Вы находитесь на странице: 1из 10

SWINE

by
Paul Williams

Hairingtons@yahoo.co.uk
(UK)+447707588752

FADE IN
INT. RESTAURANT - KITCHEN
A stainless steel armory, awash with boiling pans, flaming
grills and luscious ingredients.
CHEF (40s) mutters under his breath, whisking a sauce
furiously as if he resents every beat.
At the ticket rail stands WAITER (20s), his immaculate
uniform masks a fractious temper. He reads a newspaper, each
sentence seemingly offends him more.
WAITER
Wheres my fucking bonus?
CHEF
What?
WAITER
Have you read this shit? You should
read this shit.
CHEF
WHAT!?
WAITER
That much money; it makes you sick.
CHEF
If you dont tell me what youre
talking about, Ill chop your lazy
fingers off.
Chef starts to assemble his culinary masterpiece.
WAITER
The bankers that we bailed out.
CHEF
Who did?
WAITER
Who did? We did. The people did.
The country did.
Waiter slaps the paper down on a work top in disgust.
WAITER
For eighty billion pounds!
Chef mutters to himself, still plating.

2.

CHEF
I bet the Queen doesnt have that
much money. Or Jesus. If Jesus had
money, he wouldnt have that much.
WAITER
Thats not all. Now theyre giving
themselves a bonus. Guess how much?
Chef pauses, looks angrily towards Waiter.
WAITER
Eighty billion pounds.
CHEF
The same a-fucking-mount?
WAITER
A bonus. With our money. When are
we going to wake up?
Chef drizzles sauce across delicate pigeon breast. Its
ready; art on a plate. Stares expectantly at Waiter.
CHEF
SERVICE!
Waiter is shocked into action, he drapes a white napkin
neatly over his arm and picks up the plate.
INT. RESTAURANT - FRONT OF HOUSE
A room for fine dining. Opulent and exclusive. Perfectly
dressed tables sit empty as service draws to a close.
But one diner remains, quaffing wine, in his expensive blue
suit. This is MR. BANKS (40s).
The pigeon dish arrives, Banks stares at it unimpressed.
Waiter stands in service, immaculate and cool, polar opposite
of his back-of-house persona.
WAITER
Pepper, Mr. Banks?
Banks prods his pigeon petulantly and sighs at Waiter.
MR. BANKS
Is that pink?
WAITER
The lighting is rather subdued.

3.

Banks glares at Waiter, expressionless, but Waiter senses the


rage boiling within the customer, moves away slightly.
But Banks grabs Waiter by the tie, pulling him closer, and
shoves the pigeon in his face.
MR. BANKS
Can you see it now?
WAITER
Yes sir, thank you.
MR. BANKS
And?
WAITER
Its not pink.
Banks releases Waiter and puts the pigeon back on the plate.
MR. BANKS
Correct, well done.
WAITER
Shall I get you another?
MR. BANKS
Do I have to tell you your job too?
Waiter swallows words, not sure what to say.
MR. BANKS
You are here to serve me. Yes,
bring me another pigeon. Pink.
INT. KITCHEN
Chef lights a cigarette against a huge flame on a gas cooker.
Waiter returns with a wonky tie and grease covering his face.
Chef is not happy to see the plate full of food.
WAITER
Table six.
Chef sucks in a lungful of cigarette smoke, runs to the
kitchen exit, spits it out and flicks away his cigarette.
CHEF
Mother fucker! Again?
Waiter wipes the grease from his face with his napkin.

4.

WAITER
He said the pigeon wasnt pink.
Chef storms over for a look out the kitchen porthole.
Waiter, fixing his tie, double takes at the newspaper.
Under the headline Bankers Bask In 80 Billion Bonus is a
photo of several smug, wealthy looking men.
WAITER
I dont believe it. Its him.
CHEF
Who is?
WAITER
Table six.
Waiter thrusts the paper in front of Chef. And they both
scrutinize the photo.
INT. RESTAURANT - FRONT OF HOUSE
Banks sits, picking his finger nail with a fork.
In the distance, Waiter and Chef scowl through the porthole,
at Banks, mouthing words we dont hear: Mother fucker!
INT. KITCHEN
Waiter starts to fold a fresh napkin.
WAITER
We should shit in his food.
Chef takes out a cigarette.
CHEF
He shoved a pigeon in your face. In
your face. Go tell that prick, we
have no more pigeon.
WAITER
Maybe you cook the pigeon. We spit
on it. He eats it. Were all happy.
CHEF
Hey, pussy! This is your big
chance. You can score one for the
little guy.

5.

Chef lights his cigarette. Waiter looks at him, uncertain.


