a screenplay by John Hodge based on the novel by Irvine Welsh
STREET. DAY Legs run along the pavement. They are Mark Renton's. Just
ahead of him is Spud. They are both belting along. As they travel, various
objects (pens, tapes, CD's, toiletries, ties, sunglasses, etc.) either fall
or are discarded from inside their jackets. They are pursued by two
hard-looking Store Detectives in identical uniforms. The men are fast, but
Spud and Renton maintain their lead. RENTON (voice-over): Choose life.
Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big
television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and
electrical tin openers. Suddenly, as Renton crosses a road, a car skids to a
halt, inches from him. In a moment of detachment, he stops and looks at
the shocked driver, then at Spud, who has continued running, then at the two
men, who are closing in on him. He starts to laugh. INT. SWANNEY'S
FLAT ROOM. DAY In a bare, dingy room, Renton lies on the floor, alone,
motionless, and drugged. RENTON (voice-over): Choose good health, low
cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage
repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. EXT. FOOTBALL
PITCH. NIGHT On a floodlit five-a-side pitch, Renton and his friends are
taking on another team at football. The opposition all wear an identical
strip (Arsenal) whereas Renton and his friends wear an odd assortment of
gear. Three girls -- Lizzy, Gail, and Allison and Baby -- stand by the side
watching. The boys are outclassed by the team with the strip buy play
much dirtier. As each performs a characteristic bit of play, the play
freezes and their name is visible. Sick Boy commits a sneaky foul and
and indignantly denies it. Begbie commits an obvious foul and makes no
effort to deny it. Spud, in goal, lets the ball in between his legs.
Tommy kicks the ball as hard as he can. Renton's litany continues over
the action. RENTON (voice-over): Choose leisurewear and matching luggage.
Choose a three piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose
sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows,
stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end
of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an
embarassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace
yourself. Choose your future. Choose life. Renton is hit straight in the
face by the ball. He lies back on the Astroturf. RENTON (voice-over):
But why would I want to do a thing like that? INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY
Renton lies on the floor. Swanney, Allison and Baby, Sick Boy, and Spud
are shooting up or preparing to shoot up. Sick Boy is talking to Allison as
he taps up a vein on her arm. RENTON (voice-over): I chose not to choose
life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who
needs reasons when you've got heroin? SICK BOY: Goldfinger's better than
Dr. No. Both of them are a lot better than Diamonds Are Forever, a judgment
reflected in its relative poor showing at the box office, in which field, of
course, Thunderball was a notable success. Spud kisses Sick Boy on the
mouth. Sick Boy is revulsed. SICK BOY: Fuck off! Doss cunt! RENTON
(voice-over): People think it's all about misery and desperation and death
and all that shite, which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the
pleasure of it. Otherwise, we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking
stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid. Sick Boy injects Allison.
ALLISON: That beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking cock in
the world. RENTON (voice-over): Take the best orgasm you've ever had,
multiply it by a thousand, and you're still nowhere near it. When you're on
junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you're off it, you're suddenly
obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money, can't get
pished. Got money, drinking too much. Can't get a bird, no chance of a ride.
Got a bird, too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food,
about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships
and all the things that don't really matter when you've got a sincere and
truthful junk habit. SICK BOY: I would say, in those days, he was a
muscular actor, in every sense, with all the presence of someone like Cooper
or Lancaster, combined with a sly wit to make him a formidable romantic
lead, closer in that respect to Cary Grant. Swanney injects Sick Boy.
RENTON (voice-over): The only drawback, or at least the principal drawback,
is that you have to endure all manner of cunts telling you that-- INT.
PUB 1. NIGHT Begbie, smoking and drinking, shoots pool. BEGBIE: No way
would I poison my body with that shite, all they fucking chemicals, no
fucking way. Tommy sits with his arm around Lizzy. TOMMY: It's a waste
of your life, Rents, poisoning your body with that shite. INT. RENTON FAMILY
HOME, LIVING ROOM. NIGHT Renton's father and mother sit at the table,
eating. Renton is seated buy not eating. FATHER: Every chance you've
had, you've blown it, stuffing your veins with that filth. INT.
SWANNEY'S FLAT, DAY Sick Boy and Spud lie drugged up. Allison and Baby wait
while Swanney cooks up. Renton stands up. RENTON (voice-over): From time
to time even I have uttered the magic words. RENTON: No more, Swanney, I'm
off the skag. SWANNEY: Are you serious? RENTON: Yeah, no more. I'm
finished with that shite. SWANNEY: Well, it's up to you. RENTON: I'm
going to get it right this time. Going to get it set up and get off it for
good. SWANNEY: Sure, sure, I've heard it before. RENTON: The Sick Boy
method. They both look at Sick Boy. SWANNEY: Yeah, well it certainly
worked for him. RENTON: He's always been lacking in moral fibre.
SWANNEY: He knows a lot about Sean Connery. RENTON: That's hardly a
substitute. SWANNEY: You'll need one more hit. RENTON: No, I don't think
so. SWANNEY: For the long night that lies ahead. RENTON (voice-over): We
called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit. He knew
all about it. On it, off it, he knew it all. Of course I'd have another
shot. After all, I had work to do. INT. RENTON'S FLAT ROOM. DAY The door
opens and Renton enters carrying shopping bags. He empties them on to a
mattress beside three buckets and a television. RENTON (voice-over):
Relinquishing junk, stage one. Stage One: Preparation. For this you will
need: one room which you will not leave, one mattress, tomato soup, ten tins
of, mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold, ice cream, vanilla,
one large tub of, Magnesia, milk of, one bottle, paracetemol, mouthwash,
vitamins, mineral water, Lucozade, pornography, one bucket for urine, one
for feces, and one for vomitus, one television, and one bottle of Valium,
which I have already procured, from my mother, who is, in her own domestic
and socially acceptable way, also a drug addict. Renton swallows several
Valium tablets. The voice over continues. And now I'm ready. All I need is a
final hit to soothe the pain while the Valium takes effect. INT. CALL
BOX. DAY RENTON: Mikey. It's Mark Renton. Can you help me out? INT.
MIKEY'S FLAT. DAY Renton holds two opium suppositories in the palm of his
hand. RENTON (voice-over): This was typical of Mikey Forrester.
(on-screen) What the fuck are these? (voice-over) Under the
normal run of things, I would have had nothing to do with the cunt, but this
was not the normal run of things. MIKEY: Opium suppositories. Ideal for your
purposes. Slow release, like. Bring you down gradually. Custom fucking
designed for your needs. RENTON: I want a fucking hit. MIKEY: That's all
I've got, take it or leave it. Renton sticks his hand down the back of his
jeans and sticks the suppositories into his rectum. MIKEY: Feel better
now? RENTON: For all the good they've done me, I might as well have stuck
them up my arse. He smiles. EXT. STREET. DAY RENTON
(voice-over): Heroin makes you constipated. The heroin from my last hit was
wearing off and the suppositories have yet to melt. He doubles over in
discomfort. I am no longer constipated. INT. BETTING SHOP. DAY
Renton walks through the crowded, smoky betting shop towards a door
marked 'toilet' with a bit of card. RENTON (voice-over): I dream of
massive, pristine convenience. Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a
seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of Chanel No. 5, and a flunky handing
me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I'll settle
for anywhere. INT. HORRIBLE TOILET. DAY This is the worst toilet in
Scotland. Alone, Renton makes his way through the horrors to the cubicle.
INT. CUBICLE. DAY Renton locks the door. He looks into the bowl and
gags. He pulls the chain. The chain comes off. RENTON: Fuck! He
doubles over again. He drops his trousers, sits on the bowl and closes his
eyes as he sheds his load. His eyes snap open. He looks down betwen his
legs. He drops to his knees in front of the bowl and rolls his sleeve up.
With no more hesitation he plunges his arm into the bowl and trawls for
the suppositories. It seems to take ages. He can not find them. He sticks
his arm further and further into the toilet, moving his whole body closer.
He strains to find it. His head is over the bowl now. Gradually he reaches
still further into the toilet until his head is lowered into the bowl,
followed by his neck, torso, other arm, and finally his legs, all
disappearing. The cubicle is empty. INT. UNDERWATER. DAY Renton,
dressed as before, swims through murky depths until he reaches the bottom,
where he picks up the suppositories, which glow like luminous pearls, before
heading towards the surface again. INT. CUBICLE. DAY The toilet is
empty. Suddenly, a hand appears and throws the suppositories to the floor.
Renton pulls himself through the bowl and gasps for air. INT. RENTON'S
ROOM. DAY The mattress, buckets, and supplies are laid out as before.
The door opens and Renton enters, still soaking and dripping. The
suppositories are in his hand. He holds them up and they twinkle in the
light. RENTON (voice-over): Now. Now I'm ready. EXT. PARK. DAY
Typical weather, neither good nor bad. The park is nondescript and green
with a few bushes. This is not Kew Gardens. Renton and Sick Boy appear,
wearing cheap sunglasses. Renton is carrying a battered old cassette player
and a carry-out in a plastic bag. Sick Boy is carrying a small, tatty
suitcase from Oxfam. They scan the horizon and give each other the nod. They
walk towards the bushes. RENTON (voice-over): The downside of coming off
junk was that I knew I would need to mix with my friends again in a state of
full consciousness. It was awful, they reminded me so much of myself I could
hardly bear to look at them. Take Sick Boy, for instance, he came off junk
at the same time as me, not because he wanted to, but just to annoy me, just
to show me how easily he could do it, thereby downgrading my own struggle.
