Ripley
Episode title: II Seven Mercies
Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Neo-noir
Created by: Steven Zaillian
Based on: The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith
Written by: Steven Zaillian
Directed by: Steven Zaillian
Starring: Andrew Scott, Dakota Fanning, Johnny Flynn, Eliot Sumner, Margherita Buy, Maurizio Lombardi
Original release date: April 4, 2024
Plot: Tom confesses to Dickie about his father’s scheme. Dickie is taken in by Tom’s supposed honesty and invites him to stay at his villa. Dickie and Tom meet Freddie Miles, a wealthy playwright who is suspicious of Tom; Freddie proposes that Dickie and Marge come spend Christmas with him skiing in Cortina. Tom writes to Herbert and asks for more funds. Dickie walks in on Tom dressed-up in his clothes. Dickie thinks Tom is infatuated with him, though Tom denies it.
* * *
[wind whistling]
[ominous music playing]
[seagulls squawking frantically]
[bell tolling distantly]
[music swells]
[music fades]
[bell dinging distantly]
[indistinct yelling in distance]
[suspenseful music playing]
[wind whooshing]
[knife slicing]
[Tom] Buongiorno.
Signor Greenleaf. Qui?
[Ermelinda] Sì, sì. Prego.
[music fades]
[“Sogno d’estate” by Fred Buscaglione playing]
[Ermelinda] Prego.
[Tom] Grazie.
[birds chirping]
♪ Non so se a primavera tornerai ♪
[wind chimes tinkling]
[Tom] Hi.
Tom. You’re still here.
[Tom] I am.
How’s the Miramare?
It’s good. It’s fine. Is Marge here?
Uh, you just missed her. She’s gone to her place to do some work.
Some work?
Yeah. She’s a writer.
[Tom] Oh.
A novel?
A travel book about Atrani.
With photographs?
Yeah. Yeah. She’s a pretty good photographer too.
So it’s photographs and words.
Yeah. Descriptions, observations, poems… Hmm.
[inhales sharply] None of which she’s let me read yet.
Poems too.
Ah.
So what’s the plan? Rome? Sicily?
You really can’t go wrong, whatever you decide.
I brought you some things from New York.
What?
Some shirts and things, a robe. They’re at the hotel.
I have a confession to make.
Your father sent me here to try to convince you to go home.
My father?
Yeah.
And I told him I’d try, and I meant it, but…
I have no intention of doing that now.
I completely understand why you’d want to stay here.
Why anyone would, it’s perfect.
Why would you want to go back to New York?
He sent you, like… paid your way?
Yeah, but I’m going to pay him back.
I’m not someone who takes advantage of people.
How do you even know him?
I don’t. He found me.
I guess he couldn’t convince any of your real friends to interfere in your life,
and I’m not going to either,
but you should have the clothes that your mother had me bring.
And then…
I guess I’ll… I’ll leave.
[chuckles]
I can’t believe you did this.
[inhales sharply]
Then again, I can.
Tom,
don’t bother paying him back.
It’s nothing to him. It’ll go on the expense account.
He’ll probably even write it off his taxes somehow.
You’re not upset with me?
No, of course not.
I’d have done the same thing. I did the same thing.
I saw the opportunity for adventure to an unknown place and took it.
Exactly what you’ve done.
Yeah.
[chuckles]
♪ Senza di me ♪
Ermelinda!
[in Italian] A coffee for Tom.
Grazie.
[in English] I mean, I’m not ungrateful,
but my mother doesn’t seem to realize that the best shirts in New York
are imported from here.
[Tom chuckles]
Thanks for carting all this stuff over here for her.
That was nice of you.
You missed one.
[clicks tongue] Oh.
Of course she’d choose this one.
Who, Tom, tell me,
who in the world would ever wear a purple paisley robe?
I mean, my God, it’s awful.
[chuckling]
[Dickie laughing]
Did my father mention I paint?
No.
I happen to be pretty good at it, though he’d be the last to say it.
You want to see ’em?
All right. [sighs]
[birds squawking]
[wind chimes tinkling]
Well, here it is.
