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THE BIG LEBOWSKI



by



Ethan Coen & Joel Coen































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--tha

Quote:

---

britneyspearsatemyshorts said:
<p>THE BIG LEBOWSKI<br>
<br>
by<br>
<br>
Ethan Coen & Joel Coen<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
We are floating up a steep scrubby slope. We hear male voices <br>
gently singing "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and a deep,
affable, <br>
Western-accented voice--Sam Elliot's, perhaps:<br>
<br>
VOICE-OVER<br>
A way out west there was a fella, <br>
fella I want to tell you about, fella <br>
by the name of Jeff Lebowski. At <br>
least, that was the handle his lovin' <br>
parents gave him, but he never had <br>
much use for it himself. This <br>
Lebowski, he called himself the Dude. <br>
Now, Dude, that's a name no one would <br>
self-apply where I come from. But <br>
then, there was a lot about the Dude <br>
that didn't make a whole lot of sense <br>
to me. And a lot about where he <br>
lived, like- wise. But then again, <br>
maybe that's why I found the place <br>
s'durned innarestin'.<br>
<br>
We top the rise and the smoggy vastness of Los Angeles at <br>
twilight stretches out before us.<br>
<br>
VOICE-OVER<br>
They call Los Angeles the City of <br>
Angels. I didn't find it to be that <br>
exactly, but I'll allow as there are <br>
some nice folks there. 'Course, I <br>
can't say I seen London, and I never <br>
been to France, and I ain't never <br>
seen no queen in her damn undies as <br>
the fella says. But I'll tell you <br>
what, after seeing Los Angeles and <br>
thisahere story I'm about to unfold--<br>
wal, I guess I seen somethin' ever' <br>
bit as stupefyin' as ya'd see in any <br>
a those other places, and in English <br>
too, so I can die with a smile on my <br>
face without feelin' like the good <br>
Lord gypped me.<br>
<br>
INTERIOR RALPH'S<br>
<br>
It is late, the supermarket all but deserted. We are tracking <br>
in on a fortyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the <br>
dairy case. He is the Dude. His rumpled look and relaxed <br>
manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.<br>
<br>
He is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining their <br>
expiration dates.<br>
<br>
VOICE-OVER<br>
Now this story I'm about to unfold <br>
took place back in the early nineties--<br>
just about the time of our conflict <br>
with Sad'm and the Eye-rackies. I <br>
only mention it 'cause some- times <br>
there's a man--I won't say a hee-ro, <br>
'cause what's a hee-ro?--but sometimes <br>
there's a man.<br>
<br>
The Dude glances furtively about and then opens a quart of <br>
milk. He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.<br>
<br>
VOICE-OVER<br>
And I'm talkin' about the Dude here-- <br>
sometimes there's a man who, wal, <br>
he's the man for his time'n place, <br>
he fits right in there--and that's <br>
the Dude, in Los Angeles.<br>
<br>
CHECKOUT GIRL<br>
<br>
She waits, arms folded. A small black-and white TV next to <br>
her register shows George Bush on the White House lawn with <br>
helicopter rotors spinning behind him.<br>
<br>
GEORGE BUSH<br>
This aggression will not stand. . . <br>
This will not stand!<br>
<br>
The Dude, peeking over his shades, scribbles something at <br>
the little customer's lectern. Milk beads his mustache.<br>
<br>
VOICE-OVER<br>
...and even if he's a lazy man, and <br>
the Dude was certainly that--quite <br>
possibly the laziest in Los Angeles <br>
County.<br>
<br>
The Dude has his Ralph's Shopper's Club card to one side and <br>
is making out a check to Ralph's for sixty-nine cents.<br>
<br>
VOICE-OVER<br>
...which would place him high in the <br>
runnin' for laziest worldwide--but <br>
sometimes there's a man. . . sometimes <br>
there's a man.<br>
<br>
EXTERIOR RALPH'S<br>
<br>
Long shot of the glowing Ralph's. There are only two or <br>
three cars parked in the huge lot.<br>
</p>

<p>VOICE-OVER<br>
Wal, I lost m'train of thought here. <br>
But--aw hell, I done innerduced him <br>
enough.<br>
<br>
The Dude is a small figure walking across the vast lot. <br>
Next to him walks a Mexican carry-out boy in a red apron and <br>
cap carrying a small brown bag holding the quart of milk. <br>
The two men's footsteps echo in the still of the night.<br>
<br>
After a beat of walking the Dude offhandedly points.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
It's the LeBaron.<br>
<br>
DUDE'S HOUSE<br>
<br>
The Dude is going up the walkway of a small Venice bungalow <br>
court. He holds the paper sack in one hand and a small <br>
leatherette satchel in the other. He awkwardly hugs the <br>
grocery bag against his chest as he turns a key in his door.<br>
<br>
INSIDE<br>
<br>
The Dude enters and flicks on a light.<br>
<br>
His head is grabbed from behind and tucked into an armpit. <br>
We track with him as he is rushed through the living room, <br>
his arm holding the satchel flailing away from his body. <br>
Going into the bedroom the outflung satchel catches a piece <br>
of doorframe and wallboard and rips through it, leaving a <br>
hole.<br>
<br>
The Dude is propelled across the bedroom and on into a small <br>
bathroom, the satchel once again taking away a piece of <br>
doorframe. His head is plunged into the toilet. The paper <br>
bag hugged to his chest explodes milk as it hits the toilet <br>
rim and the satchel pulverizes tile as it crashes to the <br>
floor.<br>
<br>
The Dude blows bubbles.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
We want that money, Lebowski. Bunny <br>
said you were good for it.<br>
<br>
Hands haul the Dude out of the toilet. The Dude blubbers and <br>
gasps for air.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
Where's the money, Lebowski!<br>
<br>
His head is plunged back into the toilet.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
Where's the money, Lebowski!<br>
<br>
The hands haul him out again, dripping and gasping.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
WHERE'S THE FUCKING MONEY, SHITHEAD!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
It's uh, it's down there somewhere. <br>
Lemme take another look.<br>
<br>
His head is plunged back in.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
Don't fuck with us. If your wife <br>
owes money to Jackie Treehorn, that <br>
means you owe money to Jackie <br>
Treehorn.<br>
<br>
The inquisitor hauls the Dude's head out one last time and <br>
flops him over so that he sits on the floor, back against <br>
the toilet.<br>
<br>
The Dude gropes back in the toilet with one hand.<br>
<br>
Looming over him is a strapping blond man.<br>
<br>
