOWSKI
Oh, "Fuck it!" Yes, that's your
answer! That's your answer to
everything! Tattoo it on your
forehead!
The Dude gets up out of the chair.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
Your "revolution" is over, Mr.
Lebowski! Condolences! The bums
lost!
The Dude heads for the door. Then opens the door.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
My advice to you is, to do what
your parents did! Get a job, sir!
The bums will always lose-- do you
hear me, Lebowski?
The Dude shuts the door on the old man's bellowing--
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
(muffled)
...THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS LOSE!
HALLWAY -
in a high coffered hallway. Brandt approaches.
BRANDT
How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE
Okay. The old man told me to take
any rug in the house.
EXT. WALKWAY - DAY
A houseman with a rolled-up carpet on one shoulder goes down
a stone walk that winds through the back lawn, past a
swimming pool with Brandt and the Dude in front of him.
BRANDT
Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see
you again some time, Dude.
DUDE
Yeah sure, uh,
DUDE'S POINT OF VIEW -
Tracks toward the pool. A young woman sits facing it, her
back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.
DUDE (CONT'D)
...if I'm in the neighborhood, you
know, and uh, I need to use the
john.
CLOSER TRACK -
Arc around the woman's foot as she finishes painting the
nails emerald green.
THE DUDE -
Looking.
WIDER -
The young woman looks up at him. She is in her early
twenties.
She leans back and extends her leg toward the Dude.
YOUNG WOMAN
Blow on them.
The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose and peeks over
them.
DUDE
Huh?
She waggles her foot and giggles.
YOUNG WOMAN
G'ahead. Blow.
The Dude tentatively grabs hold of her extended foot.
DUDE
You want me to blow on your uh,
toes?
YOUNG WOMAN
Uh-huh, heh heh . . I can't blow
that far.
The Dude looks over at the pool.
A man in shorts floats in a dipped foam chair in the pool.
DUDE
You sure he won't mind?
The man bobbing in the foam chair is passed out. He
is thin, in his thirties, with stringy blond hair. One arm
trails off into the water; next to it, an empty whiskey
bottle bobs.
YOUNG WOMAN
Uli doesn't care about anything.
He's a nihilist.
DUDE
Ah, that must be exhausting.
YOUNG WOMAN
You're not blowing.
BRANDT
Our guest has to be getting along,
Mrs. Lebowski.
DUDE
Ahhh, you're Bunny.
BUNNY
I'll suck your cock for a thousand
dollars.
Brandt releases a gale of forced laughter:
BRANDT
Ha-ha-ha-ha! Wonderful woman. We're
all very fond of her. Very free
spirited.
BUNNY
Brandt can't watch though. Or he
has to pay a hundred.
BRANDT
Aha-ha-ha-ha! That's marvelous.
Brandt nervously takes the Dude by the elbow.
The Dude grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still
looking at the young woman back over his shoulder.
DUDE
Uhhhh...I'm just gonna go find a
cash machine.
BOWLING PINS -
Scattered by a strike.
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
THE BOWLERS
Donny backs away from the line,
turns and walks back.
DONNY
Wahooo...I'm slammin' 'em tonight
You guys are dead in the water!!
As the Donny walks back to the scoring table he points to
another team in black bowling shirts--the Cavaliers--that
shares the lane.
Walter, just arriving, carries a leatherette satchel in one
hand and a LARGE PLASTIC CARRIER in the other.
WALTER
Alright! Way to go, Donny! If you
will it, it is no dream.
DUDE
You're fucking twenty minutes late,
man. What the fuck is that?
WALTER
Theodore Herzel.
DUDE
Huh?
WALTER
State of Israel. If you will it,
Dude, it is no dream.
DUDE
What the fuck're you talking about
man? The carrier. What's in the
fucking carrier?
WALTER
Huh? Oh!--Cynthia's dog. I think
it's a Pomeranian. I can't leave
him home alone or he eats the
furniture. I'm watching it while
Cynthia and Marty Ackerman are in
Hawaii.
DUDE
You brought a fucking Pomeranian
bowling?
WALTER
What do you mean "brought it
bowling"? I didn't rent it shoes.
I'm not buying it a fucking beer.
He's not taking your fucking turn,
Dude.
He lets the small yapping dog out of the carrier. It scoots
around the bowling table, sniffs at bowlers and wags its
tail.
DUDE
Man, if my fucking ex-wife asked me
to take care of her fucking dog
while she and her boyfriend went to
Honolulu, I'd tell her to go fuck
herself. Why can't she board it?
WALTER
First of all, Dude, you don't have
an ex, secondly, this is a fucking
show dog with fucking papers. You
can't board it. It gets upset, its
hair falls out.
DUDE
Hey man, Walter, you know--
WALTER
Fucking dog has fucking papers-
Over the line!
Smokey turns from his last roll to look at Walter.
SMOKEY
Huh?
WALTER
I'm sorry Smokey, You were over the
line, that's a foul.
SMOKEY
Bullshit. Mark it eight Dude.
WALTER
Excuse me! Mark it zero. Next
frame.
SMOKEY
Bullshit. Walter! Mark it eight
Dude.
WALTER
Smokey, this is not Nam. This is
bowling. There are rules.
DUDE
Hey Walter come on, it's just--hey
man it's Smokey. So his toe slipped
over a little, you know, it's just
a game, man.
WALTER
This is a league game. This
determines who enters the next
round-robin, am I wrong?
SMOKEY
Yeah, but I wasn't--
WALTER
Am I wrong!?
SMOKEY
Yeah, but I wasn't over. Gimme the
marker, Dude, I'm marking it an
eight.
Walter takes out a GUN.
WALTER
Smokey my friend, you're entering a
world of pain.
DUDE
Walter--man--
WALTER
You mark that frame an eight,
you're entering a world of pain.
SMOKEY
I'm not--
WALTER
A world of pain.
SMOKEY
Look Dude, I ... this is your
partner--
WALTER
HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY? AM
I THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO GIVES A
SHIT ABOUT THE RULES? MARK IT ZERO!
The Pomeranian excitedly yaps at Walter's knee, makes high
body-twisting tail-wagging leaps.
DUDE
They're calling the cops, man, put
the piece away.
Walter points it at Smokey's head.
WALTER
MARK IT ZERO!
DUDE
Walter put the piece away.
SMOKEY
Walter--
WALTER
YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND HERE?
Walter primes the gun.
WALTER (CONT'D)
MARK IT ZERO!!
SMOKEY
All right!! It's fucking zero! You
happy, you crazy fuck?
WALTER
It's a league game, Smokey!
EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Walter and the Dude walk to the Dude's car. The 'Pomeranian'
trots happily behind Walter who totes the empty carrier.
DUDE
You can't do that man. These guys,
you know, they're like me, they're
pacificists. Smokey was a
conscientious objector.
WALTER
You know Dude, I myself dabbled
with pacifism at one point. Not in
Nam, of course--
DUDE
And you know he's got emotional
problems man!
WALTER
You mean--beyond pacifism?
DUDE
He's fragile, very fragile!
As the two men get into the car:
WALTER
Huh. I did not know that. Well,
it's all water under the bridge.
And we do enter the next round
robin, am I wrong?
DUDE
No, you're not wrong--
WALTER
Am I wrong!
DUDE
You're not wrong, Walter, you're
just an asshole.
WALTER
Okay then. We play Quintana and
O'Brien next week. They should be
pushovers.
They watch a squad car take a squealing turn into the lot.
DUDE
Man, willya just, just take it
easy, man.
WALTER
You know, that's your answer for
everything, Dude. And let me point
out something--pacifism is not-
look at our current situation with
that camelfucker in Iraq-- pacifism
is not something to hide behind.
DUDE
Just take it easy, man.
WALTER
I'm perfectly calm, Dude.
DUDE
Yeah? Wavin' the fuckin' gun
around?!
WALTER
(smugly)
Calmer than you are.
This irritates the Dude further.
DUDE
Will you just take it easy?
Walter is still smug.
WALTER
Calmer than you are.
INT. DUDE'S HOUSE
A large, brilliant Persian rug lies in front of the Dude's
beat-up old furniture.
A beep.
VOICE
Dude, this is Smokey. Look, I don't
wanna be a hard-on about this, and
I know it wasn't your fault, but I
just thought it was fair to tell
you that Gilbert and I will be
submitting this to the League and
asking them to set aside the round,
I don't know, or maybe, forfeit it
to us-- so, like I say, just
thought, you know, fair warning.
Tell Walter. I'm sorry.
Beep.
At the bar next to the answering machine the Dude is mixing
kahlua, vodka and milk.
ANOTHER VOICE
Mr. Lebowski, this is Brandt at,
uh, well--at Mr. Lebowski's office.
Please call us as soon as is
convenient.
Beep.
ANOTHER VOICE (CONT'D)
Mr. Lebowski, this is Bell
Salnicker with the Southern Cal
Bowling League, and I just got a,
an informal report, that a member
of your team, uh, Walter Sobchak,
drew a firearm during league play.
If this is true of course, it
contraviens a number of the
league's by-laws, and article 27 of
the league...
We hear a knock at the door.
THE DOOR -
It swings open to reveal a short, hairy, muscular but balding
middle-aged man in a blue T-shirt and beige shorts.
MAN
Dude.
DUDE
Hey Marty.
MARTY
Dude, I, I finally, I got the uh,
venue I wanted. Uh, I'm Performing
my dance quintet--you know, my
cycle--at Crane Jackson's Fountain
Street Theatre on Tuesday night,
and well I'd love it if you came
and gave me notes.
The Dude takes a swig of his drink.
DUDE
I'll be there man.
MARTY
Uh, Dude, uh, tomorrow's already
the tenth.
DUDE
Far out. Oh, oh, alright, okay.
MARTY
Just, uh, just slip the rent under
my door.
BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM -
The voice continues on the machine.
VOICE
--serious infraction, and examine
your standing. Thank you.
Beep.
VOICE (CONT'D)
Mr. Lebowski, Brandt again. Please
do call us as soon as you get in
and I'll send the limo. I hope
you're not avoiding this call
because of the rug, ha ha, which, I
assure you, is not a problem.
We need your help and, uh--well we
would very much like to see you.
Thank you. It's Brandt.
INT. LEBOWSKI MANOR
TRACKING -
We push Brandt down the high-ceilinged hallway.
Distantly, we hear a dolorous soprano. Brandt talks back over
his shoulder:
BRANDT
We've had some terrible news. Mr.
Lebowski is in seclusion in the
West Wing.
Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors.
Brandt announces ambiguously:
BRANDT (CONT'D)
Mr. Lebowski.
The music washes over us as we enter a great study where
Jeffrey Lebowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares
hauntedly into a fire, listening to Lohengrin.
LEBOWSKI
Funny-- I can look back on a life
of achievement, on challenges met,
competitors bested, obstacles
overcome. I've accomplished more
than most men, and without the use
of my legs. What. . . What makes a
man, Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE
Dude.
LEBOWSKI
Huh?
DUDE
Uh, I, I don't know, sir.
LEBOWSKI
Is it being prepared to do the
right thing? Whatever the cost?
Isn't that what makes a man?
DUDE
Ummm..sure. That and a pair of
testicles.
Lebowski is turned away from the Dude with a haunted stare,
lost in thought.
LEBOWSKI
You're joking. But perhaps you're
right.
The Dude pulls a 'Jay' out of his pants pocket.
DUDE
You mind if I do a jay?
LEBOWSKI
Bunny.
The firelight shows teartracks on his cheeks.
DUDE
'Scuse me?
LEBOWSKI
Bunny Lebowski... She is the light
of my life. Are you surprised at my
tears, sir?
DUDE
Oh, fuckin' A.
LEBOWSKI
Strong men also cry... Strong men
also cry.
He clears his throat.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
I received this fax this morning.
Brandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and
hands it to the Dude.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
As you can see, it is a ransom
note.
The Dude examines the fax:
WE HAVE BUNNY.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
Written by men who are unable to
achieve on a level field of play.
GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
Cowards!
IN UNMARKED NON-CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES.
LEBOWSKI
Weaklings.
AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
Bums.
NO FUNNY STUFF.
DUDE
Bummer.
LEBOWSKI
Huh?
DUDE
This is a bummer man. That's a,
that's a bummer.
LEBOWSKI
Brandt will fill you in on the
details.
The Big Lebowski gazes into the fire.
Brandt tugs at the Dude's shirt and points him back to the
hall.
HALLWAY -
The soprano's singing is once again faint. Brandt's voice is
hushed:
BRANDT
Mr. Lebowski is prepared to make a
generous offer to you to act as
courier once we get instructions
for the money.
DUDE
Why me, man?
BRANDT
He believes that the culprits might
be the very people who, uh, soiled
your rug, and you're in a unique
position to confirm or, disconfirm
that suspicion.
DUDE
He thinks the carpet-pissers did
this?
BRANDT
Well Dude, we just don't know.
BOWLING PINS
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
MUSIC: Spanish version of 'Hotel California' slow motion.
WIDER -
Still in slow motion. We are looking at a tall, thin,
Hispanic bowler. He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester
stretch, violet bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each
side.
He has a pink bowling ball which he holds in front of his
face and he licks the ball. He lowers the ball on his back
swing.
Stitched above the breast pocket of his all-in-one is his
first name, "Jesus".
He rolls the pink ball and slams the pins. He turns and to
the music, does a bravado dance and a strut back to the seat
taunting the competition.
QUINTANA
Wheeling and thrusting a black
gloved single finger into the air.
FAST TRACK IN -
On the Dude, sitting next to Walter in the molded plastic
chairs. The Dude is staring off towards the bowler.
DUDE
Fucking Quintana--that creep can
roll, man--
WALTER
Yeah, but he's a fucking pervert,
Dude.
DUDE
Yeah?
WALTER
No. He's a sex offender. With a
record. He did six months in Chino
for exposing himself to an eight-
year-old.
FLASHBACK -
We see Quintana, in pressed jeans and a stretchy sweater,
walking up a stoop in a residential neighborhood and ringing
the bell.
The VOICE-OVER conversation continues.
DUDE
Huh.
WALTER
When he moved down to Hollywood he
had to go door-to-door to tell
everyone he was a pederast.
The door swings open and a beer-swilling middle-aged man
looks dully out at Quintana, who looks hesitantly up.
DONNY
What's a pederast, Walter?
WALTER
Shut the fuck up, Donny.
BACK TO WALTER AND THE DUDE -
WALTER
So. How much they give you?
DUDE
Twenty grand, man. And of course I
still keep the rug.
WALTER
Just for making the hand-off?
DUDE
Yeah.
He slips a little black box out of his shorts pocket, and
turns it on.
DUDE (CONT'D)
...They gave uh, Dude a beeper, so
whenever these guys call--
WALTER
What if it's during a game?
DUDE
Oh, I told him if it was during
league play--
Donny has been watching Quintana.
DONNY
What's during league play?
DUDE
Uh, ya know...
WALTER
Life does not stop and start at
your convenience --
DUDE
I uh...
WALTER
--you miserable piece of shit.
DUDE
I, I figure uh,
DONNY
What's wrong with Walter, Dude?
DUDE
I figure it's easy money, ya know,
it's all pretty harmless. She
probably kidnapped herself.
WALTER
Huh?
DUDE
Aww...
DONNY
What do you mean, Dude?
DUDE
Rug-peers did not do this. Look at
it. Young trophy wife. Marries this
guy for money, she figures he isn't
giving her enough. Ya know, She
owes money all over town-- aww.
WALTER
That...fucking...bitch!