Sneaky fucker, don't you think? And when all I wanted to do was lie alone
and feel sorry for myself, he insisted on telling me once again about his
unifying theory of life. EXT. PARK. DAY Seen through the telescopic
sight of an air rifle that wanders over various potential targets (children,
pensioners, couples, gardeners, etc.) SICK BOY: It's certainly a phenomenon
in all walks of life. RENTON: What do you mean? SICK BOY: Well, at one
time, you've got it, and then you lose it, and it's gone forever. All walks
of life: George Best, for example. Had it, lost it. Or David Bowie or Lou
Reed... RENTON: Some of his solo stuff's not bad. SICK BOY: No, it's not
bad, but it's not great either. And in your heart you kind of know that
although it sounds all right, it's actually just shite. RENTON: So who else?
SICK BOY: Charlie Nicholas, David Niven, Malcolm McLaren, Elvis Presley...
RENTON: OK, OK, so what's the point you're trying to make? EXT. PARK.
DAY Sick Boy rests the gun down. SICK BOY: All I'm trying to do is help
you understand that The Name of The Rose is merely a blip on an otherwise
uninterrupted downward trajectory. RENTON: What about The Untouchables?
SICK BOY: I don't rate that at all. RENTON: Despite the Academy Award?
SICK BOY: That means fuck all. The sympathy vote. RENTON: Right. So we
all get old and then we can't hack it anymore. Is that it? SICK BOY:
Yeah. RENTON: That's your theory? SICK BOY: Yeah. Beautifully fucking
illustrated. RENTON: Give me the gun. EXT. PARK. DAY Through the
sight again. This time a skinhead and his muscle-bound dog are in view.
Sick Boy and Renton talk like Sean Connery. SICK BOY: Do you see the
beast? Have you got it in your sights? RENTON: Clear enough, Miss
Moneypenny. This should present no significant problem. The gun fires
and the dog yelps, jumps up, and bites the skinhead. SICK BOY: For a
vegetarian, Rents, you're a fucking evil shot. EXT. PARK. DAY Renton
loads up again. RENTON (voice-over): Without heroin, I attempted to lead a
useful and fulfilling life as a good citizen. INT. CAFE. DAY Spud
and Renton split a milkshake. They are seated in a booth, dressed for job
interviews. RENTON: Good luck, Spud. SPUD: Cheers. RENTON: Now
remember... SPUD: Yeah. RENTON: If they think you're not trying, you're
in trouble. First hint of that, they'll be on to the DSS, "This cunt's no
trying" and your Giro is fucking finished, right? SPUD: Right.
RENTON: But try too hard... SPUD: And you might get the fucking job.
RENTON: Exactly. SPUD: Nightmare. RENTON: It's a tightrope, Spud,
it's a fucking tightrope. SPUD: My problem is that I tend to clam up. I go
dumb and can't answer any questions at all. Nerves on the big occasion, like
a footballer. RENTON: Try this. Renton unfolds silver foil to reveal
some amphetamine. Spud dips in a finger and takes a dab. He nods in
appreciation as he tastes it. SPUD: A little dab of speed's just the ticket.
INT. OFFICE. DAY Two men and a woman sit behind a table. Spud is in a
chair across from them. SPUD: No, Craignewton. I went to Craignewton. But I
was worried that you wouldn't have heard of it so I put the Royal Edinburgh
College instead, because they're both schools, right, and we're all in this
together, and I wanted to put across the general idea rather than the
details, yeah? People get all hung up on details, but what's the point? Like
which school? Does it matter? Why? When? Where? Or how many O grades did I
get? Could be six, could be one, but that's not important. What's important
is that I am, right? That I am. MAN 1: Mr. Murphy, do you mean that you
lied on your application? SPUD: Only to get my foot in the door. Showing
initiative, right? MAN 1: You were referred here by the Department of
Employment. There's no need for you to get your "foot in the door," as you
put it. SPUD: Hey, right, no problem. Whatever you say, man. You're the man,
the governor, the dude in the chair, like. I'm merely here. But obviously I
am. Here, that is. I hope I'm not talking too much. I don't usually. I think
it's all important, though, isn't it? MAN 2: Mr. Murphy, what attracts
you to the leisure industry? SPUD: In a word, pleasure. My pleasure in other
people's leisure. WOMAN: Mr. Murphy, do you see yourself as having any
SPUD: Well, I'm a bit of a perfectionist. For me it's the
best or nothing at all. If things get dodgy, I can't be bothered, but I have
a good feeling about this interview. Seems to me we've touched on a lot of
subjects, a lot of things to think about, for all of us. MAN 1: Thank
you, Mr. Murphy, we'll let you know. SPUD: The pleasure was all mine.
Spud crosses the room to shake everyone by the hand and kiss them.
RENTON (voice-over): Spud had done well. I was proud of him. He fucked up
good and proper. INT. PUB 2. NIGHT It is Saturday night in a busy,
city-centre pub on two levels. On a large upper balcony overlooking the bar
and the floor downstairs, sit Spud, Gail, Renton, Sick Boy, Tommy, Lizzy,
and Begbie. Begbie's story overlaps with the subsequent depiction of the
incident. BEGBIE: Picture the scene. Wednesday morning in the Volley. Me and
Tommy are playing pool. No problems, and I'm playing like Paul fucking
Newman by the way. I'm giving the boy the tanning of a lifetime. So anyway,
it comes to the final ball, the deciding shot of the tournament: I'm on the
black and he's sitting in the corner, looking all biscuit-arsed. Then this
hard cunt comes in. Obviously fancied himself. Starts looking at me. Right
fucking at me. Trying to put off, like, just for kicks. Looking at me as if
to say, "Come ahead, square go." Well, you know me, I'm no looking for
trouble but at the end of the day I'm the cunt with the pool cue and I'm
game for a swedge. So I squared up, casual like. So what does the hard cunt
do, or so-called hard cunt? Shites it. Puts down his drink, turns around,
and gets the fuck out of there. And after that, the game was mine. INT.
POOL HALL. DAY The events in the pool hall, as described by Begbie.
Begbie and Tommy are playing pool. Begbie is playing like a wizard.
Tommy looks defeated. Lining up for the final ball, Begbie is distracted
by a large Hard Man standing at the bar, staring at him. Begbie stands
up and walks slowly towards the Hard Man. They stand, eye to eye, for a
moment. The Hard Man turns and leaves. Begbie drinks the Hard Man's
pint, then pots the black with a brilliant shot. INT. PUB 2. NIGHT
Begbie, his story complete, finishes his pint. The others continue to
stare at him, frozen as though expecting more. Begbie smiles and throws the
pint glass over his head. Freeze-frame: the glass in mid-air and
Begbie's smiling face. RENTON (voice-over): And that was it. That was
Begbie's story. Or at least that was Begbie's version of the story. But a
couple of days later I got the truth from Tommy. You always got the truth
from Tommy. It was one of his major weaknesses. He never told lies, he never
did drugs, and he never cheated on anyone. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY
Renton's hand flicks through a long row of videos on the floor while the
sound of weights being lifted (by Tommy) emanates from nearby. Most of
the videos are feature films or comedy shows, some with titles written in
Tommy's hand, but two catch Renton's attention. They are 100 Great Goals and
Tommy and Lizzy, Vol. 1, the latter a hand-written title. Renton looks
from the videos round to Tommy, who is engrossed in lifting weights. TOMMY:
Well, sure, it was Wednesday morning, we were in the Volley playing pool,
that much is true. INT. POOL HALL. DAY Tommy's account over a depiction
of his version. TOMMY (voice-over): But Begbie is playing absolutely gash.
He's got a hangover so bad he can hardly hold the fucking cue, never mind
pot the ball. I'm doing my best to lost, trying to humour him, like, but
it's not doing any good. Every time I tough the ball I pot something. Every
time Begbie goes near the table he fucks it up. So he's got the hump, right,
but finally I manage to set it up so all he's got to do is pot the black to
win one game and salvage a little pride and maybe not kick my head in,
right. So he's on the black, pressure shot, and it all goes wrong, bigtime.
What does he do? Picks on this specky wee gadge at the bar and accuses him
of putting him off by looking at him. Can you believe it? I mean, the poor
cunt hasn't even glanced in our direction. He's sitting there quiet as a
mouse when Beggars gubs him with the cue. He was going to chib him, I tell
you, then I thought he was going to do me. He's a fucking psycho, but he's a
mate, you know, so what can you do? The events are as follows:
Begbie and Tommy are playing pool. Begbie, furious, miscues, goes in
off, etc. Tommy deliberately misses sitters and tries to look annoyed.
Begbie lines up to play the black. It is unmissable. At the bar beyone
sits a harmless young Man wearing the same clothes as the Hard Man in
Begbie's account except that they are now baggy rather than taut. He is
clearly not staring at Begbie but drinks a half-pint and eats some crisps.
As Begbie plays, the man bites a crisp. Begbie miscues, rips the cloth,
and the ball flies off the table. Tommy catches it and looks up to see
Begbie assaulting the young Man. Tommy cautiously restrains Begbie as he
reaches into his jacket for a knife. Begbie turns around and for a moment
looks as though he might attack Tommy. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY Tommy puts
down his weights. Renton holds up 100 Great Goals. RENTON: Can I borrow
this? INT. PUB 2. NIGHT The freeze-frame of the glass in mid-air and
Begbie's smiling face. RENTON (voice-over): Yeah, the guy's a psycho, but
it's true, he's a mate as well, so what can you do? Just stand back and
watch and try not to get involved. Begbie didn't do drugs either. He just
did people. That's what he got off on, his own sensory addiction. The
glass falls into the crowd. Screaming starts. A Woman is bleeding from a
wound in her head. The Men beside her turn furiously around to look for the
source of the glass. Up on the balcony, Begbie stands up. The screams and
shouting continue below. Begbie appears at the bottom of the staircase down
from the balcony. He strides towards the bleeding Woman and begins shouting.
