The Ladykillers Page #5

QUARTERBACK:

You the man!

A very, very present VOICE (HUDSON):

HUDSON (O.S.)

Me the man?

TEAM:

Huh!

LINE OF SCRIMMAGE

The same breathing and count.

On "Hike!" we sprint downfield.

The same distant defender sprinting toward us.

We hear low but very present a dismayed:

HUDSON (O.S.)

Unh... oh no...

Our breathing is torn by rasping wheezes of effort as we

continue to run.

We look back.

Every player is looking directly at us.

A huge spiralling football coming at us -- too close, too

soon -- and--

BONK!

It bounces off our mouth guard and flies up.

HUDSON (O.S.)

...sh*t...

We are looking forward just as

CRUNCH!

We are hit by the defender.

We once again land face-up.

Very steeply FORESHORTENED, right over us, we see the defender

juggling the live ball.

With a moan, our own hand reaches weakly up towards the ball

and the high, distant defender.

He finally gathers in the ball and securely tucks it, and

starts back upfield.

We climb wearily to our feet. We look back upfield just in

time to see the defender start an elaborate victory dance in

the end zone. He pauses for a moment to point a gloved hand

directly at us, then resumes his strut.

Shouting from the sidelines brings our PANNING attention

over.

The coach, face twisted with fury, is shouting at us and

using his clipboard to wave us off the field.

We trot toward the sidelines.

All of our teammates stare at us �- some in shock, some in

anger, some in pity.

At the sideline bench our POV swings round as we seat ourself.

A hand reaches up to the mouth guard to pull off the helmet

and we

MATCH CUT TO:

Our first OBJECTIVE SHOT as the player (HUDSON) finishes

pulling off his helmet. He is a big blond boy. His entire

body, including his face, is solidly built.

An offscreen Voice:

COACH (O.S.)

Hudson!

The boy, Hudson, turns to look, and we cut to one last

POV:

The COACH is striding up, swinging his clipboard at the

camera:
with a loud CRUNCH! it brings on:

BLACK:

EXT. MINI-MALL / HI-HO DONUT - DAY

HIGH ANGLE:

It is a typical sunbaked concrete strip mall with a Seven-

Eleven, a launderette, and a Hi-Ho Donut. The Hi-Ho Donut

sign shows a pink donut with sprinkles and says in much

smaller lettering: And Croissants.

A beat-up Impala pulls into the lot, pulsing hip-hop music.

After a long rumbling idle the ignition is killed. Both front

doors open. Two BLACK KIDS get out and look around with a

manner that is if anything too casual.

INT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY

There is faint muzak and loud air-conditioner hum. Glass

cases display donuts identified as GLAZED, JELLY, and FANCIES.

Fancies ooze yellow goo. The jelly on the jelly donuts is

developing a crust of age. The glazed also look moth-eaten.

One customer, a disheveled older man, sits at one of the

little formica tables staring into a coffee cup. Next to the

coffee is a brown paper bag from which a straw protrudes.

Behind the counter is a middle-aged VIETNAMESE WOMAN in a

neat white blouse.

The two youths enter pulling out enormous handguns from

underneath their windbreakers.

YOUTH #1

All right Dragon Lady, give us all

the f***in' money!

The woman stares blankly.

YOUTH #1

We want that donut money!

VIETNAMESE WOMAN

Yao gin nyap!

A man appears from the kitchen in back. He is a middle-aged

Vietnamese gentleman in a crisply pressed khaki leisure suit.

An ascot is knotted at his neck. He wears aviator eyeglasses.

In his mouth smolders a half-burned-down filterless cigarette.

This, we shall learn later, is THE GENERAL.

YOUTH #2

Okay papa-san, we want that donut

money.

YOUTH #1

And we ain't f***in' around, Mr. Hi-

Ho.

VIETNAMESE WOMAN

Hi-Ho.

The two youths look at her briefly. Nothing else is

forthcoming.

The drunk looks up from his paper bag.

YOUTH #2

Look, this f***in' thing, it ain't

complicated. You give us all the

f***in money, you don't get shot in

the head, you make more donuts, get

more money. That's how it works,

see?

The General stares at him. As with his wife, none of it seems

to register; unlike his wife, he seems unperturbed.

YOUTH #1

Give us the money!

He is pointing the gun directly at the General's head.

YOUTH #1

...You got three f***in' seconds.

You understand one-two-three? I'm

gonna count one-two-three and then

shoot. Okay? Three sec�- huh!

The General has swung his fist up to hook two fingers inside

the youth's nostrils. His gun clatters to the floor. The

fingers are way, way up his nose. Only one knuckle shows on

each finger.

The youth is staring cross-eyed at his own nose.

His friend is also stupefied.

YOUTH #1

(very nasal)

His fingers are way the f*** up my

nose.

YOUTH #2

GET... YA FINGAS... OUT... THE

MAN'S... NOSE!

The General still impassively sucks on his cigarette. The

first youth is on the verge of tears:

YOUTH #1

I think they're in my brain, man...

YOUTH #2

MOTHERFUCK!

He raises his gun to start firing.

As he does so the General uses his hook-hold on the other

youth's nose to slam his head backwards, down into some

Fancies.

The door opens and a customer walks in, a semi-elderly lady

with a cane.

Youth #2, eyes rolling, wildly swings to cover the door,

then back to the General who has his friend's head pressed

into the Fancies, then uncertainly over to the Vietnamese

woman who is loudly yelling at him in Vietnamese.

Cigarette still dangling from his lower lip, the General

calmly plucks a pot of coffee from the coffee warmer and

tosses it into Youth #2's face.

Youth #2 screams.

EXT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY

HIGH ANGLE:

The car is still pulsing hip-hop music. Youth #2 stumbles

out of the Hi-Ho, hands covering his face and sinks to his

knees.

INT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY

The General now has the first youth's face pressed into the

Fancies from behind. Without disturbing his smoking, the

General repeatedly kicks the youth in the ass.

His wife, muttering irritably in Vietnamese, is wheeling a

water bucket and mop to where the floor is covered with

coffee.

INT. CHURCH - DAY

At the CUT many voices are swelling in a song of worship. It

is a black Baptist church, and the music has great energy.

The white-robed choir finishes singing; a preacher takes the

podium.

PREACHER:

I know you all remember that when

Moses came down the mountain, carrying

the word a God, come down that Sinai

peak, he caught those Israelites red-

handed. What he catch 'em doin'? He

caught 'em worshipping a golden calf.

Shouts of "That's right!"

PREACHER:

...He caught 'em with their backs

turned on God!

More shouts of "That's right!"

PREACHER:

...He caught 'em worshipping a FALSE

God! A God of EARTHLY things! He

caught them Israelites in DECLINE!

"He caught 'em!"

PREACHER:

...Because backslidin' is DECLINE,

brothers and sisters! You hear talk

these days, and I know you've heard

this talk, you hear talk of DECLINE,

well all that means is we done turned

our back on God!

"That's right!"

PREACHER:

...People say civilization doin'

this, civilization doin' that,

civilization in DECLINE! Well it

ain't no civilization! It ain't no

them! It's US, brothers and sisters!

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