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<title>The FrenchConnection</title>
                                         Rev. April 26, 1971                 THE FRENCH CONNECTION                           by          ERNEST TIDYMAN and WILLIAM FRIEDKINDIRECTOR:William FriedkinPRODUCER: Philip D'AntoniEXT. LE VALLONOpening shot - High angle on Lincoln along small bay withboats.Ext. Bar - Waist to full figure Pan Right to Left.  Detectivecomes out eatingpizza, looking around.  He crosses streetand stops against wall of impasse Michael.He looks O.S. left,His POV - L.S. of Lincoln behind fishing nets.Waist shot of Detective looking and eating.M.S. of Lincoln.C.S. ofDetective looking O.S. Left.Pan Right to Left with Charnier coming out from Fonfon withthree friends and they walk to the Lincoln.Pan Left to Right with Lincoln passing in front of theDetective.EXT. CAFE LASAMARITAINEHigh angle from balcony.  Zoom on Detective seated at thecafe, reading a newspaper.Cut on Lincoln along sidewalk of the cafe, then zoom back todiscover Detective seated.EXT. MARSEILLESTREETSLow angle from stairs Rue des Repenties and Pan Left toRight to Rue Sainte Francoise following the Detective.Pan Left to Right with Detective from Rue des Repenties toRue Baussenque.Low anglebetween Rue des Moulins and Rue des Accoules withDetective passing by.Ext. Rue du Panier - The Detective comes out from the bakerycamera Right and starts to climb up Rue des Moulins with hisbread.EXT.STREETHigh angle - on No. 50 Rue des Moulins.  Pan Left to Rightwith Detective coming up the street with his bread and goinginside his house, starting to open hisletter-box.                                                            2.INT. CORRIDORHigh angle - complete reverse.  As the Detective starts toopen his letter-box in B.G. a hand pointing a gun movesinforeground and blows off half of the French Detective's headwith the first shot.Cut to Nicoli C.S. who just fired.EXT. A BAR IN BED-STUY - DAYA large man in a Santa Claus suit and white beard isentertaininga group of black children.  He leads them inthe singing of a Christmas Carol (Hark the Herald AngelsSing).  The man is DETECTIVE FIRST GRADE JIMMY DOYLE.  Hisattention is split between the children and theactivityinside the bar.INT. THE BAR - DOYLE'S POV - DAYThe place is crowded with mid-day drinkers.  Dimly outlinedat the far end of the bar are TWO BLACK MEN involved in somekind of transaction in whicha package is exchanged formoney.  As the transaction seems to be completed, cut toEXT. THE BAR - DAYSanta Claus (DOYLE) starts to ring his big Christmas bell,above the singing.  The bell is a signal toDETECTIVE SECONDGRADE BUDDY RUSSO.  At this moment RUSSO is in the clothesof a hot dog vendor and is in fact working behind a hot dogwagon.  At the ringing of DOYLE's bell he takes off hisapron, leaves thewagon, and runs toward the bar.                         DOYLE                   (as RUSSO passes him)            The guy in the brown coat.INT. THE BAR - DAYRUSSO enter the bar on the run.  He stops andlooks over theroom.RUSSO'S POVThere are TWENTY or THIRTY MEN at the bar, at least TEN arewearing brown coats!  The TWO MEN involved in the deal seeRUSSO and start to run.  One (THE BUYER) takesoff out ofthe back door.  The other (THE PUSHER) jumps over the barand heads for the front entrance.                                                            3.EXT. THE BAR - DAYTHE PUSHER dashesout past Santa Claus (DOYLE).  RUSSOfollows him and all three give chase.EXT. BED-STUY TENEMENT ALLEY - DAYTHREE FIGURES running down a New York tenement alley, thefirst in flight, the others inpursuit.  We pick up theincredible clutter of such an alley, mounts of rusting beercans, paper bags of garbage bulging and ripping open, oldbed springs, burned out mattresses, etc.EXT. BED-STUY TENEMENT ALLEY- DAYClose shot of BLACK PUSHER tripping on the tangle of trashgoing up against the wall in his stumble, face toward thecamera, and the figures of RUSSO and DOYLE leaping upon himfrom off-camera.  There isa blur or fast struggle as DOYLEand RUSSO try to get his arms and put him against the wall.BLACK PUSHER writhes loose and we close in on a knife in hishand, plunging rapidly into RUSSO'S leftforearm.                         RUSSO            Son of a bitch!The words are both warning and a grunt of pain.  As RUSSOtakes the blade and utters the words, we simultaneously goto DOYLE crouching andsnatching his .38 out of the rightankle holster.EXT. BED-STUY TENEMENT ALLEY - DAYClose shot of DOYLE and the BLACK PUSHER, DOYLE pistol-whipping him into submission with three lightening chops ofthegun to the PUSHER'S head.  DOYLE continues to beat theman mercilessly into submission.INT. DOYLE'S CAR - DAY3-shot of BLACK PUSHER sitting between DOYLE and RUSSO.DOYLE is at the wheel.  BLACKPUSHER is sitting on hishands, wrists manacled behind him, his head down and drippingblood onto the jacket and the canary-yellow turtleneck.  Allthree are breathinghard.                         DOYLE            What's your name, asshole?                         BLACK PUSHER            Fuck you, Santa Claus!DOYLE hits him across theface.                                                            4.                         RUSSO            Your name is Willie Craven.BLACK PUSHER doesn't lookup.                         DOYLE            Who's your connection, Willie?            What's his name?No response.                         RUSSO            Who killed the old Jew in the            laundromat?BLACKPUSHER's brow furrows, looks up just a little.                         BLACK PUSHER            I don't...                         DOYLE            Ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?                         BLACKPUSHER            What?                         DOYLE            Did you ever pick your feet in            Poughkeepsie?                         BLACK PUSHER            I don't know what you'retalkin'            about.                         DOYLE            Were you ever in Poughkeepsie?                         BLACK PUSHER            No... yeah...                         DOYLE            Did you ever siton the edge of the            bed, take off your socks and stick            your fingers between your toes?                         BLACK PUSHER            Man, I'm clean.                         DOYLE            Youmade three sales to your            roaches back there.  We had to            chase you through all this shit and            you tell me you'reclean?                                                            5.                         RUSSO            Who stuck up the laundromat?                         DOYLE            How about that time youwere            picking your feet in Poughkeepsie?The BLACK PUSHER'S eyes go to RUSSO in panic, looking forrelief from the pressure of the inquisition.                         RUSSO                   (in pain)            Youbetter give me the guy who got            the old Jew or you better give me            something or you're just a memory            in this town.                         BLACK PUSHER            That's a lot o' shit.  I didn'tdo            nothin'.The BLACK PUSHER's eyes are on DOYLE, frozen in confusionand fear.                         DOYLE            You put a shiv in my partner.  Know            what that means?  All winterI            gotta listen to him gripe about his            bowling scores.  Now I'm gonna bust            your ass for those three bags -            then I'm gonna nail you for pickin'            your feet in Poughkeepsie.EXT.HEADQUARTERS NARCOTICS BUREAU OF THE NYPD 12 OLD SLIPAND SOUTH STREETS - NIGHTDOYLE and RUSSO standing side by side on the front steps ofthe old First Precinct on the Lower East Sideof Manhattan.RUSSO has his overcoat over his shoulders as a cape.  Thesleeve of his left arm is rolled up over a blood-stainedbandage on the left forearm.                         DOYLE            Havin'trouble?  You're a dumb            guinea.                         RUSSO            How'd I know he had a knife.                         DOYLE            Never trust anigger.                         RUSSO            He coulda been white.                                                            6.                         DOYLE            Never trust anybody.  You goin'sick?                         RUSSO            Not a chance.RUSSO nods in acceptance of the remark.  The easy, synicalrapport between them is obvious: they are partners in abusiness where somebody is alwaysgetting hurt and pain ispart of the inventory.                         DOYLE            Let's popeye around the Chez for a            half hour, catch the end of the            show and a coupledrinks.                         RUSSO            Some other time Jimmy, I'm beat.DOYLE reaches into the right side pocket of BUDDY's suitcoatfor a cigarette and matches.  He lights up two in the pause,sticks one inRUSSO's mouth.                         DOYLE            Come on -- one drink.  Whatta you            say?                         RUSSO            Drink this.                         DOYLE            Whip itout.INT. THE CLUB - NIGHTTHE TITLES COMMENCE                    THE FRENCH CONNECTIONTitles over a close shot of a chorus line, with lots of titsand ass and lean, long legs in a brassyblare of music.  Wezoom back to the area where DOYLE and RUSSO are beginning tooccupy a table.  RUSSO takes the seat on the right, eyesimmediately on all that ginch, while DOYLE standing, givestheir order.  Wedo not hear the dialogue but DOYLE asksRUSSO what he wants BUDDY looks up and says "Cinzano." DOYLEturns and says "Two of these." DOYLE slips into the chairopposite RUSSO and the titles roll on.  Unlike RUSSOwho isconcentrating on the girls, DOYLE is digging the room andthe people who occupy the tables in it, as if he is the sortof man who cannot relax until he knows who is around him,why they arethere.                                                            7.INT. THE CLUB - NIGHTA long view from DOYLE's position of the room, a quickcertain survey that stumbles twice; on laughter thatseemstoo raw and then over a flurry of activity by WAITERS andCAPTAINS serving a table on the main floor.  DOYLE'sattention is apprehended by the noise and activity thatemanate from the same largetable.                         DOYLE            I make at least two junk connections            at that table in the corner.  The            guy is the stripe combo, I know


