Aronofsky, tall-ish, rake-ish, ‘don’t call me intellectual, I’m just a regular guy’-ish, walks into the room with a scowl on his face.

Gupter Puncher, tramp-ish, offers him part of the couch.

ARONOFSKY: What is this place? A hostel?

GUPTER PUNCHER: Yes. [Pause] I thought it would be different.

On a nearby couch, some Australian guy: ‘it’s money, yeah, but I ain’t cleaning no toilets, mate.’

ARONOFSKY: You brought me to a hostel?

GUPTER PUNCHER: Sorry…that guy, he’ll probably leave in a minute. It’ll be better then.

ARONOFSKY: A hostel?

GUPTER PUNCHER: It’s not that bad. [He points to a curtain at the back of the room] There’s a cinema room over there. I think they’ve got…yeah, you can hear it. [He listens to the movie playing behind the curtain]. I think it’s Euro trip. Read the rest of this entry »