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佚名
更新时间：2023/1/9 2:21:18
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NOTE
For legal reasons, the names of three
of Tom Harris's characters have had to
be changed. It is my hope, and certainly
Tom's, that the original names can be
restored in time for the making of this
movie.
For the purposes of this draft, however,
Jack Crawford has become 'Ray Campbell,'
Frederick Chilton has become 'Herbert
Prentiss,' and Dr. Hannibal Lecter is
called 'Dr. Gideon Quinn.'
FADE IN:
INT. GRUBBY HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY (DIMLY LIT)
A woman's face BACKS INTO SHOT, her head resting against grimy
wallpaper. She is tense, sweaty, wide-eyed with concentration.
This is CLARICE STARLING - mid-20's, trim, very pretty. She wears
Kevlar body armor over a navy windbreaker, khaki pants. Her thick
hair is piled under a navy baseball cap. A revolver, clutched in
her right hand, hovers by her ear. She raises a speedloader, in
her left hand, locks it into her cylinder, twists and reloads.
CLOSE ON
a guest room door, with a small, wired pack attached to its knob.
Suddenly, wish a sharp CRACK!, the knob explodes, and the door
bursts open.
WITH CLARICE - MOVING SHOT -
as she runs around a corner, through a cloud of smoke. She
shoulders aside the shattered door and rushes inside, gun at
the ready in both hands...
CUT TO:
INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY
CLARICE'S POV - MOVING - as she first sees, sitting on the edge
of a bed - a FEMALE HOSTAGE. Black, late 20's, gagged, hands
behind her back. Then, SWIVELLING... she sees a startled MALE
SUSPECT - white, mid-20's - standing by a window with a rifle
in his hands. He is turning towards her...
CLARICE
drops into a combat crouch, gun extended, and shouts.
CLARICE
Freeze! FBI!
CLARICE'S POV - SLOW MOTION -
all natural SOUND suspended - as the Suspect faces her with
a strange, pleading expression. The rifle is rising in his hands,
but oddly enough, it is held across his chest, not pointing. Then
another puzzling detail registers...
THE SUSPECT'S HANDS
are taped to his gun, away from the trigger; he couldn't use it
even if he tried. Suddenly we hear a metallic CLICK, which reg-
isters with unnatural amplification, as -
CLARICE
reacts, drops to the floor, rolling sideways, and -
THE 'HOSTAGE'
pulls a revolver out from behind her back, still in SLOW MOTION,
raising it in her untied hands. She fires repeatedly, flames
leaping from the muzzle; the SOUND is an echoing roar in these
close quarters, but -
CLARICE
has come up on one knee, beside an armchair, and is already
firing back herself, two quick SHOTS, which send -
THE 'HOSTAGE'
pitching over the bed, backwards, to shudder and lie still in a
haze of gunsmoke. Clarice rushes to her, clamping one knee down
on her gun hand, still keeping her covered in case of movement.
HOLD for a few beats... then we hear the shrill blast of a
WHISTLE from somewhere, O.S., as normal ACTION and SOUND are
restored.
BRIGHAM (O.S.)
Okay, people, good exercise...
Clarice relaxes, lowering her gun. The lights brighten.
PULLING BACK -
we see that we're in some sort of auditorium, with the 'hotel
room' and its 'corridor' built as a training set. JOHN BRIGHAM
walks onto this set, thumbing a stopwatch. Mid-40's, ex-Marine.
His T-shirt's lettering says 'Firearms Instructor / FBI Academy.'
BRIGHAM (contd.)
Starling's reaction time was excellent.
Let's break. Critique in five.
A class of about forty young FBI trainees, of both sexes, be-
gins to rise from their seats, mingling and chatting.
CLARICE
nods amiably to the 'Suspect', then gives her 'Hostage' a hand
up. It's ARDELIA MAPP, her roommate. Her broad, clever face
breaks into a big smile, as they both remove ear plugs. Clarice's
voice has just a soft trace of southern accent.
