Breakdown

FADE IN:

EXTREMELY TIGHT ON ELECTRONIC GUTS

of a video camera. The screwdriver blade of a Swiss Army

knife ENTERS FRAME, methodically tightening a row of

screws.

PULL BACK to reveal:

EXT. BOMBARDED NEIGHBORHOOD (WAR-TORN COUNTRY) -DAY

On the backslope of a mound of rubble, a three-man TV

crew (field producer, reporter, and cameraman, all

wearing flak jackets) waits while the cameraman, JEFFREY

TAYLOR, works to repair his malfunctioning minicam.

Throughout this sequence, ROD, the reporter, types on a

laptop computer, oblivious to what is happening around

him.

HOWARD, the field producer, lies on his stomach, peering

cautiously over the crest of the rubble through

binoculars.

Beyond him we see an empty street. It is lined with

buildings blasted by shells: a sawtooth wall in the

f.g., a ruined high-rise at the end of the street,

billboards in an unrecognizable foreign language.

HOWARD:

How about it, Jeff?

Jeff finishes his repair job, snaps the minicam closed.

JEFF:

Done.

Jeff slips the knife back in his pocket, scrambles over

the loose bricks and stones to a position next to Howard.

EXT. SAWTOOTH WALL -DAY

A frightened woman lurks nervously in the shelter of the

wall. She is young, in her early twenties, with shining

dark hair down to her shoulders. She’s carrying an

armload of books.

EXT. MOUND OF RUBBLE -DAY

Jeff focuses the minicam.

2.

MINICAM POV:

FRAMED in the viewfinder we see the frightened woman.

HOWARD (O.S.)

Nice legs.

Jeff ignores Howard, PANS the minicam DOWN the street.

In the viewfinder we see the flash of sun on metal.

EXT. RUINED HIGH-RISE -DAY

A row of blasted windows. In one of the windows, a

sniper crouches. Sunlight glitters on his rifle barrel.

EXT. MOUND OF RUBBLE

JEFF:

(matter-of-fact)

Sniper.

HOWARD:

Where?

JEFF:

High-rise. Top floor. Window in

the middle.

HOWARD:

(looking through

his binoculars)

Stay on him. Stay on him. Now go

back to the woman. Now!

Jeff swings the minicam and -

EXT. SAWTOOTH WALL -MINICAM POV

--the image blurs, then holds steady on the frightened

woman. Nervously, she peeks around the corner.

HOWARD (O.S.)

Back to the sniper.

EXT. MOUND OF RUBBLE

HOWARD:

Stay tight on the sniper.

Jesus --look at him! He’s about

fourteen! Don’t lose this!

Jeff kneels on the ridge, minicam on his shoulder.

3.

EXT. RUINED HIGH-RISE -POV THROUGH VIEWFINDER

Jeff’s minicam ZOOMS IN ON the sniper. The sniper sees

the woman peeking and gets his rifle in firing position.

JEFF:

He sees her.

EXT. MOUND OF RUBBLE

HOWARD:

Stay on her. If she runs, widen

and try to get her and sniper in

the same frame.

Jeff turns his head away from the camera and stares at

Howard.

JEFF:

I said he sees her.

HOWARD:

I heard you. Stay on her.

Jeff looks to Rod for support but he’s busy typing,

oblivious.

Jeff hesitates, then lifts the minicam to his eye again.

EXT. RUINED HIGH-RISE

The sniper, taking aim.

EXT. SAWTOOTH WALL

The frightened woman decides to make a dash for it. She

takes off her high-heeled shoes, inhales deeply,

gathering herself to run.

EXT. MOUND OF RUBBLE

Jeff watches through his viewfinder:

JEFF:

(under his breath)

No... no...

EXT. STREET

The frightened woman bolts, sprinting barefoot across the

cobblestones, skirt lifted, slender legs flashing.

4.

EXT. MOUND OF RUBBLE

Jeff jumps to his feet, waves the minicam, shouting:

JEFF:

Sniper! Sniper! Sni-

STREET:

The woman looks up in Jeff’s direction, confused,

breaking stride -

We hear a burst of automatic gunfire -

RUINED HIGH-RISE

In the window, the winking muzzle-flash of the sniper’s

AK-47.

STREET:

The woman’s body jolts from the impact of the bullets.

The books go flying from her hand. She spins to the

pavement, her hair billowing.

JEFF:

just stands there, a shattered expression. The camera

hangs at his side. He stares at the dead woman as a pool

of dark blood expands around her body.

CUT TO:

EXT. LOGAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT (BOSTON) -RUNWAY NIGHT

A 747 touches down on the tarmac.

CUT TO:

EXT. INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL -NIGHT

A late-model Jeep Cherokee is parked at the arrival curb.

AMY TAYLOR, Jeff’s wife, peers out from behind the wheel,

scanning the crowd.

HER POV:

Jeff, carrying a single bag slung over his shoulder,

emerges from the terminal.

5.

BACK TO SCENE:

Amy gets out of the car, grinning. Jeff sees her and

hurries over. He drops his bag and they fall into each

other’s arms, kissing hungrily. These are two people

passionately in love with each other.

AMY:

God, I missed you.

JEFF:

Me too.

AMY:

Let’s get out of here. Where’s

your equipment? Don’t tell me you

checked it?

JEFF:

(holds up his bag)

This is it.

AMY:

No camera?

Jeff shakes his head no.

AMY:

No nothing?

Again Jeff shakes his head. Amy arches an eyebrow.

AMY:

Ah ha.

CUT TO:

INT. JEFF AND AMY’S APARTMENT -NIGHT

A modest apartment in the Back Bay neighborhood. Not

much furniture, but lots of books and CD’s. On the

walls, blow-ups of arty photographs --Amy in modeling

poses, plus many black-and-white scenery stills.

Jeff’s bag is unopened on the floor. We see two nearly

full wine glasses on a table. The CAMERA TRACKS DOWN a

hallway TO the open bedroom door.

INT. BEDROOM -NIGHT

More framed photographs.

Amy lies in bed, curled up against a pillow. The sheets

are tangled in post-coital disarray, the only sign of

disorder in this neatly arranged room.

6.

CLOSER:

Amy stirs, reaching her hand out toward the other side of

the bed, which is empty. She opens her eyes, surprised

to find herself alone.

AMY:

Jeff?

No reply.

Something catches her attention from across the room.

She rises, pulls a loose robe around herself and pads

over to a closed door. She knocks softly.

AMY:

Can I come in?

JEFF (O.S.)

Sure.

INT. DARKROOM -NIGHT

A walk-in closet has been converted into a small

photographic darkroom. Moist8X10 prints hang from a

clothesline, bathed in a warm red glow. The images are

moody black and white landscapes.

Jeff stands over the developer, timing a print. Amy

enters through a thick black curtain behind him. He

doesn’t look up.

AMY:

Couldn’t sleep?

Jeff shakes his head. Amy looks over his shoulder at a

landscape photograph in the developing tray.

AMY:

I remember when you took that. We

had fun on that trip, didn’t we?

Jeff nods. Amy looks at him. After a beat:

AMY:

You want to talk about it?

JEFF:

There’s nothing to talk about.

AMY:

C’mon, Jeff.

(CONTINUED)

7.

CONTINUED:

JEFF:

I told you. I quit. Walked out.

end of story.

AMY:

That’s it?

Jeff nods.

AMY:

Whatever happened back there

wasn’t your responsibility. You

can’t keep beating yourself up

over it.

He says nothing.

AMY:

What do you think? You could have

stopped that girl from getting

killed?

JEFF:

You don’t understand...

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