THE BIG LEBOWSKI
 
               We are floating 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 a 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
                               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.
 
               INTERIOR   RALPH'S
 
               It is late, the supermarket all but deserted.  We are tracking 
               in on a fortyish 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 is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining 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.
 
               The Dude glances furtively about and then opens a quart of 
               milk.  He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.
 
                                              VOICE-OVER
                               And I'm talkin' about the Dude here-- 
                               sometimes there's a man who, wal, 
                               he's the man for his time'n place, 
                               he fits right in there--and that's 
                               the Dude, in Los Angeles.
 
               CHECKOUT GIRL
 
               She waits, arms folded.  A small black-and white TV next to 
               her register shows George Bush on the White House lawn with 
               helicopter rotors spinning behind him.
 
                                              GEORGE BUSH
                               This aggression will not stand. . . 
                               This will not stand!
 
               The Dude, peeking over his shades, scribbles something at 
               the little customer's lectern.  Milk beads his mustache.
 
                                              VOICE-OVER
                               ...and even if he's a lazy man, and 
                               the Dude was certainly that--quite 
                               possibly the laziest in Los Angeles 
                               County.
 
               The Dude has his Ralph's Shopper's Club card to one side and 
               is making out a check to Ralph's for sixty-nine cents.
 
                                              VOICE-OVER
                               ...which would place him high in the 
                               runnin' for laziest worldwide--but 
                               sometimes there's a man. . . sometimes 
                               there's a man.
 
               EXTERIOR  RALPH'S
 
               Long shot of the glowing Ralph's.  There are only two or 
               three cars parked in the huge lot.
 
                                              VOICE-OVER
                               Wal, I lost m'train of thought here.  
                               But--aw hell, I done innerduced him 
                               enough.
 
               The Dude is a small figure walking across the vast lot.  
               Next to him walks a Mexican carry-out boy in a red apron and 
               cap carrying a small brown bag holding the quart of milk.  
               The two men's footsteps echo in the still of the night.
 
               After a beat of walking the Dude offhandedly points.
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's the LeBaron.
 
               DUDE'S HOUSE
 
               The Dude is going 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.
 
               INSIDE
 
               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.
 
                                              VOICE
                               We want that money, Lebowski.  Bunny 
                               said you were good for it.
 
               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
                               Where's the money, Lebowski!
 
               The hands haul him out again, dripping and gasping.
 
                                              VOICE
                               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.  If your wife 
                               owes money to Jackie Treehorn, that 
                               means you owe money to Jackie 
                               Treehorn.
 
               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.
 
               The Dude gropes back in the toilet with one hand.
 
               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.
 
               The Dude's hand comes out of the toilet bowl with his 
               sunglasses.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh, man.  Don't do--
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               You see what happens?  You see what 
                               happens, Lebowski?
 
               The Dude puts on his dripping sunglasses.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Look, nobody calls me Lebowski.  You 
                               got the wrong guy.  I'm the Dude, 
                               man.
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               Your name is Lebowski.  Your wife is 
                               Bunny.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Bunny?  Look, moron.
 
               He holds up his hands.
 
                                              DUDE
                               You see a wedding ring?  Does this 
                               place look like I'm fucking married?   
                               All my plants are dead!
 
               The blond man stoops to unzip the satchel.  He pulls out a 
               bowling ball and examines it in the manner of a superstitious 
               native.
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               The fuck is this?
 
               The Dude pats at his pockets, takes out a joint and lights 
               it.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Obviously you're not a golfer.
 
               The blond man drops the ball which pulverizes more tile.
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               Woo?
 
               The Chinese man is zipping his fly.
 
                                              WOO
                               Yeah?
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               Wasn't this guy supposed to be a 
                               millionaire?
 
                                              WOO
                               Uh?
 
               They both look around.
 
                                              WOO
                               Fuck.
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               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' waste of time.
 
               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.
 
               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 lanky blonde man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail 
               turns from the strike to walk back to the bench.
 
                                              MAN
                               Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight.  
                               Mark it, Dude.
 
               We are tracking in on the circular bench towards a big man 
               nursing a large plastic cup of Bud.  He has dark worried 
               eyes and a goatee.  Hairy legs emerge from his khaki shorts.  
               He also wears a khaki army surplus shirt with the sleeves 
               cut off over an old bowling shirt.  This is Walter.  He 
               squints through the smoke from his own cigarette as he 
               addresses the Dude at the scoring table.
 
               The Dude, also holding a large plastic cup of Bud, wears 
               some of its foam on his mustache.
 
                                              WALTER
                               This was a valued rug.
 
               He elaborately clears his throat.
 
                                              WALTER
                               This was, uh--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah man, it really tied the room 
                               together--
 
                                              WALTER
                               This was a valued, uh.
 
               Donny, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next Walter.
 
                                              DONNY
                               What tied the room together, Dude?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Were you listening to the story, 
                               Donny?
 
                                              DONNY
                               What--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Were you listening to the Dude's 
                               story?
 
                                              DONNY
                               I was bowling--
 
                                              WALTER
                               So you have no frame of reference, 
                               Donny.  You're like a child who 
                               wanders in in the middle of a movie 
                               and wants to know--
 
                                              DUDE
                               What's your point, Walter?
 
                                              WALTER
                               There's no fucking reason--here's my 
                               point, Dude--there's no fucking reason--
 
                                              DONNY
                               Yeah Walter, what's your point?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh?
 
                                              DUDE
                               What's the point of--we all know who 
                               was at fault, so what the fuck are 
                               you talking about?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh?  No!  What the fuck are you 
                               talking--I'm not--we're talking about 
                               unchecked aggression here--
 
                                              DONNY
                               What the fuck is he talking about?
 
                                              DUDE
                               My rug.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Forget it, Donny.  You're out of 
                               your element.
 
                                              DUDE
                               This 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?!  
                               This Chinaman is not the issue!  I'm 
                               talking about drawing a line in the 
                               sand, Dude.  Across this line you do 
                               not, uh--and also, Dude, Chinaman is 
                               not the preferred, uh. . . Asian- 
                               American.  Please.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, this is not a guy who built 
                               the rail- roads, here, this is a guy 
                               who peed on my--
 
                                              WALTER
                               What the fuck are you--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, he peed on my rug--
 
                                              DONNY
                               He peed on the Dude's rug--
 
                                              WALTER
                               YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT!  This 
                               Chinaman is not the issue, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               So who--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Jeff Lebowski.  Come on.  This other 
                               Jeffrey Lebowski.  The millionaire.  
                               He's gonna be easier to find anyway 
                               than these two, uh. these two  . . . 
                               And he has the wealth, uh, the 
                               resources obviously, and there is no 
                               reason, no FUCKING reason, why his 
                               wife should go out and owe money and 
                               they pee on your rug.  Am I wrong?
 
                                              DUDE
                               No, but--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Am I wrong!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, but--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Okay. That, uh.
 
               He elaborately clears his throat.
 
               That rap really tied the room together, did it not?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuckin' A.
 
                                              DONNY
                               And this guy peed on it.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Donny!  Please!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, I could find this Lebowski guy--
 
                                              DONNY
                               His name is Lebowski?  That's your 
                               name, Dude!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should 
                               compensate me for the fucking rug.  
                               I mean his wife goes out and owes 
                               money and they pee on my rug.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Thaaat's right Dude; they pee on 
                               your fucking Rug.
 
               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
                               And this is the study.  You can see 
                               the various commendations, honorary 
                               degrees, et cetera.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yes, uh, very impressive.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Please, feel free to inspect them.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'm not really, uh.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Please!  Please!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
               We are panning the walls, looking at various citations and
 
               certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed offscreen:
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               That's the key to the city of 
                               Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski was 
                               given two years ago in recognition 
                               of his various civic, uh.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               That's a Los Angeles Chamber of 
                               Commerce Business Achiever award, 
                               which is given--not necessarily given 
                               every year!  Given only when there's 
                               a worthy, somebody especially--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey, is this him with Nancy?
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               That is indeed Mr. Lebowski with the 
                               first lady, yes, taken when--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Lebowski on the right?
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Of course, Mr. Lebowski on the right, 
                               Mrs.  Reagan on the left, taken when--
 
                                              DUDE
                               He's handicapped, huh?
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes.  And 
                               this picture was taken when Mrs. 
                               Reagan was first lady of the nation, 
                               yes, yes? Not of California.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Far out.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               And in fact he met privately with 
                               the President, though unfortunately 
                               there wasn't time for a photo 
                               opportunity.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Nancy's pretty good.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Wonderful woman.  We were very--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Are these.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               These are Mr. Lebowski's children, 
                               so to speak--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Different mothers, huh?
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               No, they--
 
                                              DUDE
                               I guess he's pretty, uh, racially 
                               pretty cool--
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               They're not his, heh-heh, they're 
                               not literally his children; they're 
                               the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, 
                               inner-city children of promise but 
                               without the--
 
                                              DUDE
                               I see.
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               --without  the means  for higher  
                               education, so Mr. Lebowski  has 
                               committed  to sending  all of them 
                               to college.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jeez.  Think he's got room for one 
                               more?
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               One--oh!  Heh-heh.  You never went 
                               to college?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well, yeah I did, but I spent most 
                               of my time occupying various, um, 
                               administration buildings--
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Heh-heh--
 
                                              DUDE
                               --smoking thai-stick, breaking into 
                               the ROTC--
 
                                              YOUNG MAN
                               Yes, heh--
 
                                              DUDE
                               --and bowling.  I'll tell you the 
                               truth, Brandt, I don't remember most 
                               of it.--Jeez!  Fuck me!
 
               Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed 
               Life Magazine cover which is headlined ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI 
               ACHIEVER?  Oddly, the Dude's sunglassed face is on it; we 
               realize that, under the magazine's logo and headline, the 
               display is mirrored.
 
               We hear the door open and the whine of a motor.  The Dude, 
               wearing shorts and a bowling 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, I'm very 
                               busy so what can I do for you?
 
               He wheels himself behind a desk.  The Dude sits facing him 
               as Brandt withdraws.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well sir, it's this rug I have, really 
                               tied the room together-
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               You told Brandt on the phone, he 
                               told me.  So where do I fit in?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well they were looking for you, these 
                               two guys, they were trying to--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               I'll say it again, all right?  You 
                               told Brandt.  He told me.  I know 
                               what happened. Yes?  Yes?
 
                                              DUDE
                               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--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Hello!  Do you speak English?  Parla 
                               usted Inglese?  I'll say it again.  
                               Did I urinate on your rug?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well no, like I said, Woo peed on 
                               the rug--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Hello!  Hello!  So every time--I 
                               just want to understand this, sir--
                               every time a rug is micturated upon 
                               in this fair city, I have to 
                               compensate the--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Come on, man, I'm not trying to scam 
                               anybody here, I'm just--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               You're just looking for a handout 
                               like every other--are you employed, 
                               Mr. Lebowski?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Look, let me explain something.   
                               I'm not Mr. Lebowski;  you're Mr. 
                               Lebowski.  I'm the Dude.  So that's  
                               what  you  call me.  That, or Duder. 
                               His  Dudeness.  Or El Duderino, if,  
                               you know, you're not into the whole 
                               brevity thing--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Are you employed, sir?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Employed?
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               You don't go out and make a living 
                               dressed like that in the middle of a 
                               weekday.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Is this a--what day is this?
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               But I do work, so if you don't mind--
 
                                              DUDE
                               No, look.  I do mind.  The Dude minds.  
                               This will not stand, ya know, this 
                               will not stand, man.  I mean, if 
                               your wife owes--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               My wife is not the issue here. I 
                               hope that my wife will someday learn 
                               to live on her allowance, which is 
                               ample, but if she doesn't, sir, that 
                               will be her problem, not mine, just 
                               as your rug is your problem, just as 
                               every 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 in Korea took them from me 
                               but I went out and achieved anyway.  
                               I can't solve your problems, sir, 
                               only you can.
 
               The Dude rises.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Ah fuck it.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Sure!  Fuck it!  That's your answer!  
                               Tattoo it on your forehead!  Your 
                               answer to everything!
 
               The Dude is heading for the door.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Your "revolution" is over, Mr.  
                               Lebowski!  Condolences!  The bums 
                               lost!
 
               As the Dude opens the door.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               ...My advice is, do what your parents 
                               did!  Get a job, sir!  The bums will 
                               always lose-- do you hear me, 
                               Lebowski?  THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS--
 
               The Dude shuts the door on the old man's bellowing to find 
               himself--
 
                                              HALLWAY
                               --in a high coffered hallway.  Brandt 
                               is approaching.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Okay.  The old man told me to take 
                               any rug in the house.
 
               WALKWAY
 
               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 to a garage.  Brandt and the Dude follow.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Manolo will load it into your car 
                               for you, uh, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's the LeBaron.
 
               DUDE'S POINT OF VIEW
 
               Tracking toward the pool.  A young woman sits facing it, her 
               back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.
 
               Beyond her a black form floats in an inflatable chair in the 
               pool.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see 
                               you again some time, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the 
                               neighborhood, need to use the john.
 
               CLOSER TRACK
 
               Arcing 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 toes?
 
                                              YOUNG WOMAN
                               Uh-huh. . . I can't blow that far.
 
               The Dude looks over at the pool.
 
                                              DUDE
                               You sure he won't mind?
 