BEGBIE: All right. Nobody move. The girl got glassed and no cunt leaves
here until we find out what cunt did it. A man stands up from one of the
tables. MAN: And who the fuck do you think you are? Begbie unleashes a
primal scream and kicks the Man in the groin. Another man moves toward him
but is blocked by the men surrounding the girl. Soon the whole mass
dissolves into a brutal scrum, in which Begbie plays a prominent part. Up on
the balcony, the rest of the gang watch in silence. INT. RENTON'S FLAT. DAY
The empty cover for 100 Great Goals lies on the floor. Sick Boy and
Renton sit dispassionately watching Tommy and Lizzy in their home-made
porno. RENTON (voice-over): As I sat watching the intimate and highly
personal video, stolen only hours earlier from one of my best friends, I
realized that something important was missing from my life. INT. CLUB.
NIGHT A mass of dancing bodies fills the floor. The music is very loud.
At the side of the dance floor sit Tommy and Spud. They look rather gloomy.
There is an empty seat beside each of them. Spud is drinking heavily.
Tommy turns and speaks to Spud. His lips move but nothing is audible. Spud
is not even aware that Tommy has spoken. Tommy bellows in Spud's ear.
Tommy's words and all subsequent conversation in the dance area of the club
appear as subtitles, and the characters' communications somewhere between
speech and mime. TOMMY: How's it going with Gail? SPUD: No joy yet.
TOMMY: How long is it? SPUD: Six weeks. TOMMY: Six weeks! SPUD:
It's a nightmare! She told me she didn't want our relationship to start on a
physical basis as that is how it would be principally defined from then on
in. TOMMY: Where did she come up with that? SPUD: She read it in
Cosmopolitan. TOMMY: Six weeks and no sex? SPUD: I've got balls like
watermelons, I'm telling you. INT. NIGHTCLUB, WOMEN'S TOILET. NIGHT Gail
and Lizzy are smoking and talking. GAIL: I read it in Cosmopolitan.
LIZZY: It's an interesting theory. GAIL: Actually, it's a nightmare.
I've been desperate for a shag, but watching him suffer was just too much
fun. You should try it with Tommy. LIZZY: What, and deny myself the only
pleasure I get from him? Did I tell you about my birthday? GAIL: What
happened? LIZZY: He forgot. Useless motherfucker. INT. NIGHTCLUB, DANCE
AREA. NIGHT Spud and Tommy are seated as before. Their words are subtitled.
TOMMY: Useless motherfucker, that's what she called me. I told her, I'm
sorry, but these things happen. Let's put it behind us. SPUD: That's
fair enough. TOMMY: Yes, but then she finds out I've bought a ticket for
Iggy Pop the same night. SPUD: So what's it going to be? TOMMY:
Well, I've alread paid for the ticket. Gail and Lizzy return. GAIL and
LIZZY: What are you two talking about? TOMMY and SPUD: Football. What were
you talking about? GAIL and LIZZY: Shopping. Standing nearby but apart
from them is Renton. Renton notes Spud and Tommy with their partners, and
across the other side Sick Boy and Begbie are engaged in flirtatious
conversation with Two Women. RENTON (voice-over): The situation was becoming
serious. Young Renton noticed the haste with which the successful, in the
sexual sphere as in all others, segregated themselves from the failures.
Begbie and Sick Boy with the Two Women. Renton standing among a group of
lone nerds. Renton wades on to the dance floor, looking at countless women,
all of whom either turn away or are spoken for. RENTON (voice-over):
Heroin had robbed Renton of his sex drive, but now it returned with a
vengeance. And as the impotence of those days faded into memory, grim
desperation took hold of his sex-crazed mind. His post-junk libido, fuelled
by alcohol and amphetamine, taunted him remorselessly with his own
unsatisfied desire dot dot dot. Renton notices one girl (Diane) walking on
her own towards the door. A man carrying two drinkg catches up with her and
walks backwards, talking to her. She says nothing. He blocks her way.
She takes one drink and downs it, then the other, handing him back the empty
glasses. She steps past him and walks on towards the door. RENTON
(voice-over): And with that, Mark Renton had fallen in love. EXT. STREET.
NIGHT Diane walks away from the club, scanning the street for a taxi, and
hails one which stops just as Renton calls out. RENTON: Excuse me, I
don't mean to harass you, but I was very impressed with the capable and
stylish manner in which you dealt with that situation. I thought to myself,
this girl's special. DIANE: Thanks. RENTON: What's your name? DIANE:
Diane. RENTON: Where are you going, Diane? DIANE: I'm going home.
RENTON: Where's that? DIANE: It's where I live. RENTON: Great.
DIANE: What? RENTON: I'll come back if you like, but I'm not promising
anything. Diane halts abruptly as a taxi pulls up. DIANE: Do you find
that this approach usually works, or let me guess, you've never tried it
before. In fact, you don't normally approach girls, am I right? The truth is
that you're a quiet, sensitive type but if I'm prepared to take a chance I
might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate,
loving, loyal, ...TAXI!... a little bit crazy, a little bit bad, but hey,
don't us girls just love that? RENTON: Eh? DIANE: Well, what's
wrong, boy, cat got your tongue? RENTON: I think I left something back at
the... Diane is in the taxi. TAXI DRIVER: Are you getting in or not,
pal? EXT. ROAD. NIGHT The taxi motors along. INT. TAXI. NIGHT
Renton and Diane kiss passionately in the back. EXT. STREET. NIGHT
Spud is pushed against the wall held my his lapels. He drinks from a
bottle of beer in one hand. GAIL: Do you understand? Spud nods
drunkenly. Gail releases her grip. GAIL: I expect you to be a considerate
and thoughtful lover, generous but firm. Failure on your part to live up to
these very reasonable expectations will result in swift resumption of our
non-sex situation. Right? Spud drinks from a bottle in the other hand and
says nothing but does not look too happy. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT
Tommy and Lizzy kiss while Tommy unlocks the door. INT. DIANE'S HOME,
HALLWAY. NIGHT In a darkened suburban hallway, the door opens and two
figures enter. RENTON: Diane. DIANE: Shhh! RENTON: Sorry. DIANE:
Shut up. They walk through another door and close it behind them. INT.
TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT Tommy and Lizzy kiss against the inside of the door,
taking their outer clothes off. INT. DIANE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT Diane
throws a condom on the bed. Renton looks at her. They undress. INT. GAIL'S
BEDROOM. NIGHT Spud is lying unconscious on the bed. Gail stands over him.
GAIL: Wake up, Spud. Wake up. Sex. She kicks him. He moans. GAIL:
Casual sex. She kicks him again. He moans again. GAIL: So let's see what
I'm missing. INT. DIANE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT Renton lies on his back while
Diane rides above him. INT. GAIL'S BEDROOM, NIGHT Gail throws Spud's
clothes to the floor and throws a blanket over him. GAIL: Not much. She
shuts out the light. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT Tommy and Lizzy now lie on
the bed in a state of semi-undress. LIZZY: Tommy, let's put the tape on.
TOMMY: Now? LIZZY: I want to watch ourselves while we're screwing.
TOMMY: Fuck, OK. Tommy gets up and reaches into the row of videos on the
floor. He lifts out Tommy and Lizzy, Vol. 1 and hastily shoves it into the
video. Tommy sits back on the bed with the remote control and presses play
as Lizzy kisses him. His face registers consternation. On the
television, Archie Gemmill scores his famous goal against Holland in 1978.
INT. DIANE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT Diane and Renton climax together. Diane
immediately climbs off and wraps herself in a robe. RENTON: I haven't felt
that good since Archie Gemmill scored against Holland in 1978. DIANE:
You can't sleep here. RENTON: What? DIANE: Out. RENTON: Come on.
DIANE: No argument. You can sleep on the sofa in the living room or go home.
It's up to you. She pushes him out of the room and hands him his
clothes. RENTON: Jesus! DIANE: And don't make any noise. She shuts
the door. He pulls the condom off. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT The lights
are full on now. Lizzy sits on the bed clutching a blanket around herself.
Tommy hops around in his underwear, searching desperately. All the
videos are opened and scattered everywhere. LIZZY: What do you mean, it's
gone? Where has it gone, Tommy? TOMMY: It'll be here somewhere. I might've
returned it by mistake. LIZZY: Returned it? To the video shop, Tommy? To the
fucking video shop? So every punter in Edinburgh is jerking off to our
video? God, Tommy, I feel sick.
INT. DIANE'S HOME, LIVING ROOM.
MORNING Renton lies submerged under a blanket. The sounds of a normal
morning travel from a room nearby. Whistles, radio, voices. Renton peeps
over the edge of the blanket and covers his head again. INT. GAIL'S BEDROOM,
MORNING Spud opens his eyes. He sniffs the air and looks down towards the
foot of the bed. He moves his hands down to a wet, dark spot on the
underside of the blanket and looks at the excrement on his hand in disgust.
INT. DIANE'S HOME, HALL/KITCHEN. DAY The door swings open. A man and
woman, about Renton's age, sit at the kitchen table. They look up to see
Renton in the doorway. MAN: Good morning. WOMAN: Come in and sit down.
You must be Mark. Renton walks to the table and sits down. RENTON: Yes,
that's me. WOMAN: You're a friend of Diane's? RENTON: More of a friend
of a friend, really. MAN: Right. RENTON: Are you her flatmates? The
couple exchange a look and laugh. WOMAN: Flatmates. I must remember that
one. The man and woman look beyond Renton. He too turns and follows
their gaze. Diane stands in the doorway. She is wearing a school
uniform. INT. GAIL'S HOME, HALL/KITCHEN. DAY The door swings open to
reveal the kitchen. Gail, her Father and Mother are seated around the table
eating breakfast. They look towards Spud, who carries the knotted bundle of
sheets as he approaches the table. GAIL: Good morning, Spud. SPUD:
Morning, Gail. Morning, Mrs. Houston, Mr. Houston. MRS. HOUSTON: Morning,
Spud. Sit down and have some breakfast. SPUD: Sorry about last night...
