kyle patrick johnson: action

Showing posts with label action. Show all posts

August 3, 2011

Soft

Zombie movies have never been my cup of tea. I've never understood why they attract such a mass audience. So the best way to understand their appeal, I figured, was to try my hand at one.

Warning: Language alert.

August 27, 2010

The Fixed

Logline: In a totalitarian near-future, a brainwashed former peace activist must regain his memories and identity in order to discover who is manipulating him.

November 2, 2009

Nocturne

I wrote this script in an effort to give a different kind of face to the generic alien abduction/invasion story. It was, in large part, inspired by the song "Lion Tamer" from the musical "The Magic Show" by Stephen Schwartz.

July 28, 2009

Lightener

In response to a filmmaker's call for a horror short script featuring a monster, I sat down and wrote this little ditty. I thought five pages was just too short to set up adequate psychological suspense required for a classic type of horror monster, so I went with something somewhat grittier. Enjoy!

LIGHTENER by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, standing. Scratches against a tree. A rumble. A hairy arm rubs a hairy belly. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT One hairy leg, lying down. Far off, searchlights in the woods, sounds of SEARCHERS. EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, raises off the ground. Drops back to the ground. Raises off the ground, drops back down, rhythmic. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT One hairy leg, digs deep into soft loam, excavates a foxhole. Searchlights getting closer. EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, one foot in a high-strapped leather boot. Hops between the trees. EXT. CHAIN LINK FENCE - DAY A space of perhaps ten inches gapped between high fence and gate, padlocked shut. Barbed wire at the top. One hairy leg hops to the gap, crashes into the gap. Tries to squeeze through. No such luck. EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, raises and drops, up and down, faster rhythm than before. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT One hairy leg, lying down. An insistent belly rumble. 2. A groan of hunger. The searchlights are almost overhead. Pounding throb of helicopters brush the treetops. Voices filter through the trees, dogs, soldiers. The leg scrambles along the ground, slips into the foxhole. Grated breathing. Dirt falls over the foxhole, covers the leg, buries it. Flashlights play over the foxhole, around the woods. Dogs sniff the area, bay insistently. Several laser pointers zoom in on the foxhole. Guns click. A stomach rumble. A groan: despair. The foxhole explodes: the leg bursts out of it, vanishes OFF CAMERA. Sounds of ripping, guns firing in every direction, dogs squealing and going silent. Bullets tear into the ground. CAMERA FALLS OVER on its side, lens smashes. FADE TO BLACK. EXT. WOODS - DAY A bloody dog carcass, stripped of meat. One hairy leg, knee bent, as if a person sits on the ground. One hairy arm rubs a stomach. No longer growling. A moan, an anguished sigh. One hairy hand smashes into the ground. Sounds of sobbing and weeping. The sobs die off. A nose is wiped. An intake of breath, a decision. The leg stands up, rises off the ground, up and down, faster, faster, faster, faster, never stopping. Faster, faster, faster, pump, pump. PULL BACK SLOW TO FLASH REVEAL our MONSTER: it’s a man, dressed in a soldier’s shirt and boot. But he’s extremely hairy, and his one leg comes from his trunk dead center, as though he’d never had two legs, a monopod. 3. Monster does pull-ups on a tree branch, his back to CAMERA. EXT. CHAIN LINK FENCE - DAY Monster smashes into the gap. Tries to squeeze through. Not slim enough. He measures his waist, a few more pounds to lose. Monster punches the fence. Tries to untwist the chain-link, but it is remarkably strong, resists him. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT Monster’s stomach rumbles. He’s digging more foxholes with his foot. Monster dumps bodies of MEN and DOGS, their throats torn out, into the foxholes. Covers them with dirt. His stomach rumbles again. Monster looks hungrily at a Man’s carcass, licks his lips. He holds his stomach, quickly covers the carcass. Jumps to a branch, more pull-ups. Searchlights through the trees. Monster pulls up, faster, faster, faster, faster. Monster hops off through the trees. Two SOLDIERS burst into a small clearing just as Monster disappears. They give hand signals to each other, race off through the woods after Monster. Monster hops, deceptive speed, a zigzag pattern. The two Soldiers tail him, eyes on him, rifles to their eyes, wait for a shot. Laser pointers play through the dark woods, sweep over Monster’s back. A searchlight beams down through the trees, helicopter sounds. Monster jumps into a small ravine. Soldiers jump into the ravine. 4. Monster waits for them. Tears out their throats with his mouth as he holds them in the air. We see how massive his arms really are. This Monster is a super-killer. He hops off, climbs a tree with his strong arms, catapults up the tree like a long-limbed monkey. CAMERA remains on the ground, watches him go. Growls, screeches of metal, the searchlight goes cockeyed. Sounds of the helicopter going down. An explosion shines through the trees. A metal rotor whizzes by CAMERA. One hairy leg smashes into the ground, right next to CAMERA, Monster has jumped down. His stomach rumbles. Monster hops off through the trees. A SQUAD of ten soldiers creep through the trees behind him. Follow him. EXT. CHAIN LINK FENCE - NIGHT Monster hops up to the gate, a hopping start, turns sideways, tries to slip through the gap. Almost! His hips get stuck, somehow he slides his head and one thick arm through. He scrapes his arms, trunks, leg, terrible bleeding. He yanks, tugs, pushes himself through, regardless the cost. He’s a mess. Almost, almost, almost there, just have to get those hips... The Squad emerges from a treeline behind him. Their laser pointers zoom in on his foot. Monster wiggles his foot, tries to shake off the lasers. The Squad opens fire, aim for that foot. Bullets zing into the ground by the hundreds. Monster screams, an unintelligible, raucous shriek, no words. He wiggles his foot desperately, somehow unhit. 5. Squad inches closer, second by second, unceasing hail of fire. Now the foot is hit, pummeled by bullets. It appears indestructible, no blood. Monster’s face is contorted in massive pain. He pushes against the fence, sucks in his abdomen. One final push. As Monster leaps through, his foot gets stuck in the gap. Explosion. His foot explodes. Looks like a napalm fireburst. The Squad is thrown backwards, killed. Monster, footless, bleeds from his leg stump, weeps on the ground on the other side of the fence. Two signs on the chain-link fence are illuminated: “Military Training Facility - Keep Out” and “Your Genetic Future”. Monster drags himself across the ground, away from the fence. His stomach rumbles. FADE OUT.