Beyond in the living room a young Chinese man unzips his fly <br>
and walks over to a rug.<br>
<br>
CHINESE MAN<br>
Ever thus to deadbeats, Lebowski.<br>
<br>
He starts peeing on the rug.<br>
<br>
The Dude's hand comes out of the toilet bowl with his <br>
sunglasses.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Oh, man. Don't do--<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
You see what happens? You see what <br>
happens, Lebowski?<br>
<br>
The Dude puts on his dripping sunglasses.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Look, nobody calls me Lebowski. You <br>
got the wrong guy. I'm the Dude, <br>
man.<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
Your name is Lebowski. Your wife is <br>
Bunny.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Bunny? Look, moron.<br>
<br>
He holds up his hands.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You see a wedding ring? Does this <br>
place look like I'm fucking married? <br>
All my plants are dead!<br>
<br>
The blond man stoops to unzip the satchel. He pulls out a <br>
bowling ball and examines it in the manner of a superstitious <br>
native.<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
The fuck is this?<br>
<br>
The Dude pats at his pockets, takes out a joint and lights <br>
it.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Obviously you're not a golfer.<br>
<br>
The blond man drops the ball which pulverizes more tile.<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
Woo?<br>
<br>
The Chinese man is zipping his fly.<br>
<br>
WOO<br>
Yeah?<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
Wasn't this guy supposed to be a <br>
millionaire?<br>
<br>
WOO<br>
Uh?<br>
<br>
They both look around.<br>
<br>
WOO<br>
Fuck.<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
What do you think?<br>
<br>
WOO<br>
He looks like a fuckin' loser.<br>
<br>
The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose with one finger <br>
and peeks over them.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Hey. At least I'm housebroken.<br>
<br>
The two men look at each other. They turn to leave.<br>
<br>
WOO<br>
Fuckin' waste of time.<br>
<br>
The blond man turns testily at the door.<br>
<br>
BLOND MAN<br>
Thanks a lot, asshole.</p>

<p>ON THE DOOR SLAM WE CUT TO:<br>
<br>
BOWLING PINS<br>
<br>
Scattered by a strike.<br>
<br>
Music and head credits play over various bowling shots--pins <br>
flying, bowlers hoisting balls, balls gliding down lanes, <br>
sliding feet, graceful releases, ball return spinning up a <br>
ball, fingers sliding into fingerholes, etc.<br>
<br>
The music turns into boomy source music, coming from a distant <br>
jukebox, as the credits end over a clattering strike.<br>
<br>
A lanky blonde man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail <br>
turns from the strike to walk back to the bench.<br>
<br>
MAN<br>
Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight. <br>
Mark it, Dude.<br>
<br>
We are tracking in on the circular bench towards a big man <br>
nursing a large plastic cup of Bud. He has dark worried <br>
eyes and a goatee. Hairy legs emerge from his khaki shorts. <br>
He also wears a khaki army surplus shirt with the sleeves <br>
cut off over an old bowling shirt. This is Walter. He <br>
squints through the smoke from his own cigarette as he <br>
addresses the Dude at the scoring table.<br>
<br>
The Dude, also holding a large plastic cup of Bud, wears <br>
some of its foam on his mustache.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
This was a valued rug.<br>
<br>
He elaborately clears his throat.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
This was, uh--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah man, it really tied the room <br>
together--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
This was a valued, uh.<br>
<br>
Donny, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next Walter.<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What tied the room together, Dude?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Were you listening to the story, <br>
Donny?<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Were you listening to the Dude's <br>
story?<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
I was bowling--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
So you have no frame of reference, <br>
Donny. You're like a child who <br>
wanders in in the middle of a movie <br>
and wants to know--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
What's your point, Walter?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
There's no fucking reason--here's my <br>
point, Dude--there's no fucking reason--<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
Yeah Walter, what's your point?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Huh?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
What's the point of--we all know who <br>
was at fault, so what the fuck are <br>
you talking about?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Huh? No! What the fuck are you <br>
talking--I'm not--we're talking about <br>
unchecked aggression here--<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What the fuck is he talking about?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
My rug.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Forget it, Donny. You're out of <br>
your element.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
This Chinaman who peed on my rug, I <br>
can't go give him a bill so what the <br>
fuck are you talking about?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
What the fuck are you talking about?! <br>
This Chinaman is not the issue! I'm <br>
talking about drawing a line in the <br>
sand, Dude. Across this line you do <br>
not, uh--and also, Dude, Chinaman is <br>
not the preferred, uh. . . Asian- <br>
American. Please.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Walter, this is not a guy who built <br>
the rail- roads, here, this is a guy <br>
who peed on my--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
What the fuck are you--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Walter, he peed on my rug--<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
He peed on the Dude's rug--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT! This <br>
Chinaman is not the issue, Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
So who--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Jeff Lebowski. Come on. This other <br>
Jeffrey Lebowski. The millionaire. <br>
He's gonna be easier to find anyway <br>
than these two, uh. these two . . . <br>
And he has the wealth, uh, the <br>
resources obviously, and there is no <br>
reason, no FUCKING reason, why his <br>
