First 6 .pdf
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Title: Title Page - Untitled Screenplay
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M E M O R Y
L A N E
FIRST SIX PAGES
EXT. RIVERVIEW - NIGHT
A blue-collar mill town. Tiny houses dotting the rolling
Appalachians. The Ohio River slicing it down the middle.
A ribbon of light lifts into the sky and explodes in color.
Then another. Fireworks. It’s the Fourth of July.
It’s an iconic tableau. This could easily be that “It’s
Halftime in America” commercial. Except that commercial
didn’t have a fucking police chase...
...VROOM! THREE POLICE CRUISERS barreling through a
residential area way too fast on a road that’s way too small.
Sirens wailing. Lights whirring. All illuminated under
fireworks. And they’re chasing something, but what?
NEW ANGLE - LEAD POLICE CRUISER
It’s picking up speed, BANKING into an alley -LEAD POLICE CRUISER tearing past dumpsters and out onto MAIN
STREET -- heading straight for American flags, Uncle Sam, and
It’s a fucking PARADE.
I/E. LEAD POLICE CRUISER - NIGHT
DRIVER’S knuckles clinging white to the wheel. Pedal flat on
the floor. Speedometer CLIMBING... 87... 88...
CLOSE ON the DRIVER’S eyes -- he’s panting. Sweating through
the blood. He lays on the horn. People scattering as he’s -SLALOMING between two floats, then flooring it smack-dab
through the middle of the parade -Oh yeah, trailing out of DRIVER’S nose and mouth? Blood. A
shitload of blood. All over his t-shirt too. Yes, t-shirt. He
is not wearing a police uniform.
Because HE IS NOT A FUCKING COP.
An OFFICER leans out the passenger window of a pursuing
cruiser -- gun drawn -- aims at the LEAD CRUISER -- fires
twice -- misses -Realizing now... our guy stole this cop car. Presumably from
the DEAD COP slumped on the seat beside him...
... SCREEEECH! -- the other TWO CRUISERS slowing to a crawl -tangled behind floats in the parade -LEAD POLICE CRUISER -- fishtailing off MAIN STREET -- leaving
his pursuers in the dust...
I/E. POLICE CRUISER - NIGHT
...so we’re in this stolen Police Cruiser doing 90 in a 25.
At the end of the street: DEAD END. Just a house with a
Getting closer and he’s not slowing... Does he have a death
wish? Kinda. He slams the brakes -- rips the wheel around
...BOOM! He ramps the curb -- the car INVERTS -- skids up the
driveway on its ceiling -- air bags deploying -- the Dead
Cop’s body shattering the windshield as the car cannons
through the garage door and...
INT. GARAGE - NIGHT
...our bloody DRIVER’S eyes droop -- a confused beat. He’s
disoriented. Turning his head one way: Dead Cop. Turning the
other way: shattered windshield.
He lets his eyes close. Hears the SIRENS. His eyes open.
DRIVER in motion -- un-clicking the seat-belt -- tumbling
into the overturned car’s roof -- kicking out the windshield - get up -- crawling through to his feet -- get up -dragging himself out into the garage -And what’s in here? Like, weird shit. Like, doors. Seven
wooden doors just leaning against the back wall. Wiring
trailing from an array of corroding batteries in the corner.
Two-hundred naked light bulbs on the floor -- all joined by
wires -- all these wires leading to...
THE TUB. A rusting cast-iron claw-foot bathtub in the center
of the garage sitting on rubber risers six inches off the
ground. The more it looks like an altar, the better.
Our bloody DRIVER chomps his teeth into a BAG OF ICE. Dumps
it into the tub. Then he cranks on the faucet.
He goes for his shirt -- already holes in it -- rips it off:
Disciplined physique. Lean and spare. Almost gaunt.
SIRENS coming down the street now. They’re catching up. And
what’s he doing?
He’s reaching into the dead cop’s duty belt -- swiping his
cuffs -- the keys -- cuffing himself to the pipe at the tub -Puts the keys in his mouth -- cups a handful of water from
the tub -- fucking swallows them.
He is not leaving here.
