The Crow Page #6

ERIC:

Murderer.

Tin-Tin

blows out a breath. No bluff. Time to kill again.

TIN-TIN

Guess you

got that goddamn right.

He shrugs. The shrug becomes the launch of a

knife.

TIGHT SHOT - MOVING - ERIC

His black-gloved hand slaps away the

incoming knife and inch from

his nose. It CLATTERS. Eric continues

striding toward Tin-TIn.

ERIC:

Try harder. Try again.

SHIFTING:

ANGLE - ERIC NEARS TIN-TIN

as Tin-TIn throws another knife. Eric

closing in. He claps

hand together, immobilizing the next knife. Opens

his hands,

almost an "oops" gesture. Keeps on coming.

ANGLE - ERIC AND

TIN-TIN

As they meet. Tin-Tin attempts a roundhouse. Eric blocks it

and smashes Tin-Tin into the alley wall.

ERIC:

A year ago. Halloween.

A man

and a woman. In a loft. You

helped to murder them.

TIN-TIN

Last Halloween, eh? Yeah...

(beat)

Yeah, I remember. I f***ed

her

too, I think.

ERIC:

You cut her. You raped her.

(rage)

You watched!

TIN-TIN

Hey, I got my rocks off, so

f*** you in the

ass, man.

They're face-to-face now, sweaty and tense. Eric peels off

the Tragedy mask.

ERIC:

I want you to tell me a story, Tin-Tin.

TIN-TIN

I don't know you...

But, as Eric bears down on Tin-TIn, Tin

begins to recognize him.

Fear. Sweat.

For the first time, Tin-Tin

starts to loose control.

TIN-TIN (CONT'D)

Holy sh*t... you're dead,

man...

EXTREME CLOSE-UP - ERIC

ERIC:

Victims. Aren't we all.

INT.

LOFT - NIGHT

TIGHT ANGLE - TABLETOP

as Eric's hands place Ratso's boom

box on the table and click on

suitable weird b.g. MUSIC.

ANGLE - FLOOR

LEVEL:

Eric's boots pass frame. An open can of cat food CLANKS down

big

in f.g. as Eric walks b.g. obviously wearing Tin-Tin's

trenchcoat.

Gabriel noses into to frame to eat from the can.

INT. LOFT, BEDROOM -

NIGHT (LATER)

Shelly's vanity. Dusty, disused. The mirror spiderwebbed

with

cracks but still hanging precariously in its frame. Eric is

seated, his image crazily split into many. He pulls on a long-

sleeved,

tight-knit, black shirt.

WIDEN ANGLE to reveal the loft now lit with

dozens of candle

stubs. Placed all around. Ceremonial and weird.

CLOSE-UP - ERIC

ERIC:

Halloween is coming. The Day of the Dead...

In

the mirror, multi Eric's. He touches the glass, tightening up

as he

realizes he's in for another --

FLASH:
Shelly, sleeping on her divan, a

year ago, wakes as Eric

(O.S.) says "Boo". She cracks an eye open.

SHELLY:

Your scary quotient needs work.

FLASH ENDS.

ANOTHER ANGLE -

ERIC AT VANITY:

Considering old cosmetics. Everything he touches will

hurt him.

But he's ready to eat this pain. He grabs a lipstick.

FLASH:

Shelly at the vanity in happier times

SHELLY:

I think red's my color,

don't you?

FLASH ENDS.

RESUME ERIC:

wincing. He drops the lipstick

on the floor. Grabs a

hairbrush.

FLASH:
Eric smashes into the street

after his death-fall,

trailing broken glass.

FLASH ENDS.

NEW ANGLE -

ERIC AT VANITY:

Later. He's wearing white pancake makeup on his cheeks.

Shaky.

FLASH:
Eric sucks up Funboy's gunshots in the chest. 1-2-3-4.

FLASH ENDS.

RESUMING ERIC AT VANITY

his face a crazy warpaint maze of

white streaks, not blended

yet. He looks at his own reflection. In one

cracked,

triangular facet of the mirror is not a multiple of his face,

but the Skull Cowboy. Just one.

SKULL COWBOY:

Glad to see you're

finally with

the program.

