"In writing fiction, the more fantastic the tale, the plainer the prose should be. Don't ask your readers to admire your words when you want them to believe your story." - Ben Bova [ more quotes ]

"THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY"

Screenplay by

Anthony Minghella

Based on the novel by

Patricia Highsmith

1st November 1999



1958

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.

RIPLEY (O/S)
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.

CREDITS begin.

FRAN (SINGS)
Ah, such fleeting paradise
such innocent delight
to love,
be loved,
a lullabye,
then silence.

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.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Most enjoyable. Herbert Greenleaf.

RIPLEY
Tom Ripley. Thank you, sir.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
(pointing at Ripley's
borrowed jacket)
I see you were at Princeton. Then
you'll most likely know our son,
Dick. Dickie Greenleaf...

EMILY GREENLEAF
We couldn't help noticing your jacket.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Yes.

EMILY GREENLEAF
Class of '56?

RIPLEY
(hesitating)
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.

EMILY GREENLEAF
(to Fran)
I hope you'll come and see us...

FRAN
That's very kind.

EMILY GREENLEAF
Both of you...

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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.

RIPLEY
Gotta run. I'm so late.
(he hands Fran's
boyfriend the jacket
he's been wearing)
Thanks for the jacket.

BOYFRIEND
Sure. Thanks for filling in for me.

From Greenleaf's point of view he sees a couple embracing.

EMILY GREENLEAF
Darling couple, aren't they?

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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
apologetically.

RIPLEY
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.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Mongibello. Tiny place. South of
Naples. Marge, his uh, the young lad
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
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.

RIPLEY
I've always wanted to go to Europe,
sir, but...

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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.

RIPLEY
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.

RIPLEY
Don't even know if this is a man or
a woman.

There's a violent row going on in the room above his head.
He flinches.

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 track.

RIPLEY
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
chauffeur.

CHAUFFEUR
Here. I'll take that.

RIPLEY
Thanks.

CARETAKER
(nodding towards the
apartment)
That thousand bucks should come in
handy.

RIPLEY
Yes, sir.

CHAUFFEUR
(interrupts Ripley,
who is about to open
the car door)
I'll get that.

RIPLEY
Thanks.

CHAUFFEUR
(as he holds open the
door for Ripley)
Sir.
(Ripley laughs
excitedly)
You're gonna have a great trip. Mr
Greenleaf is personal friends with
the Cunard people.

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
and dollars.

CHAUFFEUR
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.

MEREDITH
What's your secret?

RIPLEY
Excuse me?

MEREDITH
No, it's just -- you are American,
aren't you? -- no, I just, I have so
much luggage, and you're so, uh,
streamlined. It's humiliating.

Ripley shrugs. Now they're opening a second case of the
passenger ahead. Hard not to converse.

MEREDITH
I'm Meredith, by the way. Meredith
Randall.

RIPLEY
Dickie, Dickie Greenleaf. Hello.

MEREDITH
Hello.

They are passed through immigration, head down the long stairs
towards the street. Meredith catches up with Ripley.

MEREDITH
You're not the Shipping Greenleaf's?

RIPLEY
(thinking quickly)
Trying not to be. Trying to jump
ship.

MEREDITH
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.

RIPLEY
My father wants me in New York. He
builds boats. I'd rather sail them.
I travel under my mother's name.

MEREDITH
Which is?

RIPLEY
Emily.
(Meredith's bewildered)
Just kidding.

MEREDITH
The funny thing is, I'm not Randall
either. I'm Logue.

RIPLEY
(nods, recognizing
the name)
As in the...?

MEREDITH
As in the Textile Logues. Trying to
shrug off the dress. I travel under
my mother's name, too.

RIPLEY
Randall.

MEREDITH
Right.

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 different directions.

MEREDITH
(offering her hand)
So -- partners in disguise.
(looks at the signs)
Bye.

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 --

DRIVER
MONGIBELLO!

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.

RIPLEY
(looking at a long,
lean girl about to
dive)
La fidanzata a una faccia. The fiancée
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:
"BIRD".

RIPLEY
Questo e la mia faccia...

The golden couple emerge from the sea. Dickie shakes off the
water, grins.

RIPLEY
This is my face.

He double-checks himself with the vocabulary book.

RIPLEY
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
to Dickie.

RIPLEY
Dickie Greenleaf?

Dickie squints at Ripley, who holds his shoes, lamely.

DICKIE
Who's this?

RIPLEY
It's Tom. Tom Ripley. We were at
Princeton together.

DICKIE
Okay.
(he sits up)
And did we know each other?

RIPLEY
Well, I knew you, so I suppose you
must have known me.

DICKIE
(to Marge)
Princeton is like a fog, America's
like a fog.
(to Ripley)
This is Marge Sherwood. Tom -- sorry,
what was it?

RIPLEY
Ripley. Hullo. How do you do.

MARGE
How do you do.

DICKIE
What are you doing in Mongi?

RIPLEY
Nothing. Nothing much. Passing
through.

DICKIE
(finds this idea absurd)
Passing through! You're so white.
Did you ever see a guy so white,
Marge? Gray, actually.

RIPLEY
It's just an undercoat.
(Marge laughs)

DICKIE
Say again?

RIPLEY
You know, a primer.

DICKIE
That's funny.

He shares some intimacy with Marge, makes her laugh. Ripley
stands as they wrestle around him. Marge looks up.

MARGE
You should come and have lunch with
us, before you go -- Dickie?

DICKIE
Sure. Any time.

MARGE
And be careful in the sun. Your gray's
in danger of turning a little pink.

RIPLEY
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.

DICKIE
I've been looking for you everywhere.

SILVANA
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?

DICKIE
What?

SILVANA
I hate you.

And RIPLEY watches them as they rattle down the hill towards
the sea.

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.

DICKIE
Sorry, sorry, sorry. I know, I'm
late, I'm a swine.

MARGE
Did you forget where I live? It's
four o'clock.

DICKIE
I just woke up. I'm sorry.

MARGE
You just woke up!

DICKIE
Fausto and I -- we took the boat
out, we were fishing, and then it
was dawn and we'd caught absolutely
nothing.

MARGE
Well, we ate everything without you.

DICKIE
We?

MARGE
Yes, Tom Ripley's here.

As Ripley appears with the tray to collect more dishes.

DICKIE
Who? Oh, Tom, hello, how are you? We
thought you'd disappeared. We were
going to send out a search party.

RIPLEY
No, still here.

MARGE
Tom was telling me about his trip
over. Made me laugh so much I got a
nosebleed.

DICKIE
Is that good?

MARGE
Shut up!

