A Scanner Darkly - A Screenplay By Charlie Kaufman

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A SCANNER DARKLY

a screenplay by

Charlie Kaufman

adapted from the novel

A Scanner Darkly

Philip K. Dick

First Draft

December 20, 1997

SHOT OF NOTEBOOK PAGE DAPPLED WITH SUNLIGHT

POV of someone skimming a hand-written entry. The

corresponding voice-over is offhand, dispassionate. In the

background, children can be heard laughing and playing.

BOB ARCTOR (V.O.)

Lately, Jerry Fabin stands all day

shaking bugs from his hair. The

doctor says there are no bugs in his

hair.

The sound of fingers scratching scalp begins and grows louder

through the following montage.

EXT. COCA-COLA BOTTLING PLANT - PRE-DAWN

SUBTITLE: ORANGE COUNTY, CALIFORNIA, IN THE YEAR 1994

A massive, unlit Coca-Cola sign is eerily silhouetted

against the early morning sky. Antiquated delivery trucks

set out from loading docks, as red futuristic cargo planes,

emblazoned with the Coca-Cola logo, take off from the roof.

EXT. FREEWAY - PRE-DAWN

Birds-eye view of Coca-Cola trucks spreading out through the

city. Coke planes shoot by close to the camera.

EXT. 7-11 - DAWN

A Coke truck pulls into the parking lot.

EXT. SUPERMARKET - DAWN

A Coke plane lands gracefully on the roof of the supermarket.

EXT. MCDONALD'S - DAWN

Uniformed delivery men enter, hauling cases of Coke syrup.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - DAWN

A Coca-Cola truck rumbles slowly past a row of low-income,

plastic pre-fab houses. We hold on one house whose front

lawn is strewn with furniture and cleaning products.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S LIVING ROOM - DAWN

The windows are spray-painted over with silver paint. A

single pole lamp with bare, harsh spot-lights illuminates

the room, which is emptied of furniture, covered in a sickly

green shag carpet, and littered with fast-food wrappers. In

(CONTINUED)

the center of the room stands Jerry Fabin, thirty, with wild-

eyes and a long, tangled mass of hair. He is naked, draped

over a metal garbage can, and vigorously scratching his

head. This process continues for an uncomfortably long

time. A Golden Retriever sleeps in the corner.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S BATHROOM - LATER

Jerry Fabin stands under a hot shower. Steam fills the

stall. He scrubs his hair violently with tensed fingers.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S LIVING ROOM - LATER

We hear the shower. Steam pours out the open bathroom door.

EXT. JERRY FABIN'S HOUSE - MID-DAY

The sun is high; the day is bright and hazy. A few hippies

stroll by or sit on front steps, discreetly smoking joints.

We hear the distant sound of Jerry's shower.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S BATHROOM - LATER

Jerry is still in the shower, scrubbing away. He finally

turns it off and steps out, a drowned rat. He dries

himself, wipes the mirror and squints nervously at his

reflection. Tiny bugs hop around on his head. He screams.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S LIVING ROOM - LATER

Jerry lies on the cruddy shag carpet, open volumes of the

Encyclopedia Brittanica spread around him. He scratches

himself as he studies one of the volumes. Insects hop up and

down all over his body, and on the rug. When he exhales, a

cloud of bugs pours from his mouth; he shoos them away.

EXT. JERRY FABIN'S HOUSE - DAY

Jerry heads up the walkway carrying a shopping bag. Several

cans of Raid and other bug sprays poke out of the bag. Bugs

hop around on Jerry. He puts the bag down on the stoop to

scratch himself. He notices tiny bugs chewing the shrubs.

INT. NURSERY - DAY

Jerry consults with a man behind the cash register.

NURSERY CLERK

Eating the bushes? Could be aphids.

CONTINUED:

(CONTINUED)

JERRY FABIN

Aphids! Of course. Y'know, I started

with "A" in my cyclopedia, yet somehow

I must've skipped right over aphids.

It does start with "A", right?

Aphids?

NURSERY CLERK

Yes. Yes, it does, sir.

JERRY FABIN

Boy, those fuckers can really bite.

NURSERY CLERK

Aphids don't bite people.

Fabin just stares at the clerk.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

Scrawled charts depicting the aphid life-cycle now adorn the

walls. As Jerry sprays a can of "Aphid-Off" around the

room, he notices his sleeping dog is covered with the bugs.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S BATHROOM - DAY

Jerry stands in the shower with his dog. Jerry is lathered

head-to-toe and in the process of lathering the dog.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BATHROOM - LATER

Jerry and the long-suffering dog are still in the shower.

Charles Freck, early thirties and stoned, enters.

