THE FINAL OPTION is a screen novel. Far too detailed for a conventional screenplay, too bare-boned to be a novel, this is a mongrel. The following are some useful terms and abbreviations with examples, as needed
EXT = Exterior
INT = Interior
VO = Voice Over (As in a narration, interior dialogue, wherein the speaker is not on screen)
OS = Off Screen (Similar to VO, the difference being that OS only indicates that the character speaking is not visible, as opposed to being absent)
INSERT indicates something being featured.
e.g.: Following upon a scene where we see man reading a newspaper, there’s this:
INSERT - NEWSPAPER
The front page photo is of a downed helicopter in a jungle clearing; the headlines -“US Chopper shot down in Columbia.”
SCENE HEADING / SLUG LINE, the first line of the set-up, is always in upper case, locating the scene in place and time. For example:
EXT. CITY – DAY – SUMMER
Besides the location (Exterior City), it’s important to note that not only is this happening during the day, but also that it's summertime. It’s easy to skim past this, but if you do, if you miss it, you’re bound to misunderstand the implications of the time jump indicated in the Slug Line that follows.
EXT. CITY – DAY - WINTER
The Final Option will be posted in installments once a week.
THE FINAL OPTION
EXT. COFFEE PLANTATION – PRE-DAWN
In amongst the trees, two men on horseback, the older one training a flashlight on branches that hang heavy with clusters of ruptured coffee beans. When the young man, trying to get a shot of this, spooks his horse with the camera flash, the older man turns his pony and heads uphill, the young man calling after him ...
(SUBTITLED - SPANISH)
YOUNG MAN
I'm telling you, Old Man, this coffee bean
shit, it’s like a plague, and not just here. In
Brazil, Costa Rica, I seen the same thing,
exact same thing!
EXT. HILLTOP - A SHORT TIME LATER
Sunrise ... The older man, on foot now near the crest, no longer needs the flashlight to see. In any case, the trees at this elevation are healthy. The young man catches up with him. His horse is skittish.
There's the deep metronomic thump of a rotary, sound muffled by hills and foliage, now bursting clear as a helicopter suddenly over-flies the crest from the other side. Startled at the sight and sound of this, the young man waves, trying to draw the pilot’s attention. He steadies his horse, watching as the chopper banks and comes back around, flying at treetop level. Taking aim with the Instamatic, he tracks it through the viewfinder, waiting for it to come closer, to fill the frame. Then shoots.
And seconds later is himself shot, hit with a burst of machinegun fire that nearly cuts him in two. The camera shatters. His horse takes off down the slope with a corpse in the saddle, trampling the older man when he tries to stop it.
The old man lies broken in a narrow clearing between rows of trees. There’s a drainage ditch with overhanging branches just a couple of feet away, but he can’t make it that far, and now the helicopter’s back, machine gun rounds stitching the dirt and him in one straight line.
He doesn't move as blood soaks through his shirtback and the engine noise recedes, all but gone by the time he’s able to roll over, muttering prayers, looking up at the sky. And then its back again, even louder, and the treetops bend to the propwash, trembling ...
Unmarked and equipped for crop dusting, the army green helicopter passes directly overhead, trailing a white cloud of particles that settles slowly ...
Like snow
EXT. WALL STREET - -WINTER- - DUSK
It's snowing, the sidewalks crawling with hurry as employees pour from the buildings. Outside the marbled front of Gaines & Filcher, a trim Santa Claus, looking more like Uncle Sam than Santa, rings a bell for charity.
INT. GAINES & FILCHER - TRADING ROOM
Office party in progress.. Henry Zara, a broker, is looking for someone. Mid-40s, meticulously groomed, he picks his way through moving tangles of bodies and cocktail talk until he makes eye contact with another broker and calls across, shouting to make himself heard.
HENRY
You seen Charlie? He leave?
The other broker doesn’t know.
EXT. ROOFTOP
A bearded, 45 year-old Charlie Hastings, drunk and disheveled, is up here with his glass of champagne, having a smoke, having a dance with himself as he
negotiates the outer reaches of the rooftop. Hopping up onto one of the parapets, he slips on ice and falls, twisting midair to redirect his landing to the inside of the ledge …
Where he comes down unhurt with the long stem of a broken cocktail glass in one hand, a soggy cigarette in the other. He shoots a look to the sky.
CHARLIE
Missed. (BEAT) And who the fuck
cares, anyway?
Teeth chattering, he digs a pack of Camels out of his pocket. Empty. He pulls open the heavy, counter-weighted access door and returns downstairs.
INT. GAINES & FILCHER - TRADING ROOM
Randolph Gaines, 70, shaking hands with departing brokers as the Christmas party continues, spots Charlie in the corridor and excuses himself, hurrying off. He catches up with him outside the Men’s Room.