July 8, 2009

The Dreadnaught Box

Logline: "Revolutionary scientific experiments are condemned as witchcraft in Salem. Conducting her own counter-investigations, an intrepid naturalist unmasks a ruthless conspiracy orchestrating the trials."

I had the extreme pleasure to collaborate with Matthew Groves in the creation of this screenplay. Trapped in the car together on a nine-hour ride, we discussed the bare bones of a story idea of his that revolved around a girl who manufactures advanced technology at the time of the Salem Witch trials. My interest was piqued immediately, and we discussed various aspects of the story before I asked him to write down a short treatment (I was still finishing PICKING UP THE PEACES at that time).

From that humble beginning, the story fleshed itself out in a most remarkable way. The excerpt below gives a hint of the broad tones of the screenplay, but there are hundreds of fascinating and well-thought-out details of the technology and the backstory that are only available upon request.

I list this story as an Alternate History genre, because I don't know what else to call it. Almost all of the characters are named for real persons, though major portions of their personalities have been fabricated for the story. I did a vast amount of research into the original trials, and I must say that they are beyond fascinating.

The chance to use language to portray characters was delightful. I usually describe this script as a cross between PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN and Henry Miller's play, THE CRUCIBLE.

THE CRUCIBLE is more historically-based than our story. But ours has been thematically adapted to our modern time, and deals with very specific wants and needs: the interplay between science and religion, the place of strong and independent women in society, the need for a no-holds-barred-rise-up-from-the-ashes heroine in a vacillating world.

