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Mourning Becomes Her…

Logline: To really live, what she has grown to love must die.

FINAL SCRIPT:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-W_1-YbYj3GME81Ymtpd1AyVzA/edit?usp=sharing

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7/9/14 Here's a link to the first 5 pages, rough draft:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-W_1-YbYj3GQy1FRWlFM015Vjg/edit?usp=sharing

I'd love your feedback! Thank you!!

6/21/14 OK, first page of my script, rough draft.  I decided to go a llittle experimental, so the first half will (hopefully) feel a little claustrophobic. This is only page 1, hope to

get a lot of it done this weekend, but decided to post anyway:

INT. House, Day

A strikingly beautiful girl, HELEN, aged 15, sits completely
still, acted upon but herself unmoving, restrained. Other hands
move in and out of frame, voices speak to her from off
screen. Helen is almost rigid but for her deeply expressive
eyes and carefully guarded expressions.

Helen holds the stilled figure of a KITTEN, dead in her
arms, grief, silent, in her eyes.

A GARDENER’s gloved hands reach into frame, removing the
inert kitten from her arms.

GARDENER (OS)
It been p’isened, miss. I’ll bury
it in the back garden.

Helen surrenders the kitten, only her eyes reflect her emotions.

A MAID’s bloused ARM hands Helen a HAIRBRUSH. Helen makes
long strokes through her hair. The maid reaches in, takes
the brush away. Helen’s hands drop to her lap.
A vase of beautiful flowers is before Helen, she
reaches for one but the vase is moved from her reach and she is
handed a lace handkerchief.

MOTHER (OS)
I have difficult news, darling.
It’s your father... I’m sorry. We
must be strong.

Helen’s is now in a simple black gown which transitions to
gray and then to lavender as the flowers in the vase wilt
and die. Helen reaches out to touch one of the dead blooms,
but the maid’s hands reach over and remove the dead flowers.

Helen sits still.

MOTHER (OS)
Look what Hubert brought darling!

HUBERT’s HANDS present Helen with a fresh, bright BOUQUET.
She takes it and moves to smell the flowers but the maid
takes them from her and puts them into the vase.

HUBERT (OS)
Not as bright as what I’ve seen on
safari in Africa my dear. All they
had at the flower shop.

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Sorry - that's it for now! Thanks for reading. More to come soon!

It is so easy to be defined by things that happen to you, to take on that label- Helen has become the woman who is Tragic. Her identity rules her, make decisions for her. She's like a puppet in the hands of this cruel moniker, until she's so claustrophobic, so isolated, she takes extreme measures to get out, to turn from Enduring to Living. 

I read the story, Chapter V in The Pastures of Heaven, and was horrified and put the book down. But the story started to follow me around. I sat down and instead of writing text as usual, I took blank unlined paper and captured images, partly in words, partly really poorly drawn sketches, but which had meaning to me, or maybe more like a feel. It was getting quite late and the light was going, but that helped me to be even more detached from the black and white of the page and write from this twilight place.

I'm ready to start writing the script, but first wanted to pull together an image to represent my story; I put together my cover picture from a photo (used by permission) of a beautiful photographer I know, Takenya Rosetta. I ended up removing most of the stuff I had added and it's back to mostly just the photo of "Helen" as my cover photo.

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