FADE IN:
Any small town in Europe.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
With the ending of the first world war
many in Europe were left without
protection or identity. Violating the
Versailles Treaty patriots devised a plan
of defense called the Mirror Project, a
clandestine network of deep cover spies
whose mission was to observe societal
behavior looking for national threats
communicating their intelligence solely
through a chain of anonymous letters.
Worse than the routine and isolation was
not knowing their letters’ ultimate
destination. The fact others knew and
they did not would test their resolve,
their allegiance and their sanity.
INT. 503 MARBUFFPLATZ - MAUTHAUSEN, GERMANY - NIGHT
A drafty, rundown room fortified like a bunker by piles of
papers listing and leaning against every wall.
VAAS, middle-aged, moody as a chess master in the body of a
coal miner, seals an envelope. Exhausted.
VAAS
Another letter. Another night. In this
room. All alone.
Neatly puts away his writing materials. Paces. Adjusts
papers on their stacks. The sight hurts his eyes. Folds the
top sheet. Stands at attention. Presents the folded sheet.
VAAS
MY NOTES, HERR GENERAL. No, Herr general
I don’t yet see a pattern. Yes, Herr
general letters still coming. No, Herr
general have not missed a post.
Vaas looks around the room. LAUGHS at the amount of paper.
VAAS
Just look around.
Vaas flies into a rage scattering piles of papers. As pages
drift to the floor so does Vaas. He begins cleaning up.
VAAS
Losing my mind. Have to get out of here.
I’ll post this one and I’ll...take a
walk, yes! See people. See real people.
EXT. STREET
Vaas walks down a deserted street. Looks at the buildings on
either side of the narrow strip. Rips at his overcoat to
breathe. Bends over. At his feet is a faded, crumpled
CARNIVAL FLYER
that reads: “SEE THE WONDERS OF THE MYSTERIOUS FATIMA GIRL”.
Vaas picks it up. He smiles and walks away with new purpose.
EXT. CARNIVAL
It’s crowded and nobody minds the shoddy presentation.
Vaas cruises the booths and tents. Anyone who notices him
either looks away or shoots dirty looks at him. He defiantly
smiles in the wake of their ostracizing. Goes in the
FREAK SHOW TENT
crowded with locals gawking at the attractions. Vaas
inventories the freaks. Looks at his crumpled flyer.
A carnie, JOSEF, 30’s, a simpleton in overalls whose clown
face looks like an accident, studies Vaas. A macaque pops
its head out of Josef’s shirt. Josef follows Vaas
OUTSIDE
and out of the carnival compound. Josef lopes after him.
JOSEF
You didn’t stay long, mein Herr.
VAAS
What do you want?
JOSEF
I have something better than what you saw
back there. A real wonder, mein Herr. I
have her just around the corner. Only
the right kind of people can see her.
VAAS
I get it. In business for yourself. No.
JOSEF
She’ll show things your mind won’t be
able to handle. Mein Herr.
VAAS
Go away before I tell them about your
little enterprise. I...Mind? What can
you possibly know about--
JOSEF
I know she can make you scream.
EXT. PASTURE
Josef leads Vaas along. Josef puts down the macaque. It
runs into a bush. The bush rustles and then PANTING. Josef
goes behind the bush. Comes out dragging a small coffin.
JOSEF
Wait for it, mein Herr.
VAAS
For what? What’d you put in there?
Josef’s smile widens. Dares Vaas with a glance.
Vaas’ expression of doubt turns to curiosity, then amusement,
then awe. He reaches a hand out to touch. Vaas SCREAMS.
INT. 503 MARBUFFPLATZ - DAY
Still in his overcoat Vaas awakes. Goes to a dirty mirror on
the wall. Nervously LAUGHS and starts scratching his eyes.
VAAS
Not yet. Got to tell somebody. Somebody.
Someone else has to know about this
before I...Somebody has to know.
Vaas takes out his writing materials, starts scribbling. All
the piles of papers are gone from the room.
EXT. MAIN STREET - BUCHENWALD - DAY
A sea of humanity buys, barters, or just begs.
Ignoring everyone is VICTOR BARCHAS, 40’s, cane in hand,
metal brace on a shoe, a man who seems to relish being hated.
Suddenly a newspaper under his arm gets knocked free.
Ashamed, Victor watches boys and desperate men smother the
paper. They rip it apart ignoring an envelope kicked loose.
VICTOR
Out! Get away or you’re in my book, hmm?
Victor produces a leather notebook and pen. That’s all it
takes. Instinctively they retreat from the scattered pages.
Victor rescues his envelope. Leaves them the shredded paper.
EXT. ABANDONED FACTORY COURTYARD
A line of local workers with newspaper cut-outs push to see.
Armed POLICEMEN stand guard for a FOREMAN, 50’s, who sets up
a table and chair, opens a ledger, beckons the first worker.
