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THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION by Frank Darabont

Based upon the story Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King

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1 INT -- CABIN -- NIGHT (1946)
A dark, empty room.
The door bursts open. A MAN and WOMAN enter, drunk and
giggling, horny as hell. No sooner is the door shut than
they're all over each other, ripping at clothes, pawing at
flesh, mouths locked together.
He gropes for a lamp, tries to turn it on, knocks it over
instead. Hell with it. He's got more urgent things to do, like
getting her blouse open and his hands on her breasts. She
arches, moaning, fumbling with his fly. He slams her against
the wall, ripping her skirt. We hear fabric tear.
He enters her right then and there, roughly, up against the
wall. She cries out, hitting her head against the wall but not
caring, grinding against him, clawing his back, shivering with
the sensations running through her. He carries her across the
room with her legs wrapped around him. They fall onto the bed.
CAMERA PULLS BACK, exiting through the window, traveling
smoothly outside...
2 EXT -- CABIN -- NIGHT (1946) 2
...to reveal the bungalow, remote in a wooded area, the
lovers' cries spilling into the night...
...and we drift down a wooded path, the sounds of rutting
passion growing fainter, mingling now with the night sounds of
crickets and hoot owls...
...and we begin to hear FAINT MUSIC in the woods, tinny and
incongruous, and still we keep PULLING BACK until...
...a car is revealed. A 1946 Plymouth. Parked in a clearing.
3 INT -- PLYMOUTH -- NIGHT (1946) 3
ANDY DUFRESNE, mid-20's, wire rim glasses, three-piece suit.
Under normal circumstances a respectable, solid citizen; hardly
dangerous, perhaps even meek. But these circumstances are far
from normal. He is disheveled, unshaven, and very drunk. A
cigarette smolders in his mouth. His eyes, flinty and hard, are
riveted to the bungalow up the path.
He can hear them fucking from here.
He raises a bottle of bourbon and knocks it back. The radio
plays softly, painfully romantic, taunting him:
You stepped out of a dream...
You are too wonderful...
To be what you seem...
He opens the glove compartment, pulls out an object wrapped
in a rag. He lays it in his lap and unwraps it carefully --
-- revealing a .38 revolver. Oily, black, evil.
He grabs a box of bullets. Spills them everywhere, all over
the seats and floor. Clumsy. He picks bullets off his lap,
loading them into the gun, one by one, methodical and grim.
Six in the chamber. His gaze goes back to the bungalow.
He shuts off the radio. Abrupt silence, except for the distant
lovers' moans. He takes another shot of bourbon courage, then
opens the door and steps from the car.
4 EXT -- PLYMOUTH -- NIGHT (1946) 4
His wingtip shoes crunch on gravel. Loose bullets scatter to
the ground. The bourbon bottle drops and shatters.
He starts up the path, unsteady on his feet. The closer he
gets, the louder the lovemaking becomes. Louder and more
frenzied. The lovers are reaching a climax, their sounds of
passion degenerating into rhythmic gasps and grunts.
WOMAN (O.S.)
Oh god...oh god...oh god...
Andy lurches to a stop, listening. The woman cries out in
orgasm. The sound slams into Andy's brain like an icepick. He
shuts his eyes tightly, wishing the sound would stop.
It finally does, dying away like a siren until all that's left
is the shallow gasping and panting of post-coitus. We hear
languorous laughter, moans of satisfaction.
WOMAN (O.S.)
Oh god...that's sooo good...you're
the best...the best I ever had...
Andy just stands and listens, devastated. He doesn't look like
much of a killer now; he's just a sad little man on a dirt
path in the woods, tears streaming down his face, a loaded gun
held loosely at his side. A pathetic figure, really.
FADE TO BLACK: 1ST TITLE UP
5 INT -- COURTROOM -- DAY (1946) 5
THE JURY listens like a gallery of mannequins on display,
pale-faced and stupefied.
D.A. (O.S.)
Mr. Dufresne, describe the
confrontation you had with your
wife the night she was murdered.
