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La lecture à portée de main
Tout savoir sur nos offres
Tout savoir sur nos offres
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| Publié par | script-cinema |
| Publié le | 01 janvier 1999 |
| Nombre de lectures | 113 |
| Licence : |
En savoir + Paternité, pas d'utilisation commerciale, partage des conditions initiales à l'identique
|
| Langue | English |
Extrait
Being the true storie of one Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman
Kevin Yagher and Andrew Kevin Walker
Based on "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving
Screenplay by Andrew Kevin Walker
Third Draft 4/10/95
A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, of dreams that wave before the half shut eye...
EXT.GNARLED FOREST -- NIGHT
An UGLY MAN charges through on a horse, holding a lantern forward on a long pole. He looks back, terrified.
INSERT TITLE:1799 Sleepy Hollow, New York
THUNDEROUS HOOFBEATS are HEARD behind.
The ugly man glances back again.His lantern swings wild... SHATTERS against a tree.The jammed-up pole SLAMS the ugly man off his horse...
He hits the ground.He runs, trips, falls and scrambles up.
DEEP IN THE FOREST, we glimpse the source of the HOOFBEATS: a HUGE FORM on a HUGE BLACK HORSE, already gone.
The ugly man pushes through thorny bushes.Jagged branches slit his hands and cheeks.
He bursts from the briar patch and tumbles to a trail.He lifts his bloodied face.He runs.
IN THE FOREST BEHIND: the hooves of the black horse rip underbrush.HOOFBEATS DEAFENING.A spur digs into the snorting steed's already bleeding flank.
The pursuer's gloved hand draws a SWORD, blade RINGING.
ON THE TRAIL, the ugly man runs on.The shrill WHISTLE of a SWORD SWING is HEARD as the pursuer blurs past.
The ugly man is still running when his head lolls back, at an impossible angle... tumbles off his shoulders... His headless body hits the dirt.
EXT.CITY STREETS -- NIGHT
Empty cobblestone streets.Crooked buildings.A RAPIDLY CLANGING BELL breaks the silence from afar.
INSERT TITLE:New York City
TWO CONSTABLES clamor round a corner, lanterns held high, listening.They rush into an alleyway.
ELSEWHERE, piers border the Hudson River.The BELL is LOUDER. The two constables arrive, searching.No one around. Constable One hefts his pistol, scared.
Where are you?!
Here!Over here!
They hurry to the river's edge.Down a hill, the MAN, another constable, stands with his back to us.He's waist deep in water, tossing away his ALARM BELL.
I need your help with this.
Constable Two crosses on the peir above.Constable One moves forward, wary.The MAN grunts, lifting something.
Constable Crane?Ichabod Crane... is that you?
The MAN turns.Meet ICHABOD CRANE, handsome, eyes piercing.
Yes, it is me.But, not only me... (lifting, struggling) I found someone here...
He drags a bloated MALE CORPSE up from the murky water.
Someone quite dead.
EXT.WATCHHOUSE/JAIL -- NIGHT
The elderly HIGH CONSTABLE lifts a blanket off the corpse on a wheelbarrow manned by Constable Two.A snobby MAGISTRATE looks, disgusted.Constable One and Ichabod wait.
Burn it.
Yes, sir.
Constable Two wheels the corpse inside.Ichabod's dismayed.
Just a moment... if I may.It is possible this man was murdered.
He drowned.Anyone could see.
There are surgical ways of telling how he died... by the water in his lungs...
Ichabod follows the High Constable and Magistrate in.
INT.WATCHHOUSE, NIGHT WATCH QUARTERS -- NIGHT
Constable Two wheels the body ahead past many "booking" tables.A JAILER moves to unlock a massive door.
He will be burned pursuant to statutes of health.
I could determine if he were dead before he went into the Hudson.
Must we again hear these heretical rantings?
Yes, must we?
There is nothing heretical about science, sir.The Chinese have written on it for hundreds of years... procedural study used to solve seemingly unsolvable crimes.
The door is opened.The corpse again leads the way.
INT.WATCHHOUSE, JAIL -- NIGHT
A two-tiered prison, alive with MOANS of AGONY and CRIES of INSANITY.Cells are full of wretched men in chains and iron gags.Many are against the bars, watching.
Our first night watch is adequate against fire and some violence, but if we were more often able to ensure justice, after the fact, then criminals would truly have something to fear from law enforcement.
Have they nothing to fear presently?
Without disrespect, look around you. (motioning to cells) We overflow.As do our courts.
