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JENNIFER EIGHT </b> Written by Bruce Robinson June 1991 <b> 1: INT. COMMUNITY HALL. DAY. </b> The Church of St. Peter Los Angeles. "WHOEVER YOU SEE HERE - WHATEVER YOU HEAR HERE - STAYS HERE." That's a notice on a wall. Here's another notice "NO SMOKING." Everyone is smok- ing. This is an AA meeting. There's a lot of Faces to look at. I don't know when we'll get to the one that's talking, but when we do it's like this. Eyes like glue. 50 years old with a face the color of a snuff-users hanky. He says this: <b> BENNY </b> .. after my third recovery my wife made me swear I'd never bring another bottle into the house. And I never did. I bur- ied it under the lawn. Cut out a turf &
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HIGH FIDELITY By D.V. De Vincentis, Steve Pink, & John Cusack Based on the novel by Nick Hornby <b> 9/11/98 </b> London Draft Registered: WGAw <b> </b> <b> FADE IN </b> <b> INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT </b> <b> STEREO </b> Not a minisystem, not a matching set, but coveted audiophile clutter of McIntosh and Nakamichi, each component from a different era, bought piece by
from
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Invader." "Rejoice in Messias, the Day Is at Hand." The labels were sense-free; they were Xs in an equation, signifying only that there was _something_ there which was unknown. "The Runaway Planet" stopped running when it closed on Earth. "The Invader" didn't invade; it merely sent down one slaggy, midnight-blue tetrahedron to Everest. And "Rejoice in Messias" stole Earth from its sun--with Earth's old moon, which it converted into a miniature sun of its own. That was the time when men were plentiful and strong--or thought they were--with many huge cities and countless powerful machines. It didn't matter. The new binary planet showed no interest in the cities or the machines. There was a plague of things like Eyes--dust-devils without dust, motionless air that suddenly tensed and quivered into lenticular shapes. They came with the planet and the Pyramid, so that there probably was some connection. But there was nothing to do about the Eyes. Striking at them was like striking at air--was the same thing, in fact. While the men and machines tried uselessly to do something about it, the new binary system--the stranger planet and Earth--began to move, accelerating very slowly. But accelerating. In a week, astronomers knew something was happening. In a month, the Moon sprang into flame and became a new sun--beginning to be needed, for already the parent Sol was visibly more distant, and in a few years it was only one other star among many. * * * * * When the little sun was burned to a clinker, they--whoever "they" were, for men saw only the one Pyramid--would hang a new one in the sky. It happened every five clock-years, more or less. It was the same old moon-turned-sun, but it burned out, and the fires needed to be rekindled.
when
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: "I started to tell you how I put Murphy out of business."] Mr. Shrimplin had risen early that day, or, as he told Custer, he had "got up soon", and long before his son had left his warm bed in the small room over the kitchen, was well on his rounds in his high two-wheeled cart, with the rack under the seat which held the great cans of gasolene from which the lamps were filled. He had only paused at Maxy Schaffer's Railroad Hotel to partake of what he called a Kentucky breakfast--a drink of whisky and a chew of tobacco--a simple dietary protection against the evils of an empty stomach, to which he particularly drew Custer's attention. His father's occupation was entirely satisfactory to Custer. Being employed by the town gave him an official standing, perhaps not so distinguished as that of a policeman, but still eminently worth while; and Mr. Shrimplin added not a little to the sense of its importance by dilating on the intrigues of ambitious rivals who desired to wrest his contract from him; and he impressed Custer, who frequently accompanied him on his rounds, with the wisdom of keeping the lamps that shone upon the homes of members of the town council in especially good order. Furthermore, there were possibilities of adventure in the occupation; it took Mr. Shrimplin into out-of-the-way streets and unfrequented alleys, and, as Custer knew, he always went armed. Sometimes, when in an unusually gracious mood, his father permitted him to verify this fact by feeling his bulging hip pocket. The feel of it was vastly pleasing to Custer, particularly when Mr. Shrimplin had to tell of strangers engaged in mysterious conversation on dark street corners, who slunk away as he approached. More than this, it was a matter of public knowledge that he had had numerous controversies in low portions of the town touching the right of the private citizen to throw stones at the street lamps; to Custer he made dire threats. He'd "toss a scare into them red necks yet! They'd bust his lamps once too often--he was laying for them! He knowed pretty well
which