ERIC:

Bugger off to the graveyard, skull-

face, I'm busy.

SKULL COWBOY:

You work for the dead. Forget

that,

and you can forget it all.

The Cowboy tips his hat and isn't there.

Eric sees the crow

perched on the edge of the mirror now.

ERIC:

Forget

this.

He smears the streaks until his face is uniformly grave-wave

white.

ANGLE - GABRIEL THE CAT

coming in to sniff around the clutter at

the foot of the vanity.

Eric looks down towards him... and toward the

lipstick he dropped.

CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND

as it glides down to pick

up the lipstick. CONTACT, and --

FLASH:
Eric, smashed on the street,

T-Bird's car b.g., upside down

in Eric's POV as he rolls over and blood

courses from both

corners of his mouth, a definite foreshadow of the

"Crow" face.

FLASH ENDS.

RESUMING ERIC AT VANITY - TIGHT

ERIC:

She

always red red was her color.

EXTREME CLOSE - THE MIRROR

We see only a

reflected corner of Eric's mouth as he duplicates

the blood trail in red

lipstick, making one one half of a crow

harlequin smile.

EXT. LOFT

BUILDING - LATER - NIGHT

A MEDIUM SHOT as lightning strikes; a storm

brews.

EXT. LOFT - LATER - NIGHT

CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S BOOTS

crossing

the floor. Tin-Tin's knife slotted to the bucklework.

CLOSE-UP - VANITY

Eric's hands discard a hairbrush there. He moves off.

CLOSE-UP -

GABRIEL:

looking up o.s., watching his master stalk around with purpose.

Thunder rumbles long o.s.

ANGLE - AT ERIC IN WINDOW FROM OUTSIDE

The

storm boils. Eric framed in broken window.

CLOSER ANGLE - ERIC IN

WINDOW:

Eric all in black, Firm-wrapped. Tight-wired. The trenchcoat

flutters, cloak-like. His shadowy face framed by the upturned

collar,

his hair punkish and spiky.

SIDE ANGLE - ERIC

as he moves forward in

the light. The crow lights on his shoulder.

ERIC:

All right, bad

guys...

FRONT VIEW - ERIC

Full crow regalia. Face makeup streamlined.

Eric's eyes flash.

ERIC:

(in drawn out yell)

Here I commme -- !

PULL BACK swiftly, vertiginously, as Eric swan dives from the

window, his

voice a howl.

UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S FALL

Coat, wing-like.

MATCH his dive yell with o.s. crow SCREECH.

SLOW MOTION as Eric fills the

frame and we --

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. ALLEY - WHERE TIN-TIN GOT IT -

NIGHT:

Cop lights bounce, competing with the trash fires. Albrecht and

several other UNIFORMS assess the double-death scene. A

detective,

TORRES tries to appear in charge.

TORRES:

Couldn't have happened to a

nicer

couple.

ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND TORRES OVER DEAD TIN-TIN

Tin-Tin

frozen in deathshock, all of his knives sticking out of

him. Dead

Ratso, b.g., where he fell.

ALBRECHT:

Sure it coulda. Funboy's not

here, neither is T-Bird -- none

of Top Dollar's number ones.

TORRES:

You know, you sure got a hard-on for

a guy that's guilty of zip on

paper. Top Dollar runs Showtime;

what's the matter, don't you like

adult entertainment?

ALBRECHT:

This sack of sh*t is called Tin-

Tin.

TORRES:

Don't any of your little pals have

real, grown up names?

ALBRECHT:

He was a runner for Top Dollar.

Just muscle.

TORRES:

Was.

ALBRECHT:

(sigh)

This isn't Top Dollar's style

anyway. This was

somebody else.

Somebody new.

Albrecht lights a fresh smoke. Torres

waves the smoke away.

TORRES:

And you're gonna tell me who.

ALBRECHT:

Who ever made that.

Albrecht points. CAMERA FOLLOWS to wall

behind Tin-Tin. A crow

silhouette has been daubed in blood there, now

dry.

TORRES:

What in the hell... do you

call that?

ALBRECHT:

I:

call it blood, Detective. If

you want, you can call it graffiti.

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