ARDELIA
Damn, Clarice, how'd you make me?
CLARICE
(indicating her gun)
Never cock. Just squeeze.
ARDELIA
(grins)
I love it when you talk dirty.
As Brigham joins them, Clarice can't resist a star pupil's little
smile of pride. He frowns good-naturedly.
BRIGHAM
What're you laughin' at, Junior G-Man?
She got off four rounds to your two.
He takes out a steel-coiled grip flexer, drops it onto her palm.
BRIGHAM (contd.)
One hundred reps, each hand, every day.
Now tidy up, the Section Chief wants to
see you.
He nods a direction, then moves off. Clarice, with her smile
finally fading, looks out into the auditorium.
SPECIAL AGENT RAY CAMPBELL
sits on the top step of the aisle, looking down at her. He is 53,
strongly built. He rises impassively, exits through the back door.
He carries a think manila envelope under one arm.
ARDELIA
who is helping Clarice unbuckle her bullet-proof vest, follows
her worried gaze.
CLARICE
What'd I do?
ARDELIA
Stay cool. Just remember to call
him 'God.'
CUT TO:
EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA - DAY
Campbell is watching a group of trainees on the firing range,
as Clarice joins him. He looks tired, haunted. Between master
and student, we sense a subtle, muted tug of sexuality.
CAMPBELL
Starling, Clarice M., good morning.
CLARICE
Good morning, Mr. Campbell.
CAMPBELL
Your instructors tell me you're doing
well. Top quarter of the class.
CLARICE
I hope so. They haven't posted anything.
CAMPBELL
A job's come up and I thought about you.
Not really a job, more of - an interest-
ing errand. Walk me to my car, Starling.
They begin to cross the academy grounds. A group of trainees
jogs by, in matching sweats, following a p.e. coach.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
We're trying to interview all of the
serial killers now in custody, for a
psychobehavioral profile. Could be a
big help in unsolved cases. Most of them
have been happy to talk to us. They have
a compulsion to boast, these people...
Do you spook easily, Starling?
CLARICE
Not yet.
CAMPBELL
You see, the one we want most refuses
to cooperate. I want you to go after
him again today, in the asylum.
CLARICE
Who's the subject?
CAMPBELL
The psychiatrist - Dr. Gideon Quinn.
Clarice stops walking, goes very still. A beat.
CLARICE
The cannibal...
Campbell doesn't respond, except to study her face.
CLARICE (contd.)
Yes, well... Okay, right. I'm glad for
the chance, sir, but - why me?
CAMPBELL
You're qualified and available. And frankly,
I can't spare a real agent right now.
He walks on again, at a faster clip. She hurried to keep up.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
I don't expect him to talk to you, but I
have to be able to say we tried... Quinn
was a brilliant psychiatrist, and he
knows all the dodges.
(Hands her the manila envelope)
Dossier on him, copy of our question-
naire, special ID for you... If he won't
talk, then I want straight reporting.
How's he look, how's his cell look,
what's he writing? The Director himself
will see your report, over your own signa-
ture - if I decide it's good enough. I
want that by 0800 Wednesday, and keep this
to yourself.
They're reached his car. His driver stamps on a cigarette, climbs
in behind the wheel. BURROUGHS, his assistant, says something in-
to a walkie-talkie, then opens the back door. But Campbell pulls
her aside, a hand on her shoulder. His intensity is scary.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
Now. I want your full attention, Starling.
Are you listening to me?
CLARICE
Yes sir.
CAMPBELL
Be very careful with Gideon Quinn. Dr.
Prentiss at the asylum will go over the
physical procedures used with him. Do not
deviate from them, for any reason. You
tell him nothing personal, Starling. Believe
me, you don't want Gideon Quinn inside your
head... Just do your job, but never forget
what he is.
CLARICE
(a bit unnerved)
And what is that, sir?
