Mrs Brown by Jeremy Brock Ext. the Grounds Of
MRS BROWN BY JEREMY BROCK EXT. THE GROUNDS OF WINDSOR CASTLE, FOREST - NIGHT Begin on black. The sound of rain driving into trees. Something wipes frame and we are suddenly hurtling through a forest on the shoulders of a wild-eyed, kilted JOHN BROWN. Drenched hair streaming, head swivelling left and right, as he searches the lightening-dark. A crack to his left. He spins round, raises his pistol, smacks past saplings and plunges on. EXT. THE GROUNDS OF WINDSOR CASTLE, FOREST - NIGHT Close-up on BROWN as he bangs against a tree and heaves for air. A face in its fifties, mad-fierce eyes, handsome, bruised lips, liverish. He goes on searching the dark. Stops. Listens through the rain. A beat. Thinking he hears a faint thump in the distance, he swings round and races on. EXT. THE GROUNDS OF WINDSOR CASTLE, FOREST - NIGHT BROWN tears through the trees, pistol raised at full arm's length, breath coming harder and harder. But even now there's a ghost grace, a born hunter's grace. He leaps fallen branches, swerves through turns in the path, eyes forward, never stumbling once. EXT. THE GROUNDS OF WINDSOR CASTLE, FOREST - NIGHT BROWN bursts into a clearing, breaks to the centre and stops. With his pistol raised, he turns one full slow circle. His eyes take in every swerve and kick of the wildly swaying trees. There's a crack and a branch snaps behind him. He spins round, bellows deep from his heart: BROWN God save the Queen!! And fires. Nothing happens. The trees go on swaying, the storm goes on screaming and BROWN just stands there, staring into empty space.
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