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

LA SCENEGGIATURA

EXTERIOR STREET –– NIGHT

MEDIUM SHOT –– This is the same empty street where George's car swerved into the tree near the sidewalk. George and Clarence come into shot and up to the spot where George had left his car smashed against the tree. George looks around, but his car is nowhere to be seen, and the tree is undamaged.

CLARENCE: What's the matter?

GEORGE (puzzled): Well, this is where I left my car and it isn't here.

CLARENCE: You have no car.

GEORGE: Well, I had a car, and it was right here. I guess somebody moved it.

CLOSE SHOT –– at curb. The owner of the house passes with some Christmas packages under his arm.

OWNER (politely): Good evening.

GEORGE: Oh, say . . . Hey . . . where's my car?

OWNER: I beg your pardon?

GEORGE: My car, my car. I'm the fellow that owns the car that ran into your tree.

OWNER: What tree?

GEORGE: What do you mean, what tree? This tree. Here, I ran into it. Cut a big gash in the side of it here.

The owner bends down to examine the trunk of the tree, then straightens up and smells George's breath. He backs away.

OWNER: You must mean two other trees. You had me worried. One of the oldest trees in Pottersville.

GEORGE (blankly): Pottersville? Why, you mean Bedford Falls.

OWNER: I mean Pottersville.
(sharply) Don't you think I know where I live? What's the matter with you?

The owner proceeds toward his house. George is completely bewildered.

GEORGE: Oh, I don't know. Either I'm off my nut, or he is . . .
(to Clarence) . . . or you are!

CLARENCE: It isn't me!

GEORGE: Well, maybe I left the car up at Martini's. Well, come on, Gabriel.

He puts his arm around Clarence, and they start off up the road.

CLARENCE (as they go): Clarence!

GEORGE: Clarence! Clarence!

INTERIOR NICK'S BAR –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– It is Martini's place, but almost unrecognizable. The cheerful Italian feeling is gone. It is now more of a hard-drinking joint, a honky-tonk. Same bar, tables have no covers. People are lower down and tougher. Nick the bartender is behind the bar. George and Clarence come in. George does not notice the difference, but Clarence is all eyes and beaming. They go up to the bar.

GEORGE (as they come in): That's all right. Go on in. Martini's a good friend of mine.

Two people leave the bar as they approach.

GEORGE (cont'd): There's a place to sit down. Sit down.

MEDIUM CLOSEUP –– Nick is wiping off the bar as they sit down.

GEORGE (cont'd): Oh, hello, Nick. Hey, where's Martini?

NICK: You want a martini?

GEORGE: No, no, Martini. Your boss. Where is he?

NICK (impatient): Look, I'm the boss. You want a drink or don't you?

GEORGE: Okay –– all right. Double bourbon, quick, huh?

NICK: Okay.
(to Clarence)
What's yours?

CLARENCE: I was just thinking . . .
(face puckers up with delicious anticipation)
It's been so long since I . . .

NICK (impatient): Look, mister, I'm standing here waiting for you to make up your mind.

CLARENCE (appreciatively): That's a good man. I was just thinking of a flaming rum punch. No, it's not cold enough for that. Not nearly cold enough . . . Wait a minute . . . wait a minute . . . I got it. Mulled wine, heavy on the cinnamon and light on the cloves. Off with you, me lad, and be lively!

NICK: Hey, look mister, we serve hard drinks in here for men who want to get drunk fast. And we don't need any characters around to give the joint atmosphere. Is that clear? Or do I have to slip you my left for a convincer?

As he says this, Nick leans over the counter and puts his left fist nearly in Clarence's eye. Clarence is puzzled by this conduct.

CLARENCE (to George): What's he talking about?

GEORGE (soothingly): Nick –– Nick, just give him the same as mine. He's okay.

NICK: Okay.

Nick turns away to get the drinks.

GEORGE: What's the matter with him. I never saw Nick act like that before.

CLARENCE: You'll see a lot of strange things from now on.

GEORGE: Oh, yeah. Hey, little fellow –– you worry me. You got someplace to sleep?

CLARENCE: No.

GEORGE: You don't huh? Well, you got any money?

Nick is listening suspiciously to this conversation.

CLARENCE: No.

GEORGE: No wonder you jumped in the river.

CLARENCE: I jumped in the river to save you so I could get my wings.

Nick stops pouring the drinks, bottle poised in his hand.

GEORGE: Oh, that's right.

A cash register bell rings off stage. Clarence reacts to the SOUND of the bell.

CLARENCE: Oh-oh. Somebody's just made it.

GEORGE: Made what?

CLARENCE: Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel's just got his wings.

George glances up at Nick.

GEORGE: Look, I think maybe you better not mention getting your wings around here.

CLARENCE: Why? Don't they believe in angels?

