"The Talented Mr Ripley", shooting draft, by Anthony Minghella
THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY
Based On The Novel By
1st November 1999
NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR
THIS SOFT COPY.
PROLOGUE: INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. EVENING.
Fade up on Ripley, as in the final scene of the film,
sitting, desolate in a ship's cabin. The camera rotates
around his face, which begins in light and ends in darkness.
If I could just go back. If I could rub
everything out. Starting with myself.
Starting with borrowing a jacket.
EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST TERRACE. EARLY EVENING.
Ripley is at the piano, accompanying FRAN, a young soprano.
Ah, such fleeting paradise
such innocent delight
The song finishes. Applause. They're the entertainment at a
cocktail party to celebrate a silver wedding anniversary.
Some partygoers congratulate Fran on her performance. A
distinguished looking man, pushing his wife in a wheelchair,
approaches Ripley, offers his hand.
Most enjoyable. Herbert Greenleaf.
Tom Ripley. Thank you, sir.
(pointing at Ripley's borrowed
I see you were at Princeton.
Then you'll most likely know our son,
Dick. Dickie Greenleaf...
We couldn't help noticing your jacket.
Class of '56?
How is Dickie?
INT. ELEVATOR OPENING OUT INTO LOBBY. EARLY EVENING.
Fran, Ripley, Mr and Mrs Greenleaf and others emerge from an
elevator. Emily talks to Fran, Herbert to Ripley.
I hope you'll come and see us...
That's very kind.
Both of you...
Of course, Dickie's idea of music is
Jazz. He has a saxophone. To my ear Jazz
is just noise, just an insolent noise.
EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST. EARLY EVENING.
Ripley shakes hands with Herbert Greenleaf as he gets into
his Rolls Royce. They are making an appointment. Ripley
crosses the street to Fran, pecks her cheek. She hands him
his share of their fee.
Gotta run. I'm so late.
(he hands Fran's boyfriend the
jacket he's been wearing)
Thanks for the jacket.
Sure. Thanks for filling in for me.
From Greenleaf's point of view he sees a couple embracing.
Darling couple, aren't they?
Yes. An exceptional young man.
From another vantage point Ripley hurries on as Fran gets
into her boyfriend's car. A piano quartet starts up.
EXT. THEATER. EVENING.
Ripley runs past the droves of arriving concert-goers and
heads for the theater. Music continues.
INT. MEN'S ROOM, THEATER. NIGHT.
The interval: A thick mass of men in tuxedoes grooming
themselves at the basins. Ripley turns on faucets, offers
towels, brushes off dandruff. Men talk over, round, and
through him. Put coins in a bowl.
INT. A BOX AT THE THEATER. NIGHT
The concert continues. Ripley peers through the curtain at
the performances. A haughty woman in the box turns round and
he closes the curtain.
INT. BACKSTAGE. 1:30 A.M.
An empty auditorium. Ripley plays Bach in the blue
ghostlight. A caretaker emerges from his rounds, flips on
the house lights. Ripley jerks up from his playing, waves
Sorry, sorry. I know. Sorry.
EXT. GREENLEAF SHIPYARDS, BROOKLYN. DAY.
Greenleaf and Ripley walk through one of the drydocks. A
huge void in the shape of a boat, swarming with workers
preparing the shell of a new liner. If Central Park is where
the money is spent, this is clearly where it's made. And a
lot of it. Workers nod deferentially to the man with his name
over the buildings behind them.
Mongibello. Tiny place. South of Naples.
Marge, his uh, the young lade is
supposedly writing some kind of book. God
knows what he does. By all accounts they
spend the whole time on the beach. Or his
sailboat. That's my son's talent,
spending his allowance.
Ripley, in his green corduroy jacket the very model of a
sober young man, listens attentively.
HERBERT GREENLEAF (cont'd)
Could you ever conceive of going to
Italy, Tom, persuade my son to come home?
(Ripley looks doubtful)
I'd pay you. I'd pay you 1000 dollars.
I've always wanted to go to Europe, sir,
Good. Now you can go for a reason.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, NEW YORK. DAY.
A vinyl RECORD revolves in close up. An exuberant and
mysterious VOICE is scat singing. Wild. Then the sound slides
into a raucous big band jazz number: Dizzy Gillespie's The
Champ. A HAND ejects the record. When the camera finds the
man's face it is BLINDFOLDED. He's hot. He's wearing an
undershirt. He's trying to identify the recording.
I don't know. Count Basie? Duke
Ellington. I don't know. Count Basie.
The man pulls of the blindfold, examines the record cover of
the disc he's been trying to learn, needs to put on glasses
to do so, is irritated by his mistake. He ejects the record.
A pile of other jazz records are strewn across a cluttered
table which includes classical sheet music and a paper
keyboard. One hand idly mimes at the keys.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.
Another song for Ripley to identify is on the gramophone.
Chet Baker's My Funny Valentine. Signs everywhere of
packing. A suitcase. Books about Italy. Ripley paces in this
BASEMENT room, which is bathroom, kitchen, living room and
bedroom all in one. Tiny, tidy, squalid and sad. The windows
give onto bars and a wall.
Don't even know if this is a man or a
There's a violent row going on in the room above his head. He
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.
Ripley, shining his shoes, packing almost done, is testing
himself on another piece of music. Free jazz saxophone:
Charlie Parker's Koko. He listens hard, recognizes the
That's Charlie Parker. Bird.
He skips over to the gramophone, checks the record. He's
right, he smiles.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.
Ripley studies an old photograph of Dickie Greenleaf in a
Princeton Yearbook. He shoves the book in a bag, picks up
his suitcase and takes a last look around the dingy apartment
before closing the door behind him.
EXT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.
Ripley hauls his luggage up the stairs and into the sunlight.
He is met at the top of the stairs by Mr Greenleaf's
Here. I'll take that.
(nodding towards the apartment)
That thousand bucks should come in handy.
(interupts Ripley, who is
about to open the car door)
I'll get that.
(as he holds open the door for
(Ripley laughs excitedly)
You're gonna have a great trip. Mr
Greenleaf is personal friends with the
INT. HERBERT GREENLEAF'S CAR. DAY.
Ripley luxuriates in the back of the Greenleaf limousine. He
opens up an envelope he's carrying with Greenleaf stationery.
Inside a First Class Cunard Ticket, some traveler's checks
I can tell you. The Greenleaf name opens
a lot of doors.
EXT. QUEEN MARY, MANHATTAN SKYLINE. DAY.
The liner leaves New York en route to Italy. END CREDITS.
INT. NAPLES HARBOR, CUSTOMS & IMMIGRATION HALL. DAY.
ITALY. Brilliant sunshine. The Queen Mary has just docked.
Passengers can be seen disembarking through the huge windows.
Coming from the First Class gangways they are greeted,
escorted, fussed over into the hall. Their bags have been
unloaded ahead of them, and are now being sorted in the hall
under the initials of their owners. STANDS WITH THE LETTERS
OF THE ALPHABET CHALKED ON THEM are dotted about, and trunks
and suitcases of all shapes and sizes form small hills around
them. Ripley enters and an Italian Porter approaches, wants
his name. Ripley. Ripley. Ripley! he repeats in the hubbub
and joins the crowd around the letter R. A striking young
woman (MEREDITH) is nearby. She notices him.
Ripley proceeds to the Customs area, where he's held in a
line as a large suitcase is opened and searched. Meredith
catches up with him. Her luggage a mountain next to his.
What's your secret?
No, it's just - you are American, aren't
you? - no, I just, I have so much
luggage, and you're so, uh, streamlined.
Ripley shrugs. Now they're opening a second case of the
passenger ahead. Hard not to converse.
I'm Meredith, by the way. Meredith
Dickie, Dickie Greenleaf. Hello.
They are passed through immigration, head down the long
stairs towards the street. Meredith catches up with Ripley.
You're not the Shipping Greenleaf's?
Trying not to be. Trying to jump ship.
So now, did they put your suitcase in the
wrong pile? It's just - upstairs -
weren't you under the R stand? I thought
I saw you there.
My father wants me in New York. He builds
boats. I'd rather sail them. I travel
under my mother's name.
The funny thing is, I'm not Randall
either. I'm Logue.
(nods, recognizing the name)
As in the...?
As in the Textile Logues. Trying to shrug
off the dress. I travel under my mother's
They've arrived at a crossroads on the stairs - graphic signs
explain the choices: one way for Buses, Taxis and exits - the
other for Trains: ROMA, VENEZIA, MILANO. They're going in
(offering her hand)
So - partners in disguise.
(looks at the signs)
EXT. COASTAL ROAD FROM NAPLES. LATE AFTERNOON.
A BUS rolls around a coastal road cut into the side of a
cliff, mountain above, blue sea below.
INT. BUS. LATE AFTERNOON.
Ripley sits surrounded by teeming life. The bus slows at a
new town. People get off.
INT/EXTERIOR. BUS ARRIVES MONGIBELLO. LATE DAY.
Later, the day ending. Ripley looks out as they continue on
their journey. Arriving at a small fishing port they wind
down through a square, passing the local church.
EXT. MONGIBELLO, FISHERMAN'S WHARF. LATE DAY.
And then the bus is in the heart of a wharf. On one side
there's evidence of the fisherman's life, nets, old men
working. Opposite there's a tiny cafe spilling out onto the
street, young guys hang out, play table football, lounge on
their Vespas. The Driver chants -
Ripley gets out, lugging his cases, as the bus continues on
its way. He looks around him. He feels completely foreign.
EXT. MIRAMARE HOTEL/BOAT AT SEA. MORNING.
A SAILBOAT has slid into his view, now drops anchor, drops
the sail. A couple dive off and swim towards shore.
ALL OF THIS IS FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF RIPLEY, who's
watching the events through binoculars from his tiny balcony
in the Miramare Hotel. An Italian Vocabulary Book is perched
on his knees and, during this, he continues his study,
mouthing the Italian words.
(looking at a long, lean girl
about to dive)
La fidanzata a una faccia. The fianc»e
has a face. La fidanzata e Marge.
Her partner, DICKIE GREENLEAF, dives too. They're brown,
beautiful, perfect. Ripley notices the name of the boat:
Questo e la mia faccia.....
The golden couple emerge from the sea. Dickie shakes off the
This is my face.
He double-checks himself with the vocabulary book.
Questa...e la mia faccia. Questa e la
faccia di Dickie.
EXT. MONGIBELLO. DAY.
Ripley emerges from one of the beach cabins, and stands on
the edge of the sand on a wooden walkway. He's wearing A TINY
LIME-GREEN BATHING SUIT. He loathes beaches. A couple of boys
turn laconically and watch him.
Ripley puts on his shoes and scurries to the sea. He feels
ridiculous, his skin alabaster against the brown bodies.
Finally, the shame is too great and he pulls off his shoes
and dashes to the water, where he luxuriates in the coolness
of it before wading out of the sea, and walking straight up
Dickie squints at Ripley, who holds his shoes, lamely.
It's Tom. Tom Ripley. We were at
(he sits up)
And did we know each other?
Well, I knew you, so I suppose you must
have known me.
Princeton is like a fog, America's like a
This is Marge Sherwood. Tom - sorry, what
Ripley. Hullo. How do you do.
How do you do.
What are you doing in Mongi?
Nothing. Nothing much. Passing through.
(finds this idea absurd)
Passing through! You're so white. Did you
ever see a guy so white, Marge? Gray,
It's just an undercoat.
You know, a primer.
