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英文片名: Snow Falling On Cedars
中文片名: 香杉树上的雪花
上映: 1999
SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS
Screenplay by Ron Bass and Scott Hicks
Based on the novel by David Guterson
May 4, 1998
NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
AND SOME "OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS
SOFT COPY.
EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT
Fog. Penetrated only by sound. The LAPPING of sea at a
drifting hull. Tendrils of mist part, revealing...
...a face. Strong and blond and handsome.
We watch CARL HEINE, high on the cross spar of his mast. He
has pulled a SHUTTLE of TWINE from his rubber overalls, and
is LASHING a LANTERN in the cloud of mist.
INT/EXT THE SUSAN MARIE'S CABIN - NIGHT
A match is struck. CARL lights the wick of a second lantern.
The cabin is meticulously neat. A tin COFFEE CUP on the
counter's edge. The floor clear of any clutter. Carl
glances at his watch. It's 1:07. Then he hears...
...the puttering SOUND of an approaching boat...
EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT
...Carl stands on deck with his kerosene lantern and his air
horn, watching as another BOAT comes slowly out of the mist.
The silhouette of a FISHERMAN. As fragments of fog part, we
CLOSE ON the figure's face, to see...
...his eyes. They are Asian.
VISUAL FX TRANSITION TO:
EXT. SHIP CHANNEL BANK - MORNING
An island landscape. Tilt to find our boat bobbing
peacefully on placid water.
EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE - MORNING
Silhouetted against the morning sun, two figures slowly reel
in the massive net onto the rotating drum. A few salmon
slide across the gunnel. Hands methodically pick them out of
the net and drop them into the hold.
ANGLE ON the cedar floats stretched across the water. A dark
heavy shape in the net draws towards the surface.
One figure leans over to take a closer look. SHERIFF ART
MORAN is thin, unimposing, methodical. Only the eyes reflect
his disquiet.
Suddenly, a HAND looms from the tangled netting, stiff and
grotesque.
MORAN lurches back in shock as the raveling net LIFTS from
the water's surface...
...the face of Carl Heine. Turned to the sun.
Moran reels away as his young deputy, ABEL MARTINSON, turns
to throw up over the gunnel behind him.
CUT TO:
INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY
The face of HORACE WHALEY, coroner, gazing down. A shading
of regret behind the professional mask. Carl's face is
reflected in his glasses. A series of QUICK CUTS...
...Whaley cuts through Carl's weatherproof overalls with
large scissors...
...his hand pulls the SHUTTLE of TWINE from Carl's pocket...
...examines the open, empty KNIFE SHEATH at Carl's belt...
...the right palm is turned to reveal a long cut along the
mound of the thumb...
...Carl's wrist, its WATCH stopped at 1:47...Whaley removes
it, notes the time, and drops it into a manila envelope...
Whaley bends over Carl's body, presses on his solar plexus,
watching pink FOAM rise from Carl's mouth and nose. And
then. He sees something more. His forceps gently pull back
the hair from above Carl's left ear, and...
...Whaley sees something startling. He beckons Moran over.
WHALEY
You want to play Sherlock Holmes, Art?
Reluctantly Moran takes a look. A sharp intake of breath.
MORAN
What the hell would have caused that?
WHALEY
I'll tell you what a head wound like this
puts me in the mind of...
Whaley reaches for the instrument tray, and selects a sharp
cut-throat razor.
CUT TO:
INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY
CLOSE ON a DROP of BLOOD as it lands in SLOW MOTION on a
white porcelain tray.
VISUAL FX TRANSITION TO:
EXT. SAN PIEDRO ISLAND - DAY
Snow falling on cedars.
The heavens descend softly onto our island. Exquisite,
silent, hypnotic. An epic snowfall inspiring awe at our
frailness against the limitless scope of nature. As CREDITS
BEGIN...
TRANSITION TO:
EXT/INT ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - DAY
Through a snow covered window we see a pensive, sombre young
man in his mid-20's. This is ISHMAEL CHAMBERS, lost in
thought as he pulls on his coat. We see its left sleeve
pinned up at the elbow of his amputated arm. He tucks his
slim satchel under it.