[sighs]
Oh, wow.
[Dickie] Some of my landscapes there.
[waves splashing]
Huh.
[clicks tongue]
Yeah.
Some of Marge.
That’s my Marge section.
[Tom] Oh. Okay.
[Dickie] Yeah.
Oh. [chuckles awkwardly]
That’s my abstract period.
[chuckles]
[Tom] Yeah.
Oh, this is a new one of Marge I’ve been working on.
It’s a nude.
Yeah. I… I know I’m not a great painter.
Yet.
But I enjoy it.
No, it’s… it’s, uh… It’s…
Thanks.
Yeah.
[Dickie] That’s more landscapes.
Yeah. Oh, wow. They’re all blue. Blue. Your Blue Period.
[chuckles] Oh, yeah. Yeah, I didn’t think of that.
[rooster crows]
[Dickie] She’s probably still writing,
but she’ll get a kick out of the Greenleaf scheme,
she won’t mind the interruption.
[Tom chuckling and panting]
[Dickie] Here it is.
Oh, good.
[wind chimes tinkling]
[“Is It A Sin?” playing faintly over speakers]
[Dickie] Ciao, ciao.
Hi.
Tom has a very funny story to tell.
Does he?
Hi.
Hi.
[Dickie] Let’s get this open first.
[object rattles]
Have a seat.
[Tom] Thank you.
[wind chimes tinkling] ♪ Is it a sin? ♪
♪ Tell me ♪
[objects clattering, drawer slides open]
♪ Can it be wrong to need you ♪
♪ When I am filled with such desire ♪
♪ To let the fire begin… ♪
[Dickie] Can you believe that?
Even if you knew my parents, you’d never think they’d go this far.
So who was the guy in the bar?
A private detective. My father hired a private detective.
To find Tom?
[Dickie] Yes. [chuckles]
You hard to find, Tom?
Well, I’d just moved, so, yes, I guess so.
Why did you wait to tell Dickie?
[Dickie] What difference does that make?
You’re missing the point of the whole saga.
This is about my father, not Tom.
[glass clinks]
Have you decided what you want to see next?
[liquid pouring]
[Tom] Excuse me?
In Italy.
No.
I haven’t.
There’s a lot to it.
I’m sure there is, but I think I’ll stay here for a little while.
[Dickie] You know, if you’re going to be here longer, Tom,
you should stay at my place.
Why spend money at the Miramare when I have extra rooms,
even if it is just my father’s money.
Oh, uh…
[hesitating] I’d like… I’d like that very much.
Great.
Thank you.
[mellow guitar music playing]
[Dickie] Lift it over.
[Tom grunts]
The walls need something.
[mellow music continues]
[music fades]
Better.
[“‘Na sera pe’ fatalità” by Gloria Christian playing]
Oh, hey, Marge.
[Marge] Hi.
How’s it going?
Good.
[sighs]
You look nice.
Thanks.
[Dickie] We’re done working.
We’re rewarding ourselves with some Amaro. You want one?
Sure.
We’re going to Naples tomorrow. You want to come?
I should work.
On your book?
[liquid pouring]
Yeah.
[Dickie] Oh, come on, Marge. Come with us.
I’m showing Tom his first Caravaggio at the Misericordia.
I’ve seen it.
[Dickie] You’ve seen it once. Once isn’t nearly enough.
I was at Le Sorelle.
What?
When?
Just now.
Oh… [clicks tongue]
Oh, we were having dinner.
I’m sorry, I forgot.
Come on, let’s go.
They were closing when I left.
Well, did you eat?
Do you want some prosciutto? We’ve got cheese, olives…
It’s okay, I’m fine.
You want to see the room we fixed up?
[Marge] Maybe later.
All right. Sorry.
♪ E poi ‘na fontana all’angolo ♪
[vehicles honking]
[indistinct chatter]
[brakes squealing]
[engine idling noisily]
[telephone ringing]
[indistinct chatter]
[clerk in Italian] Sign here, please.
[Dickie] Ah, sì.
