"PULP FICTION"
INT. '74 CHEVY (MOVING) – MORNING
An old gas guzzling, dirty, white 1974 Chevy Nova BARRELS down a homeless-ridden street in Hollywood. In the front seat are two young fellas – one white, one black – both wearing cheap black suits with thin black ties under long green dusters. Their names are VINCENT VEGA (white) and JULES WINNFIELD (black). Jules is behind the wheel.
JULES: Okay now, tell me about the hash bars?
VINCENT: What do you want to know?
JULES: Well, hash is legal there, right?
VINCENT: Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a hundred percent legal. I mean you can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint, and start puffin' away. You're only supposed to smoke in your home or certain designated places.
JULES: Those are hash bars?
VINCENT: Yeah, it breaks down like this: it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it and, if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, which doesn't really matter cause – get a load of this – if the cops stop you, it's illegal for them to search you. Searching you is a right that the cops in Amsterdam don't have.
JULES: That did it, man – I'm fuckin' goin', that's all there is to it.
VINCENT: You'll dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?
JULES: What?
VINCENT: It's the little differences. A lotta the same shit we got here, they got there, but there they're a little different.
JULES: Examples?
VINCENT: Well, in Amsterdam, you can buy beer in a movie theatre. And I don't mean in a paper cup either. They give you a glass of beer, like in a bar. In Paris, you can buy beer at MacDonald's. Also, you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
JULES: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
VINCENT: No, they got the metric system there, they wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
JULES: What'd they call it?
VINCENT: Royale with Cheese.
JULES (repeating): Royale with Cheese. What'd they call a Big Mac?
VINCENT: Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it Le Big Mac.
JULES: Le Big Mac. What do they call a Whopper?
VINCENT: I dunno, I didn't go into a Burger King. But you know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?
JULES: What?
VINCENT: Mayonnaise.
JULES: Goddamn!
VINCENT: I seen 'em do it. And I don't mean a little bit on the side of the plate, they fuckin' drown 'em in it.
JULES: Uuccch!
CUT TO:
INT. CHEVY (TRUNK) – MORNING
The trunk of the Chevy OPENS UP, Jules and Vincent reach inside, taking out two .45 Automatics, loading and cocking them.
JULES: We should have shotguns for this kind of deal.
VINCENT: How many up there?
JULES: Three or four.
VINCENT: Counting our guy?
JULES: I'm not sure.
VINCENT: So there could be five guys up there?
JULES: It's possible.
VINCENT: We should have fuckin' shotguns.
They CLOSE the trunk.
CUT TO:
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING COURTYARD – MORNING
Vincent and Jules, their long matching overcoats practically dragging on the ground, walk through the courtyard of what looks like a hacienda-style Hollywood apartment building.
We TRACK alongside.
VINCENT: What's her name?
JULES: Mia.
VINCENT: How did Marsellus and her meet?
JULES: I dunno, however people meet people. She usta be an actress.
VINCENT: She ever do anything I woulda saw?
JULES: I think her biggest deal was she starred in a pilot.
VINCENT: What's a pilot?
JULES: Well, you know the shows on TV?
VINCENT: I don't watch TV.
JULES: Yes, but you're aware that there's an invention called television, and on that invention they show shows?
VINCENT: Yeah.
JULES: Well, the way they pick the shows on TV is they make one show, and that show's called a pilot. And they show that one show to the people who pick the shows, and on the strength of that one show, they decide if they want to make more shows. Some get accepted and become TV programs, and some don't, and become nothing. She starred in one of the ones that became nothing.
They enter the apartment building.
INT. RECEPTION AREA (APARTMENT BUILDING) – MORNING
Vincent and Jules walk through the reception area and wait
for the elevator.
JULES: You remember Antwan Rockamora? Half-black, half-Samoan, usta call him Tony Rocky Horror.
VINCENT: Yeah maybe, fat right?
JULES: I wouldn't go so far as to call the brother fat. He's got a weight problem. What's the nigger gonna do, he's Samoan.
VINCENT: I think I know who you mean, what about him?
JULES: Well, Marsellus fucked his ass up good. And word around the campfire, it was on account of Marsellus Wallace's wife.
The elevator arrives, the men step inside.
INT. ELEVATOR – MORNING
VINCENT: What'd he do, fuck her?
JULES: No no no no no no no, nothin' that bad.
VINCENT: Well what then?
JULES: He gave her a foot massage.
VINCENT: A foot massage?
Jules nods his head: "Yes."
VINCENT: That's all?
Jules nods his head: "Yes."
VINCENT: What did Marsellus do?
JULES: Sent a couple of guys over to his place. They took him out on the patio of his apartment, threw his ass over the balcony. Nigger fell four stories. They had this garden at the bottom, enclosed in glass, like one of them greenhouses – nigger fell through that. Since then, he's kinda developed a speech impediment.
The elevator doors open, Jules and Vincent exit.
