University of Amsterdam

In(ter)dependent Coincidences

Ordering the World Through Paul Thomas Anderson’s Screenplays

By

Robin Jerrel Zwaan

MA. THESIS

10272178

25 June 2017

Film Studies

Graduate School of Humanities

Supervisor: Dhr. Dr. F.A.M. Laeven

Second reader: Dr. T. K. Laine

Abstract

This thesis explores the possibility for contingency within the causative structure of the narrative constructed for film. This inquiry will be conducted on the basis of the screenplays of the first three feature films of Paul Thomas Anderson; respectively Hard Eight (1996), Boogie Nights (1997) and Magnolia (1999). The theory that will be applied to this corpus will consist, for one thing, of the dominant discourse, guided by Aristotle and David Bordwell, concerning the fundaments of the narrative constructed for film. In contrast to their elaborations on the linear narrative, the notion of contingency will be considered in relation to the narrative in pursuance of exposing possible deviations from this causative structure. From this conceptual framework evolving around the notion of contingency, the screenplays will be analyzed especially in regard to their depiction of space and time. Conclusively, the conviction will appear that contingency is possible on a limited level, but, ultimately, the narrative is inevitably subject to a form of structuring according to cause and effect on a meta-level, this all for the sake of generating a narrative that is, in the end, comprehensible.

1 Table of Contents

Thesis

Introduction p. 3

Chapter 1: Aristotelean Dramaturgy p. 8

Chapter 2: Deviations from the Aristotelean Structure p. 16

Chapter 3: Hard Eight p. 24

Chapter 4: Boogie Nights p. 33

Chapter 5: Magnolia p. 42

Conclusion p. 53

Bibliography p. 56

Appendix

Appendix 1 p. 59

Appendix 2 p. 64

Appendix 3 p. 72

Appendix 4 p. 81

Appendix 5 p. 85

Appendix 6 p. 95

2 Introduction

“It is the function of all art to give us some perception of an order in life, by imposing an order upon it.” (Elliot 86) Taking this idea from essayist, poet and play writer Thomas Stearns Eliot, one can extract the suggestion that order is an essential element of art. As Eliot states, art is supposed to present a feeling of order regarding our lives. But art, at the same time, also forces a specific order upon the same life. Since Eliot articulates this idea for all art, it should also apply to works of art created for and through the medium film. At first sight, this seems to be a clear case. After all, film – or at least the drama in film – makes life comprehensible, it helps the audience understand life by presenting it in an intelligible and manageable order (Mamet 11). One of the elements of film where order, in one way or another, happens to be most essential, is, undeniably, the screenplay (Stapele 132). That is to say, the screenplay has to present the narrative constructed for film according to the everyday rules of clear, linear causality.

Normally the screenplay, or screenwriting is understood as the practice of writing a manuscript concerning a narrative destined for film ‘understood through notions such as story, spine, turning points, character arc and three-act structure’ (Maras 1). In other words, a screenplay is a drama-text written for the creation of film. However important this blueprint for the production of a film seems to be, the screenplay has for a large part been neglected throughout the study of film in an academic context (Nelmes 107). The rejection of the study of the script is, among other things, triggered by the common understanding of the screenplay as part of ‘an industrial process and thus viewed as a craft rather than a creative act’ (Nelmes 108). In extension, the screenplay has an ‘intermediate’ essence; its ‘fate’ is to eventually dissolve into film. Concerning this understanding, the screenplay functions merely as a means, instead of an end in itself; its part ‘in the process is by definition transitional and transformational’ (Maras 6). Despite these ontological and methodological issues raised by the ‘intermediate’ character of the screenplay, I still consider the screenplay to be a fruitful field to employ academic research. For one thing, due to the fact that this manuscript plays such a significant role both in the production and the essential structuring of the film’s narrative. But, furthermore, also because academic studies are eminently suited for, and specialized in, textual analysis – and seem, therefore, an

3 appropriate practice for the analysis of the textual script. For this reason, it seems plausible that the academic field of media studies – besides their varied contributions on the audiovisual level –will, by the study of screenplays, also be able to offer substantial insights concerning the scholarly and practical dimensions of screenwriting. In the conclusion I will return to the question whether or not this assumption turned out to be well-founded on the basis of the results attained in this research.

In the last couple of years, a discipline called screenplay studies has originated from the international conference ‘re-thinking the screenplay’ first held in 2008 (Veld 1). Within this discipline, two major positions can be distinguished. First, there is an understanding that scripts should be studied as independent texts; free of their potential production as a film. Moreover, scholars employing this position suggest that the study of scriptwriting ‘is better situated within the domain of creative writing than that of film studies or screen production’ (Baker 7). According to the scholars engaging in this position, the research focused on the script can only contribute to a more creative and critical understanding of the screenplay by dealing with them as independent texts and, therefore, products of creative writing. Second, there is an idea that screenplays, above all, should be understood as texts written for the production of film (Batty 68). The latter is the position I will occupy during this research, with, thereby, the endeavor to find new understandings in regard to the screenplay as a practice, and, moreover, conceivably discover new techniques and mechanisms that can help the practice-oriented field of the writing and evaluating of screenplays (Koivumäki 142). Besides the scholarly research regarding the screenplay, a large theoretical foundation on the nature of the screenplay has been laid in several popular screenplay manuals. Despite the fact that both the academic study of screenplays and screenplay manuals deal with the same object, they have succeeded to neglect each other in the past decades. This development has led to the case that both film professionals and film academics ‘have missed opportunities to learn from each other’ (Cattrysse 84). In order to make this connection, I will implement the ideas of a selection of popular screenplay manuals in this investigation.

This research will approach the screenplay from a narratological perspective since the narrative is the element where structure is particularly important. In extension, I will employ this approach in regard to the screenplay considering that this

4 manuscripts is essentially the carrier of the narrative. As a starting point, the ideas of Aristotle will be appealed, and, furthermore, the deliberations of his heirs within contemporary film studies. At the hand of this variety of authors, guided by David Bordwell, I will distill the dominant discourse concerning the fundaments of the narrative constructed for film. The common belief moves, for one thing, around the idea that screenplays should be built around ‘strong central characters who struggle to achieve well-defined goals’ (Stapele 103). And, more significant for this inquiry, that the events within the narrative should occur in a causative distribution (Chatman 46). Since the vast majority of the narratives considered in relation to the academic study of film are all based on causative structures, I am eminently interested in the possibility for deviating from this causative structure. Deviating from the strict causative order seems to be a challenge with greater reason concerning the screenplay because this carries of the narrative emerges from the practice of writing. And writing, moreover, is a particularly regulative system; i.e. writing is ‘a way of imposing order on the unstructured and undifferentiated, of producing sense from non-sense’ (Bruckner 280). It is, therefore, rather questionable whether it is, for the screenwriter, possible to implement an intentional form of non-causality in the screenplay. In this case, the screenwriter should be able to make events within the screenplay appear as coincidental or ‘contingent’, while at the same time the construction of these events has to be, at least on a meta-level, highly causal and determinate.

In order to investigate this, I will conclude the theoretical considerations regarding the structure of the narrative by taking a look at the notion of contingency – an idea which occupies the conceptual space of causality’s counterpart – and see if there is also a possibility for the non-causality within the assumed causal structure of the screenplay. The aim, moreover, is to explore the fundamentals of structure and causality in regard to the narrative by introducing the notion of contingency; i.e. a relation which is not determined with causative certainty. Since the non-causal-relation has for a large part been neglected in the studies on the narrative, I hope, with this examination of the idea of contingency, to make a modest but significant contribution to the theoretical body in question within the field of film studies. That is to say, among other things, my aim is to open up a discussion concerning the possibilities to deviate from the strict

5 causal structure of the narrative in regard to films intended for a relatively large audience.

The corpus that will be consulted during this research consists of the screenplays developed for the first three feature films of Paul Thomas Anderson; respectively Hard Eight (1996), Boogie Nights (1997) and Magnolia (1999). The choice for specifically Anderson’s screenplays is, for one thing, constituted by the understanding that these narratives epitomize the notion of contingency in a positively distinct and bright manner (Rodrigues 8). In that regard, there seems to be a contradiction within the idea of the articulation of the contingent (the non-causal) in this highly, by causative relations, determined structure of the script. And since Anderson’s narratives embrace contingency as a central motive, I believe that his screenplays will be a fruitful study object in order to investigate this fascinating point of friction which I consider the idea of structured contingency to be. Moreover, the contradiction in question rises all the more in regard to Anderson as a screenwriter, because he particularly aligns his screenplays in a precise manner. Especially in regard to the script of Magnolia the shots and camera movements are described into a rather unique level of detail. In extension, the reason for studying his screenplays instead of his films, is, as stated, due to the screenplay’s essentially structural nature. On top of that, Anderson’s films, occurring out of his screenplays, reach a considerably large audience and are, therefore, at least to some extent, exemplary for the narratives that are popular in contemporary film landscape; i.e. films intended for a relatively large audience (Caterall et all. n.p.).

Ultimately, my goal is to open up questions about the norms and foundations concerning the structure of the narrative designed for film. Furthermore, I want to make an attempt to create a bridge between scholarly work on film on the one hand, and the ‘practitioner-oriented discussions of craft and industry issues’ on the other (Maras 1). In extension, I want to explore the possibility of a intended form of contingency in the causative narrative carried by the screenplay. In line with T. S. Eliot’s idea of the inseparable connection between art and the practice of ordering, I want, in other words, to investigate the possibility for escaping the strict (causative) orders of drama. I will do this by answering the question under what condition there is a place for contingency within the causative structure of the screenplay, and, furthermore, what approaches concerning the implementation of coincidence in the screenplay could be distilled from

6 the analysis of the three scripts of Paul Thomas Anderson? In the end, this inquiry is not an attack on the more causative idea of screenwriting, it is, on the other hand, an attempt to connect ‘mainstream scriptwriting to a broader field of possibilities’ (Maras 3). My claim, conclusively, is that contingency is possible on a limited level, but, ultimately, the narrative is inevitably subject to a form of structuring according to cause and effect on a meta-level, this all in the contemplation of transforming the narrative into a meaningful whole.

7 Chapter 1: Aristotelean Dramaturgy

The Screenplay as Blueprint

The script, in most cases, ‘dictates what is meant to happen on the set and the screen’ (Maras 42). In this way, the script serves as a tool for concrete navigations in regard to the to be taken actions and, moreover, as a filmic guidebook for the director, actors and other people on set. But in a previous stage, the script, or a provisional form of the script, also provides a manageable draft of the planned film to pass on to production companies and potential financiers in order to give an impression of the film. On the base of that (provisional) draft the decision may be taken whether or not the script will be further developed, and finally, be made into a film. But even before that stage, the screenplay is also the place where the film’s story is developed. Where the film’s first idea crystallizes into a concrete narrative. And where, furthermore, the narrative is developed and structured into a dramatically interesting story. And it is exactly this aspect of the script, the screenplay is carrier of the narrative, that I will try to probe during this research.

The understanding of the script as a stage for the realization of the eventual film is commonly known as the screenplay as blueprint, i.e. the blueprint of a potential film (Maras 117). Just like an architect draws a blueprint for a building in order to determine its structure, a screenwriter writes a blueprint for a film in the pursuance of a well- structured film. For one thing, the value of this understanding lays in the fact that it does not interprets the script as an autonomous work, it indicates the screenplay as a means to create a film. Moreover, the script, according to this understanding, is not a picture; it is still ‘an incomplete entity’, but, in most cases, an essential entity for a film to emerge. A second possible benefit that this understanding goes in particular ‘against the visual bias of film theory’ (Maras 121). This means that, when the script is understood as a blueprint, the focal point is to a greater extent on the structural, compositional and textual dimension of the material. This is, as stated, an important reason for my choice to study the screenplays of Paul Thomas Anderson, and not his films. For one thing, my goal is to understand the workings of narratives in the screenplays in question on a structural level, and, in extension, focus on the implementation of contingency in the causal structure of the narrative. A second objective is to present, on the basis of the

8 analysis, my finding regarding the natural human urge to bring structure to the world by allocating ‘causes’ to divergent events.

Aristotelean Dramatic Structure

In order to understand how causality works within the narrative of a screenplay, it is necessary to look into the most basic structures of the narrative. An obvious first step is to breakdown the ideas on the dramatic plot in Aristotle’s Poetics. For one thing, because Aristotle’s work served as a powerful source in regard to drama and the structure of the plot for millenniums. And, on the other hand, because a lot of screenwriting manuals, and thereby a considerable amount of general knowledge regarding the construction of screenplays, are built upon the fundament of Aristotle’s Poetics (Brenes 56-58).

According to Aristotle, the dramatic arts are built upon the inclination of the human species towards representation (mimesis in Greek); i.e. a natural urge or attractive force towards the representation of things in the world (11). This urge is inseparable from the basic drive to learn things about the world; the human being simply requires, from childhood on, representations of the world in order to learn about the things that happen in the world. The representation of things, or sets of events, is, as it were, a method for the growing an understanding on things. By looking at a representation of something, one learns about it. Moreover, man takes pleasure in those representations because it is pleasant to learn things; it is enjoyable to make the world comprehensible to oneself. In a way, the dramatic arts, for one thing, help making the world understandable, but they are, at the same time, also built upon the natural urge to make the world comprehensible. This two-fold relation with making the world intelligible is, according to Aristotle, one of the most important reasons why the dramatic arts attract people. Since the screenplay is, for a large part, based upon the same dramatic principles, the screenplay should also be related to making the world, in one way or another, comprehensible.

The situations described in a screenplay are, to a certain extent, representations of situations in the world. Although the situations may not be plucked from life in a straightforward manner (one-to-one representation), they are undeniably constructed

9 out of different elements – different representational parts – of life. However, it is not these individual parts of representation that constitutes the enlightening experience in regard to the audience. It is, in fact, the order in which these elements are presented as a whole which makes sure that the audience can, for one thing, understand, but, moreover, also assign deeper value to the narrative. Hence, according to Aristotle, it is the plot that brings the coherence to the individual representations, and, thereby, gives the audience the possibility to learn something meaningful about the world. By plot, Aristotle, simply understands the ‘arrangement of incidents’ in a particular narrative (17). In regard to the arrangement of these incidents Aristotle takes a normative stand; he argues that the whole, perhaps obviously, needs a beginning, a middle and an end. Moreover, the beginning must essentially not follow out of something, and has, furthermore, to be followed by an event in an inevitable manner. The middle follows something and is followed by something. And lastly, the end must by nature follow out of something in an inevitable or general way, and must, thereby, not be followed by anything else (Aristotle 20). In other words, the events in this sequence of begin, middle and end must have a logical place within an overall cause-effect relation. This principle, together with the notion that the length must be conform with the scope of the memory, works in a cogent fashion if the sequence of events, thus, happens ‘in accordance with necessity or with probability’ (Aristotle 21). This necessity or causality is in particular important to highlight, it is namely this area where the storyteller must get his inspiration, he does not have to write conform actual events, but, instead, in accordance wat may happen in consonance with logics and everyday natural laws – in line with expectation and probability.

Moreover, Aristotle divides the plot in two classes; in ‘simple’ and ‘complex’ plots. By simple plot he means a plot which ‘undergoes the transitions without a ‘reversal of fortune’ or a ‘discovery’, by complex plot he means a plot ‘in which the transition coincides with a ‘discovery’ or with a ‘reversal of fortune’ or with both’ (Aristotle 25). The simple plot, in other words, presents the events in a simple arrangement of the incidents; a ‘continuous action organized and unified into a beginning (initiation of the action), middle (involving a complication of the action), and end (marked by the resolution of the complication of the action)’ (Buckland 2). Such a plot is, for the audience, easy to comprehend. On the other hand, in regard to the

10 complex plot, Aristotle argues, that the transitions – i.e. reversal and discovery – should emerge from the structure of the plot, in pursuance of the fact that these elements arise either out of ‘necessity or in accordance with probability from what has already occurred’ (25). These elements of the complex plot are described by Aristotle as follows; the reversal is the change of the particular situation in the complete opposite, and the discovery is a straightforward change from ignorance to knowledge (26). The reversal, thus, ‘is an action or event that runs counter to a character’s (usually the hero’s) situation and the spectator’s expectations’, recognition, moreover, ‘names the moment when the hero discovers that he or she is subjected to a reversal’ (Buckland 2). Since Aristotle takes a normative stance, he also states that the plot works best if the reversal and the recognition coincide (26).

The additions of the reversal and recognition deliver a new dimension to the plot; ‘in addition to the actions and events motivated and caused by characters, there’s the plot’s additional line of causality that exists over and above the characters’ (Buckland 2). This means that the plotline of reversal and recognition are not executed by the characters, this line is, in a way, imposed on them by a transcendent causality. This second line is what, in Aristotle’s work on the dramatic art, distinguishes a complex plot from a simple plot. But, as Buckland points out, the complex plot can still be seen as a classical and unified plot ‘because reversal and recognition are eventually made to appear probable and necessary’ – these additions are still based on a linear cause and effect relation (2). The two lines – the line of the character’s actions and the line where reversal and recognition appear – are, in the end, interwoven and both based on the same structure of causality. This means that, ‘while the second plot initially disrupts the first by radically altering the hero’s destiny, the second plot is eventually integrated into the first, resulting in a unified, classical plot once more, in which reversal and recognition appear to be probable and even necessary actions’ (Buckland 3).

Aristotle’s ideas on plots are similar to the way classical Hollywood tells its stories. David Bordwell defines this as a story of a psychologically purposeful character who struggles ‘to solve a clear-cut problem or attain specific goals’, the film ends ‘with a decisive victory or defeat, a resolution of the problem and a clear achievement or nonachievement of the goals’ (The Classical Hollywood Cinema 157). John Yorke, in his book on the basic principles of (cinematic) storytelling, as well claims that the essential

11 fundament of all narratives is profoundly simple and states, moreover, in a rather dramatic way that ‘all tales, then, are at some level a journey into the woods to find the missing part of us, to retrieve it and make ourselves whole’ (72). Moreover, the ‘depiction of the spatial and temporal parameters of the story is always subordinate to the cause-and-effect logic of the events’ (Thanouli 6). I will come to the subject of causality later, but for now it is important to state that the relationship between cause and effect is, no matter what, always happening within a framework of space and time. And this framework, in relation to the narrative designed for film, has to be arranged in the interest of the simple causal relations. This means, in other words, that space should be depicted as the simplest window to the world on the base of nature’s causality, and time should be linear as well on the base of the simple depiction of straightforward causality. This all, in order to transmit information to the audience as simple as possible.

The above, falls under the heading of something that is usually understood as the linear narrative, a design of narratives with a logic and causal narrative progression. Linear narratives settle themselves within strict story forms, based on the genres where the narratives situate themselves. This means that the common genres have a specific dramatic arc to which the audience can prepare itself. The audience, by choosing for a specific genre, knows, in advance, what kind of experience it will undergo. The enjoyment, obtained from a linear film, depends, for a large part, on the possibility to grasp the progression of the plot. This will, for one thing, build upon the goal – the plot and the protagonist’s goal are synchronized to each other in most cases – of the protagonist, which he or she will go after with great devotion. The important part is that the figuring out of the plot will take the audience through the dramatic arc in anticipation of the resolution of the story. This means that the audience’s experience of a linear narrative will, in the end, be a complete and prearranged experience (Dancyger 156).

In line with this, Bordwell states that the narratological techniques, used in contemporary films, are ‘astonishingly robust’, he argues, moreover, that they form the ‘lingua franca for worldwide filmmaking’ (The Way Hollywood Tells It 1). Within these narratological structures there is some room for artistic change or idiosyncrasy, but at the same time also a rather tough continuity is the case; i.e. a stringently framework for the structural composition of narratives. Bordwell raises the idea that the post-classical

12 narrative – which have been described and examined by authors such as Elsaesser, Buckland and Thanouli – also display traditional (causal) patterns of narratives, but add ‘a playful knowingness’ to these patterns; the narrative asks the audience ‘to appreciate its masterful use of traditional codes’ (The Way Hollywood Tells It 7). In the end, we understand stories – just like Aristotle’s findings state – because they draw on skills we need on an everyday basis to play a meaningful and understanding role in (social) life; i.e. ‘connecting means to ends, ascribing intentions and emotions to others, seeing the present as stemming from the past’ (Bordwell, The Way Hollywood Tells It 15). To understand how these stories work, we need to examine how the screenplay is constructed in order to make it understandable to the audience. Or, in other words, to examine how the audience transforms the individual parts of the story into a comprehensible whole. In order to do this, I will take a look at a selection of popular screenplay manuals. In the last few decades ‘dozens of screenplay manuals pouring from the presses have demanded tight plot construction and a careful coordination of emotional appeals’, and this led, naturally, to a certain continuity in screenwriting rules (The Way Hollywood Tells It 27). Let us, therefore, first try to get an overview of the statements around which the commonly used how-to books move around.

Nearly all the manuals –which are, without exception, normative and gather their normative stand points in non-academic ways – agree about the idea that a protagonist ‘should pursue important goals and face forbidding obstacles’, and that, furthermore, throughout the narrative, in every scene, there should be constant conflict. As well as the idea that ‘actions should be bound into a tight chain of cause and effect’. Moreover, ‘major events should be foreshadowed (“planted”), but not so obviously that the viewer can predict them’. And, lastly, the ‘tension should rise in the course of the film until a climax resolves all the issues’ (Bordwell, The Way Hollywood Tells It 28). These principles for the screenplay have been formulated, in many different ways, in various published manuals.