GAIL: It's all right. I slept fine on the sofa. SPUD: I had a little too
much to drink. I'm afraid I had a slight accident. MR. HOUSTON: Oh,
don't worry, these things happen. It does everyone good to cut loose once in
a while. GAIL: This one could do with being tied up once in a while.
MRS. HOUSTON: I'll put the sheets in the washing machine just now. SPUD:
No, I'll wash them. I'll take them home and bring them back. MRS. HOUSTON:
There's no need. SPUD: It's no problem. MRS. HOUSTON: No problem for me
either. She advances to take the bundle. Spud steps back. SPUD: Really,
no. MRS. HOUSTON: Honestly, it's no problem. SPUD: I'd really rather
take care of it myself. MRS. HOUSTON: Spud, they're my sheets. She takes
hold of the bundle. Spud does not yield. She pulls harder. Spud holds on.
She tugs powerfully. The bundle bursts open with an explosion of excrement
that covers everything in the kitchen. Only Spud remains untouched. EXT.
STREET. DAY Renton paces briskly down the street, followed by Diane.
DIANE: I don't see why not. RENTON: Because it's illegal. DIANE:
Holding hands? RENTON: No, not holding hands. DIANE: In that case you
can do it. You were quite happy to do a lot more last night. RENTON: And
that's what's illegal. Do you know what they do to people like me inside?
They'd cut my balls off and flush them down the fucking toilet. They
stop at the school gates. DIANE: Calm down, you're not going to jail.
RENTON: Easy for you to say. DIANE: Can I see you again? RENTON:
Certainly not. Renton walks away. DIANE: If you don't see me again, I'll
tell the police. Renton stops, turns, and walks back to her. They stand
for a moment, then Renton walks away again. Diane smiles. DIANE: I'll
see you around then. EXT. VIDEO STORE. DAY In the cold light of morning,
Tommy and Lizzy wait, not speaking, outside the still-closed video store.
EXT. TRAIN STATION. DAY The station is in the middle of a moor. There
appears to be no habitation around. In the distance are some hills. The
train pulls away, and Renton, Spud, Tommy, and Sick Boy are left standing on
the platform, looking around. SICK BOY: Now what? TOMMY: We go for a
walk. SPUD: What? TOMMY: A walk. SPUD: But where? Tommy points
vaguely across the moor. TOMMY: There. SICK BOY: Are you serious?
They step across the tracks and walk across the vast moorland. They stop
on a footbridge and all but Tommy sit down and start drinking. TOMMY:
Well, what are you waiting for? SPUD: I don't know, Tommy, I don't know if
it's normal. TOMMY: It's the great outdoors. SICK BOY: It's really nice,
Tommy. Can we go home now? TOMMY: It's fresh air? SICK BOY: Look, Tommy,
we know you're getting a hard time off Lizzy, but there's no need to take it
out on us. TOMMY: Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish? RENTON: It's
shite being Scottish! We're the lowest of the fucking low, the scum of the
earth, the most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever
shat into civilization. Some people hate the English. I don't. They're just
wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick
a decent culture to be colonized by. We are ruled by effete assholes. It's a
shite state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world won't make any
fucking difference. The boys troop back towards the platform. SPUD
(to Tommy): I'm sorry, man. RENTON (voice-over): At or around this time, we
made a healthy, informed, democratic decision to get back on drugs as soon
as possible. It took about twelve hours. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY
Renton hands over money to Swanney and begins cooking up. Also present
and cooking or shooting up are Spud, Sick Boy, Allison and Baby, and
Swanney. RENTON (voice-over): It looks easy, this, but it's not. It looks
like a doss, like a soft option, but living like this, it's a full-time
business. He injects. INT. SHOP. DAY Renton, Spud, and Sick Boy
are stuffing objects into their shirts and pockets. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT.
DAY Renton lies back, narcotized. EXT. STREET. DAY Renton and Spud
are running along the street. Two uniformed Store Detectives are running
along the street. Sick Boy stands in a doorway. As the Detectives run past,
he strolls away in the opposite direction. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY
Renton lies back as before. SICK BOY: Ursula Andress was the
quintessential Bond girl. That's what everyone says. The embodiment of his
superiority to us: beautiful, exotic, highly sensual, and yet unavailable to
everyone but him. Shite. Let's face it, if she'd shag one punter from
Edinburgh, she'd shag the fucking lot of us. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT, LATER.
Spud cooks up, watched by Swanney. Nearby lie the drugged forms of
Renton, Sick Boy, and Allison and Baby. INT. RENTON FAMILY HOME, LIVING
ROOM. NIGHT Renton's mother and father sit reading the paper and a magazine.
INT. RENTON FAMILY HOME, PARENTS' BEDROOM, NIGHT Renton trawls through
drawers until he finds some cash and jewelry. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY
Renton lies back, staring vacantly ahead. Tommy flops down beside him.
Renton shows barely a flicker of awareness. TOMMY: Lizzy's gone, Mark, she's
gone and fucking dumped me. It was that video tape and that Iggy Pop
business and all sorts of other stuff. I said, is there any chance of
getting back together, like, but no way, no fucking way. INT. HOSPITAL
WARD SITTING ROOM, DAY. A few elderly patients sit in armchairs watching
daytime TV. Renton and Spud enter through the window. Watched by the
helpless patients, they calmly disconnect the television and take it with
them as they leave by the same route. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY.
Tommy and Renton slumped side by side as before. TOMMY: I want to try
it, Mark. You're always going on about how it's the ultimate hit and that.
Better than sex. Come on, I'm a fucking adult. I want to find out for
myself. Renton huddles up and leans away from Tommy. TOMMY: I've got the
money. Tommy produces a ten-pound note from his pockey. EXT. STREET. DAY
Renton and Spud run down the street. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT, DAY SICK
BOY: Honor Blackman, aka Pussy Galore. What a total fucking misnomer. I
wouldn't touch her with yours. I'd sooner shag Colonel Kreb. At least you
know where you are with a woman like that. Not much to look at, but
personality, that's what counts. That's what keeps a relationship going
through the years. Like heroin. I mean, heroin's got fucking great
personality. He opens the heel of his shoe to reveal a syringe. INT.
CAR. DAY The car is empty. A window is broken and the door opened. The
car alarm goes off. Renton reaches under the seat and finds the radio. He
pulls the bonnet release. EXT. CAR. DAY The car alarm rings on until
Renton produces a pair of wire cutters and a spanner to cut free and release
the battery. The alarm is silenced. Renton walks away with the battery
and stereo. INT. GP'S SURGERY. DAY RENTON (voice-over): Swanney taught
us to adore and respect the National Health Service, for it was the source
of much of our gear. We stole drugs, we stole prescriptions, or bought them,
sold them, swapped them, forged them, photocopied them, or traded them with
cancer victims, alcoholics, old age pensioners, AIDS patients,
epileptics, and bored housewives. We took morphine, diamorphine,
cyclozine, codeine, temazepam, nitrezepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal
dextropropoxyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine,
buprenorphine, dextromoramide chlormethiazole. The streets are awash in
drugs that you can have for unhappiness and pain. Fuck it, we would have
injected Vitamin C if they'd only made it illegal. The GP examines
Renton's chest and smiles. The GP turns to watch his hands. Renton pulls on
his shirt and steals a prescription pad off the desk. INT. SWANNEY'S
FLAT, DAY Allison injects into Swanney's genitalia. INT. PUB. DAY
It's the first day of the Edinburgh Festival. Renton, Tommy, Spud, Sick
Boy, and Begbie sit drinking. A young male American Tourist walks in wearing
a bulky red jacket and glasses. AMERICAN TOURIST: Can I use your
bathroom? Thank you. Begbie stands up and the rest follow. INT. PUB,
TOILET. DAY The American Tourist turns from the urinal to see Begbie,
Renton, Sick Boy, Tommy, and Spud approaching. Begbie punches and kicks the
Tourist and pulls out a knife. INT. PUB. DAY Begbie divides up the
money among Sick Boy, Tommy, Spud, and Renton. Renton gets up to leave.
BEGBIE: And remember, Rents, no skag. RENTON: Aye, OK, Franco.
(voice-over) But the good times couldn't last forever. INT.
SWANNEY'S FLAT, NIGHT Renton lies as before. Around the room are Swanney,
Tommy, Spud, and Sick Boy. Allison begins screaming and wailing.
Slowly, the others rouse themselves to varying degrees. RENTON
(voice-over): I think Allison had been screaming all day, but it hadn't
really registered before. She might have been screaming all week, for all I
knew. It's been days since I've heard anyone speak, though surely someone
must have said something in all that time, surely to fuck someone must have.
SICK BOY: What's wrong, Allison? Allison points to the bundle of dirty
blankets in which her baby is wrapped. Sick Boy follows her directions.
SPUD: Calm down, calm down. Everything's going to be just fine. RENTON
(voice-over): Nothing could have been further from the truth. In point of
fact, nothing at all was going to be just fine. On the contrary, everything
was going to be bad. Bad? I mean worse than it already was. Sick Boy
stands over the bundle. The baby is dead. SICK BOY: Oh, fuck. Sick Boy
reaches out to Allison. RENTON (voice-over): It wasn't my baby. She wasn't
my baby. Baby Dawn, she wasn't mine. Spud's? Swanney's? Sick Boy's? I don't
know. Maybe Allison knew. Maybe not. I wished I could think of something
to say, something sympathetic, something human. SICK BOY: Say something,
Mark... fucking SAY SOMETHING! RENTON: I'm cookin' up. There is a
silence. Renton begins scrambling through the works. ALLISON: Cook us up a
shot, Rents. I need a hit. RENTON: And so she did, I could understand that.
To take the pain away. So I cooked up and she got a hit, but only after me.