Marge flicks him with a napkin. They start to wrestle,
excluding Tom.

RIPLEY
I'm intruding.

DICKIE
Can you mix a martini?

RIPLEY
(hesitant)
Sure.

MARGE
(going inside)
I'll do it. I make a fabulous martini.

DICKIE
Everybody should have one talent.
(to Ripley)
What's yours?

RIPLEY
(without a beat)
Forging signatures. Telling lies.
Impersonating practically anybody.

DICKIE
(enjoying this banter)
That's three. Nobody should have
more than one talent. Okay, do an
impression.

RIPLEY
Now? Okay. Wait a minute. Talent --
(his voice ages, his
face changes)
The only talent my son has is for
cashing his allowance.

DICKIE
(absolutely thrown)
What? What's this?

RIPLEY
I like to sail, believe me, I love
to sail! Instead I make boats and
other people sail them.

DICKIE
(incredibly impressed)
Stop! It's too much! You're making
all the hairs on my neck stand up!

RIPLEY
(relishing it)
Jazz, let's face it, it's just an
insolent noise.

DICKIE
I feel like he's here. Horrible.
Like the old bastard is here right
now! That's brilliant! How do you
know him?

RIPLEY
I met him in New York.

DICKIE
Marge! You've got to hear this!

MARGE
(returning with the
drinks)
What? What?

DICKIE
Meet my father, Herbert Richard
Greenleaf 1st.

RIPLEY
Pleasure to meet you, Dickie's made
a fine catch. I know Emily thinks
so.

MARGE
What's going on?

DICKIE
Uncanny!

MARGE
I don't get it.

RIPLEY
Could you ever conceive of going
there, Tom, and bringing him back?

DICKIE
What?

RIPLEY
I'd pay you. If you would go to Italy
and persuade my son to come home.
I'd pay you $1000.

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
scheming.

DICKIE
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 he?

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 acknowledgment as they all greet each other.

Dickie introduces Tom, then they move on.

DICKIE
I'm never going back!

RIPLEY
No, I think your mother, her illness --

DICKIE
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 mother.

RIPLEY
I don't know, Dickie, I'm just telling
you what I --

DICKIE
(interrupting)
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
Hi Tom.

DICKIE
(looks up)
Marge, Ripley's saying goodbye.

MARGE
I'll come down.

DICKIE
(to Ripley)
Did you speak to my father?

RIPLEY
You were right about the telephones.
There are no lines, there's some
problem.

MARGE
(coming out of the
front door)
Hello Tom. You're off? What are your
plans?

RIPLEY
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.

RIPLEY
Oh, damn, sorry, this bag's --

Dickie's delighted when he sees the Jazz titles.

DICKIE
You like jazz!

RIPLEY
(gathering up the
records)
I love jazz.

DICKIE
(holding up a Chet
Baker)
This is the best. Marge says she
likes jazz, but she things Glenn
Miller is jazz.

MARGE
I never said that!

RIPLEY
Bird. That's jazz.

DICKIE
Bird! Ask me the name of my sailboat --

RIPLEY
I don't know. What's the name of
your sailboat?

DICKIE
Bird!

MARGE
Which is ridiculous. Boats are female,
everyone knows you can't call a boat
after a man.

RIPLEY
He's not a man, he's a god.

DICKIE
(excited)
Okay, we're going to Naples. There's
a club, it's not a club, it's a
cellar.

MARGE
It's vile.

DICKIE
Yes, it's vile. Don't worry, you
don't have to come.
(to Ripley)
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.

FAUSTO
(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.

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.

DICKIE (O/S)
(reading)
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 him...

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.

DICKIE
(grins)
Good afternoon!

RIPLEY
What time is it?
(puts on his glasses
and checks his watch)
Oh God! Do you always type your
letters?
(points at the letter)
That should be two Ts.

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
This is so good of you.

DICKIE
Don't say it again. Now you're a
Double Agent and we're going to string
my Dad along, 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.

MARGE
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.

RIPLEY
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.

DICKIE
It'll just be for a little while.
He can be... he makes me laugh.

MARGE
Okay, darling.

DICKIE
You'd say if you mind?

MARGE
No, I like him.

DICKIE
Marge, you like everybody.

MARGE
I don't like you.

DICKIE
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 tape recorder.

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.

DICKIE
Now you know why Miss Sherwood always
shows up for breakfast. It's not
love it's the coffee machine.

MARGE
It's the one task Dickie can do on
his own -- make coffee.

DICKIE
Shut up.

MARGE
Oh darling -- is that for me?

DICKIE
No it's for Tom as he didn't complain.

RIPLEY
(as Dickie hands him
his cup)
That ring's so great. The green one.

MARGE
(delighted)
Tom, I love you!
(to Dickie)
See!
(to Ripley)
I bought it for him, for his birthday.

RIPLEY
It's superb.

DICKIE
I had to promise, capital P, never
to take it off -- otherwise I'd give
it to you.

MARGE
(flicking a crumb at
him)
Bastard!
(to Ripley)
Isn't it great, Tom? I found it in
Naples. I bargained for about two
weeks.

DICKIE
I hope it wasn't cheap.

MARGE
Oh, it was.

RIPLEY
(to Marge)
I have to find a birthday present
for Frances. Perhaps you can help
me?

MARGE
Frances?

RIPLEY
My fiancée.

DICKIE
You're a dark horse, Ripley. Engaged?

RIPLEY
Your parents met her.

DICKIE
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 going back.

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.

RIPLEY
I'm doing this wrong, aren't I?

DICKIE
You're doing great. We'll make a
sailor of you yet. You're doing really
well.

MARGE
Dubious but special honor, Tom --
crewing Dickie's boat. Alright, bar's
open.

DICKIE
Yes please!

She heads for the cabin. Dickie settles down beside Ripley.

RIPLEY
Could we sail to Venice?

DICKIE
Sure. I love Venice.

RIPLEY
I have to go to Venice.

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
And Rome.

DICKIE
Do you ski?
(Ripley frowns)
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?

MARGE
Poor Tom. Good thing we're not getting
married. We might have to invite him
on our honeymoon.

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.

MARGE
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
six songs.

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
order.

MARGE
(to Silvana, in Italian)
Buono Sera, Silvana. Por favore:
arance e pane, e del prosciutto.

SILVANA
E fichi? Come sempre?

MARGE
Si. Come sempre. Grazie.

Silvana goes inside for the meat and bread. Marge frowns.

MARGE
(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.

MARGE
If you're not at my place by 7.00,
Tom and I are running off together.

DICKIE
Okay.

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.

SILVANA
Did you get my message? I want to
talk to you.