               The man bobbing in the inflatable chair is passed out.  He 
               is thin, in his thirties, with long stringy blond hair.  He 
               wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket, open, 
               shirtless, exposing fine blond chest hair and pale skin.  
               One arm trails off into the water; next to it, an empty 
               whiskey bottle bobs.
 
                                              YOUNG WOMAN
                               Dieter doesn't care about anything.  
                               He's a nihilist.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Practicing?
 
               The young woman smiles.
 
                                              YOUNG WOMAN
                               You're not blowing.
 
               Brandt nervously takes the Dude by the elbow.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Our guest has to be getting along, 
                               Mrs.  Lebowski.
 
               The Dude grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still 
               looking at the young woman.
 
                                              DUDE
                               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.  Very 
                               free-spirited.  We're all very fond 
                               of her.
 
                                              BUNNY
                               Brandt can't watch though.  Or he 
                               has to pay a hundred.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  That's marvelous.
 
               He continues to lead away the Dude, who looks back over his
 
               SHOULDER:
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'm just gonna find a cash machine.
 
               BOWLING PINS
 
               Scattered by a strike.
 
               THE BOWLERS
 
               Donny calls out from the bench:
 
                                              DONNY
                               Grasshopper Dude--They're dead in 
                               the water!!
 
               As the Dude walks back to the scoring table he turns to 
               another team in black bowling shirts--the Cavaliers--that 
               shares the lane.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Your maples, Carl.
 
               Walter, just arriving, is carrying a leatherette satchel in 
               one hand and a large plastic carrier in the other.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Way to go, Dude.  If you will it, it 
                               is no dream.
 
                                              DUDE
                               You're fucking twenty minutes late.  
                               What the fuck is that?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Theodore Herzel.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?
 
                                              WALTER
                               State of Israel.  If you will it, 
                               Dude, it is no--
 
                                              DUDE
                               What the fuck're you talking about?  
                               The carrier.  What's in the fucking 
                               carrier?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh?  Oh--Cynthia's Pomeranian.  
                               Can't leave him home alone or he 
                               eats the furniture.
 
                                              DUDE
                               What the fuck are you--
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'm saying, Cynthia's Pomeranian.  
                               I'm looking after 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 
                               gonna take your fucking turn, Dude.
 
               He lets the small yapping dog out of the carrier.  It scoots 
               around the bowling table, sniffing at bowlers and wagging 
               its tail.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey, 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, it's a fucking show 
                               dog with fucking papers.  You can't 
                               board it.  It gets upset, its hair 
                               falls out.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey man--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fucking dog has papers, Dude.--Over 
                               the line!
 
               Smokey turns from his last roll to look at Walter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Smokey Huh?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Over the line, Smokey!  I'm sorry.  
                               That's a foul.
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               Bullshit.  Eight, Dude.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Excuse me!  Mark it zero.  Next frame.
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               Bullshit. Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               This is not Nam.  This is bowling.  
                               There are rules.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Come on Walter, it's just--it's 
                               Smokey.  So his toe slipped over a 
                               little, it's just a game.
 
                                              WALTER
                               This is a league game.  This 
                               determines who enters the next round-
                               robin, am I wrong?
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               Yeah, but--
 
                                              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
                               Hey Walter--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Mark that frame an eight, you're 
                               entering a world of pain.
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               I'm not--
 
                                              WALTER
                               A world of pain.
 
               A manager in a bowling-shirt style uniform is running for a 
               phone.
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               Look Dude, I don't hold with this.  
                               This guy is your partner, you should--
 
               Walter primes the gun and points it at his head.
 
                                              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 is excitedly yapping at Walter's elbow, making 
               high body-twisting tail-wagging leaps.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, they're calling the cops, 
                               put the piece away.
 
                                              WALTER
                               MARK IT ZERO!
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               Walter--
 
                                              WALTER
                               YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND HERE?  
                               MARK IT ZERO!!
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               All right!  There it is!  It's fucking 
                               zero!
 
               He points frantically at the score projected above the lane.
 
                                              SMOKEY
                               You happy, you crazy fuck?
 
                                              WALTER
                               This is a league game, Smokey!
 
               PARKING LOT
 
               Walter and the Dude walk to the Dude's car.  The Pomeranian 
               trots happily behind Walter who totes the empty carrier.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, you can't do that.  These 
                               guys'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 Smokey has emotional 
                               problems!
 
                                              WALTER
                               You mean--beyond pacifism?
 
                                              DUDE
                               He's fragile, man!  He's very fragile!
 
               As the two men get into the car:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh.  I did not know that.  Well, 
                               it's 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.
 
               They watch a squad car take a squealing turn into the lot.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Okay then.  We play Quintana and 
                               O'Brien next week.  They'll be 
                               pushovers.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Just, just take it easy, Walter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               That's your answer to everything, 
                               Dude.  And let me point out--pacifism 
                               is not--look at our current situation 
                               with that camelfucker in Iraq--
                               pacifism is not something to hide 
                               behind.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well, just take 't easy, man.
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'm perfectly calm, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah?  Wavin' a gun around?!
 
                                              WALTER
                                      (smugly)
                               Calmer than you are.
 
               -his irritates the Dude further.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Just take it easy, man!
 
               Walter is still smug.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Calmer than you are.
 
               DUDE'S HOUSE
 
               A large, brilliant Persian rug lies beneath the Dude's beat-
               up old furniture.
 
               At the table next to the answering machine the Dude is mixing 
               kalhua, rum and milk.
 
                                              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 Gene and I will be submitting 
                               this to the League and asking them 
                               to set aside the round.  Or maybe 
                              forfeit it to us--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Shit!
 
                                              VOICE
                               --so, like I say, just thought, you 
                               know, fair warning.  Tell Walter.
 
               A beep.
 
                                              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
                               Mr. Lebowski, this is Fred Dynarski 
                               with the Southern Cal Bowling League.  
                               I just got a, an informal report, 
                               uh, that a uh, a member of your team, 
                               uh, Walter Sobchak, drew a loaded 
                               weapon during league play--
 
               We hear the doorbell.
 
               THE DOOR
 
               It swings open to reveal a short, hairy, muscular but balding 
               middle-aged man in a black T-shirt and black cut-off jeans.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hiya Allan.
 
                                              ALLAN
                               Dude, I finally got the venue I 
                               wanted.  I'm Performing my dance 
                               quintet--you know, my cycle--at Crane 
                               Jackson's Fountain Street Theatre on 
                               Tuesday night, and I'd love it if 
                               you came and gave me notes.
 
               The Dude takes a swig of his kalhua.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Sure Allan, I'll be there.
 
                                              ALLAN
                               Dude, uh, tomorrow is already the 
                               tenth.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, yeah I know. Okay.
 
                                              ALLAN
                               Just, uh, just slip the rent under 
                               my door.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, okay.
 
               BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM
 
               The  voice continues on the machine.
 
                                              VOICE
                               --serious infraction, and examine 
                               your standing.  Thank you.  Beep.
 
                                              VOICE
                               Mr. Lebowski, Brandt again.  Please 
                               do call us when you get in and I'll 
                               send the limo.  Let me assure you--I 
                               hope you're not avoiding this call 
                               because of the rug, 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.
 
               TRACKING
 
               We are pushing 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.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh.
 
               Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors.  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.
 
               BRANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Mr. Lebowski.
 
               Jeffrey Lebowski waves the Dude in without looking around.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               It's 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
                               I don't know, sir.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Is it. . . is it, being prepared to 
                               do the right thing?  Whatever the 
                               price?  Isn't that what makes a man?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Sure.  That and a pair of testicles.
 
               Lebowski turns away from the Dude with a haunted stare, lost 
               in thought.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               You're joking.  But perhaps you're 
                               right.
 
               The Dude thumps at his chest pocket.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Mind if I smoke a jay?
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Bunny.
 
               He turns back around and 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
                               Fuckin' A.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Strong men also cry. . . Strong men 
                               also cry.
 
               He clears his throat.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               I received this fax this morning.
 
               Brandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and 
               hands it to the Dude.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               As you can see, it is a ransom note.  
                               Sent by cowards.  Men who are unable 
                               to achieve on a level field of play.  
                               Men who will not sign their names.  
                               Weaklings.  Bums.
 
               THE DUDE EXAMINES THE FAX:
 
               WE HAVE BUNNY.  GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-
               CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES.  AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.  NO FUNNY STUFF.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Bummer.
 
               Lebowski looks soulfully at the Dude.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Brandt will fill you in on the 
                               details.
 
               He wheels his chair around to once again gaze 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 suspects that the culprits might 
                               be the very people who, uh, soiled 
                               your rug, and you're in a unique 
                               position to confirm or, uh, disconfirm 
                               that suspicion.
 
                                              DUDE
                               So he thinks it's the carpet-pissers, 
                               huh?
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Well Dude, we just don't know.
 
               BOWLING PINS
 
               CRASH--scattered by a strike, in slow motion.
 
               WIDER
 
               Still in slow motion.  We are looking across the length of 
               the bowling alley at a tall, thin, Hispanic bowler displaying 
               perfect form.  He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester stretch 
               bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each side.
 
               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--
 
               BACK TO THE BOWLER
 
               Displaying great slow-motion form as the Dude and Walter's 
               conversation continues over.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah, but he's a fucking pervert, 
                               Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?
 
                                              WALTER
                               The man is a sex offender.  With a 
                               record.  Spent 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 zinging 
               the bell.
 
               The VOICE-OVER conversation continues.
 
                                              DUDE
                              Huh.
 
                                              WALTER
                               When he moved down to Venice he had 
                               to go door-to-door to tell everyone 
                               he's 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.
 
               PINS
 
               scattered by a strike.
 
               QUINTANA
 
               wheeling and thrusting a black gloved fist into the air.
 
               Stitched above the breast pocket of his all-in-one is his 
               first name, "Jesus".
 
               BACK TO WALTER AND THE DUDE
 
               They have been joined by Donny.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Anyway.  How much they offer you?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Twenty grand.  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 shirt pocket.
 
                                              DUDE
                               ...They  gave  Dude  a  beeper,  so  
                               whenever these guys call--
 
                                              WALTER
                               What if it's during a game?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I told him if it was during league 
                               play--
 
               Donny has been watching Quintana.
 
                                              DONNY
                               If what's during league play?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Life does not stop and start at your 
                               convenience, you miserable piece of 
                               shit.
 
                                              DONNY
                               What's wrong with Walter, Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I figure it's easy money, it's all 
                               pretty harmless.  I mean she probably 
                               kidnapped herself.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh?
 
                                              DONNY
                               What do you mean, Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Rug-peers did not do this.  I mean 
                               look at it.  Young trophy wife.  
                               Marries a guy for money but figures 
                               he isn't giving her enough.  She 
                               owes money all over town--
 
                                              WALTER
                               That...fucking...bitch!
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's all a goddamn fake.  Like Lenin 
                               said, look for the person who will 
                               benefit.  And you will, uh, you know, 
                               you'll, 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
                               Shut the fuck up, Donny!  V.I. Lenin!  
                               Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!
 
                                              DONNY
                               What the fuck is he talking about?
 
                                              WALTER
                               That's fucking exactly what happened, 
                               Dude!  That makes me fucking SICK!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, well, what do you care, Walter?
 
                                              DONNY
                               Yeah Dude, why is Walter so pissed 
                               off?
 
                                              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
                               I don't see any connection to Vietnam, 
                               Walter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Well, there isn't a literal 
                               connection, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, face it, there isn't any 
                               connection.  It's your roll.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Have it your way.  The point is--
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's your roll--
 
                                              WALTER
                               The fucking point is--
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's 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, O'Brien, a short fat Irishman with tufted red hair.
 
                                              QUINTANA
                               I see you rolled your way into the 
                               semis.  Deos mio, man.  Seamus and 
                               me, we're gonna fuck you up.
 
                                              DUDE
                              Yeah well, that's just, ya know, 
                               like, your opinion, man.
 
               Quintana looks at Walter.
 
                                              QUINTANA
                               Let me tell you something, bendeco.  
                               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 til it goes 
                               "click".
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jesus.
 
                                              QUINTANA
                               You said it, man.  Nobody fucks with 
                               the Jesus.
 
               Jesus walks away.  Walter nods sadly.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Eight-year-olds, Dude.
 
               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.
 
               In his outflung hand lies a cassette case labeled VENICE 
               BEACH LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987.
 
               The Dude absently licks his lips as we faintly hear a hall 
               rumbling down the lane.  On its impact with the pins, the 
               Dude opens his eyes.
 
               He screams.
 
               A blonde woman looms over him.  Next to  her a  young man  
               in paint-spattered denims stoops and swings something towards 
               the carrier.
 
               The sap catches the Dude on the chin and sends  his head 
               thunking back onto the rug.
 
               A million stars 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 is flying 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 blonde 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 crawl 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 
               is falling. 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 blonde 
               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.
 
               FADE IN
 
               We are close on the Dude, upside down.  As the picture fades 
               in the bowling noises continue, 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
                               Oh man.
 
               He  raises  himself  onto  his  elbows  and  massages  the  
               red   lump  on his  jaw.  The  beeper  on his  belt is  
               blinking red  in sync  with the continuing irritating beeps.
 
               WIDE ON THE ROOM
 
               An  end  table  is  upset,  but  otherwise the  furniture is  
               in place. The rug is gone.
 
               The  Dude  looks  around.    The  bowling sounds  continue.   
               The beeps continue.
 
