The Crow Page #2

INT.

ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE - NIGHT

A MOVING SHOT during o.s. lines.

Past dead video and pinball

devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase,

coffee cup,

ashtray -- someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN,

trussed

with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her

darting eyes.

COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed

freak

with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy.

And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is

prepping an

incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of

arson cocktail to

Skank.

T-BIRD

Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof

accelerator. I squirt you

with

this, you could jump in the

Detroit river and burn all the way

to the bottom.

INSERT A CLOSE-UP of the bomb in his hands as he works.

Silver

canisters, an LED timer, wires.

T-BIRD (CONT'D)

You know, Lake

Erie actually

caught on fire once, from all the

crap in it. Wish I

coulda seen

that.

He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs.

T-BIRD (CONT'D)

We're ready to rock.

Skank notices the captive woman's

handbag on the floor. Picks

it up. Looks through it for valuables.

SKANK:

What about working girl?

INTERCUT the woman's increasingly

horrified reactions.

T-BIRD

What about her?

SKANK:

I say we leave

her here to fry,

man.

T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles

hideously.

T-BIRD

No. Let's take her with us.

ANGLE - THE WOMAN

Her eyes bug in a terrified NO!

EXT. STREET - MOVING - NIGHT

As the

T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street.

INT. T-BIRD

- TRAVELLING - NIGHT

TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an

equally

fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in

the

back seat.

TB:

(pissed off)

Skank, shut her the f*** up!

SKank

punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward.

SKANK:

Whoaaa --

T-Bird, red light, red

light!

EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS -

NIGHT:

As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering

nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention.

ANGLE -

ALBRECHT - AT MAXI-DOGS

Reacting, with a mouthful.

ALBRECHT:

Goddammit.

Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly.

MICKEY:

Call it

in?

Albrecht is off and running for the corner already.

ALBRECHT:

Yeah, do it!

(to Elly)

Stay right there!

HOLD ON MICKEY. He

points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch.

MICKEY:

(yelling after)

You want I should save this for

you?

EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM

CEMETERY - NIGHT

The car slides to a nose-down panic stop.

SKANK:

(O.S.)

Dump her, man, dump her!

The woman comes tumbling from the car,

which blasts off with a

war hoop from the guys inside.

ANGLE - CORNER -

ON ALBRECHT:

Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing

car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way.

ANGLE -

THE WOMAN:

hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct

tape

stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as

she

falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of

CLOSE:

TWO-SHOT - ERIC AND THE WOMAN

Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his

first FLASH.

NB:
Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the

nature

of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and

fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he

must

assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and

accompanied by a

degree of pain. It hurts to remember.

FLASH:
INT. T-BIRD - WOMAN'S

STRUGGLE:

The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their

voices

hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the

blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and --

FLASH ENDS.

ANOTHER ANGLE:

- ERIC AND WOMAN

An airborne crow POV spiralling up and away from them.

MATCH WITH:

ANGLE - THE CROW

perched on a fire escape, high above,

watching and waiting.

ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN

She fades. He

lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back

into the cover of the

alley. Her blood is on his hands.

ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING

Skidding

in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her.

ALBRECHT:

Here now! You're

gonna be okay!

Can you understand me? I'm a

police officer...

The

woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now.

WOMAN:

He touched me

and it stopped. The

pain.

ALBRECHT:

What did you say?

WOMAN:

I:

saw a ghost...

Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms.

ALBRECHT:

Oh no... don't go, darlin', you

stay with me, now... sh*t!

HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY

BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman,

onlookers, as police

units screech up to assist.

EXT. ALLEY BEHIND

ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT

Eric in lurching flight,

panting. Stops and steadies against

the wall across from the backside of

Arcade Games.

ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING)

Circling, then lighting on the

fire escape above Eric.

BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION")

"CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually

distinct

and immediately identifiable.

ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES

Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes.

ANGLE - ERIC

looking

up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand.

Suddenly he cottons,

and covers his eyes just in time to shield

from:

ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE

GAMES:

The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and

debris.

ANGLE - WITH ERIC

he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls.

ANGLE:

- THE CROW

landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat

boots in the trash. Flames.

LOW ANGLE - ERIC

The blood from his hands

mars his burial shirt. He tears the

shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly

intact. Wipes his face

with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his

discovery --

PUSH IN ON ERIC:

as his fingers explore the five puckered

bullet punctures in his

chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his

back foe exit

wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the

crow.

His glance at the bird is almost accusatory.

ANGLE - THe CROW

Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent

communication is

taking place.

ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET

bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to

Eric. His gaze moves from the

crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs

them, pushes them onto

his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight.

Distant o.s.

SIRENS:

ERIC:

Fire. In the rain.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT.

CLUB TRASH - NIGHT

We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club

Trash. The BG

music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio

Werewolf band

rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup

trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now

the BG

SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this

establishment since we

are --

TIGHT CLOSE-UP A FRAMED 8X10

Thinly filmed in dust, mounted

among dozens of other band shots.

Visible among the posed members of a

group called Diabolique is

Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND

BLUR as people

CROSS FRAME.

GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned

assassin, cruel but loyal.

His facade remains stony as he leads three

other men briskly

down the corridor.: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese

gangster style

- white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades - and two body

guards

supplying a power perimeter around him,lean, dark-haired Asian

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