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turning to page one
turning to page one
By
1994
A dark, empty room. The door bursts open. A MAN and WOMAN enter, drunk and giggling, horny as hell. No sooner is the door shut than they're all over each other, ripping at clothes, pawing at flesh, mouths locked together. He gropes for a lamp, tries to turn it on, knocks it over instead. Hell with it. He's got more urgent things to do, like getting her blouse open and his hands on her breasts. She arches, moaning, fumbling with his fly. He slams her against the wall, ripping her skirt. We hear fabric tear. He enters her right then and there, roughly, up against the wall. She cries out, hitting her head against the wall but not caring, grinding against him, clawing his back, shivering with the sensations running through her. He carries her across the room with her legs wrapped around him. They fall onto the bed. CAMERA PULLS BACK, exiting through the window, traveling smoothly outside...
...to reveal the bungalow, remote in a wooded area, the lovers' cries spilling into the night... ...and we drift down a wooded path, the sounds of rutting passion growing fainter, mingling now with the night sounds of crickets and hoot owls... ...and we begin to hear FAINT MUSIC in the woods, tinny and incongruous, and still we keep PULLING BACK until... ...a car is revealed. A 1946 Plymouth. Parked in a clearing.
ANDY DUFRESNE, mid-20's, wire rim glasses, three-piece suit. Under normal circumstances a respectable, solid citizen; hardly dangerous, perhaps even meek. But these circumstances are far from normal. He is disheveled, unshaven, and very drunk. A cigarette smolders in his mouth. His eyes, flinty and hard, are riveted to the bungalow up the path. He can hear them fucking from here. He raises a bottle of bourbon and knocks it back. The radio plays softly, painfully romantic, taunting him: You stepped out of a dream... You are too wonderful... To be what you seem... He opens the glove compartment, pulls out an object wrapped in a rag. He lays it in his lap and unwraps it carefully -- -- revealing a .38 revolver. Oily, black, evil. He grabs a box of bullets. Spills them everywhere, all over the seats and floor. Clumsy. He picks bullets off his lap, loading them into the gun, one by one, methodical and grim. Six in the chamber. His gaze goes back to the bungalow. He shuts off the radio. Abrupt silence, except for the distant lovers' moans. He takes another shot of bourbon courage, then opens the door and steps from the car.
His wingtip shoes crunch on gravel. Loose bullets scatter to the ground. The bourbon bottle drops and shatters.
He starts up the path, unsteady on his feet. The closer he gets, the louder the lovemaking becomes. Louder and more frenzied. The lovers are reaching a climax, their sounds of passion degenerating into rhythmic gasps and grunts.
WOMAN (O.S.)
Oh god...oh god...oh god... Andy
lurches to a stop, listening. The
woman cries out in
orgasm. The sound slams into Andy's brain like an icepick. He shuts his eyes tightly, wishing the sound would stop. It finally does, dying away like a siren until all that's left is the shallow gasping and panting of post-coitus. We hear languorous laughter, moans of satisfaction.
WOMAN (O.S.) (CONT'D)
Oh god...that's sooo good...you're
the best...the best I ever had...
Andy just stands and listens, devastated. He doesn't look like much of a killer now; he's just a sad little man on a dirt path in the woods, tears streaming down his face, a loaded gun held loosely at his side. A pathetic figure, really.
FADE TO BLACK:
18T TITLE UP
THE JURY listens like a gallery of mannequins on display, pale-faced and stupefied.
D.A. (O.S.)
Mr. Dufresne, describe the
confrontation you had with your
wife the night she was murdered.
ANDY DUFRESNE is on the witness stand, hands folded, suit and tie pressed, hair meticulously combed. He speaks in soft, measured tones:
ANDY
It was very bitter. She said she
was glad I knew, that she hated all
the sneaking around. She said she
wanted a divorce in Reno.
D.A.
What was your response?
ANDY
I told her I would not grant one.
D.A.
(refers to his notes)
"I'll see you in Hell before I see
you in Reno." Those were the words
you used, Mr. Dufresne, according
to the testimony of your neighbors.
ANDY
If they say so. I really don't
remember. I was upset.
FADE TO BLACK:
2ND TITLE UP
D.A.
What happened after you and your
wife argued?
ANDY
She packed a bag and went to stay
with Mr. Quentin.
D.A.
Glenn Quentin. The golf pro at the
Falmouth Hills Country Club. The
man you had recently discovered was
her lover. (Andy nods) Did you
follow her?
ANDY
I went to a few bars first. Later,
I decided to drive to Mr. Quentin's
home and confront them. They
weren't there...so I parked my car
in the turnout...and waited.
D.A.
(With what intention?)
ANDY
I'm not sure. I was confused.
Drunk. I think mostly I wanted to
scare them.
D.A.
You had a gun with you?
ANDY
Yes. I did.
FADE TO BLACK:
3RD TITLE UP
D.A.
When they arrived, you went up to
the house and murdered them?
CONTINUED: (2)
ANDY
No. I was sobering up. I realized
she wasn't worth it. I decided to
let her have her quickie divorce.
D.A.
Quickie divorce indeed. A .38
caliber divorce, wrapped in a
handtowel to muffle the shots,
isn't that what you mean? And then
you shot her lover!
ANDY
I did not. I got back in the car
and drove home to sleep it off.
Along the way, I stopped and threw
my gun into the Royal River. I feel
I've been very clear on this point.
D.A.
Yes, you have. Where I get hazy,
though, is the part where the
cleaning woman shows up the next
morning and finds your wife and her
lover in bed, riddled with .38
caliber bullets. Does that strike
you as a fantastic coincidence, Mr.
Dufresne, or is it just me?
ANDY
(softly)
Yes. It does.
D.A.
I'm sorry, Mr. Dufresne, I don't
think the jury heard that.
ANDY (CONT'D)
Yes. It does.
D.A.
Does what?
ANDY
Strike me as a fantastic
coincidence.
D.A.
On that, sir, we are in accord...
FADE TO BLACK!
4TH TITLE UP
CONTINUED: (3)
D.A. (CONT'D)
You claim you threw your gun into
the Royal River before the murders
took place. That's rather
convenient.
ANDY
It's the truth.
D.A.
You recall Lt. Mincher's testimony?
He and his men dragged that river
for three days and nary a gun was
found. So no comparison can be made
between your gun and the bullets
taken from the bloodstained corpses
of the victims. That's also rather
convenient, isn't it, Mr. Dufresne?
ANDY
(faint, bitter smile)
Since I am innocent of this crime,
sir, I find it decidedly
inconvenient the gun was never
found.
FADE TO BLACK:
STH TITLE UP
The D.A. holds the jury spellbound with his closing summation:
D.A.
Ladies and gentlemen, you've heard
all the evidence, you know all the
facts. We have the accused at the
scene of the crime. We have foot
prints. Tire tracks. Bullets
scattered on the ground which bear
his fingerprints. A broken bourbon
bottle, likewise with fingerprints.
Most of all, we have a beautiful
young woman and her lover lying
dead in each other's arms. They had
sinned. But was their crime so
great as to merit a death sentence?
He gestures to Andy sitting quietly with his ATTORNEY.
D.A. (CONT'D)
I suspect Mr. Dufresne's answer to
that would be yes.
I further suspect he carried out
that sentence on the night of
September this year of our Lord,
1946, by pumping four bullets into
his wife and another four into
Glenn Quentin. And while you think
about that, think about this...
He picks up a revolver, spins the cylinder before their eyes like a carnival barker spinning a wheel of fortune.
D.A. (CONT'D)
A revolver holds six bullets, not
eight. I submit to you this was not
a hot-blooded crime of passion!
That could at least be understood,
if not condoned. No, this was
revenge of a much more brutal and
cold-blooded nature. Consider! Four
bullets per victim! Not six shots
fired, but eight! That means he
fired the gun empty...and then
stopped to reload so he could shoot
each of them again! An extra bullet
per lover...right in the head.
(a few JURORS shiver)
I'm done talking. You people are
all decent, God-fearing Christian
folk. You know what to do.
FADE TO BLACK:
6TH TITLE UP
CAMERA TRACKS down a long table, moving from one JUROR to the next. These decent, God-fearing Christians are chowing down on a nice fried chicken dinner provided them by the county, smacking greasy lips and gnawing cobbettes of corn.
VOICE (O.S.)
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty...
We find the FOREMAN at the head of
the table, sorting votes.
FADE TO BLACK:
7TH TITLE UP
Andy stands before the dias. THE JUDGE peers down, framed by a carved frieze of blind Lady Justice on the wall.
JUDGE
You strike me as a particularly icy
and remorseless man, Mr. Dufresne.
It chills my blood just to look at
you. By the power vested in me by
the State of Maine, I hereby order
you to serve two life sentences,
back to back, one for each of your
victims. So be it.
He raps his gavel as we
CRASH TO BLACK: LAST TITLE UP.
AN IRON-BARRED DOOR 9 slides open with an enormous CLANG. A stark room waits beyond. CAMERA PUSHES through. SEVEN HUMORLESS MEN sit side by side at a long table. An empty chair faces them. We are now in:
RED enters, removes his cap and waits by the chair.
MAN #1
Sit.
Red sits, tries not to slouch. The chair is uncomfortable.
MAN #2
We see by your file you've served
twenty years of a life sentence.
MAN #3
You feel you've been rehabilitated?
RED
Yes, sir. Absolutely. I've learned
my lesson. I can honestly say I'm a
changed man. I'm no longer a danger
to society. That's the God's honest
truth. No doubt about it.
The men just stare at him. One stifles a yawn.
CLOSEUP -- PAROLE FORM
A big rubber stamp slams down: "REJECTED" in red ink.
High stone walls topped with snaky concertina wire, set off at intervals by looming guard towers. Over a hundred CONS are in the yard. Playing catch, shooting craps, jawing at each other, making deals. Exercise period. RED emerges into fading daylight, slouches low-key through the activity, worn cap on his head, exchanging hellos and doing minor business. He's an important man here.
RED (V.O.)
There's a con like me in every
prison in America, I guess. I'm the
guy who can get it for you.
Cigarettes, a bag of reefer if
you're partial, a bottle of brandy
to celebrate your kid's high school
graduation. Damn near anything,
within reason.
He slips somebody a pack of smokes, smooth sleight-of-hand.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Yes sir, I'm a regular Sears &
Roebuck.
TWO SHORT SIREN BLASTS issue from the main tower, drawing everybody's attention to the loading dock. The outer gate swings open...revealing a gray prison bus outside.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
So when Andy Dufresne came to me in
and asked me to smuggle Rita
Hayworth into the prison for him, I
told him no problem. And it wasn't.
CON
Fresh fish! Fresh fish today!
Red is joined by HEYWOOD, SKEET, FLOYD, JIGGER, ERNIE, SNOOZE. Most cons crowd to the fence to gawk and jeer, but Red and his group mount the bleachers and settle in comfortably.
Andy sits in back, wearing steel collar and chains.
RED (V.O.)
Andy came to Shawshank Prison in
early 1947 for murdering his wife
and the fella she was bangin'.
The bus lurches forward, RUMBLES through the gates. Andy gazes around, swallowed by prison walls.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
On the outside, he'd been vice-
president of a large Portland bank.
Good work for a man as young as he
was, when you consider how
conservative banks were back then.
TOWER GUARD
All clear!
GUARDS approach the bus with carbines. The door jerks open. The new fish disembark, chained together single-file, blinking sourly at their surroundings. Andy stumbles against the MAN in front of him, almost drags him down. BYRON HADLEY, captain of the guard, slams his baton into Andy's back. Andy goes to his knees, gasping in pain. JEERS and SHOUTS from the spectators.
HADLEY
On your feet before I fuck you up
so bad you never walk again.
ON THE BLEACHERS
RED
There they are, boys. The Human
Charm Bracelet.
HEYWOOD
Never seen such a sorry-lookin'
heap of maggot shit in my life.
JIGGER
Comin' from you, Heywood, you being
so pretty and all...
FLOYD
Takin' bets today, Red?
RED
(pulls notepad and pencil)
Bear Catholic? Pope shit in the
woods? Smokes or coin, bettor's
choice.
FLOYD
Smokes. Put me down for two.
RED
High roller. Who's your horse?
FLOYD
That gangly sack of shit, third
from the front. He'll be the first.
HEYWOOD
Bullshit. I'll take that action.
ERNIE
Me too.
Other hands go up. Red jots the names.
HEYWOOD
You're out some smokes, son. Take
my word.
FLOYD
You're so smart, you call it.
HEYWOOD
I say that chubby fat-ass...let's
see...fifth from the front. Put me
down for a quarter deck.
RED
That's five cigarettes on Fat-Ass.
Any takers?
More hands go up. Andy and the others are paraded along, forced by their chains to take tiny baby steps, flinching under the barrage of jeers and shouts. The old-timers are shaking the fence, trying to make the newcomers shit their pants. Some of the new fish shout back, but mostly they look terrified. Especially Andy.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I must admit I didn't think much of
Andy first time I laid eyes on him.
He might'a been important on the
outside, but in here he was just a
little turd in prison grays. Looked
like a stiff breeze could blow him
over. That was my first impression
of the man.
SKEET
What say, Red?
RED
Little fella on the end.
Definitely. I stake half a pack.
Any takers?
SNOOZE
Rich bet.
RED
C'mon, boys, who's gonna prove me
wrong?
(hands go up)
Floyd, Skeet, Joe, Heywood. Four
brave souls, ten smokes apiece.
That's it, gentlemen, this window's
closed.
Red pockets his notepad. A VOICE comes over the P.A. speakers:
VOICE (AMPLIFIED)
Return to your cellblocks for
evening count.
The new fish are marched in. Guards unlock the shackles. The chains drop away, rattling to the stone floor.
HADLEY
Eyes front.
WARDEN SAMUEL NORTON strolls forth, a colorless man in a gray suit and a church pin in his lapel. He looks like he could piss ice water. He appraises the newcomers with flinty eyes.
NORTON
This is Mr. Hadley, captain of the
guard. I am Mr. Norton, the warden.
You are sinners and scum, that's
why they sent you to me. Rule
number one: no blaspheming. I'll
not have the Lord's name taken in
vain in my prison. The other rules
you'll figure out as you go along.
Any questions?
CON
When do we eat?
Cued by Norton's glance, Hadley steps up to the con and screams right in his face:
HADLEY
YOU EAT WHEN WE SAY YOU EAT! YOU
PISS WHEN WE SAY YOU PISS! YOU SHIT
WHEN WE SAY YOU SHIT! YOU SLEEP
WHEN WE SAY YOU SLEEP! YOU MAGGOT-
DICK MOTHERFUCKER!
Hadley rams the tip of his club into the con's belly. The man falls to his knees, gasping and clutching himself. Hadley takes his place at Norton's side again. Softly:
NORTON
Any other questions?
(there are none)
I believe in two things. Discipline
and the Bible. Here, you'll receive
both.
(holds up a Bible)
Put your faith in the Lord. Your
ass belongs to me. Welcome to
Shawshank.
HADLEY
Off with them clothes! And I didn't
say take all day doing it, did I?
The men shed their clothes. Within seconds, all stand naked.
HADLEY (CONT'D)
First man into the shower!
Hadley shoves the FIRST CON into a steel cage open at the front. TWO GUARDS open up with a fire hose. The con is slammed against the back of the cage, sputtering and hollering. Seconds later, the water is cut and the con yanked out.
HADLEY (CONT'D)
Delouse that piece of shit! Next
man in!
The con gets a huge scoop of white delousing powder thrown all over him. Gasping and coughing, blinking powder from his eyes, he gets shoved to a trustee's cage. The TRUSTEE slides a short stack of items through the slot -- prison clothes and a Bible. All the men are processed quickly -- a blast of water, powder, clothes and a Bible...
A naked CON steps before a DOCTOR and gets a cursory exam. A penlight is shined in his eyes, ears, nose, and throat.
DOCTOR
Bend over.
The con does. A GUARD with a penlight in his teeth spreads his cheeks, peers up his ass, and nods. Andy is next up. He gets the same treatment.
CAMERA TRACKS the naked newcomers shivering on hard wooden chairs, clothes on their laps, Bibles open.
CHAPLAIN (O.S.)
...maketh me to lie down in green
pastures. He leadeth me beside the
still waters. He restoreth my
soul...
Three tiers to a side, concrete and steel, gray and imposing. Andy and the others are marched in, still naked, carrying their clothes and Bibles. The CONS in their cells greet them with TAUNTS, JEERS, and LAUGHTER. One by one, the new men are shown to their cells and locked in with a CLANG OF STEEL.
RED (V.O.)
The first night's the toughest, no
doubt about it.
They march you in naked as the day
you're born, fresh from a Bible
reading, skin burning and half-
blind from that delousing shit they
throw on you...
Red watches from his cell, arms slung over the crossbars, cigarette dangling from his fingers.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
...and when they put you in that
cell, when those bars slam home,
that's when you know it's for real.
Old life blown away in the blink of
an eye...a long cold season in hell
stretching out ahead...nothing left
but all the time in the world to
think about it.
Red listens to the CLANGING below. He watches Andy and a few others being brought up to the 2nd tier.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Most new fish come close to madness
the first night. Somebody always
breaks down crying. Happens every
time. The only question is, who's
it gonna be?
Andy is led past and given a cell at the end of the tier.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
It's as good a thing to bet on as
any, I guess. I had my money on
Andy Dufresne...
The bars slam home. Andy is alone in his cell, clutching his clothes. He gazes around at his new surroundings, taking it in. He slowly begins to dress himself...
A malignant stone growth on the Maine landscape. The moon hangs low and baleful in a dead sky. The headlight of a PASSING TRAIN cuts through the night.
Red lies on his bunk below us, tossing his baseball toward the ceiling and catching it again. He pauses, listening. FOOTSTEPS approach below, unhurried, echoing hollowly on stone.
LOW ANGLE. A CELLBLOCK GUARD strolls into frame.
GUARD
That's lights out! Good night,
ladies.
The lights bump off in sequence. The guard exits, footsteps echoing away. Darkness now. Silence. CAMERA CRANES UP the tiers toward Red's cell.
RED (V.O.)
I remember my first night. Seems a
long time ago now.
Red looms from the darkness, leans on the bars. Listens. Waits. From somewhere below comes faint, ghastly tittering. VOICES drift through the cellblock, taunting:
VARIOUS VOICES (O.S.)