               The phone starts to jangle.
 
               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 4 5.  They'll 
                               call you on the portable phone with 
                               instructions in about forty minutes.  
                               One person only or I'd go with you.  
                               They were very clear on that: one 
                               person only.  What happened to your 
                               jaw?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh, nothin', you know.
 
               They have reached the little desk outside of the big 
               Lebowski's office; Brandt opens its bottom drawer with a key 
               and takes out an attache case.  He hands this to the Dude 
               along with a cellular phone in a battery-pack carrying case.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Here's the money, and the phone.  
                               Please, Dude, follow whatever 
                               instructions they give.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Her life is in your hands.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh, man, don't say that..
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Mr. Lebowski asked me to repeat that:  
                               Her life is in your hands.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Shit.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Her life is in your hands, Dude.  
                               And report back to us as soon as 
                               it's done.
 
               DUDE'S CAR
 
               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.  Though he is wearing khaki shorts and shirt, the 
               fact that he holds a battered brown briefcase makes him look 
               oddly like a commuter.  He also holds an irregular shape 
               bundled in brown wrapping paper.
 
               The car stops in front of him and he opens the Dude's door 
               and hands in the briefcase.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Take the ringer.  I'll drive.
 
               The Dude takes the briefcase and slides over.
 
                                              DUDE
                               The what?
 
                                              WALTER
                               The ringer!  The ringer, Dude!  Have 
                               they called yet?
 
               The Dude opens the briefcase and paws bemusedly through it 
               as the car starts rolling.
 
                                              DUDE
                               What the hell is this?
 
                                              WALTER
                               My dirty undies.  Laundry, Dude.  
                               The whites.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Agh--
 
               He closes the briefcase.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, I'm sure there's a reason 
                               you brought your dirty undies--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Thaaaat's right, Dude.  The weight.  
                               The ringer can't look empty.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter--what the fuck are you 
                               thinking?
 
                                              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, Walter--
 
                                              WALTER
                               It is a fucking game.  You said so 
                               yourself, Dude--she kidnapped herself--
 
                                              DUDE '
                               Yeah, but--
 
               The phone chirps.  Dude grabs it.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Dude here.
 
                                              VOICE
                                      (German accent)
                               Who is this?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Dude the Bagman.  Where do you want 
                               us to go?
 
                                              VOICE
                               ...Us?
                               DUDE
 
               Shit. . . Uh, yeah, you know, me and the driver.  I'm not 
               handling the money and driving the car and talking on the 
               phone all by my fucking--
 
                                              VOICE
                               Shut the fuck up.
                                      (Beat)
                               Hello?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah?
 
                                              VOICE
                               Okay, listen--
 
               Walter looks over at the Dude and bellows:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude, are you fucking this up?
 
                                              VOICE
                               Who is that?
 
                                              DUDE
                               The driver man, I told you--
 
               Click.  Dial tone.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh shit.  Walter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               What the fuck is going on there?
 
                                              DUDE
                               They hung up, Walter!  You fucked it 
                               up!  You fucked it up!  Her life was 
                               in our hands!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Easy, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               We're screwed now!  We don't get 
                               shit and they're gonna kill her!  
                               We're fucked, Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude, nothing is fucked.  Come on.  
                               You're being very unDude.  They'll 
                               call back.  Look, she kidnapped her--
 
               The phone chirps.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Ya see?  Nothing is fucked up here, 
                               Dude.  Nothing is fucked.  These  
                               guys are fucking amateurs--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Shutup, Walter!  Don't fucking say 
                               peep when I'm doing business here.
 
                                              WALTER
                                      (patronizing)
                               Okay Dude.  Have it your way.
 
               The Dude unclips the phone from the battery pack.
 
                                              WALTER
                               But they're amateurs.
 
               The Dude glares at Walter.  Into the phone:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Dude here.
 
                                              VOICE
                               Okay, vee proceed.  But only if there 
                               is no funny stuff.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah.
 
                                              VOICE
                               So no funny stuff.  Okay?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey, just tell me where the fuck you 
                               want us to go.
 
               A HIGHWAY SIGN:  SIMI VALLEY ROAD
 
               It flashes by in the headlights of the roaring car.
 
                                              DUDE
                               That was the sign.
 
               Walter wrestles the car onto the two-lane road.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah.  So as long as we get her back, 
                               nobody's in a position to complain.  
                               And we keep the baksheesh.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Terrific, Walter.  But you haven't 
                               told me how we get her back.  Where 
                               is she?
 
                                              WALTER
                               That's the simple part, Dude.  When  
                               we make the handoff, I grab the guy 
                               and beat  it out of him.
 
               He looks at the Dude.
 
                                              WALTER
                               ...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. If the plan 
                               gets too complex something always 
                               goes wrong.  If there's one thing I 
                               learned in Nam--
 
               The phone chirps.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Dude.
 
                                              VOICE
                               You are approaching a vooden britch.  
                               When you cross it you srow ze bag 
                               from ze left vindow of ze moving 
                               kar.  Do not slow down.  Vee vatch 
                               you.
 
               Click.  Dial tone.
 
                                              DUDE
                               FUCK.
 
                                              WALTER
                               What'd he say?  Where's the hand-
                               off?
 
                                              DUDE
                               There is no fucking hand-off, Walter!   
                               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
                               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'd fucking 
                               understand it!  That's the beauty of 
                               it Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Wooden bridge, huh?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'm throwing the money, Walter!  
                               We're not fucking around!
 
                                              WALTER
                               The bridge is coming up!  Gimme the 
                               ringer, Dude!  Chop-chop!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuck that!  I love you, Walter, 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.  Here's 
                               the bridge--
 
               There is the bump and new steady of the car on the bridge.  
               The Dude is twisting around to pull the money briefcase from 
               the back seat.  Walter reaches one arm across Dude's body to 
               grab the laundry.
 
               And there goes the ringer.
 
               He flings it out the window.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Your wheel, Dude!  I'm rolling out!
 
                                              DUDE
                               What the fuck?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Your wheel!  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 points across the seat at the paper-wrapped bundle.
 
                                              WALTER
                               You didn't think I was rolling out 
                               of here naked!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, please--
 
               Walter has flung open his door and is leaning halfway out 
               over the road.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fifteen!  This is it, Dude!  Let's 
                               take that hill!
 
               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 out holding the satchel of money. The 
               front of his car is crumpled into a tree.  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
                               WE HAVE IT!  WE HAVE IT!!
 
               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
                               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, let's go bowling.
 
               BOWLING LANE
 
               A ball rumbles in to scatter ten pins.
 
               WALTER.
 
               He turns from the lane to where the Dude sits in the nook of 
               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, yeah.  Well I don't 
                               see, um-- what exactly is the problem?
 
               The portable phone stops ringing.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?  The problem is--what do you 
                               mean what's the--there's no--we didn't--
                               they're gonna kill that poor woman--
 
                                              WALTER
                               What the fuck're you talking about?  
                               That poor woman--that poor slut--
                               kidnapped herself, Dude.  You said 
                               so yourself--
 
                                              DUDE
                               No, Walter!  I said I thought she 
                               kidnapped herself!  You're the one 
                               who's so fucking certain--
 
                                              WALTER
                               That's right, Dude, 1  % certain--
 
               Donny is trotting excitedly up.
 
                                              DONNY
                               They posted the next round of the 
                               tournament--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Donny, shut the f--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.
 
                                              DONNY
                               It's already posted.
 
                                              WALTER
                               WELL THEY CAN FUCKING UN-POST IT!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who gives a shit, Walter?  What about 
                               that poor woman?  What do we tell--
 
                                              WALTER
                               C'mon Dude, eventually she'll get 
                               sick of her little game and, you 
                               know, wander back--
 
                                              DONNY
                               How come you don't roll on Saturday, 
                               Walter?
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'm shomer shabbas.
 
                                              DONNY
                               What's that, Walter?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, and in the meantime what do I 
                               tell Lebowski?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Saturday is shabbas.  Jewish day of 
                               rest.  Means I don't work, I 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.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, how--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shomer shabbas.
 
               The Dude gets to his feet with the portable phone.
 
                                              DUDE
                               That's it.  I'm out of here.
 
                                              WALTER
                               For Christ's sake, Dude.
 
               Walter and Donny join the Dude as he walks out of the bowling 
               alley.
 
               Hell, you just tell him--well, you tell him, uh, we made the 
               hand-off, everything went, uh, you know--
 
                                              DONNY
                               Oh yeah, how'd it go?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Went alright.  Dude's car got a little 
                               dinged up--
 
                                              DUDE
                               But Walter, we didn't make the fucking 
                               hand- off!  They didn't get, the 
                               fucking money and they're gonna--
                               they're gonna--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah yeah, "kill that poor woman."
 
               He waves both arms as if conducting a symphony orchestra.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Kill that poor woman.
 
                                              DONNY
                               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?  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 parked in the trunk of our 
                               car out here?
 
                                              DUDE
                               "Our" car, Walter?
 
                                              WALTER
                               And what do they got, Dude?  My dirty 
                               undies.  My fucking whites--Say, 
                               where is  the car?
 
               The three bowlers, stopped at the edge of the lot, stare out 
               at an empty parking space.
 
                                              DONNY
                               Who has your undies, Walter?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Where's your car, Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               You don't know, Walter?  You seem to 
                               know the answer to everything else!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Hmm.  Well, we were in a handicapped 
                               spot.  It, uh, it was probably towed.
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's been stolen, Walter!  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 going home, Donny.
 
                                              DONNY
                               Your phone's ringing, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Thank you, Donny.
 
               DUDE'S LIVING ROOM
 
               The Dude is slumped disconsolately back in his easy chair, 
               fingers of one hand cupped over his sunglasses.  Facing him 
               on the couch are two uniformed policeman, one middle-aged, 
               the other a fresh-faced rookie.
 
               At the cut the portable phone, in the Dude's lap, is chirping.  
               The Dude waits for the rings to end.  When they do:
 
                                              DUDE
                               1972 Pontiac LeBaron.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               Color?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Green.  Some brown, or, uh, rust, 
                               coloration.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               And was there anything of value in  
                               the car?
 
               DULLY:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?  Oh.  Yeah.  Tape deck.  Couple 
                               of Creedence tapes.  And there was 
                               a, uh. . . my briefcase.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               In the briefcase?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Papers.  Just papers.  You know, my 
                               papers.  Business papers.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               And what do you do, sir?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'm unemployed.
 
                                              OLDER COP
                               ...Most people, we're working nights, 
                               they offer us coffee.
 
               There is silence.  Dude continues to stare at a spot on the 
               floor.  The older cop stares at him.
 
                                              DUDE
                               ...Me, I don't drink coffee.  But 
                               it's nice when they offer.
 
               AT LENGTH:
 
                                              DUDE
                               ...Also, my rug was stolen.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               Your rug was in the car.
 
               The Dude taps the floor with his foot.
 
                                              DUDE
                               No.  Here.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               Separate incidents?
 
               The Dude stares at the floor.
 
               Silence.
 
                                              OLDER COP
                               Snap out of it, son.
 
               The home phone starts ringing--a ring distinct  from the  
               chirp of the portable.  The Dude makes no move to answer  
               it.   Finally the rings stop as an answering machine kicks 
               on.
 
                                              DUDE
                               You find them much?  Stolen cars?
 
               Dude's Voice on Machine The Dude's not in.  Leave a message 
               after the beep.  It takes a minute.
 
                                              YOUNGER COP
                               Sometimes.  I wouldn't hold out much 
                               hope for the tape deck though.  Or 
                               the Creedence tapes.
 
                                              DUDE
                               And the, uh, 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 woman who took 
                               the rug.
 
               Beep.  Dial tone.
 
                                              OLDER COP
                               Well, I guess we can close the file 
                               on that one.
 
               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 one wall.  The furnishings  are 
               spare  given the space.  On the floor is the Dude's brilliant 
               rug.
 
               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 is holding a paint bucket in one hand and a brush 
               in the other, with which she flicks paint down at the canvas.
 
               The Dude turns again as he hears running footsteps.  Two 
               young men in paint-spattered shorts, T-shirts and sneakers 
               reach the sling shortly after it reaches the end of its track 
               and haul it back for another push.
 
                                              VOICE
                               I'll be with you in a minute, Mr. 
                               Lebowski.
 
               She rumbles by in another pass.
 
               All right, we'll do the blue tomorrow.  Elfranco.  Pedro.  
               Help me down.
 
               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.
 
               Does the female form make you uncomfor- table, Mr. Lebowski?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Is that what that's a picture of?
 
                                              MAUDE
                               In a sense, yes.  Elfranco, my robe. 
                               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
                               Thank you.
 
               This to Elfranco, who has handed her a robe.
 
               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.  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
                               Right, 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. 
                               But unfortunately 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
                               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, I'm sorry if your 
                               stepmother is a nympho, but I don't 
                               see what it has to do with--do you 
                               have any kalhua?
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Take a look at this, sir.
 
               She is aiming a remote at a projection TV.  The screen 
               flickers to life.  A title card:
 
               JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS
 
               SECOND CARD:
 
               KARL HUNGUS
 
               AND
 
               BUNNY LAJOYA
 
               IN
 
               A THIRD CARD:
 
               LOGJAMMIN'
 
               The Dude is at the bar, a bottle of kalhua 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 blue coyer-alls.  It is Dieter, the floater in  
               Lebowski's pool.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Hello.  Nein dizbatcher says zere 
                               iss problem mit deine kable.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Shit, I know that guy.  He's a 
                               nihilist.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               And you recognize her, of course.
 
