Conspiracy Theory Page #2

JERRY:

captivated, he sighs -- the sound of love. Then he gets

an idea. Still watching, he fumbles for the RADIO.

Turning it ON, he SCANS radio STATIONS.

BINOCULAR POV - LIZA

Her lips don't match anything. COUNTING CROWS. DAVID

BOWIE. The TRAFFIC REPORT. A RAP TUNE.

JERRY:

Never takes his eyes off her, SCANS STATIONS for the

elusive number. He finds ANNIE LENNOX singing "Blue

Moon."

BINOCULAR POV - LIZA

Lips in synch. That's what she's singing along with.

JERRY (V.O.)

(joins in)

'Blue moon, you saw me standing

alone...'

INTERCUT between them. "Without a song in my heart,

without a love of my own. Blue moon..." In a weird way,

it's a duet. A sweet moment. Then, Liza stops.

She gets on a treadmill and cranks it up. Walking a few

moments before she's jogging, before she's running. No

easy pace here. Liza gets grim, cranks up the speed and

goes hard. She's punishing herself.

JERRY:

His voice trails off as he watches. Sad, he lowers the

binoculars, doesn't want to watch her do this. Throwing

the CAR in GEAR, he takes a last look and drives away.

EXT. NEW YORK NEWS - NIGHT

A classic corner newsstand except that a river runs down

the street and over the curb. Newspaper stacks usually

on the sidewalk are up on milk crates. The owner, FLIP

TANNER, cruises the sidewalk in a battered wheelchair.

All sinew and tendons, Flip is black, about 50. He looks

to Jerry's cab plowing twin fountains as it approaches.

Flip heaves a stack of newspapers and magazines into his

lap. he rolls to meet Jerry at the curb, hands him the

stack through the window. Jerry looks down at the water.

FLIP:

Water main. Broke all the way

over on 40th Street and Seventh.

Subway's a damn river.

Jerry stares back over his shoulder at water gushing out

a manhole cover. Flip watches him, smiles.

FLIP:

What're you thinking, Jerry?

JERRY:

Water mains usually go in the

winter. It's August 1st.

FLIP:

Tell you what. Reminds me of life

in the Delta.

JERRY:

Mississippi?

FLIP:

Mekong, my friend, Mekong.

JERRY:

You know, Flip, Vietnam War was

fought because of a bet Howard

Hughes lost to Aristotle Onasis.

FLIP:

Sure. And the two of 'em used my

legs for a wishbone. Nearly

snapped me in half.

JERRY:

I gotta go, Flip. Thanks.

As Jerry drives away, Flip smiles, shakes his head.

EXT. VILLAGE BROWNSTONE - ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Carrying his magazines and newspapers, Jerry climbs onto

the roof from the fire escape. He deadpans a look back

and forth. All seems clear. Jerry starts across. COOS

as Jerry passes a PIGEON coop. He steps back, opens the

door.

JERRY:

It's your choice, fellas.

As Jerry continues...

SPACE BETWEEN TWO ROOFTOPS

As Jerry leaps, PASSES directly OVER us.

INT. VILLAGE BROWNSTONE - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Jerry enters by a window at the fire escape. Apartment

202. He checks the seam between the door and casing.

The tip of a toothpick is just visible. Assured, he

unlocks the door. As the toothpick drops, Jerry steps

inside.

INT. APARTMENT 202 - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Stacked with filled-to-bursting file cabinets. On the

walls, a silvery particle board. Jerry locks the door,

balances an empty beer bottle upside down on the door

knob.

Satisfied, Jerry enters the file labyrinth. As he moves

we FLASH ON some of the labels, some with not bad cartoon

drawings. "George Bush," "Delta 30," "Blue Flood,"

"Sirhan2."

Jerry turns the corner. "Nazis & Nutrasweet," "Patti

Hearst," and among many more: "MK Ultra" which features

the silhouette of a man holding a handgun & "Council On

Foreign Affair" with the C-F-A in heavily Gothic

lettering.

KITCHEN - REFRIGERATOR

Locked. Padlocked chains run through steel rings bolted

to the sides. Jerry spins the combo-lock. Before

opening, he pauses to consider a set of magnetic poetry

words on the fridge door. He arranges them, reads:

JERRY:

The essential goddess death could

chain bitter men,

(moves words)

and crush the ugly moment... like

life pounding eggs.

Jerry opens the fridge to reveal ten padlocked stainless

steel containers. He removes one labeled: "Tapioca."

INT. APARTMENT 202 - JERRY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Carrying a bowl of tapioca, Jerry enters. More files, a

manual typewriter. On the wall, an American flag

alongside a poster of John Lennon reading: "Assassinated

12/8/80."

He strides to his desk and a...

PUBLISHING MONTAGE BEGINS

Jerry scans a New York Times spread on a drafting table.

He circles headlines, names and dates. Does the same

with the San Francisco Chronicle, Le Monde, Time, the

Economist and Popular Mechanics. He enters raw data on

3x5 cards:
space shuttle launched, base closings, escape

from mental hospital and especially the obituaries.

Specifically:
"Industrialist Ernest Hariman Drowns."

Jerry flips through 100s of cards on big Rolodexes as he

cross-references data. Jerry pulls cards, lines them up.

The first connection: the dates of six Space Shuttle

launches and six earthquakes all coinciding. Jerry lets

out a low whistle. Never too jaded to be shocked.

Jerry types the text of an article, crosses out mistakes.

He handcranks copies off an old drum mimeograph. The

hand drawn logo:
lips whispering into an ear. The

title:
"Conspiracy Theory."

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