THE DREADNAUGHT BOX by Kyle Patrick Johnson Story by Matthew Groves Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com Registered with: Writers Guild of America, West, Inc. Registration #1363435 2. FADE IN: INT. LONDON FLAT - NIGHT SUPER: “1602, London”. The ceiling used to be white before the candle soot; the small windows used to be clean before grimy hands worked them open and closed for years; the corners bright before mice bit holes in the floorboards and spiders spanned strong webs. Yellow candles on a central worktable cast a sick light on ancient manuscripts, pieces of wood, wire, string, cloth: all strewn around in an eccentric whirlwind. A black cat flits through the flickering circle. Crouched beside the workbench, WILLIAM GILBERT (60s), a low ring of white hair still clings to his head. Wears a flowing thin gown of cheap brown wool, ruffle around the neck. Puffs deep breaths, like he’s just run a marathon. Excited. Holds a slender cylinder of sparkling clean metal close to his nearsighted eyes, inspects it. Nods, satisfied. Wraps a tiny copper wire around it with thick dirty thumbs, again and again, covers the cylinder in a tube of closely packed wire. A candle snuffs out. No wax left. Impatient, Gilbert thrusts another candle into a small metal bowl filled with black and white shavings. The bowl bursts into low blue flames. Blue light competes with the candles, dance against each other on the low ceiling: now blue, now yellow, now joined in green. Brighter than before, no longer a strain to see. Gilbert cackles, delighted. With shaking fingers, he jams the wire and cylinder into a small contraption on the worktable. He turns a small vertical crank, gains speed. A small pulley runs forward, spins a cat’s-hair-lined glass wheel against the wire cylinder. The faster he cranks, the faster the wheel spins. A blinding white spark arcs across the wire, brightens the room to day. Gilbert slobbers in delight, a manic look of glee. 3. From outside, the window has a blue glow. Flashes white. Back to blue. White again, as if a lightning storm is cramped within. Gilbert grabs a heavy metal candlestick, holds it near the wire. PHUNK! With a massive spark, the candlestick sticks to the wire, magnetized. Gilbert dances a wide-eyed jig, knocks books to the floor, scatters manuscripts in excitement. GILBERT Electricus! Electricus! A yellow page drifts onto a candle. Bursts into flame. Gilbert throws his gown across the fire, pats it out, delirious. Hugs a thick manuscript to his chest. DOWNSTAIRS Gilbert dances down a staircase to a common room, chairs, a fireplace. Landlord! GILBERT LANDLORD (20s), a hunched yet imposing figure, sleeps in an armchair next to the fire. All in shadow. Landlord opens an eye, the fire glitters red in it. An evil eye. LANDLORD Be ye waking me for no purpose? GILBERT It hath been done. Electricus. Methinks I would fain burst were I to refrain from sharing my discovery. Arcs-sparks, electricus! LANDLORD Eh. A discovery, is it? GILBERT Electricus. Electricus. The plans are complete, the manuscript done. Gilbert squeals in his excitement, fists clenched. Jogs back upstairs, mutters to himself. LANDLORD A discovery? Indeed, William Gilbert. A discovery. 4. INT. LONDON FLAT - EVENING Gilbert, bloodshot eyes, feverishly plays with his invention. The door bursts open. Landlord stands there, a wide stance of control, arms on hips, now wears a black cloak. Three HOODED FIGURES stand behind him, their cloaks each made of one giant piece of fine thick cloth. Two cloaks are black, the third a purple with gold threads interspersed. LANDLORD Allow us a peek. GILBERT Oh, the consequences, oh, the possibility. Electricus! Hooded Figures fan out into the room, surround Gilbert. LANDLORD So ye say. But what good is it? What good? GILBERT LANDLORD Are ye mad, man? What. Does. It. Do. GILBERT The magic of the spheres, new captured in shavings of metal. The power to attract, to collide. Think of it. The power to rip metals from the bosom of the earth. Or, or, an army, arrayed in battle, strips the enemy’s swords and shields from their grasp. Electricus... Landlord’s thin lips smile, but his beady eyes remain evil. LANDLORD These, my Scot friends, desire to purchase this power from ye. GILBERT Purchase? Canst thou purchase power? I think not. Landlord rolls his eyes. 5. LANDLORD (to Hooded Figures) At the least, do not make it appear as murder nor plague. Bad for business. Landlord slips out the door. Closes it. Locks it. Hooded Figures advance upon Gilbert. Silent, menacing. Gilbert looks up in sudden fear. He throws the invention at them, breaks it in pieces, distracts their attention for an instant. Gilbert dives backwards, thrusts the thick handwritten manuscript into a wide, short, intricately carved wooden box. Clacks the lid shut. Throws the box through the window. GILBERT’S POV - THROUGH SHATTERING WINDOW The box tumbles towards a muddy street. Lands on the back of a farmer’s rumbling wagon full of cabbages. THROUGH WINDOW FROM OUTSIDE Gilbert’s throat is seized by the purple/gold Hooded Figure. Choking, struggling, he is dragged backwards, struggles, fingers reach out. He disappears into the murky black of the room. The black cat leaps out of the window. THE WAGON disappears into the heart of the maze that is London, bears cat and box into the night. Gilbert’s death sounds fade out. EXT. LONDON FLAT - NIGHT On fire. Burns into the night sky. Small groups of men throw water buckets on neighboring buildings, halt the spread of the fire. Landlord watches from the street, furious. A Hooded Figure materializes, bends to his ear. HOODED FIGURE The price of failure. 6. LANDLORD I shall prove my worth. FADE TO BLACK. INT. GLASSBLOWER’S SHOP - ENGLISH VILLAGE - DAY SUPER: “85 YEARS LATER” A square pane of windowglass, laid on a table. A circular hole in the middle of the glass. A spinning saw, powered by a foot pump. The glass is pushed against the saw by the confident fingers of GLASSBLOWER (60s), unblinking, intent. The square edges of the pane are shaved off, now a large circle, nine inches across. Glassblower brushes the glass free of debris. Behind him, bent over a counter, her feet hanging off the floor, hovers ANDALUCIA MATHEWES (15), dark curls around a lovely innocent face, serious gray eyes, gingham dress. ANDALUCIA And the bigging-glass, too. GLASSBLOWER Aye, little miss. Cain’t rush art. Glassblower holds a thin wooden ring, of hard wood, paints the outside of it with a thick paste. With painstaking care, he inserts the ring into the hole in the circular pane. Presses it hard against the glass. GLASSBLOWER Most o’ my customers don’t care to watch me at my work, little miss. Andalucia’s eyes do not waver, hungrily devour Glassblower’s every move. Glassblower holds a smaller circle of glass, two inches across, to the saw. He shaves down the top and bottom of the glass, makes each side convex. A magnifying glass. Glassblower whips the glass to his eye, turns to face Andalucia, makes a face. 7. She giggles. Glassblower inserts the convex glass into wooden ring. Taps it in place with a wooden mallet, snug fit. GLASSBLOWER A right worthy gift, little miss. Do not ye forget my payment. Andalucia hands over a book of thick paper, crude binding. The title: “De Motu Animalium” by Aristotle. GLASSBLOWER Ah, yes. Monday, next, then, so’s ye’ll learn me to read it. Andalucia picks up the glass, puts it into a wooden box. William Gilbert’s box. EXT. ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE - DAY Hills of tall grass, almost impossibly green, idyll of pastoral perfection. Giant spreading trees spot the landscape with the stolid promise of eternal protection. Andalucia holds the box like a schoolgirl, clasped against her stomach. She looks up through the dappled green leaves of a tree, watches a puffy white cloud sail through the sky. She blows a kiss to the cloud. She skips down a dirt lane, rounds a bend, sees a small thatched house with an attached stable. A sweating horse paws the ground near the stable door. Andalucia gives a squeal of glee, runs to the house. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE - STUDY - DAY ROBERT MATHEWES (65) writes at a desk. Dirt samples and hundreds of rocks line towering shelves behind him. MARY MATHEWES (50) writes at a desk opposite Robert’s, framed by jars of preserved small animals and plant specimens. Peeks into a primitive microscope. Andalucia bursts in, hugs Mary’s head to her chest, nuzzles her nose into Mary’s hair. ANDALUCIA Mother, Mr. Clement is here? 8. ROBERT He arrived this very noon, a waystation on a longer trip, I gather. He is making ready for dinner. Robert makes a pouty face at Andalucia. She skips to him, hugs his head, nuzzles his receding hairline. MARY Where hast thou been, Lucy? ANDALUCIA In town with the glassblower, finishing another invention. Andalucia bites her lip. ANDALUCIA Mother. Could you full-name me Andalucia with Mr. Clement? It is genteel and I am an adult. ROBERT (automatic correction) “Couldst thou”. (realizes) Why, heavens, no. Thou art our one and only Lucy. Andalucia, scrunchy face, disappointed. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE - HALLWAY - EVENING WILLIAM CLEMENT (40) descends the stairs. Clement is a doughnut hole of a man: round little head, round little body, round little arms. Andalucia waits for him at the dining room door. ANDALUCIA Well met, Mr. Clement. CLEMENT My, my. Thou art grown, little Andalucia. He gets a smile for that. ANDALUCIA Only as much as Father will allow. 9. CLEMENT Quite right. They smile. Some inside joke. They know each other well. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT The walls are cluttered with exotic souvenirs from all continents: wooden shields, jade, feather headdresses. A small square table. Clement and the Mathewes sip broth. Clement has changed into a simple outfit. He speaks through the soup, not quite rude, borderline. CLEMENT To my astonishment, my clocks, my life’s work, the solution to the longitude problem, were declared mere imitations of some imposter original. Inquiring at the London posts of trade, I find my own anchor escapement clocks, pride of my soul, my Pygmalion, attributed to some mediocre Scot, and my own efforts to prove my right merely a blot on my escutcheon. A SERVANT (50s) enters with a small tureen, fills up Clement’s empty soup bowl. ROBERT A blot on thy what? CLEMENT Clock term. Sorry. My reputation. CLEMENT Naturally affronted, I advanced upon Scotland to do battle. Clement dives into his soup. Stops talking. Robert and Mary exchange a knowing glance. ROBERT And the Scot? He said? CLEMENT This Scot claims inventor’s rights. He challenged me to courts, to prove his lone right. His threats were vast, and he called me a bas-- 10. CLEMENT (CONT'D) (glances at Andalucia) Names fit for lesser men. ANDALUCIA Challenge him, Mr. Clement! Clement looks surprised: girls aren’t supposed to talk at table. He glances at Robert. Robert nods, smiling, allows Clement to answer her. CLEMENT I can dear afford sprockets and cogs. Court fees would ruin me. ANDALUCIA But you are in the right. Clement shrugs. Helpless. MARY “Thou”, Lucy. ANDALUCIA (under her breath) Andalucia. (out loud) Thou art in the right. MARY Lucy, bid goodnight to Mr. Clement. Then to bed. Obedient though unwilling, Andalucia stands, curtsies. HALLWAY Andalucia stomps her feet heavily, then lighter: imitates departing footsteps. She dives to the door, presses her ear to the keyhole. She hears snippets of conversation. CLEMENT ...saw the Scot had stolen. The papers were in mine own hand... MARY ...group of Scot powermongers here a month ago. They intend to replace religion with science... bribery... ROBERT ...no society for we Dissenters, nor for scientists... 11. CLEMENT ...must flee to the Colonies... good place for a clockmaker... Servant taps Andalucia’s shoulder. Andalucia looks up, guilty, skips upstairs. ANDALUCIA’S BEDROOM Dark, only the moon provides light. Andalucia snuggles deep under her covers. Her eyes peek out, wide, wondering. A quiet conversation, unintelligible, floats up from below. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE - STUDY - DAY Clement stares with sightless eyes at the rock shelves. Andalucia enters, wears a simple, gleamingly white frock. ANDALUCIA Mr. Clement? Clement turns. A frown etched deep into his soul. Pretends to read the tiny labels attached to each sample. CLEMENT My mind is suited to gears, faces, hours, mechanics. I confess that all these look like rocks to me. ANDALUCIA But they are. CLEMENT (forced humor) Are they, now! Perhaps we should not tell thy father. ‘Twould break his heart. ANDALUCIA (smiles, shy) Perhaps you would enjoy my inventions, in my precious box. CLEMENT Methinks I would. Lead on, girl. Andalucia steps forward, takes Clement by the hand. Leads him out of the room. 12. ANDALUCIA’S BEDROOM Clement squeezes into an armchair designed for smaller buttocks. His good-natured grin reappears. Andalucia opens a dresser drawer. Pulls out Gilbert’s box. She unwraps the first bundle. The glass circle. ANDALUCIA Carving down the sides, slightly thus, and look! A bigging-glass. A gift for Mother’s birthday next, a display case for her specimens. Her face contorts through the glass. Clement belly-laughs. Andalucia hands the glass to Clement, who plays with it while she unwraps the second bundle: a metal tube, wider on one side than the other, capped at the wide end with a bulb of cured animal skin. It’s an eyedropper. ANDALUCIA Upon drawing liquid into the tube, I can then dispense it precisely, droplet by droplet. CLEMENT Thy talents overwhelm this poor clockmaker. Just as I thought nothing more remained to be invented! Andalucia, pleased, holds up a tiny gray stone and a whole dried red pepper plant. ANDALUCIA Presents from Father and Mother. A most powerful lodestone and a fire plant from the Americas. Clement smiles broadly, as though he’s never seen a finer rock or a prettier dried plant. ANDALUCIA Are you departing, Mr. Clement? To the colonies? Clement loses his good humor in an instant. He shrugs. NEIGH! A horse outside. Andalucia rushes to the window. 13. ANDALUCIA’S POV - THROUGH WINDOW Four horses. Four RIDERS, each hooded: three Riders wear black cloaks, the fourth cloak is purple with gold threads. ANDALUCIA (O.S.) Happy day. More visitors! BACK TO SCENE Clement comes to the window, looks out. Dives to the ground, pulls Andalucia down with him. She shouts in surprise, he covers her mouth. CLEMENT Shhhh. Shhh. Those are the Scots. Andalucia’s face, no fear. She doesn’t understand. Clement peeks just his eyes over the window sill. CLEMENT’S POV - THROUGH WINDOW Robert approaches the Riders. Silent conversation, the purple Rider acts like a little Hitler, gestures broadly. Robert bows, submissive. With a final flourish, the Riders pull their horses around, gallop off over the hill. EXT. COUNTRY HOUSE - DAY (MOMENTS LATER) Robert still bows, forehead in the dirt. Clement and Andalucia run from the house, help Robert to stand. Robert leans heavily on Clement. ROBERT No more. There is no more time. Andalucia looks between them, back and forth. CLEMENT The ship sails forth from Liverpool two morns hence. The Regal. Robert nods. Clement runs to the stable. ANDALUCIA What, Father? What is it? 14. Robert tenderly holds her face. ROBERT Divine Providence, as stipulated by lesser men, hath decreed a journey, my dear. Go, prepare. ANDALUCIA Prepare for a journey? INT. COUNTRY HOUSE - DINING ROOM - DAY Servant and Mary pack the fine china gently into a wicker basket. Robert races through the room, an armful of clothes. ROBERT Leave those. MARY This china is priceless! ROBERT Leave it! We must travel light, silent, fast. Mary points at the hundreds of wall souvenirs. Robert bites his lip. Andalucia comes in, drawn in by the conversation. ROBERT I value thy life higher than trinkets, Mary. ANDALUCIA And every all of thy rocks, Father? Robert looks pained. Shakes his head. Andalucia now looks properly frightened. THROUGH WINDOW Clement, atop his horse, rockets out of the stable. Gallops away, dust rises behind him. EXT. COUNTRY HOUSE - NIGHT Robert, Mary, and Andalucia climb onto a small wagon, a small horse. Robert flicks the reins. A tearful Andalucia waves goodbye to Servant. 15. Servant goes back inside the house. The wagon disappears into the dark distance. Servant reappears, arms full of valuables. She scurries off into the night. Silence. The lonely little house. Sounds of galloping hooves. Coming closer. Nearly a hundred Riders burst into frame. Skid to a halt outside the house. Jump off their horses, crash through the front door. Sounds of destruction inside, ripping, breaking, crushing. Flames in the attic. The Riders come out. Mount their horses. Ride away. The house is completely overtaken with bright red fire. EXT. WAGON - NIGHT Robert flicks the reins. Andalucia and Mary sleep in the back. Silent horses flit like ghosts through the countryside. THE REMAINDER OF THIS SCREENPLAY IS AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