               The girl answering the door is Bunny Lebowski.
 
               Bunny The TV is in here.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Za, okay, I bring mein toolz.
 
               Bunny This is my friend Shari.  She just came over to use 
               the shower.
 
                                              MAUDE
                                      (grimly)
                               The story is ludicrous.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Mein nommen iss Karl.  Is hard to 
                               verk in zese clozes--
 
               Maude switches off the set.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Lord.  You can imagine where it goes 
                               from here.
 
                                              DUDE
                              He fixes the cable?
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Don't be fatuous, Jeffrey.  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.  
                               Still, 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--sure, I could do that--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               If you successfully do so, I will 
                               compensate you to the tune of 1% of 
                               the recovered sum.
 
                                              DUDE
                               A hundred.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Thousand, yes, bones or clams or 
                               whatever you call them.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, but what about--
 
                                              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.
 
               The Dude fingers his jaw, where the lump from the sap has 
               all but disappeared.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh that's okay, I hardly even--
 
                                              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
                               That's really thoughtful but I--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Please see him, Jeffrey.  He's a 
                               good man, and thorough.
 
               LIMO
 
               The Dude sits in back holding a White Russian,  listening to 
               the chauffeur, a man of about the same age from whose livery 
               cap a ponytail emerges.
 
                                              DRIVER
                               --So he says, "My son can't hold a 
                               job, my daughter's married to a 
                               fuckin' loser, and I got a rash on 
                               my ass so bad I can't hardly siddown.  
                               But you know me.  I can't complain."
 
               THROUGH RASPING LAUGHTER:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuckin' A, man.  I got a rash.                 
                               Fuckin' A, man.  I gotta tell ya 
                               Tony.
 
               He takes a sip of a freshly-mixed White Russian, which leaves 
               milk on his mustache.
 
               I was feeling really shitty earlier in the day, I'd lost  a 
               little  money, I  was down in the dumps.
 
                                              TONY
                               Aw, forget about it.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, man!  Fuck it!  I can't be 
                               worrying about that shit.  Life goes 
                               on!
 
               The limo has rolled to a stop.  The Dude gets out, still 
               holding his drink.
 
                                              TONY
                               Home sweet home, Mr. L.  Who's your 
                               friend in the Volkswagon?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?
 
               His eyes on the rearview mirror, Tony jerks a thumb over his 
               shoulder.
 
               He followed us here.
 
               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.
 
               THE DUDE
 
               He scowls.
 
                                              DUDE
                               When did he-
 
               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 cups a hand underneath it.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuck, man!  There's a beverage here!
 
                The waiting limo's back door is flung open.
 
               INSIDE
 
               The Dude is shoved in and awkwardly takes a seat facing the 
               rear. The door is slammed behind him.
 
                                              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 we--I don't--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               They did not receive the money, you 
                               nitwit!  They  did not receive the 
                               goddamn money.  HER LIFE WAS IN YOUR 
                               HANDS!
 
                                              BRANDT
                               This is our concern, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               No, man, nothing is fucked here--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               NOTHING IS FUCKED! THE GODDAMN PLANE 
                               HAS CRASHED INTO THE MOUNTAIN!
 
               The Dude takes a hurried sip from his drink.
 
                                              DUDE
                               C'mon man, who're you gonna believe?  
                               Those guys are--we dropped off the 
                               damn money--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               WHAT?!
 
                                              DUDE
                               I--the royal we, you know, the 
                               editorial--I dropped off the money, 
                               exactly as per--Look, I've got certain 
                               information, certain things have 
                               come to light, and uh, has it ever 
                               occurred to you, man, that given the 
                               nature of all this new shit, that, 
                               uh, instead of running around blaming 
                               me, that this whole thing might just 
                               be, not, you know, not just such a 
                               simple, but uh--you know?
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               What in God's holy name are you 
                               blathering about?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'll tell you what I'm blathering 
                               about!  I got information--new shit 
                               has come to light and--shit, man!  
                               She kidnapped herself!
 
               Lebowski stares at him, dumbstruck.  The Dude is encouraged.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well sure, look at it!  Young trophy 
                               wife, I mean, in the parlance of our 
                               times, owes money all over town, 
                               including to known pornographers--
                               and that's cool, that's cool-- but 
                               I'm saying, she needs money, and of 
                               course they're gonna say they didn't 
                               get it 'cause she wants more, man, 
                               she's gotta feed the monkey, I mean--
                               hasn't that ever occurred to you...?  
                               Sir?
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                                      (quietly)
                               No.  No Mr. Lebowski, that had not 
                               occurred to me.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               That had not occurred to us, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well, okay, you're not privy to all 
                               the new shit, so uh, you know, but 
                               that's what you pay me for.  Speaking 
                               of which, would it be possible for 
                               me to get my twenty grand in cash?  
                               I gotta check this with my accountant 
                               of course, but my concern is that, 
                               you know, it could bump me into a 
                               higher tax--
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Brandt, give him the envelope.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well, okay, if you've already made 
                               out the check.  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, and since you have 
                               unrepentantly betrayed my trust.
 
               The wadding, undone, reveals a smaller wad of gauze taped up 
               inside.  The Dude undoes the tape with his fingernails and 
               starts to unroll the inner package.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               I have no choice but to tell these 
                              bums that they should do whatever is 
                               necessary to recover their money 
                               from you, Jeffrey Lebowski.  And 
                               with Brandt as my witness, tell you 
                               this:  Any further harm visited upon 
                               Bunny, shall 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
                               ...By God sir.  I will not abide 
                               another toe.
 
               COFFEE SHOP
 
               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
                               That wasn't her toe.
 
                                              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--
 
                                              WALTER
                               You want a toe?  I can get you a 
                               toe, believe me.  There are ways, 
                               Dude.  You don't wanna know about 
                               it, believe me.
 
                                              DUDE
                               But Walter--
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'll  get  you  a  toe by  this 
                               afternoon--with nail  polish. These  
                               fucking amateurs.   They send us a  
                               toe, we're  supposed to  shit our- 
                               selves with fear.  Jesus Christ. My  
                               point is--
 
                                              DUDE
                               They're gonna kill her, Walter, and 
                               then they're gonna kill me--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Well that's just, that's the stress 
                               talking, Dude.  So far we have what 
                               looks to me like a series of 
                               victimless crimes--
 
                                              DUDE
                               What about the toe?
 
                                              WALTER
                               FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOE!
 
               A waitress enters.
 
                                              WAITRESS
                               Could you please keep your voices 
                               down--this is a family restaurant.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Oh, please dear!  I've got news for 
                               you: the Supreme Court has roundly 
                               rejected prior restraint!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, this isn't a First Amendment 
                               thing.
 
                                              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 you and I could 
                               enjoy this family restaurant!
 
               THE DUDE GETS UP:
 
                                              DUDE
                               All right, I'm leaving.  I'm sorry 
                               ma'am.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Don't run away from this, Dude!  
                               Goddamnit, this affects all of us!
 
               The Dude has left frame; Walter calls after him:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Our basic freedoms!
 
               He looks defiantly around.
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'm staying.  Finishing my coffee.
 
               He stirs the coffee, bopping his head in time to the Muzak, 
               affecting nonchalance.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Finishing my coffee.
 
               DUDE'S BATHROOM
 
               A dripping noise.
 
               The Dude sits in the bathtub, staring stuporously, a joint 
               pinched in one hand, a washcloth draped over his head.
 
               We hear the phone ringing in the other roam.
 
               The Dude is staring at his toes, which protrude from the 
               soapy water, splayed against the far side of the tub.
 
               After the Dude's outgoing message we hear:
 
                                              VOICE THROUGH MACHINE
                               Mr. Lebowski, this is Duty Officer 
                               Rolvaag of the L.A.P.D.
 
               The Dude looks stuporously up, his head swaying.
 
                                              VOICE THROUGH MACHINE
                               We've recovered your vehicle.  It 
                               can be claimed at the North Hollywood 
                               Auto Circus there on Victory.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Far out.  Far fuckin' out.
 
                                              MESSAGE
                               You'll just need to present a--
 
               The message is interrupted by loud smashing sounds, as of 
               someone applying a baseball bat to the answering machine.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hunh?
 
               He looks blearily at the open doorway.
 
               A tall man dressed in black leather with a cricket paddle is 
               striding across the living room towards the bathroom.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey!  This is a private residence, 
                               man!
 
               The man has entered the bathroom and, in stride, swings the 
               cricket paddle up to smash the overhead light.  Two other 
               men are entering behind him.
 
               The room is dark now except for spill from the living room; 
               the men are backlit shapes.
 
               One of them holds a string at the other end of which a small 
               animal skitters excitedly about the floor.
 
               The Dude looks curiously at the small, nattering animal.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Nice marmot.
 
               The man with the string 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
                               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 top of his 
               head and squishes him back into the water.
 
                                              SECOND MAN
                               You think veer kidding und making 
                               mit de funny stuff?
 
                                              THIRD MAN
                               Vee could do things you only dreamed 
                               of, Lebowski.
 
                                              SECOND MAN
                               Ja, vee could really do it, Lebowski.  
                               Vee belief in nossing.
 
               He scoops the marmot out of the water.  It shakes itself 
               off, spraying the Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jesus!
 
                                              DIETER
                               Vee belief in nossing, Lebowski!  
                               NOSSING!!
 
               The marmot, back on the floor, is skittering around, shaking 
               itself and convulsing in little sneezes.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jesus Christ!
 
                                              FIRST MAN
                               Tomorrow vee come back und cut off 
                               your chonson.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Excuse me?
 
                                              FIRST MAN
                              I SAY VEE CUT OFF YOUR CHONSON!
 
               The three men turn to leave.  Over their retreating backs:
 
                                              SECOND MAN
                               Just sink about zat, Lebowski.
 
                                              FIRST MAN
                               Ja, your viggly penis, Lebowski.
 
                                              SECOND MAN
                               Ja, und maybe vee stamp on it und 
                               skvush it, Lebowski!
 
               NORTH HOLLYWOOD AUTO CIRCUS
 
               A policeman with a clipboard is leading the Dude through a 
               large parking lot.
 
                                              POLICEMAN
                               You're lucky she wasn't chopped, Mr.  
                               Lebowski. Must've been a joyride 
                               situation; they abandoned the car 
                               once they hit the retaining wall.
 
               They have reached the Dude's car.  The  driver's side  
               exterior has been scraped raw.  The policeman hands the Dude  
               a door  handle and an exterior rear-view mirror.
 
                                              POLICEMAN
                               These were on the road next to the 
                               car.  You'll have to get in on the 
                               other side.
 
               The Dude climbs in the passenger side.
 
                                              DUDE
                               My fucking briefcase!  It's not here!
 
                                              POLICEMAN
                               Yeah, sorry, I saw that on the report.  
                               You're lucky they left the tape deck 
                               though.
 
                                              DUDE
                               My fucking briefcase!  Jesus--what's 
                               that smell?
 
                                              POLICEMAN
                               Uh, yeah.  Probably a vagrant, slept 
                               in the car.  Or perhaps just used it 
                               as a toilet, and moved on.
 
               The Dude tries to roll down the driver's window but it will 
               not go; he bellows through the glass:
 
                                              DUDE
                               When will you find these guys?  I 
                               mean, do you have any promising leads?
 
               The policeman laughs, agreeing broadly.
 
                                              POLICEMAN
                               Leads, yeah.  I'll just check with 
                               the boys down at the Crime Lab.  
                               They've assigned four more detectives 
                               to the case, 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.
 
               BOWLING ALLEY BAR
 
               The Dude, Walter and Donny sit at the bar, the Dude with a 
               White Russian, Walter with a beer, and Donny eating beer 
               nuts.
 
                                              DONNY
                               And then they're gonna stamp on it?!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Oh for Christ--will you shut the 
                               fuck up, Donny.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I figure my only hope is that the 
                               big Lebowski kills me before the 
                               Germans can cut my dick off.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Now that is ridiculous, Dude.  No 
                               one is going to cut your dick off.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Thanks Walter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Not if I have anything to say about 
                               it.
 
                                              DUDE
                                      (bitterly)
                               Yeah, thanks Walter.  That gives me 
                               a very secure feeling.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude--
 
                                              DUDE
                               That makes me feel all warm inside.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Now Dude--
 
                                              DUDE
                               This whole fucking thing--I  could 
                               be sitting here with just pee-stains 
                               on my rug.
 
               Walter sadly shakes his head.
 
                                              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 you gonna split hairs?
 
                                              DONNY
                               No--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Am I wrong?
 
                                              DONNY
                               Well--
 
                                              DUDE
                               They're nihilists.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh?
 
                                              DUDE
                               They kept saying they believe in 
                               nothing.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Nihilists!  Jesus.
 
               Walter looks haunted.
 
               Say what you like 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, 
                               an amphibious rodent, for uh, 
                               domestic, you know, within the city--
                               that isn't legal either.
 
                                              DUDE
                               What're you, a fucking park ranger 
                               now?
 
                                              WALTER
                               No, I'm--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who gives a shit about the fucking 
                               marmot!
 
                                              WALTER
                               --We're sympathizing here, Dude--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuck your sympathy!  I don't need 
                               your sympathy, man, I need my fucking 
                               Johnson!
 