wife should go out and owe money and <br>
they pee on your rug. Am I wrong?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
No, but--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Am I wrong!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah, but--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Okay. That, uh.<br>
<br>
He elaborately clears his throat.<br>
<br>
That rap really tied the room together, did it not?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Fuckin' A.<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
And this guy peed on it.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Donny! Please!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah, I could find this Lebowski guy--<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
His name is Lebowski? That's your <br>
name, Dude!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should <br>
compensate me for the fucking rug. <br>
I mean his wife goes out and owes <br>
money and they pee on my rug.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Thaaat's right Dude; they pee on <br>
your fucking Rug.<br>
<br>
CLOSE ON A PLAQUE<br>
<br>
We pull back from the name JEFFREY LEBOWSKI engraved in silver <br>
to reveal that the plaque, from Variety Clubs International, <br>
honors Lebowski as ACHIEVER OF THE YEAR.<br>
<br>
Reflected in the plaque we see the Dude entering the room <br>
with a YOUNG MAN. We hear the two men talk:<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
And this is the study. You can see <br>
the various commendations, honorary <br>
degrees, et cetera.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yes, uh, very impressive.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Please, feel free to inspect them.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I'm not really, uh.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Please! Please!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Uh-huh.<br>
<br>
We are panning the walls, looking at various citations and<br>
<br>
certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed offscreen:<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
That's the key to the city of <br>
Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski was <br>
given two years ago in recognition <br>
of his various civic, uh.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Uh-huh.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
That's a Los Angeles Chamber of <br>
Commerce Business Achiever award, <br>
which is given--not necessarily given <br>
every year! Given only when there's <br>
a worthy, somebody especially--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Hey, is this him with Nancy?<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
That is indeed Mr. Lebowski with the <br>
first lady, yes, taken when--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Lebowski on the right?<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Of course, Mr. Lebowski on the right, <br>
Mrs. Reagan on the left, taken when--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
He's handicapped, huh?<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes. And <br>
this picture was taken when Mrs. <br>
Reagan was first lady of the nation, <br>
yes, yes? Not of California.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Far out.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
And in fact he met privately with <br>
the President, though unfortunately <br>
there wasn't time for a photo <br>
opportunity.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Nancy's pretty good.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Wonderful woman. We were very--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Are these.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
These are Mr. Lebowski's children, <br>
so to speak--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Different mothers, huh?<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
No, they--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I guess he's pretty, uh, racially <br>
pretty cool--<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
They're not his, heh-heh, they're <br>
not literally his children; they're <br>
the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, <br>
inner-city children of promise but <br>
without the--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I see.<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
--without the means for higher <br>
education, so Mr. Lebowski has <br>
committed to sending all of them <br>
to college.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Jeez. Think he's got room for one <br>
more?<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
One--oh! Heh-heh. You never went <br>
to college?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Well, yeah I did, but I spent most <br>
of my time occupying various, um, <br>
administration buildings--<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Heh-heh--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
--smoking thai-stick, breaking into <br>
the ROTC--<br>
<br>
YOUNG MAN<br>
Yes, heh--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
--and bowling. I'll tell you the <br>
truth, Brandt, I don't remember most <br>
of it.--Jeez! Fuck me!<br>
<br>
Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed <br>
Life Magazine cover which is headlined ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI <br>
ACHIEVER? Oddly, the Dude's sunglassed face is on it; we <br>
realize that, under the magazine's logo and headline, the <br>
display is mirrored.<br>
<br>
We hear the door open and the whine of a motor. The Dude, <br>
wearing shorts and a bowling shirt, turns to look.<br>
<br>
So does Brandt, the young man we've been listening to. He <br>
wears a suit and has his hands clasped in front of his groin.<br>
<br>
Entering the room is a fat sixtyish man in a motorized <br>
wheelchair--Jeff Lebowski.</p>

<p>LEBOWSKI<br>
Okay sir, you're a Lebowski, I'm a <br>
Lebowski, that's terrific, I'm very <br>
busy so what can I do for you?<br>
<br>
He wheels himself behind a desk. The Dude sits facing him <br>
as Brandt withdraws.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Well sir, it's this rug I have, really <br>
tied the room together-<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
You told Brandt on the phone, he <br>
told me. So where do I fit in?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Well they were looking for you, these <br>
two guys, they were trying to--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
I'll say it again, all right? You <br>
told Brandt. He told me. I know <br>
