Write. Read. Critique. GWW
When I took classes at the Gotham Writers Workshop that's what they drilled into us as their "highly effective" means of teaching the craft. Well, some of us were good at reading. Less of that number were good at writing (posting pages online that is); but I tell you everyone, every last one of us was greater than great at critiquing. Criticising is a sport enjoyed by all. Even more by atheletes of the arts.
Just read Marc's pages on the blog under this one. It so reminded me of the GWW classes and how I dove headlong into these elaborate critiques of my peers' work. I feel I have to assign a reason for typing this today because I don't think it's evident in what I wrote so far. I set up this blog to network, read and be read by fellow writers of scripts. Oh my god, I'm writing a disclaimer! I want to tell you how I'm about to champion the good elements of Marc's pages so I could thrash the bad ones. I'm looking for the OK. That's why I'm writing this. Well, well. I guess someone here (whenlightningstrikes) cares whether or not he's liked by a group of faceless screenwriting hopefuls.
I should have titled this entry, "Paving the road to hell".
Apology
Sorry for cursing if we're not allowed to curse. Seeing my latest blog on the Store homepage makes the site look like a transcript from a Morton Downey, Jr show. Not my intention. Will try to blog it further down the site. Blog. Blog. Blog.
Musings
This is the third fucking attempt to post this damn blog today. 1st the computer froze. Fucking Dell. 2nd I hit "Add Entry" in the stupid blog task bar and erased my entry. Fucking task bar. And now I'm bitching about the first and second attempts. Can we curse on this site?
"Musings. Take 3." SNAP.
Got the end of ACT I down in shorthand yesterday. I shut off the computer and used a spiral bound notebook and pen to more freely jot down the events. It worked. Now all I have to do is fold it into the actual script. The way things are going on this blog I'm afraid my Final Draft software will explode when I load it into the disc drive.
Also, reading professional scripts is the biggest aid to improving writing. Creative Screenwriting Magazine (CW) has 4 pages from "Click" in its latest issue. It was very helpful. Ironically, today on my homepage the same film got panned by critics. But reading the 4 pages helpful. Movie not. Pages good. Movie bad. So it goes.
Barf bag
Yesterday the thought of working on the "Crooked..." rewrite almost brought me to vomit. The best I did was read what I had so far. Eh. Even right now I feel I'm adding one more sour drop of whine to a keg of artistic whining & whimpering about the craft, our struggles, what we feel we HAVE to do, etc.
While enjoying my morning constitutional in the solitude of the bathroom these thoughts were in my mind. I landed on Robert McKee. You know, the overzealous screenwriting guru from that movie, "Adaptation". The "Fuck you and write." guy? He really exists if you don't know. I took his seminars. He's thorough, passionate, giving. He won a Bafta award for his work, "Je Accuse Citizen Kane". It's not a movie. No. God forbid a guru have an actual piece of his own that stands alone as they pontificate how to do what they've proven they couldn't. No, it's an assault, a deconstruction of the movie, Citizen Kane. Good for him. Why was this thought in my head on a toilet in a safe and solitary bathroom?
Because he DIDN'T have a movie to his credit. Maybe he wrote scripts. Maybe even some were bought; even produced. I don't of any if there are. He didn't, doesn't, have a movie done and he now basks in a niche of the industry. He's validated by paychecks and sold out lecture dates. His success is the deodorant that keeps the puke smell of his not writing stories away from his finely groomed, old man nose hairs.
Good for him, I guess. Good for me too the day when I write enough of these blogs that I'm calculated by a Scriptologist.com algorithm as the most active, most recent, most whatever blogger in the virtual west. Then I'll be relieved the nausea of writing and not writing.
Pressing onward
I don't know how interesting my blogs are, but I like the new routine. Keeps me writing. Yesterday was a bit more cut 'n paste from the old draft to the new than actual rewriting. I guess that too is part of the process. It's not that I'm trying to jam favorite scenes into the new, but they do the job story wise and they mesh into the new, dare I call it the final, draft.