Like stated in the introduction, all art forms emerge in conformance to certain structures and rules. A specifically strict formula – present in almost every how-to book on the screenplay – is the three-act structure. The rigid division in parts is derived from Aristotle, who stated that, as already described above, a story is divided into a beginning, a middle and an end. With Aristotle’s ideas in mind, Syd Field, among others,

13 proposed the three-act structure. Summarizing, the three-act structure functions fairly simple; in the first act the hero’s major conflict is introduced, and ends with a crisis. The second act consists of the hero’s ongoing confrontations with obstacles that keep him from achieving his or her dramatic need. The third act shows the hero resolving his conflicts, and offers resolution to the posed dramatic questions (Field 21-27). Starting from a two-hour film and the idea that one script page is equal to one minute in a film, the manuals state that the first act should exist out of thirty pages, the second act out of sixty pages, and the third act out of thirty pages again. This template results in the ratio of 1:2:1 for the three acts (Bordwell, The Way Hollywood Tells It 28).

Another well-known script guru, Robert McKee, made the idea popular that within this three-act structure there should be an inciting incident in the first act, which radically disorders the harmony of the protagonist’s life (189). Moreover, after the second act, which is constructed as a chain of difficulties and complications, the protagonist should end up in a deliberately static moment of choice where he or she finds the means to defeat the antagonist (McKee 307-309). Overall, the three-act structure is considered to be the ideal, or optimal, structure for a large audience intended film (Bordwell, The Way Hollywood Tells It 29). Through the implementation of the same structure in various screenplay manuals this particular structural architecture became the ruling structure in contemporary films. The ubiquity of this structure made both the writing of screenplays and the consuming of films a standardized routine.

Bordwell states that the ‘screenplay manuals’ reliance on act structure, page counts, character arcs, and the mythic journal did not overturn classical Hollywood dramaturgy’, on the contrary, the methods and principles advocated for in the manuals filled them in, fine-tuned them and ‘left less to trial and error’ (The Way Hollywood Tells It 34). Within the templates advocated for in the screenplay manuals, writers and filmmakers can ask themselves questions how they could make their characters more compelling, plots more unforeseen and causal relations more apt? In other words, how can we distinguish ourselves from the existing grid? How can someone excel in structuring a screenplay in accordance with the conventions of the contemporary film?

There are enumerable examples of this distinguishing from the existing grid through the construction of the narrative; for example (post)modern narratives known

14 by several denominators such as the forking-path plot, puzzle films, modular narratives or ensemble films. In the discussion of the forking-path plot David Bordwell, at first sight, thinks to have found a form that deviated from the linear Aristotelian structure. Simply put, the forking-path plot covers the idea of a fixed point in the narrative, from which ‘mutually exclusive lines of action’ arise, which lead to different futures (Bordwell, Film Futures 89). He refers, by this description, to films such as Run Lola Run (Twyker, 1998) where the plot shows different outcomes, paths or futures to a specific situation. But in contrast with his first guess, Bordwell comes to the conclusion that these forking-path films ‘have stretched and enriched some narrative norms’, but have not introduced a new sort of complex plot, or, if you will, subverting or demolishing old forms of narrative (Film Futures 91). He states that, again, all narratives are built upon folk psychology. They are, in other words, assembled out of ordinary knowledge about the everyday world. In following a narrative, the audience uses ordinary forms of reasoning – among which premature conclusions and stereotypes – and it makes inferences on the basis of first impressions. Hence, even complex plots like forking-path plots have ‘certain fundamental properties that are quite familiar to us from classical narratives’, they are, for example, ‘well-marked, linear, developed, cohesive, unified with one another, ordered sequentially to make the final path a climax, and designed to pinpoint clear, contrasting parallels’ (Branigan 105). Just as in real life, narratives present us hypothetical situations with associated hypothetical outcomes. It is up to the audience to organize the effects of these hypothetical situations into a comprehensible story; i.e. a story which satisfies the audience’s conception of physical and social probability. Screenwriters have to use the psychology and knowledge of everyday life in order to make a plot comprehensible. In the end, Bordwell states: we shouldn’t underestimate the extent to which stretching traditional narrative requires care. Narratives are designed by human minds for human minds. Stories bear the traces of not only local and historical conventions of sense-making, but also of the constraints and biases of human perception and cognition. A film, while moving inexorably forward (we can’t stop and go back), must manage several channels of information (image, speech, noise, music). It must therefore work particularly hard to shape the spectator’s attention, memory, and inference- making at each instant. No wonder that filmmakers balance potentially confusing innovations like the multiple- draft structure with heightened appeal to those forms and formulas that viewers know well. Artists should test the limits of story comprehension, but those very limits, and the predictable patterns they yield, remain essential to our dynamic experience of narrative. (Film Futures 103).

15 Chapter 2: Deviations from the Aristotelean Structure

The Non-Linear Dramatic Structure

An example of a possible distinction from the common Aristotelian linear narrative is something that is commonly understood under the heading of the non-linear narrative; a design of stories with a ‘lack’ of narrative progression. These stories should undermine causality, and give the impression of a more realistic representation of reality because it shows the world in a more accidental way. In this non-linear form, there is no single main character who leads the narrative. Instead, there are multiple protagonists which, in most cases, do not have, or are not driven by, a distinct goal. The lack of a character goal as instigator, could indicate that regarding the non-linear narrative there is no distinct dramatic arc that determines the narrative (Dancyger and Rush 156). Concerning non-linear narratives, there are multiple characters, and the target for the audience, moreover, is not to identify with them, but to observe them instead. Furthermore, within a non-linear narrative there is no dominant role for the plot due to the presence of multiple protagonist. The absence of a clear plot ensures the disappearance of a dramatic arc as well; instead of a beginning and an end, a non-linear narrative presents a series of situations not directly related to a goal or a plot. Moreover, in a non-linear narrative, chronological time is no longer necessary, as well as the omnipresence of causality. Instead of a dramatic development and a character arc, a series of events is presented to the audience which can, in effect, be explored and observed. The organization of the presented events is not continuous, it has an accidental temper not affected by cause and effect. Moreover, the involvement of the audience is created by the strength of the situations (the scenes) rather than by the plot. In the end, ‘this puts much more emphasis on exploration than on exposition, on feeling and mood rather than on external events’ (Dancyger and Rush 157). According to Dancyger and Rush, the organizing principle in the non-linear narrative is a shaping device; i.e. an elusive structure which hold the narrative together (158). The particular form of this shaping device differs from one story to another. It can, for example, be something like place, time, condition, characters, theme, object or even an idea. In almost every case, the non-linear film does not have a classic three-act structure. Instead, it has two acts, or no act breaks at all, this differs from one story to another. Overall, a non-linear narrative requires more participation from the audience, and the

16 voice of the writer is particularly present. This description of the non-linear narrative, for one thing, seems to offer possibilities to escape the strict causal tendency which underlined the previous considerations regarding the fundaments of the narrative. But, this description does not fully answer my demand for a fundamentally deviant form of the discussed linear causality, because it does not present a fundamental alternative to the causal relation. The idea of the non-linear narrative gives, therefore, a helpful push in the right direction. But, in the end, it does not provide a substantially satisfying theoretical fundament to build my analysis upon.

By the same token, a lot more has been written about the experimenting with narratological principles; about the play with time, space, character’s goals, causal relations and so forth. The experiments have been ascribed different names like the puzzle-film, complex narratives, non-linear narratives, post-classical narratives etc. The points made in regard to these deviant narrative forms are rather divergent and somniferous, and it is, with the length of this thesis in mind, not possible to elaborate on all of them here. Instead, I will highlight certain narratives where the notion of contingency plays a significant role because this angle will be of great importance during my analysis of Paul Thomas Anderson’s screenplays.

Contingency Within the Causal Structure of the Narrative

As seen, causal relations, and their place within the dimensions of space and time, play a not to be underestimated role in the narrative. There are even claims that since Aristotle’s Poetics ‘events in narratives are radically correlative, enchaining, entailing’ and that their sequence, moreover, ‘is not simply linear but causative’ (Chatman, Story and Discourse 45). This causation can either be explicit or implicit, but there should, according to Aristotle and his countless heirs, always be a root cause which ultimately determines the events. But, when reading the screenplays of Paul Thomas Anderson, it is exactly a certain sense of randomness, a touch of the accidental and coincidental which is prominent in regard to the events described in the plot. Or, as Matthew Rodrigues states it in Anything Goes: The Erratic Cinema of Paul Thomas Anderson, there is something peculiar in Anderson’s stories which enhances ‘an abundance of strangeness and uncertainty’, and there is, moreover, a tendency to highlight the

17 accidental, the unforeseen and the unruly (3-12). Now, this flirting with the unforeseen appears to contradict the previous demonstrated findings on the functioning of the narrative – to contradict the entailed causative nature of the relation between events within the narrative constructed for film. There seems to be a point of friction when the relation between events in a film’s narrative are guided by coincidence; when contingency becomes a substantive driver of the narrative. The point of friction rises with greater reason when contingency is implemented in the screenplay. That is to say, writing for film in particular has a compositional dimension; it transforms the sequence of different events into a meaningful whole, and, moreover, explains these events in relation to the beginning and the ending. The writing of a screenplay should therefore essentially be a matter of predetermined structure and clear (causal) relations. Hence, especially in regard to the screenplay appears the contradiction – the structural implementation of contingency – where this investigation is focused on; the premeditation of something coincidental or contingent. Is it this possible to overcome this contradiction and create situation as such?

Before going on, it is necessary to give a general outline of what is precisely understood as contingent, or contingency, in this particular research. The Oxford English dictionary defines contingency as ‘a future event or circumstance which is possible but cannot be predicted with certainty’ (n.p.). Since events or circumstances necessarily happen – especially in the film’s narrative – in the realm of space and time, contingency encompasses, for this reason, the idea that things happen on the same place during the same time while this does not necessarily have to be the case. This particular definition is rather similar to the notion of coincidence, which is described as ‘a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection’, or as ‘the fact of corresponding in nature or in time of occurrence’ (Oxford English Dictionary n.p.). In literary studies, coincidence has been defined as ‘a constellation of two or more apparently random events in space and time with an uncanny or striking connection’ (Dannenberg 93). What is important in regard to the understanding of contingency – and what is missing in regard to the concept of coincidence – is the relation between predictability (or unpredictability) and contingency. The notion of contingency includes the happening of an event at a certain place during a certain time which could not be predicted on the basis of causality. A

18 contingent event is thus ‘depending for its existence, occurrence, character, etc. on something not yet certain’ (Chatman 47). Since it is an eminently broad concept, it is important to highlight that the understanding of contingency used in this investigation is closely related to both the idea of predictability and probability. It is possibly enlightening, concerning the understanding of contingency, to speak of a dichotomy between causality and contingency (within this dialectic division both concepts represent the relation between events); when one examines this dichotomy, he sees that contingency can be considered as the opposite of causality, and that the same is true the other way around. Although they are opposites of each other, they are clearly interrelated. As a matter of fact, the idea of contingency could not exist without the existence of causality, and vice versa. For the purposes of this investigation, ‘contingency’ is, therefore, defined as: a concept that serves the purpose of defining that, in one way or another, the relation between two events appears not to be causal. This means that, in the end, the notion of contingency is negatively determined.

An important addition to this conceptual consideration is the difference between cause and reason. These notions are often used interchangeably but there is, in fact, a significant difference. Cause is the description of an entity that produces, for instance, a new course of events; ‘a person or thing that gives rise to action, phenomenon, or condition’ (Oxford English Dictionary n.p.). Reason on the other hand comprises the thought process of ascribing an explanation – or cause – behind again, for example, a course of events ; ‘a cause, explanation, or justification for an action or event’ (Oxford English Dictionary n.p.). The most important difference between these concepts is that in the case of reason an active human process seems to be the basis of this explanation, whereas in relation to the notion of cause this is, to much lesser extent, the case. That is to say, the concept of cause has, more or less, an objective connotation, while reason has a relatively subjective undertone. During my analysis I will predominantly use the term cause to describe an explanation regarding a certain course of events due to the fact that this inquiry is primarily aimed at the unconditional relation between events; i.e. independent of active thought processes of any human being whatsoever.

Now that an outline of the notion of the contingent and adherents is given, the next step is to take a look at the role of contingency within cinema. The question is, if there is also a place for something like coincidence or contingency within the structure

19 of the film’s narrative? A positive answer appears to be obvious since there is also a place for contingency in the real world. But, as a matter of fact, a relatively small amount of film scholars have investigated cinema’s relation with contingency. Besides the discussions of respected film theorists Siegfried Kracauer, Kristin Thompson and Mary Ann Doane on the relation between something that could be described as contingency and cinema, this field has for a large part been neglected in film theory (Teinemaa 6). Doane, in her book The Emergence of Cinematic Time, for example states that cinema since the very beginning has had a deep-seated relation with contingency (22). She argues that cinema in particular is a medium which is able to represent the contingent. For example, the idea that cinema ‘with its vigilant mechanical eye… tends to register unintended, unconscious, and otherwise invisible excesses’, in line with this one can say that ‘the film camera records and interprets not only what the operator wishes it to record, but also but also “a riot of details”, those profilmic events that “just happen”’ (Bruckner 279-281). Previously, academics like Walter Benjamin and Dziga Vertov have already written on this specific quality of cinema. André Bazin, for instance, claims that the film camera is able to catch the ‘ambiguity inherent in reality’ in a long take (8). And states thereby, in line with Benjamin and Vertov, that the camera has a distinct relation to reality. A relation which makes the medium cinema eminently suitable medium for the catching of things like the accidental character of the world; i.e. that cinema is able to grasp the contingent.

But, this debate is predominantly aimed at the technical elements of cinema which are in general immanent in the medium and, therefore, not staged, scripted or constructed. The contingent aspects of cinema, which Kracauer, Thompson (she describes it as cinematic excess) and Doane discuss, are all elements of the medium cinema that appear by accident, without the intention of the filmmaker, in the actual film (Teinemaa 7-8). This is, for one thing, not the dimension of cinema where I will be concentrating on. Instead, this inquiry focuses on the screenplay and, therefore, not on the end product; the actual film. The understanding of contingency practiced in this investigation has nothing to do with the possibility for a bird to fly in front of the camera by accident. Instead, in this inquiry the notion of contingency will be applied to the relation between events within the space and time of the narrative. When taken into account that the narrative for film is always constructed by means of a careful and

20 detailed procedure, an interesting contradiction appears. Film is eminently developed out of ‘conscious choices that need planning and mostly bring contingency to a bare minimum’, cinema, in any form whatsoever, is, to a certain extent, ‘always based on reason’ (Teinemaa 29). For this reason, it is safe to state that the contingent relation between events does not appear by accident within the narrative of a screenplay. Therefore, when a film tends to catch the coincidental, or the contingent, a paradox-like situation appears. That is to say, the encounter between film and contingency is counterintuitive, simply because of the reason that ‘almost every film has been structured, more or less carefully, by a filmmaker’s intent on providing the spectator with a prearranged experience in which each occurrence necessarily follows from another’ (McGowan 404). This last idea, that each event should follow from necessity out of the other is omnipresent within the theory concerning the film’s narrative. As described, ‘classical narrative films are largely structured with a particular end goal in mind and avoid contingency as a likely deviation in that process’ (Teinamaa 31).

The question that rises from this contradiction is if it is possible for the filmmaker to have the intention to implement some forms of contingency into the content of the narrative; i.e. implement an assembled form of contingency in the narrative. Doane came across a form of intentional contingency in the early films of George Méliès. In his films, she sees that ‘time is above all extraordinary, elastic, producing, unpredictable effects, insisting upon the uncanny instantaneity of appearance, disappearance, and transformation’ (136). This is interesting because she places the idea of contingency in relation with the depiction of time, and the latter is a concept that is, as described, closely related to the narrative. Furthermore, Doane argues, that Méliès’ relation to contingency expresses itself in the tendency that ‘in spite of the extensive control and mastery exhibited in Méliès’ films, they dramatize – often quite explicitly – the effect of loss and control’, in his films, he pays an ‘homage to contingency despite the fact that they are carefully orchestrated’ (137). This carefully coordinated and arranged ‘homage to contingency’ seems to present a similar glimpse of intentional contingency as I am looking for.

The point that I will make during the analysis is that Anderson’s screenplays both structure the coincidental, and strengthen the idea of contingency through the story content. Furthermore, the double relation of both causality and contingency

21 within a narrative, convincingly articulated by Allan Cameron as the idea that ‘all narratives involve the accommodation of both contingency and its opposite, necessity’, appears to serve as the thematic driver of the narratives in Anderson’s screenplays (66). This strange relation between the unpredictable contingency and the causal determinism works as a motif within the scripts in question; ‘contingency functions as a narrative engine’ (Cameron 66). The friction appears when it is the writer’s objective to structure the coincidental. To give the impression that within the narrative two different events appear at the same time in the same place independent of any form of causal connection whatsoever. This, however, does not mean that the narrative has domesticated the coincidental. Instead, as Cameron states, the ‘narrative itself is not simply the triumph of order over contingency’, it consists, ‘of a negotiation between the contingent and the predetermined’ (69). My claim is that this mediation between the causal and the contingent is the case in Anderson’s screenplays.

But there is more to it. Hence, it is not only through the content of the narrative that the contingency-causality dichotomy is being considered. Also through the particular construction of the screenplay the suggestion of contingency is implied; it is, to be more precise, through the particular construction of space and time that the contingency-causality dialectic is being questioned. The reason that this is done due to the particular construction of space and time is obvious, space and time are, namely, fundamental conditions for the existence of an understanding of notions such as causality, contingency and coincidence. Space and time are, to speak in the words of Immanuel Kant, categories of the human being’s understanding that constitute his perception of the world, and form, for this reason, also the means for the expression of causal relations (69). Since a contingent relation between events crystallizes in the same realm – the realm of space and time – as a causal relation, it is, in order to study the contingency-causality dichotomy, necessary to examine the use of space and time in the screenplays. My investigations in regard to the structural representation of space and time will, for a large part, be based upon the conceptual scheme of plot space and story space on the one hand, and plot time and story time on the other. The difference between plot and story mainly revolves around the idea that the story, on the one hand, ‘consists of the events of the narrative in an inferred cause-and-effect chain’, and plot, on the other, ‘consists of the actual presentation and arrangements of these events’ in the

22 narrative (Thanouli 32). The first is the mental construction of the narrative that the audience makes according to the inferences, interpretations and expectations; i.e. the underlying narrative independent of the way in which it is told. The latter is the concrete presentation via the medium of the events within the story; the way in which the narrative is actually told to the audience.

Ultimately, my claim will be that the depiction of space and time within the screenplays in question epitomize a complicated and deep relation between the notions of causality, coincidence, structure and contingency. Furthermore, I will argue that this complex relation articulates a significant human tendency to transform the contingent world into a comprehensible construction. This transformation into an understandable construction, is, I want to claim, similar to the manner in which the architecture of the screenplay structures its content into a comprehensible narrative. In other words, the particular structures of the to be analyzed screenplays illustrate the human habit of making sense of the volatility in space and time by means of the allocating of meaning, reason, and perhaps even causal relations. The general idea is that the reason behind the way circumstances are as they are is in itself elusive, and, therefore, not understandable when taken on a singular level. But the human mind has a trick for this erratic set of data, it creates ‘causes’ in relation to different circumstances and, thereby, organizes them into a comprehensible whole. This means that contingency, on a daily base, is subjected to sense-making practices guided by the instrument of reason. In extension, ‘the interesting thing is that our minds inveterately seek structure, and they will provide it if necessary’ (Chatman, Story and Discourse 45). This understanding moves around the idea that the coincidental world, ‘although ostensibly a random occurrence, is so striking and special that it produces a strong desire in the human mind for an explanation, often one using the connecting patterns of causation’ (Dannenberg 92). In a way, with the ascribing of ‘causes’ to events, the human being tries to control and regulate his insecure relation with both space, time and coincidence. It is, in other words, the taking control over life by making a story of it; the conquering of the unconscionable universe. The screenplays in question explore this fascinating mechanism of ascribing meaning to the world by their particular organization of space and time. In the end, my claim is that the scripts cogently consider how the human being uses narratives to understand his relation with the world.

23 Chapter 3: Hard Eight

Now that the exceptional relationship between the narrative, contingency and causality is described on a theoretical level, the next step is to apply these abstract considerations to the practice of the screenplay. The corpus used in this research – the screenplays of the first three feature films of Paul Thomas Anderson – have, as stated, a common denominator in the form of several articulations of contingency. With the manifold presence of coincidence, the narratives make, both on a literal and a thematic level, a statement about the intelligibility of the world. Yet, it is not only through the content of the narrative that the causality-contingency dialectic is being considered, this deliberation is also strengthened by means of the particular construction of the script on a scene-level.

