IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE
	La sceneggiatura	I suoni	Jimmy Stewart	La gallery

LA SCENEGGIATURA

INTERIOR POTTER'S OFFICE IN BANK –– NIGHT –– 8:00 P.M.

MEDIUM CLOSE UP –– Potter is seated at his desk, his goon beside him. He is signing some papers. George is seated in a chair before the desk, without a hat or coat, covered lightly with snow.

GEORGE: I'm in trouble, Mr. Potter. I need help. Through some sort of an accident my company's short in their accounts. The bank examiner's up there today. I've got to raise eight thousand dollars immediately.

POTTER (casually): Oh, so that's what the reporters wanted to talk to you about?

GEORGE (incredulous): The reporters?

POTTER: Yes. They called me up from your Building and Loan. Oh, there's a man over there from the D.A.'s office, too. He's looking for you.

GEORGE (desperate): Please help me, Mr. Potter. Help me, won't you please? Can't you see what it means to my family? I'll pay you any sort of a bonus on the loan . . . any interest. If you still want the Building and Loan, why I . . .

POTTER (interrupting): George, could it possibly be there's a slight discrepancy in the books?

GEORGE: No, sir. There's nothing wrong with the books. I've just misplaced eight thousand dollars. I can't find it anywhere.

POTTER (looking up): You misplaced eight thousand dollars?

GEORGE: Yes, sir.

POTTER: Have you notified the police?

GEORGE: No, sir. I didn't want the publicity. Harry's homecoming tomorrow . . .

POTTER (snorts): They're going to believe that one. What've you been doing, George? Playing the market with the company's money?

GEORGE: No, sir. No, sir. I haven't.

POTTER: What is it –– a woman, then? You know, it's all over town that you've been giving money to Violet Bick.

GEORGE (incredulous): What?

POTTER: Not that it makes any difference to me, but why did you come to me? Why don't you go to Sam Wainwright and ask him for the money?

GEORGE: I can't get hold of him. He's in Europe.

POTTER: Well, what about all your other friends?

GEORGE: They don't have that kind of money, Mr. Potter. You know that. You're the only one in town that can help me.

POTTER: I see. I've suddenly become quite important. What kind of security would I have, George? Have you got any stocks?

GEORGE (shaking his head): No, sir.

POTTER: Bonds? Real estate? Collateral of any kind?

GEORGE (pulls out policy): I have some life insurance, a fifteen thousand dollar policy.

POTTER: Yes . . . how much is your equity in it?

GEORGE: Five hundred dollars.

POTTER (sarcastically): Look at you. You used to be so cocky! You were going to go out and conquer the world! You once called me a warped, frustrated old man. What are you but a warped, frustrated young man? A miserable little clerk crawling in here on your hands and knees and begging for help. No securities –– no stocks –– no bonds –– nothing but a miserable little five hundred dollar equity in a life insurance policy. You're worth more dead than alive. Why don't you go to the riff-raff you love so much and ask them to let you have eight thousand dollar? You know why? Because they'd run you out of town on a rail . . .But I'll tell you what I'm going to do for you, George. Since the state examiner is still here, as a stockholder of the Building and Loan, I'm going to swear out a warrant for your arrest. Misappropriation of funds –– manipulation –– malfeas-
ance . . .

George turns and starts out of the office as Potter picks up the phone and dials.

POTTER (cont'd): All right, George, go ahead. You can't hide in a little town like this.

George is out of the door by now. CAMERA MOVES CLOSER to Potter.

POTTER (cont'd)
(on phone): Bill? This is Potter.

EXTERIOR MAIN STREET BEDFORD FALLS –– NIGHT

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT –– George comes out of the bank into the falling snow. He crosses the street, tugs at the door of his old car, finally steps over the door, and drives off.

EXTERIOR MARTINI'S BAR –– NIGHT

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT –– An attractive little roadside tavern, with the name "Martini's" in neon lights on the front wall.

INTERIOR MARTINI'S BAR –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– The place is an Italian restaurant with bar. The bottles sparkle. There are Christmas greens and holly decorating the place. It has a warm, welcoming spirit, like Martini himself, who is welcoming new arrivals. The booths and the checkered-cloth-covered tables are full. There is an air of festivity and friendliness, and more like a party than a public drinking place. George is seated at the bar –– he has had a great deal to drink, far more than he's accustomed to.

