Inglourious Basterds (10 page)

If Fräulein von Hammersmark’s cover is compromised, the mission is kaput.

Donny chimes in:

Speaking of Fräulein von Hammersmark, whose idea was it for the death trap rendezvous?

She chose the spot.

Well, isn’t that just dandy?

Look, she’s not a military strategist. She’s just an actress.

Ya don’t got to be Stonewall Jackson to know you don’t want to fight in a basement.

She wasn’t picking a place to fight. She was picking a place isolated and without Germans.

Lieutenant, I hate to be contrary, but I got me a Nazi pissin’ on Louisiana two o’clock.

They move to the window, and sure enough, ONE LONE NAZI PRIVATE relieves himself against the side wall.

Lt. Hicox, this was definitely not the plan.

Shit.

Sgt. Donowitz chides him:

So what do you think your Fräulein von Hammer—

—Obviously, I don’t know, Sergeant.

The British officer watches the German soldier, who’s not supposed to be there. When Hugo Stiglitz joins him at the window,
Stiglitz looks down at the urinating Nazi, S.S. dagger in hand.

If we’re going, let’s go.

He sheaths the dagger.

EXT—LA LOUISIANE (BASEMENT TAVERN)—NIGHT

The GERMAN PISSING PRIVATE sloppily finishes his task. Cramming his noodle back in his pants, he descends the stairs that
lead him back into the basement tavern. We follow him…

INT—LA LOUISIANE (BASEMENT TAVERN)—NIGHT

Inside the basement tavern La Louisiane. It has a very low-hanging basement ceiling. A old-looking wood bar off to the right.
And the only other space in the little tavern is taken up by two large (at least in here) tables, which take up both halves
of the room. And despite rumors to the contrary, one of the two tables is completely filled with drunken, celebrating Nazi
enlisted men, of which our urinating friend is one of five.

FIVE NAZIS

ONE GERMAN MASTER SERGEANT, ONE FEMALE GERMAN SERGEANT (a powerfully built, stocky type), and THREE MALE GERMAN SOLDIERS.

The five Nazis are sitting around the table, drinking, and playing a very fun game with none other than the Fräulein of the
hour, UFA diva BRIDGET VON HAMMERSMARK, dressed to the nines in a chic, forties-style woman’s suit, complete with fedora.
The game they’re playing consists of each player having a card with the name of a famous person, real or imaginary, stuck
to their forehead. The player doesn’t know what name is on their forehead. So they ask the others questions to figure out
who they are.

The five Germans’ five cards read: MASTER SGT #1: (POLA NEGRI); FEMALE SGT #2: (BEETHOVEN); GERMAN PRIVATE #3: (MATA HARI);
GERMAN PRIVATE #4: (EDGAR WALLACE); GERMAN PRIVATE #5: (WINNETOU). And Bridget von Hammersmark, who wears her card in the
brim of her fedora, has GENGHIS KHAN.

It’s German #5’s (WINNETOU) turn to ask questions.

The DIALOGUE will be in GERMAN and SUBTITLED IN ENGLISH.

… okay, I’m not German. Am I American?

The whole table bursts out laughing.

Yes, you are!

Well, not really.

What do you mean, not really? Of course he is.

Well, if he’s so American, how come he’s never been translated into English. He’s not American. He’s supposed to be American,
but he’s not an American creation. In fact, he’s something very different.

Okay, I’m a fictional, literary character, from the past. I’m American, and that’s controversial.

No, it’s not controversial. The nationality of the author has nothing to do with the nationality of the character. The character
is the character. Hamlet’s not British, he’s Danish. So, yes, this character was born in America.

Well, I’m glad that’s settled. If I had a wife, would she be called a squaw?

He’s got it.

The table laughs.

YES!

Is my blood brother Old Shatterhand?

Yes!

Did Karl May write me?

Yes!

In the BACKGROUND, WE SEE our three counterfeit German officers—Hicox, Wicki, and Stiglitz—enter the basement tavern. They
obviously see the five German soldiers, but they’re too far away for us (the audience) to read their faces. No doubt they’re
less than happy. Fräuhlein von Hammersmark sees them as well. Without getting up, she waves to them.

Hello, my lovelies. I will join you in moments. I’m finishing up a game with my five new friends here.

No hurry, Fräulein von Hammersmark. Take your time. Enjoy yourself.

(to Winnetou)

So who are you?

I am WINNETOU, CHIEF of the APACHES!

The table CHEERS and APPLAUDS the Apache chief as he takes the card off his forehead.

The other four German soldiers drink down their beer (part of the game).

Bridget von Hammersmark knocks back her champagne.

Fräulein von Hammersmark, when your friends came in, did you realize you did a double take, like in the movies?

Really? No, I wasn’t aware of that at all.

They must be second nature to you now. Did they teach you how to do a double take in the movies?

Well, yes, they did, but it’s not really that difficult.

Do one for us.

The table heartily agrees.

Bridget looks directly at the master sergeant and does a perfect, and perfectly funny, double take.

The table loves it.

My turn, I want to try.

Mata Hari looks directly at Beethoven and does a double take.

I want to try.

He does.

Soon the whole table is doing dueling double takes.

HICOX—WICKI—STIGLITZ

watch the table do dueling double takes. Obviously, they don’t understand.

THEN…

Bridget von Hammersmark rises and excuses herself from the table. She removes the card stuck in her fedora, looking at the
name for the first time. Genghis Khan.

Genghis Khan! I would never have gotten that.

She walks over and joins the masquerading Germans’ table. The gentlemen rise. She greets each warmly with a French cheek kiss,
as if she knows them well.