In his study on Anderson’s films Matthew Rodrigues sees a similar tendency, he states that ‘Anderson’s films remind us that much of cinema’s fascination and ‘nature’ also lies in its anti-systematic, ambiguous and unpredictable capacities’ (4). Furthermore, he states that in Anderson’s films the coincidental as premeditated effect offers ‘aesthetic pleasures or discomforts that recall more ‘legitimate’ contingencies (a sense of surprise, bewilderment, distaste fascination, etc.)’, moreover, in the films we find ‘an orchestration of striking, unusual features that indicate his acute awareness of the utility of contingency as an aesthetic and narrative effect’ (Rodrigues 8). Rodrigues, thus, focuses on the way the medium film is able to represent notions such as contingency and excess through the channel of the audiovisual image. He states, furthermore, that ‘the unruly and ambiguous force of Anderson’s films may be accompanied by what Doane identifies as the ‘threat’ of ‘meaninglessness,’ but they may also remind us of the ‘unpredictable fertility’ of films, and how the rich texts we study can exceed paradigms, not only ushering in new forms, but new ‘habits of viewing,’ as well’ (44). Although he particularly aims his considerations towards the film as end product (and its relation with the audience), and not specifically to the structural dimensions of the narrative, it is still significant to see that he identifies an identical dance with the coincidental as I claim to do. But, in relation to my investigation, Rodrigues wants to say something about the medium film, whereas I want to make a contribution to the knowledge on the fundaments of the narrative constructed for film.

24 In line with this, Teinemaa, in his elaboration on the eccentricity (a concept that Kristin Thompson uses in a manner similar to the notion of contingency) in Magnolia, states that the film is in a constant tension between excess and control (125). This is, for one thing, an identical tension as I claim to see; i.e. a tension between contingency and causality. But, just as Rodrigues, Teinemaa raises questions about the possibilities in regard to the representability of reality by means of the medium film. Again, there are some similarities, but, ultimately, Teinemaa approaches the matter from another perspective, – from the perspective of the audiovisual medium film – and, thereby, Teinemaa as well operates on another level than I am intending to engage. Both inquiries can push certain ideas in the right direction, and, furthermore, add strength to my findings, considering the fact that a comparable thematic fundament dominate their studies.

Moreover, Brian Goss examined, in his article ‘”Things Like This Just Don’t Happen”: Ideology and Paul Thomas Anderson’s Hard Eight, Boogie Nights, and Magnolia’, the same corpus as I will do, though he, again, focuses on the films, whereas I will focus solely on the screenplays. The title may indicate a consideration on the notion of coincidence, but this is, in fact, not the case. Instead, the article focuses on the connection between these three films and a duality of ruling discourses and ideologies concerning the (neoliberal) market and the patriarchal family. Goss’ claim, moreover, is that these three films and their apparent ‘embrace of marginalized subjectivities often endorse mainstream ideologies, particularly with respect to the patriarchal family and the market’ (172). These ideological and thematic considerations will be interesting to keep in mind, but are not going to play a central role since I am focusing on another field of discussion; i.e. the possibility for contingency in the causative narrative.

Now, back to the contingency in Anderson’s screenplays. For one thing, an important reason for this contingent character of the Anderson’s screenplays is related to the fact that the narratives unfold through different – on the surface – unrelated situations, events and characters; the screenplays, furthermore, show a ‘high energy movement through multiple storylines’ (Goss 189). The fact that this appears to be the case in Magnolia seems needless to say, since this is an eminent example of an ensemble film. But also Boogie Nights, a narrative built upon more classic narratological principles, shows an extensive arsenal of characters and storylines that potentially

25 distracts the narrative from the linear chain of cause and effect. Hard Eight is ‘compared to the multiple-character, multiple-plot, multi-layered form of the later films’ relatively straightforward, ‘it’s flattened out, in a sense’, moreover, ‘all of its characters – numbering, in this case, only four – encounter each other on the same plane’ (Bruns 207). But, at the same time, Roger Ebert wrote, in his review on the film, that the movie is not about the plot. Instead, it is ‘about these specific people in this place and time, and that's why it's so good’ (n.p.). This is, in fact, very similar to the thoughts on the non- linear narrative as described in the second chapter. Therefore, Hard Eight seems, of the three examined screenplays, due to its ‘straightforwardness’, eminently suited to reproduce a linear Aristotelean narrative, but, on the other hand, also a glimpse of a ‘non-linear’ narrative can be seen.

Hard Eight was released in 1996, and tells the story about the polite and experienced gambler, Sydney, who meets the unfortunate and bankrupt John in front of a coffee shop. Sydney decides to help John, together they go to Reno where Sydney shows his tips and tricks in regard to the games of chance. Two years later, John and Sydney are still friends, and they earned some money with Sydney’s gambling methods. Along the way, they met a cocktail waitress Clementine, who works as a prostitute on the side, and, in addition, John became friends with a small-time crook named Jimmy. John and Clementine hook up, and end up getting married. Then, Sydney gets an alarming call from John, who says Sydney should meet him at a motel. When he arrives at the residence, he finds John, Clementine and a client of Clementine who has been held hostage by the newly married couple. He did not pay Clementine after the intercourse, and John and Clementine have beaten him up in order to receive the money. Sydney takes care of the situation, and sends John and Clementine to the Niagra Falls on a honeymoon. A few days after Sydney got rid of the evidence he’s approached by John’s friend, Jimmy. Jimmy treats to tell John that Sydney killed his father in Atlantic City a dozen of years ago if Sydney will not get him ten thousand dollars. Sydney decides to pay him some cash, but after that, sets an ambush in Jimmy’s house and kills him. When Sydney leaves Jimmy’s house he grabs a cup of coffee at the same shop as he met John. Then the man who was held hostage by John and Clementine appears in the coffee shop, he does not hesitate and kills Sydney.

26 The overall relation between the events within this narrative seems to be interspersed with contingency. The overarching plot is driven by the coincidental encounter between Sydney and John at the coffee shop. Moreover, originating from this first coincidence, they become close friends, which makes the contingency of this first meeting rather impactful. Their being at the same place, at the same time, puts the story into effect (Dannenberg 93). Somewhat later, in scene 27, Sydney meets Clementine in exactly the same coffee shop. He takes care of her in an identical manner as he did with John, the similarities are clear. As icing on the cake, John and Clementine get married after this accumulation of coincidence. The relation between the events within the story of Hard Eight seem, at most, no more than extremely coincidental.

But, in effect, nothing is what it seems to be. That is to say, when the story unfolds, the audience is provided with more background information. This information reveals the fact that Sydney killed John’s father in the past. This disclosure obviously changes everything. It was not a matter of coincidence that Sydney met John. Instead, it was a highly planned, predetermined, encounter in order to cure his feeling of guilt. Due to his past actions, he wanted to make things up by means of supporting John to get his life together. Sydney’s helping hand was no act of a Good Samaritan, but was a deeply forethought construction of events to compensate his self-condemnation. The course of events is, in other words, determined by causality. Furthermore, Sydney has outlined the marriage between John and Clementine in advance as well (Goss 180). Even something as pronounced by inexplicable circumstances as love is prearranged in this particular situation. What seemed to be a story interspersed with coincidence is in fact one of the most predetermined arrangement of events possible. By this sudden shift, the coincidence has been placed in perspective. The story presented itself as an accolade to the contingent, but then showed its real colors and revealed it was all based upon cause and determinism. This is, to a large extent, a plot of revelation. In these sorts of plots, it is not necessary to answer the question of what will happen, instead, the idea is that the unreduced state of affairs is being revealed in the course of the narrative (Chatman 48). By means of this particular structure, the plot, in a way, questions the causality- contingency dialectic. At first the script appears to articulate a convincing example of the implementation of contingency in the causative structure of the narrative. But, then, this idea of contingency is overturned by the introduction of an overall cause. That is to

27 say, the story, in the end, occurs to be predetermined by a cause, either by the agency of Sydney, or at the hand of the screenwriter.

Furthermore, the causality-contingency dichotomy is considered by the idea of luck, chance and certainty (contingency and predictability) in regard to gambling, – an important theme within the narrative. Sydney says that he believes that ‘if you don’t know how to count cards you should stay away from black jack’ (Anderson, Hard Eight 3). He, thus, insinuates that with this trick of counting cards he can turn a game of chance into a game of certainty; i.e. turn contingency into predictability. All of a sudden a contradiction comes to surface; a contingent matter can, namely, by definition not be predicted with certainty (Chatman 47). A game as decided by luck as gambling, is now molded into an inevitable successful outcome; an impossible example of taking the execution of fate into your own hands. This a similar contradiction as seen in the second chapter; the paradox of the intentional implementation of planned contingency in a carefully structured screenplay. With this paradox in mind the question rises if it is still a matter of luck (or fate) when one decides the outcome himself? The question is, furthermore, if this is still a matter of contingency when you can predict it with certainty? Here, again the contingency-causality dialectic appears, and is, moreover, immediately abolished. Let’s first take a look at the dialogue in scene five – which is included in the appendix – where this idea of gambling with certainty is worked out most powerful.

Scene five is drenched with the impetus of contingency through the use of dialogue. First, Sydney tells a story about his uncle who died in a rather unpredictable manner by slipping over a patch of ice, while he also survived being shot twenty-three times – this reflection on the predictability concerning possible ways to die, shows how the concept of contingency is integrated in existential ideas such as life and death. Both life and death are, from a metaphysical perspective, contingent because they can be the case, but there is – up to now – no logical, or causal explanation for either our existence or our mortality. This story on the likelihood of certain ways to die is, furthermore, followed by an explanation on the different possible outcomes when rolling two dices. Sydney tells John that there is a limited amount of possibilities, and that he, in addition, should keep this in mind while gambling. But, Sydney states, moreover, that you cannot control how they come. This seems to be a literal discussion of the concept contingency;

28 the outlined scenarios are possible but cannot be predicted with certainty (Chatman 47). The dices, moreover, represent the situation where things are as they are, without having them to be as they are. After this, Sydney abstracts this example of the dices and applies it to the lack of control we have concerning our whole life. Things happen, but we don’t know how, or to who, or why, ‘that’s the way it is’ (Anderson, Hard Eight 7A). The only thing we can do is bet on it. Here, once more, a contradiction appears; the most undetermined and indefinite things come up in the conversation, but Sydney wants to speculate on them – he wants to command them to the realm of inevitability and predictability. In both cases – either if he wants to bet on the outcome of the dices, or on the more general way things happen in the world – it seems to be, at least according to the laws of reason, a desperate project. With this equation of possibility and certainty, Sydney is questioning the alleged contradiction between chance and inevitably; he interrogates, in a way, the supposed contingency-causality dichotomy. Subsequently, John tells, in extension of Sydney’s story about his uncle, another one in a million story; he once caught fire through the friction of a large matchbook in his pocket. This is, again, a story that evokes the idea of the omnipresence of coincidence in the world. The audience is, once more, reminded of the fact how coincidence is intertwined with our lives, how there can be a series of events without a causal or logical explanation for it, or, as John describes this matter of the universe; ‘shit just happens’ (Anderson, Hard Eight 9). Then, at last, Sydney being a professional gambler comes up again. He asks if John wants to go with him, in order to learn the tips and tricks from the ‘profession’ in Reno, and offers him, with this appeal, an assurance in life. John takes the bet, and decides to accept the invitation. In the end, this scene considers the supposed dichotomy between contingency and causality on different levels. Sydney and John elaborate on the contingent nature of the world – about the possibilities of certain events to happen in regard to their predictability –, but, at the same time, they try to overcome the contingent tendency of the world by transforming possibility into certainty (Chatman 45). They talk about contingent matters very explicitly, but they are not willing to accept the lack of certainty regarding these events. Instead, they look for a causal connection behind, or logical explanation of the coincidence they encounter. They try to get a grip on the world, and put it, moreover, in their own hands. For one thing, by beating the odds, and transforming the game of chance into a game of certainty. But also with the discussion of the peculiar, or unpredictable events – and the attached

29 conclusion of the coincidental nature of life as the underlying principle – they both translate these bizarre situations into something easier to understand. In the end, they connect lines between the possibilities and predictabilities within life and the practice of gambling, in order to conquer the nature of coincidence (Dannenberg 92). And with this allocating of connections they make both life and the world easier to comprehend.

To conclude my considerations in regard to Hard Eight, a final sequence of scene 77 until scene 83 (included in appendix 2) will now be analyzed. During this analysis, the focus will especially be on the particular use of time within the construction of the screenplay, and, furthermore, how this architecture of time contributes to the above-discussed considerations on the assumed contradiction between contingency and causality. This particular sequence is essential for the development of the story. That is to say, it becomes clear, to the audience, that Sydney killed John’s father, and that their friendship, moreover, is profoundly outlined by Sydney in order to deal with his feeling of guilt. The situation is as follows; Jimmy blackmails Sydney with the threat that he is going to tell John that his father is killed by Sydney if the last doesn’t give Jimmy an amount of ten thousand dollars.

The state of affairs becomes clear through the conversation between Sydney and Jimmy in Sydney’s hotel room. Although Jimmy is the one with the gun in his hand, Sydney still seems to have control over the situation, he teases Jimmy. After he gets hit in the face, Sydney agrees to pay Jimmy a ransom of six thousand dollars. But, before making this arrangement, Sydney wants to make sure that Jimmy does not kill him after the transaction. While making clear that he does not want to die, another person, in a different place, during a different time, is also saying that he does not want to die. Here, a narratological technique regarding the architecture of the script comes to surface. That is to say, the screenplay simultaneously presents two persons, saying exactly the same thing, in a different place, during a completely different time. For some lines the script remains this way, before a new scene (78) is introduced – a flashback – to the place and time the second man was screaming that he did not want to die. This new scene appears to include, again, Sydney, and, moreover, John’s father who turned out to be the person that was begging for his life a dozen of years ago. The state of affairs is extremely similar to the previous scene, with the difference that now Sydney is the one holding the gun. John’s father – Arthur – appears to be in trouble, and Sydney came over

30 to his house to solve them in one way or another. When Sydney insinuates that he wants money, Arthur tells him that he has nothing. The coercion for money, once more, shows the extreme similarities between the two situations (Dannenberg 32). Subsequently, the following three scenes (79 until 81) take place in the present again; they demonstrate how Sydney gives Jimmy the money, and ends, moreover, with Jimmy pointing the gun at Sydney’s face, but, ultimately, not pulling the trigger. The mediating between the different times continues, and the consecutive scene (82) is in the past again. The discussion between Sydney and Arthur goes on, and the scene ends, just as the previous scene, with a gun pointed at somebody’s face. The similarities are obvious, but now, in contrast to the first situation, the trigger is being pulled. There is a last transition to a new scene (83), and again there is this overlapping of place, but especially time, through the ringing of the phone. The phone starts ringing in the past, but keeps on ringing when the new scene is presented; when Sydney answers the phone in the present it appears to be John. It is exactly with this overlapping of time in the transition from scene 77 to 78, and scene 82 to 83, where this particular screenplay distinguishes itself. In a way, a strong connection is created between the two different situation through the construction of the script (Dannenberg 34-35).

Hence, due to the distinct architecture of the screenplay different situations, happening at different times, meet in an artificial way. This technique of overlapping creates something special; it reveals some sort of invisible relation between the two independent circumstances (Dannenberg 47). While the events themselves are not related on an elementary level (besides having the same protagonist), they are, nevertheless, still inseparably connected by means of the structure of the narrative. It is due to this, somewhat artificial, ascribing of a relation between separate events that the audience is, all of a sudden, able to understand Sydney’s motivations throughout the plot. It realizes now, as a consequence of this contrived connection, that Sydney arranged this whole plot in order to cure his feeling of guilt. This is interesting on the individual level of Hard Eight, but it, moreover, also says something about the idea, which is already considered above, of the human tendency to adhere relations to the world in order to make the universe comprehensible; the habit, in other words, of seeking necessity in a relation of contingency in pursuance of an understandable world (Dannenberg 92). But, besides the assigning of connections, this technique of

31 overlapping also presents a cogent articulation of the concept of contingency. That is to say, it shows how the same situation – a crook on its way with a gun in order to extort a victim for money – can have different possible outcomes. By presenting these different courses of events, a reflection in regard to both the possibilities and the predictability of a certain state of affairs is triggered (Chatman 46). In a way, this transcendence of time – which is constructed through the architecture of the script – offers the audience some handles to deliberate on the causality-contingency dichotomy.

In the end, not only in this particular sequence the screenplay transcends time and shows similarities – or perhaps even makes connections – between independent events. In a similar manner, the recurring patterns of elements such as cigarettes and coffee ascribe a ‘transcendental’ connection to the independent scenes. The central spot of the coffee shop within the narrative, moreover, forms also a fundamental link. Furthermore, Arthur – John’s father – talks in exactly the same manner to Sydney as John. In line with this, Sydney also gives Arthur money like he gives John in the beginning of the script. Hence, there seems to be an assemblage of extreme similarities – almost some sort of necessity – which forms the underlying cause of the narrative. But, at the same time, the narrative also continuously touches upon ideas of coincidence and contingency. On the singular level of the relation between events the script is interspersed with the notion of contingency. But from a meta-perspective the narrative nonetheless seems to be generated by a certain cause. And it is, in the end, due to this underlying cause that the audience is able to transform these single – contingent – events into an understandable whole.

32 Chapter 4: Boogie Nights

Now that is described how the causality-contingency dialectic is the subcutaneous driver of the narrative in Hard Eight, the next step is to take look at the screenplay of Anderson’s next feature film, Boogie Nights. As described above, the narrative in Boogie Nights also builds upon, more or less, classic narratological principles. But, relative to Hard Eight, the script of Anderson’s second film shows a wide-ranging combination of characters and storylines which makes a simple, linear progress of the narrative somewhat more complex (Ebert, Boogie Nights n.p.). Nevertheless, Boogie Nights – with its inclusion of a definite three-act structure, and, moreover, a ‘hero’ driven by a clear goal – can still be considered as faithful to the common Aristotelean construction of the narrative (Bordwell, The Way Hollywood Tells It 28).

The protagonist in Boogie Nights is a young stud called Dirk Diggler (this is a stage name; his real name is Eddie Adams) who tries to become a (porn) star in the late 70’s. Dirk is a school dropout working as a dishwasher in a nightclub up till the point he meets the romantic porn producer Jack Horner. Jack believes to see screen talent in Dirk, and embraces him – after an ‘audition’ with future porn favorite Rollergirl on Jack’s couch – in his porn family destined to be the next big star. Everything seems to run smoothly for Jack, Dirk and their entourage; together with friend and co-porn actor Reed Rotchild they develop a Bond-like porn franchise by the name of ‘Brock Landers’, which, in effect, becomes a huge success. But, whereas the 70’s stood for stardom, extraordinary amounts of money and several porn-Oscars, the 80’s become the opposite for Jack and his company. Dirk – now addicted to cocaine, struck by erection problems and an excessive feeling of envy in the direction of his potential replacement Johnny Doe – has become uncontrollable in the workplace, and is, for this reason, sacked. Dirk, Jack and the rest of the crew get separated. After the estrangement, their lives all go downhill. Dirk, Reed and former boom operator Scotty make an attempt to succeed as a boyband/rock band, but fail hopelessly. After this fiasco, Dirk’s debts begin to take serious forms, and he, for this reason, has to perform sexual activities in exchange for money, but, instead of a smooth completion of the transaction, he gets mugged and beaten up on his first job. As a last resort Dirk, Reed and another friend decide to hustle a local drug dealer by selling him baking soda instead of cocaine. When their friend chooses, on second thought, to lose the plan and rob the dealer, things escalate quickly.

33 Dirk and Reed miraculously get away safe, and the first concludes that – after this near- death experience and, more important, the fact that he found out that his parents died – he has to reconcile with Jack.

The above description of the plot shows that the narrative of Boogie Nights is, in comparison to Hard Eight – even when the additional plotlines of the secondary characters have been omitted – somewhat more complex. Due to the presence of this large scope of characters a single chain of cause and effect cannot be the case. My claim is, therefore, that the narrative of Boogie Nights is, at least on some levels, non- Aristotelian. The assemblage of different perspectives, through the eyes of the various characters and their associated storylines, could be an example of a non-linear narrative because it presents the impression of a more realistic representation of the world to the audience, since it displays reality in a more versatile and miscellaneous manner (Dancyger and Rush 156). But, at the same time, the different stories of the various characters still epitomize disparate cause and effect chains. The question is, therefore, if the multitude of characters, and, thereby the additional storylines, are not also a reason for a multitude of cause and effect chains happening at the same time in the narrative? And, in addition, is this supposed multitude of cause and effect strings, not also a convincing example of a contingent relation between the elements of the overall plot? The individual causative storylines are, obviously, based on a connection of necessity. But, after their ways split in the narrative, the separate storylines are not connected to each other anymore by means of necessity whatsoever, their connection is, in fact, contingent (Chatman 47). The question is, furthermore, how the audience is still able to understand a narrative which consists of several mini-narratives? And, in extension, how the associated large scope of characters, motivations, journeys, goals, problems, conflicts, resolutions and so forth can be transformed in a comprehensible whole? My claim is that the answer, just like in the screenplay of Hard Eight, has to be sought in the presence of some sort of relation or connection on a meta-level.

