TWO-Scene [ Silence Of The Lambs by Thomas Harris & Ted Tally 1991 final draft ]
INT. DR. LECTER'S CORRIDOR - DAY
MOVING SHOT - with Clarice, as her footsteps ECHO. High to
her right, surveillance cameras. On her left, cells. Some
are padded, with narrow observation slits, others are normal,
barred... Shadowy occupants pacing, MUTTERING... Suddenly a
dark figure in the next-to-last cell hurtles towards her,
his face mashing grotesquely against his bars as he hisses.
DARK FIGURE
I c-can sssmell your cunt!
Clarice flinches momentarily, but then walks on.
DR. LECTER'S CELL
is coming slowly INTO VIEW... Behind its barred front wall
is a second barrier of stout nylon net... Sparse, bolted-
down furniture, many softcover books and papers. On the walls,
extraordinarily detailed, skillful drawings, mostly European
cityscapes, in charcoal or crayon.
Clarice stops, at a polite distance from his bars, clears
her throat.
CLARICE
Dr. Lecter... My name is Clarice
Starling. May I talk with you?
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is lounging on his bunk, in white pajamas,
reading an Italian Vogue. He turns, considers her... A face
so long out of the sun, it seems almost leached - except for
the glittering eyes, and the wet red mouth. He rises smoothly,
crossing to stand before her; the gracious host. His voice
is cultured, soft.
DR. LECTER
Good morning.
CUTTING BETWEEN THEM
as Clarice comes a measured distance closer.
CLARICE
Doctor, we have a hard problem in
psychological profiling. I want to
ask for your help with a
questionnaire.
DR. LECTER
"We" being the Behavioral Science
Unit, at Quantico. You're one of
Jack Crawford's, I expect.
CLARICE
I am, yes.
DR. LECTER
May I see your credentials?
Clarice is surprised, but fishes her ID card from her bag,
holds it up for his inspection. He smiles, soothingly.
DR. LECTER
Closer, please... Clo-ser...
She complies each time, trying to hide her fear. Dr. Lecter's
nostrils lift, as he gently, like an animal, tests the air.
Then he smiles, glancing at her card.
DR. LECTER
(continuing)
That expires in one week. You're not
real FBI, are you?
CLARICE
I'm - still in training at the
Academy.
DR. LECTER
Jack Crawford sent a trainee to me?
CLARICE
We're talking about psychology,
Doctor, not the Bureau. Can you decide
for yourself whether or not I'm
qualified?
DR. LECTER
Mmmmm... That's rather slippery of
you, Officer Starling. Sit. Please.
She sits in the folding metal desk-chair. He waits politely
till she's settled, then sits down himself, faces her happily.
DR. LECTER
Now then. What did Miggs say to you?
(she is puzzled)
"Multiple Miggs," in the next cell.
He hissed at you. What did he say?
CLARICE
He said - "I can smell your cunt."
DR. LECTER
I see. I myself cannot. You use Evyan
skin cream, and sometimes you wear
L'Air du Temps, but not today. You
brought your best bag, though, didn't
you?
CLARICE
(beat)
Yes.
DR. LECTER
It's much better than your shoes.
CLARICE
Maybe they'll catch up.
DR. LECTER
I have no doubt of it.
CLARICE
(shifting uncomfortably)
Did you do those drawings, Doctor?
DR. LECTER
Yes. That's the Duomo, seen from the
Belvedere. Do you know Florence?
CLARICE
All that detail, just from memory...?
DR. LECTER
Memory, Officer Starling, is what I
have instead of view.
A pause, then Clarice takes the questionnaire from her case.
CLARICE
Dr. Lecter, if you'd please consider -
DR. LECTER
No, no, no. You were doing fine,
you'd been courteous and receptive
to courtesy, you'd established trust
with the embarrassing truth about
Miggs, and now this ham-handed segue
into your questionnaire. It won't
do. It's stupid and boring.
CLARICE
I'm only asking you to look at this,
Doctor. Either you will or you won't.
DR. LECTER
Jack Crawford must be very busy indeed
if he's recruiting help from the
student body. Busy hunting that new
one, Buffalo Bill... Such a naughty
boy! Did Crawford send you to ask
for my advice on him?
CLARICE
No, I came because we need -
DR. LECTER
How many women has he used, our Bill?
