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1 INT -- CABIN -- NIGHT (1946)
A dark, empty room.
The door bursts open. A MAN and WOMAN enter, drunk and giggling,
horny as hell. No sooner is the door shut than they're all over
each other, ripping at clothes, pawing at flesh, mouths locked
together.
He gropes for a lamp, tries to turn it on, knocks it over instead.
Hell with it. He's got more urgent things to do, like getting
her blouse open and his hands on her breasts. She arches, moaning,
fumbling with his fly. He slams her against the wall, ripping
her skirt. We hear fabric tear.
He enters her right then and there, roughly, up against the
wall. She cries out, hitting her head against the wall but not
caring, grinding against him, clawing his back, shivering with
the sensations running through her. He carries her across the
room with her legs wrapped around him. They fall onto the bed.
CAMERA PULLS BACK, exiting through the window, traveling
smoothly outside...
2 EXT -- CABIN -- NIGHT (1946) 2
...to reveal the bungalow, remote in a wooded area, the
lovers' cries spilling into the night...
...and we drift down a wooded path, the sounds of rutting
passion growing fainter, mingling now with the night sounds of
crickets and hoot owls...
...and we begin to hear FAINT MUSIC in the woods, tinny and
incongruous, and still we keep PULLING BACK until...
...a car is revealed. A 1946 Plymouth. Parked in a clearing.
3 INT -- PLYMOUTH -- NIGHT (1946) 3
ANDY DUFRESNE, mid-20's, wire rim glasses, three-piece suit.
Under normal circumstances a respectable, solid citizen; hardly
dangerous, perhaps even meek. But these circumstances are far
from normal. He is disheveled, unshaven, and very drunk. A
cigarette smolders in his mouth. His eyes, flinty and hard, are
riveted to the bungalow up the path.
He can hear them fucking from here.
He raises a bottle of bourbon and knocks it back. The radio
plays softly, painfully romantic, taunting him:
You stepped out of a dream...
You are too wonderful...
To be what you seem...
He opens the glove compartment, pulls out an object wrapped
in a rag. He lays it in his lap and unwraps it carefully --
-- revealing a .38 revolver. Oily, black, evil.
He grabs a box of bullets. Spills them everywhere, all over
the seats and floor. Clumsy. He picks bullets off his lap,
loading them into the gun, one by one, methodical and grim.
Six in the chamber. His gaze goes back to the bungalow.
He shuts off the radio. Abrupt silence, except for the distant
lovers' moans. He takes another shot of bourbon courage, then
opens the door and steps from the car.
4 EXT -- PLYMOUTH -- NIGHT (1946) 4
His wingtip shoes crunch on gravel. Loose bullets scatter to
the ground. The bourbon bottle drops and shatters.
He starts up the path, unsteady on his feet. The closer he
gets, the louder the lovemaking becomes. Louder and more
frenzied. The lovers are reaching a climax, their sounds of
passion degenerating into rhythmic gasps and grunts.
WOMAN (O.S.)
Oh god...oh god...oh god...
Andy lurches to a stop, listening. The woman cries out in
orgasm. The sound slams into Andy's brain like an icepick. He
shuts his eyes tightly, wishing the sound would stop.
It finally does, dying away like a siren until all that's left
is the shallow gasping and panting of post-coitus. We hear
languorous laughter, moans of satisfaction.
WOMAN (O.S.)
Oh god...that's sooo good...you're the best...the best I ever had...
Andy just stands and listens, devastated. He doesn't look like
much of a killer now; he's just a sad little man on a dirt
path in the woods, tears streaming down his face, a loaded gun
held loosely at his side. A pathetic figure, really.
FADE TO BLACK: 1ST TITLE UP
5 INT -- COURTROOM -- DAY (1946) 5
THE JURY listens like a gallery of mannequins on display,
pale-faced and stupefied.
D.A. (O.S.)
Mr. Dufresne, describe the
confrontation you had with your
wife the night she was murdered.
ANDY DUFRESNE
is on the witness stand, hands folded, suit and tie pressed,
hair meticulously combed. He speaks in soft, measured tones:
ANDY
It was very bitter. She said she
was glad I knew, that she hated all the sneaking around. She said she
wanted a divorce in Reno.
D.A.
What was your response?
ANDY
I told her I would not grant one.
D.A.
(refers to his notes)
"I'll see you in Hell before I see you in Reno." Those
were the words
you used, Mr. Dufresne, according to the testimony of your neighbors.