He shares some intimacy with Marge, makes her laugh. Ripley
stands as they wrestle around him. Marge looks up.
You should come and have lunch with us,
before you go - Dickie?
Sure. Any time.
And be careful in the sun. Your gray's in
danger of turning a little pink.
Thanks. Well, a coincidence.
EXT. MONGIBELLO. EARLY MORNING.
ANOTHER DAY. Church Bells ringing. Dickie, dressed in
shorts, comes bumping up the cobbled path towards the square
on his MOTORSCOOTER. He stops by a steep flight of steps.
RIPLEY, a book in hand, unseen, walking up a hill, catches
all this and, intrigued, watches as a young Italian beauty,
SILVANA, has a spikey, flirtatious exchange with Dickie, then
climbs on the scooter, behind him.
I've been looking for you everywhere.
Ah, today you're looking for me. And
where have you been the rest of the week?
Pig. With your American girl? I hate
you, you know?
I hate you.
And RIPLEY watches them as they rattle down the hill towards
EXT. MARGE'S HOUSE. AFTERNOON.
Dickie appears in Marge's garden, the sea behind his head.
Marge is sitting at her outside table surrounded by some of
the remnants of lunch. Dickie's sheepish, showered, late.
Sorry, sorry, sorry. I know, I'm late,
I'm a swine.
Did you forget where I live? It's four
I just woke up. I'm sorry.
You just woke up!
Fausto and I - we took the boat out, we
were fishing, and then it was dawn and
we'd caught absolutely nothing.
Well, we ate everything without you.
Yes, Tom Ripley's here.
As Ripley appears with the tray to collect more dishes.
Who? Oh, Tom, hello, how are you? We
thought you'd disappeared. We were going
to send out a search party.
No, still here.
Tom was telling me about his trip over.
Made me laugh so much I got a nosebleed.
Is that good?
Marge flicks him with a napkin. They start to wrestle,
Can you mix a martini?
I'll do it. I make a fabulous martini.
Everybody should have one talent.
(without a beat)
Forging signatures. Telling lies.
Impersonating practically anybody.
(enjoying this banter)
That's three. Nobody should have more
than one talent. Okay, do an impression.
Now? Okay. Wait a minute. Talent -
(his voice ages, his face
The only talent my son has is for cashing
What? What's this?
I like to sail, believe me, I love to
sail! Instead I make boats and other
people sail them.
Stop! It's too much! You're making all
the hairs on my neck stand up!
Jazz, let's face it, it's just an
I feel like he's here. Horrible. Like the
old bastard is here right now! That's
brilliant! How do you know him?
I met him in New York.
Marge! You've got to hear this!
(returning with the drinks)
Meet my father, Herbert Richard Greenleaf
Pleasure to meet you, Dickie's made a
fine catch. I know Emily thinks so.
What's going on?
I don't get it.
Could you ever conceive of going there,
Tom, and bringing him back?
I'd pay you. If you would go to Italy and
persuade my son to come home. I'd pay you
INT/EXT. MONGIBELLO CHURCH AND SQUARE. DUSK.
A christening is over and now the whole village is pouring
out of Church for the Passeggiata in Sunday best. Girls arm
in arm parade. Boys arm in arm evaluate. New babies are
compared and fussed over. Old people smoke, talk, shrug.
Dickie is walking with Ripley, seething about his father's
I'm never going back. To actually hire
somebody to come all the way here to drag
me back home - got to be insane, hasn't
SILVANA comes out of church arm in arm with a man, her
fiancee, as part of a foursome which includes Dickie's pal
FAUSTO. Silvana's eyes flick towards Dickie, otherwise
there's no acknowledgement as they all greet each other.
Dickie introduces Tom, then they move on.
I'm never going back!
No, I think your mother, her illness -
It's got nothing to do with my mother!
She's had leukemia for - ! This is what
makes me boil about him! HE wants me
back! - it's got nothing to do with my
I don't know, Dickie, I'm just telling
you what I -
Go back! Go back to New York or call him
if you can find a telephone that works,
and tell him wild horses wouldn't drag me
back to him or his shipyard.
EXT. DICKIE'S HOUSE, MONGIBELLO. AFTERNOON.
Ripley appears, with his meagre luggage at Dickie's front
door. He's carrying his tote bag under his arm, the bottom of
which seems to be unstitched and held together only by his
fingers. Marge is on the terrace, she looks down to see Tom
talking with Dickie.
Marge, Ripley's saying goodbye.
I'll come down.
Did you speak to my father?
You were right about the telephones.
There are no lines, there's some problem.
(coming out of the front door)
Hello Tom. You're off? What are your
Back, I suppose, slowly as I can.
He goes to shake her hand and as he releases the tote bag the
seam splits and records spill to the ground, scattering. He
bends down, starts gathering them up. Marge helps.
Oh, damn, sorry, this bag's -
Dickie's delighted when he sees the Jazz titles.
You like jazz!
(gathering up the records)
I love jazz.
(holding up a Chet Baker)
This is the best. Marge says she likes
jazz, but she things Glenn Miller is
I never said that!
Bird. That's jazz.
Bird! Ask me the name of my sailboat -
I don't know. What's the name of your
Which is ridiculous. Boats are female,
everyone knows you can't call a boat
after a man.
He's not a man, he's a god.
Okay, we're going to Naples. There's a
club, it's not a club, it's a cellar.
Yes, it's vile. Don't worry, you don't
have to come.
It's great. You're going to love it.
INT. JAZZ CLUB, NAPLES. NIGHT.
A cavern blue with smoke. A surprisingly good QUINTET blast
out their version of MOANIN'. Dickie and Ripley arrive and
make their way to a table where Fausto is sitting with
friends. It's too noisy for conversation, but Dickie shouts
introductions and they shake Ripley's hand. Dickie is
instantly absorbed in the music, Ripley absorbed in Dickie.
An attractive Italian Girl, DAHLIA, comes over, kisses
Dickie, pulls off his hat, puts it on, there's no room for
her to sit, so she sits on Dickie's lap, smoking his
cigarette. Dickie raises his eyebrow at Tom, but it's
clearly no hardship. Then the band strikes up the intro to Tu
vuo' fa' L'Americano - a hit which reflects the current craze
for all things American - and Fausto pulls a protesting Dickie
up onto the stage.
(improvising in Italian)
Ladies and Gentlemen. Dickie Greenleaf,
all the way from America... etc.
Fausto starts to sing. Dickie joins in the chorus. Everybody
claps. Dickie talks off-mic to Fausto.
And a big round of applause for a new
friend from New York - Tom Ripley!
Ripley's mortified, but Dickie jumps off the stage and pulls
him up. The song continues and now, at the chorus, it's
Dickie and Ripley who have to sing. Ripley, of course, can
sing well, if not confident in this arena. Soon the audience
is clapping, standing on tables, dancing, Dahlia prominent.
I have bumped into an old friend from
Princeton - a fellow named Tom Ripley.
He says he's going to haunt me until I
agree to come back to New York with
INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. NOON.
Dickie, in his new dressing gown, is sitting at the table,
typing. Ripley's head emerges from behind the couch on which
he has been enjoying a blissful sleep.
What time is it?
(puts on his glasses and checks
Oh God! Do you always type your letters?
(points at the letter)
That should be two Ts.
I can't write and I can't spell. That's
the privilege of a first-class education.
You're upstairs at the back. I think
Ermelinda made the bed up.
This is so good of you.
Don't say it again. Now you're a Double
Agent and we're going to string my Dad
alone, I was thinking we might buy a
little car with the expense money he's
sending you. What do you think, Marge...a
little Cinquecento with my Dad's money?
Marge has appeared, carrying Camparis.
Dickie, you can't even drive a car! No,
what we need urgently is an icebox. What
do you think, Tom? Agree with me and I'll
be your friend for life.
I absolutely agree with Marge.
INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE, UPSTAIRS. DAY.
Ripley locates his room, puts down his luggage in what is a
comfortable and simple room, then heads back downstairs only
to be tempted by the open door of Dickie's bedroom.
INT. DICKIE'S BEDROOM. DAY.
Ripley explores the casual elegance of Dickie's bedroom - the
Louis Vuitton chest, the closet's open door spilling out
shirts, ties. On the dressing table there are toiletries,
cufflinks scattered, a silk tie. Ripley picks up the tie and
walks towards the open window below which is a terrace where
lunch is being laid. Marge and Dickie are chatting. Shreds of
conversation float up to Ripley.
It'll just be for a little while. He can
be... he makes me laugh.
You'd say if you mind?
No, I like him.
Marge, you like everybody.
I don't like you.
Then I'll go to your place and you can
move in with Tom.
Above them, Ripley repeats these phrases, carefully, testing
the cadences, No, I like him. Marge, you like everybody,
until he's as accurate as a taperecorder.
EXT. TERRACE OF DICKIE'S HOUSE. DAY.
Ermelinda is clearing away lunch. Ripley is changed and
sitting at the table with Marge while Dickie works on the
coffee. Ripley watches him, studying everything: the way he
uses the expresso machine, the way he wears no socks, his
pants, his rings.
Now you know why Miss Sherwood always
shows up for breakfast. It's not love
it's the coffee machine.
It's the one task Dickie can do on his
own - make coffee.
Oh darling - is that for me?
No it's for Tom as he didn't complain.
(as Dickie hands him his cup)
That ring's so great. The green one.
Tom, I love you!
I bought it for him, for his birthday.
I had to promise, capital P, never to
take it off - otherwise I'd give it to
(flicking a crumb at him)
Isn't it great, Tom? I found it in
Naples. I bargained for about two weeks.
I hope it wasn't cheap.
Oh, it was.
I have to find a birthday present for
Frances. Perhaps you can help me?
You're a dark horse, Ripley. Engaged?
Your parents met her.
Oh God - I can just imagine - if only
Dickie would settle down... doesn't every
parent deserve a grandchild? Never! I
swear on your ring, Marge. I am never
EXT. BIRD SAILBOAT. DAY.
The Bird is sailing off the coast of Mongibello. There's a
manoeuvre going on with the sail. Captain Dickie supervises
his crew of Marge and a painfully awkward anxious-to-please
Ripley. Dickie goes over to help him.
I'm doing this wrong, aren't I?
You're doing great. We'll make a sailor
of you yet. You're doing really well.
Dubious but special honor, Tom - crewing
Dickie's boat. Alright, bar's open.
She heads for the cabin. Dickie settles down beside Ripley.
Could we sail to Venice?
Sure. I love Venice.
I have to go to Venice.
See Venice and die, isn't that right? Or
is it Rome? You do something and die,
don't you? Okay, Venice is on the list.
Do you ski?
Don't tell me - you're a lost cause!
That's the next thing to deal with. We're
planning to go to Cortina at Christmas.
Excellent skiing. Excellent.
(as Marge reappears)
Marge - Ripley can't ski. We'll have to
teach him that, too. Have you ever known
such low class?
Poor Tom. Good thing we're not getting
married. We might have to invite him on
EXT. MONGIBELLO. LATE DAY.
Marge and Ripley are on a shopping expedition. They walk down
the hill towards the grocery shop, next to the bar in the
little square. Ripley has asked Marge how she and Dickie met.
