Character Introductions
 

Character Introductions

 

Shawshank Redemption

 

INT -- PLYMOUTH -- NIGHT (1946)

 

ANDY DUFRESNE, mid-20's, wire rim glasses, three-piece suit. Under normal circumstances a respectable, solid citizen; hardly dangerous, perhaps even meek. But these circumstances are far from normal. He is disheveled, unshaven, and very drunk. A cigarette smolders in his mouth. His eyes, flinty and hard, are riveted to the bungalow up the path.

 

 

Silence of the Lambs

 

INT. GRUBBY HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

 

A woman's face BACKS INTO SHOT, her head resting against grimy wallpaper. She is tense, sweaty, wide-eyed with concentration. This is CLARICE STARLING - mid-20's, trim, very pretty. She wears Kevlar body armor over a navy windbreaker, khaki pants. Her thick hair is piled under a navy baseball cap. A revolver, clutched in her right hand, hovers by her ear. She raises a speedloader, in her left hand, locks it into her cylinder, twists and reloads.

 

CLOSE ON

 

a guest room door, with a small, wired pack attached to its knob. Suddenly, wish a sharp CRACK!, the knob explodes, and the door bursts open.

 

WITH CLARICE - MOVING SHOT -

 

as she runs around a corner, through a cloud of smoke. She shoulders aside the shattered door and rushes inside, gun at the ready in both hands...

 

 

Tin Men

 

EXT. CADILLAC DEALERSHIP - DAY 1

BILL BABOWSKY ("BB"), a wiry, dapper-looking man in his mid-thirties, is circling a baby blue Cadillac. A SALESMAN follows on his heels.

 

Tin Cup

 

All heads turn to take in the arrival of:

 

MOLLY GRISWOLD

 

Standing just inside the door -- she's a fresh-faced beauty in her early thirties, and she's got all new everything the sport of golf requires: new bag, new clubs, new shoes, new clothes, new visor... she looks like she stepped out of an ad in Golf Digest. And all the men are asking themselves the same question: what's she doing here? The silence invites Molly to supply the riddle's answer.

 

EXT. DRIVING RANGE - LATE DAY 2

A man, JOSE, is on the roof, wrestling with a rickety satellite dish, stringing wire, trying to get it to work. (We get glimpses of him throughout the scene as he struggles with what is assuredly a pirate operation.)

 

 

Barton Fink

 

FADE IN:

 

ON BARTON FINK

 

He is a bespectacled man in his thirties, hale but somewhat bookish.  He stands, tuxedoed, in the wings of a theater, looking out at the stage, listening intently to end of a performance.

 

In the shadows behind him an old stagehand leans against a flat, expressionlessly smoking a cigarette, one hand on a thick rope that hangs from the ceiling.

 

Back to the Future

 

The video pirate operating this equipment is MARTY McFLY, 17, a good looking kid who has an air of confidence just shy of cockiness. He’s wearing a silver Porsche jacket, and like most typical modern day kids, not a stitch of his clothing is without some brand name or form of advertising. He’s looking at an ad for a guitar amp in ROLLING STONE.

 

Bull Durham

 

ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face.  Very pretty, knowing, outwardly confident.  Words flow from her Southern lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern, National and International borders.  She's cosmic.

 

 

THE MANAGER, JOE RIGGINS, 45, known merely as SKIP, short for "Skipper", a chaw of tobacco in his cheek, stands with his pitching coach, LARRY HOCKETT late 30's, an ex-big leaguer whose body has seen too many cocktail lounges.

 

CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards.  EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth.

 

Life is a party.

 

A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly.

 

THE DOOR OPENS -- A PLAYER ENTERS, in street clothes, carrying his suitcases.  CRASH DAVIS, 30, older than the other players.  And different.  More than just opinions, he actually has a point of view.  A career minor leaguer, hanging on wherever he can get a job.  Unlike Ebby--Crash knows a lot about the world without baseball.  Also unlike Ebby--he loves baseball desperately.

 

                     LARRY

                     Who're you?

 

Crash speaks slowly, with a trace of cynicism and pride, like an old warrior who knows he's just a hired gun.

 

                     CRASH

           I am the player to be named later.

