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coasts to a stop, the hatch rotating down on a hot,
dusty lifeless airstrip somewhere in Vietnam. Nothing seems to
live or move in the midday sun.
<b>TITLES RUN
</b>
A DOZEN NEW RECRUITS step off the plane, unloading their duffel
bags, looking around like only the new can look around, their
hair regulation-clipped, crisp, new green fatigues fitting them
like cardboard.
CHRIS TAYLOR is just another one of them - as he turns into a
tight closeup, to look at a motorized cart pulling up alongside
... He's about 21. Newmeat. His face, unburned yet by the sun,
is tense, bewildered, innocent, eyes searching for the truth.
They fall now on a heap of BODY BAGS in the back of the cart.
Two soldiers begin loading them onto the plane. Flies - hundreds
of flies - buzz around them, the only cue to their contents.
<b> GARDNER
</b> (next to Chris, Southern accent)
That what I think it is?
<b> SOLDIER 1
</b> (a look)
I guess so ...
An uncomfortable look between them.
<b> SERGENT
</b> Okay, let's go ...
As they move out, Chris' eyes moving with the body bags being
loaded onto the plane. Moving over now to a motley HALF DOZEN
VETERANS bypassing them on their way to the plane. They look
happy. Very happy, chatting it up.
They pass the newboys - and they shake their heads, their eyes
full of an almost mocking pity.
<b> VETERANS
</b> Well I'll be dipped in shit - new meat! Sorry bout
that boys - 'sin loi' buddy ... you gonna love the
Nam, man, for-fucking-ever.
Chris looking at them. They pass, except for the last man who
walks slower than the rest, a slight limp. His eyes fall on
Chris.
They're frightening eyes, starved, hollow, sunken deep in his
face, black and dangerous. The clammy pallor of malaria clings
to him as he looks at Chris through decayed black teeth. Then
the sun flares out on him and he's past. And Chris looks back.
Disturbed. It's as if the man was not real. For a moment there.
As if he were a ghost.
Chris walking, duffel bag on the shoulder, looks up at the
lollipop sun burning a hole through the sky. A rushing SOUND
now. Of frightening intensity, an effect combining the blast of
an airplane with the roar of a lion as we hardcut to:
<b>EXT. JUNGLE - SOMEWHERE IN VIETNAM - DAY
</b>
The sun matches the intensity of the previous shot as we move
down into thick green jungle. We hear the sound of MEN coming, a
lot of men. The thwack of a machete. Brush being bulled. We
wait. They are getting close.
The CREDITS continue to run.
SUBTITLE reads: December 1967 - Bravo Company, 25th Infantry
Division - Somewhere near the Cambodian Border.
A sweating white face comes into view. CHRIS - cutting point.
Machete in one hand, whacking out a path for the platoon, M-16 in
the other, he looks like he's on the verge of heat exhaustion.
Breathing too hard, pacing himself all wrong, bumping into
things, tripping, not quite falling, he looks pathetic here in
the naturalness of the jungle. An urban transplant, slightly
neurotic and getting more so.
His rucksack is coming apart as well, about 70 badly packed
pounds banging noisily.
Behind him BARNES now comes, the Platoon Sergeant. Then the R
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 7
|
weapons...
CUT TO:
EXT. CAMERON CABIN, DOORWAY - NIGHT
CAMERON
Appears warily, musket in hand.
FENCE: CHINGACHGOOK
CHINGACHGOOK
Halloo! John Cameron!
Doorway: Cameron towards the interior...
CAMERON
Alexandria! Set three more places.
(to the fence)
How is Chingachgook, then?
Behind him, emerging from the dark trees are Hawkeye, Uncas,
cradling flint locks, blankets and packs over their shoulders,
leading a mule laden with skins and the elk carcass. Crossing
the splitrail fence...
CHINGACHGOOK
The Master of Life is good. Another
year pass... How is it with you,
John?
CAMERON
Gettin' along. Yes, it is.
(warm)
Nathaniel.
HAWKEYE
Hello John. Cleared another quarter,
I see.
CAMERON
|
cameron
|
How many times does the word 'cameron' appear in the text?
| 6
|
land my brow."
Again, in _Emperor and Galilean_ (Pt. ii. Act 1) where Julian, in the
procession of Dionysus, impersonates the god himself, it is directed
that he shall wear a wreath of vine-leaves. Professor Dietrichson
relates that among the young artists whose society Ibsen frequented
during his first years in Rome, it was customary, at their little
festivals, for the revellers to deck themselves in this fashion. But the
image is so obvious that there is no need to trace it to any personal
experience. The attempt to place Hedda's vine-leaves among Ibsen's
obscurities is an example of the firm resolution not to understand which
animated the criticism of the 'nineties.
Dr. Brandes has dealt very severely with the character of Eilert
Lovborg, alleging that we cannot believe in the genius attributed to
him. But where is he described as a genius? The poet represents him as a
very able student of sociology; but that is quite a different thing from
attributing to him such genius as must necessarily shine forth in every
word he utters. Dr. Brandes, indeed, declines to believe even in his
ability as a sociologist, on the ground that it is idle to write about
the social development of the future. "To our prosaic minds," he says,
"it may seem as if the most sensible utterance on the subject is that of
the fool of the play: 'The future! Good heavens, we know nothing of the
future.'" The best retort to this criticism is that which Eilert himself
makes: "There's a thing or two to be said about it all the same." The
intelligent forecasting of the future (as Mr. H. G. Wells has shown)
is not only clearly distinguishable from fantastic Utopianism, but is
indispensable to any large statesmanship or enlightened social activity.
With very real and very great respect for Dr. Brandes, I cannot think
that he has been fortunate in his treatment of Lovborg's character.
It has been represented as an absurdity that he would think of reading
abstracts from his new book to a man like Tesman, whom he despises. But
though Tesman is a ninny, he is, as Hedda says, a "specialist"--he is a
competent, plodding student of his subject. Lovborg may quite naturally
wish to see how his new method, or his excursion into a new field,
strikes the average scholar of the Tesman type. He is, in fact, "trying
it on the dog"--neither an unreasonable nor an unusual proceeding. There
is, no doubt, a certain improbability in the way in which Lovborg is
represented as carrying his manuscript around, and especially in Mrs.
Elvsted's production of his rough draft from her pocket; but these are
mechanical trifles, on which only a niggling criticism would dream of
laying stress.
Of all Ibsen's works, _Hedda Gabler_ is the most detached, the most
objective--a character-study pure and simple. It is impossible--or so
it seems to me--to extract any sort of general idea from it. One cannot
even call it a satire, unless one is prepared to apply that term to the
record of a "case" in a work of criminology. Reverting to Dumas's dictum
that a play should contain "a painting, a judgment, an ideal," we may
say the _Hedda Gabler_ fulfils only the first of these requirements. The
poet does not even pass judgment on his heroine: he simply paints her
full-length portrait with scientific impassivity. But what a portrait!
How searching in insight, how brilliant in colouring, how rich in
detail! Grant Allen's remark, above quoted, was, of course, a whimsical
exaggeration; the Hedda type is not so common as all that, else the
world would quickly come to an end. But particular traits and tendencies
of the Hedda type are very common in modern life, and not only among
women. Hyperaesthesia lies at the root of her tragedy. With a keenly
critical, relentlessly solvent intelligence, she combines a morbid
shrinking from all the gross and prosaic detail of the sensual life.
She has nothing to take
|
future
|
How many times does the word 'future' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Danny Boyle
<b>----------------------------------------------------------------------------
</b>
<b>EXT. STREET. DAY
</b>
Legs run along the pavement. They are Mark Renton's.
Just ahead of him is Spud. They are both belting along.
As they travel, various objects (pens, tapes, CDs, toiletries, ties,
sunglasses, etc.) either fall or are discarded from inside their jackets.
They are pursued by two hard-looking Store Detectives in identical uniforms.
The men are fast, but Renton and Spud maintain their lead.
<b> RENTON
</b> (voice-over)
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family,
Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars,
compact disc players, and electrical tin openers.
Suddenly, as Renton crosses a road, a car skids to a halt, inches from him.
In a moment of detachment he stops and looks at the shocked driver, then at
Spud, who has continued running, then at the Two Men, who are now closing in
on him.
He smiles.
<b>INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT ROOM. DAY
</b>
In a bare, dingy room, Renton lies on the floor, alone, motionless and
drugged.
<b> RENTON
</b> (v.o)
Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose
fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose
your friends.
<b>EXT. FOOTBALL PITCH. NIGHT
</b>
On a flood lit five-a-side pitch, Renton and his friends are taking on
another team at football.
The opposition all wear an identical strip (Arsenal), whereas Renton and his
friends wear an odd assortment of gear.
Three girls -- Lizzy, Gail, and Allison and Baby -- stand by the side,
watching.
The boys are outclassed by the team with the strip but play much dirtier.
As each performs a characteristic bit of play, the play freezes and their
name is visible, printed or written on some item of clothing. (T-Shirt,
baseball cap, shorts, trainers). In Begbie's case, his name appears as a
tatoo on his arm.
Sick Boy commits a sneaky foul and indignantly denies it.
Begbie commits an obvious foul and make no effort to deny it.
Spud, in goal, lets the ball in between his legs.
Tommy kicks the ball as hard as he can.
Renton's litany continues over the action:
<b> RENTON
</b> (v.o)
Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece
suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY
and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on
that couch watching mind-numbing sprit-crushing game shows,
stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at
the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing
more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you
|
renton
|
How many times does the word 'renton' appear in the text?
| 9
|
by Howard Breslin
<b> SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN BEFORE MAIN TITLE
</b>
<b> BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK
</b>
<b> ESTABLISHING SHOT - BLACK ROCK - PART OF TOWN: FOCAL POINT:
</b><b> RAILROAD STATION
</b>
abandoned, in an extreme state of dilapidation. The structure
is blistered by the resolute sun, the roof is weather-warped.
Dry rot and mildew wage a relentless battle against the
foundation. Between the building and the tracks is a long,
somewhat narrow platform, its floorboards twisted by time,
termites and the elements. The match-board overhang of the
building, throwing some little shade to a portion of the
platform, sags and bellies. From the overhang is appended a
rectangular panel on which, in flaky paint, the town is
identified:
<b> BLACK ROCK
</b>
One of the broken wires holding the panel is longer than the
other, cocking the sign irregularly.
The railroad tracks reach endlessly into the horizon. Past
the town on each side stretches the ocean-like prairie, with
sand dunes rising and falling monotonously, shouldering each
other toward infinity. The morning sun lays over this
wasteland of the American Southwest, a gigantic yellow bruise
from which heat waves like bloodshot arteries spread
themselves over the poisoned sky.
A small shack stands next to the station, separated from it
by a narrow alleyway and leaning toward the larger building,
as if for support. The words POSTAL TELEGRAPH are arced across
its dusty vitrine. An old straight-backed chair, reinforced
with twisted wire, is tilted against the north-west corner
of the shack. In it is Mr. Hastings, the postal telegraph
agent, a man of middle years
|
tracks
|
How many times does the word 'tracks' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b>
A FULL MOON FILLS THE FRAME -- Luminous, tinged with gold.
Slowly, a penumbral shadow begins to spread across the
moon's surface, darkening it from left to right...
<b> BELLA (V.O.)
</b> "These violent delights have violent
ends..."
... until the moon is enveloped in shadow; a new moon...
which disappears into the darkness.
OVER BLACK - A RUFFLED TULIP appears, isolated against the
blackness.
<b> BELLA (V.O.)
</b> "... And in their triumph die, like
fire and powder..."
HOLD ON the tulip as the background FADES UP around it to
reveal we're now in --
<b>EXT. FOREST - ECU ON THE TULIP - DAY
</b>
It's surrounded by the dark, lush, greenery of the forest
floor.
<b> BELLA (V.O.)
</b> "... Which, as they kiss, consume..."
SUDDENLY A FOOT SLAMS DOWN next to the tulip, nearly
crushing it. As the foot immediately lifts off again, it
grazes the tulip, knocking its petals off --
<b>ON THE RUNNING PAIR OF FEET
</b>They abruptly change direction. Race on. INCLUDE BELLA
SWAN, desperately searching the woods -- SHORT, SURREAL CUTS
of her frenetic quest --
<b>
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 1
|
1992
WIDE-SHOT: A vast, snow-blanketed wilderness that sits
beneath the icy summits of the highest mountain range in
North America. This is BIG Alaska.
A beat up 4x4 pick-up enters very small into the upper
left corner of frame on an unkept, snow-packed road, and
comes to a stop. A figure exits the passenger side and
moves around the front of the truck. We can just make
out the rifle sticking out of his backpack. We HEAR a
very distant "Thank You" as the figure walks away from
the road and away from the truck, seemingly into nowhere.
<b> DRIVER
</b> Hey!
The figure with backpack and rifle, henceforth BACKPACK,
stopping in his tracks, turns around in the direction of
the truck.
<b> DRIVER (CONT'D)
</b> Come here.
BACKPACK walks back to the truck. As he approaches the
driver's door, we
CUT IN TO: TIGHT SHOT over the back-packed shoulder onto
the DRIVER.
<b> DRIVER (CONT'D)
</b> (referring to items we see
sitting on dashboard)
You left your watch, your comb, your
change...
We STAY on the DRIVER as BACKPACK speaks:
<b> BACKPACK
</b> Keep it.
<b> DRIVER
</b> I don't want your money. And I already
have a watch.
<b> BACKPACK
</b> If you don't take it, I'm gonna throw it
away. I don't want to know what time it
is, what day it is, or where I am.
<b> (MORE)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b> BACKPACK (CONT'D)
</b> I don't want to see anybody. None of
that matters.
The driver reaches behind the seat of the truck,
|
want
|
How many times does the word 'want' appear in the text?
| 2
|
its great game with a kind of pleasurable excitement. Yet this novel
emotion had nothing to do with the wind. Indeed, so vague was the sense of
distress I experienced, that it was impossible to trace it to its source
and deal with it accordingly, though I was aware somehow that it had to do
with my realization of our utter insignificance before this unrestrained
power of the elements about me. The huge-grown river had something to do
with it too--a vague, unpleasant idea that we had somehow trifled with
these great elemental forces in whose power we lay helpless every hour of
the day and night. For here, indeed, they were gigantically at play
together, and the sight appealed to the imagination.
But my emotion, so far as I could understand it, seemed to attach itself
more particularly to the willow bushes, to these acres and acres of
willows, crowding, so thickly growing there, swarming everywhere the eye
could reach, pressing upon the river as though to suffocate it, standing in
dense array mile after mile beneath the sky, watching, waiting, listening.
And, apart quite from the elements, the willows connected themselves subtly
with my malaise, attacking the mind insidiously somehow by reason of their
vast numbers, and contriving in some way or other to represent to the
imagination a new and mighty power, a power, moreover, not altogether
friendly to us.
Great revelations of nature, of course, never fail to impress in one way or
another, and I was no stranger to moods of the kind. Mountains overawe and
oceans terrify, while the mystery of great forests exercises a spell
peculiarly its own. But all these, at one point or another, somewhere link
on intimately with human life and human experience. They stir
comprehensible, even if alarming, emotions. They tend on the whole to
exalt.
With this multitude of willows, however, it was something far different, I
felt. Some essence emanated from them that besieged the heart. A sense of
awe awakened, true, but of awe touched somewhere by a vague terror. Their
serried ranks, growing everywhere darker about me as the shadows deepened,
moving furiously yet softly in the wind, woke in me the curious and
unwelcome suggestion that we had trespassed here upon the borders of an
alien world, a world where we were intruders, a world where we were not
wanted or invited to remain--where we ran grave risks perhaps!
The feeling, however, though it refused to yield its meaning entirely to
analysis, did not at the time trouble me by passing into menace. Yet it
never left me quite, even during the very practical business of putting up
the tent in a hurricane of wind and building a fire for the stew-pot. It
remained, just enough to bother and perplex, and to rob a most delightful
camping-ground of a good portion of its charm. To my companion, however, I
said nothing, for he was a man I considered devoid of imagination. In the
first place, I could never have explained to him what I meant, and in the
second, he would have laughed stupidly at me if I had.
There was a slight depression in the center of the island, and here we
pitched the tent. The surrounding willows broke the wind a bit.
"A poor camp," observed the imperturbable Swede when at last the tent stood
upright, "no stones and precious little firewood. I'm for moving on early
tomorrow--eh? This sand won't hold anything."
But the experience of a collapsing tent at midnight had taught us many
devices, and we made the cozy gipsy house as safe as possible, and then set
about collecting a store of wood to last till bed-time. Willow bushes drop
no branches, and driftwood was our only source of supply. We hunted the
shores pretty thoroughly. Everywhere the banks were crumbling as the rising
flood tore at them and carried away great portions with a splash and a
gurgle.
"The island's much smaller than when we landed," said the accurate Swede.
"It won't last long at this rate. We'd better drag the canoe close to the
tent, and be ready to start at a moment's notice. I shall sleep in my
clothes."
He was a little distance off, climbing along the bank, and I heard his
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 9
|
<b>1 EXT. - SKY NIGHT
</b>
The moon and stars are visible, but as CAMERA looks down, the SCREEN
fills with dark, billowing clouds. CAMERA moves into the clouds and
just as they blank out the SCREEN, a distant shimmer of light
becomes visible. Moving toward it, the shimmer becomes
<b>2 EXT. - DOME OF GLASS - NIGHT
</b>
A glowing but not transparent structure stretching off into the
clouds that press it. CAMERA continues to move in until the
detailed structural webbing of the dome fills the SCREEN and then
CAMERA MOVES THROUGH IT and we see
<b>3 EXT. - THE CITY - DAY
</b>
Shining below the dome (which we now see as a series of dome-like
structures standing off without end) -a marvelous crystalline city
of great openness, building clusters, green plazas, fountains...
multi-leveled but human scale, crisscrossed by the flickering clear
tubes of the MAZE- CARS.
<b>4 CLOSER ANGLE - ROOFTOPS
</b>
As a MAZE-CAR slides softly to a stop.
<b>5 ROOFTOP - THE RUNNER
</b>
The hatch opens and a MAN in a hurry leaves the maze-car and runs
swiftly along the rooftop and disappears into an open elevator
which instantly starts to descend.
<b>
</b><b>6 INT - RESIDENCE PLAZA - THE ELEVATOR
</b>
From a busy courtyard below we watch the elevator slide down from a
great height. As it reaches the courtyard the RUNNER darts out,
pushes into the crowd.
<b>7 OUT
</b>
<b>8 WITH THE RUNNER
</b>
As he reappears around a corner, skirts a brimming pool and makes
for a kind of broad corridor which seems to lead out of the
courtyard. He is moving even faster now, glancing back as if he
fears pursuit.
<b>9 ANOTHER ANGLE - CORRIDOR
</b>
Above, at the railing of an oval light well, dressed in black and
silver, a figure holding an odd looking weapon lazily in one hand
-- and watching. It is FRANCIS.
<b>10 WITH THE RUNNER
</b>
Moving rapidly down the corridor, he suddenly stops as if feeling
the presence above. He looks up, sees the SANDMAN and his face
breaks in terror. He wheels, frantic, screaming, runs back into the
hall.
<b>11 THE SANDMAN (FRANCIS)
</b>
Vaulting the rail, dropping lightly to ground level, weapon poised.
<b>12 P.O.V.
</b>
The crowd melting, parting to reveal the Runner backed against the
pool. People are YELLING, shaking their fists, terribly excited and
fearful.
<b>13 THE SANDMAN
</b>
Emotionless. Aims. Fires.
<b>14 THE RUNNER - CLOSE
</b>
Seeming to burst aflame in the LENS, then slipping BELOW FRAME to
reveal Francis sauntering forward, holstering his weapon. The crowd
closing in behind him, applauding, congratulating him.
<b>15 THE SANDMAN
</b>
Arriving at the pool where the body lies, half immersed. He leans
over, lifts the right hand from the water, revealing a palm with a
black flowercrystal shape in it. He lets the hand fall back now as
the crowd CHEERS and APPLAUDS him.
<b>16 EXTREME CLOSE UP - HAND - IN THE WATER - (INSERT)
|
below
|
How many times does the word 'below' appear in the text?
| 2
|
</b><b>
</b><b> 1. INT. CITY ROOM OF NEWSPAPER OFFICE
</b><b> - DAY - FULL SHOT
</b><b>
</b> General atmosphere, typical of a busy
newspaper office. Copy boys running
about, shirtsleeved reporters and rewrite
men pounding away on typewriters. Little
wire baskets containing cylinders of
copy whizzing back and forth, such as
are used in some department stores,
etc.
<b>
</b><b> SOUND
</b><b>
</b> (Morkrum machines,[1] typewriters, telephone
bells and all other sounds relative
to a newspaper office)
<b>
</b> When shot has been fully established:
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> CAMERA STARTS TRUCKING DOWN MAIN AISLE
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> It takes in the battery of Morkrum machines
|
morkrum
|
How many times does the word 'morkrum' appear in the text?
| 1
|
<b>BENEATH IT, THE NEXT LINE FADES IN:
</b>
Because a dog is smarter than its tail.
<b>CROSS-FADE TO THE NEXT CARD, WHICH READS:
</b>
If the tail were smarter, the tail would wag the dog.
<b>DISSOLVE
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT THE WHITE HOUSE NIGHT
</b>
<b>A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE STOPS AT A SIDE ENTRANCE.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<b>AT THE SIDE, UTILITY ENTRANCE, WE SEE THE DISGORGING WORKING-CLASS MEN AND
</b><b>WOMEN, THEY PASS THROUGH SECURITY SCREENING IN THE B.G., THROUGH METAL
</b><b>DETECTORS, AND PAST SEVERAL GUARDS WHO CHECK THE PHOTO-I.D.'S AROUND THEIR
</b><b>NECKS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<u>WILFRED AMES</u>, AND <u>AMY CAIN</u>, A BRIGHT YOUNG WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES, WALKING DOWN
<b>A CORRIDOR, LOOKING WORRIED.
</b>
<b>ANGLE AMES AND CAIN
</b><b>AMES AND CAIN HAVE STOPPED AT THE END OF THE HALL. BEYOND THEM WE SEE THE
</b><b>CLEANING PEOPLE COMING IN FROM THE VAN, AND BEING CLEARED THROUGH A METAL
</b><b>DETECTOR INTO A HOLDING AREA, AND HANDED CLEANING MATERIALS, MOPS, VACUUMS, ET
</b><b>CETERA, BY A TYPE HOLDING A CLIPBOARD. PART OF THE GROUP, A MAN IN HIS
</b><b>FORTIES, IN A RATTY JACKET, OPEN COLLARED SHIRT, PASSES THROUGH THE GROUP,
</b><b>AND IS STOPPED BY A SECRET SERVICEMAN WHO APPEARS NEXT TO AMES. IN THE B.G.
</b><b>WE SEE A TV IN AN ADJACENT ROOM, SHOWING A POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b> AMES
</b><b> (TO SECRET SERVICEMAN)
</b> ...That's him.
<b>AMES MOVES OUT OF THE SHOT. LEAVING US ON THE POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b>WE SEE TWO BUSINESS PEOPLE ON THE PLANE, A MAN AND A WOMAN.
</b>
<b> BUSINESSMAN
</b> Well, all I know, you don't change horses in the middle
of the stream.
<b> BUSINESSWOMAN
</b> "Don't change Horses," well, there's a lot of truth in
that.
<b>THE IMAGE SHIFTS TO A PRESIDENT, DOING PRESIDENTIAL THINGS. AND THE VOICE-
</b><b>OVER.
</b>
<b> VOICE-OVER
</b> For Peace
|
ames
|
How many times does the word 'ames' appear in the text?
| 5
|
The sun disappears behind arid cliffs which cast giant
shadows on the sea.
A little boy around 8 years old -- tanned from head to toe
-- sprints along the cliffs, scrambles from one rock to
another with amazing agility.
In one hand, he carries a transparent plastic bag. In the
other, a net bag containing flippers, mask, pants and
sweater.
The only thing that slows him down is his bathing suit --
obvious hand-me-downs -- way too big. He tugs on them as
he goes, holding them up... Until they slide again... as
he leaps again... and pulls them up...
The little boy is JACQUES MAYOL.
End credits.
<b>EXT. GREEK ISLAND - SUNSET
</b>
JACQUES reaches a ledge jutting out over a deserted cove.
He spits in his mask... expertly spreads the spit with a
finger... locks his feet into the flippers... and dives.
He surfaces a long way out... adjusts his mask... and
swims away from shore.
<b>IN OPEN SEA
</b>
The boy stops swimming -- starts to gulp air -- sucks it
in -- oxygenating his blood in a series of deep rapid
breaths -- almost hyperventilating, almost alarming if
we've never seen this before.
His gaze is glued to the ocean floor. Clear clear water.
40 feet deep. And intensely blue.
Suddenly, he catches his breath and dives -- into the
blue.
<b>UNDERWATER
</b>
JACQUES touches bottom. Clamps his legs around a rock to
hold himself down. Unhurried, thoroughly at home, 40 feet
under... he opens the plastic bag. A huge speckled moray
eel appears in a hole in the rock, slithers toward him.
The carnivore's jaws are bigger than the boy's head.
The boy smiles at him. Pulls a piece of raw meat out of
his bag and holds it out. The eel takes the morsel
delicately -- and slithers back into his hole.
Gravely, JACQUES takes another morsel out of the bag.
<b>EXT. VILLAGE - DUSK
</b>
JACQUES walks up a steep road bordering the port, almost
dry now.
Two boys about his age run up the streets; call out, catch
up with him and gesture toward the port.
<b> THE BOYS
</b> Jacques! Come quick!
<b>EXT. PIER - DUSK
</b>
The little boys tug JACQUES to the end of the pier and
point to something in the water.
<b> BOYS
</b> Look! Right there! It's shining!
JACQUES walks over, and sure enough sees something shining
a few feet down in the water.
<b> JACQUES
</b> (squinting)
A coin.
<b> FIRST BOY
</b> I found it.
<b> SECOND BOY
</b> Liar!
Camera pans and we see a middle-aged PRIEST loading
supplies into a small boat. He stops to watch the
children's negotiations. Little JACQUES is putting his
flippers on.
<b> JACQUES
</b> Ok. I'll get it, but no fighting,
all right?
The two boys nod as they point to the coin.
<b> JACQUES
</b> We'll split it.
<b> FIRST BOY
</b> You can't split a coin. That's
stupid.
<b> SECOND BOY
</b> He's right. You're stupid.
The pope smiles.
|
containing
|
How many times does the word 'containing' appear in the text?
| 0
|
.O.V. SKATERS - The Old Man leans on the railing that overlooks the beach.
We get closer and closer to him until...
One of the skaters checks him hard into the railing. The Old Man exhales
violently and falls to his knees. The two other skaters begin savagely
beating on him with their hockey sticks, as he crumbles beneath them.
Repeatedly their blades crash down hard on his head.
<b>OC VOICE
</b>
I don't understand - how can you base your lack of belief in God on the
writings Lewis Caroll?
The three skaters cease their beating and check the Old Man's pulse.
Satisfied, they skate away, leaving his crumpled form on the boardwalk.
<b>INT AIRPORT - DAY
</b>
LOKI walks beside a NUN in a semi-busy terminal. They pass through the
metal detectors. The Nun carries a donation can.
<b>LOKI
</b>
Leaving 'Alice in Wonderland' aside, look closely at 'Through the Looking
Glass' - particularly 'The Walrus and the Carpenter' poem: what's the
metaphorical meaning?
<b>NUN
</b>
I wasn't aware there was one.
<b> LOKI
</b>
Oh, but there is - it colorfully details the sham that is organized
religion. The Walrus - with his girth and good-nature - obviously refers to
either the Buddha, or - with his tusks - the lovable Hindu elephant god,
Lord Ganesha. This takes care of the Eastern religions. The Carpenter is an
obvious reference to Jesus Christ, who was purportedly raised the son of a
carpenter. He represents the Western religions. And in the poem. what do
they do? They dupe all the oysters into followmg them. Then. when the
oysters collective guard is down. the Walrus and the Carpenter shuck and
devour the helpless creatures, en masse. I don't know what that says to
you, but to me it says that following faiths based on these mythological
figures insures the destruction of one's inner-being.
BARTLEBY sits amongst a row of seats by one of the arrival gates. He eats
popcorn and stares at...
A steady stream of TRAVELERS, exiting the gate, meeting lovedones, family.
<b> OC LOKI
</b>
Organized religion destroys who we are or who we can be by inhibiting our
actions and decisions out of fear of an intangible parent-figure who shakes
a finger at us from thousands of years ago and says "No, no!"
Bartleby smiles at the meet-and-greets, warmed. Loki saddles up beside him,
kneeling on one of the seats, facing the Nun.
<b> LOKI
</b>
'Through the Looking Glass' - a children's tale? I think not.
<b> NUN
</b>
(really dazed)
I've... I've never really thought about it like that...
(beat; shocked; off her cassock)
What have I been doing with my life...?'.
<b> LOKI
</b>
Don't look back. Just get out there and taste life.