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. Later, when he would fain have removed the bandage, he found it tied in a hard knot. For the hundredth time within a month he was once more tugging at the knot. To give himself the benefit of an object-lesson, he turned his pockets inside out, throwing together a small heap of loose silver and crumpled bank-notes on the table. After which he made a deliberate accounting, smoothing the creases out of the bills, and building an accurate little pillar with the coins. The exact sum ascertained, he sat back and regarded the money reflectively. "Ninety-five dollars and forty-five cents. That's what there is left out of the nest-egg; and I've been here rather less than four months. At that rate I've averaged, let me see"--he knitted his brows and made an approximate calculation--"say, fifty dollars a day. Consequently, the mill will run out of grist in less than two days, or it would if the law of averages held good--which it doesn't, in this case. Taking the last fortnight as a basis, I'm capitalized for just about one hour longer." He looked at his watch and got up wearily. "It's Kismet," he mused. "I might as well take my hour now, and be done with it." Whereupon he rolled the money into a compact little bundle, turned off the gas, and felt his way down the dark stair to the street. At the corner he ran against a stalwart young fellow, gloved and overcoated, and carrying a valise. "Why, hello, Jeffard, old man," said the traveler heartily, stopping to shake hands. "Doing time on the street at midnight, as usual, aren't you? When do you ever catch up on your sleep?" Jeffard's laugh was perfunctory. "I don't have much to do but eat and sleep," he replied. "Have you been somewhere?" "Yes; just got down from the mine--train was late. Same old story with you, I suppose? Haven't found the barrel of
have
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><html> <head> <script> <b><!-- </b>if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href <b>// --> </b></script> <title>THE BIG BLUE</title> </head> <pre> <b> THE BIG BLUE </b> by Luc Besson Bob Garland Marylin Golden "God is at the bottom of the sea and I dive to find him." Enzo Maiorca <b>FADE IN: </b> <b>EXT. GREEK ISLAND - SUNSET </b> <b>CREDIT SEQUENCE: </b> The image is in black and white. The sun disappears behind arid cliffs which cast giant shadows on the sea. A little boy around 8 years old -- tanned from head to toe -- sprints along the cliffs, scrambles from one rock to another with amazing agility. In one hand, he carries a transparent plastic bag. In the other, a net bag containing flippers, mask, pants and sweater. The only thing that slows him down is his bathing suit -- obvious hand-me-downs -- way too big. He tugs on them as he goes, holding them up... Until they slide again... as he leaps again... and pulls them up... The little boy is JACQUES MAYOL. End credits. <b>EXT. GREEK ISLAND - SUNSET </b> JACQUES reaches a ledge jutting out over a deserted cove. He spits in his mask... expertly spreads the spit with a finger... locks his feet into the flippers... and dives. He surfaces a long way out... adjusts his mask...
jacques
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class="scrtext"> <pre> <b> SNOW WHITE AND THE HUNTSMAN </b> Written by Evan Daugherty, John Lee Hancock & Hossein Amini Story by Evan Daugherty Inspired by the Brothers Grimm's "Little Snow White" November 22nd, 2011 <b> 1 EXT. GARDENS/ CASTLE - DAY. 1 </b> From high above we see the castle gardens covered in a blanket of snow.
john
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</b><b> KILLING ZOE </b> Written by Roger Avary <b> FADE IN: </b> <b> INT. TAXI CAB - MOVING - DAY </b> Rain falls on the rear window of a taxi parked in the taxi zone of the Charles de Gualle Airport. Aside from the incessant tapping of rain on the roof of the cab we hear the sounds of the airport: the almost monotonic loudspeaker declaring in French that loitering is not permissible and that should any bags be left unattended that they will be destroyed; the honking of the horns from other automobiles; the unintelligible chatter of people as they get their bearings. Inside the cab, playing on the radio, is Angelique Kidjo's funky song "Batonga". Then, the rear door to the cab opens and in an EXTREME CLOSE UP we see ZED, a young man with wild, almost mesmerizing eyes shielded by small round glasses, and with a head of nappy red hair. His face has drops on it from the flurry outside. He settles himself, then looks to the CAB DRIVER, an easy going Senegalese/Frenchman
taxi
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> <head> <title>"Wag the Dog", production draft, by David Mamet</title> </head> <body bgcolor="#FFFFFF"> <pre> <b> WAG THE DOG </b> by David Mamet <b>10/14/96 </b> <b>FADE IN: </b> <b>A CARD, WHITE ON THE BLACK SCREEN, READS: </b> Why does a dog wag its tail? <b>BENEATH IT, THE NEXT LINE FADES IN: </b> Because a dog is smarter than its tail. <b>CROSS-FADE TO THE NEXT CARD, WHICH READS: </b> If the tail were smarter, the tail would wag the dog. <b>DISSOLVE </b> <b>FADE IN: </b> <b>EXT THE WHITE HOUSE NIGHT </b> <b>A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE STOPS AT A SIDE ENTRANCE. </b> <b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE </b> <b>AT THE SIDE, UTILITY ENTRANCE, WE SEE THE DISGORGING WORKING-CLASS MEN AND </b><b>WOMEN, THEY PASS THROUGH SECURITY SCREENING IN THE B.G., THROUGH METAL </b><b>DETECTORS, AND PAST SE
