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Some Like It Hot

Some Like It Hot

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Published by momentcatcher
One of the greatest scripts ever made
One of the greatest scripts ever made

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Published by: momentcatcher on Aug 23, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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"SOME LIKE IT HOT"Screenplay byBilly WilderandI.A.L. Diamond
FADE IN:1.CITY AT NIGHT.1.A hearse of Late Twenties vintage is proceeding at adignified pace along a half-deserted wintry street.Inside the hearse, there are four somber men in black - anda coffin, of course, with a wreath of chrysanthemums ontop.One of the men is driving, another is in the seat beside him. The other two are sitting in the rear of the hearse, flankingthe coffin. All four seem fully aware of the solemnity of theoccasion.Now they hear a SIREN, faint at first, but rapidly growinglouder. The driver and the man next to him exchange anervous glance. The other two men move tensely towardthe rear door of the hearse, raise the black curtain over theglass panel, and peek out cautiously. Through the glass panel, they see a police car bearing downon them, the red light blinking, the SIREN screaming. The two men at the rear window gesture to the driver tostep on it. He does. The hearse, obviously a souped-up job, instantly picks upspeed, weaves crazily through traffic, the police car in hotpursuit. The hearse careens around a corner at eightymiles an hour, the police car right on its tail.By this time the policemen are leaning out of their car withdrawn guns, firing at the hearse. The two men in the rear of the hearse, flattened against thesides, pull a couple of sawed-off shotguns out of a hiddenoverhead rack. Police bullets smash the glass panel andwhistle through the hearse. The driver and the man next tohim duck, but the hearse continues at the same breakneckspeed. The two men in back shove their guns through theshattered glass, fire at the police car.Despite the hail of lead, the police car - its windshieldcobwebbed with bullet holes - gains on the hearse.
Suddenly the car skids out of control, jumps the curb,comes to a screeching stop. Policemen leap out, fire afterthe hearse.In the speeding hearse, the last of the police bullets thudinto the coffin. Instantly three geysers of liquid spurtthrough the bullet holes. As the firing recedes, the two menin the back put away their guns, remove the wreath fromthe coffin, take the lid off. The inside is jam-packed withbottles of booze, some of them shattered by the bullets. Asthe men start to lift out the broken bottles - SUPERIMPOSE:CHICAGO, 1929DISSOLVE TO:2.EXT. INTERSECTION OF STREETS - NIGHT.2. Traffic is light. All the shops are dark except one - a dimlylit establishment, from which drift the mournful strains of an organ. A circumspect sign reads:MOZARELLA'S FUNERAL PARLOR24 Hour ServiceIn the window, a sample coffin is on display. There seem to be some rites going on inside, because anumber of mourners, singly and in couples, are hurryingfrom the cold, windy street into Mozarella's parlor.Meanwhile, the hearse with the damp coffin draws up to thedelivery entrance at the side of the building. The driverhonks the horn - one long and two short - as the other menstep down and start to slide the coffin out. The side dooropens, and a dapper gent emerges. He wears a tight-fittingblack suit, a black fedora, and gray spats. The spats arevery important. He always wears spats. His name is SPATSCOLOMBO. He cases the street, motions the men inside. Asthey carry the coffin past him, he removes his fedora, holdsit reverently over his heart. Then he follows the men in, hishead bowed.Across the street and around the corner, three police carsdraw up silently, and about fifteen uniformed policemenand plain-clothes men spill out. A Captain gives whisperedorders, and the men scatter and discreetly take up positionsaround the funeral parlor.

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