Oh I hated New York - that Park Avenue
crowd - so I fled to Paris to work on my
book, and I was always going to this cafe
with Jean-Jacques, and Dickie used to
play his saxophone outside and I would
see him and he would see me, and he would
play My Funny Valentine. It was only
later that I realised he only knows about
They've arrived at the Grocery Store. Alessandra, the woman
who owns the store greets them. Silvana, who's her daughter,
is also there, and less comfortable. She waits for Marge's
(to Silvana, in Italian)
Buono Sera, Silvana. Por favore: arance e
pane, e del prosciutto.
E fichi? Come sempre?
Si. Come sempre. Grazie.
Silvana goes inside for the meat and bread. Marge frowns.
(back to Ripley)
Anyway, then one day, we go in, I see
Dickie, he starts playing My Funny
Valentine, and then all of a sudden he
just walks into the cafe, right in front
of Jean-Jacques, and grabs me! Now I had
never spoken to him in my life - he said
I'm going to Italy, tomorrow, and I want
you to come with me. So I did.
At the edge of the square there's A BOCCE AREA, where men
throw metal balls along a track, aiming to get closest to a
small cue. Dickie is there, playing intensely with Fausto and
two other guys, one of whom we've seen before with Silvana.
Ripley and Marge loop back towards home, taking in the Bocce
en route. Dickie waves. They wave back. Marge calls to him.
If you're not at my place by 7.00, Tom
and I are running off together.
EXT. MARGE'S HOUSE. EARLY EVENING.
Dickie and Ripley are leaving. They're fooling around.
Dickie jumps on Ripley's shoulders. Marge watches from the
top of the garden.
EXT. MONGIBELLO SQUARE. EARLY EVENING.
Dickie and Ripley, still horsing about, pass Silvana's
grocery store. Dickie dismounts, goes over to Silvana, who's
tense, a little troubled. They huddle, Ripley isolated.
Did you get my message? I want to talk
I want to talk to you too...Smile for me.
And Dickie's already gone, back to Ripley feinting to box him
then dancing, satyr-like, down the hill.
EXT. COASTAL ROAD TO NAPLES. EVENING.
Dickie and Ripley on the Vespa. There's a steep incline where
the road winds down towards Naples and, as the Vespa gains
speed, Ripley is happy to cling to Dickie.
You're breaking my ribs!
You're breaking my ribs!
INT. JAZZ CLUB, NAPLES. NIGHT.
Ripley's really singing, carrying the burden of My Funny
Valentine in a flawless imitation of Chet Baker. Dickie is
playing some sax. After a verse, there's spontaneous
applause. Dickie, impressed beams at Ripley.
INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. NIGHT.
A NEW ICEBOX, incongruous in pride of place in the living
room, casts its glow on a delighted Dickie as he pulls out a
couple of beers, handing one to Ripley who is paging through
his copy of the Collected Works of Shakespeare.
I could fuck this icebox I love it so
What were you actually doing in New York?
I played piano in a few places.
That's one job, you told me a lot of
A few places - that's a few jobs. Anyway,
I don't want to think about New York.
The mysterious Mr Ripley. Marge and I
spend hours speculating.
Cold beer. Thank you Dad.
Copy out from here...
He hands the book to Dickie, pointing out the lines.
(staring to write on the back
of a postcard)
I love the fact you brought Shakespeare
with you and no clothes. Ermelinda says
you wash the same shirt out every night.
Is that true?
No! I've got more than one shirt!
She can do that stuff for you. Anyway,
just wear some of my things, wear
anything you want, most of it's ancient.
(he's finished writing)
Now your signature.
(watching him write)
Not "Dickie". Your signature.
Dickie writes his signature at the bottom of the postcard.
Ripley studies the writing, takes off his glasses to clean
them. Dickie looks at him.
Without the glasses you're not even ugly.
(takes them, tries them on)
I don't need them because I never read.
How do I look.
Like Clark Kent.
(takes them back, puts them on
beaming at Dickie)
Dickie cuffs him. Ripley looks down at the postcard.
I know. I write like a child.
Pretty vile. See this: The S and the T,
do you see? - fine, vulnerable - that's
pain, that's secret pain.
It must be a deep secret, cause I don't
know about it.
Your handwriting - nothing more naked.
See - nothing's quite touching the line -
Well we certainly know that's true.
INT. DICKIE'S BATHROOM. NIGHT.
Dickie's in the bath. Ripley, dressed, sits on the stool next
to the bath. They're in the middle of playing chess, the
board propped on the bath tray. Ripley puts his hand in the
water, checking the temperature. He turns on the faucet for a
burst of hot. Ripley is absurdly happy. He pours some wine.
Do you have any brothers?
No, no brothers, no sisters.
me neither. Nor does Marge. All only
children - what does that mean?
He looks at Ripley who looks at him, a little too long.
Means we never shared a bath.
I'm cold. Can I get in?
I didn't mean with you in it.
Okay, you get in. I'm like a prune
He gets out, walks past Ripley, who doesn't turn around. But
Dickie's reflected in the mirror. Ripley looks, then Dickie
turns, holds his look momentarily before flicking him with
INT/EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, NAPLES. DAY.
An OFFICIAL is studying Dickie's passport photograph. It's
not a recent picture. The official looks suspicious. Dickie
is used to it.
It is me. It's an old picture.
(sighs at Ripley)
Every time - 'is it you? Doesn't look
He's signing for his allowance. He has a smart document case
with his initials prominently embossed. Ripley watches him
sign and collect a large wad of notes.
Letters - Greenleaf, and for Ripley.
Ripley collects and studies his mail. As they walk outside he
holds up one letter to Dickie.
(anticipating her letter)
I miss you, where are you coming home?
Stop telling me what a great time you're
having, how you love Dickie... and Marge
(the next letter)
And this one, I think, is your dad...
INT. TRAIN TO ROME. DAY.
Ripley sits reading the LETTER from Herbert Greenleaf. He
frowns, stops reading, looks out of the window.
What does he say?
He's getting impatient. He wants me to
reassure him you'll be home by
You've got to get a new jacket. Really.
You must be sick of the same clothes. I'm
sick of seeing you in them.
I can't. I can't keep spending your
I love how responsible you are. My Dad
should make you Chief Accountant or
something. Let me buy you a jacket.
There's a great place when we get to
Ripley loves this idea and mouths the word, "Batistoni".
Andiamo a Roma. We're taking Tom to
EXT. ARCARI'S CAFE, PIAZZA NAVONA, ROME. DAY.
Ripley and Dickie sit outside at a Cafe in the Piazza Navona.
Very smart, very sophisticated, very young crowd. There are
already several empty coffee cups and a half empty bottle of
Frascati. Ripley has his guide book out and is incredibly
impatient. Dickie, meanwhile, has stretched out for the
Where do we find a carozza for the Forum,
or can we hire any of them - ?
It's just there's so much to do in a
Relax. The most important question is
where to eat. I hope Freddie made a
Freddie Miles. You know - he's
organizing the Cortina skiing trip.
Ripley hates the idea of having this special day invaded. A
horn makes him look up as FREDDIE MILES illegally parks his
open top sports car opposite the cafe, sees Dickie and
bustles over. He's a heavy-set American with a reddish
crewcut. Ripley finds him disgusting to look at. Dickie is
(noticing a beautiful woman in
an open-topped car)
Don't you want to fuck every woman you
see. Just once.
They kiss cheeks, continental-style.
This is Tom Ripley. Freddie Miles.
Hey, if I'm late, think what her
He fills Dickie's glass with wine and drinks it standing up.
So let's go. I got us a table outside at
And Dickie's up, leaving Ripley to pick up all the tiny
checks to work out the bill and pay it.
I'll tell you - I am so cabin-crazy with
Freddie and Dickie link arms Italian-style and cross the
street to Freddie's car.
I know. I was there.
(looks back to see Ripley
struggling to settle the
Tommy! It's S.R.O. Two seater.
Standing Room Only. Chop, chop, Tommy!
Ripley, abandoned, goes over. There's no room in the car. He
has to crouch in the rear.
You're going to have to sit between us.
But don't put your shoes on the seat,
know what I mean, put them one on top of
the other. Okay?
INT. A JAZZ RECORD STORE. LATE AFTERNOON.
This record store is hidden away down a cobbled alley, and
stuffed with the trendiest Romans, all of whom rifle the
stacks under a fog of cigarette smoke. There are two
LISTENING BOOTHS, one of which has Freddie and Dickie crammed
into it, sharing a set of headphones. Ripley stands outside
the booth, holding both of their jackets like a manservant,
while inside and behind the glass doors they chat animatedly.
He looks longingly at the street, where the light is fading.
Dickie catches his hangdog expression and pushes open the
Look, Tom, we've got to go to a club and
meet some friends of Freddie's. The best
thing is - if you want to be a tourist -
grab a cab and we can meet up at the
Freddie's arranged it with some of the
skiing crowd. Come if you want but I
thought you wanted to see the Forum...?
I did. And then maybe get the jacket and
what have you...
(from inside the booth)
Dick - you've got to hear this!
(oblivious to Ripley's pain)
Listen, just take one of mine when we get
back. Don't worry about it. I did the
Forum with Marge and, frankly, once is
enough in anyone's life.
Ripley hands him the coats, turns away.
Ciao. Have fun.
Ripley heads for the door, then comes back, raps on the
booth. Dickie pushes it open.
You said to make sure you didn't miss the
train. It leaves at eight.
EXT. THE CAPITOL. LATE AFTERNOON.
Ripley hikes up Michelangelo's Arcoeli Steps. Then he's
looking down from the Campodoglio at the Forum below. Then
he's walking by the oversized fragments of the Colossus. This
is the real Ripley, the lover of beauty, inspired by art, by
antiquity. He's awed. He's cold. He so much wishes he weren't
INT. ROME RAILWAY STATION. NIGHT.
It's past eight, Ripley stands, one foot on the guard step of
the Naples train, waiting forlornly for Dickie, then giving
up as the train pulls away. He pulls the door to his
compartment closed, and sits inside the train alone.
INT. DICKIE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
There's music playing, Bing Crosby's "May I". Very loud.
Ripley dances to the mirror, SPECTACLES ABANDONED and DRESSED
AS DICKIE IN HIS TUXEDO, MINUS TROUSERS. He adjusts his hair,
catches one of Dickie's expressions. There are clothes
abandoned everywhere. He's been having a big dressing-up
session. He sings along with Bing.
What are you doing?
Ripley turns, horrified, to see Dickie standing in the
doorway. The music thumps away.
Oh - just amusing myself. Sorry, Dickie.
I didn't think you were coming back.
Dickie turns off the record player.
I wish you'd get out of my clothes.
Ripley starts undressing, his fingers clumsy with
mortification and shock. Dickie looks at his feet, shakes
You said I could pick out a jacket and I
Get undressed in your own room, would
I thought you'd missed the train.
Freddie drove me back in his car.
Is Freddie here?
I was just fooling around. Don't say
Dickie lets him leave and then sits amongst the debris of the
dressing-up session, not amused.
EXT. DICKIE'S TERRACE. DAY.
Ripley comes down, apprehensive, to find Marge and Dickie and
Freddie having a jolly breakfast on the terrace. Dickie looks
Hi, Tom. Come join us.
I want this job of yours, Tommy. I was
just saying - You live in Italy, sleep in
Dickie's house, eat Dickie's food, wear
his clothes, and his father picks up the
tab. If you get bored, let me know, I'll
EXT. THE OCEAN, ABOARD THE BIRD. DAY.
The boat is drifting. Freddie and Dickie and Marge are
swimming, then Marge climbs back onto the boat, where Ripley
is sitting alone, reading.
You really should go in, it's marvellous.