DUDE
It's all a goddamn fake man. It's
like Leninsaid, you look for the
person who will benefit. And uh,uh,
you know, uh...
DONNIE
I am the Walrus.
DUDE
...you know... you'll, uh, uh, you
know what I'm trying to say--
DONNY
I am the Walrus.
WALTER
That fucking bitch!
DUDE
Yeah.
DONNY
I am the Walrus.
WALTER
That's ex-- Shut the fuck up,
Donny! V.I. Lenin! Vladimir Ilyich
Ulyanov!
DONNY
What the fuck is he talking about?
WALTER
Fucking exactly what happened.
Those--
We see Quintana and his partner vigorously shining their
bowling balls.
DUDE
Hell yeah.
WALTER
That makes me fucking SICK!
DUDE
Well, what do you care, Walter?
WALTER
Those rich fucks! This whole
fucking thing-- I did not watch my
buddies die face down in the muck
so that this fucking strumpet--
DUDE
Walter--
WALTER
This fuckin' whore...
DUDE
I don't see any--
WALTER
...can waltz around town...
DUDE
--connection with Vietnam, man.
WALTER
Well, there isn't a literal
connection, Dude.
DUDE
Walter, face it, there isn't any
connection. Your roll.
WALTER
Have it your way, but my point is--
DUDE
Your roll--
WALTER
My point is--
DUDE
Your roll.
VOICE
Are you ready to be fucked, man?
They both look up.
Quintana, on his way out, looks down at them from the lip of
the lanes. Over his polyester all-in-one he now wears a
windbreaker with a racing stripe and "Jesus" stitched on the
breast. He is holding a fancy black-and-red leather ball
satchel (perhaps a Sylvia Wein). Behind him stands his
partner, Liam, a short fat Irishman with tufted brown hair.
QUINTANA
I see you rolled your way into the
semis. Dios mio, man. Liam and me,
we're gonna fuck you up.
DUDE
Yeah well, ya know, that's just,
like uh, your opinion, man.
Quintana looks at Walter.
QUINTANA
Let me tell you something, pendejo.
You pull any your crazy shit with
us, you flash a piece out on the
lanes, I'll take it away from you
and stick it up your ass and pull
the fucking trigger till it goes
"click".
DUDE
Jesus.
QUINTANA
You said it, man. Nobody fucks with
the Jesus.
Jesus walks away. Walter turns his head toward the Dude.
WALTER
Eight-year-olds, Dude.
INT. DUDE'S BUNGALOW
We are looking down at the Dude who is prone on the rug. His
eyes are closed. He wears a Walkman headset. Leaking tinnily
through the headphones we can just hear an intermittent
clatter.
On the rug lies a cassette case labeled --
A: VENICE BEACH LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987. B: Bob
The Dude absently licks his lips as we faintly hear a ball
rumbling down the lane. On its impact with the pins, the Dude
opens his eyes.
A redhead woman looms over him. Next to her a young man in
paint-spattered denims stoops and swings his fist at the
Dude's head.
The sap catches the Dude on the chin and sends his head
thunking back onto the rug.
Fireworks explode against a field of black. We hear the "La
la-la-la" of 'The Man in Me'.
The black field dissolves into the pattern of the rug.
The rug rolls away to reveal an aerial view of the city of
Los Angeles at twilight, moving below us at great speed.
The Dude flies over the city, his arms thrown out in front of
him, the wind whipping his hair and billowing his bowling
shirt. He looks up.
Ahead the mysterious redhead woman wings away, riding on the
Dude's rug like a sheik on a magic carpet. She is outpacing
us, growing smaller.
The Dude does a couple of lazy breast strokes and then
notices that a bowling ball has materialized in his forward
hand.
His bemusement turns to concern over the aerodynamic
implications just as the ball seems to suddenly assume its
weight, abruptly snapping his arm down, and him after it. He
falls. From a high angle we see the Dude hurtling down toward
the city, dragged by the ball.
A reverse looking up shows the Dude hurtling toward us out of
the inky sky, his eyes wide with horror. Led by the bowling
ball, he zooms past the camera leaving us in black.
We hear a distant rumble, like thunder. Dull reflections
materialize in the darkness. They are glints off the shiny
surface of an oncoming bowling ball.
We pull back to reveal that the blackness was the inside of a
ball return, and the gleaming bowling ball is being
regurgitated up at us, overtaking us.
The Dude looks up, up, up at the looming ball, its mass
rolling a huge shadow across his face.
The gleaming ball shows three dead black holes rolling toward
us --finger holes.
The largest--thumb--hole rolls directly over us, engulfing us
once again in black..
The black rolls away and we are spinning--spinning down a
bowling lane--our point of view that of someone trapped in
the thumbhole of the rolling ball.
We see the receding bowler spinning away. It is the redhead
woman, performing her follow-through.
Floor spins up at us and then away; ceiling spins up and
away; the length of the alley with pins at the end; floor;
ceiling; approaching pins; again and again.
We hit the pins and clatter into blackness. We hear pins
spin, hit each other and drop.
We hear an irritating, insistent beeping along with the song
'The Man in Me'.
FADE IN:
We are close on the Dude, upside down. As the picture fades
'The Man in Me' continues, but filtered and faint. They come
from the Dude's Walkman, the headset of which is now askew,
with one arm off his ear.
As the Dude opens his eyes we spiral slowly upward to put him
right side around. His head is now resting against hardwood
floor, not rug.
DUDE
Aaaah...Oh man. Ohhhh...Awwww...
He raises falls back to the bare floor.
The rug is gone.
The beeper on the zipper of his hooded sweat shirt blinks red
in sync with the continuing irritating beeps.
WIDE ON THE ROOM
The beeps continue.
INT. LEBOWSKI MANOR
TRACK -
We push Brandt down the familiar marble hallway.
Again there is a distant aria. Brandt throws out a wrist to
look at his watch.
BRANDT
They called about eighty minutes
ago. They want you to take the
money and drive north on the 405.
They will call you on the portable
phone with instructions in about
forty minutes. One person only,
they were very clear on that, or
I'd go with you. One person only.
What happened to your jaw?
DUDE
Oh, nothin', man just ah--
They have reached the little desk outside of the Big
Lebowski's office; Brandt opens the top cabinet with a key
and takes out an attache case.
BRANDT
Here's the money...
He hands this to the Dude...
BRANDT (CONT'D)
and the phone...
...along with a cellular phone in a battery-pack carrying
case.
BRANDT (CONT'D)
Please, Dude, follow whatever
instructions they give.
DUDE
Alright.
BRANDT
Her life is in your hands.
DUDE
Oh, man, don't say that man.
BRANDT
Mr. Lebowski asked me to repeat
that: Her life is in your hands.
DUDE
Oh shit, man.
BRANDT
Her life is in your hands, Dude.
And report back to us as soon as
it's done.
INT. DUDE'S CAR - NIGHT
We pan off the Dude, driving, to his point of view through
the front windshield. The headlights play over Walter
standing waiting in front of the storefront of SOBCHAK
SECURITY. He wears combat fatigues, and holds a battered
brown briefcase. He also holds an irregular shape bundled in
a news paper wrapping.
The car stops in front of him
DUDE
Where the fuck are you going, man?
WALTER
Take the ringer. I'll drive.
He opens the Dude's door and hands in the briefcase The Dude
takes the briefcase and slides over.
DUDE
The what?
WALTER
The ringer! The ringer, Dude!
The car drives off.
The Dude opens the briefcase and paws bemusedly through it.
DUDE
What the...
WALTER
Have they called yet?
DUDE
What the hell is this?
WALTER
My dirty undies dude. Laundry,
The whites.
DUDE
Walter, I'm sure there's a reason
you brought your dirty undies man.
He closes the briefcase.
WALTER
Thaaaat's right, Dude. The weight.
The ringer can't look empty.
DUDE
Walter--what the fuck are you
thinking man?
WALTER
Well you're right, Dude, I got to
thinking. I got to thinking why
should we settle for a measly
fucking twenty grand--
DUDE
We? What the fuck we? You said you
just wanted to come along--
WALTER
My point, Dude, is why should we
settle for twenty grand when we can
keep the entire million. Am I
wrong?
DUDE
Yes you're wrong. This isn't a
fucking game man.
WALTER
Oh, but it is a game. You said so
yourself. She kidnapped herself.
DUDE
I said I thought--
The phone chirps. Dude grabs it.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Dude here.
VOICE
(German accent)
Who is this?
DUDE
Dude the Bagman. Where do you want
us to go?
VOICE
Us?
DUDE
Shit. . . yeah, you know, uh, me
and the driver. I'm not uh,
handling the money and driving the
car and talking on the phone all by
my fucking--
VOICE
Shut the fuck up.
Walter looks over at the Dude and bellows:
WALTER
Dude, are you fucking this up?
VOICE
Who is that?
DUDE
That is the driver, I told you--
Click. Dial tone.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Oh shit.
WALTER
What the fuck's going on?
DUDE
Walter!
WALTER
What the fuck is going on?
DUDE
He hung up, man! You fucked it up!
You fucked it up! Her life was in
our hands man!
WALTER
Easy, Dude.
DUDE
We're screwed now! We don't get
shit, they're gonna kill her! We're
fucked, Walter!
WALTER
Nothing is fucked Dude. Come on.
You're being very unDude. They'll
call back. Look, she kidnapped her--
The phone chirps.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Ya see? Nothing's fucked here,
Dude. Nothing is fucked. They're a
bunch of fucking amateurs--
DUDE
But Walter, Walter will you just
shut the fuck up! Don't say peep
when I'm doing business here man.
WALTER
(patronizing)
Okay Dude. Have it your way.
The Dude unclips the phone from the battery pack.
WALTER (CONT'D)
But they're amateurs.
The Dude glares at Walter. Into the phone:
DUDE
Dude.
VOICE
Okay, vee proceed. But only if
there is no funny stuff.
DUDE
Yeah, yeah.
VOICE
So no funny stuff. Okay?
DUDE
Just tell me where the fuck you
want us to go.
A HIGHWAY SIGN: SIMI VALLEY ROAD NEXT LEFT.
It flashes by in the headlights of the roaring car.
DUDE (CONT'D)
That was the sign man.
Walter wrestles the car onto the two-lane road.
WALTER
So, all we gotta do is get her
back, no one's in a position to
complain, and we keep the
baksheesh.
DUDE
Yeah, terrific, Walter. But you
haven't told me how we're gonna get
her back. Where is she?
WALTER
That's the simple part, Dude. We
make the handoff, I grab one of 'em
and beat it out of him.
He looks at the Dude.
WALTER (CONT'D)
...Huh?
DUDE
Yeah. That's a great plan, Walter.
That's fucking ingenious, if I
understand it correctly. That's a
Swiss fucking watch.
WALTER
Thaaat's right, Dude. The beauty of
this is its simplicity. Once a plan
gets too complex, everything can go
wrong. If there's one thing I
learned in Nam--
The phone chirps.
DUDE
Dude.
VOICE
You are coming to a vooden bridge.
When you cross the bridge you srow
ze bag from ze left vindow of ze
moving kar. You're being vatched.
Click. Dial tone.
DUDE
FUCK.
WALTER
What'd he say? Where's the hand
off?
DUDE
There is no fucking hand-off man.
At a wooden bridge we throw the
money out of the car!
WALTER
Huh?
DUDE
We throw the money out of the
moving car!
Walter stares dumbly for a beat.
WALTER
No, we can't do that, Dude. That
fucks up our plan.
DUDE
Well call them up and explain it to
'em, Walter! Your plan is so
fucking simple, I'm sure they'll
fucking understand it! That's the
beauty of it!
WALTER
Wooden bridge, huh?
DUDE
I'm throwing the money, Walter!
We're not fucking around man!
WALTER
Ok, dude the bridge is coming up!
Gimme the ringer, Chop-chop!
DUDE
Fuck that! Walter I love you, but
sooner or later you're gonna have
to face the fact that you're a
goddamn moron.
WALTER
Okay, Dude. No time to argue.
DUDE
Hey man! hey--
WALTER
Here's the bridge--
DUDE
Walter! hey--hey walter hey--
There is the bump and new steady of the car on the bridge.
The Dude is holding the money briefcase from the back seat.
Walter reaches one arm across Dude's body to grab the
laundry.
WALTER
There goes the ringer.
He flings it out the window.
DUDE
What the fuck!
WALTER
Okay Dude, your wheel!
DUDE
Walter Hey, Hey what the fuck?
WALTER
At fifteen em-pee-aitch I roll out!
I double back, grab one of 'em and
beat it out of him! The uzi!
DUDE
Uzi?
Walter grabs across the seat at the paper-wrapped bundle.
WALTER
You didn't think I was rolling out
of here naked did ya!
DUDE
Walter, Walter what the--
Walter has flung open his door and is leaning halfway out
over the road.
WALTER
Fifteen! Dude This is it! Let's
take that hill!
DUDE
Walter hey Walter--
Walter rolls out with his parcel, giving a loud grunt as he
hits the pavement. The car swerves and lurches and the Dude,
cursing, takes the wheel.
OUTSIDE -
Walter tumbles onto the shoulder and--RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!-
muzzle flashes tear open the wrapping paper.
INSIDE THE CAR -
The car rocks and the Dude wrestles with the wheel.
OUTSIDE -
The car clunks and screams around in a skid.
INSIDE -
The Dude is thrown forward as the car hits something.
OUTSIDE -
As the Dude struggles up holding the satchel of money.
There is a distant engine roar. A motorcycle bumps up onto
the road from the ravine under the bridge and, tires
squealing, skids around to speed away in the opposite
direction. It is closely followed by two more roaring
motorcycles.
DUDE
Ah, ahhhh...
The front of his car is crumpled into a pole. The car body
saps back to the left, where the rear wheel has been shot
out.
WALTER is just rising from the ground massaging an injured
knee.
The Dude runs up the road toward the bridge, frantically
waving the satchel in the air.
DUDE (CONT'D)
WE HAVE IT! WE HAVE IT!! WE HAVE
IT!... WE...have it.
The Dude and Walter stand in the middle of the road, watching
the three red tail lights fishtail away.
AFTER A LONG STARING SILENCE:
WALTER
Ahh fuck it dude, let's go bowling.
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
WALTER -
Stands at the end of the lane with a cigarette in his mouth
and holding a bowling ball up in front of him. Slowly he
walks to the line and rolls.
He returns from the lane to where the Dude sits in the molded
plastic chairs. The Dude listlessly holds the portable phone
in his lap. It is ringing.
WALTER
Aitz chaim he, Dude. As the ex used
to say.
DUDE
What the fuck is that supposed to
mean? What the fuck're we gonna
tell Lebowski?
WALTER
Huh? Oh, him, uh, I don't kn.. um--
what exactly is the problem?
DUDE
Ah, the problem is--what do you
mean what's the--
The portable phone stops ringing.
DUDE (CONT'D)
There was no--we didn't uh--
they're gonna kill that poor woman
man.
WALTER
What the fuck're you talking about?
That poor woman--that poor slut--
kidnapped herself, Com'on Dude. You
said so yourself.
DUDE
Man! I said I thought she kidnapped
herself! You're the one who's so
fucking certain--
WALTER
That's right, Dude, 100% certain--
Donny trots excitedly up.
DONNY
They posted the next round of the
tournament--
WALTER
Donny, shut the fu--when do we
play?
DONNY
This Saturday. Quintana and--
WALTER
Saturday! Well they'll have to
reschedule.
DUDE
Walter, what'm I gonna tell
Lebowski?
WALTER
I told that fuck down at the league
office-- who's in charge of
scheduling?
