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Ok, the guy locked in a room thing seemed pointless to me so I went with the true crime story of Henri Latour. It was quite a lot to fit into 10 pages but here it is...
FADE IN:
INT. BEDROOM ? NIGHT
Midnight, dreary. A single bed in a bare room. Henri Latour sleeps, tussling in the bed. He looks weak and weary. A man who seems to have aged well beyond his years, gritty and unshaven.
The faint SOUND of LAUGHTER fills the background ? a female voice.
There?s a TAP at the door and almost immediately he?s up.
The laughter fades like a dream.
He cautiously gets out of bed.
HENRI
(whisper)
Jake? Is that you?
Another TAP.
He motions towards the door. Grasps the handle tight and opens the door wide.
Darkness.
He peers deep into the darkness, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming, but the silence goes unbroken.
A beat.
He hears something, but can?t make it out.
HENRI
(whisper)
Lenore?
Like an echo, his words are murmured back to him.
VOICE
Lenore?
A beat.
He hears it again. This time it?s more distinct ? a FLUTTER.
He peers once again into the cool, silent blackness of the void. The darkness takes shape, morphing, growing, until he can make it out ? a RAVEN. It soars in over his head and perches above the door. Henri looks on in confusion. The bird simply sits; its eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming.
RAVEN
Nevermore!
QUICK CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM ? DAY
Henri wakes abruptly. He looks around to familiarise himself.
It?s a bleak December morning. Sunlight struggles to fill the room.
He gets out of bed.
INT. LIVING ROOM ? CONTINUOUS
ANGLE ON TV, muted, a preacher?s show. He stands on stage, touches people and they go down ? as if struck by lightning. A holy touch. The faithful followers raise their arms.
Henri moves through the eclectic living room, dragging his feet underneath him.
INT. KITCHEN ? CONTINUOUS
The fridge door is *****d with photos and newspaper clipping held by magnets. He opens the fridge and pours some milk into a tall glass.
A noise rings out from behind him.
He goes off to inspect, placing the bottle of milk on the table.
INT. OFFICE ? CONTINUOUS
Four walls conform a small square *****d with dense air and dusty old furniture. Dark and dank. The encasing walls hidden behind a shadowy veil.
Jake sits in the only chair, staring at a framed photo of a beautiful woman in her 40?s. Despite the smile there is a melancholic glare. Jake is 17 and rebellious.
Henri enters.
Jake immediately slams the picture frame down in anger and turns to a small TV in the corner. Switches it on to the sound of Saturday morning cartoons.
Like waking up from a dream, the room comes to life. The light makes the walls visible. Like one large clipboard they are *****d with newspaper clippings, hand written information and notes, maps, pictures and even old clothing. It?s like a map to a lost world: His obsession!
HENRI
Morning Jake.
Jake doesn?t respond.
HENRI
Didn?t hear you come in last night. Hope you?re keeping out of trouble.
JAKE
And what would you care?
There is resentment in his voice.
HENRI
I care because I?m your father.
Jake doesn?t respond. His gaze fixed on the TV.
Henri grabs the chair and swings him round full circle.
HENRI
I?d appreciate it if you?d look at me when I?m talking to you.
Jake rolls his eyes up at him.
HENRI
Where were you last night?
JAKE
(beat)
A few of us were out.
HENRI
Where?
JAKE
(lying)
The bowling alley on West Street.
HENRI
Yeah, and who else was there? I hope it wasn?t that Rick guy? I told you about him?
JAKE
(erupting)
God, no! You don?t even trust me. Rick got shipped off to military camp if you really want to know. The TA down in Southport. So I?m sure you don?t have to worry about me anymore.
He walks out in anger.
A beat.
Henri turns to the cross on the wall with a one-eyed evil look, feeling watched.
Enraged, he throws his glass at the TV.
EXT. STREET/OLD BUILDING ? DAY
A Gods forgotten neighborhood. A bird?s feather floats tranquil under a lamppost.
There is commotion. Police cars surround the entrance. Officers come and go.
ON THE ROOF
A cat looks down, curious at the commotion. A dead bird rests at his feet.
