kyle patrick johnson: mystery

Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts

September 19, 2009

Takers Toll

Logline: "When a sports fanatic suspects his girlfriend and an agoraphobic apartment manager of stealing expensive memorabilia, jealousies and selfishness take their toll."

I wrote this story at the request of a young San Francisco filmmaker. He requested something intense, emotional, and ultimately touching. I put my own emphasis on intense. Enjoy.

Note: Adult language.

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

July 1, 2009

Simeli Mountain

This romping short script was written in response to MoviePoet.com's recent monthly challenge: write an adaptation of a Grimm Brothers' fairy tale. What a daunting task. The Grimm tales are readily accessible on-line, but it is clear that they were jotted down centuries ago with little thought devoted to story structure.

You can find an original version of the story at this excellent archive of Grimm stories.

I discovered that this little-known story seemed to be a corruption of the old Ali Baba stories. Primarily, the similarity of "Open sesame" and "Semsi mountain" seemed too fun an opportunity to pass up. So, after letting my imagination simmer on the project for a while, I came up with some original angles with which to tackle the interesting task of adaptation. Enjoy!

SIMELI MOUNTAIN by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT A windowless dark. MELVYN (30s), thin, a confused look in his eyes, wears a bathrobe. He clings to a stair rail with both arms, puts a tentative toe onto the next step down. NARRATOR (V.O.) ’Twas the night before nothing, the ninth of December, when Melvyn crept downstairs for chores unremembered. As though waking anew from uniform and tie, he now wore pajamas, but did not know why. Nor did he recall the featureless room. Was he in outer space, out-of-body in his tomb? A fluorescent ceiling light flickers on, reveals a heavy vault door in a cement wall, a voice-recognition access code box next to it. Melvyn drifts over to it, a moth to light. He punches in a four-digit code. NARRATOR (V.O.) Drawn to the box, to the microphone, when... he heard his own voice say: MELVYN Semsi Mountain. A red-lettered display on the access box: “Hello, Melvyn.” The vault door heaves open with a metallic crunch. NARRATOR (V.O.) When what to his wondering eyes should appear but a gaping great portal to next fiscal year. Safety deposit boxes inside. Millions of them. Melvyn, face bright with greed, walks inside-THE VAULT The massive door creaks shut behind him. NARRATOR (V.O.) But something was wrong! His legs were stuck fast, for his moral high ground had rebooted at last. A crime to steal from this treasure fountain! His voice quavered out a thin: 2. MELVYN Semsi Mountain. The door groans open again. BASEMENT Melvyn backs out of the vault, stumble-runs up the stairs. The vault door rumbles closed. Underneath the stairs, bright eyes watch from the shadows: BARNABY (30s), in a bank guard’s uniform. NARRATOR (V.O.) Don't fear for Melvyn, he's programmed to do it by a mental anomaly with no name to it. Melvyn flicks the light switch off as he disappears. INT. VAULT - NIGHT (FLASHBACK) Melvyn, masked and clothed in black, tosses the contents of the safety deposit boxes into large canvas bags. NARRATOR (V.O.) See, he’s condemned to repeat the last action he'd done before getting fried from a taserful stun. Barnaby comes up behind him, flanked by an entire S.W.A.T. TEAM. Barnaby fires a Taser into Melvyn’s right temple. Melvyn’s hair stands up straight as he falls down. INT. COURTROOM - DAY Melvyn, cross-eyed, drooling, sits handcuffed in the defendant’s chair as the JUDGE (70s) raps the gavel. NARRATOR (V.O.) The lawyers gave argument, precedent, and place, but that was not why the judge tossed the case. JUDGE I hate you, I loathe you, you petty little thief. But you’ve lost your marbles. NARRATOR (V.O.) To his mother’s relief. In the audience, Melvyn’s MOTHER (60s) clasps joyful hands. 3. INT. MOTHER’S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY Mother sprawls on the dining room table, unable to spoon oatmeal between Melvyn’s slobbering lips. NARRATOR (V.O.) But her joy was short-lived. Indeed, how could it last with Melvyn forever enshrined in his past? She consulted physicians from each ilk and breed, but no hope from Mayo, nor e’en Walter Reed. Mother heaves herself into a sitting position. Determination shines in her eyes as she opens a phone book. MOTHER If you wanna be treated just like a barbarian! NARRATOR (V.O.) His mother went and called a veterinarian. INT. VETERINARIAN’S OFFICE - DAY VETERINARIAN (40s) peers into Melvyn’s wide open mouth. Mother stands to the side, hopeful, silly grin. NARRATOR (V.O.) He’d poked and he’d prodded, fed him a sweet, and finally evolved a new way to treat. VETERINARIAN Injury from a Taser to the brain, beyond doubt. If a Taser put him in, then it should bring him out. Veterinarian pulls a Taser from a drawer marked “Restraints”. Zaps Melvyn in the left temple. Melvyn’s hair plasters flat as he shoots upright. He gives a thumbs-up. Veterinarian flashes a confident smile at Mother. INT. MOTHER’S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT Two beds. Melvyn sleeps with soft snores. In the other bed, Barnaby pretends to sleep, in uniform under blankets. NARRATOR (V.O.) So out now he sleepwalks as regular rite. The twist? His brother followed him tonight. 4. INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT) The fluorescent light flickers on. Barnaby. He marches down the steps, an enormous keyring jangles at his waist. NARRATOR (V.O.) Melvyn, poor man, walks the vices of men. But Barnaby could turn, can choose... Barnaby enters a four-digit code into the access box. BARNABY Semsi Mountain. “Hello, Melvyn.” The door yawns open. Barnaby rubs his hands. NARRATOR (V.O.) Barnaby did it. And lo, his mouth watered. With one step was his... Barnaby swaggers into the vault. The door closes. NARRATOR (V.O.) ...golden goose slaughtered. INT. VAULT - SAME The safety deposit boxes are plundered, the keys hang from an opened box. Money, stocks, bonds, jewels, gold nuggets, silver pieces, strewn everywhere. Barnaby bathes in wealth. NARRATOR (V.O.) Greed defies reason, men act with no sense. That’s why moments of bliss are just that: moments. Barnaby’s watch beeps an alarm. He panics. BARNABY Um. Uh, uh. Simeli Mountain? He pushes on the door. It does not budge. He yells louder. BARNABY Simeli Mountain! Simeli Mountain! NARRATOR (V.O.) When greed overtakes men, can naught make them see? Their brains turn to mush, can’t remember Semsi. But the righting hand of nature from chaos is swift. Barnaby should have known. The end of his shift. 5. Barnaby crumples into a little ball, sweeps as many valuables into his arms as possible, hugs them tight to his chest. The vault door eases open, a groan of discontent. Melvyn stands there, in the uniform of a bank guard. His mouth falls open. Behind him gapes a BANK MANAGER (50s), impeccable suit, slicked-back hair. BARNABY Melvyn made me do it, he put me to it. It was always his plan, and he walked me through it. NARRATOR (V.O.) Didn’t I mention the hand had been righted? Be on its good side, lest it feel unrequited. As you shall see... BANK MANAGER No, this can’t be true. I see Melvyn here, and there I see you. Bank Manager punches a number into a cell phone. BANK MANAGER I’m calling the police. You made me do it. MELVYN Barnaby, why in the name of-BARNABY Oh, screw it. Barnaby stands, drops the valuables, charges at Melvyn. MELVYN Semsi Mountain! The vault door creaks shut. Barnaby dives for the door, tries to get through. Only his head emerges before the heavy door closes. His head pops off neatly, no blood. The head rolls to Melvyn’s feet. NARRATOR (V.O.) The moral? Fine, the moral. I’d prefer it unsaid. Ahem. When amongst the treasures of this world, don’t lose your head. FADE OUT.