<html><title>Pump Up The Volume Transcript</title><pre>Happy Harry Hardon - Did you ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up. You know that feeling that the whole country is likeone inch away from saying 'That's it, forget it.' You think about it. Everything is polluted. The environment, the government, the schools you name it. Speaking of schools. I was walking the households the other dayand I asked myself. Is there live after high school? Because I can't face tomorrow, let alone a whole year of this shit. Yeah, you got it folks. It's me again with a little attitude for all you out here and waiting for Atlanta.All you nice people living in the middle of America the beautiful. Lets see, we're on er 92 FM tonight and it feels like a nice clean little band so far. No one else is using it. The price is right. Heh, heh. And yes folks youguest it. Tonight I am as horny as a ten peckerd house, so stay tuned because this is Happy Harry Hardon reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and do your homework in the dark..Murdock - Mr. Travis, LouisTravis. It's just for a second.Mr Woodward - So, I'll pick you up after your yearbook.Paige Woodward - Okay, dad.Mr Woodward - And no big dates tonight, you have to be well rested for your Historyexamtomorrow.Paige - Okay.Mazz - Yo Paige, anytime anywhere beautiful. Mr. Paige.Nora Diniro - Oh, Miss Paige Woodward arriving.Janie - So rich, so smart.Nora - So perfect.Murdock - Cheryl, good to see you. You'regoing to see the principal this morning.Cheryl - Can you tell me what this is about.Murdock - We'll see. Excuse Misses Creswood.Luis Chavez - Yes.Nora  - Check this out.Janie - What is it?Nora -  It's this guy. He's got apirate radio station. Hiss name is Happy Harry Hardon. He's a total sex maniac.Janie - Off course.Nora - He comes on every night at ten o'clock.Happy Harry Hardon - Okay, down to business. I got my wild cherry dietPepsi and I got my Black Jack gum here and I got that feeling, mmm that familiar feeling that something rank is going down up there. Yeah, I can smell it. I can almost taste it. The rankness in the air. It's everywhere.It's running through that old pipeline out there, trickling along the dumb concrete river and coming up the drains of those lovely tracktones we all live in. I mean I don't know. Everywhere I look it seems everything issold out.Annie - They say this is where the reception is the coolest.Johnathan - Then he'll probably live right around here.Mazz - Fucking Yuppies.Happy Harry Hardon - My dad sold out. And my mom sold out years agowhen she had me. And then they sold me out when they brought me to this hole in the world. They made me everything I am today so naturally I hate the bastards. Speaking of which, I am running a contest on thebest way to put them out of their misery. Tonight we have number twelve of one hundred things to do with your body when you're all alone. Now are you ready of the incredible sound of Happy Harry Hardon coming onhis own face. Oh, my god, it's very possible you know. Oh, oh this is a champion one. I'm going for it. He's still growing. This... Yes, Happy Harry Hardon will go to any language to keep his three listeners glued withHuwy Bluwy to their radios. But the question is. How far will you go? How far can you go to amaze and discuss the sensational Happy Harry Hardon. I mean. How serious are you? I ask you that. dear listener.MrWoodward - Hi beautiful. You know I can't figure out how you manage to get such greatgrades and you listen to that radio all night. You know. Tomorrow don't forget Yale interview. And I don't want you to look toosleepy. You know. Goodnight Sweetheart.Happy Harry Hardon - I'm getting a lot of letters here guys. Here. Dear Happy Harry Hardon, my boyfriend won't talk to me anymore. How do I show him that I really love him?Look, I don't know anything about these letters asking for love advice. I mean, if I knew anything about love I would be out there making it instead of talking to you guys. So just send me stuff to box 20710, USA MailParadise Hill Mess Arizona 84012. Replies guarantied. Dear Harry, I think your boring and upknocktius and have a high opinion of yourself. Course I'm you I'll probably thinking I sent this to myself. I think school isokay. if you just look at it right. I like your music, but I really don't see why you can't be cheerful for one second. I tell you since you ask. I just arrived in this stupid suburb. I have no friends, no money, no car, nolicence. And even if I did have a licence all I can do is drive out to some stupid mall. Maybe if I'm lucky play some fucking video games, smoke a joint and get stupid. You see, there's nothing to do anymore. Everythingdecents been done. All the great themes have been used up. Turned into theme parks. So I don't really find it cheerful to be living in totally exhausted decade where there is nothing to look forward to and no one to lookup to. That was deep. Oh no, not again. The creature stirs. Oh God, I think it is going to be a gusher. This is the sixth time in an hour. Oh god...Annie - He sounds like he chronically masturbated.Johnathan - He prideshimself on it.Happy Harry Hardon - You see, I take care of it. Oh, or else I'm going to explode. I just... Excuse me while I... While I... While I... Oh yeah... Oh yeah... Oh yeah, this is the big one. I'm gonna explode...Oh, take cover Arizona here I come.Mazz - Any time now, man.Happy Harry Hardon - Oh God... Oh God... This is the best. Oh God yeah... Free at last, I'm beat. I'm whipped. It's quitting time. Gotta recuperate.Mazz -There he goes. Some time he's on for five minutes, some time he's on for five hours. That's my man.Marla Hunter - God, I feel so out of touch here.Brian Hunter - We didn't move out here to stay in touch.Marla Hunter- And why did we move out here?Brian Hunter - Oh, because it's a nice place to live. I'm making good money and I'm theyoungest school commissioner in the History of Arizona.Marla Hunter - Brian, you know what.The man I married loved his work. Not power andmoney.Brian Hunter - That's all right I still love my work. And I love power and money.Marla Hunter - Young radical Brain, you were always fighting against the system.And now you are...Brian Hunter - I am the system, yeah. Is that a beer?Mark Hunter (Happy Harry Hardon) - Sure!Marla Hunter - Have you notice his behaviour lately?Brian Hunter - What about him?Marla Hunter -He's just so unhappy here.Brian Hunter - I'll go talk to him.<Brian's Study>Brian Hunter - Hi, what's up?Mark - I was just looking for some stamps.Brian Hunter - Oh fine, I got some right here. Sending a letter to oneof your friends back east?Mark - No, I thought I might send away for an inflatable date.Brian Hunter - You know, one of these days you're going to have to watch yourself young man.Mark - I love it when you call meyoung man.Brian Hunter - You know when I was your age I was in all the teams and a bunch of clubs. Look all I'm saying is that school must have some really terrific programs, it's very highly rated.Mark - Just save itfor the masses.Brian Hunter - Mark, they've got twelve hundred students down there. Surely some of themhave gotta be cool.Mark - Look the deal is I get decent grades and you guys leave me alone.<Back at HupertHumphrey>Janie - Okay so who is this guy?Nora - I don't know, nobody knows who he is, but he really hates this school so I guess he goes here.Janie - But all the guys that go here are geeks.Nora - Maybe not mydear! LaterJanie - Later?<English Class>Jan Emerson - And so then the logi cars questioned the few remaining death spurs more and more they began to fade away until there was nothing left of them and theydisappeared from the face of the earth.......... Hmm, pretty good hey? Leading with your heart, not your mind. I wondered if you would tell us what you were thinking when you wrote this?Mark - I just wrote it late lastnight.Jan - That's obvious it's practically a night book. Mark, I was hoping you'd share your feelings about it. <Bell rings> Saved by the bell. Don't think If I didn't read your composition it won't be read. Mark! We'relooking for new writers for The Clarion. Don't be embarrassed of your talent.<Murdock's woodwork class. A Happy Harry Hardon Tape blasting out of a stereo>Class - Morning Mr. MurdockMurdock - I'm not stupid youknow.<Staff room>Creswood - This school is judged on one category only: Academic scores. The lesson of modern education is that nothing comes easily, no pain, no gain.Murdock <enters> - Excuse me everyone doyou want to listen to this, it's the third this week. It's unbelievable.<Murdock plays a tape with Happy Harry Hardon simulating masturbation>Jan - <laughs>Creswood - Jan! This is no laughing matter.<SchoolLibrary>Nora - Hi!Mark - HiNora - You're in my writing class right.Mark - Right.Nora - Yeah I like Emerson (Jan) she's pretty funky. <Nora look at the date on Marks book> Now you're in trouble!.... You owe me twentyfive cents...... "How To Talk Dirty And Influence People" by Lenny Bruce. Who's he?... Any good?Mark - He's alright.Nora - Talk a lot.Mark - Not to much no.<Mark leaves and Nora looks down at checklist of possibleHard Harrys'>Nora - Cute, but no way!<A ten o'clock show>  Happy Harry Hardon - Guess who? It's ten o'clock do you care where your parents are? After all it's a jungle out there. <Everybody Knows plays> I don'tknow. Everywhere I look it seems that someone's getting butt surfed by the system. Parents are always talking about the system, and the sixties and how cool it was. Well look at where the sixties got them hey! Comeon people now smile on your brother everybody together try and love one another right now!!! Now that was the sixties, this is a song from the nineties from my buddies the Descendants. <The Descendants play> Ihate the sixties, I hate school, I hate principals, I hate vice principles!! But my true pure refined hatred is reserved for guidance councillors. Happy Harry just happens to have in his very hands a copy of a memo writtenby Mr. David Deaver, guidance councillor extrordinaire to one Miss Loretta Creswood, high school principle. "I found Cheryl un-remorseful about her current condition" Bastard can't even say she's knocked up. "Andshe's unwilling to minimise it's affect on the morals of the student population." Guidance councillors!!!!! If they knew anything about career moves would they have ended up as guidance councillors? What do you saywe call Deaver up hey? Happy Harry Hardon just happens to have the home phone numbers of every employee up at Paradise Hills. Here we go, there you are Mr. Deesky <Happy Harry Hardon rings up MrDeaver>.Deaver - Deaver residence, David Deaver speaking.Happy Harry Hardon - Hey this is WKPS, we're doing a piece on high schools. We understand that your a guidance councillor.Deaver - I'm head of guidanceat Hubert Humphrey High in Paradise Hills Arizona. I've been there seven years.Happy Harry Hardon - Can you tell me a bit about what you do.Deaver - I run a comprehensive American values program, erm in whichwe discuss ethical situations, sex education and drug abuse.Happy Harry Hardon - What do you say to young people who look around at the world and see it's become, like you know, a sleazy country, a place you justcan't trust. Like your school for example. Why is it, it wins all of these awards and students are dropping out like flies, why..why is that. Now my listeners are interested in the decision to expel Cheryl Bates.Deaver - I,erm, I'm not aware of anything like that, I don't know what you're talking about.Happy Harry Hardon - That is not true sir. "Cheryl refuses to accept suggestions of a more positive mental attitude towards her healthand her future. I'm afraid I find no alternative, but to suggest suspension."Deaver - Who is this? How did you get this number?Happy Harry Hardon - Are you going to admit it sir.Deaver - Admit what?Happy HarryHardon - That you're slime!Deaver - Now just wait a minute.Happy Harry Hardon - You interview a student and then you rat on her, you betray her trust, isn't that right Sir!