ANDY DUFRESNE
is on the witness stand, hands folded, suit and tie pressed,
hair meticulously combed. He speaks in soft, measured tones:
ANDY
It was very bitter. She said she
was glad I knew, that she hated all
the sneaking around. She said she
wanted a divorce in Reno.
D.A.
What was your response?
ANDY
I told her I would not grant one.
D.A.
(refers to his notes)
"I'll see you in Hell before I see
you in Reno." Those were the words
you used, Mr. Dufresne, according
to the testimony of your neighbors.
ANDY
If they say so. I really don't
remember. I was upset.
FADE TO BLACK: 2ND TITLE UP
D.A.
What happened after you and your
wife argued?
ANDY
She packed a bag and went to stay
with Mr. Quentin.
D.A.
Glenn Quentin. The golf pro at the
Falmouth Hills Country Club. The
man you had recently discovered was
her lover.
(Andy nods)
Did you follow her?
ANDY
I went to a few bars first. Later,
I decided to drive to Mr. Quentin's
home and confront them. They
weren't there...so I parked my car
in the turnout...and waited.
D.A.
With what intention?
ANDY
I'm not sure. I was confused. Drunk.
I think mostly I wanted to scare them.
D.A.
You had a gun with you?
ANDY
Yes. I did.
FADE TO BLACK: 3RD TITLE UP
D.A.
When they arrived, you went up
to the house and murdered them?
ANDY
No. I was sobering up. I realized
she wasn't worth it. I decided to
let her have her quickie divorce.
D.A.
Quickie divorce indeed. A .38
caliber divorce, wrapped in a
handtowel to muffle the shots,
isn't that what you mean? And then
you shot her lover!
ANDY
I did not. I got back in the car
and drove home to sleep it off.
Along the way, I stopped and threw
my gun into the Royal River. I feel
I've been very clear on this point.
D.A.
Yes, you have. Where I get hazy,
though, is the part where the
cleaning woman shows up the next
morning and finds your wife and her
lover in bed, riddled with .38
caliber bullets. Does that strike
you as a fantastic coincidence, Mr.
Dufresne, or is it just me?
ANDY
(softly)
Yes. It does.
D.A.
I'm sorry, Mr. Dufresne, I don't
think the jury heard that.
ANDY
Yes. It does.
D.A.
Does what?
ANDY
Strike me as a fantastic coincidence.
D.A.
On that, sir, we are in accord...
FADE TO BLACK! 4TH TITLE UP
D.A.
You claim you threw your gun into
the Royal River before the murders
took place. That's rather convenient.
ANDY
It's the truth.
D.A.
You recall Lt. Mincher's testimony?
He and his men dragged that river
for three days and nary a gun was
found. So no comparison can be made
between your gun and the bullets
taken from the bloodstained corpses
of the victims. That's also rather
convenient, isn't it, Mr. Dufresne?
ANDY
(faint, bitter smile)
Since I am innocent of this crime,
sir, I find it decidedly inconvenient
the gun was never found.
FADE TO BLACK: STH TITLE UP
6 INT -- COURTROOM -- DAY (1946) 6
The D.A. holds the jury spellbound with his closing summation:
D.A.
Ladies and gentlemen, you've heard
all the evidence, you know all the
facts. We have the accused at the
scene of the crime. We have foot
prints. Tire tracks. Bullets
scattered on the ground which bear
his fingerprints. A broken bourbon
bottle, likewise with fingerprints.
Most of all, we have a beautiful
young woman and her lover lying
dead in each other's arms. They had
sinned. But was their crime so
great as to merit a death sentence?
He gestures to Andy sitting quietly with his ATTORNEY.
D.A.
I suspect Mr. Dufresne's answer to
that would be yes. I further
suspect he carried out that
sentence on the night of September
21st, this year of our Lord, 1946,
by pumping four bullets into his
wife and another four into Glenn
Quentin. And while you think about
that, think about this...
He picks up a revolver, spins the cylinder before their eyes
like a carnival barker spinning a wheel of fortune.
D.A.
A revolver holds six bullets, not
eight. I submit to you this was not
a hot-blooded crime of passion!