(off donation can)
Leave this for the unenlightened. Poverty is for the gullible - it's
another way the church is trying to control you. You take that money you've
been collecting for your parish reconstruction and go get
|
walrus
|
How many times does the word 'walrus' appear in the text?
| 2
|
September 30, 2007
<b> EXT. BEL AIR BAY CLUB -- PACIFIC PALISADES, CA -- MORNING
</b>
It's a beautiful spring morning in the Palisades. High atop
the cliffs, looking out over the Pacific Ocean, sits the
exclusive BEL AIR BAY CLUB. Workers bustle about the lawn,
setting up a high-end wedding.
A STRING QUARTET warms up. A team of FLORISTS arrange
centerpieces. CATERERS set the white linen tables...
<b> INT. BRIDAL SUITE -- DAY
</b>
A simple, classic wedding dress hangs on a closet door in
this sun-drenched bridal suite. Sitting at the makeup table,
surrounded by her bridesmaids, is the beautiful bride, TRACY
TURNER, 20's. She's busy doing her makeup.
Just then, Tracy's rich, stern FATHER, 50's, blows in.
<b> MR. TURNER
</b> Any word from Doug?
The way he spits out "Doug" tells us all we need to know
about how Mr. Turner feels about his future son-in-law.
<b> TRACY
</b> No, but I'm sure he's--
Just then, Tracy's CELLPHONE rings. She quickly answers it.
<b> TRACY (CONT'D)
</b> Hello?
<b> INTERCUT WITH:
</b>
<b> EXT. MOJAVE DESERT -- MORNING
</b>
Heat-waves rise off the Mojave. Standing at a lone, dust-
covered payphone in the middle of the desert is
<b> VICK LENNON
</b> He's in his late 20's, tall, rugged -- and currently a mess.
His shirt is ripped open, his aviator sunglasses are bent,
his lip is bloodied, and he clearly hasn't slept in days.
<b> VICK
</b> Tracy, it's Vick.
Parked on the dirt road behind Vick is his near-totalled 1967
Cadillac Deville convertible; it's scratched, dented, filthy -
- and missing
|
vick
|
How many times does the word 'vick' appear in the text?
| 3
|
PS of this luxurious patchwork of
brilliant greens:
<b> A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
soaked lawn.
<b> FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.
<b> GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
At the bottom of a water hazard.
<b> PALM FRONDS
</b>
After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that
surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the
air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt
Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the
palms to
<b> A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the
|
figure
|
How many times does the word 'figure' appear in the text?
| 3
|
>
A slight buzz emanates from the power lines and street
lights above the humble VINYARD household. A black FORD
BRONCO rests in the driveway.
<b>EXT. WET STREET - A GRAY TRANS AM
</b>
TUPAC'S rapping builds. The window-tinted drive-by
slowly heads down the residential street, cruises past
the Bronco in the driveway, and slows to a stop. The
music stops and TWO BLACK MEN spring from the car.
They move with purpose. The larger figure, crowbar in
hand, moves to the truck. The GUN wielding passenger
hurries to the front door and stands guard. Inside the
car, another man methodically waits.
<b>INT. BEDROOM - DANNY VINYARD'S EYES
</b>
The sex happening in the next room makes it difficult for
Danny to sleep. Next to a digital clock that reads
3:07AM, the clean cut 14-year-old flips to his side.
A poster of Lee Ving of FEAR onstage, taped to the wall.
Pre-Calculus and Biology books on the floor. Cassettes
scattered on his tiny desk. A stereo in the corner.
The off-screen sound of breaking glass grabs Danny's
attention. He sits up and looks through the blinds.
<b>EXT. HOUSE - SAME
</b>
Danny SEES a man reach through the broken window and
unlock the door. He quickly. pans to the idling Trans Am.
<b>INT. DANNY'S BEDROOM - TIGHT ON DANNY
</b>
His fearful expression says it all.
<b> DANNY
</b>Holy shit.
Danny quickly bolts out of his room and into the adjacent
bedroom down the hall. He barges through the door.
<b>INT. DEREK'S BEDROOM - A NAZI IRON EAGLE BATTLE FLAG
</b>
It hangs above a serious computer and next to a giant,
tome-filled bookshelf. The moans, meanwhile, approach
orgasm.
TIGHT ON DEREK VINYARD. The young man has a shaved head,
a thick goatee, and a well-crafted SWASTIKA on his left
tit. On top of Derek in the bed is his barely-of-age
girlfriend, STACEY. The covers are completely off and a
BLACK ROSE is tattooed across her right shoulder blade.
Danny watches her fuck, only for a second.
<b> DANNY
</b>(softly)
Der !
Danny walks over and shakes him. Startled, Derek
forcefully grabs his little brother's arm.
<b> DEREK
</b>(controlled)
What?
Stacey stops and looks over. Frustated, she rolls off
Derek and onto her side.
<b> STACEY
</b>Fucking pervert, Dan!
<b> DANNY
</b>There's a black guy outside Der...
breaking into your car.
Derek, muscled and tattooed, jumps out of the bed and
quickly puts on his skivvies. He reaches under his
mattress, pulls out a SIG .45 semi-automatic pistol, and
shoves in a clip.
<b> DEREK
</b>How long has he been out there?
<b> DANNY
</b>Not long.
<b>STACEY
</b>
Who?
<b> DEREK
</b>Nobody. Relax.
Stacey sits up quickly from the bed as Derek pulls on his
black combat boots.
<b> STACEY
</b>Who's out there, Derek?
|
quickly
|
How many times does the word 'quickly' appear in the text?
| 3
|
of his plans, he quickly disposed of his old
furniture, dismissed his servants, and left without giving the
concierge any address.
Chapter 2
More than two months passed before Des Esseintes could bury himself in
the silent repose of his Fontenay abode. He was obliged to go to Paris
again, to comb the city in his search for the things he wanted to buy.
What care he took, what meditations he surrendered himself to, before
turning over his house to the upholsterers!
He had long been a connoisseur in the sincerities and evasions of
color-tones. In the days when he had entertained women at his home, he
had created a boudoir where, amid daintily carved furniture of pale,
Japanese camphor-wood, under a sort of pavillion of Indian rose-tinted
satin, the flesh would color delicately in the borrowed lights of the
silken hangings.
This room, each of whose sides was lined with mirrors that echoed each
other all along the walls, reflecting, as far as the eye could reach,
whole series of rose boudoirs, had been celebrated among the women who
loved to immerse their nudity in this bath of warm carnation, made
fragrant with the odor of mint emanating from the exotic wood of the
furniture.
Aside from the sensual delights for which he had designed this
chamber, this painted atmosphere which gave new color to faces grown
dull and withered by the use of ceruse and by nights of dissipation,
there were other, more personal and perverse pleasures which he
enjoyed in these languorous surroundings,--pleasures which in some way
stimulated memories of his past pains and dead ennuis.
As a souvenir of the hated days of his childhood, he had suspended
from the ceiling a small silver-wired cage where a captive cricket
sang as if in the ashes of the chimneys of the Chateau de Lourps.
Listening to the sound he had so often heard before, he lived over
again the silent evenings spent near his mother, the wretchedness of
his suffering, repressed youth. And then, while he yielded to the
voluptuousness of the woman he mechanically caressed, whose words or
laughter tore him from his revery and rudely recalled him to the
moment, to the boudoir, to reality, a tumult arose in his soul, a need
of avenging the sad years he had endured, a mad wish to sully the
recollections of his family by shameful action, a furious desire to
pant on cushions of flesh, to drain to their last dregs the most
violent of carnal vices.
On rainy autumnal days when melancholy oppressed him, when a hatred of
his home, the muddy yellow skies, the macadam clouds assailed him, he
took refuge in this retreat, set the cage lightly in motion and
watched it endlessly reflected in the play of the mirrors, until it
seemed to his dazed eyes that the cage no longer stirred, but that the
boudoir reeled and turned, filling the house with a rose-colored
waltz.
In the days when he had deemed it necessary to affect singularity, Des
Esseintes had designed marvelously strange furnishings, dividing his
salon into a series of alcoves hung with varied tapestries to relate
by a subtle analogy, by a vague harmony of joyous or sombre, delicate
or barbaric colors to the character of the Latin or French books he
loved. And he would seclude himself in turn in the particular recess
whose _decor_ seemed best to correspond with the very essence of the
work his caprice of the moment induced him to read.
He had constructed, too, a lofty high room intended for the reception
of his tradesmen. Here they were ushered in and seated alongside each
other in church pews, while from a pulpit he preached to them a sermon
on dandyism, adjuring his bootmakers and tailors implicitly to obey
his briefs in the matter of style, threatening them with pecuniary
excommunication if they failed to follow to the letter the
instructions contained in his monitories and bulls.
He acquired the reputation of an eccentric, which he enhanced by
wearing costumes of white velvet, and gold
|
days
|
How many times does the word 'days' appear in the text?
| 3
|
<b> SEVENTH DRAFT
</b> January 12, 1992
<b> INT. REGIS & KATHIE LEE SHOW SET
</b>
A horribly deformed figure--hunchback, misshapen head--sits
on a stool in complete silhouette. This is RICK COOGAN.
<b> RICK
</b> Can you imagine it, Regis, Kathie
Lee? One day I'm a hot young
movie star, and the next day I'm a
hideous mutant freak, covered with
festering lesions.
Oddly, REGIS and KATHIE LEE are also in complete silhouette.
<b> REGIS
</b> Sounds like my wife when she misses
a mudpack!
The audience CRACKS UP. Kathie Lee pooh-poohs Regis.
<b> KATHIE LEE
</b> Oh Regis! You're incorrigible! Ha-
ha!
(to Rick, she turns
<b> EARNEST)
</b> Ricky, once you were the all-
American boy next door, star of the
beloved Hey Dude films. Now the
very mention of your name makes
children scream in terror. We've
all read about your disturbing
story. But the people want to hear
it from you, Ricky Coogan.
(SFX: children scream)
|
rick
|
How many times does the word 'rick' appear in the text?
| 2
|
EXT. OPEN ROADS - NIGHT - TITLE SEQUENCE
</b>
A series of traveling shots. A well-dressed, pompous-looking
individual (JOHN DASHWOOD, 35) is making an urgent journey
on horseback. He looks anxious.
<b> EXT. NORLAND PARK - ENGLAND - MARCH 1800 - NIGHT
</b>
Silence. Norland Park, a large country house built in the
early part of the eighteenth century, lies in the moonlit
parkland.
<b> INT. NORLAND PARK - MR DASHWOOD'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
</b>
In the dim light shed by candles we see a bed in which a MAN
(MR DASHWOOD, 52) lies his skin waxy, his breathing laboured.
Around him two silhouettes move and murmur, their clothing
susurrating in the deathly hush. DOCTORS. A WOMAN (MRS
DASHWOOD, 50) sits by his side, holding his hand, her eyes
never leaving his face.
<b> MR DASHWOOD
</b> (urgent)
Is John not yet arrived?
<b> MRS DASHWOOD
</b> We expect him at any moment, dearest.
MR DASHWOOD looks anguished.
<b> MR DASHWOOD
</b> The girls--I have left so little.
<b> MRS DASHWOOD
</b> Shh, hush, Henry.
<b> MR DASHWOOD
</b> Elinor will try to look after you
all, but make sure she finds a good
husband. The men are such noodles
|
dashwood
|
How many times does the word 'dashwood' appear in the text?
| 9
|
JAMES BOND, dressed impeccably as ever, is being FRISKED by
three THUGS in Armani suits. They remove A GUN from inside
his jacket, a well-concealed knife, a metal case, laying them
on the desk that separates Bond and...
LACHAISE...an extremely well-groomed gentleman. Behind him,
three floor-to-ceiling windows lead out to a rooftop garden.
<b> LACHAISE
</b> Not the usual Swiss procedure, Mr. Bond,
but you understand, a man in my
position..
<b> BOND
</b> Which is neutral, no doubt.
Lachaise takes the joke a little tight-lipped. Gestures for
Bond to sit.
A GIRL ENTERS, a gorgeous Swiss bombshell in a pin-striped
suit. She pushes a cart. On it are a BRIEFCASE and a box of
EXPENSIVE CIGARS, which she offers to Lachaise and Bond.
<b> LACHAISE
</b> It wasn't easy, but I retrieved the
money. No doubt Sir Robert will be
pleased to see it again.
The efficient Cigar Girl brings the briefcase to Bond,
setting it in his lap and opening it up...inside is a good
deal of CASH in pound sterling.
<b> LACHAISE
</b> In the current exchange rate, minus the
fees, of course, and certain
unforeseeable expenses. Here is the
receipt...
The CIGAR GIRL offers Bond a RECEIPT...
<b> CIGAR GIRL
</b> Would you like to check my figures?
<b> BOND
</b> Perhaps later.
She steps back. Bond reaches for the metal case on the
desk...the THUGS TENSE...
<b> BOND
</b> My glasses.
Lachaise nods. Bond can have his glasses.
He puts them on, gives a curs
|
swiss
|
How many times does the word 'swiss' appear in the text?
| 1
|
I have known a great deal of the trouble
of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to
old superannuated servants by my father's will, and it is amazing how
disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be
paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then
one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be
no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her
own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more
unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been
entirely at my mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever. It
has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would
not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world."
"It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood, "to have
those kind of yearly drains on one's income. One's fortune, as your
mother justly says, is NOT one's own. To be tied down to the regular
payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it
takes away one's independence."
"Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it. They think
themselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises
no gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be done at
my own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow them any
thing yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a
hundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses."
"I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should
be no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will
be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they
would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger
income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the
year. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty
pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for
money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father."
"To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within
myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at
all. The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might
be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking out for a
comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their things,
and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they
are in season. I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed,
it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. Do but consider,
my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law
and her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds,
besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which
brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course, they will
pay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether, they will have
five hundred a-year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want
for more than that?--They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will
be nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly
any servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of
any kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a
year! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as
to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will
be much more able to give YOU something."
"Upon my word," said Mr. Dashwood, "I believe you are perfectly right.
My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than
what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil
my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you
have described. When my mother removes into another house my services
shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little
present of furniture too may be acceptable
|
such
|
How many times does the word 'such' appear in the text?
| 6
|
</b>
<b> A WINDOWPANE
</b>
Assaulted from without by SNOWFLAKES. Wind tossed.
INSIDE, a bed, dappled with moon shadow. A LITTLE GIRL, fast
asleep. The wind whistles and sighs outside. She DREAMS...
Eyelids closed, eyes roving beneath... then suddenly they
SNAP open. A stifled cry. She thrashes for her STUFFED BEAR,
as a soft voice says:
<b> VOICE
</b> Shhhhh.
And there's MOM, kneeling beside her. Vague shape in the
dimness. The full moon throws light across one sparkling
eye.
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Mommy, the men on the mountain...!
<b> MOM
</b> Shhhh. Gone, all gone now.
(strokes her hair)
I'm here. Mommy's always here and no
one can ever hurt you. Safe now...
safe and warm... snug as a bug in a
rug.
(beat)
I'll sit with you, think you can
sleep?
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Turn on the nightlight.
The mother nods. Passes her left hand gently over the girl's
forehead.
<b> MOM
</b>
|
moon
|
How many times does the word 'moon' appear in the text?
| 1
|
to be a giant icicle hanging
over a cliff:
AN ICE FALL. A 600 foot waterfall whose face is frozen solid.
Pushing in still closer, there is a tiny black dot inching its way up
the ice. A human figure. This is:
<b> JAMES BOND, BRITISH SECRET SERVICE AGENT, 007.
</b>
Bond is sweating and straining, four hundred feet in the air. He has
an ice-pick tethered to each hand, ice-cleats on his boots. A black
backpack. As he climbs, spider-like, pulling himself up, he goes to
JAM A CLEAT into the ice, but -
CRACK! A 50 foot stiletto of ice breaks off, CRASHING onto the rocks
below. Regaining his foothold, Bond looks down: Certain death. He
looks up: So very, very, far to go. Bond shakes his head:
<b> BOND
</b> There has to be an easier way to earn
a living.
Still, Bond climbs. Huffing, sweating, he goes up, and up, until -
<b> ANOTHER ANGLE -
</b>
He's 25 feet from the top. He drives a first ice pick in. Gets a
toehold. But when he slams the second pick in -
<b> THE ICE WALL SHATTERS, FALLING AWAY IN FRONT OF HIM. IN THE SHOCK -
</b>
<b> BOND LOSES HIS GRIP ON THE FIRST ICE PICK -
</b>
And 007 is now dangling, 575 feet in the air, staring at a torrent of
water - hanging only by the leather thread around his wrist, attached
to the first ice-pick, still embedded in the wall.
Bond pauses. Thinks. And coolly begins to swing himself back and
forth, in widening arcs, like a clock's pendulum.
At the high point of his swing, Bond reaches back to smash his other
pick into the ice - BUT MISSES. He looks up at:
<b> THE FIRST ICE PICK, STILL EMBEDDED IN THE WALL -
</b>
Beginning to work its way out. The tether, fraying.
<b> RETURN ON BOND -
</b>
Cautiously, 007 begins to swing a second time. Once. Twice. And on
the third arc, he swings the ice-pick viciously - but MISSES AGAIN.
<b> ANGLE ON THE FIRST ICE PICK, STILL EMBEDDED IN THE WALL -
</b>
Now jutting downward, barely holding. The tether is almost totally
frayed through.
<b> RETURN ON BOND -
</b>
One last chance. Bond swings. Once. Twice. He reaches back, hurls
himself at the wall, lunging - AND SMASHES THE SECOND PICK INTO THE
ICE... Just as the tether finally snaps on the first one. Still,
he's all but home: He reaches over, grabs the first pick (barely
holding in the ice,) jabs it in, and continues upward.
<b> EXT. THE TOP
|
cautiously
|
How many times does the word 'cautiously' appear in the text?
| 0
|
GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.) (UKRAINIAN)
</b> I can't see anything... Are you there?
Silence.
<b> GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.) (UKRAINIAN) (CONT'D)
</b> Are you there!?
Giggling. LUBA, 15, dangerous, flicks a lighter, sparking a
cigarette, and grins in the flickering flame.
<b> LUBA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> God I'm drunk... Where's this damn door?
She scans the space with the lighter. Illuminating...
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> Watch it! That's my hair! Let me try.
RAYA, 15, pretty, guileless, takes the lighter, searching...
CLICK. She has it. They BURST out the door, LAUGHING, onto...
<b>2 EXT. ROOFTOP - APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT 2
</b>
A PARTY. ROCK MUSIC BLARES. DRUNK TEENS dance around BURNING
BARRELS. GROUPS lounge on ratty couches and turned over boxes
skulling cans, making out, talking shit. A BOY, 17, lights a
MOLOTOV COCKTAIL and hurls it off the roof.
Luba and Raya join THREE GUYS. ONE of them pisses onto a
cloth, stuffs it in a bottle, and tries to light it. It
FIZZLES. Everybody bursts out laughing.
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> It's ammonia, not alcohol.
<b> BOY (UKRAINIAN)
</b> (Drunk) You're so smart. I love you!
He lunges in for a kiss, but she dodges him, laughing. Luba
gives him the finger, pulling Raya toward the dancing into...
TEEN MAYHEM: Raya lets herself go. She gets lost in...
A WHIRL of drunk and happy teens. It's tribal. They dance,
silhouetted against the fire and the black sky, their backs
to the run-down Soviet buildings... Tonight, they don't want
to think about what life holds in store.
Raya stops. Dizzy. She looks at her watch, suddenly aware of
the time. Yelling over to Luba...
<b> TWB 2.
</b>
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b>
|
girl
|
How many times does the word 'girl' appear in the text?
| 1
|
INT. ROCK LEDGE - SIETCH TABR - NIGHT
</b>
<b> BLACK
</b>
FADE IN to the dark eyes of the mysterious face of
the REVEREND MOTHER RAMALLO, who sits against smooth
black rock. Her eyes are deep blue-within-blue and
her skin is a haunting translucent white. Her voice
ECHOES as if in a great cavern.
<b> REVEREND MOTHER RAMALLO
</b> We are the secret of the Universe.
<b> RESPONSE OF TWENTY THOUSAND VOICES
</b> Bi-la kaifa.
<b> REVEREND MOTHER RAMALLO
</b> We are the secret of the Universe. We know
of spice...the spice called melange...the
greatest treasure in the Universe. It
exists on only one planet - ours Arrakis,
Dune. We know of spice and the Bene
Gesserit sisterhood's selective breeding
plan of ninety generations to produce the
Kwisatz Haderach, the one the spice will
awaken.
<b> RESPONSE OF TWENTY THOUSAND VOICES
</b> Bi-la kaifa.
<b> REVEREND MOTHER RAMALLO
</b> And now the prophecy...
Silence...then a powerful low organ NOTE resounding
in the cavernous space.
<b> REVEREND MOTHER RAMALLO (CONT'D)
</b> He will come...the voice from the outer
world, bringing the holy war, the Jihad,
which will cleanse the Universe and bring
us out of darkness. He will have been born
of a Bene Gesserit mother.
<b>--
</b> The Reverend Mother continues speaking of the
Prophecy, but we do not hear it. The huge wind organ
BLOWS louder and louder, obscuring her voice.
The picture FADES.
<b>1B. KAITAIN - A SCENE FROM SPACE
</b>
Home planet of House Corrino and Shadam IV, Emperor
of the known universe.
<b>2. INT. DROP - NIGHT
</b>
FADE IN to:
...interior of one drop of water. The image changes
subtly.
<b>2A. EXT. - DROP - NIGHT
</b>
PULL BACK to a shot revealing the outside of the
drop. There is a distant ROARING and within the drop
we can see
|
will
|
How many times does the word 'will' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Inspired by the Brothers Grimm's
"Little Snow White"
November 22nd, 2011
<b> 1 EXT. GARDENS/ CASTLE - DAY. 1
</b>
From high above we see the castle gardens covered in a blanket
of snow. We hear the tread of footsteps then see a beautiful
WOMAN in a fur-lined cloak heading towards an unseen object.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen
was admiring the falling snow when she saw
a rose blooming in defiance of the cold.
The rose looks miraculously red. Nearby, a RAVEN looks on. The
Queen gazes at the flower, then bends down.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and
three drops of blood fell.
BOOM -- with the impact of an artillery shell, a DROP OF BLOOD
lands in the snow. Followed by ANOTHER. And ANOTHER.
The Queen startles, then calmly touches her stomach.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> And because the red seemed so alive against
the white, she thought, if only I had a
child as white as snow, lips as red as
blood, hair as black as a raven's wings and
all with the strength of that rose.
A beat, then we hear the piercing cry of a new-born baby --
<b> 2 INT. ROYAL BEDROOM - DAY. 2
</b>
We find ourselves in a crowded chamber full of MIDWIVES and
PHYSICIANS. Moving through the chaos we glimpse buckets of
water, dirty sponges, astrology charts and protection charms --
until we see a BABY GIRL in the arms of her happy mother.
<b> ERIC (V.O.)
</b> Soon after, a daughter was born to the
Queen and was named "Snow White."
With a radiant smile, the Queen offers SNOW WHITE to her proud
father, KING MAGNUS. The baby's CRIES grow louder as the King
cradles her gently in his arms, turning towards a mirror.
<b> ERIC V/
|
snow
|
How many times does the word 'snow' appear in the text?
| 6
|
and something beside. When a quirk or a quiblin
does 'scape thee, and thou dost not watch and apprehend it, and bring
it afore the constable of conceit, (there now, I speak quib too,) let
them carry thee out o' the archdeacon's court into his kitchen, and
make a Jack of thee, instead of a John. There I am again la!--
_Enter MRS. LITTLEWIT._
Win, good-morrow, Win; ay, marry, Win, now you look finely indeed,
Win! this cap does convince! You'd not have worn it, Win, nor have had
it velvet, but a rough country beaver, with a copper band, like the
coney-skin woman of Budge-row; sweet Win, let me kiss it! And her fine
high shoes, like the Spanish lady! Good Win, go a little, I would fain
see thee pace, pretty Win; by this fine cap, I could never leave
kissing on't.
MRS. LIT. Come indeed la, you are such a fool still!
LIT. No, but half a one, Win, you are the t'other half: man and wife
make one fool, Win. Good! Is there the proctor, or doctor indeed, in
the diocese, that ever had the fortune to win him such a Win! There I
am again! I do feel conceits coming upon me, more than I am able to
turn tongue to. A pox o' these pretenders to wit! your Three Cranes,
Mitre and Mermaid men! not a corn of true salt, not a grain of right
mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places, or so, again the
next wit-fall, and pay two-pence in a quart more for their canary than
other men. But give me the man can start up a justice of wit out of
six shillings beer, and give the law to all the poets and poet-suckers
in town:--because they are the player's gossips! 'Slid! other men have
wives as fine as the players, and as well drest. Come hither, Win!
[_Kisses her._
_Enter WINWIFE._
WINW. Why, how now, master Littlewit! measuring of lips, or moulding
of kisses? which is it?
LIT. Troth, I am a little taken with my Win's dressing here: does it
not fine, master Winwife? How do you apprehend, sir? she would not
have worn this habit. I challenge all Cheapside to shew such another:
Moorfields, Pimlico-path, or the Exchange, in a summer evening, with a
lace to boot, as this has. Dear Win, let master Winwife kiss you. He
comes a wooing to our mother, Win, and may be our father perhaps, Win.
There's no harm in him, Win.
WINW. None in the earth, master Littlewit.
[_Kisses her._
LIT. I envy no man my delicates, sir.
WINW. Alas, you have the garden where they grow still! A wife here
with a strawberry breath, cherry lips, apricot cheeks, and a soft
velvet head, like a melicotton.
LIT. Good, i'faith! now dulness upon me, that I had not that before
him, that I should not light on't as well as he! velvet head!
WINW. But my taste, master Littlewit, tends to fruit of a later kind;
the sober matron, your wife's mother.
LIT. Ay, we know you are a suitor, sir; Win and I both wish you well:
By this license here, would you had her, that your two names were as
fast in it as here are a couple! Win would fain have a fine young
father-i'-law, with a feather; that her mother might hood it and chain
it with mistress Overdo. But you do not take the right course, master
Winwife.
WINW. No, master Littlewit, why?
LIT. You are not mad enough.
WINW. How! is madness a right course?
LIT. I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You have a friend, one master
|
master
|
How many times does the word 'master' appear in the text?
| 7
|
</b>
<b> ON A BLACK SCREEN
</b>
it says: "The coolest thing?"
<b> VOICE
</b> Wow. That's hard. I'd have to say
it's the day we launched Outpost
<b> '98.
</b>
We hear a (famous) Seattle alternative band.
<b> EXT. OUTPOST CAMPUS - DAY (BEGIN MAIN TITLES)
</b>
Quick cuts, seductive angles: 70 hot-air balloons rise over
a vast, green corporate campus. Their mylar skins are
imprinted with Outpost '98 logos; their gondolas are dressed
in Outpost-colored bunting.
18,000 Outpost employees cheer. They're spread out over
rolling lawns, amid Arabian tents and costumed Acrobats.
Over the balloon-dotted sky, the graphic re-appears: "The
coolest thing?"
<b> DIFFERENT VOICE (DARYL)
</b> It's the beverages.
<b> INT. OUTPOST OFFICE - DAY (CONTINUE TITLES & MUSIC)
</b>
A Programmer sits in his handsome office, forested landscape
out the window. The screen says: DARYL, M.I.T. '95
<b> DARYL
</b> Gary always makes sure we've got the
coolest stuff to drink.
JUMP CUTS of tall refrigerators: Snapples, Cokes, Fruitopias,
Zaps, Jolts, Barques & Sprites are lined-up behind glass
doors. "The coolest thing?"
<b> DIFFERENT VOICE (DIANA)
</b> Knowing your work means something.
|
outpost
|
How many times does the word 'outpost' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ters are ye all,
as he said. Thus nine days I sat upon my knees, with my babe in my lap,
till my flesh was raw again; my child being even ready to depart this
sorrowful world, they bade me carry it out to another wigwam (I suppose
because they would not be troubled with such spectacles) whither I went
with a very heavy heart, and down I sat with the picture of death in my
lap. About two hours in the night, my sweet babe like a lamb departed
this life on Feb. 18, 1675. It being about six years, and five months
old. It was nine days from the first wounding, in this miserable
condition, without any refreshing of one nature or other, except a
little cold water. I cannot but take notice how at another time I could
not bear to be in the room where any dead person was, but now the case
is changed; I must and could lie down by my dead babe, side by side all
the night after. I have thought since of the wonderful goodness of
God to me in preserving me in the use of my reason and senses in that
distressed time, that I did not use wicked and violent means to end my
own miserable life. In the morning, when they understood that my child
was dead they sent for me home to my master's wigwam (by my master in
this writing, must be understood Quinnapin, who was a Sagamore, and
married King Philip's wife's sister; not that he first took me, but I
was sold to him by another Narragansett Indian, who took me when first I
came out of the garrison). I went to take up my dead child in my arms to
carry it with me, but they bid me let it alone; there was no resisting,
but go I must and leave it. When I had been at my master's wigwam, I
took the first opportunity I could get to go look after my dead child.