DICKIE
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.

DICKIE
You're breaking my ribs!

RIPLEY
What?

DICKIE
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.

DICKIE
I could fuck this icebox I love it
so much.
(considering Ripley)
What were you actually doing in New
York?

RIPLEY
I played piano in a few places.

DICKIE
That's one job, you told me a lot of
jobs.

RIPLEY
A few places -- that's a few jobs.
Anyway, I don't want to think about
New York.

DICKIE
The mysterious Mr Ripley. Marge and
I spend hours speculating.
(drinking)
Cold beer. Thank you Dad.

RIPLEY
Copy out from here...

He hands the book to Dickie, pointing out the lines.

DICKIE
(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?

RIPLEY
No! I've got more than one shirt!

DICKIE
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)

RIPLEY
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.

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
Like Clark Kent.
(takes them back,
puts them on beaming
at Dickie)
Now Superman.

Dickie cuffs him. Ripley looks down at the postcard.

DICKIE
I know. I write like a child.

RIPLEY
Pretty vile. See this: The S and the
T, do you see? -- fine, vulnerable --
that's pain, that's secret pain.

DICKIE
It must be a deep secret, cause I
don't know about it.

RIPLEY
Your handwriting -- nothing more
naked. See -- nothing's quite touching
the line -- that's vanity.

DICKIE
(flattered)
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.

DICKIE
Do you have any brothers?

RIPLEY
No, no brothers, no sisters.

DICKIE
Me neither. Nor does Marge. All only
children -- what does that mean?

He looks at Ripley who looks at him, a little too long.

RIPLEY
Means we never shared a bath. I'm
cold. Can I get in?

DICKIE
No!

RIPLEY
I didn't mean with you in it.

DICKIE
(standing)
Okay, you get in. I'm like a prune
anyway.

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
his towel.

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.

DICKIE
It is me. It's an old picture.
(sighs at Ripley)
Every time -- 'is it you? Doesn't
look like you'.

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.

CLERK
Letters -- Greenleaf, and for Ripley.

Ripley collects and studies his mail. As they walk outside
he holds up one letter to Dickie.

RIPLEY
Fran.
(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 and...
(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.

DICKIE
What does he say?

RIPLEY
He's getting impatient. He wants me
to reassure him you'll be home by
Thanksgiving.

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
I can't. I can't keep spending your
father's money.

DICKIE
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
Rome, Batistoni.

Ripley loves this idea and mouths the word, "Batistoni".

DICKIE
Andiamo a Roma. We're taking Tom to
Roma!

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
duration.

RIPLEY
Where do we find a carozza for the
Forum, or can we hire any of them --
?

DICKIE
Relax.

RIPLEY
It's just there's so much to do in a
single day.

DICKIE
Relax. The most important question
is where to eat. I hope Freddie made
a reservation.

RIPLEY
Freddie?

DICKIE
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 delighted.

DICKIE
Frederico!

FREDDIE
Ciao bello.
(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.

DICKIE
This is Tom Ripley. Freddie Miles.

FREDDIE
(mugging)
Hey, if I'm late, think what her
husband's saying!

He fills Dickie's glass with wine and drinks it standing up.

FREDDIE
So let's go. I got us a table outside
at Fabrizio's.

And Dickie's up, leaving Ripley to pick up all the tiny checks
to work out the bill and pay it.

DICKIE
I'll tell you -- I am so cabin-crazy
with Mongi.

Freddie and Dickie link arms Italian-style and cross the
street to Freddie's car.

FREDDIE
I know. I was there.
(looks back to see
Ripley struggling to
settle the check)
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.

FREDDIE
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 accordion
doors.

DICKIE
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 railway station.

RIPLEY
(absolutely crestfallen)
What club?

DICKIE
Freddie's arranged it with some of
the skiing crowd. Come if you want
but I thought you wanted to see the
Forum...?

RIPLEY
I did. And then maybe get the jacket
and what have you...

FREDDIE
(from inside the booth)
Dick -- you've got to hear this!

DICKIE
(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.

DICKIE
Ciao. Have fun.

Ripley heads for the door, then comes back, raps on the booth.
Dickie pushes it open.

RIPLEY
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 alone.

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.

DICKIE
What are you doing?

Ripley turns, horrified, to see Dickie standing in the
doorway. The music thumps away.

RIPLEY
Oh -- just amusing myself. Sorry,
Dickie.
(pause)
I didn't think you were coming back.

Dickie turns off the record player.

DICKIE
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
his head.

DICKIE
Shoes too?

RIPLEY
(lame, ashamed)
You said I could pick out a jacket
and I just... Sorry.

DICKIE
Get undressed in your own room, would
you?

RIPLEY
I thought you'd missed the train.

DICKIE
Freddie drove me back in his car.

RIPLEY
(horrified)
Is Freddie here?

DICKIE
He's downstairs.

RIPLEY
I was just fooling around. Don't say
anything. Sorry.

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 perfectly happy.

MARGE
Hi, Tom. Come join us.

FREDDIE
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 do it!

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.

MARGE
You really should go in, it's
marvelous.

RIPLEY
I'm fine.

She approaches him, conscious of his isolation. She's in a
red bikini, and she towels herself dry as they speak.

MARGE
Are you okay?

RIPLEY
Sure.

They watch Dickie and Freddie fooling around in the water.

MARGE
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.

RIPLEY
So I'm learning.

MARGE
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.

DICKIE
(laughing and choking)
He's drowning me!

MARGE
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.

MARGE
Tell me, why is it when men play
they always play at killing each
other...? I'm sorry about Cortina by
the way.

RIPLEY
What about Cortina?

MARGE
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.

DICKIE
Come on, Frederico, do you really
have to go back? At least stick around
for the Festival of the Madonna.

FREDDIE
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.

DICKIE
Do you think you can steer this thing?

FREDDIE
Sure.

DICKIE
Just point her at Capri and avoid
the rocks.

FREDDIE
What are you doing?

DICKIE
Marge-maintenance.

FREDDIE
Aye, aye.

Dickie heads towards the cabin. Freddie takes over the tiller.
There's a breeze and the sailboat cuts through the water.

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
betrayed.

FREDDIE
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 shoulders.

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
away.

RIPLEY
What's the fight about? That's her
fiancee, isn't it? Are they blaming
him?

DICKIE
(sharp)
I don't know! Why are you asking me?
(agitated)
How can it take an hour to find an
ambulance?

MARGE
(conciliatory)
Well, she was already dead, darling,
wasn't she, so I suppose --

DICKIE
I don't know why people say this
country's civilised. It isn't. It's
fucking primitive.