May 14, 2009

Stage of Grief

Most of my scripts contain embedded heaploads of my personality, usually perceptible as strange or over-the-top humor. I decided, for this short script, to forgo my normal writing style as an experiment of humorlessness (but I couldn't help myself: there are several Kyle moments hidden in these pages).

If you enjoy dark suspense, this story is for you.

STAGE OF GRIEF by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com 2. FADE IN: EXT. BUSY CITY SIDEWALK - NIGHT (MOS) Hordes of pedestrians stream in spiderweb directions. WOMAN IN RED (40) strolls with two GIRLFRIENDS under the neon signs, laughs and points and chats and enjoys life. A tan Buick sedan accelerates, drifts towards the sidewalk. Unseen driver. Brakes screech, Buick skids out of control. SERIES OF SHOTS (SLOW MOTION) The Girlfriends throw themselves backwards, but Woman In Red appears rooted to the spot. Her smile fades. The Buick slams into Woman In Red, full force, knocks her to the ground. Her head bounces off the concrete pavement. The Buick panics, reverses, peels off down the street, muddy license plate. The Girlfriends gape after it, in shock. One pulls out a cell phone, still staring, dials. An ambulance arrives, red lights flash. Two PARAMEDICS jump out. A police car arrives, blue and red lights flash. Paramedics blow into Woman In Red’s mouth, pump her chest. Shake their heads to a POLICEMAN. Paramedics drape blankets over the Girlfriends. Cell Phone Girlfriend dials again. INGO GUNNARSON (45) drives up in a truck, jumps out, wears a doctor’s white clinic jacket, name stitched on. He looks at the Girlfriends, who weep mascara down their cheeks. Ingo kneels beside a filled body bag. He throws himself across the body bag, hugs it, screams his grief to the sky. Policeman opens a bright yellow pad. A traffic citation. He writes: “Unknown Person, tan sedan, hit and run”. Ingo, eyes running rivers, looks up at Policeman and the yellow pad. Policeman shrugs, a lame consolation. FADE OUT. INT. DENTIST’S OFFICE - DAY SUPER: “ONE WEEK LATER” 3. Wall plaque: “State’s Finest Dentist: Customer Service 2008”. Posters of teeth and open mouths. Framed portrait of Woman In Red on the desk. Ingo slumps, head on hands, eyes an inch from the photo. His eyes are sad, his posture broken. Without moving his eyes, he reaches an arm above the desk to a bookshelf, brings down a hefty textbook. Opens it. The pages are glued together, cut out, hiding place for a flask. He takes a swig. Stares at the portrait. An intercom buzzes. He replaces the flask with apathy, thuds the book back onto the shelf. Shuffles across the room, past a central dentist’s chair. He opens the door. Sees: NADIA TORNOW (80), curly blue hair, frozen in place as she pops a doughnut hole into a circular mouth. She chews. INGO Nadia, Nadia. Healthy breakfasts, right? Nadia bows her apology, mouth spilling crumbs. She hands Ingo her patient file, plunks her purse on his desk, sits in the dental chair, tries to swallow the doughy lump. Ingo brushes powdered sugar off the file. Half-hearted smile. INGO Let’s rinse, shall we? Open up. Nadia opens her sugar-coated mouth. Disgusting. Ingo sprays her teeth clean with a miniature hose. Puts a loud-sucking vacuum tube under her tongue. INGO Bogdana using that litterbox yet? Nadia nods. Mumbles something unintelligible. INGO I thought so. Takes a few weeks. Her cat was about a month before she figured it out. Nadia mumbles something, a surprised tone. 4. INGO Oh, I’ve had lots of practice. She used to say I couldn’t understand her because there was nothing in her mouth. I’d say that’s why our arguments weren’t my fault. She’d laugh. Ingo turns his head away, macho, misty-eyed. He swallows. He turns off the hose, withdraws it and the vacuum. Props her mouth wide open with lip retractors. Approaches her teeth with a tiny mirror and pick. Taps on each tooth. INGO This just a routine check? Nadia mumbles something, tongue immobile. INGO Oh, this one here? Ingo taps on a molar. Nadia gives a little scream of pain. Bites down. INGO That’s her. Tongue down, please. Ingo works in silence. Scrapes the tooth. Examines his handiwork. Digs at the tooth some more. Starts up a whiny cordless dentist’s drill. Moves the drill around inside her mouth. Grinding. Nadia’s eyes, full of fear. INGO It’s all right, Nadia. I won’t hurt you. Done this a million times. Nadia attempts a stretched lips smile, mumbles something. Ingo stops, motionless, the drill whirs without effect. INGO No. Thanks. I needed to get back to work right away. I’m sorry, too... Ingo begins to weep. The drill drifts, touches a tooth, whirs. Nadia winces, a little cry of pain. 5. Ingo pulls the drill out of her mouth, turns it off. INGO She was everything... Gone just like that. I don’t even know who... Doc Vern says I’ve already passed through denial, anger, bargaining, straight to depression. Why not? Nadia’s eyes tear up. She mumbles more. INGO Yeah. I need one, don’t I? Maybe next month. Ingo stands, composes himself. Walks to the window. Looks through it, deep breaths in and out. The drill in his right hand. INGO’S POV - THROUGH WINDOW A parking lot. Empty. Except for a tan Buick sedan. BACK TO SCENE Ingo turns pale. Double-takes at the car outside. He sidles over to his desk, talks to cover his movement. INGO The Godlessness of it all. All those people on the street, all those people on the sidewalk. That car only hits one. Why her? Why that moment? Of course I still believe. I believe He’ll lead me to the one who took her from me. He gets to the desk, looks down at Nadia’s purse. A bright yellow slip sticks out the top. A series of emotions flash across his face: Confusion. Remembrance. Decision. Anger. Coldness... INGO I know why you came to see me. Nadia mumbles something, a long phrase, whimpers with pain, almost crying. She points to her molar. Ingo’s back is to her, doesn’t see her. 6. WHIRRR! He flicks the drill on. INT. RECEPTIONIST’S DESK - DAY A door behind the desk opens. Ingo’s head pops through. His breathing is slow, normal. Blood spattered cheek. INGO Margret, call 911. An accident. MARGRET (20), flustered receptionist, fumbles with the phone. EXT. STRIP MALL - DAY A squad car squeals into the parking lot, lights and sirens. Jolts to a stop in front of “Ingo Gunnarson, Dentist”. INT. DENTIST’S OFFICE - DAY Ingo slumps, head on hands, eyes an inch from the photo of Woman In Red. He smiles. He kisses the picture. He stands, crosses to Nadia’s purse. Pulls out the bright yellow slip with wet red fingers. Blood smears on the paper. INSERT - BRIGHT YELLOW SLIP Reads: “Meter Violation -- No Parking Zone -- $35 Fine.” BACK TO SCENE Ingo trembles, shakes his head, drops the paper. INGO No. No, no. Nonononononononononono. Ingo rips the purse apart, flings stuff all over the office. The door bangs open. POLICEMAN #2 points a gun inside. Ingo looks up, wild look, blood all over his face and white coat. Policeman #2 looks at Nadia’s mutilated body, gulps. MOMENTS LATER Ingo lays facedown, hands cuffed behind him. Policeman #2 kneels on his back, searches him. INGO But... you don’t understand... she told me... I heard her... she confessed... FADE TO BLACK.

