Meet Joe Black

EXT. ANNANDALE-ON-HUDSON, N.Y. - 4:00 AM

A patch of water. PULL BACK TO REVEAL more water. BACK

FARTHER TO REVEAL an expanse of river, up the bank to

massive lawn running up to a great, classic Hudson River

manor house; the country estate of William Parrish.

INT. PARRISH COUNTRY ESTATE - 4:00 AM

MOVE THROUGH French doors that lead from a wide terrace into

an expansive living room, DOWN wide corridors lined with

Bierstadt and Cole paintings, the Hudson River School, mists

and trees and small boats and distant humans.

INT. PARRISH BEDROOM - 4:00 AM

MOVE THROUGH the doorway to reveal a master bedroom furnish-

ed with exquisite simplicity, revelatory of its sleeping

occupant, WILLIAM PARRISH, 64, a warm but commanding face, a

man of maturity yet who exudes a glow of enthusiasm.

Although asleep, there is an uncommon restlessness to him.

Parrish grips his upper arm as if in pain. Now the severity

of the pain wakes him, he squeezes his arm. The wind comes

up, through the wind a VOICE is heard distantly, or is it the

wind itself:

VOICE (V.O.)

... Yes.

Parrish blinks, has he heard something, has he not, he is

not sure, he releases his arm, his grimace of pain fades,

the discomfort seems momentarily to have subsided.

He rises now, crosses to the bathroom. As he pees, a breeze

outside the window, the wind again, but then the Voice comes

up:

VOICE (V.O.)

Yes...

It is unmistakably a Voice, it is not the wind, Parrish has

heard something, he looks around, but no one is there. He

can't finish peeing, turns back to his bedroom. All beweild-

ered, Parrish looks around once more, climbs back into bed,

trying to trace the source of what he has heard or hasn't

heard; he is not sure.

He pulls the covers up now, not a SOUND, tries to close his

eyes.

VOICE (V.O.)

Yes.

Parrish sits up again, frightened, but still there is no one

there, he seems fraught with indecision, should he get up,

should he not, what is happening? He looks out: absolute

stillness and silence, CRICKETS chirp down by the river, a

light FLICKERS from a shadboat, Parrish closes his eyes but

then they flutter open, he glances up at the ceiling and

finally, exhausted, falls back asleep.

EXT. REAR TERRACE, PARRISH COUNTRY ESTATE - NEXT MORNING

The great lawn infested with workmen, planting stakes, un-

rolling a huge canvas tent, gardeners fashioning topiary and

adding landscaping of their own, crews setting up platforms,

speakers, lights. Ubiquitous is ALLISON, 35, Parrish's

older daughter, foremen competing for her attention and she

relishing every moment.

A Painter approaches.

PAINTER:

The big tent, Miss Allison --

ALLISON:

Paint is rust and moss green.

Medieval colors -- Daddy's like

an old knight.

A Florist stops her.

FLORIST:

The head table --?

ALLISON:

What about it?

FLORIST:

The flowers, ma'am--?

ALLISON:

Freesia, freesia, everywhere. Daddy

loves freesia -- and you, over there,

lights. Not too bright. I'm looking

for a saffron glow -- sort of tea-

dance twenties.

EXT. GREAT HALL, COUNTRY ESTATE - MORNING

Parrish, groomed for the day, trots down the stairs, observ-

ing the activity outside through the windows. He checks his

watch, strides down the hall, encounters MAY, 50, a family

retainer who is opening the doors to the terrace as Parrish

passes.

PARRISH:

What do you think of all this, May?

MAY:

It's going to be beautiful. And

Miss Allison says the President may

come.

PARRISH:

Oh, the President's got better

things to do than come to my

birthday party.

MAY:

(smiling)

What?

Parrish grins, continues on, is intercepted by Allison who,

on catching sight of him, bounces in from the terrace.

ALLISON:

Daddy!

PARRISH:

Hi, Allison --

ALLISON:

Have you got a minute?

PARRISH:

Not much more. Big day in the big

city. What's on your mind?

ALLISON:

Fireworks. Update -- we're con-

structing the number '65' on the

barge, archers from the State

College at New Paltz will shoot

flaming arrows at it, when it

catches fire it will give us the

effect of a Viking funeral with none

of the morbidity... The Hudson River

Authority says, for you, they'll

make a special dispensation - of

course there'll be an overtime bill

for the Poughkeepsie Fire Dept...

PARRISH:

Allison, I trust you. This is your

thing.

ALLISON:

But it's your birthday.

Parrish smiles complaisantly, they continue on into a break-

fast room where SUSAN, 30, Parrish's younger daughter, is

grazing at a table laden with cereals and fruits and coffee.

SUSAN:

Good morning, Dad.

PARRISH:

Hi, honey.

ALLISON:

(to Susan)

I'm Allison, you're 'honey'.

SUSAN:

(smiling)

Drew called from the AStar, they're

still two minutes away.

PARRISH:

Drew's aboard?

SUSAN:

He wanted to ride back down with

you. Now sit and relax, get some-

thing in that flat tummy of yours --

But Parrish only pours coffee.

SUSAN (cont'd)

(to Allison)

You coming?

ALLISON:

You've got patients waiting, I've

got three hysterical chefs, one

loves truffles, the other hates

truffles, the third one doesn't know

what truffles are. I'd better drive

down.

Parrish gazes at the going-on outside which are increasing

in intensity.

PARRISH:

(unconsciously)

I hate parties --

ALLISON:

Calm down, Daddy, you'll see, you're

going to love it.

PARRISH:

Isn't it enough to be on this earth

sixty-five years without having to

be reminded of it.

ALLISON:

No.

Allison goes, Susan observes Parrish fidgeting.

SUSAN:

Will you relax? I know it is a big

deal day --

PARRISH:

How did you know?

SUSAN:

Drew told me.

PARRISH:

Does Drew tell you everything?

SUSAN:

I hope so.

PARRISH:

You like him, don't you?

SUSAN:

Yeah. I guess so.

A moment.

PARRISH:

I don't like to interfere.

SUSAN:

...Then don't.

The helicopter CHOPS in overhead.

SUSAN (cont'd)

-- Here comes our boy now --

Shall we?

EXT. COUNTRY ESTATE - MORNING

A BUTLER and May carry the overnight bags for the family as

led by Parrish, they hurry towards the helicopter. En route

they pass QUINCE, 38, Allison's husband, who is perched at a

portable bar with AMBROSE, the head caterer, tasting wines.

QUINCE:

...This sh*t's not bad.

AMBROSE:

-- The late harvest Riesling, Mr.

Quince, a possibility for dessert.

QUINCE:

(pointing to another

bottle)

And that?

AMBROSE:

Pinot Grigio. We're considering it

for the appetizer.

Ambrose takes a sip, swishes the wine in his mouth, spits it

in a bucket.

QUINCE:

What do you do that for?

AMBROSE:

Well sir, it's 9:30 in the morning.

QUINCE:

9:
30's almost 10:30. Where I come

from, the sun's over the yardarm,

m'boy, and the cocktail lamp is lit.

Quince drains his wine, presents it for a refill, when he is

hailed by Allison.

ALLISON:

Quince! Everybody's waiting!

Quince downs this glass too, runs for the helicopter as

DREW, 34, a young man going places, emerges from it,

approaches Parrish and Susan.

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