Runaway Bride

Runaway Bride  

Screenplay by

Sarah Parriott & Josann McGibbon

 FADE IN

 EXT. AN IMPOSSIBLE EXPANSE OF MARYLAND FARMLAND - DAY

 The wind rustles the endless field of corn, blows over the
 freshly mown meadow of soybeans, and magically sways a copse of
 trees.
 
 It's a Fall after-noon. A SUDDEN POUNDING OF GALLOPING HOOVES
 breaks the peace and... A HORSE and RIDER burst between the rows
 of corn into the meadow.  They are running for their lives.

 CLOSE ON:

 The rider is a bride -- a beautiful woman dressed in a
 disheveled wedding gown, it's train tattered and flying like a
 knight's banner out behind her. This is MAGGIE CARPENTER.

 The horse is frothing and wild-eyed, like the bride, who turns
 to look behind her in terror.  The horse's labored breathing
 mingles with Maggie's panicked gasps.

 We see a WEDDING BOUQUET fly into a ditch as the horse thunders
 on.  Maggie clings to the reins.  She looks as though she is
 running from the devil himself.

 FADE TO BLACK

 EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

 Establishing.

        CUT TO:

 EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY - ESTABLISHING SHOT

 EXT. NEW YORK STREET - DAY

       IKE (V.O.)
  Hey, Fisher, pick up.  I have some
  column ideas I want to bounce off you. 
  Not there?  Okay.  Listen I'm thinking
  of writing about those mind-numbing
  informercials that are always on.

 Ike walks out of his apartment building talking on cell phone.

       IKE (cont'd)
  What do you think?  Good idea, right? 
  Boring, down to death, pointless -- It
  sucks.

 Ike yells at a CONSTRUCTION WORKER.

       IKE (cont'd)
  If you guys are here any longer,
  they're gonna make you sign a lease.

       CONSTRUCTION WORKER
  Your column should be so funny.

 Ike turns and walks down the street, talking into cell phone.

       IKE
  Okay, I was also thinking I might write
  about...

 He spots a RICH LADY with tons of diamonds getting out of a
 Limousine, talking to a CHAUFFEUR.  He goes up to her.

       IKE (cont'd)
  Excuse me.  I was thinking of doing an
  article on limousines.  What would you
  say to people who never had a chance to
  drive in a limo?

 They walk up to her DOORMAN.

       LADY
  I'm sorry, I don't know any people like
  that.

 Ike walks off.  They stare at him as he goes.

 EXT. ANOTHER NEW YORK STREET - DAY

 Ike's talking on the phone to his friend's machine again.

       IKE
   (into phone)
  Fisher?  Come on -- I know you're
  sitting there laughing at me.  Pick up. 
  I want to run an idea past you.

 Ike continues walking now in the full panic of writer's block.
 He pleads into his friend's answering machine as he walks.

       IKE (cont'd)
   (into phone)
  I just could use someone to toss it
  back and forth with for a few minutes,
  get the juice flowing, help me.  I have
  an hour and twenty-seven minutes and
  fifty-two seconds.  Hello?

 He walks away from the t-shirt table towards the bar.  The
 Vendor calls out to him.

       T-SHIRT VENDOR
  Hey, Ike, when are you going to put me
  in an article?

       IKE
  When your t-shirts stop shrinking.

 Ike enters the bar.  The Woman drops the shirt she was holding
 and walks off with her children.  The T-shirt Vendor goes back
 to selling his shirts.

 INT. NEW YORK BAR - LATE DAY

 Ike sits at the bar speaking to an attractive Woman nearby, a
 MAN puts is USA Today on the bar and addresses the BARTENDER.

           MAN
  I see photos of a lot of dead writers
  on these walls.  Got any living ones? 
  I have a story to tell that could win
  one of them a Pulitzer.
   (then, with enthusiasm)
  Picture this, if you will.  A small
  town in Maryland, a sleepy little
  village, within that a hardware store...

 The Man continues speaking as Ike and the woman continue their
 conversation.

       WOMAN
  So what's in store for us in tomorrow's
  column?

       IKE
  I don't know yet.  I'm kind of a last-
  minute man.  Ideas don't flow until an
  hour or two before deadline.

 The Woman gets up and begins throwing darts.

       WOMAN
   (interrupting)
  This is very interesting.  You get your
  ideas for your column from life.  You
  start up a conversation with a woman in
  a bar, attack her choice of reading
  material, try and get a rise out of her
  while you contemplate whether or not
  she's worth hitting on.

       IKE
  No, I can't hit on you until I get an
  idea.

 She starts throwing darts.

       WOMAN
  That's flattering.

       IKE
  No, you don't understand.

 The Woman goes to her bar stool, gathering her bag and leaves a
 tip for the Bartender.

       WOMAN
  I think I do understand.  So my not
  responding to your baiting me will
  inspire one of those potential bitter
  diatribes you love to write about women
  and all the things we do to drive men
  crazy?

