FIRST DRAFT SCREENPLAY OPENING TO SOUVENIR
A Psychological Murder Mystery
© Chris Port, 2008. All rights reserved.
FADE UP FROM BLACK.
WE HEAR THE OPENING TO SOUVENIR (OMD, 1981). THE SONG PLAYS AS SOUNDTRACK OVER THE OPENING SCENES. NO DIEGETIC SOUND.
It’s my direction
It’s my proposal
It’s so hard
It’s leading me astray
My obsession
It’s my creation
You’ll understand
It’s not important now
All I need is
Co-ordination
I can’t imagine
My destination
My intention
Ask my opinion
But no excuse
My feelings still remain
My feelings still remain.
SCENE 1. EXT. SNOWY WOODS.
AN EYE FADES UP FROM THE DARKNESS. LEFT EYE. IT FILLS THE SCREEN. BROWN-EYED. SAD. A GIRL’S EYE. IT SEEMS TO WELL UP WITH A TEAR.
WE SLOWLY PULL BACK. IT’S NOT A TEAR. IT’S A SNOWFLAKE MELTING AND TRICKLING INTO HER EYE.
WE PULL BACK FURTHER. THE GIRL IS AGED ABOUT SEVENTEEN. HER FACE IS PALE, LIPS FULL AND RED, SENSUAL BUT PURE, SLIGHTLY PARTED, TEETH SHOWING. HER DOE-BROWN EYES STARE UNBLINKING, UNSEEING.
WE PULL BACK FURTHER. AN UGLY BLOOD SLIT HAS COAGULATED ACROSS HER THROAT, RUINING HER SNOW-WHITE BEAUTY. SHE STARES UP AT THE INDIFFERENT DARKNESS. SNOW SETTLES ON HER FACE AND EYES, STARTING TO MASK THEM. AS SHE COOLS, IT NO LONGER MELTS BUT STARTS TO COVER. IT WAS ONLY A GROTESQUE PARODY OF CRYING.
WE PULL BACK FURTHER, UPWARDS, LIKE AN OUT-OF-BODY EXPERIENCE. WE SEE HER BODY LYING IN A SNOWY WOODED GLADE, LIKE THAT ROBERT FROST POEM, ‘STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING’ (‘THE WOODS ARE LOVELY, DARK AND DEEP…’).
WE RETREAT AND RISE INTO THE NIGHT SKY. WE LOOK DOWN AT HER BODY FROM TREE-TOP HEIGHT. THEN WE TILT UP TO LOOK AT THE SNOW GENTLY DRIFTING DOWN FROM THE DARKNESS. WE RISE HIGHER, OUT-OF-BODY, AND THEN LOOK DOWN AGAIN.
NOW AT TWICE TREE-TOP HEIGHT, WE SEE A DOG OFF A LEASH, A BEAUTIFUL GOLDEN RETRIEVER. IT CAUTIOUSLY APPROACHES HER BODY, TURNS TO LOOK BACK AT ITS OWNER. WE SEE IT BARK AND PAW THE SNOW UNCERTAINLY. AN OLD MAN WALKS SLOWLY INTO VIEW, SEEN FROM A GREAT HEIGHT, SEES THE GIRL’S BODY, AND PUTS HIS HAND TO HIS MOUTH.
CUT TO –
SCENE 2. INT. BEDROOM.
POINT OF VIEW, LYING DOWN, WE LOOK ALONG A MAN’S LEGS TO HIS FEET. THICK GREY WOOLLEN SOCKS, SLIGHTLY BLACKENED AROUND THE SOLES AS IF STILL SLIGHTLY DAMP.
HE IS LYING ON AN UNMADE BED, FEET CROSSED AND FRAMED AGAINST THE WINDOW. A BLIND HAS BEEN PULLED DOWN BUT IT DOES NOT REACH ALL THE WAY. THROUGH THE GAP WE SEE THE BLACK NIGHT AND THE STREET-LIT SNOW FLOATING, FLUORESCENT ORANGE.
WE SEE HIS FACE. HE IS SMOKING A CIGARETTE, UTTERLY EXPRESSIONLESS. TIRED BROWN EYES, BLANK, UNSEEING. AGAIN WE SEE HIS FEET FRAMED AGAINST THE WINDOW AND THE FALLING SNOW. WE SEE MORE OF HIS ROOM. BACHELOR BRIC-A-BRAC. ARTY. POETRY BOOKS. PEELING FILM POSTERS. NOIR. GOTHIC HORROR.
A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF HIM LYING ON HIS UNMADE BED. OLD LETTERS AND PHOTOS ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE, AS IF HE HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR SOMETHING IN THE PAST – AND NOT FOUND IT.