PRENTISS (V.O.)
Oh, he's a monster. A pure psychopath...
CUT TO:
INT. PRENTISS'S OFFICE - BALTIMORE STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE
CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY
CLOSE ON an I.D. card held in a male hand. Clarice's photo, of-
ficial-looking graphics. It calls her a 'Federal Investigator.'
PRENTISS (contd., O.S.)
It's so rare to capture one alive. From
a research point of view, Dr. Quinn is
our most prized asset...
DR. HERBERT PRENTISS
looks up from her card. A smarmy little peacock, behind a vast
desk; he's conceived an instant, hopeless letch for Clarice. He
smiles, stroking her card with his beloved gold pen.
PRENTISS (contd.)
You know, we get a lot of detectives here,
but I must say, I can't ever remember one
so attractive...
NEW ANGLE - REVEALS CLARICE -
now wearing a more feminine skirt suit. Hair neatly coiled, ele-
gant shoulder bag, briefcase. He has rudely left her standing.
PRENTISS (contd.)
Will you be in Baltimore overnight...?
Because this can be quite a fun town,
if you have the right guide.
Clarice tires, unsuccessfully, to hide her distaste for him.
CLARICE
I'm sure it's a great town, Dr. Prentiss,
but my instructions are to talk to Quinn
and report back this afternoon.
PRENTISS
(pause; sourly)
I see.
(beat)
Let's make this quick, then. I'm busy.
CUT TO:
INT. ASYLUM CORRIDOR - UPPER FLOOR - DAY
Clarice flinches as a heavy steel gate CLANGS shut behind her,
the bolt shooting home. Prentiss walks ahead of her.
PRENTISS
Quinn carved up nine people - that we're
sure of - and cooked his favorite bits.
We've tried to study him, of course - but
he's much too sophisticated for the stan-
dard tests. And my, does he hate us! Thinks
I'm his nemesis... Campbell's very clever,
isn't he? Using you.
CLARICE
How do you mean, Dr. Prentiss?
PRENTISS
A pretty young woman, to turn him on? I
don't believe Quinn's ever seen a woman in
eight years. And oh, are you ever his
'taste' - so to speak.
CLARICE
I graduated magna from UVA, Doctor.
It's not a charm school.
PRENTISS
Good. Then you should be able to remember
the rules.
CUT TO:
INT. DIFFERENT CORRIDOR - LOWER FLOOR - DAY
A darker, even grimmer area. Heavy grids over the lights. Dis-
tant SLAMMINGS and faint, hoarse SHOUTS. They walk briskly.
PRENTISS
Do not reach through the bars, do not
touch the bars. You pass him nothing but
soft paper - no pens or pencils. No
staples or paperclips in his paper. Use
the sliding food carrier, no exceptions.
Do not accept anything he attempts to
hold out to you. Do you understand me?
CLARICE
I understand.
PRENTISS
I'm going to show you why we insist on
such precautions... On the afternoon of
July 8, 1981, he complained of chest pains
and was taken to the dispensary. His
mouthpiece and restraints were removed
for an EKG. When the nurse bent over him,
he did this to her...
He hands Clarice a small, dog-eared photo. Looking at it, she
is stopped in her tracks. This pleases Prentiss.
PRENTISS (contd.)
The doctors managed to re-set her jaw,
more or less, and save one of her eyes.
His pulse never got over eighty-five,
even when he ate her tongue.
(pause; he smiles)
I keep him in here.
He turns, pushes a button. A steel door BUZZES slowly open, and
BARNEY - a big, impassive orderly - awaits them in an anteroom.
On its walls: restraints, mouthpieces, Mace, tranquilizer guns.
CLARICE
(quickly blocking him)
Dr. Prentiss - if Quinn feels you're his
enemy - as you've said - them maybe I'll
have more luck by myself. What do you think?
PRENTISS
(annoyed)
You might have suggested that in my office,
and saved me the time.
