GONE-GIRL.pdf, Study notes of Law

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Written by Name of First Writer Based on, If Any Address Phone Number

Nick Dunne, 30s, handsome, is watching bits of trash float along the Mississippi River; a McMansion behind him. His yard is the only one mowed—all around him wilderness encroaches. The SUN rises over the treeline and blares its FIRST-DEGREE SPOTLIGHT in his face. He looks, fearful, ill. EXT. - BAR PARKING LOT - NOON NICK—different clothes, wet hair—arrives under a glaring NOONDAY SUN. Down the street, a troupe of HOMELESS MEN walks single file. One man turns toward NICK, his face an oval of darkness. NICK stares into the FACELESS face. INT. -THE BAR- DAY Nick’s twin sister, GO, 30s, nerdy-hot, is washing mugs. The bar is packed with ‘80s kitsch. Their very own clubhouse. GO The Irish prince graces us with his presence. He sits on the bar’s customer side. She flicks suds at him. NICK His majesty prefers not to be moistened! A full splash. NICK (CONT’D) Brought you a present. He sets a decrepit ‘70s-era Master Mind on the bar. GO (sweet smile) Master Mind! I hated this game! NICK You loved it. GO You loved it. Thanks. She places it behind the bar with other ‘70s and ‘80s games and toys: Hungry Hungry Hippo, Strawberry Shortcake, Clue. A PATRON comes out of the bathroom and NICK jumps. She slaps a fiver on the bar—which makes NICK jump again—and leaves.

NICK

Pour me a bourbon, would ya? GO glances pointedly at the clock: just after noon. NICK (CONT’D) Have a drink with me, Go. She pours two bourbons. Settles in. GO What’s up, Jitters? NICK Bad day. GO Amy? NICK It’s our anniversary. Five. GO Five? That came fast. NICK Fast and furious. INT. -SOMEWHERE- SOMETIME CLOSEUP on a PEN, cursiving across a DIARY. The pen is girlish, topped with pink feathers. We see at the top A DATE SEVEN YEARS AGO. We hear the words as we see them written: AMY (V.O.) I’m so crazy, stupid happy. INT-BROOKLYN APARTMENT-NIGHT AMY ELLIOTT, 30s, gorgeous, is in a crowded party of hipster media types. Dude-heavy. She weaves her way through the guys. AMY (V.O.) I met a boy. I met a boy, and he’s so perfectly, fantastically different. She spots her friend deep-flirting a guy, so she’s stopped short in the center of the room with two beers.

NICK

Ah: native New Yorker! AMY World ends at the Hudson. I’m Amy. NICK Nick. So tell me the story, Amy. Who are you? What do you do? AMY A. I am an award-winning scrimshander. B. I am a moderately influential warlord. C. I write personality quizzes for magazines. NICK (taking her hand) A. Your fingers are far too delicate for real scrimshaw work. B. I am a subscriber to Middling Warlord Weekly—you can’t fool me. So: C. Also, if you were a tree you’d be a willow. AMY And you? Who are you? INT.-APARTMENT STAIRWAY It’s a four-story walk-up. They walk down, tipsy, not touching each other, but thinking about it. NICK ...and every summer, I worked on a riverboat. Huck Fucking Finn. She stops, studies him. AMY I can’t tell when you’re lying. I think it’s your chin. NICK My chin? AMY It’s quite villainous. He places a finger over his chin. NICK No bullshit. 100% truth.

EXT-BROOKLYN-NIGHT

They are huddling together, trying to hail a cab. NICK I always love this part. AMY What part? NICK Stepping out into New York. All the possibilities. They turn the corner and step into a huge cloud of powdered sugar as it’s funneled into a bakery. A sugar snowstorm. Nick grins, waves a hand: Like this! The sugar falls like snow. Nick takes a lock of her hair between two fingers and runs his fingers to the end, tugs like he’s ringing a bell. NICK (CONT’D) You know we have to kiss now. AMY Is that right? NICK I would be a fool to let you walk through a sugar snowstorm unkissed. The sugar floats everywhere. A fairytale. They lean in. NICK (CONT’D) Hold on. Nick brushes her lips clean. They kiss. INT-NICK’S BEDROOM-NIGHT A shabby garden apartment. Nick and Amy are in bed together: blissful, exhausted. Outside, a car’s headlights flash the room: On the wall, something illuminates. Their handprints, caked in powdered sugar, line the wall. They laugh. AMY Nick? I really like you. INT. -THE BAR- DAY GO and NICK are on second drinks. The Master Mind sits untouched as GO sets up the Game of Life.