Fishee fishee fisheeee...You're
gonna like it here, new fish. A
whooole lot...Make you wish your
daddies never dicked your
mommies...You takin' this down, new
fish? Gonna be a quiz later.
(somebody LAUGHS)
Sshhh. Keep it down. The screws'll
hear...Fishee fishee fisheeee...
RED (V.O.)
The boys always go fishin' with
first-timers...and they don't quit
till they reel someone in.
The VOICES keep on, sly and creepy in the dark...
thru thru 25 ...while the new cons go quietly crazy in their cells. One man paces like a caged animal...another sits gnawing his cuticles bloody...a third is weeping silently...a fourth is dry-heaving into the toilet...
Red waits at the bars. Smoking. Listening. He cranes his head, peers down toward Andy's cell. Nothing. Not a peep.
HEYWOOD (O.S.)
Fat-Ass...oh, Faaaat-Ass. Talk to
me, boy. I know you're in there. I
can hear you breathin'. Now don't
you listen to these nitwits, hear?
Fat-Ass is crying, trying not to hyperventilate.
HEYWOOD (O.S.)
This ain't such a bad place. I'll
introduce you around, make you feel
right at home. I know some big ol'
bull queers who'd love to make your
acquaintance...especially that big
white mushy butt of yours... And
that's it.
Fat-Ass lets out a LOUD WAIL of despair:
FAT-ASS
OH GOD! I DON'T BELONG HERE! I
WANNA GO HOME!
HEYWOOD
AND IT'S FAT-ASS BY A NOSE.'
The place goes nuts. Fat-Ass throws himself screaming against the bars. The entire block starts CHANTING:
VOICES
Fresh fish...fresh fish...fresh
fish...fresh fish...
FAT-ASS
I WANNA GO HOME! I WANT MY MOTHER.'
VOICE (O.S.)
I had your mother! She wasn't that
great!
The lights bump on. GUARDS pour in, led by Hadley himself.
HADLEY
What the Christ is this happy shit?
VOICE (O.S.)
He took the Lord's name in vain!
I'm tellin' the warden!
HADLEY
(to the unseen wit)
You'll be tellin' him with my baton
up your ass!
Hadley arrives at Fat-Ass' cell, bellowing through the bars:
HADLEY (CONT'D)
What's your malfunction you fat
fuckin' barrel of monkey-spunk?
FAT-ASS
PLEASE! THIS AIN'T RIGHT! I AIN'T
SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! NOT ME!
HADLEY
I ain't gonna count to three! Not
even to one! Now shut the fuck up
'fore I sing you a lullabye!
Fat-Ass keeps blubbering and wailing. Total freak-out. Hadley draws his baton, gestures to his men. Open it. A GUARD unlocks the cell. Hadley pulls Fat-Ass out and starts beating him with the baton, brutally raining blows. Fat-Ass falls, tries to crawl. The place goes dead silent. All we hear now is the dull THWACK-THWACK-THWACK of the baton. Fat-ass passes out. Hadley gets in a few more licks and finally stops.
HADLEY (CONT'D)
Get this tub of shit down to the
infirmary.
(peers around)
If I hear so much as a mouse fart
in here the rest of the night, by
God and Sonny Jesus, you'll all
visit the infirmary. Every last
motherfucker here.
The guards wrestle Fat-Ass onto a stretcher and carry him off. FOOTSTEPS echo away. Lights off. Darkness again. Silence.
Red stares through the bars at the main floor below, eyes riveted to the small puddle of blood where Fat-Ass went down.
RED (V.O.)
His first night in the joint, Andy
Dufresne cost me two packs of
cigarettes. He never made a
sound...
LOUD BUZZER. The master locks are thrown -- KA-THUMP! The cons step from their cells, lining the tiers. The GUARDS holler their head-counts to the HEAD BULL, who jots on a clipboard. Red peers at Andy, checking him out. Andy stands in line, collar buttoned, hair combed.
Andy goes through the breakfast line, gets a scoop of glop on his tray. WE PAN ANDY through the noise and confusion...and discover BOGS DIAMOND and ROOSTER MacBRIDE watching Andy go by. Bogs sizes Andy up with a salacious gleam in his eye, mutters something to Rooster. Rooster laughs. Andy finds a table occupied by Red and his regulars, chooses a spot at the end where nobody is sitting. Ignoring their stares, he picks up his spoon -- and pauses, seeing something in his food. He carefully fishes it out with his fingers. It's a squirming maggot. Andy grimaces, unsure what to do with it. BROOKS HATLEN is sitting closest to Andy. At age 65, he's a senior citizen, a long-standing resident.
BROOKS
You gonna eat that?
ANDY
Hadn't planned on it.
BROOKS
You mind?
Andy passes the maggot to Brooks. Brooks examines it, rolling it between his fingertips like a man checking out a fine cigar. Andy is riveted with apprehension.
BROOKS (CONT'D)
Mmm. Nice and ripe.
Andy can't bear to watch. Brooks opens up his sweater and feeds the maggot to a baby crow nestled in an inside pocket. Andy breathes a sigh of relief.
BROOKS (CONT'D)
Jake says thanks. Fell out of his
nest over by the plate shop. I'm
lookin' after him till he's old
enough to fly.
Andy nods, proceeds to eat. Carefully. Heywood approaches.
JIGGER
Oh, Christ, here he comes.
HEYWOOD
Mornin', boys. It's a fine mornin'.
You know why it's fine?
Heywood plops his tray down, sits. The men start pulling out cigarettes and handing them down.
HEYWOOD (CONT'D)
That's right, send 'em all down. I
wanna see 'em lined up in a row,
pretty as a chorus line.
An impressive pile forms. Heywood bends down and inhales deeply, smelling the aroma. Rapture.
FLOYD
Smell my ass...
HEYWOOD
Gee, Red. Terrible shame, your
horse comin' in last and all. Hell,
I sure do love that horse of mine.
I believe I owe that boy a big
sloppy kiss when I see him.
RED
Give him some'a your cigarettes
instead, cheap bastard.
HEYWOOD
Say Tyrell, you pull infirmary duty
this week? How's that winnin' horse
of mine, anyway?
TYRELL
Dead.
(the men fall silent)
Hadley busted his head pretty good.
Doc already went home for the
night. Poor bastard lay there till
this morning. By then...
He shakes his head, turns back to his food. The silence mounts. Heywood glances around. Men resume eating. Softly:
ANDY
What was his name?
HEYWOOD
What? What'd you say?
ANDY
I was wondering if anyone knew his
name.
HEYWOOD
What the fuck you care, new fish?
(resumes eating)
Doesn't matter what his fuckin'
name was. He's dead.
A DEAFENING NOISE of industrial washers and presses. Andy works the laundry line. A nightmarish job. He's new at it. BOB, the con foreman, elbows him aside and shows him how it's done.
Shower heads mounted in bare concrete. Andy showers with a dozen or more men. No modesty here. At least the water is good and hot, soothing his tortured muscles. Bogs looms from the billowing steam, smiling, checking Andy up and down. Rooster and PETE appear from the sides. The Sisters.
BOGS
You're some sweet punk. You been
broke in yet?
Andy tries to step past them. He gets shoved around, nothing serious, just some slap and tickle. Jackals sizing up prey.
BOGS (CONT'D)
Hard to get. I like that.
Andy breaks free, flushed and shaking. He hurries off, leaving the three Sisters laughing.
Andy lies staring at the darkness, unable to sleep.
Exercise period. Red plays catch with Heywood and Jigger, lazily tossing a baseball around. Red notices Andy off to the side. Nods hello. Andy takes this as a cue to amble over. Heywood and Jigger pause, watching.
ANDY
(offers his hand)
Hello. I'm Andy Dufresne.
Red glances at the hand, ignores it. The game continues.
RED
The wife-killin' banker.
ANDY
How do you know that?
RED
I keep my ear to the ground. Why'd
you do it?
ANDY
I didn't, since you ask.
RED
Hell, you'll fit right in, then.
(off Andy's look)
Everyone's innocent in here, don't
you know that? Heywood! What are
you in for, boy?
HEYWOOD
Didn't do it! Lawyer fucked me!
Red gives Andy a look.
RED
See?
ANDY
What else have you heard?
RED
People say you're a cold fish. They
say you think your shit smells
sweeter than ordinary. That true?
ANDY
What do you think?
RED
Ain't made up my mind yet.
Heywood nudges Jigger. Watch this. He winds up and throws the ball hard -- right at Andy's head. Andy sees it coming out of the corner of his eye, whirls and catches it. Beat. He sends the ball right back, zinging it into Heywood's hands. Heywood drops the ball and grimaces, wringing his stung hands.
ANDY
I understand you're a man who knows
how to get things.
RED
I'm known to locate certain things
from time to time. They seem to
fall into my hands. Maybe it's
'cause I'm Irish.
ANDY
I wonder if you could get me a rock-
hammer?
RED
What is it and why?
CONTINUED: (2)
ANDY
You make your customers' motives a
part of your business?
RED
If you wanted a toothbrush, I
wouldn't ask questions. I'd just
quote a price. A toothbrush, see,
is a non-lethal sort of object.
ANDY
Fair enough. A rock-hammer is about
eight or nine inches long. Looks
like a miniature pickaxe, with a
small sharp pick on one end, and a
blunt hammerhead on the other. It's
for rocks.
RED
Rocks.
Andy squats, motions Red to join him. Andy grabs a handful of dirt and sifts it through his hands. He finds a pebble and rubs it clean. It has a nice milky glow. He tosses it to Red.
RED (CONT'D)
Quartz?
ANDY
Quartz, sure. And look. Mica.
Shale. Silted granite. There's some
graded limestone, from when they
cut this place out of the hill.
RED
So?
ANDY
I'm a rockhound. At least I was, in
my old life. I'd like to be again,
on a limited scale.
RED
Yeah, that or maybe plant your toy
in somebody's skull?
ANDY
I have no enemies here.
RED
No? Just wait.
Red flicks his gaze past Andy. Bogs is watching them.
CONTINUED: (3)
RED (CONT'D)
Word gets around. The Sisters have
taken a real shine to you, yes they
have. Especially Bogs.
ANDY
Tell me something. Would it help if
I explained to them I'm not
homosexual?
RED
Neither are they. You have to be
human first. They don't qualify.
(off Andy's look)
Bull queers take by force, that's
all they want or understand. I'd
grow eyes in the back of my head if
I were you.
ANDY
Thanks for the advice.
RED
That comes free. But you understand
my concern.
ANDY
If there's trouble, I doubt a rock-
hammer will do me any good.
RED
Then I guess you wanna escape.
Tunnel under the wall maybe?
(Andy laughs politely)
I miss the joke. What's so funny?
ANDY
You'll know when you see the rock-
hammer.
RED
What's this item usually go for?
ANDY
Seven dollars in any rock and gem
shop.
RED
My standard mark-up's twenty
percent, but we're talkin' about a
special object. Risk goes up, price
goes up. Call it ten bucks even.
ANDY
Ten it is.
CONTINUED: (4)
RED
I'll see what I can do.
(rises, slapping dust)
But it's a waste of money.
ANDY
Oh?
RED
Folks who run this place love
surprise inspections. They turn a
blind eye to some things, but not a
gadget like that. They'll find it,
and you'll lose it. Mention my
name, we'll never do business
again. Not for a pair of shoelaces
or a stick of gum.
ANDY
I understand. Thank you, Mr...?
RED
Red. The name's Red.
ANDY
Red. I'm Andy. Pleasure doing
business with you.
They shake. Andy strolls off. Red watches him go.
RED (V.O.)
I could see why some of the boys
took him for snobby. He had a quiet
way about him, a walk and a talk
that just wasn't normal around
here. He strolled like a man in a
park without a care or worry. Like
he had on an invisible coat that
would shield him from this place.
(resumes playing catch)
Yes, I think it would be fair to
say I liked Andy from the start.
Red gets his breakfast and heads for a table. Andy falls in step, slips him a tightly-folded square of paper.
Lying on his bunk, Red unfolds the square. A ten dollar bill.
RED (V.O.)
He was a man who adapted fast.
Under watchful supervision, CONS are off-loading bags of dirty laundry from an "Eliot Nursing Home" truck.
RED (V.O.)
Years later, I found out he'd
brought in quite a bit more than
just ten dollars...
A certain bag hits the ground. The TRUCK DRIVER shoots a look at a black con, LEONARD, then ambles over to a GUARD to shoot the shit. Leonard loads the bag onto a cart...
Bags are being unloaded. We find Leonard working the line.
RED (V.O.)
When they check you into this
hotel, one of the bellhops bends
you over and looks up your works,
just to make sure you're not
carrying anything. But a truly
determined man can get an object
quite a ways up there.
Leonard slips a small paper-wrapped package out of the laundry bag, hides it under his apron, and keeps sorting...
Red deposits his dirty bundle and moves down the line to where the clean sheets are being handed out.
RED (V.O.)
That's how Andy joined our happy
little Shawshank family with more
than five hundred dollars on his
person. Determination.
Leonard catches Red's eye, turns and grabs a specific stack of clean sheets. He hands it across to Red --
TIGHT ANGLE
-- and more than clean laundry
changes hands.
Two packs of cigarettes slide out of Red's hand into Leonard's.
Red slips the package out of his sheets, carefully checks to make sure nobody's coming, then rips it open.
He pulls out the rock-hammer. It's just as Andy described. Red laughs softly.
RED (V.O.)
Andy was right. I finally got the
joke. It would take a man about six
hundred years to tunnel under the
wall with one of these.
Brooks Hatlen pushes a cart of books from cell to cell. The rolling library. He finds Red waiting for him. Red slips the rock-hammer, wrapped in a towel, through the bars and onto the cart. Next comes six cigarettes to pay for postage.
RED
Dufresne.
Brooks nods, never missing a beat. He rolls his cart to Andy's cell, mutters through the bars:
BROOKS
Middle shelf, wrapped in a towel.
Andy's hand snakes through the bars and makes the object disappear. The hand comes back and deposits a small slip of folded paper along with more cigarettes. Brooks turns his cart around and goes back. He pauses, sorting his books long enough for Red to snag the slip of paper. Brooks continues on, scooping the cigarettes off the cart and into his pocket.
Red unfolds the slip of paper. Penciled neatly on it is a single word: "Thanks."
We are assaulted by the deafening noise of the laundry line. Andy is doing his job, getting good at it.
BOB
DUFRESNE! WE'RE LOW ON HEXLITE!
HEAD ON BACK AND FETCH US UP SOME!
Andy nods. He leaves the line, weaving his way through the laundry room and into --
-- a dark, tangled maze of rooms and corridors, boilers and furnaces, sump pumps, old washing machines, pallets of cleaning supplies and detergents, you name it. Andy hefts a cardboard drum of Hexlite off the stack, turns around -- -- and finds Bogs Diamond in the aisle. blocking his way.
Rooster looms from the shadows to his right, Pete Verness on the left. A frozen beat. Andy slams the Hexlite to the floor, rips off the top, and scoops out a double handful.
ANDY
You get this in your eyes, it
blinds you.
BOGS
Honey, hush.
Andy backs up, holding them at bay, trying to maneuver through the maze. The Sisters keep coming, tense and guarded, eyes riveted and gauging his every move, trying to outflank him. Andy trips on some old gaint sugglies. That's all it takes. They're on him in an instant, kicking and stomping. Andy gets yanked to his feet. Bogs applies a chokehold from behind. They propel him across the room and slam him against an old four-pocket machine, bending him over it. Rooster jams a rag into Andy's mouth and secures it with a steel pipe, like a horse bit. Andy kicks and struggles, but Rooster and Pete have his arms firmly pinned. Bogs whispers in Andy's ear:
BOGS (CONT'D)
That's it, fight. Better that way.
Andy starts screaming, muffled by the rag. CAMERA PULLS BACK, SLOWLY WIDENING. The big Washex blocks our view. All we see is Andy's screaming face and the men holding him down... ...and CAMERA DRIFTS FROM THE ROOM, leaving the dark place and the dingy act behind...MOVING up empty corridors, past concrete walls and steel pipes...
RED (V.O.)
I wish I could tell you that Andy
fought the good fight, and the
Sisters let him be. I wish I could
tell you that, but prison is no
fairy-tale world.
WE EMERGE into the prison laundry past a guard, WIDENING for a final view of the line. The giant steel "mangler" is slapping down in brutal rhythm. The sound is deafening.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
He never said who did it...but we
all knew.
PRISON MONTAGE: (1947 THROUGH 1949)
Andy plods through his days. Working. Eating. Chipping and 47 shaping his rocks after lights-out...
RED (V.O.)
Things went on like that for a
while. Prison life consists of
routine, and then more routine.
Andy walks the yard, face swollen and bruised.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Every so often, Andy would show up
with fresh bruises.
Andy eats breakfast. A few tables over, Bogs blows him a kiss.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
The Sisters kept at him. Sometimes
he was able to fight them off...
sometimes not.
Andy backs into a corner in some dingy part of the prison, wildly swinging a rake at his tormentors.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
He always fought, that's what I
remember. He fought because he knew
if he didn't fight, it would make
it that much easier not to fight
the next time.
The rake connects, snapping off over somebody's skull. They beat the hell out of him.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Half the time it landed him in the
infirmary...
A stone closet. No bed, sink, or lights. Just a toilet with no seat. Andy sits on bare concrete, bruised face lit by a faint ray of light falling through the tiny slit in the steel door.
RED (V.O.)
...the other half, it landed him in
solitary. Warden Norton's "grain &
drain" vacation. Bread, water, and
all the privacy you could want.
Andy is working the line.
RED (V.O.)
And that's how it went for Andy.
That was his routine. I do believe
those first two years were the
worst for him. And I also believe
if things had gone on that way,
this place would have got the best
of him. But then, in the spring of
1949, the powers-that-be decided
that...
Warden Norton addresses the assembled cons via bullhorn:
NORTON
...the roof of the license-plate
factory needs resurfacing. I need a
dozen volunteers for a week's work.
We're gonna be taking names in this
steel bucket here...
Red glances around at his friends. Andy also catches his eye.
RED (V.O.)
It was outdoor detail, and May is
one damn fine month to be workin'
outdoors.
Cons shuffle past, dropping slips of paper into a bucket.
RED (V.O.)
More than a hundred men volunteered
for the job.
Red saunters to a guard named TIM YOUNGBLOOD, mutters discreetly in his ear.
Youngblood is pulling names and reading them off. Red exchanges grins with Andy and the others.
RED (V.O.)
Wouldn't you know it? Me and some
fellas I know were among the names
called.