That will be tomorrow's entry: when to call a project finished. I mean seriously, you could rewrite a thing to death, become trapped in an endless cycle of revisions. Oh sure, the books tell you when your rewriting has been reduced to cutting and pasting scenes, truncating description and dialogue, and other minor touches that don't drastically affect the story; that's when you're done. Until a story editor or contest reads your 'done' script and says, "It's good; but it could use this." Or, "It would be better if..." Or, "We like it, but could you change the main character to a volkswagon named Herbie?" Then I guess you could go once more into the breech.
But for now I'm pressing onward to FADE TO BLACK on this draft, and will promptly move on to the next story.
Getting past the milestones
Made my deadline for the 20/20 contest. Feel good about what I submitted. Having focused so long and so narrowly on that goal, and achieving it I'm now left the task of pressing onward in the story. By myself. Without the carrot of a deadline which is code for instant gratitfication I, all of us, have to persist. So today I start the next leg of the tour de rewrite.
PS Thank you to all of you who took the time to read my stuff.
The Crooked Old Man (2nd 10 pgs)
INT. KITCHEN - COTTAGE - LATER
Lily packs a satchel as Victor eats and glances out a window.
VICTOR
Some traveling sideshow on the far side
of the river. Mind Maria better, hmm?
LILY
She’s an explorer like you.
Victor ignores the complement.
LILY
Where will you be?
VICTOR
Don’t know yet.
LILY
Would you consider staying? Not for me.
Victor shoots her a look. She doesn’t look at him.
VICTOR
Your asking me to stay is selfish. My
country needs me again. Finally.
LILY
Germany? They need you to tell them how
they lost the war? She needs you too.
Victor sees Maria outside gesturing and toasting to thin air.
VICTOR
Lily, PLEASE?! You’re not... Sister,
there’s a fault in the bedrock of our
nation. Maybe you know how deep it goes.
I do and I’m terrified. Since the war
people everywhere live in fear. Of who
might come or of who might come out.
Know your enemy, the papers tell us. I
wish we knew ourselves. If this fear
continues we could lose our rights, our
country, maybe our whole identity.
Lily weeps by her brother’s rare display of passion.
VICTOR
There’s only one hope of regaining our
national pride. The Mirror Project.
To be among Germany’s sharpest minds.
Collaborating for...for...
LILY
The security of a fractured nation?
VICTOR
Our nation. And someday hers. Who does
she talk to out there?
EXT. COTTAGE - CONTINUOUS
By herself Maria’s at high tea nodding to no one.
MARIA
Uncle says it’s colder when there’s no
snow. The river is frozen. I seen him
cross it. I’ll follow him, tell him.
Let him see you for real before he goes.
BACK TO SCENE
E/I. BUCHENWALD - BUILDING IV - DAY
A finger traces the lettering on the plaque. A figure goes
INSIDE
and hears VOICES. Follows the source upstairs. Stops on a
stair with a broken bannister spindle leaning against the
rail. Steps over it. Gets to the top of the stairs.
VICTOR (O.S.)
I can remember when I was a little boy...
An ear presses against a door to hear LAUGHING from inside.
VICTOR (O.S.)
Wunderbar! More tea?
The eavesdropper is Vaas. His face is beat up and bandaged.
He lifts a fist but doesn’t knock. Checks the doorknob to
see if the door is locked when it swings wide open on him.
Victor, standing in the doorway, glares at Vaas.
VAAS
No! Wait. I send your letters.
VICTOR
You should not be here.
VAAS
You think different after I tell you what
happened to me. Please, may I speak?
INT. VICTOR’S ROOM
Victor cleans tea cups off the only table.
VAAS
My name is Vaas. Who were having tea
with? I heard you talking to someone.
Victor stops dead in his tracks.
VICTOR
I was working. Why are you here? What
happened to your face, hmm?
VAAS
Funny. The answer to both questions is
the same. There was a little girl.
EXT. CARNIVAL CAMPGROUND - CONTINUOUS
On the outskirts of the campground Josef dumps urine from two
buckets. The macaque pops out of his overalls. Jumps down,
CHIRPS. Runs into the trees.
JOSEF
Find her, Himhim.
The macaque runs up to
INGRID
sitting in the dirt tearing strips of cloth from a black
velvet robe. She pets the macaque. Sees Josef.
