PDF Archive

Easily share your PDF documents with your contacts, on the Web and Social Networks.

Share a file Manage my documents Convert Recover PDF Search Help Contact



KateHarris Orla 9MinuteExtract .pdf



Original filename: KateHarris_Orla_9MinuteExtract.pdf

This PDF 1.4 document has been generated by TeX / pdfTeX-1.40.3, and has been sent on pdf-archive.com on 17/05/2014 at 11:00, from IP address 88.104.x.x. The current document download page has been viewed 338 times.
File size: 13 KB (9 pages).
Privacy: public file




Download original PDF file









Document preview


Orla
By
Katie Harris

A 9 minute sample

Northern Film School
Katie Harris
April 2014

K.Harris9888@Outlook.com
07957192877

EXT. ARCTIC TUNDRA. NIGHT.
Thawhold is a tiny fishing village in the arctic circle.
Beneath a snow-peaked black mountain and lit by moonlight
stretches a boggy quagmire; an orange-grey tundra with long
grasses, short dry shrubs, and hardy wildflowers. Snow and
cracked ice dots the land, the island’s edges dipping back
into the half-frozen sea. This side of the mountain is
uninhabited, barren.
Three female silhouettes in thick coats and skirts approach
the coast.
INGA (47) leads the way. Inga is a powerful woman, tall and
broad as a wardrobe. In daylight, her skin is weathered and
rosy. Here, she is hard-faced and grey.
Behind her, the remaining two women carry an enormous parcel
of meat between them. It’s a heavy, awkward weight.
Shallow waves lap the coarse black sand as they arrive.
Inga takes the parcel from the women, dragging it by the
bone’s end across the sand. She lugs it forwards, drops it
in the shallow waves. She routinely unties the rope holding
its wrap closed.
A severed reindeer leg is exposed.
Inga steps back unceremoniously. The two women begin to head
back to the mountain, lifting their heavy skirts to their
ankles to avoid the marsh mud.
With a glance back at the black sea, Inga turns to leave.
Another break of the waves and a large, fleshy,
algae-covered lump washes ashore. The lump tapers back into
the sea by one long sinew, swamped by seaweed.
Like the glowing bulb of an Angler fish, this is a monster’s
LURE.
The lure engulfs the gift with arm-like limbs. With another
break of the waves, it’s YANKED suddenly back into the sea
by its root.
The waves flatten out, and the sea calms.
Inga leaves with the hard scowl of fulfilling a tiresome
routine.

2.

EXT. THAWHOLD PIER. DAY.
The next day. It’s almost evening. On the other side of
Thawhold mountain, ORLA (16) stands alone on the end of a
long, rickety pier. She wears a blue wax cloth coat, a
woolen dress to her knees, thick leggings, and winter boots.
She stares through salt-crusted binoculars at the horizon.
A storm is brewing over the grey seascape. A host of empty
fishing boats and trawlers are moored into the pier below
her, having returned from a long day’s work.
Strong winds howl in from the horizon, buffeting Orla’s
hair. She stands against it stubbornly. She’s waiting for
somebody.
Behind her, the enormous snow-capped mountains tower over
the tiny Northern fishing village. Red wooden houses stagger
the hilly village. A white walled, black-roofed Inn stands
on an overhanging clifftop.
Thawhold’s citizens stand in the
boardwalk above the rocky shore.
market stalls, the day’s fishing
are anxious, gossiping, glancing
girl on the pier.

marketplace on the
Some are packing away their
stock sold. Idle villagers
over their shoulders at the

Thunder rumbles overhead. Rain begins to dot the dry wood
beneath Orla’s boots.
The boats knock against the pier loudly, the waves picking
up, stirring the murky water.
A woman’s hand settles on Orla’s shoulder.
Orla lowers the binoculars, glances behind her.
It’s her aunt, Inga, the leader from the tundra and keeper
of the Inn.
INGA
Why do you do this?
Orla looks back to the horizon, raises the binoculars again.
Inga glances anxiously from Orla to the worsening waves
below. She wants Orla to come away from the pier.
INGA (CONT’D)
Worrying only turns the bed for bad
luck.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

3.