When I came I asked them what they had done with it; then they told me
it was upon the hill. Then they went and showed me where it was, where I
saw the ground was newly digged, and there they told me they had buried
it. There I left that child in the wilderness, and must commit it, and
myself also in this wilderness condition, to Him who is above all. God
having taken away this dear child, I went to see my daughter Mary, who
was at this same Indian town, at a wigwam not very far off, though we
had little liberty or opportunity to see one another. She was about
ten years old, and taken from the door at first by a Praying Ind. and
afterward sold for a gun. When I came in sight, she would fall aweeping;
at which they were provoked, and would not let me come near her, but
bade me be gone; which was a heart-cutting word to me. I had one child
dead, another in the wilderness, I knew not where, the third they
would not let me come near to: "Me (as he said) have ye bereaved of my
Children, Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin
also, all these things are against me." I could not sit still in this
condition, but kept walking from one place to another. And as I was
going along, my heart was even overwhelmed with the thoughts of my
condition, and that I should have children, and a nation which I knew
not, ruled over them. Whereupon I earnestly entreated the Lord, that He
would consider my low estate, and show me a token for good, and if it
were His blessed will, some sign and hope of some relief. And indeed
quickly the Lord answered, in some measure, my poor prayers; for as I
was going up and down mourning and lamenting my condition, my son came
to me, and asked me how I did. I had not seen him before, since the
destruction of the town, and I knew not where he was, till I was
informed by himself, that he was amongst a smaller parcel of Indians,
whose place was about six miles off. With tears in his eyes, he asked
me whether his sister Sarah was dead; and told me he had seen his
sister Mary; and prayed me, that I would not be troubled in reference
to himself. The occasion of his coming to see me at this time, was this:
|
child
|
How many times does the word 'child' appear in the text?
| 6
|
existence; they
had only made sure of the death of its occupiers. Which meant they must
have some use for the installations. For the general loot of a Survey
field camp would be relatively worthless to those who picked over the
treasure of entire cities elsewhere. Why? What did the Throgs want? And
would the alien invaders continue to occupy the domes for long?
Shann did not realize what had happened to him since that shock of
ruthless attack. From early childhood, when he had been thrown on his
own to scratch a living--a borderline existence of a living--on the
Dumps of Tyr, he had had to use his wits to keep life in a scrawny and
undersized body. However, since he had been eating regularly from Survey
rations, he was not quite so scrawny any more.
His formal education was close to zero, his informal and off-center
schooling vast. And that particular toughening process which had been
working on him for years now aided in his speedy adaption to a new set
of facts, formidable ones. He was alone on a strange and perhaps hostile
world. Water, food, safe shelter, those were important now. And once
again, away from the ordered round of the camp where he had been ruled
by the desires and requirements of others, he was thinking, planning in
freedom. Later (his hand went to the butt of his stunner) perhaps later
he might just find a way of extracting an accounting from the
beetle-faces, too.
For the present, he would have to keep away from the Throgs, which meant
well away from the camp. A fleck of green showed through the amethyst
foliage before him--the lake! Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier
and stood to look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up.
Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, black
button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn water. To his
gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons.
Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the verge to shake
himself vigorously. Then the wolverine came upslope at a clumsy gallop
to Shann. With an unknown feeling swelling inside him, the Terran went
down on both knees, burying both hands in the coarse brown fur, warming
to the uproarious welcome Taggi gave him.
"Togi?" Shann asked as if the other could answer. He gazed back to the
lake, but Taggi's mate was nowhere in sight.
The blunt head under his hand swung around, black button nose pointed
north. Shann had never been sure just how intelligent, as mankind
measured intelligence, the wolverines were. He had come to suspect that
Fadakar and the other experts had underrated them and that both beasts
understood more than they were given credit for. Now he followed an
experiment of his own, one he had had a chance to try only a few times
before and never at length. Pressing his palm flat on Taggi's head,
Shann thought of Throgs and of their attack, trying to arouse in the
animal a corresponding reaction to his own horror and anger.
And Taggi responded. A mutter became a growl, teeth gleamed--those cruel
teeth of a carnivore to whom they were weapons of aggression. Danger ...
Shann thought "danger." Then he raised his hand, and the wolverine
shuffled off, heading north. The man followed.
They discovered Togi busy in a small cove where a jagged tangle of drift
made a mat dating from the last high-water period. She was finishing a
hearty breakfast, the remains of a water rat being buried thriftily
against future need after the instincts of her kind. When she was done
she came to Shann, inquiry plain to read in her eyes.
There was water here, and good hunting. But the site was too close to
the Throgs. Let one of their exploring flyers sight them, and the little
group was finished. Better cover, that's what the three fugitives must
have. Shann scowled, not at Togi, but at the landscape. He was tired and
hungry, but he must keep on going.
A stream fed into the cove from the west, a guide of sorts. With very
little knowledge of
|
busy
|
How many times does the word 'busy' appear in the text?
| 0
|
window that gleamed yellow in the night.
At a corner on which stood a little shop that advertised "Groceries and
Provisions" he paused.
"Let me see," he pondered. "The lights will be turned off, of course.
Candles. And a little something for the inner man, in case it's the
closed season for cooks."
He went inside, where a weary old woman served him.
"What sort of candles?" she inquired, with the air of one who had an
infinite variety in stock. Mr. Magee remembered that Christmas was near.
"For a Christmas tree," he explained. He asked for two hundred.
"I've only got forty," the woman said. "What's this tree for--the
Orphans' Home?"
With the added burden of a package containing his purchases in the tiny
store, Mr. Magee emerged and continued his journey through the stinging
snow. Upper Asquewan Falls on its way home for supper flitted past him
in the silvery darkness. He saw in the lighted windows of many of the
houses the green wreath of Christmas cheer. Finally the houses became
infrequent, and he struck out on an uneven road that wound upward. Once
he heard a dog's faint bark. Then a carriage lurched by him, and a
strong voice cursed the roughness of the road. Mr. Magee half smiled to
himself as he strode on.
"Don Quixote, my boy," he muttered, "I know how you felt when you moved
on the windmills."
It was not the whir of windmills but the creak of a gate in the storm
that brought Mr. Magee at last to a stop. He walked gladly up the path
to Elijah Quimby's door.
In answer to Billy Magee's gay knock, a man of about sixty years
appeared. Evidently he had just finished supper; at the moment he was
engaged in lighting his pipe. He admitted Mr. Magee into the intimacy of
the kitchen, and took a number of calm judicious puffs on the pipe
before speaking to his visitor. In that interval the visitor cheerily
seized his hand, oblivious of the warm burnt match that was in it. The
match fell to the floor, whereupon the older man cast an anxious glance
at a gray-haired woman who stood beside the kitchen stove.
"My name's Magee," blithely explained that gentleman, dragging in his
bags. "And you're Elijah Quimby, of course. How are you? Glad to see
you." His air was that of one who had known this Quimby intimately, in
many odd corners of the world.
The older man did not reply, but regarded Mr. Magee wonderingly through
white puffs of smoke. His face was kindly, gentle, ineffectual; he
seemed to lack the final "punch" that send men over the line to success;
this was evident in the way his necktie hung, the way his thin hands
fluttered.
"Yes," he admitted at last. "Yes, I'm Quimby."
Mr. Magee threw back his coat, and sprayed with snow Mrs. Quimby's
immaculate floor.
"I'm Magee," he elucidated again, "William Hallowell Magee, the man Hal
Bentley wrote to you about. You got his letter, didn't you?"
Mr. Quimby removed his pipe and forgot to close the aperture as he
stared in amazement.
"Good lord!" he cried, "you don't mean--you've really come."
"What better proof could you ask," said Mr. Magee flippantly, "than my
presence here?"
"Why," stammered Mr. Quimby, "we--we thought it was all a joke."
"Hal Bentley has his humorous moments," agreed Mr. Magee, "but it isn't
his habit to fling his jests into Upper Asquewan Falls."
"And--and you're really going to--" Mr. Quimby could get no further.
"Yes," said Mr. Magee brightly, slipping into a rocking-chair. "Yes, I'm
going to spend the next few months at Baldpate Inn."
Mrs. Quimby, who seemed to have settled into a stout little mound of
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 2
|
because there are as yet no words to
enable us to get there.
(beat)
But I was there for the end. I took part
in it. And I think my words can help shed
light on what happened. My name is
Abigail. This is our story.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. IRAQI DESERT - DAWN
</b>
Harsh sunlight beats down over a bleak, unforgiving stretch of
rocky desert. Amidst this desolation rise the ruins of an
ancient Sumerian ziggurat, a massive stepped pyramid of mud
brick that was once the center of the city known as Ur.
<b> SUPER TITLE: SOUTHEASTERN IRAQ, DHI QAR PROVINCE
</b>
<b> SIX MONTHS AGO
</b>
<b> AN EMACIATED SHEEP HERDER
</b>
kneels by the ziggurat, tending to a ragged band of sheep. He
is conducting the first of his daily prayers, listening to a
religious broadcast from Baghdad on a tinny RADIO.
Presently, we hear HELICOPTERS. The sheepherder looks up --
<b> TWO ANERICAN RAH-66 COMANCHE HELICOPTERS
</b>
approach from the East. They touch down near the base of the
ziggurat, rotors stirring up clouds of dust.
<b> FOUR FIGURES
</b>
disembark, their bodies covered in desert camo-gear. They
wear helmets with polarized face-plates and are armed to the
teeth. To the sheepherder they might as well be aliens.
One of the figures turns to the East. We can see the rising
sun reflected in the face-plate of his helmet -- and a hint of
a skull-like under-mask/respirator beneath the face-plate. He
raises a gloved hand, gives the "finger" to the new day.
Another figure (a woman) waves a hand, urging them onward.
They mount the central steps of the ziggurat.
<b> INT. ZIGGURAT - SHRINE - DAY
</b>
The shrine is
|
ziggurat
|
How many times does the word 'ziggurat' appear in the text?
| 4
|
:
<b> EXT. CHICAGO - A GRAVESITE - DAY
</b>
Next to Sam is his son Jonah, age 9. Sam's hand is on
his shoulder. As the mourners go past and each takes a
turn shoveling a clod of dirt into an open grave --
<b> SAM
</b>
If we start asking why we'll go
crazy. So, rule number one.
We don't ask why.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> CLOSE ON ANNIE REED
</b>
Pretty, blonde, animated. Jeans, a T-shirt, a Baltimore
Orioles hat.
<b> ANNIE
</b>
Why? I just want to know why?
That's my first rule. I always
ask why. Come on. Tell me.
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon --
And pull back to reveal:
<b> EXT. CHICAGO ALLEY - DAY
</b>
Annie is talking to her boyfriend, a good-looking guy
named SETH. They're carrying packing boxes into the
house they share in the Old Town section of Chicago.
The same stunning architecture in the b.g. They go up
the back wooden staircase to the house.
<b> SETH
</b>
There's no why, Annie. I'm
just not up for it. I never
said I was.
<b> ANNIE
</b>
Is there somebody else?
<b> SETH
</b>
Nope.
<b> ANNIE
</b>
You don't love me, is that it?
<b> SETH
</b>
Nope.
Follow them into:
<b> INT. KITCHEN - DUSK
</b>
As they set down the packing boxes and Seth starts to
assemble them.
<b> ANNIE
</b>
How about ... you're too
narcissistic to commit to
another human being in a long-
term way.
<b> SETH
</b>
(agreeably)
That's good.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. SAM'S CHICAGO TOWN HOUSE - DAY
</b>
An attractive, thirtyish couple, SUZY and GREG are
stocking Sam's freezer with enough Ziploc meals for a
months. A number of friends and relatives talk quietly
in the living room beyond. Sam stands alone by a window
that looks into the backyard. We can see a garden of
flowers -- clearly planted by Sam's wife.
<b> SUZY
</b>
Five minutes in the microwave.
Any one of them, five minutes
and done. Ready to eat. Do
you know how to make juice?
<b> SAM
</b>
Microwave. Five minutes.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> ANNIE'S KITCHEN
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 1
|
<b>______________________________________________________________________________
</b>
<b> "TOTAL RECALL"
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EXT. DESERT - DAY
</b>
All we can see, filling the entire frame is a flame-orange
sky...almost like the sky from the burning of Atlanta in
"Gone with the Wind".
SUPERIMPOSE: Presenter credit.
PAN DOWN lower and lower until we see the terrain below...
the desert. There is no vegetation whatever, just sand and
odd-shaped rock formations. The air is filled with red dust,
which alternately obscures and then reveals the image.
CAMERA MOVES FORWARD optically - enlarging the film grain in
the process.
<b> SLOW DISOLVE
</b>
<b> OPENING CREDITS BEGIN.
</b>
ANOTHER SHOT of a barren landscape, once more with bizarre
rocks. Dust. Sound of wind. CAMERA MOVES FORWARD again.
<b> DISSOLVE.
</b>
ANOTHER LANDSCAPE, but this time, in the distance are some
enormous plastic domes. Sunlight striking them and reflect-
ing causes brilliant rainbows. CAMERA optically tracks
toward the dome, seen in tantalizingly indistinct fashion
through the red dust. DISSOLVE...
ANOTHER ANGLE, and, in the distance, on the horizon of the
arid landscape is a huge SPHINX-LIKE STRUCTURE. (It is
reminiscent of the Egyptian sphinx, but both body and face,
though gargoyle-like, are different in design.) There are
some large pyramids not far from the sphinx. CAMERA MOVES
optically FORWARD. DISSOLVE.
CAMERA is much closer to the sphinx and is directly in front.
It moves (combination of zoom and optical printer move)
towards the eyes, which appear to be red gems.
As CAMERA APPROACHES one of the eyes, it appears to be
stained red glass, as in a temple. Suddenly there is a
terrific explosion and the glass shatters into millions of
fragments which hurtle toward the camera...
<b>2 INT. CATACOMB BELOW "SPHINX" - DAY
</b>
A MAN wearing a LIGHTWEIGHT THERMAL SUIT is RUNNING THROUGH
THIS LABYRINTH of TUNNELS. The GROUND TREMBLES under him,
as if in an earthquake. We cannot clearly make out his face,
especially since he wears some kind of BREATHING APPARATUS
over a portion of it.
The surface of the tunnel's "walls" is curious; the walls
are, again, bright reddish orange, and a composite
|
camera
|
How many times does the word 'camera' appear in the text?
| 6
|
>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> INT. KITCHEN - MORNING
</b>
ANGLE ON: BILLY MATTHEWS, 8, ravenously eating a plate
of hashbrowns, runny fried eggs and syrupy waffles.
<b> WOMAN'S VOICE (O.C.)
</b> Doug?...
We see DOUG MATTHEWS, 40's, sitting across the table,
staring at his son, Billy. Doug is handsome in that
honest, sincere way. A guy you would call to help you
move a couch. He watches Billy scoop up his hashbrowns
with a frosted pop-tart. Billy catches his Dad's look
and grins with his mouth full. Doug smiles back, then
looks down at his own plate. He has scrambled egg whites
and sliced tomatoes. His smile fades away.
<b> WOMAN'S VOICE (O.C.) (CONT'D)
</b> Doug?
Doug snaps out of it and looks up at his wife, KELLY
MATTHEWS. She's attractive, with a patient smile.
<b> KELLY
</b> I've got some stuff to do for the party
tomorrow. Can you take Billy to school?
<b> DOUG
</b> What "stuff"? This party isn't going to
be fancy, is it? Just some friends and a
wing platter from Costco?
<b> KELLY
</b> It's a our 10th anniversary, Doug. Its
going to be a nice party with nice food
and nice music. And wings have carbs, so
you can't eat them anyway.
<b> BILLY
</b>
<b> (MOUTH FULL)
</b> I'll eat 'em.
Doug gives Billy a look.
<b> DOUG
</b> No you won't. Because I'm going to
scrape the batter off.
<b> BILLY
</b>
|
matthews
|
How many times does the word 'matthews' appear in the text?
| 2
|
, illuminated only by the streetlight
coming through the window.
A hand presses a cassette into a recorder and fiddles
with a small microphone.
Malloy sits over a table fiddling with the tape. He is
young, half-shaven, dressed in T-shirt and jeans. He
looks too -
LOUIS, who stands by the window, looking out on the
street, with his back to Malloy. Louis is dressed in an
old-fashioned suit.
<b> LOUIS
</b> So you want me to tell you the
story of my life...
<b> MALLOY
</b> That's what I do. I interview
people. I collect lives. F.M.
radio. F.F.R.C. I just interviewed
a genuine hero, a cop who -
<b> LOUIS
</b> (quietly interrupting)
You'd have to have a lot of tape
for my story. I've had a very
unusual life.
<b> MALLOY
</b> So much the better. I've got a
pocket full of tapes.
<b> LOUIS
</b> You followed me here, didn't you?
<b> MALLOY
</b> Saw you in the street outside. You
seemed interesting. Is this where
you live?
<b> LOUIS
</b> It's just a room...
<b> MALLOY
</b> So shall we begin?
(playfully, almost
teasing)
What do you do?
<b> LOUIS
</b> I'm a vampire.
Malloy laughs.
<b> MALLOY
</b> See? I knew you were interesting.
You mean this literally, I take it?
<b> LOUIS
</b> Absolutely. I was watching you
watching me. I was waiting for you
in that alleyway. And then you
began to speak.
<b> MALLOY
</b> Well, what a lucky break for me.
<b> LOUIS
</b> Perhaps lucky for both of us.
Still in shadow he turns from the window and approaches
the table.
<b> LOUIS
</b> I'll tell you my story. All of it.
I'd like to do that very much.
Malloy is uneasy as he studies the shadowy figure,
fascinated but afraid.
<b> MALLOY
</b> You were going to kill me? Drink my
blood?
<b> LOUIS
</b> Yes but you needn't worry about
that now. Things change.
Louis stands opposite, hand on the chair. Malloy is
riveted.
<b> MALLOY
</b> You believe this, don't you? That
you're a vampire? You really
think...
<b> LOUIS
</b> We can't begin this way. Let me
turn on the light.
<b> MALLOY
</b> But I thought vampires didn't like
the light.
<b> LOUIS
</b> We love it. I only wanted to
prepare you.
Louis pulls the chord of the overhead naked light bulb.
<b> LOUIS' FACE
</b>
Appears inhumanly white, eyes glittering. Inhuman or
not alive. the effect is subtle,
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Which is here -- Notting Hill
-- not a bad place to be...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
It's a full fruit market day.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> There's the market on weekdays,
selling every fruit and vegetable
known to man...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
A man in denims exits the tattoo studio.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> The tattoo parlour -- with a guy
outside who got drunk and now can't
remember why he chose 'I Love Ken'...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> The racial hair-dressers where
everyone comes out looking like the
Cookie Monster, whether they like
it or not...
Sure enough, a girl exits with a huge threaded blue bouffant.
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - SATURDAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> Then suddenly it's the weekend, and
from break of day, hundreds of stalls
appears out of nowhere, filling
Portobello Road right up to Notting
Hill Gate...
A frantic crowded Portobello market.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and thousands of people buy
millions of antiques, some genuine...
The camera finally settles on a stall selling beautiful stained
glass windows of various sizes, some featuring biblical scenes
and saints.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and some not so genuine.
<b> EXT. GOLBORNE ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> And what's great is that lots of
friends have ended up in this part of
London -- that's Tony, architect
turned chef, who recently invested
all the money he ever earned in a new
restaurant...
Shot of Tony proudly setting out a board outside his restaurant,
the sign still being painted. He receives and approves a huge
fresh salmon.
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> So this is where I spend my days
and years -- in this small village in
the middle of a city -- in a house
with a blue door that my wife and I
bought together... before she left
me for a man who looked like Harrison
Ford, only even handsomer...
We arrive outside his blue-doored house just off Portobello.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and where I now lead a strange
half-life with a lodger called...
<b> INT. WILLIAM'S HOUSE - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM
</b> Spike!
The house has far too many things in it. Definitely two-
bachelor flat.
Spike appears. An unusual looking fellow. He has unusual
hair, unusual facial hair and an unusual Welsh accent: very
white, as though his flesh has never seen the sun. He wears
only shorts.
<b> SPIKE
</b> Even
|
road
|
How many times does the word 'road' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Chris McQuarrie
Tom DeSanto
Bryan Singer
February 24, 1999
<b> BLACK
</b>
Sounds of a train rolling to a halt, a shrill whistle.
<b> EXT. CAMP - DAY
</b>
UP ON the door of a weathered cattle car as a German
soldier steps into frame wearing that familiar gray of
the all-too familiar era.
He throws the door to reveal a mass of huddled and
frightened people inside.
The words are not necessary. The language is not ours
and the images say enough.
Men, women and children are herded off the train like
cattle toward a large open yard. There they huddle until
the Germans begin to shout and shove through the mob.
<b> EXT. FENCE CORRIDOR - DAY
</b>
We are looking up at rows and rows of fences topped with
barbed wire all designed to create a separator for the
thousands of Jew who pour through each day.
Then we see the eyes themselves that look up at them.
A LITTLE BOY. A boy who will not die this day. A boy
who will live to see the end of the war and the world of
the future.
He stares at the metal wire with an unusual fascination.
The boy looks up at HIS WORRIED PARENTS - a sturdy-
looking couple who try to smile and comfort him.
The corridor comes to a junction where it splits in
several different directions.
Soldiers here push the mob using rifles as pikes,
screaming and terrorizing the lot of them. Suddenly it
is clear what they are doing. They are dividing the mob
into smaller groups.
Soon, the groups themselves become evident.
Men from women. Children from adults.
The family tries to stay together, clinging to one
another dearly, until finally, they are put upon by a
number of gray uniforms and pulled apart. The boy is
dragged screaming his feet no longer touching the ground.
Two soldiers carry him as they follow the back of a large
column of children being led through a gate of barbed
wire so dense, it resembles wool.
The gate closes and the boy looks back to see his parents
- along with many others - being restrained by a number
of soldiers. The screaming is deafening.
And the boy's can be heard above it all. The soldiers
seem to be having a hard time carrying such a frail
child. The farther they get from the fence, the heavier
he seems to get, until they are literally pulling him as
though he were anchored to something
|
soldiers
|
How many times does the word 'soldiers' appear in the text?
| 3
|
ORCHESTRAL
</b>
<b>TEXT, WHITE ON BLACK:
</b>
This film is a reenactment of actual
events. It is based on Mr. Barris's
private journals, public records, and
hundreds of hours of taped interviews.
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT. NYC STREET - NIGHT
</b>
<b>SUBTITLE: NEW YORK CITY, FALL 1981
</b>
It's raining. A cab speeds down a dark, bumpy side-street.
<b>INT. CAB - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Looking in his rearview mirror, the cab driver checks out his
passenger: a sweaty young man in a gold blazer with a "P"
insignia over his breast pocket. Several paper bags on the
back seat hedge him in. The young man is immersed in the
scrawled list he clutches in his hand. A passing street
light momentarily illuminates the list and we glimpse a few
of the entries: double-coated waterproof fuse (500 feet);
.38 ammo (hollowpoint configuration); potato chips (Lays).
<b>GONG SHOW
</b>
An excerpt from The Gong Show (reenacted). The video image
fills the screen. We watch a fat man recite Hamlet,
punctuating his soliloquy with loud belching noises. The
audience is booing. Eventually the man gets gonged. Chuck
Barris, age 50, hat pulled over his eyes, dances out from the
wings to comfort the agitated performer.
<b> PERFORMER
</b> Why'd they do that? I wasn't done.
<b> BARRIS (AGE 50)
</b> I don't understand. Juice, why'd you
gong this nice man?
<b> JAYE P. MORGAN
</b> Not to be. That is the answer.
The studio audience laughs.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. TAXI CAB - NIGHT
</b>
The cab sloshes to a stop in front of a liquor store. The
young man gets out, jogs through the rain toward the
fluorescent storefront. The cab driver waits, listens to
staticky reports in a foreign language on his radio. The
meter is running. The back seat is piled high with bags.
<b>GONG SHOW
</b>
Chuck Barris spastically dances on the screen along with Gene
Gene the Dancing Machine. Barris turns to the camera, points
at it.
<b> BARRIS
</b> We'll be right back with more stuff.
<b>INT. TAXI CAB - NIGHT
</b>
The back of the cab is filled with even more bags and boxes.
The cab stops. The young man gets out and confers with a
shady looking guy on the corner. The young man pulls out a
big wad of cash. Money and a small package change hands.
The meter in the cab is at thirty-five dollars and change.
<b>THE GONG SHOW
</b>
Chuck Barris is
|
barris
|
How many times does the word 'barris' appear in the text?
| 5
|
ing. This is an AA meeting. There's a lot of Faces to look
at. I don't know when we'll get to the one that's talking,
but when we do it's like this. Eyes like glue. 50 years old
with a face the color of a snuff-users hanky. He says this:
<b> BENNY
</b> .. after my third recovery my wife made
me swear I'd never bring another bottle
into the house. And I never did. I bur-
ied it under the lawn. Cut out a turf &
stood it upright with a piece of tin-
foil instead of a cork. So here we are
out in the yard, and she's happy because
I'm getting healthy in a pair of swim-
ing shorts & no way near no booze. She
decides to prune the roses. Meanwhile,
I'm laying there with a straw stuck in-
to the fucken lawn doing a quart of red ..
Curious thing about drunks. Their disease often amuses them.
That's how crazy I was - I was sick for
half a life till I finally found my san-
ity again in these rooms. Don't take that
drink - And for the one or two new faces
I see here, I say this: just do it by the
day. You gotta do it by the day - Don't
take that drink. And keep coming to these
meetings. Because here is where it works ..
<b> CHAIR
</b> Thank you, Benny .. We have a few more
minutes .. Anyone else like to share? ..
Ash into an ashtray and now a face. He's around 40 years old.
Intense eyes & dark hair. Probably good looking when the ang-
le's right. But this is a bad angle. His name is JOHN BERLIN.
<b> BERLIN
</b> My name's John .. and I'm an alcoholic ..
<b> ALL
</b>
|
healthy
|
How many times does the word 'healthy' appear in the text?
| 0
|
to reveal the
source of this kaleidoscopic backdrop: A SINGLE, STRIPED
TULIP, planted in a long row of other tulips. A HAND reaches
in and pulls the tulip from the ground. We then cut to:
1A A BASKET of tulips, carried by hand to a truck, where it 1A
is loaded with hundreds of other baskets. The door of the
truck is SHUT and we cut to:
1B The door of the truck OPENING to reveal that the tulips 1B
are now boxed and crated. A forklift moves the crates onto a
wagon, which is driven by a MANNED CART across the biggest
warehouse on the planet, the Bloenen Markt (CHECK THIS--
steven) in Amsterdam, Netherlands. The cart and wagons we
were following disappear into a maze of synchronized
activity.
1C The cart arrives in the AUCTION ROOM, which is 1C
constructed like an ampitheater: the buyers sit in a steeply
raked semi-circle, facing two giant, clock-shaped scoreboards
that display the bids on the flowers being viewed. The
striped tulips fetch a very high price.
1D The carts of striped tulips are delivered to an automated 1D
sorting apparatus of enormous size and complexity. They end
up on a truck heading for the airport.
1E The tulips are loaded onto a plane. During the transatlantic
flight, they sit nestled in the cargo hold.
1F The tulips are unloaded from the plane, driven across an 1F
airport tarmac and loaded onto another plane.
1G The tulips are unloaded from the plane and loaded onto a 1G
truck. The truck drives through a small town and pulls into
the back of a
<b>2 EXT./INT. FLOWER SHOP -- DAY 2
</b>
A YOUNG MAN takes delivery of the flowers and carries them
through the rear of the store to the display area up front.
We stay on the tulips as we hear the following conversation:
<b> CUSTOMER
</b> Wow. How do they do that?
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> OWNER
</b> It's an accident. It means the
flower developed a virus early
|
cart
|
How many times does the word 'cart' appear in the text?
| 2
|
HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS SOFT COPY.
</b>
<b>BEGIN MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE.</b>
At the very edge of hearing, the tone of human VOICES.
Unintelligible, babbling, eerie. Then a loud FLAPPING SOUND. It
shifts from one side of the theater to the other, like something
moving among the wall hangings.
As the TITLE appears, the noise mounts, drowning out the VOICES,
agitated, becoming violent, banging... inhuman.
<b>FADE IN:</b>
<b> EXT. HOUSING PROJECT, CHARLESTOWN, MASSACHUSETTS - DAY
</b>
ON a housing project in the industrial outskirts of Boston. The
BANGING seems to flutter away, leading us along, searching... to a
tiny balcony, one of dozens, ten stories up. And there, the source
of the sound --
-- A SHEET, snapping in the wind. The umbrella-like clothes line
on which it hangs bangs against a dirty glass door as if trying to
get in.
THROUGH THE GLASS DOOR a woman paces inside, agitated. The VOICES
rise over the banging, becoming intelligible --
<b> INT. LIVING ROOM, NELL'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
-- becoming a fight. <b>JANE</b>, 30s, dark-haired, furious, wheels
across a diminutive, neat, but poor living room.