VINCENT: That's a damn shame.
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING HALLWAY – MORNING
STEADICAM in front of Jules and Vincent as they make a beeline
down the hall.
VINCENT: Still I hafta say, play with matches, ya get burned.
JULES: Whaddya mean?
VINCENT: You don't be givin' Marsellus Wallace's new bride a foot massage.
JULES: You don't think he overreacted?
VINCENT: Antwan probably didn't expect Marsellus to react like he did, but he had to expect a reaction.
JULES: It was a foot massage, a foot massage is nothing, I give my mother a foot massage.
VINCENT: It's laying hands on Marsellus Wallace's new wife in a familiar way. Is it as bad as eatin' her out – no, but you're in the same fuckin' ballpark.
Jules stops Vincent.
JULES: Whoa... whoa... whoa... stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
VINCENT: Not the same thing, the same ballpark.
JULES: It ain't no ballpark either. Look maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his lady's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league, ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
VINCENT: Have you ever given a foot massage?
JULES: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages – I'm the foot fuckin' master.
VINCENT: Given a lot of 'em?
JULES: Shit yeah. I got my technique down man, I don't tickle or nothin'.
VINCENT: Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?
Jules looks at him a long moment – he's been set up.
JULES: Fuck you.
He starts walking down the hall. Vincent, smiling, walks a
little bit behind.
VINCENT: How many?
JULES: Fuck you.
VINCENT: Would you give me a foot massage – I'm kinda tired.
JULES: Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed – this is the door.
The two men stand in front of the door numbered "49." They
whisper.
JULES: What time is it?
VINCENT (checking his watch): Seven-twenty-two in the morning.
JULES: It ain't quite time, let's hang back.
They move a little away from the door, facing each other,
still whispering.
JULES: Look, just because I wouldn't give no man a foot massage, don't make it right for Marsellus to throw Antwan off a building into a glass-motherfuckin-house, fuckin' up the way the nigger talks. That ain't right, man. Motherfucker do that to me, he better paralyze my ass, cause I'd kill'a motherfucker.
VINCENT: I'm not sayin' he was right, but you're sayin' a foot massage don't mean nothing, and I'm sayin' it does. I've given a million ladies a million foot massages and they all meant somethin'. We act like they don't, but they do. That's what's so fuckin' cool about 'em. This sensual thing's goin' on that nobody's talkin about, but you know it and she knows it, fuckin' Marsellus knew it, and Antwan shoulda known fuckin' better. That's his fuckin' wife, man. He ain't gonna have a sense of humor about that shit.
JULES: That's an interesting point, but let's get into character.
VINCENT: What's her name again?
JULES: Mia. Why you so interested in big man's wife?
VINCENT: Well, Marsellus is leavin' for Florida and when he's gone, he wants me to take care of Mia.
JULES: Take care of her?
Making a gun out of his finger and placing it to his head.
VINCENT: Not that! Take her out. Show her a good time. Don't let her get lonely.
JULES: You're gonna be takin' Mia Wallace out on a date?
VINCENT: It ain't a date. It's like when you and your buddy's wife go to a movie or somethin'. It's just... you know... good company.
Jules just looks at him.
VINCENT: It's not a date.
Jules just looks at him.
INT. APARTMENT (ROOM 49) – MORNING
THREE YOUNG GUYS, obviously in over their heads, sit at a table with hamburgers, french fries and soda pops laid out.
One of them flips the LOUD BOLT on the door, opening it to REVEAL Jules and Vincent in the hallway.
JULES: Hey kids.
The two men stroll inside.
The three young caught-off-guard Guys are:
MARVIN, the black young man, who opens the door, will, as the scene progresses, back into the corner.
ROGER, a young blond-haired surfer kid with a "Flock of Seagulls" haircut, who has yet to say a word, sits at the table with a big sloppy hamburger in his hand.
BRETT, a white, preppy-looking sort with a blow-dry haircut.
Vincent and Jules take in the place, with their hands in their pockets. Jules is the one who does the talking.
JULES: How you boys doin'?
No answer.
JULES (to Brett): Am I trippin', or did I just ask you a question.
BRETT: We're doin' okay.
As Jules and Brett talk, Vincent moves behind the young Guys.
JULES: Do you know who we are?
Brett shakes his head: "No."
JULES: We're associates of your business partner Marsellus Wallace, you remember your business partner dont'ya?
No answer.
JULES (to Brett): Now I'm gonna take a wild guess here: you're Brett, right?
BRETT: I'm Brett.
JULES: I thought so. Well, you remember your business partner Marsellus Wallace, dont'ya Brett?
BRETT: I remember him.
JULES: Good for you. Looks like me and Vincent caught you at breakfast, sorry 'bout that. What'cha eatin'?
BRETT: Hamburgers.
JULES: Hamburgers. The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast. What kinda hamburgers?
BRETT: Cheeseburgers.