That went without saying. EXT. STREET. DAY Spud, Renton, and Sick
Boy cross the road to approach the shop. RENTON (voice-over): Well, at least
we knew who the father was now. It wasn't just the baby that died that day.
Something inside Sick Boy was lost and never returned. It seemed he had no
theory with which to explain a moment like this. Renton and Spud are
running, pursued by the two Store Detectives. RENTON (voice-over): Nor did
I. Our only response was to keep on going and fuck everything. Pile misery
upon misery, heap it on a spoon and dissolve it in a drop of bile, then
squirt it into a stinking purulent vein and do it all over again. Keep on
going, getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people over,
propelling ourselves with longing towards the day it would all go wrong.
As seen in the opening scene, Renton is nearly hit by a car that
screeches to a halt as he crosses a road. He looks at the driver, at
Spud running away, and the Store Detectives approaching. RENTON
(voice-over): Because no matter how much you stash or how much you steal,
you never have enough. No matter how often you go out and rob and fuck
people over, you always need to get up and do it all over again. Renton
begins to laugh. RENTON (voice-over): Sooner or later this kind of thing was
bound to happen. One of the Detectives runs straight past him, after
Spud. The other Detective crashes into Renton and tackles him. INT.
COURT. DAY Spud and Renton stand in the dock. Renton's Mother and Father,
Sick Boy, Begbie, and Spud's Mother (Mrs. Murphy) are among those in the
gallery. The Sheriff delivers his sentence. SHERIFF: Because shoplifting is
theft, which is a crime, and despite what you may believe, there is no such
entity as victimless crime. Heroin addiction may explain your actions, but
it does not excuse them. Mr. Murphy, you are a habitual thief, devoid of
regret or remorse. In sentencing you to six months' imprisonment my only
worry is that it will not be long before we meet again. Mr. Renton, I
understand that you have entered into a programme of rehabilitation in an
attempt to wean yourself away from heroin. The suspension of your sentence
is conditional upon your continued cooperation with this programme. Should
you stand before me again, I shall not hesitate to impose a custodial
sentence. RENTON: Thank you, your honour. With God's help I'll conquer this
affliction. The Sheriff and Renton stare at one another for a moment.
Renton turns to look at Spud, then back towards the Sheriff who is now
leaving the court. RENTON (voice-over): What can you say? Well, Begbie
had a phrase for it. INT. PUB. DAY The pud is crowded. Around Renton
are his Mother, Father, Sick Boy, Begbie, and Gav. BEGBIE: It was
fucking obvious that that cunt was going to fuck some cunt. There is a
round of nodding and "poor Spud"ing. Everyone begins to talk at once.
FATHER: I hope you've learned your lesson, son. MOTHER: Oh, my son, I
thought I was going to lose you there. You're nothing but trouble to me, but
I still love you. BEGBIE: Clean up your act, sunshine. Cut that shite out
forever. MOTHER: You listen to Francis, Mark, he's talking sense.
BEGBIE: Fucking right and I am. See, inside you wouldn't last two
fucking days. SICK BOY: There's better things than the needle, Rents.
Choose life. He winks. MOTHER: I remember when you were a baby, even
then you would never do what you were told. BEGBIE: But he pulled it
off, clever bastard, and he got a result. They laugh and fall silent.
Renton turns around. Behind him stands Spud's mother. RENTON: Mrs.
Murphy, I'm sorry about Spud. It wasn't fair, him going down and not me.
Tears in her eyes, Mrs. Murphy turns and walks away. Renton watches her
go. Behind him, Begbie shouts. BEGBIE: It's no our fault. Your boy went down
becuaes he was a fucking smack-head, and if that's not your fault, I don't
know what is. Begbie turns back to Renton. BEGBIE: Right, I'll get
the drinks in. He moves towards the bar. Renton slips away and walks
through the bar towards the toilets, then out a back door. EXT. YARD.
DAY Renton emerges into a narrow yard surrounded by a high wall. He
looks around. The steel back gate is locked. RENTON: I wished I had gone
down instead of Spud. Here I was surrounded by my family and my so-called
mates and I've never felt so alone, never in all my puff. Since I was on
remand, they've had me on this state- sponsored addiction. Three sickly
sweet doses of methadone a day instead of smack. But it's never enough, and
at the moment it's nowhere near enough. I took all three hits this morning
and now I've got eighteen hours to go till my next shot and a sweat on my
back like a layer of frost. I need to visit the mother superior for one hit,
one fucking hit to get us over this long, hard day. Renton climbs the
wall, stands on top, and then dives off the other side. INT. SWANNEY'S
FLAT. NIGHT Swanney is cooking up. Renton lands on the floor behind him
like a gymnast. RENTON: What's on the menu this evening? SWANNEY: Your
favourite dish. RENTON: Excellent. SWANNEY: Your usual table, sir?
RENTON: Why, thank you. Swanney helps Renton's jacket off. SWANNEY:
And would sir care to settle his bill in advance? RENTON: Stick it on my
tab. SWANNEY: Regret to inform, sir, that your credit limit was reached
and breached some time ago. RENTON: In that case... He produces twenty
pounds. SWANNEY: Oh, hard currency. That'll do nicely. He swipes the
notes underneath a UV forgery checker. SWANNEY: Can't be too careful when
we're dealing with your type, can we? Renton begins searching for a
vein. SWANNEY: Would sir care for a starter? Some garlic bread, perhaps?
RENTON: No, thank you, I think I'll proceed directly to intravenous
injection of hard drugs, please. SWANNEY: As you wish. He hands
Renton the syringe. He injects, then lies back on the dirty, red, carpeted
floor. He lies completely still. His pupils shrink. His breathing becomes
slow, shallow, and intermittent. He sinks into the floor until he is
lying in a coffin-sized and coffin-shaped pit, lined by the red carpet.
Swanney stands over him. SWANNEY: Perhaps sir would like me to call for
a taxi? An ambulance siren becomes faintly audible. INT. STAIRWELL.
NIGHT The siren is a little louder. Swanney holds Renton under his arms
and drags him backwards down the steps. EXT. STREET. NIGHT As
Swanney emerges, still dragging Renton, the siren grows louder and then an
ambulance speeds by without stopping. Swanney drags Renton across the street
and into the door of a waiting taxi. Swanney then steps out of the
taxi's other door, stopping only to put a ten pound note into Renton's
pocket before closing the door. INT. TAXI. NIGHT Renton lies on the
floor of the taxi, as Swanney left him, rolling slightly as the taxi rounds
a corner. EXT. HOSPITAL/TAXI. NIGHT The taxi is stationary. We do
not see the driver's face but his hand opens the door and then drags Renton
out onto the pavement by his ankles before taking the ten pound note,
getting back in the cab, and driving away. Renton lies on the pavement.
Two porters lift him by arms and ankles onto a trolley. We do not see
the porters' faces as they wheel Renton into the hospital. INT. HOSPITAL
EMERGENCY ROOM. NIGHT Renton is wheeled through the room, then into a bay
surrounded by a white nylon curtain. INT. TROLLEY BAY. NIGHT The
porters lift Renton from one trolley to another, then leave him alone in the
bay surrounded by the curtain. Renton lies alone. His breathing is still
shallow and erratic. Around him is the usual accident and emergency
paraphernalia: blood pressure machine, oxygen tap, bandages, etc. A
Doctor comes in and gives Renton an injection. DOCTOR: Wake up. Come on,
wake up. Renton breathes more easily. INT. TAXI. DAY Renton sits
between his parents. His Mother pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse
and hands one to his Father. She offers one to Renton, who doesn't react.
She puts it in her mouth and lights it herself. INT. RENTON'S BEDROOM.
DAY Father carries Renton to the bed, then walks out past Mother, who
looks at Renton for a moment before closing the door. INT. OTHER SIDE OF
RENTON'S BEDROOM DOOR. DAY Renton's father's hand slides three bolts across
to lock the door. INT. RENTON'S ROOM. DAY Renton lies on the bed.
RENTON (voice-over): I don't feel the sickness yet, but it's in the
post, that's for sure. I'm in the junky limbo at the moment. Too ill to
sleep, too tired to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way. Sweat,
chills, nausea, pain, and craving. Need like nothing I've ever known will
soon take hold of me. It's on its way. The door opens. Renton's mother walks
in with a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Father watches from the
doorway. MOTHER: We'll help you, son. You'll stay with us until you get
better. We'll beat this together. RENTON: Maybe I could go back to the
clinic. MOTHER: No. No clinics. No methadone. It only made you worse,
you said so yourself. You lied to us, son. Your own mother and father.
RENTON: At least get us some jellies. MOTHER: No. You're worse coming
off that than you are with heroin. Nothing it all. FATHER: It's a clean
break this time. MOTHER: You're staying where we can keep an eye on you.
RENTON: I do appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do, but I
need just one score, to ease myself off it. Just one. Just one. Mother
retreats past Father, who closes the door. The bolts go home again. Renton
lies back and closes his eyes. His forehead is damp with sweat. He begins to
shake. He tosses and turns, becoming wrapped up in a swathe of blankets. As
he unravels them, he is astonished to find a fully clothed Begbie in the
bed with him. BEGBIE: Well, this is a good laugh, you fucking useless
bastard. Go on, sweat that shite out of your system, because if I come back
and it's still there, I'll fucking kick it out. Okay! Begbie takes a
drag on his cigarette. Renton rips away the blankets, but Begbie has gone.
Renton looks up. Baby Dawn is craling across the ceiling. Renton looks down
to see Diane sitting at the foot of the bed. She sings "Temptation" by New
Order. DIANE: You've got green eyes, you've got red eyes, and I've never met
anyone quite like you before. Renton looks back up. Dawn continues her
slow crawl. Spud sits on top of Renton's dresser in a prison uniform,
kicking his leg chain against the dresser. Renton looks down. Sick Boy
sits at the foot of the bed, holding a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit.
