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UNDER TITLES:
| 1. |
EXT.
CITY STREETS - DAY |
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A succession of urban shots — a decaying overpass, bus shelters, abandoned storefronts — covered with spray-painted graffiti: GOD'S ARROWS ARE SHARP. GOD'S ARROWS ARE FALLING, FALLING.... GOD'S ARROWS NEVER MISS. (The "o" in 'arrows' is the male symbol). |
| 2. |
EXT.
WOMEN'S HEALTH CLINIC - DAY |
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A painter perched on a ladder adds the final touches to a sign: South Street Women's Medical Clinic. Another painter scrubs off fresh, red menacing graffiti on the clinic window: GOD'S ARROWS ARE READY. |
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JOANNE BLUMENTHAL (28) — short hair, round-faced, funky earrings — ponders the graffiti as she walks through the front door, carrying a box of books. |
| 3. |
INT.
WOMEN'S HEALTH CLINIC JOANNE'S OFFICE - DAY |
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Joanne surveys the teetering piles of boxes to be unpacked and put in order. She picks up a dollhouse, smiles and rearranges the small furniture within. |
TITLES END
| 4. |
INT.
BLUMENTHALS' HOUSE - DAY |
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SIMON BLUMENTHAL (65) is SANDING a bookshelf. His loose-skinned features are anchored by sharp, appealing eyes. He is absorbed in the task at hand. |
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LILY (O.S.) |
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How much longer? |
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SIMON |
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What? |
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LILY BLUMENTHAL (61) is at the top of the stairs, assuming a no-nonsense stance. A pencil keeps her greying hair wrapped in a bun. She wears her age well. |
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LILY |
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I can't hear myself think. |
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Simon turns the sander off. |
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SIMON |
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What? |
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LILY |
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When are you going to be finished with that thing? The noise is driving me crazy. I'm trying to write a letter. |
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SIMON |
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I'm trying to build a bookcase. This bookcase is for our daughter. Your letter is for some crazy dictator who'll never write back. |
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LILY |
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I don't expect a reply. That's not why I write. |
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SIMON |
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If you want to give your daughter a half-finished bookcase, I can stop right now. Is that what you want? |
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LILY |
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That's not what I said. I asked you when you were going to be finished. |
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SIMON |
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I don't have a crystal ball. I'll be finished when it's finished. |
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LILY |
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You're impossible. |
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SIMON |
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You're impractical. You want me to build and not make noise. This is a tool, Lily. Tools make noise. |
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LILY |
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Use tools that make less noise. |
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SIMON |
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These are the tools I have. |
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Lily walks away, annoyed beyond words. |
| 5. |
INT.
BLUMENTHALS' LIVING ROOM - DAY |
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Lily POUNDS the keys of her typewriter, then yanks out the sheet. We can hear Simon SANDING in the background. |
| 6. |
INT.
SIMON'S BASEMENT WORKSHOP - DAY |
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Simon continues to SAND. Lily walks down the stairs, grabs a hammer, and NAILS her typewritten message to the wall: |
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JOANNE NEEDS BOOKSHELF TOMORROW |
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With the sander still on, Simon writes "No" in a layer of sawdust. |
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LILY |
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(yelling) |
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Why not? |
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SIMON |
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I'm going ice fishing with Lou tomorrow. |
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LILY |
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You hate ice fishing. |
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| 7. |
EXT.
FROZEN LAKE - DAY |
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Simon and LOU SILVER (64) are ice fishing. Lou, balding with more chins than he needs, resembles a reconditioned Walter Matthau. It's a beautiful, sunny day in late spring. |
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SIMON |
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I don't get it. You sit here, week after week, freezing your kishkes off, waiting and waiting, just so you can go home with a six-inch fish. If God really loved you, he'd have a pound of smoked salmon waiting for you, wrapped and ready to go. |
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LOU |
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It doesn't work that way, Simon. God said, "Let the waters teem with fish and other life, and let the skies be filled with birds of every kind." |
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SIMON |
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If your God had half a brain, he would have filled the sky with fish of every kind. This way you catch them one, two, three. You stand on your roof with a net, ten minutes later you have supper. None of this waiting. |
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Lou looks at Simon quizically, then bursts into laughter. Suddenly, Simon's rod starts to bob. |
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SIMON |
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It can't be. I didn't use bait. |
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Lou smiles, suggesting there are greater forces at play. |
| 8. |
EXT.
BLUMENTHALS' BACKYARD - DAY |
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Lily is on her hands and knees, tilling her backyard garden. She tries to ignore a twitch in her eye but cannot mask her concern. |
| 9. |
INT.
GOD'S ARROW'S WORKSHOP - DAY |
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A scrupulously neat workshop, with every nut and bolt in its place, every tool hanging neatly on a hook. God's Arrow is wearing a handyman's apron, humming to the classical music piped in over the stereo speakers. He is lean, with choir-boy looks. He is clearly a methodical, meticulous individual. He adds the final touches to a bomb. |
| 10. |
INT.
BLUMENTHALS' KITCHEN - NIGHT |
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Lily is FRYING Simon's catch for dinner. He hovers nearby, concerned and critical. |
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SIMON |
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Not too many almonds. Almonds give me gas. |
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LILY |
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Either sit down and let me prepare this fish in peace, or do it yourself. |
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SIMON |
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You know, that thing almost pulled me in. You wouldn't know it, not after what you've done to it. Now it looks harmless. Believe you me, it was some struggle. The names it called me. Such language. From a fish, yet. |
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LILY |
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Get me a lemon. |
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Simon gets a lemon from the fridge. |
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SIMON |
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Lou was impressed. He would never admit it, but I could tell. You should've seen the envy in his eyes. Him, with his fancy, twin-engine rod and God on his side. Me, with not so much as a worm on my hook. |
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Simon notices a platter of fresh, homemade danish on the counter and is about to pluck one but Lily intervenes, seemingly with eyes behind her back. |
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LILY |
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Don't touch. They're for Joanne. Some staff party tomorrow. She's coming over tonight. She didn't have time to bake. |
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SIMON |
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(bends over and silently inhales the fresh danish smell) |
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She could've bought. |
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LILY |
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(still with her back to Simon) |
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She's not buying. Not as long as I can bake. |
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SIMON |
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You're a good mother. |
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LILY |
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(turns and faces Simon) |
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And a good wife. |
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Simon nods wordlessly, feigning reluctance. |
| 11. |
EXT.
