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Что скрывает ложь (2000). Оригинальный сценарий

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June 14, 1999
Moving through a murky haze. Dark blues and greens, shafts
of prismed purple. A pale shard appears in the distance.
Gliding closer, a group of tiny fish dart before the camera.
We're UNDERWATER. Arriving at the form, it finally sharpens
into focus. It's a WOMAN'S BODY submerged in dark water,
arms floating lazily at her side. The face is obscured by
flowing hair. All that is visible is a pair of COLD, STARING
GREEN EYES, which blink closed...
...then open as BLUE EYES, as a DIFFERENT FACE emerges from
water. CLAIRE SPENCER awakens from this unsettling dream in
her bathtub. She pivots the large BRASS SHOWER HEAD (the
kind that moves up and down on a pipe) off to one side,
reaches toward her feet and we hear the sound of a plug being
A HAZY SHAPE-- accompanied by a whirring sound.
A steam covered mirror is cleared with a BLOW DRYER. Claire
starts to come into focus. The dryer stops. She presses the
red G.F.I. button on the socket. ZAP! A big blue spark
shoots out. Claire pulls her hand back...and the dryer
starts whirring again.
She clears the mirror and replaces the dryer on a hook. She
regards herself in the mirror, and attractive, elegant-
looking woman around forty.
Claire traces a finger along a small but noticeable SCAR
above her left eye, then slowly drops the hand to her cheek,
as if confirming her existence.
Claire, now dressed, presses her face against a door,
listening for the sounds of stirring from within. Silence.
She quietly pushes open the door.
Claire makes her way past half-filled boxes and duffels to a
window, then pulls the curtains to reveal:
A LOVELY, WOODED LAKE. It couldn't be more picturesque. A
24' SAILBOAT is moored at the dock and an OLD STONE
LIGHTHOUSE sits on a point across the lake.
The sunlight motivates an unconscious groan from A FIGURE
still shrouded by covers.
Claire sits beside the sleeping form. She scans the room
briefly, taking in a Greenpeace flag and a picture of a
tomboyish ten year-old girl at camp.
She gently pulls back the covers and peers down at the same
face, now a waifish, pretty seventeen year-old, with chopped
hair and tiny nose ring. Claire leans over and inhales the
sleeping scent of her only daughter, CAITLIN. She places her
hand on a cheek. The girl's eyelids flutter softly.
Morning, beauty.
Caitlin lets out a grunt and rolls over onto her belly.
Let's go. Or we'll never leave on time.
From out of the pillow comes Caitlin's voice.
I'm totally ready.
Claire glances around at the piles of unpacked clothes.
Come on, I'll make you some waffles,
maybe we'll squeeze in a trip to the
Claire gently swats at the tiny lump that is Caitlin's
Claire stands and instinctively scoops up some clothes from
the floor, then folds and neatly stacks them on a box.
Caitlin turns her head sideways on the pillow.
You're such a morning person.
Claire turns at the door.
It is unwise to heckle the keeper of the
She starts to leave. Caitlin calls out.
Claire smiles as she closes the door behind her.
Claire bends down to pick up one of Caitlin's socks. When
she stands, something catches her eye out a window. She
gazes down, transfixed.
Through a stand of trees over a HIGH WOODEN FENCE, A YOUNG
COUPLE is in the midst of a heated argument next door.
Claire watches as the HUSBAND, a large imposing man with an
unruly shock of red hair, snarls at his wife across the hood
of their huge old Buick. She tries to get a glimpse of the
woman, but all that's visible is THE BACK OF HER BLOND HEAD.
A TAN, SINEWY ARM encircles Claire's waist. She lets out a
small gasp as a hand closes on her breast. It's Claire's
husband, DR. NORMAN SPENCER, nibbling gently at her neck.
He's older than she, pushing fifty, with silver streaks
beginning to permeate the shaggy mop of hair that makes him
look more like a preppy rocker or a lacrosse coach than the
prominent academic that he is. Claire, however, can't take
her eyes off the scene below.

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