FIGHT CLUB by Jim Uhls based on a novel by Chuck Palahnuik 2/16/98 SCREEN BLACK JACK (V.O.) People were always asking me, did I know Tyler Durden. FADE IN: INT. SOCIAL ROOM - TOP FLOOR OF HIGH RISE -- NIGHT TYLER has one arm around Jack's shoulder; the other hand holds a HANDGUN with the barrel lodged in JACK'S MOUTH. Tyler is sitting in Jack's lap. They are both sweating and disheveled, both around 30; Tyler is blond, handsome; and Jack, brunette, is appealing in a dry sort of way. Tyler looks at his watch. TYLER One minute. (looking out window) This is the beginning. We're at ground zero. Maybe you should say a few words, to mark the occasion. JACK ... i... ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin... JACK (V.O.) With a gun barrel between your teeth, you only speak in vowels. Jack tongues the barrel to the side of his mouth. JACK (still distorted) I can't think of anything. JACK (V.O.) With my tongue, I can feel the rifling in the barrel. For a second, I totally forgot about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and I wondered how clean this gun is. Tyler checks his watch. TYLER It's getting exciting now. JACK (V.O.) That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well, it works both way. Jack turns so that he can see down -- 31 STORIES. JACK (V.O.) We have front row seats for this Theater of Mass Destruction. The Demolitions Committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of ten buildings with blasting gelatin. In two minutes, primary charges will blow base charges, and those buildings will be reduced to smoldering rubble. I know this because Tyler knows this. TYLER Look what we've accomplised. (checks watch) Thirty seconds. JACK (V.O.) Somehow, I realize all of this -- the gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is really about Marla Singer. PULL BACK from Jack's face. It's pressed against TWO LARGE BREASTS that belong to...BOB, 45, a moose of a man. Jack is engulfed by Bob in an intense embrace. Bob weeps openly. JACK (V.O.) Bob had bitch tits. PULL BACK to wide on... INT. CHURCH MEETING ROOM - NIGHT Men are paired off, hugging, talking in emotional tones. Near the door, a SIGN on a stand: "REMAINING MEN TOGETHER." JACK (V.O.) This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosie slobbering all over me was Bob. BOB We're still men. JACK Yes. We're men. Men is what we are. JACK (V.O.) Six months ago, Bob's testicles were removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch tits because his testosterone was too high and his body upped the estrogen. That was where my head fit -- into his huge, sweating tits that hung enormous, the way we think of God's as big. BOB They're gonna have to open my pec's again to drain the fluid. Bob hugs tighter; then looks with empathy into Jack's eyes. BOB Okay. _You_ cry now. Jack looks at Bob. JACK (V.O.) Wait. Back up. Let me start earlier. INT. JACK'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Jack lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. JACK (V.O.) For six months. I could not sleep. INT. COPY ROOM - DAY Jack, sleepy, stands over a copy machine. His Starbucks cup sits on the lid, moving back and forth as the machine copies. JACK (V.O.) With insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. Other people make copies, all with Starbucks cups, sipping. Jack picks up his cup and his copies and leaves. INT. JACK'S OFFICE - SAME Jack, sipping, stares blankly at a Starbucks bag on the floor, full of newspapers and FAST FOOD GARBAGE. JACK (V.O.) When deep space exploration ramps up, it will be corporations that name everything. The IBM Stellar Sphere. The Philip Morris Galaxy. Planet Starbucks. Jack looks up as a pudgy man, Jack's BOSS, enters, Starbucks cup in hand, and slides a stack of reports on Jack's desk. BOSS I'm going to need you out-of-town a little more this week. We've got some "red-flags" to cover. JACK (V.O.) It must've been Tuesday. he was wearing his "cornflower-blue" tie. JACK (listless management speak) You want me to de-prioritize my current reports until you advise of a status upgrade? BOSS You need to make these your primary "action items." JACK (V.O.) He was full of pep. Must've had his grande latte enema. BOSS Here are your flight coupons. Call me from the road if there are any snags. Your itinerary... Jack hides a yawn, pretends to listen. INT. BATHROOM - JACK'S CONDO - NIGHT Jack sits on the toilet, CORDLESS PHONE to his ear, flips through an IKEA catalog. There's a stack of old Playboy magazines and other catalogs nearby. JACK (V.O.) Like everyone else, I had become a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct. JACK (into phone) Yes. I'd like to order the Erika Pekkari slip covers. Jack drops the open catalog on the floor. MOVE IN ON CATALOG -- ON PHOTO of COFFEETABLE SET... JACK (V.O.) If I saw something like clever coffee table sin the shape of a yin and yang, I had to have it. PAN TO PHOTO of ARMCHAIR... JACK (V.O.) Like the Johanneshov armchair in the Strinne green stripe pattern... INT. LIVING ROOM/DINING AREA/KITCHEN The armchair APPEARS. PAN OVER next to armchair... JACK (V.O.) Or the Rislampa wire lamps of environmentally-friendly unbleached paper. The lamps APPEAR. PAN OVER to wall... JACK (V.O.) Even the Vild hall clock of galvanized steel, resting on the Klipsk shelving unit. The clock APPEARS as the shelving unit APPEARS on the wall. JACK (V.O.) I would flip through catalogs and wonder, "What kind of dining set _defines_ me as a person?" We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow Collection. A dining room set APPEARS. Jack, the cordless phone still glued to his ear, walks INTO FRAME and continues. JACK No, I don't want Cobalt. Oh, that sounds nice. Apricot. Jack opens a cabinet, takes out a plate. JACK (V.O.) I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of wherever. He rummages through the refrigerator. It's practically empty. Jack takes out a jar of mustard, opens it and uses a butter knife to eat it. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - DAY Jack, eyes puffy, face pale, sits before an INTERN, who studies him with bemusement. ...
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