                                              DONNY
                               What do you need that for, Dude?
 
                                              WALTER
                               You gotta buck up, man, you can't go 
                               into the tournament with this negative 
                               attitude--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuck the tournament!  Fuck you, 
                               Walter!
 
               There is a moment of stunned silence.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fuck the tournament?!
 
               SAD; QUIET:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Okay Dude.  I can see you don't want 
                               to be cheered up.  C'mon Donny, let's 
                               go get 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 pop song on the jukebox has ended; someone puts on 
               "Tumbling Tumbleweeds."
 
               A man saunters up to the bar to take the stool that Walter 
               vacated.  He is 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.
 
               TO THE BARTENDER:
 
                                              MAN
                               D'ya have a good sarsaparilla?
 
               We recognize the voice of The Stranger whose narration opened 
               the movie.
 
                                              BARTENDER
                               Sioux City Sarsaparilla.
 
               The Stranger nods.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               That's a good one.
 
                Waiting for his drink, he looks amiably around the bar.  His 
               crinkled eyes settle on the Dude.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               How ya doin' there, Dude?
 
               The Dude, still staring down at his drink, shakes his head.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Ahh, not so good, man.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               One a those days, huh.  Wal, a wiser 
                               fella than m'self once said, sometimes 
                               you eat the bar and sometimes the 
                               bar, wal, he eats you.
 
                                              DUDE
                                      (absently)
                               Uh-huh.  That some kind of Eastern 
                               thing?
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Far from it.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Mm.
 
               The bartender puts a brown bottle and a frosted glass on the 
               bar in front of The Stranger, who touches his hat brim.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Much obliged.
 
               He looks back at the Dude.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               I like your style, Dude.
 
               THE DUDE LOOKS UP, ABSENTLY:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well I like your style too, man.  
                               Got a whole cowboy thing goin'.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Thankie. . . Just one thing, Dude.  
                               D'ya have to use s'many cuss words?
 
               The Dude looks at The Stranger as if just now noticing how 
               out of place the cowpoke is.
 
                                              DUDE
                               The fuck are you talking about?
 
               The Stranger chuckles indulgently and pushes off from the 
               bar.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Okay, have it your way.
 
               He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Take it easy, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah.  Thanks man.
 
               He is gone.  "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" is ending as we hear an 
               offscreen voice, breaking the spell:
 
                                              VOICE
                               Dude!  Dude!
 
               THE DUDE LOOKS:
 
               Tony, the unformed limo driver, is at the door of the bar, 
               beckoning.
 
               MAUDE'S LOFT
 
               She strides toward us, naked under a robe which she is just 
               cinching shut.  Paint flecks her skin.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Jeffrey, you haven't gone to the 
                               doctor.
 
                                              DUDE
                               No it's fine, really, uh--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Do you have any news regarding my 
                               father's money?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I, uh... money, yeah, I gotta 
                               respecfully, 69 you know, tender my 
                               resignation on that matter, 'cause 
                               it 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.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Now I got--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               She is most definitely the perpetrator 
                               and not the victim.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'm telling you, I got definitive 
                               evidence--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               From who?
 
                                              DUDE
                               The main guy, Dieter--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Dieter Hauff?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well--yeah, I guess--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Her "co-star" in the beaver picture?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Beaver?  You mean vagina?--I mean, 
                               you know him?
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Dieter has been on the fringes of--
                               well, of everything in L.A., for 
                               about twenty years.  Look at my LP's.  
                               Under 'Autobahn.'
 
               The Dude fingers through the albums filling one bookshelf.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               That was his group--they released 
                               one album in the mid-seventies.
 
               The Dude stops between two albums.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Roy Orbison. . . Pink Floyd.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Huh?  Autobahn.  A-u-t-o.  Their 
                               music is a sort of--ugh--techno-pop.
 
               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 FOREHEADS LOOMING BELOW 
               SLICKED-
 
               back hair, gazing upward in thin-lipped epiphany.  They are 
               wearing severe but modishly retro suits.  Each has his name 
               under his picture--Dieter, Kieffer; and Franz.  A bed of 
               nails is the only set dressing on the cyc.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jeez.  I miss vinyl.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Is he pretending to be the abductor?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well...yeah--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Look, Jeffrey, you don't really  
                               kidnap someone that you're acquainted 
                               with.  You can't get away with it if 
                               the hostage knows who you are.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well yeah...I know that.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               So Dieter has the money?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well, no, not exactly.  It's a 
                               complicated case, Maude.  Lotta ins.  
                               Lotta outs.  And a lotta strands to 
                               keep in my head, man.  Lotta strands 
                               in old Duder's--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Do you still have that doctor's 
                               number?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?  No, really, I don't even have 
                               the bruise any more, I--
 
               She is scribbling.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Please Jeffrey.  I don't want to be 
                               responsible for any delayed after-
                               effects.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Delayed after-eff--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               I want you to see him immediately.
 
               She is picking up a telephone.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               I'll see if he's available.  He's a 
                               good man, and thorough.
 
               CLOSE SHOT   THE DUDE
 
               His eyes are closed, a headset on, his shirt off.  Leaking 
               tinnily through the headset we hear the opening bars of 
               "Comin' Up Around the Bend."
 
               Behind him, cropped so that we see only a little of his torso, 
               a white-smocked figure taps at the Dude's back.  After a 
               moment the figure circles to one side, out of frame.  His 
               hand reaches in to pull one arm of the headset away from the 
               Dude's ear, and as he does so the music issues more strongly.
 
                                              VOICE
                               Could you slide your shorts down 
                               please, Mr.  Lebowski?
 
               The Dude's eyes open.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?  No, she, she hit me right here.
 
                                              VOICE
                               I understand sir.  Could you slide 
                               your shorts down please?
 
               DUDE'S CAR
 
               The Dude is driving home.  A Creedence tape plays.  The Dude 
               is sucking down a joint.  He glances at the rear-view mirror--
               and, noticing something, looks again.
 
               HIS POV
 
               A Volkswagon bug is following, a lone fat man driving.
 
               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 around the car, showering 
               sparks.
 
               DUDE'S CROTCH
 
               The glowing butt rolls down the car seat between his legs. 
               The Dude screams.
 
               THE STREET
 
               The car careens wildly as the surrounding traffic veers off 
               to, make way, horns blaring.  The car finally spins and comes 
               to rest with its passenger side wrapped into a telephone 
               poll.
 
               INSIDE THE CAR
 
               The Dude frantically grabs at his door, which won't open, 
               and then slides over to push at the passenger door, which 
               also won't open.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuck Me.
 
               But he is sitting on the passenger  side now,  away from  
               the lit butt.  He looks around for it.
 
               Smoke is wisping up from between the Driver's seat cushion 
               and back cushion.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuckola, man.
 
               He takes his beer and pours it in between the cushions.   
               There is a hissing  sound.   But there is a piece of paper 
               sticking out from between the cushions.
 
               The Dude pulls it out.
 
               It is lined spiral notebook paper, slightly singed and 
               dripping beer, covered with handwriting.  In the upper right-
               hand corner is the name Lawrence Sellers, and under that, 
               Mrs. Jamtoss 5th Period.  The theme is titled "The Louisiana 
               Purchase."  In red ink is a large circled D and some 
               handwritten marginal comments; misspelled words are circled 
               in red throughout.
 
               CRANE JACKSON'S FOUNTAIN STREET THEATER
 
               We are behind Walter, the Dude, and Donny, facing the stage 
               in the background where Allan, the Dude's balding landlord, 
               is performing a dance moderne.
 
               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
                               The In-and-Out Burger is on Camrose.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Near the In-and-Out Burger--
 
                                              DONNY
                               Those are good burgers, Walter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shut the fuck up, Donny.  This kid 
                               is in the ninth grade, Dude, and his 
                               father is--are you ready for this?--
                               Arthur Digby Sellers.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who the fuck is that?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Huh?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who the fuck is Arthur Digby Sellers?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Who the f--have you ever heard of a 
                               little show called Branded, Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah.
 
                                              WALTER
                               All but one man died?  There at Bitter 
                               Creek?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah yeah, I know the fucking show 
                               Walter, so what?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fucking Arthur Digby Sellers wrote 
                               156 episodes, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              WALTER
                               The bulk of the series.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Not exactly a lightweight.
 
                                              DUDE
                               No.
 
                                              WALTER
                               And yet his son is a fucking dunce.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah, go figure.  Well we'll go out 
                               there after the, uh, the.
 
               He waves a hand vaguely toward the stage.
 
                                              WALTER
                               What have you.  We'll, uh--
 
                                              DONNY
                               We'll be near the In-and-Out Burger.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shut the fuck up, Donny.  We'll, uh, 
                               brace the kid--he'll be a pushover.  
                               We'll get that fucking money, if he 
                               hasn't spent it already.  Million 
                               fucking clams. And yes, we'll be 
                               near the, uh--some burgers, some 
                               beers, a few laughs.  Our fucking 
                               troubles are over, Dude.
 
               RESIDENTIAL AREA
 
               The Dude and Walter are pulling up in front of a dilapidated 
               house sitting on a scrubby lot.  Parked incongruously in 
               front of the house is a brand new red Corvette.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Fuck me, man!  That kid's already 
                               spent all the money!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Hardly Dude, a new 'vette?  The kid's 
                               still got, oh, 96 to 97 thousand, 
                               depending on the options.  Wait in 
                               the car, Donny.
 
               THE FRONT DOOR
 
               Walter rings the bell.  It is opened by a matronly Spanish 
               woman.
 
                                              WOMAN
                               Jace?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Hello, Pilar?  My name is Walter 
                               Sobchak, we spoke on the phone, this 
                               is my associate Jeffrey Lebowski.
 
                                              WOMAN
                               Jace.
 
                                              WALTER
                               May we uh, we wanted to talk about 
                               little Larry.  May we come in?
 
                                              WOMAN
                               Jace.
 
               They enter a dim living room and stand, looking about, as 
               Pilar
 
               CALLS UP THE STAIRS:
 
                                              PILAR
                               Larry!  Sweetie!  Dat mang is here!
 
               There is a rhythmic compressor sound; Walter places it and 
               nudges the 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
                               That's him, Dude.
 
                                              VIVA VOCE
                               And a good day to you, sir.
 
                                              PILAR
                               See down, please.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Thank you, ma'am.
 
               He and the Dude sit on a sagging green sofa.  In a lowered 
               voice, to Pilar:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Does he, uh. . . Is he still writing?
 
                                              PILAR
                               No, no.  He has healt' problems.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Uh-huh.
 
               HE BELLOWS ACROSS THE ROOM:
 
                                              WALTER
                               I just want to say, sir, that we're 
                               both enormous--on a personal level, 
                               Branded, especially the early 
                               episodes, has been a source of, uh, 
                               inspir---
 
               There are footsteps on the stairs.  Larry, a fifteen-year-
               old, looks at the two men.
 
                                              PILAR
                               See down, Sweetie.  These are the 
                               policeman--
 
                                              WALTER
                               No ma'am, I didn't mean to give the 
                               impression that we're police exactly.  
                               We're hoping that it will not be 
                               necessary to call the police.
 
               He adopts his command voice in turning to Larry:
 
                                              WALTER
                               But that is 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
                               Is this your homework, Larry?
 
               Larry does not respond.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Is this your homework, Larry?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Look, man, did you--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude, please!. . .  Is this your 
                               homework, Larry?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Just ask him if he--ask him about 
                               the car, man!
 
               Walter is still holding out the homework.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Is this yours, Larry?  Is this your 
                               homework, Larry?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Is the car out front yours?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Is this your homework, Larry?
 
                                              DUDE
                               We know it's his fucking homework, 
                               Walter!  Where's the fucking money, 
                               you little brat?
 
               Throughout Walter has been staring 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 going to enter 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, Larry.
 
               No answer.
 
                                              WALTER
                               You're gonna KILL your FATHER, Larry!.
 
               FINALLY, IN DISGUST:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Ah, this is pointless.
 
               As he shoves the homework back in the attache case:
 
                                              WALTER
                               All right, Plan B.  You might want 
                               to watch out the front window there, 
                               Larry.
 
               He is heading for the door.  The Dude, puzzled, rises to 
               follow him.
 
                                              WALTER
                               This is what happens when you FUCK a 
                               STRANGER in the ASS, Larry.
 
               OUTSIDE
 
               Walter is striding down the lawn with his attache case like 
               an enraged encyclopedia salesman.  Without looking back at, 
               the Dude, who follows:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fucking language problem, Dude.
 
               He pops the Dude's trunk, flings in the briefcase and takes 
               out a tire iron.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Maybe he'll understand this.
 
               He is walking over to the Corvette.
 
                                              WALTER
                               YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS, LARRY!
 
               CRASH!  He swings the crowbar into the windshield, which 
               shatters.
 
                                              WALTER
                               YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS?!
 
               CRASH!  He takes out the driver's window.
 
                                              WALTER
                               THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCK A 
                               STRANGER IN THE ASS!
 
               Lights are going on in houses down the street.  Distant dogs 
               bark.
 
                                              WALTER
                               HERE'S WHAT HAPPENS, LARRY!
 
               CRASH!
 
                                              WALTER
                               HERE'S WHAT HAPPENS!  FUCK A STRANGER 
                               IN THE ASS!
 
               CRASH!
 
               A man in a sleeveless T-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?!
 