ORLA
A little more of that won’t change
anything.
Inga’s lips tighten into a disapproving line.
ORLA (CONT’D)
(bitter)
Father says routine is good for
growing girls.
INGA
Well you’ll do yourself no good
fretting, routinely or not. What
you need is a real job to do... not
waiting for a fisherman to finish
the same job he’s done for twenty
years.
ORLA
Well, if he’s eaten too, you can
give me a new routine.
Inga stares at her niece, lost for words.
[O.S WILDLY RINGING SHIP BELL ON HORIZON]
Everybody turn to the horizon.
Orla throws her binoculars back up, stares out hard.
EXT. OPEN OCEAN. DAY. - THROUGH BINOCULARS.
NIKOLA (45) is bearded, rough, and sea-worn. He hammers the
boat’s bell frantically, rain battering his wax cloth coat.
His red and white trawler is capsizing, swamped with water.
[END BINOCULARS]
EXT. THAWHOLD PIER. DAY.
Orla recognises him immediately, lowers the binoculars.
ORLA
That’s him.
ORLA (CONT’D)
(shouting to the villagers)
That’s him! He’s back! He needs
another boat - He’s sinking!
(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

4.

The villagers scoff in disbelief; who does she think she is?
Some are wary. Some hesitate in their tasks and consider
going to the beach, but none will move alone.
Inga gives a measured glance to her moody niece. She storms
back towards the markets.
INGA
(shouting)
You heard the girl! Get out there,
clear the boats! Someone get out
and tow him! Come on! Do you want
to eat? Do you? Not with Nikola
dead, you won’t! Move your boats!
... Move!
A herd of male villagers abandon their stalls and stagger
down to the beach.
The pier is frantic; unwinding mooring ropes, the clattering
of oars and small boats against the pier’s stilts, men waist
deep in sea water and dragging the smaller boats ashore.
A crew of 8 fishermen in orange overalls head out to sea in
a blue trawler. The motor chokes and splutters, the storm
getting wilder.
The female villagers watch helplessly from the pier.
Orla stares out with her binoculars.
EXT. OPEN OCEAN. DAY
[THROUGH BINOCULARS]
The blue trawler meets Nikola’s. Their boats are tied
together. Nikola climbs aboard.
The view is blurred and shaken by the stormy winds and
Orla’s shaking grip.
[END BINOCULARS]
EXT. THAWHOLD PIER. DAY
Inga’s white-knuckled hand squeezes Orla’s shoulder again.
Orla looks up at her aunt, her own face gaunt and wet. She’s
embarrassed of her foul mood. Orla puts a desperate hand
over Inga’s.
(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

5.

Inga is angry, not fearful; her bargain with the lure has
been broken.
Finally, the blue trawler SLAMS into the edge of the pier,
Nikola’s white and red trawler close behind.
Nikola drags two boys, JON (13) and HENRIK (16), by the back
of their jumpers onto the pier, dropping them on the
platform. The boys wear fishing gear; navy jumpers and dark
green waterproof overalls, soaked to the bone.
The rescuing fishermen spill out of the trawler onto the
platform behind them.
NIKOLA
Get the boys in! And get blankets!
From the platform, Henrik’s eyes roll open, dazed, his skin
green with nausea. Orla stares down at him, similarly pale
with fear.
Blood begins to pool from Henrik’s temple.
Amongst the villagers gathered on the pier, GRETA FALSTAD
(40) pulls her son, EINAR (17), close to her possessively.
Greta’s skinny frame holds white-blonde hair and eyebrows, a
square jaw, and knotty arms worked to the bone. Her son is
17 and stocky, a snotty bully with a square face. He
grimaces and holds his mother’s tight grip in his hand, his
friend Henrik’s face repulsive to look at.
GRETA
(disgusted)
For heaven’s sake, get him off the
pier!
Orla is pushed aside by another gaggle of villagers, who
kneel to lift the boys up.
Greta pulls Einar away and back down the pier to the market.
VILLAGER
(to Nikola)
What of the others? Are the rest
gone?
NIKOLA
We lost six on the Grimrud’s and
four on the Laursen’s boats.
VILLAGER
No... no bodies?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

6.