This embodiment of the concept of contingency is not present, at least not in the same intensity, in the beginning of the narrative. Early in the script, the story develops, in a, more or less coherently collected, singular concentrated and definite fashion – generally guided by the journey of Dirk (Sickels 56). The grasping of the idea of contingency begins to take shape in the 80’s; when business for Jack and his entourage

34 starts to decline, and they, furthermore, get more and more separated from each other. As described, Dirk gets fired, and he, along with Reed and Scotty, pursues a career in music industry. Jack, assisted by Rollergirl, goes into business with the shady entrepreneur Floyd Gondolli, and makes, hereby, the despised transition from film to videotape. Former producer and moneylender The Colonel, is imprisoned due to the possession child pornography. Buck, another porn actor from Jack’s team, marries Jessie St. Vincent (who later becomes pregnant), and tries to pursue his dream to open up an electronics store. And, finally, Amber, the godmother of the gang, is involved in a lawsuit with her ex-husband regarding the custody of her lost child. Hence, the various characters all go in different directions, and pursue, thereby, distinct goals, and face, in that, contrasting obstacles. Furthermore, all these separate storylines have their own cause and effect logic, but are, at least at first sight, not by necessity related to each other.

In a way, this large amount of characters, and their associated storylines, provides an cogent example of the notion of contingency in practice. The characters represent, especially when they lose track of each other, the different possible outcomes of the same situation (Dannenberg 67-68). Ultimately, they all came from this identical fixed point; their expedition operating from Jack’s mansion, with the corresponding successful porn franchise as common incentive (Sickels 54). But, when the common mover disappears, the collective is dispersed, and the various storylines, show, through the particular structure of the screenplay, different potential courses of events which could emerge from this fixed point. It presents, in other words, how the same situation could lead to different possible outcomes. By explicating these probable courses of events, a reflection in regard to both the possibilities and the predictability of a certain state of affairs is generated; a reflection which, furthermore, touches upon the idea of contingency (Chatman 45-47). A similar construction was described during the discussion of the present time/flashback sequence of Hard Eight, but, with the difference that the sequence in Hard Eight predominantly epitomized the notion of contingency through time, while the narrative of Boogie Nights does this particularly by means of space.

Now, first I will analyze a sequence – scene 160 to scene 169 included in appendix three – from the script, wherein this separation of storylines is in particular

35 being articulated. This sequence of exactly ten scenes is, besides being a key sequence in anticipation to the climax on an overarching narrative level, also exemplary for the above posed questions concerning contingency, coincidence, probability, necessity, certainty, causality and so forth. Despite the fact that the sequence contains different storylines, it can still be understood as a unified sequence since it is a ‘series of scenes connected by one single idea with a definite beginning, middle and end’ (Field 184). But, before diving in those questions, it is necessary to recount what really happens in this sequence.

The first storyline includes Jack and Rollergirl at the point that the first’s business is already a downward spiral. Jack, as a porn director, has been overtaken by time; he still wants to shoot high quality films while porn consumption has moved on towards a more volatile practice (Sickels 58). Rollergirl is, as described, one of the actresses who frequently stars in his films. To get along with the advanced times, they try something new by picking up a random stranger from the street who is intended to co-star the film together with Rollergirl. The idea of picking up random stranger from the street already touches upon the feeling of coincidence; both Jack and Rollergirl on the one hand, and the College kid – who has been picked up by Jack and Rollergirl – on the other hand, appear to be in the same place at the same time without any causal connection. Furthermore, the College kid fortuitously seems to be an old acquaintance of Rollergirl. When they try to put their idea into practice – i.e. Rollergirl and the College kid trying to have sex in the car – it turns out to be deception; the sex looks awkward and uncomfortable. After being cut off, the College kid makes some remarks about the decline in Jack’s work and Rollergirl’s choices in life. They both snap, and end up beating the College kid up.

At the same time, in like manner, a storyline including Dirk is presented. Dirk, who at the moment has hit rock bottom, is about to perform sexual acts against payment with strangers in order to overcome his debts. When a customer presents himself in the form of the Surfer, they go into a car and get down to business. During the act Dirk feels uncomfortable (although he was a pornstar and therefore had sex in front of an audience on regular occasion), and stops. Suddenly, out of the blue, Dirk gets hit in the face by the Surfer, who after that is assisted by three friends. This leads to Dirk

36 getting completely beat up. As mere coincidence, Dirk’s first customer appears to be a ‘gay molester’.

As described, in classic Aristotelian narratives ‘events occur in distribution: they are linked to each other as to cause and effect, effects in turn causing other effects, until the final effect’ (Chatman 46). But, when such a clear link of cause and effect is not the case the audience is still able to understand the story by means of assumptions in regard to relations and connections. Moreover, when two different sets of events in a narrative appear not to be related – as in regard to the different storylines of the sequence studied here –, the audience is capable of making inferences regarding, for example, larger thematic meaning or other principle messages (Sickels 58). The important element is the degree of probability; when something is presumable, the audience is able to make the inference, whether it is explicitly stated or not (Chatman 47). In this sequence, the two described storylines show extraordinary similarities. Both Dirk on the one hand, and Jack and Rollergirl on the other, try something different in order to deal with their newly acquired miserable conditions. Furthermore, both storylines evolve around an encounter which solely exists by virtue of them being at the same time and place as the stranger, without any causal explanation for this situation whatsoever. On top of that, both of the segments include the situation of them together with the strangers in a car, with the intention to facilitate a sexual encounter with the stranger. Furthermore, to cap it all, both storylines end up with the beating up of someone. The described course of events seems already rather coincidental when taken on a single note, but if exactly the same situation occurs at exactly the same time, this idea is strengthened all the more. Because the two different storylines are not connected on a fundamental – causal level – the relation between the two sets of events can be described as contingent; true on the basis of the way things are, and not by virtue of logical necessity (Chatman 47). But, when examined further, it is the way these two storylines are entwined with each other – how they are constructed in an anatomical way within the narrative – which raises an even more extensive and in-depth consideration regarding the contingency-causality dichotomy.

Hence, when the storylines are being taken on an individual level, they seem, apart from their extreme similarity, not related to one another. There is nothing that connects the events and actions with each other; there is no causal relation between the

37 different storylines (Dannenberg 93). That is to say, all the active forces in the two different storylines move independent of each other. Therefore, the similarity between the two storylines appears to be a coincidence. But, taken on a more structural level – on the level of the scene sequence – there seems to be a lot more that connects the two. The two courses of events are, namely, cut into fragments, and, furthermore, intertwined with each other. It is, in this short extract, the plot, or, in Aristotle’s words, ‘the arrangement of incidents’, which proposes the suggestion of a connection (17). This happens, for one thing, through certain expectations which are established. I will now examine this scene by scene. In the end of scene 160 the College kid has stepped into the car with Jack and Rollergirl, the presented actions suggest that there is going to be sex in the car. Subsequently a new situation is introduced in the next three scenes; Dirk is standing on the street, talking to a stranger in a car. As if the last scene is happening again, Dirk also gets into the car, and the coming of some sort of sexual act is implied. From scene 160 to 163 the audience is confronted with a complete repetition of moves – the thought of some kind of necessity, or (causal) relation, between the two storylines is planted in the minds of the audience. This idea is installed through dramatic irony – the artifice that the audience knows more than the characters do – and, thereby, can predict the course of events to a certain extent on the basis of this assumed (meta) relation (Scher 62). The suspense, in this case, appears in the form of recognition; the audience has to recognize the similarities between the storylines, this recognition becomes the bomb under the table (Dannenberg 39). Subsequently, the screenplay cuts back to the first state of affairs, Rollergirl and the College kid are indeed preparing to have sex. But Rollergirl does not feel at ease, they stop, and the scene stops with Jack hitting the College kid in the face. Then, the script cuts back to Dirk’s situation. Since, the idea of some sort of (causal) relation between the two is raised, a similar development in the scene is insinuated. The audience has seen the bomb under the table, and knows that somebody will get beaten up, the suspense rises. And indeed, Dirk does not feel at ease during the sexual act, and the scene ends, like expected, with Dirk getting hit in the face. Again, the audience has experienced a complete repetition of events. Next, for a last time, the two storylines show the same development; the College kid and Dirk are being completely beaten up while they are being insulted. This parallel presentation of exactly the same actions and events creates the suggestion of a certain interconnectedness (Dannenberg 33). A causal relation which transcends the seperate forces within the

38 series of events. A form of causality which cannot be traced back to our common understanding of natural laws, but a form of causality which still has a glimpse of contingency, a connection which is somewhat spiritual or mystical. Because our rational ideas tend to believe the idea of coincidence, but our gut feeling (human tendency), nourished by the construction of the scene sequence, is inspired by the presence of a connection. On the local level of the scenes the idea of contingency is raised, but on a meta-level there seems to be an overall connection.

The link between the two courses of events is not limited to this merely suggested or implied connectivity. There is also a more direct link anchored in the arena. The two different storylines, become, that is to say, connected on a spatial level at the end of scene 167. The two different state of affairs meet – without knowing that from each other – on the street. First, the audience is with Dirk who vomits and coughs blood after his trashing, then, in an adjacent street, Jack and Rollergirl drive by in their limo. The previous described events must have taken place just around the corner; and, the different stories, must, therefore, have a spatial connection. Such a single intersection could potentially be a case of coincidence without any logical necessity behind this intersection whatsoever (Dannenberg 93). Were it not for a second intersection with a third storyline, just a few lines below the first junction. With this second crossing of independent circumstances the idea of a necessary spatial connectedness is raised all the more (Dannenberg 66-67). From the perspective of Jack and Rollergirl another car, transporting Buck and Jessie, crosses the scene. And, as icing on the cake, Buck also runs into a personal miracle – an extraordinary event without any logical explanation – after the intersection. A miracle in the form of a large amount of money, which becomes, all of a sudden, by complete coincidence, available to him. In a situation where everybody gets shot, Buck survives, and he, thereby, is able to grab the bag of money which could help him achieve his long-cherished dream of opening an electronics store. Hence, another series of events, existing only by virtue of the way things are and not on the basis of any causal explanation, is interwoven into the other two storylines, and, therewith, questions the idea of the assumed causality-contingency dichotomy with greater reason.

It is exactly in the four lines in the end of scene 167 where the three different storylines and characters are strung together by a structural technique, a technique

39 which reveals the elemental relation between the three independent circumstances. Moreover, this small touch gives a deeper meaning to them as a whole. It is both through the architecture of the scenes, and the interweaving of the different storylines, that the whole is more than the sum of its parts. The screenplay, in this short sequence, presents how the world is connected by means of an infinite number of independent coincidences. The specific construction of the narrative presents the idea of an overarching relation between human beings and natural forces through strokes of fate. In a strange way, the dialectic between causality and contingency is the subcutaneous driver of the narrative (Cameron 66). Whereas the scenes seem to be shredded and kind of coincidental, the narrative is, in fact, interconnected in such a way that it poses questions about the possibility of a similar interconnectedness in our own lives. Or, from a different perspective, a natural human urge to see connections in seemingly unrelated forces and events and form these, furthermore, into a narrative (Dannenberg 92). That is to say, the inclination to understand the world and ourselves as part of some sort of narrative in order to make it understandable. Strictly speaking, to make the world and ourselves comprehendible by making certain connections. These connections reveal themselves to the human being because ‘our survival mechanism orders the world into cause-effect-conclusion’ (Mamet 7).

Hence, in the analyzed sequence the contingency-causality dichotomy is being questioned. By means of the contingent relations between the different storylines, a feeling of fortuity is created in regard to the audience, it gives them, moreover, a break from the cause and effect chain in order to reflect on the spontaneity of the state of affairs (Teinemaa 115). For one thing, the events seem to be related by coincidence, but, on the other hand, also a larger underlying cause could be seen. The question rises how these different layers of relations between events relate to the overall plot-structure of the narrative? A possible ending could be found in the ending of the narrative. That is to say, the narrative does not end with the meandering of storylines. Instead, all the different storylines come back together in an elucidative manner. Dirk, for one thing, comes back to Jack and Amber after he went to his parental house where he found out that his parents were killed in a car accident. With his return Dirk is reunited with his (surrogate) parents (Goss 181). Buck and Jessie got their baby, and Buck, moreover, has reached his goal in life and opened an electronics store. Rollergirl went back to school

40 and got her high school diploma. Finally, the last scene includes all the central characters, and presents them in the process of making a film from their successful porn franchise again. With this tying up of loose ends, the screenplay deliberately shows how all the different storylines are connected and, in the end, form one comprehensible storyline. This idea is all the more raised by scenes 182 to 184 (appendix 4). In this sequence, the background information concerning the death of Dirk’s parents is revealed. By means of a flashback, the audience understands that the driver of the car which killed Dirk’s parents was Johnny Doe – the rival of Dirk and one of the main causes why Dirk left Jack and the entourage. Hence, first Johnny Doe was one of the main causes for Dirk to leave the group, and now Johnny Doe is the cause for Dirk to come back to the group. It is important that this information is given solely to the audience, and that this knowledge, moreover, is not available to Dirk or the other characters. In this sequence, it is again the construction of the screenplay – the construction of the ‘plot time’ in particular – that is decisive, and makes sure the audience is able to connect the dots (Chatman 64). Hence, ultimately the screenplay ends with the bringing together of all loose ends. Although the script played with the notion of contingency throughout the narrative, ultimately, everything seems to be connected by some sort of overall necessity; the causes and effects are brought together and the courses of events are presented in an understandable manner for the audience.

The narrative of Boogie Nights undeniably touches upon ideas of coincidence and contingency. It succeeds in generating a feeling of fortuitousness on the basis of the contingent relations. But, on the other hand, considered form a meta-level, the narrative seems nonetheless to be generated by an underlying cause. Either the cause of the screenwriter, the cause of space and time or the cause of the human tendency to ascribe causes to the ‘contingent’ world.

41 Chapter 5: Magnolia

During the analysis of the previous screenplays an obvious red thread in the form of the questioning of the assumed contingency-causality dichotomy appeared. The same thread will come to surface in my analysis concerning the script of Anderson’s third feature film, Magnolia. The presence of the notion of contingency in the narrative of Magnolia is also examined by Rodrigues and Teinemaa in their respective investigations on the film. Their studies differ, for one thing, with their focus on the film instead of the screenplay and they place their findings, moreover, in the field of the medium film, whereas I am placing my conclusions in the field of the narrative. Rodrigues, for instance, understands the use of contingency in Magnolia ‘as a defining feature of an aesthetic experience that unfolds erratically and unpredictably, rather than coherently and conventionally’, he experiences the film, moreover, as the stylistic and narrative thematization of contingency’ (25). Teinemaa, in addition, predominantly claims that Magnolia’s ‘nonstop flux between creative control and excess’ makes the film suitable for questioning the rules regarding the representability of reality in regard to the medium film, and, moreover, presents how this relates to certain aesthetic rules of the medium (90). Where both Rodrigues and Teinemaa also, partly, consider Magnolia in regard to contingency, they bring contingency in relation to the notion of excess. Excess in the sense of the uncontrollable in regard to cinema as a medium. Hence, they are, in effect, interested in a certain uncontrollability, or excess, that spills over into the image and is, among other things, part of the attraction of cinema. But this is not the type of contingency where I am focusing on in this research. Instead, I am interested in the possibility for contingency in a matter as organized by a causal-structure as the narrative.

In regard to the narration in Magnolia, John Bruns addresses the use of multiple characters in his article on the ‘polyphonic film’:

Anderson’s audacity is to avoid linking these events together... or resolving and explaining them... One might say that the action of Magnolia is made of parallel lines moving contingently in rival and incompatible spheres. The result is that Anderson’s film has several distinct and irreducible centers. It achieves, as any polyphonic work will, a collage-like unity of incongruous elements. (205)

42 Furthermore, Thanouli describes the narrative of Magnolia as an illustrious example of post-classical narration; ‘the narration moves continually and explicitly between different narrative levels – autonomously from the characters’ actions – in order to connect the different plotlines and remains omniscient, ubiquitous and communicative throughout the film’ (83). This is, for one thing, a matter that, to a certain extent, could also be seen in regard to the narrative of Boogie Nights. Furthermore, according to Dancyger and Rush the narrative of Magnolia is a perfect example of what they describe as a non-linear narrative. They argue, moreover, that the narrative is not driven by a clear plot, but, instead, the narrative is guided by the question what each of the characters will do, and, in extension, what the consequences of their actions will be; this is all happening beneath the umbrella of disturbed parent-child relations (156). Besides this dramatic shape, my claim is, that the narrative is also motivated – in a similar manner as in regard to the previous discussed screenplays – by an umbrella of the contingency-causality dichotomy.

The narrative of Magnolia portrays 24 hours in Los Angeles following, predominantly, nine central characters who together occupy the space of the protagonist (Dancyger and Rush 156). These characters are all, in one way or another, ‘connected’ to each other. The first central connection spills from the long-time quiz- host Jimmy Gator of the show ‘What Do Kids Know?’ and his wife Rose Gator, who lost track with their depressed and to coke addicted daughter, Claudia Gator. Claudia got by mere coincidence in touch with the lonely police officer Jim Kurring, who immediately got a crush on Claudia. The other central connection departs from the dying Earl Partridge – former producer of ‘What Do Kids Know?’ – who is married to the depressed Linda Partridge and is, moreover, nursed by Phil Parma. Earl is estranged from his son – the ‘womanizing’-guru Frank T.J. Mackey – due to a family feud. Lastly, the narrative also follows the current child-quiz-phenomenon Stanley Spector, who is put under pressure by his father, and, finally, former child-quiz-sensation Donnie Smith, who suffers deeply from his early success. It is needless to say that this broad assemblage of characters, with their corresponding background stories and mini-plots, form a complex framework from which the narrative has to unfold.

Bruns states in his article that the narrative of Magnolia is at least non- Aristotelian, ‘there is no principle that integrates everything to a single point, no global

43 view of things’, instead, a collage of perspectives is given, ‘a proliferation of disparate voices and views enclosed in the same space; all we see is interference and interruption’ (206). This argument concerning the different perspectives of the same state of affairs - or perhaps the same situation – is something that could also be seen in regard to the narrative of Boogie Nights. As described in the fourth chapter, these different paths, through the eyes of various characters, could lead to a palpable form of the notion of contingency. The disparate angles epitomize diverse probable courses of events, in this way, a reflection in regard to both the possibilities and the predictability of a certain state of affairs – the state of affairs with the common denominator of the quiz show – is introduced; a reflection that, because of this play with possibility and predictability, touches upon the notion of contingency (Dannenberg 47). In other words, something appears what Teinemaa accurately described as the practice where ‘contingency can be used to create continuity that gives the impression of destiny, but it can also serve to break with the habitual cause and effect chain and to provide the viewer with a moment to ponder over the seeming naturalness of his/her sense of common’ (115). In the beginning of the narrative it is unclear how the different storylines and characters are connected, but, in the course of the screenplay it all starts to become clear in a rather brilliant way. In the end, the narrative of Magnolia ‘provides us with another valuable example of how the post-classical narration uses the high level of self-consciousness to reinforce the qualities of knowledgeability and communications in a steadily increasing manner until the final resolution’ (Thanouli 84).

Now, first I want to take a close look at the first 35 scenes – the sequence can be found in the appendix section 5 – of the script, which are in particular interesting for this research by virtue of the tone being set for the rest of the narrative, and, moreover, its use of both plot space and plot time on the other hand. That is to say, the opening of the screenplay serves as an independent introduction to the narrative, consisting out of three short stories that are both on the level of characters as on the level of direct circumstances not connected to the remaining part of the script.

The storylines touch, both by means of the content and by their use of space and time, on the notions of contingency and coincidence. In this introduction, the narrator has a specific role; he, in a way, indicates and interprets the relations and connections between the events that are included in the introduction of the screenplay (Teinemaa

44 79). He, in other words, guides the audience towards certain convictions, and points towards specific details. The first story (scene 1 to 7) consists of the hanging of three men, whom are convicted for the murder of the same man (Sir Edmund William Godfrey). First the narrator indicates that three men are going to be hung, then the three men are actually hung. Subsequently, the cause of their death is presented; the men knife Sir Edmund. Cause and effect are, in this particular case, turned around. But, the actual reason why these three men killed Sir Edmund William is not told. Therefore, a piece of the puzzle is missing, and because of this missing piece, the audience cannot make this course of events into a straightforward story; the first link in the chain of cause and effect is missing (Chatman 46). This unsatisfying story is the case until scene 5. From scene 5 on, also a different, from the perspective of the diegetic world, ‘transcendental’ relation is ascribed to the course of events. That is to say, in scene 5 has been exposed that the town, where the killing took place, is called Greenberry Hill. Furthermore, in scene 6 the narrator reveals that the surnames of these three men are respectively Green, Berry and Hill. After this revelation, the audience is once more confronted with the ‘coincidental’ nature of the events by means of the disclosure of the name of Sir Edmund’s pharmacy; i.e. ‘Greenberry Hill Pharmacy’. The similarities between the names of the killers and, the names of the town and the corresponding pharmacy appear to be a huge coincidence; a contingent relation between events independent of some sort of causal or logical relation (Chatman 47). But, by means of the narrator and the depiction of space and time, the attribution of an alternative connection to the course of events is the case. For one thing, the narrator emphasizes the similarities between the names very explicitly, as if the audience should not neglect or miss this matter of extreme ‘coincidence’. With this manifold stressing of the parallel between the names he, in a way, connects them. Furthermore, the particular construction of the screenplay in this sequence also emphasizes the apparent connection. That is to say, the audience is first confronted with the hanging of the three men on the grounds of the killing of the same man. This state of affairs raises, obviously, questions in regard to the audience; why did these three men kill Sir Edmund at the same time. But, the script refuses to answer these questions, and, instead, solely depicts events that point to the similarities regarding the names of the killers and Sir Edmund’s pharmacy. This accentuating of the similarities indicates to a strange connection behind the killing of Sir Edmund. Moreover, this connection is only suggested; the facts

45 encompassed in these 7 scenes say that it is a matter of contingency - there is, namely, no logical explanation for them having (together) the same name as the pharmacy of the man whom they killed. In other words, on the singular level, the events are solely connected by a relation of contingency. But on the meta-level of the screenplay the events are, at the hand of the screenwriter and the narrator, connected by some sort of ‘transcendental relation’ (Dannenberg 95). This idea is all the more strengthened by the end of the storyline where the narrator says that he ‘would like to think this was only a matter of chance’ (Anderson, Magnolia 2). With this ambiguous expression, that he ‘would like to think’ (but not actually thinks), the narrator, in line with the foregoing, questions the assumed causality-contingency dichotomy which was also the case in the previous screenplays.