CHARLES FRECK

Hey, Jerry, I was in the neighborhood

looking to score, and I thought --

What the fuck are you doing in the

shower with the goddamn dog?

JERRY FABIN

I got to get the aphids.

Jerry turns off the shower, steps out with the dog, and

begins drying him. Freck watches silently, transfixed, as

Jerry proceeds to rub oil, then talc into the dog's coat.

CHARLES FRECK

I don't see any aphids. What's an

aphid?

CONTINUED:

(CONTINUED)

JERRY FABIN

(busy)

It eventually kills you. That's what

an aphid is.

Freck nods sympathetically.

JERRY FABIN

They're in my hair and my skin and my

lungs. The goddamn pain is unbearable.

I'm gonna have to go to the hospital.

CHARLES FRECK

(beat, squints)

How come I can't see them though?

Jerry stops talcing the dog, looks up at Freck.

INT. JERRY FABIN'S LIVING ROOM - A BIT LATER

Jerry and Freck are on all fours on the carpet. Bugs hop

all around. The powdered-white dog sleeps in the corner.

JERRY FABIN

I'll find an especially big one, cause

they're hard for many people to see.

Jerry grabs a bug from the carpet, throws it in a jar, and

clamps the lid down fast. He shows it triumphantly to Freck.

CHARLES FRECK

Wow! That is a big one!

JERRY FABIN

Help me find more for the doctor to

see.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. JERRY FABIN'S LIVING ROOM - LATER

The two men are still on their hands and knees collecting

bugs. Three jars are already full of hopping insects.

CHARLES FRECK

What do we get for these? I mean,

does the doctor pay a bounty or

something? A prize? Any bread?

CONTINUED:

(CONTINUED)

JERRY FABIN

I get to help perfect a cure for them.

They continue to collect bugs in silence. Jerry starts

scratching himself again, trying not to be too obvious.

JERRY FABIN

Hey, man, you continue while I take a

leak and like that.

Jerry heads to the bathroom. The dog, who has been sleeping

near the bathroom door, skulks to the other side of the room.

CHARLES FRECK

Jerry, these bugs sort of scare me. I

don't like it here by myself.

Jerry stops, holds the door jam for support. He is in pain.

JERRY FABIN

You're a chickenshit bastard, Freck.

CHARLES FRECK

Couldn't you --

JERRY FABIN

I got to take a leak and like that!

Jerry enters the bathroom, slams the door shut, and locks it.

INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS

Jerry turns on the shower, climbs in and begins to soap

himself vigorously. Freck is barely audible throughout.

CHARLES FRECK (O.S.)

I'm afraid out here, man.

JERRY FABIN

Then go fuck yourself, man!

CHARLES FRECK (O.S.)

Do these fuckers bite?

JERRY FABIN

Yeah they bite! They're aphids!

CHARLES FRECK

Can I wash them off and wait for you?

Jerry ignores Freck. He scrubs himself intently,

ritualistically, totally absorbed in his task.

CONTINUED:

INT. LION'S CLUB HALL - DAY

We hear pronounced, rhythmic breathing, as we scan the hall,

which is filled with middle-aged businessmen wearing an

array of brightly colored suits. They are well-fed and dull-

looking. At the podium is another bussinessman, this one fat

in a pink suit and yellow tie. He addresses the assemblage.

FAT BUSINESSMAN

Gentlemen, we have a wonderful

opportunity this afternoon. The

county of Orange has provided us with

the chance to hear from -- and put

questions to -- an undercover

narcotics agent from the Sheriff's

Office.

The fat businessman gestures with a sweep of his arm toward

the camera.

The heavy breathing stops as we angle on what the fat

businessman is gesturing toward: a generic blur of a human

being sitting on stage. The blur is clearly human, but it's

impossible to settle on its facial features. It's as if the

features keep changing.

FAT BUSINESSMAN (CONT'D)

Now you will notice that you can

barely see this individual becuase he

is wearing what is called a "scramble

suit", which he wears during most of

his daily activities of law

enforcement. Due to potential

corruption within the Sheriff's

Department, even this gallant

officer's co-workers and superiors

must not know his "street" identity.

Heavy breathing. Again we're inside the suit. Now we see,

in shadowy profile, the face of the man in the suit. This is

Bob Arctor, early thirties, homely, and looking like a

druggie. He scans the audience disdainfully.

BOB ARCTOR

(under breath)

Nitwits. Pathetic, soulless morons.

We cut to the outside of the suit -- still expressionless.

FAT BUSINESSMAN

This man -- whom we will call Fred,

because that is the code name under

which he reports the information he

(MORE)

(CONTINUED)

FAT BUSINESSMAN (cont'd)

gathers -- cannot be identified by

voice or by appearance. He looks,

does he not, like a vague blur. This

is because his scramble suit projects

thousands of different human faces

onto your retinas, thus turning Fred

into a veritable Everyman. All things

to all people translates into nothing

to anyone, does it not?