NIKOLA
None. Get the boys to the Inn. Inga
Inga brushes past him.
INGA
I know what I’m doing.
The villagers lift the boys and stagger back down the pier.
Inga leads the swarm of villagers up to the Inn on the
cliff, blown hard by the winds and shouting for them to
hurry.
Nikola lugs a rucksack from the deck onto his shoulders and
marches past Orla.
ORLA
What happened? Are yNIKOLA
Not now, Orla. Go back to the
house.
Nikola heads straight for the Inn.
Orla is pushed back by another flood of villagers following
Nikola up the beach.
Orla stands on the edge of the pier, small and alone,
binoculars in her hand and soaking.
[THUNDER]
Like ants, Nikola, Inga, and the villagers disappear up the
steep hill towards the Inn, scattered and frantic. Not one
looks back.
Orla’s jaw is clenched. She shivers. Her eyes are red with
the wind.
Behind her, the waves subside.
EXT. ORLA’S HOUSE. NIGHT.
A red wooden house with a black, corrugated iron roof. On
the winding path from the shore to the base of the
mountains, Orla’s house sits at the very top and overlooks
the village.
The sky is pitch black.

7.

The bright white light from the white Inn across the bay is
like a frozen lighthouse, and the only source of outdoor
lighting for the village. Orla’s house is lit brightly,
directly facing the strong beam.
INT. ORLA’S HOUSE - KITCHEN. NIGHT.
[O.S RHYTHMIC, SLEEPING BREATHS]
Orla and Nikola’s home is stark, empty of home comforts.
Constructed from raw wood and stone, it’s cold on the eyes.
Very few furnishings soften it. The white light of the inn
filters through threadbare curtains.
A small kitchen area is bare and unused, creaking in the
draughts of wind from outside. Wooden barrels of salt-cured
fish are pushed against the cabinets, beside troughs of soil
and weak root vegetables.
Fishing equipment dominates the dining table, where three
kitchen chairs still sit; hooks, net buoys, fish-shaped
fishing lures, and gutting knives.
Nikola is asleep in a sunken armchair opposite the unlit
fireplace, breathing heavily in sleep.
INT. ORLA’S HOUSE - ORLA’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
[QUIET, STATIC TRANSISTOR RADIO: NORWEGIAN FOOTBALL MATCH
COMMENTARY]
A single bed beside the window and a wooden wardrobe at the
end of the narrow room. Orla kneels on the bed and watches
out of the window with her binoculars. Beside her on the
blanket: paper, a pencil, a battered red pocket transistor
radio.
A WHITE FLASH sweeps the whole room - a search light from a
foreign cargo ship on the horizon.
Orla scurries to grab the pen and paper with one hand,
jerking the binoculars to look towards the pier with the
other.
[RADIO STATIC INTENSIFIES]

8.

EXT. THAWHOLD PIER. NIGHT
[THROUGH BINOCULARS]
A skinny pole with a town clock atop it - 10:43PM.
[END BINOCULARS]
INT. ORLA’S HOUSE - ORLA’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
Orla lowers the binoculars and writes the time on her paper;
a timetable.
Dates, times, weather conditions, a tick or a cross at the
end of each entry (mostly crosses) - she’s been doing this
nightly from October to January. The paper is weather worn,
dirty, and crinkled from use.
Orla snatches up the binoculars again.
EXT. OPEN OCEAN. NIGHT
[THROUGH BINOCULARS]
The cargo ship’s lights FLICKER, black out - the silhouette
rocks violently, then CRACKS, and sinks.
[END BINOCULARS]
INT. ORLA’S HOUSE - ORLA’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
[RADIO STATIC CLEARS, FOOTBALL COMMENTARY CONTINUES]
Orla lowers the binoculars. Her face is blank.
She scratches a hard cross on the timetable.


Related documents


PDF Document kateharris orla 9minuteextract
PDF Document lulethechaplain
PDF Document taste of dublin s coastline itinerary november 14 17 2016
PDF Document root aspects of fishing boats1217
PDF Document inflatable boats inflatable fishing boats
PDF Document sin t tulo 1


Related keywords