Red slips Youngblood six packs of cigarettes.
RED (V.O.)
Only cost us a pack of smokes per
man. I made my usual twenty
percent, of course.
A tar-cooker bubbles and smokes. TWO CONS dip up a bucket of tar and tie a rope to the handle. The rope goes taught. CAMERA FOLLOWS the bucket of tar up the side of the building to --
THE ROOF
-- where it is relayed to the work detail. The men are dipping big Padd brushes and spreading the tar. ANGLZ OVER to Byron Hadley bitching sourly to his fellow guards:
HADLEY
...so this shithead lawyer calls
long distance from Texas, and he
says, Byron Hadley? I say, yeah. He
says, sorry to inform you, but your
brother just died.
YOUNGBLOOD
Damn, Byron. Sorry to hear that.
HADLEY
I ain't. He was an asshole. Run off
years ago, family ain't heard of
him since. Figured him for dead
anyway. So this lawyer prick says,
your brother died a rich man. Oil
wells and shit, close to a million
bucks. Jesus, it's frigging
incredible how lucky some assholes
can get.
TROUT
A million bucks? Jeez-Louise! You
get any of that?
HADLEY
Thirty five thousand. That's what
he left me.
TROUT
Dollars? Holy shit, that's great!
Like winnin' a lottery...
(off Hadley's shitty look)
...ain't it?
HADLEY
Dumbshit. What do you figger the
government's gonna do to me?
Take a big wet bite out of my ass,
is what.
TROUT
Oh. Hadn't thought of that.
HADLEY
Maybe leave me enough to buy a new
car with. Then what happens? You
pay tax on the car. Repairs and
maintenance. Goddamn kids pesterin'
you to take 'em for a ride...
MERT
And drive it, if they're old
enough.
HADLEY
That's right, wanting to drive it,
wanting to learn on it,
f'Chrissake! Then at the end of the
year, if you figured the tax wrong,
they make you pay out of your own
pocket. Uncle Sam puts his hand in
your shirt and squeezes your tit
till it's purple. Always get the
short end. That's a fact.
(spits over the side)
Some brother. Shit.
The prisoners keep spreading tar, eyes on their work.
HEYWOOD
Poor Byron. What terrible fuckin'
luck. Imagine inheriting thirty
five thousand dollars.
RED
Crying shame. Some folks got it
awful bad.
Red glances over -- and is shocked to see Andy standing up, listening to the guards talk.
RED (CONT'D)
Hey, you nuts? Keep your eyes on
your pail!
Andy tosses his Padd in the bucket and strolls toward Hadley.
RED (CONT'D)
Andy! Come back! Shit!
SNOOZE
What's he doing?
CONTINUED: (2)
FLOYD
Gettin' himself killed.
RED
God damn it...
HEYWOOD
Just keep spreadin' tar...
The guards stiffen at Andy's approach. Youngblood's hand goes to his holster. The tower guards CLICK-CLACK their rifle bolts. Hadley turns, stupefied to find Andy there.
ANDY
Mr. Hadley. Do you trust your wife?
HADLEY
That's funny. You're gonna look
funnier suckin' my dick with no
fuckin' teeth.
ANDY
What I mean is, do you think she'd
go behind your back? Try to
hamstring you?
HADLZY
That's it! Step aside, Mert. This
fucker's havin' hisself an
accident. Hadley grabs Andy's
collar and propels him violently
toward the edge of the roof. The
cons furiously keep spreading tar.
HEYWOOD
Oh God, he's gonna do it, he's
gonna throw him off the roof...
SNOOZE
Oh shit, oh fuck, oh Jesus...
ANDY
Because if you do trust her,
there's no reason in the world you
can't keep every cent of that
money. Hadley abruptly jerks Andy
to a stop right at the edge. In
fact, Andy's past the edge, beyond
his balance, shoetips
scraping the roof. The only thing between him and an ugly drop to the concrete is Hadley's grip on the front of his shirt.
HADLEY
You better start making sense.
CONTINUED: (3)
ANDY
If you want to keep that money, all
of it, just give it to your wife.
See, the IRS allows you a one-time-
only gift to your spouse. It's good
up to sixty thousand dollars.
HADLEY
Naw, that ain't right! Tax free?
ANDY
Tax free. IRS can't touch one cent.
The cons are pausing work, stunned by this business discussion.
HADLEY
You're the smart banker what shot
his wife. Why should I believe a
smart banker like you? So's I can
wind up in here with you?
ANDY
It's perfectly legal. Go ask the
IRS, they'll say the same thing.
Actually, I feel silly telling you
all this. I'm sure you would have
investigated the matter yourself.
HADLEY
Fuckin'-A. I don't need no smart
wife-killin' banker to show me
where the bear shit in the
buckwheat.
ANDY
Of course not. But you will need
somebody to set up the tax-free
gift, and that'll cost you. A
lawyer, for example...
HADLEY
Ambulance-chaaing, highway-robbing
cocksuckers!
ANDY
...or come to think of it, I
suppose I could set it up for you.
That would save you some money.
I'll write down the forms you need,
you can pick them up, and I'll
prepare them for your signature...
nearly free of charge.
(off Hadley's look)
I'd only ask three beers apiece for
my co-workers, if that seems fair.
CONTINUED: (4)
TROUT
(guffawing)
Co-workers! Get him! That's rich,
ain't it? Co-workers... Hadley
freezes him with a look. Andy
presses on:
ANDY
I think a man working outdoors
feels more like a man if he can
have a bottle of suds. That's only
my opinion.
The convicts stand gaping, all pretense of work gone. They look like they've been pole-axed. Hadley shoots them a look.
HADLEY
What are you jimmies starin' at?
Back to work, goddamn it!
As before, an object is hauled up the side of the building by rope -- only this time, it's a cooler of beer and ice.
RED (V.O.)
And that's how it came to pass,
that on the second-to-last day of
the job, the convict crew that
tarred the plate factory roof in
the spring of '49...
The cons are taking the sun and drinking beer.
RED (V.O.)
...wound up sitting in a row at ten
o'clock in the morning, drinking
icy cold Black Label beer courtesy
of the hardest screw that ever
walked a turn at Shawshank State
Prison.
HADLEY
Drink up, boys. While it's cold.
RED (V.O.)
The colossal prick even managed to
sound magnanimous.
Red knocks back another sip, enjoying the bitter cold on his tongue and the warm sun on face.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
We sat and drank with the sun on
our shoulders, and felt like free
men. We could'a been tarring the
roof of one of our own houses. We
were the Lords of all Creation. He
glances over to Andy squatting
apart from the others.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
As for Andy, he spent that break
hunkered in the shade, a strange
little smile on his face, watching
us drink his beer.
HEYWOOD
(approaches with a beer)
Here's a cold one, Andy.
ANDY
No thanks. I gave up drinking.
Heywood drifts back to others,
giving them a look.
RED (V.O.)
You could argue he'd done it to
curry favor with the guards. Or
maybe make a few friends among us
cons. Me, I think he did it just to
feel normal again...if only for a
short while.
Andy and Red play checkers. Red makes his move.
RED
King me.
ANDY
Chess. Now there's a game of kings.
Civilized...strategic...
RED
...and totally fuckin'
inexplicable. Hate that game.
ANDY
Maybe you'll let me teach you
someday. I've been thinking of
getting a board together.
RED
You come to the right place. I'm
the man who can get things.
ANDY
We might do business on a board.
But the pieces, I'd like to carve
those myself. One side done in
quartz... the opposing side in
limestone.
RED
That'd take you years.
ANDY
Years I've got. What I don't have
are the rocks. Pickings here in the
exercise yard are pretty slim.
RED
How's that rock-hammer workin' out
anyway? Scratch your name on your
wall yet?
ANDY
(smiles)
Not yet. I suppose I should.
RED
Andy? I guess we're gettin' to be
friends, ain't we?
ANDY
I suppose we are.
RED
I ask a question? Why'd you do it?
ANDY
I'm innocent, remember? Just like
everybody else here.
Red takes this as a gentle rebuff, keeps playing.
ANDY (CONT'D)
What are you in for, Red?
RED
Murder. Same as you.
ANDY
Innocent?
RED
The only guilty man in Shawshank.
Andy lies in his bunk after lights out, polishing a fragment of quartz by the light of the moon.
He pauses, glancing at all the names scratched in the wall. He rises, makes sure the coast is clear, and starts scratching his name into the cement with his rock-hammer, adding to the record.
RAY MILLAND 63
fills the screen in glorious (and scratchy) black & white, suffering a bad case of DT's...
...while a CONVICT AUDIENCE hoots and catcalls, talking back to the screen. We find Red slouched in a folding chair, watching the movie. Andy enters, backlit by the flickering glare of the projector, and takes a seat next to him.
RED
Here's the good part. Bugs come out
of the walls to get his ass.
ANDY
I know. I've seen it three times
this month already.
Ray Milland starts SCREAMING. The entire audience SCREAMS with him, high-pitched and hysterical. Andy fidgets.
ANDY (CONT'D)
Can we talk business?
RED
Sure. What do you want?
ANDY
Rita Hayworth. Can you get her?
RED
No problem. Take a few weeks.
ANDY
Weeks?
RED
Don't have her stuffed down my
pants this very moment, sorry to
say. Relax. What are you so nervous
about? She's just a woman.
Andy nods, embarrassed. He gets up and hurries out. Red grins, turns back to the movie.
Andy exits the theater and freezes in his tracks. Two dark figures loom in the corridor, blocking his path. Rooster and Pete. Andy turns back -- and runs right into Bogs.
Instant bear hug. The Sisters are on him like a flash. They kick a door open and drag him into --
THE PROJECTION BOOTH 66
-- where they confront the startled PROJECTIONIST, an old con blinking at them through thick bifocals.
BOGS
Take a walk.
PROJECTIONIST
I have to change reels.
BOGS
I said fuck off.
Terrified, the old man darts past and out the door. Pete slams and locks it. Bogs shoves Andy to the center of the room.
BOGS (CONT'D)
Ain't you gonna scream?
Andy sighs, cocks his head at the projector.
ANDY
They'd never hear me over that.
Let's get this over with.
Seemingly resigned, Andy turns around, leans on the rewind bench -- and curls his fingers around a full 1.000 foot reel of 35mm film. Rooster licks his lips, pushes past the others.
ROOSTER
Me first.
ANDY
Okay.
Andy whips the reel of film around in a vicious arc, smashing it into Rooster's face and bouncing him off the wall.
ROOSTER
Fuck! Shit! He broke my nose!
Andy fights like hell, but is soon overpowered and forced to his knees. Bogs steps to Andy, pulls out an awl with a vicious eight-inch spike, gives him a good long look at it.
BOGS
Now I'm gonna open my fly, and
you're gonna swallow what I give
you to swallow. And when you d
mine, you gonna swallow Rooster's.
You done broke his nose, so he
ought to have somethin' to show for
it.
ANDY
Anything you put in my mouth,
you're going to lose.
BOGS
You don't understand. You do that,
I'll put all eight inches of this
steel in your ear.
ANDY
Okay. But you should know that
sudden serious brain injury causes
the victim to bite down. Hard.
(faint smile)
In fact, I understand the bite-
reflex is so strong the victim's
jaws have to be pried open with a
crowbar.
The Sisters consider this carefully. The film runs out of the projector, flapping on the reel. The screen goes white.
BOGS
You little fuck.
Andy gets a bootheel in the face. The Sisters start kicking and beating the living shit out of him with anything they can get their hands on. In the theater, the convicts are CHANTING AND CLAPPING for the movie to come back on.
RED (V.O.)
Bogs didn't put anything in Andy's
mouth, and neither did his friends.
What they did do is beat him within
an inch of his life...
Andy lies wrapped in bandages.
RED (V.O.)
Andy spent a month in traction.
RED (V.O.)
Bogs spent a week in the hole. Bogs
sits on bare concrete. The steel
door slides open.
GUARD
Time's up, Bogs.
Bogs comes up the stairs, smoking a cigarette. Not many cons around; the place is virtually deserted. A VOICE echoes dimly over the P.A. system:
VOICE (O.S.)
Return to your cellblocks for
evening count.
Bogs enters his cell. Dark in here. He fumbles for the light cord, yanks it. The sudden light reveals Captain Hadley six inches from his face, waiting for him. Mert steps in behind Bogs. hemming him. Before Bogs can even open his mouth to say "what the fuck," Hadley rams the tip of his baton brutally into his solar plexus. Bogs doubles over, gagging his wind out.
GROUND FLOOR
Ernie comes slowly around the corner, rolling a steel mop cart loaded with supplies.
2ND TIER
Red is darning a sock in his open cell. He pauses, frowning, hearing strange THUMPING sounds. What the hell is that?
3RD TIER
It's Hadley and Mert methodically and brutally pulping Bogs with their batons, and kicking the shit out of him for good measure. He feebly tries to ward them off.
2ND TIER
Puzzled, Red steps from his cell, following the sound. It dawns on him that it's coming from above. He moves to the railing and leans out, craning around to look up --
RED'S POV
-- just as Bogs flips over the railing and comes sailing directly toward us, eyes bugging out, SCREAMING as he falls.
RED (SLOW MOTION)
jumps back as Bogs plummets past, missing him by inches, arms swimming and trying to grab the railing (but missing that too), SCREAMING aaaaalll the way down --
GROUND FLOOR
-- and impacting on Ernie's gassing mop cart in an enormous eruption of solvents and cleansers.
The cart is squashed flat, shooting out from under Bogs and skidding across the cellblock floor like a tiddly wink, kicking up sparks for thirty yards. Ernie is left gaping in shock at Bogs and all the Bogs-related wreckage at his feet.
2ND TIER
Red is stunned. He very tentatively leans out and looks up. Above him, Hadley and Mert lean on the 3rd tier railing. Hadley tilts the cap back on his head, shakes his head.
MERT
Damn, Byron. Look'a that.
HADLEY
Poor fella must'a tripped.
A tiny drop of blood drips off the toe of Hadley's shoe and splashes across Red's upturned cheek. He wipes it off, then looks down at Bogs. Cons and guards are racing to the scene.
RED (V.O.)
Two things never happened again
after that. The Sisters never laid
a finger on Andy again...
Bogs, wheelchair-bound and wearing a neck brace, is loaded onto an ambulance for transport. Behind the fence stand Red and his friends, watching.
RED (V.O.)
...and Bogs never walked again.
They transferred him to a minimum
security hospital upstate. To my
knowledge, he lived out the rest of
his days drinking his food through
a straw.
RED (CONT'D)
I'm thinkin' Andy could use a nice
welcome back when he gets out of
the infirmary.
HEYWOOD
Sounds good to us. Figure we owe
him for the beer.
RED
Man likes to play chess. Let's get
him some rocks.
A HUNDRED CONS at work. Hoes rise and fall in long waves. GUARDS patrol on horseback.
Heywood turns up a rocky chunk, quickly shoves it down his pants. He maneuvers to Red and the others, pulls out the chunk and shows it to them.
FLOYD
That ain't quartz. Nor limestone.
HEYWOOD
What are you, fuckin' geologist?
SNOOZE
He's right, it ain't.
HEYWOOD
What the hell is it then?
RED
Horse apple.
HEYWOOD
Bullshit.
RED
No, horse shit. Petrified.
Cackling, the men go back to work. Heywood stares at the rock. He crumbles it in his hands.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Despite a few hitches, the boys
came through in fine style...
A huge detergent box is filled with rocks, hidden in the shadows behind a boiler furnace.
RED (V.O.)
...and by the week Andy was due
back, we had enough rocks saved up
to keep him busy till Rapture.
ANGLE SHIFTS to Red as he plops a bag of "laundry" on the floor. Leonard and Bob toss a few more down. Red starts pulling out contraband, giving them their commissions.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Also got a big shipment in that
week. Cigarettes, chewing gum,
shoelaces, playing cards with naked
ladies on 'em, you name it...
(pulls a cardboard tube)
...and, of course, the most
important item.
Andy, limping a bit, returns from the infirmary. Red watches from his cell as Andy is brought up and locked away.
Andy finds the cardboard tube lying on his bunk.
GUARD (O.S.)
Lights out!
The lights go off. Andy opens the tube and pulls out a large rolled poster. He lets it uncurl to the floor. A small scrap of paper flutters out, landing at his feet. The poster is the famous Rita Hayworth pin-up -- one hand behind her head, eyes half closed, sulky lips parted. Andy picks up the scrap of paper. It reads: "No charge. Welcome back." Alone in the dark, Andy smiles.
The BUZZER SOUNDS, the cells SLAM OPEN. Cons step from their cells. Andy catches Red's eye, nods his thanks. As the men shuffle down to breakfast, Red glances into Andy's cell --
RED'S POV -- DOLLYING PAST
-- and sees Rita in her new place of honor on Andy's wall. Sunlight casts a harsh barred shadow across her lovely face.
Ernie is mopping the floor. He glances back and sees Warden Norton approach the cellblock with an entourage of a DOZEN GUARDS. Still mopping, Ernie mutters to the nearest cell:
ERNIE
Heads up. They're tossin' cells.
Word travels fast from cell to cell. Cons scramble to tidy up and hide things. Norton enters, nods to his men. The guards pair off in all directions, making their choices at random.
GUARD
What kind'a contraband you hiding
in there, boy?
Cells are opened, occupants displaced, items scattered, mattresses overturned. Whatever contraband is found gets tossed out onto the cellblock floor. Mostly harmless stuff. A GUARD pulls a sharpened screwdriver out of a mattress, shoots a nasty look at the CON responsible.
NORTON
Solitary. A week. Make sure he
takes his Bible.
CON
Too goddamn dark to read down
there.
NORTON
Add another week for blasphemy. The
man is taken away. Norton's gaze
goes up.
NORTON (CONT'D)
Let's try the second tier.
2ND TIER
Norton arrives, makes a thin show of picking a cell at random. He motions at Andy on his bunk, reading his Bible. The door is unlocked. Norton enters, trailed by his men. Andy rises.
ANDY
Good evening.
Norton gives a curt nod. Hadley and Trout start tossing the cell in a thorough search. Norton keeps his eyes on Andy, looking for a wrong glance or nervous blink. He takes the Bible out of Andy's hand.
NORTON
I'm pleased to see you reading
this. Any favorite passages?
ANDY
"Watch ye therefore, for ye know
not when the master of the house
cometh."
NORTON
(smiles)
Luke. Chapter 13, verse 35. I've
always liked that one.