From an alley Victor calculates how to get around them.
Suddenly WERNER, 30’s, approaches the line. He’s
Buchenwald’s weasel; a conniver and a notorious liar.
At sight of him Workers MOAN and direct him to the back of
the line. Among the men is CLAUS, 30’s, a John Henry type.
CLAUS
Werner. Too late to get the ad from the
newspaper. He’ll want one of ours.
No favors, Werner. Not for this.
WERNER
When you hear what I have to tell you
you’ll regret saying that, Claus.
The Foreman pulls his table closer to the policemen.
WERNER
I’ll explain it to a dumb head like you.
If you don’t get to the bank building
before closing time today you can’t get
your money stamped with the zeroes.
The news jumps from man to man.
FOREMAN
Any man steps out of line forfeits his
interview. Is that clear? Any and all.
OLD WORKER
Don’t give him your money, fool.
WERNER
Just for that you’ll pay double tax. (To
Claus) Marks turned into thousand marks
like magic. Who wants his money stamped?
GROANS sound from the line.
WERNER
Werner doesn’t need to do any favors.
You up front, hurry. You others, well...
YOUNG WORKER
I heard he’s only giving chances to work
today. We should go with Werner.
OLD WORKER
Trusting him is out of the question. We
either get our money stamped or stay in
line. Unless, there! Claus, call him.
CLAUS
The bastard?
OLD WORKER
Is better than this Untermensch.
Werner collects money from some men in the line.
CLAUS (O.S.)
Herr Barchas. Please, Herr Barchas.
CHORUS OF WORKERS
Him?! Not the bastard in building four.
FOREMAN
You there. Be quiet.
Werner’s greedy smile melts when he espies Victor.
WERNER
Damn him.
CLAUS
For our money, Herr Barchas. Please.
You’re not in the line. We have to be.
Victor looks at the neutral Foreman, then at the line of men.
VICTOR
I can’t. The outgoing train. My letter.
CLAUS
But you never get on the train.
YEAS and approvals bleat from the line.
CLAUS
We’ll pay you. How much? Mockie.
VICTOR
I don’t want money. I just want to mail
my letter. You have your business. I
have mine. Leave me to my work.
Victor turns toward the train station. The train WHISTLES.
WERNER
That’s right, go.
Victor shoots daggers at the gloating Werner, who smirks back
at him. Even the Foreman enjoys the spot Victor’s in until
the line starts morphing into a mob.
WERNER
Men, wait! Don’t forfeit your chance.
CLAUS
If you won’t help us then you won’t get
to the train. C’mon men. Damn you, Herr--
Some men step toward Victor.
VICTOR
NO! Buchenwald already damned me.
Victor’s sudden intensity stops the men in their tracks.
VICTOR
Know what Topf company makes? Industrial
brick ovens. Only the masons and smiths
are getting called back. You others are
wasting your time, and he is letting you.
Men look at each other. Train death stares on the Foreman.
VICTOR
And you let him.
(Slams his book in Werner’s direction)
You hate him when it’s convenient. You
don’t say no to him, any of you. I’ve
said it and I’m saying it. Damn me?
Every time I watch you make the same
mistakes out of your own ignorance.
Staring at the men Victor picks up his book. Heads for
THE TRAIN STATION
where the Conductor accepts his envelope and hands Victor an
envelope in return.
Confused, Victor opens his leather notebook.
VICTOR
Ist wrong. I don’t get a letter today.
Victor studies the envelope as he heads back through the
ABANDONED FACTORY
where the remaining men in line begrudgingly pay Werner.
WERNER
Danke schon, Herr Barchas. Thank you.
Victor keeps walking but Claus gets in his way.
CLAUS
Like good Germans we listened to you just
like we listened to the treaty. You.
You’d watch a man bleed to death. Your
problem is you don’t care about anyone.
Just those stupid letters.
VICTOR
Precisely. And they afford you the
luxury of ignorance.
CLAUS
No more. We’re watching you, and that
building you haunt. We’ll find out about
you, your letters. And then we’ll know.
VICTOR
Stay out of my building.
Victor walks away. Rips open the envelope. Stops.
INSERT - THE LETTER
Something amazing happening. Identified
positively the threat. Must take special
action against Mirrors. It’s coming.
She cannot find you.
INT. TENEMENT - NIGHT
Vaas lay on a bare mattress. He’s drenched in sweat.
There’s a wine bottle tethered to his wrist. He jerks in his
sleep and the wine bottle SMASHES against the wall.
VAAS
NO! Who’s there?!
He throws himself at the door. Jams a chair under the knob.
VAAS
Show you. I’ll have to show you.
Vaas punches the floor by the mattress. Shards of glass are
stuck in his knuckles. With his fist he starts writing huge
letters in blood on the wall.