               He wrestles the crowbar away from the startled Walter.
 
                                              MAN
                               I JUS' BAWDEEZ FUCKEEN CAR LASS WEEK!
 
               Walter cringes before the enraged Mexican.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Hunh?
 
               The man looks about, wildly.
 
                                              MAN
                               I KILL JOO, MANG!  I--I KILL JOR 
                               FUCKEEN CAR!
 
               He runs over to the Dude's car.
 
                                              DUDE
                               No!  No!  NO!  THAT'S NOT--
 
               CRASH!  CRASH!
 
                                              MAN
                               I FUCKEEN KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
 
               CRASH!
 
                                              MAN
                               I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
 
               INSIDE THE CAR
 
               Glass rains in on a terrified, cringing, Donny.
 
                                              MAN
                               I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
 
                                                       ON A DEAFENING CRASH WE CUT TO:
 
               THE DUDE'S CAR
 
               We are looking 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.
 
               Creedence music plays above the bluster of wind.
 
                DUDE'S BUNGALOW
 
               As the Dude talks on the phone he is hammering a two-by-four 
               into the floor just inside, and parallel to, the front door.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I accept your apology. . . No I, I 
                               just want to handle it myself from 
                               now on. . . No.  That has nothing to 
                               do with it. . . .Yes, it made it 
                               home, I'm calling from home.  No, 
                               Walter, it didn't look like Larry 
                               was about to crack.
 
               He finishes hammering, rises and grabs a straightbacked chair 
               that stands nearby.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well that's your perception. . . 
                               Well you're right, Walter, and the 
                               unspoken Message is FUCK YOU AND 
                               LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. . . Yeah, 
                               I'll be at practice.
 
               He hangs up and 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 is opened--outwards.  The chair clatters to the 
               floor.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?
 
               Woo and the blond man who earlier peed on the rug stride in, 
               kicking the chair away.
 
                                              WOO
                               Pin your diapers on, Lebowski.  Jackie
                               Treehorn wants to see you.
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               And we know which Lebowski you are, 
                               Lebowski.
 
                                              WOO
                               Yeah.  Jackie Treehorn wants to talk 
                               to the deadbeat Lebowski.
 
                                              BLOND MAN
                               You're not dealing with morons here.
 
               BLACKNESS
 
               Out of the blackness something is falling toward us.  It is 
               a woman, falling in slow motion, her limbs flailing, her 
               mouth contorted by either fear or ecstasy.  She is topless.  
               She falls past the camera, leaving blackness, then after a 
               beat reappears, rising into the night sky.
 
               MALIBU BEACH
 
               A crowd of mostly tanned middle-aged men with blow-dried 
               hair, wearing jogging outfits and other expensively casual 
               attire, are blanket-tossing the squealing young woman in 
               nightmarish slow motion.
 
               WIDER
 
               It is a party, lit by festive beach lights and standing 
               kerosene heaters.  1960's mainstream jazz, of the Mancini-
               Brubeck school, has been piped down to speakers on the beach'.
 
               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 cotton twill pants 
               and a Turnbull & Asher shirt with a foulard knotted at the 
               neck.  Behind him, the woman rises and falls, appears and 
               disappears.
 
                                              MAN
                               Hello Dude, thanks for coming.  I'm 
                               Jackie Treehorn.
 
               INSIDE THE BEACH HOUSE
 
               The Dude is looking around at the '60's modern decor.
 
                                              DUDE
                               This is quite a pad you got here, 
                               man.  Completely unspoiled.
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               What's your drink, Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               White Russian, thanks.  How's the 
                               smut business, Jackie?
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               I wouldn't know, Dude.  I deal in 
                               publishing, entertainment, political 
                               advocacy, and--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Which one was Logjammin'?
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               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 that little extra 
                               in story, production value, feeling.
 
               He taps his forehead with one finger.
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               People forget that the brain is the 
                               biggest erogenous zone--
 
                                              DUDE
                               On you, maybe.
 
               He hands him the drink.
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               Of course, you do get the good with 
                               the bad.  The new technology permits 
                               us to do exciting things with 
                               interactive erotic software.  Wave 
                               of the future, Dude.  100% electronic.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.  Well, I still jerk off 
                               manually.
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               Of course you do.  I can see you're 
                               anxious for me to get to the point.  
                               Well Dude, here it is.  Where's Bunny?
 
                                              DUDE
                               I thought you might know, man.
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               Me?  How would I know?  The only 
                               reason she ran off was to get away 
                               from her rather sizable debt to me.
 
                                              DUDE
                               But she hasn't run off, she's been--
 
               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 take off her 
                               husband.  That's your business.  All 
                               I'm saying is, I want mine.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, well, right man, there are 
                               many facets to this, uh, you know, 
                               many interested parties.  If I can 
                               find your money, man-- what's in it 
                               for the Dude?
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               Of course, there's that to discuss.  
                               Refill?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Does the Pope shit in the woods?
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               Let's say a 10% finder's fee?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Okay, Jackie, done.  I like the way 
                               you do business.  Your money is being 
                               held by a kid named Larry Sellers.  
                               He lives in North Hollywood, on 
                               Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger.  
                               A real fuckin' brat, but I'm sure 
                               your goons'll be able to get it off 
                               him, mean he's only fifteen and he's 
                               flunking social studies.  So if you'll 
                               just write me a check for my ten per 
                               cent. . . of half a million. . . 
                               fifty grand.
 
               He is getting to his feet, but sways woozily.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'll go out and mingle.--Jesus, you 
                               mix a hell of a Caucasian, Jackie.
 
               The Dude shakes his head, tries to focus.
 
                                              TREEHORN
                               A fifteen-year-old?  Is this your 
                               idea of a joke?
 
               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
                               No funny stuff, Jackie. . . the kid's 
                               got it.  Hiya, fellas. . . kid just 
                               wanted a car.  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.  
               Tied the room together.
 
               He tips forward, spilling his drink off the table.
 
               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
 
               AND
 
               MAUDE LEBOWSKI
 
               IN
 
               THIRD TITLE CARD:
 
               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 is walking down a long corridor dressed as a cable 
               repairman.  The Dude's face is washed with a brilliant light 
               as the corridor opens onto a gleaming bowling alley.
 
               In the center of the alley stands Maude Lebowski, singing 
               operatic harmony to the Kenny Rogers song.  She wears an 
               armored breastplate and Norse headgear, has braided pigtails, 
               and holds a trident.
 
               The Dude stands behind her and, pressed up against her, helps 
               her with her follow-through as she releases a 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, 
               the tools from his utility belt swinging free.  He is face 
               down, his arms, torpedolike, 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 is now gliding along the lane face-up.
 
               Now his point of view looks up the dresses of the passing 
               chorines.
 
               The Dude smiles dreamily and does a backstroke motion 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 is running blearily down the middle of the Pacific 
               Coast Highway. Cars rush by on either side, horns blaring.
 
               With the BLOO-WHUP of a short siren blast, a squad car with 
               flashing gumballs pulls up.
 
               SQUAD CAR
 
               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.
 
               CHIEF'S OFFICE
 
               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
                               This is your only I.D.?
 
               He is looking at the Ralph's Shopper's Club card.
                                              DUDE
                               I know my rights.
 
                                              CHIEF
                               You don't know shit, Lebowski.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I want a fucking lawyer, man.  I 
                               want Bill Kunstler.
 
                                              CHIEF
                               What are you, some kind of sad-assed 
                               refugee from the fucking sixties?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              CHIEF
                               Mr. Treehorn tells us that he had to 
                               eject you from his garden party, 
                               that you were drunk and abusive.
 
                                              DUDE
                               That guy treats women like objects, 
                               man.
 
                                              CHIEF
                               Mr. Treehorn draws a lot of water in 
                               this town, Lebowski.  You don't draw 
                               shit.  We got a nice quiet 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.
 
                                              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
                               --Ow!  Fucking fascist!
 
               The Chief slaps him twice.
 
                                              CHIEF
                               Stay out of Malibu, Lebowski!
 
               He kicks the chair out from under the Dude, and then starts 
               kicking at him.
 
                                              CHIEF
                               Stay out of Malibu, deadbeat!  Keep 
                               your ugly fucking goldbricking ass 
                               out of my beach community!
 
               CAB
 
               The Dude, in the back seat of a taxicab that rocks and squeaks 
               with every bump, 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 rasta dreds 
               under a knit cap.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jesus, man, can you change the 
                               station?
 
                                              DRIVER
                               Fuck you man!  You don't like my 
                               fucking music, get your own fucking 
                               cab!
 
                                              DUDE
                               I've had a--
 
                                              DRIVER
                               I pull over and kick your ass out, 
                               man!
 
                                              DUDE
                               --had a rough night, and I hate the 
                               fucking Eagles, man--
 
                                              DRIVER
                               That's it!  Outta this fucking cab!
 
               THE STREET
 
               The cab screeches over towards the curb.  Another car, 
               oncoming, its radio blaring Metallica, speeds by.
 
               INSIDE THE OTHER CAR
 
               It is a red convertible.  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
 
               On the accelerator her right foot, in an open-toed bright 
               red high-heeled shoe, has five painted toes.
 
               When she downshifts her left foot enters to engage the clutch.
 
               Five more toes.
 
               DUDE'S BUNGALOW
 
               The Dude staggers in the open front door, one hand pressed 
               to a lump on his forehead, and looks around.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jesus.
 
               The place is a wreck.  Furniture has been overturned, 
               upholstery slashed, drawers dumped.
 
               Quiet.
 
               The door to the bedroom starts to creak open.
 
               The Dude cringes.
 
               Maude emerges from the bedroom.  She is wearing a bathrobe.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Jeffrey.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Maude?
 
               She pulls open the bathrobe as she approaches.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Love me.
 
               The Dude is stupefied.
 
                                              DUDE
                               That's my robe.
 
                                                      THOOMP!  ON THE EMBRACE WE CUT TO:
 
                BLACK
 
               After a beat, a long sigh, and then a voice from the 
               blackness:
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Tell me a little about yourself, 
                               Jeffrey.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well, uh. . . Not much to tell.
 
               A match is dragged across a headboard; the Dude is lighting 
               himself a joint.  He shakes the match out to restore blackness 
               except for the glowing tip of the joint.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I was, uh, one of the authors of the 
                               Port Huron Statement.--The original 
                               Port Huron Statement.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Not the compromised second draft.  
                               And then I, uh. . . Ever hear of the 
                               Seattle Seven?
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Mmnun.
 
               Click--the Dude turns on a bedside lamp.  He and Maude lie 
               next to each other in bed.
 
                                              DUDE
                               And then. . . let's see, I uh--music 
                               business briefly.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Oh?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah.  Roadie for Metallica.  Speed 
                               of Sound Tour.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Bunch of assholes.  And then, you 
                               know, little of this, little of that. 
                               My career's, uh, slowed down a bit 
                               lately.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               What do you do for fun?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh, you know, the usual.  Bowl.  
                               Drive around.  The occasional acid 
                               flashback.
 
               He climbs out of bed but Maude remains in it.  She wedges a 
               pillow into the small of her back and clasps a hand on each 
               kneecap.  She pulls her knees in toward her chest to keep 
               her pelvis raised.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               What happened to your house?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jackie Treehorn trashed the place.  
                               Wanted to save the finder's fee.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Finder's fee?
 
                                              DUDE
                               He thought I had your father's money, 
                               so he got me out of the way while he 
                               looked for it.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               It's not my father's money, it's the 
                               Foundation's.  Why did he think you 
                               had it?  And who does?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Larry Sellers, a high-school kid.  
                               Real fucking brat.
 
               He picks a White Russian off the bedside table.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Jeffrey--
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's a complicated case, Maude.  
                               Lotta ins, lotta outs.  Fortunately 
                               I've been adhering to a pretty strict, 
                               uh, drug regimen to keep my mind, 
                               you know, limber.  I'm real fucking 
                               close to your father's money, real 
                               fucking close.  It's just--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               I keep telling you, it's the 
                               Foundation's money.  Father doesn't 
                               have any.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?  He's fucking loaded.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               No no, the wealth was all Mother's.
 
                                              DUDE
                               But your father--he runs stuff, he--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               We did let Father run one of the 
                               companies, briefly, but he didn't do 
                               very well at it.
 
                                              DUDE
                               But he's--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               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
                               Huh.  Jeez.  Well, so, did he--is 
                               that yoga?
 
               Throughout, Maude has been lying on her back with her knees 
               pulled in.
 
                                              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?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well...no, of course not--
 
                                              MAUDE
                               I want a child.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, okay, but see, 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 rearing 
                               the child himself.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh...
 
               Something occurs to him.
 
                                              DUDE
                               So...that doctor.
 
                                              MAUDE
                               Exactly.  What happened to your face?  
                               Did Jackie Treehorn do that as well?
 
               The Dude is staring off into space, thinking.  His answer is 
               absent.
 
                                              DUDE
                               No, the, uh, police chief of Malibu.  
                               A real reactionary. . . So your 
                               father. . . Oh man, I get it!
 
                                              MAUDE
                               What?
 
               The Dude is leaving the bedroom.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, my thinking about the case, 
                               man, it had become uptight.  Yeah.  
                               Your father--
 
               LIVING ROOM
 
               The Dude finishes punching a number into the phone.
 
                                              PHONE VOICE
                               This is Walter Sobchak.  I'm not in; 
                               leave a message after the beep.
 
