SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS

                       SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS   

               Screenplay by Ron Bass and Scott Hicks

                Based on the novel by David Guterson

                                                     May 4, 1998

     NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
     AND SOME "OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS
     SOFT COPY.

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     Fog.  Penetrated only by sound.  The LAPPING of sea at a
     drifting hull.  Tendrils of mist part, revealing...

     ...a face.  Strong and blond and handsome.

     We watch CARL HEINE, high on the cross spar of his mast.  He
     has pulled a SHUTTLE of TWINE from his rubber overalls, and
     is LASHING a LANTERN in the cloud of mist.

     INT/EXT THE SUSAN MARIE'S CABIN - NIGHT

     A match is struck.  CARL lights the wick of a second lantern.
     The cabin is meticulously neat.  A tin COFFEE CUP on the
     counter's edge.  The floor clear of any clutter.  Carl
     glances at his watch.  It's 1:07.  Then he hears...

     ...the puttering SOUND of an approaching boat...

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE, SHIP CHANNEL BANK - NIGHT

     ...Carl stands on deck with his kerosene lantern and his air
     horn, watching as another BOAT comes slowly out of the mist.
     The silhouette of a FISHERMAN.  As fragments of fog part, we
     CLOSE ON the figure's face, to see...

     ...his eyes.  They are Asian.

                                           VISUAL FX TRANSITION TO:

     EXT. SHIP CHANNEL BANK - MORNING

     An island landscape.  Tilt to find our boat bobbing
     peacefully on placid water.

     EXT. THE SUSAN MARIE - MORNING

     Silhouetted against the morning sun, two figures slowly reel
     in the massive net onto the rotating drum.  A few salmon
     slide across the gunnel.  Hands methodically pick them out of
     the net and drop them into the hold.

     ANGLE ON the cedar floats stretched across the water.  A dark
     heavy shape in the net draws towards the surface.

     One figure leans over to take a closer look.  SHERIFF ART
     MORAN is thin, unimposing, methodical.  Only the eyes reflect
     his disquiet.

     Suddenly, a HAND looms from the tangled netting, stiff and
     grotesque.

     MORAN lurches back in shock as the raveling net LIFTS from
     the water's surface...

     ...the face of Carl Heine.  Turned to the sun.

     Moran reels away as his young deputy, ABEL MARTINSON, turns
     to throw up over the gunnel behind him.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY

     The face of HORACE WHALEY, coroner, gazing down.  A shading
     of regret behind the professional mask.  Carl's face is
     reflected in his glasses.  A series of QUICK CUTS...

     ...Whaley cuts through Carl's weatherproof overalls with
     large scissors...

     ...his hand pulls the SHUTTLE of TWINE from Carl's pocket...

     ...examines the open, empty KNIFE SHEATH at Carl's belt...

     ...the right palm is turned to reveal a long cut along the
     mound of the thumb...

     ...Carl's wrist, its WATCH stopped at 1:47...Whaley removes
     it, notes the time, and drops it into a manila envelope...

     Whaley bends over Carl's body, presses on his solar plexus,
     watching pink FOAM rise from Carl's mouth and nose.  And
     then.  He sees something more.  His forceps gently pull back
     the hair from above Carl's left ear, and...

     ...Whaley sees something startling.  He beckons Moran over.

                          WHALEY
                You want to play Sherlock Holmes, Art?

     Reluctantly Moran takes a look.  A sharp intake of breath.

                          MORAN
                What the hell would have caused that?

                          WHALEY
                I'll tell you what a head wound like this
                puts me in the mind of...

     Whaley reaches for the instrument tray, and selects a sharp
     cut-throat razor.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. CORONER'S LAB - DAY

     CLOSE ON a DROP of BLOOD as it lands in SLOW MOTION on a
     white porcelain tray.

                                           VISUAL FX TRANSITION TO:

     EXT. SAN PIEDRO ISLAND - DAY

     Snow falling on cedars.

     The heavens descend softly onto our island.  Exquisite,
     silent, hypnotic.  An epic snowfall inspiring awe at our
     frailness against the limitless scope of nature.  As CREDITS
     BEGIN...

                                                     TRANSITION TO:

     EXT/INT ISHMAEL'S APARTMENT - DAY

     Through a snow covered window we see a pensive, sombre young
     man in his mid-20's.  This is ISHMAEL CHAMBERS, lost in
     thought as he pulls on his coat.  We see its left sleeve
     pinned up at the elbow of his amputated arm.  He tucks his
     slim satchel under it.

                                                     TRANSITION TO:

     EXT. STRAWBERRY FIELDS - DAY

     ...undulating strawberry fields of pure white, untouched and
     flawless...beyond the fields, against a backdrop of cedar
     forest, an old PICKUP TRUCK drives carefully through the
     snow.

     Wipers swish slowly to reveal a slender woman of refined
     beauty.  HATSUE MIYAMOTO stares ahead at the snow-clad road,
     her father HISAO at the wheel beside her.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR/SAN PIEDRO ISLAND FERRY - DAY

     ...a view through another windscreen.  This time of moving
     WATER.  In the rear-view mirror, a dapper man in his 40's
     grooms himself carefully.  ALVIN HOOKS glances out ahead
     at...