Mother stands behind him. SICK BOY: It's a mug's game, Mrs. Renton. I'm not
saying I was blameless myself, far from it, but there comes a time when you
have to turn your back on that nonsense and just say no. Sick Boy takes
a bite of his biscuit. Renton clutches his head in agony. Dawn crawls on.
Tommy, looking terrible, slides across the wall. TOMMY: Better than sex,
Rents, better than sex. The ultimate hit. I'm a fucking adult, I'll find out
for myself. Well, I'm finding out, all right. INT. TELEVISION. NIGHT
A Doctor, dressed like a game show host, stands in front, with Renton's
Mother and Father beside him. DOCTOR: Question number one, the human
immunodeficiency virus is a... what? FATHER: Retrovirus? DOCTOR:
Retrovirus is the correct answer. Fanfare. DOCTOR: Question number two.
HIV binds to which receptor on the host lymphocyte? Which receptor?
Mother and Father confer. FATHER: CD4. DOCTOR: CD4 is the correct
answer. Fanfare. DOCTOR: And now, question number three, is he guilty or
not guilty? MOTHER: He's our son. INT. RENTON'S ROOM. NIGHT Renton
looks up again. Spud is kicking the dresser. Baby Dawn's head turns 180
degrees and she falls off the ceiling onto Renton. He starts screaming and
throws her off. Renton's Mother and Father are washing him. Mother picks up
the large, damp sponge from the corner, where it landed. She wipes her son's
face with it. FATHER: Mark, there's something you need to do. INT.
CONSULTING ROOM. DAY A nurse draws blood from Mark. MARK: Ow! INT.
SOCIAL CLUB. NIGHT Renton, his Mother, and Father sit at a table in the
local social club, It is a Saturday night and the club is busy. It is
not initially clear what is going on. Near the bar a caller with a
microphone calls over the PA. CALLER: Two and four, twenty four... seven...
fifteen... clickety- click, sixty-six... And so on, as he draws the
numbers from the drum. Everyone studies their cards, except Renton, who
studies the people instead, his drink untouched. The number calling
continues until interrupted by Mother's voice. MOTHER: Mark... Mark, you've
got a house. House! House! For goodness' sake, Mark. They bustle around
him and pass his card to the front. RENTON (voice-over): It seems, however,
that I really am the luckiest guy in the world. Several years of addiction
right in the middle of an epidemic, surrounded by the living dead, but not
me. I'm negative. It's official. And once the pain goes away, that's when
the real battle starts. Depression. Boredom. You'll feel so fucking low,
you'll want to top yourself. His mother counts a wad of money in front
of him. EXT. HOUSING ESTATE. DAY On the door of a flat, "plaguer,"
"HIV," and "AIDS junky scum" are daubed on the walls. Renton knocks on
the door. Tommy comes to the window. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY It is poorly
furnished. Tommy lays on the floor. Renton has the football, which he kicks
against the wall and catches, then drops and kicks again, and so on. The
ball is slightly flat. RENTON: Are you getting out much? TOMMY: No.
RENTON: Following the game at all? TOMMY: No. RENTON: No, me
neither. He drops the ball. It rolls to a halt in the corner. TOMMY: You
take the test? RENTON: Aye. TOMMY: Clear? RENTON: Aye. TOMMY:
That's nice. RENTON: I'm sorry, Tommy. TOMMY: Have you got any gear on
you? RENTON: No, I'm clean. TOMMY: Well, sub us then, mate. I'm
expecting a rent cheque. Renton produces some of his bingo win. As he hands
it over, their eyes and hands meet for a moment. Tommy puts the money away.
TOMMY: Thanks, Mark. RENTON: No bother. INT. RENTON'S BEDSIT. NIGHT
Renton sits alone, rolling a joint and reading a book. RENTON
(voice-over): No bother. Easy to say when it's some other poor cunt with
shite for blood. There is a knock at the door. Renton answers it. Diane is
standing in the hallway in her school uniform. They stand in silence for
a moment. RENTON: What do you want? DIANE: Are you clean? RENTON:
Yes. DIANE: Is that a promise? RENTON: Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.
DIANE: Calm down, I'm just asking. Is that hash I can smell? RENTON: No.
DIANE: I wouldn't mind a bit if it is. RENTON: Well, it isn't.
DIANE: Smells like it. RENTON: You're too young. DIANE: Too young
for what? She walks into the room. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton and
Diane are lying in the bed. Diane, in one of Renton's t-shirts, is smoking a
joint. DIANE: You're not getting any younger, Mark. The world is changing.
Music is changing. Even drugs are changing. You can't stay in here all
day dreaming about heroin and Ziggy Pop. RENTON: It's Iggy Pop. DIANE:
Whatever. I mean, the guy's dead anyway. RENTON: Iggy Pop is not dead. He
toured last year. Tommy went to see him. DIANE: The point is, you've got
to find something new. RENTON (voice-over): She was right. I had to find
something new. There was only one thing for it. EXT. LONDON. DAY A
contemporary retake on all of those "Swinging London" montages: Red
Routemaster/Trafalgar Square/Big Ben/Royalty/City gents in suits/Chelsea
ladies/fashion victims/Piccadilly Circus at night. Intercut with
closeups of classic street names on a street map (all the ones made famous
by the Monopoly game). INT. ESTATE AGENT'S OFFICE. DAY The montage ends
on one street, then draws back to reveal the whole map of London pinned to a
wall. A Man holding a telephone walks in front of the map and belches
loudly. Revealing more, he is in a scruffy, cramped office with half a dozen
occupied desks and twice as many telephones. Seated at the one nearest to
the Belching Man is Renton. He is wearing a shirt and tie now. He turns in
response to the belch. MAN: Can you take this call? Renton takes the
telephone reaches for a piece of paper from which he reads. RENTON:
Hello, yes, certainly. It's a beautifully converted Victorian townhouse.
Ideally located in a quiet road near to local shops and transport.
Renton checks his watch. EXT. THE A1 IN NORTH LONDON. DAY Renton
stands waiting beside this busy London road, outside some very unfortunate
housing, as the traffic streams past. RENTON (voice-over): Two bedrooms and
a kitchen/diner. Fully fitted in excellent decorative order. Lots of storage
space. All mod cons. Three hundred and twenty pounds per week. A couple
approach. Renton unlocks the door of a flat and holds the door open while he
ushers them in. INT. LONDON FLAT. DAY Renton shows the couple round a
typical London flat nightmare. A poor conversion, poor decor, everything
small and ill-fitting. The windows rattle as the traffic roars by.
RENTON (voice-over): I settled in not too badly and I kept myself to
myself. Sometimes, of course, I thought about the guys, but mainly I
didn't miss them at all. After all, this was boom town, where any fool
could make cash from chaos and plenty did. I quite enjoyed the sound of
it all. Profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lending, letting, subletting,
subdividing, cheating, scamming, fragmenting, breaking away. There was
no such thing as society, and even if there was, I most certainly had
nothing to do with it. For the first time in my adult life, I was almost
content. INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton finishes eating a pot noodle.
He puts it down and picks up a letter. He lies back and reads. Intercut
with: INT. SCHOOLROOM. DAY A class is in progress. A teacher lectures to
a mixed class, but Diane is not listening as she is writing. EXT.
SCHOOL. DAY Diane is leaving the school when Sick Boy catches up with her.
They stop and then she walks away. EXT. PARK. DAY Diane walks along
a concrete path. As she does so, she has to step over Spud, who lies
asleep/unconscious beside the remains of a carryout. DIANE (voice-over):
Dear Mark, I'm glad you've found a job and somewhere to live. School is fine
at the moment. I'm not pregnant, but thanks for asking. Your friend Sick Boy
asked me last week if I would like to work for him, but I told him where to
go. I met Spud, who sends his regards, or at least I think that's what he
said. No one has seen Tommy for ages. And finally, Francis Begbie has been
on television a lot this week- INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton
turns the page DIANE (voice-over): -as he is wanted by the police in
connection with an armed robbery in a jeweller's in Corstorphine. Take care.
Yours with love, Diane. There is a buzz at the door. Renton re-examines
the letter. DIANE (voice-over): -Francis Begbie- There is another buzz.
RENTON: Oh, no. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton sits on the bed. Begbie
stands over him, pointing a gun at his head. He pulls the trigger. It clicks
harmlessly. BEGBIE: Armed robbery? With a replica? How can it be armed
robbery? It's a fucking scandal. He 'fires' the gun at his own head a
few times, then chucks it to the ground. And the haul. Look. He digs
a few rings out of his pocket and throws them to Renton. Solid silver, my
arse. I took it to a fence. It's trash, pure trash. There's young couples
investing all their hopes in that stuff, and what are they getting?
RENTON: It's a scandal, Franco. BEGBIE: Too right it is. Now look, have
you got anything to eat, 'cos I'm fucking Lee Marvin, by the way. INT.
BEDSIT. DAY Begbie is sitting on the bed in his underwear, eating cereal
while watching television. A small carry-out is nearby. Renton finishes
dressing for work. He pauses at the open door, looking at his guest.
RENTON (voice-over): Begbie settled in in no time at all. Begbie opens a
can of beer. Renton closes the door. INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. DAY
Renton closes the door. He is about to walk away when he hears Begbie
shouting. BEGBIE: Rents! Rents! Come fucking back here. Renton opens the
door. Begbie is holding out an empty packet of cigarettes. BEGBIE: Look!
RENTON: What? BEGBIE: I've no fucking cigarettes. Begbie throws the
packet down to the floor. It lands neer the door. He has turned back to the
television and takes a swig of beer. RENTON: Right. Renton closes the
door again. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton and Begbie lie in the single bed
with their heads at opposite ends. Begbie snores. Renton is wide awake, a
pair of smelly-socked feet only inches from his nose. RENTON
(voice-over): Yeah, the guy's a psycho, but it's true, he's a mate as well,
so what can you do? INT. LONDON BEDSIT. DAY Where the first empty pack
of cigarettes fell to the floor there is now a large heap of empty packets:
the product of weeks at sixty a day. Another one lands on the pile.