March 10, 2009

Picking Up the Peaces

Logline: "A witty, unsettling thriller - former deadly assassin struggles for peace in a world that may not want it."

This film reads like an over-the-top and witty look at global politics and warfare, comparable to a Coen Brothers film or a Doonesbury cartoon. As always, the full script is available upon request.

Note: this excerpt contains ADULT LANGUAGE and VIOLENCE.

June 4, 2008

The Seven Deaths of Lighthouse

Logline: "Compelled by an unrelenting past, a mysterious recluse protects an Old West town unaided -- but the arrival of a vicious gang of outlaws unearths secrets and sparks a war."

This Western is filled with rich descriptions of the era and location, and some extreme but believable personalities who might have peopled it. A reluctant and complicated hero. A beautiful, adventurous tomboy. The evil villain with a simple selfish cause. All the ingredients of great literature.

The prize portion of the script is a lengthy action set piece at the climax of the script (which is not included in this preview due to spoilers), which involves some Western action that I have never yet seen portrayed on screen.

THE SEVEN DEATHS OF LIGHTHOUSE by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com Registered with: Writers Guild of America, West, Inc. Registration #1321460 2. FADE IN: EXT. WEST NEBRASKA TERRITORY - PAINTER’S JUNCTION - EVENING Foreground: the little white cross on top of the little white church. Background: acres and acres of wheat fields, swaying in the hostile wind. Deep background: Mount Lighthouse, the only modulation of the surrounding terrain, a giant fist on vast forever flatness. The sky is deep gray, angry, stormy. With every crack of lightning, the wheat fields turn into waves on a troubled sea. Cries of sailors and cowboys mix in the distance. FADE TO BLACK. EXT. MOUNT LIGHTHOUSE - SUMMIT - DAY A lone wide peak, Mount Lighthouse is covered with rocks, thick underbrush, hardy evergreens. The north side of the mountain is almost vertical, a cliff. The summit is slightly rounded, mostly flat, treeless. A small, handbuilt, porchless cabin just below the summit. Crude. Lacks windows. The only sign of life at the cabin is a tiny wisp of smoke coming from a rudimentary chimney. One small spring bubbles out of the ground behind the cabin, feeds a small stream that meanders down the mountain. JOHN ELDRIDGE (30s), sad, stooped, weathered, stands on a tall rock at the summit, looks over the terrain with a spyglass. He wears working clothes: thick shirt, khaki overalls, tired hat. Eldridge scans, looks three miles to the southwest at the onestreet, six-building hamlet called Painter’s Junction. His eyes narrow, his jaws clench. He straightens. He turns, runs to his cabin. THROUGH DOOR A modest, one-room square. The only light streams through the door and small chinks in the walls. Yanks open the door, goes in... Doesn’t like what he sees. 3. Eldridge strips off his working clothes, revealing long undergarments underneath. Throws on a black suit in an instant, black boots. Covers his face in a white mask. a black wide-brimmed hat. He strides quickly towards the door. Dons Beside the door are two pegs driven into the wall, about head height. A set of saddlebags hang from each peg. As he exits, Eldridge smoothly whisks the saddlebags off the peg further from the door. EXT. CABIN Eldridge steps out of the cabin directly onto the rocky ground. He whistles. Two horses approach. Pilot is a short, roan mare; Admiral a towering, handsome white stallion. Eldridge speaks with a clean, clear, clipped East Coast accent. ELDRIDGE Your turn, Admiral. Pilot. Stand watch, Eldridge swings the saddlebags over the large white horse. He goes back into the cabin, emerges with a fantastically ornate European saddle. Quickly fits it on the horse. Admiral does not wear reins. Eldridge returns to the cabin once more and emerges with a gunbelt and revolvers around his waist, bandolier across his torso, rifle in his right hand, shotgun in his left. He slings the rifle into the saddlebags, securing it. Eldridge grasps the pommel, swings himself up into place. Places the shotgun in front of the pommel and pulls it towards the saddle, steadying himself. He leans low over the horse’s neck. Whispers strongly. ELDRIDGE We have work. Go, Admiral! Admiral takes off at a dead run, racing down a slender, winding trail on the mountain’s face. EXT. MOUNTAIN FACE - SOUTH SIDE Eldridge and Admiral plummet down the mountain, weaving and spinning on the trail like a graceful ice skater. 4. INT. PAINTER’S JUNCTION - DOOLEY’S DRY GOODS STORE - DAY The store serves as a dry goods marketplace, post office, and temporary bank. It is simply a large square, with cans and sacks heaped on shelves on every wall. A small safe squats in a back corner, behind a glass counter display of brand-new 3 cent Pony Express postage stamps. The windows are blackened with creaky old shutters. lanterns are lit. No RICH DOOLEY (50s), the optimistically weatherbeaten Irish proprietor, hunches behind the counter, bowed in fear. TIN TOP (30s) and ROSCOE (20s), two luckless ranchers, gently kick Dooley’s ribs, encouraging him. TIN TOP Come on, come on. DOOLEY It won’t work. Leave me-- ugh. Roscoe leans down, taps a six-shooter on Dooley’s head. ROSCOE Friend, you’ll open it, or we’ll open it. Better if you do. Dooley spreads his hands, frustrated, pleading. DOOLEY I don’t know the lock, I tell you. The Pony boys do. I don’t. We don’t keep no money in there. TIN TOP I don’t want no money. I got nothing against you, Dooley. Just open it. Roscoe steps back and takes aim at Dooley, who cowers. TIN TOP No! Shoot, you’ll bring every farmer with a gun on top of us. OK. ROSCOE Gimme the TNT, Tin Top. TIN TOP You got the TNT. 5. Naw. ROSCOE TIN TOP I gave it you. ROSCOE It’s in yourn saddlebag. TIN TOP No, tisn’t. Oh, yeah. ROSCOE Tin Top clucks his tongue, gives Dooley an apologetic look, indicates Roscoe is unworthy of such a noble partner. Tin Top holsters his weapon, walks out the front door. Roscoe keeps his six-shooter trained on Dooley, idly whistles “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain.” Tin Top returns with a satchel of TNT. TIN TOP Roscoe, it was in yours, shuttlehead. ROSCOE They look alike. Tin Top tosses the TNT to Roscoe who catches it gingerly, dropping his revolver. Blow it. TIN TOP ELDRIDGE (O.S.) (commandingly) Well, blow me down. Roscoe drops the dynamite, terrified. ELDRIDGE (O.S.) Leave it on the deck. Eldridge opens the front door in his persona as Lighthouse, an