<Deaver hangs up> Well as you can see,these guys are played out. Society is mutating so rapidly that anyone over the age of twenty has really no idea.... Err alright, back down to business. "I share a room with my older brother and nearly every night afterhe turns off his light he come over to my bed and gives me a few arm nookies and stuff and then makes me scratch his back and other refinements" It's about time we had some refinements on this show. "Then sooneror later he gets worked up and further a do he rubs his thing and makes me watch." Signed "I'm just screwed up" Well first of all you're not screwed up, your an unscrewed up reaction to a screwed up situation. Feelingscrewed up at a screwed up time, in a screwed up place does not make you necessarily screwed up, if you catch my drift. Well as you know dear listeners if you enclose your number a reply is guaranteed. <Rings MissScrewed Up>Miss Screwed Up - HelloHappy Harry Hardon - This is Happy Harry Hardon, your live. Is this Miss Screwed Up.Miss Screwed Up - YesHappy Harry Hardon - Well I have a couple of questions. How big is it,this thing you described? Is it bigger than a baby's arm..... What you don't remember or you don't want to tell me?.... Or maybe you made this whole thing up hey? Remember my dear I can smell a lie like a fart in acar. <Miss Screwed Up hangs up> Well it's too bad about that one actually, to me the real truth is always a bigger turn on. It doesn't have to be a big deal, it could be anything.<Malcolm's bedroom>Mrs Kaiser -Malcolm have you finished your homework yet?Malcolm - Yes.Mrs Kaiser - Your father and I are downstairs, why don't you come and join us for once.Malcolm - No.Mrs Kaiser - Okay Malcolm have it your way.Malcolm -Thanks.<Back at Hard Harrys'>Happy Harry Hardon - Send me your most pathetic moment, your most anything, as long as it's real. I mean I want the size, the shape, the feel, the smell. I want blood sweat and tearson these letters. I want brains and ectoplasm and cum spilled all over them. Hallelujah! And now , all my horny listeners, get one hand free because yes, the eat me beat me lady is back. "Come in. Every night youenter me like a criminal. You break into my brain, but you're no ordinary criminal. You put your feet up, you drink your can of Pepsi, you start to party, you turn up my stereo. Songs I've never heard, but I moveanyway. You get me crazy, I say 'Do it.' I don't care just do it. Jam me, jack me, push me, pull me -talk hard!"............ I like that. Talk Hard. I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere uninvited and just kind ofhang out like a dirty thought in a nice clean mind. To me a thought is like a virus. You know, it can just kill all the healthy thoughts and just take over. That would be serious.Nora - That would be totally serious.HappyHarry Hardon - I know all of my horny listeners would love it if I would call up the eat me beat me lady. But no! Because she never encloses her number.Nora - Tough look creepoid.Happy Harry Hardon - Always thesame red paper, the same beautiful black writing. She's probably a lot like me, a legend in her own mind. But you know what, I bet in real life she's probably not that wild. I bet she's kind of shy like so many of us whobriskly walk the halls, pretending to be late for some class, pretending to be distracted. Hey poetry lady, are you really this cool? Are you out there? Are you listening? Nora - I'm always out here.Happy Harry Hardon - Ifeel like I know you, and yet we'll never meet. Ah so be it... Now here's a song from my close personal buddies the Beastie Boys. A song that was so controversial they couldn't put it on their second album. What abouta little night light.<Beastie Boys play>Happy Harry Hardon - I just love being the rap king of Arizona. I don't know drugs are out, sex is out, politics are out, everything is on hold. I mean we definitely need somethingknew. We just keep waiting for some new voice to come out of somewhere and say "Hey wait a minute, what is wrong with this picture." <picks up a letter and opens it> Well maybe this is the answer to everything,wouldn't that be nice hey.  "Dear Happy Harry Hardon do you think I should kill myself" Great! Signed "I'm Serious" And of course there is a number here. <Calls the number> Hello serious?Malcolm - YeahHappy HarryHardon - Are you okay?Malcolm - YepHappy Harry Hardon - I guess what I'm asking is how serious are you, well how are you going to do it?Malcolm - I'm gonna blow my fucking head off.Happy Harry Hardon - O! Welldo you have a gun.Malcolm - No I'm going to use my finger genius.Happy Harry Hardon - Alright. So where is this gonna take place hey?Malcolm - Right here.Happy Harry Hardon - Where is this alleged gun? Do youhave it with you? Did you at least write a note? You have a reason don't you? Your not going to be one of those people who kills themselves and nobody has any idea of why they did it? Hey that's why we need a notepal!Malcolm - I'm all alone.Happy Harry Hardon - No, hey, maybe it's okay to be alone sometimes, everybody's alone.Malcolm - You're not.Happy Harry Hardon - I didn't talk to one person today, not..not countingteachers. I sit alone everyday you know, sitting on the stairwell eating my lunch, reading a book. What about you?  <Malcolm hangs up> I hate that, now I'm depressed. Now I feel like killing myself, but I'm toodepressed to bother. <Tries to re-dial Malcolm, but it's engaged> Great! He's got the phone of the hook. Rejected again, that's okay I'm use to it, terminal loneliness....... People always think they no who a person isbut they're always wrong. Most parents have no idea. It's just that mine had me tested because I sit alone in my room alone, naked, wearing only a cock ring, heh heh! I mean it really bugs me, everyone knows what aperson should be, who cares who I should be! You know, in real life I could be that anonymous nerd sitting across from you in Chem. Lab, staring at you so hard, you turn around, he tries to smile, but the smile justcomes out all wrong. You just think how pathetic, then he just looks away and never looks back at you again. Well hey, who cares, that's my motto. Well sleep tight Cheryl, sleep tight Miss Refinements, sleep tightPoetry Lady, sleep tight Mr Serious, maybe you'll feel better tomorrow.<Tomorrow at school>Jamie - Hey what's a cock ring, it sounds cool.Alex - How should I know, maybe it's a ring with a cock on it.Jamie - But hesaid he was wearing.<Mark approaches Paige>Mark - HiPaige - Hi.<Someone puts a tape on of Happy Harry Hardon's conversation with Deaver>Murdock - You know people this dancing is a privilege and it will be takenaway if it's abused, do you understand that?<Nora searches the school grounds for Mark and finds him reading on the stairs>Nora - Hi, got a stick of gum. Black Jack!... You really as horny as a ten peckerd house?.....Hi my names Nora, what's yours?Mark - Mark.Nora - Mark! Well hi Mark.Mark - Hi.Nora - Listen, I was gonna cut fourth period, do you wanna join me for a smoke in the arts clay room.Mark - Er, no, I can't, got to go,sorry.Nora - Sorry!<Staff room>Murdock - These dam tapes keep cropping up all over the place, they were playing this in the alcove.Mr. Moore - Who is this guy anyway, everyday there's more graffiti.Mr. Stern - Idon't know, but he's turning the school upside down.Jan - Has anybody seen Luis Chavez he wasn't in my class today.Mr. Stern - Mine either.<Murdock plays the tape of Happy Harry Hardon reading out Deaver's letterto Creswood. Creswood enters the staff room.>Creswood - Turn that off, I've got an announcement to make.<Mark's English class>Jan - I have some very upsetting news. Last night one of our students, Malcolm Kaisertook his own life, for those of you who knew him, there will be a memorial service at Dempsey hill on Friday. I know it hurts, it's painful to lose someone.<Mark collects his post from the postal centre, exits and starts toread the eat me beat me lady's letter>Mark (Reads silently) - "You're the voice crying out in the wilderness, your the voice that makes my brain burn and make my guts go gooey. Yeah you gut me, my insides spill onyour alter and tell the future, my steaming gleaming guts spill out your nature. I know you, not your name, but your game. I know the true you, come to me or I'll come to you."<Nora appears from behind the busstop>Nora - So you are him! Don't worry I'm not going to bust you or anything... Aren't you going to ask who I am?Mark - I don't think so, no!Nora - I'm the eat me beat me lady!   So you don't believe me. "I knowyou, not your name, but your game. I know the true you, come to me or I'll come to you."  Hey relax, I'm not really like that, except when I am.Mark - Look it's not your fault. I was listening last night. I didn't thinkhe'd go through with it.<The Hunter dining table>Marla - Mark,  we heard about Malcolm Kaiser, we know.Brian - We were just wondering if you knew him?Mark - No not really.Brian - Mark, I'm going to ask you