She approaches him, conscious of his isolation. She's in a
red bikini, and she towels herself dry as they speak.
Are you okay?
They watch Dickie and Freddie fooling around in the water.
The thing with Dickie - it's like the sun
shines on you and it's glorious, then he
forgets you and it's very very cold.
So I'm learning.
He's not even aware of it. When you've
got his attention you feel like you're
the only person in the world. That's why
everybody loves him. Other times...
There's a yell from Dickie as Freddie wrestles with him.
(laughing and choking)
He's drowning me!
It's always the same whenever someone new
comes into his life - Freddie, Fausto,
Peter Smith-Kingsley - he's wonderful -
did you meet him, he's a musician? -
... and especially you, of course... and
that's only the boys.
They watch as Freddie pushes Dickie under the surface.
Tell me, why is it when men play they
always play at killing each other...?
I'm sorry about Cortina by the way.
What about Cortina?
Didn't Dick say? - he talked to
Freddie... apparently it's not going to
work out -
(Ripley's devastated, Marge
notices, can't look at him)
Freddie says there aren't enough rooms.
EXT. OCEAN, ABOARD THE BIRD. DUSK.
LATER and now the boat is sailing again. Ripley is sitting in
his spot. Dickie and Freddie are at the tiller.
Come on, Frederico, do you really have
to go back? At least stick around for
the Festival of the Madonna.
I don't think so. Come back with me to
Rome. There's this great new club. Have
some drinks, lotta ladies...
Marge, still in her bikini, disappears into the cabin. Dickie
makes a face at Freddie.
Do you think you can steer this thing?
Just point her at Capri and avoid the
What are you doing?
Dickie heads towards the cabin. Freddie takes over the
tiller. There's a breeze and the sailboat cuts through the
From where Ripley sits he can see Capri in the distance, but
he can also look down into the cabin, its porthole offering
him a restricted view. He looks down and there's a flash of
flesh, then nothing. Then as the boat swings with the waves,
he glimpses the bikini top flung over a chair, and then
Marge's bare foot kicking out rhythmically, the red-painted
toes straining. Ripley's mesmerized, aroused, and absolutely
Tommy - How's the peeping? Come on Tommy,
you were looking. Tommy Tommy Tommy.
Shamed, Ripley looks away. He stares at the water, parting
before the boat, its turmoil reflecting his.
EXT. DICKIE'S MOORING. DAY.
The Bird returns to the mooring by Dickie's House. Dickie as
ever Captain of the Ship, clambering around, shouting
instructions, with Ripley, Marge and Freddie as crew. Ripley
looks back at shore. Silvana stands watching, staring.
Dickie notices her too.
EXT. MONGIBELLO SLIPWAY. LATE DAY.
A WOMAN'S HEAD suddenly breaks the surface of the water.
It's a statue of the Virgin Mary, life size, adorned with
flowers and a lace veil. As she is revealed, wooden,
staring, four men emerge, lifting the statue on a palette,
wading towards the shore, the Madonna aloft on their
The whole town of Mongibello is in attendance for this Annual
Festival of the Madonna del Mare, either standing in their
fishing boats, or on shore and flanking the Parish Priest and
altar boys and incense. RIPLEY, DICKIE and MARGE watch from
Dickie's terrace. There are hymns and, as the statue is
carried to the shore, the men's heads barely above the waves,
the congregation applauds at the illusion that the Madonna is
walking on water.
Suddenly ANOTHER HEAD appears on the surface of the water,
about fifty yards from the statue. There's a scream from
among the crowd as someone notices the body. It's SILVANA.
One of the MEN carrying the statue turns first towards the
direction of the scream and then towards the floating corpse.
It's Silvana's fiancee, and in a second he has let go of the
palette, CAUSING IT TO TOPPLE, and - in absolute grief -
wades, swims, splashes towards the body.
PANDEMONIUM in the crowd, which breaks up, with other people
splashing, fully clothed, into the water. From the terrace,
Ripley turns and looks at Dickie, catching his eye.
EXT. DICKIE'S TERRACE. LATE DAY.
Marge and Ripley and Dickie watch from the terrace as below
them an AMBULANCE takes away the body. It seems as if the
whole town looks on - fiancee, parents, brothers, sisters,
police, priest, etc. As the corpse is loaded into the vehicle
A BRIEF SCUFFLE occurs between Silvana's fiancee and her
brother. They are pulled apart. Then the ambulance pulls
What's the fight about? That's her
fianc», isn't it? Are they blaming him?
I don't know! Why are you asking me?
How can it take an hour to find an
Well, she was already dead, darling,
wasn't she, so I suppose -
I don't know why people say this
country's civilised. It isn't. It's
And with that HE KICKS OUT VIOLENTLY AT A CHAIR SUPPORTING
THE RECORDPLAYER. Records, machine, chair go flying across
the terrace. Dickie storms inside.
I'll go and see what's the matter.
INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. LATE AFTERNOON.
Later, Dickie is slumped in an armchair at the open window
overlooking the slipway. He's playing sax. A forlorn, keening
phrase from YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT LOVE IS. Ripley appears,
begins tidying the mess in the living room. He picks up
empty bottles, an abandoned bikini top.
I know why you're upset.
(Dickie continues playing)
I know about Silvana, Dickie. About you
Dickie stops playing.
What about us?
He now has an armful of dishes and glasses and bottles.
(losing his temper)
You don't have to clean up! Really!
Ripley disappears into the kitchen.
(as Ripley returns)
She was pregnant. Did you know that? Do
you know what that means in a place like
I'm prepared to take the blame.
What are you talking about?
You've been so good to me. You're the
brother I never had. I'm the brother you
She came to me for help, she needed
money, and I didn't help her. I didn't
help her. Now she's dead and it's my
I'm not going to say anything - to Marge,
or anybody, the police - It's a secret
between us and I'll keep it.
And he disappears again, leaving Dickie to resume the sax,
somehow in thrall to Ripley.
Dear Tom, I think the time has come to
discontinue your expense checks...
EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, NAPLES. DAY.
Ripley and Dickie are walking out of the American Express
Office, Dickie pushing the rest of his money into his case,
Ripley - despondent - reading aloud extracts from a letter
from Herbert Greenleaf -
...The thousand dollars, of course, was
only due in the event that you succeeded
in bringing Dickie home. Naturally, I
hope the trip has afforded you some
pleasure despite the failure of its main
objective you need no longer consider
yourself obligated to us in any way...
You can't blame him. You could hardly
expect this to go on forever.
I thought you might write again. Now that
I can't, how can I, in all decency? We've
had a good run, haven't we?
What about Venice? Can we stick to that
plan at least?
I don't think so, Tom. You can't stay on
here without money. It's time we all
moved on. Besides I'm sick of Mongi.
Especially now with everything - I really
want to move to the North. I need to
check out San Remo next week, find
somewhere new to keep the boat.
But it would be great, though, if you
came with me. Our last trip before you
leave. There's a jazz festival - we could
say goodbye in style. What do you think?
A last trip?
INT. TRAIN TO SAN REMO. AFTERNOON.
Dickie and Ripley travel up to San Remo. They sit next to
each other. Dickie's asleep. Ripley lays his head on Dickie's
shoulder, but as he does that, the ticket inspector announces
the San Remo stop, taps on the window and Dickie stirs. Then
Ripley plays his familiar game of studying his face in the
reflection of the train window, so that he can move his head
and see his reflection, then back and see Dickie's. Dickie
suddenly catches him staring. Ripley looks away.
Why do you do that thing - with your
neck? On trains you always do that thing,
it's so spooky.
EXT. HOTEL TERRACE RESTAURANT, SAN REMO. NIGHT.
Dickie and Ripley walk through the terrace of an hotel which
lips out towards the sea. There's a restaurant and palms and
a JAZZ QUINTET playing, American. Very cool. They pass the
band. Dickie's captivated as they head for their table. They
pass some girls at a table. Dickie smiles greedily.
This is more like it. Didn't I tell you
San Remo was crazy!
They're shown to a good table. Dickie watches the band while
their glasses are filled with champagne. Ripley looks happy.
He's got Dickie all to himself.
To Mongibello and the happiest days of my
To Mongi. You're cheerful tonight.
I'm suddenly quite happy to be going
I've got plans!
Esatto. I'm always planning.
Did I know you at Princeton, Tom? I
didn't, did I?
Why are you asking all of a sudden?
No reason. Because you're leaving, I
guess. I don't think you were there, were
I mean it as a compliment. You've got
such great taste, I don't know. Most of
the thugs at Princeton had tasted
everything and had no taste. Used to say,
the cream of America: rich and thick.
Freddie's the perfect example.
Then I'll take it as a compliment.
I knew it! I had a bet with Marge!
Do you even like jazz - or was that
something for my benefit?
(conceding, without guile)
I've gotten to like it. I've gotten to
like everything about the way you live.
It's one big love affair. If you knew my
life back home in New York...
Dickie's distracted by the drummer who's playing an extrovert
solo, doesn't hear the confession of love.
I'm thinking of giving up the sax, what
do you think about drums?
He mimes a high-hat and snare. Ripley can't quite credit this
- it's superficiality.
EXT. MID OCEAN. DAY.
The bay of San Remo. DICKIE and RIPLEY have hired a motor
That's how I found my place in Mongi.
Took a boat out round the bay. The first
place I liked, I got it.
The motor boat is ploughing the waves. Dickie exhilarated by
Dickie, slow down, come on!
Ripley grips the oar, his knuckles white. Dickie cuts the
motor, and the boat slows to a crawl, miles from the shore.
I love it here! Gonna live here!
Dickie takes off his jacket, then drums against the edge of
the boat, developing a rhythm with his lighter and fingers,
already on the way to becoming Buddy Rich.
I wanted to tell you my plan.
So tell me.
I thought I might come back. In the New
Year. Under my own steam.
Really? To Italy?
Of course. Let's say, for argument's
sake, you were here - perhaps we could
split the rent on a house - I'll get a
job - or, better still, I could get a
place in Rome and when we're there we
could be there and if we're here we could
be here -
Oh God, I don't think so.
- you see, particularly with the Marge
problem, you can just blame me.
Marge and I are getting married.
Yesterday you're ogling girls on the
terrace, today you're getting married.
I love Marge.
You love me and you're not marrying me.
Tom, I don't love you.
No, no, it's not a threat, I've explained
all of that.
I'm actually a little relieved you're
going, to be honest. I think we've seen
enough of each other for a while.
Ripley stares at him, his eyes suddenly reptilian.
You can be a leech - you know this - and
it's boring. You can be quite boring.
The funny thing - I'm not pretending to
be somebody else and you are. I'm
absolutely honest with you. I've told you
my feelings. But you, first of all I know
there's something - that evening when we
played chess, for instance, it was
Sure - I know, that's too dangerous for
you, fair enough, hey! we're brothers,
fine, then you do this sordid thing with
Marge, fucking her on the boat while we
all have to listen, which was
excruciating, frankly, plus you follow
your cock around like a - and now you're
getting married! I'm bewildered, forgive
me...you're lying to Marge then getting
married to her, you're knocking up
Silvana, you've got to play sax, you've
got to play drums, which is it, Dickie,
what do you really play?
Dickie, furious, gets up, and lurches towards Ripley.
(attacking him, administering
tiny slaps as punctuation to
Who are you - some imposter, some third
class mooch - who are you to tell me
anything? Actually, I really really
really don't want to be on this boat with
you, I can't move without you moving,
which is exactly how it feels and it
gives me the creeps.