<b> JANE
</b> It'll take a month to probate the
will, Nell! A month! Even if
Mother left you something, you
won't get it in time to pay the
rent. So instead of complaining,
you should be thanking Lou for
getting you these two weeks to get
Mother's things packed.
At first we can't even see who she's yelling at. At first we don't
even notice her. Then we do...
Holding herself, in a dim corner away from the light, small, plain,
like a part of the faded room is <b>ELEANOR VANCE</b>, 20's -- Nell.
She stares at the door. The clothes line raps at the begrimed
glass.
JANE (cont'd)
Nell?
The wind dies, the banging stops. Nell seems to hear Jane and
peers over at her, then across the room to Jane's bored husband,
<b>LOU</b>. He's turning a Franklin Mint commemorative coin set in his
hands, studying it.
<b>
|
door
|
How many times does the word 'door' appear in the text?
| 2
|
conditions had been prohibitive. They were, somehow, simply afraid. It
sounded dull--it sounded strange; and all the more so because of his
main condition."
"Which was--?"
"That she should never trouble him--but never, never: neither appeal
nor complain nor write about anything; only meet all questions herself,
receive all moneys from his solicitor, take the whole thing over and let
him alone. She promised to do this, and she mentioned to me that when,
for a moment, disburdened, delighted, he held her hand, thanking her for
the sacrifice, she already felt rewarded."
"But was that all her reward?" one of the ladies asked.
"She never saw him again."
"Oh!" said the lady; which, as our friend immediately left us again, was
the only other word of importance contributed to the subject till, the
next night, by the corner of the hearth, in the best chair, he opened
the faded red cover of a thin old-fashioned gilt-edged album. The whole
thing took indeed more nights than one, but on the first occasion the
same lady put another question. "What is your title?"
"I haven't one."
"Oh, _I_ have!" I said. But Douglas, without heeding me, had begun to
read with a fine clearness that was like a rendering to the ear of the
beauty of his author's hand.
I
I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a
little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town,
to meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days--found
myself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. In this
state of mind I spent the long hours of bumping, swinging coach that
carried me to the stopping place at which I was to be met by a vehicle
from the house. This convenience, I was told, had been ordered, and
I found, toward the close of the June afternoon, a commodious fly in
waiting for me. Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a country
to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly welcome, my
fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue, encountered
a reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to which it had
sunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something so melancholy
that what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as a most pleasant
impression the broad, clear front, its open windows and fresh curtains
and the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn and the bright
flowers and the crunch of my wheels on the gravel and the clustered
treetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the golden sky. The
scene had a greatness that made it a different affair from my own scant
home, and there immediately appeared at the door, with a little girl in
her hand, a civil person who dropped me as decent a curtsy as if I had
been the mistress or a distinguished visitor. I had received in Harley
Street a narrower notion of the place, and that, as I recalled it, made
me think the proprietor still more of a gentleman, suggested that what I
was to enjoy might be something beyond his promise.
I had no drop again till the next day, for I was carried triumphantly
through the following hours by my introduction to the younger of my
pupils. The little girl who accompanied Mrs. Grose appeared to me on the
spot a creature so charming as to make it a great fortune to have to
do with her. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen, and I
afterward wondered that my employer had not told me more of her. I slept
little that night--I was too much excited; and this astonished me, too,
I recollect, remained with me, adding to my sense of the liberality with
which I was treated. The large, impressive room, one of the best in
the house, the great state bed, as I almost felt it, the full, figured
draperies, the long glasses in which, for the first time, I could see
myself from head to foot, all struck me--like the extraordinary charm of
my small charge--as so many things thrown in. It was thrown in as
well, from the first moment, that I should get
|
were
|
How many times does the word 'were' appear in the text?
| 0
|
EXT. SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA SUBURB, MAIN DRAG - DAY
</b>
Palms sway ... the sun washes everything in yellow ... cars
motor down either side of the landscaped median ... the calls
of mockingbirds mingle with the BLIP BLIP of car alarms.
ON THE SIDEWALK, a SKATEBOARD CA-LUNKS down the sidewalk,
past the foot traffic of Southern Californians: flip-flops,
Doc Marten's, Rollerblades, Nikes ... then, in the middle of
this pedestrian normalcy, a pair of IMPOSSIBLY HIGH SPIKE-
HEELED PUMPS struts out of a shop. So high it hurts to look
at them. As the shoes leave frame, we TILT UP and see
they're leaving a 99-cent store.
As the Pumps turn and head up the street, we see they are
connected to a pair of IMPOSSIBLY LONG, SHAPELY LEGS.
Eveready legs -- they just keep going and going.
They saunter past two BUSINESSMEN on a lunch break. The men
pause and glance as men tend to when they see a beautiful
woman. In fact, everyone this woman passes lets their eyes
rest on her a microsecond longer than usual.
- Two SKATEBOARDERS note the STRETCHY MICRO-MINI skimming the
tops of her thighs.
- A MAILMAN spots the BIG, DARK SUNGLASSES tucked into a
<b> MOUNTAIN OF BIG, BLOND HAIR.
</b>
- A PRE-TEEN GIRL glimpses the PLUNGING NECKLINE of the
<b> TIGHT, BRIGHT RED MIDRIFF-BARING BUSTIER.
</b>
It isn't until she rounds the corner at the end of the block
that we see her entire figure and appreciate why everyone is
so goggle-eyed. Eye-catching is an understatement. All
those folks who say Barbie's proportions are unrealistic have
obviously never met ERIN BROCKOVICH.
<b> EXT. AROUND THE CORNER - DAY
</b>
A side street. No pedestrians, just parked cars. A PARKING
TICKET flaps under the wiper of an old Hyundai.
<b> ERIN
</b> Fuck.
Even when she talks dirty, there's a heartland goodness to
her voice. Like Kansas corn fields swaying in the breeze.
As she grabs the ticket from the windshield, her sunglasses
accidentally CLATTER to the ground.
<b> ERIN
</b> Shit.
When she picks them up, a fingernail snags on the pavement.
<b> ERIN
</b> God <u>damn</u> it.
She tends to the nail as she opens her car door and gets in.
<b> WIDER ON THE STREET
</b>
The Hyundai starts it up, signals. Then, just as it pulls
slowly out into the street, a JAGUAR
|
pumps
|
How many times does the word 'pumps' appear in the text?
| 1
|
GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.) (UKRAINIAN)
</b> I can't see anything... Are you there?
Silence.
<b> GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.) (UKRAINIAN) (CONT'D)
</b> Are you there!?
Giggling. LUBA, 15, dangerous, flicks a lighter, sparking a
cigarette, and grins in the flickering flame.
<b> LUBA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> God I'm drunk... Where's this damn door?
She scans the space with the lighter. Illuminating...
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> Watch it! That's my hair! Let me try.
RAYA, 15, pretty, guileless, takes the lighter, searching...
CLICK. She has it. They BURST out the door, LAUGHING, onto...
<b>2 EXT. ROOFTOP - APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT 2
</b>
A PARTY. ROCK MUSIC BLARES. DRUNK TEENS dance around BURNING
BARRELS. GROUPS lounge on ratty couches and turned over boxes
skulling cans, making out, talking shit. A BOY, 17, lights a
MOLOTOV COCKTAIL and hurls it off the roof.
Luba and Raya join THREE GUYS. ONE of them pisses onto a
cloth, stuffs it in a bottle, and tries to light it. It
FIZZLES. Everybody bursts out laughing.
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> It's ammonia, not alcohol.
<b> BOY (UKRAINIAN)
</b> (Drunk) You're so smart. I love you!
He lunges in for a kiss, but she dodges him, laughing. Luba
gives him the finger, pulling Raya toward the dancing into...
TEEN MAYHEM: Raya lets herself go. She gets lost in...
A WHIRL of drunk and happy teens. It's tribal. They dance,
silhouetted against the fire and the black sky, their backs
to the run-down Soviet buildings... Tonight, they don't want
to think about what life holds in store.
Raya stops. Dizzy. She looks at her watch, suddenly aware of
the time. Yelling over to Luba...
<b> TWB 2.
</b>
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b>
|
ukrainian
|
How many times does the word 'ukrainian' appear in the text?
| 6
|
, it may be, there were in those gorgeous salons
philosophers who said to themselves, as they discussed an ice or a
sherbet, or placed their empty punch glasses on a tray:
"I should not be surprised to learn that these people are knaves. That
old fellow who keeps out of sight and appears only at the equinoxes or
solstices, looks to me exactly like an assassin."
"Or a bankrupt."
"There's very little difference. To destroy a man's fortune is worse
than to kill the man himself."
"I bet twenty louis, monsieur; there are forty due me."
"Faith, monsieur; there are only thirty left on the cloth."
"Just see what a mixed company there is! One can't play cards in peace."
"Very true. But it's almost six months since we saw the Spirit. Do you
think he's a living being?"
"Well, barely."
These last remarks were made in my neighborhood by persons whom I did
not know, and who passed out of hearing just as I was summarizing in one
last thought my reflections, in which black and white, life and death,
were inextricably mingled. My wandering imagination, like my eyes,
contemplated alternately the festivities, which had now reached the
climax of their splendor, and the gloomy picture presented by the
gardens. I have no idea how long I meditated upon those two faces of
the human medal; but I was suddenly aroused by the stifled laughter of
a young woman. I was stupefied at the picture presented to my eyes.
By virtue of one of the strangest of nature's freaks, the thought half
draped in black, which was tossing about in my brain, emerged from it
and stood before me personified, living; it had come forth like Minerva
from Jupiter's brain, tall and strong; it was at once a hundred years
old and twenty-two; it was alive and dead. Escaped from his chamber,
like a madman from his cell, the little old man had evidently crept
behind a long line of people who were listening attentively to
Marianina's voice as she finished the cavatina from _Tancred_. He seemed
to have come up through the floor, impelled by some stage mechanism. He
stood for a moment motionless and sombre, watching the festivities, a
murmur of which had perhaps reached his ears. His almost somnambulistic
preoccupation was so concentrated upon things that, although he was
in the midst of many people, he saw nobody. He had taken his place
unceremoniously beside one of the most fascinating women in Paris, a
young and graceful dancer, with slender figure, a face as fresh as a
child's, all pink and white, and so fragile, so transparent, that it
seemed that a man's glance must pass through her as the sun's rays pass
through flawless glass. They stood there before me, side by side, so
close together, that the stranger rubbed against the gauze dress, and
the wreaths of flowers, and the hair, slightly crimped, and the floating
ends of the sash.
I had brought that young woman to Madame de Lanty's ball. As it was
her first visit to that house, I forgave her her stifled laugh; but I
hastily made an imperious sign which abashed her and inspired respect
for her neighbor. She sat down beside me. The old man did not choose
to leave the charming creature, to whom he clung capriciously with the
silent and apparently causeless obstinacy to which very old persons are
subject, and which makes them resemble children. In order to sit down
beside the young lady he needed a folding-chair. His slightest movements
were marked by the inert heaviness, the stupid hesitancy, which
characterize the movements of a paralytic. He sat slowly down upon
his chair with great caution, mumbling some unintelligible words. His
cracked voice resembled the noise made by a stone falling into a well.
The young woman nervously pressed my hand, as if she were trying to
avoid a precipice, and shivered when that man, at whom she happened to
be looking, turned upon her two lifeless, sea-green eyes, which could be
compared to nothing save tarnished mother-of-pearl.
"
|
side
|
How many times does the word 'side' appear in the text?
| 1
|
godfather to her, and
have brought her up. One of these days I would have given her a young
fellow to win bread for her in wedlock. What is this to you? Take you
some king's daughter or some count's. Moreover, what were you profited,
think you, had you made her your concubine, or taken her to live with
you? Mighty little had you got by that, seeing that your soul would be
in Hell for ever and ever, for to Paradise you would never win!"
"Paradise? What have I to do there? I seek not to win Paradise, so I
have Nicolette my sweet friend whom I love so well. For none go to
Paradise but I'll tell you who. Your old priests and your old cripples,
and the halt and maimed, who are down on their knees day and night,
before altars and in old crypts; these also that wear mangy old cloaks,
or go in rags and tatters, shivering and shoeless and showing their
sores, and who die of hunger and want and cold and misery. Such are they
who go to Paradise; and what have I to do with them? Hell is the place
for me. For to Hell go the fine churchmen, and the fine knights, killed
in the tourney or in some grand war, the brave soldiers and the gallant
gentlemen. With them will I go. There go also the fair gracious ladies
who have lovers two or three beside their lord. There go the gold and
the silver, the sables and ermines. There go the harpers and the
minstrels and the kings of the earth. With them will I go, so I have
Nicolette my most sweet friend with me."
"I' faith," said the Viscount, "'tis but vain to speak of it; you will
see her no more. Aye, were you to get speech of her and it came to your
father's ears, he would burn both her and me in a fire; and for yourself
too you might fear the worst."
"This is sore news to me," said Aucassin. And he departed from the
Viscount, sorrowful.
_Here they sing_.
Aucassin has turned once more
In wanhope and sorrow sore
For his love-friend bright of face.
None can help his evil case,
None a word of counsel say.
To the palace went his way;
Step by step he climbed the stair;
Entered in a chamber there.
Then he 'gan to weep alone,
And most dismally to groan,
And his lady to bemoan.
"Nicolette, ah, gracious air!
Coming, going, ever fair!
In thy talk and in thy toying,
In thy jest and in thy joying,
In thy kissing, in thy coying.
I am sore distressed for thee.
Such a woe has come on me
That I trow not to win free,
Sweet sister friend!"
_Here they speak and tell the story_.
At the same time that Aucassin was in the chamber, bemoaning Nicolette
his friend, Bulgarius Count of Valence, who had his war to maintain,
forgat it not; but he had summoned his men, foot and horse, and advanced
to assault the castle. And the cry went up and the noise; and the
knights and men-at-arms girt on their armour, and hastened to the gates
and walls to defend the castle; while the townsfolk mounted the parapets
and hurled bolts and sharpened stakes. At the time when the assault was
fast and furious, Warren Count of Beaucaire came into the chamber where
Aucassin was weeping and bemoaning Nicolette his most sweet friend whom
he loved so well.
"Ah, my son!" said he. "Wretch that thou art and unhappy, to see assault
made on this thy castle--none better nor more strong! Know, moreover,
that if thou lose it thou losest thine inheritance! Come now, my son,
take thine arms and to horse! Fight for thy land, and succour thy
liegemen, and get thee to the field! Though thou strike never a man nor
|
count
|
How many times does the word 'count' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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SCENE II.
A lawn before the DUKE'S palace
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and
would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget
a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any
extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I
love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy
uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me,
I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst
thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd
as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
rejoice in yours.
CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to
have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what
he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee
again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that
oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear
Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.
Let me see; what think you of falling in love?
CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man
in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety
of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again.
ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then?
CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her
wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily
misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her
gifts to women.
CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes
honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very
ill-favouredly.
ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's:
Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of
Nature.
Enter TOUCHSTONE
CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by
Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to
flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off
the argument?
ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of
such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for
always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA. Were you made the messenger?
TOU
|
celia
|
How many times does the word 'celia' appear in the text?
| 10
|
<b>BENEATH IT, THE NEXT LINE FADES IN:
</b>
Because a dog is smarter than its tail.
<b>CROSS-FADE TO THE NEXT CARD, WHICH READS:
</b>
If the tail were smarter, the tail would wag the dog.
<b>DISSOLVE
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT THE WHITE HOUSE NIGHT
</b>
<b>A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE STOPS AT A SIDE ENTRANCE.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<b>AT THE SIDE, UTILITY ENTRANCE, WE SEE THE DISGORGING WORKING-CLASS MEN AND
</b><b>WOMEN, THEY PASS THROUGH SECURITY SCREENING IN THE B.G., THROUGH METAL
</b><b>DETECTORS, AND PAST SEVERAL GUARDS WHO CHECK THE PHOTO-I.D.'S AROUND THEIR
</b><b>NECKS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<u>WILFRED AMES</u>, AND <u>AMY CAIN</u>, A BRIGHT YOUNG WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES, WALKING DOWN
<b>A CORRIDOR, LOOKING WORRIED.
</b>
<b>ANGLE AMES AND CAIN
</b><b>AMES AND CAIN HAVE STOPPED AT THE END OF THE HALL. BEYOND THEM WE SEE THE
</b><b>CLEANING PEOPLE COMING IN FROM THE VAN, AND BEING CLEARED THROUGH A METAL
</b><b>DETECTOR INTO A HOLDING AREA, AND HANDED CLEANING MATERIALS, MOPS, VACUUMS, ET
</b><b>CETERA, BY A TYPE HOLDING A CLIPBOARD. PART OF THE GROUP, A MAN IN HIS
</b><b>FORTIES, IN A RATTY JACKET, OPEN COLLARED SHIRT, PASSES THROUGH THE GROUP,
</b><b>AND IS STOPPED BY A SECRET SERVICEMAN WHO APPEARS NEXT TO AMES. IN THE B.G.
</b><b>WE SEE A TV IN AN ADJACENT ROOM, SHOWING A POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b> AMES
</b><b> (TO SECRET SERVICEMAN)
</b> ...That's him.
<b>AMES MOVES OUT OF THE SHOT. LEAVING US ON THE POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b>WE SEE TWO BUSINESS PEOPLE ON THE PLANE, A MAN AND A WOMAN.
</b>
<b> BUSINESSMAN
</b> Well, all I know, you don't change horses in the middle
of the stream.
<b> BUSINESSWOMAN
</b> "Don't change Horses," well, there's a lot of truth in
that.
<b>THE IMAGE SHIFTS TO A PRESIDENT, DOING PRESIDENTIAL THINGS. AND THE VOICE-
</b><b>OVER.
</b>
<b> VOICE-OVER
</b> For Peace
|
through
|
How many times does the word 'through' appear in the text?
| 3
|
murmur: "The four great alluvial plains of Asia--those of China and of
the Amoo Daria in temperate regions; of the Euphrates and Tigris in the
warm temperate; of the Indus and Ganges under the Tropic--with the Nile
valley in Africa, were the theatres of the most ancient civilizations
known to history or tradition----"
As she ended, a sigh escaped her, for the instruction of the young was
for her a matter not of choice, but of necessity. With the majority of
maiden ladies left destitute in Dinwiddie after the war, she had turned
naturally to teaching as the only nice and respectable occupation which
required neither preparation of mind nor considerable outlay of money.
The fact that she was the single surviving child of a gallant
Confederate general, who, having distinguished himself and his
descendants, fell at last in the Battle of Gettysburg, was sufficient
recommendation of her abilities in the eyes of her fellow citizens. Had
she chosen to paint portraits or to write poems, they would have rallied
quite as loyally to her support. Few, indeed, were the girls born in
Dinwiddie since the war who had not learned reading, penmanship ("up to
the right, down to the left, my dear"), geography, history, arithmetic,
deportment, and the fine arts, in the Academy for Young Ladies. The
brilliant military record of the General still shed a legendary lustre
upon the school, and it was earnestly believed that no girl, after
leaving there with a diploma for good conduct, could possibly go wrong
or become eccentric in her later years. To be sure, she might remain a
trifle weak in her spelling (Miss Priscilla having, as she confessed, a
poor head for that branch of study), but, after all, as the rector had
once remarked, good spelling was by no means a necessary accomplishment
for a lady; and, for the rest, it was certain that the moral education
of a pupil of the Academy would be firmly rooted in such fundamental
verities as the superiority of man and the aristocratic supremacy of the
Episcopal Church. From charming Sally Goode, now married to Tom
Peachey, known familiarly as "honest Tom," the editor of the Dinwiddie
_Bee_, to lovely Virginia Pendleton, the mark of Miss Priscilla was
ineffaceably impressed upon the daughters of the leading families.
Remembering this now, as she was disposed to do whenever she was
knitting without company, Miss Priscilla dropped her long wooden needles
in her lap, and leaning forward in her chair, gazed out upon the town
with an expression of child-like confidence, of touching innocence. This
innocence, which belonged to the very essence of her soul, had survived
both the fugitive joys and the brutal disillusionments of life.
Experience could not shatter it, for it was the product of a courage
that feared nothing except opinions. Just as the town had battled for a
principle without understanding it, so she was capable of dying for an
idea, but not of conceiving one. She had suffered everything from the
war except the necessity of thinking independently about it, and, though
in later years memory had become so sacred to her that she rarely
indulged in it, she still clung passionately to the habits of her
ancestors under the impression that she was clinging to their ideals.
Little things filled her days--the trivial details of the classroom and
of the market, the small domestic disturbances of her neighbours, the
moral or mental delinquencies of her two coloured servants--and even her
religious veneration for the Episcopal Church had crystallized at last
into a worship of customs.
To-day, at the beginning of the industrial awakening of the South, she
(who was but the embodied spirit of her race) stood firmly rooted in all
that was static, in all that was obsolete and outgrown in the Virginia
of the eighties. Though she felt as yet merely the vague uneasiness with
which her mind recoiled from the first stirrings of change, she was
beginning dimly to realize that the car of progress would move through
the quiet streets before the decade was over. The smoke of factories was
already succeeding the smoke of the battlefields, and out of the ashes
of a vanquished idealism the spirit of commercial materialism was born.
What was left of the old was fighting valiantly,
|
opinions
|
How many times does the word 'opinions' appear in the text?
| 0
|
DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>3. EXT. CROSSWALK - SHADY STREET - DAY
</b>
A very clean uniformed, smiling POLICEMAN with arms outstretched allows
clean happy SCHOOL CHILDREN to cross the street safely.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>4. EXT. SHADY STREET - DAY
</b>
A bright red gorgeous fire engine is moving very slowly down the street.
We MOVE IN to see the happy face of a FIREMAN.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>5. EXT. FLOWER GARDEN - DAY
</b>
Yellow tulips sway in a warm afternoon breeze.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>6. EXT. BEAUMONTS' FRONT LAWN - DAY
</b>
The same white picket fence with roses in front of it.
PANNING SLOWLY now away from the roses down to the rich green lawn
and over to the sprinkler which goes around and around shooting water
droplets sparkling in the light.
This is slightly SLOW MOTION and DREAMY.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>7. EXT. BEAUMONTS' FRONT LAWN - DAY
</b>
CLOSER ON WATER DROPLETS. The water droplets are somewhat abstracted
as they dance in the light.
PAN DOWN now to the green grass, traveling along the grass.
The MUSIC becomes fainter as we MOVE SUDDENLY under the grass, now as
if in a dark forest.
<b>SLOWLY MOVING THROUGH.
</b>
The grass is like great timbers.
It is GETTING DARKER and ominous SOUNDS come up as we discover black
insects crawling and scratching in the darkness.
<b>FADE TO:
</b>
<b>8. EXT. BEAUMONT'S FRONT LAWN - DAY
</b>
MR. BEAUMONT is watering flowers and grass with the hose.
He is dressed in khaki trousers, canvas shoes, old white shirt, straw
hat and dark glasses.
<b>CLOSE - MR. BEAUMONT
</b>
watches his watering, then looks up.
The sky and the neighborhood are reflected in his dark glasses. He
moves his false teeth around a little in his mouth, jutting out his chin
in the process. He's thinking about who knows what.
He looks back down at his lawn.
<b>CLOSEUP - WATER ON GRASS
</b>
The water hits the grass and mats it down.
<b>WIDER - MR. BEAUMONT
</b>
moves the hose over a bush and gets a kink in it.
Water stops coming out of the nozzle and there is a LOUD HISSING NOISE
of water under pressure.
<b>CLOSEUP - KINK IN HOSE
</b>
Loud HISSING NOISE.
Mr. Beaumont goes around the bush and is undoing the kink when he is
suddenly hit with a tremendous seizure.
<b>CLOSEUP - MR. BEAUMONT
</b>He's doubling over and falls to the ground. He continues to grasp onto
the hose.
Water shoots crazily onto the driveway and his car.
Mr. Beaumont seems to be in tremendous pain.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>9. INT. BEAUMONTS' LIVING ROOM - DAY
</b>
Mrs. Beaumont is curled up on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching
T.V. It's a daytime soap.
<b>CLOSEUP - MRS. BEAUMONT
|
beaumont
|
How many times does the word 'beaumont' appear in the text?
| 8
|
one of the walkways. He works
slowly,-precisely, obviously engrossed in his surroundings.
This man is called CHANCE.
Chance stops working for a moment, takes a pocket watch from
inside his coat, checks the time. He looks to the darkening
skies, returns the watch to his pocket. As Chance starts
toward the one story brick building, he takes a spotless rag
from his apron pocket and wipes the dirt from the tines of
his pitchfork.
<b> INT. GARAGE - AFTERNOON
</b>
The sound of the music increases as Chance enters the garage
from the garden. A gleaming 1921 TOURING CAR is revealed as
he walks through the garage and leans the pitchfork against a
wall. Chance takes a neatly folded cover from a shelf,
carefully puts it over the car. When he finishes covering the
car for the night, Chance picks up the pitchfork, leaves the
garage through a side entry.
<b> INT. POTTING ROOM - AFTERNOON
</b>
The Potting Room is filled with the tools of the gardener,
everything arranged in an orderly fashion. Rows of small pots
are on tables, young plants sprouting from some of them. A
small, 1940's table model black-and-white TV rests on a
shelf. It is playing, tuned to the BOSTON POPS ORCHESTRA.
Attached to the front of the screen is a wheel containing
colored gels. The wheels spins, creates an early form of
color TV. As Chance enters, his attention is on the
television set. He watches it as he oils the tines of the
pitchfork and puts it away. Chance turns off the TV and
leaves the room, but the sound of the Boston Pops continues.
<b> INT. CHANCE'S ROOM - AFTERNOON
</b>
A room adjacent to the Potting Room. A large screen remote
control color television set dominates the room. It is on,
tuned to the Boston Pops. In contrast to the new TV, the rest
of the room is sparsely but tastefully decorated with
expensive furniture of the twenties. There are no books,
magazines, newspapers or reading matter of any kind to be
seen. Chance comes in, watches the TV with a detached gaze as
he removes his apron. He changes the channel with the remote
control as he puts his apron and the pitchfork rag into a
laundry bag. He takes off his suit jacket, hangs it in the
closet where it is accompanied by several others, all of like
quality. Chance changes the channel once again.
<b> EXT. GARDEN - NIGHT
</b>
Chance, wearing a different suit and carrying the laundry
bag, crosses from the rear building to the main house.
<b> INT. MAIN HOUSE - REAR ENTRANCE/HALLWAY - NIGHT
</b>
The interior of the main house has the mustiness of age, the
warmth of oak. White dropcloths and sheets cover all of the
furniture. Chance enters, walks through the hallway.
<b> INT. MAIN HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
A large dropcloth is over the dining room table and chairs.
It is neatly folded back at one end, leaving one chair and
place setting uncovered. A small portable color TV is next to
the place setting.
Chance enters, puts his laundry bag on a covered table near
the doorway. He sits at the dining room table, turns on the
TV, and carefully unfolds his napkin, puts it on his lap as
he watches the screen. LOUISE, an elderly black maid, enters
with a tray of food and Chance's clean laundry.
<b> LOUISE
</b> (sets dinner before
Chance)
... Evening, Chance.
<b> CHANCE
</b> (slowly, perfect diction,
no accent of any kind)
...
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 6
|
1992
WIDE-SHOT: A vast, snow-blanketed wilderness that sits
beneath the icy summits of the highest mountain range in
North America. This is BIG Alaska.
A beat up 4x4 pick-up enters very small into the upper
left corner of frame on an unkept, snow-packed road, and
comes to a stop. A figure exits the passenger side and
moves around the front of the truck. We can just make
out the rifle sticking out of his backpack. We HEAR a
very distant "Thank You" as the figure walks away from
the road and away from the truck, seemingly into nowhere.
<b> DRIVER
</b> Hey!
The figure with backpack and rifle, henceforth BACKPACK,
stopping in his tracks, turns around in the direction of
the truck.
<b> DRIVER (CONT'D)
</b> Come here.
BACKPACK walks back to the truck. As he approaches the
driver's door, we
CUT IN TO: TIGHT SHOT over the back-packed shoulder onto
the DRIVER.
<b> DRIVER (CONT'D)
</b> (referring to items we see
sitting on dashboard)
You left your watch, your comb, your
change...
We STAY on the DRIVER as BACKPACK speaks:
<b> BACKPACK
</b> Keep it.
<b> DRIVER
</b> I don't want your money. And I already
have a watch.
<b> BACKPACK
</b> If you don't take it, I'm gonna throw it
away. I don't want to know what time it
is, what day it is, or where I am.
<b> (MORE)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b> BACKPACK (CONT'D)
</b> I don't want to see anybody. None of
that matters.
The driver reaches behind the seat of the truck,
|
around
|
How many times does the word 'around' appear in the text?
| 1
|
attractive FEMALE SCIENTIST in a gore-spattered lab
coat moves fearfully along a wall, passing benches strewn
with broken lab equipment. Her ample bosom heaves as she
PANTS nervously, mascara-rimmed eyes darting to and fro.