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owe the addition of love in our modern literature. The composer of Beowulf could not have conceived the Arthur Saga or the Tristram love-legend. These things belong to a later age, when Celtic and Teutonic elements were fused in the Anglo-Norman race. But we still find in our literature the sombre hues. And, after all, it is in the forest of sorrow and pain that we discover the most beautiful flowers and the subtlest perfumes. I desire to express my indebtedness to A. J. Wyatt and William Morris for their translations; to A. J. Wyatt for his edition of the poem in the original; to Thomas Arnold for his terse and most informing work on Beowulf; to the authors of articles in the Encyclopaedia Britannica and in Chambers's Encyclopaedia and The Cambridge History of English Literature. Ernest J. B. Kirtlan. Brighton, November, 1913. THE STORY OF BEOWULF I The Prelude Now we have heard, by inquiry, of the glory of the kings of the people, they of the Spear-Danes, how the Athelings were doing deeds of courage. [3] Full often Scyld, the son of Scef, with troops of warriors, withheld the drinking-stools from many a tribe. This earl caused terror when at first he was found in a miserable case. Afterwards he gave help when he grew up under the welkin, and worshipfully he flourished until all his neighbours over the sea gave him obedience, and yielded him tribute. He was a good king. In after-time there was born to him a son in the Court, whom God sent thither as a saviour of the people. He saw the dire distress that they formerly suffered when for a long while they were without a prince. Then it was that the Lord of Life, the Wielder of glory, gave to him glory. Famous was Beowulf. [4] Far and wide spread his fame. Heir was he of Scyld in the land of the Danes. Thus should a young man be doing
beowulf
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and stumbled eagerly ashore. And now we were in the very heart of heroic things. Nowhere, I think, was the new soldier plunged so suddenly into the genuine scenes of war as he was at Gallipoli; in France there was a long transition of training-camps and railway trains and billets, and he moved by easy gradations to the firing-line. But here, a few hours after a night in linen sheets, we stood suddenly on the very sand where, but three weeks before, those hideous machine-guns in the cliffs had mown down that astonishing party of April 25. And in that silver stillness it was difficult to believe. We shambled off up the steady slope between two cliffs, marvelling that any men could have prevailed against so perfect a 'field of fire.' By now we were very tired, and it was heavy work labouring through the soft sand. Queer, Moorish-looking figures in white robes peered at us from dark corners, and here and there a man poked a tousled head from a hole in the ground, and blinked upon our progress. Some one remarked that it reminded him of nothing so much as the native camp at Earl's Court on a fine August evening, and that indeed was the effect. After a little the stillness was broken by a sound which we could not conceal from ourselves was 'the distant rattle of musketry'; somewhere a gun fired startlingly; and now as we went each man felt vaguely that at any minute we might be plunged into the thick of a battle, laden as we were, and I think each man braced himself for a desperate struggle. Such is the effect of marching in the dark to an unknown destination. Soon we were halted in a piece of apparently waste land circled by trees, and ordered to dig ourselves a habitation at once, for 'in the morning' it was whispered 'the Turks search all this ground.' Everything was said in a kind of hoarse, mysterious whisper, presumably to conceal our observations from the ears of the Turks five miles away. But then we did not know they were five miles away; we had no idea where they were or where we were ourselves. Men glanced
felt
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idding scowl, and it was no slight matter to change this on the spur of the moment into a pleasant smile. Finally, a man who has been sitting for half an hour in front of a sheet of paper bearing the words: "The Adventure of the Wand of Death," and trying to decide what a wand of death might be, has not his mind under proper control. The net result of these things was that, for perhaps half a minute, Ashe behaved absurdly. He goggled and he yammered. An alienist, had one been present, would have made up his mind about him without further investigation. For an appreciable time he did not think of rising from his seat. When he did, the combined leap and twist he executed practically amounted to a Larsen Exercise. Nor was the girl unembarrassed. If Ashe had been calmer he would have observed on her cheek the flush which told that she, too, was finding the situation trying. But, woman being ever better equipped with poise than man, it was she who spoke first. "I'm afraid I'm disturbing you." "No, no!" said Ashe. "Oh, no; not at all--not at all! No. Oh, no--not at all--no!" And would have continued to play on the theme indefinitely had not the girl spoken again. "I wanted to apologize," she said, "for my abominable rudeness in laughing at you just now. It was idiotic of me and I don't know why I did it. I'm sorry." Science, with a thousand triumphs to her credit, has not yet succeeded in discovering the correct reply for a young man to make who finds himself in the appalling position of being apologized to by a pretty girl. If he says nothing he seems sullen and unforgiving. If he says anything he makes a fool of himself. Ashe, hesitating between these two courses, suddenly caught sight of the sheet of paper over which he had been poring so long. "What is a wand of death?" he asked. "I beg your pardon?" "A wand of death?" "
