Apt-Pupi.txt

   APT PUPIL by Brandon Boyce



   















                                 Apt Pupil

                                    by

                               Brandon Boyce











                                                Based on the novel by:

                                                          Stephen King





                                                  PRODUCTION DRAFT #4A
                                                          4/25/96 rev.









     FADE IN:

     Through the window of a moving vehicle, we see a series of
     small, middle-class houses.  This could be any suburban street
     in America.


     INT. CITY BUS - DAY

     A boy is seated near the back of a moving bus.  This is TODD
     BOWDEN, 15, as All-American as they come.  He stares out at the
     other passengers indifferently.  Then something catches his eye.


     EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - SANTO DONATO - DAY

     TITLE: SANTO DONATO, CA  FEBRUARY 1984

     Todd pedals his bike down a quiet street and pulls up to an
     unassuming bungalow set far back on its lot.  This is the kind
     of house one would hardly notice driving through the peaceful
     suburban community of Santo Donato.  Todd gets off his bike and
     heads up the front steps.  On the way, he bends down to pick up
     the L.A. Times.

     Two signs, in laminated plastic, are secured neatly above the
     door bell.  The first reads: "ARTHUR DENKER".  The second reads:
     "NO SOLICITORS, NO PEDDLERS, NO SALESMEN".

     Todd RINGS the bell.  Nothing.  He looks at his watch.  It is
     twelve past ten.  He RINGS again, this time longer.  Still
     nothing.  Finally, Todd leans on the tiny button, staring at his
     watch as he does so.  After more than a minute of SOLID RINGING,
     a voice is heard from within.

                          DUSSANDER (O.S.)
             All right.  All right.  I'm coming.  Let it
             go!

     Todd lets go as a chain behind the heavy door starts to rattle.
     Then it opens.  An old man stands behind the screen.  He is KURT
     DUSSANDER, a.k.a. Arthur Denker.  Mid-seventies.  Standing there
     in his bathrobe and slippers, a cigarette smashed in his mouth,
     he looks like a cross between Boris Karloff and Albert Einstein.
     Dussander stares at Todd, who tries to speak, but suddenly
     cannot.

                          DUSSANDER
                    (continuing)
             A boy.  I don't need anything, boy.  Can't
             you read?  I thought all American boys could
             read.  Don't be a nuisance, now.  Good day.

     The door begins to close.  Todd waits till the last moment 
     before speaking.

                          TODD 
             Don't forget your paper, Mr. Dussander. 

     The door stops.  Dussander opens it slowly.  He unlatches the
     screen and slips his fingers around the paper.  Todd does not
     let go.

                          DUSSANDER
             Give me my newspaper. 

                          TODD 
             Sure thing, Mr. Dussander. 

     Dussander snatches the paper away and closes the screen door.
     Quickly, almost imperceptibly, the old man's eyes survey the
     area: across the street, up and down the sidewalk, the boy's
     bicycle.

                          DUSSANDER 
             My name is Denker.  See?
                    (pointing)
             Denker.  Perhaps you cannot read after all. 
             What a pity.  Good day. 

     As the front door closes, Todd speaks rapidly into the narrowing gap.

                          TODD 
             Bergen-Belsen, January '43 to June '43. 
             Auschwitz, June '43 to June '44.  Then you
             went to Patin. 

     The door stops, still partly open. 

                          TODD (CONT'D) 
             After the war, you escaped to Buenos Aires.
             From 1950 to '52 you were in Cuba, and 
             then... From 1952 to '58... I don't know.  No
             one does.  But in 1965, you popped up in West
             Berlin, where they almost got you. 

     The door opens wider. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Listen, boy.  I don't know what is the matter 
             with you.  But I don't have time for this 
             game.  Now, get out of here before I call the
             police. 

                          TODD 
             Call them if you want. 

                          DUSSANDER
             Fine. 

     The heavy door slams shut. 

                          TODD 
             It's okay by me Herr Kommandant.  I'm sure
             the police would love to meet the "Blood-
             fiend of Patin." 