They all take a seat. The two basterds and one Brit drink whiskey. The tavern’s PROPRIETOR, an older, big-bellied Frenchman
named EARL, comes over to the table and pours more champagne into Bridget’s champagne glass. He leaves, returning back behind
the bar, with the YOUNG FRENCH BARMAID, the only other person in the establishment.

Obviously, they speak GERMAN, SUBTITLED IN ENGLISH:

I thought this place was supposed to have more French than Germans?

Normally that’s true. The sergeant over there’s wife just had a baby. His commanding officer gave him and his mates the night
off to celebrate.

We should leave.

No, we should stay. For one drink at least. I’ve been waiting for you in a bar. It would look strange if we left before we
had a drink.

She’s right. Just be calm, and enjoy your booze.

BACK TO THE GERMAN TABLE

The French barmaid has taken Bridget’s place in the rousing, rowdy game. She tells them her person must be French or she won’t
know them. Winnetou thinks for a moment, then writes a name on a card. The barmaid puts it on her forehead. It says: NAPOLEON.

The Germans all laugh.

BACK TO THE BASTERDS’ TABLE

There’s been some new developments. The cinema venue has changed.

Why?

No one knows. But that in itself shouldn’t be a problem. The cinema it’s been changed to is considerably smaller than The
Ritz. So whatever materials you brought for The Ritz should be doubly effective here.

Now this next piece of information is colossal, try not to overreact. The Führer will be attending tomorrow.

Hugo Stiglitz does a SPIT-TAKE.

Bridget’s eyes bore holes in him.

BACK TO THE REAL GERMANS

They see Hugo do the spit-take and burst out laughing. Keeping it up, they begin to do dueling spit-takes, like they did dueling
double takes earlier. Needless to say, they all get wet.

BACK TO THE BASTERDS

(to Hicox)

You’ll be going as Ernst Schuller. You’ll say you’re an associate producer on Riefenstahl’s “Tiefland.” It’s the one German
production not under Goebbels’ control, and Leni wouldn’t be caught dead at a Goebbels film affair.

BACK TO THE REAL GERMAN TABLE

Master Sgt. Pola Negri drinks his beer as he looks over, dreamily, at Bridget von Hammersmark at the other table.

BACK TO THE BASTERDS

Bridget continues to brief Hicox on his identity. We see in the B.G. the German master sergeant stand up from his table and
head toward Fräulein von Hammersmark.

… the film’s gone through many delays, and Leni’s health is deteriorating, so if you have to speak…

Hicox, seeing the German master sergeant approach, signals for her to cool it.

Fräulein von Hammersmark, I was just thinking, could you sign an autograph to my son on his birthday?

I’d love to, Wilhelm.

(to the table)

This handsome happy sergeant just became a father today.

The pretend officers offer congratulations to the sergeant.

The German master sergeant CLICKS his heels and bows before his superior officers.

Thank you. Heil Hitler.

He raises his hand… as do the seated phony officers: “Heil Hitler.”

As she takes a rather fancy fountain pen from her clutch…

So, Wilhelm, do you know the name of this progeny yet?

I most certainly do, Fräulein. His name is Maximilian.

Even the slightly psychotic Stiglitz likes this German sergeant.

Wonderful name, Sergeant.

Thank you, Lieutenant. When he’s old enough to ride a bicycle, I will buy him a blue one. And I will paint on the side “The
Blue Max.”

He thrusts out his beer stein, for the officers to cheer.

They do.

Bridget finishes signing her autograph, with a big flourish.

There you go. But wait, I’m not finished yet.

She reaches into her clutch and pulls out some lipstick, applies some ruby-red color to her lips, and then kisses the napkin,
leaving a big red lip print. Then she hands the treasured item to the young officer.

Nothing but the best for little Maximilian.

Thank you, Fräulein, thank you. Max may not know who you are now. But he will. I will show him all of your movies. He will
grow up with your films, and this napkin on his wall.

Then, to the whole tavern…

I propose a toast to the greatest actress in Germany! There is no Dietrich, there is no Riefenstahl, only von Hammersmark!

The whole room toasts.

This would be a good time for the German sergeant to go back to his table and his men. And he almost does… but… since he
is drunk, and star struck, he out wears his welcome.

So, Fräulein von Hammersmark, what brings you to France?

Feeling any good Nazi officer’s patience would have been exhausted long ago, Lt. Hicox butts in.

None of your business, Sergeant. You might not have worn out your welcome with the fräulein with your drunken, boorish behavior,
but you have worn out your welcome with me.

The table of game-playing soldiers hears this and gets quiet.

Might I remind you Sergeant, you’re an enlisted man. This is an officers’ table. I suggest you stop pestering the fräulein
and rejoin your table.

The German master sergeant looks quizzically at the officer.

Excuse me, Captain, but your accent is very unusual.

The whole room pauses… for different reasons…

Where are you from?

A silent moment passes between the two tables, then the two German-born imposters spring into action.

Sergeant! You must be either drunk or mad to speak to a superior officer with such impertinence!

Stiglitz, STANDS and YELLS to the other table:

I’m making YOU…

(pointing at Winnetou)

… and YOU…

(pointing at Edgar Wallace)

… responsible for him.

(pointing at Sgt. Pola)

I suggest you take hold of your friend, or he’ll spend Max’s first birthday in jail for public drunkenness!

The Germans SPRING UP and take hold of Sgt. Pola…

WHEN…

A GERMAN VOICE rings out:

Then might I inquire?

The five known Germans move aside, revealing the unknown German in the room, unseen till now, our old friend from before:
MAJOR DIETER HELLSTROM of the GESTAPO. The major stands from the little table he was sitting at.

Like the young, newly christened father, I to have an acute ear for accents. And like him, I too find yours odd. From where
do you hail, Captain?

Wicki jumps in:

Major, this is highly inappr—