The Crow

 

 

Screenplay by                             David J. Schow

                                                 John Shirley

 

Produced by                               Edward R. Pressman

                                                 Jeff Most

 

Directed by                                Alex Proyas

 

 

 

Cast List:

 

Brandon Lee                            Eric

Ernie Hudson                           Albrecht

Michael Wincott                                  Top Dollar

Rochelle Davis                         Sarah

Michael Berryman                   Skull Cowboy

John Polito                               Gideon

David Patrick Kelly                 T-Bird

Angel David                             Skank

 

 

FADE IN:

 

 

EXT. CEMETERY – LATE AFTERNOON

 

BOOM! A crack of lightning illuminates the silhouette of a perched crow large in the f.g.

 

 

TIGHT ANGLE – FRESH GRAVE

 

As a spade smooths the walls of a new double-decker plot.

 

DIMITRI (O.S.)

We're losing the light; let's pack it in.

 

 

ANGLE – DIMITRI AND ALEXI

 

TWO GRAVEDIGGERS. Scoop digger parked f.g. towering gothic-style church b.g. Rolls of astro turf. They look up toward the sky.

 

ALEXI

Snow, maybe?

 

DIMITRI

What, you gonna ski on this?

 

He indicates the mound of fresh dirt. Spits into the grave.

 

DIMITRI (CONT'D)

Come on, let's bag this. It's beer time.

 

Alexi nods and unfurls the tarp over the dirt.

 

 

 

LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT – FLOWERS ON GRAVES

 

As we MOVE alongside a pair of canvas-sided combat boots, as the wearer collects the most lively flowers from each grave in sequence.

 

 

TIGHT ANGLE – THE CROW

 

Cemetery DEFOCUSED b.g. Large, glossy-black, the bird follows the arc of movement in the previous shot. Ruffles its feathers as it begins to sprinkle rain.

 

 

ANGLE – ELLY – RESUMING HER MOTION

 

A dirty-blondish tenement KID of eleven, clad in a blend of cast-offs and hand-me-downs; her version of street punk chic. She totes a skateboard under one arm (itself a berserk Jackson Pollock chaos of band stickers, silver marker and graffiti, with day-glo wheels), and transfers her impromptu bouquet so she may unzip a flap and hike up a ragged hood against the rain. She stops to watch the grave diggers pack up and EXIT b.g.

 

ELLY

Guess the picnic got rained out.

 

She looks down off screen at...

 

 

ANGLE – SHELLY WEBSTER'S GRAVE

 

As Elly places the gathered flowers down. Almost reverent.

 

 

RESUME CROW ANGLE – ELLY BACKGROUND

 

As Elly takes a single white rose and places it atop the grave near Shelly Webster's.

 

 

ANGLE ON GRAVE – AS ELLY LEAVES

 

TILT UP from rose to the name: ERIC DRAVEN. Rain spatters the granite, darkening it.

 

 

EXTREME CLOSEUP – CROW'S EYE

 

It blinks in its alien way.

 

 

WITH THE CROW

 

As it takes wing from it's unseen perch. Lands stop Eric's headstone. It pecks tentatively at the top of the monument.

 

 

ANGLE – ELLY NEAR ERIC'S GRAVE

 

She hasn't gotten too far before she notices the bird.

 

ELLY

Oh, scary.

 

The bird blinks at her from the headstone.

 

ELLY

What are you, like, the night watchman?

 

Another blink from El Birdo.

 

 

CAMERA WITH ELLY – BOOMING BACK HIGH

 

As she exits the iron gates of the cemetery without looking back. Brutal building facades, like dead eyes, and bad alleyways, like hungry mouths, are gradually revealed as we continue PULLING BACK to unveil that the cemetery is smack in the middle of the city.

 

 

EXT. MAXI-DOGS – TWILIGHT – RAIN CONTINUES

 

CLOSEUP of a foot-long hot dog being drowned in mustard.

 

MICKEY (O.S.)

What this place needs is a good natural catastrophe. Earthquake, tornado...

 

 

ANGLE – ALBRECHT AND MICKEY

 

ALBRECHT is a black beat cop, 35, in a rain slicker.

 

MICKEY is the grease-aproned entrepreneur of MAXI DOGS, a steamy open-front fast foodery.

 

ALBRECHT

You gotta put the mustard underneath first.

 

MICKEY

Maybe a flood, like in the Bible.

 

ALBRECHT

Here, let me do it.