(strolls the cell)
But I prefer: "I am the light of
the world. He that followeth me
shall not walk in darkness, but
shall have the light of life."
ANDY
John. Chapter 8, verse 12.
NORTON
I hear you're good with numbers.
How nice. A man should have a
skill.
HADLEY
You wanna explain this?
Andy glances over. Hadley is holding up a rock blanket, a polishing cloth roughly the size of an oven mitt.
ANDY
It's called a rock blanket. It's
for shaping and polishing rocks.
Little hobby of mine.
Hadley glances at the rocks lining the window sill, turns to Norton.
HADLEY
Looks pretty clean. Some contraband
here, nothing to get in a twist
over.
Norton nods, strolls to the poster of Rita.
NORTON
I can't say I approve of this...
(turns to Andy)
...but I suppose exceptions can
always be made.
Norton exits, the guards follow. The cell door is slammed and locked. Norton pauses, turns back.
NORTON (CONT'D)
I almost forgot.
He reaches through the bars and returns the Bible to Andy.
NORTON (CONT'D)
I'd hate to deprive you of this.
Salvation lies within.
Norton and his men walk away.
RED (V.O.)
Tossin' cells was just an excuse.
Truth is, Norton wanted to size
Andy up.
Andy is working the line. Hadley enters and confers briefly with Bob. Bob nods, crosses to Andy, taps him. Andy turns, removes an earplug. Bob shouts over the machine noise:
BOB
DUFRESNE! YOU'RE OFF THE LINE!
Andy is led in. Norton is at his desk doing paperwork. Andy's eyes go to a framed needle-point sampler on the wall behind him that reads: "HIS JUDGMENT COMETH AND THAT RIGHT SOON."
NORTON
My wife made that in church group.
ANDY
It's very pretty, sir.
NORTON
You like working in the laundry?
ANDY
No, sir. Not especially.
NORTON
Perhaps we can find something more
befitting a man of your education.
A series of bleak rooms stacked high with unused filing cabinets, desks, paint supplies, etc. Andy enters. He hears a FLUTTER OF WINGS. An adult crow lands on a filing cabinet and struts back and forth, checking him out. Andy smiles.
ANDY
Hey, Jake. Where's Brooks?
Brooks Hatlen pokes his head out of the back room.
BROOKS
Andy! Thought I heard you out here!
ANDY
I've been reassigned to you.
BROOKS
I know, they told me. Ain't that a
kick in the ass? Come on in, I'll
give you the dime tour.
Brooks leads Andy into the bleakest back room of all. Rough plank shelves are lined with books. Brooks' private domain.
BROOKS
Here she is, the Shawshank Prison
Library. Along this side, we got
the National Geographics. That
side, the Reader's Digest Condensed
books. Bottom shelf there, some
Louis L'Amours and Erle Stanley
Gardners. Every night I pile the
cart and make my rounds. I write
down the names on this clipboard
here. Well, that's it. Easy, peasy,
Japanesey. Any questions?
Andy pauses. Something about this doesn't make any sense.
ANDY
Brooks? How long have you been
librarian?
BROOKS
Since 1912. Yuh, over 37 years.
ANDY
In all that time, have you ever had
an assistant?
BROOKS
Never needed one. Not much to it,
is there?
ANDY
So why now? Why me?
BROOKS
I dunno. Be nice to have some
comp'ny down here for a change.
HADLEY (O.S.)
Dufresne!
Andy steps back into the outer rooms and finds Hadley with 91 another GUARD, a huge fellow named DEKINS.
HADLEY (CONT'D)
That's him. That's the one.
Hadley exits. Dekins approaches Andy ominously. Andy stands his ground, waiting for whatever comes next. Finally:
DEKINS
I'm Dekins. I been, uh, thinkin'
'bout maybe settin' up some kinda
trust fund for my kids' educations.
Andy covers his surprise. Glances at Brooks. Brooks smiles.
CONTINUED: (2)
ANDY
I see. Well. Why don't we have a
seat and talk it over?
BROOKS
Pull down one'a them desks there.
Andy and Dekins grab a desk standing on end and tilt it to the floor. They find chairs and settle in. Brooks returns with a tablet of paper and a pen, slides them before Andy.
ANDY
What did you have in mind? A weekly
draw on your pay?
DEKINS
Yuh. I figured just stick it in the
bank, but Captain Hadley said check
with you first.
ANDY
He was right. You don't want your
money in a bank.
DEKINS
I don't?
ANDY
What's that gonna earn you? Two and
a half, three percent a year? We
can do a lot better than that.
(wets his pen)
So tell me, Mr. Dekins. Where do
you want to send your kids?
Harvard? Yale?
FLOYD
He didn't say that!
BROOKS
God is my witness. And Dekins, he
just blinks for a second, then
laughs his ass off. Afterward, he
actually shook Andy's hand.
HEYWOOD
My ass!
BROOKS
Shook his fuckin' hand. Just about
shit myself. All Andy needed was a
suit and tie, a jiggly little hula
girl on his desk, he would'a been
Mister Dufresne, if you please.
RED
Makin' yourself some friends, Andy.
ANDY
I wouldn't say "friends." I'm a
convicted murderer who provides
sound financial planning. That's a
wonderful pet to have.
RED
Got you out of the laundry, didn't
it?
ANDY
Maybe it can do more than that.
(off their looks)
How about expanding the library?
Get some new books in there.
HEYWOOD
How you 'spect to do that, "Mr.
Dufresne-if-you-please?"
ANDY
Ask the warden for funds.
LAUGHTER all around. Andy blinks at them.
BROOKS
Son, I've had six wardens through
here during my tenure, and I have
learned one great immutable truth
of the universe: ain't one of 'em
been born whose asshole don't
pucker up tight as a snare drum
when you ask for funds.
DOLLYING Norton and Andy up the hall:
NORTON
Not a dime. My budget's stretched
thin as it is.
ANDY
I see. Perhaps I could write to the
State Senate and request funds
directly from them.
NORTON
Far as them Republican boys in
Augusta are concerned, there's only
three ways to spend the taxpayer's
hard-earned when it come to
prisons. More walls. More bars.
More guards.
ANDY
Still, I'd like to try, with your
permission. I'll send a letter a
week. They can't ignore me forever.
NORTON
They sure can, but you write your
letters if it makes you happy. I'll
even mail 'em for you, how's that?
Andy is on his bunk, writing a letter.
RED (V.O.)
So Andy started writing a letter a
week, just like he said.
Andy pops his head in. The GUARD shakes his head.
RED (V.O.)
And just like Norton said, Andy got
no answers. But still he kept on.
Andy is doing taxes. Mert Entwhistle is seated across from him. Other off-duty guards are waiting their turn.
RED (V.O.)
The following April, Andy did tax
returns for half the guards at
Shawshank.
Tax time again. Even more guards are waiting.
RED (V.O.)
Year after that, he did them all...
including the warden's.
A BATTER in a "Noresby Marauders" baseball uniform WHACKS the ball high into left field and races for first.
RED (V.O.)
Year after that, they rescheduled
the start of the intramural season
to coincide with tax season...
The Batter sits across from Andy. The line winds out the door.
RED (V.O.)
The guards on the opposing teams
all remembered to bring their W-
2's.
ANDY
Moresby Prison issued you that gun,
but you actually had to pay for it?
THE BATTER
Damn right, and the holster too.
ANDY
See, that's all deductible. You get
to write that off.
RED (V.O.)
Yes sir, Andy was a regular H&R
Block. In fact, he got so busy at
tax time, he was allowed a staff.
ANGLE SHIFTS to reveal Red and Brooks doing filing chores.
ANDY
Say Red, could you hand me a stack
of those 1040s?
RED (V.O.)
Got me out of the wood shop a month
out of the year, and that was fine
by me.
Andy enters and drops a letter on the outgoing stack.
RED (V.O.)
And still he kept sending those
letters...
Dark. Andy's in his bunk, polishing a four-inch length of quartz. It's a beautifully-crafted chess piece in the shape of a horse's head, poise and nobility captured in gleaming stone.
He puts the knight on a chess board by his bed, adding it to four pieces already there: a king, a queen, and two bishops. He turns to Rita. Moonlight casts bars across her face.
Floyd runs into the yard, scared and winded. He finds Andy and Red on the bleachers.
FLOYD
Red? Andy? It's Brooks.
Floyd rushes in with Andy and Red at his heels. They find Jigger and Snooze trying to calm Brooks, who has Heywood in a chokehold and a knife to his throat. Heywood is terrified.
JIGGER
C'mon, Brooksie, why don't you just
calm the fuck down, okay?
BROOKS
Goddamn miserable puke-eatin' sons
of whores!
He kicks a table over. Tax files explode through the air.
RED
What the hell's going on?
SNOOZE
You tell me, man. One second he was
fine, then out came the knife. I
better get the guards.
RED
No. We'll handle this. Ain't that
right, Brooks? Just settle down and
we'll talk about it, okay?
BROOKS
Nothing left to talk about! It's
all talked out! Nothing left now
but to cut his fuckin' throat!
RED
Why? What's Heywood done to you?
BROOKS
That's what they want! It's the
price I gotta pay!
Andy steps forward, rivets Brooks with a gaze. Softly:
ANDY
Brooks, you're not going to hurt
Heywood, we all know that. Even
Heywood knows it, right Heywood?
HEYWOOD
(nods, terrified)
Sure. I know that. Sure.
ANDY
Why? Ask anyone, they'll tell you.
Brooks Hatlen is a reasonable man.
RED
(cuing nods all around)
Yeah, that's right. That's what
everybody says.
ANDY
You're not fooling anybody, so just
put the damn knife down and stop
scaring the shit out of people.
BROOKS
But it's the only way they'll let
me stay.
Brooks bursts into tears. The storm is over. Heywood staggers free, gasping for air. Andy takes the knife, passes it to Red. Brooks dissolves into Andy's arms with great heaving sobs.
ANDY
Take it easy. You'll be all right.
HEYWOOD
Him? What about me? Crazy old fool!
Goddamn near slit my throat!
RED
You've had worse from shaving.
What'd you do to set him off?
HEYWOOD
Nothin'! Just came in to say fare-
thee-well.
(off their looks)
Ain't you heard? His parole came
through!
Red and Andy exchange a surprised look. Andy wants to understand. Red just motions to let it be for now. He puts his arm around Brooks, who sobs inconsolably. Softly:
CONTINUED: (2)
RED
Ain't that bad, old hoss. Won't be
long till you're squiring pretty
young girls on your arm and telling
'em lies.
ANDY
I just don't understand what
happened in there, that's all.
HEYWOOD
Old man's crazy as a rat in a tin
shithouse, is what.
RED
Heywood, enough. Ain't nothing
wrong with Brooksie. He's just
institutionalized, that's all.
HEYWOOD
Institutionalized, my ass.
RED
Man's been here fifty years. This
place is all he knows. In here,
he's an important man, an educated
man. A librarian. Out there, he's
nothing but a used-up old con with
arthritis in both hands. Couldn't
even get a library card if he
applied. You see what I'm saying?
FLOYD
Red, I do believe you're talking
out of your ass.
RED
Believe what you want. These walls
are funny. First you hate 'em, then
you get used to 'em. After long
enough, you get so you depend on
'em. That's "institutionalized."
JIGGER
Shit. I could never get that way.
ERNIE
(softly)
Say that when you been inside as
long as Brooks has.
RED
Goddamn right. They send you here
for life, and that's just what they
take. Part that counts, anyway.
The sun rises over gray stone.
ANGLE ON RITA POSTER. Sexy as ever. The rising sun sends fingers of rosy light creeping across her face.
Brooks stands on a chair, poised at the bars of a window, cradling Jake in his hands.
BROOKS
I can't take care of you no more.
You go on now. You're free.
He tosses Jake through the bars. The crow flaps away.
TWO SHORT SIREN BLASTS herald the opening of the gate. It swings hugely open, revealing Brooks standing in his cheap suit, carrying a cheap bag, wearing a cheap hat. Brooks walks out, tears streaming down his face. He looks back. Red, Andy, and others stand at the inner fence, seeing him off. The massive gate closes, wiping them from view.
Brooks is riding the bus, clutching the seat before him, gripped by terror of speed and motion.
BROOKS (V.O.)
Dear Fellas. I can't believe how
fast things move on the outside.
Brooks looks like a kid trying to cross the street without his parents. People and traffic a blur.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I saw an automobile once when I was
young. Now they're everywhere.
Brooks comes trudging up the sidewalk. He glances up as a prop-driven airliner streaks in low overhead.
BROOKS (V.O.)
The world went and got itself in a
big damn hurry.
He arrives at the Brewster. It ain't much to look at.
A WOMAN leads Brooks up the stairs toward the top floor. He has trouble climbing so many stairs.
WOMAN
No music in your room after eight
p.m. No guests after nine. No
cooking except on the hotplate...
BROOKS (V.O.)
People even talk faster. And
louder.
Brooks enters. The room is small, old, dingy. Heavy wooden beams cross the ceiling. An arched window affords a view of Congress Street. Traffic noise drifts in. Brooks sets his bag down. He doesn't quite know what to do. He just stands there, like a man waiting for a bus.
BROOKS (V.O.)
The parole board got me into this
halfway house called the Brewster,
and a job bagging groceries at the
Foodway...
Loud. Jangling with PEOPLE and NOISE. Brooks is bagging groceries. Registers are humming, kids are shrieking.
WOMAN
Make sure he double-bags. Last time
your man didn't double-bag and the
bottom near came out.
MANAGER
You double-bag like the lady says,
understand?
BROOKS
Yes sir, double-bag, surely will.
BROOKS (V.O.) (CONT'D)
It's hard work. I try to keep up,
but my hands hurt most of the time.
I don't think the store manager
likes me very much.
Brooks sits alone on a bench, feeding pigeons.
BROOKS (V.O.)
Sometimes after work I go to the
park and feed the birds. I keep
thinking Jake might show up and say
hello, but he never does. I hope
wherever he is, he's doing okay and
making new friends.
Dark. Traffic outside. Brooks wakes up. Disoriented. Afraid. Somewhere in the night, a LOUD ARGUMENT is taking place.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I have trouble sleeping at night.
The bed is too big. I have bad
dreams, like I'm falling. I wake up
scared. Sometimes it takes me a
while to remember where I am.
BROOKS (V.O.)
Maybe I should get me a gun and rob
the Foodway, so they'd send me
home. I could shoot the manager
while I was at it, sort of like a
bonus.
Brooks is packing his worldly possessions into the carry bag. Undershirts, socks, etc.
BROOKS (V.O.)
But I guess I'm too old for that
sort of nonsense anymore.
Brooks is dressed in his suit. He finishes knotting his tie, puts his hat on his head. The letter lies on the desk, stampe3 and ready for mailing. His bag is by the door.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I don't like it here. I'm tired of
being afraid all the time. I've
decided not to stay.
He takes one last look around. Only one thing left to do. He steps to a wooden chair in the center of the room, pulls out a pocketknife, and glances up at the ceiling beam.
He steps up onto the chair. It wobbles queasily. Now facing the beam, he carves a message into the wood: "Brooks Hatlen was here." He smiles with a sort of inner peace.
BROOKS (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I doubt they'll kick up any fuss.
Not for an old crook like me.
TIGHT ON CHAIR 120
His weight shifts on the wobbly chair -- and it goes out from under him. His feet remain where they are, kicking feebly in mid-air. His hat falls to the floor. ANGLE WIDENS. Brooks has hanged himself. He swings gently, facing the open window. Traffic noise floats up from below.
Andy reads the letter to Red and the others:
ANDY
P.S. Tell Heywood I'm sorry I put a
knife to his throat. No hard
feelings.
A long silence. Andy folds the letter, puts it away. Softly:
RED
He should'a died in here, goddamn
it.
Andy is sorting books on the cart. He replaces a stack on the shelf -- and pauses, noticing a line of ants crawling up the wood. He glances up. The ants disappear over the top. He pulls a chair over and stands on it, peers cautiously over.
ANDY
Red!
Red steps in with an armload of files. Andy gingerly reaches in, grabs a black feathered wing, and pulls out a dead crow.
RED
(softly)
Is that Jake?
Red is making something at his bench, sanding and planing.
RED (V.O.)
It never would have occurred to us,
if not for Andy. It was his idea.
We all agreed it was the right
thing to do...
Low hilly terrain all around. A HUNDRED CONS are at work in the fields. GUARDS patrol with carbines, keeping a sharp eye. We find Andy, Red, and the boys working with picks and shovels. They glance over to the pickup truck. Hadley's chewing the fat with Mert and Youngblood. A WHISTLE BLOWS.
GUARD
Water break! Five minutes!
The work stops. Cons head for the pickup truck, where water is dispensed with dipper and pail. Red and the boys look to Andy. Andy nods. Now's the time. The group moves off through the confusion, using it as cover. They head up the slope of a nearby hill and quickly decide on a suitable spot. The guards haven't noticed. Jigger and Floyd start swinging picks into the soft earth, quickly ripping out a hole. Red reaches into his jacket and pulls out a beautiful wooden box, carefully stained and varnished. He shows it around to nods of approval.
ANDY
That's real pretty, Red. Nice work.
HEYWOOD
Shovel man in. Watch the dirt.
Heywood jumps in and starts spading out the hole.
BY THE TRUCK 125
Youngblood glances up and sees the men on the slope.
YOUNGBLOOD
What the fuck.
HADLZY
(follows his gaze)
HEY.' YOU MEN UP THERE.' GET YOUR
ASSES OFF THAT SLOPE!
(works his rifle bolt)
YOU HAPPY ASSHOLES GONE DEAF? YOU
GOT FIVE SECONDS 'FORE I SHOOT
SOMEBODY! Suddenly, other cons start breaking away in groups, dozens of them heading toward the slope. The guards look around.
HADLEY
What am I, talkin' to myself?
ON THE SLOPE 126
Andy pulls a towel-wrapped bundle from his jacket and unfolds it. Jake.
Andy lays him in the box, followed by Brook's letter. Red places the casket in the hole. A moment of silence. Andy gives Red with an encouraging nod.
RED
Lord, Brooks was a sinner. Jake was
just a crow. Neither was much to
look at. Both got
institutionalized. See what you can
do for 'em. Amen.
Muttered "amens" all around. The boys shovel dirt onto the small grave and tamp it down.
RAPID DOLLY with Hadley. He's striding, pissed-off, a man on e mission. He straight-arms a door and emerges onto --
-- the wall overlooking the exercise yard. He leans on the railing, scans the yard, sees Andy chatting with Red.
