Donnie Brasco
script without owner found at Weekly Script, where they call the use of it fair use. If the owner of the script has anything against his script posted here, please contact me.
“DONNIE BRASCO”
by
Paul Attanasio
Based on the book, “Donnie Brasco”
by
Joseph D. Pistone with Richard Woodley
REVISED DRAFT
July 27, 1992
EXT. DAY. WASHINGTON, D.C.
An AERIAL VIEW of the nation’s capital, MOVING IN on the stolid limestone box of FBI HEADQUARTERS. Supered below:
FBI HEADQUARTERS. WASHINGTON, D.C. 1981.
CUT TO:
INT. DAY. FBI HEADQUARTERS
A spacious corner OFFICE. American flag, FBI seal, and a plush carpet — Federal blue.
CLENDON HOGUE, 40s, barrel chest, shrewd eyes over half-moon glasses, PRESIDES behind a vast desk. The impressive mien of earned authority. Before him:
JULES BONOVOLONTA, late 40s, Green Beret veteran, SUPERVISOR, 140 pounds of pugnacity and gristle. Ex-street agent cramped by headquarters.
PAT MARSHALL, late 30s, a CASE AGENT, compulsively organized, with haunted choirboy’s eyes.
CLARENCE LEBOW, early 40s. Assistant SECTION CHIEF. Brooks Brothers, heavy starch.
LEBOW It’s going down tonight.
JULES Says who? A fucking wire.
LEBOW A reliable wire.
JULES A fiction writer.
Hogue peruses SURVEILLANCE PHOTOS of Sonny Red and Sonny Black. Then reads the INFORMANT’S REPORT.
MARSHALL Is that the 209, sir?
LEBOW There’s going to be a war between Sonny Red and Sonny Black — it’s all over the streets.
JULES Clarence, you couldn’t find the streets with an asphalt detector.
MARSHALL Sonny Black goes, everyone with him goes.
JULES That’s doesn’t mean it’s tonight.
LEBOW Even if it’s not tonight — and I’m not saying it’s not tonight — it could still be tonight because it could be any night.
JULES Fuck you, Clarence.
LEBOW Hey! I’m a Mormon!
HOGUE You have some objection to these guys killing each other?
MARSHALL It’s just that — one of them’s one of us.
HOGUE An informant?
JULES An agent. Undercover.
HOGUE Then why are you depending on an informant? What does the agent say? (off awkward looks) When’s the last time you spoke to him?
JULES Three weeks.
MARSHALL Three weeks and two days.
HOGUE He checks in every three weeks?
MARSHALL He checks in when he checks in, sir.
JULES We had to make up the rules as we went along —
HOGUE My predecessor started this?
JULES His predecessor.
LEBOW It’s been five years.
MARSHALL Five years and three months.
JULES I am not gonna blow a chance to cripple the entire fucking Mafia just because some fucking empty suit in Blue Carpet Land —
LEBOW I am so sick of your superior New York attitude —
JULES — thinks there’s gonna be a shootout tonight after the fucking tarantella.
LEBOW You’re going to risk a man’s life just to make cases.
JULES (right back) Making those cases is his life.
HOGUE And how many cases do we have?
MARSHALL (guessing) A hundred, two hundred…
HOGUE Which one?
JULES The truth is we don’t know.
HOGUE Let me get this straight. Nobody knows where he is. Nobody’s spoken to him. He’s been undercover five years. He might very well get killed tonight — at a fucking wedding — not because he’s one of us, but because he’s one of them. I’ve been on the job one fucking week. And it’s my fucking decision? How the hell did this happen?
Awkward looks and foot shuffling all around.
MARSHALL What time’s the wedding?
LEBOW Eight o’clock tonight.
THE CLOCK
on the wall reads “9:36.”
HOGUE Who is this fucking guy?
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. NIGHT. BAR WASHINGTON (1975)
CLOSE ON
JOE PISTONE, 30s, athlete’s build, body languid with a killer’s confidence. Eyes dead as a shark’s. He chafes at his rep-striped tie and off-the-rack suit.
WIDER
LeBow, Marshall, and two other SUITS around the table. Jules delivers a TOAST. Supered below:
BLACKIE’S. WASHINGTON, D.C.
JULES …And so, Joe, we wish you bon voyage with this farewell drink. We’d give you a farewell dinner — but why spend all that money when you’ll just come crawling back to your old desk?
Laughter around the table. The CLINK of glasses…
LEBOW I would love to know how you sold them on this.
DONNIE I told them I wanted to get far away from you, Clarence, They got it instantly.
LEBOW We’ve had our best guys on this since, what, Valachi? Twenty years?
MARSHALL Who knows? We never tried anything like this.
LEBOW What does that tell you?
MARSHALL The Director thought it would be too corrupting.
JULES Then maybe I should do it. I’m in a mood to be corrupted.
LEBOW You know what these people are like. They’re all married to each other’s cousin.
JULES (shrugs) It’s six months.
MARSHALL I think it’s great. Undercover’s a new area. Get in on the ground floor.
LEBOW It’s a wild goose chase. I’m saying this as a friend.
JOE What do I know? I’m just a dumb guinea.
LEBOW Don’t talk that way, Joe. (beat) Because, you know, you are just a dumb guinea.
LAUGHTER from the group. Joe doesn’t know whether to join in or punch somebody. Jules hands him a large beribboned BOX.
JULES Here you go, Joe.
Joe opens the box. A wide-brimmed Al Capone FEDORA. Uproarious laughter from the group.
LEBOW If you already have one, you can return it.
JULES Put it on!
Against his will, Joe puts on the hat. More laughter from the group.