DUDE
Walter--
DONNY
Burkhalter.
WALTER
I told that kraut a fucking
thousand times I DON'T ROLL ON
SHABBAS!
DUDE
Walter--
DONNY
He already posted it.
WALTER
WELL THEY CAN FUCKING UN-POST IT!
DUDE
WHO GIVES A SHIT! Uh, they're gonna
kill that poor woman, man. What am
I gonna tell Lebowski?
WALTER
C'mon Dude, uh, eventually she'll
get sick of her little game and,
you know, wander on back--
DUDE
Yeah uh...
DONNY
How come you don't roll on
Saturday, Walter?
WALTER
I'm shomer shabbos.
DONNY
What's that, Walter?
DUDE
Yeah, and in the meantime, what do
I tell Lebowski?
WALTER
Saturday, Donny, is shabbos. The
Jewish day of rest. That means I
don't work, I um, don't drive a
car, I don't fucking ride in a car,
I don't handle money, I don't turn
on the oven, and I sure as shit
DON'T FUCKING ROLL!
DONNY
Sheesh.
WALTER
SHOMER SHABBAS!
DUDE
Walter, how am I going to--hows--
WALTER
Shomer fucking shabbas!
The Dude gets to his feet with the portable phone.
DUDE
Oh fuck, that, that's it. I'm out
of here.
WALTER
Aw come on Dude.
Walter looks at Donny and silently mouths the words, 'What a
fucking baby'.
Walter stumbles up and he and Donny join the Dude as he walks
out of the bowling alley. He rubs his leg that he hurt
falling out of the car.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Dude! Dude! ... ow, fuck, you just
tell him, uh tell him we made the
drop and everything went, uh you
know--
DONNY
Oh yeah, how'd it go?
WALTER
Went alright. Dude's car got a
little dinged up--
DUDE
Walter, we didn't make the fucking
hand-off man! They didn't get, the
fucking money and they're gonna--
they're gonna--
WALTER
"They're gonna kill that poor
woman."
He waves both arms as if conducting a symphony orchestra.
WALTER (CONT'D)
They're gonna kill that poor woman.
DONNY
Hey Walter, if you can't ride in a
car, how d'you get around on
Shammas--
WALTER
Really, Dude, you surprise me.
They're not gonna kill shit.
They're not gonna do shit. What can
they do? They're a bunch of fuckin'
amateurs. And meanwhile, look at
the bottom line. Who's sitting on a
million fucking dollars? Am I
wrong?
DUDE
Walter--
WALTER
Who's got a fucking million fucking
dollars sittin' in the trunk of our
car?
DUDE
"Our" car, Walter?
WALTER
And what do they got? My dirty
undies. My fucking whites---Say,
Dude, where is your car?
The three bowlers, stopped at the edge of the lot, stare out
at an empty parking space.
DONNY
Who's got your undies, Walter?
WALTER
Where's your car, Dude?
DUDE
You don't know, Walter?
WALTER
Hmm. It was parked in a handicapped
zone. Perhaps they towed it.
DUDE
You fucking know it's been stolen!
WALTER
Well, certainly that's a
possibility, Dude--
DUDE
Aw, fuck it.
The Dude walks away across the lot. The portable phone starts
ringing again.
DONNY
Where you going, Dude?
DUDE
I'm goin' home, Donny.
DONNY
Your phone's ringing, Dude.
DUDE
Thank you, Donny.
INT. DUDE'S LIVING ROOM
The Dude is sitting forward in his easy chair.
Facing him on the couch are two uniformed policeman, one
middle-aged, the other a fresh-faced rookie.
The portable phone in the Dude's lap chirps.
The Dude waits for the rings to end. When they do:
DUDE (CONT'D)
Uh, yeah, uh, green. Some uh,
brown, uh or, rust, coloration.
YOUNGER COP
And was there anything of value in
the car?
DUDE
(dully)
Oh uh, yeah. Uh, a tape deck. Some
Creedence tapes. And there was a,
uh. . .uh my briefcase.
YOUNGER COP
In the briefcase?
DUDE
Uh, uh Papers. Ya know, just
papers. Uh you know, my papers.
Business papers.
The Dude reacts to the question by pushing back into the
chair.
YOUNGER COP
And what do you do, sir?
DUDE
I'm unemployed.
The home phone starts ringing--a ring distinct from the chirp
of the portable. The Dude makes no move to answer it.
DUDE (CONT'D)
My rug was also stolen.
YOUNGER COP
Your rug was in the car.
The Dude waves his hand over the floor.
DUDE
No. Here.
YOUNGER COP
Separate incidents?
The Dude looks over at the phone.
Silence.
Finally the rings stop as an answering machine kicks on.
Dude's Voice on Machine, 'The Dude's not in. Leave a message
after the beep. It takes a minute.'
DUDE
You find them much? Uh these stolen
cars?
YOUNGER COP
Sometimes. I wouldn't hold out much
hope for the tape deck though.
OLDER COP
Or the Creedence.
DUDE
Well what about uhhhhhh, the
briefcase?
Beep.
FEMALE VOICE ON MACHINE
Mr. Lebowski, I'd like to see you.
Call when you get home and I'll
send a car for you. My name is
Maude Lebowski. I'm the one who
took your rug.
YOUNGER COP
Well, I guess we can close the file
on that one.
INT. MAUDE'S LOFT
TRACKING FORWARD -
We are moving through the open living area of a large
downtown L.A. loft. A huge unfinished canvas, lit by standing
industrial lights, dominates the floor. The furnishings are
spare given the space.
We hear a rumble like an approaching bowling ball. The Dude,
standing in the middle of the loft, looks into the murky
depths of the cavernous space.
Something huge and white hurtles towards the Dude's head.
As it roars overhead he ducks, and spins to watch it pass.
We see the backside of a naked woman in a sling suspended
from a ceiling track rumbling over a canvas that lies on the
floor. She holds a paint brushes in both hands with which she
flicks paint down at the canvas.
Two young men in paint-spattered shorts, T-shirts and
sneakers reach the sling shortly after it reaches the end of
its track and slowly lower the woman to the floor.
VOICE
Elfranco. Ajuda me abajo. I'll be
with you in a moment, Mr. Lebowski.
The two men help Maude out of her sling. She is naked except
for leather harness straps which ring her breasts and wrap
her thighs and give her something of a dominatrix look.
MAUDE
Does the female form make you
uncomfor- table, Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE
Uh, is that what this is a picture
of?
MAUDE
In a sense, yes. My art has been
commended as being strongly
vaginal. Which bothers some men.
The word itself makes some men
uncomfortable. Vagina.
DUDE
Oh yeah?
MAUDE
Yes, they don't like hearing it and
find it difficult to say. Whereas
without batting an eye a man will
refer to his "dick" or his "rod" or
his "Johnson".
DUDE
"Johnson"?
MAUDE
All right, Mr. Lebowski, let's get
down to cases. My father told me
he's agreed to let you have the
rug, but it was a gift from me to
my late mother, and so was not his
to give. Now.
She hands the dude a cloth.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
Your face... As for this
"kidnapping"--
DUDE
Huh?
MAUDE
Yes, I know about it. And I know
that you acted as courier. And let
me tell you something: the whole
thing stinks to high heaven.
DUDE
Yeah, right, but, but let me
explain something about that rug--
MAUDE
Do you like sex, Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE
Excuse me?
MAUDE
Sex. The physical act of love.
Coitus. Do you like it?
DUDE
I was talking about my rug.
MAUDE
You're not interested in sex?
DUDE
You mean coitus?
MAUDE
I like it too. It's a male myth
about feminists that we hate sex.
It can be a natural, zesty
enterprise. However there are some
people--it is called satyriasis in
men, nymphomania in women--who
engage in it compulsively and
without joy.
DUDE
Oh, no.
MAUDE
Oh yes Mr. Lebowski, these
unfortunate souls cannot love in
the true sense of the word. Our
mutual acquaintance Bunny is one of
these.
DUDE
Listen, Maude uh, I'm sorry if your
stepmother is a nympho, but uh, I
don't see what this has to do with
uh--do you have any Kahlua?
MAUDE
Take a look at this, sir.
DUDE
Hmm?
She aims a remote at a projection TV. The screen flickers to
life. A title card:
JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS
Uli is driving a car.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Oh, I know that guy. He's a
nihilist.
SECOND CARD:
KARL HUNGUS
DUDE (CONT'D)
Karl Hungus.
A THIRD CARD:
BUNNY LAJOYA
A FOURTH CARD:
LOGJAMMIN'
The Dude is at the bar, a bottle of Kahlua frozen halfway to
his glass.
From the television set we hear a doorbell ring, and then a
door opening.
On the TV screen the door opens to reveal a sallow-faced man
in White cover-alls. It is Uli, the floater in Lebowski's
pool. The girl answering the door is Bunny Lebowski.
BUNNY
Hi.
ULI
Hello. Mein dizbatcher says zere
iss somezing wrong mit deine kable.
BUNNY
Yeah, come on in, I'm not really
sure exactly what's really wrong
with the cable.
ULI
Dat's vhy day zent me, I'm un
exspert.
BUNNY
The TV's in here.
MAUDE
You recognize her, of course.
ULI
Helga, bring mein toolz.
From off camera a voice says, a faint "Okay"
BUNNY
Oh, that's my friend Shari. She
just came over to use the shower.
MAUDE
(grimly)
The story is ludicrous.
ULI
Mein nommen ist Karl. ich bin
expert.
SHARI
You must be here to fix the cable.
MAUDE
Good lord. You can imagine where it
goes from here.
DUDE
He fixes the cable?
MAUDE
Don't be fatuous, Jeffrey.
Maude switches off the set.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
Little matter to me that this woman
chose to pursue a career in
pornography, nor that she has been
"banging" Jackie Treehorn, to use
the parlance of our times. However.
I am one of two trustees of the
Lebowski Foundation, the other
being my father. The Foundation
takes youngsters from Watts and--
DUDE
Shit yeah, the Achievers.
MAUDE
Little Lebowski Urban Achievers,
yes, and proud we are of all of
them. I asked my father about his
withdrawal of a million dollars
from the Foundation account and he
told me about this "abduction", but
I tell you it is preposterous. This
compulsive fornicator is taking my
father for the proverbial ride.
DUDE
Yeah, but my-
MAUDE
I'm getting to your rug. My father
and I don't get along; he doesn't
approve of my lifestyle and,
needless to say, I don't approve of
his. However, I hardly wish to make
my father's embezzlement a police
matter, so I'm proposing that you
try to recover the money from the
people you delivered it to.
DUDE
Well-- I could do that--
MAUDE
If you successfully do so, I will
compensate you to the tune of 10%
of the recovered sum.
DUDE
A hundred.
MAUDE
Thousand, yes, bones or clams or
whatever you call them.
DUDE
Yeah ah, but, but what about my uh--
MAUDE
--your rug, yes, well with that
money you can buy any number of
rugs that don't have sentimental
value for me. And I am sorry about
that crack on the jaw.
DUDE
Oh that's that's fine. It doesn't
even uh--
MAUDE
Here's the name and number of a
doctor who will look at it for you.
You will receive no bill. He's a
good man, and thorough.
DUDE
Tha, tha, That's thoughtful but--
MAUDE
Please see him, Jeffrey. He's a
good man, and thorough.
DUDE
Oh, uh... all right.
INT. LIMO
The Dude sits in back holding a White Russian, listening to
the chauffeur, a man of about the same age.
DRIVER
--So he says, "My wife's a pain in
the ass. She's always tryin' to
bust my friggin aggets, my
daughter's married to a Jadrool
loser bastard, I got a rash so bad
on my ass I can't even siddown. But
you know me. I can't complain."
THROUGH RASPING LAUGHTER:
DUDE
Fuckin' A, man. I got a rash man.
Fuckin' A...
He takes a sip of a freshly-mixed White Russian, which leaves
milk on his mustache.
DUDE (CONT'D)
...I gotta tell ya Ton' man,
earlier in the day, I was feeling
really shitty man. Really down in
the dumps. Lost a little money...
TONY
Heyh you know what? Forgeddaboutit
huh, forgedaboutit.
DUDE
Yeah, fuck it man! I can't be
worried about that shit. Life goes
on man!
TONY
Well home sweet home, Mr. L.
The limo has rolled to a stop. The Dude gets out, still
holding his drink.
TONY (CONT'D)
Hey yo, com'eer. Who's your friend
in the Volkswagon?
Tony jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
DUDE
Huh?
The Dude turns to look.
HIS POV -
Halfway up the block a Volkswagon bug has pulled over to the
curb. In the driver's seat we see a fat man's shape.
TONY
Yeah, he followed us here.
The Dude scowls.
DUDE
When did he start fol-- whoaaaa-
what the fuck!
The Dude is grabbed from behind and muscled away in a half
nelson by another uniformed chauffeur.
SECOND CHAUFFEUR
Into the limo, you sonofabitch. No
arguments.
As he is frog-marched towards another limo the Dude holds his
drink away from his chest and up out of the way.
DUDE
Hey, hey, hey careful, man! There's
a beverage here!
The waiting limo's back door is flung open.
INSIDE -
The Dude is shoved in and awkwardly and he lands on his side
in a seat facing the front. The door is slammed behind him.
His drink is still intact.
LEBOWSKI
Start talking and talk fast you
lousy bum!
BRANDT
We've been frantically trying to
reach you, Dude.
Brandt sits catty-corner from the Dude; directly across from
the Dude is the big Lebowski, a comforter across his knees.
LEBOWSKI
Where's my goddamn money, you bum?!
DUDE
Well, well we--I, I, I don't--
LEBOWSKI
They did not receive the money, you
nitwit! They did not receive the
money! HER LIFE WAS IN YOUR HANDS!
BRANDT
This is our concern, Dude.
DUDE
No, man, nothing is fucked here--
LEBOWSKI
NOTHING IS FUCKED!
DUDE
No man--
LEBOWSKI
THE GODDAMN PLANE HAS CRASHED INTO
THE MOUNTAIN!
DUDE
Well man, come on, who're you gonna
believe? Those guys or uh--we
dropped off the damn money--
LEBOWSKI
WE?!
DUDE
I--the royal we, you know, the
editorial--I dropped off the money,
exactly as per--Look, man I've got
certain information alright?
Certain things have come to light,
and uh, ya know, has it ever
occurred to you, that uh, instead
of uh, you know running around, uh
uh, blaming me, given the nature of
all this new shit, you know it, it
it, this could be a uh, a lot more
uh, uh, uh, uh, complex, I mean
it's not just, it might not be,
just such a simple, uh--you know?
LEBOWSKI
What in God's holy name are you
blathering about?
DUDE
Well I'll tell you what I'm
blathering about! I got information
man--new shit has come to light and
and--shit, man! She kidnapped
herself!
Lebowski stares at him, dumbstruck. The Dude is encouraged.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Well sure man, look at it! Ya know.
A young trophy wife, in the
parlance of our times, ya know. She
uh, uh, owes money all over town,
including to known pornographers-
ha, and that's cool, that's that's
cool-- I- I'm saying, she needs
money man, and uh, you know, of
course they're gonna say they
didn't get it, uh uh, because she
wants more, man, she's gotta feed
the monkey, I- I mean--uh, hasn't
that ever occurred to you man? Sir?
LEBOWSKI
(quietly)
No Mr. Lebowski, that had not
occurred to me.
BRANDT
That had not occurred to us, Dude.
DUDE
Uh, okay, ya know, you guys aren't
privy to all the new shit, so uh,
you know, but hey, that's what you,
that's what you pay me for. Aha...