INT. APARTMENT ? DAY
Sunlight comes through the soot on the windows, more brown than bright. A bare apartment with a lot of commotion from the officers.
An elderly couple sit on the sofa. Police officers surround them, taking pictures. Only now do we realise they are dead.
DANTE, the senior officer, stands in the middle of the room almost admiring.
DANTE
Get me Latour.
INT. APARTMENT ? LATER
Henri walks in. Long dark trench coat, clean-shaven, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. A pose worthy of the Marlboro man.
DANTE
Nice of you to grace us with your presence.
HENRI
What happened here?
DANTE
Elderly couple. Robbed and left for dead.
HENRI
Any suspects?
DANTE
One already in custody. We were going to call to let you know your services weren?t needed. The guy?s prints are all over this place. He?s downstairs.
Henri inspects the apartment, playing with the cross around his neck.
INT. RECEPTION ? MOMENTS LATER
The prime suspect is no older than 16. He stands handcuffed.
Henri walks up to him and takes a long look.
He touches him on the forehead, mimicking the preacher?s holy touch.
The suspect flinches and just stands there, confused.
HENRI
He didn?t do it.
DANTE
Excuse me?
HENRI
He probably robbed them but he didn?t kill them.
DANTE
And you know this how?
HENRI
The reason his prints are all over the apartment is because he?s there every week. Meals-on-wheels. And the reason he isn?t protesting his innocence is because he did rob them ? every week. But this kid couldn?t murder a fly.
DANTE
You?re one of a kind Henri. What would we ever do without you?
HENRI
Get sued.
Dante laughs.
DANTE
So how?s the son?
HENRI
The kid needs a leach.
DANTE
It?s must be hard? growing up without a mother.
Henri becomes more solemn.
HENRI
I?ll see you later chief.
INT. LIVING ROOM ? NIGHT
Henri sits in front of the TV watching the news. A tall glass of milk in one hand and his cross in the other.
The phone suddenly explodes with a resounding RING ? once, twice. He mutes the TV and picks up.
INTERCUT -- EXT. TELEPHONE BOOTH ? NIGHT
The hunchbacked silhouette covers itself from the streetlights.
HENRI
(from phone)
Hello?
JAKE
Dad? I won?t be home tonight.
His voice is harsh and hardly clear.
HENRI
Why?
The sound of an incoming police siren fills the background.
A beat.
Jake shrouds himself away from the lights.
The sound fades.
JAKE
See, you don?t trust me! Well, you know what? Go to **** ! Go to **** , dad!
HENRI
Jake?!
Jake slams down the phone and limps out of the booth.
INT. LIVING ROOM ? NIGHT
ANGLE ON TV, the ticker at the bottom of the screen: BREAKING NEWS ? ROBBERY AT WALM LANE, THREE DEAD.
Henri puts down the phone in anger and walks away.
INT. OFFICE ? CONTINUOUS
The TV flickers with a buzz sound. The flickering is hypnotic, strobe-like.
On the desk lays a photo of the elderly couple. Henri picks it up and adds it to his wall. He grabs the chair and takes a seat, staring at the wall, lost in thought.
The strobing is relentless. Every flash illuminates a different part of the wall for a brief period in time.
Suddenly Henri?s face changes. He leans in closer to the wall and squints his eyes.
FLASH IMAGE: SOUTH PORT ROBBERY FOILED ? COMMISIONER COMMENDED
His face changes again. First a look of puzzlement, then confusion ? finally realisation.
FLASH IMAGE: WEST STREET MOB ARRESTED
He backs out of the room, stumbling over the chair.
INT. LIVING ROOM ? CONTINUOUS
He scrambles for the phone. And almost immediately dials 1-4-7-1.
EXT. OLD BUILDING ? NIGHT
A tired old Nissan stops next to a littered telephone booth. The noise echoes.
Out steps Henri. He looks up to road sign that reads WALM LANE. A silhouette catches his eye as it moves across a window.
INT. OLD BUILDING ? NIGHT
A reception desk on the right. To the left, the mailboxes. A wooden staircase no one can trust, right ahead.
The sound of FAINT breathing fills the background.
