London Spy: The Complete Scripts

  London Spy: The Complete Scripts

  By Tom Rob Smith

  Introduction

  A Note On Lies

  The blanket ban on gay men and women working for the intelligence agencies was a statement that gay people couldn’t be trusted with the protection and security of their country. They could be tolerated by society, not imprisoned, although some lamented that concession, but under no circumstances were they allowed to offer their lives in service of society. The rationale, if that isn’t too lofty a term for bigotry, for this ban can be roughly summarized – gay people spend their life lying, and hiding, and concealing the truth, therefore they’re susceptible to blackmail. It was a savage irony that these kinds of laws made it necessary for many to hide their sexuality thus making them open to blackmail in the first place. It was akin to punishing a person and then refusing to employ anyone who has ever been punished.

  Growing up with deceit as a necessary means of getting by – in some cases, an act of self-preservation, in others, as a means of protecting their relationships with their families – exacts a price on many people. We will love you as long as you lie about who you are. With Alan Turing in the back of my mind, it seemed to me that if someone was going to bring all lying to an end, it might be a gay person, a man or woman obsessed with the notion of truth because they’re grappling with the question every day. It should be remembered that even today the statement ‘I am gay’ is not accepted by many as a truth; they dismiss it as words from a mind not functioning correctly, a sickness that can be treated. With the mind ‘cured’, the person’s thoughts would revert to the only truth that they believe exists – ‘I am straight’.

  While some have disliked the revelation at the centre of London Spy, to me, it was never about the real world of espionage, which is largely, today, about preventing terrorism. Terrorism, which is about hatred, has nothing to do with this story, which is about love. For a character who has spent his life lying, including to the only person he has ever loved, I wanted him to create some way of telling him that their love was, at least, true.

  A Note On The Scripts

  It would be wrong to call these scripts the ‘Shooting Scripts’. Instead I’ve opted for ‘The Complete Scripts’, which refers not only to the fact that all five episodes are included but also material that wasn’t filmed and the longer original ending.

  Some of the variations between the script and screen version are small, some are more significant. Most strikingly, I’ve reinserted the original ending. I never had any desire to extend the story beyond these five episodes. This is a story about Danny growing up. He’s naive and innocent in the opening and, by the end, he’s found some measure of himself as a man. You can only grow up once.

  A Note On Storytelling

  One lengthy sequence present in the script but not in the show is located towards the end of episode two. I have a fondness for storytelling as a device. Episode two features two train stories: one is narrated by Scottie, about meeting a mysterious man on a train, and then Danny finds himself plunged into a strange variation of Scottie’s story, where he encounters a mysterious man on a train. Throughout these scripts people tell each other stories. Some I’ve invented, others are out there in the world, in circulation, parables, fables, fairy tales and jokes. In the spy world, telling stories is intriguing because you can tell the same story to different people and it will mean something entirely new; to some it will merely be light-hearted, to Danny, in this instance, it is a threat. Yet as he tries to unlock the nature of that threat, he’s grasping at smoke, because the speaker can shrug and say it was a story they heard some place else. I’ve noticed people do this with jokes, too; they’re framed as merely a joke, when they can often be intended to insult, or upset.

  A Note On Fear

  People have rightly pointed out that there’s nothing frightening about having an HIV test, it’s necessary, vital, in fact, the facilities in the UK are excellent, and I agree. I had three HIV tests during the writing of these scripts – the writing took place over three years. The health care professionals were always exceptionally kind and supportive. The scene in the episode called ‘Blue’ was never about a fear of being tested. In the script Danny discovers, while waiting for his test result, that his entire medical history has been altered, he’s being set up – his body is being set up, his very biology is being staged. He isn’t afraid of the test, he’s afraid of the power of his enemies, their ability to go to any length against him.