HADLEY
Dufresne! What the fuck did you do?
(Andy looks up)
Your ass, warden's office, now!
Andy shoots a worried look at Red, then heads off.
Dozens of parcel boxes litter the floor. WILEY, the duty guard, picks through them. Hadley enters, trailed by Andy.
ANDY
What is all this?
HADLEY
You tell me, fuck-stick! They're
addressed to you, every damn one!
Wiley thrusts an envelope at Andy. Andy just stares at it.
WILEY
Well, take it.
Andy takes the envelope, pulls out a letter, reads:
ANDY
"Dear Mr. Dufresne. In response to
your repeated inquiries, the State
Senate has allocated the enclosed
funds for your library project..."
(stunned, examines check)
This is two hundred dollars.
Wiley grins. Hadley glares at him. The grin vanishes.
ANDY (CONT'D)
"In addition, the Library District
has generously responded with a
charitable donation of used books
and sundries. We trust this will
fill your needs. We now consider
the matter closed. Please stop
sending us letters. Yours truly,
the State Comptroller's Office."
Andy gazes around at the boxes. The riches of the world lay at his feet. His eyes mist with emotion at the sight.
HADLEY
I want all this cleared out before
the warden gets back, I shit you
not.
Hadley exits. Andy touches the boxes like a love-struck man touching a beautiful woman. Wiley grins.
WILEY
Good for you, Andy.
ANDY
Only took six years.
(beat)
From now on, I send two letters a
week instead of one.
WILEY
(laughs, shakes his head)
I believe you're crazy enough. You
better get this stuff downstairs
like the Captain said. I'm gonna go
pinch a loaf. When I get back, this
is all gone, right?
Andy nods. Wiley disappears into the toilet, Jughead Comix in hand. Alone now, Andy starts going through the boxes like a starving man exploring packages of food. He doesn't know where to turn first. He gets giddy, ripping boxes open and pulling out books, touching them, smelling them. He rips open another box. This one contains an old phonograph player, industrial gray and green, the words "Portland Public School District" stenciled on the side. The box also contains stacks and stacks of used record albums. Andy reverently slips a stack from the box and starts flipping through them. Used Nat King Coles, Bing Crosbys, etc. He comes across a certain album -- Mozart's "Le Nozze de Figaro." He pulls it from the stack, gazing upon it as a man transfixed. It is a thing of beauty. It is the Grail.
Wiley sits in one of the stalls, Jughead comic on his knees.
Andy wrestles the phonograph player onto the guards' desk, sweeping things onto the floor in his haste. He plugs the machine in. A red light warms up. The platter starts spinning. He slides the Mozart album from its sleeve, lays it on the platter, and lowers the tone arm to his favorite cut. The needle HISSES in the groove...and the MUSIC begins, lilting and gorgeous. Andy sinks into Wiley's chair, overcome by its beauty. It is "Deutino: Che soave zeffiretto," a duet sung by Susanna and the Contessa.
Wiley pauses reading, puzzled. He thinks he hears music.
WILEY
Andy? You hear that?
Andy shoots a look at the bathroom...and smiles. Go for broke. He lunges to his feet and barricades the front door, then the bathroom. He returns to the desk and positions the P.A. microphone. He works up his courage, then flicks all the toggles to "on." A SQUEAL OF FEEDBACK echoes briefly...
...and the Mozart is suddenly broadcast all over the prison.
Wiley lunges to his feet, pants tangling around his ankles.
(1955)
Cons all over the prison stop whatever they're doing, freezing in mid-step to listen, gazing up at the speakers. The stamping machines in the plate shop are shut down... 137 The laundry line goes silent, grinding to a halt... 138 The wood shop machines are turned off, buzzing to a stop... 139 The motor pool...the kitchen...the loading dock...the exercise 140 thru yard...the numbing routine of prison life itself...all grinds thru to a stuttering halt. Nobody moves, nobody speaks. Everybody 143 just stands in place, listening to the MUSIC, hypnotized.
Andy is reclined in the chair, transported, arms fluidly conducting the music. Ecstasy and rapture. Shawshank no longer exists. It has been banished from the mind of men.
CAMERA TRACKS along groups of men, all riveted.
RED (V.O.)
I have no idea to this day what
them two Italian ladies were
singin' about. Truth is, I don't
want to know. Some things are best
left unsaid. I like to think they
were singin' about something so
beautiful it can't be expressed in
words, and makes your heart ache
because of it.
CAMERA brings us to Red.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I tell you, those voices soared.
Higher and farther than anybody in
a gray place dares to dream. It was
like some beautiful bird flapped
into our drab little cage and made
these walls dissolve away...and for
the briefest of moments -- every
last man at Shawshank felt free.
FAST DOLLY with Norton striding up the hallway with Hadley.
RED (V.O.)
It pissed the warden off something
terrible.
Norton and Hadley break the door in. Andy looks up with a sublime smile. We hear Wiley POUNDING on the bathroom door:
WILEY (O.S.)
LET ME OUUUUT!
LOW ANGLE SLOW PUSH IN on the massive, rust-streaked steel door. God, this is a terrible place to be.
RED (V.O.)
Andy got two weeks in the hole for
that little stunt.
Andy doesn't seem to mind. His arms sweep to the music still playing in his head. We hear a FAINT ECHO of the soaring duet.
HEYWOOD
Couldn't play somethin' good, huh?
Hank Williams?
ANDY
They broke the door down before I
could take requests.
FLOYD
Was it worth two weeks in the hole?
ANDY
Easiest time I ever did.
HEYWOOD
Shit. No such thing as easy time in
the hole. A week seems like a year.
ANDY
I had Mr. Mozart to keep me
company. Hardly felt the time at
all.
RED
Oh, they let you tote that record
player down there, huh? I could'a
swore they confiscated that stuff.
ANDY
(taps his heart, his head)
The music was here...and here.
That's the one thing they can't
confiscate, not ever. That's the
beauty of it. Haven't you ever felt
that way about music, Red?
RED
Played a mean harmonica as a
younger man. Lost my taste for it.
Didn't make much sense on the
inside.
ANDY
Here's where it makes most sense.
We need it so we don't forget.
RED
Forget?
ANDY
That there are things in this world
not carved out of gray stone. That
there's a small place inside of us
they can never lock away, and that
place is called hope.
RED
Hope is a dangerous thing. Drive a
man insane. It's got no place here.
Better get used to the idea.
ANDY
(softly)
Like Brooks did?
FADE TO BLACK
AN IRON-BARRED DOOR
slides open with an enormous CLANG. A stark room beyond. CAMERA PUSHES through. SEVEN HUMORLESS MEN sit at a long table. An empty chair faces them. We are again in:
Red enters, ten years older than when we first saw him at a parole hearing. He removes his cap and sits.
MAN #L
It says here you've served thirty
years of a life sentence.
MAN #2
You feel you've been rehabilitated?
RED
Yes sir, without a doubt. I can say
I'm a changed man. No danger to
society, that's the God's honest
truth. Absolutely rehabilitated.
CLOSEUP -- PAROLE FORM
A big rubber stamp slams down: "REJECTED."
Red emerges into fading daylight. Andy's waiting for him.
RED
Same old, same old. Thirty years.
Jesus. When you say it like that...
ANDY
You wonder where it went. I wonder
where ten years went.
Red nods, solemn. They settle in on the bleachers. Andy pulls a small box from his sweater, hands it to Red.
ANDY (CONT'D)
Anniversary gift. Open it.
Red does. Inside the box, on a thin layer of cotton, is a shiny new harmonica, bright aluminum and circus-red.
ANDY (CONT'D)
Had to go through one of your
competitors. Hope you don't mind.
Wanted it to be a surprise.
RED
It's very pretty, Andy. Thank you.
ANDY
You gonna play something?
Red considers it, shakes his head. Softly:
RED
Not today.
Men line the tiers as the evening count is completed. The convicts step into their cells. The master switch is thrown and all the doors slam shut -- KA-THUMP! Andy finds a cardboard tube on his bunk. The note reads: "A new girl for your 10 year anniversary. From your pal. Red."
Marilyn Monroe's face fills the screen. SLOW PULL BACK reveals the new poster: the famous shot from "The Seven Year Itch," on the subway grate with skirt billowing up. Andy sits gazing at her as lights-out commences...
...and we find Red gazing blankly as darkness takes the cellblock. Adding up the months, weeks, days... He regards the harmonica like a man confronted with a Martian artifact.
He considers trying it out -- even holds it briefly to his lips, almost embarrassed -- but puts it back in its box untested. And there the harmonica will stay...
FADE TO BLACK
WE HOLD IN BLACKNESS as THUMPING SOUNDS grow louder...
RED (V.O.)
Andy was as good as his word. He
kept writing to the State Senate.
Two letters a week instead of one.
...and the BLACKNESS disintegrates as a wall tumbles before our eyes, revealing a WORK CREW with picks and sledgehammers, faces obscured outlaw-style with kerchiefs against the dust. Behind them are GUARDS overseeing the work. Andy yanks his kerchief down, grinning in exhilaration. Red and the others follow suit. They step through the hole in the wall, exploring what used to be a sealed-off storage room.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
In 1959, the folks up Augusta way
finally clued in to the fact they
couldn't buy him off with just a
dollar check. Appropriations
Committee voted an annual payment
of dollars, just to shut him up.
TRACKING the construction. Walls have been knocked down. Men are painting, plastering, hammering. Lots of shelves going up. Red is head carpenter. We find him discussing plans with Andy.
RED (V.O.)
Those checks came once a year like
clockwork.
Red and the boys are opening boxes, pulling out books.
RED (V.O.)
You'd be amazed how far Andy could
stretch it. He made deals with book
clubs, charity groups...he bought
remaindered books by the pound...
HEYWOOD
Treasure Island. Robert Louis...
ANDY
(jotting)
...Stevenson. Next?
RED
I got here an auto repair manual,
and a book on soap carving.
ANDY
Trade skills and hobbies, those go
under educational. Stack right
behind you.
HEYWOOD
The Count of Monte Crisco...
FLOYD
Cristo, you dumbshit.
HEYWOOD
...by Alexandree Dumb-ass.
ANDY
Dumas. You boys'll like that one.
It's about a prison break.
Floyd tries to take the book. Heywood yanks it back.
HEYWOOD
I saw it first.
Red shoots Andy a look.
RED
Maybe that should go under
educational too.
Red is making a sign, carefully routing letters into a long plank of wood. It turns out to be --
-- the varnished wood sign over the archway: "Brooks Hatlen Memorial Library." TILT DOWN to reveal the library in all its completed glory: shelves lined with books, tables and chairs, even a few potted plants. Heywood is wearing headphones, listening to Hank Williams on the record player.
RED (V.O.)
By the year Kennedy was shot, Andy
had transformed a broom closet
smelling of turpentine into the
best prison library in New England.
FLASHBULBS POP as Norton addresses MEMBERS OF THE PRESS:
RED (V.O.)
That was also the year Warden
Norton instituted his famous
"Inside-Out" program. You may
remember reading about it. It made
all the papers and got his picture
in LIFE magazine.
NORTON
...a genuine, progressive advance
in corrections and rehabilitation.
Our inmates, properly supervised,
will be put to work outside these
walls performing all manner of
public service. Cutting pulpwood,
repairing bridges and causeways,
digging storm drains...
ANGLE TO Red and the boys listening from behind the fence.
NORTON (CONT'D)
These men can learn the value of an
honest day's labor while providing
a valuable service to the community
-- and at a bare minimum of expense
to Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Taxpayer!
HEYWOOD
Sounds like road-gangin', you ask
me.
RED
Nobody asked you.
A ROAD-GANG is grading a culvert with picks. There's dust and the smell of sweat in the air. GUARDS patrol with sniper rifles, A pushy WOMAN REPORTER in an ugly hat bustles up the grade, trailed by a PHOTOGRAPHER.
WOMAN REPORTER
You there! You men! We're gonna
take your picture now!
HEYWOOD
Give us a break, lady.
WOMAN REPORTER
Don't you know who I am? I'm from
LIFE magazine! I was told I'd get
some co-operation out here! You
want me to report you to your
warden? Is that what you want?
HEYWOOD
(sighs)
No, ma'am.
WOMAN REPORTER
That's more like it! Now I want you
all in a row with big bright smiles
on your faces! Grab hold of your
tools and show 'em to me!
She turns, motioning her photographer up the grade. Heywood glances around at the other men.
HEYWOOD
You heard the lady.
Heywood unzips his pants, reaches inside. The others do likewise. The woman turns back and is greeted by the sight of a dozen men displaying their penises and smiling brightly. Her legs go wobbly and she sits heavily down on the dirt grade.
HEYWOOD (CONT'D)
C'mon! We're showin' our tools and
grinnin' like fools! Take the damn
picture!
Heywood sits alone in the dark. He sighs.
RED (V.O.)
None of the inmates were invited to
express their views...
A ROAD-GANG is pulling stumps, bogged down in mud.
RED (V.O.)
'Course, Norton failed to mention
to the press that "bare minimum of
expense" is a fairly loose term.
There are a hundred different ways
to skim off the top. Men,
materials, you name it. And, oh my
Lord, how the money rolled in...
Norton strolls into view with NED GRIMES at his heels.
NED
This keeps up, you're gonna put me
out of business! With this pool of
slave labor you got, you can
underbid any contractor in town.
NORTON
Ned, we're providing a valuable
community service.
NED
That's fine for the papers, but I
got a family to feed. The State
don't pay my salary. Sam, we go
back a long way. I need this new
highway contract. I don't get it, I
go under. That's a fact.
(hands him a box)
Now you just have some'a this fine
pie my missus baked specially for
you, and you think about that.
Norton opens the box. Alongside the pie is an envelope. He runs his thumb across the thick stack of cash it contains. IN THE BACKGROUND, a winch cable SNAPS and whips through the air, damn near severing a man's leg. He goes down, screaming in mud and blood, pinned by a fallen tree stump. Men rush over to help him. Norton barely takes notice.
NORTON
Ned, I wouldn't worry too much over
this contract. Seems to me I've
already got my boys committed
elsewhere. You be sure and thank
Maisie for this fine pie.
ANGLE on Maisie's pie. Several pieces gone.
RED (V.O.)
And behind every shady deal, behind
every dollar earned...
TILT UP to Andy at the desk, munching thoughtfully as he totals up figures on an adding machine.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
...there was Andy, keeping the
books.
Andy finishes preparing two bank deposits. Norton hovers near the desk, keeping a watchful eye.
ANDY
Two deposits, Casco Bank and New
England First. Night drop, like
always.
Norton pockets the envelopes. Andy crosses to the wall safe and shoves the ledger and sundry files inside. Norton locks the safe, swings his wife's framed sampler back into place.
He cocks his thumb at some laundry and two suits in the corner.
NORTON
Get my stuff down t'laundry. Two
suits for dry-clean and a bag of
whatnot. Tell 'em if they over-
starch my shirts again, they're
gonna hear about it from me.
(adjusts his tie)
How do I look?
ANDY
Very nice.
NORTON
Big charity to-do up Portland way.
Governor's gonna be there.
(indicates pie)
Want the rest of that? Woman can't
bake worth shit.
Andy trudges down the corridor with Norton's laundry, the pie box under his arm.
TILT UP FROM PIE to find Red munching away as he helps Andy sort books on the shelves.
RED
Got his fingers in a lot of pies,
from what I hear.
ANDY
What you hear isn't half of it.
He's got scams you haven't dreamed
of. Kickbacks on his kickbacks.
There's a river of dirty money
flowing through this place.
RED
Money like that can be a problem.
Sooner or later you gotta explain
where it came from.
ANDY
That's where I come in. I channel
it, funnel it, filter it...stocks,
securities, tax free municipals...
I send that money out into the big
world. And when it comes back...
RED
It's clean as a virgin's whistle?
ANDY
Cleaner. By the time Norton
retires, I will have made him a
millionaire.
RED
Jesus. They ever catch on, he's
gonna wind up wearing a number
himself.
ANDY
(smiles)
I thought you had more faith in me
than that.
RED
I'm sure you're good, but all that
paper leaves a trail. Anybody gets
too curious -- FBI, IRS, whatever --
that trail's gonna lead to
somebody.
ANDY
Sure it will. But not to me, and
certainly not to the warden.
RED
Who then?
ANDY
Peter Stevens.
RED
Who?
ANDY
The silent, silent partner. He's
the guilty one, your Honor. The man
with the bank accounts. That's
where the filtering process starts.
They trace it back, all they're
gonna find is him.
RED
Yeah, okay, but who the hell is he?
ANDY
A phantom. An apparition. Second
cousin to Harvey the Rabbit.
(off Red's look)
I conjured him out of thin air. He
doesn't exist...except on paper.
RED
You can't just make a person up.
CONTINUED: (2)
ANDY
Sure you can, if you know how the
system works, and where the cracks
are. It's amazing what you can
accomplish by mail. Mr. Stevens has
a birth certificate, social
security card, driver's license.
They ever track those accounts,
they'll wind up chasing a figment
of my imagination.
RED
Jesus. Did I say you were good?
You're Rembrandt.
ANDY
It's funny. On the outside, I was
an honest man. Straight as an
arrow. I had to come to prison to
be a crook.
RED
Does it ever bother you?
ANDY
I don't run the scams, Red, I just
process the profits. That's a fine
line, maybe. But I've also built
that library, and used it to help a
dozen guys get their high school
diplomas. Why do you think the
warden lets me do all that?
RED
To keep you happy and doing the
laundry. Money instead of sheets.
ANDY
I work cheap. That's the trade-off.
TWO SIREN BLASTS draw their attention to the main gate. It swings open, revealing a prison bus waiting outside.
Among those on board is TOMMY WILLIAMS, a damn good-looking kid in his mid-20's. The bus RUMBLES through the gate.
The new fish disembark, chained together single-file. The old- timers holler and shake the fence. A deafening gauntlet.
Tommy and the others are marched in naked and shivering, covered with delousing powder, greeted by TAUNTS and JEERS.
The bars slam with a STEEL CLANG. Tommy and his new CELLMATE take in their new surroundings.
TOMMY
Well. Ain't this for shit?
DOLLYING Tommy as he struts along, combing his ducktail, cigarette behind his ear. (We definitely need The Coasters or Del Vikings on the soundtrack here. Maybe Jerry Lee Lewis.)
RED (V.O.)