And with that HE KICKS OUT VIOLENTLY AT A CHAIR SUPPORTING
THE RECORDPLAYER. Records, machine, chair go flying across
the terrace. Dickie storms inside.

MARGE
Dickie!

RIPLEY
I'll go and see what's the matter.

MARGE
I'll go.

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.

RIPLEY
I know why you're upset.
(Dickie continues
playing)
I know about Silvana, Dickie. About
you and Silvana.

Dickie stops playing.

DICKIE
What about us?

He now has an armful of dishes and glasses and bottles.

DICKIE
(losing his temper)
You don't have to clean up! Really!

Ripley disappears into the kitchen.

DICKIE
(as Ripley returns)
She was pregnant. Did you know that?
Do you know what that means in a
place like this?

RIPLEY
I'm prepared to take the blame.

DICKIE
What are you talking about?

RIPLEY
You've been so good to me. You're
the brother I never had. I'm the
brother you never had.

DICKIE
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
fault.

RIPLEY
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.

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 --

RIPLEY
...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...

DICKIE
You can't blame him. You could hardly
expect this to go on forever.

RIPLEY
I thought you might write again. Now
that we're brothers...

DICKIE
I can't, how can I, in all decency?
We've had a good run, haven't we?

RIPLEY
(increasingly miserable)
What about Venice? Can we stick to
that plan at least?

DICKIE
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.

DICKIE
(terse)
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.

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
To Mongibello and the happiest days
of my life.

DICKIE
To Mongi. You're cheerful tonight.

RIPLEY
I'm suddenly quite happy to be going
back.

DICKIE
That's good.

RIPLEY
I've got plans!

DICKIE
Ripley's plans.

RIPLEY
Esatto. I'm always planning.

DICKIE
Did I know you at Princeton, Tom? I
didn't, did I?

RIPLEY
Why are you asking all of a sudden?

DICKIE
No reason. Because you're leaving, I
guess. I don't think you were there,
were you?

RIPLEY
Why?

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
Then I'll take it as a compliment.

DICKIE
I knew it! I had a bet with Marge!

RIPLEY
(a beat)
Ha.

DICKIE
Do you even like jazz -- or was that
something for my benefit?

RIPLEY
(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.

DICKIE
I'm thinking of giving up the sax,
what do you think about drums?

RIPLEY
What?

DICKIE
So cool.

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
boat.

DICKIE
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
the speed.

RIPLEY
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.

DICKIE
(ecstatic)
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.

RIPLEY
I wanted to tell you my plan.

DICKIE
So tell me.

RIPLEY
I thought I might come back. In the
New Year. Under my own steam.

DICKIE
(suddenly tight)
Really? To Italy?

RIPLEY
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 --

DICKIE
Oh God, I don't think so.

RIPLEY
You see, particularly with the Marge
problem, you can just blame me.

DICKIE
Marge and I are getting married.

RIPLEY
(appalled)
How?

DICKIE
How?

RIPLEY
Yesterday you're ogling girls on the
terrace, today you're getting married.
It's absurd.

DICKIE
I love Marge.

RIPLEY
You love me and you're not marrying
me.

DICKIE
(cold)
Tom, I don't love you.

RIPLEY
No, no, it's not a threat, I've
explained all of that.

DICKIE
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.

RIPLEY
What?

DICKIE
You can be a leech -- you know this --
and it's boring. You can be quite
boring.

RIPLEY
(volcanic)
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 obvious --

DICKIE
(incredulous)
What evening?

RIPLEY
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.

DICKIE
(attacking him,
administering tiny
slaps as punctuation
to his tirade)
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.

RIPLEY
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.

DICKIE
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
Ripley.

DICKIE
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
calms.

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.

RIPLEY
Can I have my key, please?

RECEPTIONIST
(at the key rack)
Of course -- But you must be very
cold? Signor Greenleaf? Yes? --

RIPLEY
(mind racing)
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
together.

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.

RIPLEY
Hello Marge.

MARGE
Tom, you startled me! You're back.

RIPLEY
How are you? Sorry. Is your book
going well?

MARGE
Yes -- I'm on a good streak, thanks.

RIPLEY
I was just looking at you --
(looking at her
tenderly)
so quiet.

MARGE
Where's Dickie?

RIPLEY
I think he's planning on staying in
Rome for a few days.

MARGE
(looks at him)
Ha. Did he say why?

RIPLEY
I don't know. I don't understand
Dickie, Marge, so your guess is as
good as mine.

MARGE
What does that mean?

RIPLEY
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.

MARGE
Is that what he said -- he wanted to
be alone?

RIPLEY
He was thinking of you, Marge -- he
asked me to deliver this.

He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume.

MARGE
Thanks. He knows I love this, although
why it couldn't have waited...

RIPLEY
Errand number one -- deliver Marge's
perfume. Errand number two, pack
some clothes and his precious
saxophone.

MARGE
(alarmed)
How long's he staying for?

RIPLEY
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.

MARGE
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.

MARGE
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
really tender.
(unraveling)
I think I should come with you to
Rome and just confront him.

Ripley lights a cigarette. Marge loses confidence.

MARGE
He hates being confronted.

RIPLEY
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.

ALDO
Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf.

RIPLEY
(walking away)
Thank you.

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.

RIPLEY
Yes, I'd like you to telephone the
Hotel Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak
to Signor Thomas Ripley -- No Ripley,
R, yes. Grazie.

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.

RIPLEY
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.

RIPLEY
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 you.

INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY.

Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS -- a briefcase and
overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks.

RIPLEY
I'd like these to have my initials --
embossed, I don't know the word in
Italian... embossed?

GUCCI ASSISTANT
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.

MEREDITH
(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.

MEREDITH
But you're going skiing with us
Yankees, aren't you?

RIPLEY
What?

MEREDITH
At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie
Miles and --

RIPLEY
(interrupting,
astonished)
How did you know that?

MEREDITH
Everybody knows Freddie Miles.

RIPLEY
(unsettled)
Is Freddie in Rome?

MEREDITH
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.

RIPLEY
I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi.
So the rat's here now, in Rome.

MEREDITH
Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke
if --

RIPLEY
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.

MEREDITH
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.

RIPLEY
I know.

MEREDITH
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.

RIPLEY
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
Ripley.

MEREDITH
Show me the other one again.
(the Tailor obliges)
I like them both.

RIPLEY
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.

MEREDITH (O/S)
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 dragged...

She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by
him, the romance she feels to be in the air.

RIPLEY
(emerging)
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 drinks).

RIPLEY
Thanks so much for inviting me
tonight.