unembarrassed
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CASE 39 </b> Written by Ray Wright <b> 02/06/06 </b> <b> INSPIRED BY REAL EVENTS </b><b> 1. </b> Pitch black. We hear FOOTSTEPS sneaking up an old wooden staircase. Two people moving as one. Topping the stairs, they creep down the hall to the closed door that protects us
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So he went on, until there was no keeping it in any longer--and then he let it out. The young lady was blind! Young--lonely--blind. I had a sudden inspiration. I felt I should love her. The question of my musical capacity was, in this sad case, a serious one. The poor young lady had one great pleasure to illumine her dark life--Music. Her companion was wanted to play from the book, and play worthily, the works of the great masters (whom this young creature adored)--and she, listening, would take her place next at the piano, and reproduce the music morsel by morsel, by ear. A professor was appointed to pronounce sentence on me, and declare if I could be trusted not to misinterpret Mozart, Beethoven, and the other masters who have written for the piano. Through this ordeal I passed with success. As for my references, they spoke for themselves. Not even the lawyer (though he tried hard) could pick holes in them. It was arranged on both sides that I should, in the first instance, go on a month's visit to the young lady. If we both wished it at the end of the time, I was to stay, on terms arranged to my perfect satisfaction. There was our treaty! The next day I started for my visit by the railway. My instructions directed me to travel to the town of Lewes in Sussex. Arrived there, I was to ask for the pony-chaise of my young lady's father--described on his card as Reverend Tertius Finch. The chaise was to take me to the rectory-house in the village of Dimchurch. And the village of Dimchurch was situated among the South Down Hills, three or four miles from the coast. When I stepped into the railway carriage, this was all I knew. After my adventurous life--after the volcanic agitations of my republican career in the Doctor's time--was I about to bury myself in a remote English village, and live a life as monotonous as the life of a sheep on a hill? Ah, with all my experience, I had yet to learn
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<b> LOOPER </b> Written by Rian Johnson Production draft <b> EXT. EDGE OF CORN FIELDS - DAY </b> A pocket watch. Open. Ticking. Swinging from a chain. Held by a young man named JOE in a clearing beside a Kansas corn field. Sky pregnant with rain. Waiting. He checks the watch, removes his earbud headphones, stands. Without much ceremony a BLOODIED MAN in a suit appears from thin air, kneeling before the young man. Hands and feet tied. Bur
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he was so enraged. "You don't know what you're talking about," continued the General, seating himself upon a large cut diamond. "I advise you to stand in a corner and count sixty before you speak again. By that time you may be more sensible." The King looked around for something to throw at General Blug, but as nothing was handy he began to consider that perhaps the man was right and he had been talking foolishly. So he merely threw himself into his glittering throne and tipped his crown over his ear and curled his feet up under him and glared wickedly at Blug. "In the first place," said the General, "we cannot march across the deadly desert to the Land of Oz; and, if we could, the Ruler of that country, Princess Ozma, has certain fairy powers that would render my army helpless. Had you not lost your Magic Belt we might have some chance of defeating Ozma; but the Belt is gone." "I want it!" screamed the King. "I must have it." "Well, then, let us try in a sensible way to get it," replied the General. "The Belt was captured by a little girl named Dorothy, who lives in Kansas, in the United States of America." "But she left it in the Emerald City, with Ozma," declared the King. "How do you know that?" asked the General. "One of my spies, who is a Blackbird, flew over the desert to the Land of Oz, and saw the Magic Belt in Ozma's palace," replied the King with a groan. "Now, that gives me an idea," said General Blug, thoughtfully. "There are two ways to get to the Land of Oz without traveling across the sandy desert." "What are they?" demanded the King, eagerly. "One way is _over_ the desert, through the air; and the other way is _under_ the desert, through the earth." [Illustration] Hearing this the Nome King uttered a yell of joy and leaped from his throne, to resume his wild walk up and down the cavern.