TRANSITION TO:
EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAY
...undulating strawberry fields of pure white, untouched and
flawless...beyond the fields, against a backdrop of cedar
forest, an old PICKUP TRUCK drives carefully through the
snow.
Wipers swish slowly to reveal a slender woman of refined
beauty. HATSUE MIYAMOTO stares ahead at the snow-clad road,
her father HISAO at the wheel beside her.
CUT TO:
EXT. AMITY HARBOR/SAN PIEDRO ISLAND FERRY - DAY
...a view through another windscreen. This time of moving
WATER. In the rear-view mirror, a dapper man in his 40's
grooms himself carefully. ALVIN HOOKS glances out ahead
at...
EXT. AMITY HARBOR - DAY
...the wharves and boats shrouded in snow.
EXT. AMITY HARBOR - DAY
The SAN PIEDRO ISLAND ferry approaches the docks, blanketed
as if by volcanic ash. Behind HOOKS' late model Chevy, the
deck is crowded with people, a number of other cars, and even
a bus.
CUT TO:
EXT. NELS' HOUSE - DAY
A door opens to reveal a pair of dress shoes. Old-style
galoshes are pulled over them.
An OLD CAT curls around the feet as a HAND that tells of its
owner's age offers it a small treat.
The TIP of an UMBRELLA taps to dislodge some snow and ice
from a PLANT POT. The pot CRACKS, scattering earth on the
porch. Impatiently, the feet shuffle aside the debris, and
start down the steps.
The umbrella UNFURLS to reveal NELS GUDMUNDSSON. He is 79,
tall and lean. A little shaky. His body is winding down.
EXT. STREET - DAY
NELS walks carefully down the street, overtaken by kids on
sleds, as WHALEY heads past in the other direction.
NELS
'Morning, Horace, Reminds you of 1930,
doesn't it?
WHALEY
1929 actually, Nels. I believe you're
thinking of 1929.
NELS
Of course it was, Horace. You're right.
1929.
EXT. STREET/COURTHOUSE - MORNING
A bank of powder snow. A boy falls backwards into frame.
Nearby a girl does the same. They swirl their arms and legs.
Laughing. Making angels...
Ishmael walks past, over the rise, the town behind him.
Ahead - a public building, cars gathering as best they can,
people streaming up snow-laden steps to the entrance, and we
FOLLOW...
ISHMAEL, seemingly oblivious to the crowd which jostles him,
as he...
...disappears. Into the courthouse. Titles finish.
INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY
Ishmael heads up the stairs, to the press balcony, away from
the throng. He catches a glimpse of a woman sitting alone,
out of sight of the crowd.
It's HATSUE, on a wooden bench. Her stare impassive, empty.
PULL BACK to see Ishmael standing alone, in shadow. He
stares with fixed intensity at Hatsue, as she gathers her
thoughts. A moment of decision. He approaches.
ISHMAEL
Hatsue?
She turns her head only slightly.
ISHMAEL
Are you all right?
HATSUE
Go away, Ishmael.
Her voice is quiet and firm. There is no anger.
ISHMAEL
I just wanted to say...
HATSUE
(softer)
Go away.
CUT TO:
INT. BASEMENT - DAY
CLOSE on a large SHOVEL as it scoops up a load of COALS.
The coals fly off the shovel into the fierce flames of the
boiler-room FURNACE. The DOOR clangs shut.
CUT TO:
INT. COURTROOM - MORNING (TRIAL DAY ONE)
A frosty WINDOW above an ancient steam RADIATOR. A HISS of
steam escaping as we pull back to see...
A pair of Asian eyes. We have seen them before. KAZUO
MIYAMOTO sits, ramrod straight, motionless, expressionless,
as Abel unlocks his handcuffs. The eye of a storm of
movement in...
...the assembling COURTROOM. A floor-level packed gallery of
buzzing locals, the scent of anticipation.
NELS approaches the defense table, greeting his client Kazuo.
He reaches over to shake hands with HOOKS at the prosecution
bench.
