Scott Tuplin
May 29th, 2005, 12:39 AM
Ok, this piece is obviously nowhere near completion, but i'm looking for critique on the dialogue and basis of the short interrogation. oh, and sorry about the layout. i didn't have time to host it and link it.
INT – INTERROGATION ROOM – EVENING
Clarice Johnson is sat at a table in a police interrogation room. Her clothes are covered in blood, but she looks bored rather than distraught.
We hear a door open, but we don’t see it.
We hear the footsteps of Detective Brent, but we don’t see him.
We hear a chair being pulled out, but we don’t see it.
As Brent sits down, the camera pans around behind Clarice. We see Brent for the first time. He’s a typical, old-school cop. Hard as nails and one determined mother fucker.
He takes a packet of Marlboro from inside his jacket and removes a cigarette. He places the cigarette between his lips, sparks a lighter in his palm, which we do not see him take from his pocket, and lights the cigarette.
DETECTIVE BRENT
YOU DON’T MIND, DO YOU?
She doesn’t answer. Detective Brent nods and takes a long drag of the cigarette, inhaling deeply.
DETECTIVE BRENT
YOU WANT?
He offers her the pack as he exhales.
CLARICE JOHNSON
I’M NOT SMOKING ANYTHING OFFERED BY YOU.
Brent shrugs, pockets the pack and rests his elbows on the edge of the table, fixing Clarice with a solemn stare through the rising smoke.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I’M NOT A BAD GUY, MS.JOHNSON. I’M SURE IF YOU GIVE ME A CHANCE, WE CAN SORT THIS OUT AND WE ALL GET WHAT WE WANT.
Clarice shakes her head and leans back in her chair.
CLARICE JOHNSON
YEAH, RIGHT. YOU’RE ALL THE FUCKING SAME, JUST TRYING TO GET YOUR LEG UP… OR OVER.
Brent laughs and inhales again on his cigarette.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I ASSURE YOU THERE’S A MRS BRENT WAITING AT HOME FOR ME, AND SHE’S ONLY TOO HAPPY TO SUCK MY DICK WHENEVER I SAY.
CLARICE JOHNSON
SO… WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME? MY BOYFRIEND’S LYING IN A FUCKING MORGUE IN TWO FUCKING PIECES, AND YOU DRAG ME DOWN HERE FOR WHAT?
Brent exhales heavily and sets the cigarette down in an ashtray. He pulls his chair closer to the table.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I WANT TO KNOW HOW YOUR BOYFRIEND BECAME UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE LYING IN THE MORGUE IN TWO PIECES.
CLARICE JOHNSON
BECAUSE HE FELL THROUGH A FUCKING GLASS DOOR!
Brent holds his hand up to Clarice.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I THINK YOU MISUNDERSTOOD ME, AND I THINK YOU FORGOT THE INVOLVEMENT OF SOMEBODY ELSE.
CLARICE JOHNSON
I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.
It’s very clear by her expression that she knows exactly what he’s talking about, but Brent plays along. He takes his time in picking up his cigarette, dragging on it, dropping it back into the ashtray and then taking a photo from his pocket and sliding it across to her.
DETECTIVE BRENT
RICHARD MCLINLEY, KNOWN DRUG DEALER AND USER I MIGHT ADD, PRONE TO VIOLET OUTBURSTS WHEN SUPPLIERS ‘FUCK HIM OVER’.
Clarice looks over the photo. Tears come to her eyes, and she pushes it away, but says nothing.
DETECTIVE BRENT
HE’S SITTING IN THE NEXT ROOM.
Clarice’s head jerks up, her eyes meeting Brent’s.
DETECTIVE BRENT
THAT’S RIGHT. A SQUAD CAR PICKED HIM UP JUST THREE BLOCKS FROM YOUR PLACE, COVERED IN BLOOD. QUICK TESTS SHOW THAT BLOOD BELONGS TO YOUR BOYFRIEND. SO, WHY WOULD RICHARD MCLINLEY BE RUNNING AWAY FROM YOUR GENERAL AREA, COVERED IN YOUR BOYFRIEND’S BLOOD, IF HE DIDN’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND ‘FALLING’ THROUGH A DOOR.
Clarice does not answer. Her head falls back down. Brent sighs and docks out the cigarette that he has neglected.
DETECTIVE BRENT
MAYBE IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE TWO-HUNDRED POUNDS OF PURE HEROIN WE FOUND HIDDEN BEHIND YOUR BOILER, IN YOUR BOILER CUPBOARD, IN YOUR BATHROOM, AT YOUR HOUSE.
Still she says nothing. She continues to hide her tears.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I’LL LEAVE YOU TO THINK ABOUT THAT. OH, AND I SUGGEST YOU RECONSIDER THE PRESENCE OF A LAWYER, MS. JOHNSON…
He gets up and pushes his chair under the table.