               FROM THE BEDROOM:
 
                                              MAUDE'S VOICE
                               What're you talking about?
 
               Beep.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, if you're there, pick up the 
                               fucking phone.  Pick it up, Walter, 
                               this is an emergency.  I'm not--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, listen, I'm at my place, I 
                               need you to come pick me up--
 
                                              WALTER
                               I can't drive, Dude, it's erev 
                               shabbas.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Erev shabbas.  I can't drive.  I'm 
                               not even supposed to pick up the 
                               phone, unless it's an emergency.
 
                                              DUDE
                               It is a fucking emergency.
 
                                              WALTER
                               I understand.  That's why I picked 
                               up the phone.
 
                                              DUDE
                               THEN WHY CAN'T YOU--fuck, never mind, 
                               just call Donny then, and ask him to--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude, I'm not supposed to make calls--
 
                                              DUDE
                               WALTER, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WE GOTTA 
                               GO TO PASADENA!  COME  PICK ME UP OR 
                               I'M OFF THE FUCKING BOWLING TEAM!
 
                                              MAUDE'S VOICE
                               Jeffrey?
 
                THE DUDE
 
               He emerges on his front stoop, pulling on a shirt. 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
 
               Striding 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.  More 
               whines and coughs; no start.
 
               The man hurriedly fumbles in front of him.  He brings up a 
               newspaper, which he holds before his face.
 
               THE DUDE
 
               As he gets to the car.  He reaches through the open driver's 
               window and grabs the newspaper and hurls it to the ground.  
               He is revved with nervous energy.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Get out of that fucking car, man!
 
               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 is wearing a cheap blue serge suit.  He is bald with a 
               short fringe and a mustache.
 
               The Dude shouts to cover his fear:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who the fuck are you, man!  Come on, 
                               man!
 
                                              MAN
                               Relax, man!  No physical harm 
                               intended!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who the fuck are you?  Why've you 
                               been following me?  Come on, fuckhead!
 
                                              MAN
                               Hey, relax man, I'm a brother shamus.
 
               The Dude is stunned.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Brother Shamus?  Like an Irish monk?
 
                                              MAN
                               Irish m--What the fuck are you talking 
                               about?  My name's Da Fino!  I'm a 
                               private snoop!  Like you, man!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Huh?
 
                                              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 a--ah, fuck it, just stay 
                               away from my fucking lady friend, 
                               man.
 
                                              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--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Who're you working for?  Lebowski?  
                               Jackie Treehorn?
 
                                              DA FINO
                               The Gundersons.
 
                                              DUDE
                               The?  Who the fff--
 
                                              DA FINO
                               The Gundersons.  It's a wandering 
                               daughter job.  Bunny Lebowski, man.  
                               Her real name is Fawn Gunderson.  
                               Her parents want her back.
 
               He is fumbling in his wallet.
 
                                              DA FINO
                               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 a year ago.
 
               He is holding out another picture.
 
               The Gundersons told me to show her this when I found her.  
               The family farm.
 
               A bleak farmhouse and silo are the only features on a flat 
               snow-swept landscape.
 
               Outside of Moorhead, Minnesota.  They think it'll make her 
               homesick.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Boy.  How ya gonna keep 'em down on 
                               the farm once they seen Karl Hungus.
 
               He hands back the picture.
 
               She's been kidnapped, Da Fino.  Or maybe not, but she's 
               definitely not around.
 
                                              DA FINO
                               Fuck, man!  That's terrible!
 
                                              DUDE
                              Yeah, it sucks.
 
                                              DA FINO
                               Well maybe you and me could pool our 
                               resources--trade information--
                               professional courtesy--compeers, you 
                               know--
 
               We hear distant yapping, growing louder with the hum of an 
               approaching car.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, I get it.  Fuck off, Da Fino.  
                               And stay away from my special la--
                               from my fucking lady friend.
 
               The Dude steps out to meet Walter's car as it pulls up, its 
               passenger window open and the pomeranian leaning out and 
               yapping.
 
               DENNY'S
 
               Four people sit at a booth:  Dieter, Kieffer, Franz, all in 
               black leather, and a young woman with long stringy blonde 
               hair, wearing torn and patched jeans and a ribbed sleeveless 
               tee-shirt, worn thin with age.  She is apparently braless, 
               and is teutonically pale with birthmarks on her face and 
               arms.
 
               Notable  is  her  camera-side  leg,  which  ends in  a bandage-
               swaddled foot.  Dried rust-colored blood stains the tip of 
               the bandage. The  four  are  arguing,  loudly,  in  German.   
               They seem  very unhappy. A waitress enters with a checkpad 
               and pen.
 
                                              WAITRESS
                               You folks ready?
 
               The German shouting stops.  Dieter looks sourly up.
 
                                              DIETER
                               I haff lingenberry pancakes.
 
                                              KIEFFER
                               Lingenberry pancakes.
 
                                              FRANZ
                               Sree picks in blanket.
 
               The woman speaks to Dieter in German.  He nods.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Lingenberry pancakes.
 
               WALTER'S CAR
 
               Walter's eyes are on the road as he listens, driving, to the 
               Dude, whose speech is occasionally punctuated by yaps from 
               the back seat.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I mean we totally fucked it up, man.  
                               We fucked up his pay-off.  And got 
                               the kidnappers all pissed off, and 
                               the big Lebowski yelled at me a lot, 
                              but he didn't do anything.  Huh?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Well it's, sometimes the cathartic, 
                               uh.
 
                                              DUDE
                               I'm saying if he knows I'm a fuck-
                               up, then why does he still leave me 
                               in charge of getting back his wife?  
                               Because he fucking doesn't want her 
                               back, man!  He's had enough!  He no 
                               longer digs her!  It's all a show!  
                               But then, why didn't he give a shit 
                               about his million bucks?  I mean, he 
                               knew we didn't hand off his briefcase, 
                               but he never asked for it back.
 
                                              WALTER
                               What's your point, Dude?
 
                                              DUDE
                               His million bucks was never in it, 
                               man!  There was no money in that 
                               briefcase!  He was hoping they'd 
                               kill her!  You throw out a ringer 
                               for a ringer!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Shit yeah!
 
                                              WALTER
                               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, but my 
                               point is, here we are, it's shabbas, 
                               the sabbath, which I'm allowed to 
                               break only if it's a matter of life 
                               and death--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, come off it.  You're not 
                               even fucking Jewish, you're--
 
                                              WALTER
                               What the fuck are you talking about?
 
                                              DUDE
                               You're fucking Polish Catholic--
 
                                              WALTER
                               What the fuck are you talking about?  
                               I converted when I married Cynthia!  
                               Come on, Dude!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah, and you were--
 
                                              WALTER
                               You know this!
 
                                              DUDE
                               And you were divorced five fucking 
                               years ago.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah?  What do you think happens 
                               when you get divorced?  You turn in 
                               your library card?  Get a new driver's 
                               license?  Stop being Jewish?
 
                                              DUDE
                               This driveway.
 
               AS HE TURNS:
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'm as Jewish as fucking Tevye
 
                                              DUDE
                               It's just part of your whole sick 
                               Cynthia thing.  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 LIVE IN THE 
                               PAST!   I--Jesus.  What the hell 
                               happened?
 
               He is looking off as the car slows.  The Dude looks where 
               Walter is looking.
 
               THE LEBOWSKI MANSION
 
               Walter's car pulls up the drive into the foreground and he 
               and the Dude get out.
 
               Both are gaping off at the front lawn.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Jesus Christ.
 
               THEIR POV
 
               Tire treads lead across the manicured front lawn to where a 
               little red sports car rests with its hood crumpled into a 
               palm trunk.
 
               TRACKING DOWN THE GREAT HALLWAY
 
               Through the French doors at its far end we can see Bunny, 
               naked, briefly bouncing on the diving board before splashing 
               into the illuminated pool outside.  Heavy metal music filters 
               in from a boom box by the pool.
 
               Brandt, approaching, stoops and straightens, stoops and 
               straightens, picking up the discarded clothes that run the 
               length of the hall.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               He can't see you, Dude.
 
               We pull the Dude and Walter as they approach the doors to 
               the great study.  Walter's dog follows, stiffly waving its 
               tail.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Where'd she been?
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Visiting friends of hers in Palm 
                               Springs.  Just picked up and left, 
                               never bothered to tell us.
 
                                              DUDE
                               But I guess she told Dieter.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Jesus, Dude!  He never even kidnapped 
                               her.
 
                                              BRANDT
                               Who's this gentleman, Dude?
 
                                              WALTER
                               Who'm I?  I'm a fucking VETERAN!
 
                                              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
 
               The big Lebowski turns at the sound of the door.  His 
               wheelchair hums as he spins it around.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                                      (bitterly)
                               Well, she's back.  No thanks to you.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Where's the money, Lebowski?
 
                                              WALTER
                               A MILLION BUCKS FROM FUCKING NEEDY 
                               LITTLE URBAN ACHIEVERS!  YOU ARE 
                               SCUM, MAN!
 
               The dog yaps.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Who the hell is he?
 
                                              WALTER
                               I'll tell you who I am!  I'm the guy 
                               who's gonna KICK YOUR PHONY 
                               GOLDBRICKING ASS!
 
                                              DUDE
                               We know the briefcase was empty, 
                               man.  We know you kept the million  
                               bucks yourself.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Well, 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 Bunny'd been kidnapped 
                               and you could use it as a pretext to 
                               make some money disappear.  All you 
                               needed was a sap to pin it on, and 
                               you'd just met me.  You thought, 
                               hey, a deadbeat, a loser, someone 
                               the square community won't give a 
                               shit about.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Well?  Aren't you?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well. . . yeah.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               All right, get out.  Both of you.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Look at that fucking phony, Dude!  
                               Pretending to be a fucking 
                               millionaire!
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               I said out.  Now.
 
                                              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 is crossing to Lebowski.
 
                                              WALTER
                               This guy fucking walks.  I've never 
                               been more certain of anything in my 
                               life!
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Stay away from me, mister!
 
               Walter reaches around from behind and hoists the big Lebowski 
               out of the wheelchair by his armpits.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Walk, you fucking phony!
 
               The big Lebowski waggles helplessly, his rubbery feet grazing 
               the floor like a Raggedy Ann's.  The pomeranian gaily leaps 
               and yaps.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Put me down, you son of a bitch!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               It's all over, man!  We call your 
                               fucking bluff!
 
                                              DUDE
                               WALTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!  HE'S 
                               CRIPPLED!  PUT HIM DOWN!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Sure, I'll put him down, Dude.  RAUSS!
                               ACHTUNG, BABY!!
 
               He shoves the big Lebowski forward and he crumples to the 
               floor, weeping.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Oh, shit.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                                      (sobbing)
                               You're bullies!  Cowards, both of 
                               you!
 
               Walter is abashed.  The Big Lebowski flails about on the 
               floor.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Oh, shit.
 
                                              DUDE
                               He can't walk, Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah, I can see that, Dude.
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               You monsters!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Help me put him back in his chair.
 
               Walter moves to comply.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shit, sorry man.
 
               THROUGH HIS TEARS:
 
                                              LEBOWSKI
                               Stay away from me!  You bullies!  
                               You and these women!  You won't leave 
                               a man his fucking balls!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter, you fuck!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shit, Dude, I didn't know.  I 
                               wouldn't've done it if I knew he was 
                               a fucking crybaby.
 
                                              DUDE
                               We're sorry, man.  We're really sorry.
 
               The Dude has picked up the Big Lebowski's plaid lap warmer 
               and is frantically tucking it back in around his waist and 
               batting the dog away.
 
                                              DUDE
                               There ya go.  Sorry man.
 
               Walter, puzzled, hands on hips, stands over the big Lebowski.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shit.  He didn't look like a spinal.
 
               TEN PINS
 
               Scattered at the cut.
 
               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.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Uh-huh.
 
                                              WALTER
                               I mean 'Nam was a foot soldier's war 
                               whereas, uh, this thing should be a 
                               fucking cakewalk.  I mean I had an 
                               M16, Jacko, not an Abrams fucking 
                               tank.  Just me and Charlie, man, 
                               eyeball to eyeball.
 
                                              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.  Not a bunch 
                               of fig-eaters with towels on their 
                               heads tryin' to find reverse on a 
                               Soviet tank.  This is not a worthy--
 
                                              VOICE
                               HEY!
 
               The Dude and Walter look.
 
               Quintana is bellowing from the lip of the lane, and is 
               restrained by O'Brien.
 
                                              QUINTANA
                               What's this "day of rest" shit, man?!
 
                Walter looks at him innocently.
 
                                              QUINTANA
                               What is this bullshit, man?  I don't 
                               fucking care!  It don't matter to 
                               Jesus!  But you're not fooling me!  
                               You might fool the fucks in the league 
                               office, but you don't fool Jesus!  
                               It's bush league psych-out stuff!  
                               Laughable, man!  I would've fucked 
                               you in the ass Saturday, I'll fuck 
                               you in the ass next Wednesday instead!
 
                                              QUINTANA
 
               He makes hip-grinding coital motions as O'Brien leads him 
               away.
 
                                              QUINTANA
                               You got a date Wednesday, man!
 
               Walter, his head cocked, and the Dude, peeking over his 
               shades, watch him go.
 
                                              WALTER
                               He's cracking.
 
               BOWLING ALLEY PARKING LOT
 
               Donny, Walter and the Dude emerge from the alley, each holding 
               his leatherette ball satchel.
 