The JURY BOX. Truck farmers, grocers, fishermen assemble, in
sober neckties. A waitress, a secretary, fisher wives in
Sunday dresses. PAN UP now to...
...a BALCONY with its bank of wooden pews, and gathering in
its front row...
...REPORTERS, cosmopolitan in attire, bearing themselves as
jaded dignitaries from the civilized world. Behind them,
Ishmael makes his way to a seat. As we PAN their ranks...
Snatches of conversation...
REPORTER #1
How 'bout that jury? What a bunch of
yokels. Must make a good ten grand a
year. Between 'em.
He laughs.
Ishmael, jots on a pad balanced precariously on his knee,
until...
...it falls with a CLATTER of pages. He reaches with his
right hand, replaces the pad on his thigh. Ishmael looks
down through the balustrades to see...
...Hatsue, entering the courtroom.
The Reporters lean forward to ogle at her. A frisson of
interest runs through the assembled crowd.
Ishmael watches HATSUE take her place in the first row of the
floor-level gallery. And sensing her presence, Kazuo turns.
Their eyes meet. Husband and wife.
Back in the balcony...
REPORTER #1
Have you seen this rag? The guy writes
like this trial is the biggest thing that
ever happened. You tell me why this is
news down in Seattle.
Shows the next guy his newspaper. It's the SAN PIEDRO ISLAND
REVIEW. Our ANGLE includes Ishmael, listening.
REPORTER #2
Because he's a Jap. Simple as that.
On this, Ishmael gets up, and moves away.
BAILIFF (O.S.)
All rise...
People rise. Ishmael stands, looking down from the balcony.
CUT TO:
INT/EXT WAREHOUSE/DOCKS - DAY
ANGLE FROM ANOTHER BALCONY:
Ishmael walking through a net warehouse towards the wharf.
Purpose in his stride. Up ahead, the Susan Marie is at dock.
Moran stands with half a dozen FISHERMEN.
As he arrives, Moran smiles a thin greeting. Not happy to
see him. Nor is anyone else.
WILLIAM GJOVAAG, a sunburned gill-netter, grunts to Moran.
GJOVAAG
You go fishing, it happens.
MORAN
(to Ishmael)
Figure you'da heard by now.
MARTY JOHANSSON
(to Sorenson, approaching)
Sheriff's been askin' who saw Carl out at
Ship Channel Bank last night.
MORAN
Only to see if somebody talked to him.
JAN SORENSEN
Fishing went sour on me when the fog
rolled in. I got the hell outta there.
GJOVAAG
No sense in hanging 'round the shipping
lane in that fog.
MARTY JOHANSSON
(heavy Danish)
Okay we've got Ferry, Hardwell, Moulton,
Miyamoto...
GJOVAAG
(spits)
Japs.
MORAN
Anyone else?
There is a pause.
MORAN
All right, if you see any of those
guys...
GJOVAAG
(to the others)
Sheriff's sounding like a real hard-ass!
Ain't this just an accident, Art?
Moran finds his eyes drifting to Ishmael's. Which are right
there, waiting. Moran looks away.
MORAN
Course it is, but a man's dead, William.
I got to write my report.
EXT. WAREHOUSE/DOCKS - DAY
Ishmael and Moran, walking alone.
MORAN
I'm not gonna see some article about an
investigation, am I?
ISHMAEL
(quietly)
You want me to lie?
MORAN
No, I wanna be off the darn record,
that's what I want.
No answer. They keep walking.
MORAN
I mean, if there is a killer, why would
you want him all alerted?
Ishmael stops.
ISHMAEL
So this is a murder investigation?
MORAN
I didn't say that...
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Our courtroom silent now, respectful. Court is in session.
PAN the back of the courtroom. Twenty-four citizens of
Japanese ancestry fill the last row, dressed in their most
formal clothes. As one, the Japanese-Americans watch...
...the prosecutor, ALVIN HOOKS. There is a quickness about
the eyes, a tendency to sharpness of manner, that he works
carefully against...
HOOKS
Would you tell us please, Sheriff. What
was your first impression as you and your
deputy inspected the Susan Marie that
fateful September morning?
