From Here to Eternity Page #13

.

MEDIUM SHOT:

Prew and Galovitch are standing in front of the Captain's

desk. Prew is at attention, the heavy pack on his back; his

face is drawn and tired; his clothes are plastered to him. He

has regained his old expressionless look. Warden has swung

his chair around and is surveying the scene. Holmes looks

66.

Prew up and down, half-smiles.

HOLMES:

I take it you're ready to apologize

to Sergeant Galovitch now.

PREW:

No, sir, I'm not.

Holmes' face sets; he jerks his head toward the window.

HOLMES:

Take him back up there again,

Galovitch. He hasn't had enough

yet.

GALOVITCH:

(nods unhappily, sick of

bicycling)

Yes, air.

Prew about-faces and goes out. Galovitch follows.

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT FEATURING WARDEN HOLMES IN B.G.

Warden watches Prew go out, then looks toward Holmes whose

back is to him. Disgust is reflected on his face.

MEDIUM SHOT WARDEN AND HOLMES

Holmes slams his fist on his desk.

HOLMES:

1 know that kind of man! He’s an

againster. A bitter-ender. You

can't be decent to a man like that.

You have to tame him, like an

animal!

(to Warden)

Warden, I want you to prepare court

martial papers. Insubordination and

insolence to an officer.

WARDEN:

Yes, sir.

Warden swings around to his own desk. He thinks for several

moments, tries to sound quite casual.

WARDEN:

Too bad you got to lose a

middleweight like that...

HOLMES:

Why? Do you see any other way of

breaking him?

67.

WARDEN:

I don't know... But even if he only

gets three months, he'll still be

in the Stockade when the boxing

finals come up.

He looks over at Holmes, sees him scowling, weakening.

WARDEN:

How about just giving him a good

stiff Compny punishment for now?

Holmes ponders the situation unhappily, rubs his hand over

his face,. shakes his head as if the whole thing is too much

for him.

.

HOLMES:

All right, all right. But throw the

book at him.

WARDEN:

(pleased but impassive)

Yes, sir.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. WARDEN'S ROOM OFF SQUAD ROCK - NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT WARDEN SHOOTING INTO SMALL MIRROR

He is trimming his moustache.

WARDEN:

I'm sick of it! They ain't got no

right to keep breakin it off in

that kid! Sooner later Holmes is

going to hound him right into the

Stockade!

CAMERA PULLS BACK, REVEALING Karelsen across the room,

undressing tiredly, achingly. Warden is sharp and blustering,

using Karelsen as an escape valve. During following he goes

to his footlocker, opens it, takes out whisky bottle, drinks.

WARDEN:

I'm through! I'm turnin in my

stripes. I mean it, Pete. I could

transfer out tomorrow. In Grade --

get that? To half a dozen Compnys

in this Regmint!

68.

KARELSEN:

Oh, sure. I could be Chief of

Staff, too, except I can't stand

leaving all my old buddies.

Karelsen is naked now except for a bath towel knotted around

his middle. He slips his feet into Japanese-style, wooden

clogs, starts slowly for the door.

WARDEN:

Where you going, Little Sir Echo?

KARELSEN:

To take my stinkin shower, if the

First Sergeant's got no objections.

Where'd you think? To the movies in

this towel?

WARDEN:

(grins)

Hurry up. Let's go over to Choy's

for some beer and tear up all the

tables and chairs.

KARELSEN:

(smiles, moves faster)

Okay, Okay.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. CHOY'S - NIGHT

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT OLD CHOY

An aged Chinese, at least seventy-five, OLD CHOY has a long

white beard and wears a black skull cap and an embroidered

robe. He is motionless, surveying the pandemonium which we

hear over shot:
the sounds of men laughing, talking and

shouting blend with jukebox music blasting Chattanooga, Choo

Choo. YOUNG CHOP, Old Choy's son, passes; he is thirty, whiteaproned,

bustling, Americanized. CAMERA PANS WITH him,

DISCLOSING the small beer-house; it has unpainted cement

walls and a cement floor; the only thing that might be called

decorative is the jukebox. The place is crowded with men from

Schofield, a raucous assemblage; everyone is drinking beer

and the smoke hangs in thick layers. At a table near the door

sit Prew, Maggio, Clark, Anderson, Treadwell and Mazzioli. At

a corner table behind a forest of beer bottles and cans are

Warden, Stark, Karelsen and Chief Choate.

GROUP SHOT WARDEN'S TABLE

69.

STARK:

... China's the place. Your money's

worth ten, twelves times as much.

I'm gunna ship over soon as my

time's up in this pineapple Army.

KARELSEN:

(pinching beer off his

nose)

The Canal Zone for me. This girl

down there. She was a planter's

daughter, see. She lived a very

sheltered life. A very moral young

lady, Milt. I took her out to a

high class dinner and then dancing.

It was a great shock to her to

learn about life. But she took it

well. She got to like me very much

after that.

WARDEN:

The last time I heard it you told

it different.

KARELSEN:

Well, what did you expect? I was in

a different mood, then.

MEDIUM SHOT PREW'S TABLE

Maggio, Anderson and Treadwell are comparing snapshots from

home, spreading them out on the table. Mazzioli is talking to

Prew with great earnestness.

MAZZIOLI:

... it's in regulations. You've got

a right to complain. You've got a

right to take your case to the

Inspector General. Any soldier has,

even a plain dogface.

PREW:

I know it. I'm not complainin to

nobody. They ain't goin to get the

satisfaction of seein me squirm.

Clark begins to play the bugle softly along with the jukebox

music, noodling an uninspired obligato.

MAGGIO:

(pointing to pictures)

... believe it nor not, this is one

soljer who's got a family -- look,

fifteen of 'em.

(MORE)

70.

MAGGIO(cont'd)

See that old man with the

handlebars?

.

(proudly)

Mr. Maggio is my father.

MAZZIOLI:

Listen, Prew. I guess I ought not

to tell you but --. Warden hasn't

had you on KP much lately, has he?

PREW:

Only my reglar turn.

MAZZIOLI:

Well -- I was working in the

Orderly Room this afternoon and I

heard the Captain telling Warden

you're to pull KP every weekend

from now on. You know what that

means -- you can' t even go into

town -

PREW:

Whadda they want? They done

everything, now they look me in

a box! What else they gonna try?

Clark hits a sour note an the bugle.

PREW:

(savagely)

When you gonna learn to play a

bugle!?

In overwhelming, uncontrollable protest, Prew slaps the bugle

away from Clark's mouth. In one motion he wipes the

mouthpiece on his sleeve, raises it to his lips and blows his

own wild, violent obligato to the jukebox music.

FULL SHOT CHOY'S

as Prew plays on, the bugle's pure tone pealing through the

room. Everyone puts down his beer, stops talking and turns

toward Prew.

CLOSE SHOT WARDEN

reacting. He frowns, moved by the cry behind the music.

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT PREW'S TABLE FEATURING MAGGIO

as he watches and listens, an exultation for his friend

nakedly revealed on his face.

ANOTHER ANGLE PREW'S TABLE FEATURING PREW

Hitting an almost impossibly high note, he stops as suddenly

as he has begun. He has played perhaps fifteen seconds in

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes