Tài liệu Writing the short film 3th - Part 48 ppt

SHEILA
(shrieking)
Get out of my way.
BILL
Come back here, come back here.
Bill lurches toward her. Julie watches the fight from the
landing. The FIGHT swirls up the stairs. AD LIB. As
Sheila and Bill approach, Julie moves quickly away from
the door of the room to the stairwell of the third floor.
22. INT. JULIE’s BEDROOM—NIGHT
Julie backs into her own bedroom and stands in the
semidarkness. Sheila and Bill can be seen running up
the stairs.
SOUNDS of Sheila and Bill SCRAMBLING into the master
bedroom. The door SLAMS shut.
SHEILA (O.S.)
Stay away from me, don’t touch me!
BILL (O.S.)
Put that gun down, put it down.
SHEILA (O.S.)
I said stay away from me . . .
Sheila SCREAMS.
A shotgun BLAST is heard.
23. INT. DOLL HOUSE—NIGHT
The miniature chandelier swings in the doll house and a
large armchair is overturned. The SOUND of tinkling
GLASS.
24. INT. JULIE’s BEDROOM—NIGHT
Julie remains frozen and glazed, clutching the bundle of
clothing. Her breath rasps slightly as she holds it in.
She strains for sound. For a few moments SILENCE

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pervades the house. Finally, a DOOR OPENS and SLAMS
shut, BOUNCING OPEN again from the force. Sheila lets
out a long SIGH.
BILL (O.S.)
I can’t believe you.
SHEILA (O.S.)
You fat ugly thing that I married. You’re a piece of
shit, you know that. You’re a piece of shit.
Julie’s eyes blink and shift toward the direction of these
sounds.
Julie takes a few steps forward and listens as STEPS
bound quickly down the stairs, a dog YELPS in pain.
TOM (O.S.)
Hey, Bill, what’s going on?
DOOR OPENS and SLAMS shut. FOOTSTEPS crunch on
GRAVEL. a CAR DOOR OPENS and SLAMS shut, and a
dog BARKS, a car DRIVES away up a long GRAVEL
drive.
After several beats, Sheila lets out a LONG SLOW SOB.
Julie very slowly lets out her breath in an extended
sigh. She moves slowly toward the stairs, stopping first
to place the laundry in her hamper, and then descends.
25. INT. LANDING/MASTER BEDROOM—NIGHT
Tom’s FOOTSTEPS bound up the stairs; near the top, his
pace slows. Julie watches from the third floor landing as
Tom slowly approaches Sheila’s room. Tom enters and
sees Sheila holding the smoking rifle in front of her.

TOM
Put the gun down, baby, put the gun down, baby.
SHEILA
Get out of my room. Get out of my room. Get out
of my room.
Tom strides up to her and grabs it out of her hands,
overpowering her with no difficulty. He catches her off
balance and hurts her hands.
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AL (O.S.)
Sheila, Tom, what’s going on?
With the rifle in one hand, Tom backs out of the room.
Sheila throws an ashtray at him. Tom turns and sees
Julie behind him.
TOM
(voice quivering but in command)
Everything’s fine . . . go to bed.
He pushes past her and hustles down the stairs.
Al, hanging back from the scene, stands midway on the
stairs.
He hangs his eyes on Julie as Tom pushes past.
Al pauses a moment staring at Julie, then follows Tom
down the stairs.
Julie, standing in the open doorway, in embarrassment
notices that she is still in her mother’s nightgown and
pulls it close around her.
TOM (O.S.)
C’mon, let’s get out of here. Al, c’mon move it.

