Michael Clayton Page #4

than anything to see one pure, natural thing, and by somemiracle has found his way to this place. The wet grass andcold air and no coat -- none of it makes any difference tohim right now -- he’s a pilgrim stumbling into the cathedral.

And he stops. Just standing there. Empty. Open. Lost.

Nothing but the field and the fog and the woods beyond.

THE HORSES staring at him.

MICHAEL staring back. And just like that...

THE MERCEDES EXPLODES!

THE HORSES already running before MICHAEL can turn back --

pieces of the car that have been blown into the sky stillraining down before he’s fully grasped what’s happening --

MICHAEL simply shocked. Senseless. Standing there frozen.

Stunned. What just happened? The car -- his car -- is gone-- just like that. MICHAEL looks around. Looks back.

He should be dead. He is not.

When THE GAS TANK EXPLODES!

And suddenly it’s clear. All that staggered chaos inMichael’s eyes suddenly replaced with steel. He should be

dead. He is not.

And now he’s walking. Toward the car.

Walking faster. Determined. And suddenly he’s running --

running toward the fire. Faster and faster, as we...

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. HENRY CLAYTON’S BEDROOM -- DAY

A COMPUTER MONITOR. A screen saver. Dragon-Slaying Wizards,

Orcs, Nordic Elves, Samurai Gnomes -- all spinning across themonitor in perpetual slow motion. And every few secondsthese words appear:

REALM & CONQUEST

WIDER TO REVEAL:

The small room of a typical pre-war West End apartment.

Loft bed. Parquet floor. Paint-chipped radiator. All of

this subsidiary, however to the room’s overwhelming

decorative theme: Fantasy. Books, games, posters, models --

hundreds of mythical lands, creatures, weapons and journeysare stacked, pinned, piled and catalogued everywhere.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

HENRY CLAYTON is ten -- small for ten -- all bones and

intelligence. He’s hustling around, stuffing things intohis already bulging backpack -- rushing off, taking us withhim into -

INT. WEST END HALLWAY/KITCHEN -- DAY

HENRY scrambling through a hallway clogged with books andbookshelves -- a clutter of intellectual/domestic funk -bringing

us quickly to the kitchen and IVY, Michael’s ex-

wife. She is 38. Her youthful beauty perhaps a bit toodelicate for life’s perpetual harassments. GERALD was Ivy’sdoctoral history professor, now he’s her second husband.

He’s feeding SOPHIA, their eighteen-month old daughter.

HENRY:

(blowing through--)

Is my other deck in here?

IVY:

Did you eat?

HENRY:

(scrounging around)

Dad’s down there waiting already.

GERALD:

There were cards in our bathroom.

HENRY:

(Ivy staring at him)

Yes. I had a waffle.

IVY:

Since we’re out of waffles I don’t

see how that’s possible.

HENRY:

(rushing off)

It’s a miracle.

IVY about to fire back. GERALD waving her off. Let it go.

Feed the baby. Save your strength.

EXT. WEST END AVENUE - DAY

MICHAEL in the Mercedes stopped at the corner. The goodsuit and tie.

MICHAEL:

(as he sees him--)

Henry!

EXT. BROADWAY/UPPER WEST SIDE -- DAY

THE MERCEDES driving through morning traffic, as we hear --

HENRY (V.O.)

...so no one’s even sure exactly

where they are because there’s no

border or landmarks or anything...

INT. THE MERCEDES -- DAY (CONT)

MICHAEL driving. HENRY shotgun.

HENRY:

...and the town, it’s not even a

town, really, it’s just like this camp

where these people have gathered to

hide, right? All these deserters and

guys that got cut off from their

armies, all these people that were

hiding in the woods and trying to stay

alive, this is where they all came.

There’s Thieves, Gray Mages, Unbidden

Warriors, Dark Avians, Riverwynders,

Sappers -- there’s like fifteen kinds

of characters, okay?

MICHAEL:

Okay.

MICHAEL fighting distraction. HENRY so eager and serious.

HENRY:

So basically you have all these

characters who don’t know each other

and they don’t know why they’re here

and nobody has any alliances, okay?

Whatever alliances you had before are

gone. You can’t even say who you are,

because you don’t know, maybe the

person you’re talking to, maybe they

were like your mortal enemy in the

wars. So it’s just completely like

everybody for themselves.

MICHAEL:

Sounds familiar.

HENRY:

It’s really good. I’m serious.

You should really read it.

MICHAEL:

Right. And by the time I finish ityou’re gonna be onto something else.

HENRY:

How much you want to bet?

MICHAEL:

I don’t know. How much you got?

MICHAEL glances over. The boy just aching with sweetness.

HENRY:

It’s not just the deck and legendbooks, it’s a massive player onlineRPG and they’re gonna do gaming

figures too. They worked on this forlike six years.

But they’re here. MICHAEL to the curb behind school vans.

MICHAEL:

Bus pass?

HENRY:

It’s in my locker.

(pissed)

You’re not even gonna look at it,

are you?

MICHAEL:

What? The book? Bring it Saturday.

HENRY:

I did already. I left it in yourkitchen. It’s got a red cover.

MICHAEL:

Go.

(snagging a quick kiss)

Go on. Teach these people something.

HENRY getting out of the car. MICHAEL watching his son lughis backpack down the sidewalk and into the school. MICHAEL

holding a smile, ready with a final wave goodbye. And then

the boy is gone and the mask comes down. Checking his watch-- he’s late and tense and dropping the car into gear, as --

EXT. “TIM’S” -- DAY

A restaurant/bar near Foley Square. TIM’S was a sweet-

looking, pubbish tavern that’s gone out of business.

Several vans double-parked outside as we hear --

AUCTIONEER (V.O.)

...lot 37, two Fryolater six gallon

units. They’re new, they’re clean,

let’s start five hundred the pair...

INT. “TIM’S” KITCHEN -- DAY

FIFTEEN BUYERS bunched like starlings around the AUCTIONEER.

Men with clipboards. Equipment all tagged and stacked andready to roll.

AUCTIONEER:

...five hundred, I’ve got five -five-

fifty. Six. This is two units,

folks. Six, I see six-fifty. Seven...

INT. “TIM’S” BAR/DINING ROOM -- DAY

Dark. Stripped down. Stools, blenders, cash registers --

everything stacked and tagged. MICHAEL alone at a table.

Sounds of the carcass being picked over in the BG. GABE

ZABEL, loanshark, enters from the kitchen.

ZABEL:

He says you’re still gonna be short.

MICHAEL:

How short?

ZABEL:

Sixty. Plus the points. Seventy-fivethousand.

A body blow. MICHAEL trying to hide the impact.

MICHAEL:

That’s liquor and everything?

ZABEL:

What’d you think it was gonna be?

MICHAEL:

I don’t know. Less. Thirty. Twenty.

(the Auctioneer bleating

away in the BG--)

He’s taking fifteen hundred on arefrigerator I paid four grand for.

ZABEL:

Make a bid.

MICHAEL nods. Suck it up. Be a man.

ZABEL:

You don’t have this seventy-five?

MICHAEL:

Just laying around? No.

ZABEL:

Where’s your brother?

MICHAEL:

Forget that.

ZABEL:

Michael, look, you want to frontthis, that’s up to you, but Timmy’sname stays in the book until we’reclear.

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