Tommy Williams came to Shawshank in
on a two year stretch for B&E. Cops
caught him sneakin' TV sets out the
back door of a JC Penney.
A SHRIEKING BUZZSAW slices ten-foot lengths of wood. Red runs the machine while some other OLD-TIMERS feed the wood.
RED (V.O.)
Young punk, Mr. Rock n' Roll, cocky
as hell...
Tommy is hauling the cut wood off the conveyor and stacking it, It's a ball-busting job, but the kid's a blur.
TOMMY
(slapping his gloves)
C'mon there, old boys! Movin' like
molasses! Makin' me look bad!
The old guys just grin and shake their heads.
RED (V.O.)
We liked him immediately.
Tommy regales the old boys with his exploits:
TOMMY
...so I'm backin' out the door,
right? Had the TV like this...
(mimes his grip)
Big ol' thing. Couldn't see shit.
Suddenly, here's this voice:
"Freeze kid! Hands in the air!"
Well I just stand there holdin' on
to that TV, so the voice says: "You
hear what I said, boy?" And I say,
"Yes sir, I sure did! But if I drop
this fuckin' thing, you got me on
destruction of property too!"
The whole table falls about laughing.
Poker game in progress. Tommy, Andy, Red and the boys.
HEYWOOD
You did a stretch in Cashman too?
TOMMY
Yeah. That was an easy ride, let me
tell you. Work programs, weekend
furloughs. Not like here.
SNOOZE
Sounds like you done time all over
New England.
TOMNY
Been in and out since I was 13.
Name the place, chances are I been
there.
ANDY
Perhaps it's time you considered a
new profession.
(the game stalls)
What I mean is, you don't seem to
be a very good thief. Maybe you
should try something else.
TOMMY
What the hell you know about it,
Capone? What are you in for?
ANDY
(wry glance to Red)
Everyone's innocent in here. Don't
you know that?
The tension breaks. Everyone laughs.
CAMERA TRAVELS the room. Chaotic. CONS are waiting their turn or talking to visitors through a thick plexi shield.
RED (V.O.)
As it turns out, Tommy had himself
a young wife and new baby girl...
Tommy's at the end of the row, phone to his ear. Other side of the glass is BETH, near tears, fussing with a BABY on her lap.
BETH
...said we can stay with them, but
Joey's gettin' out of the service
next month, and they barely got
enough room as it is. Plus they got
Poppa workin' double shifts and the
baby cries half the night. I just
don't know where we're gonna go...
PUSH IN on Tommy's face as he listens.
RED (V.O.)
Maybe it was the thought of them on
the streets...or his child growing
up not knowing her daddy...
Tommy enters, the strut gone from his step. A little scared. He finds Andy filing library cards.
RED (V.O.)
Whatever it was, something lit a
fire under that boy's ass.
TOMMY
I'm thinkin' maybe I should try for
high school equivalency. Hear you
helped some fellas with that.
ANDY
I don't waste time on losers,
Tommy.
TOMNY
(tight)
I ain't no goddamn loser.
ANDY
That's a good start. If we do this,
we do it all the way. One hundred
percent. Nothing half-assed.
Tommy thinks about it, nods.
TOMMY
Thing is, see...
(leans in, mutters)
...I don't read all that good.
ANDY
(smiles)
Well. You've come to the right
place then.
We find Andy giving an impassioned reading:
ANDY
"...and the lamplight o'er him
streaming throws his shadow on the
floor...and my soul from out that
shadow that lies floating on the
floor, shall be lifted nevermore!"
Andy slaps the book shut, immensely pleased with himself.
TOMMY
So this raven just sits there and
won't go away?
ANDY
That's right.
TOMMY
(beat)
Why don't that fella get hisself a
and dust the fucker?
Tommy tries to read as Andy looks on:
TOMMY
"The cat sh--The cat shh..."
(glances up)
The cat shat on the welcome mat?
Andy shakes his head. Not exactly.
Andy chalks the alphabet on a blackboard.
RED (V.O.)
So Andy took Tommy under his wing.
Started walking him through his
ABCs...
TRACK the table to Tommy and Andy. Discussing a book.
RED (V.O.)
Tommy took to it pretty well, too.
Boy found brains he never knew he
had.
TOMNY
The cat sh--shh--shimmied up the
tree and crept st--stel--stealthily
out on the limb...
Tommy intent on a paperback, mouthing the words. Behind him, wood is piling up on the conveyor belt.
RED (V.O.)
After a while, you couldn't pry
those books out of hands.
RED (CONT'D)
Ass in gear, son! You're putting us
behind!
Tommy shoves the book in his back pocket and hurries over.
Tommy writes a sentence on the blackboard. Andy steps in, shows him how to reconstruct it.
RED (V.O.)
Before long, Andy started him on
his course requirements. He really
liked the kid, that was part of it.
Gave him a thrill to help a
youngster crawl off the shitheap.
But that wasn't the only reason...
TIGHT ANGLE on chessboard. Most of the pieces complete. PAN TO Andy lying in his bunk, carefully polishing...
RED (V.O.)
Prison time is slow time. Sometimes
it feels like stop-time. So you do
what you can to keep going...
...and we keep going past Andy in a SLOW PAN of the cell.
Sink. Toilet. Books. Outside the window bars, we hear another TRAIN passing in the night...
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Some fellas collect stamps. Others
build matchstick houses. Andy built
a library. Now he needed a new
project. Tommy was it. It was the
same reason he spent years shaping
and polishing those rocks. The same
reason he hung his fantasy girlies
on the wall...
...STILL PANNING, past a chair, a sweater on a hook...and finally to the place of honor on the wall...
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
In prison, a man'll do most
anything to keep his mind occupied.
...where the latest poster turns out to be Racquel Welch in A fur bikini. Gorgeous. "One Million Years, B. C. " SLOW PUSH IN,
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
By 1966...right about the time
Tommy was getting ready to take his
exams...it was lovely Racquel.
Tommy's taking the big test. Andy's monitoring the time. Deep silence, save for Tommy's pencil-scribbling. A few old-timers are browsing the shelves, sneaking looks their way. Tommy tries to ignore them. Concentrate. Andy clears his throat. Time's up. Tommy puts his pencil down,
ANDY
Well?
TOMMY
Well. It's for shit.
(gets up in disgust)
Wasted a whole fuckin' year of my
time with this bullshit!
ANDY
May not be as bad as you think.
TOMMY
It's worse! I didn't get a fuckin'
thing right! Might as well be in
Chinese!
ANDY
We'll see how the score comes out.
TOMMY
I'll tell you how the goddamn score
comes out...
Tommy grabs the test, wads it, slam-dunks it into the trash.
TOMMY (CONT'D)
Two points! Right there! There's
your goddamn score!
(storms out)
Goddamn cats crawlin' up trees, 5
times 5 is 25, fuck this place,
fuck it!
Tommy is gone. Red and others stare. Andy gets up, pulls the test from the trash, smoothes it out on the desk.
Rest break. Tommy and Red sipping Cokes.
TOMMY
I feel bad. I let him down.
RED
That's crap, son. He's proud of
you. Proud as a hen.
(off Tommy's look)
We been friends a long time. I know
him as good as anybody.
TOMMY
Smart fella, ain't he?
RED
Smart as they come. Used to be a
banker on the outside.
TOMMY
What's he in for anyway?
RED
Murder.
TOMMY
The hell you say.
RED
You wouldn't think, lookin' at him.
Caught his wife in bed with some
golf pro. Greased 'em both. C'mon,
boy, back to work...
SMASH! Red turns back. Tommy's Coke has slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The kid's gone white as a sheet.
TOMMY
(bare whisper)
Oh my God...
Tommy sits before Andy and Red:
TOMMY
'Bout four years ago, I was in
Thomaston on a 2 to 3 stretch.
Stole a car. Dumbfuck thing to do.
(beat)
Few months left to go, I get a new
cellmate in. Elmo Blatch. Big
twitchy fucker. Crazy eyes. Kind of
roomie you pray you don't get, know
what I'm sayin'? 6 to 12 for armed
burglary. Said he done hundreds of
jobs. Hard to believe, high-strung
as he was. Cut a loud fart, he'd go
three feet in the air. Talked all
the time, too, that's the other
thing. Never shut up. Places he'd
been, jobs he pulled, women he
fucked. Even people he killed.
People that gave him shit, that's
how he put it. One night, like a
joke, I say: "Yeah? Who'd you
kill?" So he says...
BLATCH
...I got me this job one time
bussin' tables at a country club.
So I could case all the big rich
pricks that come in. I pick out
this guy, go in one night and do
his place. He wakes up and gives me
shit. So I killed him. Him and the
tasty bitch he was with.
(starts laughing)
That's the best part! She's fuckin'
this prick, see, this golf pro, but
she's married to some other guy!
Some hotshot banker. He's the one
they pinned it on! They got him
down-Maine somewhere doin' time for
the crime! Ain't that choice?
He throws his head back and ROARS with laughter.
Silence. Tommy has finished his story. Red is stunned...but Andy looks like he's been smacked with a two by four.
RED
Andy?
Andy says nothing. Walks stiffly away. Doesn't look back.
NORTON
Well. I have to say, that's the
most amazing story I ever heard.
What amazes me most is you were
taken in by it.
ANDY
Sir?
NORTON
It's obvious this fellow Williams
is impressed with you. He hears
your tale of woe and quite
naturally wants to cheer you up.
He's young, not terribly bright.
Not surprising he didn't know what
a state he'd put you in.
ANDY
I think he's telling the truth.
NORTON
Let's say for a moment Blatch does
exist. You think he'd just fall to
his knees and cry, "Yes, I did it!
I confess! By all means, please add
a life term to my sentence!"
ANDY
It wouldn't matter. With Tommy's
testimony, I can get a new trial.
NORTON
That's assuming Blatch is even
still there. Chances are excellent
he'd be released by now. Excellent.
ANDY
They'd have his last known address.
Names of relatives...
(Norton shakes his head)
Well it's a chance. isn't it? How
can you be so obtuse?
NORTON
What? What did you call me?
ANDY
Obtuse! Is it deliberate? The
country club will have his old time
cards! W-2s with his name on them!
NORTON
(rises)
Dufresne, if you want to indulge
this fantasy, that's your business.
Don't make it mine. This meeting's
over.
ANDY
Look, if it's the squeeze, don't
worry. I'd never say what goes on
in here. I'd be just as indictable
as you for laundering the money!
NORTON
Don't you ever mention money to me
again, you sorry son of a bitch!
Not in this office, not anywhere!
(slaps intercom)
Get in here! Now!
ANDY
I was just trying to rest your mind
at ease, that's all.
NORTON
(as GUARDS enter)
Solitary! A month!
Andy gets dragged away, kicking and screaming:
ANDY
What's the matter with you? It's my
chance to get out, don't you see
that? It's my life! Don't you
understand it's my life?
Mail call. Men crowd around as names are called out. Red and the boys are parked on the bleachers.
FLOYD
A month in the hole. Longest damn
stretch I ever heard of.
TOMMY
It's my fault.
RED
Like hell. You didn't pull the
trigger, and you didn't convict
him.
HEYWOOD
Red? You saying Andy's innocent? I
mean for real innocent?
(Red nods)
Sweet Jesus. How long's he been in
here?
RED
Since '47. Going on nineteen years.
MAIL CALLER
Thomas Williams!
Tommy raises his hand. The envelope gets tossed to him. He stares at it. Red peers over his shoulder.
RED
Board of Education.
TOMMY
The son of a bitch mailed it.
RED
Looks that way. You gonna open it
or stick your thumb up your butt?
TOMMY
Thumb up my butt sounds better.
He gets hemmed in by the older men. Red snatches the letter.
TOMMY (CONT'D)
C'mon, just throw it away. Will you
please? Just throw it away?
Red rips it open, scans the letter. Expressionless.
RED
Well, shit.
Tommy makes his way through the chaos, finds Beth and the baby waiting behind the thick plexi shield. He sits, doesn't pick up the phone. Just stares at Beth. She doesn't know what to make of it. He presses a piece of paper against the glass. A high school diploma. Her face lights up, blinking back tears.
LOW ANGLE on steel door. Somewhere behind it, unseen, is Andy, A rat scurries along the wall. FOOTSTEPS approach slowly.
Andy listens in darkness. The FOOTSTEPS pause outside his door. The slot opens. An ELDERLY GUARD peers in.
ELDERLY GUARD
Kid passed. C-plus average. Thought
you'd like to know.
The slot closes. The FOOTSTEPS recede. Andy smiles.
We find Tommy on evening work detail, mopping the floors with bucket and pail. Mert Entwhistle comes into view.
MERT
Warden wants to talk.
A steel door rattles open. Mert leads Tommy outside to a gate, unlocks it. Tommy looks around.
TOMMY
Out here?
MERT
That's what the man said.
Mert swings the gate open, sends Tommy through, turns and heads back inside. Tommy proceeds out across a loading-dock access for the shops and mills. Some vehicles parked. The place is deserted. He stops, sensing a presence.
TOMMY
Warden?
Norton steps into the light.
NORTON
Tommy, we've got a situation here.
I think you can appreciate that.
TOMMY
Yes sir, I sure can.
NORTON
I tell you, son, this really came
along and knocked my wind out. It's
got me up nights, that's the truth.
Norton pulls a pack of cigarettes, offers Tommy a smoke. Tommy takes one. Norton lights both cigarettes, pockets his lighter.
NORTON (CONT'D)
The right decision. Sometimes it's
hard to figure out what that is.
You understand?
(Tommy nods)
Think hard, Tommy. If I'm gonna
move on this, there can't be the
least little shred of doubt. I have
to know if you what you told
Dufresne was the truth.
TOMMY
Yes sir. Absolutely.
NORTON
Would you be willing to swear
before a judge and jury...having
placed your hand on the Good Book
and taken an oath before Almighty
God Himself?
TOMMY
Just gimme that chance.
NORTON
That's what I thought.
Norton drops his cigarette. Crushes it out with the toe of his shoe. Glances up toward the plate shop roof as --
HIGH ANGLE FROM PLATE SHOP ROOF (SNIPER POV)
-- a rifle scope pops up into frame, jumping Tommy's image into startling magnification, framed in the crosshairs.
THE SNIPER 200
rapid-fires a carbine -- BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM! -- his face lit up by the muzzle flashes. Captain Hadley.
TOMMY
gets chewed to pieces by the gunfire. He smacks the ground in a twitching, thrashing heap. Eyes wide and staring. Dead. Surprise still stamped on his face. Silence now. Norton turns, strolls into darkness.
GUARDS approach Andy's cell. The door is unlocked. Andy emerges slowly, blinking painfully at the light.
Andy is marched along. Convicts stop to stare.
Andy is led in. The door is closed. Alone with Norton. Softly,
NORTON
Terrible thing. Man that young,
less than a year to go, trying to
escape. Broke Captain Hadley's
heart to shoot him, truly it did.
ANDY
I'm done. It stops right now. Get
H&R Block to declare your income.
Norton lunges to his feet, eyes sparkling with rage.
NORTON
Nothing stops! NOTHING!
(tight)
Or you will do the hardest time
there is. No more protection from
the guards. I'll pull you out of
that one-bunk Hilton and put you in
with the biggest bull queer I can
find. You'll think you got fucked
by a train! And the library? Gone!
Sealed off brick by brick! We'll
have us a little book-barbecue in
the yard! They'll see the flames
for miles! We'll dance around it
like wild Indians! Do you
understand me? Are you catching my
drift?
SLOW PUSH IN on Andy's face. Eyes hollow. His beaten expression says it all...
Red finds Andy sitting in the shadow of the high stone wall, poking listlessly through the dust for small pebbles. Red waits for some acknowledgment. Andy doesn't even look up. Red hunkers down and joins him. Nothing is said for the longest time. And then, softly:
ANDY
My wife used to say I'm a hard man
to know. Like a closed book.
Complained about it all the time.
(pause)
She was beautiful. I loved her. But
I guess I couldn't show it enough.
(softly)
I killed her, Red.
Andy finally glances to Red, seeking a reaction. Silence.
ANDY (CONT'D)
I didn't pull the trigger. But I
drove her away. That's why she
died. Because of me, the way I am.
RED
That don't make you a murderer. Bad
husband, maybe.
Andy smiles faintly in spite of himself. Red gives his shoulder a squeeze.
RED (CONT'D)
Feel bad about it if you want. But
you didn't pull the trigger.
ANDY
No. I didn't. Someone else did, and
I wound up here. Bad luck, I guess.
RED
Bad luck? Jesus.
ANDY
It floats around. Has to land on
somebody. Say a storm comes
through. Some folks sit in their
living rooms and enjoy the rain.
The house next door gets torn out
of the ground and smashed flat. It
was my turn, that's all. I was in
the path of the tornado.
(softly)
I just had no idea the storm would
go on as long as it has.
(glances to him)
Think you'll ever get out of here?
RED
Sure. When I got a long white beard
and about three marbles left
rolling around upstairs.
CONTINUED: (2)
ANDY
Tell you where I'd go. Zihuatanejo.
RED
Zihuatanejo?
ANDY
Mexico. Little place right on the
Pacific. You know what the Mexicans
say about the Pacific? They say it
has no memory. That's where I'd
like to finish out my life, Red. A
warm place with no memory. Open a
little hotel right on the beach.
Buy some worthless old boat and fix
it up like new. Take my guests out
charter fishing.
(beat)
You know, a place like that, I'd
need a man who can get things.
Red stares at Andy, laughs.
RED
Jesus, Andy. I couldn't hack it on
the outside. Been in here too long.
I'm an institutional man now. Like
old Brooks Hatlen was.
ANDY
You underestimate yourself.
-
RED
Bullshit. In here I'm the guy who
can get it for you. Out there, all
you need are Yellow Pages. I
wouldn't know where to begin.
(derisive snort)
Pacific Ocean? Hell. Like to scare
me to death, somethin' that big.
ANDY
Not me. I didn't shoot my wife and
I didn't shoot her lover, and
whatever mistakes I made I've paid
for and then some. That hotel and
that boat...I don't think it's too
much to want. To look at the stars
just after sunset. Touch the sand.
Wade in the water. Feel free.
RED
Goddamn it, Andy, stop! Don't do
that to yourself!
Talking shitty pipedreams! Mexico's
down there, and you're in here, and
that's the way it is!
ANDY
You're right. It's down there, and
I'm in here. I guess it comes down
to a simple choice, really. Get
busy living or get busy dying.