(he goes to rev up the engine)
I can't move without - "Dickie, Dickie,
Dickie" - like a little girl. You give
me the -
RIPLEY SMASHES HIM ACROSS THE HEAD WITH THE OAR. DICKIE SLIPS
OFF THE WOODEN SEAT, HIS EYES ROLLING IN GROGGY SURPRISE.
Shut up! Just shut up! Just shut up!
The boat slows as Dickie releases the tiller. Dickie looks
up at Ripley wearily and slides onto his back.
For God's sake.
Ripley, shocked at himself, goes to Dickie, rocking the boat,
catches him up, then is horrified to see Dickie's face,
apparently unmarked, SUDDENLY SPLIT OPEN, a line of blood and
then a peeling like a fruit bursting. Ripley's appalled. A
terrible roar issues from Dickie as he launches himself at
I'll kill you!
Ripley finds himself pushing him away, picking up the oar,
kicking off Dickie's hand around his ankle. The boat is
rocking and swerving crazily as Dickie falls against the
tiller. Ripley almost loses his balance. His glasses come
off. They struggle, locked together in a life or death
wrestle to get control of the oar. Dickie's blinded by his
own blood, loses his grip.
Ripley, terrified, hits Dickie again and again, the oar like
a carpet-beater banging down flat, blood on the blade, blood
on Ripley, until he's on his knees, heaving for breath,
letting his arm drop, then realizing, disgusted, that he's
let it rest in a pool of blood. He starts to sob, sprawls
there, sobbing, next to Dickie, horrified by what he's done.
Nobody's in sight. The boat rocks, gently, the sun sparkling
indifferently on the waves. Ripley lies by Dickie in the
bottom of the boat, in the embrace he's always wanted.
The pretty blue-and-white boat rocks peacefully. The sea
EXT. A COVE NEAR SAN REMO. AFTERNOON.
A deserted cove, several miles along the coast. Ripley
clambers onto a rock over the shore. He's watching the boat
slowly sinking. Shuddering from the exertion, the cold, he
finds Dickie's jacket, puts it on and watches as the boat
disappears under the surface.
EXT. SAN REMO. DUSK.
Ripley walks back towards the hotel, still wearing Dickie's
jacket, cold and wet, his bag over his shoulder.
INT. HOTEL LOBBY. EARLY EVENING.
Ripley approaches the front desk. He's shivering. He's not
wearing his glasses.
Can I have my key, please?
(at the key rack)
Of course - But you must be very cold?
Signor Greenleaf? Yes? -
No, it's - I'm...
EXT. ROAD BETWEEN NAPLES AND MONGIBELLO. DAY.
Ripley sits on the bus as it rumbles towards Mongi. He
stares out of the window, full of what he's done. No idea
what to do.
EXT. MONGIBELLO, FISHERMAN'S WHARF. DAY.
The BUS comes into town. Ripley gets out, looks calm, very
INT. DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM, MONGIBELLO. DAY.
Ripley walks into the living room, slowly approaches
Dickie's saxophone which is on its stand on the table. He
can't get close to it, it evokes Dickie too much.
INT. DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. DAY.
Ripley has Dickie's Hermes Baby typewriter on the desk and is
busy writing letters. He has finished a letter to the
Greenleafs, now he's at the end of one to Marge. We can read
part of it - C/O American Express, Rome 9 November 1958. Dear
Marge, this is a difficult letter for me to write... Ripley
produces the Shakespeare and Signature page and COPIES
DICKIE'S SIGNATURE at the end of the letter.
EXT. MARGE'S GARDEN, MONGIBELLO. DAY.
Ripley stands at the entrance to Marge's garden where she is
working at her book on the outside table, surrounded by
references and notes, held down by bricks. He looks at her
until she looks at him. She's startled, gasps.
Tom, you startled me! You're back.
How are you? Sorry. Is your book going
Yes - I'm on a good streak, thanks.
I was just looking at you -
(looking at her tenderly)
- so quiet.
I think he's planning on staying in Rome
for a few days.
(looks at him)
Ha. Did he say why?
I don't know. I don't understand Dickie,
Marge, so your guess is as good as mine.
What does that mean?
Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the
next day I'm not, one day we're all one
family, the next day he wants to be
alone. You tell me.
Is that what he said - he wanted to be
He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked
me to deliver this.
He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume.
Thanks. he knows I love this, although
why it couldn't have waited...
Errand number one - deliver Marge's
perfume. Errand number two, pack some
clothes and his precious saxophone.
How long's he staying for?
Search me. I guess we're abandoned.
EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING.
Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty,
forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning.
INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING.
As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in
the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox
open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks
back into the kitchen area.
There was a letter from Dickie in with my
perfume. You realize it's more than a few
days? He's thinking of moving to Rome.
She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling
everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear
them up. She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts
fresh ice into her glass.
The thing is, the night before he left,
we talked about moving, together, going
North - and I suppose I put some pressure
on him, about getting married, I just
might have scared him off. There's a side
to him, when our heads are on the pillow,
I know no-one else sees it, which is
I think I should come with you to Rome
and just confront him.
Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence.
He hates being confronted.
I think you're right.
INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY.
RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of
this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for
his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to
the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH:
INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY.
DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a
baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER.
Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes
back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive
rings. As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the
passport, he looks at the owner. Ripley wears a terrific
suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His
voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl.
Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf.
INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY.
The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks
around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in
its opulence. He immediately picks up the telephone.
Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel
Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor
Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes.
He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R
Greenleaf. Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing
case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting
specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased.
The telephone rings.
Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd
like to leave a message. Yes. Please call
Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand.
INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY.
A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone.
He's not there? Very well. I'll leave a
message - Got your call. Dinner tonight
sounds fine. Ripley.
(listens as it's read back)
Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank
INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY.
Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and
overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks.
I'd like these to have my initials -
embossed, I don't know the word in
Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf.
There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE!
Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside,
alone and delighted to see him. He grins and mouths hello.
(entering the shop)
Dickie! Oh my God! Ciao.
EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY.
Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe.
But you're going skiing with us Yankees,
At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie
Miles and -
How did you know that?
Everybody knows Freddie Miles.
Is Freddie in Rome?
Now? I don't think so. But I've met him,
of course, and we've chatted and I know
about you and Marge and Mongi and what an
unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you
were a rat and I thought to myself now I
know why he travels under R.
I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So
the rat's here now, in Rome.
Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if -
Don't be sorry. I've never been happier.
I feel like I've been handed a new life.
EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY.
Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head
inside the office.
The truth is if you've had money your
entire life, even if you despise it,
which we do - agreed? - you're only truly
comfortable around other people who have
it and despise it.
I've never admitted that to anyone.
INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY.
Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with
him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed
by her presence. She goes to the window ahead of him.
She takes her money, turns to him.
He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's
signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at
him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber.
I don't want too many large bills. Nobody
will change them.
INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY.
Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket
for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates
the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against
Show me the other one again.
(the Tailor obliges)
I like them both.
I'll take them both.
Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside,
Meredith shows the Tailor out. As she returns she notices
the open sax case, peers inside.
I know you're a jazz fiend but do you
absolutely hate the Opera? I've been
trying to give my tickets away, it's
tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be
She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by
him, the romance she feels to be in the air.
You could drag me.
INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME.
On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin. Lensky sings his aria
before the duel with Onegin.
Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous
Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE. He knows what comes next.
Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the
snow. Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes
over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing,
kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion...
Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced.
INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME.
The Interval. Ripley and Meredith exit their box with
Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval
Thanks so much for inviting me tonight.
Can you bear it? We hear you're a friend
of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera
tattooed on his chest.
There's room for a whole libretto on
I'm sure we've met.
They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks.
I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted?
This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy.
Thanks, yes, I think we did.
One minute you people are children and
the next you're getting tattooed.
INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT.
Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the
Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured
Englishman. They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is
(as if she's seen a ghost)
Oh my God. Tom.
Marge, how are you? What are you doing in
Is he here? Are you with Dickie?
Hello, I'm Tom Ripley.
Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about
you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie.
(works out what's strange)
He fishes out the glasses.
Where are you hiding him? He's
impossible, isn't he?
Is he really not here?
Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera
tattooed on his chest.
You were going to Venice.
Yes, what happened? I heard you were
desperate to come. I was looking forward
to rowing you around.
I am. I really am. And I've been
travelling. I just can't seem to get that
Well hurry, before we sink.
(reaches into his jacket)
Should I give you my telephone number in
The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to
Ripley, sees Meredith.
Look there's Meredith thingy - who's
that, Marge? - they're in textiles...
(embarrassed at not
God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in
I don't know her.
He hasn't called, he's hardly written,
just these cryptic notes. You don't just
The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return.
Will we see you later?
I can't later.
Tomorrow's possible. Do you know
Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna?
I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time?
We'll be there.
Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow.
It's really good to meet you.
INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT.
Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her.
I thought you were enjoying yourself?
Let's take a Carozza and look at the
You're crazy! It's freezing out there.
He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading
through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting
dangerously near as they approach their seats.
C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the
two of us.
Okay then, you're crazy.
EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT.
Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber.
Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge.
Don't worry. Really. Don't worry.
You're such a pal to understand. It's as
if Marge is here now - I look at you and
I see her face - and I can't, whatever
I'm feeling towards you - I just can't...
No, I absolutely understand. Of course.
Otherwise you'd be fighting me off.
Beating you away.
EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME.
They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment
Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go
inside, then looks at him.
Will you meet me tomorrow? Just to say
goodbye in the daylight, properly? So
it's not just this, it's too...you should
always save pain for daylight...
Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll
meet you. Let's have coffee in the
morning at Dinelli's.
I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps?
Exactly. 10.30 -
(instantly correcting himself)
He gets back into the carozza. It moves off.
EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING.
Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish
Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps,
among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an
outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via
Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith. She
acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her.
Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue.
Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm
sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is
Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue.
Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes.
Join us, won't you? We're just waiting
for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did
we see you at the Opera last night?
I won't actually, although I think this
might - are you waiting for Dickie?
Well no, as it happens, although...
(stunned at the mention of his
Dickie? Do you know Dickie?
You were at the Opera? Well, that
explains - yes I was there. I was there
I told you! I knew it!
(moving over to them)
Marge, I don't know you, so I have no
right, but Dickie loves you. He's - I
think you'll find he's coming home to
How would you know that?
He told me everything. I was supposed to
meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm
going to go now, I think. Unless he meant
us to meet - which would be a little
cruel, wouldn't it?
No, we're meeting another friend. Tom
Do you know Tom?
Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course,
but no, I didn't meet him.
The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates
Not for me. No, grazie.
Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her.
I hope I didn't complicate matters, but
nothing, nothing untoward happened,
nothing to prevent you from welcoming him
back, from marrying him...Goodbye.
Goodbye Peter, please don't get up.
Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of
the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the
crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he
becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's
apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his
element, lying and believing in his lie.
Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers.
Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp
when they can make you line up for three.
Have you been waiting long?
Not at all. Morning Tom.
Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've
seen a ghost...
Dickie was at the Opera last night.
I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't
drag Dickie to -
He was there with someone. So I suppose
she must have dragged him - that's not
fair. I'm going back to Mongi. I think
Dickie's coming home.
I'm going to go home.
Really? That's swell. No, I was just -
you're way ahead of me! Great!
We think he's had a change of heart.
So we should be celebrating.