BLUMENTHALS' BACKYARD - NIGHT |
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Lily and Joanne are on a backyard swing, a bench-type swing where they face each other. In the background we can hear Simon SANDING in his basement workshop. |
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JOANNE |
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What's Daddy building? |
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LILY |
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Your bookshelf. |
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JOANNE |
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I don't want him to lose any sleep over it. |
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LILY |
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Him? He loves it. Especially if it's for you. This swing. The treehouse. |
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JOANNE |
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The dollhouse... |
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LILY |
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Completely furnished, no less. And now a bookshelf. He's always building something for you. |
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JOANNE |
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I can't believe the treehouse is still standing. |
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LILY |
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You know your father. When he builds, he builds to last. |
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JOANNE |
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He built that when I was twelve. |
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LILY |
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You're still twelve. In his eyes. Not that he considers you a child. You know what I mean. |
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JOANNE |
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I know what you mean. How old am I in your eyes? |
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LILY |
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My eye has been bothering me. |
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JOANNE |
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Ma... |
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LILY |
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Don't "Ma" me. Your father gives me enough grief. A twitching eye is always a bad sign. Always. Something bad is going to happen. It frightens me. Don't mention it to your father. You know what he's like. |
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SIMON (O.S.) |
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Ladies... |
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JOANNE |
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Speak of the devil. |
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SIMON |
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Coffee and danish are ready. |
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LILY |
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Danish? What danish? |
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SIMON |
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You know. |
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JOANNE |
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Daddy! Those are for me. For my clinic. |
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LILY |
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If you so much as lay a finger. |
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SIMON |
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Okay, okay. We won't eat them. I'll put them on a plate and we can look. I can look, can't I? |
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LILY |
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(stepping off swing) |
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Look for as long as you like. I'm going to bed. |
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JOANNE |
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You don't want to look at some danish with us? |
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LILY |
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(smiling) |
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Good night. |
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| 12. |
INT.
BLUMENTHALS' DINING ROOM TABLE - EVENING |
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Lily's typewriter is pushed to one side as Simon and Joanne play Scrabble on yet another example of Simon's handiwork: a customized Scrabble board with oversized tiles, making them easier to see. |
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JOANNE |
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These tiles.... |
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SIMON |
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Now you're complaining. You should have seen the smile on your face when I made them for you. |
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JOANNE |
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I was four. |
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SIMON |
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Your mother thought I was indulging. "Don't push," she said. "Don't make her precocious." I was only nurturing what was already there.
(looks at Scrabble board)
What kind of word is 'uvula'?
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JOANNE
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It's that fleshy piece that hangs from the roof of your mouth at the back of your throat. |
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SIMON |
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That thing has a name? |
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Joanne nods. |
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SIMON |
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You're not one of those, are you? One of those Scrabble nuts. Memorizing words no one else has ever heard of. Lou was like that for a while. He tried to memorize this Scrabble dictionary full of words he could never pronounce. Made his eyes go funny and turned his tongue into mush. These tiles, they're a blessing for people my age. No strain on the eyes. |
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JOANNE |
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Mom's eye is twitching. |
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SIMON |
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(fishing for tiles) |
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Ah, the twitching eye. What's it going to be this time? An earthquake? |
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JOANNE |
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It works, you know. She's never been wrong. |
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SIMON |
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Her eye could twitch any time of day and she'd never be wrong. There's always some misfortune somewhere. She always talks in generalities. "Something bad is going to happen." For once I'd like specifics. A name. A place. A time. |
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JOANNE |
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It doesn't work that way. |
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SIMON |
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It doesn't work. Period. |
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JOANNE |
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You don't take her seriously. |
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SIMON |
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I love your mother. You know that. |
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JOANNE |
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I didn't say you didn't love her. I said you don't take her seriously. |
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SIMON |
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I don't believe in twitching eyes. |
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JOANNE |
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Do you believe in her? |
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SIMON |
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You're talking like a lawyer, not a doctor. |
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JOANNE |
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I'm talking like a daughter. |
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SIMON |
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I feel like I'm being cross-examined.
(places tiles on board)
There.
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JOANNE
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Shpurs? What are 'shpurs'?
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SIMON
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You know how sometimes you drink something that's too hot and all of a sudden you have these little flaps of skin that hang from the roof of your mouth? Shpurs.
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JOANNE |
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(laughing)
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There's no such word!
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SIMON
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There is now.
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JOANNE
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You can't make up words as you go along. Besides, you're changing the subject.
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SIMON
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What subject?
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JOANNE
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I was talking about Mom. How you don't take her seriously. Not always.
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SIMON
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(searching for specific tiles which he lays down on Scrabble board )
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Here. Here's how I feel about your mother. In case you're worried.
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We see Simon has spelled "RESPEKT", using the "K" from a word already there.
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JOANNE
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That's not how you spell "respect".
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SIMON
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Not here. (BEAT) In Russia.
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A moment of silence before Joanne bursts out laughing, playfully tossing the oversized tiles at her father. He begins to toss tiles back. Soon they're both laughing and tossing, like two children having a snowball fight.
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