EXT. BUCHENWALD - TRAIN STATION - DAY
Victor waits behind a crowd of frustrated people questioning
and griping at the mealy-mouthed CLERK in the ticket office.
CLERK
All second class and otherwise non
priority mail was halted.
WERNER
We’ve been cut off from jobs, money, even
Europe doesn’t want us. And now no mail?
The crowd reluctantly breaks up except Werner who studies
Victor going to the ticket office.
WERNER
What was that? Barchas got a letter!
Heads turn to see what Werner is shouting about this time.
CLAUS
How come he got mail?
WERNER
You don’t wait in the job line. You
didn’t get your money stamped. And
you’re the only one in Buchenwald to get
his mail? What makes you so special?
VICTOR
If you listened you wouldn’t be wasting
time. (To Clerk) What mail was held up?
CLERK
All second class and...
VICTOR
...otherwise non priority mail. My
letters come priority class. Guten Tag.
Victor parts the crowd with his cane. Leaves.
WERNER
What keeps you among us non priority
class, you bastard?
E/I. BUCHENWALD - BUILDING FOUR - DAY
A condemned, five story apartment building sadly displays a
tarnished bronze plaque reading: BUILDING IV.
Victor enters turning the envelope over in his hands. Sees
one of many strategically placed intruder alerts, a fallen
bannister spindle, out of place. Goes to a door.
VICTOR
Who ist there? Come out. Put you in my
book. Hello? I got the letter. I--
His door opens. LILY, early 40’s, weathered, she carries
herself with the poise of a former beauty, comes out.
INT. VICTOR’S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Everything in the place: his cot, his hot plate, has a
singleness about it. There is a table and one chair.
VICTOR
I told you I’d write you.
Victor hides the envelope under a book, lights the hot plate.
LILY
You never left a return address the few
times you did. What is this awful place?
Lily examines a large map of Germany. It has a twine-linked
network of headlines, notes, photos, and thumb tacks.
VICTOR
Difficult but not the worst it could be.
Victor dips one sad tea bag into two cups.
LILY
What could be worse than being in this?
VICTOR
Not being in it.
LILY
Victor, it’s Maria’s birthday soon. Come
home for your niece’s birthday.
VICTOR
Oh Lily.
LILY
You talk about choice, who has it. I’m
taking back your choice to stay away.
Just who do you communicate with?
Victor stares at the envelope underneath the book.
LILY
You don’t know. Think you’ll make some
grand discovery if you stay. You don’t
feel for me or Maria, you don’t feel--
VICTOR
I don’t feel responsible.
LILY
You don’t feel anything. Whoever these
people are stay with them. They’re all
the family you have now. God help you.
Victor watches her leave. Nervously starts cleaning. Moves
the book. Stares at the envelope between two tea cups.
Clears his throat, smiles. Rotates one of the cups.
VICTOR
I am fine. How are you? Das ist good.
EXT. COTTAGE - DAY - FLASHBACK
An old, wood table is set with two chipped tea cups.
INGRID, 10, a waif with the unsettling quiet of a child who’s
survived a tragedy, waits on a porch smirking at a MAILMAN
approaching. Suddenly she looks past him at
MARIA, 9, a tomboy who tries to act older than her years,
running toward them.
Something’s wrong. Ingrid scrambles for cover. Hyper
ventilates. Resists a violent, involuntary bodily function.
The Mailman reaches the table.
Ingrid’s breathing quiets. Arms by her sides. Her gaze
drifts into the sky. An ecstatic grin rips across her face.
The Mailman holds out an envelope mistaking Ingrid for...
MAILMAN
Maria? Guten Tag. For your uncle. Your
uncle. I don’t have time for your games.
Mailman puts the envelope in Ingrid’s stiffened arm. Leaves.
Maria watches the Mailman approach her. And then gawks at
INGRID STILL SMILING INTO THE SKY
turn and mechanically walk backwards off the porch.
MAILMAN
Maria? How did you get...
The mailman watches Maria running for the empty porch.
INT. DEN - COTTAGE
An antique piano ages under piles of papers and notes.
Fondling a wax sealed letter, Maria catches sunlight glinting
off a metal brace on an orthopedic shoe.
VICTOR (O.S.)
Who’s it from, hmm?
MARIA
It doesn’t have a return address. Uncle,
won’t you come to my tea party?
Victor finally puts down his newspaper. Takes the letter.
VICTOR
I’m too old for that. So are you soon,
hmm? Go find your mother now.
Burns the letter. Stretches for a cane. Can’t reach. He
makes sure she’s gone. Walks peg-legged to get it.
INSERT - THE BURNING LETTER
“Major Victor Barchas,
By order of the
Weimar Republican Guard and The Munich
University your presence is hereby and
formally--”
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