JOAN
Can you bear it? We hear you're a
friend of Freddie's -- he has I hate
Opera tattooed on his chest.

RIPLEY
There's room for a whole libretto on
Freddie's chest.

JOAN
(laughs)
I'm sure we've met.

They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks.

JOAN
I was sure we'd met, weren't you,
Ted? This is Herbert Greenleaf's
boy.

RIPLEY
Thanks, yes, I think we did.

JOAN
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 beside
them.

MARGE
(as if she's seen a
ghost)
Oh my God. Tom.

RIPLEY
Marge, how are you? What are you
doing in Rome?

MARGE
Is he here? Are you with Dickie?

RIPLEY
No.
(to Smith-Kingsley)
Hello, I'm Tom Ripley.

PETER
Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard
about you, of course -- from Marge,
and Dickie.

MARGE
(works out what's
strange)
No glasses.

He fishes out the glasses.

RIPLEY
(to Peter)
Ditto.

PETER
Where are you hiding him? He's
impossible, isn't he?

MARGE
Is he really not here?

RIPLEY
Marge, you know Dickie has I hate
Opera tattooed on his chest.

MARGE
You were going to Venice.

PETER
Yes, what happened? I heard you were
desperate to come. I was looking
forward to rowing you around.

RIPLEY
I am. I really am. And I've been
travelling. I just can't seem to get
that far north.

PETER
Well hurry, before we sink.
(reaches into his
jacket)
Should I give you my telephone number
in Venice?

RIPLEY
Thanks.

The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to
Ripley, sees Meredith.

PETER
Look there's Meredith thingy -- who's
that, Marge? -- They're in textiles...
Meredith --
(embarrassed at not
remembering)
God, how awful, I've spent Christmas
in her house...!

MARGE
I don't know her.
(to Ripley)
He hasn't called, he's hardly written,
just these cryptic notes. You don't
just dump people.

The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return.

PETER
Will we see you later?

RIPLEY
I can't later.

PETER
And tomorrow?

RIPLEY
Tomorrow's possible. Do you know
Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna?

PETER
I know the Piazza di Spagna. What
time?

RIPLEY
Ten thirty?

PETER
We'll be there.

RIPLEY
Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow.
(to Peter)
It's really good to meet you.

INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT.

Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her.

RIPLEY
Let's go.

MEREDITH
I thought you were enjoying yourself?

RIPLEY
Let's take a Carozza and look at the
moon.

MEREDITH
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.

RIPLEY
C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just
the two of us.

MEREDITH
(quite taken)
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.

MEREDITH
Don't worry. Really. Don't worry.

RIPLEY
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...

MEREDITH
No, I absolutely understand. Of
course.

RIPLEY
Otherwise you'd be fighting me off.

MEREDITH
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.

MEREDITH
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...

RIPLEY
Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course
I'll meet you. Let's have coffee in
the morning at Dinelli's.

MEREDITH
(fluttering)
I don't -- is that by the Spanish
Steps?

RIPLEY
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.

MEREDITH
Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue.

PETER
Of course it is, Meredith, hello,
I'm sorry, half-asleep, how are you?
This is Marge Sherwood. Meredith
Logue.

MARGE
Hello.

Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes.

PETER
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?

MEREDITH
I won't actually, although I think
this might -- are you waiting for
Dickie?

PETER
Well no, as it happens, although...

MARGE
(stunned at the mention
of his name)
Dickie? Do you know Dickie?

MEREDITH
You were at the Opera? Well, that
explains -- yes I was there. I was
there with Dickie.

MARGE
(to Peter)
I told you! I knew it!

MEREDITH
(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 you.

MARGE
(proprietorial)
How would you know that?

MEREDITH
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?

PETER
No, we're meeting another friend.
Tom Ripley.

MARGE
Do you know Tom?

MEREDITH
Ripley? No. I heard about him, of
course, but no, I didn't meet him.

The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates
she's leaving.

MEREDITH
Not for me. No, grazie.

Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her.

MEREDITH
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.

RIPLEY
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?

PETER
Not at all. Morning Tom.

RIPLEY
Hi.
(to Marge)
Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've
seen a ghost...

MARGE
Dickie was at the Opera last night.

RIPLEY
I don't believe it. Wild horses
wouldn't drag Dickie to --

MARGE
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.
(to Peter)
I'm going to go home.

RIPLEY
Really? That's swell. No, I was just --
you're way ahead of me! Great!

PETER
We think he's had a change of heart.
(to Marge)
So we should be celebrating.

MARGE
I hope so.

PETER
(to Marge)
That was moving, wasn't it? When
Meredith said --
(to Ripley)
Meredith's the American girl I saw
last night, I know her, at the Opera,
she's been seeing something of Dickie --

RIPLEY
My God.

PETER
But the point is Dickie -- well we
know this -- Dickie loves Marge and
he misses her and apparently he's
come to his senses...

RIPLEY
It's fantastic.
(to Peter)
I feel guilty. Marge doesn't
understand this, but anytime Dickie
does something I feel guilty.

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.

SIGNORA BUFFI
Accendo il riscaldamento.
(I'll turn the heating
on.)

RIPLEY
(mimes playing sax)
Mi piace suonare.
(I like to play music.)

SIGNORA BUFFI
(shrugs)
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.

RIPLEY
Hello?

FREDDIE (O/S)
Dickie?

RIPLEY
Who is it?

FREDDIE
It's Freddie. Let me in.

RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint.

FREDDIE
Dickie, come on, it's me.

Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the
door.

RIPLEY
Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley.

FREDDIE
(confused, not
pleasantly)
Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are
you?

RIPLEY
Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at
dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you
know it?

FREDDIE
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.

RIPLEY
I guess.

FREDDIE
The landlady -- as far as I could
tell, the landlady said he was here
right now.

RIPLEY
He's gone to dinner! Search the place.
I can't think why you would imagine
Dickie would hide from you.

FREDDIE
Because he's been hiding from me --
what happened at Christmas?

RIPLEY
What about Christmas?

FREDDIE
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.

RIPLEY
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.

FREDDIE
Which is horseshit. Have you heard
him play that thing?
(gesturing at the sax
on its stand)
He can't.

RIPLEY
(casually)
How did you find him? It's such an
out of the way apartment. Can I fix
you a drink?

FREDDIE
No thanks.
(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.

RIPLEY
(returning, flinching)
No. No, I'm staying here for a few
days, in Rome. That's a new piano,
so you prob --

FREDDIE
Did this place come furnished? It
doesn't look like Dickie. Horrible
isn't it? -- so bourgeois.

Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust.

RIPLEY
You should watch that!

FREDDIE
In fact the only thing which looks
like Dickie is you.