JUDGE FIELDING, tall and gray, leans on his elbows. His
eyelids droop slightly, a deceptive masking of keen
attention.
The witness is Sheriff Moran.
MORAN
Mainly that it was so quiet out there.
Things just didn't...add up.
Ishmael watching. Thinking on that.
HOOKS
Add up? What do you mean?
MORAN
Well, a fisherman drowning - that happens
sometimes. But Carl Heine? I got to
thinking. He was so...meticulous. He
did things by the book.
EXT. LAUNCH, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY
Moran's hand on the throttle, powering his launch towards the
'Susan Marie', becalmed in the channel.
ABEL
Lights are on, Art. Every last one,
looks like. And his net's out.
MORAN
(yells)
Hey, Carl!
ABEL
I got this bad feeling...
MORAN
Don't say that, Abel. Don't even think
like that.
EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE - DAY
Moran stands on the gently swaying deck. All is quiet except
for a curious rolling SOUND.
CUT TO:
INT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY
Moran looks in the cabin door. TILT DOWN to see, in our
foreground, the enamel COFFEE CUP rolling on the floor with
the boat's movement.
Moran enters. Sits on Carl's bunk. He takes in the tidy
cabin. With one large battery sitting on the floor.
ABEL (O.S.)
Nothing in the hold. Apart from fish,
that is. Should we pull in the net?
Moran's eye catches a photo of Carl's family. His pretty
blonde wife. Two little boys.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
HOOKS
So, looking at the evidence there, you
determined that this was no accident,
didn't you?
MORAN
I didn't determine much of anything at
first. I kept wondering what I was going
to say to his family. After all, I knew
the guy. I knew his wife and children.
EXT. CARL JR.'S HOME - DAY
Moran climbs from his vehicle, as Carl's young SONS dash
around the corner of the house. Seeing the Sheriff, they
stop cold. Silent, shirtless, barefoot.
MORAN
Hey there, men. Is your mother home?
He spits his gum into a wrapper. The older boy nods towards
the house.
MORAN
You go on and play, now.
They don't move. He goes to the front door. Calls out.
MORAN
Susan Marie?
INT. CARL JR.'S HOME - DAY
Pausing in the entrance, Moran calls again.
MORAN
Are you there?
SUSAN MARIE (O.S.)
Come on in. I'll be right down.
Moran takes in the room, neat and ordered, in a warm and
comfortable fashion. On the wall, a collection of family
photographs: earlier generations of blunt-faced Germans who
never smiled for photographs.
Susan Marie comes in, spittle-marked baby's diaper across her
shoulder, a baby's bottle in her hand.
SUSAN MARIE
What can I do for you, Art, Carl's not
home yet. Is everything okay?
MORAN
That's...
Too quick. He stops himself. And she sees that.
MORAN
It's why I'm here. I'm afraid I have
some...very bad news to tell you,
the...worst...kind of news.
She looks at him, uncomprehending.
MORAN
Carl died last night. Out at Ship
Channel Bank.
SUSAN MARIE
No. No, Carl's fine...
MORAN
We found him, Susan Marie. Tangled in
his net.
And with these words, a slack, blank look crosses her face,
and she sits down HARD on a chair. The baby's bottle slips
from her grasp.
Moran doesn't know what to do. She begins to rock, very
slowly. Her face is more terrible than tears. It is
frightened. She murmurs to herself, so that we can barely
hear...
SUSAN MARIE
I knew this would happen. I warned
him...
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
Moran fidgets on the stand.
NELS (O.S.)
Now Sheriff, you've said there was no
sign of a struggle? Nothing out of the
ordinary?
SEE him now. NELS stands beside his impassive client.
MORAN
Well, as I said, with a fella as
particular as Carl, there were a coupla
things that struck me as odd.
And Nels begins to walk toward him.
NELS
Yes, you mentioned the coffee cup on the
floor. Was there anything else out of
place?
MORAN
Well, there was this dead battery just
lying around. And the cover to the
battery well didn't fit right.