April 9, 2009

Priceless Ice

This romping script experiments with a combination of two opposing genres: Mystery and Comedy. This cinematic duo has been done to marvelous success in feature-length films such as the classic "The Thin Man" series, and more recently "Hot Fuzz". I wondered if it could be done well in the short film format, and here is the result.

The first script, entitled "Apollo's Eyes Puzzler" was entered in the five-page contest at MoviePoet.com in February. The script then passed through two rewrites: a longer version which returned to my original title of "Truth Will Out", and then a refined version entitled "Priceless Ice" which is posted below.

Note that each version provides a different conclusion. Enjoy them both!

APOLLO'S EYES PUZZLER 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. COUNTRY FIELD - NOON A magnificent diamond, large as a baseball, on purple velvet on a small wooden table. Refracts the sun’s rays, brilliant. Three adults circle it, hold hands. They are: HUNTNER (60), English, distinguished goatee; VYNNIE (30), waist-long hair, her eyes always wide open as if in surprise; SAFARI (30), voluptuous Betty Boop figure. The sky darkens. The diamond ceases its light show. HUNTNER Now is the time of renewal! Huntner thrusts his arms into the air, the others follow. They turn their faces to the vanishing sun overhead, stare into the eclipse, mouths open in ecstasy, bent backwards. HUNTNER Unblinking heaven, mother-father Sun, Apollo’s Eye! Cleanse us! The little group looks like an unfurling flower. Darkening field. INT. CITY MORGUE - DAY MATT CADAVER (30), city Coroner, green scrubs, alone. Bends across a dead body, examines a black lung. A Figure tiptoes up behind Cadaver, patient, stalks his prey. Suddenly the Figure looms above him, a terrifying surprise. Figure strikes him hard on the back. Cadaver falls face forward. Into the dead body. CADAVER (muffled) Egglehard, goddamn it. Cadaver straightens, wipes his face on a sleeve. The Figure: RON EGGLEHARD (40), idiot smile, idiot face. EGGLEHARD Was your mouth open? Huh? 2. EXT. COUNTRY FIELD - AFTERNOON The sun emerges from the eclipse. Light pours over the group. ALL Apollo cleanse! Apollo cleanse! They release their hands, wave their arms, shake heads, rub eyes, twirl in a tizzy. Dizzying flurry of arms and legs. Vynnie freezes, rubs her eyes, blinks, points at the table. VYNNIE Huntner, call the police! Purple velvet, wooden table, but no diamond. Huntner whips out a cell phone, his eyes blink wide as he dials. INT./EXT. EGGLEHARD’S CAR/COUNTRY HIGHWAYS - AFTERNOON Egglehard drives like a nitwit, swerves across the midline, never looks at the road. Cadaver holds on for dear life. CADAVER When they told me to go out on cases after the layoffs? Huh, I’d thought the joke was on you. EXT. COUNTRY FIELD - AFTERNOON Huntner, Vynnie, and Safari stare dumbfounded as Egglehard’s car careens across the field towards them, never slowing. They dive out of the way. The car skids, brakes engaged, too late. It crashes over the wooden table, splinters fly. Egglehard jumps out, sucks the air in deep, pounds his chest. EGGLEHARD This is the life out here! So serene. These must be our suspects! Huntner, Vynnie, and Safari climb to their feet. EGGLEHARD Describe yourselves. Three things each, that’s enough for me. HUNTNER Um, Bob Huntner. Jeweler, museum curator, Apollo’s Eyes-er. 3. SAFARI Safari. Writer, reader, hot dogs. VYNNIE Vynnie Vinton. Widow, widow, widow. And you’re from the police? Vynnie licks her lips, a lustful look for Egglehard. Egglehard, jaw open, stares at Safari’s curvy body instead. Cadaver, still shaken, clambers out of the car. CADAVER Yup. Matt Cadaver, Coroner. My partner, Ron Egglehard, Detective. HUNTNER Nobody’s dead. It was theft. EGGLEHARD I know who did it. Everyone looks at him in astonishment. EGGLEHARD It was easy. Vynnie, I arrest you for the theft of... What was it? HUNTNER The Bringington Diamond. VYNNIE What!! Why? EGGLEHARD Your names both start with V. V is the 23rd letter in the alphabet. Michael Jordan, God rest his soul, was the greatest basketball player ever. Basketball starts with B. B for Bringington. B for Theft! SAFARI V is the 22nd letter. Damn. EGGLEHARD Unfazed, Egglehard ogles Safari, flirts with gross abandon. Safari is unresponsive. CADAVER Shouldn’t we be looking around for the diamond, Ron? 4. EGGLEHARD Can it run away? Does it have legs? Don’t worry, then. It’ll stay put. Egglehard makes a kissy face at Safari. No response. EGGLEHARD Say, what is this? VYNNIE She’s blind... Detective. Cadaver takes charge, steps in front of Egglehard. CADAVER What is this group? How’d you all meet? HUNTNER At the Religious Studies section at a bookstore last week. We discussed the upcoming solar eclipse, shared a common bond of spirituality. I, um, borrowed the Bringington Diamond from the museum as a symbol of multifaceted-- Is he all right? Egglehard pitches forward, falls over. Face down in the muddy car tracks. EGGLEHARD Maybe the thief came up from a tunnel. Or buried it. I’ll find it. Cadaver leans to Huntner, snide remark. CADAVER His daddy’s the Chief of Police. Egglehard squeals with delight. Holds a piece of Scotch tape. Cadaver looks down, shifts his feet. Dirty discarded pieces of Scotch tape litter the ground. CADAVER Wait a sec. What are there, maybe six pieces of tape? Egglehard counts as though counting is hard work. He nods. Cadaver bursts out laughing. Riotous, uproarious. I got it. CADAVER 5. EGGLEHARD The diamond? CADAVER The thief. Let me guess. You guys, during the eclipse, taped your upper eyelids open? HUNTNER It’s our duty. Someone had to wait for mother-father Sun in unblinking reverence. We’re Apollo’s Eyes. CADAVER That total eclipse lasted for, what, three or four minutes? SAFARI It seemed like an eternity. CADAVER I bet it did. Because your eyes needed to be refreshed by blinking. When you finally started blinking, you were momentarily blinded by dry corneas and retinal stimulation. HUNTNER Yeah, they burned bloody hell. CADAVER And while you were distracted, the thief worked through the pain, and, well, simply ate the diamond. VYNNIE It was bigger than my fist! CADAVER You do have a professional hot dog eater among you. The same woman who, every day, handles blindness. Egglehard leaps forward, buffets Safari on the head, knocks her down. He stands over her like a triumphant gladiator. HUNTNER But the diamond! Can we make her vomit the thing back up? CADAVER Truth will out. In about 24 hours. FADE OUT.