NICK (CONT’D)

LIFE, I don’t remember the point. GO Deep Hasbro thoughts. So what’d you get her? NICK (still sulking) Nothing yet. GO Five years. What’s the, like, traditional gift for five years? NICK shrugs. He spins, lands on Get Married. GO places a pink peg-wife in his car. He glares at it. GO (CONT’D) Silver? Gold? Velour, pleather? NICK Wood. There’s no good gift for wood. Go spins; skips over the Get Married space. GO I got it: Go home, fuck her brains out, then smack her with your penis and yell: There’s some wood for you, bitch! They laugh. Interrupted by the phone. Nick answers. NICK The Bar... (rolling his eyes) Hey, Carl. What’s up?...Oh! that is weird. OK, thanks. NICK (CONT’D) (to Go) Bleecker’s outside. GO You are way too into that cat. NICK He’s my special little furry pal. He heads to the door, points at the LIFE board.

NICK (CONT’D)

Tell me how it ends. EXT.-DUNNE HOUSE-DAY NICK pulls up, salutes CARL, who’s on his front porch behind a walker. CARL gives a curt nod. BLEECKER is sitting on the Dunne stairs. Nick scoops him up, heads to the FRONT DOOR, which is GAPING WIDE OPEN. Nick stops in his tracks. INT.-DUNNE HOUSE-DAY NICK doesn’t close the door. He sets the cat down. The cat immediately runs back outside. NICK Amy? You home? We can see Carl framed in the doorway across the street, watching, as NICK yells again: NICK (CONT’D) Amy? He enters the LIVING ROOM. Stops. The carpet is covered with GLASS SHARDS from the coffee table. END TABLES are SMASHED; BOOKS SLID across the floor. An OTTOMAN is UPSIDE DOWN. Metal SCISSORS glint in the middle. Nick backs up and in the background, through the door, we see CARL, slowly standing. NICK (CONT’D) Amy! INT.- DUNNE HOUSE-DAY DOOR opens on RHONDA BONEY, 40s, and JIM GILPIN, 20s. BONEY Mr. Dunne? I’m Detective Rhonda Boney and this is Officer James Gilpin. We understand there are concerns about your wife? Nick walks them in, shows them the scene. NICK My wife is gone. I came home to this. They bend down, examine the scene.

BONEY

Pretty dress. Ya’ll got plans tonight? NICK It’s our anniversary. The detectives exchange a quick glance. BONEY opens Amy’s closet: The clothes are a rainbow: Every dress AMY has quadruple-purchased in red, green, yellow, black. Over and over. BONEY looks at one set of sundresses: NO GREEN DRESS. Noted. She looks in hamper: No green. A file cabinet is packed: Vet 2006-2009, Credit Card 2009-

2012. Boney flips through Amy’s perfectly tended desk calendar: dermatologist appointment two years in advance. INT-HALLWAY-DAY BONEY You tend bar back in New York too? NICK No. Like I said, I was a writer. INT-SECOND BEDROOM-DAY It’s wallpapered for a nursery but is clearly an office. Amy’s degrees cover the walls: HARVARD undergrad, Masters in Psychology from Columbia. Academic awards of all stripes. BONEY Wow, she’s smart. NICK As hell. One corner is dedicated to books, posters, games for a kids’ book series, AMAZING AMY. NICK (CONT’D) ...I wrote about movies. You ever hear of a magazine called- BONEY (studying a picture) Hey!...I remember these books. CLOSEUP of a dual frame: AMAZING AMY, the iconic cartoon drawing, is grinning from one side. Our real AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE is mimicking the same grin on the other side.

BONEY (CONT’D)