     In a flash the front door is open, so is the screen.  Dussander
     is through the doorway and descending upon Todd with the rolled
     umbrella raised to strike him.  Todd stumbles back against the
     porch rail. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             You get away from this house, God damn you! 
             I'll beat you all the way home.

     But Todd regains his composure quickly.  He brushes himself off
     and levels his eyes at the old man who now hardly seems the
     threat he was a few seconds ago. 

                          TODD 
             After 1965, no one saw you again... Until I
             did.  Three weeks ago on the downtown bus. If
             you want to call the cops, go right ahead.
             I'II wait on the steps. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             You'll do no such thing. 

                          TODD 
             I won't?  Listen, old man, if I want to start
             screaming right here, I will.  If I want to 
             ride down to the police station and bring the
             cops back myself, then I will.  I will do
             what ever I want.  Do you understand?
                    (pause) 
             But if you like, I could come in for a
             minute.  We could talk. 

     Pause. 

                          DUSSANDER
             I'd be out of my mind to let an insane boy
             like you into my home.

     Pause. 

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D)
             Is that what you want, to come into my home?
             So be it.  There is no arguing with crazy
             people.

     Dussander turns and steps back through the screen door.  He
     stops at the threshold of the house and turns.  He is holding
     the screen door open with one leg, the front door open with the
     other.  He looks straight ahead.  A moment later, Todd steps
     into the house. 


     INT. DUSSANDER'S HOUSE - DAY

     Dussander's home is what you would expect of a single, poor, old
     man.  Nothing fancy, nothing out of the ordinary.  Todd looks
     around, perhaps half-expecting to find a Nazi flag or an oil
     painting of Der Fuehrer hanging above the mantle.  But he
     doesn't, and moves into the living room where an old picture of
     a woman sits framed on an end table.

                          DUSSANDER 
             My wife.  She died in 1955 of lung disease.
             At that time I was working at the Menschler
             Motor Works in Essen.  I was heartbroken. 

     Todd's attention drifts away and his fingers slip over to a
     lampshade next to the photograph.  He begins to feel it as
     though he were inspecting it for something. 

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D)
             Stop that! 

     Todd jumps back a little but then recovers. 

                          TODD 
             Tell me, wasn't it Ilse Koch who made the
             lampshades out of human skin?

                          DUSSANDER 
             Now I don't know what you're talking about. 

                          TODD 
             Sure you do, Mr. Dussander. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Denker.  Denker.  Denker.  You don't listen,
             boy.  The television has fried your brain. 

     Pause. 

                          TODD 
             Your hands are shaking. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Yes, they're shaking.  I'm old.  We all 
             shake.  You are most tiresome, and rude.  Now
             if you have a point I wish you'd come to it. 

                          TODD 
             We're in no rush.  If I thought you had 
             plans, I'd say cancel them, but since I know
             you don't... 

                          DUSSANDER 
             You know nothing of my business -- 

                          TODD 
             What business?  You sit in that ugly chair
             and watch soap operas all day.  Except on 
             Friday afternoons when you walk down to the 
             movie theater.  And twice a week you take the
             bus downtown to do your shopping.  You always
             use the express lane because you never have 
             more than ten items.

                          DUSSANDER 
             You have been following me?

                          TODD 
             Of course, I followed you.  You think I 
             normally go around to peoples' houses and
             accuse them of being Nazi fugitives? 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Perhaps for me you made an exception. 

                          TODD 
             No, for you I had to be sure.  For Kurt
             Dussander I had to be absolutely certain.
             ...Now, I am, and that's why I'm here. 

     Todd sits on the sofa. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Oh, yes, I see now.  As I am this ex-Nazi
             fellow, as you say, then this must be the
             part where I offer you my hidden stash of
             gold, taken from the mouths of old Jewish 
             men, of course, which I keep buried in the 
             basement.  Isn't that right, boy?  Well, I'm
             afraid you're wasting your time. I have no 
             money.  If I did I might even give you some
             just to be done with this nonsense. 