Red snaps a look. What the hell does that mean? Andy rises and walks away. Red lunges to his feet.
RED
Andy?
ANDY
(turns back)
Red, if you ever get out of here,
do me a favor. There's this big
hayfield up near Buxton. You know
where Buxton is?
RED
(nods)
Lots of hayfields there.
ANDY
One in particular. Got a long rock
wall with a big oak at the north
end. Like something out of a Robert
Frost poem. It's where I asked my
wife to marry me. We'd gone for a
picnic. We made love under that
tree. I asked and she said yes.
(beat)
Promise me, Red. If you ever get
out, find that spot. In the base of
that wall you'll find a rock that
has no earthly business in a Maine
hayfield. A piece of black volcanic
glass. You'll find something buried
under it I want you to have.
RED
What? What's buried there?
ANDY
You'll just have to pry up that
rock and see.
Andy turns and walks away.
RED
I tell you, the man was talkin'
crazy. I'm worried, I truly am.
SKEET
We ought to keep an eye on him.
ZIGGER
That's fine, during the day. But at
night he's got that cell all to
himself.
HEYWOOD
Oh Lord. Andy come down to the
loading dock today. Asked me for a
length of rope. Six foot long.
SNOOZE
Shit! You gave it to him?
HEYWOOD
Sure I did. I mean why wouldn't I?
FLOYD
Christ! Remember Brooks Hatlen?
HEYWOOD
How the hell was I s'pose to know?
ZIGGER
Andy'd never do that. Never.
They all look to Red.
RED
Every man's got a breaking point.
VOICE (OVER P.A.)
Report to your cellblocks for
evening count.
BOOM DOWN to Red and the boys. Convicts drift past them.
FLOYD
Where the hell is he?
HEYWOOD
Probably still up in the warden's.
TOWER GUARD
(via bullhorn)
YOU MEN! YOU HEAR THAT ANNOUNCEMENT
OR ZUST TOO STUPID TO UNDERSTAND?
SKEET
Christ. What do we do?
FLOYD
Nothing we can do. Not tonight.
HEYWOOD
Let's pull him aside tomorrow, all
of us. Have a word with him. Ain't
that right, Red?
RED
(unconvinced)
Yeah. Sure. That's right.
Andy's working away. Norton pokes his head in.
NORTON
Lickety-split. I wanna get home.
ANDY
Just about done, sir.
We follow Norton to his wife's sampler. He swings it aside,
works the combination dial, opens the wall safe. Andy moves up, shoves in the black ledger and files. Norton shuts the safe.
ANDY (CONT'D)
Three deposits tonight.
Andy hands him the envelopes. Norton heads for the door.
NORTON
Get my stuff down t'laundry. And
shine my shoes. I want 'em lookin'
like mirrors.
(pauses at door)
Nice havin' you back, Andy. Place
just wasn't the same without you.
Norton exits. Andy turns to the laundry. He opens the shoebox. Nice pair of dress shoes inside. He sighs, glances down at the old ragged pair of work shoes on his own feet.
Andy is diligently shining Norton's shoes.
Andy trudges down the hallway, laundry slung over his shoulder,
Andy nods to the GUARD. The guard BUZZES him through.
Red hears Andy coming, moves to the bars. He watches Andy come up to the second tier and pause before his cell.
GUARD (O.S.)
Open number twelve!
Andy gazes directly at Red. A beat of eye contact. Red shakes his head. Don't do it. Andy smiles, eerily calm...and enters his cell. The door closes. KA-THUMP! We hold on Red's face.
Andy is polishing a chess piece.
VOICE (O.S.)
Lights out!
The lights bump off. He finishes polishing, holds up the piece to admire. A pawn. He sets it down with the others -- and we realize it's the final glance for the board. A full set. He gazes up at Racquel and smiles. Pulls a six foot length of rope from under his pillow. Lets it uncoil to the floor.
Red sits in the dark, a bundle of nerves, trying to hold himself still. He feels like he might scream or shake to pieces. The seconds tick by, each an eternity.
RED (V.O.)
I have had some long nights in
stir. Alone in the dark with
nothing but your thoughts, time can
draw out like a blade..
A FLASH OF LIGHTNING outside his window sends harsh barred shadows jittering across the cell. A storm breaking.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
That was the longest night of my
life...
KA-THUMP! The master lock is thrown. The cons emerge from their cells and the headcount begins. Red looks back to see if Andy's in line. He's not. Suddenly the count stalls:
GUARD
Man missing on tier two! Cell 12!
The head bull, HAIG, checks his
list:
HAIG
Dufresne? Get your ass out here,
boy! You're holding up the show!
(no answer)
Don't make me come down there now!
I'll thump your skull for you!
Still no answer. Glaring, Haig stalks down the tier, clipboard in hand. His men fall in behind.
HAIG (CONT'D)
Dufresne, dammit, you're putting me
behind! You better be sick or dead
in there, I shit you not!
They arrive at bars. Their faces go slack. Stunned. Softly:
HAIG (CONT'D)
Oh my Holy God.
REVERSE ANGLE
reveals the cell is empty. Everything neat and tidy. Even the bunk is stowed. They wrench the door open and rush in, tossing the cell in a panic as if Andy might be lurking under the Kleenex or the toothpaste. CAMERA ROCKETS IN on Haig as he spins toward us, bellowing at the top of his lungs:
HAIG
WHAT THE FUCK!
Norton is kicking back with the morning paper. He notices ha dingy his shoes are. He glances at the shoebox on the desk. kicks his shoes off, opens the box -- and gulls out Andy's o grimy work shoes. He stares blankly. What the fuck indeed. An ALARM STARTS BLARING throughout the prison. He looks up.
Norton and Hadley stride across the grounds, ALARM BLARING.
NORTON
I want every man on that cellblock
questioned! Start with that friend
of his!
HADLEY
who?
Red watches as Norton storms up with an entourage of guards.
NORTON
Him.
Red's eyes widen. Guards yank him from his cell.
Norton steps to the center of the room, working himself up into a fine rage:
NORTON
What do you mean "he just wasn't
here?" Don't say that to me, Haig!
Don't say that to me again!
HAIG
But sir! He wasn't! He isn't!
NORTON
I can see that, Haig! You think I'm
blind? Is that what you're saying?
Am I blind, Haig?
HAIG
No sir!
Norton grabs the clipboard and thrusts it at Hadley.
NORTON
What about you? You blind? Tell me
what this is!
HADLEY
Last night's count.
NORTON
You see Dufresne's name? I sure do!
Right there, see? "Dufresne." He
was in his cell at lights out!
Stands to reason he'd still be here
this morning! I want him found! Not
tomorrow, not after breakfast! Now!
Haig scurries out, gathering men. Norton spins to Red.
NORTON (CONT'D)
Well?
RED
Well what?
NORTON
I see you two all the time, you're
thick as thieves, you are! He
must'a said something!
RED
No sir, he didn't!
Norton spreads his arms evangelist-style, spins slowly around.
NORTON
Lord! It's a miracle! Man up and
vanished like a fart in the wind!
Nothin' left but some damn rocks on
the windowsill and that cupcake on
the wall! Let's ask her! Maybe she
knows! What say there, Fuzzy-
Britches? Feel like talking? Guess
not. Why should you be different?
Red exchanges looks with the guards. Even they're nervous. Norton scoops a handful rocks off the sill. He hurls them at the wall one at a time, shattering them, punctuating his words:
NORTON (CONT'D)
It's a conspiracy! (SMASH) That's
what this is! (SMASH) It's one big
damn conspiracy! (SMASH) And
everyone's in on it! (SMASH)
Including her!
He sends the last rock whizzing right at Racquel. No smash. It takes a moment for this to sink in. All eyes go to her. The rock went through her. There's a small hole in the poster where her navel used to be. You could hear a pin drop. Norton reaches up, sinks his finger into the hole. He keeps pushing...and his entire hand disappears into the wall.
ANGLE FROM BEHIND POSTER 221
as Norton rips the poster from before our eyes. Stunned faces peer in. CAMERA PULLS SLOWLY BACK...to reveal the long crumbling tunnel in the wall.
RORY TREMONT, a guard barely out of his teens, tries not to look nervous as they lash a rope around his chest. He's getting instructions from six different people at once.
RED (V.O.)
They got this skinny kid named Rory
Tremont to go in the hole. He
wasn't much in the brains
department, but he possessed the
one most important qualification
for the job...
(they slap a flashlight in his hands)
...he was willing to go.
Rory squeezes down the tunnel on his belly.
RED (V.O.)
Probably thought he'd win a Bronze
Star or something.
Dark as midnight. Concrete walls rise on both sides. If you imagine them as two huge slices of bread, the meat of this particular sandwich is about three feet of airspace and a dark tangle of pipes between the cellblocks. Rory's appears, shining his flashlight down the shaft. Somewhere, a rat SQUEAKS.
RED (V.O.)
It was his third day on the job.
RORY
Warden? There's a space here
between the walls 'bout three feet
across! Smells pretty damn bad!
NORTON (O.S.)
I don't care what it smells like!
HADLEY (O.S.)
Go on, boy! We got a hold of you!
Looking none too happy about it, Rory squeezes from the tunnel and dangles into the shaft. He gets lowered, shining his light, smothered by darkness. Not having a good time.
RORY
Hoo-whee! Smell's gettin' worse!
NORTON (O.S.)
Never mind, I said! Just keep
going!
RORY
Smells pretty damn bad, Warden! In
fact, it smells just like shit. His
feet touch the ground -- or what he
assumed was the ground. It's not.
In fact, it's just what it smells
like. He sinks in past his ankles.
He slips and sits heavily in it.
RORY (CONT'D)
Oh God, that's what it is, it's
shit. oh my God it's shit. pull me
out 'fore I blow my groceries, oh
shit it's shit, oh my Gawwwwwwd!
Red and others listen to violent barfing from below.
RED (V.O.)
And then came the unmistakable
sound of Rory Tremont losing his
last few meals. The whole cellblock
heard it. I mean, it echoed.
That's it for Red. He starts laughing. Laughing, hell, he's bellowing laughter, laughing so hard he has to hold himself, laughing so hard tears are pouring down his cheeks. The look of rage on Norton's face makes him laugh all the harder.
Abrupt silence. LOW ANGLE on steel door.
RED (V.O.)
I laughed myself right into
solitary. Two week stretch.
RED
It's shit, it's shit, oh my God
it's shit...
He starts laughing all over again, fit to split.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Andy once talked about doing easy
time in the hole. Now I knew what
he meant.
Virgin landscape. Charming rural road. Suddenly, State Police cruisers rocket up the road with SIRENS AND LIGHTS.
RED (V.O.)
In 1966, Andy Dufresne escaped from
Shawshank Prison.
Shawshank is half a mile distant. WE TRACK ALONG a muddy creel as STATE TROOPERS and PRISON GUARDS scour the brush. A TROOPEE fishes a prison uniform out of the creek with a long stick.
RED (V.O.)
All they found of him was a muddy
set of prison clothes, a bar of
soap, and an old rock-hammer damn
near worn down to the nub.
TROOPER g2 pulls the rock-hammer from the weeds. SWISH PAN to a POLICE PHOTOGRAPHER. His FLASHBULB GLARE produces:
A BLACK AND WHITE STILL PHOTO
of the hapless cops posing with Andy's reeking uniform and the worn rock-hammer. PUSH IN on the hammer.
RED (V.O.)
I remember thinking it would take a
man six hundred years to tunnel
through the wall with it. Andy did
it in less than twenty.
Once again, we see Andy using the rock-hammer to scratch his name into the cement. Suddenly, a palm-sized chunk of cement pops free and hits the floor. He stares down at it.
Andy lies in the dark, studying the chunk of concrete in his hands. Considering the possibilities. Wrestling with hope.
RED (V.O.)
Andy loved geology. I imagine it
appealed to his meticulous nature.
An ice age here, a million years of
mountain-building there, plates of
bedrock grinding against each other
over a span of millennia...
Andy stands peering at the small hole left by the fallen chunk. Carefully runs his fingertip over it.
RED (V.O.)
Geology is the study of pressure
and time. That's all it takes,
really. Pressure and time.
Rita is now on the wall, hanging down over Andy's back.
RED (V.O.)
That and a big damn poster.
TRACK IN to reveal Andy scraping patiently at the concrete.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Like I said. In prison, a man'll do
most anything to keep his mind
occupied.
He hears FOOTSTEPS approaching. He smoothes the poster down and dives into bed. A GUARD strolls by a moment later, shining his flashlight into the cell.
Andy strolls along, whistling softly, hands in both pockets. TILT DOWN to his pantleg. Concrete grit trickles out.
RED (V.O.)
It turns out Andy's favorite hobby
was totin' his wall out into the
exercise yard a handful at a
time...
A GUARD strolls the tier, shining his flashlight into the cells. He pauses at Andy's bars, playing the beam over the sleeping form huddled under the blankets. p37 REVERSE ANGLE (FROM INS1DE ANDY'S CELL) 237 We see what the guard doesn't: instead of Andy's head under the blanket, it's a wadded-up pillow. The flashlight plays across the cell, pinning Marilyn Monroe in a circle of light.
ANGLE FROM BEHIND POSTER
The light illuminates her face through the paper. WIDEN to reveal Andy lying in his tunnel, holding his breath. The light clicks off. The FOOTSTEPS move on. He gets back to work.
RED (V.O.)
While the rest of us slept, Andy
spent years workin' the
nightshift...
BOOMING SLOWLY UP the shaft. Rats scurry the pipes. Suddenly, r piece of concrete the size of a quarter jumps free and plummets down the shaft as the rock-hammer pushes through. The pick withdraws, replaced by Andy's peering eye. A SERIES OF DISSOLVES (1965 through 1966) 240 takes us through the widening of the hole. First as big as a tea cup. Then a saucer. Then a dinner plate.
RED (V.O.)
Probably took him most of a year
just to get his head through.
Andy finally gets his head through, scraping his ears. He's got a penlight clenched in his teeth. He peers down into the shaft. At the very bottom, maybe 20 feet down, a big ceramic pipe runs the length of the cellblock. Beneath its coat of grime and dust, the word "SEWER" is stenciled.
ANGLE LOOKING STRAIGHT DOWN. Below us, Tommy Williams lies facedown at Norton's feet. Blood is spreading, fanning out oa the pavement. Norton turns, strolls out of frame.
RED (V.O.)
I guess after Tommy was killed,
Andy decided he'd been here just
about long enough.
Again we see: Andy working. Norton pokes his head in.
NORTON
Lickety-split. I wanna get home.
ANDY
Just about done, sir. Norton
crosses to the wall safe and works
the dial, his back turned.
This time, though, we stay on Andy: He pulls up his sweater, yanks out a large black book and a stack of files, lays them on the desk. He then grabs the real ledger and files, jams them down his pants and smooths his sweater down. He picks up the bogus stack, crosses to Norton, and shoves everything in.
Norton exits his office and strolls off whistling. PUSH IN on the open door. We see Andy at the guard's desk, pulling Norton's dress shoes from their box.
RED (V.O.)
Andy did like he was told. Buffed
those shoes to a high mirror shine.
Andy sorts through Norton's three suits. He pauses, checking the gray pinstripe. Nice.
The guard BUZZES Andy through. Andy walks toward us.
RED (V.O.)
The guard simply didn't notice.
Neither did I. I mean, seriously,
how often do you really look at a
man's shoes?
TILT DOWN as he passes by. Yep, he's wearing Norton's shoes.
The lights go out. Andy places the last chess piece. Gazes up at Racquel. Smiles. Pulls the rope from under his pillow. He stands and unbuttons his prison shirt, revealing Norton's gray pinstripe suit underneath. A FLASH OF LIGHTNING floods the cell, throwing wild shadows.
The storm rages. Andy, naked, carefully slips Norton's folded suit into a large industrial Zip-Lock bag. Next to go in are the shoes, chess pieces (already in a smaller bag), black ledger en files. Last but not least, a bar of soap wrapped in a towel.
Andy, again wearing prison clothes, inches down the tunnel.
Andy squeezes through the hole head-first, emerges to the waist, He reaches for the opposite wall, manages to snag a steel conduit with his fingers. Suddenly, a huge rat darts for his hand. Andy yanks away and almost plummets head-first down the shaft. He dangles wildly upside-down for a moment, arms windmilling, then gets his hands pressed firmly against the opposite wall. The rat scurries off, pissed.
Andy snags the conduit again. He contorts out of the hole and dangles into the shaft. We now see the purpose for the rope: the plastic bag hangs from his ankle with about two feet of slack, He kicks his legs across the shaft, gets his feet braced. Wit3 his back against one wall and feet against the other, he starts down the shaft. Sliding dangerously. Using pipes for handholds. Flinching as rats dart this way and that, scurrying in the shadows. He drops the last few feet to the bottom. He approaches the ceramic sewer pipe and kneels before it. Pulls out the rock-hammer and says a quick silent prayer. Raises the rock-hammer high and swings it down with all his might. Once, twice -- third time lucky. An enormous eruption of sewage cascades into the air as if rocket- propelled, the Mount St. Helens of shit. Andy is instantly coated black. He turns away and heaves his guts out. The shit keeps coming.
Andy peers down through the hole, playing his penlight aroun5, The inside diameter is no more than two feet. Tight squeeze. Coated with crud. It seems to go on for miles. No turning back. He wriggles into the pipe and starts crawling, plastic bag dragging behind.
RED (V.O.)
Andy crawled to freedom through
five hundred yards of shit-smelling
foulness I can't even imagine. Or
maybe I just don't want to.
Rain is falling in solid sheets. Shawshank is half a mile distant. BOOM DOWN to reveal the creek...and PUSH IN toward the mouth of the sewer pipe that feeds into it.
RED (V.O.)
Five hundred yards. The length of
five football fields. Just shy of
half a mile.
Fingers appear, thrusting through the heavy-gauge wire mesh covering the mouth of the pipe. Andy's face looms from the darkness, peering out at freedom. He wrenches the mesh loose, pushes himself out, and plunges head-first into the creek. He comes up sputtering for breath. The water is waist-deep. He wades upstream, ripping his clothes from his body. He gets his shirt off, spins it through the air over his head, flings the shirt away. He raises his arms to the sky, turning slowly, feeling the rain washing him clean. Exultant. Triumphant. A FLASH OF LIGHTNING arcs from horizon to horizon.
Once again, we see stunned faces as CAMERA PULLS BACK.
RED (V.O.)
The next morning, right about the
time Racquel was spilling her
little secret...