And, with disrespect, Constable, if jails and courts overflow, it is testimony to success, not failure.
But, how many innocents rot here? And, how many victims are buried without reprisal while guilty men roam our streets?
The High Constable reaches a desk, taking a seat.Guards wait to process beaten, bloody prisoners.
Very few, if any.
Even though I have seen confessions pried from the lips of the accused, often quite literally?
For one who calls himself a Federalist, your mouth reeks of Republican liberalism.
Not Liberalism.Equanimity.
(to High Constable)
Um, sir... might I suggest...
The Magistrate WHISPERS in the High Constable's ear.Ichabod notices with worry that Constables One and Two wheel the corpse onwards into another room.
The Magistrate finishes.The High Constable smiles faintly.
(to Ichabod)
There is a farming community upstate, Constable... ten days journey north in the Hudson Highlands.It is named Sleepy Hollow.Within a fortnight, three persons have been murdered there. Each with their head lopped cleanly off. (holds up papers) The elders of the Hollow have sent dispatches to me, requesting assistance, and now, just this very moment, I have chosen you.
Chosen me?
These "methods" of yours... there has been no practical application.
Not for lack of trying.
Just so.Granted.And so you take your experimentations to Sleepy Hollow and catch the murderer who has tainted the place.Bring him here to face our good justice. Will you do this for me?
(swallowing doubt)
I shall, gladly.
Excellent.Then, you are excused till morning.
Ichabod moves away, heading to where the corpse was taken.
Oh, and, Constable... (off Ichabod's look) Do make certain that you meet with success.Otherwise... perhaps you should not come back at all.
The High Constable smiles a sardonic smile.
INT.WATCHHOUSE, INCINERATION ROOM -- NIGHT
The corpse burns in a raging furnace.Flesh sizzles.
Constable One pumps bellows which fan the flames.Ichabod steps from darkness nearby.He watches with bitter regret as the corpse is consumed.
EXT.CITY -- DAY
Market town streets bustle.Filthy.Pigs roam free.
INT.ICHABOD'S HOME, SECOND FLOOR -- DAY
Decorated in Early-American Mad Scientist: books, papers and jars of chemicals.Charts of anatomy above a small bed.
Such a day for such a sad farewell. But, this is goodbye, my sweet.
At the window, Ichabod holds a bird cage with a red CARDINAL inside.He opens the cage.The bird flies free.
Ichabod watches it go, then looks down.A COACH halts in the street below.The forlorn DRIVER looks up.
INT.ICHABOD'S COACH -- DAY
In motion.Ichabod absently studies his hands, touching the strange SCARS on both palms: evenly dispersed, tiny dots of tissue.Many scars.
Ichabod lifts a LEATHER SATCHEL, checking its contents.
EXT.UPSTATE FORESTS -- DAY
TWO FAMILIES of MIGRANT WORKERS travel a path, leading over- burdened horses.Ichabod's coach approaches from the other direction.Ichabod looks out, unnerved.
One GAUNT MAN watches Ichabod pass.There is a dead, worried look in the man's eyes.Others stare at Ichabod.
EXT.SLEEPY HOLLOW, THE LONG STRAIGHT ROAD -- DAY
Ichabod faces two massive, vine-covered PILLARS, unsure.He turns to watch the driver lead the coach away.
Ichabod walks between the pillars to a long straight road. He does not notice, above: THREE DEAD RAVENS hang from a tree limb, twine wrapped round their necks.
EXT.SLEEPY HOLLOW, TOWN SQUARE -- DAY
Ichabod walks on with baggage.The square is empty, a CHURCH and GRAVEYARD at one end.The road ahead is bordered by businesses and homes.
CONVERSATION DRIFTS from a tavern.A criminal sits in stocks.A quiet CRYING is HEARD.Ichabod hears...
He looks for its source.It's from a window above, LOUDER. SOUNDS like the SOBBING of an OLD WOMAN.
EXT.VAN TASSEL ESTATE -- DAY
ICHABOD'S P.O.V.: a BELLTOWER stands tall, like a mast pole with a crow's nest basket atop.There's a man in the basket and a huge BELL.
Ichabod ponders this as he continues.Ahead on a hill: the grand Van Tassel Manor House.
INT.VAN TASSEL MANOR HOUSE, SITTING ROOM -- DAY
MANY CHILDREN, in a circle, taunt a BLINDFOLDED YOUNG WOMAN spun round by the handsome, barrel-chested man, BROM VAN BRUNT.A few YOUNG MEN and LADIES watch.Brom releases the woman.Everyone quiets and avoids her searching hands.