CLARICE
Five... so far.
DR. LECTER
All flayed...?
CLARICE
Partially, yes. But Doctor, that's
an active case, I'm not involved. If -
DR. LECTER
Do you know why he's called Buffalo
Bill? Tell me. The newspapers won't
say.
CLARICE
I'll tell you if you'll look at this
form.
(he considers, then
nods)
It started as a bad joke in Kansas
City Homicide. They said... this one
likes to skin his humps.
DR. LECTER
Witless and misleading. Why do you
think he takes their skins, Officer
Starling? Thrill me with your wisdom.
CLARICE
It excites him. Most serial killers
keep some sort of trophies.
DR. LECTER
I didn't.
CLARICE
No. You ate yours.
A tense beat, then a smile from him, at this small boldness.
DR. LECTER
Send that through.
She rolls him the questionnaire, in his sliding food tray.
He rises, glances at it, turning a page or two disdainfully.
DR. LECTER
Oh, Officer Starling... do you think
you can dissect me with this blunt
little tool?
CLARICE
No. I only hoped that your knowledge -
Suddenly he whips the tray back at her, with a metallic CLANG
that makes her start. His voice remains a pleasant purr.
DR. LECTER
You're sooo ambitious, aren't you...?
You know what you look like to me,
with your good bag and your cheap
shoes? You look like a rube. A well-
scrubbed, hustling rube with a little,
taste... Good nutrition has given
you some length of bone, but you're
not more than one generation from
poor white trash, are you Officer
Starling...? That accent you're trying
so desperately to shed - pure West
Virginia. What was your father, dear?
Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of
the lamp...? And oh, how quickly the
boys found you! All those tedious,
sticky fumblings, in the back seats
of cars, while you could only dream
of getting out. Getting anywhere -
yes? Getting all the way - to the
F...B...I.
His every word has struck her like a tiny, precise dart. But
she squares her jaw and won't give ground.
CLARICE
You see a lot, Dr. Lecter. But are
you strong enough to point that high-
powered perception at yourself? How
about it...? Look at yourself and
write down the truth.
(she slams the tray
back at him)
Or maybe you're afraid to.
DR. LECTER
You're a tough one, aren't you?
CLARICE
Reasonably so. Yes.
DR. LECTER
And you'd hate to think you were
common. My, wouldn't that sting!
Well you're far from common, Officer
Starling. All you have is the fear
of it.
(beat)
Now please excuse me. Good day.
CLARICE
And the questionnaire...?
DR. LECTER
A census taker once tried to test
me. I ate his liver with some fava
beans and a nice chianti... Fly back
to school, little Starling.
He steps backwards, then returns to his cot, becoming as
still and remote as a statue. Frustrated, Clarice hesitates,
then finally shoulders her bag and goes, leaving the
questionnaire in his tray. But after just a few steps, as
she passes -
MIGG'S CELL
She sees that creature at his bars again, hissing at her.
MIGGS
I b-bit my wrist so I c-can diiiieeee!
S-ee how it bleeeeeeeeds?
The dark figure suddenly flings his palm towards her, and -
CLARICE
is spattered on the face and neck - not with blood, but with
pale droplets of semen. She gives a little cry, touching her
fingers to the wetness. Stunned, near tears, she forces
herself to straighten up and walk on, fumbling for a tissue.
From behind her, Dr. Lecter calls out, very agitated.
DR. LECTER (O.S.)
Officer Starling... Officer Starling!
Clarice slows, stops. She shudders, but makes the very
difficult choice to turn, walk back, stand again in front of -
DR. LECTER
Who's shivering with rage. For an instant his face opens,
and we catch a glimpse into hell itself. Then he's composed
again.
DR. LECTER
I would not have had that happen to
you. Discourtesy is - unspeakably
ugly to me.
CLARICE
Then please - do this test for me.
DR. LECTER
No. But I will make you happy...
I'll give you a chance for what you
love most, Clarice Starling.
CLARICE
What's that, Dr. Lecter?
DR. LECTER
Advancement, of course.
(beat)
Go to Split City. See Miss Mofet, an
old patient of mine. M-O-F-E-T...
Now go. Go.
(a smile)
I don't think Miggs could manage
again so soon, even if he is crazy -
do you?
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