Shine
- PG-13
- Year:
- 1996
- 105 min
- 1,399 Views
INT. TRANSIT LOUNGE. AIRPORT - NIGHT
David HELFGOTT wakes with a start in an indistinct place
somewhere in the world. Late thirties, eyelids at
half-mast, he stares into the wet night, mesmerized by a
flashing red light.
David
(mumbling)
Kissed them all, I kissed them all, always kissed cats,
puss-cats, kissed them, always did; if a cat'd let me kiss
it, I'd kiss it - Cat on a fence I'll kiss it - always,
always, I will - didn't I? I did because I was different
wasn't I, I was - gotta be different again, haven't I darl -
He realizes the seat beside him is empty and panics.
David
Where-oh-where, Gillian? Where did she go, where-oh -
His weird begaviour draws attention.
Gillian
(returning)
It's alright David, I'm right here.
David
Here - here Gillian, right here. The thing is I thought you
were gone.
She emanates calmness, warmth and is an endless source of
energy. The effect is instantaneous. David settles '
Gillian
Where is there to go?
David
I don't know darling, I don't know, I'm hopeless without my
glasses.
Gillian
You've got your contacts in, silly.
David
I'm a silly, it's true, it's true.
A braying laugh.
Whooahh!
Gillian
Shhhh.
David
Oooh, shhh - shhh, sorry darling, sorry -
Gillian
It's alright. Stretch your legs.
David
Do you think so? Perhaps I should, perhaps I should stretch
my legs, should I stretch my legs?
He stands.
Gillian
Good idea.
David
Good idea, that's right -
AIRPORT ANNOUNCEMENT : Flight 313 to London via Frankfurt
will be re-boarding in 15 minutes -
David
Whooahhh, London, Gillian, London!
Gillian
Yes ' Shhh.
David
Shhh '
He looks out the rain-spattered window at the flashing red
light from an aircraft being fuelled immediately outside the
window.
David
Shhh, softly, softly, new story '
Dissolve to iridescent neon raindrops coursing down a window
in the night somewhere, Suddenly a desperate face fills the
frams. It's David in his late twenties. The full head of
hair, falling around his soaking wet face, tells us this is
years earlier; a sodden cigarette hangs from his lips
spectacles dangle off the end of his nose. He's looking
into ...
INT/EXT. MOBY'S WINEBAR - NIGHT
A pianist croons the last few bars of 'Only the Lonely'. A
waiter, TONY, shows the last two patrons to the door. TONY
and a woman in her mid-forties, Sylvia, put up chairs; the
PIANIST, SAM, slips into a stool at the bar. They chat but
all we hear is David's anxious breathing as we are seeing it
all from his POV. He raps on the window.
Sylvia
What does he want?
Sam
A drink probably. Get lost!
David disappears from the window and appears at the door.
Sylvia
Poor thing. Let him in.
Tony
He's a derro'!
Sylvia
He's saturated.
Resume David's POV as more words are exchanged then TONY
comes over and opens the door to him.
Tony
What's the problem, mate?
David
Sorry, sorry, sorry, mate, I'm the problem, I think I'm the
problem, such a problem. And wet! But it's not an ideal
world. Is it an ideal world? We just have to make the most
of it, I mean, this is the way we find it isn't it,
yeah-yeah-yeah! But it's more ideal than it was, I mean,
you know, we're privileged, we're privileged, we're
priviliged, aren't we, because not long ago, people would be
burned to a steak wouldn't they, er '
He sees 'MOBY'S' embroidered on TONY's tunic.
David
Moby, yay Moby, pleased to meet you -
Tony
Tony. Who are you?
David
(hugs Tony)
Tony, Tony not Moby Tony. Who am I Tony? Who knows Tony?
I don't know myself. Whooahh! David, I'm David, I'm David
Tony ' How does that sound?
Sylvia
Hello David. How can Sylvia help?
David
Sylvia? Is it Sylvia? How are you Sylvia? Good to see
you, Sylvia.
He throws an arm around her neck as though greeting a
long-lost friend.
David
Sylvia Tony, Tony Sylvia.
Sylvia
What can we do for you, David?
David
Do for me, Sylvia, what, yes, got to stop talking, got to
stop, got to stop, it's a problem isn't it? Is it a
problem?
Sylvia
It's alright David; just tell Sylvia why you're here.
David
Ahhhh! Well it's a mystery, a mystery, a mystery -
Sylvia
Are you lost?
David
Am I lost? Perhaps that's it. I'm lost, I'm lost, I'm
lost. How does that sound?
He sees the piano.
David
Ooh you have a piano. Is that your piano, Sylvia?
Beautiful Sylvia,. Isn't Sylvia beautiful Tony? You too
Tony. Perhaps I could play it. Could I play it? You say,
you say.
Sam
Like hell baby.
Sylvia
Shut up, Sam.
David
(lurches towards SAM)
Hell baby, the Devil, Diablerie Sam baby!
SAM:
Get outta here.
TONY is in fits of laughter '
Sylvia
David -
David
Sylvia, such a beaitiful piano exquisite Sylvia, Sylvia-Tony.
David
Could I play, you say, you say?
Sylvia
Why don't you tell Sylvia where you live?
David
Live, Sylvia, ligve - live and let live - that's very
important isn't it? Molto, molto. But then again it's a
lifelong struggle, isn't it Sylvia-Tony, to live, to
survive, to survive undamaged and not destroy any living
breathing creature. The point is, if you do something wrong
you can be punished for the rest of your life so I think
it's a lifelong struggle; is it a lifelong struggle?
Whatever you do it's a struggle, a struggle to keep you head
above water and not get it chopped off. I'm not
disappointing you am I Sylvia-Tony-Moby-Sam, yay Sam!
EXT. STREETS - NIGHT
Sylvia's old Humber belts past in the heavy rain.
INT. Sylvia'S CAR - NIGHT
TONY is driving. Sylvia is in front, both laughing along
with David in the back.
David
(a braying laugh)
'Helfott' - 'with the help of God' - that's what it means
Sylvia. How's that? You see, Daddy's daddy was religious,
vee-eery religious, very strict; and a bit of a meanie. But
he got eterminated, didn't he, so God didn't help him.
Whooahhh. Not very funny is it, Sylvia? Very sad, really
sad - I'm callous aren't I, such a meanie because I haven't
got a soul, is that right - that's right isn't it?
Sylvia - (O.S.)
What do you mean?
David
Daddy, daddy said so. No such thing as a soul.
A train whiste sounds in the distance.
Sylvia
That's ridiculous
David
Ridiculous; you're right. I'm ridiculous Sylvia-Tony, and
callous Daddy said because it was a tragedy, a tragedy '
The car drives into a tunnel. Blackness in the tunnel.
David - (V.0.)
' a ridiculous tragedy.
The sound of the train wheels rattling, blasting a signal
sweeps us into bright light.
As if in a dream, children's faces turn to look at camera in
soundless slow-motion. Some are made up, prissy, perfectly
dressed for a performance, accompanies by 'stage mothers',
fanning themselves in the stifling heat, all eyes focused on
the next contestant as he makes his way up the centre aisle.
His POV. Over this we fade up.
ANNOUNCER:
Let's hear it for our next young contestant, David Helfgott.
David, nine, makes his way down the aisle clutching a score.
His hair is meticulously parted and he wears spectacles. A
little uncertain, he stops and looks back to his father.
Peter HELFGOTT is a thickset Polish man in his fifties. He
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