Julie stands silent and contorted, tears filling her eyes,
but she does not cry.
SHEILA
Julie, Julie.
Julie turns and walks slowly toward her mother. The
music box begins to play.
26. INT. MASTER BEDROOM—NIGHT
Julie embraces Sheila and lays her into bed. Julie sits
quietly on the edge of her mother’s bed, and softly and
out of key, she sings her to sleep.
DISSOLVE TO:
27. INT. DINING ROOM—NIGHT
Passata la musica finita la festa. The guests have gone
home, and this is what remains. Wax drips from
smoldering candles, the carcasses of the turkeys are

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picked bare. Bottles and wine glasses are tipped on their
sides. A broken flower vase spills forth, and the water
makes an incessant drip into a puddle on the floor. The
fruit has rotted in its bowl.
FADE TO BLACK.
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DEAD LETTERS DON’T DIE
(Originally “Thomas Fupper”)
by Anais Granofsky and Michael Swanhaus
BLACK SCREEN

White calligraphy text appears on the screen. “Once
upon a time, just a Christmas ago . . .
INT. MAILBOX—DAY
Darkness.
The creaking of rusty hinges.
A rectangle of light creeps open, and the face of
AMANDA CARSON appears in the lit frame. A French
chapeau rests on her flaccid brown hair. Hiding behind
nervous squirrel-like features are scared, world-weary
eyes. She glances around, tenderly marks the envelope
with a kiss and drops it into what we now discover is a
mailbox.
The letter lazily floats downwards and lands atop a hill
of waiting letters.
CUT TO:
EXT. DEAD LETTER OFFICE—DAY
A plaque reading “U.S. POSTAL SERVICE-DEAD LETTER
OFFICE” is bolted to a closed side door.
INT. DEAD LETTER OFFICE
Mountains of jaundiced Santa letters. Long-forgotten
packages line the aged brick walls. The depths of the
Dead Letter Office.
Christmas cheer hangs limp from every over-packed
shelf. A pathetic Post Office–issued tree struggles to hold
its last two remaining bulbs. The camera PANS past
discarded presents. A snow shaker, two dancers
eternally whirling in an afternoon snow storm. Lacy red
panties. A huge rotting teddy bear, two bags resting
under its arms.
We finally stop on THOMAS FUPPER, a middle-aged

postman with a thin, nondescript face. He’s intently

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reading a weathered copy of
Cyrano de Bergerac
. Beside
him sits CHUCK SLATES, the only other worker in this
office of lost dreams. Chuck reads a Christmas edition of
Playboy
, while sucking on a Pepsi through a red
twizzler.
A loud CRASH echoes throughout the room as the doors
are flung open by BOSS, a grossly overweight man with
the face of a bulldog. He huffs and snorts with the
exertion of carrying two large mail sacks.
BOSS
Hey pissants! Why don’t you get your hand off
your chub and help me out!
Thomas and Chuck grapple with the bags, dragging them
to the sorting table.
BOSS (CONT.)
Goddamn Santa Claus is gonna give me a bleedin’
hernia!
Boss sits down with a rush of air.
BOSS (CONT.)
All these kids do today is take. Take. Take. That’s
what you get with a world full of backseat produce.
When I was a kid, a smack across the head did me
just fine. Hell, I’d go to the sack with a grin on my

face, thinkin’ I’d had a damn good Christmas.
CHUCK
I think that’s referred to as child abuse.
BOSS
It’s more than I get now. (He glances over to
Thomas.) You talkin’ today Fupper?
Thomas stops his sorting and looks up.
THOMAS
Sure I am, Boss.
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BOSS
Too bad. Get this crap sorted by three.
Boss heads back out the door.
There’s a CLUNK in the walls. Thomas falters in
his sorting and looks at the clock. It’s four. The
faint sound of a letter wisping down the
chutes.
INT. CHUTE
A letter tumbles and soars downward in a type of
stationery ballet.
DEAD LETTER OFFICE
Thomas stares at the chute’s opening.
CHUCK
That her?
THOMAS
Yeah.
CHUTE
Arching and dipping, the letter makes its way toward

the dim opening.
DEAD LETTER OFFICE
Thomas waits. Not breathing. The letter approaches. The
far-off sound of a typewriter. SWOOSH. It soars out of
the chute and lands directly in front of him. The lipstick
kiss marks the letter as Amanda’s. Thomas stares.
Unable to move.
CHUCK
So, what doth the fair maiden have to say this
week?
Thomas reaches out and picks up the envelope.
Gingerly he tears it open and begins to read. His voice
blends with Amanda’s and continues over into the next
scene.

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