PRICELESS ICE 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 #1348263 2. FADE IN: EXT. COUNTRY FIELD - NOON A magnificent diamond, large as a golf ball, displayed on faded purple velvet, sits on a small wooden table in the middle of prairie grass. Refracts the sun’s rays, brilliant. Three adults circle it, hold hands. They are: HUNTNER (60), English, distinguished goatee; VYNNIE (30), waist-long hair, her eyes always wide open as if in surprise; SAFARI (30), voluptuous Betty Boop figure. The sky darkens. The diamond ceases its light show. HUNTNER Now is the time of renewal! Huntner thrusts his arms into the air, the others follow. They turn their faces to the vanishing sun overhead, stare into the eclipse, mouths open in ecstasy, bent backwards. HUNTNER Unblinking heaven, mother-father Sun, Apollo’s Eye! Cleanse us! Renew us in our dedicated watchfulness, that our inner eyes be as seeing as thy own. The little group looks like an unfurling flower. Darkening field. Faces to the sky. Eyes wide open. Too wide open. The sun emerges from the eclipse. Light pours over the group. ALL Apollo cleanse! Apollo cleanse! Apollo cleanse! Apollo cleanse! They release their hands, wave their arms, shake heads, rub eyes, twirl in a tizzy. Dizzying flurry of arms and legs. Huntner reaches up to his eyelids, yanks. Pulls off a piece of Scotch tape from each eye. Screams with the pain. Presses a palm against each eye. Shakes his head. Vynnie and Safari follow suit: yank, scream, press, shake. 3. Vynnie freezes, rubs her eyes, blinks, points at the table. VYNNIE Where’d it go? Purple velvet, wooden table, but no diamond. A worn dark spot on the velvet where the diamond had been. Huntner goggles at the void. He reaches up to his eyelids, forces them open with his hands. HUNTNER Blast and bloody hell, I’m going to catch it. The damn thing’s gone! Vynnie looks underneath the table. Nope, not there. SAFARI It can’t have-- no, no. VYNNIE What, what? SAFARI Apollo himself, you think? Taken it like in the books? Really? HUNTNER Maybe. Maybe not. One of you snagged the ice, more like? Open your pockets. Huntner takes a step. Safari and Vynnie jump backwards. VYNNIE NO! We didn’t take it. Maybe you did, to get the insurance. HUNTNER You’re insane. I’ll get canned. Insurance isn’t under my name. The three face each other across the table, distrust crackles amongst them. SAFARI You’re not touching me. Huntner whips out a cell phone. HUNTNER Only one way to settle this, ‘cause Apollo’s not going to tell me. 4. SAFARI You asked him yet? HUNTNER I’m calling the police. VYNNIE What police? We’re in the middle of nowhere. HUNTNER That small town that we passed. Had to have a county sheriff or something. They’ll take you down. One of you. I promise you. Huntner flashes a malevolent snarl as he dials. INT. COUNTY MORGUE - DAY MATT CADAVID (30), county Coroner, green scrubs, alone. Bends across a dead body, examines a swollen black lung. Nasty goopy sounds as he works. He whistles a lively swing tune. A dark, shadowy, indistinct FIGURE tiptoes up behind Cadavid, patient, stalks his prey. Suddenly the Figure looms above him, a terrifying surprise. Figure strikes him hard on the back. Cadavid falls face forward. Into the dead body. A wet goopy sound. Gross. CADAVID (muffled) Egglehard, goddamn it. Cadavid straightens, wipes his face on a sleeve. The Figure: RON EGGLEHARD (40), idiot smile, idiot face. EGGLEHARD Was your mouth open? Huh? A cell phone rings. In Egglehard’s pocket. He whips it to his ear. EGGLEHARD Egglehard speaking... Uh-huh... Uhhuh... Uh-huh... Uh-huh... Egglehard hangs up. 5. CADAVID Who was that? EGGLEHARD I don’t know. (affects an accent) Don’t matter, pardner. Okay, partner, saddle up. Time to ride. CADAVID We got a case? But I’m in the middle of an autops-EGGLEHARD Remember the Layoffs! You’re my crew now. And I say: Onward! Cadavid wipes his hands on a towel, throws it on the floor in disgust. INT./EXT. EGGLEHARD’S CAR/COUNTRY HIGHWAYS - AFTERNOON Egglehard drives like a nitwit, swerves across the midline, never looks at the road. Cadavid holds on for dear life. Cadavid still wears his dirty scrubs. EXT. COUNTRY FIELD - AFTERNOON Huntner, Vynnie, and Safari stare dumbfounded as Egglehard’s car careens across the field towards them, never slowing. They dive out of the way. The car skids, brakes engaged, too late. It crashes over the wooden table, splinters fly. Egglehard jumps out, sucks the air in deep, pounds his chest. EGGLEHARD This is the life out here! So serene. These must be our suspects! Huntner, Vynnie, and Safari climb to their feet. EGGLEHARD Describe yourselves. Three things each, that’s enough for me. HUNTNER Um, Bob Huntner. Jeweler, museum curator, Apollo’s Eyes-er. 6. SAFARI Safari. Writer, ESPN, hot dogs. VYNNIE Vynnie Vinton. Widow, widow, widow. And you’re from the police? Vynnie licks her lips, a lustful look for Egglehard. Egglehard, jaw open, stares at Safari’s curvy body instead. Cadavid, still shaken, clambers out of the car. CADAVID Yup. Matt Cadavid, Coroner. My partner, Ron Egglehard, Detective. HUNTNER Nobody’s dead. It was theft. EGGLEHARD I know who did it. Everyone looks at him in astonishment. EGGLEHARD It was easy. Vynnie, I arrest you for the theft of... What was it? HUNTNER The Bringington Diamond. VYNNIE What!! Why? EGGLEHARD Your names both start with V. V is the 23rd letter in the alphabet. Michael Jordan, God rest his soul, was the greatest basketball player ever. Basketball starts with B. B for Bringington. B for Theft! SAFARI V is the 22nd letter. Damn. EGGLEHARD Unfazed, Egglehard ogles Safari, flirts with gross abandon. Safari is unresponsive. 