CLARICE
But then I would've missed the pleasure
of your company.
She holds out the photo. A beat. He grabs it, jaw twitching.
PRENTISS
When she's finished, bring her out.
He turns on his heel, goes. Barney smiles reassuringly.
BARNEY
Hi, I'm Barney. He told you, don't
get near the bars?
CLARICE
(shaking his hand)
Clarice Starling. Yes, he did.
BARNEY
Okay. Past the others, it's the last
cell. Stay to the middle. I put out a
chair for you.
Sensing her tension, he indicates a nearby security monitor.
BARNEY (contd.)
I'm watching. You'll do fine.
Clarice nods gratefully. She looks down the long corridor,
takes a deep breath, walks into it. He watches her go.
CUT TO:
INT. DR. QUINN'S CORRIDOR - DAY
MOVING SHOT - with Clarice, as her footsteps ECHO. High to her
right, surveillance cameras. On her left, cells. Some are pad-
ded, 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. QUINN'S CELL
is coming slowly INTO VIEW... Behind its barred front wall is a
second barrier of stout nylon net... Sparse, bolted-down furni-
ture, many softcover books and papers. On the walls, extraordi-
narily detailed, skillful drawings, mostly European cityscapes,
in charcoal or crayon.
CLARICE
stops, at a police distance from his bars, clears her throat.
CLARICE
Dr. Quinn... My name is Clarice Starling.
May I talk with you?
DR. GIDEON QUINN
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 be-
fore her; the gracious host. His voice is cultured, soft.
DR. QUINN
Good morning.
CUTTING BETWEEN THEM
as Clarice comes a measured distance closer.
CLARICE
Doctor, we have a hard problem in psych-
ological profiling. I want to ask for
your help with a questionnaire.
DR. QUINN
'We' being the Behavioral Science Unit,
at Quantico. You're one of Ray Campbell's,
I expect.
CLARICE
I am, yes.
DR. QUINN
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. QUINN (contd.)
Closer, please... clo-ser...
She complies each time, trying to hide her fear. Dr. Quinn's
nostrils lift, as he gently, like an animal, tests the air.
Then he smiles, glancing at her card.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
That expires in one week. You're not
real FBI, are you?
CLARICE
I'm - still in training at the Academy.
DR. QUINN
Ray Campbell sent a trainee to me?
CLARICE
We're talking about psychology, Doctor,
not the Bureau. Can you decide for your-
self whether or not I'm qualified?
DR. QUINN
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. QUINN (contd.)
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. QUINN
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. QUINN
It's much better than your shoes.
CLARICE
Maybe they'll catch up.
DR. QUINN
I have no doubt of it.
CLARICE
(shifting uncomfortably)
Did you do those drawings, Doctor?
DR. QUINN
Yes. That's the Duomo, seen from the
Belvedere. Do you know Florence?
CLARICE
All that detail, just from memory...?
DR. QUINN
Memory, Officer Starling, is what I have
instead of view.
A pause, then Clarice takes the questionnaire from her case.
CLARICE
Dr. Quinn, if you'd please consider -
DR. QUINN
No, no, no. You were doing fine, you'd
been courteous and receptive to courtesy,
you'd established trust with the embar-
rassing 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. QUINN
Ray Campbell 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 Campbell
send you to ask for my advice on him?
CLARICE
No, I came because we need -
DR. QUINN
How many women has he used, our Bill?
CLARICE
Five... so far.
DR. QUINN
All flayed...?
CLARICE
Partially, yes. But Doctor, that's an
active case, I'm not involved. If you
could -
DR. QUINN
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. QUINN
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. QUINN
I didn't.
CLARICE
No. You ate yours.
A tense beat, then a smile from him, at this small boldness.
DR. QUINN
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. QUINN (contd.)
Oh, Officer Starling... do you think you
can dissect me with this blunt little tool?
CLARICE
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