                          TODD 
             I don't need money.  You don't have any 
             anyway.  At least, I don't think so.  You
             probably had to spend it all to sneak in the
             country.  A good American passport is 
             expensive on the black market, that I know. 

                          DUSSANDER
             Do you?  Good for you. 

                          TODD 
             Yes, I do.  I know it all, Dussander.  You're
             my One Great Interest. 

                          DUSSANDER
             Your what? 

                          TODD 
             My One Great Interest.  Well, not you 
             personally, but, ...well, it's something I 
             learned back in eighth grade.  Our teacher,
             Miss Harmon, she said we'd have to find our
             One Great Interest in life.  You know, the 
             thing that would really grab us.  Once we did
             that, everything would fall into place.  Like
             hers, she said, wasn't teaching, but 
             collecting nineteenth-century postcards.  I
             guess there's no money in that, so she has to 
             be a teacher.  Anyway, she told us to start
             thinking about it.  So I did, but nothing
             happened.  Until the following summer, in 
             Ronny Pegler's garage.  That's where I found
             it.


     INT. RONNY PEGLER'S GARAGE - DAY

     Todd and RONNY, both 13, rummage through several large boxes in 
     the corner of the garage.  We see that the boxes are filled with
     old war magazines.  Ronny tosses several of them to the ground 
     as he digs for his dad's old copies of Penthouse.  Ronny selects
     one Penthouse and rifles through it.  He discards it a moment
     later. 

                          RONNY 
             One of these has three girls doing it at the
             same time.

     But the old war magazines catch Todd's attention.  He picks one
     up curiously and carefully flips through the tattered pages.  We
     see a few of the photographs:  Nazi storm troopers, prisoners
     behind barbed wire, the ovens.

                          RONNY (CONT'D) 
             I got it!  Check this out. ...Todd, look. 

                          TODD 
             Hang on a sec. 

     As young Todd stares into this secret world, his voice comes
     in...

                          TODD (CONT'D) 
             It was all there... pictures of stuff I'd 
             never seen, stuff they never put in the books
             anymore, especially the ones they give us to
             read.  And here were stacks of them. 


     INT. DUSSANDER'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

     Todd speaks excitedly.  Dussander, very bored, clearly indulges
     him.

                          TODD 
             It... grabbed me.  It was just like Miss 
             Harmon said.  I couldn't believe it.  But
             there it was, the camps, the uniforms, the 
             ...the way they saluted each other.  But what
             am I telling you for?  You know more about
             this stuff than anybody. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Yes, what are you telling me for? 

                          TODD 
                    (ignoring him) 
             Then last year I wrote my big term paper on 
             Dachau.  I got an A+.  It was the only A+ she
             gave.  I mean I always do real well.  A's on
             everything.  That's why I'm accelerated. 

                          DUSSANDER
             Accelerated? 

                          TODD 
             You know, accelerated.  I skipped two grades,
             second and ninth.  I didn't need them.
             That's why I'm already a junior. 

     Dussander sits. 

                          DUSSANDER
             I see...

                          TODD 
             Some kids resent me for it.  That's not 
             important.  Anyway, my paper really floored
             my history teacher.  I guess because I got 
             through all those books without throwing up.
             But I learned something.  I learned that when
             you talk about the camps now, you have to 
             remember to sound really disgusted.  I mean,
             you can't just say what happened like the
             magazines did and leave it at that.  If I 
             tried that the teacher would have freaked and
             called my parents in. 


     INT. RONNY PEGLER'S GARAGE - DUSK

     Todd sits on one of the boxes surrounded by dozens of the old
     magazines.  The door to the house opens and Ronny, looking
     cross, pokes his head out. 

                          RONNY 
             Todd, your mom's on the phone.  She says you
             have to come home for dinner.  ...Todd? 

     Todd, lost in the sea of old photographs, doesn't notice Ronny
     at first.  Then he looks up at him.  In his eyes is a glint of a
     darkness that we will come to know better. 

                          TODD
             What? 

                          RONNY 
                    (suddenly wary of Todd)
             Your mom's on the phone. 