impressive figure. His white mask seems to glow in the shadowed room. Tin Top pulls out his revolver and points it shakily at Eldridge, who pierces him with steely soulful eyes. 6. With his head, Eldridge motions for Dooley to scoot out the front door. Dooley does, using Eldridge as a shield. ELDRIDGE I think it’s time you abandoned ship, boys. You’re outgunned. Both Tin Top and Roscoe drop their eyes to Eldridge’s bandolier and weaponry. TIN TOP Yeah, but I’m holding mine. Eldridge sighs. ELDRIDGE So are they. Eldridge jerks his thumb over his shoulder. Tin Top’s view of the street is obscured by the masked intruder, so Eldridge politely steps out of the way. Across the street, all seven men in town are lined up with guns of every size and variety pointed at the little dry goods store. Tin Top gulps. Oh, God. TIN TOP ELDRIDGE Don’t ask him for help. He’s a great one for taking away. TIN TOP (to Roscoe) How’d they know we was in here? closed the windows. Yup. Huh? ELDRIDGE That’s how. ROSCOE We ELDRIDGE Dooley loves the sun. He’d never batten his hatches in the daylight. Tin Top steps forward, teeth gritted. 7. TIN TOP All right then, Mister No-Face, you’re mine. Tell ‘em to put down their guns and let us ride out of here. Eldridge laughs. Puzzled, Tin Top stops advancing. ELDRIDGE I’m proud of you. That’s probably the first brave thing you’ve ever done. You keep walking forward, it’ll be the last. Roscoe, dripping with sweat and anxiety, makes as if to lunge for his gun on the floor. Eldridge checks him with an unbelievably fast double draw. Eldridge points one gun at Roscoe, one at Tin Top. Roscoe gapes at Eldridge with genuine admiration. Wow. ROSCOE ELDRIDGE No reason to be frightened. I’ll deal with you fair. I’ll shoot you if I have to. TIN TOP (to Roscoe) If I shoot him, he’ll mightn’t hit us. See, if he falls back and jerks around, he’ll hit the ceiling, maybe, or a shelf. I think I’ll be all right. Roscoe keeps his eyes locked on Eldridge. ROSCOE (to Tin Top) I ain’t worried about you right now. To their astonishment, Eldridge puts both his guns back into his holsters and turns his back on the outlaws. He stands full in the doorway, faces the street. ELDRIDGE (to the posse) All right, men, these boys don’t want to die. They’re coming out. 8. Taking advantage, Tin Top scoops up the dynamite, shoves it into the handle of the safe. He lights a match by scraping it along the roughened surface of the TNT itself. In a flash, Eldridge turns, draws one gun, shoots the match cleanly out of Tin Top’s hands. EXT. STREET - THE POSSE Rises with a roar and, as an enraged bull pounds towards the matador, rush at the store with heads lowered, guns raised. INT. STORE Eldridge dashes inside the store, closes the door, sealing the darkness. Tin Top and Roscoe are rendered blind. Eldridge, having seen their positions, jumps forward in the dark and hits them both squarely over the head with his drawn gun. The mob bangs on the door in a fury. Eldridge holsters his gun, picks up Tin Top’s senseless body in a fireman’s carry on his right shoulder, hoists Roscoe onto his left. He stumbles quickly towards the back door. EXT. STREET The seven man mob crashes into the surprisingly sturdy wooden door of the general store. Dooley stands in the street behind them, confused, concerned. HENRY WILE (20s) and BILLY CUNNINGHAM (20s), overeager cowboys, get a bright idea and leap to the shuttered windows. They raise their rifle butts, as if to shatter the shutters and glass. Dooley, at the last moment, intervenes. DOOLEY No, no! Those windows cost me five dollars apiece! I can make a new door. The mob continues to batter at the door like waves crashing into a solid bulwark. The door splinters and bows. A voice behind Dooley stills them at an instant. ELDRIDGE If the brig is ready, these men are willing. The mob turns and beholds Eldridge in the street, with Tin Top and Roscoe sprawled unconscious at his feet. 9. Eldridge holds up his hands, palms outward, beseeching the mob’s patience. Use mercy. ELDRIDGE 10. An excerpt from page 20. EXT. SUNSET RIDGE - SUMMIT - DAY SNAKE JACK (60s), a mysterious leader of men, stands at the top of Sunset Ridge, looking due east, dull eyes glower under the brim of his large hat. Wispy gray hair blows forward in the strong wind. Several paces behind him, SMALLSON (20s), his vast, chiseled lieutenant, lingers patiently, arms folded. The rest of Snake Jack’s gang of thugs huddle around their horses and a piteous fire. They are STEUBEL (30s), kindlylooking German; MALLORY (20s), attention-deficit disordered gunslinger; ERNIE (20s), conversational bore, wizard with a rope; O’HEARN (20s), Irish beanpole; and CHEZET (20s), heartless French killer. Snake Jack finishes his survey of the land, turns at last, joins Smallson. SMALLSON Hell of a way to retire. Isn’t it? SNAKE JACK SMALLSON The marshals’ll never find us away out here. Snake Jack motions to his men to mount their horses. Smallson do the same. SNAKE JACK The Pony boy’ll be by here tomorrow morning, if the Injun were right. We’ll ride below, camp there. Snake Jack leads a deathly procession down the ridge. EXT. MOUNT LIGHTHOUSE - SLOPE - DAWN Eldridge slowly rides down the hill on Pilot, who picks her way carefully over every stone. He wears his John Eldridge costume, slumps over a dull, plain brown leather saddle. His three pelts peek out of his unadorned set of saddlebags. He slowly munches on the last bit of his meat jerky, pulling it out of his He and 11. EMPTY JERKY POUCH EXT. PLAINS - MORNING PONY EXPRESS BOY (15) trots quickly across the plains, not wishing to injure his horse by galloping the whole way. He looks up, enjoying the endless sky. radiates a zest for life and the West. His whole demeanor EXT. SUNSET RIDGE - FOOT OF THE RIDGE - MORNING Snake Jack sits on a rock in the morning sun. The gang is sprawled out around him, munching a sparse breakfast. O’Hearn, on the highest rock, looks down at Snake Jack casually. O’HEARN He’s out there. Snake Jack motions for his men to rise. Like lightning they leap to their horses. They mount, still hidden from the plains. O’Hearn remains on his rock, calling softly to Snake Jack. O’HEARN I’d say he’s about a mile away. Not much dust this morn. Moving at a quick trot. Call it three or four minutes, Snake Jack. Snake Jack nods, perpetually melancholy. EXT. PAINTER’S JUNCTION - DAY Crazy John Eldridge enters the small street that is Painter’s Junction. Pilot plods along slowly, putting one foot in front of the other in monotonous succession. Approaching the town from the east, from Mount Lighthouse, the first building on the right is a little white church with no name. Next is the sheriff’s office, doubling as a tiny two-celled jail. The third and last building on the right is a large livery stable. The first on the left is Dooley’s store, which serves as the all-purpose general store, dry goods store, post office, and bank. The second building is an unimpressive two-story hotel with a greasy restaurant on the first floor. 