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     ...the wharves and boats shrouded in snow.

     EXT. AMITY HARBOR - DAY

     The SAN PIEDRO ISLAND ferry approaches the docks, blanketed
     as if by volcanic ash.  Behind HOOKS' late model Chevy, the
     deck is crowded with people, a number of other cars, and even
     a bus.

                                                            CUT TO:

     EXT. NELS' HOUSE - DAY

     A door opens to reveal a pair of dress shoes.  Old-style
     galoshes are pulled over them.

     An OLD CAT curls around the feet as a HAND that tells of its
     owner's age offers it a small treat.

     The TIP of an UMBRELLA taps to dislodge some snow and ice
     from a PLANT POT.  The pot CRACKS, scattering earth on the
     porch.  Impatiently, the feet shuffle aside the debris, and
     start down the steps.

     The umbrella UNFURLS to reveal NELS GUDMUNDSSON.  He is 79,
     tall and lean.  A little shaky.  His body is winding down.

     EXT. STREET - DAY

     NELS walks carefully down the street, overtaken by kids on
     sleds, as WHALEY heads past in the other direction.

                          NELS
                'Morning, Horace,  Reminds you of 1930,
                doesn't it?

                          WHALEY
                1929 actually, Nels.  I believe you're
                thinking of 1929.

                          NELS
                Of course it was, Horace.  You're right.
                1929.

     EXT. STREET/COURTHOUSE - MORNING

     A bank of powder snow.  A boy falls backwards into frame.
     Nearby a girl does the same.  They swirl their arms and legs.
     Laughing.  Making angels...

     Ishmael walks past, over the rise, the town behind him.

     Ahead - a public building, cars gathering as best they can,
     people streaming up snow-laden steps to the entrance, and we
     FOLLOW...

     ISHMAEL, seemingly oblivious to the crowd which jostles him,
     as he...

     ...disappears.  Into the courthouse.  Titles finish.

     INT. COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY

     Ishmael heads up the stairs, to the press balcony, away from
     the throng.  He catches a glimpse of a woman sitting alone,
     out of sight of the crowd.

     It's HATSUE, on a wooden bench.  Her stare impassive, empty.

     PULL BACK to see Ishmael standing alone, in shadow.  He
     stares with fixed intensity at Hatsue, as she gathers her
     thoughts.  A moment of decision.  He approaches.

                          ISHMAEL
                Hatsue?

     She turns her head only slightly.

                          ISHMAEL
                Are you all right?

                          HATSUE
                Go away, Ishmael.

     Her voice is quiet and firm.  There is no anger.

                          ISHMAEL
                I just wanted to say...

                          HATSUE
                    (softer)
                Go away.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. BASEMENT - DAY

     CLOSE on a large SHOVEL as it scoops up a load of COALS.

     The coals fly off the shovel into the fierce flames of the
     boiler-room FURNACE.  The DOOR clangs shut.

                                                            CUT TO:

     INT. COURTROOM - MORNING (TRIAL DAY ONE)

     A frosty WINDOW above an ancient steam RADIATOR.  A HISS of
     steam escaping as we pull back to see...

     A pair of Asian eyes.  We have seen them before.  KAZUO
     MIYAMOTO sits, ramrod straight, motionless, expressionless,
     as Abel unlocks his handcuffs.  The eye of a storm of
     movement in...

     ...the assembling COURTROOM.  A floor-level packed gallery of
     buzzing locals, the scent of anticipation.

     NELS approaches the defense table, greeting his client Kazuo.
     He reaches over to shake hands with HOOKS at the prosecution
     bench.

     The JURY BOX.  Truck farmers, grocers, fishermen assemble, in
     sober neckties.  A waitress, a secretary, fisher wives in
     Sunday dresses.  PAN UP now to...

     ...a BALCONY with its bank of wooden pews, and gathering in
     its front row...

     ...REPORTERS, cosmopolitan in attire, bearing themselves as
     jaded dignitaries from the civilized world.  Behind them,
     Ishmael makes his way to a seat.  As we PAN their ranks...

     Snatches of conversation...

                          REPORTER #1
                How 'bout that jury?  What a bunch of
                yokels.  Must make a good ten grand a
                year.  Between 'em.

     He laughs.

     Ishmael, jots on a pad balanced precariously on his knee,
     until...

     ...it falls with a CLATTER of pages.  He reaches with his
     right hand, replaces the pad on his thigh.  Ishmael looks
     down through the balustrades to see...

     ...Hatsue, entering the courtroom.

     The Reporters lean forward to ogle at her.  A frisson of
     interest runs through the assembled crowd.

     Ishmael watches HATSUE take her place in the first row of the
     floor-level gallery.  And sensing her presence, Kazuo turns.
     Their eyes meet.  Husband and wife.

     Back in the balcony...

                          REPORTER #1
                Have you seen this rag?  The guy writes
                like this trial is the biggest thing that
                ever happened.  You tell me why this is
                news down in Seattle.

     Shows the next guy his newspaper.  It's the SAN PIEDRO ISLAND
     REVIEW.  Our ANGLE includes Ishmael, listening.