Inside Job [2010]
1. In some cases, 33:1 leverage.
2. “You’ve got three minutes left. Give it your best shot.” His face: a mixture of arrogant superiority, fury, and redhanded guilt.
3. When an interview subject nods vigorously while being asked a question, it’s a signal that a trap is being laid.
Underworld U.S.A. [1961]
1. He clenches the bedsheet in his fist. Dissolve to his hand slowly working the combination on the safe.
2. “Now. The most vicious increase in vice is the teenage dope addict. And the recruitment of schoolgirls into prostitution.”
3. The fat man’s corpse slowly floats to the surface of the water in the pool.
The Mating Season [1951]
1. He looks at her with a dreamy expression. “Where did you steal that hair of yours? From a lilac bush?”
2. She screams and leaps backward off the scale. “112! I have never weighed more than 105.”
3. Thelma Ritter administers a special treatment for the common cold.
HOLY CORNER
Edinburgh. The quality
of light—the four
o’clock honeycomb
candle wax tissue
paper beam
saturating every pore in the street,
every rivulet of every brick,
that four o’clock
perpetual sunset each hour.
Light falling on jet black hair.
Stepping from the shower
at the bed & breakfast
into a towel like
a russet potato
and the sleep into which
I flung myself, joyously: these
before my solitary stroll
to the crest of the street,
an intersection with three churches
known as Holy Corner.
With espresso
I sat in the window of a tiny
storefront and watched
the couple walking their dogs,
walking their dogs
like anyone would do anywhere
else I’ve ever been in
this world. Pausing
in front of
me
to discuss plans, dinner, perhaps
their children.
At that moment
I was part of everything.
November 2001
Husbands and Wives [1992]
1. He calls her an infant, commands her to get in the fucking car.
2. A scale on their kitchen counter. The kitchen is red.
3. “I’d hate to be your boyfriend.” She smiles enigmatically, pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, “I’m worth it.”
The House That Dripped Blood [1971]
1. The garb of a mystery writer is apparently a pink collared shirt and a bulky white cardigan.
2. A rather unconvincing wax replica of Peter Cushing’s head.
3. He puts on the cloak and suddenly he is no longer visible in the dressing room’s mirror.
Before Sunset [2004]
1. He mostly keeps his left hand under the table. The hand with his wedding ring.
2. “Memories are wonderful things if you don’t have to deal with the past.”
3. Nina Simone is singing. He looks at Celine, smiles mysteriously. “I know.” Fade out.
Our Daily Bread [2005]
1. Shirtless man picking peppers.
2. As the conveyor belt moves along, the saw unzips each pig. The entrails gently pop out like packages.
3. The man smoothly slices the entire cow in half, then answers his cell phone.
The Terminal Man [1974]
1. He is wearing a white terrycloth robe. He is lying on the waterbed.
2. Red and white rivulets spread across the white-tiled floor.
3. A white linen jacket stained with blood and dirt.