I remember these! Wait. Your wife is Amazing Amy? INT-SOMEWHERE-SOMETIME CLOSEUP of a DIARY, a PEN—advertising AMAZING AMY—is cursiving across. The eraser topper is a BRIDE with VEIL. We see the words as we hear: AMY (V.O.) Wedding day! INT. -UPSCALE NEW YORK RESTAURANT-NIGHT TINY book launch party. Posters advertise the AMAZING AMY book series—all 20. “Written by RAND and MARYBETH ELLIOTT—two psychologists—Who are parents JUST LIKE YOU! AMY examines the poster for the first book, Amazing Amy as a moppet. AMY (V.O.) No, not my wedding day. Please. Let’s focus on who’s important in our household. Who Mom and Dad Elliott really care about. Is it a) regular, flawed Real Amy or b) Perfect, brilliant Amazing Amy? Next POSTER: gradeschool AMAZING AMY holding a violin. AMY (V.O.) Consider: Real Amy quits violin; Amazing Amy becomes a prodigy because it’s important to finish what you start. Amy waits at the bar. Looks at POSTER: teen AMAZING AMY holding a tennis racket. AMY (V.O.) Real Amy sucks at tennis; Amazing Amy goes varsity because it’s important to be your best. She sips, studies the biggest poster: Amazing Amy, a bridal veil, a GROOM next to her. AMAZING AMY AND THE BIG DAY. AMY (V.O.) Real Amy fails to give her parents a wedding; Amazing Amy waltzes down the aisle with good ole Able Andy. Because it’s important...

AMY

Two magical years. NICK Is it true that during the course of your relationship, you have performed such gracious gestures as (checking notes) ...not correcting Nick when he pronounced quinoa as kwin-o-a for nine months straight. AMY An understandable mistake. NICK He also thought it was a fish. AMY He thinks Velveeta is a cheese. NICK Touché. AMY I think it’s pronounced tow-chay. NICK (laughing) You also manage to appear surprised and delighted when Nick’s elderly mom breaks into “New York, New York” every...time...she sees you. AMY (crooning) These bag of bone shoes... NICK You also bought Nick his first pair of scissors for his home, correct? AMY And the matching stapler. NICK Amy Elliott, you are not amazing. You are beyond. You are incredibly smart but entirely unsnobby. You are kind but never a martyr. You take care of me yet challenge me. And you have one hell of a vagina. Amy chokes on her drink.

NICK (CONT’D)

Yet my colleagues inform me that you are not married. AMY I am not. NICK Isn’t it time we fixed that? INT.-POLICE STATION INTERROGATION ROOM-NIGHT GILPIN is watching NICK from the other side of the glass. NICK’s fiddling with his smartphone. BONEY enters. BONEY How’s our boy? GILPIN Oh he’s great. He’s checking his fantasy baseball. INT.-POLICE STATION INTERROGATION ROOM-NIGHT NICK is getting his inner cheek swabbed by a tech while another swipes his hands for gunshot residue. BONEY Just protocol. GILPIN Gunshot residue, DNA. BONEY Just so we can say we did, and now it’s done. Crossed off the list. Techs leave. BONEY (CONT’D) We got techs over at your house. Release that back to you soon. We’re tracking Amy’s phone, credit cards. We’ll have a lead soon. An officer comes in with two styrofoam cups of coffee, slaps a manila envelope on the table. NICK smiles. Boney frowns. NICK Sorry. I felt like I was in a Law and Order episode for a second.

BONEY

Amy got friends we can talk to? NICK Not really. No. Not in town. BONEY No friends. NICK No. BONEY In this whole town. NICK No, not that I know of. BONEY So you got to The Bar around noon today. Where were you before then? Just to cross that off. NICK Well, I was at home. Then I went to North beach for a few hours. Had my coffee, read the paper. BONEY You chat with anyone there? NICK It was empty. Nick picks off pieces of his Styrofoam cup; it squeaks. GILPIN No one’s ever there. BONEY So your wife has no friends here. Is she kinda...Ivy League? Nick is visibly uncomfortable. He squeaks at the styrofoam. BONEY (CONT’D) Perfectionist? Type A? NICK Maybe. I mean, she gets shit done. Boney puts her hand on his to get him to stop the squeaking.

BONEY

That can drive you crazy if you’re not that type...you seem laid-back. Type B. Speaking of which: Amy’s blood type? NICK I don’t know. BONEY You don’t know if she has friends, you don’t know what she does most days, you don’t know her blood type? NICK Maybe it’s- BONEY You sure you guys were married? NICK O? BONEY Will her folks get here in time for the press conference tomorrow? NICK I haven’t called them yet. BONEY You haven’t called your wife’s parents? NICK I’ve been talking to you! BONEY Call them please, Nick. Now. We hear BONEY mutter unbelievable intentionally, goadingly loudly as NICK leaves—she cocks an eyebrow at GILPIN. INT-POLICE STATION HALLWAY-NIGHT Nick on his cell, pacing. We can only hear MARYBETH’s TONE on the other end: FEMALE and ANGRY. NICK I’m sorry, Marybeth...I know...a Detective Rhonda Boney...but- OK...