Glass SMASHES on the floor nearby and MELODRAMATIC MUSIC
swells. The woman backs into a shadow, not noticing a
pair of dead eyes catching the moonlight behind her.
The music climbs to a frenzy as something GROANS horribly
into the woman's ear. She spins around on her stiletto
heels as a rotted face looms out of the darkness,
drooling through broken teeth, and lunges at her neck.
<b> ZOMBIE
</b> Brains!
CLOSE ON the woman as she raises her hands and SCREAMS.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 2 2
</b>
<b> INT. BABCOCK'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Eleven year-old NORMAN BABCOCK sits on the floor
watching TV. He has large piercing eyes and a messy shock
of hair. The movie scene we just witnessed continues off-
screen with the sound of bloodcurdling SCREAMS.
Behind him sitting upon a sofa is GRANDMA BABCOCK, a
plump old lady squinting through thick glasses.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> What's happening now?
<b> NORMAN
</b> The zombie is eating her head,
Grandma.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> That's not very nice. What's he
doing that for?
<b> NORMAN
</b> Because he's a zombie. That's what
they do.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> Well he's going to ruin his
dinner. I'm sure if they just
bothered to sit down and talk it
through it
|
grandma
|
How many times does the word 'grandma' appear in the text?
| 4
|
>
</b>
<b> EXT. RONNIE'S TRAILER - EARLY DAWN
</b>
RAE is naked.
Wrapped around her shoulders is a loose-knit spread that
conceals her slender form. She is in her 20's: a strawberry
blond, with cinnamon freckles spotted across her pale skin.
She is beautiful without trying.
She stares at the distant trees. This is the South; the small
town of FISHERVILLE, TENNESSEE.
Soon Rae will be alone.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. RONNIE'S TRAILER - EARLY MORNING
</b>
RONNIE is 25 years old. His hair is cropped in a military
issue buzz.
Rae's face is wet with tears as Ronnie gently makes love to
her. She touches his face and sobs like a child.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. RONNIE'S TRAILER - LATER THAT MORNING
</b>
RONNIE is dressed in his National Guard fatigues, packing up
his gear.
Rae is now wearing a short jeans skirt and a T-shirt with a
gray wolf print ironed on the front. There is a knock at the
door. Rae flinches. Ronnie opens the door revealing GILL
MORTON, Ronnie's buddy from high school.
<b> GILL
</b> Still need a lift?
<b> RONNIE
</b> Yeah. Transmission's shot.
Gill and Rae's eyes meet. Gill sees that Rae is crying.
<b>
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 2
|
asked me "What?" I answered
"Mortgages!" Father, I knew, had bought, not long before, a lot of them
at what a college friend of mine from Chicago used to call "cut-throat"
price. When I remonstrated with my father for buying them at all, and so
injuring the family estate which I was to inherit, he gave me an answer,
the astuteness of which I have never forgotten.
"I did it so that I might keep my hand on the bold General, in case he
should ever prove troublesome. And if the worst should ever come to the
worst, Croom is a good country for grouse and stags!" My father can see
as far as most men!
When my cousin--I shall call him cousin henceforth in this record, lest
it might seem to any unkind person who might hereafter read it that I
wished to taunt Rupert St. Leger with his somewhat obscure position, in
reiterating his real distance in kinship with my family--when my cousin,
Rupert St. Leger, wished to commit a certain idiotic act of financial
folly, he approached my father on the subject, arriving at our estate,
Humcroft, at an inconvenient time, without permission, not having had
even the decent courtesy to say he was coming. I was then a little chap
of six years old, but I could not help noticing his mean appearance. He
was all dusty and dishevelled. When my father saw him--I came into the
study with him--he said in a horrified voice:
"Good God!" He was further shocked when the boy brusquely acknowledged,
in reply to my father's greeting, that he had travelled third class. Of
course, none of my family ever go anything but first class; even the
servants go second. My father was really angry when he said he had
walked up from the station.
"A nice spectacle for my tenants and my tradesmen! To see my--my--a
kinsman of my house, howsoever remote, trudging like a tramp on the road
to my estate! Why, my avenue is two miles and a perch! No wonder you
are filthy and insolent!" Rupert--really, I cannot call him cousin
here--was exceedingly impertinent to my father.
"I walked, sir, because I had no money; but I assure you I did not mean
to be insolent. I simply came here because I wished to ask your advice
and assistance, not because you are an important person, and have a long
avenue--as I know to my cost--but simply because you are one of my
trustees."
"_Your_ trustees, sirrah!" said my father, interrupting him. "Your
trustees?"
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, quite quietly. "I meant the trustees
of my dear mother's will."
"And what, may I ask you," said father, "do you want in the way of advice
from one of the trustees of your dear mother's will?" Rupert got very
red, and was going to say something rude--I knew it from his look--but he
stopped, and said in the same gentle way:
"I want your advice, sir, as to the best way of doing something which I
wish to do, and, as I am under age, cannot do myself. It must be done
through the trustees of my mother's will."
"And the assistance for which you wish?" said father, putting his hand in
his pocket. I know what that action means when I am talking to him.
"The assistance I want," said Rupert, getting redder than ever, "is from
my--the trustee also. To carry out what I want to do."
"And what may that be?" asked my father. "I would like, sir, to make
over to my Aunt Janet--" My father interrupted him by asking--he had
evidently remembered my jest:
"Miss MacSkelpie?" Rupert got still redder, and I turned away; I didn't
quite wish that he should see me laughing. He went on quietly:
"_MacKelpie_, sir! Miss Janet MacKelpie, my aunt, who has always been so
kind to
|
cousin
|
How many times does the word 'cousin' appear in the text?
| 3
|
frenzy, collapsed in terror. Had the deck steward not been familiar
with stowaways, he doubtless would have been moved by the flood of
eloquent persuasion which Sandy brought to bear.
As it was, he led him ruthlessly down the narrow steps, past the long
line of curious passengers, then down again to the steerage deck,
where he deposited him on a coil of rope and bade him stay there until
he was sent for.
Here Sandy sat for the remainder of the afternoon, stared at from
above and below, an object of lively curiosity. He bit his nails until
the blood came, and struggled manfully to keep back the tears. He was
cold, hungry, and disgraced, and his mind was full of sinister
thoughts. Inch by inch he moved closer to the railing.
Suddenly something fell at his feet. It was an orange. Looking up, he
saw a slender little girl in a long tan coat and a white
tam-o'-shanter leaning over the railing. He only knew that her eyes
were brown and that she was sorry for him, but it changed his world.
He pulled off his cap, and sent her such an ardent smile of gratitude
that she melted from the railing like a snowflake under the kiss of
the sun.
Sandy ate the orange and took courage. Life had acquired a new
interest.
CHAPTER II
ON SHIPBOARD
The days that followed were not rose-strewn. Disgrace sat heavily upon
the delinquent, and he did penance by foregoing the joys of society.
Menial labor and the knowledge that he would not be allowed to land,
but would be sent back by the first steamer, were made all the more
unbearable by his first experience with illness. He had accepted his
fate and prepared to die when the ship's surgeon found him.
The ship's surgeon was cruel enough to laugh, but he persuaded Sandy
to come back to life. He was a small, white, round little man; and
when he came rolling down the deck in his white linen suit, his face
beaming from its white frame of close-cropped hair and beard, he was
not unlike one of his own round white little pills, except that their
sweetness stopped on the outside and his went clear through.
He discovered Sandy lying on his face in the passageway, his right
hand still dutifully wielding the scrub-brush, but his spirit broken
and his courage low.
"Hello!" he exclaimed briskly; "what's your name?"
"Sandy Kilday."
"Scotch, eh?"
"Me name is. The rest of me's Irish," groaned Sandy.
"Well, Sandy, my boy, that's no way to scrub. Come out and get some
air, and then go back and do it right."
He guided Sandy's dying footsteps to the deck and propped him against
the railing. That was when he laughed.
"Not much of a sailor, eh?" he quizzed. "You'll be all right soon; we
have been getting the tail-end of a big nor'wester."
"A happy storm it must have been, sir, to wag its tail so gay," said
Sandy, trying to smile.
The doctor clapped him on the back. "You're better. Want something to
eat?"
Sandy declined with violence. He explained his feelings with all the
authority of a first experience, adding in conclusion: "It was Jonah I
used to be after feelin' sorry for; it ain't now. It's the whale."
The doctor prevailed upon him to drink some hot tea and eat a
sandwich. It was a heroic effort, but Sandy would have done even more
to prolong the friendly conversation.
"How many more days have we got, sir?"
"Five; but there's the return trip for you."
Sandy's face flushed. "If they send me home, I'll be comin' back!" he
cried, clinging to the railing as the ship lurched forward. "I'm goin'
to be an American. I am goin'--" Further declarations as to his
future policy were cut short.
From that time on the doctor took an interest in him. He even took up
a collection of clothes for him among the officers. His professional
services were no longer necessary, for
|
doctor
|
How many times does the word 'doctor' appear in the text?
| 2
|
, by inquiry, of the glory of the kings of the
people, they of the Spear-Danes, how the Athelings were doing deeds
of courage. [3] Full often Scyld, the son of Scef, with troops of
warriors, withheld the drinking-stools from many a tribe. This
earl caused terror when at first he was found in a miserable
case. Afterwards he gave help when he grew up under the welkin,
and worshipfully he flourished until all his neighbours over the sea
gave him obedience, and yielded him tribute. He was a good king. In
after-time there was born to him a son in the Court, whom God sent
thither as a saviour of the people. He saw the dire distress that
they formerly suffered when for a long while they were without a
prince. Then it was that the Lord of Life, the Wielder of glory,
gave to him glory. Famous was Beowulf. [4] Far and wide spread his
fame. Heir was he of Scyld in the land of the Danes. Thus should
a young man be doing good deeds, with rich gifts to the friends of
his father, so that in later days, when war shall come upon them,
boon companions may stand at his side, helping their liege lord. For
in all nations, by praiseworthy deeds, shall a man be thriving.
At the fated hour Scyld passed away, very vigorous in spirit, to the
keeping of his Lord. Then his pleasant companions carried him down to
the ocean flood, as he himself had bidden them, whilst the friend of
the Scyldings was wielding words, he who as the dear Lord of the Land
had ruled it a long time. And there, in the haven, stood the ship,
with rings at the prow, icy, and eager for the journey, the ferry of
the Atheling.
Then they laid down their dear Lord the giver of rings, the famous
man, on the bosom of the ship, close to the mast, where were heaps of
treasures, armour trappings that had been brought from far ways. Never
heard I of a comelier ship, decked out with battle-weapons and
weeds of war, with swords and byrnies. In his bosom they laid many
a treasure when he was going on a far journey, into the power of
the sea. Nor did they provide for him less of booty and of national
treasures than they had done, who at the first had sent him forth,
all alone o'er the waves, when he was but a child. Then moreover they
set a golden standard high o'er his head, and let the sea take him,
and gave all to the man of the sea. Full sad were their minds, and all
sorrowing were they. No man can say soothly, no, not any hall-ruler,
nor hero under heaven, who took in that lading. [5]
II
The Story
I
Moreover the Danish Beowulf, [6] the dear King of his people, was
a long time renowned amongst the folk in the cities (his father,
the Prince, had gone a-faring elsewhere from this world). Then was
there born to him a son, the high Healfdene; and while he lived he
was ruling the happy Danish people, and war-fierce and ancient was
he. Four children were born to him: Heorogar the leader of troops, and
Hrothgar, and Halga the good. And I heard say that Queen Elan (wife
of Ongentheow) was his daughter, and she became the beloved comrade
of the Swede. Then to Hrothgar was granted good speed in warfare and
honour in fighting, so that his loyal subjects eagerly obeyed him,
until the youths grew doughty, a very great band of warriors. Then
it burned in his mind that he would bid men be building a palace,
a greater mead-hall than the children of men ever had heard of, and
that he would therein distribute to young and to old, as God gave him
power, all the wealth that he had save the share of the folk and the
lives of men.
Then I heard far and wide how he gave commandment to many a people
throughout all the world, this work to be doing, and to deck out
the folkstead. In due time
|
fame
|
How many times does the word 'fame' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and Seraphina must serve us till Miss Machonochie went away. This she
did not do for a long time, since, after just a little vermouth, she
wanted no persuasion at all to sing a quantity of Scotch ditties about
Bonnie Charlie and Loch Lomond, and other beautiful and interesting
topics. Technically, I should say that she had one note in her voice,
which she was in a great hurry to get on to and very loath to leave.
This had an amazing timbre like a steam siren, and as I played her
accompaniment for her, my left ear sang all the evening afterwards.
But her accent was indubitably Highland, and Mrs. Macgregor declared
she could smell the heather. I was glad of that, for I was afraid that
what I smelled (it being now near dinner-time) was the _fritura_ that
Seraphina was preparing in the kitchen.
This island-life is the busiest sort of existence, though I suppose a
stockbroker would say it was the laziest, and, in consequence, these
social efforts give one a sense of rush that I have never felt in
London. The whole of the morning is taken up with bathing (of which
more presently), and on the way up you call at the post-office for
papers and letters. The letters it is impossible to answer immediately,
since there is so much to do, and the pile on my table grows steadily,
waiting for a wet day. After lunch you read the papers, and then,
following the example of the natives, who may be supposed to know the
proper way of living in their own climate, you have a good siesta.
After tea, the English habit of physical exercise asserts itself, and
we walk or water the garden till dinner. After dinner it is, I take
it, permissible to have a little relaxation, and we either play a game
or two of picquet up here in the studio, or more often stroll down to
the piazza and play in the café, or attend a thrilling cinematograph
show. In the country it is natural to go to bed early, and, behold, it
is to-morrow almost before you knew it was to-day. When it rains, or
when the weather is cold, it is possible to do some work, and Francis
asserts that he does an immense quantity during the winter. I daresay
that is so; I should be the last person to quarrel with the statement,
since he so amiably agrees that it is impossible to behave like that in
the summer.
The mind is equally well occupied, for we always take down books to the
bathing-place, and for the rest the affairs of the island, Pasqualino
and his family, Seraphina and her family, the fact that Mrs. Macgregor
has dismissed her cook, that Mr. Tarn has built a pergola, completely
absorb the intellectual and speculative faculties. What happens outside
the island seems not to matter at all. England, with its fogs and its
fuss, is less real and much further away than the hazy shores of the
mainland, where all that concerns us is the smoke of Vesuvius, which
during the last week has been increasing in volume, and now stands up
above the mountain like a huge stone-pine. The wiseacres shake their
heads and prophesy an eruption, but _che sarà , sarà _--if it comes, it
comes, and meantime it is a marvellous thing to see the red level rays
at sunset turn the edges of the smoke-cloud into wreaths of rose-colour
and crimson; the denser portions they are unable to pierce, and can
but lay a wash of colour on them, through which the black shows like
a thing of nightmare. In the calm weather, which we have been having,
this stone-pine of smoke is reflected in the bay, and the great tree of
vapour steals slowly across the water, nearer and nearer every day. The
observatory reports tell us that its topmost wreaths are eight vertical
miles away from the earth. Sometimes when it is quite calm here we see
these tops torn by winds and blown about into fantastic foliage, but
the solidity of the trunk remains untouched.
But Vesuvius is far away, twenty-five miles at the least, and here in
this siren, lotus-eating island nothing across the
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' appear in the text?
| 1
|
then another. Suddenly, but quietly, a form begins to
emerge; a helmet. Water and mud pour off revealing a set
of beady eyes just above the mud. Printed on a helmet,
in a psychedelic hand, are the words: "Gook Killer."
The head emerges revealing that the tough-looking soldier
beneath has exceptionally long hair and beard; he has no
shirt on, only bandoliers of ammunition - his body is
painted in an odd camouflage pattern. He looks to the
right; he looks to the left; he looks INTO CAMERA, and
slowly sinks back into the swamp, disapperaring completely.
Our VIEW HOLDS, We begin to HEAR natural, though
unrecognizable JUNGLE SOUNDS, far off in the distance.
We PAN TO REVEAL a clump of logs half submerged in the
swamp; and part of what seems to be a Falstaff beer can
in the mud. A hand reaches out, and the beer can disappears.
As we TILT UP, we NOTICE that the log is hollow
and houses the rear of a M-60 machine gun, hand painted
in a paisley design.
Now the VIEW MOVES AWAY, ACROSS the ancient growth, PAST
the glimmer of what seems to be another soldier hiding in
ambush, wearing an exotic hat made from birds and bushes.
ACROSS to a dark trail where the legs of those in black
pajamas move silently across our ever TIGHTENING VIEW.
Their feet, boots and sandals leave no impression; make
no sound. A slight flicker of light reveals a pair of
eyes in the foliage across the path, waiting and watching.
The VIEW PUSHES ALONG WITH the Vietnamese, MOVING FASTER
AND FASTER WITH them, until suddenly, directly in front
about ten feet away, an enormous AMERICAN clad in rags
and bushes and holding a 12 gauge automatic shotgun
casually at his side, steps in front of them. He smiles
laconically, and BLASTS OUT FIVE SHOTS that rip THROUGH
US. By the second shot, the whole jungle blazes out
with AUTOMATIC FIRE.
Out VIEW TURNS as the men around us are thrown and torn,
screaming and scattering into the jungle. More AMERICANS
appear; unexplainably, out of the growth. It is now that
we fully SEE the bizarre manner in which they are dressed.
Some wear helmets, others wear strange hats made from
feathers and parts of animals. Some of them have long
savage-looking hair; other crew-cut or completely shaved;
they wear bandoliers, flak jackets, shorts and little else.
They wear Montagnard sandals or no shoes at all, and their
bodies and faces are painted in bizarre camouflage patterns.
They appear one with the jungle and mist, FIRING INTO US
as they move.
The soldier we saw earlier emerges from the swamp, dripping
mud, his MACHINE GUN BLASTING FIRE.
We begin to move quickly with one Vietnamese, breathlessly
running for his life; we MOVE INTO the jungle with him,
only to be impaled on a large spear of a smiling AMERICAN
painted and wearing feathers like an Indian. OUR VIEW
FALLS WITH him to the ground, STARING UPWARDS, as FLAME
and EXPLODING MUD scatter above us. Men scream and die
around us. The screams amid the GUNFIRE and EXPLOSIONS
are piercing and terrible, as though the jungle itself is
frightened.
An AMERICAN wearing a jungle hat with a large Peace Sign
on it, wearing war paint, bends TOWARD US, reaching down
TOWARD US with a large knife, preparing to scalp the
dead.
OUR VIEW MOVES AWAY, along with the running sandals of a
Vietnamese soldier, MOVING FASTER AND FASTER, only to be
stopped by still another of the savage-looking AMERICANS
with primitive ornamentation, wearing only a loin-cloth
and green be
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 10
|
>
</b> [view looking straight down at rolling swells, sound of wind
and thunder, then a low heartbeat]
<b>
</b>
<b> PORT ROYAL
</b>
[teacups on a table in the rain]
[sheet music on music stands in the rain]
[bouquet of white orchids, Elizabeth sitting in the rain holding
the bouquet]
<b>
</b> [men rowing, men on horseback, to the sound of thunder]
[EITC logo on flag blowing in the wind]
[many rowboats are entering the harbor]
[Elizabeth sitting alone, at a distance]
[marines running, kick a door in]
[a mule is seen on the left in the barn where the marines enter]
<b>
</b><b>
</b> [Liz looking over her shoulder]
[Elizabeth drops her bouquet]
[Will is in manacles, being escorted by red coats]
<b> ELIZABETH SWANN
</b> Will...!
[Elizabeth runs to Will]
<b> ELIZABETH SWANN
</b> Why is this happening?
<b> WILL TURNER
</b> I don't know. You look beautiful.
<b> ELIZABETH SWANN
</b> I think it's bad luck for the groom
to see the bride before the wedding.
<b>
</b><b>
</b> [marines cross their long axes to bar Governor from entering]
<b>
</b><b>
</b>
|
elizabeth
|
How many times does the word 'elizabeth' appear in the text?
| 6
|
rush off in headlong plunges of equal
distraction.
It makes me tired to follow it. I will take a nap I guess.
I don't know why I should write this.
I don't want to.
I don't feel able.
And I know John would think it absurd. But I MUST say what I feel and
think in some way--it is such a relief!
But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.
Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much.
John says I musn't lose my strength, and has me take cod liver oil and
lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare meat.
Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick. I tried
to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell
him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry and
Julia.
But he said I wasn't able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there;
and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying
before I had finished.
It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this
nervous weakness I suppose.
And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs
and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my
head.
He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I
must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.
He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will
and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.
There's one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to
occupy this nursery with the horrid wall-paper.
If we had not used it, that blessed child would have! What a fortunate
escape! Why, I wouldn't have a child of mine, an impressionable little
thing, live in such a room for worlds.
I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here
after all, I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see.
Of course I never mention it to them any more--I am too wise,--but I
keep watch of it all the same.
There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.
Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.
It is always the same shape, only very numerous.
And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that
pattern. I don't like it a bit. I wonder--I begin to think--I wish John
would take me away from here!
It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise,
and because he loves me so.
But I tried it last night.
It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around just as the sun does.
I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by
one window or another.
John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched
the moonlight on that undulating wall-paper till I felt creepy.
The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she
wanted to get out.
I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper DID move, and when
I came back John was awake.
"What is it, little girl?" he said. "Don't go walking about like
that--you'll get cold."
I though it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not
gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away.
"Why darling!" said he, "our lease will be up in three weeks, and I
can't see how to leave before.
"The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot possibly leave town just
now. Of course if you were in any danger, I could and would, but you
really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a doctor,
dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your appetite is
better, I
|
finished
|
How many times does the word 'finished' appear in the text?
| 0
|
PENTER.
The horse is frothing and wild-eyed, like the bride, who turns
to look behind her in terror. The horse's labored breathing
mingles with Maggie's panicked gasps.
We see a WEDDING BOUQUET fly into a ditch as the horse thunders
on. Maggie clings to the reins. She looks as though she is
running from the devil himself.
<b> FADE TO BLACK
</b>
<b> EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY
</b>
Establishing.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY - ESTABLISHING SHOT
</b>
<b> EXT. NEW YORK STREET - DAY
</b>
<b> IKE (V.O.)
</b> Hey, Fisher, pick up. I have some
column ideas I want to bounce off you.
Not there? Okay. Listen I'm thinking
of writing about those mind-numbing
informercials that are always on.
Ike walks out of his apartment building talking on cell phone.
IKE (cont'd)
What do you think? Good idea, right?
Boring, down to death, pointless -- It
sucks.
Ike yells at a CONSTRUCTION WORKER.
IKE (cont'd)
If you guys are here any longer,
they're gonna make you sign a lease.
<b> CONSTRUCTION WORKER
</b> Your column should be so funny.
Ike turns and walks down the street, talking into cell phone.
<b> IKE
</b> Okay, I was also thinking I might write
about...
He spots a RICH LADY with tons of diamonds getting out of a
Limousine, talking to a CHAUFFEUR. He goes up to her.
IKE (cont'd)
Excuse me. I was thinking of doing an
article on limousines. What would you
say to people who never had a chance to
drive in a limo?
They walk up to her DOORMAN.
<b> LADY
</b> I'm sorry, I don't know any people like
that.
Ike walks off. They stare at him as he goes.
<b> EXT. ANOTHER NEW YORK STREET - DAY
</b>
Ike's talking on the phone to his friend's machine again.
<b> IKE
</b> (into phone)
Fisher? Come on -- I know you're
sitting there laughing at me. Pick up.
I want to run an idea past you.
Ike continues walking now in the full panic of writer's block.
He pleads into his friend's answering machine as he walks.
IKE (cont'd)
(into phone)
I just could use someone to toss it
back and forth with for a few minutes,
get the juice flowing, help me. I have
an hour and twenty-seven minutes and
fifty-two seconds. Hello?
He walks away from the t-shirt table towards the bar. The
Vendor calls out to him.
<b> T-SHIRT VENDOR
</b> Hey, Ike, when are you going to put me
|
pick
|
How many times does the word 'pick' appear in the text?
| 1
|
same people at all those places: book fans who do lots of everything that has to do with books. I buy weird, fugly pirate editions of my favorite books in China because they're weird and fugly and look great next to the eight or nine other editions that I paid full-freight for of the same books. I check books out of the library, google them when I need a quote, carry dozens around on my phone and hundreds on my laptop, and have (at this writing) more than 10,000 of them in storage lockers in London, Los Angeles and Toronto.
If I could loan out my physical books without giving up possession of them, I *would*. The fact that I can do so with digital files is not a bug, it's a feature, and a damned fine one. It's embarrassing to see all these writers and musicians and artists bemoaning the fact that art just got this wicked new feature: the ability to be shared without losing access to it in the first place. It's like watching restaurant owners crying down their shirts about the new free lunch machine that's feeding the world's starving people because it'll force them to reconsider their business-models. Yes, that's gonna be tricky, but let's not lose sight of the main attraction: free lunches!
Universal access to human knowledge is in our grasp, for the first time in the history of the world. This is not a bad thing.
In case that's not enough for you, here's my pitch on why giving away ebooks makes sense at this time and place:
Giving away ebooks gives me artistic, moral and commercial satisfaction. The commercial question is the one that comes up most often: how can you give away free ebooks and still make money?
For me -- for pretty much every writer -- the big problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity (thanks to Tim O'Reilly for this great aphorism). Of all the people who failed to buy this book today, the majority did so because they never heard of it, not because someone gave them a free copy. Mega-hit best-sellers in science fiction sell half a million copies -- in a world where 175,000 attend the San Diego Comic Con alone, you've got to figure that most of the people who "like science fiction" (and related geeky stuff like comics, games, Linux, and so on) just don't really buy books. I'm more interested in getting more of that wider audience into the tent than making sure that everyone who's in the tent bought a ticket to be there.
Ebooks are verbs, not nouns. You copy them, it's in their nature. And many of those copies have a destination, a person they're intended for, a hand-wrought transfer from one person to another, embodying a personal recommendation between two people who trust each other enough to share bits. That's the kind of thing that authors (should) dream of, the proverbial sealing of the deal. By making my books available for free pass-along, I make it easy for people who love them to help other people love them.
What's more, I don't see ebooks as substitute for paper books for most people. It's not that the screens aren't good enough, either: if you're anything like me, you already spend every hour you can get in front of the screen, reading text. But the more computer-literate you are, the less likely you are to be reading long-form works on those screens -- that's because computer-literate people do more things with their computers. We run IM and email and we use the browser in a million diverse ways. We have games running in the background, and endless opportunities to tinker with our music libraries. The more you do with your computer, the more likely it is that you'll be interrupted after five to seven minutes to do something else. That makes the computer extremely poorly suited to reading long-form works off of, unless you have the iron self-discipline of a monk.
The good news (for writers) is that this means that ebooks on computers are more likely to be an enticement to buy the printed book (which is, after all, cheap, easily had, and easy to use) than a substitute for it. You can probably read just enough of the book off the screen to realize you want to be reading it on paper.
So ebooks sell print books. Every writer I've heard of who's tried giving away ebooks to promote paper books has come back to do it again. That's the commercial case for doing free ebooks.
Now, onto the artistic case. It's the twenty
|
free
|
How many times does the word 'free' appear in the text?
| 5
|
projected a stubbled jaw, scowled horridly
and swept a flattened palm downward and backward at a right angle to a
hairy arm in eloquent gesture of finality.
The boy had stood with his straight, black eyebrows puckered into a
studious frown, drinking in every word. Now he straightened up. "I guess
I made a mistake," he said, apologetically. "You ain't tramps at all.
You're thieves and murderers and things like that." His eyes opened a
bit wider and his voice sank to a whisper as the words passed his lips.
"But you haven't so much on me, at that," he went on, "for I'm a regular
burglar, too," and from the bulging pockets of his coat he drew two
handfuls of greenbacks and jewelry. The eyes of the six registered
astonishment, mixed with craft and greed. "I just robbed a house in
Oakdale," explained the boy. "I usually rob one every night."
For a moment his auditors were too surprised to voice a single emotion;
but presently one murmured, soulfully: "Pipe de swag!" He of the frock
coat, golf cap, and years waved a conciliatory hand. He tried to look at
the boy's face; but for the life of him he couldn't raise his eyes above
the dazzling wealth clutched in the fingers of those two small,
slim hands. From one dangled a pearl necklace which alone might have
ransomed, if not a king, at least a lesser member of a royal family,
while diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds scintillated in the
flaring light of the fire. Nor was the fistful of currency in the other
hand to be sneezed at. There were greenbacks, it is true; but there were
also yellowbacks with the reddish gold of large denominations. The Sky
Pilot sighed a sigh that was more than half gasp.
"Can't yuh take a kid?" he inquired. "I knew youse all along. Yuh can't
fool an old bird like The Sky Pilot--eh, boys?" and he turned to his
comrades for confirmation.
"He's The Oskaloosa Kid," exclaimed one of the company. "I'd know 'im
anywheres."
"Pull up and set down," invited another.