JULES: No, I mean where did you get'em? MacDonald's, Wendy's, Jack-in-the-Box, where?
BRETT: Big Kahuna Burger.
JULES: Big Kahuna Burger. That's that Hawaiian burger joint. I heard they got some tasty burgers. I ain't never had one myself, how are they?
BRETT: They're good.
JULES: Mind if I try one of yours?
BRETT: No.
JULES: Yours is this one, right?
BRETT: Yeah.
Jules grabs the burger and take a bite of it.
JULES: Uuummmm, that's a tasty burger. (To Vincent)
Vince, you ever try a Big Kahuna Burger?
VINCENT: No.
Jules holds out the Big Kahuna.
JULES: You wanna bite, they're real good.
VINCENT: I ain't hungry.
JULES: Well, if you like hamburgers give 'em a try sometime. Me, I can't usually eat 'em cause my girlfriend's a vegetarian. Which more or less makes me a vegetarian, but I sure love the taste of a good burger. (To Brett) You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in France?
BRETT: No.
JULES: Tell 'em, Vincent.
VINCENT: Royale with Cheese.
JULES: Royale with Cheese, you know why they call it that?
BRETT: Because of the metric system?
JULES: Check out the big brain on Brett. You'a smart motherfucker, that's right. The metric system. (He points to a fast food drink cup)
What's in this?
BRETT: Sprite.
JULES: Sprite, good, mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down with?
BRETT: Sure.
Jules grabs the cup and takes a sip.
JULES: Uuuuummmm, hits the spot! (to Roger) You, Flock of Seagulls, you know what we're here for?
Roger nods his head: "Yes."
JULES: Then why don't you tell my boy here Vince, where you got the shit hid.
MARVIN: It's under the be –
JULES
– I don't remember askin' you a goddamn thing. (to Roger) You were sayin'?
ROGER: It's under the bed.
Vincent moves to the bed, reaches underneath it, pulling out
a black snap briefcase.
VINCENT: Got it.
Vincent flips the two locks, opening the case. We can't see
what's inside, but a small glow emits from the case. Vincent
just stares at it, transfixed.
JULES: We happy?
No answer from the transfixed Vincent.
JULES: Vincent!
Vincent looks up at Jules.
JULES: We happy?
Closing the case.
VINCENT: We're happy.
BRETT (to Jules): Look, what's your name? I got his name's Vincent, but what's yours?
JULES: My name's Pitt, and you ain't talkin' your ass outta this shit.
BRETT: I just want you to know how sorry we are about how fucked up things got between us and Mr. Wallace. When we entered into this thing, we only had the best intentions –
As Brett talks, Jules takes out his gun and SHOOTS Roger
three times in the chest, BLOWING him out of his chair.
Vince smiles to himself. Jules has got style.
Brett has just shit his pants. He's not crying or whimpering,
but he's so full of fear, it's as if his body is imploding.
JULES (to Brett): Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration? I didn't mean to do that. Please, continue. I believe you were saying something about "best intentions."
Brett can't say a word.
JULES: Whatsamatter? Oh, you were through anyway. Well, let me retort. Would you describe for me what Marsellus Wallace looks like?
Brett still can't speak.
Jules SNAPS, SAVAGELY TIPPING the card table over, removing
the only barrier between himself and Brett. Brett now sits
in a lone chair before Jules like a political prisoner in
front of an interrogator.
JULES: What country you from!
BRETT (petrified): What?
JULES: "What" ain't no country I know! Do they speak English in "What?"
BRETT: (near heart attack) What?
JULES: English motherfucker! Do you speak it?
BRETT: Yes.
JULES: Then you understand what I'm sayin'?
BRETT: Yes.
JULES: Now describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like!
BRETT (out of fear): What?
Jules takes his .45 and PRESSES the barrel HARD in Brett's
cheek.
JULES: Say "What" again! C'mon, say "What" again! I dare ya, I double dare ya motherfucker, say "What" one more goddamn time!
Brett is regressing on the spot.
JULES: Now describe to me what Marsellus Wallace looks like!
Brett does his best.
BRETT: Well he's... he's... black –
JULES: – go on!
BRETT: ...and he's... he's... bald –
JULES
– does he look like a bitch?!
BRETT (without thinking): What?
Jules' eyes go to Vincent, Vincent smirks, Jules rolls his eyes and SHOOT Brett in the shoulder.
Brett SCREAMS, breaking into a SHAKING/TREMBLING SPASM in
the chair.
JULES: Does-he-look-like-a-bitch?!
BRETT (in agony): No.
JULES: Then why did you try to fuck 'im like a bitch?!
BRETT: (in spasm) I didn't.
Now in a lower voice.
JULES Yes ya did Brett. Ya tried ta fuck 'im. You ever read the Bible, Brett?
BRETT (in spasm): Yes.
JULES: There's a passage I got memorized, seems appropriate for this situation: Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."
The two men EMPTY their guns at the same time on the sitting
Brett.