what happened. Yes? Yes?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
So you know they were trying to piss <br>
on your rug--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Did I urinate on your rug?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You mean, did you personally come <br>
and pee on my--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Hello! Do you speak English? Parla <br>
usted Inglese? I'll say it again. <br>
Did I urinate on your rug?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Well no, like I said, Woo peed on <br>
the rug--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Hello! Hello! So every time--I <br>
just want to understand this, sir--<br>
every time a rug is micturated upon <br>
in this fair city, I have to <br>
compensate the--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Come on, man, I'm not trying to scam <br>
anybody here, I'm just--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
You're just looking for a handout <br>
like every other--are you employed, <br>
Mr. Lebowski?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Look, let me explain something. <br>
I'm not Mr. Lebowski; you're Mr. <br>
Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's <br>
what you call me. That, or Duder. <br>
His Dudeness. Or El Duderino, if, <br>
you know, you're not into the whole <br>
brevity thing--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Are you employed, sir?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Employed?<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
You don't go out and make a living <br>
dressed like that in the middle of a <br>
weekday.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Is this a--what day is this?<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
But I do work, so if you don't mind--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
No, look. I do mind. The Dude minds. <br>
This will not stand, ya know, this <br>
will not stand, man. I mean, if <br>
your wife owes--<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
My wife is not the issue here. I <br>
hope that my wife will someday learn <br>
to live on her allowance, which is <br>
ample, but if she doesn't, sir, that <br>
will be her problem, not mine, just <br>
as your rug is your problem, just as <br>
every bum's lot in life is his own <br>
responsibility regardless of whom he <br>
chooses to blame. I didn't blame <br>
anyone for the loss of my legs, some <br>
chinaman in Korea took them from me <br>
but I went out and achieved anyway. <br>
I can't solve your problems, sir, <br>
only you can.<br>
<br>
The Dude rises.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Ah fuck it.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Sure! Fuck it! That's your answer! <br>
Tattoo it on your forehead! Your <br>
answer to everything!<br>
<br>
The Dude is heading for the door.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Your "revolution" is over, Mr. <br>
Lebowski! Condolences! The bums <br>
lost!<br>
<br>
As the Dude opens the door.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
...My advice is, do what your parents <br>
did! Get a job, sir! The bums will <br>
always lose-- do you hear me, <br>
Lebowski? THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS--<br>
<br>
The Dude shuts the door on the old man's bellowing to find <br>
himself--<br>
<br>
HALLWAY<br>
--in a high coffered hallway. Brandt <br>
is approaching.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Okay. The old man told me to take <br>
any rug in the house.<br>
<br>
WALKWAY<br>
<br>
A houseman with a rolled-up carpet on one shoulder goes down <br>
a stone walk that winds through the back lawn, past a swimming <br>
pool to a garage. Brandt and the Dude follow.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Manolo will load it into your car <br>
for you, uh, Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
It's the LeBaron.<br>
<br>
DUDE'S POINT OF VIEW<br>
<br>
Tracking toward the pool. A young woman sits facing it, her <br>
back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.<br>
<br>
Beyond her a black form floats in an inflatable chair in the <br>
pool.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see <br>
you again some time, Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the <br>
neighborhood, need to use the john.<br>
<br>
CLOSER TRACK<br>
<br>
Arcing around the woman's foot as she finishes painting the <br>
nails emerald green.<br>
<br>
THE DUDE<br>
<br>
Looking.<br>
<br>
WIDER<br>
<br>
The young woman looks up at him. She is in her early <br>
twenties.<br>
<br>
She leans back and extends her leg toward the Dude.<br>
<br>
YOUNG WOMAN<br>
Blow on them.<br>
<br>
The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose and peeks over <br>
them.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Huh?<br>
<br>
She waggles her foot and giggles.<br>
<br>
YOUNG WOMAN<br>
G'ahead. Blow.<br>
<br>
The Dude tentatively grabs hold of her extended foot.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You want me to blow on your toes?<br>
<br>
YOUNG WOMAN<br>
Uh-huh. . . I can't blow that far.<br>
<br>
The Dude looks over at the pool.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You sure he won't mind?<br>
<br>
The man bobbing in the inflatable chair is passed out. He <br>
is thin, in his thirties, with long stringy blond hair. He <br>
wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket, open, <br>
shirtless, exposing fine blond chest hair and pale skin. <br>
One arm trails off into the water; next to it, an empty <br>
whiskey bottle bobs.<br>
<br>
YOUNG WOMAN<br>
Dieter doesn't care about anything. <br>
He's a nihilist.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Practicing?<br>
<br>
The young woman smiles.<br>
<br>
YOUNG WOMAN<br>
You're not blowing.<br>
<br>
Brandt nervously takes the Dude by the elbow.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Our guest has to be getting along, <br>
Mrs. Lebowski.<br>
<br>
The Dude grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still <br>
looking at the young woman.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You're Bunny?<br>
<br>
BUNNY<br>
I'll suck your cock for a thousand <br>
dollars.<br>
<br>
Brandt releases a gale of forced laughter:<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Ha-ha-ha-ha! Wonderful woman. Very <br>
free-spirited. We're all very fond <br>
of her.<br>
<br>
BUNNY<br>
Brandt can't watch though. Or he <br>
has to pay a hundred.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That's marvelous.<br>
<br>
He continues to lead away the Dude, who looks back over his<br>
<br>