I hope so.
That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith
Meredith's the American girl I saw last
night, I know her, at the Opera, she's
been seeing something of Dickie -
But the point is Dickie - well we know
this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses
her and apparently he's come to his
I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand
this, but anytime Dickie does something I
INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY.
Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo
Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley
explores, relishing the decor.
Accendo il riscaldamento.
(I'll turn the heating on.)
(mimes playing sax)
Mi piace suonare.
(I like to play music.)
Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una
coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace?
(I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So,
do you like it?)
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON.
Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas.
There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with
some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's
a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a
glass, pours himself a drink.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON.
Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and
precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops
playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous.
Who is it?
It's Freddie. Let me in.
RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint.
Dickie, come on, it's me.
Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the
Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley.
(confused, not pleasantly)
Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you?
Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at
dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it?
I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm.
If you said he was still at lunch I'd
believe you. Incredible. The guy has
disappeared off the face of the earth.
The landlady - as far as I could tell,
the landlady said he was here right now.
He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I
can't think why you would imagine Dickie
would hide from you.
Because he's been hiding from me - what
happened at Christmas?
What about Christmas?
He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't
get a cable or a call or a note or,
frankly, a fart.
Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING
FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the
kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers.
Of course, he's been very involved in his
music, hasn't he? I think his theory is,
you know, you have to go into a cocoon
before you can become a butterfly.
Which is horseshit. Have you heard him
play that thing?
(gesturing at the sax on its
How did you find him? It's such an out of
the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink?
(explaining his detective work)
Some kid at the American Express Office.
(he starts to explore)
Are you living here?
Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano.
No. No, I'm staying here for a few days,
in Rome. That's a new piano, so you prob -
Did this place come furnished? It doesn't
look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so
Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust.
You should watch that!
In fact the only thing which looks like
Dickie is you.
Have you done something to your hair?
Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room.
Freddie, do you have something to say?
What? I think I'm saying it. Something's
going on. He's either converted to
Christianity - or to something else.
I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself.
Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the
Is it on "delle Croce, just off the
Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you?
Last time you didn't know your ass from
your elbow, now you're giving me
directions. That's not fair, you probably
do know your ass from your elbow. I'll
AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner
on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back
to the door, opens it and looks over the rail.
INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY.
FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley
can't make out the text but there's some discussion about
Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as
Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY.
Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches
in, he launches into his interrogation.
Ripley? There's someth -
- AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY
SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE
HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE.
Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then
to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating
him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his
balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before
slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor.
THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF.
EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.
It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows
towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley
talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He
pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat.
(mimicking Freddie's voice)
Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her
EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT.
The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs
punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car,
Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body.
He slows near a clump of trees.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING.
Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it,
finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO
POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand.
Inspector Roverini. Can we come in?
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING.
Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini
and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently.
It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did
Signor Miles leave yesterday?
I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd
both taken on far too many drinks - but
it was dark, it was certainly dark when I
walked him down to his car.
So Signor Miles drove away and you did
I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but
I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks.
I've suffered all day. Who found him?
Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian.
Senta. We have to ask you to stay in
Yes, if it's going to help, certainly.
So, the Doctor, he has to make the -
(looks at Baggio)
- come se dice?
Yes, exactly, but his first, his first
conclusion was that Signor Miles was
killed not later than seven o'clock
Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he
drove off in his car.
EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING.
Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his
scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES
AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances
sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images
and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE
WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the
pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along
the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an
Italian, runs up concerned.
EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY.
Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the
street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips
Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter.
Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no
mood for pleasantries.
Did he kill Freddie?
Marge, when did you get here?
Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie?
I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't.
I tried again, waiting here, watching for
him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look
for Dickie I find you.
(focusing on Ripley's cuts and
What happened to your face?
Dickie did it.
My face! There was an argument. I said
some things I shouldn't have. About you.
About the appalling way he's treating
you, all of us. And the next thing I
know he's launched himself at me.
(he pulls the scooter off the
Are you getting on?
Get on. I'll take you to him.
EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY.
Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The
entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars.
Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley,
startled, drives straight past the entrance.
EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY.
Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different
piazza full of book stalls. Marge is confused.
Where does Dickie live?
We passed it a few blocks back, where the
police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They
don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not
going to incriminate Dickie -
Perhaps I shouldn't go either.
(thinking hard, distracted)
No, well go if you want to, but don't
talk to the Police about my face - they
find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he
could've hit Freddie.
Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you
And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK
and roars towards the Palazzo.
EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON.
Ripley drives towards the entrance. As Ripley gets off and
pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS,
LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm
around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off
a photograph. It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away
as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside.
INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS.
As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting
more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a
landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him.
Can we go up? Do you mind?
Of course. What happened to your face?
My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by
He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow.
The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm
feeling hounded - do you think you could
not give out my address?
Never. We've had many requests and, of
course, we say no - even to your fianc»e.
I really don't want to see anybody.
Even your fianc»e...?
What about Thomas Ripley?
What about Ripley?
Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment.
He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can
barely wait for Roverini to catch up.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON.
Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him.
You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo,
is that right?
Ripley is appalled. He smiles.
Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That
was months ago.
November, I thought.
Was it? Did you speak to Tom?
November 7th is my information.
I don't remember the exact date.
And when did you last see Signor Ripley?
A few days ago.
Does he stay with you here?
No. Here is a pattern. Two days ago
Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your
apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a
little boat is found in San Remo full of
rocks, and the owner tells the Police it
was stolen on November 7th. We look at
hotel records and we see oh! Dickie
Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then
our boatman remembers two Americans
taking a boat.
It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence.
There must be fifty hotels in San Remo,
there must have been a hundred people
renting a boat on that day.
Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky.
That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge
Let her in, what's the difference? Let
(Baggio is on his way to the
No, actually, no, I'd like it very much
if you would ask her to come back later.
Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out.
May I ask...why would you speak to your
friend and not your fianc»e?
I think I just said. Ripley was handling
some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley
want to marry me. Nor did he ask me
every day if I would marry him. And when.
Do you have a photograph of Signor
I'm not in the habit of carrying around
photographs of my male friends.
Now I think I have upset you. My English
perhaps is coarse.
It is a little coarse, yes.
Sorry. No-one has seen Signor Ripley
since San -
You have, yes.
No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask
her! and if I could remember which hotel
he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom
was staying at the Goldoni.
Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A
(he gets up to leave)
I look forward to our next meeting when I
will be more careful with my English and
persuade you to play me your saxophone.
I have a witness who thinks they saw two
men getting into Mr Miles' car. She
wants to identify you in a - confronto -
Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through
the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the
Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in but I
really don't think he wants to see
Ripley leans against the door, the noose tightening, then
suddenly a voice shocks him upright.
Dick? Dickie? I know you can hear me.
What am I doing, chasing you around...?
I was going to say I would count to three
and if you didn't open the door, but I
won't count any more. On you. I won't
count on you any more. Whatever it is,
whatever you've done or haven't done,
you've broken my heart. That's one thing
I know you're guilty of, and I don't know
why, I don't know why, I just don't know
Ripley listens, there's a silence, then Marge's footsteps as
they ring out on the stone stairs. The tapping sound resolves
into the tap-tap of a manual typewriter.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.
Ripley's at the typewriter, he begins to type.
My dear Tom, I'm getting out of this.
Freddie's death, Silvana. I've thought
about going to the police, but I can't do
it, I can't face it. I can't face
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.
CHAOS. Ripley is working quickly, selecting clothes,
dividing them into TWO PILES - one for Dickie's trunk, one
for his own battered suitcase. He puts the license plates
from Freddie's car in Dickie's luggage. He has placed one
shirt on the Ripley pile then checks again, and - on seeing
Dickie's initials, places it with the bigger pile, then picks
it up again and holds it briefly against his cheek.
He takes Dickie's rings, opens up a LITTLE BOX of buttons and
needles and cufflinks and sadly tosses them in. Dickie's
leather writing case goes on the big pile, too, as do cuff
links, ties, the Mont Blanc, Dickie's passport, which he
opens to scratch at the photograph, obliterating the face.
...I wish I could give you the life I
took for granted. You've always
understood what's at the heart of me,
Tom. Marge never could. I suppose that's
why I'm writing this to you, the brother
I never had. The only true friend I ever
had. In all kinds of ways you're much
more like the son my father always
wanted. I realise you can change the
people, change the scenery, but you can't
change your own rotten self. Now I can't
think what to do, or where to go. I'm
haunted by everything I've done, and
can't undo. I'm sorry, I can't go on.
I've made a mess of being Dickie
Greenleaf haven't I?
He's finished the letter, signs it, puts it in an envelope
marked Tom Ripley and places the letter on top of the piano
next to Dickie's passport. His head is reflected in the
distorting curve of the lid. As he puts on his glasses
there's a moment when there are two heads slowly separating,
as Ripley leaves behind his brief life as Dickie Greenleaf.
INT. BASEMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.
Ripley carries Dickie's luggage down into THE COMMUNAL
BASEMENT of the Gioia, a wretched place full of shadows and
gloom and the overflow from thirty apartments. A red plush
couch sits on top of a mound of furniture. He finds some
dustsheets and shoves the cases under them. Then Dickie's
Outside the small window, Ripley sees uniformed feet and the
revolving blue light of a Police Car. He shrinks back, turns
off the light and disappears into the dark, illuminated
fitfully by the strobe of cold blue.
EXT. BY THE PALAZZO GIOIA, ROME. NIGHT.
Ripley, familiar battered luggage in tow, appears at the
entrance of the building next to his own, glances at the
police car parked opposite the big doors, then hurries off
into the darkness.
EXT. BY THE PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.
Ripley's briefly silhouetted as he scuttles down an alley,
hurrying towards a gate, and disappears behind it.
EXT. PIAZZALE ROMA, VENICE. DAWN.
Ripley sits next to his battered luggage at the prow of a
MOTOR TAXI as it surges towards Venice at dawn. Peter Smith-
Kingsley waits on the quay. Ripley waves. Peter waves back.
(indicating the taxi stop)
I'll see you over there!
EXT. PIAZZA SAN MARCO, VENICE. EARLY MORNING.
Ripley and Peter walk through the square, the pigeons
scattering. Ripley breathes in the atmosphere, the beautiful
Peter, I'm really sorry to put you
through this. I just couldn't face going
to the police by myself when my Italian's
Don't be daft. It's fine. I'm delighted
you finally made it to Venice. I'm
delighted, contrary to rumour, you're
still in one piece?
That Dickie murdered you and is
travelling under your passport. I know,
INT. POLICE STATION, VENICE. LATE DAY.
Later. Ripley sits in the middle of a bustling Police Station,
where thefts, tourists, thieves and complaints are being
processed. The Station is in an old brewery or armory. It's a
horrible, monochrome, oppressive place. Peter is in
conversation at a desk, turns and walks over to where Ripley
Welcome to Venice. This place reeks,
doesn't it? Can you smell it? Ugh.
Sorry. Not the best way to spend your
Anyway I've got to the bottom of the
delay. Finally. We're waiting for
someone from Rome.
What do you mean? They're sending
someone from Rome?
That's good, isn't it?
(as if suffocating)
No, but I thought that didn't happen in
Italy, that each region was completely
separate! I was sure that was the -
You've seen the papers, you know what a
big deal it's been here. American tourist
It's ridiculous but now you've mentioned
the stench I can hardly breathe.
