Basic Instinct

Basic Instinct

Screenplay by                     Joe Eszterhas

Produced by                       Alan Marshall

Directed by                        Paul Verhoeven

Cast List:

Michael Douglas                        Detective Nick Curran

Sharon Stone                   Catherine Tramell

George Dzundza                        Gus

Jeanne Tripplehorn           Dr. Beth Garner

Denis Arndt                     Lieutenant Walker

Leilani Sarelle                          Roxy

Bruce A. Young                         Andrews

Chelcie Ross                    Captain Talcott
 

INT. A BEDROOM – NIGHT

It is dark; we don't see clearly.

A man and woman make love on a brass bed. There are mirrors on the walls and ceiling. On a side table, atop a small mirror, lines of cocaine. A tape deck PLAYS the Stones: "Sympathy for the Devil."

Atop him... she straddles his chest... her breasts in his face. He cups her breasts. She leans down, kisses him...

JOHNNY BOZ is in his late 40's, slim, good-looking. We don't see the woman's face. She has long blonde hair. The CAMERA STAYS BEHIND and to the side of them.

She leans close over his face, her tongue in his mouth... she kisses him... she moves her hands up, holds both of his arms above his head.

She moves higher atop him... she reaches to the side of the bed... a white silk scarf is in her hand... her hips above his face now, moving... slightly, oh-so slightly... his face strains towards her.

The scarf in her hand... she ties his hands with it... gently... to the brass bed... his eyes are closed... tighter... lowering hips into his face... lower... over his chest... his navel. The SONG plays.

He is inside her... his head arches back... his throat white.

She arches her back... her hips grind... her breasts are high...

Her back arches back... back... her head tilts back... she extends her arms... the right arm comes down suddenly... the steel flashes... his throat is white...

He bucks, writhes, bucks, convulses...

It flashes up... it flashes down... and up... and down... and up... and...

EXT. A BROWNSTONE IN PACIFIC HEIGHTS – MORNING

Winter in San Francisco: cold, foggy. Cop cars everywhere. The lights play through the thick fog. Two Homicide detectives get out of the car, walk into the house.

NICK CURRAN is 42. Trim, good-looking, a nice suit: a face urban, edged, shadowed. GUS MORAN is 64. Crew-cut, silver beard, a suit rumpled and shiny, a hat out of the 50's: a face worn and ruined: the face of a backwoods philosopher.

INT. THE BROWNSTONE

There's money here – deco, clean, hip – That looks like a Picasso on the wall. They check it out.

GUS

Who was this fuckin' guy?

NICK

Rock and roll, Gus. Johnny Boz.

GUS

I never heard of him.

NICK

(grins)

Before your time, pop.

(a beat)

Mid-sixties. Five or six hits. He's got a club down in the Fillmore now.

GUS

Not now he don't.

Past the uniformed guys... nods... waves... past the forensic men... past the coroner's investigators... they get to the bedroom.

INT. THE BEDROOM

They walk in, stare – it's messy.

It's like a convention in here. LT. PHIL WALKER, in his 50's, silver-haired, the Homicide guys: JIM HARRIGAN, late 40's, puffy, affable;  SAM ANDREWS, 30's, black. A CORONER'S MAN is working the bed.

LT. WALKER

(to Nick and Gus)

You guys know Captain Talcott?

They nod.

GUS

What's the Chief's office doin' here.

CAPT. TALCOTT

Observing.

LT. WALKER

(to the Coroner's Guy)

What do you think, Doc?

THE CORONER'S GUY

The skin blanches when I press it – this kind of color is about right for six or eight hours.

LT. WALKER

Nobody say anything. The maid came in an hour ago and found him. She's not a live-in.

GUS

Maybe the maid did it.

LT. WALKER

She's 54 years old and weighs 240 pounds.

THE CORONER'S GUY

(deadpan)

There are no bruises on his body.

GUS

(grins)

It ain't the maid.

LT. WALKER

He left the club with his girlfriend about midnight. That's the last time anybody saw him.

NICK

(looks at body)

What was it?

THE CORONER'S GUY

Ice pick. Left on the coffee table in the living room. Thin steel handle. Forensics took it downtown.

HARRIGAN

There's come all over the sheets – he got off before he got offed.