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shadows in Zamboula, by Robert E. HowardThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/licenseTitle: Shadows in ZamboulaAuthor: Robert E. HowardRelease Date: February 25, 2013 [EBook#42196]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOWS IN ZAMBOULA ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                          SHADOWS IN ZAMBOULA                          By Robert E. Howard    [Transcriber's Note: This etext was first published in Weird Tales    November 1935. Extensive research did notuncover any evidence that    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]1 A Drum Begins'Peril hides in the house of Aram Baksh!'The speaker's voice quivered with earnestness and his lean, black-nailedfingersclawed at Conan's mightily muscled arm as he croaked hiswarning. He was a wiry, sun-burnt man with a straggling black beard, andhis ragged garments proclaimed him a nomad. He looked smaller and meanerthanever in contrast to the giant Cimmerian with his black brows, broadchest, and powerful limbs. They stood in a corner of the Sword-Makers'Bazar, and on either side of them flowed past the many-tongued,many-coloredstream of the Zamboula streets, which is exotic, hybrid,flamboyant and clamorous.Conan pulled his eyes back from following a bold-eyed, red-lippedGhanara whose short skirt bared her brown thigh at each insolentstep,and frowned down at his importunate companion.'What do you mean by peril?' he demanded.The desert man glanced furtively over his shoulder before replying, andlowered his voice.'Who can say? But desert menand travelers _have_ slept in the house ofAram Baksh, and never been seen or heard of again. What became of them?_He_ swore they rose and went their way--and it is true that no citizenof the city has everdisappeared from his house. But no one saw thetravelers again, and men say that goods and equipment recognized astheirs have been seen in the bazars. If Aram did not sell them, afterdoing away with their owners,how came they here?''I have no goods,' growled the Cimmerian, touching the shagreen-boundhilt of the broadsword that hung at his hip. 'I have even sold myhorse.''But it is not always rich strangers who vanish bynight from the houseof Aram Baksh!' chattered the Zuagir. 'Nay, poor desert men have sleptthere--because his score is less than that of the other taverns--andhave been seen no more. Once a chief of the Zuagirswhose son had thusvanished complained to the satrap, Jungir Khan, who ordered the housesearched by soldiers.''And they found a cellar full of corpses?' asked Conan in good-humoredderision.'Nay! They found naught!And drove the chief from the city with threatsand curses! But--' he drew closer to Conan and shivered--'something elsewas found! At the edge of the desert, beyond the houses, there is aclump of palm trees, and withinthat grove there is a pit. And withinthat pit have been found human bones, charred and blackened! Not once,but many times!''Which proves what?' grunted the Cimmerian.'Aram Baksh is a demon! Nay, in this accursedcity which Stygians builtand which Hyrkanians rule--where white, brown and black folk mingletogether to produce hybrids of all unholy hues and breeds--who can tellwho is a man, and who a demon in disguise? AramBaksh is a demon in theform of a man! At night he assumes his true guise and carries his guestsoff into the desert where his fellow demons from the waste meet inconclave.''Why does he always carry off strangers?'asked Conan skeptically.'The people of the city would not suffer him to slay their people, butthey care naught for the strangers who fall into his hands. Conan, youare of the West, and know not the secrets of thisancient land. But,since the beginning of happenings, the demons of the desert haveworshipped Yog, the Lord of the Empty Abodes, with fire--fire thatdevours human victims.'Be warned! You have dwelt for many moonsin the tents of the Zuagirs,and you are our brother! Go not to the house of Aram Baksh!''Get out of sight!' Conan said suddenly. 'Yonder comes a squad of thecity-watch. If they see you they may remember a horse thatwas stolenfrom the satrap's stable--'The Zuagir gasped, and moved convulsively. He ducked between a booth anda stone horse-trough, pausing only long enough to chatter: 'Be warned,my brother! There are demons inthe house of Aram Baksh!' Then he darteddown a narrow alley and was gone.Conan shifted his broad sword-belt to his liking, and calmly returnedthe searching stares directed at him by the squad of watchmen astheyswung past. They eyed him curiously and suspiciously, for he was a manwho stood out even in such a motley throng as crowded the windingstreets of Zamboula. His blue eyes and alien features distinguishedhimfrom the Eastern swarms, and the straight sword at his hip added pointto the racial difference.The watchmen did not accost him, but swung on down the street, while thecrowd opened a lane for them. They werePelishtim, squat, hook-nosed,with blue-black beards sweeping their mailed breasts--mercenaries hiredfor work the ruling Turanians considered beneath themselves, and no lesshated by the mongrel population for thatreason.Conan glanced at the sun, just beginning to dip behind the flat-toppedhouses on the western side of the bazar, and hitching once more at hisbelt, moved off in the direction of Aram Baksh's tavern.With ahillman's stride he moved through the ever-shifting colors of thestreets, where the ragged tunics of whining beggars brushed against theermine-trimmed khalats of lordly merchants, and the pearl-sewn satin ofrichcourtezans. Giant black slaves slouched along, jostlingblue-bearded wanderers from the Shemitish cities, ragged nomads from thesurrounding deserts, traders and adventurers from all the lands of theEast.The nativepopulation was no less heterogenous. Here, centuries ago,the armies of Stygia had come, carving an empire out of the easterndesert. Zamboula was but a small trading-town then, lying amidst a ringof oases, andinhabited by descendants of nomads. The Stygians built itinto a city and settled it with their own people, and with Shemite andKushite slaves. The ceaseless caravans, threading the desert from eastto west and backagain, brought riches and more mingling of races. Thencame the conquering Turanians, riding out of the East to thrust back theboundaries of Stygia, and now for a generation Zamboula had been Turan'swesternmostoutpost, ruled by a Turanian satrap.The babel of a myriad tongues smote on the Cimmerian's ears as therestless pattern of the Zamboula streets weaved about him--cleft now andthen by a squad of clatteringhorsemen, the tall, supple warriors ofTuran, with dark hawk-faces, clinking metal and curved swords. Thethrong scampered from under their horses' hoofs, for they were the lordsof Zamboula. But tall, somber Stygians,standing back in the shadows,glowered darkly, remembering their ancient glories. The hybridpopulation cared little whether the king who controlled their destiniesdwelt in dark Khemi or gleaming Aghrapur. Jungir Khanruled Zamboula,and men whispered that Nafertari, the satrap's mistress, ruled JungirKhan; but the people went their way, flaunting their myriad colors inthe streets, bargaining, disputing, gambling, swilling, loving, asthepeople of Zamboula have done for all the centuries its towers andminarets have lifted over the sands of the Kharamun.Bronze lanterns, carved with leering dragons, had been lighted in thestreets before Conanreached the house of Aram Baksh. The tavern was thelast occupied house on the street, which ran west. A wide garden,enclosed by a wall, where date-palms grew thick, separated it from thehouses farther east. To thewest of the inn stood another grove ofpalms, through which the street, now become a road, wound out into thedesert. Across the road from the tavern stood a row of deserted huts,shaded by straggling palm trees, andoccupied only by bats and jackals.As Conan came down the road he wondered why the beggars, so plentiful inZamboula, had not appropriated these empty houses for sleeping quarters.The lights ceased some distancebehind him. Here were no lanterns,except the one hanging before the tavern gate: only the stars, the softdust of the road underfoot, and the rustle of the palm leaves in thedesert breeze.Aram's gate did not open uponthe road, but upon the alley which ranbetween the tavern and the garden of the date-palms. Conan jerkedlustily at the rope which depended from the bell beside the lantern,augmenting its clamor by hammering on theiron-bound teakwork gate withthe hilt of his sword. A wicket opened in the gate and a black facepeered through.'Open, blast you,' requested Conan. 'I'm a guest. I've paid Aram for aroom, and a room I'll have, byCrom!'The black craned his neck to stare into the starlit road behind Conan;but he opened the gate without comment, and closed it again behind theCimmerian, locking and bolting it. The wall was unusually high;butthere were many thieves in Zamboula, and a house on the edge of thedesert might have to be defended against a nocturnal nomad raid. Conanstrode through a garden where great pale blossoms nodded inthestarlight, and entered the tap-room, where a Stygian with the shavenhead of a student sat at a table brooding over nameless mysteries, andsome nondescripts wrangled over a game of dice in a corner.Aram Bakshcame forward, walking softly, a portly man, with a blackbeard that swept his breast, a jutting hook-nose, and small black eyeswhich were never still.'You wish food?' he asked. 