  A Note On Writing Scripts

  There’s considerable detail in some of these scenes. I’m told it’s unusual. Writers are given a number of arbitrary rules about writing screenplays. My sense is that the writer should put down whatever he or she believes to be relevant to the story. Tell it how you see fit. Be sparse, be detailed, be whatever you like. If people are gripped they’ll finish the screenplay, if not, they won’t, so the risk has always been the writer’s to weigh up.

  A Note On Love

  It has been claimed that writing a show with a gay love story could only be in service of an ‘agenda’ or a ‘quota’ or it’s a political statement, compared to writing a straight love story, which is about writing a love story. Needless to say, I found the terms of this debate depressing. There are so few gay love stories dramatized that maybe I should have weighed the desire for happiness more carefully. While I can’t imagine what a happy ending would have been, in narrative terms, I’m sad that I wasn’t able to give those viewers who have written to me the kind of happiness they sought from the show.

  With all that said, it’s time to bid these characters a fond farewell. I’ve lived with them for many years and I’ll miss them very much.

  Tom Rob Smith, March 2016

  EPISODE ONE:

  “LULLABY”

  EXT. LONDON. VAUXHALL. MI6 HEADQUARTERS. NIGHT

  The Headquarters of British Intelligence. An embassy of secrets. Intense security. Cameras. Bomb proof walls.

  A cab parks outside. A young man steps out. Mid-twenties. Lean and handsome. He’s Danny. His clothes are cool and casual. His hair styled.

  Danny turns his back on MI6, crossing the street. We follow him to the opposite side --

  Gay clubs, bars and sex saunas, underneath railway arches. People queuing to gain entry to the clubs.

  With a Saturday-night swagger Danny bypasses the queue, saying hi to many. Known by most. Danny gives the bouncer a handshake. And is ushered in. A socialite.

  As the door opens we do not follow Danny inside, catching a fleeting glimpse of intense lighting.

  The doors close --

  EXT. VAUXHALL. RAILWAY ARCHES. DAWN

  The doors are thrown open --

  Danny emerges. Pupils huge. Skin sweaty. Re-presented with the world, he seems cowed by it.

  His swagger gone, Danny appears gaunt rather than lean. His clothes are club-grimed. His hair dishevelled.

  The ‘gay strip’ is quiet. A few hardened souls. A few taxi drivers hawking trade.

  To the side of the club there’s no queue, no people, just the fencing & the hoarding, flat on the ground.

  The area is deserted. The buzz is gone.

  Danny tries to swallow: it’s painful. We hear the sound of his throat, the movements, dry slow swallow of spit.

  He takes from his pocket the pack of cigarettes. It’s now utterly crumpled and smashed. He opens it.

  Inside is an empty drug bag. And a single crushed cigarette, broken in half.

  Danny tries to light the broken half but the lighter pathetically sparks with no flame.

  His hands are trembling.

  He gives up.

  He walks forward, looming over him is MI6: the build
ing means nothing to Danny. His eyes slide across it without catching on it.

  He takes out his phone. He dials. His voice is broken. Fragmented. Slow.

  DANNY (ON PHONE)

  Hey guys... if you get this message... I wanted to know... if you were still... up... I don’t feel like... being alone... if you’re still up... ring me...

  He hangs up. He shuffles off.

  EXT. VAUXHALL. CENTRAL ROAD JUNCTION. DAWN

  The enormous road junction at the heart of Vauxhall. Normally full of traffic. Now eerie-empty.

  Danny crosses into the central pedestrian reservation, automatically trudging towards the passage under the train tracks, on auto-pilot, heading home.

  But he stops, staring at the tunnel, a route he’s taken many times. He looks in the opposite direction, towards the bridge & the morning sky.

  Danny - surrounded and dwarfed by the huge empty roads -lingering and deciding.

  And, finally, he changes direction, walking towards the river. Passing MI6, he doesn’t even glance at it.

  EXT. LAMBETH BRIDGE. DAWN

  In the middle of the deserted bridge Danny looks out over London, The Thames & Parliament.