A door opens. COLONEL VERRECCHIA, fresh from Rome, and a
sullen wedge of a man, comes in, scowling at the couple.
Ripley dare not look up in case it's Roverini. A POLICEMAN
Colonelo Verrecchia della Polizia di
(to Peter, in Italian)
Qui e Ripley? Who is Ripley?
Verrecchia strides past them and into a smaller, interview
room at the back of the station. His manner is ominous.
INT. POLICE STATION, INTERVIEW ROOM, VENICE. LATE DAY.
This room is not at all friendly. There is evidence of a
locked area for cells at one wall. A small, sour window
gives onto a canal. The main station is glimpsed through
some internal windows. Peter and Ripley come through.
Verrecchia sits down. Verrecchia talks in staccato Italian,
during which Peter translates.
Ho assunto io la guida delle indagini in
seguito alla negativa valutazione delle
disdicevoli circostanze verificatesi con
il mio predecessore Roverini che come e
noto non e riuscito a impedire il
verificarsi della scomparsa del signor
Greenleaf, il quale era l'unica persona
al momento passibile di incriminazione
del reato di omicidio del signor Miles.
He's taken over the case because...
they're annoyed the previous chap let
Dickie...disappear when he was the only,
he was the only suspect in Freddie's
Quando e stata l'ultima volta che il
signor Ripley ha visto il signor
(When was the last time Ripley saw
Ripley forgets he's not supposed to have much Italian and
In Rome, about three weeks ago.
I knew that one.
(giving Ripley a look)
A Roma, circa tre settimane fa.
Dove e stato il signor Ripley da allora?
Where have you been since then?
I've been backpacking.
I don't know how to translate that.
E difficile....il signor Ripley
....dormiva all'aperto, con un...
All'aperto? Col freddo che ha fatto?
He thinks it's very cold to be sleeping
Il signor Ripley ha sviluppate tendenze
Are you a homosexual?
(then as himself)
(translates for him)
(as Peter, drily)
By the way, officially there are no
Italian homosexuals. Makes Leonardo,
Michelangelo very inconvenient.
Tell him I have a fianc»e, Dickie has a
fianc»e and Freddie Miles probably had a
string of them.
Il signor Ripley ha una fidanzata, il
signor Dickie ha una fidanzata e
probabilmente il signor Freddie Miles ha
Mamma mia, quante fidanzate!
They all laugh.
What did he say?
He says so many fianc»es.
(suddenly very tough)
Lei ha ucciso prima Freddie Miles e dopo
Dickie Greenleaf! Vero?
As Peter translates Verrecchia watches intently.
He wants to know if you killed Freddie
Miles and then killed Dickie Greenleaf?
No I did not. I did not kill Freddie
Miles and then kill Dickie Greenleaf. Is
he accusing me?
(Peter clearly doesn't ask)
Ask him if he's accusing me!
He's already angry, I don't think -
Just because he doesn't like Americans!
Non e questo il luogo per le vostre
conversazioni private! (This is not the
place for your private conversations)
A ragione. A ragione. (You're right.
Hmm. C'e questa... (There's this...)
Verrecchia hands over a letter. It's opened. Ripley's name on
the outside. Ripley stares at it.
Questa lettera e stata trovata
nell'abitazione del signor Richard
Greenleaf a Roma.
They found this in Dickie's place in
You opened this?
He stands and takes the letter out. Begins to read. He has
the look of a man whose privacy has been violated.
It's a suicide note.
You ask me all these questions and you've
already read this suicide note?
INT. PETER SMITH-KINGSLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.
There's music everywhere - and stands - and posters of
performances and PHOTOGRAPHS OF PETER CONDUCTING. Peter is an
opera repetiteur. Ripley is sitting at Peter's piano, playing
from the score of Vivaldi's Stabat Mater. Peter's made supper.
He's setting the table.
Can you imagine, if Dickie did kill
Freddie, what must that be like? To wake
up every morning, how can you? Just wake
up and be a person, drink a coffee...?
Whatever you do, however terrible,
however hurtful - it all makes sense,
doesn't it? inside your head. You never
meet anybody who thinks they're a bad
person or that they're cruel.
But you're still tormented, you must be,
you've killed somebody...
Don't you put the past in a room, in the
cellar, and lock the door and just never
go in there? Because that's what I do.
Probably. In my case it's probably a
Then you meet someone special and all you
want to do is toss them the key, say open
up, step inside, but you can't because
it's dark and there are demons and if
anybody saw how ugly it was...
Peter's come over, stands behind him over the piano.
That's the music talking. Harder to be
bleak if you're playing Knees up Mother
He vamps this vaudeville song over Ripley's shoulder.
I keep wanting to do that - fling open
the door - let the light in, clean
everything out. If I could get a huge
eraser and rub everything out...starting
with myself...the thing is, Peter, if...
(as Ripley falls silent)
No key, huh?
INT. SANTA MARIA DELLA PIETA, BRIDGE OF SIGHS. DAY.
A YOUNG BOY SINGS the soprano part of Vivaldi's STABAT MATER.
A piercingly pure sound in Vivaldi's own church. The
orchestra - rehearsing - is conducted by Peter from the
Ripley slips in at the back of the church. He stands and
listens. Peter sees him, smiles. Ripley smiles back.
EXT. VENICE, S.LUCIA RAILWAY STATION. DAY.
MARGE appears on the steps, carrying an overnight bag. Ripley
and Peter have come to meet her.
(kissing him warmly)
Hello Peter, so good to see you.
They walk towards the Vaporetto.
So you found Peter...
I think we sort of found each other.
Marge smiles enigmatically. Ripley registers.
Where's Dickie's father?
He's not coming till the morning.
Evidently his stomach - I don't think the
food here is agreeing with him.
I was looking forward to seeing him.
Dickie hasn't killed himself. I'm sure of
that. There's a private detective on the
case now - a Mr MacCarron - Dickie's
father's employing him.
That's a terrific idea.
He's American. He's already discovered
Dickie cashed checks for $1000 the day
before he disappeared.
They step onto the Vaporetto.
Is that what you do before you jump in
the Tiber? I don't think so.
EXT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DAY.
The boat arrives at the entrance to the house. Peter opens
the door as Ripley collects Marge's bags.
Is this you?
No, it's Tom's. Splendid, eh?
Golly. Who's paying for this?
Peter found it for me. I can afford it
because it's damp and, and falling down.
INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DAY.
Marge, entering the living room, is astonished at its
grandeur. She walks around as Ripley heads for the bar.
This is spectacular.
That's why Tom wanted you to stay. It's
better than squeezing into my room, and I
know how you hate hotels.
A hotel would've been fine.
We'll have to tell Mr Greenleaf how far
his dollar has stretched.
Ripley is shaking a martini. Marge laughs, helpless, somehow
raging. Peter turns
No, nothing. I'm just thinking about when
Tom arrived in Mongi.
And now look at you.
Look at me what?
To the manner born.
EXT. PIAZZA SAN MARCO, VENICE. DAY.
St Mark's Square is buzzing with life - tourists, balloon
sellers - a man playing saxophone. HERBERT GREENLEAF sits out
in the colonade on one of the many tables at Florian's Cafe,
cradling a glass of hot water. He gets up as Marge and Ripley
Tom. How are you? You look well.
I'm well, thank you.
Far cry from New York.
Yes it is.
Marge, good morning. Unusual weather.
And you, sir? Any better?
Pretty good. Sticking with hot water.
Where's Mr MacCarron?
San Remo. The police are amateurs. Well,
my boy, it's come to a pretty pass,
Yes. What's the detective hoping to
find in San Remo?
He's being thorough, that's all. I'm
learning about my son, Tom, now he's
missing. I'm learning a great deal about
him. I hope you can fill in some more
blanks for me. Marge has been good enough
to do that, about Mongibello.
I'll try my best, sir. Obviously I'll do
anything to help Dickie.
Marge looks at him in contempt.
This theory, the letter he left for you,
the Police think that's a clear
indication he was planning on doing
I just don't believe that!
You don't want to, dear. I'd like to talk
to Tom alone - perhaps this afternoon?
Would you mind? Marge, what a man may say
to his sweetheart and what he'll admit to
another fellow -
What a waste of lives and opportunities
A saxophonist is blaring away in the piazza. Greenleaf
- I'd pay that fellow a hundred dollars
right now to shut up!
INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE. AFTERNOON.
Herbert Greenleaf sits on a chair, Ripley pours him some tea.
(reading, plunging into gloom)
No, Marge doesn't know the half of it.
I think it might hurt her to know.
And his passport photo? Did you hear? To
scratch out your own face like that - can
you imagine - the frame of mind you'd
have to be in?
I've thought about going to the police
but I can't face it. I can't face
I feel guilty. I feel like I pushed him
away. I spoke and he heard you.
(such a disappointed father)
Well, if we all pushed him away what
about him pushing us away? You've been a
great friend to my son. Everything is
someone else's fault. We all want to sow
wild oars. Somebody's got to - what's the
(Ripley shakes his head)
The moment someone confronts him he
lashes out. He lashes out. You know,
people always say you can't choose your
parents, but you can't choose your
INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DUSK.
Ripley wakes up from an awful, chilling nightmare, his head
full of ghosts. He's cramped up in an armchair, his arms in
sine foetal protection. HIS DOOR KNOCKER IS BEING REPEATEDLY
SHAKEN. He surfaces thickly, stumbles to the door. It's Peter
I'm sorry. I was asleep. I must have
You look ghastly, Tom. Are you okay?
Did Dickie's Dad go?
He's having an early night.
(she heads to her room)
We were knocking on that door for ever.
(she fiddles inside the sleeve
of her dress)
I think I've broken my strap.
I'll fix some drinks.
You walk in Venice!
She takes off her shoe, examining her feet for wear and tear,
then disappears into the bedroom. Peter walks over to Ripley,
a little concerned.
Are you okay?
(a hand on his shoulder)
Do you want me to stick around?
Or I could come back.
Ripley looks at him. That's never happened. He digs in his
pocket, finds his key, gives it to Peter. Peter smiles.
INT. RIPLEY'S BATHROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.
Ripley's in the bath. Marge knocks on his door.
Marge, I'm in the bath. Won't be long.
Tom, I need to talk to you. It's urgent.
Ripley, irritated, opens the door, his towel wrapped around
his waist. Marge is white. She's wearing a robe. She's
I found Dickie's rings.
You've got Dickie's rings.
I can explain.
He can't. His eyes dart. Marge holds up the evidence.
Dickie promised me he would never take
off this ring.
Let me put on some clothes and then we
can talk about this.
I have to tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to
tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to tell Mr
Marge, calm down, you're being
He promised me. I swear I'll never take
off this ring until the day -
Shut up! Shut up!
His towel slips off from his waist.
I'm wet, Marge, I've lost my towel, I'd
really like to put my clothes on. So go
and pour us both a drink, will you?
She goes off obediently, a zombie. He shuts the door.
Immediately he starts looking for something, anything, to
kill Marge with. He's got a shoe but it feels too light. He
opens cabinets, drawers - nail scissors, nothing - then
picks up his straight razor and considers it in the mirror.
INT. RIPLEY'S SITTING ROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.
Marge is leaving, coat on, as Ripley comes out of the
Marge? Where are you going?
(like a creature caught in
I was looking for a needle and thread. I
wasn't snooping. I was looking for a
needle and thread to mend my bra.
The scent you're wearing. I bought it for
you, not Dickie. The thing about Dickie.