RIPLEY
Hardly.

FREDDIE
Have you done something to your hair?

Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room.

RIPLEY
Freddie, do you have something to
say?

FREDDIE
What? I think I'm saying it.
Something's going on. He's either
converted to Christianity -- or to
something else.

RIPLEY
I suggest you ask Dickie that
yourself. Otello's is on delle Croce,
just off the Corso.

FREDDIE
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 see you.

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.

FREDDIE
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.

RIPLEY
(mimicking Freddie's
voice)
Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her
husband's saying.

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.

ROVERINI
Dickie Greenleaf?

RIPLEY
Yes?

ROVERINI
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.

ROVERINI
It's a terrible shock, eh? What time
did Signor Miles leave yesterday?

RIPLEY
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.

ROVERINI
So Signor Miles drove away and you
did what?

RIPLEY
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.

ROVERINI
Senta. We have to ask you to stay in
Rome.

RIPLEY
Yes, if it's going to help, certainly.

ROVERINI
So, the Doctor, he has to make the --
(looks at Baggio)
-- come se dice?

RIPLEY
Postmortem?

ROVERINI
Yes, exactly, but his first, his
first conclusion was that Signor
Miles was killed not later than seven
o'clock yesterday evening.

RIPLEY
Well, he certainly wasn't dead when
he drove off in his car.

ROVERINI
No.

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.

MARGE
Did he kill Freddie?

RIPLEY
Marge, when did you get here?

MARGE
Tell me the truth. Did he kill
Freddie?

RIPLEY
I'd swear he didn't. Of course he
didn't.

MARGE
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 bruises)
What happened to your face?

RIPLEY
Dickie did it.

MARGE
(suddenly tense)
Dickie?

RIPLEY
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 stand)
Are you getting on?

MARGE
What?

RIPLEY
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.

MARGE
Where does Dickie live?

RIPLEY
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 --

MARGE
Perhaps I shouldn't go either.

RIPLEY
(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.
(sincerely)
Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with
you later.

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.

RIPLEY
Can we go up? Do you mind?

ROVERINI
Of course. What happened to your
face?

RIPLEY
My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased
by photographers.

He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow.

RIPLEY
(agitated)
The telephone, the press, I've been,
I'm feeling hounded -- do you think
you could not give out my address?

ROVERINI
Never. We've had many requests and,
of course, we say no -- even to your
fiancée.

RIPLEY
I really don't want to see anybody.

ROVERINI
Even your fiancée...?

RIPLEY
Even her.

ROVERINI
What about Thomas Ripley?

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.

ROVERINI
You and Signor Ripley went to San
Remo, is that right?

Ripley is appalled. He smiles.

RIPLEY
Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo.
That was months ago.

ROVERINI
November, I thought.

RIPLEY
Was it? Did you speak to Tom?

ROVERINI
November 7th is my information.

RIPLEY
I don't remember the exact date.

ROVERINI
And when did you last see Signor
Ripley?

RIPLEY
A few days ago.

ROVERINI
Does he stay with you here?

RIPLEY
No!

ROVERINI
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.

RIPLEY
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.

ROVERINI
31 people.

RIPLEY
31 people.

Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky.

ROVERINI
That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge
Sherwood.

RIPLEY
(appalled, defeated)
Let her in, what's the difference?
Let her in.
(Baggio is on his way
to the door.)
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.

RIPLEY
Thank you.

ROVERINI
(watching him)
May I ask... why would you speak to
your friend and not your fiancée?

RIPLEY
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.

ROVERINI
Do you have a photograph of Signor
Ripley?

RIPLEY
I'm not in the habit of carrying
around photographs of my male friends.

ROVERINI
Now I think I have upset you. My
English perhaps is coarse.

RIPLEY
It is a little coarse, yes.

ROVERINI
Sorry. No one has seen Signor Ripley
since San --

RIPLEY
I have!

ROVERINI
You have, yes.

RIPLEY
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.

ROVERINI
Good. The Goldoni. Yes -- you're
right. A coincidence.
(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. Alto.

RIPLEY
Absolutely.

ROVERINI
(suddenly turning)
I have a witness who thinks they saw
two men getting into Mr Miles' car.
She wants to identify you in a --
confronto -- line-up.
(ominously)
Tomorrow then?

RIPLEY
(thrown, scrabbling)
Tomorrow.

Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through
the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on
the stairs.

ROVERINI (O/S)
Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood. He's in
but I really don't think he wants to
see anyone.

Ripley leans against the door, the noose tightening, then
suddenly a voice shocks him upright.

MARGE
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 why...

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.

RIPLEY
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 anything anymore...

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.

RIPLEY
...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
saxophone.

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.

PETER
(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
grey.

RIPLEY
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 so rotten.

PETER
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?

RIPLEY
What rumour?

PETER
That Dickie murdered you and is
travelling under your passport. I
know, ridiculous.

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
waits.

PETER
Welcome to Venice. This place reeks,
doesn't it? Can you smell it? Ugh.
Sorry. Not the best way to spend
your first day.

RIPLEY
It's okay.

PETER
Anyway I've got to the bottom of the
delay. Finally. We're waiting for
someone from Rome.

RIPLEY
(completely thrown)
What do you mean? They're sending
someone from Rome?

PETER
That's good, isn't it?

RIPLEY
(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 --

PETER
You've seen the papers, you know
what a big deal it's been here.
American tourist murdered --

RIPLEY
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
introduces him.

POLICEMAN
Colonelo Verrecchia della Polizia di
Roma.

VERRECCHIA
(to Peter, in Italian)
Qui e Ripley? Who is Ripley?

PETER
(in Italian)
Lui. Him.

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.

VERRECCHIA
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.

PETER
(translating)
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 murder.

VERRECCHIA
Quando e stata l'ultima volta che il
signor Ripley ha visto il signor
Greenleaf? (When was the last time
Ripley saw Greenleaf?)

Ripley forgets he's not supposed to have much Italian and
answers.

RIPLEY
In Rome, about three weeks ago.
(shrugs)
I knew that one.

PETER
(giving Ripley a look)
A Roma, circa tre settimane fa.

VERRECCHIA
Dove e stato il signor Ripley da
allora?

PETER
(translating)
Where have you been since then?

RIPLEY
I've been backpacking.

PETER
I don't know how to translate that.
(he tries)
E difficile... il signor Ripley...
dormiva all'aperto, con un...

VERRECCHIA
All'aperto? Col freddo che ha fatto?

PETER
He thinks it's very cold to be
sleeping outside.

VERRECCHIA
Il signor Ripley ha sviluppate
tendenze omosessuali?