12. The third and last building, Chester’s, is the most eclectic: a combination doctor’s office, barbershop, and tavern all in the same room. Eldridge pulls up outside Dooley’s, wraps the reins on a hitching post. He takes hold of his pelts, and enters. EXT. PLAINS - DAY Pony Express Boy nears Sunset Ridge, looks up, alerts as he looks for the pass and his distant trail. Suddenly... A seven-man gang materializes out of the rocks ahead, surrounds him in the blink of an eye. He checks his horse and holds his arms out immediately. PONY EXPRESS BOY Hey, whoa! I’m with the Pony Express! I got no gun, no money. Ernie, dead ahead of the boy, pulls out a rope lasso, carelessly flicks it over the boy’s head, pinioning his arms to his side. PONY EXPRESS BOY What the blazes? Mallory looks around, attention flicking from one thing to another. Steubel leans over and taps his shoulder, jerking him back to the moment at hand. Chezet leans forward in his saddle, long-barrelled revolvers in hand. He eyes the boy with a devil’s glare. Snake Jack, without moving his head or even his mouth, finally speaks for the gang. SNAKE JACK What town you come from? Chicago. PONY EXPRESS BOY SNAKE JACK No, just now. PONY EXPRESS BOY This morning? Yeah. SNAKE JACK 13. PONY EXPRESS BOY Painter’s Junction. SNAKE JACK Painter’s Junction. Is it nice? What? PONY EXPRESS BOY SNAKE JACK Is it nice? PONY EXPRESS BOY Yeah, it’s nice. How big? SNAKE JACK PONY EXPRESS BOY How big is what? The town. Not big. SNAKE JACK Painter’s Junction. PONY EXPRESS BOY SNAKE JACK How many people there, boy? PONY EXPRESS BOY Not many. They got a livery, that’s all. That’s why we stop there. SMALLSON That’s it, Snake Jack. Junction for us. Painter’s SNAKE JACK No, I wanna know how many people there. Chezet leans forward, looking for the kill. PONY EXPRESS BOY I don’t know. Fifty? SNAKE JACK PONY EXPRESS BOY Less than that. Whaddya want from me, anyhow? 14. SNAKE JACK What you had to give, boy, you’ve given. Smallson, come on. Snake Jack rides off to the east, the direction that the boy had come from. Smallson follows him, as do Steubel, Mallory, and O’Hearn. Ernie tightens his grip on the lasso. up. Chezet backs his horse The boy shows his youth, breaks down into a frightened jelly. What? PONY EXPRESS BOY What’s gonna happen? ERNIE Don’t fret. He’s just givin’ hisself a challenge. It’ll be quick as it comes. Chezet continues backing up, pulls his hat down over his eyes. Without being able to see the boy, Chezet shoots him in the chest with both guns. The boy topples to the ground. Ernie drags his lassoed body, bumping over the dusty ground, dumps it behind the rocks. Chezet retrieves the boy’s horse, ties it to his own. Chezet and Ernie ride after the rest of the gang. 15. An excerpt from page 50. EXT. PAINTER’S JUNCTION - ST. DUSTIN’S CEMETERY - THAT NIGHT Eldridge dismounts Admiral, quietly hitches the horse to the inside of the cemetery fence. He pats the horse soothingly, murmurs to him. Eldridge pulls a large dark blanket out from below the saddle, drapes it over Admiral, blending the white horse with the solid black moonless night. Eldridge slips away from Admiral, hunched at the waist. He glides like a silent ghost, slips towards the dark town. EXT. STREET Eldridge moves deliberately, smoothly down the left side of the street, looking in every window, gaping for a sign of life, any sign of life, any hint of massacre, any clue. He reaches the end of town, eerily silent. He lopes across the street, looking around himself furtively, alertly, walking as though on glass marbles, always ready. He works his way back up the right side of the street, still finds nothing. He approaches the little white church. The tiny whisper of a far-off voice. He presses close to the church wall, peeks in a window, cannot see through shutters. He moves rapidly around the church, but every window is barred and door bolted. He circles around to the front door. He tries to look through the doorjamb, sees nothing but a small crack of light. One voice still speaks in a murmur. Eldridge feels exposed. He redoubles his vision about himself, glancing every way, back and forth. And then... The front door to the little white church bursts open with a flood of light. Eldridge, slammed in his side by the door, flies off the step, scrambles around the side of the church. The entire gang saunters out of the church, unaware of Eldridge’s presence. 16. They stand in the center of the street, illuminated only by the light from the church. They hold water canteens. MALLORY This town’s too small to be shooting it up. May be a greener pasture down the road? STEUBEL Snake Jack says it, it goes. MALLORY But there ain’t no women nor entertainment. O’HEARN I’d not be talking outa turn, Mallory. Snake Jack has a tendency, he has, to make his own entertainin’. SMALLSON The time he gunned down two marshals on the street. Chezet holds his arms out like a cross, both hands grasping canteens, pretends to shoot in opposite directions. SNAKE JACK Cunning and courage. We have no home, no wife, no fear of loss. Eldridge creeps back into the shadows, goes around the back of the little white church. SNAKE JACK We’ve wandered the West and had all we could have, and for what? To wander some more. MALLORY Life on the road, Snake Jack. trail for me. Snake Jack turns on Mallory, snarling. SNAKE JACK Then take it. Mallory juts his jaw angrily, mostly bluffing. STEUBEL Peace, men, peace. The 17. SNAKE JACK We have a home now. This is it. Eldridge glides swiftly behind the church, moving towards the street beyond the sheriff’s office. The gang’s voices ripple clearly towards him. CHEZET And Lighthouse? Are you not going to kill Lighthouse? SNAKE JACK When he comes. I happen to like lighthouses. They warn you of a storm. ERNIE I saw a storm once. The summer of ‘46 in Indiana. The clouds came up in the sky, just like that -Ernie is ignored and interrupted, as usual. CHEZET If this is his territory, he’ll come soon. I would. Then -SNAKE JACK He Eldridge steps out into the street, ghostly, barely seen. interrupts Snake Jack. ELDRIDGE You men are out