blug
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b> WALL-E </b> Written by Andrew Stanton & Pete Docter <b> EXT. SPACE </b><b> </b><b> FADE IN: </b><b> </b> Stars. The upbeat show tune, Put On Your Sunday Clothes, plays. <b> </b> "Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers..." <b> </b> More stars. Distant galaxies, constellations, nebulas... A single planet. Drab and brown. Moving towards it. Pushing through its polluted atmosphere. <b> </b> "...Close your eyes and see it glisten..." <b> </b><b> </b><b> EXT. PLANET'S SURFACE - CONTINUOUS </b><b> </b>
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"> <pre><b><HTML> </b><b><HEAD> </b><script> <script> <b><!-- </b>if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href <b>// --> </b></script> <TITLE>There's Something About Mary - by Ed Decter &amp; John J. Strauss and Peter Farrelly &amp; Bobby Farrelly</TITLE> <b></HEAD> </b><b><BODY BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF"> </b><PRE><CENTER><FONT SIZE="+2"><U>There's Something About Mary </U></FONT>Screenplay by Ed Decter &amp; John J. Strauss and Peter Farrelly &amp; Bobby Farrelly Story by Ed Decter &amp; John J. Strauss <b>(FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY) </b> <b><B><U>FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT </b><b></U></B>OCTOBER 21, 1997</CENTER></PRE> </b> <b><PRE> </b> <b> FADE IN: </b> <b>EXT. CUMBERLAND, RHODE ISLAND HIGH SCHOOL - MORNING </b> It's the early 1980's and everyone is arriving at school. We push through the parking lot crowd to a nervous, lanky kid, TED <b>PELOQUIN. </b> <b> MAN'S VOICE (V.O.) </b> When I was sixteen years old I fell in love... <
bobby
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lath and plaster seem to be falling apart. Over the doorway of one of the buildings -- evidently an administrative office -- hangs an American flag, indicating the government of the island. The hard-packed dirt in the roadway is overgrown with weeds. Everywhere, and moving indolently, are the little, badly nourished negroes, some of them tending stalls and sidewalk vending booths, others walking idly. Betsy, followed by a black sailor with her suitcases, comes down the gangway. Parallel to this gangway is another. Up the second gangway, in file, black stevedores with bundles of sugar cane and small bales of sisal hemp on their heads, go up to the boat. On the dock, Betsy makes her way through a group of clamorous children, vendors and beggars. As the black sailor puts her luggage into an umbrella-topped surrey drawn by a gaunt mule, she stops, delighted, before a great basket filled with enormous white flowers. The man seated beside the basket seems to be asleep, his face hidden by the drooping brim of a straw hat. Betsy picks up one of the blooms, smells it and then looks at the vendor. BETSY How much is this? The vendor wakens and lifts his head, revealing a face bloated and scarified by yaws, a hideous nightmare face. Betsy, startled, steps back, letting the flower drop. Paul Holland, passing her, looks at this little tableau of horror and disgust. HOLLAND (in passing) You're beginning to learn. Betsy looks after him as he walks away into the village. DISSOLVE <u><b>EXT. ROAD TO FORT HOLLAND -- DAY -- (PROCESS)</b></u> An umbrella-topped surrey, drawn by a gaunt m
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was a native of Massachusetts, a first-class engineer, to whom the government had confided, during the war, the direction of the railways, which were so important at that time. A true Northerner, thin, bony, lean, about forty-five years of age; his close-cut hair and his beard, of which he only kept a thick mustache, were already getting gray. He had one-of those finely-developed heads which appear made to be struck on a medal, piercing eyes, a serious mouth, the physiognomy of a clever man of the military school. He was one of those engineers who began by handling the hammer and pickaxe, like generals who first act as common soldiers. Besides mental power, he also possessed great manual dexterity. His muscles exhibited remarkable proofs of tenacity. A man of action as well as a man of thought, all he did was without effort to one of his vigorous and sanguine temperament. Learned, clear-headed, and practical, he fulfilled in all emergencies those three conditions which united ought to insure human success--activity of mind and body, impetuous wishes, and powerful will. He might have taken for his motto that of William of Orange in the 17th century: "I can undertake and persevere even without hope of success." Cyrus Harding was courage personified. He had been in all the battles of that war. After having begun as a volunteer at Illinois, under Ulysses Grant, he fought at Paducah, Belmont, Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of Corinth, Port Gibson, Black River, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, on the Potomac, everywhere and valiantly, a soldier worthy of the general who said, "I never count my dead!" And hundreds of times Captain Harding had almost been among those who were not counted by the terrible Grant; but in these combats where he never spared himself, fortune favored him till the moment when he was wounded and taken prisoner on the field of battle near Richmond. At the same time and on the same day another important personage fell into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than Gideon Spilett, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had
were