This is such a silly game.
Be a sport and stop complaining.
The woman moves to Brom's voice.He backs away, flanked by peers GLENN and THEODORE.Children laugh.
Ichabod enters, clearing his throat.No one notices.The blindfolded woman keeps grasping.One LITTLE GIRL sees Ichabod and goes to him, finger to her lips.
Play along.You must.
She tugs him.Before Ichabod can protest, he is placed in the blindfolded woman's grip.
There, I have someone.Am I finished?
You have to tell who it is.
The woman touches Ichabod's face.He is uncomfortable, affected by this caress.Brom watches jealously.
At least make a guess.
I don't know.Is it Brom Bones?
Certainly not.
Excuse me, Miss... (takes her hands) They have a laugh at your expense.
She takes the kerchief off to reveal a stunning beauty: KATRINA VAN TASSEL.Ichabod tries to compose himself.
Forgive me, I didn't know.
I... I am looking for Baltus Van Tassel.
We haven't heard your name yet, friend.
Well, unless your name is Baltus, you should not worry over mine.
Brom grabs Ichabod's collar, pissed.Ichabod's baffled.
You need some manners.
Brom!
Brom looks at her, then reluctantly releases Ichabod.
What is this, then... ?
BALTUS VAN TASSEL, 45, has entered, a working-class aristocrat.LADY VAN TASSEL, 40, stands behind, a mix of home-spun wife and well-kept lady.
Can I help you, sir?
Ichabod's relieved to have a proper focal point.Children gather around Katrina and hide behind her.
I have been sent from the city with a letter of introduction. I am told you offer me room and board.
Ichabod hands over papers.Baltus reads, furrows his brow.
If we could speak alone.
(nods, looks to Katrina)
This is not a time for frivolity, Katrina, is it?Am I mistaken?
They're only children, father.
Baltus snorts, then exits with Ichabod.The others huddle to gossip, except Katrina, who moves beside Lady Van Tassel to watch Ichabod and Baltus walk down the hall.
INT.VAN TASSEL HOUSE, PARLOR -- DAY
DOCTOR LANCASTER, 50, dour and always sweaty, takes a seat by the fire, joining Baltus and three other elders.A pretty servant, SARAH, brings a pipe cradle while Lady Van Tassel sets down food.Ichabod is standing.
That will be all, ladies. (waits as they exit) We are joined by Doctor Thomas Lancaster, Constable.And to his left are, Clergyman Steenwyck and our able magistrate, Samuel Philipse, both keeping order in their own ways.
PHILIPSE is youngest, eyes bloodshot, mug in hand and pipe in mouth.CLERGYMAN STEENWYCK is formidably built, wearing a constant look of disapproval.
I myself am in charge of financial matters and the regulation of currency in our commonwealth.And, lastly, this fine fellow is James Hardenbrook, our Notary.
HARDENBROOK is oldest, ancient, with one eye pale and blind.
An honor, gentlemen.In time I will need every detail of the three murderings you've had, but, for now, I ask only if you have any theory at all as to who the killer might be?
Excuse me?
I say, is there any one person suspect in these acts?
I was afraid of this.
Philipse shoots a look to Baltus.Angst amongst the elders.
Well, Constable... are you aware... to be honest, you are not what we expected.We sent for the militia.
The militia?
Why not tell us what you have heard? Hmm?How much have your superiors bothered to tell you?
All I know is three are slain, their heads found severed from their bodies...
The heads were not found severed. The heads were not found at all.
Withered Hardenbrook leans forward, his voice cragged.
Taken.Taken by the Headless Horseman.Taken back to hell.
Pardon me?
You have not been well informed of our troubles, sir.If you would...
Baltus gestures for Ichabod to sit.Baltus lights his pipe.
The Horseman... he was a Hessian mercenary, sent to our shores by German princes to help keep Americans under the thumb of England.However, unlike his compatriots who came as muscle in trade for currency, he came willingly.For love of carnage.
FLASHBACK -- AMERICAN BATTLEFIELD -- DAY
The HESSIAN HORSEMAN rides his black steed into a gory, close-quarters clash, his cloaked uniform adorned with edged weapons.He cuts down Americans left and right.
He was infamous for taking his horse, Daredevil, hard into battle... chopping off heads at full gallop.
He dismounts, hoisting a battle axe.With sword and axe, he annihilates.Blood gushes.Bones crack.
Just to look on him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to rapiers... to add to the ferocity of his appearance.
The Horseman lets out a war cry.Jagged teeth.Grotesque.
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