Inglourious Basterds (11 page)

—I wasn’t speaking to you, Lieutenant Saltzberg,

(turning to Stiglitz)

or you either, Lieutenant Berlin.

(looking at Hicox)

I was speaking to Captain I-don’t-know-what.

The Gestapo major is now standing beside Sgt. Pola, before the imposter’s table.

Lt. Hicox calmly explains his origin.

I was born in the village that rests in the shadow of Pitz Palu.

The mountain?

Yes. In that village we all speak like this. Have you seen the Riefenstahl film?

Yes.

Then you saw me. You remember the skiing torch scene?

Yes, I do.

In that scene were myself, my father, my sister, and my two brothers. My brother is so handsome, the director, Pabst, gave
him a closeup.

As Bridget von Hammersmark places a cigarette in an ivory cigarette holder—which Hicox, as if on cue, lights for her she says:

Major, if my word means anything, I can vouch for everything the young captain has just said. He does hail from the bottom
of Pitz Palu, he was in the film, and his brother is far more handsome than he.

The imposters laugh.

Then… so does the Gestapo major. He turns to the sergeant.

You should rejoin your friends.

Which the young sergeant is more than happy to do. That table begins playing their game again.

Major Hellstrom, the highest-ranking officer in the room, bows graciously to the female German celebrity.

May I join you?

By all means, Major.

The Gestapo major sits at the table, opposite Lt. Hicox and Wicki. The French barmaid brings over the Major’s beer stein.

So that’s the source of your bizarre accent? Extraordinary. So what are you doing here, Captain?

Aside from having a drink with the lovely fräulein?

Well, that pleasure requires no explanation.

Chuckle… chuckle

I mean in country. You’re obviously not stationed in France, or I’d know who you are.

You know every German in France?

Worth knowing.

Well, therein lies the problem. We never claimed to be worth knowing.

Chuckle… chuckle.

(chuckling as he asks)

All levity aside, what are you doing in France?

Attending Goebbels’s film premiere as the fräulein’s escort.

You’re the fräulein’s escort?

Somebody has to carry the lighter.

Chuckle… chuckle.

The captain is my date, but all three are my guests. We’re old friends, Major, who go back a long time. Longer than an actress
would care to admit.

Chuckle… chuckle.

Well, in that case, let me raise a glass to the three luckiest men in the room.

I’ll drink to that.

They cheers.

BACK TO THE REAL GERMANS’ TABLE

They continue to have a lot of fun playing their game.

BACK TO THE OFFICERS’ TABLE

I must say, that game they’re playing looks like a good bit of fun. I didn’t join them, because you’re quite right, Captain,
officers and enlisted men shouldn’t fraternize. But seeing as we’re all officers here,

(bowing to Bridget)

… and sophisticated lady friends of officers, what say we play the game?

Lt. Hicox begins to refuse when Bridget (feeling she knows better) interrupts him:

Okay, one game.

Wunderbar.

The major borrows five cards from the other table and lays them out in front of Bridget and the officers.

So the object of the game is to write the name of a famous person on your card. Real or fictitious, doesn’t matter. For instance,
you could write Confucius or Fu Manchu.

(He SNAPS his fingers.)

Eric! More pens.

(back to the players)

And they must be famous. No Aunt Ingas. When you finish writing, put the card face down on the table and move it to the person
to your left. The person to your right will move their card in front of you. You pick up the card without looking at it, lick
the back, and stick it on your forehead, like so.

He demonstrates.

(CON’T)

And in ten yes or no questions, you must guess who you are…

As Maj. Hellstrom finishes explaining the finer points of the game, a CAMERA PANS OFF HIM and BEGINS SLOWLY ZOOMING INTO STIGLITZ.
The major’s dialogue begins to FADE AWAY.

Until we’re in a SPAGHETTI WESTERN FLASHBACK. Which is RED-FILTERED FOOTAGE of Hugo being savagely WHIPPED by somebody wearing
a GESTAPO UNIFORM, SUPERIMPOSED over his CLOSEUP.

The flashback disappears. It’s driving Stiglitz crazy, being this close to a Gestapo uniform and not plunging a knife into
it.

The major’s voice comes back on the soundtrack.

… So let’s give it a try, shall we? Everybody write your names.

The five players write their names…

Then move their cards to the left…

Everybody sticks their cards on their forehead…

I’ll start, give you the idea. Am I German?

They laugh.

No.

Am I an American?

They laugh—but then Wicki says:

Wait a minute, he goes to—

Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously he wasn’t born in America.

So… I visited America, aye?

The table says, “Yes.”

Was this visit… fortuitous?

Not for you.

… Hummm. My native land, is it what one would call exotic?

The table confers and decides, yes, it is exotic.

Hummm. That could be either a reference to the jungle or the Orient. I’m going to let my first instinct take over and ask,
am I from the jungle?

The table says, “Yes, you are.”

Now gentlemen, around this time you could ask whether you’re real or fictitious.

I, however, think that’s too easy, so I won’t ask that, yet. Okay, my native land is the jungle. I visited America, but my
visit was not fortuitous to me, but the implication is that it was to somebody else. When I went from the jungle to America,
… did I go by boat?