GUS

(deadpan)

That rules the maid out for sure.

CAPT. TALCOTT

This is sensitive. Mr. Boz was a major contributor to the mayor's campaign. He was Chairman of the Board of the Palace of Fine Arts –

GUS
(to Nick)

I thought you said he was a rock and roll star.

LT. WALKER

He was a retired rock and roll star.

CAPT. TALCOTT

A civic-minded, very respectable rock and roll star.

GUS

What's that over there?

We see the white powder laid out in lines on the small mirror on the side table.

NICK

(deadpan)

It looks like some civic-minded, very respectable cocaine to me, Gus.

CAPT. TALCOTT

(evenly, to Nick)

Listen to me, Curran. I'm going to get a lot of heat on this. I don't want any... mistakes.

Nick and Talcott look at each other a beat, then –
 

NICK

Who's the girlfriend?

Lt. Walker looks at the notepad in his hand.

LT. WALKER

Catherine Tramell, 162 Divisadero.

Nick writes it down. He and Gus turn, leave. Captain Talcott watches them. He looks disturbed.

INT. THE LIVING ROOM

As they head out –
 

NICK

Talcott doesn't usually show up at the office 'till after his 18 holes. What are they nervous about?

GUS

They're executives. They're nervous about everything.

LT. WALKER (O.S.)

Nick!

He stops, turns, sees Walker behind them. Walker comes up to them.

LT. WALKER

(to Nick)

Keep your three o'clock.

NICK

Do you want me to work the case, Phil, or do you want me to –

LT. WALKER

I said keep it.

EXT. A VICTORIAN ON DIVISADERO – DAY

It is more a mansion than a house. They ring the bell. An Hispanic MAID answers. They flash their badges.

NICK

I'm Detective Curran, this is Detective Moran. We're with the San Francisco Police Department. We'd like to speak to Ms. Catherine Tramell.

THE MAID

(after a beat, an accent)

Just moment. Come in.

She leads them into a lavish, beautifully done living room that offers a sweeping view of the Bay.

THE MAID

(continuing)

Sit, please. Just moment.

They look around, impressed. There is a Picasso on the wall here, too.

GUS

Ain't that cute? They got his and her Pig-assos, son.

NICK

(smiles)

I didn't know you knew who Picasso was, Gus.

GUS

(grins)

I'm a smart son-of-a-bitch. I just hide it.

Nick smiles – and at that moment a beautiful BLONDE walks into the room. She looks like she has been asleep. She is in her early 20's. She wears a very sheer robe.

NICK

We're sorry to disturb you, we'd like to ask you some –

THE WOMAN

Are you vice?

GUS

(after a beat)

Homicide.

THE WOMAN

What do you want?

THE WOMAN

(continuing)

Is he dead?

NICK

(after a beat)

Why do you think he's dead?

THE WOMAN

You wouldn't be here otherwise, would you?

GUS

Were you with him last night?

THE WOMAN

You're looking for Catherine, not me.

NICK

Who are you?

THE WOMAN

I'm Roxy.

(a beat)

I'm her – friend.

She looks at them a beat.

ROXY

She's out at the beach house at Stinson. Seadrift. 1402.

NICK

Thanks.

They start to head out.

ROXY

You're wasting your time. Catherine didn't kill him.

A beat, they look at her, and go...

EXT. SEADRIFT – STINSON BEACH – DAY

Foggy. Cold. It is an expensive spit of land on the ocean. Multi-million dollar "beach houses" with gardens and swimming pools. There are two Ferraris in the driveway – one black, one white.

They get out of the car in front of the house. They see a woman in back of the house, sitting on a deck chair, staring at the sea, a blanket around her.

As they get to her –
 

NICK
Ms. Tramell?

She takes a long look a Nick, then looks away.

CATHERINE TRAMELL is 30 years old. She has long blonde hair and a refined, classically beautiful face. She is not knockout gorgeous like Roxy; there is a smoky kind of sensuousness about her.

NICK

(continuing)

I'm De –

CATHERINE

(evenly)

I know who you are.

She doesn't look at them. She looks at the water.

CATHERINE

(continuing)

How did he die?

GUS

He was murdered.

CATHERINE

Really. Maybe that's why you're from Homicide. How?

Nick glances at Gus.

NICK

With an ice pick.