INSERT - TV COMMERCIAL - DAY
Over jungle sound effects, the CAMERA is low, moving
through brush from the POV of a stalking animal. As the
brush parts, revealing Wall Street and the New York Stock
Exchange, we HEAR the resonant voice of GENE HACKMAN.
GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): The world of investing can be a
jungle.
*WE SEE a charging, snorting BULL.*
GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Bulls.
WE SEE a ferocious, growling BEAR.
GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Bears. Danger at every turn.
*Pretentious CLASSICAL MUSIC kicks in.*
GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): That's why we at Stratton Oakmont
pride ourselves on being the best.
*VARIOUS SHOTS -- a conservative young MAN reviews a stock
portfolio with a wealthy older COUPLE; a smiling young
WOMAN sits before a computer talking into a headset.*
GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Trained professionals to guide you
through the financial wilderness.
*WE SEE the Stratton "team" - an ethnically diverse group
of ACTORS with their handsome, grey-templed "CHAIRMAN".*
GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Stratton Oakmont. Stabilty.
Integrity. Pride.
WE SEE a shot of the black gla** Stratton Building, and:
CUT TO:
INT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - BULLPEN - DAY (FEB `95)
*Absolute bedlam. 300 drunken STOCKBROKERS, most in their
early 20s, chant wildly as JORDAN BELFORT, handsome, 30,
stands beside a DWARF dressed in tights, cape & helmet.*
JORDAN: Twenty five grand to the first
co*ks**er to nail a bullseye!
*The "bullseye" is a large dollar sign in the middle of a
giant velcro "dartboard".*
JORDAN (CONT'D): Watch and learn, people!
*The Brokers go apesh** as Jordan grabs the Dwarf by his
pants and collar. In the Crowd, cash flies as side bets
are made. Jordan winds up, aims for the "dartboard".*
JORDAN (CONT'D): One. Two. Throw!!
*The Brokers cheer, and as the screaming Dwarf takes
flight, hurtling toward camera, we FREEZE FRAME:*
JORDAN (V.O.) (CONT'D): My name is Jordan Belfort. No, not him, me. I'm a former member of the middle cla** raised by two accountants in a tiny apartment in Bayside, Queens.
FLASH TO:
A SERIES OF POLAROIDS -- (1969)
Jordan, 7, smiles as he poses behind a lemonade stand,
his parents Max and Leah behind him; Jordan, 13, stands
holding a styrofoam cooler, selling ices on the beach;
Jordan, 18, smiles as he holds an Amway sales brochure.
JORDAN (V.O.): The year I turned 26, I made 49 million dollars as the head of
my own brokerage firm--
CUT TO:
EXT. LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY – DAY (FEB `95)
A CHERRY RED Ferrari Testarossa ZOOMS down the L.I.E.
JORDAN (V.O.): --which really pissed me off because it was three shy of a
million a week.
The Ferrari weaves in and out of traffic.
JORDAN (V.O.): Hey, my Ferrari was white, like Don Johnson's in Miami Vice.
*We see the same Ferrari, now in WHITE, as it zooms away,
a BLONDE head bobbing up and down in Jordan's lap.*
EXT. LONG ISLAND'S NORTH SHORE – DAY (FEB `95)
*A twin-engine Bell Jet helicopter descends over a huge
mansion, with sparkling pool, tennis court and waterfall.*
JORDAN (V.O.): See that humongous estate down there? That's my house.
INT. JORDAN'S ESTATE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY (FEB `95)
*We see NAOMI, 24, blonde and gorgeous, a living wet dream
in LaPerla lingerie.*
JORDAN (V.O.): My wife, Naomi, the Duchess of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, a former model and Miller Lite girl.
*Naomi licks her lips; she's incredibly, painfully hot.*
JORDAN (V.O.): Yeah, she was the one blowing me in the Ferrari, so put your dick back in your pants.
*Over the following, WE SEE a quick*:
CUT INTO:
SERIES OF SHOTS
All taken from TV; a mansion from Lifestyles of the Rich
and Famous; wealthy PEOPLE applauding at a polo match;
a yacht sailing crystal blue seas; Robert Wagner and
Stephanie Powers toasting with champagne on Hart to Hart.
