It's a Wonderful Life Movie Script

GEORGE (indignantly) Forty-five!

POTTER:

Forty-five. Forty-five. Out of which, after supporting your mother, and paying your bills, you're able to keep, say, ten, if you skimp. A child or two comes along, and you won't even be able to save the ten. Now, if this young man of twenty-eight was a common, ordinary yokel, I'd say he was doing fine. But George Bailey is not a common, ordinary yokel. He's an intelligent, smart, ambitious young man � who hates his job �� who hates the Building and Loan almost as much as I do. A young man who's been dying to get out on his own ever since he was born. A young man . . . the smartest one of the crowd, mind you, a young man who has to sit by and watch his friends go places, because he's trapped. Yes, sir, trapped into frittering his life away playing nursemaid to a lot of garlic-eaters.

Do I paint a correct picture, or do I exaggerate?

GEORGE (mystified) Now what's your point, Mr. Potter?

POTTER:

My point? My point is, I want to hire you.

GEORGE (dumbfounded) Hire me?

POTTER:

I want you to manage my affairs, run my properties. George, I'll start you out at twenty thousand dollars a year.

George drops his cigar on his lap. He nervously brushes off the sparks from his clothes.

GEORGE (flabbergasted) Twenty thou . . . twenty thousand dollars a year?

POTTER:

You wouldn't mind living in the nicest house in town, buying your wife a lot of fine clothes, a couple of business trips to New York a year, maybe once in a while Europe. You wouldn't mind that, would you, George?

GEORGE:

Would I?

(looking around skeptically) You're not talking to somebody else around here, are you? You know, this is me, you remember me? George Bailey.

POTTER:

Oh, yes, George Bailey. Whose ship has just come in �� providing he has brains enough to climb aboard.

GEORGE:

Well, what about the Building and Loan?

POTTER:

Oh, confound it, man, are you afraid of success? I'm offering you a three year contract at twenty thousand dollars a year, starting today. Is it a deal or isn't it?

GEORGE:

Well, Mr. Potter, I . . . I . . . I know I ought to jump at the chance, but I . . . I just . . . I wonder if it would be possible for you to give me twenty-four hours to think it over?

POTTER:

Sure, sure, sure. You go on home and talk about it to your wife.

GEORGE:

I'd like to do that.

POTTER:

In the meantime, I'll draw up the papers.

GEORGE:

All right, sir.

POTTER (offers hand) Okay, George?

GEORGE (taking his hand) Okay, Mr. Potter.

As they shake hands, George feels a physical revulsion. Potter's hand feels like a cold mackerel to him. In that moment of physical contact he knows he could never be associated with this man. George drops his hand with a shudder. He peers intently into Potter's face.

GEORGE (cont'd �� vehemently) No . . . no . . . no . . . no, now wait a minute, here! I don't have to talk to anybody! I know right now, and the answer is no!

NO! Doggone it!