MARTINI'S VOICE (greeting new customers): Merry Christmas. Glad you came.

MAN'S VOICE: How about some of that good spaghetti?

MARTINI'S VOICE: We got everything.

During this, CAMERA MOVES CLOSER to George. Nick, the bartender, is watching him solicitously. Seated on the other side of George is a burly individual, drinking a glass of beer. George is mumbling:

GEORGE: God . . . God . . . Dear Father in Heaven, I'm not a praying man, but if you're up there and you can hear me, show me the way. I'm at the end of my rope. Show me the way, God.

NICK (friendly): Are you all right, George? Want someone to take you home?

George shakes his head. Martini comes over to his side.

MARTINI (worried): Why you drink so much, my friend? Please go home, Mr. Bailey. This is Christmas Eve.

The ugly man next to George, who has been listening, reacts sharply to the name "Bailey."

MAN: Bailey? Which Bailey?

NICK: This is Mr. George Bailey.

Without any warning, the burly man throws a vicious punch at George, who goes down and out. Martini, Nick and several others rush to pick him up.

MAN (to George): And the next time you talk to my wife like that you'll get worse. She cried for an hour. It isn't enough she slaves teaching your stupid kids how to read and write, and you have to bawl her out . . .

MARTINI (furious): You get out of here, Mr. Welch!

Mr. Welch reaches in his pocket for money.

WELCH: Now wait . . . I want to pay for my drink.

MARTINI: Never mind the money. You get out of here quick.

WELCH: All right.

MARTINI: You hit my best friend. Get out!

Nick and Martini shove Welch out the door, then run back to help George to his feet. George's mouth is cut and bleeding.

NICK: You all right, George?

GEORGE (stunned): Who was that?

MARTINI: He's gone. Don't worry. His name is Welch. He don't come in to my place no more.

GEORGE: Oh –– Welch. That's what I get for praying.

MARTINI: The last time he come in here. You hear that, Nick?

NICK: Yes, you bet.

GEORGE: Where's my insurance policy?
(finds it in pocket)
Oh, here . . .

He starts for the door.

MARTINI: Oh, no, Please, don't go out this way, Mr. Bailey.

GEORGE: I'm all right.

Nick and Martini try to stop him, but he shrugs them off.

MARTINI: Oh, no –– you don't feel so good.

GEORGE: I'm all right.

MARTINI: Please don't go away –– please!

George opens the door and exits to the street.

EXTERIOR RESIDENTIAL STREET –– NIGHT

MEDIUM SHOT –– George's car comes along the empty street, through the falling snow, suddenly swerves and crashes into a tree near the sidewalk of a house. George gets out to look at the damage, and savagely kicks at the open door of the car, trying to shut it. The noise brings the owner of the house running out.

OWNER: What do you think you're doing?

CLOSE SHOT –– George stands unsteadily near the car, shaken by the accident. The front lights are broken and the fender is ripped. George stands dully looking at the damage. The owner comes up, looking at his tree. He leans over to examine the damages.

OWNER (with indignation): Now look what you did. My great-grandfather planted this tree.

George staggers off down the street, paying no attention to the man.

OWNER (cont'd): Hey, you . . . Hey, you! Come back here, you drunken fool! Get this car out of here!

EXTERIOR BRIDGE OVER RIVER –– NIGHT

MEDIUM LONG SHOT –– George is crossing the approach to the bridge when a truck swings around the corner and nearly hits him.

DRIVER: Hey, what's the matter with you? Look where you're going!

The truck turns onto the bridge, and George takes a narrow catwalk at the railing.

CLOSE SHOT –– George has stopped by the railing at the center of the bridge. The snow is now falling hard.

EXTERIOR RIVER –– NIGHT

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT –– CAMERA SHOOTING DOWN from George's angle TO the water, dotted with floating ice, passing under the bridge.

EXTERIOR BRIDGE AT RAILING –– NIGHT

CLOSEUP –– George. He stares down at the water, desperate, trying to make up his mind to act. He leans over looking at the water, fascinated, glances furtively around him, hunches himself as though about to jump.