GAINES
Jesus, Charlie, you look like Hell.
Henry’s also seen Charlie and come after him, but he backs off when he recog-nizes who he's with. Gaines brushes snow off Charlie's shoulders.
GAINES
You okay?
CHARLIE
Fine. I'm fine.
GAINES
(BEAT) You really have someplace to
be for Christmas, Charlie. Because
you're welcome to spend it with us,
you know. You do know that?
Charlie keeps on nodding, absently patting his pockets for cigarettes he doesn’t have. He's getting the whirlies. But he’s no longer the main point of focus for Gaines who, distracted by something only he has seen, gives him a quick hug and lets go.
GAINES
Hang in there, Boy. You'll make it, I
know you will.
Coach, 80, a short, dapper man in a Fedora, slides along the corridor wall, using other, larger bodies like blinds to get past Gaines coming the other way.
INT. MEN'S ROOM
Charlie keeps his head immersed in a sinkful of water as others behind him jockey for mirror space. Henry, impatiently checks the time and waits, along with a couple of other brokers, for Charlie to surface.
BROKER
Didn't get canned, did he?
HENRY
Get real. Gaines is his Godfather.
Charlie comes up, gulping for air. He avoids the mirror and, with water dripping from his beard, makes for the door.
EXT. WALL STREET - EVENING
Coach exits the building a few seconds behind Charlie and other brokers from the Men's Room, all in high spirits as they head for the subway entrance at the corner. When they start down the steps, however, he balks, nobody missing him until Henry turns to tell him something and discovers that he’s no longer there beside him, that he’s still topside. Drawing back now …
HENRY
Hey, Charlie, come on! Party time!
He tries to reverse direction, make his way back up to the sidewalk, but there are too many people coming down and he’s up against the filthy stairwell wall, and has to grab hold of the railing to avoid being trampled.
EXT. BROAD STREET
Charlie, halfway across the intersection when the light turns red, keeps himself perfectly still as he stands there shivering in the middle of the street, hemmed in by traffic from both directions, flinching at the sudden blast of an air horn, a delivery truck splashing him as it rumbles past.
Coach keeps an eye on Charlie from a distance.
When he makes it to the other side of the street, Charlie takes refuge from the crush of pedestrians in a recessed gateway; he slaps bits of slush from his pant legs. When he realizes that this is a side entrance to Trinity Church, he heads inside.
INT. CHURCH
The city sounds are muted here. An old Nun, replacing candles on a votive rack, keeps shooting looks to the back pews where Charlie’s settled in. When he drops from sight, she goes to investigate.
Finds him curled up on the seat like a fetus with a palsy. Jangles her keys!
NUN
This is a church, Young Man. You
hear me? Not a flophouse.
EXT. TRINITY CHURCH
Coach follows Charlie hurrying away down the sidewalk.
INT. RESTAURANT-BAR
Charlie squeezes through the clog of patrons, mostly Wall Streeters, angling for the far end of the bar.
He gives the barmaid an American Express card when she brings his whiskey and cigarettes, but she only takes it to read the name that's printed there. She hands it back.
BARMAID
I’m sorry, Mr. Hastings.
CHARLIE
Didn't go through?
BARMAID
Canceled.
A hundred dollar bill appears on her tray. Coach doffs his hat, exposing a balding head with a raspberry birthmark.
COACH
Happened to me so many times I got
rid of the damn things.
INT. DINING AREA
A waitress carries her tray to a window table where Charlie sits across from Coach. In addition to food, she’s brought whiskey, two more shots to add to empties already here. Also a couple of packs of Camels, all for Charlie. Who’s plastered. Who smokes even as he eats.
COACH
So you're a broker of some sort?
CHARLIE
Some sort, yeah, sounds about right.
COACH
A financial engineer.
CHARLIE
(Making like a conductor) All aboard!
Think I can, think I can …You think
I can? You an investor?
COACH
Speculator.
CHARLIE
Speculator, uh? Well, Merry Merry.
COACH
I mean, on paper. Just for fun.
CHARLIE
Fun. Me too. Just for laughs.
COACH
Actually, I've done quite well at it.
CHARLIE
Well, good for you, good for you.
EXT. RESTAURANT-BAR - NIGHT - LATER
It's snowing harder. There's a waiter at the door, relocking it every time someone exits. The sidewalks are empty.
INT. BAR
Charlie sits slumped at the table, watching with heavy lids as Coach folds up the paper placemat he's been writing on.
COACH
Because, as I already told you, I'm
not a player.
CHARLIE
Not a player. Coach.