He bites off a length of duct tape -- secures a frayed wire
to the right side of his chest -- biting more tape -sticking another wire just under his left ribs -SIRENS peak. They’re here -- just catching the sheen of their
red and blue flicker inside the garage -Panic flashes across his face -- DRIVER attaches leads to his
chest. A HEART MONITOR near the array of batteries triggers
...the rest of this scene has a fucking PULSE.
Cranking the faucet OFF. Tub full. DRIVER climbs in... easing
himself down into the ice. He doesn’t even react to the cold.
Just inspecting him now, getting our first good look at the
man -- NICK BOXER looks to be just under thirty years old. A
grizzly beard obscuring his face. A surgical scar running
navel to sternum.
Around his neck: His dog tags, a locket, and a diamond ring
BOXER reaches for the RED CHAIN above his head. Fingers just
A car door SLAMS. It’s Riverview’s finest -- rushing into the
garage -- guns blazing -OFFICER
Hands in theBOXER lunges up, catches the chain, and yanks. The two
hundred bulbs on the floor turn ON and RAGE -- the OFFICERS
becoming instant silhouettes against the bulbs flickering and
firing in pure overloaded electrical violence --
BOXER’S fingers wrap around the sides of the tub -electricity hissing -- batteries smoking -- sizzling -crackling as he convulses -- his back arcs -- his knuckles go
white -ECU: BOXER’S EYES squeeze tight. Heart monitor FLAT-LINES. We
are now on (YOUNGER) BOXER’S EYES. This is how the character
traverses into “Memory Lane”...on the unchanging eyes.
THE SAME EYES.
Pull back to reveal.
I/E. HUMVEE (AFGHANISTAN) - DAY (BOXER’S MEMORY)
...under attack. The ringing of the flat-line just starting
to fade. Seven of them jammed inside this vehicle. Hard to
see through the dust the Humvee’s kicking up outside in the
Humvee’s driver is a twenty-something black brick house who’s
all head and shoulders. Call him JACKSON. And he’s just
noticing the glint of sunlight off metal outside through the
dust -- the glint of sunlight off a gun -JACKSON knocks on the ceiling. A DISTINCTIVE RHYTHM in four
taps. He cracks his ring-finger with his thumb. BOXER snaps
at attention -3 o’clock!
BOXER, a younger clean-shaven Marine here -- smacking the
back glass -- signaling to his right -The TURRET GUNNER -- aims, then -- takes a bullet in the
chest -- the boy slumps, dead.
Seeing this, BOXER drops the bullet-proof window -- popping
off a few shots -- firing dry -- speed changing a clip -the perfect soldier -Firing again through the dust, a handful of RUSHING
INSURGENTS dropping into the dirt.
ON THE HILLSIDE
An INSURGENT leveling a GRENADE LAUNCHER on his shoulder -BOOM! He fires.
BOXER drops to the floor -The RPG shrieks into the back passenger wheel of the Humvee
like a fucking banshee -- DETONATING in a blinding white
flash and -The flash fills the entire frame, then... as it fades...
...BOXER sprawled out on his back in the desert. He presses
himself up to his hands and knees. Ears ringing. His rifle
just a few feet up ahead and -He’s crawling for it -- under mortar fire and machine-gun
spit -- grabbing his rifle -- staying low -- dragging himself
forward -- through the dirt -- past the dead Turret Gunner -then making it to JACKSON -JACKSON -- back pressed against a boulder at the foot of the
hill. He’s dazed. Tranced. BOXER snaps his fingers in
JACKSON’S face. A barking bulldog there with them.
JACKSON turns his head toward BOXER -- looking straight
through him -JACKSON
Are you having deja vu?
Right now. Have we done this
BOXER smacks JACKSON in the face.
Get it together!
I’ll find you when I wake up.
This isn’t a dream!
BOXER jolts awake. Sunlight hits his face. Same age as the
war scene we just saw and we are -INT. BUS - DAY
A winter starved landscape rolling by the window. Trees
breaking the sun into a soothing strobe pattern. Slowing as
the bus stops.
BUS DRIVER (O.S.)
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
BOXER clambers off the last step into the snow and the bus
pulls away. No war, no police -- he’s dressed as a civilian
with a military pack over his shoulder. He checks his watch.
BOXER looks around. The lot is empty. He tosses his bag on a
bench, uses it like a pillow, and closes his eyes.
END OF TEASER
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