7. CADAVID Shouldn’t we be looking around for the diamond, Ron? EGGLEHARD Can it run away? Does it have legs? Don’t worry, then. It’ll stay put. (beat) Maybe we should frisk them. Egglehard makes a kissy face at Safari. No response. EGGLEHARD Say, what is this? VYNNIE She’s blind... Detective. Cadavid takes charge, steps in front of Egglehard. CADAVID What is this group? HUNTNER We are Apollo’s Eyes. We met at the Religious Studies section at a bookstore last week. We discussed the upcoming solar eclipse, shared a common bond of spirituality. I, um, borrowed the Bringington Diamond from the museum. I’m a janitor, don’t you know. And aside, did you know that the curator keeps the exhibits refrigerated? Icebox cold, preserves them longer, especially the parchments. Frigid job getting the diamond out, I’m telling you. Cadavid looks bored. Huntner gets back on topic. HUNTNER The Diamond serves to refract Apollo’s life-giving rays, a symbol of multifaceted-- Is he all right? Egglehard pitches forward, falls over. Face down in the muddy car tracks. EGGLEHARD Maybe the thief came up from a tunnel. Or buried it. I’ll find it. Cadavid leans to Huntner, snide remark. 8. CADAVID His daddy’s the Chief of Police. Egglehard squeals with delight. Holds a piece of Scotch tape. Cadavid looks down, shifts his feet. Dirty discarded pieces of Scotch tape litter the ground. Egglehard counts the pieces of tape as though counting is hard work. A light dawns. Egglehard bursts out laughing. Riotous, uproarious. EGGLEHARD I got it. Let me guess. You guys, during the eclipse, taped your upper eyelids open? HUNTNER It’s our duty. Someone had to wait for mother-father Sun’s return in unblinking reverence. We are Apollo’s Eyes. EGGLEHARD That total eclipse lasted for, what, three or four minutes? SAFARI It seemed like an eternity. EGGLEHARD I bet it did. Because your eyes needed to be refreshed by blinking. HUNTNER Yeah, they burned bloody hell. CADAVID That’s possible. EGGLEHARD And while you were distracted, the thief worked through the pain and ate the diamond. CADAVID That’s not possible. VYNNIE It was as big as a golf ball! 9. EGGLEHARD You do have a professional hot dog eater. The same woman who, every day, handles blindness. Safari doubles over in sudden pain, grabs her midsection. CADAVID Well, okay, if you say so. I guess that’s it hitting the pyloric sphincter. Egglehard leaps forward, buffets Safari on the head, knocks her down. He stands over her like a triumphant gladiator. HUNTNER But the diamond! Can we make her vomit the thing back up? CADAVID No way. It’ll tear up her esophagus on the way out. I wouldn’t do that to a dog, much less... HUNTNER She’s a thief. Who cares about her? I need to get that diamond back to the exhibit. EGGLEHARD Do nothing. Truth will out. In about 24 hours. Cadavid grimaces. The thought gives him literal pain. SAFARI No, I think I’ve been poisoned. I didn’t swallow... OW. Safari goes limp, suddenly. Egglehard’s car starts. Wheels spin, dirt flies. Vynnie is in the driver’s seat, waves goodbye. The car rockets across the field, out of sight. FADE TO BLACK. The sound of a car crashing into a tree. EGGLEHARD (V.O.) I shoulda got those brakes fixed ages ago. 10. CADAVID (V.O.) (shrieks) What? SAFARI (V.O.) Oh, she did it? Ah. I suddenly feel much better. INT. COUNTY MORGUE - DAY Cadavid pores over the same dead body, focused. Egglehard tiptoes up behind him. Gets closer, closer. Egglehard raises an arm to push Cadavid. Cadavid bends to the side. Egglehard, off-balance, pitches forward, face-down into the body’s groin. He comes up, spluttering. Cadavid laughs. EGGLEHARD Oh no, oh my... aggghh. Egglehard pours liquid soap into his mouth, swishes, swirls, spits it out onto the floor. Goes to the sink, turns on the cold water. Puts his head under the stream, bubbles froth out of his mouth. CADAVID You get a confession out of Vynnie, yet? Egglehard replies, something indistinct. CADAVID I mean, she did it, right? The bubbles cease. Egglehard straightens, turns off the water. EGGLEHARD No, she didn’t. CADAVID But she stole your car. A getaway car. 11. EGGLEHARD She doesn’t have the diamond. She said she just wanted a man to chase her for once. CADAVID So we’ll never know who did it. EGGLEHARD I guess not. CADAVID That’s the way it goes. I guess. EGGLEHARD CADAVID I wouldn’t want to be Huntner right now, explain this to his curator. EGGLEHARD I guess not. CADAVID A valuable piece of ice like that. Priceless loss. I guess. EGGLEHARD CADAVID At least it’s been insured, I hope. I guess. EGGLEHARD CADAVID Huntner’ll be fired for sure. EGGLEHARD I guess not. Huh? CADAVID EGGLEHARD Curator forgave him. Case closed. Cadavid goggles in astonishment. Doesn’t make sense. Egglehard shrugs. He leaves. Cadavid leans back over the body. 12. INT. COUNTRY FIELD - DAY Overcast, clouds. The remains and splinters of the wooden table on the ground. The purple velvet cloth lies by itself. A dark wet spot lingers in the middle. The sky opens up, rain pours down. The velvet cloth becomes completely dark now. FADE OUT.