'Drink?''I ate a joint of beef and a loaf ofbread in the _suk_,' grunted Conan.'Bring me a tankard of Ghazan wine--I've got just enough left to pay forit.' He tossed a copper coin on the wine-splashed board.'You did not win at the gaming-tables?''How could I,with only a handful of silver to begin with? I paid youfor the room this morning, because I knew I'd probably lose. I wanted tobe sure I had a roof over my head tonight. I notice nobody sleeps in thestreets in Zamboula.The very beggars hunt a niche they can barricadebefore dark. The city must be full of a particularly blood-thirsty brandof thieves.'He gulped the cheap wine with relish, and then followed Aram out of thetap-room.Behind him the players halted their game to stare after himwith a cryptic speculation in their eyes. They said nothing, but theStygian laughed, a ghastly laugh of inhuman cynicism and mockery. Theothers lowered theireyes uneasily, avoiding one another's glance. Thearts studied by a Stygian scholar are not calculated to make him sharethe feelings of a normal human being.Conan followed Aram down a corridor lighted by copperlamps, and it didnot please him to note his host's noiseless tread. Aram's feet were cladin soft slippers and the hallway was carpeted with thick Turanian rugs;but there was an unpleasant suggestion of stealthinessabout theZamboulan.At the end of the winding corridor Aram halted at a door, across which aheavy iron bar rested in powerful metal brackets. This Aram lifted andshowed the Cimmerian into a well-appointed chamber,the windows ofwhich, Conan instantly noted, were small and strongly set with twistedbars of iron, tastefully gilded. There were rugs on the floor, a couch,after the Eastern fashion, and ornately carved stools. It was amuchmore elaborate chamber than Conan could have procured for the pricenearer the center of the city--a fact that had first attracted him,when, that morning, he discovered how slim a purse his roisterings forthe pastfew days had left him. He had ridden into Zamboula from thedesert a week before.Aram had lighted a bronze lamp, and he now called Conan's attention tothe two doors. Both were provided with heavy bolts.'You maysleep safely tonight, Cimmerian,' said Aram, blinking over hisbushy beard from the inner doorway.Conan grunted and tossed his naked broadsword on the couch.'Your bolts and bars are strong; but I always sleep withsteel by myside.'Aram made no reply; he stood fingering his thick beard for a moment ashe stared at the grim weapon. Then silently he withdrew, closing thedoor behind him. Conan shot the bolt into place, crossed theroom,opened the opposite door and looked out. The room was on the side of thehouse that faced the road running west from the city. The door openedinto a small court that was enclosed by a wall of its own.Theend-walls, which shut it off from the rest of the tavern compound, werehigh and without entrances; but the wall that flanked the road was low,and there was no lock on the gate.Conan stood for a moment in thedoor, the glow of the bronze lamp behindhim, looking down the road to where it vanished among the dense palms.Their leaves rustled together in the faint breeze; beyond them lay thenaked desert. Far up the street, inthe other direction, lights gleamedand the noises of the city came faintly to him. Here was only starlight,the whispering of the palm leaves, and beyond that low wall, the dust ofthe road and the deserted huts thrustingtheir flat roofs against thelow stars. Somewhere beyond the palm groves a drum began.The garbled warnings of the Zuagir returned to him, seeming somehow lessfantastic than they had seemed in the crowded, sunlitstreets. Hewondered again at the riddle of those empty huts. Why did the beggarsshun them? He turned back into the chamber, shut the door and bolted it.The light began to flicker, and he investigated, swearing whenhe foundthe palm oil in the lamp was almost exhausted. He started to shout forAram, then shrugged his shoulders and blew out the light. In the softdarkness he stretched himself fully clad on the couch, his sinewyhandby instinct searching for and closing on the hilt of his broadsword.Glancing idly at the stars framed in the barred windows, with the murmurof the breeze through the palms in his ears, he sank into slumber withavague consciousness of the muttering drum, out on the desert--the lowrumble and mutter of a leather-covered drum, beaten with soft, rhythmicstrokes of an open black hand....2 The Night SkulkersIt was the stealthyopening of a door which awakened the Cimmerian. Hedid not awake as civilized men do, drowsy and drugged and stupid. Heawoke instantly, with a clear mind, recognizing the sound that hadinterrupted his sleep. Lyingthere tensely in the dark he saw the outerdoor slowly open. In a widening crack of starlit sky he saw framed agreat black bulk, broad, stooping shoulders and a misshapen head blockedout against the stars.Conan feltthe skin crawl between his shoulders. He had bolted that doorsecurely. How could it be opening now, save by supernatural agency? Andhow could a human being possess a head like that outlined against thestars? Allthe tales he had heard in the Zuagir tents of devils andgoblins came back to bead his flesh with clammy sweat. Now the monsterslid noiselessly into the room, with a crouching posture and a shamblinggait; and afamiliar scent assailed the Cimmerian's nostrils, but didnot reassure him, since Zuagir legendry represented demons as smellinglike that.Noiselessly Conan coiled his long legs under him; his naked sword was inhis righthand, and when he struck it was as suddenly and murderously asa tiger lunging out of the dark. Not even a demon could have avoidedthat catapulting charge. His sword met and clove through flesh and bone,andsomething went heavily to the floor with a strangling cry. Conancrouched in the dark above it, sword dripping in his hand. Devil orbeast or man, the thing was dead there on the floor. He sensed death asany wild thingsenses it. He glared through the half-open door into thestarlit court beyond. The gate stood open, but the court was empty.Conan shut the door but did not bolt it. Groping in the darkness hefound the lamp and lightedit. There was enough oil in it to burn for aminute or so. An instant later he was bending over the figure thatsprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.It was a gigantic black man, naked but for a loin-cloth. One handstillgrasped a knotty-headed bludgeon. The fellow's kinky wool was built upinto horn-like spindles with twigs and dried mud. This barbaric coiffurehad given the head its misshapen appearance in the starlight.Providedwith a clue to the riddle, Conan pushed back the thick red lips, andgrunted as he stared down at teeth filed to points.He understood now the mystery of the strangers who had disappeared fromthe house ofAram Baksh; the riddle of the black drum thrumming outthere beyond the palm groves, and of that pit of charred bones--that pitwhere strange meat might be roasted under the stars, while black beastssquatted aboutto glut a hideous hunger. The man on the floor was acannibal slave from Darfar.There were many of his kind in the city. Cannibalism was not toleratedopenly in Zamboula. But Conan knew now why people lockedthemselves inso securely at night, and why even beggars shunned the open alleys anddoorless ruins. He grunted in disgust as he visualized brutish blackshadows skulking up and down the nighted streets, seekinghumanprey--and such men as Aram Baksh to open the doors to them. Theinnkeeper was not a demon; he was worse. The slaves from Darfar werenotorious thieves; there was no doubt that some of their pilferedlootfound its way into the hands of Aram Baksh. And in return he sold themhuman flesh.Conan blew out the light, stepped to the door and opened it, and ran hishand over the ornaments on the outer side. One of themwas movable andworked the bolt inside. The room was a trap to catch human prey likerabbits. But this time instead of a rabbit it had caught a saber-toothedtiger.Conan returned to the other door, lifted the bolt andpressed againstit. It was immovable and he remembered the bolt on the other side. Aramwas taking no chances either with his victims or the men with whom hedealt. Buckling on his sword-belt, the Cimmerian strodeout into thecourt, closing the door behind him. He had no intention of delaying thesettlement of his reckoning with Aram Baksh. He wondered how many poordevils had been bludgeoned in their sleep and dragged out ofthat roomand down the road that ran through the shadowed palm groves to theroasting-pit.He halted in the court. The drum was still muttering, and he caught thereflection of a leaping red glare through the groves.Cannibalism wasmore than a perverted appetite with the black men of Darfar; it was anintegral element of their ghastly cult. The black vultures were alreadyin conclave. But whatever flesh filled their bellies that night,itwould not be his.To reach Aram Baksh he must climb one of the walls which separated thesmall enclosure from the main compound. They were high, meant to keepout the man-eaters; but Conan was no swamp-bredblack man; his thews hadbeen steeled in boyhood on the sheer cliffs of his native hills. He wasstanding at the foot of the nearer wall when a cry echoed under thetrees.In an instant Conan was crouching at the gate,glaring down the road.The sound had come from the shadows of the huts across the road. Heheard a frantic choking and gurgling such as might result from adesperate attempt to shriek, with a black hand fastened overthevictim's mouth. A close-knit clump of figures emerged from the shadowsbeyond the huts, and started down the road--three huge black mencarrying a slender, struggling figure between them. Conan caughttheglimmer of pale limbs writhing in the starlight, even as, with aconvulsive wrench, the captive slipped from the grasp of the brutalfingers and came flying up the road, a supple young woman, naked as theday she wasborn. Conan saw her plainly before she ran out of the roadand into the shadows between the huts. The blacks were at her heels, andback in the shadows the figures merged and an intolerable scream ofanguish andhorror rang out.Stirred to red rage by the ghoulishness of the episode, Conan racedacross the road.Neither victim nor abductors were aware of his presence until the softswish of the dust about his feet brought themabout, and then he wasalmost upon them, coming with the gusty fury of a hill wind. Two of theblacks turned to meet him, lifting their bludgeons. But they failed toestimate properly the speed at which he was coming.One of them wasdown, disemboweled, before he could strike, and wheeling cat-like, Conanevaded the stroke of the other's cudgel and lashed in a whistlingcounter-cut. The black's head flew into the air; the headlessbody tookthree staggering steps, spurting blood and clawing horribly at the airwith groping hands, and then slumped to the dust.The remaining cannibal gave back with a strangled yell, hurling hiscaptive from him. She