[woman singing opera]
[singing continues]
[footsteps approaching]
[baby crying]
[disembodied voices muttering indistinctly]
[flame whooshing]
[raspy breathing]
[Dickie in English] He painted it when he was 36.
A year after he murdered a man in Rome.
Murdered a man?
Hmm.
A pimp whose prostitutes he used as models.
Then he fled to Malta, and then Palermo,
painting some of his greatest works on the run.
Really?
They finally caught up with him here in Naples.
They beat him up, disfigured his face, left him for dead.
Who did?
Who knows? Friends of the pimp.
Colorful life. And death. [chuckles]
Yeah.
I want to see more of his paintings.
I’ll take you to Rome sometime. Some of the best ones are there.
[Tom] Oh, I’d love that.
Freddie!
Dickie!
[Dickie] Come stai?
Benissimo.
What are you doing here?
[Freddie] Just passing through. Me and Max. How are you?
[Dickie] Good, good.
[Freddie] How’s Marge?
Good.
Still writing her book?
At this very moment.
You want a drink?
I’d love a drink.
But just a quick one. I have a train to catch.
[in Italian] Waiter. Cinzano.
[in English] And this is?
[Dickie] Tom. Tom, this is Freddie Miles. Tom’s come over from New York.
How are you doing?
Fine.
I know you from somewhere.
Hmm, no, I don’t think so. I think I’d remember.
Would you?
[Tom] Yeah.
No, no, no, we’ve met before. In New York.
Where? Bob Delancey’s, maybe.
[lighter flicks]
I don’t think so.
No, I think it was there.
At his apartment on Stanton Street.
A party. I’m sure of it.
Don’t remember. Sorry.
So how do you know each other?
Oh, we met here, in Atrani.
What do you do in New York?
[Tom] Nothing now. I live here.
Before.
Accounting.
You?
[Dickie] Freddie’s a playwright.
Oh.
I was gonna guess something like that.
Were you?
[Tom] Yeah.
Why?
I don’t know.
[chuckles softly]
So here’s the thing. I’m renting a big house in Cortina over December.
You and Marge have to come.
And why wouldn’t you? Christmas in the Alps? Say yes.
Yes.
[Freddie] Yes?
[chuckles] Yeah.
Good. We’ll ski and drink ourselves to death.
[Dickie] Perfect.
Tom what?
Ripley.
Ripley.
[“Il Cielo In Una Stanza” playing on piano]
[woman] ♪ Quando sei qui con me ♪
♪ Questa stanza non ha più pareti ♪
♪ Ma alberi ♪
♪ Alberi infiniti ♪
♪ Quando tu sei vicino a me ♪
♪ Questo soffitto viola, no ♪
♪ Non esiste più ♪
♪ Io vedo il cielo sopra noi ♪
♪ Che restiamo qui ♪
♪ Abbandonati, come se ♪
♪ Non ci fosse più ♪
♪ Niente, più niente al mondo ♪
♪ Suona un’armonica ♪
♪ Mi sembra un organo ♪
♪ Che vibra ♪
♪ Per te e per me ♪
♪ Su nell’immensità del cielo ♪
♪ Per te ♪
♪ E per me nel ♪
♪ Ciel ♪
[song ends]
[applause]
[person whistling]
[in Italian] You okay?
No, I just got robbed.
Oh, no.
Are you hurt?
No, I just can’t get home.
He won’t take me.
Come on.
[bell tolling distantly]
Thanks.
Niente.
Where’s home?
Uh, Pozzuoli.
[driver] That’s not enough.
[in English] Right.
[woman] Grazie mille.
Siete gli americani più gentili che io abbia mai conosciuto, davvero.
Figurati.
Grazie.
[Dickie] Ciao.
Ciao.
You hear what she said?
We’re the nicest Americans she’s ever met.
You gave the driver enough to take her to Rome.
He’s splitting it with her right now.
You think?
Obviously. What, a taxi’s just waiting there?
It’s a scam.
How can you not see that?
Ah, so what if it is?
It’s worth it to hear that from a pretty girl, isn’t it?
[chuckles] Sure it is. I like girls.
What?