The subsequent storyline (scene 8 to 22) tells ‘the story of a fire… the water that it took to contain the fire… and a scuba diver named Delmer Darion’ (Anderson, Magnolia 3). Delmer, while diving, was ‘accidently’ picked out of the lake by a fire department air tanker and died during this bizarre course of events, but, according to the narrator, the most ‘curious side note is the suicide the next day of Craig Hansen’ (Anderson, Magnolia 5). Craig was the pilot of the plane that lifted Delmer out of the lake, and out of a feeling of guild he killed himself the day after. But, this is not the only situation connecting the two. As a matter of fact, Craig, two days before, got angry with Delmer – who worked as a dealer in a casino – and attacked him because the latter dealt the ‘wrong’ cards. In the second chapter has already been described how the practice of gambling is related to both causal and contingent relations. For this reason, again, the theme of gambling and contingency is explored especially because it is associated with a larger course of ‘coincidental’ events. Whereas the overall course of events seems to be held together by coincidence, there is, in fact, a clear line – though perhaps not conscious – of causality behind the story; Craig got angry with Delmer in the casino, Craig kills Delmer, Craig kills himself due to a feeling of guild. This is a clear line of cause and effect and the audience, moreover, is able to transform this ‘line of causality’ into an understandable story (Chatman 46). As stated, the killing of Delmer was possibly not a conscious action of Craig, and, thereby, at least on the singular level of the storyline not a clear case of causality. But, by the way the narrative is constructed, and, moreover, the role of the narrator, the idea of a connection is all the more strengthened. Once more,

46 the narrator in particular emphasizes the apparent cause behind the course of actions. In line with this, also through the construction of the narrative an supposed connection is stressed. Just as in the first storyline, the screenplay does not stop by simply stating the curiosity of the situation, instead, the script tries to give the circumstances more meaning by highlighting the fact that Craig and Delmer got into a fight in the casino (Dannenberg 95). It does this by moving back and forth between different places and times in the pursuance of the depiction of all the necessary details for the possibility of a causal or logical connection; i.e. the audience is thrown back and forth in the realm of space and time in order to plant the idea of a connection between the seemingly unrelated events. Furthermore, the second storyline ends, just as the first, with the narrator saying that he is trying to think that ‘this was all only a matter of chance’ (Anderson, Magnolia 6). Again, with this ambiguous expression the narrator literally questions the assumed causality-contingency dichotomy.

The third, and last, storyline (23 to 35) of the introduction contains the story of ‘an unsuccessful suicide’ that ‘had suddenly become a successful homicide’ (Anderson, Magnolia 7). The boy – Sydney Barringer – who attempted to commit suicide by jumping of a building but would have been saved by a safety net that was on the ground by coincidence, were it not that he got shot by a shotgun fired three stories below the roof of his fall. On top of this rather bizarre course of events, the shotgun was fired by Sydney’s mother, who was fighting with his father Arthur. But, it goes even further, somewhat later it becomes clear that Sydney loaded the shotgun himself, because he wanted to make an end to his parents fighting all the time. In an extremely curious way Sydney is still the cause of his own dead because he loaded the gun himself. Although not consciously, he attempted a successful suicide generated by a clear link of cause and effect; Sydney got depressed induced by his parents fighting all the time, Sydney decides to kill himself, Sydney dies. Again the audience can easily make a story of this line of cause and effect (Chatman 46). But here, once more, also on a meta-level the presence of some sort of logical connection between the overall course of events is suggested (Dannenberg 97). For one thing, this is done through an extreme similarity with the names of Sydney and Arthur in Hard Eight. The screenwriter, by using exactly the same combination of names, interfered on a meta-level and points towards the idea of a transcendental interconnectedness concerning his screenplays and, moreover, the

47 events within his screenplays. In extension, it is again the narrator and the architecture of the scripts who stress the probable connection between the ‘independent’ events. Concerning the structure, the linear depiction of time is completely ignored. In this storyline the ‘natural order of time’ is in particular exchanged in favor of a complete artificial order of time (Chatman 63). Moreover, the natural occurrence of ‘story space’ is neglected as well, instead the ‘plot space’ takes a complete artificial and simulated character (Chatman 97). In these thirteen scenes, the screenplay moves rapidly between several different times and places, solely for the reason to point out to the audience that there is a possible connection between the independent events; the ‘plot time’ and the ‘plot space’ are ordered in such a way that the audience is profoundly confronted with a possible relation between the different events. This is done in particular in scene 31 and 32 where the fact that Sydney loaded the gun himself is brought to the attention, all of a sudden the audience is able to transform these ‘independent’ events into a comprehensible story; an understandable story guided by the motor of coincidence (Cameron 66). Moreover, all three stories do not adhere to the classic narratological principles of a linear depiction of time, and the following of (a) central character(s) through different places. Instead, a high movement between time and space is the case, which takes care of an efficient form of storytelling wherein the existence of mystical connections between events is suggested.

The last storyline is finished with the narrator saying the following words “…and it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just “Something That Happened.” This cannot be “One of those things…” This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can’t. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance.” (Anderson, Magnolia 12). The ambiguous ending of the first two storylines has made place for a more clear expression, the narrator now states to believe that this was not a matter of chance, coincidence or contingency. Instead, he states that there has to be a cause, a connection, or at least something which is able to explain these curious events. In addition, the narrator refers to himself as the narrator. Since he, as stated, already indicates and interprets the connections between the events throughout the introduction, this referring to himself as ‘the narrator’ suggests that he is the interferer of the events, and that he, furthermore, could be seen as the connector on a meta-level. This idea is all the more strengthened by the fact that in the last sentence all words

48 begin with a capital letter, this use of capital letters indicate a divine entity which serves, consequently, as an overall connecter. With this twelve page introduction, the narrative, and the associated thematic indications, are pushed into a certain direction (Teinemaa 79). It reveals, in a way, that the upcoming events may seem coincidental or unrelated, but that they, ultimately, can be traced back to an underlying cause. It sets, in other words, the tone for a possible mythical or spiritual connector that is going to play a role in the rest of the narrative.

The introduction of the screenplay, with its questioning of the assumed causality-contingency dichotomy, plays a not to be underestimated role concerning the rest of the narrative. Throughout the complete script, notions of coincidence and contingency are considered, both through the content and by means of the construction of the screenplay. The complete narrative, moreover, plays with the idea of the coincidental nature of the world; the idea of coincidence as ‘precariously balanced between a physics of causality and a metaphysics of chance, between necessity and probability, accidents occur all the time, all over the place, but never in the same way twice’ (Bruckner 280). For the sake of the argument, I want to skip this continuous, rather brilliant, homage to the contingent, because the corresponding findings have already been covered throughout this thesis. Instead, I will immediately take a look at the scenes (where the already discussed mythical or spiritual connector as an answer to these considerations comes to surface.

The scenes in question are, at least according to the critical reception, the big elephant in the room (Rodrigues 24-25). Or, in this particular case, the big frog in the room. The case is as follows; the script runs to its end, the characters have experienced a rather miserable path of proceedings throughout the narrative, and, all of a sudden, the central characters are all confronted with the curious, unanticipatedly circumstance that it is literally raining frogs – living frogs are falling from the sky. This is, for one thing, a highly peculiar event, tending towards, or touching upon the notion of contingency, since there can never be a cogent cause for a flood of frogs, it is, however, still happening. But, I will touch upon the meaning of this rain of frogs, in regard to this particular research, later, for now, I want to take a quick look at the preamble to this peculiar, somewhat contingent event. That is to say, in regard to the sequence (scene 301 to 309 – appendix 6) in advance to the cat-and-frog weather, just as was the case in

49 the analyzed sequence in Boogie Nights, an intersection between various different characters and storylines, anchored in the arena, takes place. In a similar way, as has been described in chapter four, the stories of Claudia and Rose (in scenes 301 to 303) on the one hand, and Jim and Donnie (scene 307) on the other hand, are intertwined with each other. Whereas their lives proceeded independently, now, all of a sudden, they are connected to one another by means of space and time (Dannenberg 27). By this structural technique applied in the screenplay, again the idea of some sort of elemental relation between these independent stories is raised. This intersection shows that, in line with the thematic considerations of the rest of the narrative, the world is connected by means of an infinite number of in(ter)dependent coincidences. The construction of the script demonstrates the understanding of an underlying relation between human beings and natural forces through the vibration of destiny. Just as in the previous analyzed screenplays, a certain dialectic between contingency and causality is the motor of the narrative (Cameron 66). Whereas the stories seem autonomous, the characters separate and the scenes unconnected; the elements of the narrative, in fact, have always been connected – either on a meta-level, on a spiritual level, or on a merger of the two. Moreover, after the lapse of the frogs, the stories from the introduction are being recalled again. The narrator, as well, returns with exactly the same words as he ended the introduction. And since these three stories and the associated narrator, marked, as described, some sort of mythical or spiritual connection, this repetition in a like manner, once more, generates the idea of a transcendental connector.

Now back to the frogs; what does this specific ending say about the considerations made in this particular inquiry? I want to make the claim that the frogs in the end of the narrative, symbolize the incapability to interpret everything that happens in the world. The frogs epitomize the powerlessness of the human being in regard to the opaque things in the world. The frogs, just as the notion of God for instance, can be understood as a transcendental signifier that fills the gap of the unintelligible. By applying the frogs, or God, as a transcendental mover, the incomprehensible becomes comprehensible all of a sudden. For one thing the association with God is justifiable because this plague of frogs is extracted from the bible – Exodus 8:2. In the end, the human being avoids the confrontation with things that it cannot understand, because this would mean that one is not able to get a grip on

50 the matter. In a similar manner, the imperfect man also avoids the idea of the contingent because the lack of necessity and an underlying cause makes it rather unpredictable; it is almost impossible to get a grip on the contingent because it happens in a way that cannot be determined. In trying to solve this problem the flawed person tries to structure the world. In a similar manner as in the narrative, the human mind habitually seeks explanation for the inexplicable, and they will, moreover, provide explanation in the form of a cause if necessary (Chatman, Story and Discourse 45). This understanding moves around the idea that the contingent relation between events, ‘although ostensibly a random occurrence, is so striking and special that it produces a strong desire in the human mind for an explanation, often one using the connecting patterns of causation’ (Dannenberg 92). This tendency is similar to the meaning giving as seen in religions, where ‘structural incompleteness forms the problem that religious belief attempts to solve by placing God in the hole within the universe of necessity’ (McGowan 403). When an event has no cause – when it is coincidental or contingent – God can be placed as the surpassing mover, and now, all of a sudden, it has a cause. The peculiar event suddenly makes sense, it happened because of God.

Teinemaa, in a comparable way, states that the narrative in Magnolia ‘leaves the impression of a world governed by faith or destiny, were no matter what unlikely occurrence will take place it still seems to be held together by some higher principle, be it God concerning the diegetic level or the author on the extradiegetic level’ (115). An identical point has been made in regard to narratives that in general evolve around a large amount of characters, and, thereby, also encompass a large number of storylines. That is to say, Charles Ramírez Berg, in his article ‘A Taxonomy of Alternative Plots in Recent Films’, presents the idea that narratives like Magnolia challenge the idea of an overall explainable causality independent of the transcendental:

Thematically, they demonstrate the frailty of agency by presenting a world where happenstance prevails and best-laid plans come to naught. At a formal level, they question whether causality and characters’ choices, the bedrocks of Hollywood’s classical narration and narration in general, are viable as narrative mainsprings particularly in contemporary drama and romances. (40)

Hence, narratives like Magnolia, in a way, subvert the autonomy of the subject; they question the agency of the individual and place doubt upon the understanding of the

51 oversight of one’s fate. McGowan, furthermore, adds to this idea that ‘subverting the idea of individual agency often goes hand in hand with locating agency in a hidden force, lurking behind nominal authority figures, that pulls all the strings’, and it is exactly this hidden force that can be attributed to the Frogs in Magnolia – in the end, one can say that ‘there is no hidden God; there is only the contingent event’, or, from a different perspective, that there is no contingent event, there is only a hidden God (in the form of the Frogs) (McGowan 406). It is not my intention to state that God is the foundation of these narratives. Instead, I want to argue that it is a similar mechanism which is at play; the mechanism to assign causes in order to make things easier to understand. My claim, in the end, is that both the narrative and reality are subject to a similar form of structuring according to cause and effect, in the contemplation of transforming them both into a meaningful whole. In regard to the narrative, it does not matter how this transcendental mover, or this spiritual connecter, is called, for all I know, it can also be attributed to the author, Saint Anderson.

52 Conclusion

Hence, in this thesis is described how causality and the narrative are inseparably connected. At the hand of the contemporary field of film studies an overview of the dominant discourse concerning the fundamentals of the narratives designed for film is given. This outline showed that the film’s narrative is subjected to eminently stringent template determined by a clear linear relation of cause and effect. Even examples of more complex plots could, eventually, be traced back to notions such as causality, necessity and probability. In an attempt to escape narratological causality the non- linear narrative was addressed. However, this idea of the non-linear narrative turned out to be unsuitable as a gratifying theoretical foundation for the rest of the research. Instead, to the notion of contingency, and especially its possible presence within the narrative, was taken into account. During this inquiry contingency was understood as ‘a concept that serves the purpose of defining that, in one way or another, the relation between two events appears not to be causal.’ Now the aim of this research was to examine if there is a possibility for a contingent relations between events within the causative structure of the screenplay.

This investigation was executed on the corpus which consisted of the screenplays constructed for the first three feature films of Paul Thomas Anderson. The first script, Hard Eight, specifically by its structure of plot time, showed that it pays off to gamble on life because it is in the end determined by a cause. Subsequently, the second screenplay, Boogie Nights, demonstrated, especially by its use of plot space, that even a whimsical world as the porn-industry has a genesis. And, finally, the last script, Magnolia, presented, both by the means of plot time and plot space, the most convincing case of a ubiquitous form of connectedness of the contingent; an in(ter)dependent set of coincidences. With the overall questioning of the assumed causality-contingency dichotomy on a singular level, the screenplays question, in a way, the foundation of the narrative; i.e. by bringing the causal and the contingent together, the rules of the narrative are, to a certain extent, undermined. But this was only the case on the singular level of the diegetic events in the narrative. From a meta-perspective, on the other hand, the narratives could all be traced back to a principle connection. In the end, the screenplays have shown that there is a certain ‘Cause’ which fills the gap of the contingent. This conquering of the contingent is done, for one thing, by the content of

53 the narrative. But, in addition, this idea of an overall underlying cause is reinforced by the way the screenplay is constructed; the architectures of the screenplays indicate a elemental causal explanation. The design of the analyzed screenplays, and the associated mechanism of ascribing connections, showed similarities concerning the human tendency to understand the world by ordering it into an in(ter)dependent link of events. Anderson, moreover, pays, with these narratives, a tribute to our daily confrontation with the contingent. The narratives provide an insight concerning the mechanism that the human mind employs in contemplation of making sense of its daily encounters with the universe; i.e. the screenplays orders the world in a similar manner as the mind orders the world, both with the aim of making it easier to understand.

The decision to study Anderson’s screenplays, instead of his films, proved to be rather effective in regard to the desired focus on the narrative, and just the narrative. That is to say, during my analysis I could aim my direction directly towards the details of the story, without being distracted by the audiovisual content of the film. In addition, the associated aim to bring the theoretical and the practical together by means of examining the screenplay has, to a certain extent, also resulted in a successful endeavor. Especially the considered structural techniques of the overlapping of time and the intersecting of space could turn out to be a significant contribution to the practical field of film production. It is, namely, by these techniques that the feeling of coincidence is raised with greater reason, even though the script, and the narrative, are essentially based on a causative structure. Furthermore, the employed theoretical framework proved to be a sufficient tool in order to investigate the linear, causative narratives. But, especially concerning the interpreting of contingency within the narrative there is little known, and this gap, therefore, forms a fruitful field for the conducting of further research.

In the end, in regard to the narratives of the screenplays examined in this inquiry, the implementation of contingency was possible to a limited extent. Ultimately, the narratives were – no matter how intensely interspersed with coincidence and contingency – determined by an overall cause. This cause can either be the author, a God or a flood of living frogs – but, sooner or later, the narratives could be traced back to at least a glimpse of an explanation – a cause – in order to be understandable. Now, to tie all ends together – to relate all causes to their respective effects – I want to end with

54 the point where I began, and conclude with the still relevant statement of T. S. Elliot that ‘it is the function of all art to give us some perception of an order in life, by imposing an order upon it’ (86).

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58 Appendix 1

5 INT. SYDNEY’S CAR - MOVING – MORNING/LATER

Sydney driving, John is in the passenger seat. HOLD. They drive for a while in silence, then:

SYDNEY

My Uncle died in 1949. He was a policeman in Boston. My Uncle worked as a policeman in Boston for thirteen years and he was fired upon twenty- three times in the line of duty without being hit.

(beat)

One morning: He woke up, got dressed, walked outside and down the street. He went to buy his coffee and his paper. He walked fifty yards from his house...he was fifty yards from reaching the store. He slipped on a patch of ice, fell down and cracked his forehead open on the pavement.

BEAT.

SYDNEY

There are thirty-six possible combinations on a pair of dice. There’s one way to roll a two and six ways to roll a seven. That’s the math. That is what can be proven. If you want to roll a four, how can you do it? What are the combinations?

JOHN

...Combinations...

SYDNEY

What number plus what number equals four?

JOHN

Two plus two.

SYDNEY

What else?

JOHN

Three and one.

SYDNEY

What else?

59 JOHN

...That’s it.

SYDNEY

One and three.

JOHN

I said that.

SYDNEY

There are three ways to make a four, John. Two and two, three and one, one and three. That’s the math. It’s the only given in the situation. Only thing is: we can’t control how they come up. In walking down the street to buy coffee, we relinquish the control to what? Maybe, to who? I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter to what or who or why, because that’s the way it is. We’ve got nothing to do with any of it.

(beat)

All we can do is bet on it.

HOLD. They drive for a while in silence, then:

JOHN

Can I get a cigarette from you?

Sydney pulls a cig out, takes one, hands one to John. John presses the cig lighter in the dash board.

SYDNEY

Doesn’t work, here...

Sydney hands him a book of MATCHES.

JOHN

No thanks.

SYDNEY

The lighter there doesn’t work.

JOHN

I heard you. I just can’t use matches.

Sydney lights the cig form himself with the matches. While he does, John holds the wheel. Once the cig is lit, Sydney drives for a few beats in silence, then:

SYDNEY

Are you going to smoke that?

JOHN

60 No.

SYDNEY

Why don’t you use the matches?

JOHN

It’s a rule with me. I just don’t use matches.

SYDNEY

Why not?

JOHN

I had a really bad experience once. I promised I’d never use them again.

SYDNEY

Tell me.

JOHN

You know those monster book of matches...those big daddy match books with like forty matches?

SYDNEY

Yeah.

JOHN

It’s got something to do with friction from what I understand...spontaneous friction...and then WHAM. They went off. I was standing in line for a movie, all of a sudden....I swear to God, the shock of it. It scared the shit out of me. I had like third degree burns on my leg...this close to my dick...

SYDNEY

I was just thinking that.

JOHN

And a brand new pair of pants too. I mean, the matches go off, burn the hell out of my leg, scare the shit out of me...but the real pisser was blowing a hole in a brand new pair of jeans.

SYDNEY

That’s terrible.

JOHN

I thought about suing the matchbook company...but...I understand that these sorts of things happen. You know? I mean, shit just

61 happens. This happens, that happens, you just deal with it.

SYDNEY

That’s right. That’s absolutely right, John.

HOLD. Sydney drags from his cig, then hands it to John.

SYDNEY

Here.

John takes the lit cig and uses it to light his own.

JOHN

Thanks.

John smokes his cig a moment, then:

JOHN

What do you do?