October 15, 2008

Dreamwalker

Logline: "A man's relationship with his wife deteriorates throughout an unwaking series of dreams. Concurrently, a detective investigates the murky case of a comatose suicide victim. The two stories merge as the detective uncovers a breathtakingly simple motive for murder and the man discovers the truth regarding his wife."

This script took more time to plan than any of my other projects, simply because first and foremost it is a mystery. It is a deeply characterized whodunit, a whydunit, a howdunit. I was naturally forced to remove about half the script in order to present a suitable preview, since I do not want to give so many details that I ruin the story for those who wish to view the full version.

"Dreamwalker" features a fantasy tinge, in that I attempt to portray one way in which so-called "normal" people can communicate with comatose patients. This attempt may well be scientifically unverifiable, but it makes fascinating fiction.

DREAMWALKER 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 #1321463 2. FADE IN: INT. UNKNOWN - DAY (SEPIA) Wide eyes. Eyes of surprise. In an intelligent face. Attached to an athletic male body in a button-down shirt. ADAM HEALEY (33), the kind of charming guy who gives you all of his attention for a moment before forgetting you completely. A clean-cut guy you’d love for your daughter to meet, but you’d never remember his name. Two hands planted on his chest. Small hands, female hands. A ring on the left hand’s marriage finger. The hands push Adam. Adam falls backwards. EXT. HANSEN BUILDING - SCHNEIDER STREET - DAY (SEPIA) Adam falls through the air, his shocked eyes register little more than “Why me?” He plummets towards a geese-packed, poop-green sidewalk. The Canadian geese waddle out of his way. The ground comes closer, closer, behind his head... Adam never looks down... The moment of impact... WHAM... FADE TO BLACK. TITLE SEQUENCE EXT. HANSEN BUILDING - SCHNEIDER STREET - DAY (B&W) Adam levitates, as though standing on a glass floor, rises up over the small parkway trees. A bright sun, prominent. 3. There are no cars in the street below him. Instead: WOMEN. Hundreds of women, as far as the eye can see. Tall, short, beautiful, plain, motherly, all reach out to him. He floats over the crowd, his discerning eyes dart from face to face, he tries to choose. The task is too much for him, and he sighs. Then, far off, at the end of the street, he sees... A woman rises out of the feminine melee, float over their heads. She is IANA (30), dressed as a ballerina, complete with tutu and ballet slippers. Adam approaches her as she spirals upwards, ever upwards, fascinated by her delicate pirouettes, her strong legs striding against the wind. He flies up to her and grasps her hands, halts her twisting climb. She looks him in the face for the first time. They are hundreds of feet above the city. Neither notices. ADAM I know you. IANA Of course you do. ADAM It’ll come to me. Everything always does. Iana rolls her eyes, spins higher into the clouds. Adam zooms up to meet her. Iana does a splitz. Adam is impressed. IANA Are you from around here? ADAM No, I just flew in. IANA I need you, Adam. ADAM That’s what I do for a living, I help people. 4. IANA Take me away from here. Iana snuggles in to Adam, wraps her arms around his trunk, begging eyes. Adam lifts her legs across his right arm, in the pose of a newlywed groom carrying his bride across a threshold. Iana closes her eyes, waits for ecstasy. They soar higher, deep into the clouds. ADAM You’re mine. Iana’s eyes pop open, alert. Excuse me? IANA Adam bends down for a kiss. Iana turns her head at the last second. Adam gets her cheek instead of her mouth. Iana struggles to get out of his arms, he holds her tight. ADAM I worship you. Iana slips out of his arms, bounces away through the air like a deflating balloon. Adam floats away from her. He flails, struggles to get to her side, but his legs and arms seem coated in thick dream-goo. ADAM I don’t understand, I don’t understand. We are so perfect for each other. Iana twirls back to him with pirouettes, stops an inch from his face. She rotates, a vertical circle, hangs upside down. They kiss. Iana smiles at him, pushes him in the chest playfully. She drifts a few feet away from him, flips, spins like an ice skater, hands above her head, faster and faster. She stops suddenly, faces him. 5. IANA I’ve never felt more free. ADAM Why can’t you kiss like normal people? Iana looks at a thin wristwatch, doesn’t hear him. IANA Sorry, what? ADAM I said, why can’t you be normal? IANA Listen, it’s 6:16. (beat) Don’t you know what time that is? No. It’s time. Okay. ADAM IANA ADAM Adam strains to fly away, but Iana does not follow. Adam beckons. ADAM Come on, Iana! Iana merely floats in place. She crosses her arms, stares with melancholy. ADAM Iana, are you all right? Is it something I said? Are you coming? Iana’s eyes flick quickly, sees something just beyond Adam’s left shoulder. Adam, with foreboding, twists around to see... A jet airplane roars towards him, too close to avoid, fills his sky. Its wing strikes Adam full in the chest. 