Embedded Files
42_08_001.
42_08_002.
©2008 Ian S. Bolton
42_08_002a.
42_08_003.
42_08_004.
42_08_005.
©2008 Ian S. Bolton
42_08_005a.
42_08_006.
42_08_007.
42_08_008.
42_08_009.
42_08_010.
42_08_011.
42_08_012.
42_08_013.
42_08_014.
42_08_015.
SCRIPT
THOMAS comes up the stairs in his house and goes into the studio.
The purple paper lies crumpled in a heap in the foreground.
THOMAS looks around.
Something strikes him immediately.
The whole studio is revealed.
It only takes a moment to realise that the photographs have gone from the walls and rafters.
THOMAS stands perplexed.
Camera moves on past him to the living area.
THOMAS stands there as if lost in a bad dream; he lowers his head.
Close-up of THOMAS’s reflection in the glass coffee table.
THOMAS starts looking around.
Suddenly he remembers the roll of negatives.
He looks in the film storage cabinet.
Then camera moves with him as he hurries across the catwalk.
Close up of THOMAS sliding open the first darkroom door.
It is in a mess.
But the negatives are not there.
He goes into the second darkroom.
In here THOMAS searches through all the cabinets.
Everything has been overturned and not a trace of the negatives remains.
He taps his hand on the counter top, thinking.
Then goes back into the studio in consternation.
It is obvious that the murderers have taken away the only tangible evidence of what had happened.
As he looks around he comes across just one of the blow-ups, between the two film storage cabinets.
Close-up of the photograph.
It seems to be just a random jumble of black and white dots, but is in fact the extreme close-up of the corpse.
This blow-up is the one piece of concrete evidence left in the place of the sequence of real events which he had inadvertently witnessed and recorded earlier.
But even this blow-up seems now utterly meaningless.
Close-up of THOMAS.
He leans forward to see the picture better when the sound of footsteps frightens him.
He jerks his head up: they are coming closer, up the wooden staircase.
THOMAS scurries into a hiding place.
The slender figure of a woman appears at the top of the stairs.
It is PATRICIA.
She smiles at THOMAS.
PATRICIA in a perfectly natural voice
Were you looking for something just now?
Close-up of THOMAS.
Rather at a loss for words, he stares at her face, as if looking for some indication as to how he should answer.
THOMAS
No.
PATRICIA off
Oh.
THOMAS goes up to her.
THOMAS
Do you ever think of leaving him?
PATRICIA
No, I don’t think so.
THOMAS looks at her closely.
PATRICIA is a little embarrassed, and turns away.
A long pause.
It is as if THOMAS would like to ask her something else, but suddenly it becomes impossible for him to put into words.
The THOMAS speaks again, in a very different tone:
THOMAS
I saw a man killed this morning.
PATRICIA turning back towards him
Where?
THOMAS
Shot. In some sort of park.
A corner of one of the photographs is still pinned up to a beam.
He pulls it down and studies it.
PATRICIA
Are you sure?
THOMAS
He’s still there.
PATRICIA takes a few steps towards him.
PATRICIA
Who was he?
Close-up of the two of them.
THOMAS
Someone.
Another close-up from reverse angle.
PATRICIA is watching him a little incredulously.
PATRICIA
How did it happen?
THOMAS
I don’t know. I didn’t see.
She moves closer and stares at him.
PATRICIA
You didn’t see.
The YOUNG MAN is slightly ashamed.
THOMAS murmuring apologetically
No.
PATRICIA
Shouldn’t you call the police?
THOMAS ignores this advice.
He nods towards the photograph of the dead man, on the floor.
THOMAS
That’s the body.
PATRICIA bends down, picks up the blow-up and studies it.
Then she turns to THOMAS again, with an uncertain smile, betraying her doubts as to whether he really means what he is saying.
PATRICIA
It looks like one of Bill’s paintings.
For the first time THOMAS seems to notice it too.
THOMAS
Yes.
The mention of BILL’s name seems to compel them to consider the strange situation they are in.
PATRICIA puts down the photograph.
She wanders about a bit, deep in thought, then again she turns to THOMAS.
PATRICIA
Will you help me?
Close-up of THOMAS, seen over PATRICIA’s shoulder.
She seems distraught.
PATRICIA
I don’t know what to do.
Resume on PATRICIA.
THOMAS draws her near.
He watches her, perhaps for the first time trying to fathom what it might be that is disturbing her.
THOMAS
What is it? Huh?
A pause.
PATRICIA moves away.
Resume on THOMAS, with PATRICIA standing a little way away from him.
She moves away, glancing at the fragment of photographic paper.
PATRICIA
I wonder why they shot him…
She turns towards him.
Close-up of THOMAS.
He leans back, looking at her.
Close-up of PATRICIA.
She lowers her eyes.
Resume on the two of them.
THOMAS puts the torn corner of the photograph on the cabinet behind him.
THOMAS
I didn’t ask.
Close-up of PATRICIA.
Camera follows her as she starts to go out, then stops again under the ostrich plumes as if to say something.
But she just smiles at him and walks down the stairs.
THOMAS stands there lost I thought as the sound of PATRICIA’s footsteps recedes.
THOMAS crosses his arms over his chest, trying to decide what to do.
Then suddenly he rushes forward to the telephone and dials a number.
THOMAS
Hello, Ron?... Oh, hello, love, is Ron there?... No, I just wanted to take him somewhere. Where is he?... Okay. I’ll fetch him there. Bye-bye, love.
He puts down the receiver and hurries off.
END OF REEL FIVE
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