of your waters. The gang wheels to face him, taken by surprise. they look down for their guns. To a man, Only Snake Jack and Chezet wear revolvers, and Chezet’s hands are both full of water. As Eldridge speaks, he very slowly moves toward the gang, hands at the ready. ELDRIDGE What’s your purpose here? SNAKE JACK This is our town by right of force. ELDRIDGE These people bought their land. 18. SNAKE JACK And they’ll stay on it. work for us, now. ELDRIDGE Oh, I see. Your slaves. not a slave territory. They’ll This is SNAKE JACK No. It’s mine. And if you want to live in my territory, you’ll drop your guns where you stand. Eldridge stops his approach. He cocks his head at Snake Jack, measuring him. He nods slowly, unbuckles his gun belt, dropping it to the street. Snake Jack pulls his own gun out, seizing his advantage. Eldridge continues to walk forward slowly, inevitably. ELDRIDGE Leave in the name of justice. SNAKE JACK Justice is a weighty mistress. She’ll crush you, fighting for her. ELDRIDGE I have not yet begun to fight. Snake Jack cocks his revolver as Eldridge comes within touching distance of him. Snake Jack rests the barrel of his gun against Eldridge’s chin. SNAKE JACK One chance. Go away and leave us in peace. Or I will kill you. In fascination, Chezet has not put down his canteens. CHEZET Why haven’t you killed him already? SNAKE JACK I like his... passion. He reminds me of myself, when I was young. Eldridge stares deep into Snake Jack’s murky soul-less eyes. ELDRIDGE Where are the people? 19. SNAKE JACK They’re mine. ELDRIDGE You’re beyond reason, aren’t you? SNAKE JACK They’re mine. Eldridge nods softly. Eldridge uncoils with graceful lightning. SLOW MOTION While springing sideways to the left, he lowers his head in a violent nod, redirecting Snake Jack’s gun downwards and to the side. Snake Jack involuntarily pulls the trigger, winging Chezet in the forearm. In the same moment, a derringer springs out of Eldridge’s coat sleeve into his right hand. Still drifting with his bodily leap, he fluidly swings his right arm up under Snake Jack’s chin, loosing two bullets into the gangster’s brain. Snake Jack falls backwards, his hat flying off his head. Eldridge soars through the air, landing against Steubel. With an innate and misplaced sense of decency, Steubel catches Eldridge, braces his fall. Eldridge continues his right arm swing, strikes the top of Steubel’s head. Steubel drops, unconscious. The rest of the gang stands for a fractional instant, stunned. Chezet buckles, grasping his bloody arm. Eldridge makes a second leap toward the little white church, disappears completely in the deep dead black of night. BACK TO SCENE Smallson roars unintelligibly, races up the steps into the church, emerges immediately with an armful of guns. He throws the guns onto the street, reserves a shotgun. Mallory, O’Hearn, and Ernie each take up a weapon as Smallson joins them in the street. They take aim at the prairie beyond the church and begin firing wildly after Eldridge. ELDRIDGE crawls towards the cemetery frantically on his stomach, breathing heavily and pumped full of testosterone and fear. 20. MOUNT LIGHTHOUSE - SUMMIT - REBECCAH Rebeccah sees the gunflashes from her place of vigil, hears the thunder of the weapons and Smallson’s anguished bellows. She bites her lip, clasps her hands. Oh, God. SMALLSON runs out of shotgun shells. for more. He scrabbles in the dirt, looks REBECCAH Oh, God. Oh, God. Violently, he flings away the shotgun and grabs a nearby revolver. Without aiming or even looking up, he fires off all six bullets into the prairie. He throws the empty revolver through Dooley’s beloved store window. He grabs another weapon from the ground, fires it until it clicks futilely. He continues, desperately wasting the gang’s ammunition. ELDRIDGE crawls into the cemetery. Admiral stands patiently, unharmed and unperturbed by the target practice. Eldridge creeps around Admiral, shielding himself with the horse. He climbs up onto Admiral, leaving the dark blanket draped across the horse’s white flanks. He kicks Admiral. Admiral bolts for the mountain. SMALLSON is out of guns and ammunition. look to him for guidance. O’Hearn, Mallory, and Ernie SMALLSON Well, see if they’re alive, goddammit. Mallory rushes to Snake Jack’s side and looks for life. After a moment, he fearfully looks up at Smallson, shakes his head. Ernie slaps Steubel’s cheeks. Steubel soon stirs. O’Hearn helps Chezet to his feet. For all his cruelty, Chezet’s relatively minor wound causes him to blubber and moan in a most unmanly fashion. 21. The gang ushers their wounded into the little white church. INT. LITTLE WHITE CHURCH The brightness of twenty lanterns cascades from the front of the church, illuminating the tied and trussed figures of the townspeople, sprawled across the floor. Billy, Henry, Dooley, Chester, Grossman, Roscoe, Tin Top, Padraig, the PREACHER (50s), the PREACHER’S WIFE: all are tied up, some motionless. Some writhe in pain and hunger. The gang enters the church. Smallson, the last one in, closes and bars the door behind him. Steubel, holding his head, sits in a nearby pew. Chezet, still whimpering, is laid in a pew by Ernie and O’Hearn. Mallory checks all the windows and doors, secures them. Smallson stands by the main door, hands on hips, looks down at the body of Snake Jack. O’HEARN What an ending. Smallson turns on O’Hearn fiercely. SMALLSON End? End?! Ain’t nothin’ been ended. O’HEARN Taking this town and retirin’ quietly within it was Snake Jack’s dream, Smallson. We who live are free to find our own. SMALLSON Snake Jack is here, but his idea ain’t cold and buried. Look! Smallson points at the prisoners. SMALLSON He wants us to keep on. While Smallson and O’Hearn glare at each other, Ernie drones in the corner. ERNIE I knew a fella oncet who had a big dercision to make. He had a gel in the East, beautiful gel, who wanted him to come back ’n’ marry her. 22. ERNIE (CONT'D) But he had a big ol’ hoss of a gel out West who he was livin’ with. You know what he did? He stayed with the big ol’ hoss of a gel, ‘cause he feared her more. He wrote that Eastern gel back and tol’ her that -- SMALLSON (to O’Hearn) We stay. Find a lock for that door. O’Hearn shrugs his shoulders in a carefree manner. Ernie leans over Chezet’s wound, shakes his head, studying it. Without hesitation, he reaches his dirty fingers into the wound, searching for the bullet. Chezet roars.

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The Seven Deaths of Lighthouse

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