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The Silence of the Lambs
- R
- Year:
- 1991
- 118 min
- 2,544 Views
FADE IN:
INT. GRUBBY HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY (DIMLY LIT)
A woman's face BACKS INTO SHOT, her head resting against
grimy wallpaper. She is tense, sweaty, wide-eyed with
concentration. This is CLARICE STARLING, mid-20's, trim,
very pretty. She wears Kevlar body armor over a navy
windbreaker, khaki pants. Her thick hair is piled under a
navy baseball cap. A revolver, clutched in her right hand,
hovers by her ear. She raises a speedloader, in her left
hand, locks it into her cylinder, twists and reloads.
CLOSE ON:
A guest room door, with a small, wired pack attached to its
knob. Suddenly, wish a sharp CRACK!, the knob explodes, and
the door bursts open.
as she runs around a corner, through a cloud of smoke. She
shoulders aside the shattered door and rushes inside, gun at
the ready in both hands...
CUT TO:
CLARICE'S POV - MOVING - as she first sees, sitting on the
edge of a bed - a FEMALE HOSTAGE. Black, late 20's, gagged,
hands behind her back. Then, SWIVELLING... she sees a startled
MALE SUSPECT, white, mid-20's, standing by a window with a
rifle in his hands. He is turning towards her...
Clarice drops into a combat crouch, gun extended, and shouts.
CLARICE:
Freeze! FBI!
all natural SOUND suspended - as the Suspect faces her with
a strange, pleading expression. The rifle is rising in his
hands, but oddly enough, it is held across his chest, not
pointing. Then another puzzling detail registers...
THE SUSPECT'S HANDS
are taped to his gun, away from the trigger; he couldn't use
it even if he tried. Suddenly we hear a metallic CLICK, which
registers with unnatural amplification, as - Clarice reacts,
drops to the floor, rolling sideways, and -
THE "HOSTAGE"
pulls a revolver out from behind her back, still in SLOW
MOTION, raising it in her untied hands. She fires repeatedly,
flames leaping from the muzzle; the SOUND is an echoing roar
in these close quarters, but -
Clarice has come up on one knee, beside an armchair, and is
already firing back herself, two quick SHOTS, which send -
THE "HOSTAGE"
pitching over the bed, backwards, to shudder and lie still
in a haze of gunsmoke. Clarice rushes to her, clamping one
knee down on her gun hand, still keeping her covered in case
of movement. HOLD for a few beats... then we hear the shrill
blast of a WHISTLE from somewhere, off screen, as normal
ACTION and SOUND are restored.
BRIGHAM (O.S.)
Okay, people, good exercise...
Clarice relaxes, lowering her gun. The lights brighten.
PULLING BACK:
we see that we're in some sort of auditorium, with the "hotel
room" and its "corridor" built as a training set. JOHN BRIGHAM
walks onto this set, thumbing a stopwatch. Mid-40's, ex-
Marine. His T-shirt's lettering says "Firearms Instructor /
FBI Academy."
BRIGHAM:
Starling's reaction time was
excellent. Let's break. Critique in
five.
A class of about forty young FBI trainees, of both sexes,
begins to rise from their seats, mingling and chatting.
Clarice nods amiably to the "Suspect", then gives her
"Hostage" a hand up. It's ARDELIA MAPP, her roommate. Her
broad, clever face breaks into a big smile, as they both
remove ear plugs. Clarice's voice has just a soft trace of
southern accent.
ARDELIA:
Damn, Clarice, how'd you make me?
CLARICE:
(indicating her gun)
Never cock. Just squeeze.
ARDELIA:
(grins)
I love it when you talk dirty.
As Brigham joins them, Clarice can't resist a star pupil's
little smile of pride. He frowns good-naturedly.
BRIGHAM:
What're you laughin' at, Junior G-
Man? She got off four rounds to your
two.
He takes out a steel-coiled grip flexer, drops it onto her
palm.
BRIGHAM:
(continuing)
One hundred reps, each hand, every
day. Now tidy up, the Section Chief
wants to see you.
He nods a direction, then moves off. Clarice, with her smile
finally fading, looks out into the auditorium.
sits on the top step of the aisle, looking down at her. He
is 53, strongly built. He rises impassively, exits through
the back door. He carries a think manila envelope under one
arm.
Ardelia who is helping Clarice unbuckle her bullet-proof
vest, follows her worried gaze.
CLARICE:
What'd I do?
ARDELIA:
Stay cool. Just remember to call him
"God."
CUT TO:
EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA - DAY
Crawford is watching a group of trainees on the firing range,
as Clarice joins him. He looks tired, haunted. Between master
and student, we sense a subtle, muted tug of sexuality.
CRAWFORD:
Starling, Clarice M., good morning.
CLARICE:
Good morning, Mr. Crawford.
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