The Dude takes a hurried sip from
his drink. Um. Speaking of which,
do you think uh, that you could uh,
give me my twenty thousand in cash?
Uh, my concern is, and I've gotta
check with, with my accountant, but
that this might bump me up into a
higher tax uh--
LEBOWSKI
Brandt, give him the envelope.
DUDE
Oh well, if you've already got the,
check made out, that that's cool.
Brandt is handing him a letter
sized envelope which is distended
by something inside.
BRANDT
We received it this morning.
The Dude, frowning, untucks its flap, takes out some cotton
wadding and unrolls it.
LEBOWSKI
Since you have failed to achieve,
even in the modest task that was
your charge, since you have stolen
my money, since you have
unrepentantly betrayed my trust. I
have no choice but to tell these
bums to do whatever is necessary to
recover their money from you,
Jeffrey Lebowski. And with Brandt
as my witness, I will tell you
this:
The wadding, undone, reveals a smaller wad of gauze taped
upinside. The Dude starts to unroll the inner package.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
Any further harm visited upon
Bunny, will be visited tenfold upon
your head.
Between thumb and forefinger the Dude holds up the contents
of the package--a little toe, with emerald green nail polish.
LEBOWSKI (CONT'D)
...My God sir. I will not abide
another toe.
INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY
The Dude and Walter sit at the counter, both staring off into
space, both absently stirring their coffee with little
clinking noises.
AFTER A LONG BEAT:
WALTER (LAUGHING)
That wasn't her toe dude.
DUDE
Whose toe was it, Walter?
WALTER
How the fuck should I know? I do
know that nothing about it
indicates--
DUDE
The nail polish, Walter.
WALTER
Fine, Dude. As if it's impossible
to get some nail polish, apply it
to someone else's toe--
DUDE
Someone else's--where the fuck are
they gonna get--
WALTER
You want a toe? I can get you a
toe, believe me. There are ways,
Dude.
DUDE
But Walter--
WALTER
You don't wanna know about it,
believe me.
DUDE
Yeah, but Walter--
WALTER
Hell I can get you a toe by 3
o'clock this afternoon--with nail
polish. These fucking amateurs.
DUDE
Walter--
WALTER
They send us a toe, we're supposed
to shit ourselves with fear. Jesus
Christ.
DUDE
Walter--
WALTER
The point is--
DUDE
They're gonna kill her, Walter, and
then they're gonna kill me--
WALTER
Dude that's, that's just the stress
talking, man. Now so far we have
what appears to me, to be a series
of victimless crimes--
DUDE
What about the toe?
WALTER
FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOE!
A waitress enters.
WAITRESS
Excuse me sir, could you please
keep your voices down, this is a
family restaurant.
WALTER
Oh, please dear! For your
information: the Supreme Court has
roundly rejected prior restraint!
DUDE
C'mon Walter, this is not a First
Amendment thing, man.
WAITRESS
Sir, if you don't calm down I'm
going to have to ask you to leave.
WALTER
Lady, I got buddies who died face-
down in the muck so that you and I
could enjoy this family restaurant!
THE DUDE GETS UP:
DUDE
All right, I'm out of here.
WALTER
Hey Dude, don't go away man!
Com'on, this affects all of us man!
The Dude has left frame; Walter calls after him:
WALTER (CONT'D)
Our basic freedoms!
He looks defiantly around.
WALTER (CONT'D)
I'm staying. I'm finishing my
coffee.
He takes a drink of the coffee, then hits the counter lightly
with his hands, and then he folds his arms on the counter,
affecting nonchalance.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Enjoying my coffee.
INT. DUDE'S BATHROOM
A dripping noise.
We see the Dude's toes, which protrude from the soapy water,
splayed against the far side of the tub.
The Dude sits in the bathtub, surrounded by lit candles.
A joint in a roach clip in one hand.
The Dude takes a hit from the joint.
We hear the phone ringing in the other room.
The camera cuts to a small table next to the tub which has
more candles on it, a tape recorder and a tape case labeled,
'Song of the Whale', which we hear in the background.
After the Dude's outgoing message we hear:
VOICE THROUGH MACHINE
Mr. Lebowski, this is Duty Officer
Rolvaag of the L.A.P.D. We've
recovered your automobile. It can
be claimed at...
DUDE
Ahhhh...
VOICE THROUGH MACHINE
...the North Hollywood Auto Circus
there on Victory.
DUDE
Far out.
MESSAGE
...The hours there on weekdays will
be 10:30 to 5
DUDE
Far fuckin' out.
MESSAGE
You'll just need to present a claim-
The message is interrupted by loud smashing sounds, as of
someone applying a baseball bat to the answering machine.
He looks blearily at the open doorway.
A tall man dressed in black with a cricket paddle is smashing
the answer machine.
DUDE
Hey! Hey! This is a private
residence, man!
A man holding a leash with a small animal on it skittering
excitedly on the floor, has entered the bathroom and, two
other men, including the one with the cricket bat are
entering behind him.
They turn on the light to the bathroom as the enter.
The Dude looks curiously at the small, nattering animal.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Ah, nice marmot.
The first man, with the leash, scoops up the marmot and
tosses it, screaming, into the bathtub.
The Dude screams.
The marmot splashes frantically, biting at the Dude in a
frenzy of fearful aggression.
FIRST MAN
Ver is za money Lebowski. Vee vant
zat money, Lebowski.
The Dude, screaming, grabs the lip of the tub and starts to
hoist himself up but the first man lays a palm on his
shoulder and squishes him back into the water. The Dude hits
at the marmot splashing water everywhere. The first man then
scoops the marmot out of the water. It shakes itself off,
spraying the Dude.
SECOND MAN
You sink veer kidding und making
mit de funny stuff?
THIRD MAN
Vee could do things you only
dreamed of, Lebowski.
The marmot, back on the floor, is skittering around, shaking
itself and convulsing in little sneezes.
SECOND MAN
Ja, vee belief in nossing.
ULI
Vee belief in nossing, Lebowski!
NOSSING!! ... und tomorrow vee come
back und vee cut off your chonson.
DUDE
Excuse me?
ULI
I SAY VEE CUT OFF YOUR CHONSON!
SECOND MAN
Just sink about zat, Lebowski.
The three men turn to leave. Over their retreating backs:
ULI
Ja, your viggly penis, Lebowski.
The second man turns off the light as he leaves the room.
SECOND MAN
Ja, und maybe vee stamp on it und
skvush it, Lebowski!
The man with the cricket bat smashes something made of glass
on his way out of the bungalow.
EXT. NORTH HOLLYWOOD AUTO CIRCUS - DAY
POLICEMAN
It was discovered last night in Van
Nuys, uh lodged against an
abutment.
DUDE
Oh man, lodged where!!
A policeman with a clipboard is leading the Dude through a
large parking lot.
POLICEMAN
You're lucky she didn't get
chopped, Mr. Lebowski.
DUDE
Oohh Mannn!
POLICEMAN
Must've been a joyride situation;
they abandoned the vehicle once
they hit the retaining wall.
They have reached the Dude's car. The driver's side exterior
has been scraped raw. The Dude looks in the window.
DUDE
Oooh my fucking briefcase man! It's
not here! Shit!
POLICEMAN
Yeah I saw that on the report.
Sorry uh, you gotta get in on the
other side. Uh, the side view was
found on the road by the car.
The policeman hands the Dude an exterior rear-view mirror.
POLICEMAN (CONT'D)
You're lucky they left the tape
deck though, and the Creedence.
The Dude climbs in the passenger side.
DUDE
Awh! Jesus--what's that smell, man?
POLICEMAN
Uh, yeah. Its ah, probably a
vagrant, slept in the car. Or maybe
just used it as a toilet, and moved
on.
The Dude bellows through the glass on the driver's side:
DUDE
Hey man, are you gonna find these
guys? Or, you know uh, I mean, do
you got any promising uh, uh,
leads? Or--
POLICEMAN
Leads, yeah sure. I'll uh, just
check with the boys down at the
Crime Lab. They uh, got uh, four
more detectives working on the
case. They've got us working in
shifts.
The Dude looks sadly through his window at the policeman
rocking back on his heels, his raucous laughter muffled by
the glass.
POLICEMAN (CONT'D)
Leads!
The policeman laughs hysterically.
POLICEMAN (CONT'D)
Wooo...Leads!
INT. BOWLING ALLEY BAR
The Dude, Walter and Donny sit at the bar, the Dude with a
White Russian, Walter with a beer, and Donny with a soda.
DUDE
My only hope is that the Big
Lebowski kills me before the
Germans can cut my dick off.
WALTER
Now that is just ridiculous, Dude.
No one's going to cut your dick
off.
DUDE
Thank you Walter.
WALTER
Not if I have anything to say about
it.
DUDE
(bitterly)
Thank you Walter. That makes me
feel very secure.
WALTER
Dude--
DUDE
That makes me feel warm inside.
WALTER
Now Dude--
DUDE
This whole fucking thing--I could
be sitting here with just pee
stains on my rug.
Walter shakes his head.
WALTER
Yeah.
DUDE
But no man, I gotta--you know.
WALTER
Fucking Germans. Nothing changes.
Fucking Nazis.
DONNY
They were Nazis, Dude?
WALTER
Come on, Donny, they were
threatening castration!
DONNY
Uh-huh.
WALTER
Are we gonna split hairs here?
DONNY
No--
WALTER
Am I wrong?
DONNY
Well--
DUDE (SOFTLY)
Look man...
WALTER
Am I--
DUDE
Man. They were nihilists, man.
WALTER
Huh?
DUDE
They kept saying they believe in
nothing.
WALTER
Nihilists! Fuck me.
Walter looks haunted.
WALTER (CONT'D)
I mean say what you want about the
tenets of National Socialism, Dude,
at least it's an ethos.
DUDE
Yeah.
WALTER
And let's also not forget--let's
not forget, Dude--that keeping
wildlife, uh, an amphibious rodent,
for uh, you know, domestic, within
the city-- that ain't legal either.
DUDE
What're you, a fucking park ranger
now?
WALTER
No, I'm just trying to uh--
DUDE
Who gives a shit about the fucking
marmot!
WALTER
--We're sympathizing here, Dude--
DUDE
Fuck sympathy! I don't need your
fucking sympathy, man, I need my
fucking Johnson!
DONNY
What do you need that for, Dude?
WALTER
You gotta buck up, man, you cannot
drag this negative energy into the
tournament.
DUDE
Fuck the tournament! Fuck you,
Walter!
There is a moment of stunned silence.
WALTER
Fuck the tournament?!
WALTER (CONT'D)
Okay Dude. I can see you don't want
to be cheered up here. C'mon Donny,
let's go get us a lane.
They leave the Dude sitting morosely at the bar. As he stares
DOWN INTO HIS EMPTY GLASS:
DUDE
Another Caucasian, Gary.
VOICE
Right, Dude.
STILL STARING DOWN AT THE BAR:
DUDE
Friends like these, huh Gary.
GARY
That's right, Dude.
The song, "Tumbling Tumbleweeds." starts playing signaling an
'atmosphere' change. The bowling alley is a distant sound.
Gary sits the Dude's drink in front of him and the camera
pans out to show a middle-aged, amiable, craggily handsome-
Sam Elliot, perhaps. He has a large Western-style mustache
and wears denims, a yoked shirt and a cowboy hat. And he is
seated on the stool that Walter vacated.
TO THE BARTENDER:
MAN
D'ya got a good sarsaparilla?
We recognize the voice of The Stranger whose narration opened
the movie.
BARTENDER
Sioux City Sarsaparilla.
The Stranger nods.
THE STRANGER
Yeah, that's a good one.
Waiting for his drink, he looks amiably around the bar. His
crinkled eyes settle on the Dude.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
How ya doin' there, Dude?
The Dude looks over at the Stranger.
DUDE
Not too good, man.
THE STRANGER
One a those days, huh.
DUDE
Yeap.
THE STRANGER
Wal, a wiser fella than m'self once
said, sometimes you eat the bar
en...
The bartender puts a brown bottle and a frosted glass on the
bar in front of The Stranger.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
Much abliged.
He looks back at the Dude.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
... and sometimes the bar, wal, he
eats you.
DUDE
Hmm. That some kind of Eastern
thing?
THE STRANGER
Far from it.
The Stranger reaches for his drink and pauses before
drinking.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
I like your style, Dude.
DUDE
Well I dig your style too, man. Got
a whole cowboy thing goin'.
THE STRANGER
Thankie, there's just one thing,
Dude.
DUDE
Whassat?
THE STRANGER
D'ya have to use s'many cuss words?
THE DUDE LOOKS UP, ABSENTLY:
DUDE
What the fuck are you talking
about?
The Stranger chuckles indulgently and pushes off from the
bar.
THE STRANGER
Okay Dude, have it your way.
He stands up from the bar stool and looks at the Dude.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
Take 'er easy, Dude.
DUDE
Yeah. Thanks man.
He is gone. "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" is ending as Gray places
the phone in front of the Dude:
GARY
Call for ya, Dude.
The Dude picks up the phone that Gary just put in front of
him.
DUDE
Hello.
MAUDE
Jeffrey, you have not gone to the
doctor.
DUDE
Uh, oh yeah, no no, I haven't yet,
Uh--
MAUDE
I'd like to see you immediately.
DUDE
Oh?
INT. MAUDE'S LOFT
We see a thin man dressed in black, with close cropped hair,
sitting in a black leather chair, reading a magazine.
He looks up at the Dude as he walks in the room.
MAN
So you're Lebowski?
DUDE
Yeah.
MAN
Maudie's told me all about you.
She'll be back in a minute, sit
down. Do you want a drink?
DUDE
Yeah, sure, White Russian.
The Dude sits down in the other leather chair.
MAN
The bar's over there.
The Dude gets up to go over to the bar.
MAN (CONT'D)
So what do you do Lebowski?
DUDE
Who the fuck are you man?
MAN (SNICKERING)
Just a friend of Maudie's.
DUDE
Yeah? The friend with the cleft
asshole?
The man snickers and laughs again.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Whadda you do?
MAN (GIGGLES AND SNICKERS)
Oh, nothing much.
Maude enters the room wearing a green outer garment.
MAUDE
Hello Jeffery.
MAN (TO MAUDE)
Hello.
DUDE
Uh, yeah. How are you? Uh, listen
Maude, I've got to uh-- tender my
resignation or whatever, because
uh, looks like your mother really
was kidnapped after all.
MAUDE
She most certainly was not!
DUDE
Hey man, why don't you fucking
listen occasionally? You might
learn something. Now I got--
MAUDE
And please don't call her my
mother.
The man in the chair starts giggling.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
She is most definitely the
perpetrator and not the victim.
DUDE
I'm telling you, I got pretty
definitive evidence--
MAUDE
From who?
DUDE
From the main guy, Uli.
MAUDE
Uli Kunkel? Her "co-star" in the
beaver picture?
DUDE
Beav-? You mean vagina?--I mean,
you know the guy?
MAUDE
I might have introduced them for
all I know.
Maude walks past the man in the chair on her way to the
counter.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
Do you remember Uli?
MAN
umm.
MAUDE
He's a musician, he used to have a
group, 'Autoban'. Look in my LPs
they released one album in the late
seventies.
The Dude fingers through the albums filling a metal rack.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
Their music is a sort of--ugh-
techno-pop..
The Dude stops between two albums.
The Dude pulls out an album with a worn sleeve. On it is the
group's name, Autobahn, the album name, Nagelbett, and a
picture of three young Germans, their forheads looming below
slicked back hair, gazing upward in thin-lipped epiphany.