ANDY
If they say so. I really don't remember. I was upset.
FADE TO BLACK: 2ND TITLE UP
D.A.
What happened after you and your wife argued?
ANDY
She packed a bag and went to stay with Mr. Quentin.
D.A.
Glenn Quentin. The golf pro at the Falmouth Hills Country Club.
The
man you had recently discovered was her lover.
(Andy nods)
Did you follow her?
ANDY
I went to a few bars first. Later, I decided to drive to Mr. Quentin's
home and confront them. They weren't there...so I parked my car
in the turnout...and waited.
D.A.
With what intention?
ANDY
I'm not sure. I was confused. Drunk. I think mostly I wanted to
scare them.
D.A.
You had a gun with you?
ANDY
Yes. I did.
FADE TO BLACK: 3RD TITLE UP
D.A.
When they arrived, you went up to the house and murdered them?
ANDY
No. I was sobering up. I realized she wasn't worth it. I decided
to
let her have her quickie divorce.
D.A.
Quickie divorce indeed. A .38 caliber divorce, wrapped in a
handtowel to muffle the shots, isn't that what you mean? And then
you shot her lover!
ANDY
I did not. I got back in the car and drove home to sleep it off.
Along the way, I stopped and threw my gun into the Royal River.
I feel I've been very clear on this point.
D.A.
Yes, you have. Where I get hazy, though, is the part where the
cleaning woman shows up the next morning and finds your wife and
her lover in bed, riddled with .38 caliber bullets. Does that
strike
you as a fantastic coincidence, Mr. Dufresne, or is it just me?
ANDY
(softly)
Yes. It does.
D.A.
I'm sorry, Mr. Dufresne, I don't think the jury heard that.
ANDY
Yes. It does.
D.A.
Does what?
ANDY
Strike me as a fantastic coincidence.
D.A.
On that, sir, we are in accord...
FADE TO BLACK! 4TH TITLE UP
D.A.
You claim you threw your gun into the Royal River before the murders
took place. That's rather convenient.
ANDY
It's the truth.
D.A.
You recall Lt. Mincher's testimony?
He and his men dragged that river for three days and nary a gun
was
found. So no comparison can be made between your gun and the bullets
taken from the bloodstained corpses of the victims. That's also
rather convenient, isn't it, Mr. Dufresne?
ANDY
(faint, bitter smile)
Since I am innocent of this crime, sir, I find it decidedly inconvenient
the gun was never found.
FADE TO BLACK: STH TITLE UP
6 INT -- COURTROOM -- DAY (1946) 6
The D.A. holds the jury spellbound with his closing summation:
D.A.
Ladies and gentlemen, you've heard all the evidence, you know
all the
facts. We have the accused at the scene of the crime. We have
foot
prints. Tire tracks. Bullets scattered on the ground which bear
his fingerprints. A broken bourbon bottle, likewise with fingerprints.
Most of all, we have a beautiful young woman and her lover lying
dead in each other's arms. They had sinned. But was their crime
so
great as to merit a death sentence?
He gestures to Andy sitting quietly with his ATTORNEY.
D.A.
I suspect Mr. Dufresne's answer to that would be yes. I further
suspect he carried out that sentence on the night of September
21st, this year of our Lord, 1946, by pumping four bullets into
his
wife and another four into Glenn Quentin. And while you think
about
that, think about this...
He picks up a revolver, spins the cylinder before their eyes
like a carnival barker spinning a wheel of fortune.
D.A.
A revolver holds six bullets, not eight. I submit to you this
was not
a hot-blooded crime of passion! That could at least be understood,
if not condoned. No, this was revenge of a much more brutal and
cold-blooded nature. Consider! Four bullets per victim! Not six
shots
fired, but eight! That means he fired the gun empty...and then
stopped to reload so he could shoot each of them again! An extra
bullet per lover...right in the head.
(a few JURORS shiver)
I'm done talking. You people are all decent, God-fearing Christian
folk. You know what to do.
FADE TO BLACK: 6TH TITLE UP
INT -- JURY ROOM -- DAY (1946) 7
CAMERA TRACKS down a long table, moving from one JUROR to the
next. These decent, God-fearing Christians are chowing down on
a nice fried chicken dinner provided them by the county, smacking
greasy lips and gnawing cobbettes of corn.
VOICE (O.S.)
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty...
We find the FOREMAN at the head of the table, sorting votes.
FADE TO BLACK: 7TH TITLE UP
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