That could at least be understood,
if not condoned. No, this was
revenge of a much more brutal and
cold-blooded nature. Consider! Four
bullets per victim! Not six shots
fired, but eight! That means he
fired the gun empty...and then
stopped to reload so he could shoot
each of them again! An extra bullet
per lover...right in the head.
(a few JURORS shiver)
I'm done talking. You people are
all decent, God-fearing Christian
folk. You know what to do.
FADE TO BLACK: 6TH TITLE UP
INT -- JURY ROOM -- DAY (1946) 7
CAMERA TRACKS down a long table, moving from one JUROR to the
next. These decent, God-fearing Christians are chowing down on
a nice fried chicken dinner provided them by the county,
smacking greasy lips and gnawing cobbettes of corn.
VOICE (O.S.)
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty...
We find the FOREMAN at the head of the table, sorting votes.
FADE TO BLACK: 7TH TITLE UP
8 INT -- COURTROOM -- DAY (1946) 8
Andy stands before the dias. THE JUDGE peers down, framed by a
carved frieze of blind Lady Justice on the wall.
JUDGE
You strike me as a particularly icy
and remorseless man, Mr. Dufresne.
It chills my blood just to look at
you. By the power vested in me by
the State of Maine, I hereby order
you to serve two life sentences,
back to back, one for each of your
victims. So be it.
He raps his gavel as we
CRASH TO BLACK: LAST TITLE UP.
9 AN IRON-BARRED DOOR 9
slides open with an enormous CLANG. A stark room waits beyond.
CAMERA PUSHES through. SEVEN HUMORLESS MEN sit side by side at
a long table. An empty chair faces them. We are now in:
INT -- SHAWSHANK HEARINGS ROOM -- DAY (1947)
RED enters, removes his cap and waits by the chair.
MAN #1
Sit.
Red sits, tries not to slouch. The chair is uncomfortable.
MAN #2
We see by your file you've served
twenty years of a life sentence.
MAN #3
You feel you've been rehabilitated?
RED
Yes, sir. Absolutely. I've learned
my lesson. I can honestly say I'm a
changed man. I'm no longer a danger
to society. That's the God's honest
truth. No doubt about it.
The men just stare at him. One stifles a yawn.
CLOSEUP -- PAROLE FORM
A big rubber stamp slams down: "REJECTED" in red ink.
10 EXT -- EXERCISE YARD -- SHAWSHANK PRISON -- DUSK (1947) 10
High stone walls topped with snaky concertina wire, set off at
intervals by looming guard towers. Over a hundred CONS are
in the yard. Playing catch, shooting craps, jawing at each
other, making deals. Exercise period.
RED emerges into fading daylight, slouches low-key through the
activity, worn cap on his head, exchanging hellos and doing
minor business. He's an important man here.
RED (V.O.)
There's a con like me in every prison
in America, I guess. I'm the guy who
can get it for you. Cigarettes, a
bag of reefer if you're partial, a
bottle of brandy to celebrate your
kid's high school graduation. Damn
near anything, within reason.
He slips somebody a pack of smokes, smooth sleight-of-hand.
RED (V.O.)
Yes sir, I'm a regular Sears &
Roebuck.
TWO SHORT SIREN BLASTS issue from the main tower, drawing
everybody's attention to the loading dock. The outer gate
swings open...revealing a gray prison bus outside.
RED (V.O.)
So when Andy Dufresne came to me in
1949 and asked me to smuggle Rita
Hayworth into the prison for him, I
told him no problem. And it wasn't.
CON
Fresh fish! Fresh fish today!
Red is joined by HEYWOOD, SKEET, FLOYD, JIGGER, ERNIE, SNOOZE.
Most cons crowd to the fence to gawk and jeer, but Red and his
group mount the bleachers and settle in comfortably.
11 INT -- PRISON BUS -- DUSK (1947) 11
Andy sits in back, wearing steel collar and chains.
RED (V.O.)
Andy came to Shawshank Prison in
early 1947 for murdering his wife
and the fella she was bangin'.
The bus lurches forward, RUMBLES through the gates. Andy gazes
around, swallowed by prison walls.
RED (V.O.)
On the outside, he'd been vice-
president of a large Portland bank.
Good work for a man as young as he
was, when you consider how
conservative banks were back then.