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DEATH TO SMOOCHY           by      Adam Resnick      December 2000       Early Draft   FOR EDUCATIONAL    PURPOSESONLYBEGIN CREDITSEXT. KIDNET STUDIO -C - EVENINGA man in a puffy foam-rubber rhinoceros costume dancingunder the bright friendly lights of a television studio.Another rhinoand various foam-rubber animals dancebehind him to the happy MUSIC. The rhino finishes hisnumber and takes a bow. A bleacher full of kids burstsinto wild applause.INT. BACKSTAGE - MOMENTS LATERAfterthe taping. The rhino lumbers down the hallwaytoward wardrobe. He is suddenly grabbed by two large menand dragged out through the exit into...INT. DARK PARKING GARAGE... where several   thugs inovercoats emerge from theshadows and start   beating him with lead pipes. One ofthe men pulls out   a GUN and SHOOTS the rhino severaltimes. The SHOTS    REVERBERATE through the empty garage.FINALCREDIT:                                       CUT TO BLACK:SUPERIMPOSE:    ONE YEAR EARLIERFADE UP ON:INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - DAYIt's the taping of another children'sshow -- "RainbowRandolph and the Krinkle Kids." RANDOLPH SMILEY, aclean-cut man with a happy face and yellow bow tie,dances through Rainbowland with the "Krinkle Kids"(little people in top hats). He sings one ofhissignature songs: "Friends Come In All Sizes." One ofthe main Krinkle Kids -- ANGELO PIKE -- dances behindhim.                         RANDOLPH                 (singing)          'Friends come in allsizes          That's a fact! It's True!          All colors of the rainbow            from Mauve toBlue...                  (MORE)                                       (CONTINUED)                                                      2.CONTINUED:                     RANDOLPH(CONT'D)             Their names may not be different               and their shoes may not match             One might say 'grasp' while the               other says 'snatch'             Some like to toss whileothers             like to caaaaatch... Beeee-               caaaause...             Friends come in all sizes             Take it from me! Golly Gee! Size               never matters when you want some               friendlypatter             From a pal who is true and can               lift you when you're blue             You can count on him and he can               count on yoooouuuu!             It's true... that...                    (bigfinish)             Friends come in all sizes!'                                       DISSOLVE TO:MONTAGE - RAINBOW RANDOLPH MERCHANDISE"Sugar Rainbows Cereal," plastic toys lined up on storeshelves,kids playing with Randolph dolls, kids eating"Rainbow Potato Chips" and "Rainbow Candies." A "RainbowBurster," a kind of gun that shoots plastic rainbows.Marquees announcing upcoming live appearances, etc. Wegetthe picture. Rainbow Randolph is the king of thekid shows.INT. DIMLY-LIT BAR - NIGHTA suburban-looking HUSBAND and WIFE enter. They findRainbow Randolph sitting alone, drinking a Scotch. Hairslickedback, sans bow tie, the friendly face no longerlooks so friendly. He nods for them to sit down. Aftera nervous beat, the Husband puts a briefcase on the tableand slides it to Randolph. Randolph takes a gulp of hisScotch.He unsnaps the briefcase and opens it. Fivegrand stares him in the face.                     HUSBAND             So... uh... you'll make sure my             boy dances up front, right? Where             he'll get the mostcamera time?Randolph slams the briefcase shut, startling the couple.                     RANDOLPH             You want your kid on theshow?                                       (CONTINUED)                                                           3.CONTINUED:                     HUSBAND             Of... ofcourse.                     WIFE             Yes, very much.                     RANDOLPH             Then don't tell me how to run my             fucking business.                     HUSBAND             No, no,we were just --Randolph rises. He takes a final gulp of his Scotch andpicks up the briefcase.                     RANDOLPH             I'll call you if a spot opens up.He starts to walk off. Suddenly, the Husband andWifejump up from the table holding guns.                     HUSBAND             Freeze, you cocksucker!                     WIFE             Drop the briefcase!Federal agents storm into the bar and surroundRandolph.EXT. TIMES SQUARE - DAWNBundles of the morning editions are tossed onto the curbfrom passing trucks.   The various headlines blare:"RAINBOW RANDOLPH BUSTED ACCEPTINGBRIBE""FCC PROBES KID SHOW BIZ""CORRUPTION IN KRINKLELAND"INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - DAYThe Rainbow Randolph/Krinkle Kid set is being dismantled.Backdrops are rolledup and the giant rainbow centerpieceis wheeled off. Workers with push brooms sweep up tonsof glittery "magic Rainbow dust."INT. NETWORK BOARDROOM - KIDNET - DAYWe are TIGHT ON the sweating faceof a MAN who looks likehe's about to be executed.                                                 CUT BACK TO:                                                      4.STOKESis standing at the end of a longconference table as theNETWORK BRASS glares at him.                        STOKES             (addressing the brass)          Gentlemen, let me be the first to          say, in all sobriety, that I'm as          shocked andoutraged as all of --The network CEO, a hog of a man, cuts him off.                  CEO          Save it for the papers, Stokes.          We've got nervous sponsors and an          angry public -- acombination          uglier than two monkeys fucking.          What are you doing about it?                  STOKES          Well, sir, I'm currently in the          process of compiling a list of          viable replacementsand it's my          hope...                  CEO          Clean replacements?    With          background checks? I assure you,          Mr. Stokes, this network cannot          survive another RainbowRandolph.          The goddamn P.R. department looks          like the Jim Jones camp.Another EXECUTIVE chimes in.                  EXECUTIVE #1          Remember, Stokes, this was your          dog that crappedon our rug.                        EXECUTIVE #2          We trusted you, Frank. And now          we're in a tight spot. We have to          post our quarterly earnings next          month, for Christ'ssake.                   CEO          Whoever takes that slot has to be          a straight arrow. Clean as a          whistle.                  EXECUTIVE #3          Right. Someone who'll take the          heat off. Oneof those sweater          types. Any chance of luring Fred          Rogers away fromP.B.S.?                                     (CONTINUED)                                                      5.CONTINUED:                     EXECUTIVE #4             Yeah, if we back up theBrinks             truck.                           EXECUTIVE #1             No way. The idea now is to stop             the hemorrhaging.                           EXECUTIVE #2             You better fix this, Stokes.Get             us a white bread replacement,             fast. Bland, milk toast. Not a             speck of controversy.A giant hand slams on the table. All heads snap.The CEO drags his fingers along the shinymahogany.Deafening sound.                     CEO                (calm and measured)             Squeaky fucking clean.INT. STOKES' OFFICE - DAYStokes sits behind his mahogany desk, sipping a glassofwine as he goes over potential Randolph replacements withNORA BISHOP, his pretty protege.                     STOKES             Bumble Bee Billy?                     NORA                (reading from alist)             Wife beater.                     STOKES             Square Dance Danny?                     NORA             Still appealing the mailfraud             thing.                     STOKES             Skippy Black and the Tippy Trolls?                     NORA             Black was deported, and the             trolls... well, who gives a shit.Nora kicks thetable in frustration.                                        (CONTINUED)                                                          6.CONTINUED:                     NORA             This is impossible. If Iever see             that Rainbow Randolph again I'll             strangle him. Choke the life out             of him. Squeeze his scrawny neck             until his eyes pop out of his             skull and bounce off thewalls...                     STOKES             Before indulging such cheery             fantasies, let's just concentrate             on saving my job. Shall we?                     NORA             Sorry, Frank.Stokesflips through a thick stack of files.      He suddenlystops at one.                     STOKES             What's going on with Sheldon Mopes             these days.Nora laughs.                     NORA             Ohmy God. Have we sunk to that             level already? Smoochy the Rhino?             What a sap.                     STOKES             Sap's just the pill we need right             now. Mopes is a straightarrow.             Always has been.                     NORA             The guy can't get arrested, Frank.             He can't even break into the             birthday party circuit. Last I             heard he was workinghospitals and             nursing homes. He's a joke.Stokes stands up and walks around the room.                     STOKES             The truth of the matter is, a             successful children's showhas             always depended on two simple             elements: a fuzzy costume and a             lot of hype. Strip away the foam             rubber and the network money and             they're all jokes.Marginal             talents.. cabaret acts... off-             Broadwayrunoff...                                       (CONTINUED)                                                     7.CONTINUED:                     NORA             I probably have ten acts inmy             development file -- acts I've been             cultivating -- that are more             deserving than Sheldon Mopes.                     STOKES             And each one a moral question             mark.Something I can't risk at             the moment.                     NORA                (frustrated)             We can do better than this guy,             Frank. He brings nothing tothe             table.                     STOKES             Except ethics. With Mopes,             there's never been a whiff of             controversy. The man's an             ethical, harmless, cornball. In             short, a