 

He grabs the dog from Mickey. Mickey puffs his cigar while he cooks. Albrecht methodically spreads a napkin and performs surgery on the hot dog, coating the bun with mustard, rolling the dog in the bun. Flashes Mickey a "gimme" look.

 

ALBRECHT

Come on... onion. Don't cheap out on me. Lotta onions.

 

 

MOVING ANGLE – AS ELLY SKATEBOARDS TOWARDS MAXI DOGS

 

MICKEY

Heyyy – it's the Elly monster.

 

ALBRECHT

How do you ride that thing on a wet street?

 

ELLY

Talent. Hi.

 

ALBRECHT

Care for a hot dog?

 

ELLY

You buying?

 

ALBRECHT

I'm buying.

 

Elly grabs the stool next to Albrecht. They've done this routine before.

 

ELLY

No onions though, okay?

 

ALBRECHT

(horror)

No onions?

 

ELLY

They make you fart.

 

Mickey laughs. Spots Elly a Coke.

 

MICKEY

What's goin' on, Elly?

 

ELLY

I went to see a friend of mine.

 

MICKEY

Well, how's your friend?

 

ELLY

She's still dead.

 

Albrecht and Mickey exchange a look re: Elly's matter-of-factness.

 

 

EXT. CEMETERY – NIGHT (RAIN)

 

Thunder KABOOMS off screen The crow pecks the top of the stone again and a chip of granite flies off, bang!

 

 

EXTREME CLOSE – THE HEADSTONE

 

As the crow pecks again and draws blood from the rock.

 

 

CLOSEUP – THE CROW

 

A dot of blood on its ebony beak.

 

 

LOW ANGLE – HEADSTONE

 

A thin, watery trickle of blood wanders from the top of the stone towards the earth. Rain does not interfere. Lightning plays in the rolling cloud cover, b.g.

 

 

RESUME THE CROW

 

As it takes off from the gravestone, into the rain.

 

 

CLOSEUP – THE BLOOD

 

It slowly fills the name Eric Draven into the rock.

 

 

 

CLOSEUP – FOOT TAPPER

 

A LOW ANGLE like the SHOT introducing Elly's boot. This time we see cowboy boots, leather chaps. The foot taps. Waiting.

 

 

MEDIUM ANGLE – THE FOOT TAPPER

 

As lightning strikes. Just enough for us to see a figure in a long duster and a cowboy hat.

 

 

RESUME ERIC'S HEADSTONE

 

DRAVEN fills with blood. Blood continues groundward.

 

 

NEW ANGLE – THE FOOT TAPPER

 

Turning to meet FRAME as the crow alights on his outstretched arm. This is the SKULL COWBOY. We glimpse the deathshead, beneath the brim of the cowboy hat.

 

 

RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE

 

As blood trickles into the turf at the base of the grave.

 

 

TIGHT ANGLE – THE CROW

 

Shaking off rain. Watching intently.

 

 

CLOSEUP – THE SKULL COWBOY'S FREE HAND

 

Black gloved. It walks a flat silver throwing knife across it's knuckles, like a quarter somersaulting.

 

 

RESUME ERIC'S GRAVE

 

The turf stirs beneath the white rose. Magically, a slim white parts the earth to grasp the rose.

 

 

SKULL COWBOY POV – ERIC'S GRAVE

 

As the figure of Eric Draven stands up from behind his own headstone.

 

 

LOW ANGLE (FROM GRAVE) – ERIC

 

Pale. Clad in cerements: cheap black burial suit, slit open in back. White shirt. A nothing tie. No shoes. Rain sluices mud from his upturned face. He looks to the sky. Lightning.

 

 

ANOTHER ANGLE – FOLLOW ERIC

 

As he weaves to lean against a nearby tree. Looks off screen.

 

 

ERIC'S POV – THE SKULL COWBOY

 

Water-blurred, through the rain, standing with the crow perched on his arm like a hunting falcon. He releases it and it flies to the tree.

 

 

ANGLE – ERIC

 

Watching this. Wipes mud from his eyes, tries to clear vision. The crow lights in the tree and they meet eye-to-eye. Eric looks back offscreen and we RACK to include the Skull Cowboy.

 

ERIC

What the hell are you?

 

SKULL COWBOY

Interested? Follow the crow.

 

NB. The Skull Cowboy speaks in nicely distorted, buzzlike charnal house whisper. Unsettling and hackle-raising.

 

Eric turns back to the bird, which takes wing in the rain, His eyes follow it. He looks back, disoriented, doubtful, but the Skull Cowboy is gone.

 

 

LOW DEEP ANGLE – THE CROW

 

Taking wing in the rain, showing the way.