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT –– From above George a body hurtles past and lands in the water with a loud splash. George looks down, horrified.

VOICE (from river): Help! Help!

George quickly takes off his coat and dives over the railing into the water.

CLOSER ANGLE –– George comes up, sees the man flailing about in the water, and CAMERA PANS WITH him as he swims toward the man.

MAN: Help! Help! Help!

EXTERIOR TOLL HOUSE ON BRIDGE –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– The toll house keeper, hearing the cries for help, comes running out on the bridge with a flashlight, which he shines on the two figures struggling in the water below.

EXTERIOR RIVER –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– The man in the water is Clarence, the angel whose voice we have heard speaking from Heaven. George reaches him, grabs hold of him, and starts swimming for shore.

INTERIOR TOLL HOUSE ON BRIDGE –– NIGHT

MEDIUM SHOT –– George, Clarence, and the tollkeeper. George is seated before a wood-burning stove before which his clothes are drying on a line. He is in his long winter underwear. He is sipping a mug of hot coffee, staring at the stove, cold, gloomy and drunk, ignoring Clarence and the tollkeeper, preoccupied by his near suicide and his unsolved problems. Clarence is standing on the other side of the stove, putting on his undershirt. This is a ludicrous seventeenth century garment which looks like a baby's night shirt –– with embroidered cuffs and collar, and gathered at the neck with a drawstring. It falls below his knees.

The tollkeeper is seated against the wall eyeing them suspiciously. Throughout the scene he attempts to spit, but each time is stopped by some amazing thing Clarence does or says. Clarence becomes aware that his garment is amazing the tollkeeper.

CLARENCE: I didn't have time to get some stylish underwear. My wife gave me this on my last birthday. I passed away in it.

The tollkeeper, about to spit, is stopped in the middle of it by this remark. Clarence, secretly trying to get George's attention, now picks up a copy of "Tom Sawyer" which is hanging on the line, drying. He shakes the book.

CLARENCE (cont'd): Oh, Tom Sawyer's drying out, too. You should read the new book Mark Twain's writing now.

The tollkeeper stares at him incredulously.

TOLLKEEPER: How'd you happen to fall in?

CLARENCE: I didn't fall in. I jumped in to save George.

George looks up, surprised.

GEORGE: You what? To save me?

CLARENCE: Well, I did, didn't I? You didn't go through with it, did you?

GEORGE: Go through with what?

CLARENCE: Suicide.

George and the tollkeeper react to this.

TOLLKEEPER: It's against the law to commit suicide around here.

CLARENCE: Yeah, it's against the law where I come from, too.

TOLLKEEPER: Where do you come from?

He leans forward to spit, but is stopped by Clarence's next statement.

CLARENCE: Heaven.
(to George)
I had to act quickly; that's why I jumped in. I knew if I were drowning you'd try to save me. And you see, you did, and that's how I saved you.

The tollkeeper becomes increasingly nervous. George casually looks at the strange smiling little man a second time.

GEORGE (offhand): Very funny.

CLARENCE: Your lip's bleeding, George.

George's hand goes to his mouth.

GEORGE: Yeah, I got a bust in the jaw in answer to a prayer a little bit ago.

CLARENCE (comes around to George): Oh, no –– no –– no. I'm the answer to your prayer. That's why I was sent down here.

GEORGE (casually interested): How do you know my name?

CLARENCE: Oh, I know all about you. I've watched you grow up from a little boy.

GEORGE: What are you, a mind reader or something?

CLARENCE: Oh, no.

GEORGE: Well, who are you, then?

CLARENCE: Clarence Odbody, A-S-2.

GEORGE: Odbody . . . A-S-2. What's that A-S-2?

CLARENCE: Angel, Second Class.

The tollkeeper's chair slips out from under him with a crash. He has been leaning against the wall on it, tipped back on two legs. Tollkeeper rises and makes his way warily out the door. From his expression he looks like he'll call the nearest cop.

CLARENCE (cont'd)
(to tollkeeper)
Cheerio, my good man.

George rubs his head with his hand, to clear his mind.

GEORGE: Oh, brother. I wonder what Martini put in those drinks?

He looks up at Clarence standing beside him.

GEORGE (cont'd): Hey, what's with you? What did you say just a minute ago? Why'd you want to save me?