TOWER GUARD
All clear!
GUARDS approach the bus with carbines. The door jerks open.
The new fish disembark, chained together single-file, blinking
sourly at their surroundings. Andy stumbles against the MAN in
front of him, almost drags him down.
BYRON HADLEY, captain of the guard, slams his baton into
Andy's back. Andy goes to his knees, gasping in pain. JEERS
and SHOUTS from the spectators.
HADLEY
On your feet before I fuck you up
so bad you never walk again.
13 ON THE BLEACHERS 13
RED
There they are, boys. The Human
Charm Bracelet.
HEYWOOD
Never seen such a sorry-lookin'
heap of maggot shit in my life.
JIGGER
Comin' from you, Heywood, you being
so pretty and all...
FLOYD
Takin' bets today, Red?
RED
(pulls notepad and pencil)
Bear Catholic? Pope shit in the woods?
Smokes or coin, bettor's choice.
FLOYD
Smokes. Put me down for two.
RED
High roller. Who's your horse?
FLOYD
That gangly sack of shit, third
from the front. He'll be the first.
HEYWOOD
Bullshit. I'll take that action.
ERNIE
Me too.
Other hands go up. Red jots the names.
HEYWOOD
You're out some smokes, son. Take
my word.
FLOYD
You're so smart, you call it.
HEYWOOD
I say that chubby fat-ass...let's
see...fifth from the front. Put me
down for a quarter deck.
RED
That's five cigarettes on Fat-Ass.
Any takers?
More hands go up. Andy and the others are paraded along,
forced by their chains to take tiny baby steps, flinching
under the barrage of jeers and shouts. The old-timers are
shaking the fence, trying to make the newcomers shit their
pants. Some of the new fish shout back, but mostly they look
terrified. Especially Andy.
RED (V.O.)
I must admit I didn't think much of
Andy first time I laid eyes on him.
He might'a been important on the
outside, but in here he was just a
little turd in prison grays. Looked
like a stiff breeze could blow him
over. That was my first impression
of the man.
SKEET
What say, Red?
RED
Little fella on the end. Definitely.
I stake half a pack. Any takers?
SNOOZE
Rich bet.
RED
C'mon, boys, who's gonna prove me
wrong?
(hands go up)
Floyd, Skeet, Joe, Heywood. Four brave
souls, ten smokes apiece. That's it,
gentlemen, this window's closed.
Red pockets his notepad. A VOICE comes over the P.A. speakers:
VOICE (amplified)
Return to your cellblocks for
evening count.
14 INT -- ADMITTING AREA -- DUSK (1947) 14
The new fish are marched in. Guards unlock the shackles. The
chains drop away, rattling to the stone floor.
HADLEY
Eyes front.
WARDEN SAMUEL NORTON strolls forth, a colorless man in a gray
suit and a church pin in his lapel. He looks like he could
piss ice water. He appraises the newcomers with flinty eyes.
NORTON
This is Mr. Hadley, captain of the
guard. I am Mr. Norton, the warden.
You are sinners and scum, that's
why they sent you to me. Rule
number one: no blaspheming. I'll
not have the Lord's name taken in
vain in my prison. The other rules
you'll figure out as you go along.
Any questions?
CON
When do we eat?
Cued by Norton's glance, Hadley steps up to the con and screams
right in his face:
HADLEY
YOU EAT WHEN WE SAY YOU EAT! YOU
PISS WHEN WE SAY YOU PISS! YOU SHIT
WHEN WE SAY YOU SHIT! YOU SLEEP
WHEN WE SAY YOU SLEEP! YOU MAGGOT-
DICK MOTHERFUCKER!
Hadley rams the tip of his club into the con's belly. The
man falls to his knees, gasping and clutching himself.
Hadley takes his place at Norton's side again. Softly:
NORTON
Any other questions?
(there are none)
I believe in two things. Discipline
and the Bible. Here, you'll receive
both.
(holds up a Bible)
Put your faith in the Lord. Your
ass belongs to me. Welcome to
Shawshank.
HADLEY
Off with them clothes! And I didn't
say take all day doing it, did I?
The men shed their clothes. Within seconds, all stand naked.

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