First Draft
Approx. 4.5 screenplay pages (standard formatting).
INT. ART DECO CINEMA — FOYER — NIGHT
STOLEN VALOUR glows on the readerboard. Beneath it, in a gold frame lit from above: THE PHOTOGRAPH.
A red carpet climbs the stairs. Limousines. Flashbulbs. A fashionable crowd.
EXT. BACK OF CINEMA — NIGHT
A single shaft of light cuts across the back alley from an exit door, propped open with a half-brick.
INT. CINEMA FOYER — NIGHT
A symmetrical, brightly lit lobby. A wide RED CARPET runner leads up three stairs to a BAR, flanked by a black-and-Polished BRASS HANDRAILS.
DEREK arrives arm-in-arm with a glamorous companion. Photographers snap away.
Waiters serve champagne.
LEO approaches, frazzled, checking his watch.
DEREK
(low voice)
Leo. You seen Marcus?
LEO
I was going to ask you the same! Marcus was going to say a few words before the kickoff.
DEREK
For fuck’s sake.
LEO
It’s your project, darling.
DEREK
Okay, okay.
Dereks companion takes his arm. Photographers call for a pose. They oblige.
At the edge of the crowd, a cameraman with a long lens aims past the others — at Derek.
A flicker of recognition. GRAHAM?
Flashbulbs erupt. Derek is briefly blinded.
When his vision clears, the cameraman is gone.
INT. THEATRE — NIGHT
LEO stands before the screen with a microphone.
LEO
Good evening. I’m Leo Hart, director of STOLEN VALOUR.
Applause.
LEO (CONT'D)
Our wonderful producer Marcus hasn’t arrived yet so….
LEO (CONT'D)
In his absence, I’d like to bring up the writer of STOLEN VALOUR — Derek Grassman.
Applause. Derek takes the stage. He looks comfortable, at home.
DEREK
Thank you, Leo.
He looks out at the room. Takes his time.
DEREK (CONT'D)
Thank you all for coming — and to everyone who helped bring this film to the screen. I’d hoped Marcus would be here tonight, but in his absence, I’ll borrow his favourite line: the show must go on.
Derek takes his seat. Rapturous applause as the lights dim. PEARL AND DEAN music plays.
Quiet.
ON SCREEN: The photograph fills the frame. Debussy — Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune — fills the theatre with sound.
The audience watches, entranced. Light from the screen washes across their faces as the music swells. The magic of cinema for 60 seconds.
Then — a MOBILE PHONE rings out.
Sharp. Obscene in the silence.
A few heads turn.
MAN IN FRONT
(loud whisper)
Off! Turn it off!
The ringing stops.
A beat.
It starts again.
WOMAN IN MIDDLE ROW
Unbelievable. Some people.
All heads turn toward the source: a MAN slumped in his seat.
A FEMALE EXECUTIVE beside him nudges him, irritated.
FEMALE EXECUTIVE
Sir? Your phone.
No response.
An USHER hurries over, torch low. The beam catches the man’s face.
MARCUS dead face is bloated and distorted, his skin tight and waxy.
Marcus breast pocket glows as the phone starts ringing again.
The usher freezes. The torch beam drops.
The body lolls sideways into the Executive’s lap. The hat falls off.
She SCREAMS.
The usher’s torch now swings to her horrified face.
A ripple of unease spreads through the audience. People begin to rise.
The phone starts ringing for a third time.
On screen, the film plays on.
CUT TO:
EXT. CINEMA — NIGHT — LATER
Chaos spills out. Police lights strobe across the façade. The readerboard still shines: STOLEN VALOUR.
Sirens wail. Shocked guests huddle on the steps, some still clutching champagne flutes.
The sign’s glow catches Derek’s face as he steps into the night air.
DI GULCH climbs the steps toward him. As she passes, she holds Derek’s gaze a moment — cold, unhurried — then continues inside.
GRAHAM photographs the scene from across the street.
He lowers the camera and disappears into the night.