“Yes.”

Did I go against my will?

“Yes.”

On this boat ride… Was I in chains?

“Yes.”

When I arrived in America… was I displayed in chains?

“Yes.”

Am I the story of the Negro in America?

The table says, “No.”

Well, then, I must be King Kong.

He throws the card on the table.

They applaud him.

Now since I answered correctly, you all need to finish your drinks.

The three counterfeit Nazis knock back their whiskeys.

Now, who’s next?

Major, I don’t mean to be rude. But the four of us are very good friends. And the four of us haven’t seen each other in quite
a while. So… Major, I’m afraid, you are intruding.

I beg to differ, Captain. It’s only if the fräulein considers my presence an intrusion that I become an intruder. How about
it, Fräulein? Am I intruding?

Of course not, Major.

I didn’t think so. It’s simply the young captain is immune to my charms.

The table’s not sure what to do. Is this a confrontation? Then the major laughs.

I’m just joking. Of course, I’m intruding.

Allow me to refill your glasses, gentlemen, and I will bid you and the fräulein adieu.

(leaning in)

Eric has a bottle of thirty-three-year-old single-malt scotch whiskey from the Scottish highlands. What do you say, gentlemen?

You’re most gracious, sir.

Eric, the thirty-three and new glasses! You don’t want to contaminate the thirty-three with the swill you were drinking.

How many glasses?

Five glasses.

Not me. I like scotch, scotch doesn’t like me.

Nor I. I’ll stay with bubbly.

Lt. Hicox holds up three fingers (pinky to middle finger) to Eric, the owner.

Three glasses.

Eric brings the three glasses and the old bottle, pouring for the three soldiers.

Major Hellstrom lifts up his beer stein and toasts:

To a thousand-year Reich!

They all mutter, “a thousand-year reich” and clink glasses.

The Gestapo major puts down his beer stein, and then WE HEAR a CLICK under the table.

Did you hear that? That’s the sound of my WALTER pointed right at your testicles.

Why do you have a Luger pointed at my testicles?

Because you’ve just given yourself away, captain. You’re no more German than scotch.

Well, Major—

—Major—

—Shut up, slut.

(to Hicox)

You were saying?

I was saying that makes two of us. I’ve had a gun pointed at your balls since you sat down.

That makes three of us.

UNDER THE TABLE

We see all three guns pointed at the appropriate crotches, as well as Bridget’s legs, right besides the Nazi major’s. Her
pretty gams are sure to be chewed up in the possible crossfire.

And at this range, I’m a real Fredrick Zoller.

Hummm… Looks like we have a bit of a sticky situation here.

What’s going to happen, Major, is you’re going to stand up and walk out that door with us.

No, no, no, no, no, no, I don’t think so. I’m afraid you and I both know, no matter what happens to anybody else in this room,
the two of us aren’t going anywhere.

(pointing at the table behind him)

Too bad about Sgt. Wilhelm and his friends. If any of you expect to live, you’ll have to shoot them too.

(pause)

Looks like little Max is going to grow up an orphan. How sad.

Then, Major, I implore you. For the sake of those German troops, will you please leave with us?

Oh, Bridget, your concern for German troops gets me…

(pointing at his heart)

… right here. You mean for the sake of your whore legs, don’t you? You can’t afford to get any bullet holes in them. You’re
not finished spreading them for all the Hollywood Jews.

Lt. Hicox picks up his thirty-three-year-old single-malt scotch and says:

(ENGLISH)

Well, if this is it, old boy, I hope you don’t mind if I go out speaking the king’s?

(ENGLISH)

By all means, Captain.

The English film critic commando picks up the thirty-three the Nazi major bought him and says:

There’s a special rung in hell reserved for people who waste good scotch. And seeing as I might be rapping on the door momentarily
…

He downs the stuff.

(to the Nazi major)

I must say, damn good stuff, sir.

He puts the glass down.

Now about this pickle we find ourselves in. It would appear there’s only one thing left for you to do.

(ENGLISH)

And what would that be?

Stiglitz.

Say, “auf Widersehen” to your balls!

STIGLITZ

FIRES into HELLSTROM’S BALLS…

As does HICOX, HITTING not only Hellstrom, but BRIDGET as well.

HELLSTROM

FIRES into HICOX’s BALLS and KNEECAPS.

STIGLITZ

then JUMPS over the table and begins STABBING HELLSTROM with the DAGGER.

HICOX FALLS to the floor… DEAD.

BRIDGET FALLS to the floor… SHOT.

WICKI

brings his weapon out from underneath the table and BEGINS FIRING across at the GERMANS at the table, who, unaware, were still
PLAYING THE GAME.

WINNETOU

is SHOT IN THE BACK, before he even knows what is happening.

EDGAR WALLACE is SHOT by WICKI.

SGT. POLA NEGRI

FALLS to the floor in the confusion.

FEMALE SGT. BEETHOVEN and STIGLITZ bring their guns toward each other and FIRE. They BOTH TAKE and GIVE each other so many
BULLETS it’s almost romantic when they collapse DEAD on the floor.