 

 

 

Dead Poets Society

 

Applause.  During it we rind KNOX OVERSTREET and CHARLIE DALTON, both 16, and both in Welton blazers.  Knox (sitting between his parents) carries a banner.  He has curly hair, looks outgoing, is short but well built.  Charlie, also with his parents, has a handsome yet friendly face.  He carries no banner but, when Nolan mentions Ivy League, both these boys         fit the bill.

 

ACROSS THE LAWN a black-robed teacher stands with his back to us, staring at the beautiful Welton LAKE.  As if he sensed he was being watched, he turns and faces us. This is JOHN KEATING, late 30s, sparkling eyes.

 

The junior students--Todd, Neil, Knox, Charlie, Cameron, Meeks and some of the others we've seen--enter.  They are loaded down with books and look weary.  Sitting in the front of the room, staring out the window is JOHN KEATING, the teacher we glimpsed earlier.  He wears a collared shirt, tie,        no jacket.

 

THE BOYS are staring at the pictures, sobered by what Keating is saying.

 

 

Scarface

 

INT. OFFICE - PROCESSING HALL - AFTERNOON

 

the scar-faced one, in the young angry prime of his life.

We dwell first on the scar which he likes to scratch now and

then. We move to the eyes, pure in their fury. Finally we

encompass the face -- the face of a man about to explode --

muscle, tissue, brain -- a man willing to live or die and

on the increment of a moment, inflict or receive either one.

He is clothed in rags crossed with holes, his shoes broken

cardboard, his hair unkempt, his complexion sallow from

prison.

 

VOICE #1 (0.s.)

Okay so what do you call yourself?

 

VOICE #2 (0.s.)

Como se llama?

 

MONTANA

Tony Montana...you?

 

Signs

 

FADE IN:

 

INT.  WINDOW - MORNING

 

We are looking out a second story window of a house.  The

backyard is large and green with a wooden jungle gym, worn

from use.  A single tree throws shade onto a barbecue and a

picnic table.

 

The backyard is lined by crops.  Corn.  Golden and brown.

Six feet high.

 

Everything is perfect.  Like a postcard.  And then we HEAR A

CHILD SCREAM.  IT'S FAR AWAY.  WE DON'T KNOW WHERE IT'S

COMING FROM.

 

                                                  CUT TO:

 

INT.  BEDROOM - MORNING

 

GRAHAM HESS wakes up from his sleep.  He thought he heard

something.  He listens.  HE HEARS THE HEATER.  THE

REFRIGERATOR DOWNSTAIRS HUMMING.  THE OCCASIONAL BIRDS

OUTSIDE CHIRPING.

 

Graham climbs out of bed.  He moves in his pajama pants and

white Barron's minor league baseball T-shirt towards the

bedroom door.

 

 

Donnie Brasco

 

INT. DAY. FBI HEADQUARTERS
 
               A spacious corner OFFICE. American flag, FBI seal, and a 
               plush carpet -- Federal blue.
 
               CLENDON HOGUE, 40s, barrel chest, shrewd eyes over half-moon 
               glasses, PRESIDES behind a vast desk. The impressive mien of 
               earned authority. Before him:
 
               JULES BONOVOLONTA, late 40s, Green Beret veteran, SUPERVISOR, 
               140 pounds of pugnacity and gristle. Ex-street agent cramped 
               by headquarters.
 
               PAT MARSHALL, late 30s, a CASE AGENT, compulsively organized, 
               with haunted choirboy's eyes.
 
               CLARENCE LEBOW, early 40s. Assistant SECTION CHIEF. Brooks 
               Brothers, heavy starch.
 
INT. NIGHT. BAR — WASHINGTON (1975)
 
               CLOSE ON
 
               JOE PISTONE, 30s, athlete's build, body languid with a 
               killer's confidence. Eyes dead as a shark's. He chafes at 
               his rep-striped tie and off-the-rack suit.
 
               WIDER
 
               LeBow, Marshall, and two other SUITS around the table. Jules 
               delivers a TOAST. Supered below:

 

 

8MM

 

INT.  MIAMI AIRPORT, TERMINAL -- DAY
 
     Amongst the weary tourist families and solitary businessmen
     sits TOM WELLES, middle-aged, hair neat, suit crisp and
     gray.  He's eating crackers from a cellophane package,
     sipping soda from a paper cup, watching an ARRIVAL GATE.