[chuckles softly]
Do you think you will go to wherever it was that guy said his place was?
Freddie?
Probably. It gets dreary down here in winter. Why?
I don’t know how you can stand to be around someone like that.
He’s such a fraud.
Why do you say that?
Because it’s obvious. He’s no playwright. He’s just someone who comes from money.
Well, that’s true. His family owns hotels. And he has a place in the south of France.
[mimicking Freddie] “You and Marge have to come.”
“And why wouldn’t you? Christmas in the Alps? Say yes.”
“Yes?”
That was really good. [chuckles]
You sounded just like him.
Tom?
[Tom in normal voice] Mm-hmm.
I come from money, so am I fraud?
You and he couldn’t be more unalike.
[Fred Buscaglione over record player] ♪ Non partir ♪
♪ Non partir ♪
[typewriter clacking]
♪ Tu sei chiusa… ♪
[Tom] Dear Mr. Greenleaf,
I’m writing you with good news.
Richard is wavering about spending another winter here.
It’s a delicate matter dealing with him, as I’m sure you know.
One can’t push him.
It takes many conversations to get him to change his mind about anything.
But I’m making progress.
As promised, I will do everything in my power to convince him to come home to you.
Hopefully by Christmas.
All my best wishes and good thoughts to you and Mrs. Greenleaf.
Sincerely, Tom.
[song stops]
PS.
[song resumes]
I’ve not yet spent the money you gave me, but it is running low.
Perhaps you could send a bit more.
A money order to Dickie’s address in Atrani would be good.
Thank you.
[song ends]
[suspenseful music playing]
[indistinct chatter]
[coins clatter]
Prego.
Grazie.
[bell tolling distantly]
[nuns chattering]
Grazie.
[mellow Italian music playing softly]
[in Italian] How’s it going?
Good.
Can I sit?
Sì.
I’m Carlo.
Tom.
Tom.
You’re American.
Sì.
I like Americans.
Salute.
[Tom in English] Hi.
Oh, hey. How’s it going?
Good.
[Tom sighs]
Wanna go to Paris?
[Dickie scoffs]
I don’t know. Maybe. When?
I was talking to a guy at Giorgio’s, and he’ll give us 100,000 lire apiece.
To do what?
Go to Paris.
[scoffs] What are you talking about?
All we gotta do is take a suitcase there for him, then we stay as long as we want.
[scoffs] A suitcase?
Yeah.
You can’t be serious.
I am. Come meet him.
We talked in Italian, so I only got the gist of it.
I don’t want to meet him, whoever he is.
What am I supposed to do with him then?
Nothing. Forget you had the conversation.
He’s downstairs.
You brought this guy to my house.
Yeah.
[suspenseful music playing]
[Tom] Carlo.
[in Italian] This is my friend, Dickie.
Pleasure. How you doing?
Picasso, huh?
So, Tom explained to you what we spoke about?
Why don’t you tell me.
Okay. It’s not complicated.
Tomorrow, the next day, whenever,
you both meet me at the train station in Naples.
I’ll have two tickets for you,
half the money, 50,000 lire each,
and a suitcase.
You take it to Paris, deliver it to the address I give you.
Where you’ll get the rest of the money.
And that’s that.
[chuckles]
What’s in the suitcase?
[Carlo chuckles] Va beh, e questo…
It makes no difference.
No one is going to stop a couple of American tourists that look like you.
Drugs?
Guns?
Stolen art, what?
It’s not your concern.
It’s very much my concern.
It isn’t your friend’s.
He didn’t even ask.
Tomma.
[Tom] Yeah, what?
[in English] Sadly, your friend here is not the right man.
You, yes, but him, no.
No. He’s right for it. We both are. He’s just thinking about it.
No. I’m not.
[chuckling] Tomma, look at him,
looking at me like a policeman who wants to arrest me.
[Tom] No, he’s not. Come on.
No, no, you’re right. Not a policeman.
[in Italian] Like a man afraid he’s about to be eaten by an animal.
[in English] We can still do business together, me and you, but not him.
So there is no need to discuss this in front of him or with him anymore, okay?