     ANGLE on Todd. 


     INT. DUSSANDER'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

                          TODD 
             Nowadays you have to... soften it. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Why do I care about this?

                          TODD 
             Because, I don't want it softened. 

     Todd hops up and begins to pace the floor. Dussander stares at
     him blankly, unsure of where this is going. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             I am sure you trouble your parents to no end. 

                          TODD
             Actually, I'm pretty low maintenance.  That's
             what my dad says. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             You told your parents about me, then? 

                          TODD 
             You think I'm crazy? 

                          DUSSANDER 
             I think you're crackers, but go on.  I'm
             riveted.

     Todd looks deep into Dussander's eyes.  Dussander is
     uncomfortable.  Slowly, Todd reaches out and brushes his finger
     against Dussander's hand.  Dussander gets up. 

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D)
             What are you doing? 

     Pause. 

                          TODD 
             And then it happened... I was on my way to
             the library.  It was raining... 


     FLASHBACK: INT. CITY BUS - DAY

     Todd's voice narrates what we are seeing.  Todd, seated near the
     back of the bus, watches Dussander climb aboard.  Todd thinks
     nothing of it at first, but soon finds that he is unable to take
     his eyes off him.  Todd is trying to place the old man's face in
     his mind... 

                          TODD (V.O.)
             You climbed on the bus and started this slow
             walk down the aisle.  Just like you were 
             examining a new batch of inmates.  I don't
             think anybody gave you a second glance but 
             me, but somehow ...people seemed to move out
             of your way.  And under your arm you carried
             a rolled up umbrella.  But what really did 
             it, what really set me off was the coat.  You
             were wearing this long black rain coat.  My
             mind suddenly flipped back to a picture of
             you taken at Patin.  You in your S.S. 
             greatcoat with a riding crop under your arm. 


     INT. DUSSANDER'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

                          TODD 
             It was incredible. 

     Dussander stares back at him flatly. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             All of this... because of a rain coat? 

                          TODD 
             Well, it wasn't that easy.  I mean, I had to
             really check up on it.  And every picture of
             you in those books is forty years old, at 
             least.  I went back to the library to find 
             the picture.  And then I matched it with the
             photos I took.

                          DUSSANDER 
             You took photographs of me? 

                          TODD 
             Yeah, I got this little camera.  Fits right
             in the palm of my hand.

                          DUSSANDER 
                    (crunches cigarette into ashtray) 
             Clever boy.

                          TODD
             But even then I couldn't be sure.  I needed
             real proof.  So I went to the mall and bought
             a fingerprint kit from the hobby shop and a
             book that tells you what you're supposed to
             look for and then dusted your mailbox while
             you were at the movies.  Pretty smart, huh? 

                          DUSSANDER 
             You... put dust on my mailbox?  For 
             fingerprints?  You took photographs of me? 
             What else did you do?... I don't believe any
             of this. 

                          TODD 
             I already had a copy of your fingerprints. 
             They're on your want sheet from the Israeli
             government.  It's on database at UC Irvine.
             Can you believe that? 

                          DUSSANDER
             Bourbon. 

     He storms toward the kitchen and stops. 

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D)
             Would you care for a drink, boy? 

                          TODD 
             Sure, you got a Coke? 

                          DUSSANDER 
             No Kok. 

                          TODD
             Milk? 

                          DUSSANDER
             Milk. 

     Dussander disappears into the kitchen.  Todd stands alone in the
     living room. 

     He lets out a long, nervous breath, showing for the first time 
     the presence of something other than the cold confidence he has
     been putting up for Dussander.  He knows he has crossed into
     dangerous territory from which there is no going back.  But 
     after a moment he composes himself; he has come this far.  The
     sternness returns to his eyes.  Todd is all business.  He takes
     a breath, and then speaks loudly enough for Dussander to hear
     him in the kitchen. 

                          TODD 
             It takes eight good matches, they're called 
             compares, actually, for a fingerprint to get 
             accepted in court. 

