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breakinglight11Continuing on strong with The Wicker Man remake! I still can’t believe the momentum I’ve got on this. So here is scene seven, another fairly original scene. I’m reasonably happy with it, but I think it needs a little refining to manifest my chosen themes.
Day #25 - "Dogs in the Night"
From The Wicker Man
By Phoebe Roberts
Early the next day, Elise sits in the common room, considerably emptier now, looking put together as always but with a weight of tiredness on her face. She leans over a plate of breakfast, munching at a muffin and poking a heap of peaches in syrup on the plate.
ELISE: Canned?
The waitress appears at the table to refill the coffee in her mug.
WAITRESS: Something wrong with it?
ELISE: Don’t mean to complain— just… isn’t the island known for its produce? Why would you need to bring in the canned stuff?
ROWAN: (OS) Sakes alive, you mainlanders really do have everything you want on demand, don’t you?
Elise looks past the woman to see Rowan appear behind the bar. The waitress recedes as he grins at Elise with that foxlike grin.
ROWAN: And how did you find your room last night, sergeant?
ELISE: Very nice, thank you.
ROWAN: You don’t seem to have slept well. If you don’t mind my saying.
ELISE: Well. There was a fair bit of noise in the next rooms.
ROWAN: (Laughing quietly) Ah, of course. The Green Man is rather known for it.
ELISE: Not just here. A body can’t walk without tripping over some— dogs in the night.
ROWAN: Oh, dear. I hope nothing that disturbed your Catholic sensibilities.
ELISE: Is it because of the May celebration? Or are you islanders always so… free about it?
ROWAN: We don’t have the same hang ups as folks like you.
ELISE: I can see that.
ROWAN: Does that offend you, sergeant? Why should people be ashamed of what’s joyful and natural to them?
ELISE: There’s something to be said for not making your business into everybody’s business.
ROWAN: If you ask me, more harm has been done by twisting people against their own natures than anything else mankind has cooked up.
ELISE: How do you figure that?
ROWAN: Well, when folks are ashamed of what they are, what they want, it makes them hate themselves. Think they’re monsters just for the way they were made. And keeps them from living the lives they truly want. It ruins men— drives them to ruin others. To act from hate, instead of from love.
ELISE: Desire isn’t an excuse.
ROWAN: Shame, then. Nothing destroys a soul like shame.
ELISE: It’s not a matter of shame for everyone.
ROWAN: Aye? Then what is it holding you?
Beat.
ELISE: That’s a very personal question, Mr. Morrison.
ROWAN: My apologies, sergeant. We’re fortunate here on Summerisle that we’re not afraid of these things. I forget it’s not so easy for everybody.
Elise is spared having to respond when the front door opens, and Willow enters. Rowan turns to her and nods in greeting.
WILLOW: Morning to you. Rowan Morrison, are you trifling with the law here?
ROWAN: Less than I usually trifle. Have you met the sergeant already, Miss Willow?
WILLOW: She wanted to ask me questions about her missing girl.
ROWAN: Well, then, best make yourself useful. So the coppers don’t learn about all the trouble you’re up to.
With a chuckle, he winks at Elise and disappears behind the bar. Elise stands, unusually awkward, and steps around Willow towards the door.
ELISE: Well, then. Let’s be off already.
As she goes to exit, she notices an array of photographs covering the far wall. She pauses to examine them. Each one is a picture of a different girl, dressed in white and crowned in flowers, surrounded by sheaves of fruit and produce. From Victorian daguerreotypes to high-quality modern prints, they go decade by decade all the way from the 1860s— except for the most recent year, where a space remains where a frame would fit.
ELISE: What are all these?
WILLOW: Those are the May Queens. They crown one for the celebration every year.
ELISE: And what happened to last year’s?
Rowan calls from behind them.
ROWAN: Knocked from the wall and shattered. It can get a bit wild in here— as I think you’ve seen.
Elise casts one last glance over her shoulder at him, then ushers Willow out.
Day #25 - "Dogs in the Night"
From The Wicker Man
By Phoebe Roberts
Early the next day, Elise sits in the common room, considerably emptier now, looking put together as always but with a weight of tiredness on her face. She leans over a plate of breakfast, munching at a muffin and poking a heap of peaches in syrup on the plate.
ELISE: Canned?
The waitress appears at the table to refill the coffee in her mug.
WAITRESS: Something wrong with it?
ELISE: Don’t mean to complain— just… isn’t the island known for its produce? Why would you need to bring in the canned stuff?
ROWAN: (OS) Sakes alive, you mainlanders really do have everything you want on demand, don’t you?
Elise looks past the woman to see Rowan appear behind the bar. The waitress recedes as he grins at Elise with that foxlike grin.
ROWAN: And how did you find your room last night, sergeant?
ELISE: Very nice, thank you.
ROWAN: You don’t seem to have slept well. If you don’t mind my saying.
ELISE: Well. There was a fair bit of noise in the next rooms.
ROWAN: (Laughing quietly) Ah, of course. The Green Man is rather known for it.
ELISE: Not just here. A body can’t walk without tripping over some— dogs in the night.
ROWAN: Oh, dear. I hope nothing that disturbed your Catholic sensibilities.
ELISE: Is it because of the May celebration? Or are you islanders always so… free about it?
ROWAN: We don’t have the same hang ups as folks like you.
ELISE: I can see that.
ROWAN: Does that offend you, sergeant? Why should people be ashamed of what’s joyful and natural to them?
ELISE: There’s something to be said for not making your business into everybody’s business.
ROWAN: If you ask me, more harm has been done by twisting people against their own natures than anything else mankind has cooked up.
ELISE: How do you figure that?
ROWAN: Well, when folks are ashamed of what they are, what they want, it makes them hate themselves. Think they’re monsters just for the way they were made. And keeps them from living the lives they truly want. It ruins men— drives them to ruin others. To act from hate, instead of from love.
ELISE: Desire isn’t an excuse.
ROWAN: Shame, then. Nothing destroys a soul like shame.
ELISE: It’s not a matter of shame for everyone.
ROWAN: Aye? Then what is it holding you?
Beat.
ELISE: That’s a very personal question, Mr. Morrison.
ROWAN: My apologies, sergeant. We’re fortunate here on Summerisle that we’re not afraid of these things. I forget it’s not so easy for everybody.
Elise is spared having to respond when the front door opens, and Willow enters. Rowan turns to her and nods in greeting.
WILLOW: Morning to you. Rowan Morrison, are you trifling with the law here?
ROWAN: Less than I usually trifle. Have you met the sergeant already, Miss Willow?
WILLOW: She wanted to ask me questions about her missing girl.
ROWAN: Well, then, best make yourself useful. So the coppers don’t learn about all the trouble you’re up to.
With a chuckle, he winks at Elise and disappears behind the bar. Elise stands, unusually awkward, and steps around Willow towards the door.
ELISE: Well, then. Let’s be off already.
As she goes to exit, she notices an array of photographs covering the far wall. She pauses to examine them. Each one is a picture of a different girl, dressed in white and crowned in flowers, surrounded by sheaves of fruit and produce. From Victorian daguerreotypes to high-quality modern prints, they go decade by decade all the way from the 1860s— except for the most recent year, where a space remains where a frame would fit.
ELISE: What are all these?
WILLOW: Those are the May Queens. They crown one for the celebration every year.
ELISE: And what happened to last year’s?
Rowan calls from behind them.
ROWAN: Knocked from the wall and shattered. It can get a bit wild in here— as I think you’ve seen.
Elise casts one last glance over her shoulder at him, then ushers Willow out.
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