SHOULDER:<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I'm just gonna find a cash machine.<br>
<br>
BOWLING PINS<br>
<br>
Scattered by a strike.<br>
<br>
THE BOWLERS<br>
<br>
Donny calls out from the bench:<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
Grasshopper Dude--They're dead in <br>
the water!!<br>
<br>
As the Dude walks back to the scoring table he turns to <br>
another team in black bowling shirts--the Cavaliers--that <br>
shares the lane.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Your maples, Carl.<br>
<br>
Walter, just arriving, is carrying a leatherette satchel in <br>
one hand and a large plastic carrier in the other.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Way to go, Dude. If you will it, it <br>
is no dream.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You're fucking twenty minutes late. <br>
What the fuck is that?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Theodore Herzel.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Huh?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
State of Israel. If you will it, <br>
Dude, it is no--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
What the fuck're you talking about? <br>
The carrier. What's in the fucking <br>
carrier?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Huh? Oh--Cynthia's Pomeranian. <br>
Can't leave him home alone or he <br>
eats the furniture.<br>
</p>

<p>DUDE<br>
What the fuck are you--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
I'm saying, Cynthia's Pomeranian. <br>
I'm looking after it while Cynthia <br>
and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You brought a fucking Pomeranian <br>
bowling?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
What do you mean "brought it bowling"? <br>
I didn't rent it shoes. I'm not <br>
buying it a fucking beer. He's not <br>
gonna take your fucking turn, Dude.<br>
<br>
He lets the small yapping dog out of the carrier. It scoots <br>
around the bowling table, sniffing at bowlers and wagging <br>
its tail.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Hey, man, if my fucking ex-wife asked <br>
me to take care of her fucking dog <br>
while she and her boyfriend went to <br>
Honolulu, I'd tell her to go fuck <br>
herself. Why can't she board it?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
First of all, Dude, you don't have <br>
an ex, secondly, it's a fucking show <br>
dog with fucking papers. You can't <br>
board it. It gets upset, its hair <br>
falls out.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Hey man--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Fucking dog has papers, Dude.--Over <br>
the line!<br>
<br>
Smokey turns from his last roll to look at Walter.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Smokey Huh?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Over the line, Smokey! I'm sorry. <br>
That's a foul.<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
Bullshit. Eight, Dude.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Excuse me! Mark it zero. Next frame.<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
Bullshit. Walter!<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
This is not Nam. This is bowling. <br>
There are rules.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Come on Walter, it's just--it's <br>
Smokey. So his toe slipped over a <br>
little, it's just a game.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
This is a league game. This <br>
determines who enters the next round-<br>
robin, am I wrong?<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
Yeah, but--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Am I wrong!?<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
Yeah, but I wasn't over. Gimme the <br>
marker, Dude, I'm marking it an <br>
eight.<br>
<br>
Walter takes out a gun.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Smokey my friend, you're entering a <br>
world of pain.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Hey Walter--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Mark that frame an eight, you're <br>
entering a world of pain.<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
I'm not--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
A world of pain.<br>
<br>
A manager in a bowling-shirt style uniform is running for a <br>
phone.<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
Look Dude, I don't hold with this. <br>
This guy is your partner, you should--<br>
<br>
Walter primes the gun and points it at his head.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY? AM <br>
I THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO GIVES A SHIT <br>
ABOUT THE RULES? MARK IT ZERO!<br>
<br>
The Pomeranian is excitedly yapping at Walter's elbow, making <br>
high body-twisting tail-wagging leaps.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Walter, they're calling the cops, <br>
put the piece away.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
MARK IT ZERO!<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
Walter--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND HERE? <br>
MARK IT ZERO!!<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
All right! There it is! It's fucking <br>
zero!<br>
<br>
He points frantically at the score projected above the lane.<br>
<br>
SMOKEY<br>
You happy, you crazy fuck?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
This is a league game, Smokey!<br>
<br>
PARKING LOT<br>
<br>
Walter and the Dude walk to the Dude's car. The Pomeranian <br>
trots happily behind Walter who totes the empty carrier.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Walter, you can't do that. These <br>
guys're like me, they're pacificists. <br>
Smokey was a conscientious objector.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
You know Dude, I myself dabbled with <br>
pacifism at one point. Not in Nam, <br>
of course--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
And you know Smokey has emotional <br>
problems!<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
You mean--beyond pacifism?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
He's fragile, man! He's very fragile!<br>
<br>
As the two men get into the car:<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Huh. I did not know that. Well, <br>
it's water under the bridge. And we <br>
do enter the next round-robin, am I <br>
wrong?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
No, you're not wrong--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Am I wrong!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
You're not wrong, Walter, you're <br>
just an asshole.<br>
<br>
They watch a squad car take a squealing turn into the lot.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Okay then. We play Quintana and <br>
