EXT. VALLEY BELOW THE CASTLE --- NIGHT Dominating the ridge, parapets hunker. Light flickers in the highest window of the keep. The camera ZOOMS HALF A MILE UP THE HILLSIDE toward the window. Slowing elegantly, the camera gives us a peek through he rippling panes. We can make out the shadowy figure of LONGDRAGON in his robes poring over a tableful of ancient parchments. The camera tracks toward the window, closer, closer . . . The camera suddenly throws on the brakes, spins out of the arms of the FRIGHTENED CAMERA OPERATOR, wheels, and charges back DOWN the hill, brushing perilously close to tangled electrical cords, dazzling lights and the faces of ASTONISHED GAFFERS ducking out of the way. EXT. COUNTRY ROAD --- NIGHT The camera is speeding; we mean really speeding. It careens around a bend, misjudges an angle, and snags a tree branch, which sends it SPINNING into ditch. Momentarily stunned, it charges on. INT. VILLAGE PUB --- NIGHT The camera enters hesitantly, pans left and right. Grumpy PUBGOERS arrest their banter to look. Across the room, the BARTENDER'S face lights up. He gestures 'come on over.' |
The bartender doesn't even wait for the camera's order, we notice, and sets down a shot of the REGIONAL ROTGUT with a TALL PILSNER to back it up. The shot and the beer disappear under frame. This is great. This is just great. The clock says 8:05. The clock says 10:40 . . . or does it . . . it's so damned out-of-focus. The puffy face of a LOCAL MATRON dominates the screen. She laughs . . . or coughs. The camera is not serious. Tell us the camera is not serious. The camera pushes in for a clumsy nuzzle of the matron's hairy ear. The camera's CONTRACT states specifically that the camera has been through rehab. A FRICKING ATTORNEY makes a call in the morning. Count on that. The front door of the pub opens and a worried FILM CREW PRODUCTION ASSISTANT pokes her head in, scanning the room. The frame fills with a giant OVERFLOWING ASH TRAY as the camera hides and quakes with giggles. EXT. COTTAGE --- NIGHT Oh dear god, no. The matron stumbles through the mud and drops her keys on the doorstep. The camera attempts to track directly through the living room window and bounces off the glass. Twice. Three times. INT. COTTAGE BEDROOM --- NIGHT It is dark. Too dark. Blessedly. We hear nightmarish slurps. The matron . . . oh, here we go . . . turns on a dank, green BEDSIDE LAMP . . . oh, now DO WE REALLY HAVE TO . . . OH FOR THE LOVE OF |