       IKE
   (taken aback)
  I don't write bitter diatribes about
  women... very often.

 She whacks him with a newspaper, then shakes his hand.

       WOMAN
  Only when the ideas aren't flowing,
  huh?  Well, it was very nice to meet
  you, one-minute man.

 The Woman leaves the bar.

       IKE
   (as she exits)
  That's last minute man.
   (then, louder)
  And it's the quality that counts.

       BARTENDER
  You know, for a good looking man, you
  strike out a lot.

       MAN
  I've seen much worse.

 The phone rings.  Te Bartender answers it as Ike sits back on
 his bar stool.  Ike grabs the woman's magazine that she left on
 the bar and starts glancing at it.  The Man at the bar has heard
 the whole thing.

       MAN (cont'd)
  I said, I've seen much worse.

 Ike looks at the Man with reservation.  The Man is George
 Swilling.

       IKE
  Excuse me?

       MAN
  The brush-off.

 Ike gets up and moves to the dart board.  He removes the darts.

       MAN (cont'd)
  I've witnessed far more treacherous and
  nefarious exits than that.  At least
  she castigated you in private.

       IKE
  Not as private as I thought.

 Ike turns slightly, giving the man his back.

       IKE (cont'd)
  Kevin, you've got some napkins?

       BARTENDER
  Writing or wiping?

       IKE
  Give me a pen.

 The Bartender gives him cocktail napkins and a pen.  Ike starts
 making notes.  Ike looks up from his writing.  The Man gets up
 and starts throwing darts.

       MAN
   (throwing darts hard)
  Ah, come on.  They deserve it.  They
  love you, they hate you, they're hot,
  they're cold, they're high, they're
  low...

       IKE
  ... They're up, they're down.  It's
  really fun making this list with you,
  but I've got a column to go write.

       BARTENDER
  Ike.

       MAN
   (undeterred)
  But you don't have a really superb idea! 
  Well, there's a girl from my hometown
  you could write about.

 Ike moves to the Bartender and pays him.

       BARTENDER
   (to Man)
  Excuse me, we don't need any new ideas.

       MAN
  She likes to dump grooms right at the
  altar.  They call her "The Runaway
  Bride".

 Both Ike and Bartender turn and stare.

       MAN
  She performed the travesty seven or
  eight times.  Right at the altar she
  turns around and runs like hell. 
  Bolts.

 Ike turns and heads for the door.  The Man calls after him,
 getting up from his stool without stopping his enthusiastic
 story.

       MAN (cont'd)
  Adios.  Plows down the aisle, knocking
  old ladies out of her way like the
  running of the bulls at Pamplona.  And
  guess what?

       IKE
  I give up.

       MAN
  She has the next victim all lined up. 
  She's twirling another body on the
  spit.

 Ike stops in his tracks.  He turns back around in spite of
 himself.

       MAN
   (beginning his story)
  Imagine if you will, a small town in
  Maryland...

       CUT TO:

 INT. IKE'S APARTMENT - DUSK

 Ike sits at his computer, cassette player with Miles Davis PLAYS
 next to him as he types away reading his handiwork to himself.

       IKE
   (reading)
  "Today is a day of profound
  introspection, I have been accused
  of using this column to direct bitter
  diatribes at the opposite sex!  This
  uncomfortable accusation has plunged me
  into at least fifteen minutes of
  serious reflection, from which I have
  emerged with the conclusion that, yes
  -- I traffic in female stereotypes."

 EXT. USA TODAY OFFICE - DAY

 FISHER walks through the main office reading the paper.

       FISHER
  "But how can one blame me when every
  time I step out my front door I meet
  fresh proof that the female archetypes
  are alive and well?  Te mother, the
  virgin, the whore, the crone; they're
  elbowing you in the subway, stealing
  your cabs, and overwhelming you with
  perfume in elevators."

 INT. USA TODAY OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

 Elaine at her desk reads aloud to herself.

       ELAINE
  "But perhaps, in fairness to the fairer
  sex, I do need to broaden my horizon
  and add some new goddesses to the
  pantheon: I would like to nominate for
  deity..."

 Fisher hands a file to Elaine.

       FISHER
  "... The cheerleader, the coed, and the
  man-eater, the last of which concerns me
  most today."

 Fisher leaves and we hold a USA Today sign.

       CUT TO:

 INT. NEW YORK BAR - DAY

 The Man comes out of the men's room reading the USA Today,
 Kevin, the Bartender, stands on the bar reading the same
 article.

       MAN
   (reads)
  "To be fair, the man-eater isn't
  exactly new.  In Ancient Greece, this
  fearsome female was known as Erinys,
  the devouring death goddess.  In India,
  she is Kali, who likes to devour her
  boyfriend Shiva's entrails while her
  yoni devour his -- dot dot dot, never
  mind.  In Indonesia, the bloody-jawed
  man-eater is called Ragma..."

 Te Man sits at the bar near to the Bartender.