SYDNEY

...I travel...

JOHN

You’re a professional gambler.

SYDNEY

I play long enough and hard enough to get a comped room and put food in my stomach.

JOHN

You’ve got it all figured out.

SYDNEY

John. I’m gonna loan you fifty dollars. Now tell me: What’ll you do with it?

JOHN

You asked me. I told you –-

SYDNEY

-- you could take it and play it. Play it a certain way long enough and hard enough to get a bed and a meal. You won’t win six thousand dollars, I can assure you that. And if you think you can: Well. You just can’t.

BEAT. HOLD, THEN:

JOHN

62 If you tell me how to do that, how to play so I can get a bed and a meal...I’d do that...if you’d tell me how.

63 Appendix 2

77 INT. SYDNEY’S ROOM - NIGHT – THAT MOMENT

They enter.

JIMMY

Sit there, on the bed.

Syd does so. Jimmy looks around for a bit, finally takes a seat in a chair.

JIMMY

Do have a cigarette?

Sydney hands him one, Jimmy lights up.

JIMMY

Do you want some coffee?

Sydney

No.

JIMMY

We are going to be here until John calls or the bank opens. Do you understand? I’m gonna order some coffee.

Jimmy dials room service.

JIMMY

Can I get some coffee up here please. Yes. A large pot. Yeah. Thank you.

Jimmy looks at Syndney. Hold. Long silence.

JIMMY

You’ve got to understand that this...not easy for me. You understand?

SYDNEY

Yeah.

JIMMY

John is a friend and you are his friend. What I mean, what I believe is that: You killed his father as the stories I’ve heard go. And if someone killed my father, well...even though I don’t get along with my old man, I would still feel some sort of need to do something.

(pause)

64 So you understand where I’m coming from? I’m coming as John’s fiend.

Sydney keeps quiet.

JIMMY

A guy only gets one dad and you killed his. The way I heard the story...(stories get around)... you used to be a hard ass. You were a hard ass and you took his dad out, Sydney. So you think, what? Maybe you can just walk through this life without being punished for it? Shit, man. I know all those guys -- Floyd Gondolli, Jimmy Gator and the whole crowd. Talk, talk, talk, people love to tell stories.

(MORE)

Y’know, you can look at me sideways all you want, maybe you think I’m some asshole or something, but I’m not a killer like you.

(long pause, then;)

You know you walk around like your Mr. Cool or Mr. Wisdom but you’re not...you’re just an old hood. The other night in the bar: Ask me a question like, “Do I do parking lot security?” I know what that means, Sydney. The answer is: No. I’m trusted with security inside the casino. I’m trusted security and I don’t fuck it up.

SYDNEY

It’s good to see you have a sturdy sense of responsibility.

Jimmy SLAPS Sydney’s face hard.

JIMMY

Don’t, don’t, don’t fuckin’ do that. You understand? I can see right through that shit. You look at me as some fuckin’ idiot? Huh? Yeah, I know you -- I know you -- You guys, you old hoods man, you think you’re so fuckin’ above it, so high and mighty and what am I to you, huh? Just some loser? Well, no. No. Not right now. Not with a gun in my hand and the facts I know.

Jimmy paces some more, collects his calm, extinguishes his cig, empties the ashtray, looks at Sydney;

JIMMY

No matter how hard you try you’re not his father, Sydney.

65 SYDNEY

I have the money here.

BEAT. Jimmy and Sydney hold a look.

SYDNEY

I have six thousand dollars here. It’s not in the bank. I have it here.

JIMMY

I knew that you did.

SYDNEY

I’ll give it to you now, but I will ask you this: I will ask you something, a favor...something that’s crucial to this transaction.

JIMMY

What?

SYDNEY

I don’t want to die...

There’s a KNOCK at the door.

VOICE (OC)

Room Service.

Jimmy opens the door. Room service enters, hands over the coffee, looks for one of them to sign the bill. Sydney takes it, signs it. Room Service exits.

JIMMY

Thanks for the coffee.

Jimmy pours himself a cup, but leaves it sitting on the table, looks at Sydney;

SYDNEY

I have the money to give you. Right now, in this moment: I’ll give you all that I have. Maybe before you were going to kill me. Maybe, I don’t know. I know John and I love him like he was my own child, but I can tell you this: I don’t want to die. I killed his father. I can tell you what it was, but this is not an excuse. I’m not begging for clemency. All that matters: I don’t wish to sacrifice my life for John’s well being, but I will sacrifice this money for mine. Because you have asked me...because after this I have done all I can do for John and for myself, I will ask you, with all the sincerity and heart that I have: Please don’t put a bullet in me and please

66 don’t tell John what I have done. I trust that once I give you this money you and I will have separate paths and that this negotiation will settle everything. That’s what I hope. I don’t want to die.

Jimmy holds eyes on him. PAUSE, THEN:

HYSTERICAL MAN (OC)

...I DON’T WANNA DIE...

ANGLE, CLOSE-UP. SYDNEY.

HYSTERICAL MAN (OC)

...Please, I don’t wanna die...

78 INT. APARTMENT ROOM/ATLANTIC CITY - DAY – FLASHBACK

The FACE of John’s father, ARTHUR in TEARS. He looks INTO CAMERA.

ARTHUR

...I CAN’T DIE, SYDNEY.

SYDNEY

Stop saying that, Arthur.

ARTHUR

I’LL DO WHATEVER THEY SAY. WHATEVER YOU TELL ME TO DO, I’LL DO IT.

SYDNEY

I just want you to calm down for Christ’s sake. Your wife and child are in the next room, just calm down.

ARTHUR

MY BABY, SYD, MY BABY, FOR MY SON. FOR MY SON. FOR MY SON, YOU WON’T.

WIDER ANGLE IN THE APARTMENT – THAT MOMENT

A one bedroom place. 1966. Sydney, obviously younger, stands up from a chair, walks to Arthur, picks him up from his knees.

SYDNEY

...I won’t hurt you. You know that. Do you believe I won’t hurt you?

ARTHUR

I believe you.

67 SYDNEY

Come sit in the chair.

Arthur and Sydney sit face to face. HOLD.

SYDNEY

Do you have anything? If you put forth an effort...

ARTHUR

I’ve got sixty dollars to my name. My kid...my kid...he needs shots and all this other shit...hospital bills and all that...it’s just...it’s all fucked. He can’t do this to me, not for thirty-eight hundred bucks, he can’t.

SYDNEY

You know you’re not gonna get shot up overt this...

ARTHUR

...he sends you to talk to me, I know it means something, Syd...

SYDNEY

He knows that I know you, he figured I could talk...

ARTHUR

...You know me...you know me...The next person here...I don’t want to die, Sydney. Look at my child, look at my child, Sydney.

SYDNEY

Stop it.

ARTHUR

I used to be in on jobs. I was in on some big jobs, you’ve heard the stories about me. Shit, this was before you were even around, but I was in it. I was eyes and ears, Syd.

SYDNEY

I know.

ARTHUR

And now what?

SYDNEY

You’ve got a problem.

ARTHUR

68 That’s over. I’m done with that shit. On my child’s eyes, that shit is over. You’re my friend...

SYDNEY

...I’m your friend.

ARTHUR

Just a month ago, I was in it. Remember the Baltimore job?

SYDNEY

I remember.

ARTHUR

It went wrong, but you took care of it.

SYDNEY

Yeah.

ARTHUR

..The next person that comes...

SYDNEY

Be quiet now.

They sit in silence for a moment. Sydney looks into the kitchen, through a pair of glass doors.

SYDNEY’S POV – INTO THE KITCHEN A young baby being breast fed by his MOTHER. She glances at Sydney.

Sydney takes a hundred dollar bill from his pocket, hands it to him.

SYDNEY

You might want to be a little harder to find, Arthur.

ARTHUR

It doesn’t matter.

SYDNEY

Don’t put it in your arm, put it in your child’s stomach

Sydney leaves. HOLD. Arthur looks to the kitchen.

79 INT. SYDNEY’S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT – PRESENT MOMENT

Jimmy and Sydney. Back to the scene. QUICK DOLLY IN ON JIMMY;

69 JIMMY

Where’s the money?

SYDNEY

It’s with the hotel. In the safe.

JIMMY

Yeah. Then...

SYDNEY

All that I have, I’ll give you.

JIMMY

And you’ll get it.

80 INT. HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT –MOMENTS LATER

Sydney signs a paper and is handed the money. Jimmy stands nearby. Sydney, with money in an envelope, turns to Jimmy.

JIMMY

Not here.

Sydney follows Jimmy....CAMERA loses them --

81 INT. SERVICE HALLWAY/AREA - NIGHT –MOMENTS LATER

Sydney and Jimmy enter through a side door and into a service hallway area. Racks, crates and maintenance things around.

Sydney hands him the envelope. Jimmy takes it, looks inside. BEAT, THEN. Jimmy raises the GUN into Sydney’s face.

JIMMY

That’s right...and that’s that.

BEAT. He lowers the gun, walks off. HOLD ON SYDNEY’S FACE.

82 EXT. ATLANTIC CITY/ALLEY-WAY - FLASHBACK – DAY

Arthur sits on the ground, Sydney paces around.

ARTHUR

I wanted to talk to you about it first, cause I knew you’d hear or maybe you heard.

SYDNEY

Uh-huh.

70 BEAT,THEN:

ARTHUR

I won’t tell them anything about you, Sydney.

SYDNEY

What did they ask?

ARTHUR

Lots of things...Baltimore, the thing, Baltimore.

CAMERA NOW HOLDS ON SYDNEY THROUGH ENTIRE SEQUENCE.

ARTHUR (OC)

They waved it, but I didn’t bite, Syd. I didn’t bite and I wanted you to know that.

SYDNEY

They ask anything else?

ARTHUR (OC)

They asked about everybody.

SYDNEY

You didn’t tell them anything.

ARTHUR (OC)

Nothing. I won’t. I didn’t.

SYDNEY

I know.

ARTHUR (OC)

They talked about protection for me and all this other stuff, but you know, you know...I held strong, Syd. I held strong....I held...like a men.

CAMERA DOES A SLOW DOLLY TOWARDS SYDNEY.

SYDNEY

Can I ask you a question?

ARTHUR (OC)

Anything.

SYDNEY

Don’t lie to me.

71 ARTHUR (OC)

I’d never lie to you, Sydney.

SYDNEY

Are off the drugs?

ARTHUR (OC)

Yes.

Sydney turns and faces Arthur, who verges on tears. Sydney holds a look on him. Arthur looks at Sydney’s hand stuffed in his coat pocket. Sydney takes a few steps back...

ARTHUR

...Syd....Sydney....Sydney.... Listen to your name, listen to me say your name: Sydney. Sydney. Please.

...SYDNEY RAISES THE REVOLVER FROM HIS COAT POCKET, INTO FRAME, POINTED AT ARTHUR.

ARTHUR

...My baby...for my little, John, my child --

SYDNEY FIRES THE GUN INTO ARTHUR’S FACE. OC we HEAR a PHONE RINGING. Sydney places the REVOLVER in Arthur’s hand and walks quickly off, down the alley and away. OC PHONE RINGING CONTINUES OVER...

83 INT. SYDNEY’S ROOM - NIGHT – MOMENTS LATER

Sydney sits on the edge of his bed. A packed suitcase sits next to him. The phone RINGS. He finally picks it up.

SYDNEY

Hello?

72 Appendix 3

160 INT. LIMO - PARKED - NIGHT - CONTINUED

The limo is pulled over and Jack is speaking through the window to some YOUNG COLLEGE STUDENT, wearing a backpack. (This kid is one of the boys who was making sexual gestures to Rollergirl earlier in the movie).

JACK

What do you say?

COLLEGE KID

I dunno -- you mean it.

JACK

Anything you wanna do -- you do it. Do you see this young lady here?

COLLEGE KID

Yeah.

JACK

You like what you see?

COLLEGE KID

Sure.

JACK

Then get in here and do what you want.

The College Kid gets in the car, sits next to Rollergirl, who nods hello. She may or may not recognize him. Jack gets in the seat opposite (behind the CAMERA).

JACK

You a student?

COLLEGE KID

Um...um...yeah.

JACK

Oh, great. Where do you go to school?

COLLEGE KID

Um...uh...do I have to say?

JACK

No, no. Anyway. How'd you like to go round with Rollergirl? Have you seen her film work?

73 COLLEGE KID

...yeah...yeah I have.

(to Rollergirl)

We watch your films in my frat house. I go to CSUN. The fuckin' guys are never gonna believe this --

JACK

Alright...fantastic cool...

COLLEGE KID

I think we met once before, actually.

ROLLERGIRL

Really?

BEAT.

COLLEGE KID

I know you...we went to school together. We went to high school together....you're Brandy, right? Brandy's your name.

Rollergirl looks caught. Jack looks surprised to hear this...

CUT TO:

161 EXT. STUDIO CITY/ALLEYWAY - NIGHT (LATER)

Dirk is standing in an alleyway. HEADLIGHTS FLOAT ACROSS A WALL, CATCHING A GLIMPSE OF DIRK. A small Toyota drives up and stops next to Dirk. A FIGURE inside the car speaks;

FIGURE

Hello.

DIRK

Hey.

FIGURE

Are you waiting for someone?

DIRK

...yeah. I'm waiting for someone. I'm not sure if they're gonna show up though.

FIGURE

You wanna wait in the car?

BEAT. Dirk gets into the Toyota. It drives about fifty yards down the alley and makes a turn into --

74 CUT TO:

162 EXT. EMPTY PARKING LOT - NIGHT - THAT MOMENT

The Toyota with Dirk pulls around and parks.

CUT TO:

163 INT. TOYOTA - PARKED - NIGHT - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA holds a profile 2-shot on Dirk in the f.g. and the driver in the b.g. The driver is a young SURFER kid in his late 20s.

SURFER

I'm Joe.

DIRK

Dirk.

(beat)

Do you know who I am?

SURFER

...No...

DIRK

My name is Dirk Diggler.

SURFER

No...I mean...you're a guy...I'm helping you out....

DIRK

Yeah.

SURFER

So...what do you want to do?

DIRK

I'm...it's what you want.

SURFER

...I wanna watch you. I mean, I'm not gay. I just wanna. Maybe you can jerk off a little and I can watch. Maybe I'll join in, but for now I just wanna watch.

Dirk nods his head a little. HOLD.

DIRK

Twenty bucks.

SURFER

75 Ten is all I have...

CUT TO:

164 INT. LIMO - MOVING - MOMENTS LATER

The limo is moving now. Jack is sitting behind the CAMERA. The LIGHT held above the Camcorder SHINES brightly on them.

Rollergirl and the College Kid struggle in the seat. He has some trouble removing his pants and she tries to help a little, but it's pretty obvious she's not enjoying this. Jack tries to coach them from the sidelines;

JACK

Alright, there, pal; make it look good, make it sexy -- don't just ram your way up and in there --

The College Kid doesn't respond.

JACK

Hey, hey, hey...take it slow and make it kinky, kid. C'mon. Think of Miss Lovely Rollergirl as a beautiful instrument that you need to play...c'mon now...slow down... Pretend you're just a wonderful stud, pretend you're a wonderful stud that's just ready to melt her pussy...hey, kid...? Are you listening to me? Hey -- hey --

COLLEGE KID

Just let me do my thing, man.

JACK

Cut. Stop. Cut.

The College Kid looks a little pissed, Rollergirl pushes him off;

ROLLERGIRL

This is stupid, Jack.

JACK

I know...this isn't working out.

COLLEGE KID

That's it?

JACK (OC)

Yeah, that's all. Sorry for the inconvenience.

The College Kid pulls his pants on.

COLLEGE KID

You got me hard -- you could at least jack me off or something, lady.

76 ROLLERGIRL

What the fuck did you say?

COLLEGE KID

It's not so cool to leave me with a hard on.

ROLLERGIRL

Fuck you.

COLLEGE KID

Nice life you've got here. Should be proud of what you've become...

The College Kid laughs a little, heads out of the car, turns back to Jack and says:

COLLEGE KID

Your fuckin' films suck now anyway.

ANGLE, CU. JACK

CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE IN SLOW MOTION. He freaks out.

Jack CHARGES out of the limo TACKLING the College Kid to the Ground. He starts to BEAT the shit out of him...

CUT TO:

165 INT. TOYOTA - PARKED - THAT MOMENT

Dirk zips his pants open. The Surfer kid's eyes watch closely. Dirk pulls out his cock and the Surfer kid looks surprised, speaks sotto;

SURFER

...holy shit...that's nice...that's...big...

Dirk nods, looks down.

SURFER

Why don't you jerk it a little, get it hard? I wanna see it get hard.

Dirk's hand touches his cock and he starts to masturbate a little. The Surfer kid watches. CAMERA BEGINS A PAINFULLY SLOW ZOOM INTO PROFILE XCU. ON DIRK.

SURFER

...maybe...do it harder...

Dirk does it harder and faster.

SURFER

Get your hand wet.

DIRK

77 ...be quiet...

Dirk tries to do it faster and harder.

SURFER

...c'mon...c'mon...c'mon...

Dirk tries harder and faster but only gets more frustrated. He verges on tears, looks to the Surfer Kid.

DIRK

I can't...I can't get it hard...I can't. I'm sorry --

SUDDENLY:

A PICK-UP TRUCK carrying THREE PUNK KIDS SLAMS ON ITS BRAKES IN FRONT OF DIRK IN THE TOYOTA. Dirk looks up in shock, turns his head to the Surfer Kid who says;

SURFER

You shouldn't do this sort of thing, faggot.

Surfer PUNCHES Dirk in the face...

CUT TO:

166 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - NIGHT - THAT MOMENT

Jack continues to BEAT the College Kid and yell at him;

JACK

YOU HAVE SOME FUCKING RESPECT. YOU LITTLE PRICK. YOU HAVE SOME GODDAMN RESPECT FOR THAT GIRL. SHE'S A STAR, A WONDERFUL CHILD AND A STAR. You think you're worthy to fuck her -- you're not worthy to TOUCH her -- the way you fuck -- who taught you? WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO FUCK THAT WAY? YOU'RE AN AMATEUR. AN AMATEUR.

He KICKS the College Kid again and again...CAMERA DOLLIES IN ON

ROLLERGIRL as she watches. She rolls over...stands a BEAT over the College Kid...and then goes crazy...she SMASHES his face with her ROLLERSKATES over and over and over;

ROLLERGIRL

YOU -- DON'T -- EVER -- DISRESPECT -- ME.

She breaks down CRYING and SCREAMING...Jack pulls her off...

CUT TO:

167 EXT. PARKING LOT - THAT MOMENT

The FOUR SURFER PUNKS drag Dirk from the car and proceed to beat the shit out of him. Kicking and punching him, calling out;

SURFERS

78 Little Fuckin' Fag. Donkey-Dick. You don't do this. You don't.

They continue to yell and scream and kick and punch Dirk and eventually peel out of the parking lot. Dirk moans and cries and holds his stomach in pain. He coughs up some blood and vomit..

CAMERA PANS away from him, looking out of the alleyway, toward Ventura Blvd. HOLD WIDE ANGLE ON THE STREET, EMPTY FRAME, THEN; The WHITE LIMO carrying Jack and Rollergirl cruises PAST.

ANGLE, IN THE STREEET, MOMENT LATER.

The WHITE LIMO drives PAST CAMERA LFT. HOLD, THEN; BUCK'S CAR enters in CAMERA RT. And we PICK UP AND PAN with it into --

CUT TO:

168 EXT. DONUT SHOP/VENTURA BLVD. - NIGHT

Buck's car pulls up and parks in front of the donut shop. CAMERA DOLLIES IN CLOSE. Jessie is in the passenger seat, Buck leaves the engine running;

BUCK

What do you want, honey?

JESSIE

I want...um...apple fritter...Jelly...And uh...chocolate with sprinkles...and a bear claw, too...

Buck gets out of the car and we reveal that she is SIX MONTHS PREGNANT. Buck looks down;

BUCK

How's my little kung-fu fighter?

JESSIE

He's kicking ass inside my stomach.

BUCK

That's a boy.

CUT TO:

169 INT. DONUT SHOP - NIGHT

Buck enters and looks at some donuts, helped by the DONUT BOY behind the counter. A MIDDLE AGED MAN in a camouflage baseball hat sits in the corner eating a donut and some coffee, reading 'Guns and Ammo.'

DONUT BOY

Can I help you?

BUCK

Yeah...I'm gonna get a dozen...

79 The Donut Boy gets a box and Buck starts to point out;

BUCK

Lemme get two bear claws...apple fritter...Two chocolate...two sprinkles...gimme some of those glazed...how many is that?

At that moment a PUERTO RICAN KID walks in, pulls a REVOLVER from his pocket and points at the Donut Boy.

PUERTO RICAN KID

Empty the safe. Behind the soda machine.

BUCK

Jesus Christ.

The Puerto Rican Kid SWINGS HIS AIM at Buck.

PUERTO RICAN KID

Don't talk...shut the fuck up...

(aims back at Donut Boy)

Okay...empty the safe...

Donut Boy starts to empty the safe, putting the money in a paper sack...Buck is frozen...

The MIDDLE AGED MAN in the corner reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an extremely BIG GUN...