So many things. The day he was late back
from Rome - I tried to tell you this - he
was with another girl. I'm not talking
about Meredith, another girl we met in a
bar. He couldn't be faithful for five
minutes. So when he makes a promise it
doesn't mean what it means when you make
a promise. Or I do. He has so many
realities, Dickie, and he believes them
all. He lies. He lies, that's his... half
the time he doesn't even realize.
A SMALL RED STAIN is appearing on the pocket of his robe. As
he speaks the stain spreads. He looks at it absently.
Today, for the first time, I've even
wondered whether he might have killed
Freddie. He would get so crazy if anybody
contradicted him - well, you know that.
Marge. I loved you - you might as well
know - I loved you, and because he knew I
loved you, he let you think I loved him.
Didn't you see, couldn't you see? I don't
know, maybe it's grotesque to say this
now, so just write it on a piece of paper
or something, and keep it in your purse
for a rainy day. Tom loves me.
(as if she'd heard nothing)
Why do you have Dickie's rings?
His hand goes to his pocket. HE'S GOING TO HAVE TO DO IT.
I told you. He gave them to me.
I feel as if you haven't heard anything
I've been saying to you.
I don't believe you.
It's all true.
I don't believe a single word you've
Marge is shivering. Ripley, ominous, advances, she retreats.
You're shivering, Marge. Can I hold you?
Would you let me hold you?
Marge panics, backed up against the door. She screams and
turns straight into the arms of a startled PETER who's come
back to visit Ripley, and is unlocking the door.
Oh Peter! Get me out of here.
Ripley storms off. His hand comes out of his pocket COVERED
IN BLOOD from the razor. Peter notices, appalled.
Tom, are you okay?
You try. You try talking to her.
(calls after him)
Tom. Tom! Tell me, what's going on?
(not turning around)
I give up.
INT. RIPLEY HOUSE, LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
Peter has just put a band-aid over Ripley's cut hand.
You can't be angry with her. She's upset
and needs someone to blame. So she blames
you. I'll go home and talk to her. As
for you - either get a safety razor or
grow a beard.
INT. LOBBY, EUROPA REGINA HOTEL, VENICE. MORNING.
Ripley hurries through the gleaming marble entrance.
INT. HERBERT GREENLEAF'S SUITE, EUROPA REGINA. DAY.
Ripley knocks on the door. It's opened by a face he doesn't
recognize. A middle-aged heavy set man. It's MacCARRON, the
Is Mr Greenleaf here?
Mr Ripley? I'm Alvin MacCarron.
I don't know, I don't know, I just know
Marge, there's female intuition, and
then there are facts -
Greenleaf sits with a scrubbed Marge, her hair pulled back,
as if newly-widowed. THE RINGS SIT GLINTING ON THE COFFEE
(smiles thinly at Marge)
Marge, you should have waited, didn't
Peter tell you I'd come by and pick you
Marge has been telling us about the
You know I feel ridiculous I didn't
mention them yesterday - I clean forgot -
Perhaps you didn't mention them because
there's only one conclusion to be drawn.
Ripley worries about what that conclusion is as Mr Greenleaf
heads into his bedroom.
I'm going to take Marge for a little
walk, Tom. Mr MacCarron wants to talk
(feeling caged in)
We could go down to the bar - no need for
you to -
No, he should talk to you alone.
He helps Marge to her feet and leads her out. RIPLEY IS
PARALYSED. He waits for the door to shut. Aimlessly he walks
out onto the terrace, with its staggering, beautiful and
EXT. EUROPA REGINA, THE GREENLEAF TERRACE. DAY.
Ripley stands, steels himself for MacCarron's charges.
I could probably see my bedroom from
here. I can see my house. When you see
where you live from a distance it's like
a dream, isn't it?
I don't care for B.S. I don't care to
hear it. I don't care to speak it.
Why do you think Dickie's father sent him
to Europe in the first place? Did you
know at Princeton Dickie Greenleaf half-
killed a boy?
Ripley turns, shocked.
At a party. Over some girl. He kicked the
kid several times in the head. Put him in
the hospital. The boy had a wire fixed in
his jaw. The Rome Police didn't think to
ask Mr Greenleaf.
MacCarron gets up.
Nor did they think to check whether a
Thomas Ripley had ever been a student at
Princeton University. I turned up a Tom
Ripley who'd been a piano tuner in the
Ripley's head drops.
See - in America we're taught to check a
fact before it becomes a fact. We're
taught to nose around when a girl drowns
herself, find out if that girl was
pregnant, find out if Dickie had an
Ripley doesn't know where this barrage is going.
Mr Greenleaf appreciates your loyalty.
He really does. Marge, she's got a
hundred theories, but there are a few
things she doesn't know. We hope she
I hope she never knows.
Three different people saw Dickie get
into Freddie Miles' car. A man who won't
identify himself because he was jumping
someone else's wife at the time saw
Dickie removing license plates from a red
sports car. The Police know about this
man because he happens to be a Policeman.
He walks out of the room, returns carrying THE LICENSE PLATES
from Freddie's car.
I found these in the basement of Dickie's
apartment. They belonged to Freddie's
car. Mr Greenleaf has asked me to lose
them in the canal this evening.
Ripley can't believe what he's hearing. It's like a dream.
Mr Greenleaf also feels there was a
silent promise in Dickie's letter to you
which he intends to honor. He intends to
transfer a good part of Dickie's income
from his trust into your name. He doesn't
intend to give the Italian police any
information about Dickie's past. He's
rather hoping you'll feel the same.
There is a silence in which this strange compact is agreed.
EXT. EUROPA REGINA MOORING. DAY.
Ripley stands with Marge, Mr Greenleaf and MacCarron at the
water's edge - MOTOR LAUNCH growling. They shake hands, and
then MacCarron and Mr Greenleaf get into the launch. Herbert
Greenleaf carries the saxophone case.
I feel I never should have said those
things to you the other evening. I was
pretty flustered, the rings and - and you
looked so, I don't know.
Marge shakes her head to silence him.
But I hope that note goes to New York in
your purse, for a rainy day.
What are you going to do now, Tom?
I don't know. Peter has a concert in
Athens next month - and he's asked if I
want to go along, help out. He says
goodbye by the way - he's in rehearsal,
Why do I think there's never been a
Ripley rainy day?
(lunging at him)
I know it was you - I know it was you,
Tom. I know it was you. I know you killed
Dickie. I know it was you.
He puts his hand out to control her. She pushes it away.
STARTS TO LASH OUT AT HIM, the frustration too much, so that
Ripley has to cover his face. MacCarron comes off the boat to
restrain her. Ripley looks at him as if to say: what can you
do, she's hysterical. MacCarron nods, pulls her on to the
boat. Greenleaf catches Ripley's eye, guiltily. Turns away.
They stand silhouetted as the launch revs up and surges off
towards open waters, passing the little fleets of gondolas.
EXT. FERRY FOR ATHENS, NAPLES. DAY.
A week later and Peter and Ripley are on the deck of the
ferry, the HELLENES, as it sails towards Greece. They're
Ask me what I want to change about this
What do you want to change about this
INT. PETER'S CABIN. DUSK.
Peter's in a bathrobe organising his currency, his
traveller's cheques. Ripley knocks on the door, comes in.
Hello. What are you up to?
All kinds of things. Making plans.
Plans - good, plans for tonight or plans
for the future?
I don't know. Both. My plan right now is
to go up on deck, look at the sunset.
Come with me.
You go. I don't want to get dressed yet.
Come back though. Come back.
(smiles at him)
You know, you look so relaxed, like a
completely different person.
Well, that's entirely your fault. And,
if I fall overboard, that'll be your
EXT. DECK OF THE HELLENES. SUNSET.
Ripley stands on deck, staring at the magnificent sunset.
Then a voice shakes him from his reverie.
He turns. He's caught. Suddenly he's Dickie.
Dickie, my God!
I was looking at you, your clothes, I
wouldn't have known you...
Well, you've spotted me and so you get
Just kidding. Are you alone?
Hardly. I couldn't be less alone.
Meredith points to the UPPER DECK BALCONY where TWO OLDER
COUPLES are walking around the deck.
Of course. Aunt Joan.
And co. A lot of co. Oh, God, I've
thought about you so much.
I've thought about you.
And now he's thinking I can't kill them all...
When I thought about you I was mostly
hating you. Where've you been hiding?
I haven't been hiding. I've been in
Police custody. They've been trying to
flush out Freddie's killer.
They're letting me have this vacation.
Which is why the get-up. Which is why you
haven't heard from me.
You know, the whole world thinks you
killed Freddie? It's terrible.
I know. Look, I can't talk now. Later.
He kisses her. Full of future.
So - are you travelling under R?
You know what - I am.
Dickie, are you with Peter Smith-
Kingsley? I bet you are. My aunt thought
she saw him.
Peter Smith-Kingsley? I haven't seen him
in months. No, I'm alone.
(and he understands this is not
any kind of lie)
INT. PETER'S CABIN. NIGHT.
Peter's working on his score, lying on his front, apparently
engrossed. Ripley knocks and enters. Looks long at Peter.
How was it?
Good. But I think we should stay in here
for the rest of the trip.
Was that Meredith?
Was who Meredith?
Meredith Logue. You were kissing
somebody. Looked like Meredith.
Hardly kissing. Kissing off.
Didn't look that way - you know - from a
I lied. To her. She thought she'd seen
Dickie and Peter, that's just too good
gossip, isn't it?
Or Tom and Peter even.
Well that would be even better gossip.
Sorry, I'm completely lost.
I know. I'm lost, too. I'm going to be
stuck in the basement, aren't I, that's
my, that's my - terrible and alone and
dark - and I've lied about who I am, and
where I am, and so nobody can ever find
What do you mean lied about who you are?
I suppose I always thought - better to be
a fake somebody than a real nobody.
What are you talking about - you're not a
nobody! That's the last thing you are.
Peter, I... I...
And don't forget. I have the key.
You have the key. Tell me some good
things about Tom Ripley. Don't get up.
Just tell me some nice things.
He sits on the bed, leans against Peter. His eyes are
brimming with tears. He takes the cord from Peter's robe and
begins twisting it in his hands.
Good things about Tom Ripley? Could take
some time!... Tom is talented. Tom is
tender... Tom is beautiful...
(during this, and tender)
You're such a liar...
...Tom is a mystery...
Ripley is pressing against him, moving up his body, kisses
his shoulder, the cord wrapped tight in his hands...
INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. NIGHT.
Ripley returns to his cabin. Sits on the bed, desolate.
...Tom is not a nobody. Tom has secrets
he doesn't want to tell me, and I wish he
would. Tom has nightmares. That's not a
good thing. Tom has someone to love him.
That is a good thing!
(feeling Ripley's weight on
Tom is crushing me. Tom is crushing me.
Tom, you're crushing me!
The door of his closet flips open with the swell and he
catches his reflection. It swings shut. Open then shut.
Through the porthole the weather's changing as the light
dies. There's a swell as the horizon rises and falls in the
round glass. Ripley, alone, in a nightmare of his own making.
Lullaby for Cain
From the silence
from the night
comes a distant lullabye
Cry, remembering that first cry
Your brother standing by
beloved sons of mine
sing a lullabye
mother is close by
such innocent eyes
Envy stole your brother's life
came home murdered peace of mind
left you nightmares on the pillow
Soul, surrendering your soul
the heart of you not whole
Cast into the dark
branded with the mark
From the garden of God's light
to a wilderness of light