 

 

ANOTHER ANGLE – ERIC

 

Alone in the cemetery. After a moments hesitation, he lurches off, following the crow.

 

DISSOLVE TO:

 

 

EXT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE – NIGHT – TO ESTABLISH:

 

A candy-flaked muscle T-bird is parked at the curb.

 

 

INT. ARCADE GAMES SUPPLY OFFICE – NIGHT

 

A MOVING SHOT during off screen lines. Past dead video and pinball devices. Pasta desk with an open briefcase, coffee cup, ashtray – someone was just there. Then past a WOMAN, trussed with duct tape to her office chair, gagged, hot fear in her darting eyes.

 

COMPLETE CAMERA MOVE to include SKANK, a blade-thin speed freak with pattern baldness, always loud, jittery, a manic dust puppy. And T-BIRD, an arrogant Arayan, brush-cut iron pumper, who is prepping an incendiary. He exhibits a small squeeze bottle of arson cocktail to Skank.

 

T-BIRD

Uncle T-Bird's 100-proof accelerator. I squirt you with this, you could jump in the Detroit river and burn all the way to the bottom.

 

 

INSERT A CLOSEUP

 

Of the bomb in his hands as he works. Silver canisters, an LED timer, wires.

 

T-BIRD (CONT'D)

You know, Lake Erie actually caught on fire once, from all the crap in it. Wish I coulda seen that.

 

He CLICKS a switch. PEEP. LED countdown blurs.

 

T-BIRD (CONT'D)

We're ready to rock.

 

Skank notices the captive woman's handbag on the floor. Picks it up. Looks through it for valuables.

 

SKANK

What about working girl?

 

INTERCUT the woman's increasingly horrified reactions.

 

T-BIRD

What about her?

 

SKANK

I say we leave her here to fry, man.

 

T-Bird looks casually at the woman. Smiles hideously.

 

T-BIRD

No. Let's take her with us.

 

 

ANGLE – THE WOMAN

 

Her eyes bug in a terrified NO!

 

 

EXT. STREET – MOVING – NIGHT

 

As the T-Bird fishtails wildly around the corner and eats street.

 

 

INT. T-BIRD – TRAVELLING – NIGHT

 

TB drives. One eye on his digital watch (doing an equally fast countdown). Skank wrestles their captive, the woman, in the back seat.

 

TB

(pissed off)

Skank, shut her the fuck up!

 

Skank punches her and she sags. Then he looks forward.

 

SKANK

Whoaaa – T-Bird, red light, red light!

 

 

EXT. STREET CORNER NEAR MAXI-DOGS – NIGHT

 

As the T-Bird slews wide, cutting sidewalk, scattering nightwalkers, immediately attracting everybody's attention.

 

 

ANGLE – ALBRECHT – AT MAXI-DOGS

 

Reacting, with a mouthful.

 

ALBRECHT

Goddammit.

 

Mickey grabs the counter phone instantly.

 

MICKEY

Call it in?

 

Albrecht is off and running for the corner already.

 

ALBRECHT

Yeah, do it!

(to Elly)

Stay right there!

 

 

HOLD ON MICKEY

 

He points at Albrecht's hot dog. Yecch.

 

MICKEY

(yelling after)

You want I should save this for you?

 

 

EXT. MOUTH OF ALLEY ACROSS FROM CEMETERY – NIGHT

 

The car slides to a nose-down panic stop.

 

SKANK (O.S.)

Dump her, man, dump her!

 

The woman comes tumbling from the car, which blasts off with a war hoop from the guys inside.

 

 

ANGLE – CORNER – ON ALBRECHT

 

Gun out, hauling ass on wet pavement. Aims at the departing car. Gives it up. Still too far away. Pedestrians in the way.

 

 

ANGLE – THE WOMAN

 

Hurting, cut, bleeding, tottering toward the dumpster. Duct tape stuck to her face but cut away around her mouth. With her as she falls into the alley darkness... straight into the arms of

 

 

CLOSE TWO-SHOT – ERIC AND THE WOMAN

 

Their eyes lock. Eric stiffens with his first FLASH.

 

NB: Eric's flashes of past memory are conditioned by the nature of things with which he makes physical contact. Hints and fragments in fierce, super-saturated COLOR. Puzzle pieces he must assemble. Each flash keynoted by a BLOWBACK NOISE and accompanied by a degree of pain. It hurts to remember.