The Middle Aged Man SHOOTS the Puerto Rican Kid in the BACK...

...the Puerto Rican Kid turns and returns FIRE, hitting the Middle Aged Man with a bullet in the FACE...

...The Middle Aged Man gets another wild SHOT off before he expires and that bullet hits the Donut Boy in the CHEST...

So: The Donut Boy is dead, The Puerto Rican Kid falls to the floor dead and the Middle Aged Man is face down dead in his donut and coffee...

Blood is ALL OVER Buck...he stands for a long moment...

CU. THE BAG OF MONEY ON THE FLOOR

CU. BUCK.

He looks at it. SLOW ZOOM IN. BEAT.

Buck leans down, picks up the BAG FULL OF MONEY and walks out of the donut shop.

FADE OUT.

80 Appendix 4

182 EXT. SIDE STREET - THAT MOMENT

Dirk pushes his car down a small cul-de-sac, hops in and pulls the emergency brake.

He looks around a moment. HOLD. CAMERA DOLLIES IN CLOSE ON HIS FACE. He looks at the street signs.

OVERHEAD ANGLE, INTERSECTION.

Dirk walks to the middle of the intersection and looks up at the signposts. It reads, "Troost Street."

He walks down this street, looking at the houses. He walks a full two blocks down, stops, looks: He's standing in front of his PARENTS HOUSE. It looks just the same.

A young PAPERBOY rides past and throws the paper, hitting Dirk in the head. He hesitates, then walks up the steps;

CAMERA MOVES IN SLOWLY ON THE DOOR, LANDS IN A CU. OVER HIS SHOULDER. He knocks. Moments later . . . the door opens; A young woman in a bathrobe with a BABY on her hip opens the door. This is SHERYL LYNN, who we met earlier.

SHERYL LYNN

Yes?

DIRK

. . . hello.

SHERYL LYNN

Can I help you?

BEAT.

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie . . . ? Eddie.

Dirk hesitates a moment, then recognizes Sheryl Lynn.

81 DIRK

. . . what are you doing here? Where's my mother?

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie . . . I can't believe it . . .

DIRK

. . . I'm looking for my mother . . .

I'm looking for my father and mother.

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie, honey . . . my God . . . you just . . .

DIRK

Why are you in this house? I don't

want to see you, I want my mother.

SHERYL LYNN

I live here now. With my husband.

DIRK

Where's my mom?

SHERYL LYNN

You should come in --

BEAT. HOLD CU. ON DIRK.

DIRK

No . . . no. Jesus Christ, I know what

you're gonna say --

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie, I can tell you what happened,

just let me tell you inside here --

DIRK

Just tell me. Just tell me.

SHERYL LYNN

82

They passed . . . last May --

The baby starts to cry. Dirk doesn't move;

DIRK

. . . how . . . ?

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie, come inside right now, please.

DIRK

YOU TELL ME, LADY.

SHERYL LYNN

There was no way to find you, to get

in touch with you. To tell you all these things --

DIRK

TELL ME RIGHT NOW, YOU.

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie, it was out of the blue

and there was a man and he was speeding and

he was drunk and they didn't --

CUT TO:

183 EXT. INTERSECTION - DAY

A little Station Wagon enters the intersection with the right of way but is IMMEDIATELY AND POWERFULLY CRUNCHED by a SPEEDING MALIBU that barrels into the intersection.

The STATION WAGON is THROWN fifty yards away. A HORN blows . . .

CAMERA DOES A SLOW DOLLY IN TOWARDS THE STATION WAGON. Dirk's MOTHER and FATHER are SOAKED IN BLOOD.

CAMERA DOES A SLOW DOLLY IN TOWARDS THE SPEEDING MALIBU. Half in/half through the windshield of this car is JOHNNY DOE.

83 QUICK FADE OUT, CUT TO:

184 EXT. DIRK'S HOUSE/TORRANCE - THAT MOMENT

Back to the scene. HOLD ON DIRK.

SHERYL LYNN

It was just some drunk kid, Eddie.

DIRK

-- why do you live here?

SHERYL LYNN

My husband and I bought this house.

DIRK

Why? Why did you do that?

SHERYL LYNN

Eddie, please --

DIRK

This is my house. THIS IS MY HOUSE.

What the fuck? What the fuck are you

doing here? I don't want to see you,

I need to see my mother. I want my mother.

84 Appendix 5

OVER BLACK;

NARRATOR In the New York Herald, November 26, year 1911, there is an account of the hanging of three men --

CUT TO:

Black and White Lumiere Footage Three men hung....bang...bang...bang. CUT TO:

Newspaper Headline comes into focus; "Three Men Hung."

QUICK DISSOLVE:

Sub Head comes into focus; "...for murder of..." CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT/FOYER - EVENING (Lumiere Footage Contd.)

A man in period dress (1911) walks in the door. CAMERA DOLLIES IN QUICK as he takes his hat off, shakes snow, looks off --

NARRATOR ...they died for the murder of Sir Edmund William Godfrey --

Sir Edmund is greeted by his WIFE and two CHILDREN.

NARRATOR -- Husband, Father, Pharmacist and all around gentle-man resident of --

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

CAMERA pushes in on the town sign, reads:

"Greenberry Hill, London. Population 1276"

NARRATOR Greenberry Hill, London. Population as listed.

CUT TO:

EXT. PHARMACY - NIGHT

HIGH ANGLE, looking down as Sir Edmond comes out the door, locks up for the evening. CAMERA BOOMS DOWN and PUSHES IN

85 TOWARDS HIM, WHIPS RT TOWARDS:

NARRATOR He was murdered by three vagrants whose motive was simple robbery. They were identified as:

A COATED MAN standing in the shadows of the alley way nearby.

NARRATOR ...Joseph Green.....

CAMERA WHIPS RT. again, nearby ANOTHER MAN steps closer --

NARRATOR ...Stanley Berry....

CAMERA WHIPS RT. one more time and PUSH IN towards THE LAST MAN --

NARRATOR ...and Nigel Hill...

WIDE ANGLE, ABOVE SCENE.

The three men move in on Sir Edmond and start to knife him to death, stealing his money and jewelry. CAMERA PULLS BACK and up to include the sign of the pharmacy now: "Greenberry Hill Pharmacy."

CUT TO:

LUMIERE FOOTAGE REPLAYED. Three men hug. Bang...bang...bang...

NARRATOR Green, Berry and Hill.

FREEZE FRAME On the last hanging image.

NARRATOR ...And I Would Like To Think This Was Only A Matter Of Chance.

OPTICAL WIPE OF FLAMES FILL THE SCREEN, CAMERA PULLS BACK:

EXT. FORREST/NEAR LAKE TAHOE - NIGHT (35mm/color/anamorphic now)

CAMERA is in the midst of a large FORREST FIRE. CAMERA WHIPS RT TO SEE:

THREE FIREMEN battling the flames. CAMERA PUSHES IN On them as they scream and shout directions at each other:

NARRATOR As reported in the Reno Gazzette, June of 1983 there is the story of a fire ---

HIGH ANGLE, THE TREE TOPS. The trees are on fire....moments later....

NARRATOR

86 --- the water that it took to contain the fire --

WATER FALLS DOWN... dropped from a FIRE DEPARTMENT AIR TANKER.

CUT TO:

EXT. FORREST/NEAR LAKE TAHOE - MORNING

CAMERA pushes in towards FOUR FIREFIGHTERS as they survey the area. The fire is out and they are walking through. The MAIN FIREFIGHTER steps into a close up and looks:

NARRATOR -- and a scuba diver named Delmer Darion.

FIREFIGHTER'S POV, THAT MOMENT CAMERA dollies in and TILTS up towards the top of the tree to reveal:

There is a MAN IN SCUBA GEAR hanging high in the tree. He is wearing his goggles and his tanks and his wet suit.

FIRE FIGHTER (OC) What the fuck is that?

ANGLE, CU. DELMER DARION. He still has his mask and mouthpiece.

CUT TO:

INT. PEPPERMILL CASINO - NIGHT - FLASHBACK

CAMERA looks down on a blackjack game, BOOM DOWN and TILT UP to reveal: DELMER DARION (40s)

NARRATOR Employee of the Peppermill Hotel and Casino, Reno, Nevada. Engaged as a blackjack dealer --

CUT TO:

INT. CASINO/LOBBY - EARLY MORNING - FLASHBACK

CAMERA pushes in towards Delmer as he leaves for the nght, his uniform draped on a hanger over his shoulder, he nods and motions two fingers to his fellow WORKERS who say "so longer." (Note: He has a bandage over his forehead.)

NARRATOR -- well liked and well regarded as a physical, recreational and sporting sort -- Delmer's true passion was for the lake --

CUT TO:

INT. LAKE TAHOE/UNDERWATER - DAY

Delmer SPLASHES in and comes down towards the CAMERA. SOUND drops out, becomes very quiet...

87

CUT TO:

EXT. LAKE TAHOE - THAT MOMENT

The FIRE DEPARTMENT AIR TANKER comes flying in, heading towards the lake, coming directly at CAMERA...

CUT TO:

INT. LAKE TAHOE/UNDERWATER - THAT MOMENT

Delmer dives. Silent and peaceful.

CUT TO:

EXT. LAKE TAHOE - THAT MOMENT

OVERHEAD ANGLE Looks down on the calm lake....beat, then:

THE MASSIVE AIR TANKER FILLS THE FRAME, TOUCHING DOWN ON THE WATER, FULLING IT'S BODY FULL OF WATER FROM THE LAKE. It enters CAMERA RT. and exits CAMERA LFT.

ANGLE, THE AIR TANKER. It heads off full of water towards the raging forrest fire in the distance.

NARRATOR -- as reported by the coroner, Delmer died of a heart attack somewhere between the lake and the tree. But most curious side note is the suicide the next day of Craig Hansen --

CUT TO:

EXT. RENO MOTEL - DAY - FLASHBACK

Establishing shot. (x3)

CUT TO:

INT. MOTEL - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA PUSHES IN SUPER QUICK towards a MAN named CRAIG HANSEN (30s) He shoves a RIFLE under his chin and pulls the trigger, blood and brains splatter the ceiling.

CUT TO:

INT. AIR TANKER COCKPIT - FLASHBACK - DAY

HANSEN flying the plane. HOLD CU. as he moves towards the lake.

NARRATOR ...volunteer firefighter, estranged father of four and a poor tendency to drink -- Mr. Hansen was the pilot of the plane that quite accidentally lifted Delmer Darion out of the water --

88

CUT TO:

EXT. LAKE TAHOE - SHOT REPLAYED.

Quick flashback to the footage of the PLANE lifting the water from the lake, SOUND CARRIES OVER....

CUT TO:

INT. CASINO - NIGHT - FLASHBACK

The Blackjack table where DELMER Is dealing. DOLLY AROUND to reveal a drunk and obnoxious CRAIG HANSEN, screaming about the cards he's been dealt and taunting Delmer

NARRATOR -- added to this, Mr. Hansen's tortured life met before with Delmer Darion just two nights previous --

Hansen SPITS and PUNCHES at Delmer Darion's FACE for dealing the cards he's been dealt. SECURITY GUARDS attack and pull him to the ground.

CUT TO:

INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY - BACK TO SCENE

CRAIG HANSEN reading the paper, looking at the cover story, that has a photo of DELMER DARION. He's crying and mumbling to himself:

CRAIG HANSEN ...oh God...fuck...I'm sorry...I'm sorry...

NARRATOR The weight of the guilt and the measure of coincidence so large, Craig Hansen took his life.

Replay of Craig Hansen's suicide, except this time, right before he blows his head off we hear him say, through tears:

CRAIG HANSEN ...forgive me...

CUT TO:

INT. CASINO - NIGHT - BACK TO SCENE

Back to the fight DELMER and CRAIG HANSEN are having: CAMERA DOLLIES IN QUICK TOWARDS Delmer on the ground with blood coming from his nose. FREEZE FRAME.

NARRATOR And I Am Trying To Think This Was All Only A Matter Of Chance.

QUICK DISSOLVE TO:

89 INSERT, CLOSE UP - HOTEL EVENTS BOARD.

It reads: Welcome! AAFS Awards Dinner and Reception Walnut Room 8pm

INT. HOTEL BANQUET ROOM - NIGHT (1961)

CAMERA pushes in following two GUESTS through some double doors and reveals the DINNER RECEPTION.

ANGLE, MAN BEHIND PODIUM. CAMERA pushes in quick then blends to 60fps on a man in glasses: DONALD HARPER, forensic scientist as he speaks into the microphone.

NARRATOR The tale told at a 1961 awards dinner for the American Association Of Forensic Science by Dr. Donald Harper, president of the association, began with a simple suicide attempt --

CUT TO:

EXT. ROOFTOP - MORNING - FLASHBACK (1958).

A seventeen year old kid SYDNEY BARRINGER steps up on to the roof of a nine story building and looks down.

NARRATOR Seventeen year old Sydney Barringer. In the city of Los Angeles on March 23, 1958.

CAMERA DOLLIES towards Sydney landing in a CLOSE UP of his feet on the ledge, they wobble a bit -- he jumps, disappears from FRAME.

BEAT. The following happens very quickly:

ANGLE, looking up towards the sky...Sydney falls past CAMERA....

ANGLE, looking down towards the street...Sydney continues to fall...

ANGLE, a random window on the sixth floor of the building SMASHES....

ANGLE, Sydney's stomach...a BULLET rips into it as he falls...blood splatters and his body flinches....

ANGLE, looking up towards the sky...Sydney's body and some shattered glass FALL directly at the CAMERA...which pulls back a little to reveal: a SAFETY NET in the foreground....Sydney's body falls LIMP into the net...FREEZE FRAME.

NARRATOR The coroner ruled that the unsuccessful suicide had suddenly become a succesful homicide. To explain:

CUT TO:

EXT. ROOFTOP - FLASHBACK.

90

Replay of shot. Sydney steps up on the rooftop. CAMERA pushes in towards him quickly, this time moving into his COAT POCKET --

NARRATOR The suicide was confirmed by a note, left in the breast pocket of Sydney Barringer --

DISSOLVE INTO:

INT. COAT POCKET - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA catches glimpses of the note, " I'm sorry..." "...and in this time..." "...so I will go " "...and be with God..."

NARRATOR At the same time young Sydney stood on the ledge of this nine story building, an argument swelled three stories below --

QUICK DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BUILDING/HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA pushes in towards the door of ROOM 638. We hear same screaming and yelling coming fram behind the door;

NARRATOR The neighbors heard, as they usually did, the arguing of the tenants --

QUICK DISSOLVE TO:

INT. APARTMENT #638 - THAT MOMENT

An ELDERLY COUPLE (early 60s) are savagely fighting and throwing things. The OLDER MAN is backing away from the OLDER WOMAN who is coming at him with a SHOTGUN.

NARRATOR -- and it was not uncommon for them to threaten each other with a shotgun or one of the many handguns kept in the house --

OLDER MAN Put it down, put that fuckin' thing down Fay --

OLDER WOMAN -- I'II fucking tell YOU. I'll shoot you in the face and end this argument and we see who's right --

NARRATOR And when the shotgun accidentaly went off, Sydney just happend to pass --

The OLDER WOMAN stumbles a bit on some furniture and the SHOTGUN goes off -- FIRES past the OLDER MAN's head -- and SMASHES the

91 window behind him -- SYDNEY falls past and gets shot in the stomach, then falls out of FRAME -- (They're oblivious to this)

OLDER MAN You CRAZY FUCKIN' BITCH WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

OLDER WOMAN SHUT THE FUCK UP.

FREEZE FRAME on the two of them yelling and screaming:

NARRATOR Added to this, the two tenants turned out to be: Fay and Arthur Barringer. Sydney's mother and Sydney's father.

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT - DAY - LATER

CAMERA moves through the scene as POLICEMAN and DETECTIVES question the OLDER COUPLE. Neighbors and lookie-loos around.

NARRATOR When confronted with the charge, which took some figuring out for the officers on the scene of the crime, Fay Barringer swore that she did not know that the gun was loaded.

FAY BARRINGER I didn't know -- I didn't know --

ARTHUR BARRINGER She always threatens me with the gun, but I don't keep it loaded --

DETECTIVE -- and you didn't load the gun?

ARTHUR BARRINGER Why would I load the gun?

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT/HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA moves through as OFFICERS are talking to and getting statements from VARIOUS NEIGHBORS...CAMERA closes in on an EIGHT YEAR OLD BOY, speaking with a DETECTIVE.

NARRATOR A young boy who lived in the building, sometimes a vistor and friend to Sydney Barringer said that he had seen, six days prior the loading of the shotgun --

The DETECTIVE turns his head and calls to another --

DETECTIVE C'mere a minute --

92

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT - DAY - FLASHBACK.

CAMERA moves into a bedroom area where we see a FIGURE from the back sitting on the bed --

NARRATOR It seems that the arguing and the fighting and all of the violence was far too much for Sydney Barringer and knowing his mother and father's tendency to fight, he decided to do something --

CAMERA reveals that it is Sydney Barringer who is loading the shotgun. The YOUNG BOY is sitting nearby, watching Sydney mumble to himself as he loads shells into the shotgun.

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT/HALLWAY - PRESENT

CAMERA moves in on the YOUNG BOY, who looks INTO CAMERA.

YOUNG BOY He said he wanted them to kill each other, that all they wanted to do was kill each other and he would help them if that's what they wanted to do --

CUT TO:

EXT. BUILDING/ROOFTOP - DAY - FLASHBACK

This is a WIDE ANGLE REPLAY of the whole event. We see the whole bui1ding...Sydney starts to jump and the film suddenly slows down...

A diagram is made to reflect the narration...this is done like NFL coverage where the x's and o's and arrows and lines are drawn to indicate placement and moves, etc.)

An x appears on the top of the building over Sydney.

NARRATOR Sydney Barringer jumps from the ninth floor rooftop - - His parents argue three stories below --

An o is marked to indicate their position. Image goes into MOTION with Sydney jumping...an ARROW is drawn that displays the PATH of his fall --

NARRATOR Her accidental shotgun blast hits Sydney in the stomach as he passes the arguing sixth floor window --

Freeze Frame shows Sydney, hanging mid-air -- the glass shattering and starting to fall to the ground -- an X marks the spot where he is hit.

93 NARRATOR He is killed instantly but continues to fall -- only to find, three stories below -- a safety net installed three days prior for a set of window washers that would have broken his fall and saved his life if not for the hole in his stomach.

A squiggly line with an arrow is drawn from Sydney to the net to indicate the path -- UNFREEZE frame and watch Sydney fall into the net

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT - DAY

CAMERA moves in on the PARENTS then over to some DETECTIVES and OFFICERS who are making sense of this, they nod to each other as if to say, "well we know what we have to do..."

NARRATOR So Fay Barringer was charged with the murder of her son and Sydney Barringer noted as an accomplice in his own death...

CAMERA moves towards the little EIGHT YEAR OLD BOY as he watches the older couple CRY and SCREAM as detectives begin to cuff them --

NARRATOR ...and it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just "Something That Happened." This cannot be "One of those things..." This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can't. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance.

CAMERA pushes in towards the MOTHER as she screams and screams and the officer's fight to regain control of her -- in the scuffle, the apartment door is shut directly in the face of the CAMERA.

CUT TO BLACK.

NARRATOR Ohhhh. These strange things happen all the time.

94 Appendix 6

EXT. VENTURA BLVD - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA with the Buick Regal. It moves past CAMERA, which PANS and DOLLIES over to --

THE LAMPLIGHTER COFFEE SHOP. Looking inside, through the window to see Stanley and Worm, sitting talking...

CAMERA GOES INSIDE THE LAMPLIGHTER COFFEE SHOP.

QUICK DISSOLVE TO:

INT. LAMPLIGHTER - THAT MOMENT

Worm is in tears, talking to Stanley. SLOW ZOOM IN.

WORM ....you have it...easy....you know? You have a father who loves you, huh?

STANLEY Yes.

WORM You know what it's like to come home scared, scared that maybe if you don't have the money you're supposed to go out each day and get that you're gonna get beaten....by a belt...he hits me with a belt, Stanley.... (beat) I'm supposed to sell those candy bars, and if I don't, I come home without the money....

STANLEY ....Why does he do it...?

WORM Cause he hates me....he hates me so much.

STANLEY It's not right.

WORM I hate it.

CU - Worm. He hesitates...looks at Stanley and says:

WORM I'm sorry to put all this on you, Stanley --

STANLEY I have money.

WORM ...what...?

95 STANLEY I have money to give you.

WORM No. No. I have to do this on my own.

STANLEY I can take you to get money. I don't need it...I don't need it -- listen to me: I can let you have money so your father won't hit you ever again -- you'll have the money because I don't need it.

CAMERA pushes in a little on Worm, he looks up. 30fps.

WORM Where do you have it?

CAMERA holds 2-shot, looking out the window onto the street. We PUSH PAST THEM AND THROUGH THE WINDOW, picking up with a YELLOW CAB as it drives by, PAN with it....

QUICK DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA travels with the CAB for a moment or two...CAMERA goes inside the CAB....

QUICK DISSOLVE TO:

INT. CAB - MOVING - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA is in the back with CLAUDIA. She slouches down. She's still crying...she snorts some coke off her hand....

