Trainspotting

 

 

Screenplay by                              John Hodge

 

Produced by                                Andrew MacDonald

 

Directed by                                 Danny Boyle

 

 

 

Cast List:

 

Ewan McGregor                                    Renton

Ewen Bremner                          Spud

Jonny Lee Miller                      Sick Boy

Kevin McKidd                          Tommy

Robert Carlyle                          Begbie

Kelly McDonald                                    Diane

Peter Mullan                             Swanney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EXT. 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, CDs, 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 Renton and Spud maintain their lead.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

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 now closing in on him.

 

He smiles.

 

 

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT ROOM – DAY

 

In a bare, dingy room, Renton lies on the floor, alone, motionless and drugged.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

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 flood lit 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 but play much dirtier.

 

As each performs a characteristic bit of play, the play freezes and their name is visible, printed or written on some item of clothing. (T-Shirt, baseball cap, shorts, trainers). In Begbie's case, his name appears as a tatoo on his arm.

 

Sick Boy commits a sneaky foul and indignantly denies it.

 

Begbie commits an obvious foul and make 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 (V.O.)

Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment 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. Voice-over continues.

 

But who 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 (V.O.)

I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need 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 judgement reflected in its relative poor showing at the box office, in which field, of course, Thunderball was a notable success.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

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 –

 

Spud is shooting up.

 

RENTON (V.O)

(continued)

– 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. Take the best orgasm you 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 are 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 winds, about human relationships and all the things that really don't 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, but combined with a sly wit to make him a formidable romantic lead, closer in that respect to Cary Grant.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

The only drawback, or at least the principal drawback, is that you have to endure all manner of cunts telling you that.

 

 

INT. PUB I – NIGHT

 

Begbie, smoking and drinking, speaks to camera.

 

BEGBIE

No way would I poison my body with that shite, all they fucking chemicals, no fucking way.

 

 

INT. PUB I – NIGHT

 

Tommy sits beside Lizzy. He speaks to camera.

 

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 but not eating.

 

FATHER

Every chance you've ever had, you've blown it, stuffing your veins with that filth.

 

 

INT. ELECTRICAL RETAILERS – DAY

 

Gav wears the corporate jacket.

 

GAV

Get off that stuff, Rents and get a job. It's not as bad as it looks. While you're here, you don't fancy buying a cooker, do you?

 

 

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT – DAY

 

Sick Boy and Spud lie drugged up. Allison and Baby wait while Swanney cooks up.

 

Renton is standing up.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

From time to time, even I have uttered the magic words.

 

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 surely 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

To see you through the night that lies ahead.

 

Freeze Frame on Swanney.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

We called him the 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 (V.O.)

Relinquishing junk. 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; paracetamol; mouth wash; 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. 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. SWANNEY'S FLAT – DAY

 

Swanney, Sick Boy, Spud and Allison and Baby all lie inert while the telephone rings.

 

 

INT. CALL BOX – DAY

 

Renton curses as he slams down the receiver. He dials again.

 

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 (V.O.)

This was typical of Mikey Forrester.

(on screen)

What the fuck are these? 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 purpose. 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 trousers 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 (V.O.)

Heroin makes you constipated. The heroin from my last hit is fading away and the suppositories have yet to melt. I am no longer constipated.

 

He looks around the local amenities. He is in discomfort, clutching his abdomen and falling to his knees.

 

He notices a betting shop.

 

 

INT. BETTING SHOP – DAY

 

Renton walks through the crowded, smoky betting shop towards a door marked 'toilet' with a bit of card.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

I fantasize about massive pristine convenience.

 

He stumbles through.

 

RENTON (V.O.)

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 most horrible toilet in Britain.

 

Alone, Renton makes his way through the horrors to a cubicle.

 

 

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET CUBICLE – DAY

 

Renton locks the door.

 

He looks into the bowl and winces with disgust, even in his state.

 

He pulls the chain. The chain comes off.

 

He drops his trousers, sits on the bowl and closes his eyes.

 

 

MONTAGE

 

A lorry on a building site dumps a load of bricks, B52's shed their load on Vietnam, the Blue Peter elephant, etc.

 

 

INT. CUBICLE – DAY

 

Renton has his eyes closed. They snap open.

 

He looks down between 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 cannot find them. He sticks his arm further and further into the toilet, moving his whole body close. He strains to find it.

 

His head is over the bowl now. Gradually he reaches still further 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. UNDER WATER – 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 up towards the surface again.

 

 

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET CUBICLE – DAY

 

The toilet is empty.

 

Suddenly Renton appears through the bowl, then his arms as he lifts himself out. Still clasping his two suppositories, he walks out of the toilet.

 

 

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

Now. Now I'm ready.

 

 

INT. RENTON'S ROOM – DAY

 

The cans of soup, the bottle of water, and the carton of ice cream are empty, the bottle of pills spilt, the magazines well thumbed.

 

SICK BOY

You Only Live Twice?

 

RENTON

Nineteen-sixty-seven.

 

SICK BOY

Running time?

 

RENTON

One hundred and sixteen minutes.

 

SICK BOY

Director?

 

RENTON

Lewis Gilbert.

 

SICK BOY

Screenwriter?

 

RENTON

Eh, Ian Fleming?

 

SICK BOY

Fuck off! He never wrote any of them.

 

RENTON

OK, so who was it, then?

 

SICK BOY

You can look it up.

 

Sick Boy throws across a worn copy of a film guide.

 

Renton cannot be bothered to pick it up.

 

How are you feeling since you came off the skag? For myself, I'm bored.

 

RENTON

Who wrote it?

 

SICK BOY

But you're looking better, it has to be said. Healthier. Radiant even.

 

RENTON

You don't know, do you?

 

SICK BOY

And I wondered if you'd care to go to the park tomorrow.

 

RENTON

The park?

 

SICK BOY

Tomorrow afternoon. Usual set-up.

 

RENTON

Who wrote it?

 

SICK BOY

Roald Dahl.

 

RENTON

Roald Dahl. Fuck me.

 

 

EXT. PARK – DAY

 

Typical weather, neither good nor bad. The park is nondescript arid green with a few bushes. This is not Kew Gardens. Renton and Sick Boy appear, dressed as before but for the addition of 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 (V.O.)

The down side 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 too, you understand, 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 along 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 for ever. All walks of life: George Best, for example, had it and 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, is it? 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