6. Breathless, Adam plummets towards the ground, out of control. Iana has vanished. He tries to gasp her name, can't make a sound. A feeling of inevitability washes over him. Beneath him, the ground rushes up at him as he falls face down. A serene Canadian goose flies below him. It poops. He falls past it, faster than the poop, slams through it, the poop stains his shirt. He tries to wipe it as he plummets. Adam flips over, face up, tries to get a glimpse of Iana. Iana? She’s gone. Behind Adam, the ground rushes up to meet him, ever closer, ever closer, almost at impact.... Adam’s face frozen in terror.... The ground is fifteen feet away, ten feet, five feet, here it comes... THERE IT IS.... INT. APARTMENT - BEDROOM - MORNING (B&W) Adam wakes, startled, sits, suddenly upright in a twin bed. Breathes hard, pulse racing. Looks at his alarm clock: 6:16 AM. He breathes in and out, deep breaths, slow it down. Adam glances down, sees a sleeping woman under the sheet, crammed next to him. Iana. Adam fingers his own left hand, touches a wedding ring. He leans across the prone body of Iana and looks at her left hand. He sees a wedding ring there. Adam climbs out of bed, crosses the room to a small nightstand on Iana’s side of the bed. Her purse is perched on the table next to a small lamp. ADAM 7. Adam pulls items out of Iana’s purse, looks at them, places them on the nightstand: lipstick, compact, comb, keys, innumerable women’s beauty products. He finds her wallet, buried at the bottom of the purse. He opens it, pulls out her California driver’s license. Iana’s picture smiles, faded and awkward like all license photos. Her name: “Iana Wayde Healey”. Adam squints at the license. He looks back at Iana, scratches his chin. He replaces everything in the purse. He walks into the... HALLWAY Of the simple one-bedroom apartment. Pokes his head around a corner into the empty... KITCHENETTE AND LIVING ROOM He looks over the rooms thoroughly, as though seeing them for the first time. He walks out the main door. EXT. MINYON STREET - DAY (B&W) Adam strolls into the street that fronts his building. Complete desertion. No cars, no people, no birds: just silent trees, buildings, lonely streetlights. Adam turns 360, slowly, aghast, gets scared. A honk. Adam looks up. A lone Canadian goose flies overhead. Green goose poop splatters down on his shoulder. The goose disappears. Eerie silence. Scraping at his soiled shirt, Adam looks up at his apartment, and is truly terrified by... IANA glaring evilly down from a window above. 8. ADAM steps backwards involuntarily, as though struck by an uppercut. His left foot finds only air: an open manhole. He topples backwards and disappears down the hole, which of course is bottomless. Adam’s face turns from panic to resignation and dismay as he fades into the deep... INT. APARTMENT - BEDROOM - MORNING (B&W) Adam starts, suddenly upright in the twin bed, flies up into a sitting position. He breathes hard, pulse races. He looks at his alarm clock: 6:16 AM. Adam looks down at his dress clothes, the same as before. He clutches at them, tries to rip them off. He looks around, uncertain whether to be afraid, confused, angry. ADAM What the hell is happening? He looks down at Iana, sleeping next to him. ADAM (to Iana) What the hell is happening? She continues sleeping. Adam touches her arm. Nothing. He shakes her shoulder. Nothing. He shakes her harder. Nothing. Nothing. He puts both hands on her and rocks her, almost pushing her off the bed. Nothing. Adam decides on surprise. He yells suddenly. ADAM IANA! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME? Iana continues to sleep. No response. Adam closes his eyes and forcefully rolls out of bed, smashes onto the floor. He opens his eyes, hopes to see something different. He hangs his head. ADAM Is this a dream? Am I going crazy? Is everyone else crazy? 9. A thought strikes him. He dives across the bed, looking in Iana’s mouth, scrabbling across her nightstand, not finding. ADAM Thank God. No drugs. (beat) Damn it. What am I even thinking? He puts his hand to his head, blinks. The room disappears from around him, as if sucked up into the sky by a sudden vortex. The world rushes by. He falls through oceans, through mountains, through space... Falls... EXT. BASKETBALL COURTS - DAY (SEPIA) A nice part of town. Where trees actually surround the court. Shade and greenery. The blacktop free of cracks. HIGH-SCHOOL ADAM (18), shirtless, dribbles the ball past a bevy of PLAYERS his own age. High-School Adam is cocky, and for a reason: he’s a prodigy. His moves on the court are the stuff that pros dream of. PLAYER #1 Hey, Adam, slow down, let the rest of us play a bit. ADAM Man, if you want to go shopping with girls, go ahead. If you want man time, get me the ball and quit whining. Adam dazzles everyone, revels in his own prowess. Not the best way to make friends. PLAYER #1 and PLAYER #2 exchange evil glances. Player #2 sticks out his leg as Adam runs toward him, Player #1 uses his body to guide Adam towards the trap. Adam takes a pass from