They wear red shirts, red lipstick, black ties and black
pants.
A bed of nails is the only set dressing on the cover.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
So he's pretending to be the
abductor?
DUDE
Well...yeah--
MAUDE
Look, Jeffrey, you don't really
kidnap someone you're acquainted
with. The whole idea is that the
hostage can't be able to identify
you, after you've let them go.
DUDE
Well I, I I know that.
The man in the black chair giggles hysterically.
DUDE (CONT'D)
What the fuck is with this guy? Who
is he?
MAUDE
Knox Harrington, the video artist.
The man continues to giggle and snicker.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
So Uli has the money?
DUDE
Well uh, no, not exactly. Uh, uh
uh, This is a very complicated
case, Maude. You know a Lotta ins,
a Lotta outs, a lotta what-have
yous. And uh, lotta strands to keep
in my head, man. Lotta strands in
old Duder's head.
The phone rings. Knox Harrington motions to Maude for
permission to answer it. He picks up the phone.
KNOX HARRINGTON
Hello.
MAUDE
Well if Uli doesn't have it, then
who does?
KNOX HARRINGTON (LAUGHING)
It's Sandro about Biennale.
MAUDE
Uh, look, I have to take this
MAUDE (CONT'D)
Do you still have that doctor's
number?
DUDE
Huh? No, really, it's not even, not
even bruised anymore
Maude holds up another phone in her hand.
MAUDE
Oh please Jeffrey. I don't want to
be responsible for any delayed
after-effects.
She pushes a button on the phone.
Knox laughs in the background.
MAUDE (CONT'D)
Di a me Sandro. Si.
(Sandro) is heard on the phone. He says: Come stai,
carissima? (How are you, dearest?)
DUDE
After effects?
MAUDE
Si. Si! Che ridiculo.
Both Knox, who has been listening to the phone conversation,
and Maude, break into hysterical laughter.
The Dude stands there looking bewildered.
INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE
CLOSE SHOT - THE DUDE
His eyes are closed, a headset on, leaking tinnily through
the headset we hear the last bars of Elvis Costello's "My
Mood Swings."
Behind him, cropped so that we see only a little of his
torso, a white-smocked figure. The figure comes up to the
Dude and pull one arm of the headset away from the Dude's
ear, and as he does so the music issues more strongly. he
pulls back the Dude's hair and checks his ear.
The figure circles to one side, out of frame.
VOICE
Could you slide your shorts down
Mr. Lebowski, please?
The Dude's eyes open.
DUDE
Hmm? No, no man, she, she hit me
right here.
VOICE
I understand. Could you slide your
shorts down please?
INT. DUDE'S CAR - DAY
The Dude is driving home. A Creedence tape plays. The Dude
sucks down a joint and a beer. He glances at the rear-view
mirror-- and, noticing something, looks again.
HIS POV -
A Volkswagon bug follows, a lone fat man drives.
THE DUDE -
His eyes still on the mirror, he absently takes the joint
between thumb and forefinger of his right hand and flicks it
out the driver's window--except that the window is not open.
The butt bounces off the glass and down into the Dude's lap,
showering sparks.
DUDE'S CROTCH -
The glowing butt rolls down the car seat between his legs.
The Dude screams. He frantically tries to put it out with his
right hand.
Then he pours the beer into his crotch.
THE STREET -
The car careens wildly as the surrounding traffic veers off
to, make way, horns blaring. The car finally swerves left and
smashes into a green dumpster that was sitting on the street,
knocking it over.
INSIDE THE CAR -
The Dude sits stunned, his sun glasses are askew on his nose.
The Dude grabs at his door, which won't open, and then slides
over.
He sits on the passenger side now, away from the lit butt.
He looks around for it.
Then he looks out both sides of the car for the blue
Volkswagon that has disappeared. He looks back at the seat.
There is a piece of paper sticking out from between the
cushions.
The Dude pulls it out.
It is lined notebook paper, severely wrinkled and dripping
beer, and covered with handwriting. The theme is titled "The
Louisiana Purchase." In red ink is a large 'circled D', right
of that is, 'Mrs. Jamtoss, History, period 4'. To the left of
the circled D is the name 'Larry Sellers'. Some handwritten
marginal comments and misspelled words are circled in red
throughout.
INT. CRANE JACKSON'S FOUNTAIN STREET THEATER
We are in front of the Dude and Donny, facing the stage where
Marty, the Dude's balding landlord, performs a dance moderne.
Walter enters from the side and sits two seats down from the
Dude.
As Walter talks to the Dude he leans in to him, his voice
hushed, so as not to disturb the rest of the very sparse
audience.
WALTER
He lives in North Hollywood on
Radford, near the In-and-Out
Burger.
DUDE
Uh, the In-and-Out Burger's on
Camrose.
WALTER
Near the In-and-Out Burger. Th--
DONNY
Those are good burgers, Walter.
WALTER
Shut the fuck up, Donny. The kid is
in ninth grade, Dude, and his
father is--are you ready for this?--
DUDE
Hmm.
WALTER
His father is, Arthur Digby
Sellers.
DUDE
Who the fuck is that?
WALTER
Huh?
DUDE
Who the fuck is Arthur Digby
Sellers?
WALTER
Who the fu-- have you ever heard of
a little show called Branded, Dude?
DUDE
Yeah. Yes I know--
WALTER
All but one man died? There at
Bitter Creek?
DUDE
Yeah, I know the fucking show
Walter, so what?
WALTER
Fucking Arthur Digby Sellers wrote
156 episodes, Dude.
DUDE
Huh!
WALTER
Bulk of the series.
DUDE
Ahwww.
WALTER
Not exactly a lightweight.
DUDE
No.
WALTER
And yet his son is a fucking dunce.
DUDE
Uh.
WALTER
Anyway uh, we'll go there after the
uh...
He waves a hand vaguely toward the stage.
WALTER (CONT'D)
...what have you. We'll, brace the
kid, should be a push over--
DONNY
We'll be near the In-and-Out
Burger.
WALTER
SHUT THE FUCK UP, Donny. We'll, go
out there and we'll brace the kid-
he should be a pushover. We'll get
that fucking million dollars back,
if he hasn't spent it already. A
million fucking clams. And yes,
we'll be near the, uh--
DONNY
In-n-Out.
The Dude looks over at Walter and points to the stage.
DUDE (SOFTLY)
Hey, shussh shussh, man.
WALTER
...some burgers, some beers, a few
laughs. Our fucking troubles are
over, Dude.
EXT. RESIDENTIAL AREA - NIGHT
The Dude's car chugs to a stop on a residential street.
DUDE
Awwww fuck me, man! That kid's
already spent all the money man!
Parked incongruously in front of the small white house is a
brand new red Corvette.
WALTER
New 'vette? Hardly Dude, I'd say he
still has, 960 to 970 thousand
dollars left, depending on the
options. Wait in the car, Donny.
THE FRONT DOOR -
Walter knocks on the door. It is opened by a matronly Spanish
woman.
WOMAN
Jace?
WALTER
Pilar? My name is Walter Sobchak,
this is my associate Jeffrey
Lebowski. Uh, we came to talk about
little Larry. May we come in?
WOMAN
Jace jace.
WALTER (SOFTLY)
Thank you.
INT. SELLERS HOUSE - CONTINUOUS
They enter a living room and stand, looking about. There is a
rhythmic compressor sound; Walter places it and nudges the
Dude.
WALTER
That's him, Dude.
At the other end of the living room a man lies on something
that looks like a hospital gurney with its midsection
enclosed by a motorized stainless-steel bubble.
It is an iron lung, artificially breathing with distinct
hisses in and out.
WALTER (CONT'D)
(VIVA VOCE)
AND A GOOD DAY TO YOU, SIR.
PILAR
Ay, see down, please.
CALLS UP THE STAIRS:
PILAR (CONT'D)
Larry! Sweetie! Dat mang is here!
He and the Dude sit on a plastic protected sofa. In a lowered
voice, to Pilar:
WALTER
Is he, . . . Does he still write?
PILAR
Oh no, no. He has healt' problems.
WALTER
Uh-huh.
HE BELLOWS ACROSS THE ROOM:
WALTER (CONT'D)
Uh sir, I just want to say, uh,
that we're both--on a personal
level, really enormous fans.
Branded, especially the early
episodes, was truly a source of
inspiration.
LARRY, a fifteen-year-old, enters the room and looks at the
two men.
PILAR
Sweetie see down. This man is the
police.
WALTER
Oh no ma'am, We didn't want to give
the impression that we were police
exactly. We're hoping it won't be
necessary to call the police. But
that's up to little Larry here.
Isn't it, Larry?
Walter pops the latches on his attache case and takes out the
homework, which is now in a ziploc bag. He holds it out at
arm's length, displaying it to Larry.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Is this your homework, Larry?
Larry does not respond.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Is this your homework, Larry?
DUDE
Look, man, is--
WALTER
Dude, please!. . .
DUDE
Uooh.
WALTER
Is this your homework, Larry?
DUDE
Just ask him about the car, man.
Walter still holds out the homework.
WALTER
Is this yours, Larry? Is this your
homework, Larry?
DUDE
Is that your car out front?
WALTER
Is this your homework, Larry?
DUDE
We know it's his fucking homework!
Where's the fucking money, you
little brat?!
Throughout, Walter stares at Larry with the homework extended
towards him.
WALTER
Look, Larry. . . Have you ever
heard of Vietnam?
DUDE
Oh, for Christ's sake, Walter!
WALTER
You're entering a world of pain,
son. We know that this is your
homework. We know you stole a car--
DUDE
And the fucking money!
WALTER
And the fucking money. And we know
that this is your homework.
DUDE
We're gonna cut your dick off
Larry.
WALTER
You're KILLING your FATHER, Larry!.
No answer.
FINALLY, IN DISGUST:
WALTER (CONT'D)
Alright, this is pointless.
As he shoves the homework back in the attache case:
WALTER (CONT'D)
Ok, time for Plan B. You might want
to watch out that front window
Larry.
He heads for the door.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Son, this is what happens when you
FUCK a STRANGER in the ASS.
EXT. SELLERS HOUSE - CONTINUOUS
Walter strides down the lawn with his attache case like an
enraged encyclopedia salesman. Without looking back at, the
Dude, who follows:
WALTER
Fucking language problem here.
Little prick is stonewallin' me.
The Dude comes out of the house.
DUDE
Walter, what are you doing man?
Walter pops the Dude's trunk, flings in the briefcase and
takes out a crowbar.
DUDE (CONT'D)
What are you doing?
WALTER
Here you go Larry.
He walks over to the Corvette.
WALTER (CONT'D)
YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS, YOU SEE WHAT
HAPPENS LARRY!
CRASH! He swings the crowbar into the back window,
whichshatters.
WALTER (CONT'D)
YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS?!
DUDE
Oh, great.
WALTER
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCK
A STRANGER IN THE ASS LARRY!
CRASH! He takes out the driver's window.
Larry watches out the front window. A light comes on in the
house across the street. Dogs bark.
WALTER (CONT'D)
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS LARRY.
Walter reaches in the car and turns on the headlights.
WALTER (CONT'D)
YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS LARRY? YOU SEE
WHAT HAPPENS! WHEN YOU FUCK A
STRANGER IN THE ASS!
CRASH! Walter smashes the windshield continually. Lights are
going on in houses down the street. Distant dogs bark.
WALTER (CONT'D)
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS,
CRASH!
WALTER (CONT'D)
YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS LARRY?
CRASH!
WALTER (CONT'D)
YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS LARRY?
CRASH!
WALTER (CONT'D)
YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS LARRY WHEN YOU
FUCK A STRANGER IN THE ASS?
Walter moves to the front of the car and smashes a headlamp.
CRASH!
WALTER (CONT'D)
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS LARRY!
CRASH! The other headlamp gets hit.
WALTER (CONT'D)
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS LARRY!
Walter now smashes in the hood.
VOICE
MY CAR!
WALTER
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS LARRY!
VOICE
MY BABY, STOP IT!
WALTER
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCK
A STRANGER--
A man in a open shirt with an under shirt and boxer shorts
has run over behind Walter and grabbed him from behind on a
backswing of the crowbar.
MAN
WHAT THE FUCK JOO DOING, MANG?!
STOP IT!
He wrestles the crowbar away from the startled Walter.
WALTER
Oh hey, hey man.
MAN
I JUS' BAWDEEZ FUCKEEN CAR LASS
WEEK!
WALTER
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,
MAN
I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL JOO
WALTER
Hey, I'm sorry.
Walter cringes before the enraged Mexican.
The man looks about wildly.
MAN
I JUS' BAWDEEZ FUCKEEN CAR LASS
WEEK!
WALTER
Com'on man.
The man looks over at the Dude's car.
MAN
I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR MAN!
He runs over to the Dude's car.
DUDE
Whoa..No! Hey! Hey! THAT'S NOT his-
HEY
THUMP! CRASH! the man hits the Dude's trunk and back window
with the crowbar.
MAN
FUCK JOO AHHGGG, GOD DAMMIT FUCK
JOO!
CRASH!
DUDE
Oh no, no man, no.
MAN
YOU LIKE DAT, FUCK JOO!
CRASH! The man smashes out the left rear window.
DUDE
NO! no awwwww, noooo.
CRASH! The man starts smashing the Dude's windshield.
MAN
I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR MAN!
CRASH!
DUDE
Awwww. Heyyyy.
MAN
I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
ON A DEAFENING CRASH WE CUT TO:
INT. THE DUDE'S CAR - NIGHT
We look into the car through the broken windshield as it
rattles down the freeway. Wind whistles through the caved-in
windows.
The Dude drives, his jaw clenched, staring grimly out at the
road. Walter, beside him, and Donny in the back seat, munch
on In-and-Out Burgers.
Santana music plays above the bluster of wind.
INT. DUDE'S BUNGALOW
As the Dude talks on the phone he hammers a two-by-four into
the floor just inside, and parallel to, the front door.
DUDE
I accept your apology. . . No I
just, I just want to handle it by
myself from now on. No, no . . No!
That has nothing to do with it...
He finishes hammering.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Yes, the car made it home, You're
calling at home. No, Walter, it did
not look like Larry was about to
crack. Well that's your perception.
You know Walter you're right, there
is an unspoken message here, it's
FUCK YOU, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.
. . Yeah, I'll be at practice.
He hangs up and he rises and grabs a straight-backed chair
that stands nearby. He has just finished sliding the chair
into place with its top under the doorknob and its legs
braced against the two-by-four, thus wedging the door closed,
when the door opens--outwards. The chair clatters to the
floor.
Woo and the blond man who earlier peed on the rug stride in,
moving the chair away.
WOO
Pin your diapers on, Lebowski.
Jackie Treehorn wants to see you.
BLOND MAN
Jackie Treehorn knows which
Lebowski you are, Lebowski.
WOO
Jackie Treehorn wants to see the
deadbeat Lebowski.
BLOND MAN
You're not dealing with morons
here.
BLACKNESS
Out of the blackness something falls toward us. It is a
woman, falling in slow motion, her limbs flailing, her mouth
contorted by laughter. She is topless.
She falls past the camera, leaving blackness, then after a
beat reappears, rising into the night sky.
EXT. MALIBU BEACH - NIGHT
A group of mostly tanned men, some with long hair, wearing
tank tops, are blanket-tossing the laughing young woman in
nightmarish slow motion.
WIDER -
It is a party, lit by festive beach lights and standing
kerosene heaters.
In long shot now the woman rises, squealing, disappears into
darkness, descends into light, rises again.