O'Brien next week. They'll be <br>
pushovers.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Just, just take it easy, Walter.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
That's your answer to everything, <br>
Dude. And let me point out--pacifism <br>
is not--look at our current situation <br>
with that camelfucker in Iraq--<br>
pacifism is not something to hide <br>
behind.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Well, just take 't easy, man.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
I'm perfectly calm, Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah? Wavin' a gun around?!<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
(smugly)<br>
Calmer than you are.<br>
<br>
-his irritates the Dude further.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Just take it easy, man!<br>
<br>
Walter is still smug.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Calmer than you are.<br>
<br>
DUDE'S HOUSE<br>
<br>
A large, brilliant Persian rug lies beneath the Dude's beat-<br>
up old furniture.<br>
<br>
At the table next to the answering machine the Dude is mixing <br>
kalhua, rum and milk.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
Dude, this is Smokey. Look, I don't <br>
wanna be a hard-on about this, and I <br>
know it wasn't your fault, but I <br>
just thought it was fair to tell you <br>
that Gene and I will be submitting <br>
this to the League and asking them <br>
to set aside the round. Or maybe <br>
forfeit it to us--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Shit!<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
--so, like I say, just thought, you <br>
know, fair warning. Tell Walter.<br>
<br>
A beep.<br>
<br>
ANOTHER VOICE<br>
Mr. Lebowski, this is Brandt at, uh, <br>
well--at Mr. Lebowski's office. <br>
Please call us as soon as is <br>
convenient.<br>
<br>
Beep.<br>
<br>
ANOTHER VOICE<br>
Mr. Lebowski, this is Fred Dynarski <br>
with the Southern Cal Bowling League. <br>
I just got a, an informal report, <br>
uh, that a uh, a member of your team, <br>
uh, Walter Sobchak, drew a loaded <br>
weapon during league play--<br>
<br>
We hear the doorbell.<br>
<br>
THE DOOR<br>
<br>
It swings open to reveal a short, hairy, muscular but balding <br>
middle-aged man in a black T-shirt and black cut-off jeans.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Hiya Allan.<br>
<br>
ALLAN<br>
Dude, I finally got the venue I <br>
wanted. I'm Performing my dance <br>
quintet--you know, my cycle--at Crane <br>
Jackson's Fountain Street Theatre on <br>
Tuesday night, and I'd love it if <br>
you came and gave me notes.<br>
<br>
The Dude takes a swig of his kalhua.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Sure Allan, I'll be there.<br>
<br>
ALLAN<br>
Dude, uh, tomorrow is already the <br>
tenth.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah, yeah I know. Okay.<br>
<br>
ALLAN<br>
Just, uh, just slip the rent under <br>
my door.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah, okay.<br>
<br>
BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM<br>
<br>
The voice continues on the machine.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
--serious infraction, and examine <br>
your standing. Thank you. Beep.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
Mr. Lebowski, Brandt again. Please <br>
do call us when you get in and I'll <br>
send the limo. Let me assure you--I <br>
hope you're not avoiding this call <br>
because of the rug, which, I assure <br>
you, is not a problem. We need your <br>
help and, uh--well we would very <br>
much like to see you. Thank you. <br>
It's Brandt.<br>
<br>
TRACKING<br>
<br>
We are pushing Brandt down the high-ceilinged hallway. <br>
Distantly, we hear a dolorous soprano. Brandt talks back <br>
over<br>
<br>
HIS SHOULDER:<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
We've had some terrible news. Mr. <br>
Lebowski is in seclusion in the West <br>
Wing.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Huh.<br>
<br>
Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors. The music <br>
washes over us as we enter a great study where Jeffrey <br>
Lebowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares hauntedly <br>
into a fire, listening to Lohengrin.<br>
<br>
BRANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Mr. Lebowski.<br>
<br>
Jeffrey Lebowski waves the Dude in without looking around.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
It's funny. I can look back on a <br>
life of achievement, on challenges <br>
met, competitors bested, obstacles <br>
overcome. I've accomplished more <br>
than most men, and without the use <br>
of my legs. What. . . What makes a <br>
man, Mr. Lebowski?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Dude.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Huh?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I don't know, sir.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Is it. . . is it, being prepared to <br>
do the right thing? Whatever the <br>
price? Isn't that what makes a man?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Sure. That and a pair of testicles.<br>
<br>
Lebowski turns away from the Dude with a haunted stare, lost <br>
in thought.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
You're joking. But perhaps you're <br>
right.<br>
<br>
The Dude thumps at his chest pocket.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Mind if I smoke a jay?<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Bunny.<br>
<br>
He turns back around and the firelight shows teartracks on <br>
his cheeks.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
'Scuse me?<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Bunny Lebowski. . . She is the light <br>
of my life. Are you surprised at my <br>
tears, sir?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Fuckin' A.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Strong men also cry. . . Strong men <br>
also cry.<br>
<br>
He clears his throat.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
I received this fax this morning.<br>
<br>
Brandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and <br>
hands it to the Dude.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
As you can see, it is a ransom note. <br>
Sent by cowards. Men who are unable <br>
to achieve on a level field of play. <br>
Men who will not sign their names. <br>
Weaklings. Bums.<br>
</p>

<p>THE DUDE EXAMINES THE FAX:<br>
<br>
WE HAVE BUNNY. GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-<br>
CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. NO FUNNY STUFF.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Bummer.<br>