Begbie sits, still in his underwear, still can in hand, sits watching
the racing as before. Behind him, cigarettes and alcohol are stacked up
like a miniature duty-free warehouse. Renton sits behind him, reading a
book. BEGBIE: Hey, I'm wanting to put a bet on. RENTON: Can you not go
yourself? BEGBIE: I'm a fugitive from the law. I can't be seen on the
fucking streets. Now watch my lips. Kempton Park. Two-thirty. Five pounds
to win. Bad Boy. INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. DAY The door opens.
Renton walks out. The door closes. Renton walks away. A wild,
frightening scream erupts from beyond the door. INT. LONDON BEDSIT. DAY
Begbie, alone in the bedsit, is screaming a cry of primal joy. RENTON
(voice-over): Bad Boy came in at 16-to-1. And with the winnings, we went out
to celebrate. INT. LONDON PARTY. NIGHT To loud music, and strobing,
fractured lights, surrounded by dry ice, Begbie dances near a tall Woman.
Other people dance nearby. Begbie gives the thumbs-up to Renton, who
sits on a stool at one side drinking from a bottle of beer. Renton looks
around the club at the various men and women. RENTON (voice-over): Diane was
right. The world is changing, music is changing, drugs are changing, even
men and women are changing. One thousand years from now there'll be no guys
and no girls, just wankers. Sounds great to me. It's just a pity nobody told
Begbie. EXT. STREET. NIGHT A car sits in a street near the club, windows
steamed up. INT. CAR. NIGHT Begbie and the Woman kiss passionately. The
woman undoes Begbie's trousers. INT. PARTY. NIGHT Renton's gaze
continues to wander around. RENTON (voice-over): You see, if you ask me,
we're heterosexual by default, not by decision. It's just a question of who
you fancy. INT. CAR. NIGHT Begbie and the Woman continue their embrace
as she unbuttons his shirt. RENTON (voice-over): It's all about
aesthetics and it's fuck-all to do with morality. Suddenly Begbie
freezes. He is holding the "woman's" groin. There's something there that
shouldn't be. Begbie goes crazy, simultaneously trying to put his clothes
back on, hit the Woman, and get out of the car. EXT. STREET. NIGHT
Begbie kicks the wall in frustration and spits. RENTON (voice-over): But
you try telling Begbie that. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT Bebgie sits on the bed,
Renton on the floor. BEGBIE: I'm no a fucking buftie and that's the end of
it. RENTON: Let's face it, it could have been wonderful. Begbie flicks
his cigarette at Renton and pins him to the wall. BEGBIE: Now, listen to
me, you little piece of junky shit. A joke's a fucking joke, but you mention
her again and I'll cut you up. Understand? Begbie produces a knife.
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. NIGHT Sick Boy's finger rings the doorbell.
INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT Sick Boy and Begbie are sleeping. Their feet are in
Renton's face. RENTON (voice-over): Since I last saw him, Sick Boy had
reinvented himself as a pimp and a pusher, and was here, he said, to mix
musiness and business and pleasure, setting up contacts, as he contstantly
informed me, for the great skag deal that was one day going to make him
rich. INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton, Begbie, and Sick Boy sit in a line on
the bed with fish suppers laid out on their laps, but Renton's is
untouched. SICK BOY: Good chips. RENTON: I can't believe you did
that. SICK BOY: I got a good price for it. Rents, I need the money.
RENTON: It was my fucking telly! SICK BOY: Well, Christ, if I'd known
you were going to get so humpty about it, I wouldn't have bothered. It was
rented anyway. Are you going to eat that? He takes Renton's fish supper
and adds it to his own. SICK BOY: Have you got a passport? RENTON: Why?
SICK BOY: Well, this guy I've met runs a hotel. Brothel. Loads of
contacts. Does a nice sideline in punting British passports to foreigners.
Get you a good price. RENTON: Why would I want to sell my passport? SICK
BOY: It was just an idea. INT. LEFT LUGGAGE ROOM. DAY Renton puts his
passport into a locker. RENTON (voice-over): I had to get rid of them. Sick
Boy didn't do his drug deal and he didn't get rich. Instead, he and Begbie
just hung around my bedsit looking for things to steal. I decided to
offer them one of London's most desirable properties. EXT. BUSY LONDON ROAD.
DAY Traffic floods past as before. INT. LONDON FLAT. DAY Inside the
flat that Renton showed the couple around. Sick Boy and Begbie are standing
in the hallway. Renton is in the open doorway. He throws them the keys and
leaves. INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHT Renton cleans the garbage from his
bedsit. INT. LONDON FLAT. NIGHT The flat is in darkness. The door opens
and a figure enters. It is the Man from Renton's office. RENTON
(voice-over): But of course they weren't paying any rent. So when my boss
found two desperate suckers who would, Sick Boy and Begbie were bound to
feel threatened. Man is followed by another couple. He switches on a light.
MAN: As you can see, it's a beautiful conversion. Two bedrooms,
kitchen/diner, fully fitted. Lots of storage. All mod cons. Three
hundred and twenty quid a week. Begbie and Sick Boy jump out of the cabinet
at him. RENTON (voice-over): And that was that. But by then, we had
another reason to go back. Tommy. EXT. RAILWAY. DAY An InterCity
train speeds by. INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT A kitten sits on the floor.
GAV (voice-over): Tommy knew he'd caught the virus, but he never knew
he'd gone full-blown. RENTON (voice-over): What was it, pneumonia or cancer?
GAV (voice-over): No, toxoplasmosis. Sort of like a stroke. RENTON
(voice-over): Eh? How's that? INT. CREMATORIUM CHAPEL. DAY A service is
in progress. Those present include Renton and Gav, who are engaged in hushed
conversation, Begbie, Spud, Sick Boy, and Lizzy. GAV: He wanted to see
Lizzy again. Lizzy wouldn't let him near the house. So he bought a present
for her, bought her a kitten. RENTON: I bet Lizzy told him where to put it.
GAV: Exactly. I'm not wanting a cat, she says. Get to fuck, right. So
there's Tommy, stuck with this kitten. You can imagine what happened. The
thing was neglected, pissing and shitting all over the place. Tommy was
lying around fucked out of his eyeballs on smack or downers. He didn't know
you could get toxoplasmosis from cat shit. Begbie turns around,
menacing. The two hush up. RENTON: Neither did I. What the fuck is it?
GAV: Fucking horrible. Like an abcess on your brain. RENTON: Fucking
hell. So what happened? INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY The kitten as before.
Slow track back to reveal more. GAV (voice-over): He starts getting
headaches, so he just uses more smack, for the pain, like. Then he has a
stroke. A fucking stroke. Just like that. Gets home from the hospital and
dies three weeks later. He'd been dead for ages before the neighbors
complained about the smell and got the police to break the door down.
Tommy was lying face down in a pool of vomit. The lower half of Tommy's
clothed body is visible. INT. CREMATORIUM CHAPEL. DAY The coffin travels
away. Gav and Renton watch it go. GAV: The kitten was fine. INT. PUB.
NIGHT Gav, Renton, Spud, Sick Boy, Begbie, Lizzy, and Gail are gathered
in the pub, still dressed in their funeral garb. They are drinking and
talking. Spud sings "Two Little Boys" softly. INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. NIGHT
Spud is seated, Begbie, Renton, and Sick Boy are standing. They open
tall beer cans. RENTON: Tommy. They all drink. SICK BOY: Did you
tell him? BEGBIE: No. On you go. RENTON: What? SICK BOY: There's a
mate of Swanney's. Mikey Forrester. You know the guy. He's come into some
gear. A lot of gear. RENTON: How much gear? SICK BOY: About two kilos,
so he tells me. Got drunk in a pub down by the docks last week, where he met
two Russian sailors. They're fucking carrying the stuff. For sale there and
then, like. So he wakes up the next morning and realizes what he's done and
gets very fucking nervous. Wants rid of this. RENTON: So? SICK BOY:
So he met me and I offered to take it off his hands at a very reasonable
price, with the intention of punting it on myself to a guy I know in London.
RENTON: We've just come back from Tommy's funeral and you're talking
about a skag deal? BEGBIE: Aye. RENTON: What was your price?
SICK BOY: Four grand. RENTON: You haven't got four grand. SICK BOY:
We're two thousand short. RENTON: That's tough. SICK BOY: Mark, every
cunt knows you've been saving up down in London. RENTON: I'm sorry, boys, I
don't have two thousand pounds. BEGBIE: Aye, you do. I've seen your bank
statement. RENTON: For fuck's sake! BEGBIE: Two thousand, one hundred,
and thirty-three pounds. RENTON: Two kilos. That's what, ten years worth?
Russian sailors? Mikey Forrester? What the fuck are you boys on? Spud,
you've already been to jail, what's the deal, you like it so much that
you want to go back? SPUD: I just want the money, Mark. BEGBIE: If
everyone keeps their mouth shut, there'll be no cunt going to jail. INT.
MIKEY FORRESTER'S FLAT. DAY Heroin is in the process of being prepared for
injection: heated, drawn up, etc. An arm is prepared for injection:
sleeve rolled up, tourniquet bound, veins tapped, etc. Mikey Forrester,
Begbie, Spud, and Sick Boy look on. RENTON (voice-over): I hadn't told
anyone everything that was running through my mind about what might happen
in London. There were a lot of possibilities I didn't want to talk to
anyone about. Ideas best kept to myself. What no one told me was that
when we bought the skag, some lucky punter would have to try it out. Begbie
didn't trust Spud, and Sick Boy was too careful these days, so I rolled up
my sleeve, spiked my vein, and did what had to be done. Renton injects
the heroin into a vein in his arm. RENTON: It's good. It's really fucking
good! EXT. ROAD. NIGHT The bus travels towards London. RENTON
(voice-over): Yeah, that hit was good. I promised myself another one before
we got to London. Just for old time's sake. Just to piss Begbie off.
