The Ladykillers

EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - DAY

A BOAT:

Specifically, a garbage scow.

We see it from ON HIGH, chugging down the placid but mighty

Mississippi.

Head credits play over COVERAGE of the garbage scow. No sound,

except for an incongruously heroic score.

The COVERAGE is a little rough, coarse-grained; along with

the overbearing score it almost suggests an industrial film

rather than a feature.

One piece of sound -- the toot of the boat's horn -- is

obviously library. And not a new library either.

The garbage scow passes under a bridge spanning the broad,

sluggish waters, and proceeds on to its landfill, a steaming

river island. Disturbed gulls and other scavenger birds rise

from where they were picking through trash. Their squawks,

like the boat horn, are not quite believable as SYNC.

The head credits end as the anthemic music resolves.

EXT. SAUCIER, MISSISSIPPI - DAY

AN OLD HOUND DOG

lies on the weather-grayed and -roughened planking of a front

porch. The porch is half-shaded from the noonday sun. It is

quiet except for the chirr of heat bugs, close by, and, very

distant, many voices in chorus, engaged in divine worship in

a Baptist church sufficiently far away that vagaries of breeze

fan them in and out of audibility.

We once again hear the toot of the scow's horn, distant now

and played as real, not slapdash effect. At this, the dog

lifts his nose to catch the breeze, sniffs, and then, whining,

lowers his head to the floor and covers his snout with his

forepaws. He huffs briefly and goes to sleep.

We DRIFT UP to show that the dog is sleeping before the

SAUCIER WORM STORE

Your source for worms, lures, etcetera, etcetera...

We TRAVEL OVER TO REVEAL that the modest one-story structure

houses two establishments; its other front door leads to the

SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING.

A campaign sign in the window on the municipal side shows a

black man of late middle-age beaming and giving the viewer a

thumbs-up:

RE-ELECT WAYNE WYNER SHERIFF/He Is Too Old to Go to Work.

INT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY

We hear snoring on top of a low, steady hissing sound.

We are DRIFTING toward the door of the lock-up, which stands

open. The small cell is empty, its bed neatly made.

A KEY:

We are ARCING slowly around a jailer's key on a ring that

hangs from a nail. The OFFSCREEN snoring and whirring

continues.

The TRACK'S SHIFTING ANGLE now makes the light catch a spider

web spun between the key and the wall.

POLICE SCANNER:

We DRIFT across the face of the radio. The peaceful steady

hissing jumps in louder at the CUT: it is uninterrupted: a

transmissionless, crimeless, misdemeanorless idle radio hiss.

The snoring is also louder here. As we TRAVEL OFF the radio

we are COMING ONTO a pair of feet propped up on the desktop.

They belong to SHERIFF WYNER, tipped back in his chair,

fingers laced on his chest, head lolling forward.

As the MOVING CAMERA FINALLY ENDS on him, there is the ring

of a telephone -- muffled, not present.

It nevertheless rouses the sheriff who almost strangles on a

snore as he awakes, and then rocks forward to pick up his

phone.

SHERIFF WYNER:

Sheriff Wyner...

The muffled ringing continues; the sheriff looks, puzzled,

at the phone. Now the ringing stops and we hear a muffled

voice next door:

VOICE (O.S.)

Worms.

The sheriff replaces the phone, leans back again, adjusts

his hat, and is about to go back to sleep when we hear the

front door open.

The sheriff looks and reacts with genuine, if momentary,

fear.

He manages to compose himself and give the intruder a smile:

SHERIFF WYNER:

Afternoon, Miz Munson.

Entering is an elderly black woman in a floral print dress

and fruited bonnet.

MRS. MUNSON

Afternoon, Sheriff. You know the

Funthes boy?

SHERIFF WYNER:

...Mackatee Funthes?

MRS. MUNSON

No no, WeeMack! Mackatee's eldest!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Oh yeah, believe I do.

MRS. MUNSON

Well, he's a good boy but he done

gone down to the Costco in Pascagoula

and got hisself a blastah -- and he

been playin' that music!

Wyner is not sure where this is going:

SHERIFF WYNER:

Uh-huh...

MRS. MUNSON

Loud!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Well--

MRS. MUNSON

"Left my wallet in El Segundo!"

SHERIFF WYNER:

He--

MRS. MUNSON

Songs like that!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Uh-huh...

MRS. MUNSON

Hippity-hop music!

SHERIFF WYNER:

I could--

MRS. MUNSON

You know they call it hippity-hop

music, but it don't make me wanna go

hippity-hop!

SHERIFF WYNER:

No ma'am--

MRS. MUNSON

And Othar don't like that music

neither!

Sheriff Wyner now displays an exaggerated solicitousness:

SHERIFF WYNER:

It's been disturbin' Othar then, has

it?

MRS. MUNSON

How could it help but do! That kind

of music! You know what they call

colored folks in them songs? Have

you got any idea?

SHERIFF WYNER:

I don't think I--

MRS. MUNSON

NIGGAZ! I don't wanna say the word.

I won't say it twice, I'll tell you

that. I say it one time.

SHERIFF WYNER:

Yes ma'am.

MRS. MUNSON

In the course a swearin' out my

complaint.

SHERIFF WYNER:

Yes'm--

MRS. MUNSON

NIGGAZ! Two thousand years after

Jesus! Thirty years after Martin

Luther King! The age of Montel! Sweet

lord a-mercy, izzat where we at?

SHERIFF WYNER:

Mm-mm--

MRS. MUNSON

WeeMack down to Pascagoula buyin' a

big thumpy stereo player?! So he can

listen to that word in the house

next to mine? Sheriff, you gotta

help that boy!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Help him?

MRS. MUNSON

You gotta take an innarest! EXTEND

that helpin' hand!

SHERIFF WYNER:

(dubious)

Well, we're here to help...

MRS. MUNSON

Well God bless ya. Don't wanna be

tried and found wantin'.

SHERIFF WYNER:

No ma'am.

MRS. MUNSON

Many many tunkalow parzen, Sheriff

Wyner. Many many tunkalow parzen!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Many what ma'am?

MRS. MUNSON

You have been tried and found wanting.

Don't want that writin' on the wall!

SHERIFF WYNER:

No ma'am--

MRS. MUNSON

Feast a Balthazar!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Mm-hm.

MRS. MUNSON

John The Apostle said: Behold there

is a stranger in our midst, come to

destroy us!

SHERIFF WYNER:

Yes ma'am.

EXT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY

Mrs. Munson closes the door behind her. She wags a paper fan

and mutters:

MRS. MUNSON

He's a good man. Just needs

instruction. Dog, you in peoples'

way.

The dog stirs with a whine and ambles off.

EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY

With a neatly tended garden. It is the last house on a street

of other similarly modest but well maintained homes; beyond

it the street disappears down a bluff. The empty space beyond

suggests a wide river, and indeed we can see the top of an

anchored, gaudily painted paddle-boat poking over the rise.

The paddle-boat is apparently anchored at the near bank of

the river.

Mrs. Munson is entering by the gate. She stops in the garden

and stoops to pull a tiny weed marring the otherwise perfect

row of flowers.

I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - DAY

Mrs. Munson lets herself in. A cat lopes up to her, the bell

around its neck tinkling, and leans mewing into her leg.

MRS. MUNSON

You need somethin' to eat, Angel?

INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

Mrs. Munson hand-cranks a can opener around a tin of cat

food.

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