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armful. I reached for a match, but the Martian fished into his pouch and brought out something that looked like a glowing coal; one touch of it, and the fire was blazing--and you all know what a job we have starting a fire in this atmosphere! "And that bag of his!" continued the narrator. "That was a manufactured article, my friends; press an end and she popped open--press the middle and she sealed so perfectly you couldn't see the line. Better than zippers. "Well, we stared at the fire a while and I decided to attempt some sort of communication with the Martian. I pointed at myself and said 'Dick'; he caught the drift immediately, stretched a bony claw at me and repeated 'Tick.' Then I pointed at him, and he gave that whistle I called Tweel; I can't imitate his accent. Things were going smoothly; to emphasize the names, I repeated 'Dick,' and then, pointing at him, 'Tweel.' "There we stuck! He gave some clacks that sounded negative, and said something like 'P-p-p-proot.' And that was just the beginning; I was always 'Tick,' but as for him--part of the time he was 'Tweel,' and part of the time he was 'P-p-p-proot,' and part of the time he was sixteen other noises! "We just couldn't connect. I tried 'rock,' and I tried 'star,' and 'tree,' and 'fire,' and Lord knows what else, and try as I would, I couldn't get a single word! Nothing was the same for two successive minutes, and if that's a language, I'm an alchemist! Finally I gave it up and called him Tweel, and that seemed to do. "But Tweel hung on to some of my words. He remembered a couple of them, which I suppose is a great achievement if you're used to a language you have to make up as you go along. But I couldn't get the hang of his talk; either I missed some subtle point or we just didn't _think_ alike--and I rather believe the
that
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FEAST </b> Written by Patrick Melton & Marcus Dunston Revised Draft <b> 5/3/2004 </b> <b> </b> <b> FADE IN: </b> <b> EXT. DESERT -- DAY </b> The white sun beats down on the rocky terrain. There's not a cloud in the blue sky and the wind is at a standstill. Far in the distance, a MEDIUM SIZED FLAT-BED TRUCK makes its way to the entrance of a large cavern opening. Two VULTURES perched on a barren tree watch the intruders. <b> EXT. DESERT -- DAY </b> The truck scree
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<pre> <b> ALONE IN THE DARK </b> Written by Elan Mastai & Michael Roesch <b> </b><b> </b><b> </b><b> FADE IN: </b><b> </b><b> 1 1 </b><b> EXT. FOREST - NIGHT </b><b> </b> A dense forest on a dark, misty night. <b> </b> YOUNG EDWARD CARNBY (age 10), small, thin, and terrified,
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><html> <head> <title>"An American Werewolf in London" -- by John Landis</title> <body> <pre> <b> FADE IN </b> <b>1 MAN'S FOOTPRINT </b> on the moon. <b> EXT. MOON </b> Camera begins to pull back slowly, straight up - the song "Moon Shadow" by Cat Stevens begins. Once we are high enough to see the entire moon, the main title is superimposed. An American Werewolf in London We continue to retreat from the moon, looking on as it grows farther from us, continuing credits until the full moon is the size it appears to us from earth. <b>2 EXT. CROSSROADS ON THE MOORS - NIGHT </b> Tree branches enter into the frame, the camera pans down and we see a truck approaching. We are at a crossroads in the moors, looking sinister enough to have earned their literary reputation. The truck stops at the crossroads, the DRIVER, mustached and wearing tweeds, boots, and a muffler, climbs down. "Moon Shadow" ends. <b> CUT TO: </b> Loud bang of the back grating on the truck as it slams down. Revealed among the sheep are two rudely-awakened young American boys. They look exhausted. They both carry backpacks
from
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2
. Once it had seen the flight of refugees, the overflow of the wounded from hospitals and churches, the panic of liberated slaves, the steady conquering march of the army of invasion. And though it would never have occurred to Miss Priscilla that either she or her house had borne any relation to history (which she regarded strictly as a branch of study and visualized as a list of dates or as a king wearing his crown), she had, in fact, played a modest yet effective part in the rapidly changing civilization of her age. But events were powerless against the genial heroism in which she was armoured, and it was characteristic of her, as well as of her race, that, while she sat now in the midst of encircling battlefields, with her eyes on the walk over which she had seen the blood of the wounded drip when they were lifted into her door, she should be brooding not over the tremendous tragedies through which she had passed, but over the lesson in physical geography she must teach in the morning. Her lips moved gently, and a listener, had there been one, might have heard her murmur: "The four great alluvial plains of Asia--those of China and of the Amoo Daria in temperate regions; of the Euphrates and Tigris in the warm temperate; of the Indus and Ganges under the Tropic--with the Nile valley in Africa, were the theatres of the most ancient civilizations known to history or tradition----" As she ended, a sigh escaped her, for the instruction of the young was for her a matter not of choice, but of necessity. With the majority of maiden ladies left destitute in Dinwiddie after the war, she had turned naturally to teaching as the only nice and respectable occupation which required neither preparation of mind nor considerable outlay of money. The fact that she was the single surviving child of a gallant Confederate general, who, having distinguished himself and his descendants, fell at last in the Battle of Gettysburg, was sufficient recommendation of her abilities in the eyes of her fellow citizens. Had she chosen to paint portraits or to write poems, they would have rallied quite as loyally to her support
over
How many times does the word 'over' appear in the text?