  His beautiful-saucer-eyes dart about, perplexed by this world. Drugs push his thoughts close to the surface.

  He takes out his phone. And considers. We can see he knows, on every level, that this is a terrible idea. Except he does it anyway.

  He dials.

  The phone rings. Danny prepares what to say. The phone is answered. Danny about to speak but he’s abruptly cut off. We don’t hear what is said, if anything.

  Danny’s stunned. Offended. Finally, he’s hurt.

  In an act of frustration Danny leans back, arm behind him, ready to throw the ‘fucking-phone’ into the river but he stops, frozen in this javelinesque position.

  His eyes switch from the river to the phone. From sadness and anger to pragmatic. He changes his mind.

  At this point Danny realizes he’s being watched.

  An early morning runner, standing some five or so metres away. Dressed in sleek pro gear. Athletic. Handsome. Roughly the same age as Danny.

  He seems to be assessing Danny as though he were a peculiar but not uninteresting phenomenon.

  We have no idea how long he’s been there.

  Danny is struck by how handsome this man is. And straightens up, trying to return to normal society mode, and not entirely succeeding.

  He wags the phone, explaining why he didn’t throw it.

  DANNY

  It would’ve been satisfying...

  As he wags it the phone slips out of his sweaty fingers and hits the pavement, smashing.

  The runner and Danny stare at broken fragments. Danny smiles, a smile becoming a laugh, a laugh becoming a world weary sigh. The runner simply observes.

  Danny crouches down and starts to pick up the pieces.

  To his amazement the runner joins him. Even though it’s pointless, and the phone can’t possibly be fixed.

  With his hand full of fragments the runner carefully - slowly - tips his small collection into Danny’s palm.

  We hear the faint sound of the metallic and glass tinkle, as though there were no other competing city sounds.

  Eye to eye with this man, Danny knows not what to say. That flint-spark of an inexplicable connection.

  The runner’s voice is educated, gentle, the emphasis and rhythm of his words unusual.

  MYSTERIOUS RUNNER

  Are you okay?

  DANNY

  Me? I’m fine. You don’t know me but if you did you’d know that I’m always fine.

  The runner observes Danny’s pupils, without judgement, and offers a sports drink affixed to his arm.

  The runner spots a bead of sweat pooling on Danny’s face, rolling towards his eye. Instinctively his hand flicks out, catching it.

  Danny observes this. The runner is embarrassed, as if he’s gone too far. He abruptly leaves.

  DANNY

  What about your drink?

  Several strides away, the runner glances over his shoulder, bashful and apologetic.

  MYSTERIOUS RUNNER

  You can keep it.

  With those words he’s off. Danny’s left alone.

  INT. WAREHOUSE. DAY

  A huge warehouse. A maze of tall steel shelves full of goods. Danny’s collecting orders, holding a computer device that maps the shortest route between items.

  Danny isn’t come-down sad. Distracted. Daydreaming.

  And then the device bleeps angrily: “Increase speed”.

  INT. WAREHOUSE. TOILET CUBICLE. DAY

  Danny stands in one of the cubicles trying to urinate. Sweating. Straining. A tiny amount of gloppy orange.

  INT. WAREHOUSE. TOILET. DAY

  Danny running his face under the flow of cold water at the sink. He takes small sips.

  INT/EXT. TRAIN CARRIAGE. VAUXHALL STATION. EVENING

  Danny slumped against the window, returning to the centre of London, the MI6 building, just another building.

  His eyes on the London view; his thoughts are not.

  EXT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. VAUXHALL. EVENING

  Danny unlocks the door. A low rise block of apartments adjacent to the railway, the clubs and MI6.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. CORRIDOR. EVENING

  Danny enters. He shares a small, beat-up apartment.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. KITCHEN. EVENING

  Danny enters a bustling kitchen. A foreign language chatter. His flat-mate Pavel is eating pre-night shift dinner with friends dressed for construction work.