                                              WALTER
                               A tree of life, Dude.  To all who 
                               cling to it.
 
               They react to the droning synthesizer-based technopop coming 
               from a boom box.
 
               REVERSE
 
               Dieter, Kieffer and Franz, in shiny black leather, stand in 
               a line facing them in the all-but-deserted lot.  Behind them 
               orange flames lick gently at 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
                               They finally did it.  They killed my 
                               fucking car.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.
 
                                              KIEFFER
                               Ja, uzzervize vee kill ze girl.
 
                                              FRANZ
                               Ja, it seems you forgot our little 
                               deal, Lebowski.
 
                                              DUDE
                               You don't have the fucking girl, 
                               dipshits.  We know you never did.  
                               So you've got nothin' on my Johnson.
 
                                              DUDE
 
               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
                               They're nihilists, Donny, nothing to 
                               be afraid of.
 
               The Germans stop conferring.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Vee don't care.  Vee still vant zat 
                               money or vee fuck you up.
 
                                              KIEFFER
                               Ja, vee still vant ze money.  Vee 
                               sreaten you.
 
               He pulls an uzi from under his coat.  It glints in the 
               firelight.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fuck you.  Fuck the three of you.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey, cool it Walter.
 
               Walter ignores the Dude, addresses the Germans:
 
                                              WALTER
                               There's no ransom if you don't have 
                               a fucking hostage.  That's what ransom 
                               is.  Those are the fucking rules.
 
                                              DIETER
                               Zere ARE no ROOLZ!
 
                                              WALTER
                               NO RULES!  YOU CABBAGE-EATING SONS-
                               OF- BITCHES--
 
                                              KIEFFER
                               His girlfriend gafe up her toe!  She 
                               sought we'd be getting million 
                               dollars!  Iss not fair!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fair!  WHO'S THE FUCKING NIHILIST 
                               HERE!  WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCH OF 
                               FUCKING CRYBABIES?!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey, cool it Walter.  Listen, pal, 
                               there never was any money.  The big 
                               Lebowski gave me an empty briefcase, 
                               man, so take it up with him.
 
                                              WALTER
                               AND I'D LIKE MY UNDIES BACK!
 
               The Germans confer again, in German.
 
               Donny is visibly frightened.
 
                                              DONNY
                               Are they gonna hurt us, Walter?
 
               WALTER 'S TONE IS GENTLE:
 
                                              WALTER
                               They won't hurt us, Donny.  These 
                               men are cowards.
 
               THE CONFERENCE ENDS:
 
                                              DIETER
                               Okay.  Vee take ze money you haf on 
                               you und vee call it eefen.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Fuck you.
 
               The Dude is digging into his pocket.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Come on, Walter, we're ending this 
                               thing cheap.
 
               Walter's eyes, burning with hatred, are locked on Dieter's.
 
                                              WALTER
                               What's mine is mine.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Come on, Walter!.
 
               Louder, to the Germans, as he looks in his wallet:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Four dollars here!
 
               He inspects the change in his palm.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Almost five!
 
                                              DONNY
                                      (tremulously)
                               I got eighteen dollars, Dude.
 
                                              WALTER
                                      (grimly)
                               What's mine is mine.
 
               With a ring of steel, Dieter produces a glinting saber.
 
                                              DIETER
                               VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN!  VEE TAKE YOUR 
                               MONEY!
 
                                              WALTER
                                      (coolly)
                               Come and get it.
 
                                              DIETER
                               VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Come and get it.  Fucking nihilist.
 
                                              DIETER
                               I FUCK YOU!  I FUCK YOU!
 
                                              WALTER
                              Show me what you got.  Nihilist.  
                               Dipshit with a nine-toed woman.
 
               In a rage, Dieter charges.
 
                                              DIETER
                               I FUCK YOU!  I FUCK YOU!
 
               WALTER
 
               hurls his leather satchel.
 
               KIEFFER
 
               Watching Dieter's charge, is caught off-guard.  The bowling 
               ball thuds into his chest and lifts him off his feet.
 
               He falls back, his uzi clattering away.
 
               WALTER
 
               twists away as Dieter reaches him; grabs Dieter's head in 
               both hands; draws Dieter's head up to his mouth, which closes 
               on Dieter's ear.
 
               DUDE
 
               He rushes Franz but draws up short as Franz sends out karate 
               kicks, his leather pants squeaking and popping.  Franz gives 
               a loud cry with each kick; the Dude leans back, throwing his 
               arms up, evading the kicks.
 
               WALTER
 
               His jaw is still clamped on Dieter's ear.  Dieter draws his 
               saber against Walter's side, drawing blood.
 
               Walter doesn't react to the wound.  Growling as Dieter 
               screams, he worries his ear, waggling his head with his jaws 
               clamped.
 
               THE SABER
 
                Dieter drops it.
 
               DUDE
 
               Awkwardly circling, evading Franz's kicks.
 
               WALTER
 
               still worrying the ear.  With a tearing sound his head and 
               Dieter's separate.
 
               DIETER, EARLESS, SCREAMS:
 
                                              DIETER
                               I FUCK YOU!  YOU CANNOT HURT ME!  I 
                               BELIEF IN NUSSING!
 
               Walter spits his ear into his face.
 
               DUDE
 
               The Dude and Franz, both now panting heavily, have yet to 
               establish body contact.  Franz continues to kick.
 
                                              FRANZ
                               VEAKLING!
 
               WALTER
 
               draws back his fist.
 
                                              DIETER
                               NUSSING!
 
                                              WALTER
                               ANTI-SEMITE!
 
               Bam!--A powerhouse blow to the middle of his face drops Dieter 
               for the count.
 
               DUDE AND FRANZ
 
               With a piercing shriek Franz finally summons the nerve to 
               charge the Dude, hands raised to deliver karate blows.
 
               As he reaches the Dude--WHHAP--the  boom box swings into  
               frame to smash him in the face.  Its volume shoots up.
 
               Walter bashes him a few more times over the head.  The music 
               screeches to static, then quiet.  Laid out now, Franz too is 
               quiet.
 
               All quiet.
 
               Walter, panting, looks around.
 
                                              WALTER
                               We've got a man down, Dude.
 
               With a hand pressed to his bleeding side he trots over to 
               Donny, who lies gasping on the ground.
 
               The Dude, also panting, rises and trots over.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hy God!  They shot him, Walter!
 
                                              WALTER
                               No Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               They shot Donny!
 
               Donny gasps for air.  His eyes, wide, go from the Dude to 
               Walter.  One hand still clutches his eighteen dollars.
 
                                              WALTER
                               There weren't any shots.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Then what's...
 
                                              WALTER
                               It's a heart attack.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Wha.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Call the medics, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Wha. . . Donny--
 
                                              WALTER
                               Hurry Dude.  I'd go but I'm pumping 
                               blood.  Might pass out.
 
               The Dude runs into the lanes.  Walter lays a reassuring hand 
               on Donny's shoulder.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Rest easy, good buddy, you're doing 
                               fine.  We got help choppering in.
 
               FADE OUT
 
               HOLD IN BLACK
 
               THE DUDE AND WALTER
 
               ---
 
               They sit side by side, forearms on knees, in a nondescript 
               waiting area.  Walter bounces the fingertips of one hand off 
               those of the other.  They sit.  They wait.
 
               A tall thin man in a conservative black suit enters.  He 
               eyes the Dude's bowling attire and sunglasses and Walter's 
               army surplus, but doesn't make an issue of it.
 
                                              MAN
                               Hello, gentlemen.  You are the 
                               bereaved?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah man.
 
                                              MAN
                               Francis Donnelly.  Pleased to meet 
                               you.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Jeffrey Lebowski.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Walter Sobchak.
 
                                              DUDE
                               The Dude, actually.  Is what, uh.
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               Excuse me?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Nothing.
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               Yes.  I understand you're taking 
                               away the remains.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah.
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               We have the urn.
 
               He nods through a door.  Another man in a black suit enters 
               to carefully deposit a large silver urn on the desktop.
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               And I assume this is credit card?
 
               He is vaguely handing a large leather folder across the desk 
               to whomever wants to take it.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah.
 
               He takes it, opens it, puts on reading glasses that sit 
               halfway down his nose, 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.  At length Walter holds the bill towards 
               Donnelly, pointing.
 
                                              WALTER
                              What's this?
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               That is 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
                               Yes sir.  It is our most modestly 
                               priced receptacle.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Well can we--
 
                                              WALTER
                               A hundred and eighty dollars?!
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               They range up to three thousand.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Yeah, but we're--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Can we just rent it from you?
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               Sir, this is a mortuary, not a rental 
                               house.
 
                                              WALTER
                               We're scattering the fucking ashes!
 
                                              DUDE
                               Walter--
 
                                              WALTER
                               JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED DOESN'T 
                               MEAN WE'RE SAPS!
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               Sir, please lower your voice--
 
                                              DUDE
                               Hey man, don't you have something 
                               else you could put it in?
 
                                              DONNELLY
                               That is our most modestly priced 
                               receptacle.
 
                                              WALTER
                               GODDAMNIT!  IS THERE A RALPH'S AROUND 
                               HERE?!
 
               POINT DUME -- DAY
 
               It is a high, wind-swept bluff.  Walter and the Dude walk 
               towards the lip of the bluff.  Parked in the background is 
               one lonely car, Walter's.
 
               Walter is carrying 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
                               I'll say a few words.
 
               The Dude clasps his hands in front of him.  Walter clears 
               his throat.
 
                                              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 explored 
                               the beaches of southern California 
                               from Redondo to Calabassos.  And he 
                               was an avid bowler.  And a good 
                               friend.  He died--he died as so many 
                               of his generation, before his time.  
                               In your wisdom you took him, Lord.  
                               As you took so many bright flowering 
                               young men, at Khe San and Lan Doc 
                               and Hill 364.  These young men gave 
                               their lives.  And Donny too.  Donny 
                               who. . . who loved bowling.
 
               Walter clears his throat.
 
                                              WALTER
                               And so, Theodore--Donald--Karabotsos, 
                               in accordance with what we think   
                               your dying wishes might well have 
                               been, we commit your mortal remains 
                               to the bosom of.
 
               Walter is peeling the plastic lid off the coffee can.
 
                                              WALTER
                               the Pacific Ocean, which you loved 
                               so well.
 
               AS HE SHAKES OUT THE ASHES:
 
                                              WALTER
                               Goodnight, sweet prince.
 
               The wind has blown all of the ashes into the Dude, standing 
               just to the side of and behind Walter. The Dude stands, 
               frozen. Finished eulogizing, Walter looks back.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shit, I'm sorry Dude.
 
               He starts brushing off the Dude with his hands.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Goddamn wind.
 
               Heretofore motionless, the Dude finally explodes, slapping 
               Walter's hands away.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Goddamnit Walter!  You fucking 
                               asshole!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude!  Dude, I'm sorry!
 
               The Dude is near tears.
 
                                              DUDE
                               You make everything a fucking 
                               travesty!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude, I'm--it was an accident!
 
               The Dude gives Walter a furious shove.
 
                                              DUDE
                               What about that shit about Vietnam!
 
                                              WALTER
                               Dude, I'm sorry--
 
                                              DUDE
                               What the fuck does Vietnam have to 
                               do with anything!  What the fuck 
                               were you talking about?!
 
               Walter for the first time is genuinely distressed, almost 
               lost.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Shit Dude, I'm sorry--
 
                                              DUDE
                               You're a fuck, Walter!
 
               He gives Walter a weaker shove.  Walter seems dazed, then 
               wraps his arms around the Dude.
 
                                              WALTER
                               Awww, fuck it Dude.  Let's go bowling.
 
               THE LANES THE DUDE AND WALTER BOWLING
 
               We watch each of them glide across the floor, release, follow 
               through--gracefully.  We have never seen them bowl before.  
               They are quite good.  Each wears a black armband on his 
               bowling shirt.
 
               BAR AREA
 
               The Dude walks up to the bar.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Two oat sodas, Gary.
 
                                              GARY
                               Right.  Good luck tomorrow.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Thanks, man.
 
                                              GARY
                               Sorry to hear about Donny.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah.  Well, you know, sometimes you 
                               eat the bear, and, uh.
 
               "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" has come up on the jukebox, and The 
               Stranger ambles up to the bar.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Howdy do, Dude.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Oh, hey man, how are ya?  I wondered 
                               if I'd see you again.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Wouldn't miss the semis.  How things 
                               been goin'?
 
                                              DUDE
                               Ahh, you know.  Strikes and gutters, 
                               ups and downs.
 
               The Stranger's eyes crinkle merrily.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Sure, I gotcha.
 
               The bartender has put two gleaming beers on the counter.
 
                                              DUDE
                               Thanks, Gary...Take care, man, I 
                               gotta get back.
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               Sure.  Take it easy, Dude--I know 
                               that you will.
 
               THE DUDE, LEAVING, NODS:
 
                                              DUDE
                               Yeah man.  Well, you know, the Dude 
                               abides.
 
               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
                               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.  Course--I 
                               didn't like seein' Donny go. But 
                               then, 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-- 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
                               Catch ya further on down the trail.
 
               As we pull away The Stranger swivels in to the bar.  As his 
               voice fades:
 
                                              THE STRANGER
                               ...Say friend, ya got any more a 
                               that good sarsaparilla?...
 

 

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