2
ign="top"> <br> <table width="100%"><tr><td class="scrtext"> <pre> <b> PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST </b> Written by Ted Elliott & Terry Rossio <b> </b> Transcript by Nikki M, Dorothy/silentpawz, Jerome S, Tobias K & Courtney VP. <b> </b> [view looking straight down at rolling swells, sound of wind and thunder, then a low heartbeat] <b> </b> <b> PORT ROYAL </b> [teacups on a table in the rain] [sheet music on music stands in the rain] [bouquet of white orchids, Elizabeth sitting in the rain holding the bouquet] <b> </b> [men
table
How many times does the word 'table' appear in the text?
1
"DRAGONSLAYER" Screenplay by Hal Barwood and Matthew Robbins <b> SHOOTING DRAFT </b> <b> </b> <b> FADE IN: </b> <b> CASTLE - NIGHT </b> Now comes the moon riding over the horizon. Upon a hill at the edge of the wood squats a castle, its crude stonework bathed in cold silvery light. Queer carvings and runes decorate the ponderous gate. Heavy vines are climbing up the walls. The castle is old, its unfamiliar form testament to an ancient mind and an ancient craft. Flickering candle light dances on a leaded windowpane. Inside, the corridors are dark and silent. Under low arched ceilings the
light
How many times does the word 'light' appear in the text?
1
formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem. HARDCASTLE. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding. MISS HARDCASTLE. Is he? HARDCASTLE. Very generous. MISS HARDCASTLE. I believe I shall like him. HARDCASTLE. Young and brave. MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm sure I shall like him. HARDCASTLE. And very handsome. MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, say no more, (kissing his hand), he's mine; I'll have him. HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world. MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband. HARDCASTLE. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me. MISS HARDCASTLE. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so everything as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him. HARDCASTLE. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than an even wager he may not have you. MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa
formal
How many times does the word 'formal' appear in the text?
0
Mirdath walking in that part of the woods; but always with her great boar-hounds about her; for I had begged that she do this thing for her sweet safety; and she to seem wishful to pleasure me; but truly to be just so oft utter perverse in diverse matters; and to strive to plague me, as though she would discover how much I would endure and how far she might go to anger me. And, truly, well I remember how that one night, coming to the hedge-gap, I saw two country-maids come thence out from the woods of Sir Jarles'; but they were naught to me, and I would have gone upward through the gap, as ever; only that, as they passed me, they curtseyed somewhat over-graceful for rough wenches. And I had a sudden thought, and came up to them to see them more anigh; and truly I thought the taller was surely the Lady Mirdath. But, indeed, I could not be sure; for when I asked who she did be, she only to simper and to curtsey again; and so was I very natural all in doubt; but yet sufficient in wonder (having some knowledge of the Lady Mirdath) to follow the wenches, the which I did. And they then, very speedy and sedate, as though I were some rack-rape that they did well to be feared of alone at night; and so came at last to the village green, where a great dance was a-foot, with torches, and a wandering fiddler to set the tune; and ale in plenty. And the two to join the dance, and danced very hearty; but had only each the other for a partner, and had a good care to avoid the torches. And by this, I was pretty sure that they were truly the Lady Mirdath and her maid; and so I took chance when they had danced somewhat my way, to step over to them, and ask boldly for a dance. But, indeed, the tall one answered, simpering, that she was promised; and immediately gave her hand to a great hulking farmer-lout, and went round the
truly
How many times does the word 'truly' appear in the text?
3
"> <pre> <b> SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE </b> Written by Simon Beaufoy November 4th, 2007 <b>© SLUMDOG FILMS LIMITED </b><b>39 LONG ACRE </b><b>LONDON WC2E 9LG </b><b> </b><b>1 INT. JAVED'S SAFE-HOUSE. BATHROOM. NIGHT. 1 </b> An expensive bathroom suite. Excess of marble and gold taps. Into the bath, a hand is scattering rupee notes. Hundreds and hundreds of notes, worth hundreds of thousands of rupees. The sound of a fist thumping on the bathroom door, furious shouting from the other side. <b> JAVED O/S </b> Salim! Salim! <b>2 INT. STUDIO. BACKSTAGE. DAY. 2 </b> Darkness. Then, glimpses of faces. In the half-light, shadowy figures move with purpose. An implacable voice announces. <b
slumdog
How many times does the word 'slumdog' appear in the text?
