I wrote this little intro as I went along one day and never did anything with it. I don't really know if this worth continuing or where it's heading. I was watching Le Samourai a lot when writing this so I'm not sure how I'd go about doing it. Gimme ideas or feedback if you have some and also please let me know if you think I should keep going or trash it.
Writing for me is also getting excessively harder, I have more visual ideas that are impossible to express with story telling. I also can't seem to find my writing style, I think I just need to keep writing more to find my voice. I know I have a great movie in me but I'm having trouble finding it. Especially in my writing.
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T H E N I G H T
Screenplay
By
Conor J.
Story
By
Conor J.
Gallant is the man who lives in value. Value of his friends, nobility, and prowess. It is he who will be given loyalty, justice, and respect. To all others be cautious. The road to grief awaits.
- Sir Laurence H. Gardner, “The Code of Chivalry”
FIRST DRAFT - EDIT
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MARK MCKAYLIS
Age 27, ennui, contentious, all but the archetypal contract thief. Passion boils underneath his face, seeping out of his dark eyes and pseudo smile. Such intensity broods out of him for what reason is left unknown. A dream. A lover. An ambition. Whatever it was it’s since been gone and fermented his self-flagellation. Emerging from a land where empathy is scarce and feeling outlawed, further explaining the stench of alcohol under his breath. Smiling, speaking, listening, the expressions change but Mark remains miles away. Living his existential existence leaves room for few things his ethics can allow. Credence those close to you no matter what, defy those who defy you, hold yourself responsible to nothing. Morals of god’s dissipated creation.
Mark spends his time now hiding. His sanctuary belongs to an old and abandoned opera house, The Civic. Decay and damage, it’s surprisingly unscathed by stray dogs and the homeless. Rubble covers the vacant aisles like scabs on wounds left unattended. The whole structure seems to echo a disjointed performance of Yesterday. It’s amazing to believe the place once lit up with patrons to hark joyous compositions of Ave Maria.
Being the loner that Mark is, he hardly pays attention to his wardrobe. It consists of endless rows of formal black suites accompanied by red ties, both over lapped by his gray rain coat and white scarf. The thing that sticks out most is his tie. Red, violent red, surrounded by different shades of gray. This color scheme defines more about Mark than anything.
MARK GETS DEBRIEFED
Film opens...
INT. THE CIVIC
The beaten down opera house appears more beaten down than usual. It’s winter. The night guilds the sky with silver. Snow seems to fall like ash from a post-apocalyptic blizzard outside. Inside, the opera house rests nestled from the glow of candle light. The wind calls to Mark like the howl’s of so many people he’s killed.
Mark’s haggard and elder best friend sits by his side. SONNY, a one time hired gun and partner to Mark now debriefs him with contract jobs from various parties. Most of which choose to remain anonymous. They usually request the tasks of murder, theft, or sometimes both. This job is something different though. Mark has a metal brace around his leg from a bullet that blew out part of his calf bone. Perhaps crippled for life, Mark is now seeking vengeance on the shootist. Mark sits with his brief case on his lap, Sonny with a newspaper in his hands. Mark takes a long drag from his unfiltered cigarette.
MARK (O.S.)
When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realized the lord doesn’t work that way so I stole one and asked him to forgive me.
SONNY (O.S.)
You believe in God?
MARK (O.S.)
Nope.
SONNY (O.S.)
(Muttering a headline from the paper)
“Family of five bludgeoned to death by home invaders.” Jesus Christ.
MARK (O.S.)
Jesus Christ had nothing to do with it.
SONNY (O.S.)
Well somebody did.
MARK (O.S.)
Are the guns clean?
SONNY (O.S.)
You can check em’ if you want.
MARK (O.S.)
No I don’t need to check em’, I’m just asking.
SONNY (O.S)
Yeah Mark. They’re clean.
Glancing over at each other, Mark shuts his briefcase and walks out.
Writing for me is also getting excessively harder, I have more visual ideas that are impossible to express with story telling. I also can't seem to find my writing style, I think I just need to keep writing more to find my voice. I know I have a great movie in me but I'm having trouble finding it. Especially in my writing.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
T H E N I G H T
Screenplay
By
Conor J.
Story
By
Conor J.
Gallant is the man who lives in value. Value of his friends, nobility, and prowess. It is he who will be given loyalty, justice, and respect. To all others be cautious. The road to grief awaits.
- Sir Laurence H. Gardner, “The Code of Chivalry”
FIRST DRAFT - EDIT
------------------------------------------------------------
MARK MCKAYLIS
Age 27, ennui, contentious, all but the archetypal contract thief. Passion boils underneath his face, seeping out of his dark eyes and pseudo smile. Such intensity broods out of him for what reason is left unknown. A dream. A lover. An ambition. Whatever it was it’s since been gone and fermented his self-flagellation. Emerging from a land where empathy is scarce and feeling outlawed, further explaining the stench of alcohol under his breath. Smiling, speaking, listening, the expressions change but Mark remains miles away. Living his existential existence leaves room for few things his ethics can allow. Credence those close to you no matter what, defy those who defy you, hold yourself responsible to nothing. Morals of god’s dissipated creation.
Mark spends his time now hiding. His sanctuary belongs to an old and abandoned opera house, The Civic. Decay and damage, it’s surprisingly unscathed by stray dogs and the homeless. Rubble covers the vacant aisles like scabs on wounds left unattended. The whole structure seems to echo a disjointed performance of Yesterday. It’s amazing to believe the place once lit up with patrons to hark joyous compositions of Ave Maria.
Being the loner that Mark is, he hardly pays attention to his wardrobe. It consists of endless rows of formal black suites accompanied by red ties, both over lapped by his gray rain coat and white scarf. The thing that sticks out most is his tie. Red, violent red, surrounded by different shades of gray. This color scheme defines more about Mark than anything.
MARK GETS DEBRIEFED
Film opens...
INT. THE CIVIC
The beaten down opera house appears more beaten down than usual. It’s winter. The night guilds the sky with silver. Snow seems to fall like ash from a post-apocalyptic blizzard outside. Inside, the opera house rests nestled from the glow of candle light. The wind calls to Mark like the howl’s of so many people he’s killed.
Mark’s haggard and elder best friend sits by his side. SONNY, a one time hired gun and partner to Mark now debriefs him with contract jobs from various parties. Most of which choose to remain anonymous. They usually request the tasks of murder, theft, or sometimes both. This job is something different though. Mark has a metal brace around his leg from a bullet that blew out part of his calf bone. Perhaps crippled for life, Mark is now seeking vengeance on the shootist. Mark sits with his brief case on his lap, Sonny with a newspaper in his hands. Mark takes a long drag from his unfiltered cigarette.
MARK (O.S.)
When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realized the lord doesn’t work that way so I stole one and asked him to forgive me.
SONNY (O.S.)
You believe in God?
MARK (O.S.)
Nope.
SONNY (O.S.)
(Muttering a headline from the paper)
“Family of five bludgeoned to death by home invaders.” Jesus Christ.
MARK (O.S.)
Jesus Christ had nothing to do with it.
SONNY (O.S.)
Well somebody did.
MARK (O.S.)
Are the guns clean?
SONNY (O.S.)
You can check em’ if you want.
MARK (O.S.)
No I don’t need to check em’, I’m just asking.
SONNY (O.S)
Yeah Mark. They’re clean.
Glancing over at each other, Mark shuts his briefcase and walks out.
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