GEORGE (looking at Nick): A . . . Yeah, but . . . you know . . .

CLARENCE: Then why should they be surprised when they see one?

GEORGE (to Nick): He never grew up. He's . . .
(to Clarence) How old are you, anyway, Clarence?

CLARENCE: Two hundred and ninety-three . . .
(thinks) . . . next May.

Nick slams the bottle down on the counter.

NICK: That does it! Out you two pixies go, through the door or out the window!

GEORGE: Look, Nick. What's wrong?

NICK (angrily): And that's another thing. Where do you come off calling me Nick?

GEORGE: Well, Nick, that's your name, isn't it?

NICK: What's that got to do with it? I don't know you from Adam's off ox.
(sees someone come in)
Hey, you! Rummy! Come here! Come here!

CLOSE SHOT –– a small wreck of a man, with weak, watery eyes. Obviously a broken-down panhandler, his hat in his hand.

CLOSEUP –– George. He can hardly believe his eyes. It is Gower the druggist.

BACK TO SHOT –– Nick at the bar.

NICK (to Gower): Didn't I tell you never to come panhandling around here?

Nick picks up a seltzer bottle, and squirts Gower in the face with it. The crowd laugh brutally. Gower smiles weakly as the soda runs off his face.

CLOSE SHOT –– George, horrified, leaps up and goes over to Gower.

GEORGE: Mr. Gower! Mr. Gower! This is George Bailey! Don't you know me?

GOWER: No. No.

NICK (to his bouncers): Throw him out. Throw him out.

The bouncers throw Gower out the front door. George rushes back to the bar.

GEORGE (bewildered): Hey, what is . . . Hey, Nick, Nick . . . Isn't that Mr. Gower, the druggist?

NICK: You know, that's another reason for me not to like you. That rumhead spent twenty years in jail for poisoning a kid. If you know him, you must be a jailbird yourself.
(to his bouncers)
Would you show these gentlemen to the door.

BOUNCER: Sure. This way, gentlemen.

EXTERIOR NICK'S BAR –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– George and Clarence come flying through the door and land in the snow.

INTERIOR NICK'S BAR –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– Nick at the cash register, busily ringing the bell.

NICK: Hey! Get me! I'm giving out wings!

EXTERIOR NICK'S BAR –– NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT –– George and Clarence lying in the snow. George has a strange, puzzled look on his face. They remain for a moment as they landed, looking at each other.

CLARENCE: You see, George, you were not there to stop Gower from putting that poison into the . . .

GEORGE: What do you mean, I wasn't there? I remember distinctly . . .

George catches a glimpse of the front of the building with the neon sign over the door. It now reads "NICK'S PLACE" instead of "MARTINI'S."

George and Clarence get to their feet.

GEORGE (exasperated): What the . . . hey, what's going on around here? Why, this ought to be Martini's place.

He points to the sign, and looks at Clarence. Clarence sort of hangs his head. George fixes him with a very interested look.

GEORGE (cont'd): Look, who are you?

CLARENCE (patiently): I told you, George. I'm your guardian angel.

George, still looking at him, goes up to him and pokes his arm. It's flesh.

GEORGE: Yeah, yeah, I know. You told me that. What else are you? What . . . are you a hypnotist?

CLARENCE: No, of course not.

GEORGE: Well then, why am I seeing all these strange things?

CLARENCE: Don't you understand, George? It's because you were not born.

GEORGE: Then if I wasn't born, who am I?

CLARENCE: You're nobody. You have no identity.

George rapidly searches his pockets for identification, but without success.

GEORGE: What do you mean, no identity? My name's George Bailey.

CLARENCE: There is no George Bailey. You have no papers, no cards, no driver's license, no 4-F card, no insurance policy . . .
(he says these things as George searches for them)

George looks in his watch pocket.

CLARENCE (cont'd): They're not there, either.

GEORGE: What?

CLARENCE: Zuzu's petals.

George feverishly continues to turn his pockets inside out.

CLARENCE (cont'd): You've been given a great gift, George. A chance to see what the world would be like without you.

George is completely befuddled.

GEORGE (shaking his head): Now wait a minute, here. Wait a minute here. As, this is some sort of a funny dream I'm having here. So long, mister, I'm going home.

He starts off. Clarence rises.

CLARENCE: Home? What home?

GEORGE (furious) Now shut up! Cut it out! You're . . . you're . . . you're crazy! That's what I think . . . you're screwy, and you're driving me crazy, too! I'm seeing things. I'm going home and see my wife and family. Do you understand that? And I'm going home alone!

George strides off hurriedly. Clarence slowly follows him, glancing up toward Heaven as he goes.

CLARENCE: How'm I doing, Joseph. Thanks.
(pause) No, I didn't have a drink!