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                          SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK                               Written by                            CharlieKaufman                              SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 2007.          A1INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S BEDROOM - FALL 2005 - MORNING A1          Darkness. Thesound of a radio and pots and pans clanging          fades in. Caden, 40, opens his eyes in bed, and groggily          looks at himself in the bureau mirror. The bedside clock          reads 7:45.          1 INT. CADEN ANDADELE'S KITCHEN - FALL 2005 - SAME1          Adele, 40, in t-shirt and sweats, mixes a bowl of instant          oatmeal, puts it in the microwave.          RADIO VOICE          ... a Labor Day luncheon today--          OLIVE (O.S.) RADIO VOICE          Mommy! Done! -- at Stuckey Hall --          ADELERADIO VOICE          Okay!-- in downtown Schenectady --          Adele leaves the kitchen. Caden, also 40,enters as she's          leaving. He's dressed in a ratty terrycloth robe.          CADENADELE          Morning. Morning. Tried not to wake          you.          CADEN          Thanks. You didn't. I was just--          As Caden's voice goes under, we follow Adele into --          2 INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S BATHROOM - FALL 2005 - CONTINUOUS 2          Olive, 4, sits on the toilet. Adele enters, rips sometoilet          paper off the roll and proceeds to wipe Olive. The phone          rings in the kitchen.          ADELECADEN (O.S.)          Caden, could you get that? It's Maria. I don't wantto.          ADELE          Ugh. Caden!          (looks at bright green          smear on toilet paper)          That's weird.          The phone stops ringing.          OLIVE          Is something wrong with mypoop?          (CONTINUED)                                                  SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 2007.          2 CONTINUED:2          ADELEMARIA'S VOICE          No, honey. It's just green.Hi, it's me. Where are you?          Maybe you ate somethingI'll try you on your cell.          green.          OLIVE (CONT'D)          Ididn't! What's wrong with me?!          A cellphone rings in the other room.          ADELE          Honey, I have to get this. You're          going to be fine.          OLIVE          But, Mommy --          Adeleruns into --          3 INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S KITCHEN - FALL 2005 - CONTINUOUS3          She rifles through her purse, grabs her cellphone,answers.          ADELE          Hey.          (LAUGHING)          Oh, wiping Olive's ass. You?          Caden is pouring himself a cup of coffee. He sips it and          stares out the window. It'sraining.          ADELE (CONT'D)          You're kidding! Holy fuck!          Caden exits with his coffee, annoyed about the phone call.          CADEN          I don't feel well.          4 INT. CADEN ANDADELE'S BATHROOM - FALL 2005 - CONTINUOUS 4          Caden passes the bathroom. Olive is staring into the toilet          bowl. Adele can be heard chatting in thebackground.          OLIVE          Daddy, my poop is green.          Caden enters the bathroom, looks into the bowl at the green          feces and smeared toilet paper. He seems freaked out.          OLIVE(CONT'D)          Am I going to be okay?          (CONTINUED)                                                   SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30,20073.          4CONTINUED: 4          CADEN          Of course, honey.          OLIVE          Did you have green poop when you          were little?          CADENOLIVE          I'msure I did, honey. Am I going to die?          CADENOLIVE          Of course not. You probablyI didn't! I didn't eat          ate something -- green!          CADEN          It'll be fine, sweetie. I'llbe          back in a minute.          OLIVE (O.C.)          (CALLING)          Is poop alive?          5EXT. CADEN AND ADELE'S HOUSE - FALL 2005 - MORNING 5          Caden steps out the frontdoor in his bare feet and hurries          down the driveway in the rain. He picks up the newspaper,          pulls the mail from the box. As he heads back inside, he          flips through the mail. There's a magazine calledAttending          to your Illness addressed to Caden. A diseased person on the          cover. Across the street a gaunt man watches Caden, unseen.          6INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S KITCHEN - FALL 2005 -MORNING 6          Caden sits at the kitchen table with his coffee, reading the          paper, dated Friday, October 14, 2005.          ADELE          All right, baby. See you then.          Adele clicks off hercellphone.          CADEN          Harold Pinter died!          ADELECADEN          Yeah? Huh. Well, he wasOh wait. He won the Nobel          old, right?Prize. Good for him.          OLIVE(O.S.)          Mom!          (CONTINUED)                                                  SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 2007 4.          6CONTINUED:6          ADELE OLIVE (O.S.)          What?!Do you need to come look at          my poop again?!          ADELE OLIVE (O.S.)          No, Olive, it's fine. JustWhat if it's alive? Whatif          flush.I kill it? It's green! Like          plants!          ADELE CADEN          It's not alive, honey.God, remember that production          of The Dumbwaiter I did at          Albanyfest?          The toilet isflushed.          OLIVE (O.S.) (CONT'D)          Everything's alive. Everything          grows big. That's how you know.          Olive enters.          ADELE          I have your oatmeal,honey.          OLIVE          I want peanut butter and jelly.          ADELE OLIVE          Olive, c'mon. You told me I don't want oatmeal.          oatmeal. This isn't a          restaurant.          Adele growls,grabs the oatmeal, dumps it in the sink.          OLIVE (CONT'D)CADEN          Sorry, Mommy! I'm sorry!(looking at paper)          They found Avian flu in          Turkey. In the country          Turkey not turkeys.It's in          chickens.          Adele is making a peanut butter sandwich for Olive.          OLIVE (CONT'D)          Can I watch TV till school?          Caden clicks the remote for Olive and goes back to hispaper.          A cartoon cow talks to a cartoon sheep.          (CONTINUED)                                                  SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 20075.          6 CONTINUED: (2)6          COW          There is a secret, something at          play under the surface, growing          like an invisible virus of thought.          The sheep nods. Caden pourshimself some more coffee, opens          the milk carton to pour some in, then sniffs at the spout.          He checks the date on the carton. It's October 20.          CADEN COW          Man. Milk's expired. Jesus.But you are being changed by          it. Second by second. Every          breath counts off time.          Caden goes back to his paper. Adele puts a peanut butter          sandwich in front ofOlive.          ADELE          Here. Now you better eat this.          OLIVE CADEN          I will. The first black graduate of          the University of Alabama          died. Vivian Malone Jones.          Stroke.Only 63.          Adele stares out the window at the rain.          7 INT. DENTIST'S OFFICE - FALL 2005 - DAY 7          Caden is in the dentist's chair, a bloody bib around his          neck. The dentist, in surgicalmask, probes his open mouth,          calls out numbers to an assistant, who records them.          DENTIST          2, 2, 1.3, 4, 2.3, 4, 4.          (to Caden)          Family coming forThanksgiving?          8 INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S BATHROOM - WINTER 2005 - NIGHT 8          Caden shaves. A faucet explodes and smacks him in the          forehead. He is sent staggering backwards with ayelp, into          the far wall, his razor flying and blood pouring from a          jagged cut above his right eyebrow. Off-screen, we hear the          pounding footsteps of someone running toward us. Half of          Caden'sface is covered with shaving cream. Rivulets of          blood intermingle with it. Water shoots out where the tap          was, spraying the mirror, which is spattered with blood.          Adele, dressed in heavilypaint-splattered clothes, hurries          in and takes in the scene: the wet, the mess, the blood.          (CONTINUED)                                                   SYN, NY -GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 2007 6.          8CONTINUED:8          ADELE          Jesus! Caden! What the fuck -- ?!          Olive, in a nightgown, stands quietly in the doorway,her          curled toes clenched. She holds a large stuffed owl.          CADENADELE          Um. I was shaving and -- My God! Jesus! Look at your          head!          Dumbly, Caden tries to look up at hisforehead, then squints          nervously at himself in the mirror.          ADELE (CONT'D)          (to Olive)          Honey, don't look.          Olive turns around.          ADELE (CONT'D)          Put pressure.Press. Press!          CADEN          Do I press above or below it?          ADELE          I don't know! Just... both!          Caden sits on the toilet, presses a towel to his head. Adele          squats, goes intoa spasmodic coughing fit, finishes, opens          the cabinet under the sink, pushes her arm through bottles of          cleaning products, old sponges, old toothbrushes, toilet          paper rolls and other junk to theshut-off valves.          ADELE (CONT'D)          I can't turn it! It's gonna flood!          Olive hugs the owl tightly and it speaks.          OWLADELE          Whooo. Whooo. Whooo areI can't -- Oh wait, gotit!          you?          Adele turns off the water. Olive looks back into the room.          OLIVE          Mommy, Daddy has blood.          9INT. EXAMINATION ROOM - WINTER 2005 - NIGHT9          Caden sits on a metal table. The room has some meager          Christmas ornaments. A doctor stitches Caden'sforehead.          (CONTINUED)                                                  SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 2007 7.          9CONTINUED:9          Caden squints into the bright light the doctor uses to see          his work. In the background we hear another patient.          PATIENT (O.S.)          (CRYING)          Please,please, please...          Caden sees a nurse shoving a tube far up into a man's nose.          Another nurse wipes away the blood leaking out his nostril.          CADEN          Will there be a