The boy stuffed his loot back into his pockets and came closer to the
fire. Its warmth felt most comfortable, for the Spring night was growing
chill. He looked about him at the motley company, some half-spruce in
clothing that suggested a Kuppenmarx label and a not too far association
with a tailor's goose, others in rags, all but one unshaven and all
more or less dirty--for the open road is close to Nature, which is
principally dirt.
"Shake hands with Dopey Charlie," said The Sky Pilot, whose age and
corpulency appeared to stamp him with the hall mark of authority. The
youth did as he was bid, smiling into the sullen, chalk-white face and
taking the clammy hand extended toward him. Was it a shudder that
passed through the lithe, young figure or was it merely a subconscious
recognition of the final passing of the bodily cold before the glowing
warmth of the blaze? "And Soup Face," continued The Sky Pilot. A battered
wreck half rose and extended a pudgy hand. Red whiskers, matted in
little tangled wisps which suggested the dried ingredients of an
infinite procession of semi-liquid refreshments, rioted promiscuously
over a scarlet countenance.
"Pleased to meetcha," sprayed Soup Face. It was a strained smile
which twisted the rather too perfect mouth of The Oskaloosa Kid, an
appellation which we must, perforce, accept since the youth did not deny
it.
Columbus Blackie, The General, and Dirty Eddie were formally presented.
As Dirty Eddie was, physically, the cleanest member of the band the
youth wondered how he had come by his sobriquet--that is, he wondered
until he heard Dirty Eddie speak, after which he was no longer in doubt.
The Oskaloosa Kid, self-confessed 'tramp' and burglar, flushed at the
lurid obscenity of Dirty Eddie's remarks
|
company
|
How many times does the word 'company' appear in the text?
| 1
|
this burden hath alway lain
On the devious being of woman; yea, burdens twain,
The burden of Wild Will and the burden of Pain.
Through my heart once that wind of terror sped;
But I, in fear confessèd,
Cried from the dark to Her in heavenly bliss,
The Helper of Pain, the Bow-Maid Artemis:
Whose feet I praise for ever, where they tread
Far off among the blessèd!
THE LEADER
But see, the Queen's grey nurse at the door,
Sad-eyed and sterner, methinks, than of yore
With the Queen. Doth she lead her hither
To the wind and sun?--Ah, fain would I know
What strange betiding hath blanched that brow
And made that young life wither.
[_The NURSE comes out from the central door followed by_ PHAEDRA,
_who is supported by two handmaids. They make ready a couch for_
PHAEDRA _to lie upon_.]
NURSE
O sick and sore are the days of men!
What wouldst thou? What shall I change again
Here is the Sun for thee; here is the sky;
And thy weary pillows wind-swept lie,
By the castle door.
But the cloud of thy brow is dark, I ween;
And soon thou wilt back to thy bower within:
So swift to change is the path of thy feet,
And near things hateful, and far things sweet;
So was it before!
Oh, pain were better than tending pain!
For that were single, and this is twain,
With grief of heart and labour of limb.
Yet all man's life is but ailing and dim,
And rest upon earth comes never.
But if any far-off state there be,
Dearer than life to mortality;
The hand of the Dark hath hold thereof,
And mist is under and mist above.
And so we are sick of life, and cling
On earth to this nameless and shining thing.
For other life is a fountain sealed,
And the deeps below are unrevealed,
And we drift on legends for ever!
[PHAEDRA _during this has been laid on her couch;
she speaks to the handmaids_.]
PHAEDRA
Yes; lift me: not my head so low.
There, hold my arms.--Fair arms they seem!--
My poor limbs scarce obey me now!
Take off that hood that weighs my brow,
And let my long hair stream.
NURSE
Nay, toss not, Child, so feveredly.
The sickness best will win relief
By quiet rest and constancy.
All men have grief.
PHAEDRA (_not noticing her_)
Oh for a deep and dewy spring,
With runlets cold to draw and drink!
And a great meadow blossoming,
Long-grassed, and poplars in a ring,
To rest me by the brink!
NURSE
Nay, Child! Shall strangers hear this tone
So wild, and thoughts so fever-flown?
PHAEDRA
Oh, take me to the Mountain! Oh,
Pass the great pines and through the wood,
Up where the lean hounds softly go,
A-whine for wild things' blood,
And madly flies the dappled roe.
O God, to shout and speed them there,
An arrow by my chestnut hair
Drawn tight, and one keen glimmering spear--
Ah! if I could!
NURSE
What wouldst thou with them--fancies all!--
Thy hunting and thy fountain brink?
What wouldst thou? By the city wall
Canst hear our own
|
thou
|
How many times does the word 'thou' appear in the text?
| 3
|
. Distracted by images of the bombed
hotel on the TV, she hesitates for beat.
<b> MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER
</b> One forty-nine please.
<b> MARGARET
</b> How much is the milk?
<b> MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER
</b> Forty-nine pence.
(taking the change)
Thank you.
MARGARET turns to leave, jostled by a tall young man
wired into an ipod.
<b>EXT. STREET. CHESTER SQUARE. LONDON. PRESENT. DAWN.
</b>
MARGARET heads down the busy street, shopping bag in
hand.
<b>INT. KITCHEN. CHESTER SQUARE. LONDON. PRESENT. DAY.
</b>MARGARET sits at breakfast with her husband DENIS,
sipping tea. DENIS butters his toast. MARGARET shakes her
head.
<b> MARGARET
</b> Too much. Much too much butter.
<b> DENIS
</b> I like butter.
<b> MARGARET
</b> Milk's gone up.
<b> 2
</b>
MARGARET reaches for a jug, pouring milk into it, sliding
it down on a table.
<b> MARGARET (CONT'D)
</b> 49p a pint.
<b> DENIS
</b> Good grief! We'll have to
economise. I suppose we could
always sell the car.
(chuckles)
Or take in paying guests!
He scoops up the newspaper and glances towards the door -
<b> DENIS (CONT'D)
</b>
|
margaret
|
How many times does the word 'margaret' appear in the text?
| 8
|
firstborn by a nearly equal
interval.
Some circumstance had apparently caused much grief to Charley just
previous to the entry of the choir, and he had absently taken down a
small looking-glass, holding it before his face to learn how the human
countenance appeared when engaged in crying, which survey led him to
pause at the various points in each wail that were more than ordinarily
striking, for a thorough appreciation of the general effect. Bessy was
leaning against a chair, and glancing under the plaits about the waist of
the plaid frock she wore, to notice the original unfaded pattern of the
material as there preserved, her face bearing an expression of regret
that the brightness had passed away from the visible portions. Mrs. Dewy
sat in a brown settle by the side of the glowing wood fire--so glowing
that with a heedful compression of the lips she would now and then rise
and put her hand upon the hams and flitches of bacon lining the chimney,
to reassure herself that they were not being broiled instead of smoked--a
misfortune that had been known to happen now and then at Christmas-time.
"Hullo, my sonnies, here you be, then!" said Reuben Dewy at length,
standing up and blowing forth a vehement gust of breath. "How the blood
do puff up in anybody's head, to be sure, a-stooping like that! I was
just going out to gate to hark for ye." He then carefully began to wind
a strip of brown paper round a brass tap he held in his hand. "This in
the cask here is a drop o' the right sort" (tapping the cask); "'tis a
real drop o' cordial from the best picked apples--Sansoms, Stubbards,
Five-corners, and such-like--you d'mind the sort, Michael?" (Michael
nodded.) "And there's a sprinkling of they that grow down by the orchard-
rails--streaked ones--rail apples we d'call 'em, as 'tis by the rails
they grow, and not knowing the right name. The water-cider from 'em is
as good as most people's best cider is."
"Ay, and of the same make too," said Bowman. "'It rained when we wrung
it out, and the water got into it,' folk will say. But 'tis on'y an
excuse. Watered cider is too common among us."
"Yes, yes; too common it is!" said Spinks with an inward sigh, whilst his
eyes seemed to be looking at the case in an abstract form rather than at
the scene before him. "Such poor liquor do make a man's throat feel very
melancholy--and is a disgrace to the name of stimmilent."
"Come in, come in, and draw up to the fire; never mind your shoes," said
Mrs. Dewy, seeing that all except Dick had paused to wipe them upon the
door-mat. "I am glad that you've stepped up-along at last; and, Susan,
you run down to Grammer Kaytes's and see if you can borrow some larger
candles than these fourteens. Tommy Leaf, don't ye be afeard! Come and
sit here in the settle."
This was addressed to the young man before mentioned, consisting chiefly
of a human skeleton and a smock-frock, who was very awkward in his
movements, apparently on account of having grown so very fast that before
he had had time to get used to his height he was higher.
"Hee--hee--ay!" replied Leaf, letting his mouth continue to smile for
some time after his mind had done smiling, so that his teeth remained in
view as the most conspicuous members of his body.
"Here, Mr. Penny," resumed Mrs. Dewy, "you sit in this chair. And how's
your daughter, Mrs. Brownjohn?"
"Well, I suppose I must say pretty fair." He adjusted his spectacles a
quarter of an inch to the right. "But she'll be worse before she's
better, 'a b'lieve."
"Indeed--poor soul! And how many will that make in all, four or five?"
"Five; they've buried three
|
before
|
How many times does the word 'before' appear in the text?
| 4
|
details cry aloud,
"Behold our millions!" extended his park far into the country for the
purpose, as he averred, of getting his gardeners out of his pockets; and
so, when the Chalet was finished, none but a friend could be allowed to
inhabit it. Monsieur Mignon, the next owner of the property, was very
much attached to his cashier, Dumay, and the following history will
prove that the attachment was mutual; to him therefore he offered
the little dwelling. Dumay, a stickler for legal methods, insisted on
signing a lease for three hundred francs for twelve years, and Monsieur
Mignon willingly agreed, remarking,--
"My dear Dumay, remember, you have now bound yourself to live with me
for twelve years."
In consequence of certain events which will presently be related, the
estates of Monsieur Mignon, formerly the richest merchant in Havre, were
sold to Vilquin, one of his business competitors. In his joy at getting
possession of the celebrated villa Mignon, the latter forgot to demand
the cancelling of the lease. Dumay, anxious not to hinder the sale,
would have signed anything Vilquin required, but the sale once made, he
held to his lease like a vengeance. And there he remained, in Vilquin's
pocket as it were; at the heart of Vilquin's family life, observing
Vilquin, irritating Vilquin,--in short, the gadfly of all the Vilquins.
Every morning, when he looked out of his window, Vilquin felt a violent
shock of annoyance as his eye lighted on the little gem of a building,
the Chalet, which had cost sixty thousand francs and sparkled like a
ruby in the sun. That comparison is very nearly exact. The architect has
constructed the cottage of brilliant red brick pointed with white.
The window-frames are painted of a lively green, the woodwork is brown
verging on yellow. The roof overhangs by several feet. A pretty gallery,
with open-worked balustrade, surmounts the lower floor and projects
at the centre of the facade into a veranda with glass sides. The
ground-floor has a charming salon and a dining-room, separated from
each other by the landing of a staircase built of wood, designed
and decorated with elegant simplicity. The kitchen is behind the
dining-room, and the corresponding room back of the salon, formerly a
study, is now the bedroom of Monsieur and Madame Dumay. On the upper
floor the architect has managed to get two large bedrooms, each with a
dressing-room, to which the veranda serves as a salon; and above this
floor, under the eaves, which are tipped together like a couple of
cards, are two servants' rooms with mansard roofs, each lighted by a
circular window and tolerably spacious.
Vilquin has been petty enough to build a high wall on the side toward
the orchard and kitchen garden; and in consequence of this piece
of spite, the few square feet which the lease secured to the Chalet
resembled a Parisian garden. The out-buildings, painted in keeping
with the cottage, stood with their backs to the wall of the adjoining
property.
The interior of this charming dwelling harmonized with its exterior.
The salon, floored entirely with iron-wood, was painted in a style that
suggested the beauties of Chinese lacquer. On black panels edged with
gold, birds of every color, foliage of impossible greens, and fantastic
oriental designs glowed and shimmered. The dining-room was entirely
sheathed in Northern woods carved and cut in open-work like the
beautiful Russian chalets. The little antechamber formed by the landing
and the well of the staircase was painted in old oak to represent Gothic
ornament. The bedrooms, hung with chintz, were charming in their costly
simplicity. The study, where the cashier and his wife now slept, was
panelled from top to bottom, on the walls and ceiling, like the cabin of
a steamboat. These luxuries of his predecessor excited Vilquin's wrath.
He would fain have lodged his daughter and her husband in the cottage.
This desire, well known to Dumay, will presently serve to illustrate the
Breton obstinacy of the latter.
The entrance to the Chalet is by a little tre
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 3
|
SLOWLY FADE IN TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BLACK LAKE - NIGHT
</b>
The loon continues its hypnotic call, as the steamy mist lifts
off the dark water, which doesn't even ripple. The loon
continues her nocturnal cry, as we savor the beauty of the lake,
the elegance of the bird, and the haunting echo of her lonely
call... until suddenly the bird is crisply pulled under,
silenced forever. A lone feather surfaces and floats as:
Credits roll over the black lake to Richie Havens singing "I CAN
SEE CLEARLY NOW." Then--
<b> OVER BLACK
</b>
<b> KEOUGH (O.S.)
</b> And they pay you for this? To tag
beaver?
<b> WALT (O.S.)
</b> Imagine.
As we FADE IN a face COMES INTO FOCUS from underwater. It is
the face of WALT LAWSON (Maine Fish And Game) looking down from
a boat.
<b> EXT. LAKE - DAY
</b>
Next to him is SHERIFF HANK KEOUGH, paunch, disposition of an
untipped waiter.
<b> KEOUGH
</b> Ask me, what an animal does in the
wild is his own business so long as
he doesn't do it to man. I think
Mark Twain said that.
<b> WALT
</b> (dry)
I think he didn't. But since
you've said it, I guess we're
covered.
Keough holds a stare. Walt drops overboard. Keough pulls a
Twinkie from his pocket. Begins to unwrap.
<b> EXT. NEW YORK - MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
</b>
<b> INT. MUSEUM - DAY
</b>
FIND KELLY SCOTT, pretty, thirty, as KEVIN CAMPBELL, forties,
approaches.
<b> KEVIN
</b> Kelly.
<b> KELLY
</b> (warmly)
Kevin, hey.
She beams affection, he exudes a little discomfort.
<b>
|
loon
|
How many times does the word 'loon' appear in the text?
| 1
|
First draft
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> INT. BARGE - DAY
</b>
Crewman EPPS (29), wearing a life vest and tool belt, jumps
down into the darkness. She stands in a great hollow cavern,
oily, wet, resonant with the sound of creaking, rusty steel
and WATER MOVING OVER ITS HULL on the other side.
<b> INT. BARGE - LATER - DAY
</b>
Epps comes to a low point in the darkness, shining her light
on a lake of salt water sloshing against the bulkhead. She
kneels. As the water sloshes back she sees that it is leaking
in through the seams in the steel plate of the hull.
<b> EXT. BARGE - LATER - DAY
</b>
Epps pulls herself onto the deck from below. She stands on a
rusting 5000 ton tank barge being pulled in the open ocean
by a brawny marine tug at the end of a 150 foot tow cable.
It is a typical summer day in the southern Bering Sea, which
means a healthy chop and a stiff cold breeze out of the north-
west. She closes the hatch behind her and makes her way
forward.
<b> EXT. BARGE - BOW - MOMENTS LATER - DAY
</b>
Up ahead, the tug pulls steadily, grey-black clouds of diesel
smoke rising from its massive turbine vents.
Epps cinches and checks her body harness, focused and
professional. The product of a rocky childhood in the Pacific
Northwest and a few years of hard living, she's found her
true calling now. And under some grime, several polypro shirts
and a pair of orange men's Insulite pants she might even be
considered pretty.
She clips her harness into the tow cable where it attaches
to a heavy pair of eye cleats at the bow. She climbs onto
the cable, hanging out over the water as it breaks on the
bow beneath her. She pulls herself forward on a roller bearing
that fits over the width of the cable and starts off toward
the tug at the other end.
<b> EXT. ARCTIC WARRIOR - LATER - DAY
</b>
DODGE and GREER look on from the stern, where the boat's
name "Arctic Warrior" is emblazoned on the transom. Dodge
(37), scruffy chief engineer, wearing de rigueur greasy
coveralls and nicotine stained fingers, is an expatriate
Texan and former merchant marine. GREER (42), is the boat's
first mate, African American, originally from some sweltering
red-neck hellhole, now a tug pilot intentionally well to the
north.
They watch as Epps pulls herself toward them, the cable
occasionally dipping a few feet with a spray of water as a
passing swell slackens it. Epps pulls herself to the stern
where the cable winds into a tow anchor.
<b> EPPS
</b> It's a slow leak.
She unclips and drops to the deck.
<b> GREER
</b> What's slow?
<b> EPPS
</b> Maybe twenty gallons an hour.
<b> DODGE
</b> Where from?
<b> EPPS
</b> Amidships starboard at the beam.
Just under the waterline. I don't
think it's a problem.
<b> GREER
</b> Hear that, Dodge? Epps don't think
it's a problem
|
dodge
|
How many times does the word 'dodge' appear in the text?
| 3
|
rona?â queried Stepan Arkadyevitch, going up to
her at the door.
Although Stepan Arkadyevitch was completely in the wrong as regards his
wife, and was conscious of this himself, almost everyone in the house
(even the nurse, Darya Alexandrovnaâs chief ally) was on his side.
âWell, what now?â he asked disconsolately.
âGo to her, sir; own your fault again. Maybe God will aid you. She is
suffering so, itâs sad to see her; and besides, everything in the house
is topsy-turvy. You must have pity, sir, on the children. Beg her
forgiveness, sir. Thereâs no help for it! One must take the
consequences....â
âBut she wonât see me.â
âYou do your part. God is merciful; pray to God, sir, pray to God.â
âCome, thatâll do, you can go,â said Stepan Arkadyevitch, blushing
suddenly. âWell now, do dress me.â He turned to Matvey and threw off
his dressing-gown decisively.
Matvey was already holding up the shirt like a horseâs collar, and,
blowing off some invisible speck, he slipped it with obvious pleasure
over the well-groomed body of his master.
Chapter 3
When he was dressed, Stepan Arkadyevitch sprinkled some scent on
himself, pulled down his shirt-cuffs, distributed into his pockets his
cigarettes, pocketbook, matches, and watch with its double chain and
seals, and shaking out his handkerchief, feeling himself clean,
fragrant, healthy, and physically at ease, in spite of his unhappiness,
he walked with a slight swing on each leg into the dining-room, where
coffee was already waiting for him, and beside the coffee, letters and
papers from the office.
He read the letters. One was very unpleasant, from a merchant who was
buying a forest on his wifeâs property. To sell this forest was
absolutely essential; but at present, until he was reconciled with his
wife, the subject could not be discussed. The most unpleasant thing of
all was that his pecuniary interests should in this way enter into the
question of his reconciliation with his wife. And the idea that he
might be led on by his interests, that he might seek a reconciliation
with his wife on account of the sale of the forestâthat idea hurt him.
When he had finished his letters, Stepan Arkadyevitch moved the
office-papers close to him, rapidly looked through two pieces of
business, made a few notes with a big pencil, and pushing away the
papers, turned to his coffee. As he sipped his coffee, he opened a
still damp morning paper, and began reading it.
Stepan Arkadyevitch took in and read a liberal paper, not an extreme
one, but one advocating the views held by the majority. And in spite of
the fact that science, art, and politics had no special interest for
him, he firmly held those views on all these subjects which were held
by the majority and by his paper, and he only changed them when the
majority changed themâor, more strictly speaking, he did not change
them, but they imperceptibly changed of themselves within him.
Stepan Arkadyevitch had not chosen his political opinions or his views;
these political opinions and views had come to him of themselves, just
as he did not choose the shapes of his hat and coat, but simply took
those that were being worn. And for him, living in a certain
societyâowing to the need, ordinarily developed at years of discretion,
for some degree of mental activityâto have views was just as
indispensable as to have a hat. If there was a reason for his
preferring liberal to conservative views, which were held also by
|
sipped
|
How many times does the word 'sipped' appear in the text?
| 0
|
This is HENRY.
He looks out at the horizon. It's starting to get light
out. There's snow on the ground.
He's neither asleep nor awake.
<b> INT. TOLL BOOTH - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
HENRY'S PLASTIC GLOVES unscrew a THERMOS, pour coffee
into a Styrofoam cup. There are only a few drops left.
<b> A CAR
</b> Approaches. Henry straightens, slides open his window.
But the CAR veers over to the automated EZ-PASS LANE...
Henry closes the window, watches the car disappear. He
downs the last of his coffee, looks back out at the
horizon again.
It's cloudy out there.
<b> A CLOCK
</b> flips to 6:00.
<b> INT. TOLL BOOTH - LATER
</b>
Henry packs up his thermos, puts on his coat and steps
out into the icy morning.
He walks toward his truck. The traffic is beginning to
build.
<b> EXT. BUFFALO STREET - MORNING
</b>
Henry's old FORD PICK-UP drives past the enormous,
abandoned CENTRAL TRAIN TERMINAL.
<b> EXT. BUFFALO STREET - MORNING
</b>
The pick-up turns down toward a neighborhood of modest
salt-box houses.
<b> EXT. HENRY'S HOUSE - MORNING
</b>
Henry's truck rolls into his driveway.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. HENRY'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
Henry enters. Hangs up his down jacket on a row of hooks.
It's clean and ordinary in here.
His wife, DEBBIE, is in the kitchen. She's wearing a
|
street
|
How many times does the word 'street' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Fourth Draft Screenplay by
Charlie Haas
April 6, 1981
<b> BLACKNESS
</b>
<b> 1 THE ELECTRONIC WORLD 1
</b>
On one side of the screen, computer programming language is being
printed, and we HEAR the sound of an electronic keyboard. In the
center of the screen, glowing lines inscribe a rough computer
simulation of a figure, in response to the programming. Gradually
the figure is completed and refined, as we HEAR a resonant voice
speaking.
<b> VOICE
</b> As astonishing advances in computer
science are made, artificial intelligence
programs are being designed to assist
us in every area of life...
We see that the completed form is man-like, heroic and muscular,
wearing a form of flexible armor. The face is calm, handsome and
intelligent. As the voice continues, the form becomes rounded by
the computer until it appears three dimensional and begins to rotate.
<b> VOICE (CONT.)
</b> In a world-wide network of electronics,
they travel through miles of circuitry
at the speed of light. We created them to
calculate and research, to help us design
and heal and think. With all that they can
do, are they only electrical impulses...
or are they a new form of life?
The figure is rotated completely around, and as it comes back to face
us, a glowing disk appears beside it; again in response to the
programming printed out at the side of the screen. The disk moves
towards the man-like figure and is rotated into position above it.
As the voice reaches the final word, the disk is slammed into place
on the back of the figure. There is an explosion of colored light,
a resounding crash of MUSIC and the title appears across the top
|
figure
|
How many times does the word 'figure' appear in the text?
| 4
|
hurtling through space and see that we're heading
over a computer version of the New York City skyline. We
move over Central Park. It's fall and the leaves are
glorious reds and yellows.
We reach the West Side of Manhattan and move swiftly down
Broadway with its stores and gyms and movies theatres and
turn onto a street in the West 80s.
Hold in front of a New York brownstone.
At the bottom of the screen a small rectangle appears and the
words:
<b> ADDING ART
</b>
As the rectangle starts to fill with color, we see a percentage
increase from 0% to 100%. When it hits 100% the image pops and
we are in real life.
<b> EXT. NEW YORK BROWNSTONE - DAY
</b>
Early morning in New York. A couple of runners pass on their
way to Riverside Drive Park.
We go through the brownstone window into:
<b> INT. KATHLEEN KELLY'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
KATHLEEN KELLY is asleep. Kathleen, 30, is as pretty and
fresh as a spring day. Her bedroom cozy, has a queen-sized
bed and a desk with a computer on it. Bookshelves line every
inch of wall space and overflow with books. Framed on the
children's classic. Madeleine.
As Kathleen wakes up, her boyfriend FRANK NAVASKY walks into
the room. He wears blue jeans and a workshirt. He's carrying
the New York Times.
<b> KATHLEEN
</b> Good morning.
<b> FRANK
</b> (as he reads)
Listen to this -- the entire work force
of the state of Virginia had to have
solitaire removed from their computers --
Kathleen gets out of bed and goes to brush her teeth in the
bathroom, and we stay with Frank.
<b> FRANK
</b> (continuing)
-- because they hadn't done any work in
six weeks.
Kathleen comes out of the bathroom in her robe.
<b> KATHLEEN
</b> Aren't you late?
<b> FRANK
</b> (continuing)
You know what this is, you know what
we're seeing here? We're seeing the end
of Western civilization as we know it.
<b> KATHLEEN
</b> This is so sad.
She tosses him his jacket.
<b> FRANK
</b> (points at her computer)
You think that machine is your friend,
but it's not.
(checks his watch)
I'm late.
<b> INT. LIVING ROOM - KATHLEEN'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
As Frank walks to the apartment door. We see a charming room
with a couch, fireplace, books, and a dining table with a
typewriter with a cover on it.
<b> KATHLEEN (O.C.)
</b> I'll see you tonight.
<b> FRANK
</b> Sushi.
<b> KATHLEEN (O.C.)
</b> Great. Bye.
Frank goes out the door. It closes.
Kathleen tiptoes into the hall and looks through the fish-eye
peephole watching as he goes down the stairs, disappearing
from sight. She walks into:
<b> INT. KATHLEEN'S BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
And looks out the front window as Frank walks out onto the
street and turns toward Broadway.
He's gone.
|
real
|
How many times does the word 'real' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of Nocera's melancholy account of the health of his brother
and sister. The Count of Belvedere acquaints Sir Charles with his
unabated passion for Lady Clementina. Affecting interview between Sir
Charles and Signor Jeronymo. He is kindly received by the marquis and
marchioness. The sufferings of Jeronymo under the hands of an unskilful
surgeon, with a brief history of his case. Sir Charles tells the
marchioness that he considers himself bound by his former offers, should
Clementina recover. The interested motives of Lady Sforza and Laurana
for treating Clementina with cruelty. Remarks on Lady Olivia's conduct,
and on female delicacy. Sir Charles recommends Miss Byron as a pattern
for his ward, and laments the depravity of Sir Hargrave and his friends.
LETTER I
MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
Miss Byron, To Miss Selby.
O my Lucy! What think you!--But it is easy to guess what you must think.
I will, without saying one word more, enclose
DR. BARTLETT'S TENTH LETTER
The next day (proceeds my patron) I went to make my visit to the family.
I had nothing to reproach myself with; and therefore had no other concern
upon me but what arose from the unhappiness of the noble Clementina: that
indeed was enough. I thought I should have some difficulty to manage my
own spirit, if I were to find myself insulted, especially by the general.
Soldiers are so apt to value themselves on their knowledge of what, after
all, one may call but their trade, that a private gentleman is often
thought too slightly of by them. Insolence in a great man, a rich man,
or a soldier, is a call upon a man of spirit to exert himself. But I
hope, thought I, I shall not have this call from any one of a family I so
greatly respect.
I was received by the bishop; who politely, after I had paid my
compliments to the marquis and his lady, presented me to those of the
Urbino family to whom I was a stranger. Every one of those named by
Signor Jeronymo, in his last letter, was present.
The marquis, after he had returned my compliment, looked another way, to
hide his emotion: the marchioness put her handkerchief to her eyes, and
looked upon me with tenderness; and I read in them her concern for her
Clementina.
I paid my respects to the general with an air of freedom, yet of regard;
to my Jeronymo, with the tenderness due to our friendship, and
congratulated him on seeing him out of his chamber. His kind eyes
glistened with pleasure; yet it was easy to read a mixture of pain in
them; which grew stronger as the first emotions at seeing me enter, gave
way to reflection.
The Conte della Porretta seemed to measure me with his eye.
I addressed myself to Father Marescotti, and made my particular
acknowledgments to him for the favour of his visit, and what had passed
in it. He looked upon me with pleasure; probably with the more, as this
was a farewell visit.
The two ladies whispered, and looked upon me, and seemed to bespeak each
other's attention to what passed.
Signor Sebastiano placed himself next to Jeronymo, and often whispered
him, and as often cast his eye upon me. He was partial to me, I believe,
because my generous friend seemed pleased with what he said.
His brother, Signor Juliano, sat on the other hand of me. They are
agreeable and polite young gentlemen.
A profound silence succeeded the general compliments.
I addressed myself to the marquis: Your lordship, and you, madam, turning
to the marchioness, I hope will excuse me for having requested of you the
honour of being once more admitted to your presence, and to that of three
brothers, for whom I shall ever retain the most respectful affection. I
could not think of leaving a city, where one of the first families in it
has done me the highest honour, without taking such a leave as might shew
my gratitude.--Accept, my lords, bowing to each; accept, madam, more
prof
|
read
|
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| 1
|
FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. PRAGUE - NIGHT
</b>
On a hill above the city is an old CATHEDRAL. The night is
spooky, with harsh shadows playing across the cobblestones
and medieval walls.