The fat businessman smiles a big, toothy smile. The audience

of straights smiles back, almost in unison.

FAT BUSINESSMAN (CONT'D)

So let's hear it for our vague blur!

The audience erupts into enthusiastic applause. Fred rises

and replaces the fat businessman behind the podium. When he

speaks it is an emotionless computer voice.

FRED

If you saw me on the street, you'd

say, "There goes a weirdo freak

doper." And you'd feel aversion and

walk away.

The audience is silent, blank, their blankness a reflection

of the blankness of Fred's scramble suit.

FRED (CONT'D)

I don't look like you. I can't afford

to. My life depends on it.

Dramatic pause.

FRED (CONT'D)

I am not going to tell you first what

I'm attempting to do as an undercover

officer. I'm going to tell you...

(beat)

... what I am afraid of.

Now the audience is hooked, their eyes wide.

We move inside the suit and watch Bob Arctor watching the

audience, timing the pause for best effect. We hear the

breathing again, and when Arctor speaks, it is in his normal

voice, bored, delivering a memorized speech.

BOB ARCTOR

What I fear, is that our children,

your children and my children...

(pause)

(MORE)

CONTINUED:

(CONTINUED)

BOB ARCTOR (cont'd)

... I have two. Little ones.

QUICK SHOT OF FAMILY PHOTO OF ARCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND TWO

LITTLE GIRLS

The Arctor in the photo is different, conservative, in a

colorful suit like the audience members. His wife and kids

are smiling and suburban-looking. Their features indistinct,

generic, impossible to recall.

BOB ARCTOR (V.O.) (CONT'D)

But not too little to be addicted...

INT. LION'S CLUB HALL - CONTINUOUS

Arctor is speaking from inside the suit.

BOB ARCTOR

... calculatedly addicted, for profit,

by those who would destroy this

society. We do not yet know who these

animals are who pray on our young, but

one day we will.

VOICE FROM CROWD

Sock it to 'em!

The audience concurs. Bob Arctor sighs disdainfully.

Outside the suit, the sigh is heard as a computer-like

exhalation, uninterpretable, lost on the audience.

FRED

We believe there is one source for

Substance D and a diversified

distribution system making it

accessible in all major drug using

areas. It my job as an undercover

officer to attain the confidence of low

level dealers and work my way up

through the network to arrive at the

drug's source. Now, the profits for...

Fred becomes silent, stands there. The audience waits.

Inside the suit, Arctor sweats, can't remember his line. He

looks, panicked, out at the sea of eyes and finally wings it.

BOB ARCTOR

Well, it isn't the profits anyhow.

It's something else... what you see ...

CONTINUED:

(CONTINUED)

Arctor scans the hard audience. He tries a new tack.

BOB ARCTOR (CONT'D)

If you were a diabetic, and you didn't

have the money for insulin, would you

steal to get the money? Or just die?

A tinny voice speaks to Arctor through his headphone.

HEADPHONE VOICE

I think you'd better go back to the

prepared text, Fred.

BOB ARCTOR

(quietly into throat mike)

I forgot it.

HEADPHONE VOICE

Riiight. I'll read it to you. Repeat

it after me, but try to make it sound

casual. "Each day the profits flow.

Where they go we will soon determine."

BOB ARCTOR

(quietly)

I got a block against this stuff.

HEADPHONE VOICE

"Then retribution will swiftly follow.

And at that moment, for the life of

me, I would not be in their shoes."

BOB ARCTOR

(quietly)

You know why I've got a block against

this stuff? Because this bullshit is

what gets people on dope.

The audience watches the vague blur mumbling in a computer

voice. They look uneasy. Fred is silent for a moment, then

starts to talk again in his drone.

FRED

"D" is for Substance D. Which is for

Dumbness, Despair, and Desertion, the

desertion of your friends from you,

you from them, everyone from everyone,

isolation and loneliness and hating

and suspecting each other. D is

finally death. Slow Death, we...

(beat)

... we the dopers call it...

CONTINUED:

(CONTINUED)

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ASCANNERDARKLYascreenplaybyCharlieKaufmanadaptedfromthenovelAScannerDarklybyPhilipK.DickFirstDraftDecember20,1997SHOTOFNOTEBOOKPAGEDAPPLEDWITHSUNLIGHTPOVofsomeoneskimmingahand-writtenentry.Thecorrespondingvoice-overisoffhand,dispassionate.Inthebackground,childrencanbeheardlaughingandplaying.BOBARCTO...

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