A man walks towards the camera through the pools of beach
light. He is handsome, fiftyish, wearing a cotton twill
vanilla white, suit pants and jacket and what appears to be a
long sleeved, red, silk shirt.
Behind him, the woman rises and falls, appears and
disappears.
MAN
Hello, Dude. Thanks for coming. I'm
Jackie Treehorn.
INT. BEACH HOUSE - NIGHT
The Dude looks around at the '60's modern decor.
DUDE
Quite a pad you got here, man.
Completely unspoiled.
TREEHORN
What's your drink, Dude?
DUDE
White Russian, thanks.
TREEHORN
White Russian.
DUDE
How's the smut business, Jackie?
TREEHORN
I wouldn't know, Dude. I deal in
publishing, entertainment,
political advocacy--
DUDE
Which one's Logjammin'?
TREEHORN
Yes regrettably, it's true,
standards have fallen in adult
entertainment. It's video, Dude.
Now that we're competing with the
amateurs, we can't afford to invest
in little extras like story,
production value, feelings.
He hands him the drink.
TREEHORN (CONT'D)
People forget...
He taps his forehead with one finger.
TREEHORN (CONT'D)
...that the brain is the biggest
erogenous zone--
DUDE
On you, maybe.
TREEHORN
Of course, you have to take the
good with the bad.
The new technology permits us to do
very exciting things in interactive
erotic software. Wave of the
future, Dude. 100% electronic.
DUDE
Hmmm. Well, I still jerk off
manually.
TREEHORN
Ah heh, ha ha Of course you do.
Well, I can see you're anxious for
me to get to the point. Well, here
it is Dude. Where's Bunny?
DUDE
Well I thought you might know that,
man.
TREEHORN
Why would I? She only ran off to
get away from that rather sizable
debt to me.
DUDE
Uuno, she didn't run off, she's
been uh--
Treehorn waves this off.
TREEHORN
I've heard the kidnapping story, so
save it. I know you're mixed up in
all this, Dude, and I don't care
what you're trying to get from the
husband. That's your business. All
I'm saying is, I want mine.
DUDE
Yeah, right man, there are a lot of
uh, facets uh, to this. A lotta
interested parties uh--
The phone rings.
TREEHORN
Excuse me.
Jackie answers the phone.
TREEHORN (CONT'D)
Yeah, Oh yeah? Where's that?
The Dude becomes very interested in watching Jackie scribble
on a note pad.
TREEHORN (CONT'D)
Alright.
Jackie hangs up, pulls the top sheet off the note pad, and
gets up, folds the paper, and turns toward the Dude.
TREEHORN (CONT'D)
Excuse me.
Jackie walks out of the room.
The Dude leaps up and quickly walks over to check on Jackie's
return. Then he grabs a pencil and hurriedly shades the
etching left by the pen on the note pad, revealing a drawing
of a man with a unusually large penis.
The Dude is somewhat startled by what he sees.
DUDE
Hummm!
The Dude hears a door shut and he grabs the top sheet of the
note pad and puts it in the pocket of his pants as he races
back to the couch and re-positions him self as he was when
Jackie left.
Jackie enters the room.
TREEHORN
Forgive me.
DUDE
No problemo man... So uh, if I uh,
can find your money, ah, what's in
it for the Dude?
TREEHORN
Well of course, there's that to
discuss. A Refill?
DUDE
Yeah, did the Pope shit in the
woods?
TREEHORN
A 10% finder's fee? Is that
alright?
DUDE
Uumm! Okay, done Jackie. Yeah, I
dig the way you do business man.
Your money is being held by a kid
named Larry Sellers. He lives in
North Hollywood, on Radford, Uh, by
the In-and-Out Burger.
Jackie brings him the drink.
DUDE (CONT'D)
A real fuckin' brat, but I'm sure
your goons can get it off uh, him I
mean he's fifteen...unh flunking
social studies. So if you could
just uh, write me a check for my
ten percent. . . of half a million
. . . five grand.
He getse to his feet, but sways woozily and he falls
backward.
DUDE (CONT'D)
I'll go out and mingle.--Ahem um,
you mix a hell of a Caucasian,
Jackie.
The Dude shakes his head, tries to focus and he has to sit
back down.
TREEHORN
A fifteen-year-old? Is this some
sort of a joke?
Words echo and Jackie Treehorn's image starts to swim.
He is joined on either side by Woo and the blond man, all
three men looking grimly down at the Dude.
DUDE
Awww, no joke. No funny stuff,
Jackie . . . the kid's got it. Hi,
fellas . . . kid just wanted a car.
The Dude drops his drink to the carpet.
DUDE (CONT'D)
All the Dude ever wanted . . . was
his rug back . . . not greedy . . .
it really...
He squints at Jackie Treehorn, who swims in and out of focus.
DUDE (CONT'D)
...tied the room together.
FROM UNDER THE GLASS COFFEE TABLE -
Looking up at the Dude as his face hits the glass and
squishes.
FAST FADE OUT:
BLACK
THE STRANGER'S VOICE
Darkness warshed over the Dude--
darker'n a black steer's tookus on
a moonless prairie night. There was
no bottom.
We hear a thundering bass.
SCRATCHY WHITE TITLE CARD:
JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS
ANOTHER TITLE CARD:
THE DUDE
MAUDE LEBOWSKI
THIRD TITLE CARD:
IN GUTTERBALLS
The title logo is a suggestively upright bowling pin flanked
by a pair of bowling balls. The bending bass sound turns into
the lead-in to Kenny Rogers and the First Edition's "Just
Dropped In."
The Dude walks down a long corridor dressed as a cable
repairman. He performs Marty's 'cycle' as he walks.
The Dude's face is washed with a brilliant light as the
corridor opens onto a gleaming bowling alley.
He gazes up at a 'eight mile high' rack of bowling shoes.
At the top is a large full moon which is the source of the
light.
Behind the counter is a man that seems to be Saddam Hussain.
Saddam pulls a pair of silver and gold bowling shoes from the
rack and hands them to the Dude.
The Dude now dances down a long flight of stairs that seem to
stretch out to a starry infinity. They go down to the center
of a circular platform that contains 32 dancers and a bowling
lane on the other side of the platform that stretches out
into the starry void.
The dancers have '3D' cut outs of bowling pins on their
heads. They dance around a central figure, Maude. Maude wears
a bowling ball breasted, armored breastplate and Norse
headgear, has braided pigtails, and holds a trident.
The Dude continues to dance down the stairs toward the
platform, which is the same black and white tile as the
stairs.
He holds a black and red swirled bowling ball high over his
head. He slowly approaches Maude from behind. The Dude stands
behind her and, pressed up against her, helps her with her
follow-through as she releases the bowling ball.
The lane is straddled by a line of chorines in spangly mini
skirts, their arms akimbo, Busby-Berkley style, their legs
turning the lane into a tunnel leading to the pins at the
end.
But it is no longer a bowling ball rolling between their legs
-it is the Dude himself, levitating inches off the lane.
He is face down, his arms, torpedo-like, pressed against his
sides.
His point-of-view shows the lane rushing by below, the little
ball-guide arrows zipping by.
The Dude twists his body around, performing a barrel-roll so
that he now glides along the lane face-up.
Now his point of view looks up the dresses of the passing
chorines.
The Dude smiles dreamily and does another barrel-roll so that
he is once again gliding face-down. He looks forward and his
forward momentum blows back his hair.
Coming at us, as we go through the last few pairs of legs,
are the approaching pins. We hit the pins, scattering them,
and rush on into black.
A body drops down into the blackness in slow motion--a
topless woman, squealing, her legs kicking.
As she drops out of frame, leaving blackness again, three men
are entering from the background, emerging into a pool of
light. It is the Germans, advancing ominously, wielding
oversized shears which they menacingly scissor.
The Dude, now standing in a field of black, reacts to the
advancing Germans. He turns and runs, fists pumping.
The scissoring sound of the shears turns into the whoosh of
car-bys. The field of black is punctured by headlights.
The Dude runs blearily down the middle of the Pacific Coast
Highway. Cars rush by on either side, horns blaring.
With the siren squealing to a stop, a squad car with flashing
gumballs pulls up.
INT. SQUAD CAR - NIGHT
The Dude sits in the back seat, his head lolling with the
motion of the car as he blearily sings the theme of Branded:
DUDE
He was innocent. Not a charge was
true. And they say he ran
awaaaaaay. BRANDED!
INT. POLICE CHIEF'S OFFICE - NIGHT
The Dude is hurled against the chief's desk, which he bounces
off of, to come to rest more or less seated in a facing
chair.
His wallet is tossed onto the desk.
The chief leans forward, takes the wallet and sorts through
it with disgusted incredulity.
CHIEF
Is this your only I.D.?
He looks at the Ralph's Shopper's Club card.
DUDE
I know my rights man.
The Chief of police takes a piece of folded paper from the
wallet and opens it up to find the 'drawing' and the word
Treehorn on the top.
CHIEF
You don't know shit, Lebowski.
DUDE
I want a fucking lawyer, man. I
want Bill Kunstler, man...or umm,
or Ronald Kuby.
CHIEF
Mr. Treehorn tells us that he had
to eject you from his garden party,
that you were drunk and abusive.
DUDE
Mr. Treehorn, treats objects like,
women man.
CHIEF
Mr. Treehorn draws a lot of water
in this town, You don't draw shit
Lebowski. Now we got a nice quiet
little beach community here, and I
aim to keep it nice and quiet. So
let me make something plain. I
don't like you sucking around
bothering our citizens, Lebowski. I
don't like your jerk-off name, I
don't like your jerk-off face, I
don't like your jerk-off behavior,
and I don't like you, jerk-off. Do
I make myself clear?
The Dude stares absently.
DUDE
I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.
The Chief hurls his steaming mug of coffee at the Dude. It
hits him in the forehead with a thud, the scalding coffee
splashing everywhere.
The Chief is already up off his chair, rounding the desk.
DUDE (CONT'D)
--Ow! Fucking fascist!
The Chief pushes the Dude and the chair backwards to the
floor.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Awwwwwuh!
CHIEF
STAY OUT OF MALIBU, LEBOWSKI!!
He kicks the Dude.
CHIEF (CONT'D)
STAY OUT OF MALIBU, DEADBEAT! Keep
your ugly fucking goldbricking ass
out of my beach community!
INT. CAB - NIGHT
The Dude, in the back seat of a taxicab. He is gingerly
touching at sore spots on his face and scalp.
"Peaceful Easy Feeling" is on the radio.
DUDE'S POV
The back of the driver, a large
black man with a brimless, black
leather cap on his head.
DUDE
Jesus, man, can you change the
channel?
DRIVER
Fuck you man! You don't like my
fucking music, get your own fucking
cab!
DUDE
I've had a really ruff--
DRIVER
I'll pull over the side and kick
your ass out!
DUDE
Man, c'mon I had a rough night, and
I hate the fucking Eagles, man.
DRIVER
Umm humm!
EXT. THE STREET - CONTINUOUS
The cab screeches over towards the curb. Another car,
oncoming, its horn blaring, speeds by.
The driver stops the cab and gets out and opens the Dude's
door and reaches in and pulls the Dude out of the cab.
DRIVER
Outta my fucking cab!
DUDE
Hey man!
DRIVER
Out, get--
DUDE
Man man! Hey!
The cab driver gets back in the cab and screeches away.
Coming up the road behind the Dude is a red convertible,
which passes him quickly. The driver, singing loudly and
badly along with the radio, her hair blowing in the wind, a
dreamy smile on her face as she speeds along, higher than a
kite, is Bunny Lebowski.
THE FOOTWELL -
When she downshifts her left foot enters to engage the
clutch, in an open-toed bright red sandal shoe, that has five
green painted toes.
On the accelerator her right foot has five more toes.
INT. DUDE'S BUNGALOW - NIGHT
The Dude cautiously looks in the open front door. He goes in
and looks around.
DUDE
Awwwwh Jesus.
The place is a wreck. Furniture has been overturned,
upholstery slashed, drawers dumped.
Quiet.
He moves forward into the room and trips over the nailed 2x4.
He turns and looks back at the 2x4.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Ummph.
Maude emerges from the bedroom. She wears a bathrobe.
MAUDE
Jeffrey.
DUDE
Maude?
MAUDE
Love me.
She pulls open the bathrobe and lets it drop to the floor.
The Dude is stupefied.
DUDE
Uh, that's my robe.
WE CUT TO:
BLACK -
After a beat, a voice from the blackness:
MAUDE
Tell me a about yourself, Jeffrey.
DUDE
Well, not much to tell.
A match is dragged across a headboard; the Dude lights
himself a 'roach', which he holds in a roach clip.
DUDE (CONT'D)
I uh, I was, uh, one of the authors
of the Port Huron Statement.-- Uh
the original Port Huron Statement.
The Dude and Maude lie next to each other in bed.
MAUDE
Uh-huh.
DUDE
Not the compromised second draft.
The Dude tokes on the roach.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Uh, and then I, uh. . . ummm, ever
hear of the Seattle Seven?
MAUDE
Mmnun.
DUDE
That was me...and uh, uh, six other
guys. Uhh, And then uh . . . the
music business briefly.
MAUDE
Oh?
DUDE
Yeah. Roadie for Metallica.
MAUDE
Oh.
DUDE
Speed of Sound Tour.
MAUDE
Mmm hmmm.
DUDE
Bunch of assholes. And then, uh,
you know, a little of this, a
little of that.
The Dude tokes the roach again.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Uh, my career's, slowed down a
little lately.
MAUDE
What do you do for, for recreation?
DUDE
Oh, the usual. Bowl. Drive around.
The occasional acid flashback.
He sucks on the roach and he gets some burning ash in his
throat.
He coughs and climbs out of bed but Maude remains in it.
MAUDE
What happened to your house?
She wedges a pillow into the small of her back.
DUDE
Oh, Jackie Treehorn trashed the
place. He thought I had your
father's money, he got me out of
the way while he looked for it.
Cocktail?
MAUDE
No thanks. It's not my father's
money, it's the Foundation's. Why
did he think you have it? And who
does?
She clasps a hand on each kneecap, and pulls her knees in
toward her chest to keep her pelvis raised.
DUDE
Oh, Larry Sellers, this high-school
kid. Real fucking brat.
He mixes a White Russian at the bar in the living room.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Ya know, this is a very complicated
case, Maude. Lotta ins, lotta outs.
Uh, ya know. Fortunately I'm
adhering to a pretty strict, uh,
drug uh, regimen to keep my mind,
you know, uh limber ya know. I'm
very fucking close to your father's
money.
MAUDE
I keep telling you, it's the
Foundation's money. Father doesn't
have any.
The Dude re-enters the bedroom.
DUDE
Ummph, Whadda you talking about?
He's fucking loaded.
MAUDE
No no, the wealth was all Mother's.
DUDE
Waa--he runs stuff, uh, you know--
MAUDE
We did let him run one of the
companies, briefly, but he didn't
do very well at it.
DUDE
Ah... he's uh, you know.
MAUDE
No. He helps administer the
charities now, and I give him a
reasonable allowance. He has no
money of his own. I know how he
likes to present himself; Father's
weakness is vanity. Hence the slut.
DUDE
Uh. Do you think he uh,--what is
that yoga?
Throughout, Maude lays on her back with her knees pulled in
and now she rolls back and forth on the bed.
MAUDE
It increases the chances of
conception.
The Dude spits some White Russian.
DUDE
Increases?
MAUDE
Well yes, what did you think this
was all about? Fun and games? I
want a child.