 

 

FLASH: INT. T-BIRD – WOMAN'S STRUGGLE

 

The faces of Skank and T-Bird are murky, ephemeral, their voices hideous, distorted echoes. A knife snaps open. We see the blade. Blood. Skank hits her, pow! and –

 

FLASH ENDS

 

 

ANOTHER ANGLE – ERIC AND WOMAN

 

An airborne crow POV spiraling up and away from them.

 

MATCH WITH:

 

 

ANGLE – THE CROW

 

Perched on a fire escape, high above, watching and waiting.

 

 

ANGLE – RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN

 

She fades. He lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back into the cover of the alley. Her blood is on his hands.

 

 

ANGLE – ALBRECHT RUNNING

 

Skidding in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her.

 

ALBRECHT

Here now! You're gonna be okay! Can you understand me? I'm a police officer...

 

The woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now.

 

WOMAN

He touched me and it stopped. The pain.

 

ALBRECHT

What did you say?

 

WOMAN

I saw a ghost...

 

Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms.

 

ALBRECHT

Oh no... don't go, darlin', you stay with me, now... shit!

 

 

HIGH ANGLE CROW POV – THE ALLEY

 

BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman, onlookers, as police units screech up to assist.

 

 

EXT. ALLEY BEHIND ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE – ON ERIC – NIGHT

 

Eric in lurching flight, panting. Stops and steadies against the wall across from the backside of Arcade Games.

 

 

ANGLE – THE CROW (FLYING)

 

Circling, then lighting on the fire escape above Eric.

 

 

BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES – ("CROWVISION")

 

"CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually distinct and immediately identifiable.

 

 

ERIC'S POV – BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES

 

Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes.

 

 

ANGLE – ERIC

 

Looking up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand. Suddenly he cottons, and covers his eyes just in time to shield from:

 

 

ANGLE – BACK OF ARCADE GAMES

 

The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and debris.

 

 

ANGLE – WITH ERIC

 

He reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls.

 

 

ANGLE – THE CROW

 

Landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat boots in the trash. Flames.

 

 

LOW ANGLE – ERIC

 

The blood from his hands mars his burial shirt. He tears the shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly intact. Wipes his face with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his discovery –

 

 

PUSH IN ON ERIC

 

As his fingers explore the five puckered bullet punctures in his chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his back foe exit wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the crow. His glance at the bird is almost accusatory.

 

 

ANGLE – THE CROW

 

Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent communication is taking place.

 

 

ANGLE – ERIC'S FEET

 

Bare, muddied, frozen.

 

TILT to Eric. His gaze moves from the crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs them, pushes them onto his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight. Distant off screen: SIRENS.

 

ERIC

Fire. In the rain.

 

DISSOLVE TO:

 

 

INT. CLUB TRASH – NIGHT

 

We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club Trash. The background music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio Werewolf band rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup trendazoids. We'll see more of this circus later. Right now the BACKGROUND SOUND is our biggest clue to the flavor of this establishment since we are –

 

 

TIGHT CLOSEUP A FRAMED 8X10

 

Thinly filmed in dust, mounted among dozens of other band shots. Visible among the posed members of a group called Diabolique is Eric, wielding guitar on the club stage. ND BLUR as people CROSS FRAME.

 

GRANGE, 45-50, powerful, a seasoned assassin, cruel but loyal. His facade remains stony as he leads three other men briskly down the corridor: NGO NWA, 50ish, clad Chinese gangster style – white topcoat, white scarf, tinted shades – and two body guards supplying a power perimeter around him, lean, dark-haired Asian killers who would gladly die for Ngo Nwa, which they will in just a minute.

 

They have just passed the Diabolique 8X10. Ngo Nwa's gloved fingers, in passing, leave little skid tracks in the dust that clear the eyes of Eric in the photo.

 

As the foursome reaches the DOOR, Grange turns doubtfully – suspiciously – to Nwa.

 

NGO NWA

He will see me... unannounced.

 

 

ANOTHER ANGLE – THE DOOR

 

As Grange keys in the enter code the door hisses open. Without a word, Nwa passes inside and the door is pulled shut in Grange's face by the Bodyguards, who post themselves to either side.

 

 

INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE – NIGHT

 

The door CLOSES and the BACKGROUND NOISE is GONE. Through a large window (mirrored on the club side) all sorts of activity is visible through automatic mini-blinds. A fly-vision bank of 12 TV monitors is hot with surveillance.

 

LAO, a painfully clean-cut, Armani-clad Asian, impeccable, almost dashing, but the dynamic here is crystal clear: Nwa is the King: Lao, the dark prince in this hierarchy.