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                                  BAD TEACHER                                  Written by                        Lee Eisenberg & GeneStupnitsky                                                    June 6, 2008                                                  FADE IN:          EXT. JOHN ADAMS MIDDLE SCHOOL - DAY          To establish.          A school marqueewith removable plastic letters reads,          "GOOD LUCK WITH FINALS!" A JANITOR opens the glass and          starts removing the letters.          INT. TEACHER'S LOUNGE - DAY          POP! A Champagne corkhits the ceiling.          TEACHERS who rarely get to drink at work, jockey for          position, holding out their plastic flutes. (Note:          female teachers outnumber male teachers 12:1.)          PRINCIPAL WALLY SNUR,40s, balding, faces the teachers.          He has a habit of blinking hard before speaking.                         PRINCIPAL SNUR          Well, it's been another great year here          at JAMS. Who can forget Mr.Pinkus'          haunted classroom? Sandy, thank you.          SANDY PINKUS, 40s, sporting a ponytail, smiles, clearly          enjoying the small compliment.                         SANDY          I ain't afraid of noghost.          The other teachers laugh.                         PRINCIPAL SNUR          Or the wild success of...          VOICE (O.C.)          Wally, can I just say one quick thing?          Wally turns to AMYSQUIRREL, late 20s, cute and          wholesome. Any trace of sexuality she might have is          wiped away by her adult pigtails. She treats students          and adults alike -- likestudents.                         AMY          Just wanted to remind everyone the school          day's not over. So let's keep the          drinking under control, hmm? That's it.          Back to you, Wally.          A bunchof teacher roll their eyes.                                                                                PRINCIPAL SNUR          Thanks, Amy,          (then, back to his notes)          . Or the wildsuccess of the book drive          for the women's prison sponsored by Ms.          Savicki's class?          A broad-shouldered teacher with spiky hair, MS. SAVICKI, nods.          PRINCIPAL SNUR(CONT'D)          But now as the summer is upon us, it's          time to not only say goodbye to another          school year, but to also say goodbye to a          member of ourfaculty.                         (BEAT)          Elizabeth, can you come up here?          ELIZABETH HALSEY, mid 20s, pretty and petite, walks up to          the front. She sports an enormous diamond ring anddresses          slightly more cosmopolitan than the other teachers.          PRINCIPAL SNUR (CONT'D)          You've only been with us for one short          year, but know that you'll always be a          part of theJAMS family.          Elizabeth gives Principal Snur an appreciative smile.          The Teachers lightly applaud.          PRINCIPAL SNUR (CONT'D)          And we got you a little something.          Wally handsElizabeth an envelope. She opens it and.          pulls out a gift card: BOSTON MARKET. $37.                         ELIZABETH          Almost forty dollars. Thank you!                         PRINCIPALSNUR          Why don't you say a couple words?                         ELIZABETH          Okay. Um... I'm not really good at this          type of thing so I'll make it quick. I          know I've only been here ayear, but          there's so much I'm going to miss...          INT. ELIZABETH'S CLASSROOM - DAY          Elizabeth sits at her desk, cleaning it out. She's tossing          the few personal effects she has into abanker's box.                                                                                3.          ELIZABETH (V.0.)          My students, probably most of all.I'm not          saying they were littleangels, butthey          were all there to learn and that'sthe          greatest gift a student can give a teacher.          Elizabeth's class is horsing around, enjoying the last          days of seventh grade.          A dim-lookingBOY tentatively approaches her desk with          his yearbook in hand. He hands it to Elizabeth, who          considers what to write for a beat, then smiles as she          signs it.          INT. JOHN ADAMS MIDDLESCHOOL - HALLWAY - DAY          Elizabeth walks down the hall holding her box.          SIXTH, SEVENTH and EIGHTH graders all race past her,          running toward their summer vacation.          ELIZABETH(V.0.)          And I wish that I had gotten to know all of          you better, but between four classes and          planning a wedding, I had my hands full.          From the little I do know about you, I know          thatour students are in good hands.          Elizabeth passes Amy's classroom, where she is carefully          removing inspirational posters from her walls and rolling          them into cardboard tubes.          EXT. JOHNADAMS MIDDLE SCHOOL - DAY          Three middle school BURNOUTS are smoking weed in a          thicket on the outskirts of the school property.          ELIZABETH (V.0.)          And I can't believe it's allover. This          year flew by. And even though I'll never          teach again professionally, I've realized          that I don't need a blackboard and          classroom to set an example.          Elizabeth comes up behindthem.                         ELIZABETH (CONT'D)          Hand it over.          The Burnouts' eyes all go wide and they freeze. One of          the burnouts hands her thejoint.                                                                                ELIZABETH (CONT'D)          Everything.          The kids look at each other and then pull out a bag with          acouple of joints. They hand it over to Elizabeth.                         ELIZABETH (CONT'D)          This was a warning. Next time, I don't          call the principal. I call the cops.          EXT. JOHN ADAMSMIDDLE SCHOOL - TEACHER PARKING LOT - DAY          Elizabeth walks to her brand new MERCEDES. She gets in,          pulls out a joint and lights it. She takes a huge TOKE,          and then PEELS out of the lot.She tosses her banker's          box out the window and extends her hand, giving the          school THE FINGER.          ELIZABETH (O.S.)          Woo-hoo!          A couple students look at herstrangely.                         ANGLE ON          The dim-looking kid that had Elizabeth sign his yearbook.          He flips to the faculty section, and by the picture of          Elizabeth is her message: "YOU AREILLITERATE!"                         DIM-LOOKING KID          (struggling to read)          You are... Illit... Illit...          Elizabeth's car comes barrelling toward him and nearly          hits him.          She acceleratesinto the speed bumps, almost hitting the          JANITOR from the opening shot, who's changing the plastic          letters to read, "HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!"                         JANITOR          Slowdown!          CHYRON: BAD TEACHER          EXT. TOWNHOUSE NIGHT          A Mercedes with the vanity plate "HIS" is parked in the          driveway of an upscale neighborhood. Elizabeth'smatching          Mercedes pulls into the adjacent spot. Her license plate          reads "HERS."                                                                                INT. TOWNHOUSE - NIGHT          Abachelor pad. Top of the line electronics. Lots of          black leather furniture. Tacky, but expensive.          Elizabeth pours two glasses of wine and takes a longsip.                         ELIZABETH                         (CALLING)          Baby Doll?          MARK (O.S.)          Coming!          MARK, early 30s, exits the bedroom in his underwear.          He'sshaved his head to avoid signs of early balding and          is also a full four inches shorter than Elizabeth.          Thankfully for him, he has money.                         MARK(CONT'D)                         (ANXIOUS)          Hey! That was a quick party.          Elizabeth kisses Mark on the top of his head and hands          him aglass.                         ELIZABETH          Yeah. You should have seen it. What a          joke.          She raises her glass for a toast. He raises his.                         ELIZABETH (CONT'D)          Here'sto me never having to work again.          And I owe it all to you, Lover.          Elizabeth takes a big sip.                         ELIZABETH (CONT'D)                         (FLIRTATIOUS)          So I made areservation at Ruth's Chris,          and then I booked us a suite at the          Drake, and I thought we could finish the          night in "anal alley." Hmm?          Something drops in the bedroom. Mark, alarmed,turns          towards the door. Elizabeth brushes past him into --          INT. TOWNHOUSE - BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS          Elizabeth enters to find -- NOTHING. Mark follows herin.                                                                                Elizabeth looks around -- under the bed, in the closet,          behind the door.                         MARK          See?Nothing.          Just then, the wooden chest at the foot of the bed SNEEZES.          Elizabeth opens the latch to find SHEILA, 23, dressed only          in a thong, scrunched in the fetal position. She stands,          revealingLARGE FAKE BREASTS, and steps out of the chest.                         ELIZABETH                         (TO MARK)          Motherfucker!                         ELIZABETH          How could you do this tome?!          I'm sorry.                         ELIZABETH          You are buying me the biggest pair of          yellow diamond earrings they make! I'm          talking serious blood diamonds.          Sheila SNEEZESagain.          Bless you.                         ELIZABETH                         (TO SHEILA)          Get out of my house, bitch!                         MARK          Don't talk to her likethat.                         ELIZABETH          Excuse me?          I love her.          Mark puts his arm around Sheila. Elizabeth eyes Sheila's          large breasts.                         ELIZABETH          You loveher? She's a hooker.                                                                                MARK SHEILA          She's not a hooker. I dance.          Elizabeth takes a deepbreath.                         ELIZABETH (CONT'D)                         (SWEET)          Listen, Marky, you made a mistake.          You're human. I'm human. And this time          it was you. Maybe sixmonths from now,          you'll walk in on me. I don't know, but          probably.          Sheila SNEEZES again.                         ELIZABETH (CONT'D)          Shut the fuck up.          (then, to Mark,sweet)          And. maybe I'm talking crazy, but I don't          want to throw away our life together over          something like this. We're getting          married! I'm willing to fight forus.                         MARK          I'm not. And you know why? Because          Sheila loves me -- and not just for my          money.          Sheila squeezes his