INGRID
I told you. It’s never good for anyone
to touch me when I’m doing it. That’s
why I ran away. No more now. I mean it.
JOSEF
No more, I promise. Why do you follow us
when you can go anywhere you want to?
INGRID
I told you. I’m looking for a man.
JOSEF
To show him things? Am I going to be a
clown? Why won’t you show me?
INGRID
Josef, listen to me. It’s not a trick.
When you see me like that it’s not me.
I’m like a telephone wire for talking to
God. Do you understand?
JOSEF
You’re the Fatima girl then, right? What
does He say? He knows if I’ll ever be a
clown. Can’t you let Him show me?
INGRID
It’s wrong for anyone to see what He
shows them. They’re not supposed to
know. Josef, I have to go see the man
you brought to me the other night.
JOSEF
Because he touched you? He didn’t
believe. I made him believe.
INT. VICTOR’S ROOM - LATER
Vaas implores Victor to believe, but Victor’s not buying it.
VAAS
I’m telling you. I wouldn’t believe it
either, but I saw her. I saw...
Vaas punches his thigh trying to stay focused.
VICTOR
Herr Vaas, you’re not making sense. You
broke cover to tell me a girl who walks
backwards showed you things?
VAAS
You think this is funny? Let me ask you,
what would happen if the letters stopped?
From me to you to your mirror, and so on.
What would you do then?
VICTOR
Ist sedition! Security rests with us
fulfilling our duty. The letters have to
keep flowing.
VAAS
You don’t know. I’m telling you. I know
all the answers to all the questions a
mind could ever wonder to ask. Think.
VICTOR
I think, Herr Vaas, the strain has gotten
to you. I think I will write a letter
stating you be relieved, debriefed, and
then committed. You are not well.
VAAS
I’ll show you. The carnival is not far
from my post. I dare you. My post is--
VICTOR
DON’T tell me that. GET OUT!
VAAS
Five, zero, three Marbuffplatz,
Mauthausen. Five, zero, three--
Smirking Vaas taunts him repeating the address. Leaves.
Victor SLAMS his door. Tries to compose himself by cleaning.
VAAS (O.S.)
I heard you before. Trying to distract
yourself from what you don’t know. She
showed me! She can show you what the
devil knows about you! See for yourself.
VICTOR
Letters must keep flowing. Go away.
Silence. Victor sits. Starts a letter, but stops. He
writes: “503 MARBUFFPLATZ. MAUTHAUSEN.”
EXT. MAIN STREET - BUCHENWALD - NIGHT
The only person out Victor sneaks peeks at lighted windows.
MUMBLES responses to the conversation in his mind.
VICTOR
Don’t feel I...no. I have to know. You.
His mumbles turn into an inner diatribe. His body language
becomes a fit of shrugs and finger pointing. He gets to a
BEER HALL
whose lights and LAUGHTER contrast the desolation outside.
Victor contemplates entering. Startled, he pivots.
VICTOR
What do you want?
WERNER, nestled in an alcove across the street, watches.
WERNER
Just to talk, that’s all.
VICTOR
Oh. Well for just to talk you go in
there, hmm?
WERNER
You didn’t go in because you’re better
than them. You have an obligation. Men
with obligations can’t waste their time.
Looking past Werner, Victor notices children into mischief
down an alley. His attention is drawn to a girl among them.
WERNER
Like you I have no wife, no children. No
distractions from my obligation, not that
there is any in this miserable
Buchenwald. Men like us, we--
Werner turns to see what Victor is looking at.
WERNER
You there? Get away! Go before I...
As the Children bolt Victor shudders as if reliving a
terrible accident. Leaves Werner talking to himself.
WERNER
Herr Barchas? If I may say--
VICTOR
You have no choice but to say.
WERNER
You’re an important man. You don’t care
what others think. Me too, I’m OK with
that. But what I want to know is this.
How long before the acknowledgement?
VICTOR
The question then is how long, hmm?
Victor blots his forehead. Removes his glasses.
VICTOR
You think that loneliness merits
acknowledgement? That it is some great
virtue to be single-minded of duty? That
all the splendors of life and youth are
distractions from some nobler calling?
You absolute idiot.
With the focus and power of a tightly coiled snake Victor
spits his answer to the slack-jawed Werner.
