The Girl On The Train
THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN
an original screenplay by
Larry Brand
8180 Films
P.O. BOX 975
Leland, MI 49654
Copyright 2011 Larry Brand
THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN
WHITE SPACE and the distant WHOOSH of the WIND.
A few beats, then:
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
You’re not real....
WOMAN’S VOICE (OVER)
How do you know?
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
Weren’t your eyes blue?
A WOMAN’S EYES
HOVER huge and luminous before us.
Light brown.
Haunting.
THE MAN is OUTSIDE and VERY HIGH UP. A distant matrix of BRIDGES frames him like a spider’s web in the bright DAYLIGHT.
MAN
And your hair...?
THE WOMAN is opposite him, also framed by a latticework of BRIDGES, bits of Manhattan SKYLINE, impossibly distant CLOUDS and SKY.
WOMAN
I’m as real as you make me.
MAN
That proves it.
What?
WOMAN
We begin to HEAR the sound of DRIPPING.
MAN
A real person would never say that.
WOMAN
Do we ever really exist outside each other’s imagination?
2.
The DRIPPING is getting LOUDER.
MAN
How did we get from you not existing to me not existing?
WOMAN
What’s the difference?
The DRIPPING suddenly becomes DEAFENING as we -CUT TO:
A TENEMENT ROOM at NIGHT. Ugly light flashing through uncurtained windows, casting harsh SHADOWS across stained walls, broken furniture, a sagging filthy mattress on a naked wire frame. Looks like a crack den from the post-Apocalypse.
A DIGITAL IMAGE
DISPLAYS a weird SKEWED ANGLE from the floor, where a camera has been dropped: crushed cigarette packs, scraps of aluminum foil. A dark shape lies just beyond the bed.
A FRYING PAN is on the floor, looking out of place. A DROP of BLOOD splatters onto the surface: the source of the DRIPPING.
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
So, this is where it gets you: too much thinking...or not enough.
Another DROP cascades into the pan, EXPLODES in SLOW MOTION.
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
(continuing)
It’s a myth that we use only five percent of our brains. Ask anyone who’s lost even the smallest bit.
A THREEPENNY NAIL
PROTRUDES from under the arm of a wooden chair.
3.
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
an original screenplay by
Larry Brand
8180 Films
P.O. BOX 975
Leland, MI 49654
Copyright 2011 Larry Brand
THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN
WHITE SPACE and the distant WHOOSH of the WIND.
A few beats, then:
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
You’re not real....
WOMAN’S VOICE (OVER)
How do you know?
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
Weren’t your eyes blue?
A WOMAN’S EYES
HOVER huge and luminous before us.
Light brown.
Haunting.
THE MAN is OUTSIDE and VERY HIGH UP. A distant matrix of BRIDGES frames him like a spider’s web in the bright DAYLIGHT.
MAN
And your hair...?
THE WOMAN is opposite him, also framed by a latticework of BRIDGES, bits of Manhattan SKYLINE, impossibly distant CLOUDS and SKY.
WOMAN
I’m as real as you make me.
MAN
That proves it.
What?
WOMAN
We begin to HEAR the sound of DRIPPING.
MAN
A real person would never say that.
WOMAN
Do we ever really exist outside each other’s imagination?
2.
The DRIPPING is getting LOUDER.
MAN
How did we get from you not existing to me not existing?
WOMAN
What’s the difference?
The DRIPPING suddenly becomes DEAFENING as we -CUT TO:
A TENEMENT ROOM at NIGHT. Ugly light flashing through uncurtained windows, casting harsh SHADOWS across stained walls, broken furniture, a sagging filthy mattress on a naked wire frame. Looks like a crack den from the post-Apocalypse.
A DIGITAL IMAGE
DISPLAYS a weird SKEWED ANGLE from the floor, where a camera has been dropped: crushed cigarette packs, scraps of aluminum foil. A dark shape lies just beyond the bed.
A FRYING PAN is on the floor, looking out of place. A DROP of BLOOD splatters onto the surface: the source of the DRIPPING.
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
So, this is where it gets you: too much thinking...or not enough.
Another DROP cascades into the pan, EXPLODES in SLOW MOTION.
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)
(continuing)
It’s a myth that we use only five percent of our brains. Ask anyone who’s lost even the smallest bit.
A THREEPENNY NAIL
PROTRUDES from under the arm of a wooden chair.
3.
MAN’S VOICE (OVER)