  Danny peers into the fridge. Decaying scraps.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT

  A handwritten sign warns people to use the hot water for no more than sixty seconds. A feeble dribble flattens Danny’s hair. And he does not mind.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. NIGHT

  A tiny, narrow, chaotic bedroom, with a clothes hanger, packed with second hand clothes. On the floor protein powder jars intermingle with cheap sneakers.

  Danny flops onto the bed, eyes on the bedside cabinet, atop of which sits the sports drink.

  EXT. RIVERBANK. MORNING

  Danny running, wearing mismatched T-shirt and Bermuda shorts. The sports drink stuffed into a pocket.

  The river embankment is popular with joggers. While everyone else runs in neat straight lines, Danny runs with no strict route, turning round, eagerly checking who they are, looking back & across the river.

  Not the mysterious runner. Danny isn’t dismayed, he’s having fun, certain he’ll find this guy.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING

  A jovial but tatty living room. An old television. A games console. Bashed up furniture.

  An attractive, off beat woman in her twenties is sprawled on the sofa - Sara. Danny is lying beside her.

  Sara’s on her phone perusing an internet dating site. She moves through the men with breath-taking speed.

  SARA

  (with variation)

  No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

  To dismiss a profile you flick the screen with your finger, an act that Sara performs with relish.

  DANNY

  I’m going to stay in tonight.

  SARA

  (concerned)

  You don’t feel so good?

  DANNY

  I feel fine.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. HALLWAY. NIGHT

  Pavel and Sara dressed up for the night, leaving the apartment. Danny remains inside, shutting the door.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT

  Alone, Danny turns on the TV. Saturday night variety shows. Loud. Bright. Noisy --

  THIS SCENE IS CUT

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT

  Danny smoking out the window. Looking at the view of the internal courtyard --

  EXT. DANNY’S APARTMENT COURTYARD. NIGHT

  As in ‘Rear Window’ Danny can see into
lots of flats.

  We see a couple arguing. A family eating dinner. And an old man in front of the television, alone.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. KITCHEN. NIGHT

  On the table is a garish flyer to a club night. Underneath is a line of crystalline drug. A cropped plastic straw. Mischievous temptation.

  Danny studies the flyer. He picks up the straw but doesn’t snort the line. Instead, he wipes it away.

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. NIGHT

  Danny sets his alarm. Five AM --

  INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAWN.

  Five AM -- the alarm rings.

  Danny wakes. Dark outside. Tempted to go back to sleep, he almost does. But then, remembers, and leaps up.

  EXT. VAUXHALL. ‘FIRE’ NIGHT CLUB. DAWN

  Danny passes a club. Still open. He’s beckoned in by a bouncer. Danny politely declines.

  EXT. LAMBETH BRIDGE. DAWN

  Danny stands on the bridge with the sports drink. Watching the north/south riverbank paths. Sunrise.

  EXT. LAMBETH BRIDGE / RIVERBANK. MORNING

  Unable to wait, indefinitely, on the bridge, Danny’s seated, cold, on a riverbank bench near the bridge.

  His patience is rewarded: he sees the mysterious runner along the riverbank path.

  Danny, apprehensive, walks forward, into the path of the runner, and waits, holding the sports drink, trying to find a natural pose - an impossible task.

  The runner sees Danny. And slows to a stop, catching his breath. Perplexed, again. Not unpleasantly so.

  Flustered, Danny offers the runner his drink container back. It’s cute. And ridiculous.

  The runner doesn’t accept. He just stares, assessing, neither hostile, nor affectionate - baffled.

  The silence becomes too long, even for Danny. Progressively sadder with each beat --

  DANNY

  I wanted to say thank you. Which I didn’t say. Last time.

  (beat)

  It was just a hunch. Sometimes you have to take a chance, right?

  (beat)

  Otherwise, how do you know...

  DANNY (CONT’D)