WAITER
Yeah?
CHEF
Yeah!
INT. RESTAURANT - FRONT OF HOUSE
Waiter arrives at table six. Napkin draped over his arm,
trying to be confident. Banks looks through the menu.
WAITER
Excuse me, sir.
Banks slaps the menu shut, sending Waiter in to a fluster.
WAITER
Erm. The pigeon. Theres no pigeon.
Banks stares and at Waiter chews over the information.
MR. BANKS
Whats the most expensive item on
the menu?
WAITER
The suckling pig.
Mr. Banks just looks, Waiter knows he wants to hear more.
WAITER
The rarest Iberian Pork cooked
three ways, in a saffron and -MR. BANKS
Ill have that. And Waiter - Im
not paying.
Waiter fakes a smile and nods, wondering how that happened.
INT. KITCHEN
Chef emits smoke at the back door, flicks away a cigarette as
Waiter comes back. He looks at Waiter expectantly.
WAITER
The bastard wants the suckling pig.
CHEF
No, no, no, no, no.

6.

WAITER
And...
CHEF
And!?
WAITER
He said hes not paying.
Chef strides to Waiter, picks up a knife and gets right up in
his face - tip of the knife under Waiters nose.
Sweat runs down Waiters face.
CHEF
Tell him no pigeon, no pig.
Nothing.
WAITER
Maybe, you should tell him?
CHEF
I cook the food. You serve the
food. He pays the bill. So I can
pay you. Life goes round. Until he
bends us over backwards.
Chef pulls away from Waiter, and starts to gyrate his hips,
simulating sex.
CHEF
And does us up the bum.
Waiter nervously laughs. Chef still thrusting back and forth.
CHEF
See? This is you. You like that?
WAITER
No.
CHEF
Either you tell him no pig. Or cook
it yourself.
INT. RESTAURANT - FRONT OF HOUSE
Waiter walks towards Banks. Tie bent out of shape. Trying to
fold a napkin as he walks. Hands fumbling. Failing.
He gives up, throws away the napkin in frustration.
Waiter arrives at table six, still sweating, nervously.

7.

Banks twists a fork between finger and thumb menacingly.


MR. BANKS
If you say theres no suckling pig,
Ill stick this fork in your eye.
Waiter searches for an excuse.
WAITER
Theres no...Chef.
MR. BANKS
Pardon?
WAITER
No Chef.
Banks stands up calmly, eyeball to eyeball with Waiter.
MR. BANKS
Get me my fucking lunch. Now.
Waiter gulps, pulling at his own tie, making room to breath.
MR. BANKS
And Im.
He slaps Waiter once, moving his face to the side.
MR. BANKS
NOT.
Twice.
MR. BANKS
PAYING!
Three times.
Waiter slowly turns to face Banks. His sweaty, bruised face,
now full of rage.
He pulls Banks by the tie. Banks stumbles along, trying to
stay on his feet, as Waiter drags him towards the kitchen.
Chefs face in the porthole is deliriously happy.
INT. KITCHEN
Banks is in a seat in the middle of the kitchen.
Chef runs round him, wrapping him in cling film, securing him
to the chair.

8.

Chef and Waiter stand over Banks like a couple of madmen.


MR. BANKS
You cant do this to me!
Waiter slaps Banks, stunning him to silence.
WAITER
You want the most expensive thing
on the menu? You can have the whole
fucking menu.
CUT TO:
INT. KITCHEN
Banks struggles helplessly in the chair.
Chef runs the length of the kitchen with a monstrous fish,
picking up speed, slapping it across Bankss face.
Chef and Waiter smash huge baguettes over his head.
Waiter drops a lobster into Bankss trousers. He rocks
frantically as it squirms around.
Chef is cooking up a storm as Waiter starts to feed Banks.
WAITER
Soup of the day.
He pours a bowl of hot soup into Bankss mouth.
WAITER
Quails egg with truffles.
He squishes eggs in his face, Banks trying to spit it out.
CHEF
Duck foie gras.
Chef joins in, force feeding Banks fistfuls of meat.
Then dish after dish is crammed down Bankss throat, as Chef
and Waiter call out the menu.
WAITER (V.O.)
The lobster!
CHEF (V.O.)
Scallops!

9.

WAITER (V.O.)
Linguine!
CHEF (V.O.)
Saddle of beef!
Banks is a bloated mess. Covered in food and vomit.
Waiter takes up the newspaper, tearing off the front page.
Chef goes to a fridge, picking up something we dont yet see.
CHEF
Now the piece de resistance.
Waiter stands in front of Banks, his revenge almost complete.
BANKSS POV: Waiter and Chef loom over him. Then Darkness.
WAITER (V.O.)
Now everyone will know...
EXT. STREET - DAY
The legs of Banks, still strapped to the chair.
WAITER (V.O.)
Youre a greedy...
His blue suit covered in a sickening mess. The front page of
the newspaper tucked in to his shirt, like a napkin.
WAITER (V.O.)
Little...
Banks is revealed, a grotesque monster, wearing a pigs head.
WAITER (V.O.)
Swine!
A shape moves beneath the leg of Bankss trousers. The
lobster crawls out and escapes the revolting banker.
TITLE: SWINE
FADE TO BLACK.