[in Italian] At some point in life, his balls were cut off.
My address.
[smacks lips]
[in English] This is a nice villa.
Very nice.
[clicks tongue] Bravo.
Signora, grazie mille.
[door opens]
[door closes]
[in English] What’s the matter with you? You crazy?
Why would you say that?
The man is Camorra. You know what that is?
No.
Mafia. Naples mafia.
How do you know that?
Because, Tom, it’s obvious.
Maybe you wouldn’t have done this if your Italian was better,
but I’m not so sure. Is…
Is this the kind of thing you do in New York?
No.
The kind of people you hang out with there?
He treated you like a kindred spirit.
We hung out with the same people in New York.
That’s how we met.
I still don’t remember.
Don’t look at me like that. I’m not crazy.
Then what is this?
What? I thought you’d think it’d be fun. It could have been fun.
To do a job for gangsters?
To go on an adventure together.
To end up in prison together.
Okay, now you’re just…
[sighs]
Forget it.
Can you not tell Marge about this?
She doesn’t like me much as it is.
Why is that, do you think?
I don’t know. I’m nice to her.
No, you make an effort to be, which isn’t the same.
Which is worse, actually.
That’s not true. I like her.
Okay.
I do!
[Tom] So how’s the writing going? I bet it’s really good.
You’re teasing me.
No, I’m not. I really want to know. I’m impressed you’re doing it.
I’ve never written a book. Dickie hasn’t. Have you?
Certainly not. [chuckles]
[chuckles]
[mellow Italian song playing softly]
Well, to be honest, it’s not going that well.
I’m trying to describe this place that’s
so…
Indescribable?
Indescribable. [chuckles] Yes, exactly.
[Tom] Well, can I read what you’ve written so far?
Oh, she won’t show it to anyone.
Well, I’m no book editor, but I did work for one, at Random House.
You did?
Sure. I read lots of manuscripts there that needed work.
Really?
If nothing else, I might accidentally say something
that gets you thinking in a new way.
Come on, I’d love to try.
[waiter] Prego.
I’ll get this.
So. What do you say?
[wind chimes tinkling]
[insects trilling]
[dog barking distantly]
[breathes deeply]
I’m scared.
I’m sure it’s wonderful.
[Dickie] That was good, Tom. You’re trying.
[Tom] Well, I’m not just trying.
I’m interested in what she’s doing. She’s wrong about me.
[Dickie] In any case, you made her happy.
Well, that’s good.
[enchanting Italian music playing]
[Marge] Atrani, by Marjorie Sherwood.
Suddenly, I have been in Atrani for more than a year,
and I’m still discovering things about the town…
Atrani, I had learned, had existed before Columbus had discovered America.
Most evenings, a woman practices the flute…
I saw my first palm tree, and the ocean.
Although the taxi ride did not cost as much as it would have…
I watched as he prepared the…
…clock tower struck four at that exact moment…
I had never stayed in a place that didn’t have its own bathroom,
except for in college.
“Hello?” I called out. She said something that sounded familiar.
I waited… It felt like…
[Marge’s voice overlapping]
…hot, cramped bus that smelled like garlic and gasoline.
[music stops]
[Tom sighs wearily]
[bell tolling distantly]
[birds squawking]
[distant chatter]
This is… This is all really helpful.
Is it?
Yeah. Everything you’re saying is right. Here, what you wrote in the margin.
Which?
“Atrani is like a place in a dream
that becomes even more dreamlike when you wake.”
It’s so perfect.
It’s yours. Take it.
Really?
[chuckles] Sure.
I think I know what to do with it now.
[Tom] I’m glad.
Thank you, Tom.
Really.
Thank you, for trusting me with it.
[chuckles softly]
[suspenseful music playing]
[Marge] Great title.
[suspenseful music continues]
Ciao, Matteo.
[Matteo] Ciao, Riccardo.
[in Italian] How are you?
Great.
[Matteo] There’s something for you.
Here.
Nothing for you, my dear Tom.
Okay, Matteo. Thanks.
[Dickie in English] I think I’m going to go see Marge.