CLARENCE: That's what I was sent down for. I'm your guardian angel.

GEORGE: I wouldn't be a bit surprised.

CLARENCE: Ridiculous of you to think of killing yourself for money. Eight thousand dollars.

GEORGE (bewildered): Yeah . . . just things like that. Now how'd you know that?

CLARENCE: I told you –– I'm your guardian angel. I know everything about you.

GEORGE: Well, you look about like the kind of an angel I'd get. Sort of a fallen angel, aren't you? What happened to your wings?

CLARENCE: I haven't won my wings yet. That's why I'm an angel Second Class.

GEORGE: I don't know whether I like it very much being seen around with an angel without any wings.

CLARENCE: Oh, I've got to earn them, and you'll help me, won't you?

GEORGE (humoring him): Sure, sure. How?

CLARENCE: By letting me help you.

GEORGE: Only one way you can help me. You don't happen to have eight thousand bucks on you?

CLARENCE: Oh, no, no. We don't use money in Heaven.

GEORGE: Oh, that's right, I keep forgetting. Comes in pretty handy down here, bub.

CLARENCE: Oh, tut, tut, tut.

GEORGE: I found it out a little late. I'm worth more dead than alive.

CLARENCE: Now look, you mustn't talk like that. I won't get my wings with that attitude. You just don't know all that you've done. If it hadn't been for you . . .

GEORGE (interrupts): Yeah, if it hadn't been for me, everybody'd be a lot better off. My wife, and my kids and my friends.
(annoyed with Clarence)
Look, little fellow, go off and haunt somebody else, will you?

CLARENCE: No, you don't understand. I've got my job . . .

GEORGE (savagely): Aw, shut up, will you.

Clarence is not getting far with George. He glances up, paces across the room, thoughtfully.

CLARENCE (to himself): Hmmm, this isn't going to be so easy.
(to George)
So you still think killing yourself would make everyone feel happier, eh?

GEORGE (dejectedly): Oh, I don't know. I guess you're right. I suppose it would have been better if I'd never been born at all.

CLARENCE: What'd you say?

GEORGE: I said I wish I'd never been born.

CLARENCE: Oh, you mustn't say things like that. You . . .
(gets an idea)
. . . wait a minute. Wait a minute. That's an idea.
(glances up toward Heaven)
What do you think? Yeah, that'll do it. All right.
(to George)
You've got your wish. You've never been born.

As Clarence speaks this line, the snow stops falling outside the building, a strong wind springs up which blows open the door to the shack. Clarence runs to close the door.

CLARENCE (cont'd)
(looking upward)
You don't have to make all that fuss about it.

As Clarence speaks, George cocks his head curiously, favoring his deaf ear, more interested in his hearing than in what Clarence has said.

GEORGE: What did you say?

CLARENCE: You've never been born. You don't exist. You haven't a care in the world.

George feels his ear as Clarence talks.

CLARENCE (cont'd): No worries –– no obligations –– no eight thousand dollars to get –– no Potter looking for you with the Sheriff.

CLOSEUP –– George and Clarence. George indicates his bad ear.

GEORGE: Say something else in that ear.

CLARENCE (bending down): Sure. You can hear out of it.

GEORGE: Well, that's the doggonedest thing . . . I haven't heard anything out of that ear since I was a kid. Must have been that jump in the cold water.

CLARENCE: Your lip's stopped bleeding, too, George.

George feels his lip, which shows no sign of the recent cut he received from Welch. He is now thoroughly confused.

GEORGE: What do you know about that . . . What's happened?

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT –– George looks around, as though to get his bearings.

GEORGE: It's stopped snowing out, hasn't it? What's happened here?
(standing up)
Come on, soon as these clothes of ours are dry . . .

CLARENCE: Our clothes are dry.

George feels the clothes on the line.

GEORGE: What do you know about that? Stove's hotter than I thought. Now, come on, get your clothes on, and we'll stroll up to my car and get . . .

They start dressing. George interrupts himself.

GEORGE (cont'd): Oh, I'm sorry. I'll stroll. You fly.

CLARENCE: I can't fly. I haven't got any wings.

GEORGE: You haven't got your wings. Yeah, that's right.