<br>
Lebowski looks soulfully at the Dude.<br>
<br>
LEBOWSKI<br>
Brandt will fill you in on the <br>
details.<br>
<br>
He wheels his chair around to once again gaze into the fire. <br>
Brandt tugs at the Dude's shirt and points him back to the <br>
hall.<br>
<br>
HALLWAY<br>
<br>
The soprano's singing is once again faint. Brandt's voice <br>
is hushed:<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Mr. Lebowski is prepared to make a <br>
generous offer to you to act as <br>
courier once we get instructions for <br>
the money.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Why me, man?<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
He suspects that the culprits might <br>
be the very people who, uh, soiled <br>
your rug, and you're in a unique <br>
position to confirm or, uh, disconfirm <br>
that suspicion.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
So he thinks it's the carpet-pissers, <br>
huh?<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Well Dude, we just don't know.<br>
<br>
BOWLING PINS<br>
<br>
CRASH--scattered by a strike, in slow motion.<br>
<br>
WIDER<br>
<br>
Still in slow motion. We are looking across the length of <br>
the bowling alley at a tall, thin, Hispanic bowler displaying <br>
perfect form. He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester stretch <br>
bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each side.<br>
<br>
FAST TRACK IN<br>
<br>
On the Dude, sitting next to Walter in the molded plastic <br>
chairs. The Dude is staring off towards the bowler.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Fucking Quintana--that creep can <br>
roll, man--<br>
<br>
BACK TO THE BOWLER<br>
<br>
Displaying great slow-motion form as the Dude and Walter's <br>
conversation continues over.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Yeah, but he's a fucking pervert, <br>
Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Huh?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
The man is a sex offender. With a <br>
record. Spent six months in Chino <br>
for exposing himself to an eight-<br>
year-old.<br>
<br>
FLASHBACK<br>
<br>
We see Quintana, in pressed jeans and a stretchy sweater, <br>
walking up a stoop in a residential neighborhood and zinging <br>
the bell.<br>
<br>
The VOICE-OVER conversation continues.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Huh.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
When he moved down to Venice he had <br>
to go door-to-door to tell everyone <br>
he's a pederast.<br>
<br>
The door swings open and a beer-swilling middle-aged man <br>
looks dully out at Quintana, who looks hesitantly up.<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What's a pederast, Walter?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Shut the fuck up, Donny.<br>
<br>
PINS<br>
<br>
scattered by a strike.<br>
<br>
QUINTANA<br>
<br>
wheeling and thrusting a black gloved fist into the air.<br>
<br>
Stitched above the breast pocket of his all-in-one is his <br>
first name, "Jesus".<br>
<br>
BACK TO WALTER AND THE DUDE<br>
<br>
They have been joined by Donny.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Anyway. How much they offer you?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Twenty grand. And of course I still <br>
keep the rug.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Just for making the hand-off?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah.<br>
<br>
He slips a little black box out of his shirt pocket.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
...They gave Dude a beeper, so <br>
whenever these guys call--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
What if it's during a game?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I told him if it was during league <br>
play--<br>
<br>
Donny has been watching Quintana.<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
If what's during league play?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Life does not stop and start at your <br>
convenience, you miserable piece of <br>
shit.<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What's wrong with Walter, Dude?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I figure it's easy money, it's all <br>
pretty harmless. I mean she probably <br>
kidnapped herself.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Huh?<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What do you mean, Dude?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Rug-peers did not do this. I mean <br>
look at it. Young trophy wife. <br>
Marries a guy for money but figures <br>
he isn't giving her enough. She <br>
owes money all over town--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
That...fucking...bitch!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
It's all a goddamn fake. Like Lenin <br>
said, look for the person who will <br>
benefit. And you will, uh, you know, <br>
you'll, uh, you know what I'm trying <br>
to say--<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
I am the Walrus.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
That fucking bitch!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah.<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
I am the Walrus.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Shut the fuck up, Donny! V.I. Lenin! <br>
Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
What the fuck is he talking about?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
That's fucking exactly what happened, <br>
Dude! That makes me fucking SICK!<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah, well, what do you care, Walter?<br>
<br>
DONNY<br>
Yeah Dude, why is Walter so pissed <br>
off?<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Those rich fucks! This whole fucking <br>
thing-- I did not watch my buddies <br>
die face down in the muck so that <br>
this fucking strumpet--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
I don't see any connection to Vietnam, <br>
Walter.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Well, there isn't a literal <br>
connection, Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Walter, face it, there isn't any <br>
connection. It's your roll.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Have it your way. The point is--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
It's your roll--<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
The fucking point is--<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
It's your roll.<br>
<br>
VOICE<br>
Are you ready to be fucked, man?<br>
<br>
They both look up.<br>
<br>
Quintana, on his way out, looks down at them from the lip of <br>
the lanes. Over his polyester all-in-one he now wears a <br>