DETECTIVE BRENT (CONT…)
…BECAUSE THIS IS GOING TO TURN OUT BAD FOR YOU, WHETHER YOU DECIDE TO COOPERATE OR NOT.
INT – INTERROGATION ROOM – EVENING
Clarice Johnson is sat at a table in a police interrogation room. Her clothes are covered in blood, but she looks bored rather than distraught.
We hear a door open, but we don’t see it.
We hear the footsteps of Detective Brent, but we don’t see him.
We hear a chair being pulled out, but we don’t see it.
As Brent sits down, the camera pans around behind Clarice. We see Brent for the first time. He’s a typical, old-school cop. Hard as nails and one determined mother fucker.
He takes a packet of Marlboro from inside his jacket and removes a cigarette. He places the cigarette between his lips, sparks a lighter in his palm, which we do not see him take from his pocket, and lights the cigarette.
DETECTIVE BRENT
YOU DON’T MIND, DO YOU?
She doesn’t answer. Detective Brent nods and takes a long drag of the cigarette, inhaling deeply.
DETECTIVE BRENT
YOU WANT?
He offers her the pack as he exhales.
CLARICE JOHNSON
I’M NOT SMOKING ANYTHING OFFERED BY YOU.
Brent shrugs, pockets the pack and rests his elbows on the edge of the table, fixing Clarice with a solemn stare through the rising smoke.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I’M NOT A BAD GUY, MS.JOHNSON. I’M SURE IF YOU GIVE ME A CHANCE, WE CAN SORT THIS OUT AND WE ALL GET WHAT WE WANT.
Clarice shakes her head and leans back in her chair.
CLARICE JOHNSON
YEAH, RIGHT. YOU’RE ALL THE FUCKING SAME, JUST TRYING TO GET YOUR LEG UP… OR OVER.
Brent laughs and inhales again on his cigarette.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I ASSURE YOU THERE’S A MRS BRENT WAITING AT HOME FOR ME, AND SHE’S ONLY TOO HAPPY TO SUCK MY DICK WHENEVER I SAY.
CLARICE JOHNSON
SO… WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME? MY BOYFRIEND’S LYING IN A FUCKING MORGUE IN TWO FUCKING PIECES, AND YOU DRAG ME DOWN HERE FOR WHAT?
Brent exhales heavily and sets the cigarette down in an ashtray. He pulls his chair closer to the table.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I WANT TO KNOW HOW YOUR BOYFRIEND BECAME UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE LYING IN THE MORGUE IN TWO PIECES.
CLARICE JOHNSON
BECAUSE HE FELL THROUGH A FUCKING GLASS DOOR!
Brent holds his hand up to Clarice.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I THINK YOU MISUNDERSTOOD ME, AND I THINK YOU FORGOT THE INVOLVEMENT OF SOMEBODY ELSE.
CLARICE JOHNSON
I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.
It’s very clear by her expression that she knows exactly what he’s talking about, but Brent plays along. He takes his time in picking up his cigarette, dragging on it, dropping it back into the ashtray and then taking a photo from his pocket and sliding it across to her.
DETECTIVE BRENT
RICHARD MCLINLEY, KNOWN DRUG DEALER AND USER I MIGHT ADD, PRONE TO VIOLET OUTBURSTS WHEN SUPPLIERS ‘FUCK HIM OVER’.
Clarice looks over the photo. Tears come to her eyes, and she pushes it away, but says nothing.
DETECTIVE BRENT
HE’S SITTING IN THE NEXT ROOM.
Clarice’s head jerks up, her eyes meeting Brent’s.
DETECTIVE BRENT
THAT’S RIGHT. A SQUAD CAR PICKED HIM UP JUST THREE BLOCKS FROM YOUR PLACE, COVERED IN BLOOD. QUICK TESTS SHOW THAT BLOOD BELONGS TO YOUR BOYFRIEND. SO, WHY WOULD RICHARD MCLINLEY BE RUNNING AWAY FROM YOUR GENERAL AREA, COVERED IN YOUR BOYFRIEND’S BLOOD, IF HE DIDN’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND ‘FALLING’ THROUGH A DOOR.
Clarice does not answer. Her head falls back down. Brent sighs and docks out the cigarette that he has neglected.
DETECTIVE BRENT
MAYBE IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE TWO-HUNDRED POUNDS OF PURE HEROIN WE FOUND HIDDEN BEHIND YOUR BOILER, IN YOUR BOILER CUPBOARD, IN YOUR BATHROOM, AT YOUR HOUSE.
Still she says nothing. She continues to hide her tears.
DETECTIVE BRENT
I’LL LEAVE YOU TO THINK ABOUT THAT. OH, AND I SUGGEST YOU RECONSIDER THE PRESENCE OF A LAWYER, MS. JOHNSON…
He gets up and pushes his chair under the table.
DETECTIVE BRENT (CONT…)
…BECAUSE THIS IS GOING TO TURN OUT BAD FOR YOU, WHETHER YOU DECIDE TO COOPERATE OR NOT.