The door opens. Spit-shined shoes enter. DOLLY the shoes to the counter.
RED (V.O.)
...a man nobody ever laid eyes on
before strolled into the Casco Bank
of Portland. Until that moment, he
didn't exist -- except on paper.
FEMALE TELLER (O.S.)
May I help you?
TILT UP to Andy. Smiling in Norton's gray pinstripe suit.
ANDY
My name is Peter Stevens. I've come
to close out some accounts.
The teller is cutting a cashier's check while the MANAGER carefully examines Mr. Stevens' various I.D.s.
RED (V.O.)
He had all the proper I.D. Driver's
license, birth certificate, social
security card. The signature was a
spot-on match.
MANAGER
I must say I'm sorry to be losing
your business. I hope you'll enjoy
living abroad.
ANDY
Thank you. I'm sure I will.
TELLER
Here's your cashier's check, sir.
Will there be anything else?
ANDY
Please. Would you add this to your
outgoing mail?
He hands her a package, stamped and addressed. Gives them a pleasant smile. Turns and strolls from the bank.
RED (V.O.)
Mr. Stevens visited nearly a dozen
banks in the Portland area that
morning. All told, he blew town
with better than 370 thousand
dollars of Warden Norton's money.
Severance pay for nineteen years.
A MAN in shirtsleeves is going through the mail on his desk. He finds Andy's package, rips it open. Pulls out the black ledger and files. Scans a cover letter. Holy shit. He dashes to his door and yanks it open, revealing the words on the glass: "PORTLAND DAILY BUGLE -- Editor In Chief."
MAN
Hal! Dave! Get your butts in here!
Norton walks slowly toward his office. Dazed. The morning paper in his hand. He goes wordlessly past the DUTY GUARD into his office. Shuts the door. Lays the paper on his desk. The headline reads: "CORRUPTION AND MURDER AT SHAWSHANK." Below that, the sub-headline: "D.A. Has Ledger. Indictments Expected." Norton looks up as SIRENS SWELL in the distance.
For the second time, State Police cruisers go rocketing up the road with SIRENS AND LIGHTS.
Norton opens his safe and pulls out the "ledger" -- it's Andy's Bible. The title page is inscribed by hand: "Dear Warden. You were right. Salvation lay within." Norton flips to the center of the book -- and finds the pages hollowed out in the shape of a rock-hammer.
Police cruisers everywhere. A media circus. REPORTERS jostle for position. A colorless DISTRICT ATTORNEY steps forward into CLOSEUP, flanked by a contingent of STATE TROOPERS.
D.A.
Byron Hadley?
ANGLE SHIFTS to reveal Captain Hadley. Staring. Waiting.
D.A. (CONT'D)
You have the right to remain
silent.
If you give up that right, anything
you say will be used against you in
court...
TROOPERS move in, cuffing Hadley's hands behind his back. The D.A. drones on. FLASHBULBS POP. Hadley says nothing. His face scrunches up. He begins to cry.
RED (V.O.)
I wasn't there to see it, but I
hear Byron Hadley was sobbing like
a little girl when they took him
away.
Hadley sobs all the way to the car. The D.A. snaps a gaze up toward Norton's window, motions his men to follow.
Norton is staring out the window as they approach the building. He goes to his desk, opens a drawer. Inside lies a revolver and a box of shells.
RED (V.O.)
Norton had no intention of goin'
that quietly.
The D.A. marches along amidst a phalanx of TROOPERS.
Norton sits blankly at his desk, revolver before him. The doorknob rattles, a VOICE is heard:
D.A. (O.S.)
Samuel Norton? We have a warrant
for your arrest! Open up!
The POUNDING starts. Norton dumps the box of bullets out on thE desk. He starts sorting them to see which ones he likes.
OUTSIDE HIS OFFICE
Troopers hustle the hapless duty guard to Norton's door as he fumbles nervously with a huge key ring.
DUTY GUARD
I'm not sure which one it is...
He starts trying keys in the lock. And as the keys go sliding in one after another...
...so do the bullets. Norton is riveted to the door. For every key, he loads another bullet. Methodical and grim. He gets the final bullet in just as the right key slams home. The door bursts open. Men muscle in. Somebody SHOUTS. Troopers dive in all directions as Norton raises the gun -- -- and jams it under his chin. His head snaps back as the wall goes red. His swivel chair does a slow half-turn and creaks to a final stop. Troopers rise slowly, gazing in horror.
RED (V.O.)
I like to think the last thing that
went through his head...other than
that bullet...was to wonder how the
hell Andy Dufresne ever got the
best of him.
PUSH SLOWLY to the wall to reveal Mrs. Norton's framed sampler trickling blood and brains...and we get our final Bible lesson for today: "HIS JUDGMENT COMETH AND THAT RIGHT SOON."
Mail call. Red hears his name. They pass him a postcard.
RED (V.O.)
Not long after the warden deprived
us of his company, I got a postcard
in the mail. It was blank. But the
postmark said, "McNary, Texas."
Red sits with an atlas, tracing his finger down the page.
RED (V.O.)
McNary. Right on the border. That's
where Andy crossed.
(shuts the book)
When I picture him heading south in
his own car with the top down, it
makes me laugh all over again...
A red convertible rips along with Andy at the wheel, cigar jutting from his grin, warm wind fluttering his tie.
RED (V.O.)
Andy Dufresne, who crawled through
a river of shit and came out clean
on the other side. Andy Dufresne,
headed for the Pacific.
Heywood is regaling the table with some anecdote about Andy.
RED (V.O.)
Those of us who knew him best talk
about him often. I swear, the stuff
he pulled. It always makes us
laugh.
A wild burst of laughter. PUSH IN on Red. Feeling melancholy.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Sometimes it makes me sad, though,
Andy being gone. I have to remind
myself that some birds aren't meant
to be caged, that's all. Their
feathers are just too bright...
Convicts hoe the fields. Guards patrol on horseback.
RED (V.O.)
...and when they fly away, the part
of you that knows it was a sin to
lock them up does rejoice...but
still, the place you live is that
much more drab and empty that
they're gone.
A DISTANT RUMBLE OF THUNDER. Red pauses, gazes off. Storm clouds coming in, backlit by the sun. A light drizzle begins.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I guess I just miss my friend.
Red is sleeping. He wakes with a start.
RED (V.O.)
But there are times I curse him for
the dreams he left behind...
He senses a presence, looks over his shoulder. There's a Rita Hayworth poster on his wall. He gets out of bed. Rita just keeps smiling, inscrutable. As Red watches, a brilliant round glow builds behind the poster, shining from the tunnel. The poster rips free, charred to ash in the blink of an eye as a shaft of holy white light stabs into the cell. Sunlight. Red staggers back against the glare. A whirlwind kicks up, whipping everything into the air.
The hole in the wall is like a giant vacuum cleaner -- papers, book, toiletries, bedding -- if it ain't nailed down, it gets sucked down the hole toward the light. Red fights it, but the suction drags him closer and closer...
RED'S POV
...and CAMERA rockets into the hole, getting sucked down an endless tunnel at impossible speed, the ROAR of air mixing with his drawn-out SCREAM, closer and closer to the light... ...and erupting out the other side into total silence and a beautiful white beach. The Pacific Ocean before us. Enormous. Mind-blowing. Beautiful beyond description. All we hear now are the gentle sound of waves.
RED (V.O.)
...dreams where I am lost in a warm
place with no memory.
A lone figure stands at water's edge. CAMERA KEEPS MOVING, coming up behind him and TRACKING AROUND to reveal -- Red.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
An ocean so big it strikes me dumb.
Waves so quiet they strike me deaf.
Sunshine so bright it strikes me
blind. It is a place that is blue
beyond reason. Bluer than can
possibly exist. Bluer than my mind
can possibly grasp.
AERIAL SHOT
Nothing for a million miles but beach, sky, and water. Red is a tiny speck at water's edge. Just another grain of sand.
RED (V.O.)
I am terrified. There is no way
home.
Red wakes from the nightmare. He gets out of bed. Moves to the barred window of his cell. Peers up at the stars.
RED (V.O.)
Andy. I know you're in that place.
Look at the stars for me just after
sunset. Touch the sand...wade in
the water...and feel free.
FADE TO BLACK
AN IRON-BARRED DOOR
slides open with an enormous CLANG. A stark room beyond. CAMERA PUSHES through. SIX MEN AND ONE WOMAN sit at a long table. An empty chair faces them. We are again in:
Red enters, sits. 20 years older than when we first saw him.
MAN #1
Your file says you've served forty
years of a life sentence. You feel
you've been rehabilitated?
Red doesn't answer. Just stares off. Seconds tick by. The parole board exchanges glances. Somebody clears his throat.
MAN #1 (CONT'D)
Shall I repeat the question?
RED
I heard you. Rehabilitated. Let's
see now. You know, come to think of
it, I have no idea what that means.
MAN #2
Well, it means you're ready to
rejoin society as a--
RED
I know what you think it means. Me,
I think it's a made-up word, a poli-
tician's word. A word so young
fellas like you can wear a suit and
tie and have a job. What do you
really want to know? Am I sorry for
what I did?
MAN #2
Well...are you?
RED
Not a day goes by I don't feel
regret, and not because I'm in here
or because you think I should. I
look back on myself the way I
was...stupid kid who did that
terrible crime...wish I could talk
sense to him. Tell him how things
are. But I can't. That kid's long
gone, this old man is all that's
left, and I have to live with that.
(beat)
"Rehabilitated?" That's a bullshit
word, so you just go on ahead and
stamp that form there, sonny, and
stop wasting my damn time. Truth
is, I don't give a shit.
The parole board just stares. Red sits drumming his fingers.
CLOSEUP -- PAROLE FORM
A big rubber stamp SLAMS down -- and lifts away to reveal the word "APPROVED" in red ink.
TWO SHORT SIREN BLASTS herald the opening of the main gate. It swings hugely open, revealing Red standing in his cheap suit, carrying a cheap bag, wearing a cheap hat. He walks out, still looking stunned.
Red rides the bus, clutching the seat before him, gripped by terror of speed and motion.
Red arrives at the Brewster, three stories high and even less to look at than it used to be.
A BLACK WOMAN leads Red up the stairs toward the top floor.
Small, old, dingy. An arched window with a view of Congress Street. Traffic noise floats up. Red enters and pauses, staring up at the ceiling beam. Carved into the wood are the words: "Brooks Hatlen was here."
Loud. Jangling with PEOPLE and NOISE. We find Red bagging groceries. Registers are humming, kids are shrieking. Red calls to the STORE MANAGER:
RED
Sir? Restroom break sir?
MANAGER
(motions him over)
You don't need to ask me every time
you go take a piss. Just go.
Understand?
Red steps to the urinal, stares at himself in the wall mirror.
RED (V.O.)
Thirty years I've been asking
permission to piss. I can't squeeze
a drop without say-so.
A strange east Indian guitar-whine begins. The Beatles. George Harrison's "Within You Without You..."
...which carries through as Red walks. People and traffic. He keeps looking at the women. An alien species.
RED (V.O.)
Women, too, that's the other thing.
I forgot they were half the human
race. There's women everywhere,
every shape and size. I find myself
semi-hard most of the time, cursing
myself for a dirty old man.
WO YOUNG WOMEN stroll by in cut-offs and t-shirts.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Not a brassiere to be seen, nipples
poking out at the world. Jeezus,
pleeze-us. Back in my day, a woman
out in public like that would have
been arrested and given a sanity
hearing.
Red finds the park filled with HIPPIES. Hanging out. Happening. Here's the source of the music: a radio. A HIPPIE GIRL gyrates to the Beatles, stoned, in her own world.
RED (V.O.)
They're calling this the Summer of
Love. Summer of Loonies, you ask
me.
Red sits across from his PAROLE OFFICER. The P.O. is filling out his report.
P.O.
You staying out of the bars, Red?
RED
Yes sir. That I am.
P.O.
How you doing otherwise? Adjusting
okay?
RED
Things got different out here.
P.O.
Tell me about it. Young punks
protesting the war. You imagine?
Even my own kid. Oughtta bust his
fuckin' skull.
RED
Guess the world moved on.
Bagging groceries. CHILDREN underfoot. One points a toy gun at Red, pumping the trigger. Red focuses on the gun, listening to it CLICKETY-CLACK. Sparky wheel grinding. The kids get swept off by MOM. Red starts bagging the next customer. SLOW PUSH IN on Red. Surrounded by MOTION and NOISE. Feeling like the eye of a hurricane. People everywhere, whipping around him like a gale. Strange. Loud. Dizzying. It gets distorted and weird, slow and thick, pressing in on him from all sides. The noise level intensifies. The hollering of children deepens and distends into LOW EERIE HOWLS. He's in the grip of a major anxiety attack. Tries to shake himself out of it. Can't. Fumbles the final items into the bag. Walks away. Trying not to panic. Trying not to run. He makes his way through the store. Blinking sweat. He bumps into a lady's cart, mumbles an apology, keeps going. Breaks into a trot. Down the aisle, cut to the left, through the door into the back rooms, faster and faster, running now, slamming through a door marked "Employees Only" into --
-- where he slams the door and leans heavily against it, shutting everything out, breathing heavily. Alone now. He goes to the sink, splashes his face, tries to calm down. He can still hear them out there. They won't go away. He glances around the restroom. Small. Not small enough. He enters a stall. Locks the door. Puts the toilet lid down and sits on the john. Better. He can actually reach out and touch the walls now. They're close. Safe. Almost small enough. He draws his feet up so he can't be seen if somebody walks in. He'll just sit here for a while. Until he calms down.
Red is walking home.
RED (V.O.)
There is a harsh truth to face. No
way I'm gonna make it on the
outside.
He pauses at a pawnshop window. An array of handguns.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
All I do anymore is think of ways
to break my parole.
The SHOPKEEPER appears at the glass, locking the door and flipping the sign: CLOSED.
Red lies smoking in bed. Unable to sleep.
RED (V.O.)
Terrible thing, to live in fear.
Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all
too well. All I want is to be back
where things make sense. Where I
won't have to be afraid all the
time.
He glances up at the ceiling beam. "Brooks Hatlen was here."
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Only one thing stops me. A promise
I made to Andy.
A pickup truck rattles up the road trailing dust and pulls to a stop. Red hops off the back, waves his thanks. The truck drives on. Red starts walking. PAN TO a roadside sign: BUXTON.
High white clouds in a blazing blue sky. The trees fiery with autumn color. Red walks the fields and back-roads, cheap compass in hand. Looking for a certain hayfield.
Walking. Searching. The day turning late. Red finds himself staring at a distant field. There's a long rock wall, like something out o f a Robert Frost poem. Big oak tree. Red checks his compass. North end. He crosses a dirt road into the field.
Red walks the long rock wall, nearing the tree. A squirrel scolds him from a low branch, scurries up higher. Red studies the base of the wall. Nothing unusual here. Just a bunch of rocks set in stone. He sighs. Fool's errand. Turns to go. Something catches his eye. He walks back, squats, peering closer. Wets a fingertip and rubs a stone. A layer of dust comes off. Volcanic glass. Gleaming black. He tries to get the rock out, anticipation growing. It won't come; it's too smooth. He pulls a pocketknife and levers the rock free. It tumbles at his feet, leaving a ragged hole. Red leans down and solves the mystery at last, staring at the object buried under the rock. Stunned. It's an envelope wrapped in plastic. Written on it is a single word: "Red." Red pulls the envelope out and rises. He just stares at it for a while, almost afraid to open it. But open it he does. Inside is a smaller envelope and a letter. Red begins to read:
ANDY (V.O.)
Dear Red. If you're reading this,
you've gotten out. And if you've
come this far, maybe you're willing
to come a little further. You
remember the name of the town,
don't you? I could use a good man
to help me get my project on
wheels. I'll keep an eye out for
you and the chessboard ready.
(beat)
Remember, Red. Hope is a good
thing, maybe the best of things,
and no good thing ever dies. I will
be hoping that this letter finds
you, and finds you well. Your
friend. Andy.
By now, tears are spilling silently down Red's cheeks. He opens the other envelope and fans out a stack of new fifty- dollar bills. Twenty of them. A thousand dollars.
Red is dressed in his suit. He finishes knotting his tie, puts his hat on. His bag is by the door. He takes one last look around. Only one thing left to do. He pulls a wooden chair to the center of the room and gazes up at the ceiling beam.
RED (V.O.)
Get busy living or get busy dying.
That is goddamn right.
He steps up on the chair. It wobbles under his weight.
The door opens. Red exits with his bag and heads down the stairs, leaving the door open. CAMERA PUSHES through, BOOMING UP to the ceiling beam which reads: "Brooks Hatlen was here." A new message has been carved alongside the old: "So was Red."
TRACKING SHOT reveals a long line of people at the counter.
RED (V.O.)
For the second time in my life, I
am guilty of committing a crime.
CAMERA brings us to Red, next in line, bag by his feet.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Parole violation. I doubt they'll
toss up any roadblocks for that.
Not for an old crook like me.
RED (CONT'D)
(steps up)
McNary, Texas?
A gorgeous New England landscape whizzes by, fields and trees a blur of motion. ANGLE SHIFTS to reveal a Greyhound Sceni- Cruiser barreling up the road, pulling abreast of us. CAMERA TRAVELS from window to window, passing faces. We finally come to Red gazing out at the passing landscape.
RED (V.O.)
I find I am so excited I can barely
sit still or hold a thought in my
head. I think it is the excitement
only a free man can feel, a free
man at the start of a long journey
whose conclusion is uncertain...
THE BUS 297
ROARS past camera, dwindling to a mere speck on the horizon.
RED (V.O.)
I hope I can make it across the
border. I hope to see my friend and
shake his hand. I hope the Pacific
is as blue as it has been in my
dreams.
(beat)
I hope.
A distant boat lies on its side in the sand like an old wreck that's been left to rot in the sun. There's someone out there.
CLOSER ON BOAT
A MAN is meticulously stripping the old paint and varnish by hand, face hidden with goggles and kerchief mask. Red appears b.g., a distant figure walking out across the sand, wearing his cheap suit and carrying his cheap bag. The man on the boat pauses. Turns slowly around. Red arrives with a smile as wide as the horizon. The other man raises his goggles and pulls down his mask. Andy, of course.
ANDY
You look like a man who knows how
to get things.
RED
I'm known to locate certain things
from time to time.
Red shrugs off his jacket and picks up a sander. Together, they start sanding the hull as we
FADE OUT
THE END
THE END