DUDE
Okay, Yeah, okay but let me, let me
explain something about the Dude--
MAUDE
Look, Jeffrey, I don't want a
partner. In fact I don't want the
father to be someone I have to see
socially, or who'll have any
interest in raising the child
himself.
Something occurs to him.
DUDE
So...that doctor uh.
MAUDE
Exactly. Now what happened to your
face? Did Jackie Treehorn do that
as well?
The Dude stares off into space, thinking. His answer is
absent.
DUDE
No, uhhh, It was the Chief of
police of Malibu. A real
reactionary . . . So your father .
. . Oh yeah, I get it! Yeah, Yeah!
MAUDE
What?
DUDE
Oh man, my thinking about this
case, had become very uptight.
Yeah. Your father--
The Dude is leaves the bedroom.
FROM THE BEDROOM -
MAUDE'S VOICE
Jeffery! What're you talking about?
LIVING ROOM -
The Dude finishes punching a number into the phone.
MAUDE'S VOICE
Jeffery!
The phone rings on the other end.
DUDE
Walter, if you're there, pick up
the fucking phone man. C'mon
Walter, pick it up, man, this is an
emergency...
WALTER
Dude?
DUDE
C'mon I'm not--
WALTER
Dude?
DUDE
Yeah, listen Walter, I'm at my
place, I need you to come pick me
up.
WALTER
I can't drive, Dude, it's erev
shabbos.
DUDE
What?
WALTER
Erev shabbas.
DUDE
What?!
WALTER
Erev shabbos. I can't drive.
DUDE
Man!
WALTER
I'm not even supposed to pick up
the phone, unless it's an
emergency.
DUDE
This IS a fucking emergency.
WALTER
I understand. That's why I picked
up the phone.
DUDE
WALTER, YOU FUCK, WE GOTTA GO TO
PASADENA, MAN! COME PICK ME UP OR
I'M OFF THE FUCKING BOWLING TEAM!
EXT. DUDE'S BUNGALOW - NIGHT
THE DUDE -
He emerges on his front stoop, pulling on a sweatshirt. His
attention is caught by something down the street.
HIS POV -
A car is parked halfway down the block. We can see the shape
of a fat man in the driver's seat.
THE DUDE -
Strides purposefully down the street.
HIS POV -
The fat man leans forward and we hear the sound of the car's
ignition coughing, but the engine will not turn over.
DUDE
Get out of that fucking car man.
The man hurriedly fumbles in front of him. He brings up a
newspaper, which he holds before his face.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Get out of that fucking car! Get
the fuck out of the car, man!
THE DUDE -
As he gets to the car He is revved with nervous energy.
He tries to open the door but it is locked, so he reaches
through the open driver's window to unlock it, but the man re
locks it.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Get out of the fuckin--
The man nervously complies. The Dude flinches at the man's
movement as he gets out.
The man cringes, reacting to the Dude's flinch.
He wears a cheap blue serge suit. He is bald with a short
fringe and a mustache.
The Dude shouts to cover his fear:
DUDE (CONT'D)
Who the fuck are you, man!?
MAN
Easy man, relax, man! No physical
harm intended!
DUDE
Who the fuck are you?
MAN
Okay man, I'm okay.
DUDE
Why're you following me around?
Come on, fuckhead!
MAN
Hey, relax man, I'm a brother
shamus.
The Dude is stunned.
DUDE
Brother Shamus? Like an Irish monk?
MAN
What the fuck are you talking
about? My name's Da Fino! I'm a
private snoop! Like you, man!
DUDE
What?
DA FINO
A dick, man! And let me tell you
something: I dig your work. Playing
one side against the other--in bed
with everybody--fabulous stuff,
man.
DUDE
I'm not-- fuck it man, just stay
away from my fucking lady friend.
DA FINO
Hey hey, I'm not messing with your
special lady.
DUDE
She's not my special lady, she's my
fucking lady friend. I'm just
helping her conceive, man!
DA FINO
Hey, man, I'm not--uh
DUDE
Who're you working for? Lebowski?
Uh, Jackie Treehorn?
DA FINO
The Knudsens.
DUDE
The? Who who, who the fuck are the
Knudsens?
DA FINO
The Knudsens. It's a wandering
daughter job. Bunny Lebowski, man.
Her real name is Fawn Knudsen. Her
parents want her back.
He reaches into his inner suit coat pocket and pulls out two
photos.
DA FINO (CONT'D)
See?
The Dude looks at the picture.
It is probably a school portrait, unmistakably Bunny, but
fresh-faced, much younger looking, with a corn-fed smile and
straight Partridge Family hair and bangs.
DUDE
Jesus fucking Christ.
DA FINO
Crazy, huh? Ran away about a year
ago.
He holds out another picture.
DA FINO (CONT'D)
The Knudsens told me I should show
her this when I found her. It's the
family farm.
A bleak farmhouse and and out buildings are the only features
on a flat snow-swept landscape.
DA FINO (CONT'D)
It's outside uhh Moorhead,
Minnesota. They think it'll make
her homesick.
DUDE
Ssss Oh boy. How ya gonna keep 'em
down on the farm once they've seen
Karl Hungus.
He hands back the picture.
DUDE (CONT'D)
She's been kidnapped, Da Fino.
DA FINO
Oh man, that's terrible.
DUDE
Oh I don't know, maybe not, but
she's definitely not around.
DA FINO
Hey, uh, phfff, maybe you and me
could pool our resources--trade
information-- uh, professional
courtesy--
DUDE
Yeah.
DA FINO
Compeers, you know what I mean.
We hear distant yapping, growing louder with the hum of an
approaching van.
DUDE
Yeah yeah, I get it. Fuck off, Da
Fino. And stay away from my special
-- from my fucking lady friend man.
The Dude steps out to meet Walter's van as it pulls up, its
passenger window open and the Pomeranian leaning out and
yapping.
INT. STACKS OF PANCAKES HOUSE - NIGHT
Four people sit at a booth: Uli and the second and third man.
Also a young woman with long stringy blonde hair, wearing
jeans and a zebra striped sleeveless shirt. She is apparently
braless, and is Teutonically pale on her face and arms. A
waitress stands at the table with a pen and a check pad.
The second man seems to be asleep. They look at menus.
Uli looks sourly up and hands his menu to the waitress.
ULI
Uhh the lingonberry pancakes.
THIRD MAN
Aufwachen (Wake up) Arschloch
(asshole)!
SECOND MAN
Lingonberry pancakes.
THRIRD MAN
Sree picks in blanket.
The woman speaks to Uli in German.
NILHILIST WOMAN
Fur (for) mich (me) auch (too)
Heidelberg Pfannkuchen (pancakes),
Uli, Heidelberg Pfann(f)kuchen.
ULI
She has lingonberry pancakes.
THIRD MAN
Oh, mann, wenn ich dann an die
Pfannkuchen in Bremen denke.
(Oh, man, that makes me think of
those pancakes in Bremen).
SECOND MAN
Ja, ja, was ist damit?
(Yeah, yeah, what about it?).
THIRD MAN
Es ware einfach besser (Wouldn't it
be better), den richtigen Butter
(to simply
proper butter in it), die nicht so
wie eine Scheisse ist (the one
that's not so shitty). Es schmeckt
ganz so nach Kacke, mann! (This
really tastes like shit, man!).
SECOND MAN
Ja, ja.
(Yeah, yeah).
As the four talk in German.
The camera stays with the girl and follows down her camera
side leg, which ends in a bandage-swaddled foot.
Dried rust-colored blood stains the tip of the bandage.
INT. WALTER'S VAN - SAME
Walter's eyes are on the road as he listens to the Dude,
while driving.
DUDE
I mean we totally fucked it up,
man. We fucked up his pay-off. We
got the kidnappers all pissed off
at us, and Lebowski, he yelled at
me a lot, but he didn't do
anything. Huh?
The dog barks in the back of the van.
WALTER
Well, sometimes the cathartic,
uh...
DUDE
No no, I'm saying if he knows I'm a
fuck-up, why does he leave me in
charge of getting his wife back?
Because he doesn't fucking want her
back, man! He's had enough!
He no longer digs her! It's all a
show! Okay? But then, why didn't he
give a shit about his million
bucks? I mean, he knows we never
handed off his briefcase, but he
never asked for it back. The
million bucks was never in the
briefcase. The briefcase was
fucking empty, man! The asshole was
hoping that they would kill her!
You threw out a ringer for a
ringer!
WALTER
Huut! Okay, but how does all this
add up to an emergency?
DUDE
Huh?
WALTER
I'm saying, I see what you're
getting at, Dude, he kept the
money, my point is, huum, here we
are, it's shabbos, the sabbath,
which I'm allowed to break only if
it's a matter of life or death--
DUDE
Will you come off it Walter. You're
not even fucking Jewish, man.
WALTER
What the fuck are you talking
about?
DUDE
Man, you're fucking Polish
Catholic.
WALTER
What the fuck are you talking
about? I converted when I married
Cynthia!
DUDE
Yeah.
WALTER
Come on, Dude!
DUDE
Yeah, yeah yeah!
WALTER
You know this!
DUDE
Yeah, and five fucking years ago,
you were divorced.
WALTER
So, what are you saying? When you
get divorced, you turn in your
library card? You get a new
license? You stop being Jewish?
DUDE
This is the driveway.
AS HE TURNS:
WALTER
I'm as Jewish as fucking Tevye
DUDE
Man, you know, it's it's all a part
of your sick Cynthia thing man.
Taking care of her fucking dog.
Going to her fucking synagogue.
You're living in the fucking past.
WALTER
Three thousand years of beautiful
tradition, from Moses to Sandy
Koufax--YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I'M
LIVING IN THE FUCKING PAST! I-
Jesus. What the hell happened?
He looks off as the van slows. The Dude looks where Walter is
looking. They see a red sports car crashed into the fountain.
EXT. THE LEBOWSKI MANSION - CONTINUOUS
Walter's van pulls up the drive into the foreground and he
and the Dude get out.
Both gape off at the front lawn.
Tire treads lead across the front lawn to where the little
red sports car rests with its hood crumpled into the
fountain.
WALTER
Un huh, un huh, un huh, un huh.
What the fuck?
INT. THE LEBOWSKI MANSION - CONTINUOUS
The Dude, Walter and the dog enter the front door and descend
the stairs into the 'great hall'.
DUDE
AWWWWWH!
TRACKING DOWN THE GREAT HALLWAY -
Brandt, approaching, stoops and straightens, stoops and
straightens, picking up the discarded clothes that run the
length of the hall. Through the French doors at its far end
we can see Bunny, naked, briefly bouncing past the windows.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Where was she man?
BRANDT
Visiting friends of hers in Palm
Springs. She just picked up and
left, never bothered to tell us.
DUDE
Well I guess the fucking nihilist
knew where she was!
WALTER
Jesus, Dude! She never even
kidnapped herself.
BRANDT
Who's this gentleman, Dude?
WALTER
Who'm I?
The Dude grabs Walters arm.
DUDE
C'mon.
WALTER
I'm a fucking veteran, that's who I
am!
We watch the Dude and Walter as they approach the doors to
the great study. Walter's dog follows, stiffly waving its
tail.
BRANDT
You shouldn't go in there, Dude!
He's very angry!
BANG--the Dude and Walter push through the double doors into--
THE GREAT ROOM -
DUDE
SO man!
The Big Lebowski's wheelchair hums as he rolls toward them.
LEBOWSKI
(bitterly)
So? She's back. No thanks to you.
DUDE
Where's the fucking money,
Lebowski?
WALTER
A MILLION BUCKS...
DUDE
Hey...
WALTER
...FROM FUCKING NEEDY LITTLE...
DUDE
Walter...
WALTER
...URBAN ACHIEVERS! YOU ARE SCUM,
MAN!
LEBOWSKI
Who the hell is he?
WALTER
Who am I, Who am I?
DUDE
Walter...
WALTER
I'm the guy who's gonna KICK...
DUDE
Walter wait...
WALTER
...YOUR PHONY GOLDBRICKING ASS!
That's who I am!
DUDE
MAN! We know the briefcase was
fucking empty, We know you kept the
million bucks for yourself.
LEBOWSKI
You have your story, I have mine. I
say I entrusted the money to you,
and you stole it.
WALTER
AS IF WE WOULD EVER DREAM OF TAKING
YOUR BULLSHIT MONEY!
DUDE
You thought that Bunny had been
kidnapped and you were fucking glad
man. You could use it as an excuse
to make some money disappear. All
you needed was a sap to pin it on,
and you'd just met me. You you,
human paraquat! You figured, oh,
here's a loser, you know a, a a,
deadbeat, someone the square
community won't give a shit about.
LEBOWSKI
Well? Aren't ya?
DUDE
Well . . . yeah, but you--
LEBOWSKI
Get out. Both of you.
WALTER
Look at that fucking phony, Dude!
Pretending to be a fucking
millionaire!
LEBOWSKI
Out of this house. Now you bums.
WALTER
Let me tell you something else.
I've seen a lot of spinals, Dude,
and this guy is a fake. A fucking
goldbricker.
He crosses to Lebowski.
LEBOWSKI
Stay away from me, mister!
WALTER
This guy fucking walks. I've never
been more certain of anything in my
life!
LEBOWSKI
You stay away from me.
DUDE
WALTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! HE'S A
CRIPPLE!
WALTER
I've never been more certain of
anything in my life.
LEBOWSKI
Stay away from me I said.
WALTER
C'mon, c'mon.
Walter reaches around and hoists the Big Lebowski out of the
wheelchair by his armpits.
LEBOWSKI
Get away from me!
DUDE
WALTER!
WALTER
Walk, you fucking phony!
The Big Lebowski yells in horror and waggles helplessly, his
rubbery feet grazing the floor like a Raggedy Ann's. The
Pomeranian gaily leaps and yaps.
DUDE
PUT HIM DOWN MAN!
WALTER
Yeah, I'll put him down, Dude.
RAUSS! ACHTUNG, BABY!!
He shoves the Big Lebowski forward and he crumples to the
floor, weeping.
The dog barks. It comes over to the Big Lebowski who flails
about on the floor, and licks his face.
The Big Lebowski pushes him away.
DUDE
C'mon man, help me put him back in
his chair.
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
DONNY -
Poised at the end of the lane, he approaches the line and
releases a bowling ball. He watches the ball as it rolls and
swerves into the pins. His face smiling the pins scattered
but when the pins settle there is one pin left standing.
Donny's expression changes. He stares at it in disbelief.
In the background as a distant echo we hear Walter talking
about Iraq.
DUDE AND WALTER -
Each with a beer at the scoring table.
WALTER
Sure you'll see some tank battles.
But fighting in desert is very
different from fighting in canopy
jungle.
Donny returns to a seat next to Walter. He still thinks about
something and ignores Walter.
DUDE
Umm humm.
WALTER
I mean 'Nam was a foot soldier's
war whereas, uh, this thing should
uh, you know, be a piece of cake. I
mean I had an M16, Jacko, not an
Abrams fucking tank. Me and
Charlie, eyeball to eyeball.
The Dude applies a clear liquid on his finger tips using a
cap brush.
DUDE
Yeah.
WALTER
That's fuckin' combat. The man in
the black pyjamas, Dude. Worthy
fuckin' adversary.
DONNY
Who's in pyjamas, Walter?
WALTER
Shut the fuck up, Donny. Where as
what we have here, a bunch of fig
eaters, wearing towels on their
heads tryin' to find reverse on a
Soviet tank. This, this is not a
worthy fucking adversary.
VOICE
HEY!
The Dude and Walter look.
