The Danish Girl

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FADE IN:

A rectangle of ferociously stormy sea viewed from battered

cliffs. Silver waves are whipped by a wind that flies at us,

stinging, relentless. Somewhere, unseen in the barren

landscape, something is at its mercy - we hear the RUSTLE and

PUNCH of the weather going at it...

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. WOMAN’S EYE

The same scene reflected across the surface of a woman’s

brown eye, intense with emotion, curiosity. Gradually, the

WEATHER SOUNDS are overtaken by VOICES coming up. At first

the SOCIAL CHATTER is PERIPHERAL, then the VOICES grow more

STRIDENT, OPPRESSIVE. The eye blinks.

INT. GALLERY, COPENHAGEN, DENMARK, EVENING

A painting of the same sea, captured with remarkable accuracy

of feeling. A HUBBUB OF GABBLING VOICES. Too many people in

a low-ceilinged room. One voice dominates now -

OLDER WOMAN (O.S.)

Don't you wish you could paint like

that?

We pull out to see GERDA WEGENER’S brown eyes shift from deep *

scrutiny of the painting to polite social focus as she takes

in an excited OLDER WOMAN.

GERDA:

I’m sorry...?

OLDER WOMAN:

I said, don't you wish you could

paint like your husband? Really - you must

be so proud...

The woman smiles and heads into the crowd, leaving Gerda to

consider... Gerda’s gaze travels across the well-dressed

gathering. Far off in a corner, there’s an inner circle

where her handsome husband EINAR WEGENER is being showered

with praise. A portly goateed man dominates the scene -

RASMUSSEN, Einar’s dealer.

RASMUSSEN:

They’re all Veijle, where he grew

up.

(CONTINUED)

26/11/15

2.

CONTINUED:

Gerda begins walking toward them through the throng...

RASMUSSEN (cont’d)

And I don't say my client is

the best landscape artist in

Denmark... but, he is in the top

one!

Einar cringes as the crowd laughs, delighted. An exotic-

looking woman with mischief playing on her full lips

approaches Gerda. This is ULLA FONSMARCK. They’re friends.

ULLA:

(a stage whisper)

It’s going very well.

GERDA:

Oh yes. He’ll be impossible.

The women LAUGH. As Gerda looks up, Einar looks across,

smiles, trapped in his corner. Gerda nods back, reassuring,

conspiratorial. Then Einar’s pulled back into the select

circle and Rasmussen emits a ridiculous barking LAUGH.

EXT. COPENHAGEN STREET, NIGHT

Gerda and Einar, arm in arm, LAUGHING. Gerda wears a

distinctively embroidered fine wool wrap. Their FOOTSTEPS

ring down the empty street. A patina of crystallised brine

coats doorways, windows, scintillating in the moonlight.

GERDA:

And Rasmussen...

EINAR:

Oh, come on. Be kind.

At least he agreed to see your work.

GERDA:

Only because he was drunk!

EINAR:

I know.

GERDA:

You were loving it!

EINAR:

I was not.

She mimics Rasmussen, his ludicrous excitement:

GERDA:

“I don’t say my client is the best

landscape artist in Denmark...”

(CONTINUED)

26/11/15

3.

CONTINUED:

EINAR:

“But...”

GERDA:

“He is in the top one!”

They LAUGH hard. Someone calls from an upstairs window:

MAN AT WINDOW:

Hey - people are sleeping!

The window SLAMS. Gerda and Einar struggle to quieten down,

head for the dancing harbour lights - partners in crime.

EXT. HARBOUR, NEXT MORNING

- MAIN TITLES BEGIN

Fishermen selling straight off the boats to early-rising

customers. Prices are loudly negotiated as the silver catch

still writhes and flaps. A city coming to life.

INT. THE WIDOW HOUSE, BEDROOM, MORNING

Gerda carries in a breakfast tray. Einar sleeps. She observes

his face:
long eyelashes, cheeks hollow in repose, delicate

lips. A little dog, HVAPPE, trots beside her. She puts down

the tray and throws back the bedcover. Einar blinks in the

light, surprised. He stretches, takes in the silhouetted

outline of his wife: tall, purposeful Gerda.

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