INT. BUS. NIGHT Sick Boy dabs at amphetamine. Spud drinks. INT. BUS
TOILET. NIGHT Renton cooks up in the bus toilet. RENTON (voice-over):
This was to be my final hit. But let's be clear about this, there's final
hits and final hits. What kind was this to be? INT. BUS. NIGHT
Begbie sits grimly. The others are relaxed. RENTON (voice-over): This
was Begbie's nightmare. The dodgiest scam in a lifetime of dodgy scams being
perpetrated with three of the most useless and unreliable fuckups in town. I
knew what was going on in his mind: any trouble in London and he would dump
us immediately. He had to. If he got caught with a bag full of smack on top
of that armed robbery shit, he was going down for fifteen to twenty. Begbie
was hard, but not so hard that he didn't shite it off twenty years in
prison. BEGBIE: Did you bring the cards? SICK BOY: What? BEGBIE: The
cards. The last thing I said to you was mind the cards. SICK BOY: Well, I've
not brought them. BEGBIE: It's fucking boring after a while without the
cards. SICK BOY: I'm sorry. BEGBIE: Bit fucking late, like. SICK
BOY: Well, why didn't you bring them? BEGBIE: Because I fucking told you to
do it, you doss cunt. SICK BOY: Christ. EXT. LONDON. DAY The bus
travels through London. EXT. STREET. DAY The gang enter a cheap hotel.
Begbie's bag contains the heroin. INT. HOTEL. DAY They are met by
Andreas, a man in his late thirties of Mediterranean appearance. He shakes
Sick Boy's hand. ANDREAS: These are your friends? SICK BOY: These are
the guys I told you about. ANDREAS: OK. SICK BOY: Is he here?
ANDREAS: Yes, he's here. I hope you didn't get followed or nothing.
BEGBIE: We didn't get followed. Andreas leads them along a corridor and
into a room. INT. HOTEL ROOM. DAY An unexceptional Man and his Flunky
are waiting. Begbie opens the bag and produces the two slabs of heroin. The
Man weighs the heroin on a kitchen scale. RENTON (voice-over): Straight
away he clocked us for what we were: small time wasters with an accidental
big deal. MAN: Excuse me, gentlemen. The Man and Flunky go into the
toilet with the heroin. Renton sits down. Spud leans nervously against the
wall. Begbie lights a cigarette and then gives one to Sick Boy. A moment
passes. The Man comes out of the toilet and sits down on the bed. MAN:
So, what would you like for it? BEGBIE: Twenty thousand. MAN: Well, I'm
afraid it's not worth much more than fifteen. BEGBIE: Nineteen. MAN: I'm
terribly sorry, I can't go to nineteen. RENTON (voice-over): This was a real
drag to him. He didn't need to negotiate. I mean, what the fuck were we
going to do with it if he didn't buy it? Sell it on the streets? Fuck that.
BEGBIE: Well, fucking sixteen, then. MAN: All right. Fucking sixteen it
is. RENTON (voice-over): We settled on sixteen thousand pounds. He had a
lot more in the suitcase, like, but it was better than nothing. The deal is
done. The Man hands over the money and waits as it is counted, then leaves
with the drugs. MAN: These, gentlemen, are two thousand pound bundles.
Here's two, four, six, eight. I just want to say it's been a pleasure
haggling with you. BEGBIE: Too fucking right. The four celebrate,
whooping and hollering. RENTON (voice-over): And just for a moment, it felt
really great, like we were all in it together, like friends, like it meant
something. A moment like that can touch you deep inside, but it doesn't last
long, not like sixteen thousand pounds. INT. LONDON PUB. DAY The pub
is crowded with afternoon drinkers. Renton, Spud, Sick Boy, and Begbie sit
drinking. Begbie is still keeping a firm hand on the sports bag, which now
contains the money. SICK BOY: So what about you, Spud, any major investments
on the horizon? RENTON: Buy yourself that island in the sun? BEGBIE: For
four fucking grand? One palm tree, a couple of rocks, and a sewage outflow.
SPUD: I don't know. Maybe I'll buy something for my mom, and then buy
some good speed, no bicarb, like, then get a girl, take her out like,
and treat her proper. BEGBIE: Shag her senseless. SPUD: No, I mean
true love. But I could really handle some hot sex with a Jewish princess or
a Catholic girl. BEGBIE: You daft cunt. If you're going to waste it like
that, you might as well leave it all to me. Now get the drinks in. SICK
BOY: I got a round already. SPUD: I got the last one. RENTON: It's your
round, Franco. Begbie stands up. BEGBIE: OK. Same again? SICK BOY:
I'm off for a pish. See that when I come back, that money's still here, OK?
RENTON: The moment you turn your back, we're out the door. Sick Boy
walks away towards the toilet. SICK BOY: I'll be right fucking after you.
BEGBIE: You'll never catch us, you flabby bastard. Right, see, when I
come back... RENTON: We'll be halfway down the road with the money.
BEGBIE: I'd fucking kill you. RENTON: I guess you would, Franco. I guess
you would. Begbie walks to the bar. Spud and Renton look at each other and
at the bag of money. RENTON: Are you game for it? Spud looks at the
bag and around the pub towards the toilet door and Begbie. Begbie stands at
the bar, awaiting the pints. RENTON: Well? SPUD: Are you serious?
Renton looks around. RENTON: I don't know. What do you think? Spud
says nothing. Suddenly they are interrupted. SICK BOY: Still here, I see.
RENTON: Yes, well, we wouldn't run out on a mate. SICK BOY: Why not? I
know I would. Renton turns to see Begbie making his way through the crowd
with the pints held precariously. A Man standing with a group of friends
accidentally nudges Begbie, causing a pint to spill over him. BEGBIE:
For fuck's sake. MAN: Sorry, mate, I'll get you another. BEGBIE: All
down my fucking front, you fucking idiot. MAN: Look, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean it. BEGBIE: Sorry's no going to dry me off, you cunt. RENTON: Cool
down, Franco, the guy's sorry. BEGBIE: Not sorry enough for being a fat
cunt. MAN: Fuck you. If you can't hold a pint, then you shouldn't be in
the pub, mate, now fuck off. Begbie drops the remaining three pints. As the
man looks down to the falling glasses, Begbie smashes the fourth pint in his
face. A fight breaks out between the Man and Begbie. Sick Boy and Spud rush
in to restrain Begbie. Renton sits still, not even looking at the fight
or what follows. His eyes are fixed on the bag while his hands fiddle.
Begbie pulls out a knife and accidentally slashes Spud's hand. SPUD:
Jesus Christ. SICK BOY: Nice one, Franco. BEGBIE: Shut your mouth or
you'll be next. SPUD: You've stabbed me, man. BEGBIE: You were in my
way. Begbie, blade still in hand, addresses the entire pub. BEGBIE:
Anyone else want to get in my way? You? You? Nobody says anything. Renton is
seated as before, avoiding Begbie's gaze. Begbie addresses him. BEGBIE:
Hey, Rent Boy, bring us down a smoke. Renton does not move. SICK BOY:
We'd better go, Franco. SPUD: I've got to get to the hospital, man.
BEGBIE (to Spud): You're not going to any hospital. (to Sick Boy):
You're staying there. (to Renton): And you bring me down a fucking
cigarette. Renton swivels and stands up. BEGBIE: And the bag. Renton
lifts the bag and slowly approaches Begbie. Renton, nervous, hand shaking,
pulls a packet of cigarettes from a cigarette and holds it towards Begbie.
Begbie does not move. Renton holds out the bag. Begbie takes the bag. Renton
selects a cigarette, puts it in his own lips and lights it, and hands it
over to Begbie. Begbie inhales deeply and then blows the smoke towards
Renton. INT. HOTEL ROOM. DAY Renton lies awake, sharing a bed with
Begbie, who is asleep. Spud and Sick Boy lie on the floor, both asleep.
Begbie has an arm draped over the bag, holding it close. Renton gets up
and goes to the small bathroom. He turns on the light above the mirror and
looks at himself. He takes a drink of water and walks back into the bedroom.
Renton puts on his shoes. He stands over Begbie and reaches carefully
down to lift Begbie's arm up. He takes the bag. Begbie stirs but does
not wake. Renton walks to the door and puts on his jacket. He scans the room
one last time. Begbie and Sick Boy are asleep. Spud is not. He shakes his
head. Renton nods to Spud and disappears. EXT. STREET. DAY
Renton walks away. RENTON (voice-over): Now, I've justified this to
myself in all sorts of ways. It wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Or
we'd outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. But let's face it, I
ripped them off. My so-called mates. But Begbie, I couldn't give a shit
about him, and Sick Boy, well, he'd have done the same to me if only he'd
thought of it first, and Spud, well, I felt sorry for Spud. He never
hurt anybody. INT. LOCKER. DAY Passport being removed. Renton places
a bundle of cash in the locker. INT. HOTEL. DAY Prostitutes,
punters, Spud, and Sick Boy line the corridor as two Policemen walk past.
They beat a hasty retreat. INT. HOTEL ROOM. DAY Begbie goes radge.
EXT. STREET. DAY Renton continues his departure. RENTON
(voice-over): So why did I do it? I could offer you a million answers, all
false. The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's going to change. I'm
going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and
I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it
already. I'm going to be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big
television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electrical
tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage,
starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk
food, childre, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the
car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption,
clearing the gutters, getting by, looking ahead, to the day you die.
INT. LOCKER. DAY Spud opens the locker to find the money. He takes it,
smiles, and slams the locker shut. The End