PLAYER #3, soars over the outstretched leg, twists with effortless ease, makes the basket. Player #1 and Player #2 are only madder. Adam gathers up the ball. 10. ADAM Eleven-oh. Wanna go again? Adam’s eye is caught by a vision of a GIRL beyond the chainlink fence. Girl is slender, athletic, a tantalizing miniskirt. Player #1 notices. PLAYER #1 That’s jail-bait, Adam. Iana Wayde. She’s only fifteen. Go for it. ADAM Iana Wayde, huh? She go to our school? PLAYER #3 She’s fifteen, man. Adam tosses the ball to Player #2. ADAM What’s the use of being a stud? Adam jogs to the fence, walks alongside Iana. Iana, used to her own good looks, is nonetheless starry-eyed at the older jock coming after her. Hi, Iana. ADAM IANA Put a shirt on. I only talk to strangers who wear shirts. ADAM Then I better not be a stranger. IANA Can’t get stranger than you. ADAM Adam Healey. There’s prom next month. Iana stops walking. An older boy just asked her to prom. She wants to squeal and flail her arms. She suppresses the urge. IANA It’ll take you that long to clean up. They’ve reached the end of the block. Iana keeps going, crosses the street. Adam, head turned, slams into the fence. 11. Adam smiles, shakes it off, runs back on court. Takes the ball back from Player #2. PLAYER #3 Dude, don’t jeopardize that scholarship. You better not be thinking-ADAM Who’s thinking? Adam dodges, plants a foot, about to go around Player #2 with a beautiful fakeout... Player #1 leg whips him. Crunch. Adam’s knee implodes. He collapses in agony. INT. POLICE STATION - DAY (COLOR) KURT CATHCART (40s), a Rottweiler of a plain clothes cop, walks amongst the desks and cubicles, peeks over shoulders and into paperwork. Carries a small paper cubby with four coffee cups. Cathcart ducks his head in a corner office. Murph? CATHCART CHIEF DETECTIVE MESSINEO (50s), mustached Adonis, looks up from his paperwork. MESSINEO On time as always, Cathcart. Cathcart holds out the cubby. Messineo takes a steaming cup. CATHCART Good weekend? MESSINEO Like all the others. Divorced life is one big round of doing your own goddamn chores. Cathcart laughs a polite laugh. Nods a polite goodbye. CATHCART Later, Chief. 12. Messineo, head down, waves a goodbye. Cathcart pulls his head out of the office, blows out a breath as if to say: “Well, that chore’s done for the day.” Cathcart approaches a conspicuously neat desk. Sits down in his comfortable swivel chair, leans back with a grateful sigh. He drops the cubby on his desk. Only two cups are steaming. Cathcart picks up the cool cup. Sips. His upper lip turns purple. CATHCART Jays. Come on over. Two other plain-clothes cops pop from their seats, rush over to Cathcart’s desk. They are: JEAN (30s), nailbiting stress addict, and JOE (40s), plump paternal figure. JOE Morning, Kurt. Which one’s mine? CATHCART They’re all the same. Jean grabs her coffee first, nearly swallows the styrofoam. JEAN I need it, I need it. Thanks. Joe picks up his coffees leisurely, nods a thanks. Jean peers at Cathcart’s face. JEAN What’re you drinking, Kurt? You holding out on us? What? CATHCART Joe points to Cathcart’s purple lip. JOE Hair of the dog, huh? JEAN I’m a cat person. CATHCART I hate cats. JOE My kids want a horse. 13. Jean puts down her emptied cup, exhales gratefully. JEAN So, what’re you drinking, Kurt? CATHCART Purple grape juice. JEAN Fallen off the coffee wagon? CATHCART Antioxidants. My wife decided that coffee’s a nasty filthy habit. JOE Well, you’ll save your paycheck if you kick it. CATHCART Not if I keep buying for you. Joe salutes Cathcart with his coffee cup. JEAN Isn’t coffee supposed to be good for you? CATHCART Sure, ’cept when I’m coming down from the caffeine. JOE What’d you guys see on the docket this morning? CATHCART Same old stuff. JEAN I was checking through back files last night, and found something. JOE Jean’s gonna burst if she doesn’t get her daily stress quota. JEAN (as only friends can) Shut up, Joe. CATHCART What’d you find, Jean? 14. JEAN Failed suicide on Schneider Street. Fella’s a doc, chiropractor, in a coma at General. His secretary filed some complaint about no follow-up on the case, she’s worried about filing papers for unemployment. But I gotta stand in Narc for the day. Jean gives Cathcart a hopeful look. He smiles. CATHCART I’ll check out the hospital. You wanna come, Joe? Joe wags his head: “you overachiever”, he thinks. Melodramatically, Joe and Jean wave their hands goodbye as Cathcart puts his badge and handgun in his pockets. CATHCART I get all the fun to myself. As Cathcart disappears, Joe turns to Jean. JOE I hate hospitals. They smell. Joe sits down, feet up, flaps open a newspaper. The rest of this screenplay is unavailable for preview. Please contact the author for the full script.

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.

September 19, 2009

Takers Toll

July 8, 2009

The Dreadnaught Box

July 1, 2009

Simeli Mountain

May 14, 2009

Stage of Grief

April 9, 2009

Priceless Ice

October 15, 2008

Dreamwalker

June 4, 2008

The Seven Deaths of Lighthouse

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