DETECTIVE WALTER SICKERT, MID-THIRTIES, CRUMPLED NAVY BLUE SUIT TROUSERS. UNTUCKED, UNBUTTONED WHITE SHIRT. TIE THROWN ON FLOOR.
WALTER LOOKS GOOD FOR HIS AGE. BUT THERE IS A TERRIBLE TIREDNESS AROUND HIS EYES. A MAN WHO HAS GAINED MUCH KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE, BUT LOST ITS SPARK.
A RAT’S EYE VIEW. WE MOVE ACROSS A DEEP RED CARPET, SEEING THE DETRITUS OF HIS LIFE. QUARTER FULL BOTTLE OF JACK DANIELS. UNOPENED BILLS. OLD SWEETHEART LETTERS AND PHOTOS. WE FINISH ON A BLACK-AND-WHITE SNAPSHOT, CRACKED AND FLUFFY WITH WHITE VEINS. A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN. WALTER, WITH FRIENDS, LAUGHING IN A BAR, ALL POSING FOR THE CAMERA. YOUNG, SMILING, SEVENTEEN. BUT THE PHOTO SEEMS HAUNTED, LIKE A PREMONITION OF TIME’S BETRAYAL. THERE IS A SADNESS BEHIND THE SMILE, A HURT IN THE EYES HIDING UNDER THE CONFIDENCE.
WE CUT BACK TO –
SCENE 3. EXT. SNOWY WOODS.
AN OUT-OF-BODY POINT OF VIEW, HIGH UP, LOOKING DOWN. THE GIRL’S BODY HAS NOW BEEN CORDONED OFF WITH STRIPED MARKER TAPES. POLICE IN FLUORESCENT JACKETS, FORENSICS IN WHITE NODDY SUITS, FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY, WINKING HAZARD LIGHTS.
THE OLD MAN IS GIVING A STATEMENT TO AN OFFICER. THE DOG IS SAT OBEDIENTLY BY HIS SIDE.
AN AMBULANCE CAUTIOUSLY DRIVES THROUGH THE ICY MUSH INTO THE GLADE. WE SEE IT NOW FROM THE TREELINE, AS A FOREST CREATURE MIGHT. THE GLADE NOW FLASHES LIKE A HORRIBLE CARNIVAL OF OFFICIALDOM, A JOYLESS CLEARING UP OF MESS.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 4. INT. BATHROOM.
WALTER STARES AT HIS UNSHAVEN FACE IN THE MIRROR. HE TRACES THE OUTLINE OF HIS CHEEK AND MOUTH WITH A FINGER AS IF SOMEHOW TRYING TO RECALL WHO HE IS.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 5. EXT. CHILDRENS’ PLAYGROUND.
EMPTY. DESOLATE. SWINGS SWING SLOWLY AS IF MOVED BY GHOSTS.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 6. EXT. SCHOOLYARD.
SNOW SETTLING. HOW PEACEFUL YET EERIE OUR CROWDED PLACES SEEM WHEN EMPTY.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 7. EXT. GRAVEYARD.
SNOW SETTLES ON STONE ANGELS, HEADSTONES AND EARTH. THERE SEEMS LITTLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE GRAVEYARD AND THE PLAYGROUND.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 8. EXT. STREET.
TRAFFIC LIGHTS. NO CARS. LIGHTS CHANGE FROM RED TO AMBER TO GREEN. NO CHANGE.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 9. EXT. ROOFTOPS.
WE GLIDE, SPIRIT-LIKE, OVER THE TOWN’S ROOFTOPS. PEER HITCHCOCK-LIKE THROUGH RANDOM WINDOWS AT RANDOM LIVES. CHRISTMAS TREES AND PRESENTS. A MAN STORMS OUT. A WOMAN WEEPS. AN OLD MAN SLEEPS IN FRONT OF THE TELEVISION. A LITTLE GIRL DREAMS OUT OF HER WINDOW…
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 10. EXT. COAST AND SEA.
A TRAWLER PUSHES INTO THE SWELL, MOVING AWAY FROM THE COASTAL LIGHTS AND INTO AN IMMENSE DARKNESS.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 11. INT. BATHROOM.
WALTER KNOTS HIS TIE IN THE MIRROR, STILL BLANK, EYES LOOKING INWARD.
WE CUT TO –
SCENE 12. INT. BEDROOM.
THE PHOTO OF WALTER ON THE FLOOR. WE ARE SLOWLY PULLED IN TO HIS FACE, THEN INTO HIS LEFT EYE, UNTIL IT FILLS THE SCREEN WITH BLACKNESS.
FADE TO BLACK.
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