JORDAN (V.O.)
In addition to Naomi and my two perfect kids, I own a mansion, private jet, six cars, three horses, two vacation homes and a 170 foot yacht.
INT. HOTEL BEDROOM - NIGHT (FEB `95)
*Sweaty, wild-eyed and naked, Jordan f**s an HISPANIC
HOOKER from behind.*
JORDAN (V.O.)
I also gamble like a degenerate, drink like a fish, f** hookers maybe five times a week and have three different Federal agencies
looking to indict me.
*He dismounts, snorts some coke through a straw, then uses
it to blow some into her a**hole.*
JORDAN (V.O.): Oh yeah, and I love d**.
*Jordan looks up suddenly, paranoid, as if he's hearing
voices.*
INT. HELICOPTER - NIGHT (FEB `95)
*Jordan, drooling and stoned out of his skull, wears a
rumpled custom-made business suit as he mans a set of
controls next to his frantic co-pilot, CAPTAIN DAVE.*
CAPTAIN DAVE: Pull up! Jesus! We're gonna crash!!
*Jordan's head bobs as he pulls back on the stick.
The helicopter rises sharply, then levels out, hovering
30 feet above a huge mansion. Down below, through
Jordan's hazy, DOUBLE VISIONED POV, we see a sparkling
pool, tennis court and waterfall.*
JORDAN (V.O.): Check this out -- despite my completely f**ed-up state, I
could fly straight while still seeing two of everything.
*He closes one eye; his POV sharpens. Putting pressure on
the stick, the helicopter descends slowly over the
driving range... then LURCHES and SLAMS to the ground.*
JORDAN
(to Captain Dave)
Ya guzza git hazarous doozy pay,
buddy.
INT. JORDAN'S ESTATE - FRONT DOOR - DAY (FEB `95)
Morning. Sober now, impeccable in suit and tie, Jordan
heads for the door holding a gla** of orange juice.
JORDAN (V.O.): Yes, on a daily basis I take enough d** to sedate greater
Long Island.
EXT. JORDAN'S ESTATE – CONTINUOUS (FEB `95)
*He pops two white pills, swigs some juice, then speaks
directly to the camera as he heads for a waiting limo.*
JORDAN: I take Quaaludes for my back, fifteen to twenty a day. I use Xanax to stay focused, ambien to sleep, pot to mellow out, c**aine to wake up and
morphine because it's awesome.
EXT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - LONG ISLAND - DAY (FEB `95)
*The limo pulls up to the black gla** office building.
Jordan gets out, heads inside through a back door.*
JORDAN: But of all the d** under God's blue heaven, there's one that's my
absolute favorite.
INT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - JORDAN'S OFFICE - DAY (FEB `95)
*Gadgets, computers, oxblood leather furniture. With
the DIN of the brokerage firm bleeding in, Jordan uses
a credit card to cut a line of coke on his desk. As he
peels a crisp $100 DOLLAR BILL off a wad, rolls it up:*
JORDAN: Enough of this sh**'ll make you invincible, able to conquer the
world and eviscerate your enemies.
*He SNARFS up the line, gestures to the c**aine.*
JORDAN (CONT'D): I'm not talking about this. I'm talking about this.
(Jordan unfurls the $100 with a SNAP) Money is the oxygen of capitalism
and I wanna breathe more than any other human being alive.
*He crumbles it into a ball and tosses it into a corner, where it comes to rest with two dozen others. Over his back as we TRACK HIM out of his office toward what sounds like the ROAR of a mob--*
JORDAN (V.O.): Money doesn't just buy you a better life -- better food, better cars, better p**y -- it also makes you a better person. You can give generously to the church of your choice or the political party. You can save the f**ing
spotted owl with money.
INT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - BULLPEN – DAY (FEB `95)
*Arms akimbo, Jordan stands above the bullpen, a huge open
space with tightly packed rows of maple colored desks.*
JORDAN (V.O.): But most of all, in any country in the world, money can buy you love. f** the Beatles.
*His 300 BROKERS, mostly young men with their jackets off,
scream wildly. They worship him.*