VICTOR
How long? When that nobler calling
forgets you, and there is no one left to
talk to but only your single mind, and
the painful certainty of duty makes you
gasp as if you were being dragged under
by a thousand drowning men THEN, and only
then, can you ask how long.
Crushed, Werner shrinks away from Victor who calms. Victor
puts on his glasses and does a double take at
THE GIRL
from the side street standing under a street light staring
right at him. She turns and runs away.
All alone and frightened, Victor hurries into Building IV.
INT. VICTOR’S ROOM - LATER
Steam rises from the tea kettle on the table. The colored
string from the map is curled around the light cord.
Victor comes in wearing a newspaper hat. Unwraps two
beautiful demitasse. Pours tea into them and sits.
VICTOR
Happy birthday. Older we get the smaller
the cups they ask us to drink from, hmm?
Victor sips from his cup. Admires his meager surroundings.
VICTOR
Where’s the waiter? No bother. People
don’t understand half the pleasure of the
meal is the anticipation, hmm? More tea,
Maria? No. Open your gift then.
Victor looks around for what might substitute for the gift.
Opens an envelope by the window. Takes out the letter.
VICTOR
Oh, a beautiful cameo of you for the
occasion. Your grandmother had one done
of her, your mother of her, and now...
His concentration drifts. Slides the paper hat off his head.
Disassembles the rest of the charade.
VICTOR
What is happening? You were told, no
ordered. Orders give us purpose.
Purpose gives us clarity. Why didn’t you
do what you were told?
Victor puts on his overcoat. Grabs his bowler hat.
EXT. COTTAGE - NIGHT - FLASHBACK
Victor adjusts his hat. Smiles at a toppled tea cup on the
old table.
VICTOR
Maria? Commun here.
Maria runs around the corner. Her face is flush.
VICTOR
What were you doing over there?
MARIA
Just nothing, uncle.
VICTOR
Nothing? Like leaving your best china
outside for anyone to come and take.
MARIA
Are you finally having tea with me?!
He offers his cane to her; she grabs it. They walk along the
BANKS OF THE FROZEN RIVER
past the compound of striped tents on the other side.
MARIA
We’re not crossing here?
Maria’s hand climbs over Victor’s.
VICTOR
(pushes her hand away)
Don’t...know for sure the river’s frozen.
Let down, Maria sees the tents and clumsily walks backwards.
VICTOR
Why are you walking like that, hmm?
Face partially painted like a clown, Josef watches Victor
following Maria walking backwards from the far bank of the
river. He scrubs off the make-up and runs toward the tents.
VICTOR (O.S.)
I’m leaving again. Maria, keep away from
people you don’t know. Understand?
AT A SMALL WOOD BRIDGE
MARIA
But uncle I have something to tell you.
VICTOR
Tell your mother what I told you instead.
And this. Stay with her. She needs you.
She’d go crazy without you to love.
MARIA
But Uncle Victor, she’s just across--
VICTOR
NO she is NOT. She’s at the house.
Maria gives up trying to be heard. Just stands there.
VICTOR
So anxious of the lady you will become.
MARIA
But I can know what I’ll become. My tea
parties, I made a friend. She can--
VICTOR
Maria! I know you want me to play tea
with you, but I am too old for that, hmm?
Maria endures a pat on the head. Watches Victor disappear
over the bridge. Looks at the tents. Step onto the ice.
BACK TO SCENE
EXT. 503 MARBUFFPLATZ - MAUTHAUSEN - NIGHT
Ingrid stares at the address. Looks through a window.
E/I. 503 MARBUFFPLATZ - MAUTHAUSEN - DAY
Victor pushes through a crowd around the front door. He
glances over a shoulder to see
A BLOOD TRAIL
in the foyer. Victor falls through the crowd into the foyer.
This gets the attention of OFFICER KATZ. In his 30’s, he’s
tall, handsome, and has an air of privilege about him.
Circles up to Victor.
OFFICER KATZ
I never saw you before. Who are you?
VICTOR
Just no one. What happened here?
ON INGRID. In the crowd, she stifles a yawn hearing Victor.
The Crooked Old Man (1st 10 pgs)
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...
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