A NERVOUS YOUNG HACKER makes his way down an alley.
There is a DOOR at the end of the alley. MUSIC can be faintly
heard from inside.
<b> EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT
</b>
High above the street an INTRUDER DRESSED ALL IN BLACK spies
from the roof. He's watching with NIGHT VISION GOGGLES.
He pulls out a CROSSBOW and FIRES.
A BOLT flies, trailing CABLE.
THUNK! It sticks into the alley wall below.
<b> EXT. THE ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
As he passes by the ominous Cathedral, the Hacker spins,
sure he's heard something.
But there's nothing there. He continues on.
Then the Intruder comes sliding down the ZIP-LINE from above.
WHAM! He kicks the Hacker into the wall, knocking him out.
The Intruder pulls off his mask, revealing the chiseled
features of a dashing BRITISH SECRET AGENT. His name is
<b> STERLING.
</b>
<b> STERLING
</b> I hate to drop in unexpectedly.
Sterling searches the Hacker and pulls a SMALL BLACK CASE
from his coat. Inside the case is a DATA CHIP. Sterling tucks
it away.
Sterling unzips his black jumpsuit, revealing a crisp TUXEDO
underneath. He pulls out CAR KEYS. In a quick insert we see
the "ASTON-MARTIN" LOGO.
As he strolls back out the alley, he HEARS something and
flattens against the wall.
A BLACKED OUT SUV screeches to a stop, blocking his exit.
The SUV
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makes
|
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| 0
|
SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> THE ISLAND OF MANHATTAN - STOCK
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
A very high airplane view of the entire island. Over this, a
Voice, authoritative, impressive.
<b> VOICE
</b> In any discussion of contemporary
America and how its people live, we
must inevitably start with --
Manhattan -- New York City, U.S.A!
<b> NEW YORK CITY SKYLINE - STOCK
</b>
<b> VOICE
</b> Manhattan -- glistening, modern giant
of concrete and steel reaching to
the heavens and holding in its arms
seven millions!
<b> NEW YORK CITY - ANOTHER VIEW - STOCK
</b>
<b> VOICE
</b> Seven millions -- happy beneficiaries
of the advantages and comforts this
gracious metropolis has to offer...
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> VOICE
</b><b> (OVER DISSOLVE)
</b> Its fine broad streets and boulevards
facilitate the New
|
seven
|
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| 1
|
<b> FIRST MAN
</b> MacLeod.
The second nods.
The first without hesitation raises a sword, the intended
thrust interrupted by his own death as the second with a flash
of metal severs the agressor's head.
<b>2 INT. HUTCH - MORNING 2
</b>
A 15th century Scottish home.
A haggard WOMAN, her small CHILD clinging to a tattered apron,
stands hunched over a glowing hearth. Her veined hands drag
a wooden spoon around and around through a soot-covered pot
of grey soup.
From an adjoining room CONOR MACLEOD, a young man dressed up
in his best traditional Celtic tartan, enters.
<b> MOTHER
</b> My, but are you the
picture.
<b> CONOR
</b> (surveying himself)
It's a bit tight.
His FATHER enters with a pail of milk.
<b> FATHER
</b> Ah, Conor, how you look
a man.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Have you time for some-
thing to eat?
<b> CONOR
</b> No, Mother. They'll be
here shortly.
Conor's father looks him over with pride.
<b> FATHER
</b> Your grandfather wore
that in his service to
the King, and I to fight
|
tight
|
How many times does the word 'tight' appear in the text?
| 0
|
<b>BENEATH IT, THE NEXT LINE FADES IN:
</b>
Because a dog is smarter than its tail.
<b>CROSS-FADE TO THE NEXT CARD, WHICH READS:
</b>
If the tail were smarter, the tail would wag the dog.
<b>DISSOLVE
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT THE WHITE HOUSE NIGHT
</b>
<b>A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE STOPS AT A SIDE ENTRANCE.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<b>AT THE SIDE, UTILITY ENTRANCE, WE SEE THE DISGORGING WORKING-CLASS MEN AND
</b><b>WOMEN, THEY PASS THROUGH SECURITY SCREENING IN THE B.G., THROUGH METAL
</b><b>DETECTORS, AND PAST SEVERAL GUARDS WHO CHECK THE PHOTO-I.D.'S AROUND THEIR
</b><b>NECKS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<u>WILFRED AMES</u>, AND <u>AMY CAIN</u>, A BRIGHT YOUNG WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES, WALKING DOWN
<b>A CORRIDOR, LOOKING WORRIED.
</b>
<b>ANGLE AMES AND CAIN
</b><b>AMES AND CAIN HAVE STOPPED AT THE END OF THE HALL. BEYOND THEM WE SEE THE
</b><b>CLEANING PEOPLE COMING IN FROM THE VAN, AND BEING CLEARED THROUGH A METAL
</b><b>DETECTOR INTO A HOLDING AREA, AND HANDED CLEANING MATERIALS, MOPS, VACUUMS, ET
</b><b>CETERA, BY A TYPE HOLDING A CLIPBOARD. PART OF THE GROUP, A MAN IN HIS
</b><b>FORTIES, IN A RATTY JACKET, OPEN COLLARED SHIRT, PASSES THROUGH THE GROUP,
</b><b>AND IS STOPPED BY A SECRET SERVICEMAN WHO APPEARS NEXT TO AMES. IN THE B.G.
</b><b>WE SEE A TV IN AN ADJACENT ROOM, SHOWING A POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b> AMES
</b><b> (TO SECRET SERVICEMAN)
</b> ...That's him.
<b>AMES MOVES OUT OF THE SHOT. LEAVING US ON THE POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b>WE SEE TWO BUSINESS PEOPLE ON THE PLANE, A MAN AND A WOMAN.
</b>
<b> BUSINESSMAN
</b> Well, all I know, you don't change horses in the middle
of the stream.
<b> BUSINESSWOMAN
</b> "Don't change Horses," well, there's a lot of truth in
that.
<b>THE IMAGE SHIFTS TO A PRESIDENT, DOING PRESIDENTIAL THINGS. AND THE VOICE-
</b><b>OVER.
</b>
<b> VOICE-OVER
</b> For Peace
|
stopped
|
How many times does the word 'stopped' appear in the text?
| 1
|
in a sensible way to get it," replied the
General. "The Belt was captured by a little girl named Dorothy, who
lives in Kansas, in the United States of America."
"But she left it in the Emerald City, with Ozma," declared the King.
"How do you know that?" asked the General.
"One of my spies, who is a Blackbird, flew over the desert to the Land
of Oz, and saw the Magic Belt in Ozma's palace," replied the King with a
groan.
"Now, that gives me an idea," said General Blug, thoughtfully. "There
are two ways to get to the Land of Oz without traveling across the sandy
desert."
"What are they?" demanded the King, eagerly.
"One way is _over_ the desert, through the air; and the other way is
_under_ the desert, through the earth."
[Illustration]
Hearing this the Nome King uttered a yell of joy and leaped from his
throne, to resume his wild walk up and down the cavern.
"That's it, Blug!" he shouted. "That's the idea, General! I'm King of
the Under World, and my subjects are all miners. I'll make a secret
tunnel under the desert to the Land of Oz--yes! right up to the Emerald
City--and you will march your armies there and capture the whole
country!"
"Softly, softly, your Majesty. Don't go too fast," warned the General.
"My Nomes are good fighters, but they are not strong enough to conquer
the Emerald City."
"Are you sure?" asked the King.
"Absolutely certain, your Majesty."
"Then what am I to do?"
"Give up the idea and mind your own business," advised the General. "You
have plenty to do trying to rule your underground kingdom."
"But I want that Magic Belt--and I'm going to have it!" roared the Nome
King.
"I'd like to see you get it," replied the General, laughing maliciously.
The King was by this time so exasperated that he picked up his scepter,
which had a heavy ball, made from a sapphire, at the end of it, and
threw it with all his force at General Blug. The sapphire hit the
General upon his forehead and knocked him flat upon the ground, where he
lay motionless. Then the King rang his gong and told his guards to drag
out the General and throw him away; which they did.
This Nome King was named Roquat the Red, and no one loved him. He was a
bad man and a powerful monarch, and he had resolved to destroy the Land
of Oz and its magnificent Emerald City, to enslave Princess Ozma and
little Dorothy and all the Oz people, and recover his Magic Belt. This
same Belt had once enabled Roquat the Red to carry out many wicked
plans; but that was before Ozma and her people marched to the
underground cavern and captured it. The Nome King could not forgive
Dorothy or Princess Ozma, and he had determined to be revenged upon
them.
But they, for their part, did not know they had so dangerous an enemy.
Indeed, Ozma and Dorothy had both almost forgotten that such a person as
the Nome King yet lived under the mountains of the Land of Ev--which lay
just across the deadly desert to the south of the Land of Oz.
An unsuspected enemy is doubly dangerous.
[Illustration]
_How_ UNCLE HENRY GOT INTO TROUBLE
CHAPTER TWO
[Illustration]
Dorothy Gale lived on a farm in Kansas, with her Aunt Em and her Uncle
Henry. It was not a big farm, nor a very good one, because sometimes the
rain did not come when the crops needed it, and then everything withered
and dried up. Once a cyclone had carried away Uncle Henry's house, so
that he was obliged to build another; and as he was a poor man he had to
mortgage his farm to get the money to pay for the new house. Then his
health became bad and he was too feeble to work. The doctor ordered him
to take a sea voyage and he went to Australia and took Dorothy with him.
That cost a lot of money, too.
|
general
|
How many times does the word 'general' appear in the text?
| 9
|
surcoat of linsey-woolsey, without sleeves, and a
sur-mantle of black sandal, as he lay upon the carpet with Joinville?"
Where is the chamber of the Emperor Sigismond? and that of Charles IV.?
that of Jean the Landless? Where is the staircase, from which Charles
VI. promulgated his edict of pardon? the slab where Marcel cut the
throats of Robert de Clermont and the Marshal of Champagne, in the
presence of the dauphin? the wicket where the bulls of Pope Benedict
were torn, and whence those who had brought them departed decked out, in
derision, in copes and mitres, and making an apology through all Paris?
and the grand hall, with its gilding, its azure, its statues, its
pointed arches, its pillars, its immense vault, all fretted with
carvings? and the gilded chamber? and the stone lion, which stood at the
door, with lowered head and tail between his legs, like the lions on the
throne of Solomon, in the humiliated attitude which befits force in the
presence of justice? and the beautiful doors? and the stained glass?
and the chased ironwork, which drove Biscornette to despair? and the
delicate woodwork of Hancy? What has time, what have men done with these
marvels? What have they given us in return for all this Gallic history,
for all this Gothic art? The heavy flattened arches of M. de Brosse,
that awkward architect of the Saint-Gervais portal. So much for art;
and, as for history, we have the gossiping reminiscences of the great
pillar, still ringing with the tattle of the Patru.
It is not much. Let us return to the veritable grand hall of the
veritable old palace. The two extremities of this gigantic parallelogram
were occupied, the one by the famous marble table, so long, so broad,
and so thick that, as the ancient land rolls--in a style that would have
given Gargantua an appetite--say, "such a slice of marble as was never
beheld in the world"; the other by the chapel where Louis XI. had
himself sculptured on his knees before the Virgin, and whither he caused
to be brought, without heeding the two gaps thus made in the row of
royal statues, the statues of Charlemagne and of Saint Louis, two saints
whom he supposed to be great in favor in heaven, as kings of France.
This chapel, quite new, having been built only six years, was entirely
in that charming taste of delicate architecture, of marvellous
sculpture, of fine and deep chasing, which marks with us the end of
the Gothic era, and which is perpetuated to about the middle of the
sixteenth century in the fairylike fancies of the Renaissance. The
little open-work rose window, pierced above the portal, was, in
particular, a masterpiece of lightness and grace; one would have
pronounced it a star of lace.
In the middle of the hall, opposite the great door, a platform of gold
brocade, placed against the wall, a special entrance to which had been
effected through a window in the corridor of the gold chamber, had
been erected for the Flemish emissaries and the other great personages
invited to the presentation of the mystery play.
It was upon the marble table that the mystery was to be enacted, as
usual. It had been arranged for the purpose, early in the morning;
its rich slabs of marble, all scratched by the heels of law clerks,
supported a cage of carpenter's work of considerable height, the upper
surface of which, within view of the whole hall, was to serve as the
theatre, and whose interior, masked by tapestries, was to take the place
of dressing-rooms for the personages of the piece. A ladder, naively
placed on the outside, was to serve as means of communication between
the dressing-room and the stage, and lend its rude rungs to entrances as
well as to exits. There was no personage, however unexpected, no sudden
change, no theatrical effect, which was not obliged to mount that
ladder. Innocent and venerable infancy of art and contrivances!
Four of the bailiff of the palace's sergeants, perfunctory guardians of
|
where
|
How many times does the word 'where' appear in the text?
| 4
|
The tide was in, the wide harbor was surrounded by its dark woods, and
the small wooden houses stood as near as they could get to the landing.
Mrs. Todd's was the last house on the way inland. The gray ledges of the
rocky shore were well covered with sod in most places, and the pasture
bayberry and wild roses grew thick among them. I could see the higher
inland country and the scattered farms. On the brink of the hill stood a
little white schoolhouse, much wind-blown and weather-beaten, which was
a landmark to seagoing folk; from its door there was a most beautiful
view of sea and shore. The summer vacation now prevailed, and after
finding the door unfastened, and taking a long look through one of the
seaward windows, and reflecting afterward for some time in a shady place
near by among the bayberry bushes, I returned to the chief place of
business in the village, and, to the amusement of two of the selectmen,
brothers and autocrats of Dunnet Landing, I hired the schoolhouse for
the rest of the vacation for fifty cents a week.
Selfish as it may appear, the retired situation seemed to possess great
advantages, and I spent many days there quite undisturbed, with the
sea-breeze blowing through the small, high windows and swaying the heavy
outside shutters to and fro. I hung my hat and luncheon-basket on an
entry nail as if I were a small scholar, but I sat at the teacher's desk
as if I were that great authority, with all the timid empty benches in
rows before me. Now and then an idle sheep came and stood for a long
time looking in at the door. At sundown I went back, feeling most
businesslike, down toward the village again, and usually met the flavor,
not of the herb garden, but of Mrs. Todd's hot supper, halfway up the
hill. On the nights when there were evening meetings or other public
exercises that demanded her presence we had tea very early, and I was
welcomed back as if from a long absence.
Once or twice I feigned excuses for staying at home, while Mrs. Todd
made distant excursions, and came home late, with both hands full and
a heavily laden apron. This was in pennyroyal time, and when the rare
lobelia was in its prime and the elecampane was coming on. One day she
appeared at the schoolhouse itself, partly out of amused curiosity
about my industries; but she explained that there was no tansy in
the neighborhood with such snap to it as some that grew about the
schoolhouse lot. Being scuffed down all the spring made it grow so much
the better, like some folks that had it hard in their youth, and were
bound to make the most of themselves before they died.
IV. At the Schoolhouse Window
ONE DAY I reached the schoolhouse very late, owing to attendance upon
the funeral of an acquaintance and neighbor, with whose sad decline in
health I had been familiar, and whose last days both the doctor and
Mrs. Todd had tried in vain to ease. The services had taken place at
one o'clock, and now, at quarter past two, I stood at the schoolhouse
window, looking down at the procession as it went along the lower road
close to the shore. It was a walking funeral, and even at that distance
I could recognize most of the mourners as they went their solemn way.
Mrs. Begg had been very much respected, and there was a large company
of friends following to her grave. She had been brought up on one of
the neighboring farms, and each of the few times that I had seen her
she professed great dissatisfaction with town life. The people lived
too close together for her liking, at the Landing, and she could not
get used to the constant sound of the sea. She had lived to lament
three seafaring husbands, and her house was decorated with West Indian
curiosities, specimens of conch shells and fine coral which they had
brought home from their voyages in lumber-laden ships. Mrs. Todd had
told me all our neighbor's history. They had been girls together, and,
to use her own phrase, had "both seen trouble till they knew the best
and worst on 't." I could see the sorrowful, large figure of Mrs. Todd
as I stood at the window. She made a break in
|
high
|
How many times does the word 'high' appear in the text?
| 0
|
By
Daphne Du Maurier
FINAL DRAFT 2nd Revision March 2, 1962
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> FULL SHOT - GRANT STREET - SAN FRANCISCO - DAY
</b>
It is mid-afternoon, and there is a tempo and pace to the
people walking, the doorman HOOTING for taxicabs, the
policemen directing traffic.
<b> PAN SHOT - PEDESTRIANS
</b>
waiting at street corner for light to change.
<b> CLOSE SHOT - MAN
</b>
at the end of line of pedestrians. He is looking up at the
sky.
<b> TWO SHOT - MAN AND WOMAN NEXT TO HIM
</b>
as she follows his gaze upward.
<b> LONG SHOT - THE SKY
</b>
with hundreds of gulls in it, wheeling.
<b> MED. SHOT - THE STREET CORNER
</b>
as the light changes and people begin to cross. In the crowd
walking the other way, a man turns to look up at the wheeling
gulls in the sky overhead. The CAMERA LOCATES:
<b> MED. SHOT - MELANIE DANIELS
</b>
in the crowd of pedestrians, approaching Davidson's Pet Shop.
She is a young woman in her mid-twenties, sleekly groomed,
exquisitely dressed, though hatless. She walks with the quick
sureness of the city dweller, a purposefulness in her stride,
a mischievous grin on her face. She continues toward the
front door of a pet shop and enters.
<b> INT. BIRD SHOP - MED. SHOT
</b>
Melanie opens the door and comes through, still looking back
toward the street and skywards. The proprietor, a MRS.
MacGRUDER, comes toward her.
<b> MELANIE
</b> Hello, Mrs. MacGruder, have you ever
seen so many gulls?
<b> MRS. MACGRUDER
</b> Hello, Miss Daniels.
<b> MELANIE
</b> What do you suppose it is?
<b> MED. SHOT
</b>
Mrs. MacGruder takes a look out at the sky. A puppy is
BARKING, o.s.
<b> MRS. MACGRUDER
</b> (shaking her head)
There must be a storm at sea. That
can drive them inland, you know.
They are climbing the short flight of steps into the bird
department now. The BARKING of the dog SEGUES into the clamor
of innumerable birds, TWEETING, TWITTERING, CAWING as Melanie
and Mrs. MacGruder go to the counter at the far end. There
is a circular cage in the center of the room, and the walls
are lined with wire-mesh cages and smaller wooden cages so
that the effect is one of being surrounded by birds, contained
birds to be sure. The birds are quite beautiful, mostly exotic
birds, small splashes of color behind the wire-mesh cages,
larger bursts of brilliant hue on the parrots and parakeets
in the bigger cages. As they walk:
<b>
|
looking
|
How many times does the word 'looking' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Rev. 05/31/01 (Buff)
<b>
</b> OCEAN'S 11 - Rev. 1/8/01
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EMPTY ROOM WITH SINGLE CHAIR 1
</b>
We hear a DOOR OPEN and CLOSE, followed by APPROACHING
FOOTSTEPS. DANNY OCEAN, dressed in prison fatigues,
ENTERS FRAME and sits.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Good morning.
<b> DANNY
</b> Good morning.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Please state your name for the
record.
<b> DANNY
</b> Daniel Ocean.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Thank you. Mr. Ocean, the purpose
of this meeting is to determine
whether, if released, you are
likely to break the law again.
While this was your first
conviction, you have been
implicated, though never charged,
in over a dozen other confidence
schemes and frauds. What can you
tell us about this?
<b> DANNY
</b> As you say, ma'am, I was never
charged.
<b>2 INT. PAROLE BOARD HEARING ROOM - WIDER VIEW - MORNING 2
</b>
Three PAROLE BOARD MEMBERS sit opposite Danny, behind a
table.
<b> BOARD MEMBER #2
</b> Mr. Ocean, what we're trying to
find out is: was there a reason
you chose to commit this crime, or
was there
|
parole
|
How many times does the word 'parole' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ichtling and Arlene Sarner
<b>REHEARSAL DRAFT</b> - These changes are August 14, 1985
Over BLACK, we HEAR the sounds of an old TAPE RECORDING.
Young VOICES are filtered amid a noticeable hum, hiss and
crackle. We HEAR giggling and then someone named Charlie
making vows of love to someone named Peggy Sue.
<b> CHARLIE (0.S).
</b> Hi this is Charlie and...
Come on, say your name.
<b> PEGGY (O.S.)
</b> Peggy Sue.
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> And we're here on the couch...
<b> PEGGY (0.S.)
</b> Don't say that...
<b> EXT. PEGGY'S NEIGHBORHOOD DAY
</b>
A splitlevel house on a slight grade of lawn. A red Honda
the driveway.
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> We're here on the sofa bed...
<b> PEGGY (0.S.)
</b> Charlie...
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> ...to record how much we love each
other. Sitting beside me is the
cutest majorette in the history of
the world. And she would Like to
say something.
A real estate agent, a WOMAN, carries a "For Sale" sign to
the center of the lawn and begins driving it in with a
hammer.
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> Come on Peggy. Say what we
rehearsed.
<b> PEGGY (O.S.)
</b> I can't. I'm too embarrassed.
<b> INT. BODELL HOUSE
</b>
MOVING VIEW, revealing the empty house. We HEAR the RECORDING
<b> LOUDER.
</b>
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> But you love me don't you?
<b> PEGGY (0.S.)
</b> Yeah. Come on Charlie, turn it off.
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> And nothing will ever change that.
Charlie starts giggling. We HEAR fumbling and tickling.
CLOSE VIEW INTO THE KITCHEN - First we see a woman's hand, on
the floor. It is partially covered with flour.
MOVING VIEW reveals PEGGY BODELL, in her early 40's, fainted
from heartbreak while baking a cake. Flour is scattered on
the floor. She recovers from her faint. Confused, she
steadies herself and brushes the flour from her dress.
<b> INT. GARAGE -- DAY
</b>
Peggy's son, SCOTT, 16, is playing an old reel to reel tape
recorder. There are stacks of boxes filled with personal
things and records. His sister, BETH, 23, is packing.
<b> SCOTT
</b> Boy, have they changed. Who gets
it?
<b> BETH
</b> I don't know, just put it back.
<b> CHARLIE (O.S.)
</b> Oh, gotta go. Here's a little
makeout music.
A record starts: "You Belong to Me" by the Duprees.
<b> INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT
</b>
CHARLIE BODELL, early 40
|
peggy
|
How many times does the word 'peggy' appear in the text?
| 10
|
b><b>
</b> Based On the Book
<b>
</b> "The Yes Man" by Danny Wallace
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> First Draft
February 2, 2007
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. RUDY'S - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> It's New Year's Eve at Rudy's, a hole-in-the-wall dive.
People stream into the bar to celebrate. Outside, CARL
KENDALL (30s) and his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend KATH are
having a quiet intense discussion.
<b>
</b><b> KATH
</b> You don't do anything more. You
used to be fun. Now you hardly
ever even leave your apartment.
<b>
</b><b> CARL
</b> I'm here, aren't I?
<b>
</b><b> KATH
</b> That's because it's New Year's Eve.
You have to be here. Besides, it's
not only social stuff. You used to
have dreams. You wanted to go to
business school, you wanted to work
for the World Bank.
<b>
</b><b> CARL
</b>
|
business
|
How many times does the word 'business' appear in the text?
| 0
|
01. OCTOBER 14TH, 1962. OVER CUBA.
</b>
The spy plane's CAMERA DOORS whine open. The glassy eye of
the 36-inch camera focuses. And then with a
BANGBANGBANGBANG, its high-speed motor kicks in, shutter
flying.
<b> MATCH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. O'DONNELL BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
A simple CAMERA, snapping away furiously in the hands of a
giggling MARK O'DONNELL, 4. He's straddling and in the face
of his dad, KENNY O'DONNELL, 30's, tough, Boston-Irish, with
a prodigious case of morning hair. Kenny awakens, red-eyed.
<b> HELEN (O.S.)
</b> Mark, get off your father!
Kenny sits up to the morning bedlam of the O'Donnell house.
KIDS screech, doors bang all over. Kenny pushes Mark over,
rolls out of bed, snatches up the corners of the blanket and
hoists Mark over his shoulder in a screaming, kicking bundle.
<b> INT. O'DONNELL HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
Kenny, with Mark in the bundle on his shoulder, meets his
wife HELEN going the other way in the hall with LITTLE HELEN,
1, in her arms.
<b> KENNY
</b> Hi, hon.
They kiss in passing. Daughter KATHY, 12, races by in angry
pursuit of her twin, KEVIN, 12.
<b> HELEN
</b> Don't forget, Mrs. Higgins wants to talk
to you this afternoon about Kevin. You
need to do something about this.
<b> KENNY
</b> Kids are supposed to get detention.
Kenny dumps the bundle with Mark in a big pile of dirty
laundry.
<b> SMASH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. MCCOY AIR FORCE BASE - FLORIDA - DAY
</b>
A pair of massive FILM CANISTERS unlock and drop from the
belly of the U-2. TECHNICIANS secure them in orange carrying
cases, lock them under key, fast and proficient. They whisk
them out from under the spy plane.
The Technicians run for an idling Jeep. They sling the cases
into the rear of the vehicle which in turn accelerates away
hard, curving across the runway for another waiting plane.
<b> SMASH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. O'DONNELL KITCHEN - DAY
</b>
A kitchen out of the late 1950's. Kenny drinks coffee, ties
a tie, rifles through a briefcase at the kitchen table. The
horde of kids, ages 2-14, breakfast on an array of period
food. Kenny grills the kids while he goes over papers.
<b> KENNY
</b> Secretary of Defense...
<b> KEVIN
</b> Dean Rusk!
<b> KENNY
</b> Wrong, and you get to wax my car.
KENNY JR. smirk at Kevin.
<b> KENNY JR.
</b> Rusk is State, moron. Robert McNamara.
<b> HELEN
</b> Got time for pancakes?
<b> KENNY
</b> Nope. Attorney General?
A PHONE RINGS as the kids cry out en masse.
<b> KIDS
</b> (chorus)
|
mark
|
How many times does the word 'mark' appear in the text?
| 5
|
coasts to a stop, the hatch rotating down on a hot,
dusty lifeless airstrip somewhere in Vietnam. Nothing seems to
live or move in the midday sun.
<b>TITLES RUN
</b>
A DOZEN NEW RECRUITS step off the plane, unloading their duffel
bags, looking around like only the new can look around, their
hair regulation-clipped, crisp, new green fatigues fitting them
like cardboard.
CHRIS TAYLOR is just another one of them - as he turns into a
tight closeup, to look at a motorized cart pulling up alongside
... He's about 21. Newmeat. His face, unburned yet by the sun,
is tense, bewildered, innocent, eyes searching for the truth.
They fall now on a heap of BODY BAGS in the back of the cart.
Two soldiers begin loading them onto the plane. Flies - hundreds
of flies - buzz around them, the only cue to their contents.
<b> GARDNER
</b> (next to Chris, Southern accent)
That what I think it is?
<b> SOLDIER 1
</b> (a look)
I guess so ...
An uncomfortable look between them.
<b> SERGENT
</b> Okay, let's go ...
As they move out, Chris' eyes moving with the body bags being
loaded onto the plane. Moving over now to a motley HALF DOZEN
VETERANS bypassing them on their way to the plane. They look
happy. Very happy, chatting it up.
They pass the newboys - and they shake their heads, their eyes
full of an almost mocking pity.
<b> VETERANS
</b> Well I'll be dipped in shit - new meat! Sorry bout
that boys - 'sin loi' buddy ... you gonna love the
Nam, man, for-fucking-ever.
Chris looking at them. They pass, except for the last man who
walks slower than the rest, a slight limp. His eyes fall on
Chris.
They're frightening eyes, starved, hollow, sunken deep in his
face, black and dangerous. The clammy pallor of malaria clings
to him as he looks at Chris through decayed black teeth. Then
the sun flares out on him and he's past. And Chris looks back.
Disturbed. It's as if the man was not real. For a moment there.
As if he were a ghost.
Chris walking, duffel bag on the shoulder, looks up at the
lollipop sun burning a hole through the sky. A rushing SOUND
now. Of frightening intensity, an effect combining the blast of
an airplane with the roar of a lion as we hardcut to:
<b>EXT. JUNGLE - SOMEWHERE IN VIETNAM - DAY
</b>
The sun matches the intensity of the previous shot as we move
down into thick green jungle. We hear the sound of MEN coming, a
lot of men. The thwack of a machete. Brush being bulled. We
wait. They are getting close.
The CREDITS continue to run.
SUBTITLE reads: December 1967 - Bravo Company, 25th Infantry
Division - Somewhere near the Cambodian Border.
A sweating white face comes into view. CHRIS - cutting point.
Machete in one hand, whacking out a path for the platoon, M-16 in
the other, he looks like he's on the verge of heat exhaustion.