windbreaker with a racing stripe and "Jesus" stitched
on the <br>
breast. He is holding a fancy black-and-red leather ball <br>
satchel (perhaps a Sylvia Wein). Behind him stands his <br>
partner, O'Brien, a short fat Irishman with tufted red hair.<br>
<br>
QUINTANA<br>
I see you rolled your way into the <br>
semis. Deos mio, man. Seamus and <br>
me, we're gonna fuck you up.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Yeah well, that's just, ya know, <br>
like, your opinion, man.<br>
<br>
Quintana looks at Walter.<br>
<br>
QUINTANA<br>
Let me tell you something, bendeco. <br>
You pull any your crazy shit with <br>
us, you flash a piece out on the <br>
lanes, I'll take it away from you <br>
and stick it up your ass and pull <br>
the fucking trigger til it goes <br>
"click".<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Jesus.<br>
<br>
QUINTANA<br>
You said it, man. Nobody fucks with <br>
the Jesus.<br>
<br>
Jesus walks away. Walter nods sadly.<br>
<br>
WALTER<br>
Eight-year-olds, Dude.<br>
<br>
DUDE'S BUNGALOW<br>
<br>
We are looking down at the Dude who is prone on the rug. <br>
His eyes are closed. He wears a Walkman headset. Leaking <br>
tinnily through the headphones we can just hear an <br>
intermittent clatter.<br>
<br>
In his outflung hand lies a cassette case labeled VENICE <br>
BEACH LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987.<br>
<br>
The Dude absently licks his lips as we faintly hear a hall <br>
rumbling down the lane. On its impact with the pins, the <br>
Dude opens his eyes.<br>
<br>
He screams.<br>
<br>
A blonde woman looms over him. Next to her a young man <br>
in paint-spattered denims stoops and swings something towards <br>
the carrier.<br>
<br>
The sap catches the Dude on the chin and sends his head <br>
thunking back onto the rug.<br>
<br>
A million stars explode against a field of black. We hear <br>
the "La-la-la-la" of The Man in Me.<br>
<br>
The black field dissolves into the pattern of the rug. <br>
The rug rolls away to reveal an aerial view of the city of <br>
Los Angeles at twilight, moving below us at great speed.<br>
<br>
The Dude is flying over the city, his arms thrown out in <br>
front of him, the wind whipping his hair and billowing his <br>
bowling shirt. He looks up.<br>
<br>
Ahead the mysterious blonde woman wings away, riding on the <br>
Dude's rug like a sheik on a magic carpet. She is outpacing <br>
us, growing smaller.<br>
<br>
The Dude does a couple of lazy crawl strokes and then notices <br>
that a bowling ball has materialized in his forward hand. <br>
His bemusement turns to concern over the aerodynamic <br>
implications just as the ball seems to suddenly assume its <br>
weight, abruptly snapping his arm down, and him after it. He <br>
is falling. From a high angle we see the Dude hurtling down <br>
toward the city, dragged by the ball.<br>
<br>
A reverse looking up shows the Dude hurtling toward us <br>
out of the inky sky, his eyes wide with horror. Led by <br>
the bowling ball, he zooms past the camera leaving us in <br>
black.<br>
<br>
We hear a distant rumble, like thunder. Dull reflections <br>
materialize in the darkness. They are glints off the shiny <br>
surface of an oncoming bowling ball.<br>
<br>
We pull back to reveal that the blackness was the inside of <br>
a ball return, and the gleaming bowling ball is being <br>
regurgitated up at us, overtaking us.<br>
<br>
The Dude looks up, up, up at the looming ball, its mass <br>
rolling a huge shadow across his face.<br>
<br>
The gleaming ball shows three dead black holes rolling toward <br>
us --finger holes.<br>
<br>
The largest--thumb--hole rolls directly over us, engulfing <br>
us once again in black..<br>
<br>
The black rolls away and we are spinning--spinning down a <br>
bowling lane--our point of view that of someone trapped in <br>
the thumbhole of the rolling ball.<br>
<br>
We see the receding bowler spinning away. It is the blonde <br>
woman, performing her follow-through.<br>
<br>
Floor spins up at us and then away; ceiling spins up and <br>
away; the length of the alley with pins at the end; floor; <br>
ceiling; approaching pins; again and again.<br>
<br>
We hit the pins and clatter into blackness. We hear pins <br>
spin, hit each other and drop.<br>
<br>
We hear an irritating, insistent beeping.<br>
<br>
FADE IN<br>
<br>
We are close on the Dude, upside down. As the picture fades <br>
in the bowling noises continue, but filtered and faint. <br>
They come from the Dude's Walkman, the headset of which is <br>
now askew, with one arm off his ear.<br>
<br>
As the Dude opens his eyes we spiral slowly upward to put <br>
him right side around. His head is now resting against <br>
hardwood floor, not rug.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Oh man.<br>
<br>
He raises himself onto his elbows and massages the <br>
red lump on his jaw. The beeper on his belt is <br>
blinking red in sync with the continuing irritating beeps.<br>
<br>
WIDE ON THE ROOM<br>
<br>
An end table is upset, but otherwise the furniture is <br>
in place. The rug is gone.<br>
<br>
The Dude looks around. The bowling sounds continue. <br>
The beeps continue.<br>
<br>
The phone starts to jangle.<br>
<br>
TRACK<br>
<br>
We push Brandt down the familiar marble hallway. <br>
Again there is a distant aria. Brandt throws out a <br>
wrist to look at his watch.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
They called about eighty minutes <br>
ago. They want you to take the money <br>
and drive north on the 4 5. They'll <br>
call you on the portable phone with <br>
instructions in about forty minutes. <br>
One person only or I'd go with you. <br>
They were very clear on that: one <br>
person only. What happened to your <br>
jaw?<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Oh, nothin', you know.<br>
<br>
They have reached the little desk outside of the big <br>
Lebowski's office; Brandt opens its bottom drawer with a key <br>
and takes out an attache case. He hands this to the Dude <br>
along with a cellular phone in a battery-pack carrying case.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Here's the money, and the phone. <br>
Please, Dude, follow whatever <br>
instructions they give.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Uh-huh.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Her life is in your hands.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Oh, man, don't say that..<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Mr. Lebowski asked me to repeat that: <br>
Her life is in your hands.<br>
<br>
DUDE<br>
Shit.<br>
<br>
BRANDT<br>
Her life is in your hands, Dude. <br>
And report back to us as soon as <br>
it's done.<br>
<br>
DUD