Maybe go for a swim.
[Tom] Okay.
Take this home for me?
Sure.
Thanks. See you later.
[suspenseful music continues]
[wind chimes tinkling]
[Marge and Dickie speaking indistinctly]
[Marge laughs]
What do you think of these?
Oh, that’s good.
[Marge] Really?
[Dickie] Yes!
[both laughing]
[Ermelinda humming]
[water splashing]
[plates rattling]
[suspenseful music continues]
[door opens]
[music fades]
Signor Ripley.
[in Italian] I’m going out, to the market.
All right.
[bell tolling distantly]
What?
Nothing.
[suspenseful music continues]
[thunder rumbling]
[seagulls squawking]
[music fades]
[man in English over record player] Is Mr. Smith at home?
[man repeating in Italian]
[in English] No, sir. He’s gone out.
[repeating in Italian]
[pensive music playing]
[in English] What time will he be back?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] How much money do you need?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] It’s not enough.
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] What’s the matter with you?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] What happened?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] Who said so?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] Who is he?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] Who knows?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] Whose is this?
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] It’s yours.
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] It’s ours.
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] It’s theirs.
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] It’s his.
[repeating in Italian]
[in English] It’s mine.
[squawking]
[thunder rumbling]
[rain pattering]
[box closes]
[thunder rumbling]
[cupboard opens]
[shoes thud]
[drawer slides open]
[thunder crashing]
[shoes clattering]
[mimicking Dickie] “You like art, Tom?”
“Well, you’re in the right place.”
“I know I’m not a great painter.”
“Yet.”
[chuckling]
“I know I’m not a great painter, yet.”
“But I enjoy it.”
These are my landscapes.
Still life.
Those are some of Marge.
That’s another one of mine. Another one of Marge.
That’s the Marge section.
Marge, I’m sorry, but you got to understand.
I don’t love you.
We’re friends. That’s all.
Oh, come on, don’t…
Don’t cry.
That’s not going to work, Marge.
Stop it.
[sighs]
Because you’re interfering. With Tom and me.
No, no, no, no. It’s not like that.
It’s not that. We’re not that.
No, there’s a bond between us. Can you understand that?
Or are you just going to keep making accusations?
Can you understand anything?
Come on, Marge.
Marge…
[inhales deeply]
Oh…
Oh, those are from my abstract period.
What are you doing?
[in normal voice] They got…
Oh, just… [sighs]
I’d appreciate it if you got out of my clothes.
[thunder rumbling]
[wind blowing]
[birds squawking]
[footsteps approaching]
You guys didn’t go swimming, I guess.
Were you on the beach when the storm broke?
Dickie, I feel sick about what just happened…
Look, let me just make this really clear.
I’m not queer.
I think you think I am.
I never thought you were.
Well, Marge thinks you are.
Why?
Well, if she were here to see what just transpired in there, then…
I’d say it was that, but since she wasn’t, then I guess it must be something else.
She’s saying that because she’s jealous.
Jealous?
Of you?
Yeah, of me.
She had you all to herself before I showed up.
Now we do things without her.
But even that’s not the real problem.
What’s the real problem, Tom?
She loves you more than you love her.
When you walk together, who takes whose hand?
Maybe it is true, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about her.
I… I care about her very much.
I understand.
We’re very good friends. You try not to hurt your friends.
Of course.
Dickie…
What?
I’d rather leave than break up a friendship.
Do you want me to leave?
I’ll leave in the morning if you want. I’ll leave now if you want.
Let’s just let it go.
[grim music playing]
[music swelling]
[seagulls squawking frantically]
[music fades]
[thunder rumbling]
[water sloshing]
[wood creaking]
[birds screeching]
[train rumbling]
[footsteps approaching]
[door creaks open]
[door closes]
[operatic music playing]
[indistinct chatter]
[waves splashing]
[wood creaking]
[low suspenseful music playing]
[indistinct rattling]
[deep rumbling]
[thunder rumbling]
[waves splashing]
[suspenseful music continues]
[bird squawking]
[bell tolling distantly]
[thunder rumbling]