Breathing too hard, pacing himself all wrong, bumping into
things, tripping, not quite falling, he looks pathetic here in
the naturalness of the jungle. An urban transplant, slightly
neurotic and getting more so.
His rucksack is coming apart as well, about 70 badly packed
pounds banging noisily.
Behind him BARNES now comes, the Platoon Sergeant. Then the R
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 7
|
1st November 1999
<b> NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
</b><b> AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR
</b><b> THIS SOFT COPY.
</b>
<b>1958</b>
<b> PROLOGUE: INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. EVENING.
</b>
Fade up on Ripley, as in the final scene of the film,
sitting, desolate in a ship's cabin. The camera rotates
around his face, which begins in light and ends in darkness.
<b> RIPLEY (O/S)
</b> <i>If I could just go back. If I could rub
everything out. Starting with myself.
Starting with borrowing a jacket.</i>
<b> EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST TERRACE. EARLY EVENING.
</b>
Ripley is at the piano, accompanying FRAN, a young soprano.
CREDITS begin.
<b> FRAN (SINGS)
</b> <i>Ah, such fleeting paradise
such innocent delight
to love,
be loved,
a lullabye,
then silence.</i>
The song finishes. Applause. They're the entertainment at a
cocktail party to celebrate a silver wedding anniversary.
Some partygoers congratulate Fran on her performance. A
distinguished looking man, pushing his wife in a wheelchair,
approaches Ripley, offers his hand.
<b> HERBERT GREENLEAF
</b> Most enjoyable. Herbert Greenleaf.
<b> RIPLEY
</b> Tom Ripley. Thank you, sir.
<b> HERBERT GREENLEAF
</b> (pointing at Ripley's borrowed
jacket)
I see you were at Princeton.
Then you'll most likely know our son,
Dick. Dickie Greenleaf...
<b> EMILY GREENLEAF
</b> We couldn't help noticing your jacket.
|
greenleaf
|
How many times does the word 'greenleaf' appear in the text?
| 4
|
of Earth, the desert of the real. The
rotted skeleton of a massive city is sprawled everywhere. We approach
a fissure in the Earth's crust, and as we do, we hear the increasing
buzz of multiple hovercraft engines. Blue flashes grow in intensity
from the fissure. Radio voices, indistinct at first, grow louder as
we approach the fissure.
<b> WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>
"Six o'clock, 300 meters. We can't outrun 'em."
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b>
"I know. Can't tow this crate fast enough! We gotta ditch it!"
We hear the voices as though we're listening to cops through a police
scanner. The woman is NIOBE, the captain of the lead ship, Sephora.
<b> NIOBE (V.O.)
</b>
"Can't, the core is still good. And they've got 'The One.'"
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b>
"Oooh, our savior. Hed better be worth it."
<b> NIOBE (V.O.)
</b>
"Shut up and make the exit. Hold on!"
The azure glow from the fissure is suddenly overwhelming. A tight
convoy of three HOVERCRAFT explode from the fissure, traveling
nearly straight up, like a trio of massive locomotives flying into
the sky in tight formation, linked together by tow cables. The blue
glow has been emanating from the overworked flare drives of the
first and third hovercrafts. Between them, suspended by tow cables,
is the dark, scorched, and sliced NEBACHANEZZER. They rocket upward,
slowing as they reach the top of the arc.
<b> NIOBE (V.O.)
</b>
"Woo-hoooh!"
The rush to the ground, pulling up at the last second. The NEB flails
wildly between them.
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b>
"They're still on us!"
More vehicles fly from the fissure. A massive army of SQUIDDIES pours
up onto the surface.
<b>INT. NEBACHANEZZER COCKPIT
</b>
The NEB is slung between the two HOVERCRAFT, with the cockpit facing
backwards. TRINITY, MORPHEUS, TANK, and NEO, the former Thomas
Anderson, crowd the cockpit. Helpless, the landscape speeds away from
them, while a wall of red-eyed SQUIDDIES speeds to them.
It's been a mere TWO DAYS since the
|
massive
|
How many times does the word 'massive' appear in the text?
| 2
|
, and explored
every corner of the vessel he lapsed into utter indifference of all
about him. Even the Russian elicited only casual interest when he
brought him food. At other times the ape appeared merely to tolerate
him. He never showed affection for him, or for anyone else upon the
Marjorie W., nor did he at any time evince any indication of the savage
temper that had marked his resentment of the attack of the sailors upon
him at the time that he had come among them.
Most of his time was spent in the eye of the ship scanning the horizon
ahead, as though he were endowed with sufficient reason to know that
the vessel was bound for some port where there would be other human
beings to undergo his searching scrutiny. All in all, Ajax, as he had
been dubbed, was considered the most remarkable and intelligent ape
that any one aboard the Marjorie W. ever had seen. Nor was his
intelligence the only remarkable attribute he owned. His stature and
physique were, for an ape, awe inspiring. That he was old was quite
evident, but if his age had impaired his physical or mental powers in
the slightest it was not apparent.
And so at length the Marjorie W. came to England, and there the
officers and the scientists, filled with compassion for the pitiful
wreck of a man they had rescued from the jungles, furnished Paulvitch
with funds and bid him and his Ajax Godspeed.
Upon the dock and all through the journey to London the Russian had his
hands full with Ajax. Each new face of the thousands that came within
the anthropoid's ken must be carefully scrutinized, much to the horror
of many of his victims; but at last, failing, apparently, to discover
whom he sought, the great ape relapsed into morbid indifference, only
occasionally evincing interest in a passing face.
In London, Paulvitch went directly with his prize to a certain famous
animal trainer. This man was much impressed with Ajax with the result
that he agreed to train him for a lion's share of the profits of
exhibiting him, and in the meantime to provide for the keep of both the
ape and his owner.
And so came Ajax to London, and there was forged another link in the
chain of strange circumstances that were to affect the lives of many
people.
Chapter 2
Mr. Harold Moore was a bilious-countenanced, studious young man. He
took himself very seriously, and life, and his work, which latter was
the tutoring of the young son of a British nobleman. He felt that his
charge was not making the progress that his parents had a right to
expect, and he was now conscientiously explaining this fact to the
boy's mother.
"It's not that he isn't bright," he was saying; "if that were true I
should have hopes of succeeding, for then I might bring to bear all my
energies in overcoming his obtuseness; but the trouble is that he is
exceptionally intelligent, and learns so quickly that I can find no
fault in the matter of the preparation of his lessons. What concerns
me, however, is the fact that he evidently takes no interest whatever
in the subjects we are studying. He merely accomplishes each lesson as
a task to be rid of as quickly as possible and I am sure that no lesson
ever again enters his mind until the hours of study and recitation once
more arrive. His sole interests seem to be feats of physical prowess
and the reading of everything that he can get hold of relative to
savage beasts and the lives and customs of uncivilized peoples; but
particularly do stories of animals appeal to him. He will sit for
hours together poring over the work of some African explorer, and upon
two occasions I have found him setting up in bed at night reading Carl
Hagenbeck's book on men and beasts."
The boy's mother tapped her foot nervously upon the hearth rug.
"You discourage this, of course?" she ventured.
Mr. Moore shuffled embarrassedly.
"I--ah--essayed to take the book from him," he replied, a slight flush
mounting his sallow cheek; "but--ah--your son is quite muscular for one
so young."
"He wouldn't let you take it?" asked the mother.
"He would not
|
ajax
|
How many times does the word 'ajax' appear in the text?
| 4
|
division into periods and chapters, the book was again entitled "Chin
Ling Shih Erh Ch'ai," "The Twelve Maidens of Chin Ling." A stanza was
furthermore composed for the purpose. This then, and no other, is the
origin of the Record of the Stone. The poet says appositely:--
Pages full of silly litter,
Tears a handful sour and bitter;
All a fool the author hold,
But their zest who can unfold?
You have now understood the causes which brought about the Record of the
Stone, but as you are not, as yet, aware what characters are depicted,
and what circumstances are related on the surface of the block, reader,
please lend an ear to the narrative on the stone, which runs as
follows:--
In old days, the land in the South East lay low. In this South-East part
of the world, was situated a walled town, Ku Su by name. Within the
walls a locality, called the Ch'ang Men, was more than all others
throughout the mortal world, the centre, which held the second, if not
the first place for fashion and life. Beyond this Ch'ang Men was a
street called Shih-li-chieh (Ten _Li_ street); in this street a lane,
the Jen Ch'ing lane (Humanity and Purity); and in this lane stood an old
temple, which on account of its diminutive dimensions, was called, by
general consent, the Gourd temple. Next door to this temple lived the
family of a district official, Chen by surname, Fei by name, and
Shih-yin by style. His wife, née Feng, possessed a worthy and virtuous
disposition, and had a clear perception of moral propriety and good
conduct. This family, though not in actual possession of excessive
affluence and honours, was, nevertheless, in their district, conceded to
be a clan of well-to-do standing. As this Chen Shih-yin was of a
contented and unambitious frame of mind, and entertained no hankering
after any official distinction, but day after day of his life took
delight in gazing at flowers, planting bamboos, sipping his wine and
conning poetical works, he was in fact, in the indulgence of these
pursuits, as happy as a supernatural being.
One thing alone marred his happiness. He had lived over half a century
and had, as yet, no male offspring around his knees. He had one only
child, a daughter, whose infant name was Ying Lien. She was just three
years of age. On a long summer day, on which the heat had been intense,
Shih-yin sat leisurely in his library. Feeling his hand tired, he
dropped the book he held, leant his head on a teapoy, and fell asleep.
Of a sudden, while in this state of unconsciousness, it seemed as if he
had betaken himself on foot to some spot or other whither he could not
discriminate. Unexpectedly he espied, in the opposite direction, two
priests coming towards him: the one a Buddhist, the other a Taoist. As
they advanced they kept up the conversation in which they were engaged.
"Whither do you purpose taking the object you have brought away?" he
heard the Taoist inquire. To this question the Buddhist replied with a
smile: "Set your mind at ease," he said; "there's now in maturity a plot
of a general character involving mundane pleasures, which will presently
come to a denouement. The whole number of the votaries of voluptuousness
have, as yet, not been quickened or entered the world, and I mean to
avail myself of this occasion to introduce this object among their
number, so as to give it a chance to go through the span of human
existence." "The votaries of voluptuousness of these days will naturally
have again to endure the ills of life during their course through the
mortal world," the Taoist remarked; "but when, I wonder, will they
spring into existence? and in what place will they descend?"
"The account of these circumstances," the bonze ventured to reply, "is
enough to make you laugh! They amount to this: there existed in the
west, on the bank of the Ling (spiritual) river,
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 3
|
ôlcos in
Thessaly_.
CREON, _ruler of Corinth_.
AEGEUS, _King of Athens_.
NURSE _of Medea_.
TWO CHILDREN _of Jason and Medea_.
ATTENDANT _on the children_.
A MESSENGER.
CHORUS of Corinthian Women, with their LEADER.
Soldiers and Attendants.
_The scene is laid in Corinth. The play was first acted when Pythodôrus
was Archon, Olympiad 87, year_ 1 (B.C. 431). _Euphorion was first,
Sophocles second, Euripides third, with Medea, Philoctêtes, Dictys, and
the Harvesters, a Satyr-play._
MEDEA
_The Scene represents the front of_ MEDEA'S _House in Corinth. A road to
the right leads towards the royal castle, one on the left to the
harbour. The_ NURSE _is discovered alone_.
NURSE.
Would God no Argo e'er had winged the seas
To Colchis through the blue Symplêgades:
No shaft of riven pine in Pêlion's glen
Shaped that first oar-blade in the hands of men
Valiant, who won, to save King Pelias' vow,
The fleece All-golden! Never then, I trow,
Mine own princess, her spirit wounded sore
With love of Jason, to the encastled shore
Had sailed of old Iôlcos: never wrought
The daughters of King Pelias, knowing not,
To spill their father's life: nor fled in fear,
Hunted for that fierce sin, to Corinth here
With Jason and her babes. This folk at need
Stood friend to her, and she in word and deed
Served alway Jason. Surely this doth bind,
Through all ill days, the hurts of humankind,
When man and woman in one music move.
But now, the world is angry, and true love
Sick as with poison. Jason doth forsake
My mistress and his own two sons, to make
His couch in a king's chamber. He must wed:
Wed with this Creon's child, who now is head
And chief of Corinth. Wherefore sore betrayed
Medea calleth up the oath they made,
They two, and wakes the claspèd hands again,
The troth surpassing speech, and cries amain
On God in heaven to mark the end, and how
Jason hath paid his debt.
All fasting now
And cold, her body yielded up to pain,
Her days a waste of weeping, she hath lain,
Since first she knew that he was false. Her eyes
Are lifted not; and all her visage lies
In the dust. If friends will speak, she hears no more
Than some dead rock or wave that beats the shore:
Only the white throat in a sudden shame
May writhe, and all alone she moans the name
Of father, and land, and home, forsook that day
For this man's sake, who casteth her away.
Not to be quite shut out from home . . . alas,
She knoweth now how rare a thing that was!
Methinks she hath a dread, not joy, to see
Her children near. 'Tis this that maketh me
Most tremble, lest she do I know not what.
Her heart is no light thing, and useth not
To brook much wrong. I know that woman, aye,
And dread her! Will she creep alone to die
Bleeding in that old room, where still is laid
Lord Jason's bed? She hath for that a blade
Made keen. Or slay the bridegroom and the king,
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 9
|
CAMERA MOVES CLOSER TO the picture. . .
<b> TATIANA (CONT)
</b> and grand parties. . .
The PHOTO dissolves into REALITY in brilliant color as
the day turns into night and the summer cools into
winter. We see the palace at night, blanketed in a
beautiful, almost glowing, snow as hourse drawn carriages
pull up to the front door.
<b> TATIANA (CONT)
</b> A beautiful, magical time. . .
<b>MOVE INTO THE PALACE
</b>
<b> TATIANA (CONT)
</b> That would soon be gone
forever. . .
<b>INT. PALACE AT ST. PETERSBERG - NIGHT
</b>
Elegant ROYALISTS mingle around the MAIN HALL as an
ORCHESTRA plays.
All eyes turn to the GLASS DOORS OF TWO ELEVADORS which
descend grandly on either side of a beautiful staircase.
Through the glass doors we see TATIANA, the Dowager
Empress, 60, imperious and bedecked with jewels, she is
seemingly unapproachable. TSAR NICHOLAS and his SON are
with her. In the other elevador, ALEXANDRA and her
daughters - well, all her daughters except. . .
ANASTASIA, eight years old and apparently late for the
party, rushes down the upstairs hallway followed by a
SERVENT (SONYA) 16, who is trying to catch up with
Anastasia to tie a large ribbon in her long, dark hair.
<b> SONYA
</b> (whispering)
Princess Anastasia - you're
late and it's all my fault!
<b> ANASTASIA
</b> Don't worry, Sonya, no one'll
notice. . .
Just then, Sonya lassoes the ribbon around her hair,
stopping Anastasia with a
<b> ANASTASIA
</b> (loudly)
. . . owwwwwwwww!
All eyes turn to Anastasia, who once she realizes that
she's the center of attention, flashes a mischievous
smile and descends the staircase in grand style. As the
ribbon falls out of her hair and down her back,
Anastasia kicks it to Sonya without breaking stride.
Tatiana sees her and can't help but smile.
The music suddenly becomes a FLOURISH OF TRUMPETS.
SERVENTS open the elevador doors as the ROYAL FAMILY
steps out and begins a proccession through their
subjects. Tatiana holds out her arm to Anastasia as she
makes it to Tatiana's side just in time. Anastasia has
a beautiful but slightly impish face, dominated by
large, blue, mischievous eyes. She an abundance of
energy and confidence for a girl her age.
<u>"THE RULARS OF RUSSIA" (OPENING NUMBER)
The elegant guests sing their admiration as the
|
beautiful
|
How many times does the word 'beautiful' appear in the text?
| 3
|
you.
On "you" there is a RUMBLE and a flash -- like quick
lightning only evil. (Choice flashes from Nightmare on
Elm Street 1 & 2).
Meagan turns at 1665. A beautiful white, two-story
house, thick with lush green foliage. Several beautiful
children, all dressed in bright white, play hopscotch
and jumprope on the front walk.
<b> DREAM CHILDREN
</b> (continuing; chanting)
Three... four... better lock your
door.
Close on a little girl's foot coming down on the number
"4" drawn on concrete.
Another RUMBLE and flash -- longer, LOUDER. (Flashes
from Nightmare 3 & 4).
Meagan continues up the walk, the wind is blowing a
little harder now. The trees are brown, the leaves
peeling away.
Moving up the walk, closer to the house... only now
it's a little darker, needs some paint. On the front
porch, a LITTLE GIRL rides a tricycle.
<b> DREAM CHILDREN
</b> (continuing; chanting)
Five... six...
RUMBLE. Flash. (Nightmare 5 and Freddy's Dead).
<b> DREAM CHILDREN
</b> (continuing; chanting)
...grab your crucifix.. ix.. ix..
The "ix" echoes away, becoming the faint "Ka ka ka"
we all recognize as Jason's theme. Meagan turns to
find that the children in the yard have vanished. It's
nighttime.
The trees are dead, the grass is gone, and the horizon
stretches off into utter nothingness. Meagan turns
back to the little girl.
But the little girl has gone. Only the tricycle
remains. It circles once, the front door CREAKS open,
and the empty tricycle peddles inside. Meagan follows
it into the...
<b> INT. HOUSE ON ELM STREET - CONTINUOUS ACTION
</b>
Meagan enters the house slowly, watching as the tri-
cycle rides off down a creepy hallway and disappears.
Then the front door blows shut behind Meagan. She
tries to open it -- locked.
Then faint VOICES cause Meagan to pause. She listens,
trying to make out the low murmur. Then a little girl's
GIGGLE. Meagan recognizes it as her sister's.
<b> MEAGAN
</b> Lizzy?
Meagan moves up the stairs, going down the hall...
following the voices (we recognize the other voice as
belonging to Freddy). Meagan enters a door at the
end of the hallway, moving into...
<b> INT. LIZZY'S ROOM (NIGHTMARE) - CONTINOUS ACTION
</b>
On the floor, near her bed, is Meagan's thirteen year
old sister -- LIZZY. Slow for her age, Lizzy sits and
draws with crayons.
<b> MEAGAN
</b> Lizzy. What are you doing here?
<b> LIZZY
</b> Playing with my friend.
Meagan looks at the drawings -- childlike renderings
of Freddy.
<b> MEAGAN
</b> Your friend?
<b> LIZZY
</b> He lives under the bed.
Meagan slowly gets to her knees and takes a peek under
Lizzy's bed.
Suddenly, a doll-sized Freddy scurries out from under
the bed, flashing past Meagan's face and running out
the door. Meagan yelps and touches her face -- five
tiny slash marks on her cheek. Lizzy
|
little
|
How many times does the word 'little' appear in the text?
| 6
|
1992
WIDE-SHOT: A vast, snow-blanketed wilderness that sits
beneath the icy summits of the highest mountain range in
North America. This is BIG Alaska.
A beat up 4x4 pick-up enters very small into the upper
left corner of frame on an unkept, snow-packed road, and
comes to a stop. A figure exits the passenger side and
moves around the front of the truck. We can just make
out the rifle sticking out of his backpack. We HEAR a
very distant "Thank You" as the figure walks away from
the road and away from the truck, seemingly into nowhere.
<b> DRIVER
</b> Hey!
The figure with backpack and rifle, henceforth BACKPACK,
stopping in his tracks, turns around in the direction of
the truck.
<b> DRIVER (CONT'D)
</b> Come here.
BACKPACK walks back to the truck. As he approaches the
driver's door, we
CUT IN TO: TIGHT SHOT over the back-packed shoulder onto
the DRIVER.
<b> DRIVER (CONT'D)
</b> (referring to items we see
sitting on dashboard)
You left your watch, your comb, your
change...
We STAY on the DRIVER as BACKPACK speaks:
<b> BACKPACK
</b> Keep it.
<b> DRIVER
</b> I don't want your money. And I already
have a watch.
<b> BACKPACK
</b> If you don't take it, I'm gonna throw it
away. I don't want to know what time it
is, what day it is, or where I am.
<b> (MORE)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b> BACKPACK (CONT'D)
</b> I don't want to see anybody. None of
that matters.
The driver reaches behind the seat of the truck,
|
your
|
How many times does the word 'your' appear in the text?
| 3
|
_Pallas_. They braced their feet against its
side and propelled themselves on through the void like swimmers under
water, toward the _Pallas_.
"They must be survivors from some wreck that drifted in here as we did!"
Kent exclaimed. "Maybe they've lived here for months!"
"It's evident that they saw the _Pallas_ drift into the pack, and have
come to investigate," Crain estimated. "Open the airlock for them, men,
for they'll want to come inside."
Two of the men spun the wheels that slid aside the airlock's outer door.
In a moment the half-dozen men outside had reached the ship's side, and
had pulled themselves down inside the airlock.
When all were in, the outer door was closed, and air hissed in to fill
the lock. The airlock's inner door then slid open and the newcomers
stepped into the ship's interior, unscrewing their transparent helmets
as they did so. For a few moments the visitors silently surveyed their
new surroundings.
Their leader was a swarthy individual with sardonic black eyes who, on
noticing Crain's captain-insignia, came toward him with outstretched
hand. His followers seemed to be cargo-men or deck-men, looking hardly
intelligent enough to Kent's eyes to be tube-men.
* * * * *
"Welcome to our city!" their leader exclaimed as he shook Crain's hand.
"We saw your ship drift in, but hardly expected to find anyone living in
it."
"I'll confess that we're surprised ourselves to find any life here,"
Crain told him. "You're living on one of the wrecks?"
The other nodded. "Yes, on the _Martian Queen_, a quarter-mile along the
pack's edge. It was a Saturn-Neptune passenger ship, and about a month
ago we were at this cursed dead-area's edge, when half our rocket-tubes
exploded. Eighteen of us escaped the explosion, the ship's walls still
being tight; and we drifted into the pack here, and have been living
here ever since."
"My name's Krell," he added, "and I was a tube-man on the ship. I and
another of the tube-men, named Jandron, were the highest in rank left,
all the officers and other tube-men having been killed, so we took
charge and have been keeping order."
"What about your passengers?" Liggett asked.
"All killed but one," Krell answered. "When the tubes let go they
smashed up the whole lower two decks."
Crain briefly explained to him the _Pallas'_ predicament. "Mr. Kent and
Mr. Liggett were on the point of starting a search of the wreck-pack for
fuel when you arrived," he said, "With enough fuel we can get clear of
the dead-area."
Krell's eyes lit up. "That would mean a getaway for all of us! It surely
ought to be possible!"
"Do you know whether there are any ships in the pack with fuel in their
tanks?" Kent asked. Krell shook his head.
"We've searched through the wreck-pack a good bit, but never bothered
about fuel, it being no good to us. But there ought to be some, at
least: there's enough wrecks in this cursed place to make it possible
to find almost anything.
"You'd better not start exploring, though," he added, "without some of
us along as guides, for I'm here to tell you that you can lose yourself
in this wreck-pack without knowing it. If you wait until to-morrow, I'll
come over myself and go with you."
"I think that would be wise," Crain said to Kent. "There is plenty of
time."
"Time is the one thing there's plenty of in this damned place," Krell
agreed. "We'll be getting back to the _Martian Queen_ now and give the
good news to Jandron and the rest."
"Wouldn't mind if Liggett and I came along, would you?" Kent asked. "I'd
like to see how your ship's fixed--that
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 4
|
of America, New York
Centre, on January 22 and 23, 1917,--the conversation between _Jonathan_
and _Jenny_. In Philadelphia, under the auspices of the Drama League
Centre, and in coöperation with the University of Pennsylvania, the
play, in its entirety, was presented on January 18, 1917, by the "Plays
and Players" organization. A revival was also given in Boston, produced
in the old manner, "and the first rows of seats were reserved for those
of the audience who appeared in the costume of the time."
The play in its first edition is rare, but, in 1887, it was reprinted by
the Dunlap Society. The general reader is given an opportunity of
judging how far _Jonathan_ is the typical Yankee, and how far Royall
Tyler cut the pattern which later was followed by other playwrights in a
long series of American dramas, in which the Yankee was the chief
attraction.[3]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The/Contrast,/a/Comedy;/In Five Acts:/Written By a/Citizen of the
United States;/Performed with Applause at the Theatres in
New-York,/Philadelphia, and Maryland;/and published (under an Assignment
of the Copy-Right) by/Thomas Wignell./_Primus ego in patriam/
Aonio--deduxi vertice Musas_./Virgil./(Imitated.)/ First on our shores I
try Thalia's powers,/And bid the _laughing, useful_ Maid be
ours./Philadelphia:/From the Press of Prichard & Hall, in Market
Street:/Between Second and Front Streets./M. DCC. XC. [See
Frontispiece.]
[2] For example, "The Duelists," a Farce in three acts; "The Georgia
Spec; or, Land in the Moon" (1797); "The Doctor in Spite of Himself," an
imitation of Molière; and "Baritaria; or, The Governor of a Day," being
adventures of Sancho Panza. He also wrote a libretto, "May-day in Town;
or, New York in an Uproar." (See Sonneck: "Early Opera in America.")
[3] The song which occurs in the play under the title, "Alknomook," had
great popularity in the eighteenth century. Its authorship was
attributed to Philip Freneau, in whose collected poems it does not
appear. It is also credited to a Mrs. Hunter, and is contained in her
volume of verse, published in 1806. It appears likewise in a Dublin play
of 1740, "New Spain; or, Love in Mexico." See also, the _American
Museum_, vol. I, page 77. The singing of "Yankee Doodle" is likewise to
be noted (See Sonneck's interesting essay on the origin of "Yankee
Doodle," General Bibliography), not the first time it appears in early
American Drama, as readers of Barton's "Disappointment" (1767) will
recognize.
[Illustration: AS A JUST ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE LIBERAL EXERTIONS BY
WHICH THE _STAGE_ HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM AN IGNOMINIOUS PROSCRIPTION,
THE CONTRAST,
(BEING THE FIRST ESSAY OF _AMERICAN_ GENIUS IN THE DRAMATIC ART)
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO
THE PRESIDENT AND MEMBERS OF THE
Dramatic Association,
BY
THEIR MOST OBLIGED
AND
MOST GRATEFUL SERVANT,
_THOMAS WIGNELL._
PHILADELPHIA, }
1 January, 1790. }
DEDICATION PAGE IN THE FIRST EDITION OF "THE CONTRAST"]
ADVERTISEMENT
The Subscribers (to whom the Editor thankfully professes his
obligations) may reasonably expect an apology for the delay which has
attended the appearance of "The Contrast;" but, as the true cause cannot
be declared without leading to a discussion, which the Editor wishes to
avoid, he hopes that the care and expence which have been bestowed upon
this work will be accepted, without further
|
being
|
How many times does the word 'being' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b> Paragan Film Productions Ltd
(C) Clive Barker 28.7.86 115 Flood Street,
London. SW3
<b> 01-352-4195
</b>
<b>1 TITLE SEQUENCE
</b>
In darkness, a blood-curdling cacophony: the squeal
of unoiled winches, the rasp of hooks and razors
being sharpened; and worse, the howl of tormented
souls. Above this din one particular victim yells
for mercy - a mixture of tears and roars of rage.
By degrees his incoherent pleas are drowned out by
the surrounding tumult, until without warning his
voice pierces the confusion afresh - this time
reduced to naked scream.
And with the sound, an image.
A house: NUMBER 55, LODOVICO STREET, an old, three
storey, late Victorian house, with gaunt trees lining
its overgrown garden. Its curtains are drawn, there
is newspaper over its top window. The titles begin
to run, as we approach the house down the driveway.
We move inside, to the hallway. The cries are
louder now.
Room by room, we explore the empty house, while the
titles continue to run. It has been left empty for
many years, though much of its furniture remains,
covered in dust-sheets. On the mantelpiece of one room,
a plaster saint. In the kitchen, evidence of life
here. Opened tins; bread; bottles of spirits; a
glass.
We move upstairs, gliding along the corridor of the
lower landing. The din is furious now. On the
floor of one room, a makeshift bed: blankets strewn;
an open suitcase; more liquor.
We move up a flight and approach a room off the upper
landing, the door of which is ajar. The light
within swings backwards and forwards, spilling into
the passageway.
As we reach the door, the screams from within halt
abruptly.
We can hear a bell now, which has been pealing
steadily throughout this opening sequence.
As we move through the door, the titles end.
<b>2 INT. TORTURE ROOM NIGHT
</b>
The bare bulbs in the room we've entered swing violently,
disorienting us. There are chains - dozens of them -
disappearing with the darkness of the ceiling: all
are swinging back and forth. Some end in hooks, with
pieces of skin and sinew adhering; some are serrated,
others simply drip blood.
The bell tolls on.
On the blood-spattered floor, a box, some six inches
square, which resembles an elaborate Chinese puzzle
box. Later, we'll learn its name and function.
It's called the Lament Configuration, and it's a
way to raise Hell.
|
bell
|
How many times does the word 'bell' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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