He starts climbing.
INT. FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY ? CONTINUOUS
Henri emerges from the stairwell, gun leading the way.
He peers out of the window towards his car. Then to the door immediately in front. This must be it.
He grasps the handle tight, but cannot open it.
He steps back and kicks the door. Once, twice, until the lock breaks open.
Darkness inside.
INT. APARTMENT ? CONTINUOUS
There is one constant sound ? BREATHING.
Henri grabs the flashlight from his back pocket.
A shape is drawn in the dark. The gun?s shadow grows larger, reflected off the wall. Dust floats, suspended in a thick vacuum of air.
The room, too small to live in, is cluttered with furniture and other material possessions.
Next to him is a mirror. The light bounces on it, revealing the face of a man that sits on the couch. It?s so white it reflects a dim glow. It?s Jake.
Henri finds a lamp and switches it on.
Jake sits on the blood-soaked couch, weak and weary. His head lays back, small and fragile as the day he was born. His eyes are shut, his mouth almost toothless. A slim smile on his relaxed face. He struggles to breath.
Henri lowers his gun, jittering in his hand.
HENRI
What have you done?
JAKE
Dad? Is that you?
It?s a struggle to talk. Henri?s eyes well up in tears. His mouth trembling as he speaks.
HENRI
Why?
A strip of blood snakes down Jake?s forehead. He opens his eyes and stares at the air for a second, like a sleepy child.
JAKE
Don?t cry for me, Dad? you never have before.
Jake coughs violently, blood and saliva bursting out from his mouth.
Henri is lost for words. He frustratingly tries to save his life, stop the bleeding? anything.
HENRI
No, no, no.
A still silence absorbs the room.
The room is quiet as Jake EXHALES his last breath.
FADE TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
INT. OFFICE ? NIGHT
ANGLE ON TV, transmission ends with a burst of disturbing static.
Henri sits alone, staring at the wall. The blue glow giving all a lucid surrealism. His eyes shine like crystals.
His cross no longer around his neck ? in his weak left hand.
After a still heartbeat, the cross falls. The beads bounce to the floor, clacking away under his feet.
FADE OUT:
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Difficult to do wasn't it? Taking just the bare facts and creating a 10 page story out of it. It takes a lot of filling in the blanks. That one-page-story doesn't give too much detail. I'm still working on my Latour script, and it ain't easy.
As you'll soon see, we both told two very different stories. It's interesting to read someone else's take on it.
But honestly, I found your script to be a tough read. Pretty confusing. An almost cartoony, Dirty-Harry type feel with an ending I didn't understand. The entire script reads like a second or third draft, still in need of polishing. But maybe I need to read it again.
When I wrote my version, I tried to remain pretty faithful to the actual story. When adapting truth, the writer always has to fill in the blanks. But as long as it doesn't contradict the truth in such a way that drastically alters the story as a whole. Even better if it doesn't contradict the truth at all.
In the end, you have his kid die before Henri tries him in court and convicts him. The actual story says he convicted him. But nobody knew it was his son. I thought this was a big part of the story's appeal, as well as a mystery. Because they say no one knew the kid was Latour's son until several years after the conviction. Which I interpreted as throughout the whole ordeal, only Henri knew. Which means either the kid didn't know. Or he knew, but told no one. But that also means either Henri or his son went by a false name. Otherwise, the police department and the courts would have known. Unless this all happened a century or two ago, which I suspect it did. That would explain a lot. But since you placed it in a contemporary setting , like I did, these things need to be kept in mind.
I don't know. Either you overlooked that. Or you came to a very different conclusion. Or maybe I need to read your script again.
But like I said, I'm having trouble writing mine as well. And It's cool at least someone else tried it.
HENRI LATOUR story
<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ December 28, 2002 01:12 AM: Message edited by: GREATwarEAGLE ]</font>
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Its a good script, but like wareagle said, a bit confusing.
The dialogue was good. It was written pretty good. But you might want to specify why Jake is the mean person more. I didnt get it. If i didnt read the henri latour website i wouldnt even know.
But hey, thats all directors job innit [img]smile.gif[/img]