COACH
Coach. That’s right, I’m a coach. But
I’m looking for a player, I’m looking
for somebody like you, Charlie, some-
body to carry the ball for me. (BEAT)
Of course, if you don’t feel comf- …
CHARLIE
No, no, s’okay. S’okay, s’just …
COACH
Just what?
CHARLIE
Why me?
COACH
Why not? Besides, it's Christmas. I'm
in a giving mood.
Charlie's saved from nodding off by a cigarette that burns down to his fingers. Coach leans in closer, speaking slowly, distinctly.
COACH
It's a pool, Charlie. The investors are
all listed on the account directory, but
you need only concern yourself with
the fund manager. You contact him to
confirm on any and all transactions.
Reaching across, he tucks the folded paper away in Charlie's inside jacket pocket. Charlie fights to keep his eyes open.
COACH
Everything you need to get started,
bank codes, first couple of orders, it's
all there. But remember, Charlie: Con-
fidentiality. I hope that’s clear.
CHARLIE
Clear. Very, very …
COACH
Good. Start you off on the coffee, see
how that ...
INT. RESTAURANT - LATER
When the waitress comes to shake him awake, Charlie's surprised to see that he's the last customer. Coach is gone.
EXT. RESTAURANT BAR - NIGHT
In a cab just outside at the curb, the Driver rolls his window down when Charlie comes stumbling out the entryway.
DRIVER
Mr. Hastings?
EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE - WEST SIDE
Charlie trips as he steps from the taxi. Confused and dizzy, he's fishing his pockets for money to pay the fare when the cab drives off.
INT. APARTMENT HOUSE CORRIDOR
He slides along the wall from the elevator to the door of his apartment. Has to pee so bad he's knock-kneed.
INT. APARTMENT
He comes inside, canceling the light from the corridor when he closes the door behind him.
CHARLIE
Goddamnit! Damn it!
A picture frame shatters, knocked from its hook as he sweeps the wall for a light switch. And he's wet his pants. He flops himself down on the unmade bed, rolls off onto the floor. And gets sick.
INT. APARTMENT - MORNING
An old high-ceilinged apartment in poor repair with an eclectic mix of furniture, most of it shabby … There are, however, a few valuable antiques. The phone’s ringing. Charlie comes to on the floor. He’s fouled by vomit and his hands are sticky. The call’s picked up by an answering machine on the bedside table: A woman's voice.
SYLVIE (OS)
Charlie ... You there? Oh come on,
Charlie, wake up, it's me, Sylvie ...
There’s somebody knocking at the door, tap-tapping the buzzer.
SYLVIE (OS)
(Continuing) Thought you were com-
ing over. So where are you? … And
you wonder why you have no friends.
He gets to his feet and goes to see who’s at the door: an Old Lady in a ratty bath-robe who recoils from his stink. She points to the keys he’s forgotten to remove from the lock.
OLD LADY
Good way to get yourself kilt..
He takes the keys and tries to say something, but his mouth's too dry. The Old Lady's across the hall, back inside her own apartment, closing the door, by the time he gets his voice to work.
CHARLIE
Merry Christmas.
Shutting the door, leaning back against it, he sees the frame he knocked off its hook last night. He picks it up. The glass is cracked.
It's a signed photograph of President Kennedy shaking hands with a bearded man about the same age as Charlie. The man is smiling, facing the camera, and there’s a strange burst of light obscuring one of his eyes. As he re-hangs the frame on its hook, he reads the inscription..
CHARLIE
“For services above and beyond the
call of duty.” Above and beyond, al-
ways above and beyond.
Catching an unwelcome glimpse of himself in the mirror, he decides to get undressed, and quickly, taking everything off and tossing it into the kitchen, then remembering to go through all the pockets.
Only the vaguest of memories stirs when he retrieves the folded restaurant placemat and tries to open it, but he’s too shaky, too tired to bother with all the sharply creased folds – he can’t make out the lightly penciled printing anyway, not in this light - so he balls it up and overshoots a wastebasket in the corner, where it caroms off the wall and comes rolling back. Almost to his feet.
CHARLIE
Coach …
He looks at it lying there, waits for his head to clear as the balled up paper makes tiny crackling sounds, twitching and losing its pack in a slow bloom that parallels his recollection. He gets down on his hands and knees and, opening the crumpled paper with great care, discovers that there's more than just a paper placemat here. There’s also a cashier's check for $250,000.
CHARLIE
Holy shit!
Laying the paper flat, he tries to make out the small, neat print, then crawls to the window where the light's better. It's still snowing. He fires up a crooked butt from the ashtray there on the sill, and starts to read.
CHARLIE
Coffee ... (BEAT) Just for fun.
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