PETER
Are you a homosexual?
(then as himself)
Interesting non-sequitur.

RIPLEY
No.

PETER
(translates for him)
No.
(as Peter, drily)
By the way, officially there are no
Italian homosexuals. Makes Leonardo,
Michelangelo very inconvenient.

RIPLEY
Tell him I have a fiancée, Dickie
has a fiancée and Freddie Miles
probably had a string of them.

PETER
(translating)
Il signor Ripley ha una fidanzata,
il signor Dickie ha una fidanzata e
probabilmente il signor Freddie Miles
ha molte fidanzate.

VERRECCHIA
(laughs)
Mamma mia, quante fidanzate!

They all laugh.

RIPLEY
What did he say?

PETER
He says so many fiancées.

VERRECCHIA
(suddenly very tough)
Lei ha ucciso prima Freddie Miles e
dopo Dickie Greenleaf! Vero?

As Peter translates Verrecchia watches intently.

PETER
He wants to know if you killed Freddie
Miles and then killed Dickie
Greenleaf?

RIPLEY
(outraged)
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!

PETER
He's already angry, I don't think --

RIPLEY
(interrupting, heated)
Just because he doesn't like
Americans!

VERRECCHIA
Non e questo il luogo per le vostre
conversazioni private! (This is not
the place for your private
conversations)

PETER
(appeasing him)
A ragione. A ragione. (You're right.
You're right.)

VERRECCHIA
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.

VERRECCHIA
Questa lettera e stata trovata
nell'abitazione del signor Richard
Greenleaf a Roma.

PETER
They found this in Dickie's place in
Rome.

RIPLEY
You opened this?

VERRECCHIA
Of course!

He stands and takes the letter out. Begins to read. He has
the look of a man whose privacy has been violated.

RIPLEY
(to Peter)
It's a suicide note.
(to Verrecchia)
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.

PETER
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...?

RIPLEY
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.

PETER
But you're still tormented, you must
be, you've killed somebody...

RIPLEY
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.

PETER
Probably. In my case it's probably a
whole building.

RIPLEY
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.

PETER
That's the music talking. Harder to
be bleak if you're playing Knees up
Mother Brown.

He vamps this vaudeville song over Ripley's shoulder.

RIPLEY
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...

PETER
(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 organ.

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.

MARGE
(kissing him warmly)
Hello Peter, so good to see you.

RIPLEY
Hello Marge!

MARGE
(coolly)
Tom.

They walk towards the Vaporetto.

MARGE
So you found Peter...

PETER
I think we sort of found each other.

Marge smiles enigmatically. Ripley registers.

PETER
Where's Dickie's father?

MARGE
He's not coming till the morning.
Evidently his stomach -- I don't
think the food here is agreeing with
him.

RIPLEY
I was looking forward to seeing him.

MARGE
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.

RIPLEY
That's a terrific idea.

MARGE
He's American. He's already discovered
Dickie cashed checks for $1000 the
day before he disappeared.

They step onto the Vaporetto.

MARGE
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.

MARGE
(to Peter)
Is this you?

PETER
No, it's Tom's. Splendid, eh?

MARGE
Golly. Who's paying for this?

RIPLEY
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.

MARGE
This is spectacular.

PETER
That's why Tom wanted you to stay.
It's better than squeezing into my
room, and I know how you hate hotels.

MARGE
A hotel would've been fine.
(to Ripley)
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

PETER
What's funny?

MARGE
No, nothing. I'm just thinking about
when Tom arrived in Mongi.
(to Ripley)
And now look at you.

RIPLEY
Look at me what?

MARGE
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 arrive.

RIPLEY
Mr Greenleaf.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Tom. How are you? You look well.

RIPLEY
I'm well, thank you.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Far cry from New York.

RIPLEY
Yes it is.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Marge, good morning. Unusual weather.

MARGE
Very.

RIPLEY
And you, sir? Any better?

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Pretty good. Sticking with hot water.

MARGE
Where's Mr MacCarron?

HERBERT GREENLEAF
San Remo. The police are amateurs.
Well, my boy, it's come to a pretty
pass, hasn't it?

RIPLEY
Yes. What's the detective hoping to
find in San Remo?

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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.

RIPLEY
I'll try my best, sir. Obviously
I'll do anything to help Dickie.

Marge looks at him in contempt.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
This theory, the letter he left for
you, the Police think that's a clear
indication he was planning on doing
something... to himself.

MARGE
I just don't believe that!

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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 --

MARGE
Such as?

HERBERT GREENLEAF
What a waste of lives and
opportunities and --

A saxophonist is blaring away in the piazza. Greenleaf
suddenly explodes.

HERBERT 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.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
(reading, plunging
into gloom)
No, Marge doesn't know the half of
it.

RIPLEY
I think it might hurt her to know.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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?
(reading)
I've thought about going to the police
but I can't face it. I can't face
anything anymore.

RIPLEY
I feel guilty. I feel like I pushed
him away. I spoke and he heard you.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
(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 word?
(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 children.

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
and Marge.

RIPLEY
I'm sorry. I was asleep. I must have
fallen asleep.

PETER
You look ghastly, Tom. Are you okay?

MARGE
Did Dickie's Dad go?

RIPLEY
He's having an early night.

MARGE
Poor man.
(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.

PETER
Not guilty.

RIPLEY
I'll fix some drinks.

MARGE
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.

PETER
Are you okay?

RIPLEY
I'm fine.

PETER
(a hand on his shoulder)
Do you want me to stick around?

RIPLEY
It's okay.

PETER
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.

PETER
Your key.

INT. RIPLEY'S BATHROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.

Ripley's in the bath. Marge knocks on his door.

MARGE (O/S)
Tom?

RIPLEY
Marge, I'm in the bath. Won't be
long.

MARGE
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
slightly breathless.

MARGE
I found Dickie's rings.

RIPLEY
What?

MARGE
You've got Dickie's rings.

RIPLEY
I can explain.

He can't. His eyes dart. Marge holds up the evidence.

MARGE
Dickie promised me he would never
take off this ring.

RIPLEY
Let me put on some clothes and then
we can talk about this.

MARGE
I have to tell Mr Greenleaf. I have
to tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to tell
Mr Greenleaf.

RIPLEY
Marge, calm down, you're being
hysterical.

MARGE
He promised me. I swear I'll never
take off this ring until the day --

RIPLEY
Shut up! Shut up!

His towel slips off from his waist.

RIPLEY
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
bathroom.

RIPLEY
Marge? Where are you going?

MARGE
(like a creature caught
in headlights)
I was looking for a needle and thread.
I wasn't snooping. I was looking for
a needle and thread to mend my bra.