                          DUSSANDER (O.S.)
             Is that right? 


     FLASHBACK: EXT. DUSSANDER'S FRONT PORCH - DAY

     Todd steps up onto the porch and looks around calmly.  He pulls
     the powder and brush from his pocket and begins to examine the
     mailbox for prints. 

                          TODD (V.O.)
             Yeah, there were two sets of prints.  The 
             first I figured were the mailman's.  Once I 
             knew what I was looking for, yours were easy
             to spot. 


     INT. DUSSANDER'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

                          DUSSANDER (O.S.)
             You should be a detective. 

     The SOUNDS of a refrigerator opening and closing come from the 
     kitchen.  Drinks being poured.  Todd begins to move slowly
     toward the kitchen. 

                          TODD 
             Maybe I will... Mom thinks I'd be good at it. 


     INT. DUSSANDER'S KITCHEN - DAY

     He reaches the doorway just as Dussander turns around with the drinks. 

                          TODD 
             I found fourteen compares. 

     Dussander approaches him carrying a tumbler of milk and a glass
     of bourbon.  He hands the tumbler to Todd, who brings it up to
     his lips and hesitates. 

                          TODD (CONT'D)
             You have some. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Good Gott.

     He snatches the cup and swallows twice. 

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D)
             You see?  It's milk, boy.  From Dairylee
             Farms.  On the carton is a picture of a
             smiling cow. 

     Todd pauses and then begins to drink. 

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D) 
                    (more to himself than Todd)
             ...And two missing children.
                    (pause) 
             Boy what you have done, I have to explain
             this to you because clearly you don't
             understand, what you have done is a
             violation. 

                          TODD
             A violation? 

                          DUSSANDER
             Yes. 

                          TODD 
             Kind of like those experiments with the
             decompression chamber.  Now, that was a
             violation, Dussander. 

                          DUSSANDER
             That fucking name.  Enough of that.  I demand
             it. 

                          TODD 
             You what? 

                          DUSSANDER
             I demand -- 

                          TODD 
             You demand nothing from me.  Ever.  Get it?

     Pause. 

                          DUSSANDER 
             Boy, I will tell you this once more, and for 
             the last time.  My name is Arthur Denker.  It
             has never been anything else.  It has never
             even been Americanized.  If you must know,
             and apparently you must, I was named by my
             father who greatly admired the stories of
             Arthur Conan Doyle.  I did serve in the 
             reserves, I admit, and in the late thirties, 
             when I was first married, I supported Hitler.
             I supported him most, I suppose, because for
             the first time in years there was work and
             there was tobacco. ...Would you like a 
             cigarette? 

                          TODD 
             No.  My dad used to smoke.  Mom made him
             quit.  Now he's addicted to Nicorette...
             that's nicotine gum. 

     Dussander turns toward the counter and pulls a kitchen match
     from a cabinet.  He lights his cigarette with his back to Todd. 

                          DUSSANDER
             Nicotine gum. 

     Dussander's eyes drift to the collection of kitchen knives 
     neatly stuffed in their block on the counter in front of him. 
     He lingers a moment, pulls deeply on the cigarette, then turns
     and continues.

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D) 
             Anyway, Hitler lost his mind at the end, 
             directing phantom armies at the whim of his 
             astrologer.  He even gave his dog, Blondi, a 
             death capsule.  On May 2nd, 1945, my regiment
             surrendered to the Americans.  I remember
             that a private named Gonzales gave me a
             chocolate bar.  I wept. 

     Bored, Todd sinks into a chair at the table.

                          DUSSANDER (CONT'D)
             I was interned at Essen where I was treated
             very well.  We listened to the Nuremberg
             trials on the radio and when Goering 
             committed suicide, I bought half a bottle of
             schnaps and got drunk.  When I was released, 
             I put wheels on cars at the Essen Motor Works
             until I retired in 1963.  In 1967 I emigrated
             here, to California, and became a U.S. 
             Citizen.  I am as American as you are.  I 
             vote.  No Buenos Aires, no Berlin, no koo-ba