1
and that without it intellect is poverty. Although he talks so little, he has quite a considerable vocabulary. This morning he used a surprisingly good word. He evidently recognized, himself, that it was a good one, for he worked it in twice afterward, casually. It was good casual art, still it showed that he possesses a certain quality of perception. Without a doubt that seed can be made to grow, if cultivated. Where did he get that word? I do not think I have ever used it. No, he took no interest in my name. I tried to hide my disappointment, but I suppose I did not succeed. I went away and sat on the moss-bank with my feet in the water. It is where I go when I hunger for companionship, some one to look at, some one to talk to. It is not enough--that lovely white body painted there in the pool--but it is something, and something is better than utter loneliness. It talks when I talk; it is sad when I am sad; it comforts me with its sympathy; it says, “Do not be downhearted, you poor friendless girl; I will be your friend.” It IS a good friend to me, and my only one; it is my sister. That first time that she forsook me! ah, I shall never forget that --never, never. My heart was lead in my body! I said, “She was all I had, and now she is gone!” In my despair I said, “Break, my heart; I cannot bear my life any more!” and hid my face in my hands, and there was no solace for me. And when I took them away, after a little, there she was again, white and shining and beautiful, and I sprang into her arms! That was perfect happiness; I had known happiness before, but it was not like this, which was ecstasy. I never doubted her afterward. Sometimes she stayed away--maybe an hour, maybe almost the whole day, but
that
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
9
scrtext"> <pre><b><HTML> </b><b><HEAD> </b><TITLE>PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE by Paul Thomas Anderson</TITLE> <script> <b><!-- </b> <b>/* </b>Break-out-of-frames script By Website Abstraction (http://wsabstract.com) Over 400+ free scripts here! Above notice MUST stay entact for use <b>*/ </b> if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href <b>// --> </b></script> <b></HEAD> </b><b><PRE> </b> <b> PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE </b> by Paul Thomas Anderson <b> </b> <b>LOGO </b> Presentation cards with white, red, blue, blue-green backgrounds, then: <b> CUT TO: </b> <b>INT. WAREHOUSE - EARLY MORNING </b> CAMERA (STEADICAM) holds on a man in a suit, sitting behind a desk, on the phone: BARRY EGAN (Adam Sandler) <b> BARRY </b> ...yes I'm still on hold... <b> OPER
behind
How many times does the word 'behind' appear in the text?
0
<b> </b><b> </b><b> ANGELS & DEMONS </b><b> </b><b> </b><b> </b> Written by <b> </b> Akiva Goldsman <b> </b><b> </b><b> </b> April, 2008 <b> </b><b> </b> <b> INT PAPAL APARTMENT DAY </b><b> </b> CLOSE ON an ornate ring. It's intricately carved with a seal, an image of St. Peter casting a net. The ring is carried on a sat
apartment
How many times does the word 'apartment' appear in the text?
0
iled by Barry Adams <[email protected]> during theater showings in 1998 Last updated: August 18, 1998 Mulan is the property and copyright of the Walt Disney Company, Inc. The script on this page was compiled while watching Mulan in the theater during the summer of 1998 when the film originally aired. Abuse of this page could result in its removal from this site. [Chinese guard is seen walking on The Great Wall. Shan-Yu's falcon swoops down and hits the guard on the head knocking his helmet off. The falcon lands on top of a flag pole in front of a full moon and lets out a large cry. One grappling hook comes over The Great Wall. The guard walks over to the edge and sees many grappling hooks coming towards him] Guard [yelling]: We're under attack! Light the signal! [Guard runs to the tower and up the ladder as Hun Bald Man #1 and Hun Long Hair Man appear trying to stop him. Hun Bald Man #1 breaks the ladder with his sword just as Guard reaches the top. The guard picks up the torch to light the fire and sees Shan-Yu jump over the edge of the tower and looks at him across from the caldron. The guard throws the torch into the caldron lighting a large fire. Shan-Yu watches as each tower lights their caldrons one by one] Guard [sternly]: Now all of China knows you're here. Shan-Yu [taking the flag and holding it over the fire]: Perfect. [Cut to the palace. The large doors to the central chamber open as General Li walks in flanked on his left and right by soldiers and approaches the Emperor. He bows, then looks up] General Li: Your Majesty, the Huns have crossed our Northern border. Chi Fu: Impossible! No one can get through The Great Wall. [The Emperor motions for Chi Fu's silence] General Li: Shun-Yu is leading them. We'll set up defenses around your palace immediately. Emperor [forcefully]:
guard
How many times does the word 'guard' appear in the text?
8
PRECIOUS </b> Written by Geoffrey Fletcher January 16th, 2008 <b> </b><b> </b><b> 1. </b> A line at a time, the following quote appears over a black screen. Every blade of grass has its Angel that bends over it and whispers, "Grow, grow." The Talmud <b> FADE IN: </b> <b> 1987 </b> <b>1 EXT HARLEM STREET ­ DAY
harlem
How many times does the word 'harlem' appear in the text?
0