RIPLEY
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.

RIPLEY
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.

MARGE
(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.

RIPLEY
I told you. He gave them to me.

MARGE
Why? When?

RIPLEY
I feel as if you haven't heard
anything I've been saying to you.

MARGE
I don't believe you.

RIPLEY
It's all true.

MARGE
I don't believe a single word you've
said.

Marge is shivering. Ripley, ominous, advances, she retreats.

RIPLEY
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.

MARGE
(sobbing uncontrollably)
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.

PETER
Tom, are you okay?

RIPLEY
You try. You try talking to her.

PETER
(calls after him)
Tom. Tom! Tell me, what's going on?

RIPLEY
(not turning around)
I give up.

INT. RIPLEY HOUSE, LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.

Peter has just put a band-aid over Ripley's cut hand.

PETER
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
private investigator.

RIPLEY
Is Mr Greenleaf here?

MACCARRON
Mr Ripley? I'm Alvin MacCarron.

MARGE
I don't know, I don't know, I just
know it.

HERBERT GREENLEAF (O.S.)
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
TABLE.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Tom.

RIPLEY
Hello, sir.
(smiles thinly at
Marge)
Marge, you should have waited, didn't
Peter tell you I'd come by and pick
you up?

HERBERT GREENLEAF
Marge has been telling us about the
rings.

RIPLEY
You know I feel ridiculous I didn't
mention them yesterday -- I clean
forgot -- ridiculous.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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.

HERBERT GREENLEAF
I'm going to take Marge for a little
walk, Tom. Mr MacCarron wants to
talk with you.

RIPLEY
(feeling caged in)
We could go down to the bar -- no
need for you to --

HERBERT GREENLEAF
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
indifferent view.

EXT. EUROPA REGINA, THE GREENLEAF TERRACE. DAY.

Ripley stands, steels himself for MacCarron's charges.

RIPLEY
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?

MACCARRON
(coming out)
I don't care for B.S. I don't care
to hear it. I don't care to speak
it.

RIPLEY
Okay.

MACCARRON
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.

MACCARRON
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.

MACCARRON
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 music department.

Ripley's head drops.

MACCARRON
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 embarrassment there.

Ripley doesn't know where this barrage is going.

MACCARRON
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 never knows.

RIPLEY
I hope she never knows.

MACCARRON
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.

MACCARRON
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.

MACCARRON
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.

RIPLEY
(to Marge)
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.

RIPLEY
But I hope that note goes to New
York in your purse, for a rainy day.

MARGE
What are you going to do now, Tom?

RIPLEY
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, otherwise --

MARGE
Why do I think there's never been a
Ripley rainy day?

RIPLEY
What?

MARGE
(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.

RIPLEY
Oh Marge.

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
laughing.

RIPLEY
Ask me what I want to change about
this moment.

PETER
What do you want to change about
this moment?

RIPLEY
Nothing.

INT. PETER'S CABIN. DUSK.

Peter's in a bathrobe organising his currency, his traveller's
cheques. Ripley knocks on the door, comes in.

PETER
Hello. What are you up to?

RIPLEY
All kinds of things. Making plans.

PETER
Plans -- good, plans for tonight or
plans for the future?

RIPLEY
I don't know. Both. My plan right
now is to go up on deck, look at the
sunset. Come with me.

PETER
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.

RIPLEY
Well, that's entirely your fault.
And, if I fall overboard, that'll be
your fault too.

EXT. DECK OF THE HELLENES. SUNSET.

Ripley stands on deck, staring at the magnificent sunset.

Then a voice shakes him from his reverie.

MEREDITH
Dickie? Dickie?

He turns. He's caught. Suddenly he's Dickie.

MEREDITH
Dickie, my God!

RIPLEY
Hello Meredith.

MEREDITH
I was looking at you, your clothes,
I wouldn't have known you...

RIPLEY
Well, you've spotted me and so you
get the reward.

MEREDITH
What?

RIPLEY
Just kidding. Are you alone?

MEREDITH
Hardly. I couldn't be less alone.

Meredith points to the UPPER DECK BALCONY where TWO OLDER
COUPLES are walking around the deck.

RIPLEY
Of course. Aunt Joan.

MEREDITH
And co. A lot of co. Oh, God, I've
thought about you so much.

RIPLEY
I've thought about you.

And now he's thinking I can't kill them all...

MEREDITH
When I thought about you I was mostly
hating you. Where've you been hiding?

RIPLEY
I haven't been hiding. I've been in
Police custody. They've been trying
to flush out Freddie's killer.

MEREDITH
You're kidding.

RIPLEY
They're letting me have this vacation.
Which is why the get-up. Which is
why you haven't heard from me.

MEREDITH
You know, the whole world thinks you
killed Freddie? It's terrible.

RIPLEY
I know. Look, I can't talk now. Later.
Later?

He kisses her. Full of future.

MEREDITH
So -- are you travelling under R?

RIPLEY
You know what -- I am.

MEREDITH
Dickie, are you with Peter Smith-
Kingsley? I bet you are. My aunt
thought she saw him.

RIPLEY
(horrified)
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.

PETER
How was it?

RIPLEY
Good. But I think we should stay in
here for the rest of the trip.

PETER
Was that Meredith?

RIPLEY
(sighs)
Was who Meredith?

PETER
Meredith Logue. You were kissing
somebody. Looked like Meredith.

RIPLEY
Hardly kissing. Kissing off.

PETER
Didn't look that way -- you know --
from a distance.

RIPLEY
I lied. To her. She thought she'd
seen you.

PETER
Why lie?

RIPLEY
Dickie and Peter, that's just too
good gossip, isn't it?

PETER
Or Tom and Peter even.

RIPLEY
Well that would be even better gossip.

PETER
Really, why?
(completely lost)
Sorry, I'm completely lost.

RIPLEY
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 me.

PETER
What do you mean lied about who you
are?

RIPLEY
I suppose I always thought -- better
to be a fake somebody than a real
nobody.

PETER
What are you talking about -- you're
not a nobody! That's the last thing
you are.

RIPLEY
Peter, I... I...

PETER
(conciliatory)
And don't forget. I have the key.

RIPLEY
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.

PETER
Good things about Tom Ripley? Could
take some time!... Tom is talented.
Tom is tender... Tom is beautiful...

RIPLEY
(during this, and
tender)
You're such a liar...

PETER
...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.

PETER (O/S)
...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 him)
Tom is crushing me. Tom is crushing
me.
(suddenly alarmed)
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.

THE END

Contact | Disclaimer
Copyright © WeeklyScript.com | Scripts Copyright © their respective owners