NELS
A battery cover that didn't fit? What
did you make of that?
HOOKS (O.S.)
Objection, asking the witness to
speculate.
NELS
My gosh, Alvin, was I supposed to object
every time you did that?
A real. Friendly smile.
JUDGE
(wearily)
That's quite enough horseplay, Nels, why
don't you act your age?
NELS
If I did that Your Honor, I'd be dead.
Some gentle laughter. Judge Fielding doesn't even bother to
look annoyed.
JUDGE
Proceed, gentlemen.
HOOKS
There's an objection, Your H...
JUDGE
And it's overruled. Answer the question.
If you can recall it.
MORAN
I looked under the lid and found one of
the batteries was bigger than the other.
NELS
Didn't that also strike you as odd that
he would have a battery that didn't fit?
A man as particular as Carl?
INT/EXT SUSAN MARIE CABIN, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY
INTERCUT...Moran opens the battery well in the cabin...
MORAN (O.S.)
Yeah, I wondered. But he'd done some on-
the-spot work, you see. The flange was
kind of banged away to make room for the
one that was too big.
We see the flange, and two distinguishably different
batteries in place. The third resting on the cabin floor
beside the well.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
BACK TO the courtroom. Moran still on the stand.
NELS
Now tell me. Would this "too big"
battery have fit, say, in Kazuo
Miyamoto's battery well?
MORAN
It was the exact same type as Miyamoto's,
that's for sure. But he had both his
batteries in when we searched his boat
later.
NELS
And no spare?
MORAN
Like I said. Carl was different than
most. I mean, no one ever carries a
spare.
INT/EXT SUSAN MARIE CABIN, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - DAY
Moran on his knees. Running his fingers along the flange of
the well. He looks up at Abel.
MORAN
It's like you car. Who carries a spare
battery for their car?
INT. COURTROOM - LATER
Horace Whaley, the county coroner, folds his arms. Searching
for the appearance of ease in the witness box.
WHALEY
...prior to that, I served as a medical
officer. In the Pacific.
HOOKS
So. In your profession as medical
officer and coroner. I take it you
would've had to deal with head injuries
on many occasions?
WHALEY
Countless.
HOOKS
And does your experience allow you to
determine the probable cause of a head
wound?
WHALEY
Absolutely. You get hit with a crowbar.
Or a hammer. Or fall off a motorcycle.
The injuries look different. In this
case, the injury had been inflicted by a
long, narrow, flat object.
HOOKS
Like a fishing gaff, for example?
WHALEY
That's very possible.
HOOKS
(refers to Whaley's report)
You say it was..."a laceration about two-
and-a-half inches long above the left
ear, the bone under it fractured over a
four-inch area"...Tell me, have you seen
this specific kind of wound before?
WHALEY
Frequently. As a result of hand-to-hand
combat with Jap soldiers.
He looks over at the Sheriff.
WHALEY
I even told Art "If you want to play
Sherlock Holmes, you ought to look for a
Jap with a bloody gun butt."
HOOKS
What led you to that conclusion?
WHALEY
I'd seen those kendo wounds many times.
Exactly like this one.
Whaley looks smugly at Kazuo.
HOOKS
Could you tell us what kendo is?
WHALEY
Japanese stick-fighting. They're trained
as kids you know. To kill with sticks.
And the prosecutor's eyes drift to the defendant. So that
the jury's will do the same. HOLD ON Kazuo's regal bearing.
His neutral mask.
HOOKS (O.S.)
No further questions.
EXT. FIELDS - DAWN
Mist of early light. Two dark figures, little more than
silhouettes, measuring their distance from each other with
their lethal shinai staffs. One is a full-grown man. The
other, eight years old. Dialogue plays in JAPANESE,
subtitled in English...
ZENICHI
Hips, stomach, cut. Stomach muscles
tighten as stroke advances.
And STRIKES a fearsome blow, which the child REPELS with
startling proficiency. We can see ZENICHI's stony face, now.
If he is impressed by his son, he does not show it.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The boy LASHES fiercely, the man
parrying each stroke with blinding ease.
ZENICHI
(very quiet)
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