CUT TO:

EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA moves with the CAB a bit....it makes a right hand turn and the CAMERA PANS and DOLLIES away, over towards a JAGUAR stopped at the intersection....it's making a left turn at the intersection, going the same way as the CAB did....we push in close and land to see ROSE behind the wheel....She's in tears....

Light turns from RED to GREEN.

CUT TO:

INT. JIMMY'S HOUSE - THAT MOMENT

Jimmy, without a real trace of coordination walks from the living room and into

THE KITCHEN

He moves to a drawer and removes a REVOLVER. His hand is shaking and his hand/eye coordination makes it very hard to grasp hold, but he finally does....he's shaking and tearing....

96 CUT TO:

EXT. BILLINGSLEY'S PARKING LOT - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA tracks with Jim Kurring to his car. He gets behind the wheel.

CUT TO:

EXT. INTERSECTION - MOMENTS LATER

CAMERA overhead as Jim Kurring's car drives past the Magnolia/Tujunga intersection....

CUT TO:

INT. JIM KURRING'S CAR - MOVING - THAT MOMENT

CU - Jim Kurring driving. HOLD. He drives past Solomon and Solomon Electronics.....

JIM'S POV - THAT MOMENT - MOVING he sees the parked Buick Regal and Donnie (in shadow) get out and head for the back door....

CU - Kurring. He registers what he saw.

CUT TO:

EXT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON/LOADING DOCK AREA - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA moves with Donnie over to the back door...he reaches down to his KEY CHAIN and sees:

The BROKEN KEY....it's snapped off the key chain....one half remains....the other half is on the other side of the door in the lock....

DONNIE Fuck.

CUT TO:

INT. JIM KURRING'S CAR - THAT MOMENT Sequence J

Jim Kurring drives a few more feet....slows down...then starts to make a u-turn to go back to the store....

JIM'S POV - MOVING - THROUGH THE WINDHSIELD. The car starts to turn 180 degrees...... as soon as it is headed going back the opposite direction....

...... CRACK......

From the sky, out of the blue, a large GREEN FROG lands on Jim Kurring's windhsield.

CU - Jim Kurring. Scared shitless.

POV - Another GREEN FROG slams on the HOOD OF THE CAR.

97 CU - Brake. Jim's foot SLAMS ON THE BRAKE.

CUT TO:

EXT. MAGNOLIA BLVD. - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA holds a wide angle as Jim Kurring's CAR SLAMS AND SKIDS TO A STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EMPTY STREET.

CLOSER ANGLE, PUSH IN ON THE DRIVER'S SIDE WINDOW. Jim is scared and sweating.....he looks up, out the driver's side window....

JIM'S POV - LOOKING STRAIGHT UP. It's dark and empty sky.....

....hold on him....he looks at the Frog that has landed on the windshield....it's dead and splattered.....

SUDDENLY:

The SOUND of ANOTHER FROG FALLING FROM THE SKY AND SLAMMING ON THE ROOF OF THE CAR.

Jim jumps.....looks up again....

....from straight out of the sky comes ANOTHER FROG falling DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA....it SPLATS....

...then another and another and another.....

WIDE ANGLE. THE STREET.

It starts to RAIN FROGS in the middle of Magnolia Blvd.

CUT TO:

INT. CLAUDIA'S APARTMENT

CU - Claudia snorts a line of coke off her coffee table.

She comes up and INTO FRAME. Outside the window, behind her....

...a FROG FALLS straight past.....

She hears the sound and turns around....sees nothing...

CU - Profile on Clauida....through the other window...another FROG falls past, through the tree outside on it's way down.....

She turns her head again sees nothing....

BEAT.

Another FROG FALLS...she looks...she walks to the window....

.....A dozen FROGS FALL IN VERY QUICK SUCCESION.....

She jumps back from the window...stumbles a bit...knocks over a lamp, which SMASHES to the floor.....her apartment goes DARK....except for street light...more FROGS FALL and

98 we hear the sound and see them through the window in glimpses.....

CUT TO:

EXT. CLAUDIA'S APARTMENT/STREET - THAT MOMENT

The FROGS are falling sort of heavy now....Rose's JAGUAR comes through it....skids and SMASHES into a PARKED CAR....

CAMERA DOLLIES over to her....she looks up at them....they FALL STRAIGHT INTO CAMERA AND ONTO THE HOOD, WINDSHIELD AND ROOF....

..Rose puts the Jaguar in reverse and tries to back away from the smashed parked car.....the bumper's are stuck....

CUT TO:

INT. EARL'S HOUSE - THAT MOMENT

The CAMERA holds on Earl and Frank. Frank has his head buried in Earl's bed holding his hand, crying....it's very quiet....

CU - Phil. He's crying a bit standing off to the side. He looks out the window's and the glass doors and sees the FROGS come raining down. His mouth drops and he can't speak.

Frank doesn't notice. The FROGS fall in the backyard and into THE POOL.

PHIL There are frogs falling from the sky.

CUT TO:

EXT. WHITSETT/NORTH HOLLYWOOD MED. CENTER - THAT MOMENT

The PARAMEDICS are driving real fast down the street.....

CUT TO:

INT. AMBULANCE - MOVING - THAT MOMENT

Linda is on life support stuff in the ambulance. Looking past her, we see the view of the road through the windshield -- the amubulance driver going real fast and just about to pull into the hospital emergency entrance....

FROGS START PELTING THE WINDSHIELD.....THE DRIVER SWERVES...

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET/AMBULANCE - THAT MOMENT

A WIDE ANGLE where we see the FROGS falling onto the moving, swerving Ambulance....one FROG lands so hard on top of the red lights on the ambulance that it CRACKS....

...the FROGS in the middle of the road start to act as a lubricant on the already wet/damp street and the Ambulance starts to SKID SIDEWAYS....

99 ...it FALLS ON IT'S SIDE.

CUT TO:

INT. AMBULANCE - POV

As it falls on it's side and skids a bit....over the Frogs...

CUT TO:

EXT. EMERGENCY ROOM ENTRANCE - THAT MOMENT

Ambulance skids right up to the emergency room entrance.

CUT TO:

INT. JIMMY'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - THAT MOMENT

Jimmy with the Revolver to his head...he cocks it back...

INTERCUT:

EXT. SKY/INT. HOUSE - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA above Jimmy's house, looking straight down and MOVING towards a SKYLIGHT above the kitchen...a FROG enters FRAME, falling straight towards this skylight --

Inside the house, Jimmy about to pull the trigger...SOUND DROPS OUT.

The falling FROG comes STRAIGHT THROUGH THE SKYLIGHT, SMASHING THROUGH....

...falls straight down onto Jimmy's head....the GUN GOES OFF WILDLY.....SMASHES the TELEVISION......

Jimmy falls to the ground....GLASS FALLS from the broken skylight....

...more FROGS continue to fall through it and into the kitchen and around Jimmy.....

...the BULLET into TELEVISION has sparked something and the SOCKET it's plugged into CATCHES FIRE.....

CU - INSIDE THE WALL, NEAR THE SOCKET. Camera moves in and sees some SPARK and FLASH and FIRE started....

CUT TO:

EXT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON ELECTRONICS - THAT MOMENT

Donnie starts to climb up a ladder attached to the side of the building....near the loading dock area....

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET NEARBY - THAT MOMENT

Jim Kurring is in the middle of the Frog Rain...he puts his car into gear and drives down the street....

100

....about twenty yards later and he's out of it....

...he pulls into the parking lot behind Solomon and Solomon.....it's not raining frogs here.....

Kurring's HEADLIGHTS catch a glimpse of Donnie starting to climb...

...Donnie gets scared and FREEZES....

...Kurring is oblivious to Donnie for the moment. He looks in his REARVIEW MIRROR and sees the FROGS FALLING....

...Donnie looks past Kurring and now sees the FROGS FALLING in a 50 x 50 area in the street....

...Donnie looks up...

....FROGS ARE FALLING STAIGHT AT HIM/CAMERA AND THEY KNOCK HIM DOWN AND TO THE CEMENT.....he falls flat on his FACE...

...Jim Kurring turns his head and sees Donnie, fallen flat face and bloody on the pavement....he gets out of his car and runs over to Donnie, through the Frogs that rain down, and picks him/drags him out of harm and under shelter in the LOADING DOCK AREA.

CUT TO:

INT. CLAUDIA'S APARTMENT - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA (STEADICAM) follows ROSE as she runs up the stairs to Claudia's place and frantically BANGS ON THE DOOR...

Inside the apartment, Claudia JUMPS and SCREAMS at the sound....

ROSE HONEY, HONEY, CLAUDIA. IT'S ME. IT'S MOM. MOM. OPEN THE DOOR. OPEN YOUR DOOR HONEY.

Claudia jumps up and goes to her door in the darkness and opens it up -- Rose comes in quick, scared shitless...they fall down and hold onto each other, sweatin/crying/shaking....

CUT TO:

INT. EARL'S HOUSE - THAT MOMENT

Frank lifts his head and watches the FROGS FALL outside the house. Earl looks to Frank....he musters something...Frank notices....

All SOUND DROPS OUT except for the breathing of Frank and Earl.

EARL You are not what you think you are.

Frank breaks down.

CUT TO:

INT. LAMPLIGHTER - THAT MOMENT

101

Stanley and Worm. CAMERA holds as all around...through the glass windows...it RAINS FROGS....smashing to the ground.....hitting a couple odd parked cars...they sit, watching, stunned...in a sort of daze. Stanley seems almost happy. Worm shocked, scarred;

WORM What is that?

STANLEY It's frogs. It's raining frogs.

WORM ...fuck you mean, it's raining frogs?

STANLEY It's raining frogs from the sky.

WORM ....what the fuck, what the fuck....

STANLEY This happens....this is something that happens.

WORM What the fuck is goin' on, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?

CU - STANLEY. HOLD ON HIS FACE extremely tight.

In the reflection of his eye, we see the Frogs falling.... past the neon sign that reads "Fresh Coffee."

ANGLE, DIXON. He comes running into the Lamplighter and over to Worm and Stanley....he's scarred shitless and frantic --

DIXON DADDY! DAD! DAD WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON?

WORM Stay quiet...stay quiet, son --

DIXON LET'S GO, LET'S GO, LET'S GET HIS MONEY AND GO -- DID YOU GET HIS MONEY? DID YOU GET IT? DID YOU GET HIS MONEY, DAD?

WORM No, Son...be quiet...be quiet now...

DIXON C'mon, Dad. We gotta just GET HIS MONEY AND GO, LET'S GO. Let's get the money --

WORM We're not gonna do that now. We're not gonna do that now and that's over.

DIXON BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT, DAD WE NEED

102 TO GET HIS MONEY AND GO.

Dixon takes out a large POLICE ISSUED REVOLVER, AIMS at STANLEY'S FACE.

DIXON GIVE US YOUR MONEY MAN.

WORM Son, don't --

DIXON BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT DAD WE GOTTA GET HIS MONEY --

WORM -- no.

DIXON (to Stanley) GIVE US YOUR MONEY.

WORM Put the gun down, please, boy.

DIXON GIVE US YOUR MONEY, KID.

WORM Son, please, now....

DIXON DAD --

WORM Please, boy, put it down and it's ok.

Dixon starts to get nervous and well with tears...he shakes a little....

WORM It's ok --

DIXON We gotta get his money so we can get outta here -- we gotta --

WORM That idea is over now. We're not gonna do that now.

Dixon starts crying and shaking and backing away --

DIXON DADDY, FUCK, DADDY, DON'T GET MAD AT ME. DON'T GET MAD AT ME -- (to Stanley) JUST GIMME YOUR MONEY.

WORM I'm not mad, son, I will not be mad

103 at you and it's ok and please put it down and I won't be mad and I won't --

DIXON DAD.

Dixon starts to lower the gun a bit, crying and shaking....He lowers the gun and hands it over to his Father....Dixon is sort of flinching....the possibility that his Father may strike him...

...Stanley is frozen...Dixon is hyperventilating....

DIXON I - just - thought - that - I - didn't want - I - didn't - I - didn't -

WORM It's ok, boy.

HOLD. Que. "Bein Green," by Kermit the Frog/Aimee

CUT TO:

EXT. LAMPLIGHTER/VENTURA BLVD. - THAT MOMENT Sequence K

CAMERA holds a wide angle on the Lamplighter Coffee Shop. Frogs falling from sky onto and around the streets....

CUT TO:

EXT. THE SKY - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA up with the Falling Frogs....CAMERA is moving down with them... it becomes almost musical....like Busby-Berkely-style coreography of Frogs That Fall In The Sky...

MUSIC/KERMIT THE FROG "It's not that easy bein' green... Having to spend each day the color of the leaves..."

CARRIES OVER CUT TO:

INT. JIMMY'S HOUSE - THAT MOMENT

It is on FIRE now....CU image of Jimmy on the floor of the kitchen with shards of glass around him...and FROGS...a few of them still alive and jumping around...the FIRE moving closer and closer...

CUT TO:

EXT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON/LOADING DOCK AREA - THAT MOMENT

Jim Kurring and Donnie underneath the shelter area. Donnie's MOUTH IS FULL OF BLOOD and his TEETH ARE BROKEN...

DONNIE My teeff...my teeef....

JIM KURRING YOU'RE OK...you're gonna be ok....

104

CUT TO:

INT. CLAUDIA'S APARTMENT - THAT MOMENT

Claudia cries to her Mom. Rose holds her and they rock back and forth.... Claudia cries loud and over and over --

"Mommy...mommy...mom."

Rose calming her and petting her head, "It's ok."

CUT TO:

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA is with Linda and DOCTORS as they PUMP HER STOMACH. Follow the process and get to point where it's clear that she is going to make it, she will not die.

CUT TO:

INT. EARL'S HOUSE - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA w/Frank and Earl and Phil. Earl's last couple of breaths are short and quick...short and quick...short and quick...and then he dies.....his eyes are open.....

CUT TO:

EXT. SKY - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA moves down straight towards the ground...towards the Magnolia intersection with a LARGE FROG....right before it hits the pavement --

CUT TO BLACK.

Title Card Reads: So Now Then

- Replay Lumiere Footage from the opening of "Three Men Hung" Green, Berry and Hill.

- Replay Delmer Darion in the tree and getting lifted out of the water.

- Replay Sydney Barringer jumping from building

NARRATOR And there is the account of the hanging of three men....and a scuba diver and a suicide.....

CUT TO:

INT. EARL'S HOUSE - DAWN

The door is opened by Phil and two MORTUARY MEN in suits nod their heads. Phil lets them in.

NARRATOR There are stories of coincidence and

105 chance and intersections and strange things told and which is which and who only knows...

CUT TO:

INT. EARL'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - THAT MOMENT

Frank and Phil watch Earl get covered in a sheet and put on a stretcher. CAMERA moves around and finds the MORPHINE DOG placed on a stretcher, covered in a sheet.

HOLD CU on PHIL and then Frank.

NARRATOR ...and we generally say, "Well if that was in movie I wouldn't believe it."

ANGLE, IN THE KITCHEN, MOMENTS LATER Phil enters and answers the phone, "...hello...oh no...yes, yes..." Phil looks to Frank --

CUT TO:

INT. HOSPITAL - DAWN

CAMERA looking down the long emergency room corridor as the doors open and Frank enters and moves to the reception desk, asks some information --

CAMERA pans off him, and over to a room, looking through the door jam onto Linda in bed. Her eyes a bit open, respiratory equipment attached to her. A DOCTOR standing over her, calmly asking questions;

DOCTOR Are you with us? Linda? Is it Linda?

She nods her head. Doctor continues talk, etc. Frank, from behind enters FRAME and stands off nearby. MATCH TO DIXON'S FACE OVER CUT TO:

NARRATOR Someone's so and so meet someone else's so and so and so on --

EXT. EMPTY PARKING LOT AREA - DAWN

CU - Dixon as he gets into the old beat up car with Worm. Their call pulls away and drives off. Dixon looks at Linda's Mercedes which is still parked way across the lot -- they exit FRAME.

CUT TO:

EXT. MAGNOLIA - DAWN

Worm's car drives down the street. LONG LENS. ANGLE, at the car, Dixon leans up and out the window a bit....he's got the gun wrapped in newspaper, taking the fingerprints from the gun....he throws the POLICE ISSUED WEAPON from the speeding car...

CUT TO:

106

INT. LAMPLIGHTER - DAWN

Stanley sits in the back of a squad car....an OFFICER watching him...probably supposed to be comforting him, but instead drinking coffee, chating with other OFFICERS questioning the coffee shop employees --

NARRATOR And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that these strange things happen all the time....

Stanley gets out of the car and walks away, out of sight of all the officer's and people around...he just walks down the street....

CUT TO:

INT. SPECTOR HOUSE - RICK'S BEDROOM - DAWN

Stanley enters Rick's bedroom. Rick is asleep.

STANLEY Dad...Dad.

Rick opens his eyes, but doesn't move.

STANLEY You have to be nicer to me, Dad.

RICK Go to bed.

STANLEY I think that you have to be nicer to me.

RICK Go to bed.

Stanley exits.

CUT TO:

EXT. JIMMY'S HOUSE - DAWN

CAMERA with Fire Trucks and County Coroner people. A body bag and a stretcher carrying JIMMY'S BODY come out of the house.

NARRATOR ...and so it goes and so it goes and the book says, "We may be through with the past, but the past is not through with us."

CUT TO:

INT. POLICE STATION - MARCIE

Marcie looking down at the table in front of her, tape recorder and microphone in front of her, (and all that goes along w/full confession/etc.)

107 MARCIE I killed him. I killed my husband. He hit my son and he hit my grandson and I hit him. I hit him with the ashtray and he was knocked out and I killed him, I strangled him. I strangled my husband to protect my boys. I protected my boys.

CUT TO:

EXT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON - DAWN

Jim Kurring and Donnie sitting together at the loading dock. Donnie, mouth full of blood, holding a kleenex to it, crying a bit. Kurring listens. HOLD.

DONNIE I know that I did a thtupid thing. Tho-thtupid...getting brathes...I thought... I thought that he would love me. ...getting brathes, for what... for thumthing I didn't even...i don't know where to put things, y'know?

Kurring holds his look, nods. Donnie really breaks tears, looks up;

DONNIE I really do hath love to give, I juth don't know where to put it --

CAMERA holds the 2-shot on them, BEAT, THEN: The Police Issued Revolver FALLS FROM THE SKY AND LANDS ABOUT fifteen feet in front of them. Jim Kurring and Donnie look. HOLD. CU - Jim Kurring.

CUT TO:

INT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON ELECTRONICS - THAT MOMENT

Donnie and Jim Kurring walking inside the store, towards the office --

JIM KURRING ...these security systems can be a real joke. I mean, a frog falls from the sky and lands on the x-4 box 'round back and opens all the doors? Triggers a siutation? You don't know who could be driving by at any moment, walk in and rob the place -- I was you I'd talk to your boss about a new security system --

DONNIE ....ohh-thur-I-thur-thill....

JIM KURRING You guys make alotta money, huh?

CUT TO:

INT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON - OFFICE - MOMENT LATER

Donnie puts the money back in the floor safe. CU. DONNIE.

108 JIM KURRING (OC) I got a buddy a mine down at the med. center, he'd probably do quite a deal on a set of dentures, you're interested in that. He's in training, you know he's not a dentist yet, but he's real good at corrective oral surgery from what I understand...

LAND ECU. DONNIE. He smiles a little bit.

CUT TO:

EXT. SOLOMON AND SOLOMON - THAT MOMENT

Wide Angle, Donnie and Jim Kurring shake hands and part ways, getting into their cars. A few words more about, "Call me up for that guys number and he'll help you out with the teeth."

Donnie gets in his car. CAMERA stays with Jim Kurring who walks over to his car and gets behind the wheel.

CAMERA HOLDS ON HIM. He does a little "Cops" talking to himself.

JIM KURRING ...alot of people think this is just a job that you go to.....take a lunch hour, the jobs over, something like that. But...it's a 24 hour deal...no two ways about it....and what most people don't see: Just How Hard It Is To Do The Right Thing. (beat) People think if I make a judgment call that it's a judgment on them...but that's not what I do and that's not what should be done...I have to take everything and play it as it lays. Sometimes people need a little help. Sometimes people need to be forgiven and sometimes they need to go to jail. And that's a very tricky thing on my part...making that call...the law is the law and heck if I'm gonna break it...but you can forgive someone....? Well, that's the tough part....What Do We Forgive? Tough part of the job.....tough part of walking down the street...

CAMERA stays with him and HOLDS as he puts the car into gear and drives away....HOLD with him as he drives...he starts to cry a little bit to himself.

CUT TO:

INT. CLAUDIA'S APARTMENT - THAT MOMENT

CAMERA holds on Claudia. She's sitting up in bed, covers around her, staring into space....a SONG plays....for a very, very long time she doesn't move until she looks up and sees someone enter her bedroom....a FIGURE from the back enters FRAME and walks in and sits on the edge of the bed....from the back it is clear

109 that it's Jim Kurring. She tears a bit and looks at him...HOLD....

She turns her eyes from him and looks INTO THE CAMERA and smiles.

CUT TO BLACK.

END.

110