Quintana bellows from the lip of the lane, and is restrained
by O'Brien.
QUINTANA
What's this "day of rest" shit?!
What's this bullshit, I don't
fucking care! It don't matter to
Jesus! But you're not fooling me
man! You might fool the fucks in
the league office, but you don't
fool Jesus! It's bush league psych
out stuff! Laughable, man! HA HA! I
would've fucked you in the ass
Saturday, I'll fuck you in the ass
next Wednesday instead! WHAOOOO!
QUINTANA -
He makes hip-grinding coital motions as O'Brien leads him
away.
QUINTANA (CONT'D)
You got a date Wednesday, baby!
Walter, and the Dude watch him go. Walter turns and looks at
the Dude.
WALTER
He's cracking.
EXT. BOWLING ALLEY PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Donny, Walter and the Dude emerge from the alley, each
holding his leatherette ball satchel.
WALTER
The whole concept abates, I mean
many learned men have disputed
this, but in the 14th century the
Rambam he like...he....
They react to the droning synthesizer-based technopop coming
from a boom box.
REVERSE -
Uli and his two friends, in shiny black leather, stand in a
line facing them in the all-but-deserted lot. Behind them
orange flames lick gently in the Dude's car, which has been
put to the torch. The orange flames glow on the men's
creaking leather. Next to the car are three motorcycles,
parked in a neat row. The Dude looks sadly at the burning
car.
DUDE
Well, they finally did it. They
killed my fucking car.
ULI
Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.
SECOND MAN
Ja, uzzervize vee kill ze girl.
THRID MAN
Ja, it seems you forgot our little
deal, Lebowski.
DUDE
You don't have the fucking girl,
dipshit. We know you never did.
The men in black, stunned, confer amongst themselves in
German. Under his breath:
DONNY
Are these the Nazis, Walter?
Walter answers, also sotto voce, his eyes still on the three
men:
WALTER
No Donny, these men are nihilists,
there's nothing to be afraid of.
The Germans stop conferring.
ULI
Vee don't care. Vee still vant zat
money Lebowski or vee fuck you ups.
WALTER
Fuck you. Fuck the three of you.
DUDE
Hey, cool it Walter.
Walter ignores the Dude, addresses the Germans:
WALTER
No, without a hostage there is no
ransom. That's what ransom is.
Those are the fucking rules.
SECOND MAN
His girlfriend gafe up her toe!
THIRD MAN
She sought we vould get a million
dollars!
ULI
Iss not fair!
WALTER
FAIR! WHO'S THE FUCKING NIHILIST
AROUND HERE! YOU, BUNCH OF FUCKING
CRYBABIES?!
DUDE
Hey, cool it Walter. Hey look, pal,
there never was any money. The Big
Lebowski gave me an empty
briefcase, so take it up with him
man.
WALTER
And, I would like my undies back!
Donny is visibly frightened.
DONNY
Are these guys gonna hurt us,
Walter?
WALTER'S TONE IS GENTLE:
WALTER
No, Donny. These men are cowards.
The Germans confer again, in German.
THE CONFERENCE ENDS:
ULI
Okay. So vee take ze money you haf
on you und vee call it eefen.
DUDE
Ah hah.
WALTER
Fuck you.
DUDE
Hey no, come on, Walter, come on,
we're ending this thing cheap man.
The Dude digs into his pocket.
Walter's eyes, burning with hatred, are locked on Uli's.
WALTER
No! What's mine is mine.
DUDE
Oh, Come on, Walter!.
ULI
No funny stuff
He looks in his wallet:
DUDE
Alright! Alright uh...
ULI
No funny stuff!
DUDE
I got uh, four bucks...
He inspects the change in his palm.
DUDE (CONT'D)
...almost five!
DONNY
(tremulously)
I got eighteen dollars, Dude.
WALTER
(grimly)
What's mine is mine.
ULI
VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN! VEE TAKES THE
MONEY!
WALTER
(coolly)
Come and get it.
With a ring of steel, Uli produces a glinting saber.
ULI
VEE FUCK YOU UP!
DUDE
Come on man.
WALTER
Show me what you got. Nihilist.
ULI
I FUCK YOU!
DUDE
Walter, come on he's got a sword
thing man!
WALTER
Dipshit with a nine-toed woman.
ULI
I FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
WALTER -
hurls his leather satchel.
THE SECOND NIHILIST -
Caught off-guard. The bowling ball thuds into his chest and
buckles him over. He falls forward onto one hand, gasping.
Uli charges at Walter with the saber.
ULI (CONT'D)
I FUCK YOU, I PIG STICK--
Uli cuts Walter's side with the sword and Walter makes him
drop it.
Walter twists away and grabs Uli's head in both hands; draws
Uli's head up to his mouth, which closes on Uli's ear.
WALTER
ARRGGG!
The Dude confronts the other Nihilist but draws up short as
he sends out karate kicks, The Nihilist gives a shout with
each kick; the Dude leans back, throwing his arms up, evading
the kicks.
THE THIRD MAN
I FUCK YOU!
DUDE
Take it easy, man!
THE THIRD MAN
I FUCK YOU!
DUDE
Take the four dollars!
THE THIRD MAN
I FUCK YOU! ... I FUCK YOU IN THE
ASS!
WALTER -
His jaw is still clamped on Uli's ear. Walter growls as Uli
screams, he worries his ear, wagging his head.
The second Nihilist crawls on his stomach gasping.
DUDE
I'm gonna hit you with the fuckin'
ball man.
He is awkwardly circling, evading the third Nilhilist's
kicks, as he swings the ball bag.
WALTER -
Still worrying the ear. With a tearing sound his head and
Uli's separate.
ULI, EARLESS, SCREAMS.
Walter spits his ear into the air, the camera follows it up.
THE THIRD MAN (TO THE DUDE OFF CAMERA)
VEAKLING! I FUCK YOU!
Walter draws back his fist.
WALTER
ANTI-SEMITE!
Bam!--A powerhouse blow to the middle of his face drops Uli
for the count.
The second Nihilist still pulls himself along on his stomach.
DUDE AND THIRD NIHILIST -
The Dude and the third Nihilist, both now panting heavily,
have yet to establish body contact. The Nihilist continues to
kick.
THE THIRD MAN
I FUCK YOU IN THE ASS! I FUCK YOU
IN THE ASS!
Finally he summons the nerve to charge the Dude, hands raised
to deliver karate blows.
THE THIRD MAN (CONT'D)
I FUCK YOU. I FUCK YOU. I FUCK YOU.
I FUCK--
WHHAP--the boom box swings into frame to smash him in the
face. Walter then bashes him in the back and he falls
forward.
All quiet.
Walter, panting, looks around.
WALTER
We've got a man down, Dude.
He and the Dude run over to where Donny, lies gasping on the
ground.
DUDE
God! They shot him, man!
WALTER
He's not shot. No Dude.
DUDE
They shot Donny?
Donny gasps for air.
WALTER
There weren't any shots fired.
DUDE
Huh?
WALTER
It's a heart attack. Call the
medics, Dude. I'd go myself but I'm
pumping blood. Might pass out.
The Dude runs into the lanes. Walter cradles Donny's
shoulders with his right arm. He pats a reassuring left hand
on Donny's chest and shoulder.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Rest easy, good buddy, you're doing
fine. We got help choppering in.
FADE OUT:
HOLD IN BLACK
INT. MORTUARY - DAY
THE DUDE AND WALTER -
They sit side by side. We hear footsteps coming up a
cavernous stair well. Walter reads what appears to be a Bible
that was on the mortuary Director's desk.
The Dude sits very still, gazing up at a Psalm that is on a
marble wall, in six inch gold letters, behind the desk. It
reads:
AS FOR MAN, HIS DAYS ARE AS GRASS, AS A FLOWER OF THE FIELD.
SO HE FLORISHETH, FOR THE WIND PASSETH OVER IT AND IT IS
GONE.
PS 103.15
A tall thin man in a conservative black suit enters.
MAN
Hello, gentlemen. You are the
bereaved?
DUDE
Yeah man.
MAN
Francis Donnelly. Pleased to meet
you.
DUDE
Jeff Lebowski.
WALTER
Walter Sobchak.
DUDE
The Dude, actually. It's uh...
DONNELLY
Excuse me?
DUDE
Aw, nothing.
DONNELLY
Yes. I understand you're taking
away the remains.
WALTER
Yeah.
DONNELLY
We have the urn.
He nods to his right.
DONNELLY (CONT'D)
And I assume this is credit card?
He vaguely hands a large leather folder across the desk to
whomever wants to take it.
WALTER
Yeah.
He takes it, opens it, removes his glasses, and inspects the
bill with his head pulled back for focus and cocked for
concentration. Silence. The Dude smiles at Donnelly.
Donnelly gives back a mortician's smile.
WALTER (CONT'D)
UTHUMMm.
At length Walter places the folder on the desk with bill
facing Donnelly, pointing.
WALTER (CONT'D)
What's this?
DONNELLY
That's for the urn.
WALTER
Don't need it. We're scattering the
ashes.
DONNELLY
Yes, so we were informed. However,
we must of course transmit the
remains to you in a receptacle.
WALTER
This is a hundred and eighty
dollars.
DONNELLY
It is our most modestly priced
receptacle.
DUDE
Uh, well can we just uh--
WALTER
A hundred and eighty dollars?!
DONNELLY
They range up to three thousand.
WALTER
Uh, we're uh--Uhmm.
DUDE
Can't, can't we just rent it from
you man?
DONNELLY
Sir, this is a mortuary, not a
rental house.
WALTER
We're scattering the fucking ashes!
DUDE
Walter, Walter, Walter--
WALTER
WHAT JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED
DOESN'T MEAN WE'RE SAPS!
Walter hits the desk with his fist.
DONNELLY
Sir, please lower your voices.
DUDE
Man, don't you have, you know,
something uh, else we can put 'im
in? You know?
DONNELLY
That is our most modestly priced
receptacle.
WALTER
GODDAMNIT!! Is there a Ralph's
around here?
EXT. POINT DUME - DAY
It is a high, wind-swept bluff. Walter and the Dude walk
towards the lip of the bluff.
Walter carries a bright red coffee can with a blue plastic
lid. When they reach the edge the two men stand awkwardly for
a beat. Finally:
WALTER
Donny was a good bowler, and a good
man. He was . . . He was one of us.
He was a man who loved the
outdoors, and bowling, and as a
surfer he explored the beaches of
southern California...
Walter extends his hand out palm up to point at the beach
below.
WALTER (CONT'D)
...from La Jolla...
Walter moves his hand to the north.
WALTER (CONT'D)
...to Leo Carillo and up to Pismo.
He died--he died as so many young
men of his generation, before his
time. In your wisdom Lord you took
him. As you took so many bright
flowering young men, at Khe San and
Lan Doc...
The Dude shakes his head in disgust.
WALTER (CONT'D)
...and Hill 364. These young men
gave their lives. And so'd Donny.
Donny who loved bowling.
Walter holds the Folger's coffee can up in both hands.
WALTER (CONT'D)
And so, Theodore--Donald-
Karabotsos, in accordance with what
we think your dying wishes might
well have been, we commit your
final mortal remains to the bosom
of...
Walter takes the can in his right hand and waves it at the
ocean from left to right and back again.
WALTER (CONT'D)
...the Pacific Ocean, which you
loved so well.
Walter peels the plastic lid off the coffee can.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Goodnight, sweet prince.
AS HE SHAKES OUT THE ASHES:
The wind has blown most of the ashes into the Dude, standing
just to the side of and behind Walter. The Dude stands,
frozen. Finished eulogizing, Walter looks down at his shirt
and brushes some of the ashes off his shirt.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Shit.
Walter turns around and sees the ashes all over the Dude.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Oh shit Dude, I'm sorry.
He brushes off the Dude with his hands.
WALTER (CONT'D)
Goddamn wind. Fuck.
Heretofore motionless, the Dude finally explodes, slapping
Walter's hands away.
DUDE
Goddamnit Walter! You fucking
asshole!
WALTER
Shit! Dude, I'm sorry!
The Dude gives Walter a furious shove.
DUDE
Everything's a fucking travesty
with you man!
WALTER
Look Dude, I'm sorry. It was an
accident!
DUDE
What was zat-- What was that shit
about Vietnam!
WALTER
Look Dude, I'm sorry--
DUDE
What the fuck does anything have to
do with Vietnam! What the fuck are
you talking about?!
Walter for the first time is genuinely distressed, almost
lost.
WALTER
Dude, I'm sorry.
DUDE
Fuckin'--
He gives Walter a weaker shove. Walter seems dazed, then
wraps his arms around the Dude.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Fuck, Walter.
WALTER
Come on Dude. Hey fuck it man.
Let's go bowling.
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
We hear 'Send Me Dead Flowers' playing on the jukebox, as the
camera focuses on a lane and as it follows a bowling ball
down the lane into a strike. The view changes to back of the
pin setter and the mechanics involved in resetting the pins.
The far end of the bowling alley is closed and a man is
cleaning one of the lanes. In the center, a lone bowler rolls
a strike as The Dude walks up to the bar.
DUDE
Two oat sodas, Gary.
GARY
Right. Good luck tomorrow.
DUDE
Yeah. Thanks, man.
GARY
Aw, sorry to hear about Donny.
DUDE
Ah, yeah. Well, you know, sometimes
you eat the bar, and, sometimes uh,
you know...
The Dude turns to his left and notices the 'Stranger' sitting
at the bar.
DUDE (CONT'D)
Hey man.
THE STRANGER
Howdy do, Dude.
DUDE
I wondered if I'd see you again.
THE STRANGER
I wouldn't miss the semis.
DUDE
Oh yeah?
THE STRANGER
How things been goin'?
DUDE
Ahh, you know. Strikes and gutters,
ups and downs.
The bartender has put two gleaming beers on the counter.
The Stranger's eyes crinkle merrily.
THE STRANGER
Sure, I gotcha.
DUDE
Yeah. Thanks, Gary...Well take
care, man, gotta get back.
THE STRANGER
Sure. Take it easy, Dude--
DUDE
Oh yeah.
THE STRANGER
I know that you will.
THE DUDE, LEAVING, HOLDS UP HIS ARMS AND NODS:
DUDE
Yeah. Well, the Dude abides.
THE STRANGER
Heh heh.
The Dude leaves and walks back to the lanes and holds up the
beers.
DUDE
Walter.
Gazing after him, The Stranger drawls, savoring the words:
THE STRANGER
The Dude abides...
He gives his head a shake of appreciation, then looks into
the camera.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
I don't know about you, but I take
comfort in that. It's good knowin'
he's out there, the Dude, takin'
her easy for all us sinners.
Shoosh. I sure hope he makes The
finals. Welp, that about does her,
wraps her all up. Things seem to've
worked out pretty good for the
Dude'n Walter, and it was a purt
good story, dontcha think? Made me
laugh to beat the band. Parts,
anyway. I didn't like seein' Donny
go. But then, I happen to know that
there's a little Lebowski on the
way. I guess that's the way the
whole durned human comedy keeps
perpetuatin' it-self, down through
the generations, westward the
wagons, across the sands a time
until we-- aw, look at me, I'm
ramblin' again. Wal, uh hope you
folks enjoyed yourselves.
He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip as we begin to pull
back.
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
Catch ya later on down the trail.
As we pull away The Stranger swivels in to the bar. As his
voice fades:
THE STRANGER (CONT'D)
...Say friend, ya got any more of
that good sarsaparilla?...
A lone bowler rolls a strike?
FADE TO BLACK.
MUSIC
CREDITS
THE END
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