The Shawshank Redemption

This modern film classic, an extraordinary tale of hope and survival inside a maximum security prison, follows the complex twenty-year relationship between two convicts who have little in common —except friendship. Based on the novella Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King, director/screenwriter Frank Darabont’s film, starring Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman, was nominated for seven Academy Awards®, including Best Picture and Best Screenplay and has been named one of the 100 Best Films of All Time by the American Film Institute.

Frank Darabont

The Shawshank Redemption

The Shooting Script

ePub r1.1

Titivillus 02.04.2021

Título original: The Shawshank Redemption

Frank Darabont, 1993

Editor digital: Titivillus

ePub base r2.1

INT -- CABIN -- NIGHT (1946)

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…

EXT -- CABIN -- NIGHT (1946)

…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.

INT -- PLYMOUTH -- NIGHT (1946)

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.